recipe for a summer supper

The Okanagan Valley is currently enjoying a heat wave and I don't feel so much like cooking. Okay, I don't feel like cooking at the best of times, but this is the socially acceptable thing to say round these parts, so I'm going with it. Yesterday I was especially uninspired, and grew more so the closer the clock ticked to dinner time.

Fortunately, inspiration came home to roost. An old summer staple, from my childhood, would be just the thing - not just for a make-do meal, but a suppertime adventure.

Shady Rest is an old, British-style fish and chip shop that goes back I don't even know how far. My mum used to go there when she was a little girl, possibly on evenings when my Grandma suffered from cookers block as well.

I hadn't been in years, although I've thought about it from time to time and considered it a good idea - you know, maybe down the road.

What started as a cooking cop out turned into an occasion. Since we don't eat fish, Oliver and I headed to the supermarket to pick up some cottage cheese and beans to supplement our chips with. This, after calling Kyle to let him know we'd be picking him up from work so don't take the bus.

Our next stop was Shady Rest. From the outside it looks the same as it always did since, well, since I can remember. Inside, there were a few changes. The place has been repainted a rather passive grey (I seem to recall it being bright orange) and the big step beside the counter, which once enabled small people to peek over the edge and watch their fries - sorry, chips - being made, is gone.

However, still present is the ancient cash register - the kind you'd expect to see in an old mercantile or similar, that pops the numbers up at the top when you push the buttons. And, yes, they still use it. Ditto the old soda cooler, which I believe dates back to at least my mum's childhood days, when she would crack the top off her soda with the strategically placed bottle opener on the side.

I tried to help Oliver envision his Grandma using such a device, but he was much more interested in nicking straws from a box and trying to escape with them through a swinging oak door, probably also original to the place. So it was left to me to appreciate how he was now a third generation customer to this establishment (fourth if you count my Grandma too, but she was already grown).

Anyway, after picking Kyle up, we drove back to the park near our place, threw down a table cloth on the grass, gingerly unwrapped our booty and then saturated the battered halibut (for Kyle) and chips in salt and malt vinegar. Then we launched into our dinner.

They're not the best chips in the world (that honour goes to a little shop in Mousehole, Cornwall), although my mum would contend that their fish has it all over the British fish - not the least because they don't leave the skin on before deep frying. But it was a chance to break with the standard supper, and take a trip down memory lane at the same time. A create your own adventure, if you will. Because what's the point of summer if not that?


Wrapped the traditional way, in news print


Ready to eat

another end of an era

I got the news via email, earlier this week. The good news: The Laughing Moon, one of my favourite places to shop - especially for gifts, but also for stuff for me - was announcing a 50-80% off sale. The bad news: It's a closing out sale.

The Moon has been a cornerstone of boutique shopping in these parts for the past 14 years. From cards, stationary and artwork to clothes, jewellery, home decor and pampering beauty products, there was a time when I couldn't enter the store without buying something.

I haven't visited much lately. Not only because it's way on the other side (nay, further) of town. Part of the draw, for me, was the Laughing Moon restaurant, a funky, friendly food spot that I once frequented almost every Sunday morning for breakfast during the warmer months of the year. I'd get on my bike, and rally friends or family (especially visitors, who would often point to the ride and breakfast as the highlight of their trip) to join me. Despite being in the far reaches of town, it was a hot spot for cyclists, joggers, walkers and neighbouring residents who liked to pour over their morning paper with a side of coffee, a giant, wholesome muffin and the best fresh squeezed (think whipped) orange juice I've ever had, ever.

Before leaving, a quick peruse through the gift shop side was customary for many of us.

Sadly, the people who ran the restaurant decided to move away, and the space was taken over by a more sophisticated chef, who still has awesome breakfasts but changed everything from a casual, breakfast nook style to a more upscale, tapas bar type look that you don't feel comfortable entering first thing in the morning with riding gear.

So I found a new breakfast haunt, a little closer to home, and only visit the gift shop when I'm, well, gift shopping. Apparently, I'm not the only one. Since the new restaurant opened, about 18 months ago, business has dropped off for what remains of the Moon. And so they're closing down. *Sniff*

My one consolation is that I heard about it before hand, and was able to get one last visit in, and chance to purchase stuff at 50% off. About eight years ago, another wonderful era ended without my knowing about it and my system is still in shock.

The Gathering Room was a wonderful - dare I say perfect? - tea room I used to patronize over the course of about 10 years, before, during and after my time in England. In fact, it was so quaint and English that I never found anything as good in England itself. Anyway, after I started working full time as a freelance journalist, I didn't have as much time to wile away there. Several months went by, in fact, between visits. Then, one day, after doing an interview in the area, I thought I'd stop by for lunch. When I walked through the door, my mouth dropped open. The change was so drastic I couldn't even hide my shock/horror. The previously floral wallpapered walls were stripped bare and painted yellow - and not a fun, trendy yellow. The room was scattered with a few diner-style tables and chairs and the music, if there was any, was not a soothing harp or similar. "What-wh-where's the Gathering Room?!" I stammered at the jovial Eastern European man that darted over to greet me. Gone, he said. Replaced by his new establishment, welcome, welcome, and he ushered me to a table. I was too shocked and repelled to even resist. They didn't last long - only a couple of months, I think. But the impression they left on me will likely be eternal.

I know things can't stay the same. I know that change is supposed to be good. But every now and then there's a spot - a store, restaurant, park, little corner of the world, that should remain forever protected and unscathed. But then, I guess that's what our memories are for. Rest in peace, Laughing Moon ...

story time

Last Sunday I hosted a Listening Party. And what, you may ask, is a Listening Party?

The idea came from my friend's husband, who suggested I invite a group of friends and family over to listen to my story being read on CBC Radio 1.

The idea itself was a cool one, harking back to the 1930s and '40s, when families and friends would huddle around the old wireless in the evening, to hear their favourite show. So I jumped at the idea.

Since the show begins at noon, we invited our party over for 11:30 a.m. so we could get all the chit chat out of the way before optimum listening time. There was only one invitational catch: Those attending had to be there to listen (and not just show up for the Kylebucks panini buffet) and they had to bring a summer adventure story of their own to share. In the words of Vinyl Cafe host Stuart McLean (who read my story during the program's Story Exchange time), "they have to be true and they have to be short. After that, it's up to you."

I wasn't sure what to expect, since story telling isn't really a part of our culture anymore. Yes, we love to gossip, as well as advize, but put the spotlight on someone and say, "give me a story - GO!" nowadays, and they are more likely to pass the spotlight on to someone else. Or maybe it's just the people in my circle.

Anyway, all the adults complied with tales of 10 km hikes and camping misadventures, road trips, engagements and door-to-door salesmen. The three teens, however, were more reticent (read: adamantly against the idea). But when coaxed (okay, coerced), even they came through. My 13-year-old nephew told the story of his run-in with a crackhead named "Chopper" while busking a couple of years ago. His 15-year-old sister related a summer camp misadventure, and her friend shared a story about an embarrassing moment in a movie theatre.

They weren't highly polished or carefully plotted out or in any way ready for publication. They weren't necessarily eloquent. But they were wonderful, organic moments that wouldn't otherwise have been shared. I enjoyed it so much, I want to plan another listening party. No radio next time, but everyone brings a story with a certain theme - and maybe a potluck dish to chase it down.

The benefits, when I think about it, are myriad and go far beyond the obvious entertainment value. For young people, especially, but for older folks as well, there's a confidence boost (once you get past the shyness) of having the floor to yourself, with no one to interrupt you or change the topic or add to what you're saying or chastize you. It's different from a conversation, and develops different skills. There's also a bond that forms between story teller and listener through the course of a story. And, one of my favourite bonuses, it makes small incidences and vignettes important. Because really, they are.