Lazy Day Chicken


When I first left California, someone expressed envy. “I wish I had all the free time you do.”

It wasn’t the most sensitive thing to say. I was sick, exhausted most of the time, and my days were filled with anxiety about the future. “My ‘free time’ costs a lot,” I wanted to say, but bit back. I would have given almost anything to be healthy and run off my feet with work. What others saw as liberty was in fact a prison.

Now I have almost served my time in that prison: with rest and some discoveries, my health has improved enough that my days are starting to look more like “free time.” With the first hints of returning energy, I started to plan major projects. Now, before I go back to school, is surely the time to race through a first draft of the novel I’ve been working on. I should be reading a list of books the length of my arm. I should be writing my own cookbook. I should be sewing a new wardrobe.

I sincerely doubt any of these projects will be finished by the time September comes. One reason is that I still don’t have all my strength back. At a deeper level, I have been learning a lesson about myself: I am a person who works best with a demanding schedule. I wrote more poetry and invented more recipes while I was in school with five classes, two jobs, and rehearsals five nights a week than I have in all this sea of “free time.” I am very good at getting all my readings done in between seven hours of class and other appointments; I am not so good at filling a whole day with projects I want to do. Time is lost to daydreaming, to summer novels on the porch, to friends.


Let me rephrase that. Time is not lost to these things, it is given to them. Because somewhere inside this lesson about schedules and productivity is another lesson.

This summer, I have learned how to rest.

One part of resting has been cooking more simply. Oh, if I have friends to cook for I’ll spend an hour and a half making homemade pizza or a gluten-free pie. But most of the summer, I’ve been cooking for lazy days.

Then again, perhaps someone else is looking for something to eat on a lazy day?

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Posted in Fish and Poultry



I hadn’t thought you’d let me fall
till memory soaked the floor,
till sunset washed with measured grace
what I had loved before.

Posted in Birdsong

Strawberry-Rhubarb Breakfast Crisp


“Here, make yourself a treat.”

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Posted in Breakfasts, Snacks and Desserts

Spring Favourites


Spring has sprung! Time for a favourites list.

  • The weather’s getting warm and I’m dreaming of these Double Chocolate Crispy Frozen Dessert Bars.
  • Rhubarb on the mind: with quinoa.
  • With rosewater.
  • In pie.
  • Pie in general should be showing up with some frequency: the crust recipe from Gluten-Free Girl Every Day is magnificent. I just made apple, and am planning on blueberry lemon, peach, and cherry as the summer progresses.
  • Joy the Baker recently put up a recipe for cherry pie bars, though, which looks delicious.
  • What a lot of desserts! My savory hit-list includes Kulsum Kunwa’s chicken jalfrezi
  • And this simple frittata from Sprouted Kitchen.
  • Wishing for Joe Yonan’s book of single-serving vegetarian recipes.
  • I’ve just finished Micha Boyett’s Found—beautiful!
  • May also saw me stampeding my way through the Graceling Realm books, which I highly recommend.
Posted in Favourites

Peanut Butter Swirl Brownies


Spring has come suddenly, a last-minute sprint from a long winter into full-blown early summer. Leaves that were barely buds a week ago are stretching in the sunlight, full and lush. Daffodils and crocuses had barely a heartbeat in the spotlight before being overtaken by tulips, cherry blossoms, dandelions, magnolias.


Victoria Day this year corresponded with my sister’s birthday, meaning that I had an entire day to spend with her, unencumbered by French classes. She is twenty—twenty!—and we spent the day walking outside in the sunshine, with St. Joseph’s Oratory as our nominal destination. She hadn’t yet been to see the church, with its crutch-lined crypt and sanctuary shining with stained glass. But most of our time was spent in the garden, wandering around the stations of the cross and basking in the light.


We returned home for my attempt at a birthday cake—birthday brownies, really, and sadly far from the Nanaimo bars she’d wished for—and a viewing of The Princess Bride. “It’s still a good movie,” she declared when we were finished. “Buttercup is completely passive, and there’s other problematic things, but it’s still a good movie.”


My sister’s love for Japanese language and culture is as fierce as mine for the ancient world and its tongues, so the day ended with homemade sushi, beautiful rolls stuffed with tamagoyaki, avocado, cucumber, carrot, sesame…

Happy birthday, my sister, and I hope the year ahead is exactly as you wish.

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Posted in Snacks and Desserts



they told me the charts had gone down with the ship, no prospect of land,
our barometer falling like a gunshot swan and above all

no prospect of land. they told me the lifeboat forgot how to swim
and our oars had all snapped in the uncanny storm that went

down with the ship and fondled her deep in the velvety salt.
they told me your eyes were pearl-white and famished, your skull

unmistaken since the day ten minutes ago you forgot how to swim
like a gunshot swan, your teeth turning quickly to coral

in the uncanny salt. they told me to pray for the tolling of bells
and for radio signals not lost in the storm and for charts

borne up by dolphins and for mercy on our bruiseless souls
and some prospect of land, but the barometer plunged in the breast

of our ravishing ship and your eyes wouldn’t turn back to flesh
I hope you were borne up by dolphins and mindful of all

you forgot, but I would not lay down in the velvety salt
to cherish you, and I could not sing as your gunshot swan.

Posted in Birdsong

Best Oat Bread


It’s taken me far too long to start baking bread regularly again.

I think the biggest reason it’s taken me this long is that I desperately miss kneading. When I made sourdough bread, I looked forward each week to sprinkling flour on the table, punching down the dough, working it with my hands. Who needs a stress ball when you have bread dough? It’s a beautiful thing, a time of quiet strength and relaxation. I mourn for that time, and fantasize about building up enough of a tolerance to wheat that I can at least make bread for friends.

BeautifulCrumbI’m starting to come out of mourning, though, and consider the practical benefits of having a loaf of bread on hand. A piece of bread is the foundation of so many quick and easy meals—beautifully portable sandwiches, eggs on toast, Welsh rarebit, on and on. Then, to, the comfort of bread-making is partly the way the house fills with wonderful smells, the feeling of slicing through the barely-cooled loaf. There’s far more than kneading to love.

During one of my experiments with ingredient substitution, I stumbled upon the most lovely combination I’ve yet found, yielding a tasty, rustic brown loaf with a beautiful crumb.

So I have no excuses left.

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Posted in Bread and Grains



the day your hunger bared its frailty
salt rusted out my eyes and you were gone
tearing the crimson of your heart on thorns
sunstarved to meanness by the winter’s fist
I watched my grief refract in spiders’ eyes
and gleaned your mercy from the silent bees
until I plucked your flesh from those cruel thorns
and gave my hand to shadows and despair
then from the scrap-heap of my soul you rose
your feathers catching fire like the sea
there was no salt I could not kiss away
and weariness was sweet and sweetness praise

what if your weakness still desires food
and thorns still starve for comfort in the leaves?

Posted in Birdsong

Spreading Wings


“It’s time for a resurrection,” I said as we walked through the cold spring sunlight to church.

It’s been a long Lent—longer, in some quarters, than the church calendar would have you believe. But in the yearly miracle, in the words of one of my favourite contemporary worship songs:

He has risen from the grave (early on the third day)

You’ll find him on the road
You’ll find him at your table

For He has risen from the dead

The first of the crocuses are out—no matter that it’s almost a month later than last year—and life is starting again.

Am I waxing elliptical? Sometimes I fear that, somewhere in the balance between keeping what should be private off the internet and  writing from what I know, I veer on the side of opacity. Perhaps this is inevitable.

In the hopes of making a few lucid statements: this seems as good a moment as any to announce a few changes.

I’ve been feeling frustrated, of late, by the limitations of a cooking blog. Sometimes I go for a few weeks without making anything interesting during daylight hours. Sometimes I want to write about something that it’s difficult to relate to a specific recipe. (“While I pondered the role of women in the church, I munched on this healthful homemade granola bar!” No? Me neither.) I would like to improve my photography skills so as to be able to take pictures of things that are not indoors and perfectly still. And, as a poet and a translator, I don’t always work on things with pea soup in line 4. In short, I want to be on the road as well as at the table.

So the Kitchen Lark is going to be flitting around a bit. I’ll still be posting mostly recipes, but I’ll also touch on issues I see as I fly, literally and metaphorically, around the world. As for recipes themselves, I’m going to do my best to challenge myself a little more…requests and dares are welcome!

As for poetry, I’ve made a place for some birdsong.

And I promise to get the gluten-free butter cake right next Easter—it was a disaster for the second year running.


Posted in Adventures & Announcements

Apple-Date Baked Oatmeal


I woke early this morning to the sound of rain pattering on the window. The snow is disappearing, and there’s that early-spring mistiness to the world. The perfect morning for a more-than-usually-elaborate breakfast!

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Posted in Breakfasts