Today I made another of my favourite "wishing I were in Mexico" soups. This one is even easier than Tortilla soup, and the ingredients are here most of the year, and in Mexico always. The whole thing takes about 20 minutes to create, and has a citrusy, sweet-with-a-kick taste that exemplifies Mexican flavours to me. We have it cold in the summer, with guacamole and tortilla chips, or hot with corn on the cob. In the winter, it's good hot, with chicken thighs baked with cilantro pesto under the skin. Yum.
Red Pepper Soup with Lime
Ingredients:
1 large onion, chopped
4 red bell peppers (or orange, or yellow)
1 tsp olive oil
1 clove garlic, crushed
1 jalapeno, seeded and minced or 1 small red chili pepper, sliced (if you don't have these on hand, a couple or ten drops of hot sauce does the trick)
3 tbs tomato paste (or carrot or squash puree, see below)
1 litre / quart chicken stock
1 lime, juiced
lime zest
salt, black pepper to taste
cilantro leaves for garnish
yoghurt for garnish.
Instructions:
Soften the onion and peppers in the olive oil in a pan. Allow them to sweat for 5 minutes or more in a covered pot.
Remove the pepper skins. My method is to press the peppers through a sieve, making sure to get all of the pulp, but leaving behind the skins. Another method is to leave the peppers in bigger chunks (and sweat them longer) in the first place, and peel the skin off in biggish strips when they cool slightly.
Add tomato paste, chili pepper (or jalepeno), garlic and 1/2 the stock. Simmer for 10 minutes.
Puree the mixture (I use one of those stick-type blenders, right in the pot), and add the rest of the stock and lime juice.
Season with salt and pepper.
Return the soup to the boil. When hot, serve with garnishes.
Variation:
Use yellow pepper or orange pepper, and substitute mashed carrots or squash (or a can of babyfood) for the tomato paste to get a sunshine yellow coloured soup.
This soup is also great served cold.
Sunday, September 30, 2007
Tuesday, September 25, 2007
a desk of one's own
Well, my Spanish class is well and truly underway.
Three mornings a week I get up with Rob and head out in the dawn's early light in his car to M university, where he heads off to work in the Printing Department, and I head off to B106 and my class.
I can't believe I registered for a course that has me drinking coffee and trudging to a classroom before eight a.m. I thought, once I retired, in the unlikely event I'd see the sun rise, it would be at the end of a particularly good party, just as God intended. And yet, fully voluntarily, I've rejoined the bedheaded and sleepyeyed shuffling around campus at 7:30 in the ay em.
Of course, these are the people who work on campus. No self respecting student would be doing the morning sudoku and sipping Tim Horton's in the cafeteria before classes begin at 8:30. Most of them drop blearily behind their desks just before the professor enters, or half trip over knapsacks as they slide, not-so-discreetly, to their places several minutes after class begins.
Speaking of those desks, I cannot believe how uncomfortable they are. My class has the kind that are a combination of a fold-out bridge chair and the little swing up eating surfaces you sometimes get stuck with on a plane if you are in the front (economy class) seats. They have just enough surface to hold a complimentary cocktail, but certainly not the notebook, textbook and dictionary I need to get me through the lecture. In addition, they all swing open from the right side, which leaves this southpaw twisted around for 50 minutes, trying to record the palabras of wisdom coming from the prof. When I last needed these desks, thirty five years ago, I used to commandeer two: one to sit in, and one to place to my left, to write on. However, the closet to which our class is relegated has thirty desks squeezed--nay, poured--into it, and on most days except Monday, all of the desks are fully (if not energetically) embodied.
Of course, the body I inhabit now is not as flexible, adaptable, or, let's face it, thin as the one I had when I was an undergraduate. None of the others in the class seem unduly put out sitting through the hour, as I hold in my gut for 50 minutes, and wish I'd made a chiropractic appointment during long sprints of writing. I've grown used to 'airplane seat' anxiety: wondering just how small the seats on our economy flights might end up being on a given trip, and how likely it might be that my seatmate would let me raise the armrest between us. (Yet another endorsement for marriage: I'm quite sure implicit in the vows we made was the acknowledgement that the armrest was allowed to be up on all international flights.) It never occurred to me, however, that I, or my derriere, might outgrow those stupid lecture chairs in the many years since I last used them.
Not to worry, though. We had our first test earlier this week, and judging from the face of the ...um... less scholastically-inclined freshman who sits to my left when our results were returned, I may be able to spread out, literally and figuratively, in the near future. I'm told the deadline to drop courses is next week. I noticed him circling his calendar.
Three mornings a week I get up with Rob and head out in the dawn's early light in his car to M university, where he heads off to work in the Printing Department, and I head off to B106 and my class.
I can't believe I registered for a course that has me drinking coffee and trudging to a classroom before eight a.m. I thought, once I retired, in the unlikely event I'd see the sun rise, it would be at the end of a particularly good party, just as God intended. And yet, fully voluntarily, I've rejoined the bedheaded and sleepyeyed shuffling around campus at 7:30 in the ay em.
Of course, these are the people who work on campus. No self respecting student would be doing the morning sudoku and sipping Tim Horton's in the cafeteria before classes begin at 8:30. Most of them drop blearily behind their desks just before the professor enters, or half trip over knapsacks as they slide, not-so-discreetly, to their places several minutes after class begins.
Speaking of those desks, I cannot believe how uncomfortable they are. My class has the kind that are a combination of a fold-out bridge chair and the little swing up eating surfaces you sometimes get stuck with on a plane if you are in the front (economy class) seats. They have just enough surface to hold a complimentary cocktail, but certainly not the notebook, textbook and dictionary I need to get me through the lecture. In addition, they all swing open from the right side, which leaves this southpaw twisted around for 50 minutes, trying to record the palabras of wisdom coming from the prof. When I last needed these desks, thirty five years ago, I used to commandeer two: one to sit in, and one to place to my left, to write on. However, the closet to which our class is relegated has thirty desks squeezed--nay, poured--into it, and on most days except Monday, all of the desks are fully (if not energetically) embodied.
Of course, the body I inhabit now is not as flexible, adaptable, or, let's face it, thin as the one I had when I was an undergraduate. None of the others in the class seem unduly put out sitting through the hour, as I hold in my gut for 50 minutes, and wish I'd made a chiropractic appointment during long sprints of writing. I've grown used to 'airplane seat' anxiety: wondering just how small the seats on our economy flights might end up being on a given trip, and how likely it might be that my seatmate would let me raise the armrest between us. (Yet another endorsement for marriage: I'm quite sure implicit in the vows we made was the acknowledgement that the armrest was allowed to be up on all international flights.) It never occurred to me, however, that I, or my derriere, might outgrow those stupid lecture chairs in the many years since I last used them.
Not to worry, though. We had our first test earlier this week, and judging from the face of the ...um... less scholastically-inclined freshman who sits to my left when our results were returned, I may be able to spread out, literally and figuratively, in the near future. I'm told the deadline to drop courses is next week. I noticed him circling his calendar.
Thursday, September 20, 2007
shabby chic
Because we rent out our house while we're not yet there fulltime, we've had to equip it with all kinds of kitchen items, linens, and some decorative touches, to make the place comfortable for our renters. Naturally, we've been careful to make these items, while hopefully attractive, serviceable and inexpensive, so we won't be too concerned if they get damaged or accidentally misused.
I enjoyed our blitz shopping at Soriana's and the consignment bazaars when we were down in January, picking up items to stock a kitchen, working at color co-ordinating everything, but doing it as inexpensively as possible. The result was a place that, in my opinion, looks quite 'put together', but which is more rustico than designer chic.
Rob would have been pleased had I equipped all of the house that way, but to me the fun is in acquiring items that co-ordinate on a budget, and unfortunately, that meant that I bought about as many items up here to take down with us on the plane, as I bought down there. Now some of the purchases were very sensible, such as linens. Although there are quite a few sheet sets and towel sets to be had Lakeside (we haven't yet ventured into Costco and Walmart in Guadalajara), and although I'm told that they wear like iron, the samples we saw when we were down were a little stingy on the thread count, and a little eccentric in pattern. I was able to give Rob my best "see?" expression when I pulled out of our suitcase a couple of sets of sheets from our linen closet at home (giving me a chance to buy some new ones for NoB), and the two towels I packed were very useful until we had a chance to supplement them with Soriana supplies a couple of days into our trip.
Even the pillows that I crammed into our case made some kind of sense. Yes, we bought more at Soriana's, but that first night, after a day of paperwork with the notario and real estate agents, our two 'from home' pillows were very welcome. We finished the bedding with 'cheap and cheerful' comforters from Soriana's, and a good night's sleep was ours. I admit the cutlery that I packed was probably unnecessary, and Rob was, in fact, right, and, Mexicanos do use knives and forks and they are easily obtainable Lakeside... but we had the extra set at home anyway, and they didn't take up much room.
Rob jokes about that line. Everytime I look at something in our house in Canada, and decide it would be useful in Riberas, I put it aside for the next trip and say, "It won't take up much room." So far, taking up virtually no space at all in our suitcase for the next trip, are a colandar, teatowels, a spice rack, a vase, and a clock radio. I've even minimized the space situation further by buying some of those bags that you fill with clothing and linens, attach to your vacuum cleaner, and watch while, miraculously, all of the items shrink to one tenth of their size for packing. When I demonstrated this gadget to Rob, stuffing a huge bag with pillows, towels, sheets and a shower curtain, and turning on the vacuum to watch everything turn into a pancake-thick slab that would fit in the bottom of our suitcase, I thought he'd be thrilled. Instead, he pointed out to me that, although they actually didn't "take up much room" , they lost mass but not weight, and the suitcase is in closer-than-imminent danger of going over weight limits. His, as well as the airline's.
He has reason to be concerned over this. When we went down in January to take possession of the house and set it up for the first time, I had a flurry of buying and acquiring items for us and our houseguests to take down. All fit into the suitcases we took, except for the dishes. I found a real bargain in a set of dishes at the local Canadian Tire store, in the perfect colours, in very sturdy ironware, at a truly remarkable price. I rationalized that we wouldn't find anything cheaper in Mexico, that we needed dishes immediately upon crossing the threshhold of the place, and that they 'wouldn't take up much room'.
Well, they did. And they were heavy. So poor Rob ended up wrapping duct tape around the box, creating a strap, and shouldering the dinner set for four as his carry-on luggage through 4 airports and three flights, so my cheap-and-cheerful kitchen would co-ordinate. That guy must really love me, you know?
I enjoyed our blitz shopping at Soriana's and the consignment bazaars when we were down in January, picking up items to stock a kitchen, working at color co-ordinating everything, but doing it as inexpensively as possible. The result was a place that, in my opinion, looks quite 'put together', but which is more rustico than designer chic.
Rob would have been pleased had I equipped all of the house that way, but to me the fun is in acquiring items that co-ordinate on a budget, and unfortunately, that meant that I bought about as many items up here to take down with us on the plane, as I bought down there. Now some of the purchases were very sensible, such as linens. Although there are quite a few sheet sets and towel sets to be had Lakeside (we haven't yet ventured into Costco and Walmart in Guadalajara), and although I'm told that they wear like iron, the samples we saw when we were down were a little stingy on the thread count, and a little eccentric in pattern. I was able to give Rob my best "see?" expression when I pulled out of our suitcase a couple of sets of sheets from our linen closet at home (giving me a chance to buy some new ones for NoB), and the two towels I packed were very useful until we had a chance to supplement them with Soriana supplies a couple of days into our trip.
Even the pillows that I crammed into our case made some kind of sense. Yes, we bought more at Soriana's, but that first night, after a day of paperwork with the notario and real estate agents, our two 'from home' pillows were very welcome. We finished the bedding with 'cheap and cheerful' comforters from Soriana's, and a good night's sleep was ours. I admit the cutlery that I packed was probably unnecessary, and Rob was, in fact, right, and, Mexicanos do use knives and forks and they are easily obtainable Lakeside... but we had the extra set at home anyway, and they didn't take up much room.
Rob jokes about that line. Everytime I look at something in our house in Canada, and decide it would be useful in Riberas, I put it aside for the next trip and say, "It won't take up much room." So far, taking up virtually no space at all in our suitcase for the next trip, are a colandar, teatowels, a spice rack, a vase, and a clock radio. I've even minimized the space situation further by buying some of those bags that you fill with clothing and linens, attach to your vacuum cleaner, and watch while, miraculously, all of the items shrink to one tenth of their size for packing. When I demonstrated this gadget to Rob, stuffing a huge bag with pillows, towels, sheets and a shower curtain, and turning on the vacuum to watch everything turn into a pancake-thick slab that would fit in the bottom of our suitcase, I thought he'd be thrilled. Instead, he pointed out to me that, although they actually didn't "take up much room" , they lost mass but not weight, and the suitcase is in closer-than-imminent danger of going over weight limits. His, as well as the airline's.
He has reason to be concerned over this. When we went down in January to take possession of the house and set it up for the first time, I had a flurry of buying and acquiring items for us and our houseguests to take down. All fit into the suitcases we took, except for the dishes. I found a real bargain in a set of dishes at the local Canadian Tire store, in the perfect colours, in very sturdy ironware, at a truly remarkable price. I rationalized that we wouldn't find anything cheaper in Mexico, that we needed dishes immediately upon crossing the threshhold of the place, and that they 'wouldn't take up much room'.
Well, they did. And they were heavy. So poor Rob ended up wrapping duct tape around the box, creating a strap, and shouldering the dinner set for four as his carry-on luggage through 4 airports and three flights, so my cheap-and-cheerful kitchen would co-ordinate. That guy must really love me, you know?
Saturday, September 8, 2007
Yes, Ms P.
I've been thinking quite a bit about teaching in the last few days. I have just started my Spanish course (yes! for anyone who has been following my adventures, I did, in fact, get into the Spanish course offered at our local university, and started my class on Friday). I enjoy watching the professor teach the class. As a retired high school teacher, I find watching teachers at work incredibly interesting; it's amazing how many do a good job at it, but how few excel.
When I was a teacher, I used to mentor student teachers fairly regularly, and it only took a day or so to determine whether or not a particular student had 'it' and would not only survive the classroom, but actually motivate and excite students. Most student teachers knew their material well enough, and lots of them had enough presence to keep their students, who generally only want their teachers to do well, engaged. What too few of them had was the imagination and organizing ability keep individual lessons interesting and the course focussed.
I use the term 'organizing ability' with some care. Anyone who knows me even slightly knows that I am not an organized person. I forget important dates, run out of kitchen staples, miss deadlines, lose keys, (and have been, since childhood, in imminent danger of losing my head if it weren't screwed on, according to my mother--quite the omen, when you think about it). But I do have the apparently rare ability to organize. I can break a project down into manageable components, or, on the other hand, see the several possible repercussions of a decision, when others don't. I'm the one who asks the question that goes to the heart of the matter, or the one who summarizes the seemingly random discussion of the past hour. ("So, what we're saying is..."). I'm good at the big picture, and am pretty able at seeing how to achieve it. It's a major reason why I've been successful in directing theatrical productions, and why I tend to be elected chair of things. A lot.
I used that ability in the classroom throughout my career. Designing curricula was one of my favourite parts of teaching: selecting the material, determining suitable and varied methodology to excite and motivate, working out appropriate assessment...jargon phrases for finding ways to get students to learn particular stuff. I found the problem-solving interesting, and I was often rewarded by seeing one of my lesson plans, or assignment sheets, or tests, having circulated around the department and the school, ending up being used, and shown to me, by a teacher somewhere else, unaware that the material was 'mine'.
Don't get me wrong; I had lots and lots of faults as a teacher, too. I sometimes moved too quickly: I could see where my students were going, and I too often jumped in instead of letting them get there on their own. I used humour in the classroom, but it was sometimes too dry, and (I'm sorry to say) sometimes bordered on sarcasm. I wasn't as open to my students as some other teachers were; I think I scared some less-secure students away. I know that I influenced and motivated some students (and deeply cherish the notes and cards I've received over the years) but I'm sure I alienated others.
I've always felt that students need to have all kinds of teachers in their academic career: those they get along with and those they don't; those that are 'easy' and those that are 'hard'. Those that are personable, and those that are more reserved. From one teacher we might get motivated by the material; from another, by the force of his or her personality; we might have to work at learning in spite of a third.
I was lurking around the webboards about Lakeside that I frequent lately, and saw a plea from one person looking for volunteers to teach ESL to Mexican children and adults. The writer pointed out that she had had no experience teaching before she volunteered, but that she found the experience incredibly rewarding. She was exhorting others to give it a try. I emailed her back; I'm going to see what I can do to help in the short time Rob and I will be down in December, and I fully intend to do more when we're down for longer periods in three years.
I guess it's in the blood. The Jesuits said, "Give me a child at an impressionable age, and he's mine for life." I think, "Once a teacher, always a teacher." Ask Rob. He often smiles, indulgently, and says, "Yes, Ms P" when I find myself using the 'teacher' voice on him. But, you know what? It works.
When I was a teacher, I used to mentor student teachers fairly regularly, and it only took a day or so to determine whether or not a particular student had 'it' and would not only survive the classroom, but actually motivate and excite students. Most student teachers knew their material well enough, and lots of them had enough presence to keep their students, who generally only want their teachers to do well, engaged. What too few of them had was the imagination and organizing ability keep individual lessons interesting and the course focussed.
I use the term 'organizing ability' with some care. Anyone who knows me even slightly knows that I am not an organized person. I forget important dates, run out of kitchen staples, miss deadlines, lose keys, (and have been, since childhood, in imminent danger of losing my head if it weren't screwed on, according to my mother--quite the omen, when you think about it). But I do have the apparently rare ability to organize. I can break a project down into manageable components, or, on the other hand, see the several possible repercussions of a decision, when others don't. I'm the one who asks the question that goes to the heart of the matter, or the one who summarizes the seemingly random discussion of the past hour. ("So, what we're saying is..."). I'm good at the big picture, and am pretty able at seeing how to achieve it. It's a major reason why I've been successful in directing theatrical productions, and why I tend to be elected chair of things. A lot.
I used that ability in the classroom throughout my career. Designing curricula was one of my favourite parts of teaching: selecting the material, determining suitable and varied methodology to excite and motivate, working out appropriate assessment...jargon phrases for finding ways to get students to learn particular stuff. I found the problem-solving interesting, and I was often rewarded by seeing one of my lesson plans, or assignment sheets, or tests, having circulated around the department and the school, ending up being used, and shown to me, by a teacher somewhere else, unaware that the material was 'mine'.
Don't get me wrong; I had lots and lots of faults as a teacher, too. I sometimes moved too quickly: I could see where my students were going, and I too often jumped in instead of letting them get there on their own. I used humour in the classroom, but it was sometimes too dry, and (I'm sorry to say) sometimes bordered on sarcasm. I wasn't as open to my students as some other teachers were; I think I scared some less-secure students away. I know that I influenced and motivated some students (and deeply cherish the notes and cards I've received over the years) but I'm sure I alienated others.
I've always felt that students need to have all kinds of teachers in their academic career: those they get along with and those they don't; those that are 'easy' and those that are 'hard'. Those that are personable, and those that are more reserved. From one teacher we might get motivated by the material; from another, by the force of his or her personality; we might have to work at learning in spite of a third.
I was lurking around the webboards about Lakeside that I frequent lately, and saw a plea from one person looking for volunteers to teach ESL to Mexican children and adults. The writer pointed out that she had had no experience teaching before she volunteered, but that she found the experience incredibly rewarding. She was exhorting others to give it a try. I emailed her back; I'm going to see what I can do to help in the short time Rob and I will be down in December, and I fully intend to do more when we're down for longer periods in three years.
I guess it's in the blood. The Jesuits said, "Give me a child at an impressionable age, and he's mine for life." I think, "Once a teacher, always a teacher." Ask Rob. He often smiles, indulgently, and says, "Yes, Ms P" when I find myself using the 'teacher' voice on him. But, you know what? It works.
Tuesday, September 4, 2007
se renta
While we both wait not-so-patiently for Rob's retirement date in three years, we rent out our casa to others through a rental agency in Mexico. So far, in the nine months since we have owned the house, we've had two renters, for a total of six months.
We know nothing about these people, as they found our house online or through ads sponsored by the rental agency, and all the financial and other dealings go through it. It's an interesting thing to speculate about who is in your house, and what they think about it, but we will never know, except for some incidental feedback from the agent ("the lady really likes the gardens, and has bought some more plants for it while she stays there"). We know that the agency checks them out to ensure that they care for the property, and takes a healthy deposit to ensure that they can pay for whatever bills they incure. Other than that, we really don't know.
We could find out more if we asked the agent, perhaps. Rob speculates that he'd like to have some contact with them; he'd like to know if there are things they don't like that we could correct, and he'd like to know if they are happy with the service the agency is providing. Perhaps he's right, but I rather like being at arms length in some ways: I know the place is occupied and being looked after, which is the main purpose of the exercise, and I don't have to think too hard about what the people are up to in our home.
Rob may soon get his wish. While I was looking at one of the message boards for our area, I came upon a posting for someone wishing to rent in our area for about one year, starting mid September. Our house seemed to fit their requirements, so I took a chance, emailed them about it, and, based on their reply, sent them pictures and some information.
Although I made it clear that they would have to deal with the agent, and they were happy to do so, having our email address, (and us having theirs), made it easy for them to ask about a number of details the other renters would not have been able to enquire about, and very easy for us to answer, provide more photos, etc. They learned more about us, as a result, and we learned a number of things about them. We've decided to let them rent for one month in September, check out the house and neighbourhood, and if they like it, rent for the longer term.
What's causing them to hold back a little, is that we'd already made arrangements to go down to our house in December. When we bought, the agent assured us that we could come down periodically during the next three years, and if someone wanted to rent our house, they would provide them with somewhere else to stay during the time we were using the property. That is what will happen in this case, if these people want the place for the long term.
It sounded really sensible in the abstract, but it is a little strange for both renters and us if it does happen. They will just get nicely settled, and feeling that the place is 'theirs' for two months, when they will have to temporarily move to another location. We will come down to our own home, but there will likely be evidence of these other people around when we do. In some ways we'll feel a bit like we're the renters in 'their' home. There are a number of things we plan to do while we are down for the month of December, such as painting the master bedroom, buying better lawn furniture, and decorating one of the bathrooms, so when they come back to the house in January, they'll find it rather different from when they left. I'll kind of want to know if they like it.
Perhaps I'll ask the rental agent to find out.
We know nothing about these people, as they found our house online or through ads sponsored by the rental agency, and all the financial and other dealings go through it. It's an interesting thing to speculate about who is in your house, and what they think about it, but we will never know, except for some incidental feedback from the agent ("the lady really likes the gardens, and has bought some more plants for it while she stays there"). We know that the agency checks them out to ensure that they care for the property, and takes a healthy deposit to ensure that they can pay for whatever bills they incure. Other than that, we really don't know.
We could find out more if we asked the agent, perhaps. Rob speculates that he'd like to have some contact with them; he'd like to know if there are things they don't like that we could correct, and he'd like to know if they are happy with the service the agency is providing. Perhaps he's right, but I rather like being at arms length in some ways: I know the place is occupied and being looked after, which is the main purpose of the exercise, and I don't have to think too hard about what the people are up to in our home.
Rob may soon get his wish. While I was looking at one of the message boards for our area, I came upon a posting for someone wishing to rent in our area for about one year, starting mid September. Our house seemed to fit their requirements, so I took a chance, emailed them about it, and, based on their reply, sent them pictures and some information.
Although I made it clear that they would have to deal with the agent, and they were happy to do so, having our email address, (and us having theirs), made it easy for them to ask about a number of details the other renters would not have been able to enquire about, and very easy for us to answer, provide more photos, etc. They learned more about us, as a result, and we learned a number of things about them. We've decided to let them rent for one month in September, check out the house and neighbourhood, and if they like it, rent for the longer term.
What's causing them to hold back a little, is that we'd already made arrangements to go down to our house in December. When we bought, the agent assured us that we could come down periodically during the next three years, and if someone wanted to rent our house, they would provide them with somewhere else to stay during the time we were using the property. That is what will happen in this case, if these people want the place for the long term.
It sounded really sensible in the abstract, but it is a little strange for both renters and us if it does happen. They will just get nicely settled, and feeling that the place is 'theirs' for two months, when they will have to temporarily move to another location. We will come down to our own home, but there will likely be evidence of these other people around when we do. In some ways we'll feel a bit like we're the renters in 'their' home. There are a number of things we plan to do while we are down for the month of December, such as painting the master bedroom, buying better lawn furniture, and decorating one of the bathrooms, so when they come back to the house in January, they'll find it rather different from when they left. I'll kind of want to know if they like it.
Perhaps I'll ask the rental agent to find out.
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