On being … an aide-mémoire

By Ingrid Sapona 

Last Sunday a friend and I were considering where to go for lunch. As we thought of places, I looked them up on-line for their hours. To our dismay, a few were closed on Sundays, a few required reservations (and none were available when we wanted to go), and a few were only serving brunch, which we didn’t want. 

Then I thought about a restaurant another friend and I recently reminisced about – a place neither of us had been to in years but that we agreed we’d like to revisit. I knew it was a one-word name but I couldn’t remember it. All I could think of was that the name reminded me of a Harlequin. When I mentioned this, my friend laughed and asked if I was actually thinking of a book. I explained I meant the clown-like character with a costume featuring fabric with large, colourful diamonds. 

When my description of the name didn’t help, I mentioned the restaurant was known for its panoramic view, despite being in an area one wouldn’t think of as having such views. I also thought the street it was on started with a B, but couldn’t remember more. So, I opened Google Maps, looking in the general area I was picturing in my mind. There was a street called Balmoral but the restaurant wasn’t coming up on Google Maps. Argh. Maybe it had closed, or maybe I was just out to lunch (equal possibilities, admittedly). 

I was about to give up when the name popped into my head: Scaramouche! I then found its website and confirmed that it’s still in business, but not open on Sundays. While that was a disappointment, I was pleased that at least I remembered the name (eventually). I was also pleased when I looked up Scaramouch in the dictionary* and found there is a connection between Harlequin and Scaramouche – both are characters in commedia dell'arte. (Whew, not going crazy.) As for the address – well, again, I was part right. It’s on a street that starts with a B (Benvenuto) in the neighborhood I was looking on the map (in fact, a couple blocks south of Balmoral). 

Please don’t misunderstand. I’m not writing this because I’m concerned about memory problems. I think I’ve been to Scaramouche once and it was easily 25 years ago – so I don’t feel bad the name didn’t come to me right away. What this little episode got me thinking about, however, is the different ways we use to remember things. 

For example, growing up some teachers tried to drill into us different mnemonics. I never really found them too helpful. The only one I’ve ever remembered is Every Good Boy Deserves Favour, which I know relates to reading music. But, in writing this I had to Google the phrase to: 1) make sure I had it right, and 2) find out exactly what it represents musically. I didn’t remember that it is specifically for the notes on the treble clef. Indeed, I’m sure there’s a mnemonic related to the bass clef, but I don’t remember it at all. Then there’s the “i before e, except after C” mnemonic. In fairness, that one pops into my head whenever I’m typing a word with “ie” – but it’s not that useful because I don’t remember all the exceptions, so I often end up looking up the spelling anyway. My main qualm about mnemonics is I’ve just never seen the point of memorizing something to remind yourself of something else. 

These days, rather than relying on aide-mémoire, I turn to digital tools to jog my memory. For example, I use Google Maps a lot because I’m far likelier to remember the general location of a place I’ve visited – or driven past – than I am to remember the name of the place. Even if the name doesn’t pop up on Google Maps, the Google Street View might capture it or seeing pictures of the neighborhood at least gives me a sense of whether that’s the area I’m thinking of. 

IMDB (Internet Movie DataBase) is another great tool (I prefer the app to the website) I rely on if I can’t remember an actor’s name. If you can think of a movie (or tv show) the actor was in, just look up the title on IMDB and you’ll see the names (and usually faces) of the entire cast. So efficient! 

I’ve realized that when I’m trying to remember something, I often use a reverse engineering process. I start with what I remember and then I turn to things like Google Maps and IMDB to try to figure out what I’d forgotten. Sometimes the process takes awhile, but it’s kind of fun making sense of the seemingly random details you remember (like the fact the street name starts with a B). 

What about you? What tools – or techniques – do you use when you’re trying to recall something? 

© 2024 Ingrid Sapona

 

*Attention fans of the rock band Queen: If you’re scratching your head wondering why the word Scaramouche sounds familiar, well, Merriam Webster (another aide-memoire I call on often) reminds readers of this lyric from “Bohemian Rhapsody”: "I see a little silhouetto of a man / Scaramouche, Scaramouche, will you do the fandango?" Rings a bell… right!

On being … the hallmarks of a Hallmark movie

By Ingrid Sapona  

Have you noticed that many of this year’s Hallmark movies have been set in European locales? And why not: travel provides unusual opportunities to strike up conversations with strangers and to learn about other cultures. And even when you don’t speak the language, no subtitles are needed when the protagonists are in love.  

Picture this scene: three gray-haired women (me and my sisters, if you’re wondering) find their assigned seats in a six-seat compartment of a train bound for Prague. A few stops into the four-hour journey a tall gentleman passes the compartment and then returns, eyeing the numbers on the empty seats. After double-checking his ticket, he opens the door, stows his backpack above one of the empty seats, and sits down. Shortly after, another guy comes into the compartment and before the train takes off, he sets up his laptop and dons noise-cancelling headphones, disappearing into his screen. 

As the train picks up steam, the tall gentleman pulls out his phone and smiles as he texts away. At some point, perhaps after an announcement in Czech, one of us asks the tall fellow what the announcement was about. He smiles and says it was about the next stop. He then apologizes about his bad English. We assure him his English is good and apologize that none of us speak Czech. 

The gentleman again looks at his phone and then explains that he was looking at the map to determine how long it will take to get to his stop. He assured us the train’s making good time. Then, with an irrepressible smile, he added, “You’re probably wondering why I’m so anxious that we’re on time.” Though, undoubtedly, everyone on the train was keen to be on time, the flush in the stranger’s cheeks and his beaming smile hinted at a story that was ripe for the telling. So, one of us asked him why. He then enthused that he was going to see a girl he met a few weeks earlier. 

With the conversation ice broken, we couldn’t resist asking for more details – and Pavel (not his real name) was too enthusiastic to hold back. Seems he met a lovely tall girl (I’ll call her Natalie, though that’s not her real name) recently at a festival in his home town. The festival attracts people from all over and Natalie and her friend went there to check it out. The festival is known for its costume parade, Pavel said. He proudly shared photos of the painstaking process the village women go through to put on the elaborate costumes and he explained the significance of different outfits the men of different ages wear. He also told us about all the work that goes into planning the three-day festival, which it so happened he was in charge of this year. His enthusiasm and pride in the history of his village was genuine and lovely. 

As he was talking, the train slowed to a stop, though we weren’t at a station. Then came an announcement – first in Czech and then in English. There had been an accident “involving a human” and the train had to wait for it to be cleared. Nothing we could do, of course, but hope the delay wouldn’t be too long. Pavel immediately texted Natalie to explain about the accident. We then broke out some snacks that we shared with Pavel and the other cabin mate, who smiled and accepted the offer of some candy before quickly returning to his computer screen. 

We resumed our conversation with Pavel, taking the opportunity to learn a bit about the Czech Republic. He described the region of the country he’s from (Moravia) and that – among other things – it’s well known for its wine production. Though he works in the energy industry, like many in his village, he makes his own wine. Indeed, he was bringing Natalie a few bottles of his wine. 

Chatting with Pavel was a delightful way to pass the time. But, when his phone pinged with a text about an hour into our wait, he looked nervous and quickly replied to it. He then sheepishly explained the text was from Natalie and she was frustrated that he was spending the time chatting with three women. We laughed that he mentioned that to her, but when he looked serious responding to yet another text that came in, we realized it wasn’t necessarily funny to Natalie. Then Pavel asked if he could do a selfie with us. Absolutely! We understood immediately that he’d use the photo to show Natalie that the women he was passing the time with were no threat. We smiled as long-armed Pavel snapped the picture and we encouraged him to text it to her right away. Misunderstanding averted….  

The delay ended up being well over two hours. But, thanks to the engaging conversation with our new friend, the time flew. And, perhaps because I had expressed interest in the kinds of wine they grow in the Czech Republic, before he left, Pavel gave us one of the bottles of his wine. It was a lovely gesture and it would have been impolite to refuse, so we promised him we’d let him know how we liked it. (We drank it the following evening – it was a delicious, full-bodied 2022 Dornfelder.)  

Pavel got off a few stops before we did and we thanked him for the wine and wished him good luck with Natalie. Of course, it’s way too early to know how their story ends. I’m guessing, however, that 20 years from now Pavel and Natalie will be proudly helping their daughter and son with their costumes for the village festival. What other ending could there be? Oh yes – and my sisters and I will be enjoying some wine from Velké Bílovice – Pavel’s home town. 

© 2024 Ingrid Sapona

On being … a never-ending voyage

By Ingrid Sapona 

You get to a certain age and you think you know yourself pretty well, right? Well, I’ve always thought I knew myself, but sometimes the simplest questions leave me at a loss. For example, until recently, I couldn’t have told you what kind of movies I like. I realized this over the summer when a few of us were talking about what we’re watching on tv. One person mentioned something on Netflix and when it didn’t ring a bell with any of us, he described it. When he said it had some time travel in it, without skipping a beat, another friend chimed in: “Oh, I love movies with time travel.” I thought that admission was funny, but at the same time, I was glad no one asked me what kinds of movies I like. 

The truth is, I never really gave any thought to the kinds of movies I like. I have a few favourites, of course, for example, White Christmas and The Way We Were. But these certainly don’t fall into a “category” (unless sentimental is a genre). I went home wondering if there’s something wrong with me that I couldn’t immediately identify the kinds of movies I like. I could easily reel off genres I avoid: anything sci-fi, scary, violent, or dystopian. Eventually that night I realized there’s a genre I do gravitate toward: spy stories – though not the James Bond kind – stuff like Three Days of the Condor. (I know, maybe I should just say I’m drawn to movies starting Robert Redford, but that’s not really a genre – it’s more of a crush.) 

Another simple thing I hadn’t identify until my 20s was a favourite colour. It wasn’t until university that I realized how much I like purple (deep purple, to be exact). In my own defense, growing up in the 60s and 70s when people talked about purple, they usually meant lilac, or heaven forbid, mauve – both of which I’ve never liked. So, I really never gave purple a thought. Then, at university, purple and white were my alma mater’s colours. The dark purple was both warm and cheery. And, in law school I learned purple’s the designated colour for law and jurisprudence and from then on there was no denying it’s my favourite colour. 

I had another colour revelation recently when I went shopping for a new outfit. I found a pair of pants (a black/white print) that were nice and I wanted a top to go with it. The sales person brought me a top in a style that was nice and she mentioned they had it in a number of solid colours. When I went to look, I was immediately taken with the fuchsia. The I loved the colour, but was it me? 

The truth is, I’ve always been drawn to bright pink, but it took me a long time to even admit that. If you’re having a hard time imagining the colour, I may as well call it by its pop name: Barbie Pink. (It’s actually Pantone^® 219C, if you’re curious)    I think I’ve always been embarrassed to own up to liking Barbie Pink because the colour is so strongly associated with girlie-girls. (I certainly don’t fit the Wikipedia description of a girlie-girl: a woman who presents herself in a traditionally feminine way.)   

While I didn’t feel funny about choosing hot pink bath towels, just because you like a colour doesn’t mean you should wear it, right? The thing about Barbie Pink clothing is it’s pretty hard to blend in when you’re wearing it. Indeed, that may be part of the draw for some – but it’s not for me. Finally, after WAY too much debate, I ended up getting the fuchsia top. It looks fabulous with the black and white pants and besides, I figured, one look at my sneakers and everyone’ll know that I’m not a Barbie wanna-be. 

They say that one of the good things about getting older is that you’re more willing to be yourself. Being myself hasn’t really ever been much of a problem for me, but what has surprised me about getting older is how much there is yet to discover about myself. And the nice thing about growing old is that I have more time to learn about my (hidden) likes and perhaps a few (hidden) judgements – like about who wears what colours! 

What about you? Any surprise discoveries about yourself – maybe about some of your tastes changing, or perhaps things you now more freely admit to than you once might have? 

© 2024 Ingrid Sapona

On being … lessons from – and of – a tourist

By Ingrid Sapona 

A few years ago, before a trip to the UK I found a blog called Londonist that does a weekly update on things going on in/around London. I continue to read it because it’s interesting to hear about all the different things happening each week, even if I’m not able to attend any. 

Recently they published an amusing article featuring readers’ response to the question: “What things does a person do in London, which makes you instantly come to the conclusion: this person is not a Londoner?” It wasn’t surprising that the article opens with a photo of three women – tourists – smiling as they take a selfie at one of the iconic (irresistible?) red phone booths. The last photo was also a gimme: four people striding across the striped cross-walk at Abbey Road. Mind you, I’ll bet even some Londoners have done that! 

What I found most interesting about the article was that many of the responses were as revealing about Londoners as they were about the behavior of the tourists. For example, one reader commented about tourists, “Remarking ‘so much history’ as they stop by a building Londoners have obviously strode past for years.” From the tourist’s point of view, if you live in a country founded in the late 1700s (the US) or mid-1800s (Canada), a building pushing 100 is probably considered historic in your hometown. For those from the “new world”, it’s hard not to be awed by – and maybe remark on – the sheer number of buildings in London that go back many, many centuries. 

Then there was this, which is similar, but more even telling about Londoners: “Someone looking up at a building, rather than solely focusing on where the next spare mm is of the pavement they can occupy for a nanosecond, in order to expedite their … travel time”. Makes Londoners sound so focused on getting from here to there that they only notice those in their way. (Of course, that kind of rushing about happens in many cities, but it doesn’t make it any less sad that folks don’t have time to appreciate their surroundings.) 

There were lots of comments on tourist quandaries about the Tube (the subway). One person mentioned a tourist who was “Confused the Northern line goes south”. In that poor confused tourist’s defense, I say: who amongst us hasn’t been overly literal at one time or another? Someone else commented about a tourist who wondered which tube station to get off at for Windsor (which, at about 25 miles outside of London, can be reached by train, but not subway). I can relate to being a foreigner-who-made assumptions about the proximity of things in a foreign land. When I lived in Amsterdam a friend’s parents were visiting and on the day they were flying home, we decided to drive them to Antwerp for lunch. Given how close it looked on the map, we figured we had plenty of time. To our surprise, it was over 100 miles away! Made for quite a scramble to get them to the airport on time. 

Behaviour on the Tube can also be a giveaway of one’s non-native status, apparently. For example, one Londoner remarked about a tourist who “watched a video with SOUND on” while on the Tube. The fact that a Londoner found that comment-worthy makes me think that such rudeness, er, behaviour isn’t the norm in London. To that I say: Lucky London Tube commuters! Talking loudly on the phone and playing music and videos for all to hear is, unfortunately, pretty common here. 

But it was the comments under the heading “Overly-friendly tourists” that I thought said more about Londoners and their buttoned-up manner than it did about tourists. For example, one reader commented that they could tell a non-Londoner because they smiled at someone they didn’t know. Another noted that trying to start a conversation on the Tube show’s you’re not from London. And someone else commented about strangers saying please and thank. Wow, I thought. These are all things I’m sure I did – repeatedly – in London (and pretty much everywhere I’ve ever visited). Though I’d like to think I blend in (at least in the UK and northern Europe), if friendliness marks me out as a stranger, I don’t mind. 

I’ve always thought that travelling widens your perspective toward others. What I didn’t really think about before was that it’s a two-way street. Contrasting how tourists behave with how locals behave tells us something about both.   

© 2024 Ingrid Sapona

On being ... too many choices

By Ingrid Sapona 

I’ve decided to renovate my bathroom. The extent of the changes I can make hinge primarily on two factors. The first is the basic structural limitations related to the condo building itself. For example, I don’t think I can change the toilet’s location, as the refuse has to flow through the pre-existing piping. Actually, maybe there is a way to make drastic changes, but that brings me to limiting factor number two: budget. In my case, the sky is definitely not the limit! 

So, the only (arguably) structural change I’m planning is replacing the tub with a large shower. Since that involves removing floor and wall tiles, rather than try to salvage any, I’m going with all new tiles. And, though I’m perfectly happy with the size/shape of the vanity, the top is dated (Formica, if you’re wondering), so I’m replacing the entire vanity. Actually, the lighting is probably the most dated looking thing in the bathroom, so I’ll be replacing that too. 

Because the shower is the focal point, I’ve put a lot of thought into how I want it to look. I poured through photos of bathroom renovations. They all looked beautiful, of course. (No one posts pictures of their ugly renovation, right?) I was surprised at how quickly I managed to rule out certain looks. Take shower niches, for example. Though they may have started out as utilitarian – a place for your shampoo and stuff – they’ve become focal points in so many design magazines. But the more sumptuous or intricate the niche, the less likely you are to see any shampoos or toiletries in them. And, if there are things in them, the stuff is all in beautiful, opaque bottles. My Pert shampoo and can of shaving cream are UGLY – they’re not something to display. So, no niche for Moi! Ultimately, I came up with a design I like that is simple and yet I hope reasonably elegant, and highly functional. 

Once I made the threshold decision of what to keep (basically just the toilet) and how the shower would be configured, the next step was shopping for materials. When I re-did my kitchen a couple years ago the colour choices kind of revolved around the kitchen counter material. That made sense at the time – and I do LOVE my kitchen – so my first stop was the countertop folks. They were happy to show me things, but they urged me first find shower floor tiles that I love, and then choose a countertop that would go with them. Ugh… 

There are so many tile places and hundreds of tiles to choose from. In short order they all started looking the same to me and none of them seemed right. Eventually, however, I found some that I did fall in love with for the shower floor. Then I had asked one of the designers at the tile store to suggest some wall tiles that worked with the floor tiles I liked. The designer showed me a few and the choice was pretty straightforward. I then took the tile samples to the countertop folks and in two minutes they pulled a couple samples and one of them was exactly what I was hoping to find. 

But that wasn’t the end of the choices. I knew what I wanted in terms of the sink faucet, so that was pretty easy. But silly me, I thought picking shower hardware was all about the type of showerhead. Turns out shower technology has evolved, with decisions about things like pressure balance and built in thermostats to be considered. I haven’t chosen the shower hardware yet – I suspect that’ll come down to price. 

The options for towel racks and toilet paper holders almost pushed me over the edge. There are all sorts of shapes and details to consider, like flange (aka rosette) or no flange? Visible or concealed screws? As I was mulling the options, I looked at the installation instructions on a few. The diagrams were straightforward, but mention of a backing plate was off-putting, especially since I didn’t see one in the diagram of parts included. I decided to email my contractor the instructions to get his thoughts on whether they might be more trouble than they’re worth. So, that decision is pending too.

After settling on a light fixture, I went on the lighting store’s website to find out about the type and the maximum wattage bulb that the fixture accommodates. Such details were found under the “additional product details”. In scrolling through this info, I noticed two items that piqued my curiosity: Prop 65 and Prop 65 Description. Turns out Prop 65 is a California law from 1986 that requires businesses to provide warnings to California consumers (that end up benefitting non-Californians like me) about whether a product contains certain chemicals that cause cancer, birth defects, or other reproductive harm.  

Regarding the Prop 65 issues, the product details for the fixture I chose indicated No and No listed chemicals. To that I say double WHEW! Whew that the fixture has no such chemicals and Whew – I though had a lot of choices to make with this reno. I can’t imagine all the choices manufacturers have to make! 

© 2024 Ingrid Sapona

On being … “free” food

By Ingrid Sapona 

In May I applied for a new credit card. I met the minimum financial thresholds to qualify for the card and applying on-line was easy. Within a week I had the new credit card. I wanted this particular card because it does not charge an additional fee on foreign purchases – you pay only the foreign exchange rate. My other cards charge a fee of 2-2.5% on top of the foreign exchange rate. So, even with an annual fee of $150 (waived the first year), given that I’ll be travelling overseas later this year, I’m sure the savings will cover the annual fee. 

The credit card is a VISA card and it’s co-branded with a rewards program called “Scene”, which I’ll explain about in a minute. Because the VISA card was issued by a bank I don’t regularly bank with, to get electronic statements I had to register on-line with that bank. During this on-line registration process, I inadvertently registered for a Scene membership. About a week later, a separate Scene card showed up in my mail and so I stuck it in my wallet and forgot about it. 

When Scene was launched years ago, the rewards were mainly free movie passes and popcorn at a cinema chain, so I never bothered registering for it. Last year a major grocery chain adopted the Scene rewards program. I shop there sometimes, but not regularly because their prices are always a bit high. I also find that often when they put items on sale (like coffee), they don’t stock extra – so they run out quickly. They’ll issue a rain check, but that’s time consuming and a hassle. And, since they’ve adopted the Scene program, I’ve noticed more and more of their specials are exclusively for Scene members, which just annoyed me more, causing me to shop there even less.  

Well, the first time I was checking out at that grocery store after getting the VISA card, when the clerk asked if I’ve got a Scene card, I wasn’t sure which she meant so I pulled out both cards. She scanned the Scene “member” card and asked if I would be paying with the Scene VISA card. I said yes, but I asked why I have two different cards. She explained that you get more rewards if I you scan the Scene member card and then pay with the Scene VISA card. Ok – whatever, is what I thought. 

The next time at that grocery store I was buying a $13.00 rotisserie chicken. After swiping my Scene member card the clerk said, “Oh, you have $10 in Scene points – do you want to use them?” I did and so my bill was reduced to $3.00. Wow, I thought… The same thing happened to me the next two times I shopped there. Most recently I was stocking up on coffee (using a rain check from a prior sale) and a few other things and my total bill was about $55. After swiping the Scene member card, I was invited to redeem $50 of Scene points! Jeez… Since I got the credit card and signed up for Scene membership, I’ve saved $90 on groceries. (I suspect these benefits might be some sort of sign-up bonus I wasn’t aware of.) 

I find these lavish windfalls troubling. Though I don’t mind saving money – these rewards come at a cost to all of that store’s customers. The high cost of groceries has been in the news a lot here. Earlier in the year grocery CEOs were called to testify about their business practices – everything from questions about price fixing to squeezing suppliers for better margins. The end result was the grocers agreeing to a code of conduct for fair and ethical dealing with respect to producers and suppliers.  

But, the grocers weren’t asked about the impact on overall grocery prices of special deals only certain customers can take advantage of. For example, it’s quite common these days for sale prices to apply only if you purchase multiple units of a given item. I get that such “deals” drive increased purchases, but they end up penalizing people who don’t have the money to make multiple purchases. Similarly, not everyone has enough income to qualify for special credit cards that offer cash-off bonuses, like that VISA card. 

At a time when food insecurity is at a crisis level – one in10 Torontonians rely on food banks to make ends meet – I would rather have grocers drop prices by a nickel across the board, instead of favouring certain shoppers or shopping habits. That would be fairer and better for all, I think. Meanwhile, to compensate for the “free” groceries I’ve received through the Scene program, I’ve donated the equivalent to the food bank. This small gesture, however, is just that – a gesture. Donations to food banks are a short-term solution. We need to raise our voices and urge grocers to treat all shoppers equally. In the end, society would be better off… 

© 2024 Ingrid Sapona

On being ... a delicious dilemma (or ode to a peach)

By Ingrid Sapona 

A couple weeks ago I was at a restaurant with a friend and the seasonal salad featured peaches. It seemed early to us for peaches, but the restaurant was at a winery and it wouldn’t surprise me if they had their own peach trees. So, we decided to give it a try. Well, the salad was delicious! It was the perfect combination of salad greens, red onion, julienned red pepper, feta, lightly curried, candied pecans, grilled fresh peaches, and the perfect maple vinaigrette. 

Enthusiastic about this season’s crop, we stopped at a nearby farm stand to take some peaches home. Since they were the first of the season, I figured they probably weren’t freestone, but that was ok. (For non-peach-o-philes: freestone peaches, of which red havens are my favourite, have pits that release from the peach with the merest tug. Red havens are extra special because the peach flesh left behind when you pop the pit out is a lovely red that makes the peach look even more inviting.) 

The next day, as I washed the peaches, my thoughts returned to that salad. Did I have the ingredients on hand? Might I be able to reproduce it? Peaches: check. Greens, red onion, red pepper, feta: check. All I needed was a recipe for curried, candied pecans and maple vinaigrette. A quick Google search turned up a few options for both and my pantry had the necessary ingredients for those too. 

I was torn. Even though the winery restaurant wasn’t a fancy place, I’m well aware of the problems with trying to recreate a dish I’ve enjoyed at a restaurant. The risk is disappointment because I’ll never get it quite the same as the one they served. For example, I know I tend to be heavy handed when adding nuts and cheese to salads. (I love nuts AND cheese and sometimes it seems – in my salads – that greens are primarily a nut and cheese delivery device.) And even if I make a real effort to be more judicious with the nuts and cheese, who’s to say the recipe I use for the candied nuts will be spicy enough and sweet enough – rather than too spicy or too sweet? 

But those reasons for not trying to make the peach salad aren’t the only obstacle. The hurdle I confront when I consider cooking with fabulous local fruit is the reality that I find it just as satisfying eating the fruit qua fruit. Or, to put it another way: it seems a waste to relegate the perfect peach to a mere salad ingredient when it’s delicious on its own. 

I have the same issue every time I see recipes that call for watermelon. Nothing says summer to me better than a cold piece of sweet, juicy watermelon. If you peak in my frig in late summer, I guarantee you’ll see the better part of an entire shelf given over to watermelon (cut or waiting to be cut). Given my love for watermelon – and the fact that unlike other fruit that’s grown elsewhere at different times of the year and then shipped so that we treat then as basically season-less – I can never bring myself to use it as an ingredient. Yes, I agree there’s something magic about feta with watermelon and a hint of mint – but… Honestly, if the watermelon’s sweet and ripe and cold – leave the mint for a mojito and the feta for a charcuterie board and pass me a chunk of the watermelon! 

Don’t misunderstand – there are plenty ways I happily cook with fruit. I gladly add apples to salads, or use them for applesauce to serve with pork dishes. I’m happy to add blueberries and bananas to pancakes, and to use mango for a chutney for sandwiches or burgers. And of course, fruit is the star of many wonderful desserts I love making. But in all these examples, the other ingredients you’re combining the fruit with (especially sugar, butter, and eggs in the case of many desserts) kind of transform the fruit. In those cases, it almost doesn’t matter if the fruit is fresh and in season.  

Ultimately, I decided not to try to recreate the restaurant peach salad. The curried, candied pecans were an important ingredient and I just didn’t think any of the recipes I’d found for making them seemed right. But, because peach season is here, the New York Times that week ran a bunch of recipes featuring peaches. One of them caught my eye: Tomato and Peach Salad with Whipped Goat Cheese (by Alexa Weibel).  In reviewing the recipe, I realized I had all the ingredients. And, since I didn’t have a pre-conceived idea of what the dish should taste like, the risk of disappointment was less. So, I decided to sacrifice, er, use a few of the precious peaches to try it. Well, I’m thrilled – and, if I’m honest, relieved – to report that it was fantastic! Absolutely worth the peaches and something I will no doubt make again before the last of the local peaches are gone. 

Ah, the summer. Flavourful and fleeting … Enjoy all of it, however you will… 

© 2024 Ingrid Sapona

On being ... cringe-inducing

By Ingrid Sapona 

I’ve written before about being a news junky. And with so much turmoil in the world right now, I sometimes find it hard to control my fear and anxiety. Tuning out has never worked for me because I think if everyone simply tuned out, things would be even worse. (I have to believe that most people behave at least a bit better if they think others are paying attention.) 

So, I’ve been thinking about ways of managing my anxiety about different news stories. One way is to remind myself that it’s ok to see things as gray and that I don’t have to come out one way or another on every issue or story. There’s a lot of talk about the fact that we live in a polarized time. Well – that’s because so many people seem to feel they have to stand on one side or the other. There are a few things I do end up coming down firmly on one side of, but it seldom is an automatic process. I try to sorting through the facts, and then identify my beliefs, my concerns, and my emotions. 

I also try to separate out different aspects of a story and try to identify exactly how different parts of it make me feel. In other words, I try to separate out the different shades of gray. That’s how I discovered the cringe factor. I categorize cringe-inducing things as stuff that produces an uneasy feeling in my stomach. Mind you, it’s a complex feeling – often a mix of dread, frustration, and sadness. 

Take the Biden-Trump debate as an example. Like many, I found Biden’s performance worrisome. The press and punditry’s unrelenting focus on calls for Biden to pull out from the race has been distressing to me. In contrast, the complete glossing over of Trump’s lies during the debate and the moderators’ automaton-like unwillingness to deviate from their prepared list of questions ‒ rather than bother to formulate thoughtful, on-point follow-up questions ‒ left me angry. 

But Biden’s reassuring Democratic governors that he figured out the error of his ways in terms of the debate prep and that he’s come up with ways of avoid such a fiasco in the future simply made cringe. He told them he’ll get more sleep and that he’s told his staff to avoid scheduling events after 8 p.m. Oh Joe… did you have to tell anyone that? Couldn’t you just have kept that between you and your staff? Surely folks at the White House must realize the risk that some will see the need for such accommodations as further proof that Biden’s too old for office. Oh…cringe. 

The recent revelations by Alice Munro’s daughter about her sexual abuse by her step-father were disturbing. The fact that Munro knew about it and remained silent about it and stayed with the man who abused her daughter was shocking. While I’ve not heard anyone doubt the truth of the daughter’s story, some people question her motives for going public. Some think what’s in the past is past and they feel she shouldn’t have revealed the story to the public at all. Others question the timing of the news – coming so shortly after Munro’s death. They wonder whether she raised it now just to sully the Nobel laureate’s reputation. 

I’ve never read Munro so the news didn’t feel particularly personal to me. But, when I read the daughter’s account, I couldn’t help but cringe, thinking about how difficult this news will be for so many. Of course, I felt for the daughter for having been abused and for her having to live with the fact that her mother prioritized her marriage over her. I also admire the bravery of Munro’s daughter and I hope the news helps other victims realize they are not alone. But I also feel for Munro fans, as I’m sure they’re left questioning the way they interpreted and related to Munro’s stories. 

For me, recognizing a cringe reaction is useful because it’s a reminder to myself that some things can be interpreted in different ways by different people. In other words, it’s a reminder that many things are double edge swords – capable of cutting two different ways. And that reminds me that just because something may be uncomfortable doesn’t mean there’s one right way of interpreting it. And realizing that helps me remain calmer and more comfortable staying in the gray zone, rather than rushing to judgment. 

© 2024 Ingrid Sapona