For creativity to have a bit of space to move and grow, time is the most essential ingredient. With the arrival of the long Easter weekend, I needed to make decisions about how to spend my time. I could frantically aim to create the perfect meal for my eight guests or... I could spend some time puttering. Puttering and reading a new novel by Charlotte Bronte and allowing the creative impulse to grow. I compromised and managed to both putter and prepare. Instead of forcing myself to bake pies and cook a turkey and bake bread, (because I am capable of doing all those things), I instead took a meandering path. Firstly, I bought two pies from the very delectable Madeline's on Bathurst Street. And then, rather than roasting a huge turkey, I bought a small duck and a small chicken. I made a stuffing of whatever I happened to have in my fridge, which just so happened to be a loaf of cinnamon raisin bread, red onions and basil. After carmelizing the onions, I mixed them up with bread crumbs, chopped in the fresh basil and stuffed both birds. And the flavours were surprisingly wonderful together. Without the pressure of cooking the perfect meal, I had time to enjoy the days before Easter. I felt the urge to make some collage cards, pulling images from the vintage children's story books I had picked up a few weeks previous.
I also made a ribbon lapel pin for a dear friend. Not everyone received a card or a gift. I did not fitfully try to make something for one and all. But a few original gifts came with the eclectic meal. And in truth, what mattered most to all of us was the chance to spend time with our family and loved ones. The highlight really came when, following the dinner, one of our guests from Iran took out his violin and played for us. I felt myself melting into the strains of the notes, closing my eyes, and feeling that nothing could ever replace that moment.
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