The Funky Kitchen

There’s a ring on my finger that has a neat little roll of painter’s tape wrapped around the band to help hold it in place.

This story starts last August, when Mr and I returned home from a family reunion. (I guess it really starts in January 2008 when I met a man wearing a toque who had very handsome arms, but that is a story for a different post, methinks). He had spent the day getting interrogated by various great aunts and second cousins as to why we weren’t married yet. It was interrogation (mostly) in jest, but interrogation nonetheless.

Our friend Mykola came over to the house afterward, and in response to Mr’s airing of his frustrations at having been questioned all day, Mykola asked, “Well, why aren’t you guys married yet?”

(He always knows the perfect thing to say).

Mr, in a perfectly Mr sort of way, did an about face and asked with a small measure of incredulity, “How am I supposed to get her a ring if I don’t know what size her finger is?”

Let’s just say I promptly googled how to figure out what your ring size is, and communicated that to him.

Fast forward to this spring: when he got permission to use his grandma’s ring from his mum, and aunt and uncles, he took it to get sized to the numbers I had given him. Much to his surprise, the ring was already that size!

Then he waited until the moment was right.  We cuddled together on the bed, and he sang me our song, and he asked. It was perfect. I had no idea it was coming.  Mr, as you could probably tell by all of the gleeful hopping up and down, you make me the happiest person. I love you.

In the end, either the internet lied as to how to measure your ring size or I am not very good at handling directions because the ring is too large, hence the piece of tape wrapped around the band, helping it to stay in place. I know I need to get it sized properly, but I just can’t bear the thought of taking it off just yet because it feels so right.

Here I am writing about potatoes again, I know. These are different potatoes, though, they’re very special. I made them for a potluck I went to and they got snapped up just as quick as anything. December is such a potluck filled month, at least for me, and I think these are a great idea for a sit down dinner sort of potluck. If you don’t have a potluck to take these to, I think they would also be a great addition to a certain large family dinner than might be coming up (Christmas!). If you’re looking for a side dish to add to your festive table, this might be the one for you. They’re lemony and garlicky and just so very very good. If you’re a traditionalist or have Christmas dinner already planned (if you celebrate Christmas), maybe give them a try in the new year.    You know that a potato recipe loved by someone who loves potatoes has to be a good one.

A favorite Greek restaurant of ours, Niko’s, makes the most amazing lemon roasted potatoes. These ones come very close. This batch did not come out as perfectly as normal, more blackening of the potatoes than one would like, but I think it has a lot to do with my lack of familiarity with the oven in my house. It seems to run really hot. Either way, I have made these multiple times before, and they’ve always been so very good.

Lemon Roasted Potatoes

8 large potatoes, peeled and cut into wedges (6-8 per potato)

the juice of 2 lemons

1/3 Cup olive oil

3 cloves garlic, minced

1 1/2 tsp salt

2 tsp oregano

1 tsp cracked black pepper

• Bring a large pot of salted water to a boil. Add the potatoes and cover and cook until just slightly tender (~10 minutes).
• In a bowl, or measuring cup, juice the lemons, and whisk together with the oil, garlic, salt, oregano, and pepper.
• Toss the potatoes together with the lemon mixture and then arrange them on a baking sheet.
• Roast in a 400° F oven until tender-crisp (~40 minutes) until most of the lemon mixture is absorbed or evaporated, turning once.

While on a search for our first house, the Mister and I viewed a total of 15 houses before putting in an offer on the one that is now ours. Did we buy house number 15? No. We bought house number four.

When we walked into house number four, I fell in love with all of the character and immediately started planning things. Bookshelf here… bed here… I’ll put my plates in this cupboard…

Mister and his Dad, our renovation expert/ house inspector extraordinaire, were not so sure. There is only one closet in the entire house. Some structural work would need to be done. We would need to sacrifice some of the back yard so that we could park the cars. But at the same time there was so much good going on: new furnace, new shingles, mostly new windows, and a good floor plan.

I was getting increasingly whimsy about the front porch and the french doors, planning and dreaming away; I knew that this was going to be my house. And then we decided to say no. It was so exceedingly right in many many ways, but it was just not right enough.

Our team moved on, and saw other houses. We started to see houses that were more expensive than we were hoping our house would be, but we did not fall in love or be enamoured with them either. We saw houses with all of the bedrooms in the basement, and houses with water in the basement.

We made an appointment with a foundation specialist, to go back to house number four. And he said that the house was sound (!), though there was some other work to be done.

And so, with no more further ado, I would like to introduce you to our house:

We’ve had it for two weeks; we’ve made our first payments. We don’t live there yet, as work is still being done, and we have an unexpected bathroom reno to do. But we will live there soon, and I am so excited. The house above is why August was so slow around here.

When we move in fully, though, I’m going to be straight into the kitchen, believe me. I love it’s old European feel. A friend already gave us a planter of organic basil for the window sill, and another friend made us this gorgeous cutting board out of maple and walnut wood.

This is going to be quite an adventure, hopefully it won’t be too bumpy of a ride.