I hear an island of choristers singing “we coulda told ya, b’y.” Moving from Western Newfoundland to Kingston, Ontario 16 months ago, and I, well, have some perspective on travel and place: I miss Newfoundland.
Now, before we get all weepy here and break into song about the glories of Terre Neuve, I feel like the less-sentimental, and more pragmatic side of me has something to say: namely, that there are certain things I do not miss: hurricane season, losing power for days on end and the lonely isolation of winter being the top three. I think we can all agree on those.
I do, however, miss the beautiful autumn of the Humber Valley.
I miss the small but honest farmer’s market, where you can find jam, Newfoundland honey, and the season’s best vegetables at honest and fair prices.
I miss the landscape. The sea, the rough hills. I also miss hikes and walks followed by Jiggs dinner.
Well, I miss the idea of Jiggs dinner. I don’t actually miss cabbage hash and pease pudding — let’s be honest.
I miss having the time to run on Corner Brook’s steam trail. Even though my mind doesn’t miss all the hills and stairs, my body definitely misses the range of running terrain.
I miss the lovely ladies who work at the library. I miss their weekly phone calls to let me know a new book came in, or the latest issue of Food & Wine arrived. I miss the view from the stacks.
And I miss the architecture: Salt-box style houses, bright colors, and well-built designs with cozy nooks to read, write and hunker down (during hurricane season and snow-storms, of course).
But most of all, I miss the adventure in cooking. Perhaps it’s autumn, when the weather cools down long enough to turn on the oven and prepare a roast, perhaps it’s that delight of coming across a new menu with local ingredients, or perhaps it’s knowing just how difficult it is to find certain items elsewhere…like moose.
On the island, and in Corner Brook in particular, sometimes you just have to try harder to find the missing ingredient to make the meal you crave. It’s not about going out for dinner at that special new place in town — it’s about making your own place — and meals — special. Corner Brookers do that really well.
And there is something equally special about living within limits. It, ironically, expands you. It makes you more creative, more innovative. And, of course, grateful.
So, for any Corner Brookers out there who somehow come across this love letter for Newfoundland, or if you’re an ex-pat who misses home once in a while, I say this: enjoy where you are and what it has to offer. And know that one lowly Newfoundland visitor understands — and misses — how incomparable Corner Brook really is.
(Would you like to see a little of what I’ve been up to lately? Visit me at my new home, here, and feel free to drop me a line to say hi)
…is this thing still on?
Yes, it’s been a week, and while I’ve missed sharing my favorite meals, wine, and Corner Brook surprises, I’ve also been busy distracting myself with shelves of surprises elsewhere:
(Yes that is a deli sandwich, and no it’s not being eaten on an airplane)
Until that day, however, I want to use these pages to thank the Corner Brookers who have made Corner Brook (and the 4th city I’ve lived in in the last 4 years) a habitable and hospitable home.
So stay tuned…
DISCLAIMER: What follows is a rant, that, while very much applicable to Corner Brookers, may be construed as a digression from the task at hand –namely, food. Please scroll down for less volatile, and more savory, content.
Folks, I don’t know about you, but I feel especially cornered in Corner Brook when I try to book flights with Air Canada outta here. Sadly, West Jet, with all their seat-sales, teal uniforms and in-flight goofiness, only flies in and out of the Deer Lake Airport from mid-May to October, leaving most Corner Brookers with the only other option of Air Canada (and Provincial Airlines if you’re flying locally and their seats haven’t already sold out).
Naturally, Air Canada charges premium rates for their flights because of this market share, and lately they seem to charge for a whole lotta other stuff too (a 2nd checked bag, meals, seat-selection, even Aeroplan points for some reservations).
With all the aggravation it takes to get off this island, I like to travel as unencumbered as possible. And I also like the option of eating something on a 6:15 a.m. flight without having to pay $15 for a questionable, 3-day old sandwich.
That is why I created the perfect travel companion: Empanadas. They are compact, easy to carry, and they keep well (my fellow polite passengers out there will heave a sigh of relief when I tell you that these empanadas are also inoffensive, so you don’t have to worry about smelling like the guy with the pastrami sandwich in row 20).
1 1/2 cup of water
2 Tablespoons of Unsalted butter
A pinch of Smoked Paprika
Pour the liquid into a bowl and let it cool, then add 3 1/2 cups of All-Purpose or Whole Wheat flour. Using a wooden spoon, work the mixture into a ball, then turn it onto a floured surface and knead it for about 2 minutes. Return the ball to the bowl, cover, and refrigerate for 1 hour or over night.
Then it comes time to use your imagination. My favorite way to fill empanadas is, while not exactly traditional, delectably vegetarian. I sauté shallots in a little olive oil, add mushrooms and cook until the mushrooms brown and soften. After removing the mushrooms from the heat, I stir in some goat cheese, and sprinkle the mixture with thyme and salt & pepper.
Drop one tablespoon of filling onto each circle, wet the perimeter of the pastry with a few dabs of water, and fold the circle over to make a half-moon shape, pinching the edges as you go. Brush with a bit of egg for a glossy finish.
The sky is truly the limit when it comes to filling the empanadas. Just remember to steer clear of potential flight faux-pas: avoid smelly deli meats and cheeses, and forgo liquid fillings (like pizza sauce or chili) that have the potential for a mess no one wants to experience at high altitudes.