Falling over.

The idea was to celebrate my birthday and the changing of the seasons with a proper fall favourite: a hearty dish combining chicken, sausages, sweet dried prunes and tart apples in a tangy sauce. The kind of thing one enjoys over buttery mashed potatoes with a salad of fall greens. While wearing a sweater.

Making whoopie.

I've been wanting to make these ever since I first heard the name: whoopie pies. Fun, right?

I've actually been eating these tasty cookie sandwiches for years. My mom made them all the time, only we didn't call them by their rightful name (which I gather is an American thing). They were just chocolate cookie sandwiches. She'd make a big batch and freeze a bunch for later consumption: I always enjoyed them most after they had been out of the freezer a bit, but weren't yet completely thawed.

Notes from the Centre of the Universe

A month later, I'm back in a kitchen. For three years in Vancouver, the kitchen was a narrow, cramped galley space with scarcely enough room to accommodate two people, making cooking a decidedly solo activity. Today, our kitchen opens up into our garishly painted living-cum-dining area. Lots more elbow room here, but getting used to a new space is tough. Nothing is where I remember it. Pots and pans and mugs are in unfamiliar spots. I open cupboards, drawers and cabinets in turn until I find what I'm after. This domestic dislocation mirrors the overall sense of confusion that comes with moving to a strange new city.  In time, I'll get used to this kitchen and this new city with its unfamiliar sounds and smells and the tides of humanity that ebb and flow down its grubby streets. In time. Just not yet.