Things to do, places to go:

It’s the fourth of July!
See the Sturgis Motorcycle Museum
Join a family for fireworks and a BBQ

Challenge:
Try shopping at the Sturgis Dakotamart

This morning, we wake and I have a plan.

“Here Jake, take this,” I thrust a box of Multi-grain Cheerios at him. “You can have these for breakfast instead of the toast.” Jake grins with delight.

“Really? I was wanting to have some. Cool!” He clutches the box and as the elevator door closes, Hubs looks at us in disbelief.

“You’re not going to…isn’t that a bit…tacky?” Hubs shakes his head.

“Hey, anything for Food Revolution. These have no high fructose corn syrup. Just be discreet about, okay Jake? Like hide the box under the table or something.”

Jake nods, clutches his box like it’s a precious commodity, and practically skips to the breakfast bar. This time, it’s a teeny bit better. There are hard boiled eggs, which I enjoy and don’t look processed. As we fix ourselves breakfast, I watch people. A woman is sitting across from us with a can of Mountain Dew while she watches her kids eat donuts, and another family has two little girls with ribbons the color of the American flag fighting over who stole the best chair, and then whose yogurt is a better flavor. Jake happily downs his bowl of cereal and for a minute, I feel a little better about breakfast. At least HE ate something really healthy. I’m not sure if my sorta-wheat-bread really was any good for me.

The plan to to drive out to Custer and say hello to the owners of Scott’s Rock Shop. We went on a rock hounding tour with them last year and loved it so much that we returned, hoping to go on another one. Unfortunately, this year we were out of luck. Not only were no tours running, but Alan was really busy and unable to take us out.

The bonus? We were invited back that evening to watch the fireworks with his family at the best seats in the house-their backyard. How does it get any better than that? We were stoked.

Next on the plan was to visit the Sturgis Motorcycle Museum. We wandered through the old machines, Hubs and Jake talking mechanics and engines while I just looked at the nice paint jobs. Honestly, I have no interest in how they work, I just like being a passenger on one. The museum is pretty cool though and I highly recommend it if you are passing through town.

Finally, we decided to visit a grocery store and pick up things to eat for lunches. Our hotel room had a fridge and we fully intended to use it. Shopping in the USA has to be just like Canada, right? We’re not THAT different.

Right.

First challenge was bread. Do you have any idea how hard it is to find bread that is whole wheat and has no high fructose corn syrup? It’s hard. As in, search every stupid brand of bread until you want to toss one across the store in frustration hard. Finally I found a loaf of Wheat Montana Healthy Loaf bread, which was the ONLY one in the store that fit my criteria. And cost about $4. OUCH.

Next was tortillas for wraps. The only kind I could find were Mission 10″ large flour tortillas, which looked okay until I read the label. 630 mg of sodium in ONE freaking tortilla? Are they joking? Wait, there’s 8″ whole wheat ones. 460 mg? What the hell are they doing, dipping these babies in salt?

I ended up settling for some other brand I’ve never heard of that still had more sodium than I liked, but not quite THAT much.

Milk wasn’t quite so hard. Land O’Lakes looked good, and it was easy to find the 1% so we put one in the basket. We fill the basket with gourmet mustard, avocado, red pepper, grapes, apricots, cherry tomatoes, sprouts, carrots, a bear shaped container of honey, and bananas. Cheese was CRAZY cheap at only $1.50 for a good sized package that easily would have cost $5 here at home. Jake couldn’t believe our good fortune, and suddenly the cheese became the highlight of the day as he picked out a block of pepper jack and one of colby/jack mixed. Yum!

Things became confusing at the deli counter.

“Um, I’ll have 300 grams of roast turkey meat, please.”

The girl looked at me like I just ordered something completely foreign.

“Excuse me? Grams? We sell the meat by the ounce or by the pound.”

Oh, crap. Pounds, Okay, what’s 300 in pounds? Never mind. 250 grams? Is that…half a pound? Wait, around 500 grams is a pound but I want more than 250, so 350? Is that 3/4 of a pound? What about ounces? Isn’t 8 a pound, and 4 a half a pound, which would be 250 grams, or….?

“I’ll take half a pound, then.” What the hell. I never said I was good at math and this is confusing the hell out of me.

Back at the hotel I lay out the tortillas and begin filling them. First the mustard, then the turkey. I realize that I forgot my knife at home and Jake comes to the rescue with his multi-tool. The hotel desk has become my kitchen counter and I continued to stuff those tortillas with veggies, next. Shredded carrots, strips of sweet red bell pepper, slices of avocado, a bit of cheese, and a bunch of sprouts to top it off. Hubs and Jake hover, mouths watering, as I work. Roll, hand one off to them one at a time, pour some milk, sit, and eat.

“Oh my God Mom, these are SOOO good,” Jake mumbled with his mouth full. “WAY better than a restaurant. I love the sprouts, they’re sweet!”

Hubs bit into his peanut butter sandwich and sighed with contentment.

“This bread is really, really good. I’ll bet it would make great toast.”

Toast? Ah, that gives me an idea….

Weather: God awful rain storm

Food Revolution Challenge: A long, boring drive, I’m getting sick of peanut butter, the hotel computer has no internet, and over friendly tourists

We awoke to driving rain blowing sideways, Vancouver style. What? Are you kidding? How did November Vancouver weather follow us to Montana? This is not possible. Gah!

Last night we were bored and so Hubs and I wandered out to the lounge area and grabbed ourselves a coffee. It is a routine of ours while we are on vacation-lose the kid and grab coffee together, where we sit and chat about adult stuff for a bit.

Nearby a family is making dinner with hot water and instant noodles. The Dad wanders over, extends a hand in greeting, and begins asking us questions. He explains that he moved to the Vancouver area from Korea not long ago and wants to know about us. Where do we live? What do we do? Where are we going on vacation? Do we want some noodles? He’s from a large tour group going to Yellowstone tomorrow, and what are WE doing?

Hubs begins telling him about the Black Hills and his eyes light up.

“Black Hills,” he repeats. “Show me. Where?” We try to explain but we need a map, so we run and get our huge map book out of the car. Hubs talks about the geology, the beauty of the area, and our new found friend is furiously taking notes.

“Ah, I see. Nice. We go one day. Tomorrow, Yellowstone. Here, I give you my number. We talk sometime. I’m back in Vancouver next Thursday, we see you then. We come to Sunshine Coast and call you, you show us around.” He thrusts a piece of paper towards Hubs and begins rattling off a phone number.

I can see that Hubs is trying to be polite and in return, he picks up a piece of paper and I can see him writing down our phone number too.

Wait. What is he doing? Who is this guy? Why is he giving him our phone number? We don’t even know him! And…holy crap, is that…? NO! STOP! STOP WRITING THAT! You can’t give this guy my cell phone number, too!

Every part of me wants to leap over the table, snatch that piece of paper from his hands, screaming, “NOOOOOO!” but it’s too late. He has my cell number; the number that I reserve for only close friends, family, and work contacts.

I suddenly have visions of a Korean family showing up at my door one morning, wanting me to show them around town. Sure, it’s fine for YOU dear, you work most of the summer. I have the summer off and now you’ve just volunteered me to be the welcoming committee to complete strangers.

Bidding our travel friends goodbye, we made our way back to our room.

“What. the. HELL. Were. You. THINKING?!?” I hissed, as the elevator door closed. “Sure, give the guy my cell phone number. Before you know it I’ll have him and his family calling me and wanting to go out for coffee, and I don’t even know the guy. You don’t have to deal with him because it’s not even your phone. And why are you giving out our phone number to total strangers? ”

“I’m sorry,” Hubs grinned sheepishly. “I don’t know what I was thinking. But you can screen your calls,” he offered helpfully. Right. Thanks, babe.

We slept that night in a luxuriously HUGE bed as Jake grumbled something about being stuck in a sofa bed that was too short for his growing frame. I ignored him, too busy thinking about noodles and Korean tourists.

The next morning we trekked down to the breakfast bar again, and it was no different from the last hotel; a preservative minefield of sorts.

Something has to change here, I thought as we munched on honey toast, again. Gotta get creative. I can’t do this our whole vacation.

The drive is long and boring. There is no other way to put it. I pull out my copy of “Promises to Keep” and read the entire thing, we look for pronghorn antelope, sleep, snack on granola and fruit, and dive into the leftover pizza from last night’s trip to the MacKenzie River Pizza Co. for dinner.

I’m already tired of peanut butter and it’s only day three. Hubs may be able to eat the same thing for days on end, but I’m not like that. I need variety. Jake has turned into the bottomless pit, and lately we push leftovers from our own plates or from anything else we’re eating towards him as he sucks it in like a tornado. We can’t eat bits here and there, he needs substantial food.

“You gonna eat that?” has become his favorite expression. He eats, and sleeps, with wild abandon. Am I mistaken, or are his jeans even shorter? This is crazy. A growth spurt, while we’re on vacation? How is THAT going to affect Food Revolution Road Trip?

We arrive in Rapid City and check into our hotel around dinner time. Too tired to look far for a restaurant we settle for a nearby TGI Fridays and order a Dragon fire chicken stir fry. It’s delicious-smallish portion, loads of veggies, chicken, and rice, with a Kung Pao sauce.

“Mom, did you see the look the people across from us gave me when they saw me eating broccoli?” Jake shook his head in disbelief.

“Jake, you’re entirely too self conscious. I doubt that..”

“No,” Hubs interrupted, “I saw. They looked at him, then his plate, and then back at him, as if they couldn’t believe a teenager was eating vegetables.”

“It was weird,” Jake continued. “They watched me eat the whole thing as if I was some alien or something. Is it that strange to watch a teenager have something other than burgers and fries?”

Judging from the reaction it got, I guess so.

Driving: Bellingham to Bozeman, Montana

Weather: Raining

Food Revolution Challenge: The hotel breakfast bar

We had a terrible June in Vancouver. Instead of sunshine, it felt like it rained every day and here I am, first official day of vacation, and it’s raining. Not just that, but it feels weird to be going from full on craziness that is two jobs, writing, and a house to suddenly…nothing. I am totally unplugged, with no iPod or a laptop. Jake whined the night before, complaining that he was bored and suffering from technology withdrawal, and when I told him we could play a game of cards, watch TV or read, he looked at me like I just suggested we build a cabin from sticks in the woods. Switching gears is hard. With no cooking, writing, housework, or jobs to attend to, I’m totally freed up to read, write (on paper!), chat, and relax. It feels like a muscle that hasn’t been worked in awhile, this relaxation mode.

Jake is hard to wake up, too. Which from that moment on, became the theme of the vacation. Shake him, bounce on the side of his bed, throw pillows at his head-nothing would work until we’d threaten him with not getting breakfast.

At the mention of food he’s up and ready in 3 minutes flat.

We stand in the hotel breakfast room, surveying the goods before us, and my brain begins to whine.

“You’re on vacation, for God’s sake. Do you really have to scrutinize everything you eat, just pick something ”

No. I need to do this. It’s an experiment. So brain? Shut up. I’ll ply you with coffee. It’s crappy hotel coffee, but it will have to do.

Jake mills around, reading labels, looking at what’s available, and is getting visibly irritated. As I watch he settles on some toast (he never eats toast) topped with honey, which he also never eats. I make my way past the breakfast pastries, instant oatmeal and do-it yourself waffles, grab some toast, and join him.

“Mom this is stupid. Every single kind of jam, the yogurt, and all the cereals have high fructose corn syrup. Those egg things are obviously processed. The bread is that cheaper, preservative packed stuff. Why would anyone eat those pastries? The only natural stuff here is the butter pats, the milk that says it’s not from cows given hormones, and the fruit. ”

“What? You’re not serious.” When I finish my coffee, I wander back to the breakfast bar to take a closer look. Jake is right. Hadn’t we heard that high fructose corn syrup was in only processed food? When I hear about processed food, I’m thinking of the non-chicken chicken nuggets on Food Revolution, or things like canned soup, pop, etc. But breakfast cereal and yogurt? Aren’t those supposed to be healthy options? What the heck are people supposed to eat here if everything, even the supposedly GOOD food, is loaded with crappy preservatives?

The only items in the breakfast bar that fit into our criteria are peanut butter, butter, milk, fresh fruit salad, coffee, and the basket of fresh bananas, apples, and pears.

Wow. Even my trusted brands at home can’t be trusted here. This is going to be interesting.

We drive for hours. Lunch is peanut butter and banana sandwiches again, and although I normally can’t stand repeats when it comes to what I eat, they are delicious. We stop at a gas station for milk and Jake picks one out of the dairy section, and then stops. It’s not milk. Looks like milk, but it’s some weird vitamin drink/processed concoction that we’ve never seen before. We peer at the bottle as if it’s some strange bug that we need to investigate.

“Jake, look at the label. This is to trick people into buying something that LOOKS like milk, but isn’t milk. ”

Jake recoils in horror and shoves it back on in the fridge. “Ew. That’s just…gross, Mom.” We search for a carton that specifically says the milk is from cows not treated with hormones, and pick up a pack of pretzel M&Ms for a treat. They are a mixture of salty and sweet; tasty, but by the end I’m not sure if I like them. Suddenly Jake snorts from the backseat.

“Mom? The M&Ms don’t have high fructose corn syrup. Now THAT is weird.”

We read, sleep, and listen to Jake’s Pink Floyd CD for hours as Hubs drives the I-90, stopping now and then for bathroom breaks. Finally at around 8 pm, we pull into the Wingate by Wyndham in Bozeman, Montana. The hotel has upgraded our room to a King suite, which feels huge and utterly luxurious for just a quick one night stay. We ask the clerk for a restaurant recommendation, and find ourselves at the MacKenzie River Pizza Company.

A tiny, busy place with a down home cowboy feel, the MacKenzie River Pizza Company serves up their food fresh, with gourmet pizzas on multi-grain crusts that are made right there, and fresh produce. We ordered a BBQ chicken pizza for Jake and I to share, and Hubs got a Green Horn (veggie sandwich). As Jake and I dug in we agreed that this was possibly the best pizza we had ever eaten, and there were enough leftovers to box up and take back to the hotel.

Perhaps tomorrow we’d have a change from peanut butter sandwiches after all.

One more day of driving, and we’re finally in Rapid City!

Challenge: An International Border Crossing that doesn’t allow you to take any dairy, meat, or fresh fruit/veggie products across. Ferries that are often late, long lines at the border, AND it’s Canada Day, which is a national holiday in our country.

First Stop: Cobs Bread in North Vancouver

The plan was to make sandwiches on the road for lunch, but as I pulled our brand new bag of Silver Hills Squirrelly bread out of the freezer, I discovered that it was moldy. Gah! With no time to get to the store for more bread, we decided to get some on the way.

“Why did you take a picture of the store?” The clerk wanted to know as she handed me my loaf of multi-grain. I explained what Food Revolution Road Trip was, and they looked at me like I was a little crazy. Oh well! Probably won’t be the first time.

Lunch was peanut butter and banana sandwiches, put together on my lap as we drove to the border and served up on plastic plates. You MUST try Cobs Bread. It is amazingly delicious and so much so, that we resolved to get some more when we return home. We snacked on some sweet clementine oranges, their cloying scent filling the car as we continued on our way. Gotta finish those babies up before we hit the border, you know.

Of course, there were line ups at the border, as usual. We waited. And waited. Hmm. Is there a garbage can somewhere? We have orange and banana peels we need to get rid of.

Nothing. Just grassy knolls, bunnies, cars, and the Peace Arch.

Hubs got out of the car and chatted with a girl in front of us, who had lived in Washington all her life and never been to Vancouver until then. We inched ahead bit by bit, looking for a garbage can.

“Just shove the peels under your seat,” Hubs insisted.

“No WAY! Jen told me a story about how they went to the USA, had dinner and couldn’t eat it all and there was a kumquat left over. They had the leftovers boxed up and forgot about the kumquat, came across the border, and the guards found it. It was a huge fine! There has to be a garbage can around here somewhere. I think I remember them being just before you get to the booth.”

So we waited. No garbage can. We inched closer to the border, with the cameras, guards, and booths looming. Passports ready, we began to panic a bit. Where did all these guards come from? We’ve never seen this many before. And why are they directing us to some tiny, enclosed area where there’s like SIX of them with guns looking at us?

A guard approached the car and I thrust my hands, full of banana and orange peels, towards him.

“We had a snack while we waited,” I explained. “There’s no garbage cans. We know it can’t go across the border. Do you have a garbage can here?”

The guard glared at us.

OH SHIT.

Oh my god oh my god oh my god he has a gun don’t make him angry we like the USA, and we’re good Canadians, I promise. Really. We’re not terrorists or drug dealers, just a family who wants to visit your country on vacation. I promise we will be GOOD WHILE WE’RE HERE!

“Voluntarily giving up CONTRABAND!” He yelled across the lines to a fellow guard and pointed to our car, until another guard walked over and glared in the window. Jake and I shrank back.

“We’ve been trying to find a garbage can,” I squeaked. “There aren’t any.”

“This is a border crossing, ” he snapped loudly as his eyes narrowed, “Give me the orange peels.” I fumbled with the handful, trying to pick out the orange peel bits from the banana peel, which by this time was brown and slimy. “I don’t want the other stuff. Don’t do this again. This is a BORDER. Do the right thing. While you are at it, open your trunk.”

Someone banged loudly on the lid of the trunk and we immediately opened it, listening while they rooted around inside and looking at each other, wide-eyed.

“See? Should have shoved them under your seat.” Hubs shook his head.

“And can you imagine if they FOUND them now? No freaking way. If they are this nasty when you’re honest, what if you’re NOT?”

After the usual questions about where we were going and what we planning to do in the USA, they finally let us through.

WHEW.

Food Revolution Road Trip Lesson #1: Deposit your garbage WELL before you hit the border, at a gas station or something that isn’t even near the line up. Do NOT choose to eat your “contraband” fruit/veggies/ etc while you are in line. There are no garbage cans and those border guards? Really, really, scary.

By the time we arrived at our hotel, it was dinner time. We had resolved there wouldn’t be a restaurant meal quite yet. How about a deli? There was a Fred Meyer across the street.

Fred Meyers are freaking HUGE, people. What is this with everything from clothes to jewelry in the grocery store? We went to the deli case and were decidedly puzzled by our options; take out, most of which looked like fast food, or sandwiches. Jake and I chose a few wraps and had a sandwich made for Hubs, then picked up a quart of milk for us to share.

The cases of milk loomed in front of us as we searched for a brand that was from cows NOT treated with hormones, and was 1%. Loads of homogenized milk, 2%, but 1%? Not so easy. And what are these stacks and stacks of cream, whipped cream, heavy cream, and half and half? We have the same products, but not even remotely in that quantity.

Back at the hotel we watched TV and happily munched on our sandwiches, until the ingredient list on our wraps caught my eye. A mile long and full of things that I couldn’t even pronounce, somehow they began to taste a little less delicious as it dawned on me they obviously were a total Food Revolution FAIL. Both contained high fructose corn syrup. How could that be? They were fresh from a deli! Or…were they?

This is going to be a LOT harder than I thought.

Food Revolution changed that. This year, we resolved, is going to be different. An experiment of sorts, in a country totally different from our own.

Here is the itinerary of our trip:

View Map

July 1st: home to Bellingham, Washington. (about 140 km/65.5 miles) The plan is to get the ferry, border crossing, and Seattle’s evil traffic out of our way the day before so that we can just hoof it all the way to Bozeman the next day, by leaving early. Both the border and the ferry can suck lots of time when you just want to get going!

2nd: drive from Bellingham to Bozeman, Montana (1, 224 km / 761 miles)
3rd: drive from Bozeman to Rapid City, South Dakota (741 km / 461 miles)

4th-7th: Rapid City!

8th: drive from Rapid City, South Dakota to Moab, Utah. (1, 187 km / 738 miles)

8th-12th: Moab!

13th: drive from Moab to Boise, Idaho. (949 km / 590 m) Stop and meet Loralee for lunch in Salt Lake City along the way. Spend overnight in Nampa, Idaho.

14th: drive from Nampa, Idaho to Bend, Oregon. (491 km / 305 m)

14th-16th: Bend, Oregon!

17th: drive from Bend to Vancouver and then home. (795 km / 494 miles)

Can we do it?

As we packed, we came up with the following Food Revolution Road Trip Goals/Rules/Guidelines:

1. NO fast food or gas station food. We can stop for a bathroom break if we need to, but that is it.

Every year on a road trip we stop at least 5 times in a two week period at a fast food place-usually McDonalds for breakfast, or Subway for lunch. No. Not this year.

(exception: Starbucks is our coffee place of choice and not considered fast food. We don’t really eat their food anyway)

2. Eat only ONE meal a day in a restaurant. Breakfast is easy, as it’s always covered with a hotel breakfast bar. Lunch is where we need to be creative and make our own. We’ll be traveling here and there; whitewater rafting, jeeping, driving, hiking. Can we do it?

3. Avoid high fructose corn syrup, artificial colors/flavors, and anything highly processed. This doesn’t just mean in what I buy, but in the food at the hotel breakfast bar. How hard can it be to find healthy food, anyway? It’s pretty easy here. And is the USA really that different from Canada?

4. Snack on lots of fruit, veggies, cheese, yogurt, nuts, and real food. That’s easy, right? Storage might be an issue. It should be pretty cheap, too.

5. Occasional treats are allowed because you know, this IS a vacation. Treats would be a chocolate bar, ice cream, or the fries with a restaurant meal. The fries will be hardest to avoid, but since we are on vacation a couple times each can’t hurt.

What are we bringing?

-a cooler
-Pyrex measuring cup to use in microwaves
-small cutting board
-veggie peeler
-picnic dishes, including plastic cutlery
-travel colander (small plastic one)
-knife

I was totally unorganized before we left and didn’t think about the food bag too much, so it was a bit of a mishmash of things.

-box of multigrain cheerios
-5 cans of soup (I don’t eat canned soup but it’s better than fast food and for Jake when he’s starving from swimming)
-ryvita crackers
-hummus
-peanut butter
-tuna
-jar of Newman’s Own Salsa
-bananas and oranges
-2 boxes of granola bars
-batch of home made granola
-home made cookies
-flat of water bottles
-tea and honibe honey drops

Ready? Set? Let’s GOOOO! For the next two weeks follow along!

(Ps.. Products, hotels, tour companies, and destinations will be mentioned, linked to, and photographed for Food Revolution Road Trip. All opinions are are my own, and I did not receive any free products, payment, or discounts in order to mention them.)

Jake
LOVES them. They are soft and chewy, and he says they taste JUST like a
smore.

You won’t need a mixer to make these so the kids could
easily help, but pay attention to the tips about baking them. That’s
the key to your success!

Keep reading for the recipe…

“But I WANT A BIRTHDAY CAKE!”

I went home and dejectedly ate a cookie instead. Stupid universe. How long does the whole birthday thing last? If you finally get your cake 2 days AFTER your birthday and you buy it yourself, does it count? Or am I perpetually stuck a year behind now? (That might come in handy next year when I turn 40. I can still say I’m 39 then. Remember that.)

On Saturday I rose late and sat for a good hour in my pajamas, drinking coffee and blogging. There were lots of plans for the day, from housework to groceries and cooking, coffee with my bestie, and more.

I almost forgot about it but finally, around 11 am I grabbed the phone and called the bakery to ask them to put one aside. They are popular, those little bits of chocolate goodness.

“I need a SMALL cake,” I specified. Even we, the die hard chocolate lovers, can’t eat a large one ourselves. Nor should we, without plans to exercise strenuously to burn off the thousands of calories that would be coursing through our bodies.

Two hours later I arrived at the shop, cooler in hand, ready to pick it up. I was meeting my friend for coffee, and the cake would need to sit in the car for awhile. No point in risking it melting if the car was warm, right?

The teenager behind the counter didn’t seem to understand me.

“I phoned, around 11, and asked one to be put aside. Chocolate ganache.” I explained, for the third time.

Oh please let them get it right. Please, please tell me there are cakes. Please. I will just cry now if they don’t have one.

She came out with a box and rang me up. That box looks a little big. Is it? No, oh no…

“I asked for a small one. That’s a big one. Do you have any small?”

She sighed and went into the back to look.

The universe is conspiring against me. I looked at my shoes and heaved a sigh of resignation. Am I desperate to pay $25 and buy the big cake, even though we really don’t need it? I guess I could freeze it.

How can it be so stupidly HARD to get a birthday cake?!

She arrived back with a small box in hand, and I resisted the urge to snatch it from her hands, hold it high over my head like the Stanely Cup, and dance a jig right there in the coffee shop. I could have kissed her. MY cake. My BIRTHDAY cake. FINALLY!

Later that afternoon, with the cake lovingly tucked into a cooler and waiting in the car, I sat by the ocean sipping coffee with my best friend. The friend who had read my tweets where I longed for chocolate cake, and so kindly gifted me with this so I will never be unprepared again.

Now I had my cake and could bake it too! Then just to be sure, she handed me SIX (yes, SIX) bars of Green and Black’s Organic Chocolate, with a Lindt bunny. I have enough chocolate in this house to last me until next Easter.

That evening after an amazing dinner, we sliced into the cake and savored each decadent bite. As I sat there, finally content that my birthday had been sufficiently celebrated, I tweeted that it was so good I was tempted to lick the the plate.

@mrshotmom tweeted me back immediately, to remind me that it was my birthday after all, and plate licking was entirely acceptable.

Really? Do I? It’s sort of rude. But this was a hard won cake. I had to fight for it this year. Glancing at Hubs and Jake trying to get every last crumb off their plates with their forks, I finally lifted my plate to my tongue and gave it a long, slow, lick.

“What are you doing? That’s gross!” Hubs snorted

“Hey. It’s MY birthday and this was one HARD won cake. I figure I can do whatever I like. And while we’re talking about this, let me tell you one thing.” I paused and set the plate down, looking Hubs in the eye and speaking slowly, carefully, so that he wouldn’t miss a thing.

“I will ALWAYS want a cake.”

He ran a four bed therapeutic group home and together, for 10 years after that, we ran it together. Some boys stayed with us for as long as 5 years, some as little as 20 minutes. The kids that came to our home were from horrific backgrounds of neglect or abuse, and some were straight off the street or from jail. Many had never experienced a stable home, with two parents. I had never experienced a home without it.

Hubs had set up the program for the kids and was insistent; feed the kids good, wholesome, fresh food, and you will see a change in behavior. No packaged stuff in sight; which, come to think of it, is funny now because they ate only 3 things in rotation. Roasted chicken breasts, slabs of steak, or spaghetti.

That was it. Oh, a bit of rice and some steamed veggies were thrown in, but that was all they ate. After a week of joining them and eating everything they ate, I couldn’t stand eating three bland, boring meals in rotation and insisted that they let ME cook. I had purely selfish motives, to be honest, but that and a recipe on the back of a box of lasagna were all it took.

Soon I was voted the chief cook and was scouring the library for any recipes I could get my hands on, adopting Hub’s fresh food vs junk food philosophy. The kids were ravenous; recipes that were for 8 had to be doubled to serve 16, and I soon became adept at churning out huge quantities of stews, pasta dishes, stir fries, and more.

A new boy named Chris had arrived one day, and sat down for his first meal with us. Dinner that night happened to be a spicy chicken goulash, served with buttered egg noodles, a tossed green salad, and garlic bread. His eyes grew wide as he watched the plates and bowls come out of the kitchen, and you could see that to him, this was more food then he’d seen in awhile. This was a feast. Christmas. His mouth dropped open in shock.

Everyone dug in, especially Chris. He inhaled his dinner. Had seconds. Thirds. Fourths. The other kids smiled at him and took less, just so he could have more. Finally, Hubs gently stopped him.

“Chris, it’s okay. There will be food here tomorrow.”

So it went every day for a week, until finally, it dawned on Chris that food would never be an issue. Over time we noticed that some of the behavior issues he had previously began to diminish. He did better in school. Slept better. After a month or two, he even began to grow.

Years went by, and eventually he learned to cook for himself, and would join me in the kitchen, chopping or stirring while we chatted and laughed. We’d snap each other with the tea towels and he’d dive into the cookie jar with the rest of the kids in the evenings. He held baby Jake and played with him, came on family vacations with us, and we had the opportunity to attend his high school graduation and see him off to college. It was a sad day when he left our home.

The last time I saw Chris was about 10 years ago. I don’t know where he is now or what he’s doing, but I do know one thing; he taught me far more about teenagers and family then I taught him.

All beginning with a simple pot of chicken goulash.

Join Food Revolution Fridays with you tales of food, cooking, family, and recipes! Write a post of your own and add your name to Mr. Linky over at Notes From the Cookie Jar to enter to win a copy of Kid’s Kitchen or a way cute bib by Crocodile Creek. Giveaway ends when the last episode of Jamie Oliver’s Food Revolution Airs here in Canada (about 4 weeks).

PS..what Jamie Oliver dinner did I make this week? Mexican Bean Wraps. Easy, cheap, and really yummy!

I wanted to lose myself in cooking and make something delicious, if not to just forget about my day. The ingredients were all there, and they were amazing. The recipes at my finger tips. All that was left was I needed to put it together by chopping, grating, and by some trips to the herb garden to snip fresh thyme and chives.

If anything, you MUST grow yourself a herb garden. Do it now. You will thank me later.

I chopped, and sauteed, pounded, and even though at times I wasn’t sure about Jamie’s methods, I had to have a little faith so I followed them to the letter. The smell of lemon zest and salty prosciutto filled the kitchen, and as I blanched broccoli, then dried it and tossed it with crispy bits of bacon and tender diced tomatoes, the stresses of the day just melted away. By six o’clock we were sitting down to mashed potatoes, broccoli salad, and Parmesan chicken. Jake practically danced in anticipation. My bad day completely forgotten, I was once again smiling and humming as I worked.

Nobody spoke for solid 3 minutes while we collectively groaned in pleasure at the tastes. Oh, MY. Amazing. If you try any recipe by Jamie Oliver, I highly recommend these two (especially if you really love bacon, which if I went solely by Twitter, I’d say that people would roll in it and have little bacon babies of their very own). Perhaps together in the same meal they were a bit of bacon-y overload, but since the slices of prosciutto were thin and the slices of bacon in the broccoli salad were turkey bacon, I say we’re safe. Guilt free, if you will. Which is why afterward, completely unabashed, I poured myself a glass of wine and sat down to write at the computer.

What’s up for next week? I admit, I’m not sure yet. I’m still deciding. You can read my version of the recipes over here and what I thought of them.

How was your week? Do you find solace in the kitchen, or is it your nemesis? Are there any recipes that YOU would like to share? Do you have big plans for Easter or do you go elsewhere?

To enter to win a copy of “Kids Kitchen“, write a post on your blog about healthy eating, your challenges with it, recipes, or your thoughts about Jamie Oliver’s Food Revolution, add your name and a link to the post on the Mr. Linky over at Notes From the Cookie Jar.

Whatever it is, cake is definitely the best part of my birthday and a celebration just isn’t complete without one.

For years, I used to bake my own birthday cake but the last few years I got bored with that. Besides, there’s a fantastic bakery in town that makes chocolate ganache cakes, with are my very favorite. Dark chocolate sponge, layered with rich ganache, they are the most decadent and delicious cakes I have ever eaten in my life.

My birthday came, and I went to work with a teeny bit of anticipation that somewhere in my day, there would be cake. Hopefully chocolate. Let’s be honest; I expected cake. It’s a birthday for God’s sake, isn’t that just what happens?

So when I spotted a chocolate cake sitting there I jumped a bit inside with excitement because wow, maybe there will be TWO birthday cakes! Talk about indulgence! Isn’t that the best way to end your 30s? Isn’t it great when people celebrate with you and acknowledge your birthday? Doesn’t it make you feel special and loved, appreciated and all warm and fuzzy?

The cake wasn’t for me.

Deflated, I sucked it up. I’m a big girl, and I realize that not everyone cares if it’s your birthday. I accepted a piece of the impostor cake, choked it down, and reminded myself to grow up. It’s not that important. Deal with it. Besides, I’ll have MY birthday cake later that evening with the most important people in my family, right?

Later that evening, Hubs took me and Jake out for dinner to our favorite restaurant where we dined on delicious cheesy pizza, tall glasses of Coke, and laughed about our day. This is what birthdays are all about. I’m getting to spend it with the two best people in my life over a great meal!

“See you at home!” I called to Hubs when we left. My cake is hiding in his car, I thought. I’ll bet he stopped at the bakery on the way here and got it. I wonder which kind he bought? I hope it’s chocolate ganache. Oooo, I’ll have some with a cup of decaf, we’ll all chill out on the couch in front of the TV and it will be the BEST way to end a birthday.

My mouth was practically watering with anticipation.

We arrived home and I began fixing coffee, when I heard Hub’s car pull into the driveway.

Okay, get ready to squeal and give him a kiss, because going to walk in with the box any second.

The door opened and I could hear him coming into the kitchen.

Get the coffee ready. I can’t wait to…

When he rounded the corner, he froze when our eyes met. I just stood there, looking at his hands and then back at his face, my mouth gaping in shock.

He wasn’t holding a box.

“Didn’t you…I mean…isn’t there… cake?” I squeaked. My expression must have shown how upset I was. He looked confused.

“But you said not to buy you a cake. You said that they might give you one at work and you didn’t need two. You said that it was okay!” Hubs was horrified. He would NEVER forget to get me a birthday cake but somehow, we miscommunicated and he thought that I didn’t want one. What? How did that happen? Was I really that stupid? I don’t remember saying that, but he obviously got that impression somehow, so what the hell happened?

All I know is that we sat there that evening watching TV, and all I could think about was chocolate ganache cake.

The next day we had a meeting at Jake’s school and as we sat there talking about IEPS, computers, and math class but all the while, in my brain, chocolate ganache cake was calling.

“So we’re covering fractions and Jake..”

One chocolate ganache cake divided for three people doesn’t mean we each get 1/3 because it’s so rich but usually we each get 1/4 and then fight over the last 1/4. But the big cake is too big and we never can eat it all so….

It was hopeless. I wanted cake, dammit. Finally after what felt like forever, we were pulling away from the school but instead of turning right to go home, I turned left.

“Where are we going?”

“We’re getting ourselves some birthday cake,” I parked at the bakery and turned to face Jake, who was eying me like I had suddenly lost my mind.

“Don’t other people usually do that? Who buys their own cake?”

“I do. I’m 39 and if nobody else is getting me a birthday cake, I’m damn well buying my own.”

Jake grinned in delight.

“Really? Will you share? Will I get some?” I could see his teenage brain already cutting up the cake and deciding how much everyone would have.

“Of course! Just stay here, and I’ll be right back,” jogging to the bakery front doors, part of me hoped that they would even have chocolate ganache cake left. I might have to settle for something else. No matter. Tonight my friends, we will dine on cake.

At the bakery doors, I stopped dead. Wait a minute, the lights are off. It can’t be…no please don’t tell me…

THE BAKERY IS CLOSED?!?

You’ve GOT to be kidding me. Is this a conspiracy? The bakery is closed? Is the universe telling me that THIS year, I’m not destined to have cake even if I plan to buy my own?

…to be continued

(Will Scatteredmom ever get her birthday cake? Or will she forever be in the birthday Twilight Zone, searching for it? )