Casablanca and Cinnamon rolls

"Of all the gin joints, in all the towns, in all the world, she walks into mine."
It's not a love story I'm talking about, referring to the quote from Casablanca. I'm talking about five lovely, kind and (I'm sure, very soon) lemonade and cinnamon rolls serving mums.

While I was pregnant with my son, the county sent out invitations to all first time mums and their spouses in the district, to a meeting to prepare for birth and the life after. Six, pretty different couples, showed up. After the meeting, we hooked up on Facebook and all the "mums to be" arranged to meet a couple of times before our little ones arrived, to share worries and hopes. Now we meet for baby song classes, coffee (blocking the café entrance with our strollers) and chit-chat.

There is me - the one who will spice up her cinnamon rolls with for instance muscat, but then forget to put yeast in the dow. Then there is the one that always will add chocolate into them, the one who will get her rolls from the bakery, the one who will make them perfectly, according to the recipe in the cookbook, the one who will make them, perfectly, according to the "how to" on the "ready to bake cinnamon rolls"-box, and then the one who will have the freezer full of grannies baked goods.

They are all just lovely ladies, and I'm sure they all make the world a better place to live in. Their babies are lucky to have them as mums and I'm lucky to have them to turn to in this pretty unfamiliar world of motherhood.
Quoting Rick in Casablanca again: Louis, I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship.

Stolen time and christmas taste

I've had time. Or rather, stolen time, to do those things. Watch the burning lights of the first sunday in advent, drink mulled wine, eat ginger snaps, smile to friends and hang that beautiful silver angel in the window.

The taste of almonds and ginger snaps has filled the afternoons lately, together with wrapping presents and finishing christmas calendars. I feel I've really, truly tasted the first days of christmas - chosen to taste them - enjoying the tastes, smells and music. Saving the every day joys and tastes for later - like for instance writing this blog.

And then, of course, I discovered that all the neighbours already put up their christmas lights (I forgot), and that most of my friends have eaten clementines for weeks (I didn't know they were any good yet). I suddenly felt a bit cheated. In the true spirit of christmas I decided to repress those thoughts and focused on this - my stolen christmas time and the taste of mulled wine, ginger snaps and almonds.

Wine and words

I've lately come to the conclusion that I slightly disagree on the saying "a picture says more than a thousand words". I would rather turn the saying around - a word could say so much more than a picture.

A picture is very defined in its form. Showing for instance a certain face, with a certain feeling, and with these exact colours. Words, on the other hand, are not always as defined.

If I say for instance, muslim, your head will fill with pictures, that again are supposed to contain more than a thousand words. In addition you will think of other words, as for instance: mosque, Egypt and Mohammed. They again contain other pictures.

In a way, words are also a bit more dangerous than pictures, because of the enormous amount of pictures they make people recall. The word-smith can't control which images the receiver conjures. A word that is relatively harmless in my head, "wine" for instance (I think of endless, beautiful vineyards, great tastes and good company), may come through as very appalling in other peoples minds (reminding them of, for instance, addiction, forbidden pleasures or awfully tasting beverages).

Not all words are as filled of pictures as the one I've mentioned. "As", for instance, a relatively uninteresting word, or what about "on"? Not the most interesting that either, but still - it might make you recall some pictures?
This is maybe why I love words so much - they are much like wine - complicated in their tastes. You can limit or expand them, by adding other words. Just as you can limit or expand a wine, by adding other tastes.

So today I toast with wine - to words! They are delicious and dangerous enough to celebrate. Try, for instance, the taste of "muslim wine".

Tea reminder

Dear reader
Just a reminder to you: in between granting all those christmas wishes, working and doing the dishes. Remember that nice, big cup of tea! It will save your life, the day and much more - especially with that warm "pain au chocolat" on the side! ;) Enjoy!

- Sarah

First party

Pretty invitations sent out - check, good food prepared - check, music creating a nice mood - check, flowers in a vase - check, beautifully decorated table - check, pretty dress - uncheck (appeared to be impossible while breastfeeding. Tights, a top and nice shoes instead), a tiny bit stressed after preparing food and decoration before and during the guests arrival - check.

Nothing is like a party. I love preparing for it, dress up a little more than usual, eat the food I've made, observe the guests having a good time while enjoying the food or just something nice in their glass or cup.

Today I served cinnamon rolls and lemonade, with marzipan cake and slices of whole grain bread with egg and smoked salmon on the side. All in honour of my little son Atlas. Now four months old, we felt it was time to celebrate his entering into the world and our family. So:

Baby dressed in tuxedo shirt - check, baby awake - uncheck (he decided to fall asleep five minutes before the guests arrived, after having stayed awake the entire morning), guests arriving i nice clothes - check, lighting and blowing out candles on cake, for Atlas - check, receiving presents - check, running up to fetch crying baby from his bedroom - check, staging "blowing out candles scene" again, this time with baby - check, open presents with baby - check, passing baby around - check, smiling and socialising - check, thanking guests for gifts and contribution to the party - check.

And at last: sitting down in sofa smiling and enjoying the silence after the guests have left - check.

Wrapping and marshmallows

Christmas is getting closer, and I'm happy to announce that a lot of friends and relatives are celebrating their birthday every fall. They give me an excellent opportunity to practise my wrapping skills and come up with ideas for The Christmas Wrapping of the Year (yes, I do not kid you).

A couple of days before christmas I lock my self in a room with loads of floor space, take a thermos with coffee with me and spend the whole day sitting on the floor, wrapping delicious presents. This is really one of the best things with christmas - buying or making gifts and wrapping them. Simply love it.

I always choose a theme. One year all presents were put in brown paper bags with hay working as ribbon, attached with a red seal. Another year I used gingerbread men as gift tags, tied with red ribbon to wrapping paper made of the boring looking business section of the newspaper. Another year I used leather and hide as paper, tied together with black or white silk ribbon.

Wrapping gifts tastes like grilled marshmallows - sweet. In addition it takes time to make them, but you really enjoy the result. It's also really tiresome when you're making a lot of them - and you get kind of sick of it in the end, but still you kind of love it.

The planning phase is probably the thing I enjoy the most, so even though I have plenty of friends and relatives to wrap presents to before christmas - if you're stuck and need ideas for your christmas wrapping this year, just ask. It's marshmallow-time!

Nothing and water

There was really nothing left. The fall darkness and cold weather had drained me for energy, light and "want". Coming home from work I was just an empty shell of nothing. The winters' and falls' biting weather and darkness really is evil.

I don't know where I found it, but somewhere in the nothingness I managed to find a tiny little "want" to work out. The seven minutes by car to the fitness centre looked like an eternity in my head, so even though it meant to actually have to enter the frosty fall evening, I aimed for a run with Atlas wrapt in warm clothing in the pram. The road from our kitchen table, via the walk in closet to get dressed for the run, to the front door was the worst, heaviest and really an awfully itchy thing to go through!

Starting to run, when I first managed to get out of the house, was so easy. Like ice cold water. When you're really thirsty there's nothing like it. You feel strangely alive after drinking it - and content. The freshness invigorates every part of your body, and even though you're so tired you're not sure you're body actually is there, under your head, you suddenly feel life tingle. First maybe, in a finger or toe, then, slowly spreading in towards the heart.

Entering the warmth of my house after the run, I found the want to write a little, light some candles, and maybe read a book. The shellness was suddenly gone, and instead there was this calm stream of peace filling the place - and the "want" for more water.

Unexpected time

Suddenly you're stuck, due to weather conditions, at Flesland airport just outside Bergen. A register of emotions pass through you. Stress, impatience, boredom, expectation, tiredness, relaxation... Today I settle on relaxation.

Five hours have been given me. Even though they were already there, it's like they didn't really exist until now. Five ours of now. Creamy, delicious hours, filled with the book I'm currently reading, free food from our carrier, changing diapers on Atlas, drinking coffee and enjoying the company of my mum.

It tastes like grilled Chevre, glazed in honey. A bit surprising, a bit sweet, a hint of sour, with the consistence of something you think you've had before.

It's a choice really, enjoying these unexpected hours. I can't do anything about the air traffic, so, instead of whining about the weather, why not have a honey glazed Chevre?

Small pleasures

Again, it's one of those small pleasures that enters the limelight of my blog: Drinking coffee in the sun, a really cold fall day in Bergen. I enjoyed this moment today, with my sister who lives in the town that would have been the most beautiful in the world, if it just didn't rain as much as it does.

We bought our coffee (black for me, latte for my sister) in this tiny, just perfect café, situated in one of the narrow streets climbing the mountains that surrounds Bergen. The café is, as I said, tiny, and therefor always crowded, and since we also had a stroller with us, we decided to enjoy our hot beverages in the sun.

We leaned on a stone wall - trying to collect heat from the thrifty warming sun. Watching people pass us on the side-walk, going to or from their weekend plans. We talked about coffee, social life and enjoying it. The moment actually tasted like strawberries. It was just as natural, refreshing, clean and simple. When we'd finished our coffees is was just as natural to walk away from the moment. It was gone - the strawberries had been eaten and we felt just satisfied.

Christmas mistress

Naughty, naughty girl! I've been doing stuff I'm absolutely not ought to do. The minor incident first. I was supposed to pack a bag for going away this weekend. I kind of forgot, well, postponed it, is more correct. I preferred spending some time with these words - love words, and, ahrmmm, a magazine. Yes. The magazine is not harmful in itself. It's actually very harmless and delicious. Both the layout and the lovely, tasteful food and wine described in it is just wonderful. The not so very minor incident was me reading this specific issue - in november.

I usually put off everything the day this magazine arrives in the mail (which happens every second month), but what I also usually does (and this is kind of a rule in my house), is not inviting Christmas in to my house, heart or mind until december has knocked on our door. It is because I want to preserve some of the Christmas magic. I keep thinking the magic will disappear if I enjoy Christmas too much, over too much time every year. Writing it down, I hear how silly it sounds. Why shouldn't I enjoy?

So, I opened this lovely december edition of my food and wine magazine, and I fell. I couldn't stop myself. I felt Christmas, heard Christmas, smelled, tasted and fully enjoyed Christmas. And do I feel naughty? - yes, I do. And do I feel I deserve all those fantastic Christmas feelings I had for thirty minutes? - yes I do. And will Santa cross me off his list this year? - no he won't, 'cause this is exactly the kind of naughty Santa likes - he actually encourages it. Christmas has a naughty little mistress and she will get all the presents on her wish list this year.

Inventing a lamp - and the bud of a great story

Our sons bedroom was quite a project before he was born (and well... it still is). It had to be painted and cleaned up before he arrived. And quite right - a couple of hours after I made my finishing touches on the clouds decorating the blue ceiling, Atlas decided to show up. Now it's only those lovely details left. For instance all the flying objects that is going to decorate his bedroom sky.

I've (with no success - Amazon and other internet stores don't send their goods to Norway) been looking for a model airplane (one of those old bi-planes) to hang from the ceiling. And I've been looking for a lamp that resembles the sun, but at the same time isn't too "cartoonish" - hard to find that too. Last, but not least, I've been making this hot air balloon out of a simple lamp from Ikea.

I painted it, and was going to attach an "ordinary" basket to it, but then I thought, "where is the fun in that", found myself a small toy lion baby and attached it to the balloon instead. Think of all the amazing stories I can make out of that! "The little lion Karl was playing outside the circus tent where his father was at work, when he suddenly saw this amazingly big balloon floating just a few inches above ground..." or "It was soon night fall. The savannah seamed to disappear into infinity. The only sound you could hear was the sound of four small, sand coloured, running paws..."

I'll write that story - and Atlas is going to be the first one to hear it. He'll know the little lion will be safe till the story ends, cause it's floating, in air, inside the warm safety of his bedroom.

Coffee and embraces

Suddenly he fell asleep and I hurried to the kitchen to make myself some breakfast and to brew that ridiculously delicious, big cup of coffee. I never know for how long his morning naps will last, so I hurry to sit down with a slice of bread with smoked turkey and mayo. And then there is no more hurrying.

Coffee and I have a date each morning and we relax. All unsorted messy tasks of the day slowly get sorted and look simpler in my head. Coffee never made me more awake, but it does make me more excited about the tasks of the day. I would go as far as to say it makes me a bit "high" - more creative, positive and energetic.

A couple of weeks ago they announced on the news that according to a study (by some folks at Harvard School of Public Health. 50.000 women involved), women who drinks coffee are less depressed than women who don't. I really get that! Coffee is a drug, and a really good one. People ought to get prescriptions on it (in addition to not getting depressed, according to the study, people who drink it are less likely to get Parkinson's disease).

So, I pour myself yet another cup - write this last sentence, feel the tingling feeling of coffee getting to work in my brain, and start to long for my tiny, very adorable son to wake up and the rest of the day coming towards to embrace me.

Early sunday breakfast

Breakfast is my absolute favourite meal - hence me referring to a breakfast experience, once again. I love them - the breakfasts. In all the shapes they come in. Rich, thin, coffee-filled, simple, healthy, short, long or just the ordinary weekday ones. Sunday breakfast though, is my favourite. The early kind in particular, with loads of time at hand.

For this one we had to take the boat to Denmark, get up really early, walk a kilometre with the fog sneaking in on us between harbour buildings, to end up sitting down on the top floor at a seaside town hotel.

It's the calmness maybe, and the silence, that is so appealing with the sunday breakfasts. At this hotel restaurant we ate sitting in chairs that were trendy in the eighties, listening to Katie Melua singing calmly from the loudspeakers (a strange combination; feeling the interior has taken you back a couple of decades while you at the same time are listening to temporary music).

Freshly brewed coffee accompanied dark, Danish ryebread with brie cheese and blackberry jam on top (ooh, heaven). The food was followed with some small talk about wind energy and outdated furniture, as we leaned back in our mint coloured wicker chairs and just enjoyed a couple of minutes - the feeling of sunday breakfast.

Sweet, hot and healthy - "how to"

Today I'm offering you a delicious recipe on sweet, hot and healthy. This "how to" will make your foggy, rainy and cold weekend mornings a little sunnier, softer and comfortable - promise!

The breakfast muffins are absolutely at their best a couple of minutes after you've taken them out of the oven, and they work just as well for lunch or dinner. They'll make your day even happier if you have some colourful muffin tins to put them in - and a friend to enjoy them with.

Whole grain muffins (12 of them)
3 eggs
50 g sugar
2 tbs vanilla-flavoured sugar
2 pinches grated lime- or lemon peel
80 g melted butter or margarine
60 g grinded almonds
100 g whole grain flour
1 tsp baking powder

Before you start, turn on the oven and adjust the temperature to 200 degrees celsius. Whip egg, sugar and vanilla-flavoured sugar light and creamy. Add butter, lemon-/lime peel, almonds, flour and baking powder and stir until the mix is smooth. Pour into muffin tins and bake the muffins in the oven for 25 minutes.

A slice of birthday cake

Birthdays are still magic to me. I always wake up, birthday morning, feeling like I'm the queen of the day and that the world therefor evolves around me. Selfish, yes, but really efficient when it comes to enjoying the day.

There was no exception when i turned thirty a couple of days ago. I was really looking forward to the day. Exited about exploring the feeling of having thirty attached to me. Was I going to feel too old, young, too unaccomplished, or empowered, depressed, very grown? As I went from being twenty-something, to thirty, I'm a bit surprised to say, I actually felt more defined. Like I left that undefined "something" in "twenty-something" behind, and suddenly existed, more definitely.

The day turned out as good as it could, after a night with only three ours sleep (because of a sudden insomnia attack on my son). I got presents from my wish list, enjoyed good food and coffee and spent time with people I love. It tasted like a slice of birthday cake. Layered and just as magic and sweet. Leaving you wanting more and feeling just a little sleepy because of the sugar rush. And just for the record: I'm still the queen of the magic day, the first of november.

The indulgence of nothingness

Having had plans every single day these last two weeks, ending the fourteen days with a weekend away from home, with two lovely ladies and their babies, I had an urge this morning, to do just nothing.

All impressions from the bygone weeks; following the growth of my soon four months old baby boy, seeing new people and all the 'should haves', had to sink in a bit, for me to be able to really grasp and appreciate the beauty of the details in life.

The nothing of this morning was like eating an egg. Very defined in its form, nutritious - a protecting shell with something good and simple inside. I've sat on the sofa, holding my son, reflecting about a friend I wish I had seen, thinking about new life and beautiful people. I've gone for a slow run - just because I felt like it. - Feeling the frost biting my thighs and cheeks, looking at my smiling son in the pram and breathing cold fall air, tasting like water from a mountain stream.

In a way I feel a little bit too full with all these impressions, but at the same time, very rich. Today has offered me the indulgence of nothingness. - And I'm fully satisfied.

Rubber boots

Having endured both cloudy and frosty days this fall, I almost screamed with delight when I thought I saw a raindrop this morning. Me, farmers and kids wanting to jump in puddles are probably the only ones loving this kind of weather right now. I'm otherwise not famous for liking rain at all. Rain on my face an in my hair is just not nice, but rain on my feet when I've got my lovely, new wellingtons on, is more than ok.

I debated with my self wether I was to buy a couple of expensive, all ready pimped boots, or a couple of cheaper ones, that I could pimp myself. I landed on the last alternative. In my closet there is now a small container filled with colourful ribbons that I use on my wellingtons (ooo, I love that word for rubber boots), changing them according to my mood, making the rubber boots extra magic.

I love the feeling of my feet slipping into them. It's like eating deliciously seasoned mashed potatoes. The boots are comfortable and roomy and the toes have just enough room to dance a bit. Every time I put the wellingtons on, I think I hear them promising me adventure, and I get the feeling I can endure any encounter with dragons or what ever shady characters fate decides to dump on me.

When I finally went out for a walk today, it had stopped raining, but the road was filled with puddles. I made sure i walked straight into most of them.

Shower, bread and cheese

Yesterday night I was totally exhausted after virtually no sleep the night before (caused by my son, who, as his pyjamas says, is "never to small to rock" - he does that in his sleep), followed by a long day at work and an afternoon of endless housekeeping.

After having boiled bottles, washed baby bodies and cleaned the bathroom and the bedroom floor, I left my son and husband enjoying each others company in the livingroom and escaped into the bathroom.

You know the wonderful taste of a simple buttered slice of bread with Jarlsberg cheese on top when you're really hungry? The shower I took yesterday tasted like that. Warm water sprinkled down my tired body, washing away the heaviest exhaustion, allowing both body and mind to relax. It made the world feel clean, quiet and simple.

Stepping out of the shower and into a towel and a bathroom wrapped in by vanilla scented candles, I felt like the queen - having enjoyed the most delicious gourmet meal, but at the same time realising I was actually full - satisfied by something simple as a slice of bread with cheese.

Slipping into bed that evening - dozy after the hot shower and tired after the rest of the day, was just amazing. I think I fell asleep before my head hit the pillow and dreamt of flying cheese slices, floating in the air over a waterfall of deliciously hot water.

Buying happiness? - yes you can

When the fall air has drained the nature for colours, I very often feel just a little bit drained myself. Even if I generally don't love the snow, I find my self waiting for the first flakes to appear. One of these too dark fall days, it has to come and put som lightness and sparkle into the everyday life.

To make my waiting a bit less desperate I bought myself some happiness the other day. It is probably the only colourful plant that survives the frost nights of the fall - and the colour itself is actually one of my favourites. It sits there on our tiny porch spreading some happiness, every time we go in or out of the house. Reminding me abaout growing things - yes, they do actually exist. This reminder costed me 100,- NOK. It is absolutely worth it - brightening up these too cold and too dark days.

So whatever people say about it not lasting. Sure, is won't last for ever, but yes - I think you can buy happiness.
My kind of fall colour happiness tastes like violet lollipop, eaten in cold weather. The taste spreading in the air with my breath, coming out like magic fall fog

The Smart Bird

It's not me I'm talking about - although I have no problem with being called smart bird. I'm referring to the Parus Major, or more commonly (and amusingly) called the Great Tit. A tiny little bird. One of the few birds that doesn't migrate to warmer areas when winter comes to Norway (that being a smart thing to do, can be discussed). This particular Great Tit was taking a trip on the Denmark-Norway ferry.

On my way home from Denmark, in the middle of the sea, I suddenly heard this little whistling noise. I should have brought my former colleague, Rune on this trip (he's really good at photographing birds) 'cause that bird flew away every time i reached for my camera. Rune would have dressed up in som fitting camouflage clothes and waited, hidden somewhere out on deck, until that bird decided to participate in the photo session.

Was it living there or was it just really smart? - hitchhiking to Norway to avoid getting tired in its tiny little wings. - Realising that his body wasn't made for greater journeys, but feeling very much like a world traveller, at heart.
There where a lot of people wandering around on the sun deck, and nobody took notice of this little creature, flying around on the rear deck of the boat. It felt like I was the only one noticing this amazing thing happening.

Choosing to take the boat back to Norway instead of the plane (to avoid a headache when it comes to carrying a baby and all the baby equipment), actually made me feel a bit like the smart bird. A world traveller at heart, but with too much luggage to travel fast in the air.

So a toast to the smart bird, who neither is great nor looks like a tit.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Great_Tit

Lightness of new

New has a certain 'featheriness' attached to it. This weekend I got to visit a (to me) new town and observe new life, brought to the world by my brother, who now has a new title. So far I haven't had the opportunity to put anything bad on these, to my world, new elements. Århus is a beautiful town, with nice people, lovely cafés and beautiful architecture, my brother is the perfect, considerate father, and my nephew is the most beautiful, innocent little boy.

I thought about this a little. This is maybe why I like to travel so much. You very seldom get to see the heavier sides of new places when you stay there for only a short time. A little featheriness in your life once in a while is nice - to smooth out the sharp edges of your otherwise so realistic, and from time to time, heavy world.

I don't mean to paint my everyday life black. It isn't. The sharp edges in life is actually a source of enjoyment. Pretty hadn't existed without ugly. The contrast is what makes me able to "measure up" the reality. Sharp stuff are the elements in my world that has had a reaction to some of its counterparts in the world, and therefor "gained some weight" in my head. These things are clearer and more available than the feathery elements of the world. The bumps and edges are parts of what makes the sharper elements so heartbreaking beautiful.

Today I'm celebrating lightness though. It tastes like freshly made lemonade on a summers day. Is just as refreshing, sweet and light - with just a bit of sour.

The lightness of a baby smile before falling asleep in a soft hotel bed

Coffee on water

This day started in total darkness. Me trying to change diapers on my son, and not waking him up while doing that (that didn't work out) was followed by a tired, very cold, but luckily, short walk from a borrowed bed to the car.

Waking up at 0430 in the morning is not a joke. On our way to the ferry over to Denmark we almost crashed into a moose. That was the only moment during the one and a half hour drive I was totally awake (luckily, I was not the one driving).

After a short sniff of the salty sea air, the ferry has now taken care of one of my souls biggest needs - coffee. I don't need it to feel awake, I need it to feel comforted. I can always count on those black beans when it comes to taking care of me. Coffee on a round table with a view of an endless sea is no exception, it's actually one of the best kinds of coffee.

Coffee, breakfast, endless water and a trip filled with beautiful people and new places. Can you beat that? Coffee on water really IS the best.

Important impulses

Some impulses are more important than other. For instance, when my first nephew ever, was born last night and my impulse told me to go all the way to Denmark to see him, I ruled it as an important impulse, and did just that - went on a trip to Denmark to see him - the trip it self being a huge bonus.

Now, I'm in a car with my travel loving, always impulsive father and my three months old son. Feeling those tingling expectations of all the worlds untravelled trips, untasted, local specialities, unravelled secrets and unseen faces. I'm trying to make my son fall asleep in his car seat, but he seems to have inherited my need to observe the changing scene outside, and is taking in the view with red tired eyes.

The world is hurrying in the opposite direction outside the car window, and the colour drained fall scene seems a bit more colourful than usual. The taste of a trip like this is the tastes of all the worlds spices - the Tea Menthe of Morocco, the Indian Korma and the Italian pasta Bolognese. I just can't get enough of it. Tasting and observing is life, and I really love it. So, Thank God for those important impulses!

Auntie Sarah and her Care Soup

Seriously!? I'm not even the one giving birth this time, but the butterflies in my stomach are killing me. How much longer? And what are they going to call him? My brother had the name Julius Caesar Titus Xavier Silas jr, planned, but I'm pretty sure his girlfriend didn't favour that alternative.
To take my mind off this big occasion happening in Denmark today (or tomorrow) I made some half healthy, very tasty (which should make it entirely healthy) dinner. Perfect for a cold fall afternoon. The Care Soup actually made the butterflies fly a little slower for a while.

Here is the recipe (enough for 2-3 hungry souls) - let the food take care of you tonight!

Slice four big, peeled potatoes and four carrots and boil them soft with some vegetable stock, a small onion, salt and pepper. Mash together with some cream and put a couple of sliced, already boiled chicken sausages in the creamy soup. Serve with a couple of garlic buttered whole grain buns.

Enjoy!

The salvation of a foggy morning

I plowed myself, through the fog, to work this morning. It's not more than a couple of hundred meters from the parking lot to the office, but it felt like a mile made entirely up of heavy. The entire morning was just filled with a drowsiness that could be compared only with flu-infested, moist cotton.

I brewed a cup of herbal tea (coffee was just too heavy !), checked my inbox and wrote a couple of mails. The otherwise beautiful and fantastically light Apple keyboard had keys made out of stone this day.

As I picked up the barely touched teacup and wandered upstairs to a meeting, the day just couldn't get any heavier. I sat down in my coworkers beautifully lit office and put the teacup down on what begun to save my day - a beautiful, newly printed table (yes, we make designs and print them on for instance tables). It smelled amazing, looked fabulous and felt like a newly prepped downhill slope.

Now, I didn't actually taste it, but I can't help feeling the taste and consistence of crisp-bread with cream cheese in my mouth when thinking about the tabletop. And crisp-bread with cream cheese was just what this day needed to come a bit closer to balance.

So there you are - the taste of a newly printed tabletop on a very foggy day.

Laziness

I'm going to tell you about laziness, and I can say this already - it tastes like buttered popcorn.

It's not like I want to glorify it - neither popcorn or laziness. If I sit down too much, I actually get depressed (I'm sure too much popcorn also makes you depressed), but on the other hand, if I don't sit down once in a while, I get obsessed, and obsession leads to craziness, and that, Im sure, leads to depression - at least in my world. So balance, or this moment of laziness, is strictly necessary for my own saneness.

I'm bundling up in the sofa, picking a nice movie from our apple TV, listening to my husband popping those delicious popcorns in the kitchen. The dishes keeps sitting on the kitchen counter, wishing for shinier days, and I'm sure a thousand dust dots are playing hide and seek, just waiting in excitement for the vacuum cleaner to show up. But they'll be there, hiding, tomorrow as well.

The thought of all the cleaning, washing and fixing is drowned in the faint sound of the sizzling, boiling butter. This evening has been reserved by mr Laziness and I - and the taste of popcorn.

Magic of basil

I've had it before. Mixed it all together after a trip to Italy, where they serve this in the corner gelato shops. It's actually kind of magic, and I had forgotten all about it.

I brought the ingredients to a couple of friends of ours yesterday. Their newborn and our slightly older son had had the show (by screaming) half the evening. Tasting a spoonful of this made me forget the noise level for a moment - leaving just the surprising blend of simple tastes and an aftermath of smooth freshness. Magic.

So here you are, the recipe to a magic moment.

You need:
1 food processor
1 hand full of fresh basil leaves (fresh mint leaves works fine as well)
1 bucket of vanilla ice cream

And of course someone to eat this delicious mixup with.

Pleasure post

Today I got mail. A real letter. Not a bill or direct mail from a company trying to sell gardening tools (when winter is just around the corner!) or subscriptions on nutrition pills. No, a real letter from a real person I actually know.

I while ago I read a book with a sweet story glued together entirely of letters (The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society). I finished it on a trip to my brother who lives in Stockholm, and I left it there, in his apartment. He picked it up, read it and (having grown up with e-mail in addition to be quite an eccentric art student) he got a bit obsessed with the thought of real, old time letters. So he writes to me on his typewriter (that he also uses in one of his art projects). Do you remember the worth of a letter like that?

Laying in the car seat between bills and magazines the letter was literally glowing like gold. I was driving home from town, but as I saw the letter sticking out from the mail my husband had put in the car before leaving home this morning, I pulled over and sat down to read. The warm fall sun made the newly cleaned leather car-seats smell a little extra leathery. The smell blended with a scent of dust and wax, as I opened the seal (!) my brother had closed the envelope with. I felt like I was holding and inhaling a treasure. I read his thoughts, smiled and wondered a bit, and really, fully enjoyed those minutes at an almost empty parking lot. The moment tasted like a dark and leathery wine - a whiff from the past with a present delight hitting the taste buds. I'll write him back, and I suspect I'll be enjoying it just as much as I enjoyed reading his letter.

Surprise moment

You can plan all you want, but often that moment of super taste comes like a surprise.

Fridays are the days I always allow my self moments of luxury. Today I'm looking forward to dinner with family members, a walk in the sun, delicious coffee with a tiny piece of chocolate on the side (I'm actually enjoying that right now, while writing this).This morning, though, served me a surprise moment of great taste.

My husbands alarm clock woke me up at seven. He decided to snooze for half an hour, but I was suddenly very awake. As the first rays of morning sun reached the window pane, I sneaked out of our bedroom, leaving my husband and our three months old son, sleeping, more or less peacefully.

Barefoot on cold floors, I brewed some dark roast coffee and lit all the candles I could find in the kitchen and living room area. The lavishness of that moment of silence, together with the smell of coffee, the warmth of candle lights and my bare feet finding cozy loafers, I think will be enough silent happiness for the rest of the day. The moment tasted like dark roasted, round coffee with some cold, rich, slightly vanilla flavored whipped cream on top.

Santa - almost

I saw him. And no, it was not Santa, but close enough.
After my morning smoothie, I decided to go for a jog, with Atlas (my son) sleeping in the pram. I entered the crisp fall-morning air, thinking I should have brought some gloves, and that this little jogging-trip, in the rising sun, would make a great blog-post. That, my friend, I will save for later, 'cause a couple of houses down from our place, he was, standing on the top of the chimney - the sun rising on the horizon behind him, making a perfect black silhouette out of him and the chimney he was standing on.

I've never seen one of them - at least not at work.
The chimney sweep is almost a mythical creature - appearing in a couple of Scandinavian children songs, but rarely seen (you only get those notes in your mail about him coming, once a year, and that you should leave the ladder out for him). But here he was. Looking like a cut out silhouette, standing on the top of the chimney, lit up by golden morning light.
As I came closer, he released that ball-brush from his belt and lowered it in to the chimney. It was amazing to look at - the air he was breathing, coming out like silhouette smoke, wrapping up the entire scene with the man at work and the lighting - too good to be true. - And it all, tasting like something sweet from my childhood. - Like cold "knäck" (Swedish caramel candy, very often tasting a little bit too burned, but still, oh so sweet).

I was sad about not bringing a camera, cause I'm pretty sure I'll never see anything like that again. Now, in retro perspective, I'm thinking not having that camera was part of the magic - knowing that this moment will only exist like this in my mind. And yes - it tastes wonderfully sweet, with a hint of bitter. But again, that is kind of a perfect combination of tastes, isn't it?

caliculus gustatorius

Caliculus gustatorius, or taste bud. Thats what I'm aiming for through this blog. Becoming one - taste bud that is. Tasting a little of life - ensuring my self at least one of those crisp, fresh and delicious moments every day. I'll share it with you - and my older self, to remind you and my self about what life can taste like.

I'm starting it all off with a deep red cup of tea and an almond-filled piece of butter soft, really dark chocolate, while enjoying these words and feeling the warmth of my night tired son, sitting on my lap. - a toast to life, and to tasting it all.