Tomorrow night, I get to play chef at an outdoor barbecue in Glenmore Park. In preparation, one of the hosts dropped off some lamb for me to prepare. Some beautiful 4H lamb. Thirty-eight pounds of lamb. An entire lamb, more or less. Minus the identifiable bits.
It’s all cubed for kebabs, but since there will only be 20 in attendance there’s a little surplus here to play with. I thought I’d grind some up in the food processor and make lamb meatballs as a starter. Rather than do my usual feta-oregano-currants-mint medley, the bottle of tandoori spice mix I just picked up (from a friend who just started his own spice company) caught my eye, and I shook a good dose of that over the meat instead, with a few cloves of garlic and a glug of olive oil, and then pulsed it to grind the lot.
And so just to make sure it was edible, since it is technically for company, I shaped some of the meat into patties, making them a little concave in the middle so that they don’t come out all domed, and grilled them as I would any burger. The tzatziki on top ensured we would all have garlic burps for at least the next 24 hours.
Except for W, who ate frozen blueberries and leftover cold and leathery quesadillas.
(With black beans squished in with the cheese. Sucker!)
P.S.: Good News! The Hillhurst-Sunnyside Farmers’ Market is open again, every Wednesday between 3:30-7:30 until Thanksgiving! Yahoo!
P.P.S: My sister is shaving her head (bald) tomorrow for the Kids Cancer Care Foundation of Alberta. (She is a grade 6 teacher, and letting her students do the shaving.) I was just re-reading her email about it, and think it’s worth sharing:
I had the honour, recently, of visiting the Holocaust Museum in Washington, DC. As I walked through the museum, I reflected on the importance of bearing witness – on the value of seeing and knowing and empathizing, and of carrying that knowledge with me as I complete my life’s work. Leaving the museum, I was profoundly grateful never to have experienced those horrors in my own life – to have come so far without having suffered the tragedies experienced by others. Of the great many powerful images, personal accounts and words of wisdom I saw that day, one quote really resonated with me. Just at the end of the museum, there was the famous quote from Martin Niemöller which said – First they came for the Socialists, and I did not speak out — ?
Because I was not a Socialist.
Then they came for the Trade Unionists, and I did not speak out — ?
Because I was not a Trade Unionist.
Then they came for the Jews, and I did not speak out — ?
Because I was not a Jew.
Then they came for me – and there was no one left to speak for me.
Every year, the school where I teach hosts a charity head-shaving event to raise funds for cancer research and to send kids with cancer to camp. Every year I watch with pride as our brave young students step up to do their part to make a difference. I’ve never participated because my life has never been touched by cancer —
I am not a mother of a child with cancer;
I am not the daughter of a parent with cancer;
I am not the sister of a woman with cancer;
I am not the teacher of a student with cancer.
There has never been any particular reason for me to stand up to support those whose lives have been struck by the tragedy of this disease. This year, I looked at the opportunity to participate with a different perspective – I may not be a mother of a child with cancer, but I am a mother. I am a daughter. I am a sister and I am a teacher, and when I see the images and read the accounts of people battling this terrible disease, I know the wisdom of the saying, ‘There but for the grace of God go I’.
This year I am giving my hair in thanks – an act of gratitude for being so lucky as to have my children healthy and whole, my parents well, my sisters strong and my students thriving. It is my way of bearing witness to the suffering of others and to stand up, in some small way, to make things a little better. Just because I can. How fortunate am I?
One Year Ago: Roasted Chicken and Potatoes