An Adventure in the Kitchen

Lately, there are many bakesales that I should be contributing to so I decided to bake this weekend.

I'm not a good baker. Most of the time, my stuff comes out overbaked or too liquidy. Once I attempted to make chocolate chip cookies. It turned out like this:

"Continent" is the name my mom gave the form of my cookies.






This time, I decided to attempt chocolate cupcakes for the millionth time. I'm a freestyler in life, whether it is dance or cooking, I can't stick to a formula. Following a recipe should be easy right? Everything is written: do this, put that, and it's precise too!  But eyeballing measurements is my specialty. Most of the time I add too much of one ingredient so I add a bit more of another to compensate.

"That looks about right," I tell myself.

  Most of the time, I'm also lacking in ingredients. I needed vanilla extract but had none. I had vanilla sugar though. Should I add it in?

So I put a quarter of the bag in.

                        Next on the list of ingredients were: - baking powder and baking soda. But isn't

I learnt in Chemistry at some point that Baking Soda + Salt is the same thing as Baking Powder. So I added more baking soda and more salt than required to compensate for the lack of baking powder. 

(I just looked it up and in fact, they are used very differently but have the same effects.

http://chemistry.about.com/cs/foodchemistry/f/blbaking.htm -> If you want to know more on your own)

But then, while looking for the vanilla, I found:

So I added a bit of that too. Just in case the baking soda and salt don't work.

Finally, I threw everything into the Magic Oven (because sometimes I get miracles and sometimes I get food for diamond teeth)

and hoped for the best. >.<

In case you were wondering, it turned out quite well: 

My Godzilla mom enjoying my cupcakes.

Pourquoi Pas?, an Adventure into a French Coffee Shop

This morning, I went to a coffee shop called Pourquoi Pas Espresso Bar. It's a small shop on Amherst street between Beaudry and Berri Uqam metro. The walls are made of wood and there is a cosy chalet ambiance. Unlike coffee shop chains like Starbucks or Second Cup, there isn't a high counter separating the worker and the client. In fact, the wooden counter reaches my hip.

"BonJour. Biernvenue." The mid-twenty coffee man greeted me. French was definitely not his preferred language. He was tall, average looking, not hip nor gay like most coffee shop men.

"Bonjour. Je voudrais un latte s'il-vous-plaît." I spoke French, just in case I was wrong about the accent. The name of this shop is French after all. Or maybe this was just the first English wannabe-French coffee shop.

"Okay. Pour emporrter ou pourr ici?" Okay. He definitely speaks English better than French.

"To go please."

He was perplexed. His look told me: Oh! She can speak English! Just to make sure, he asked, "Do you prefer English or French?"

"N'importe lequel. You prefer English right?"

A look of relief spread across his face. "Oh yeah. English please." He finished making my latte, designing a heart shaped leaf with the milk on top. "So today's coffee is from Costa Rica. It's really rich and has a hint of cocoa and a hint of ...." I didn't catch the rest. I'm not a real coffee fan. Coffee tastes all the same to me. Sorry I wasted your breath.

"Okay." I nodded. "Thanks!"

"Sweet!" Half enthused, half generic.

I smiled and left the shop. I tasted my latte as I walked out. Mmmm. Thick, creamy milk with a taste of coffee. But no sugar. Bleh. So bitter. As I mentioned earlier, I'm not a real coffee fan. Too late to turn back now. But for real, what is with French coffee shops and not adding sugar into their specialty coffees?

It's ok. Next time, I'll ask them to add sugar. I will be back!

An Adventure in the Land of American Dreams

Flashing billboards, hundreds of people gathered around 3 streets, tens of yellow cabs driving by, New York, a city where one can really believe to achieve the American Dream.

The last weekend of my March break was spent in the city that never sleeps. Our tour guide Dunkin (Donut!) welcomed us into the city with "New York, New York" by Frank Sinatra. A huge city with 5 districts and 8 million people cannot compare to Montreal. Montreal is a kaleidoscope because of its multiethnic city? Wait until you go to New York; it's a rainbow of all kinds of ethnic backgrounds. Here's an idea:

Montreal's:                                                            New York's:
Chinatown: 1 and a half streets                              Chinatown: 10 blocks
Little Italy: 3 streets at most                                   Little Italy: 5 blocks
Downtown: St-Catherine Street                             Downtown: Three times as big

True, the proportion of people should equal the space they occupy. Therefore,

Montreal's:                                                            New York's:
Ghetto area: 3 or 4 communities                            Ghetto area: HUGE

It is a sad reality but the more people there are in a city, the harder it is to find jobs for everyone. Many immigrants stand in the cold in their stands, competing against each other and against the bigger markets, trying to sell their products. Not exactly the most relaxing job. 8am until 3 pm shifts? More like 8am until 10pm days. No more than 40 hours a week? Dream on. These people are there 7 days a week, 98 hours or more per week. They try their best, make the most money they can (sometimes that involves ripping people off or illegal activities). It is how they survive. Money doesn't fall from the sky nor does it grow in trees like in the American Dream.

A dream is just a dream.

On a side note, if money is not a problem, there are many things to buy in New York. Since there is so much competition between stores, the products on sale are at the cheapest price possible. Tommy Hildfiger shirt, 5$, jewelry, handbags, half the price they would be here. Food too is cheaper than in Montreal. McNuggets at McDonalds is only 4.99$ for 20 of them. Here, it costs 6.89$ for only 10 of them. Frozen nuggets on sale are at 3,99$ a box of 20. For a dollar more, they're cooked and prepared for you and there is sauce that comes with it. Not only McNuggets are cheap but fresh strawberries are a dollar a box in Chinatown.It's GREAT!

                                      

Give Me a Break - An Adventure into a Marianopolite's March "Break"

Friday, March 2^nd, 2012.

3:30 p.m. marks the end of my last midterm and the beginning of my March break. You’d think I’d be rushing out of the room singing “We are the Champions.” Instead, dazzled by the effects of the physics test, I’m not too sure what I’m doing or where I’m going. Test, drugs, all the same. They both make you hallucinate after taking them. I follow people out of the room but forgot my jacket at my desk. As I re-enter the classroom, a whiff of dense brain power hits my nose. Thank god it’s March break. Or should I say study break.

That’s right. Study break.

Teachers privilege these long breaks, thinking that students have more time to study and work on projects so they stack it up. English project, Spanish project, physiology project. Oh wait. That’s not enough. Let’s give them homework too, they say. English, Spanish, organic, gym (yes, gym courses in college give homework), physics homework. Oh wait, projects and assignments aren’t the same thing. Assignments are shorter than projects. Why not give students that too! English, organic, Spanish assignments.

Joy.

But! Teachers, do not be fooled. We, Marianopolites can do this. We just prefer spending endless hours playing Tetris or CityVille or in my case, watch uninteresting repetitive Korean dramas (addicting - even though the endings of each episode are so predictable). The problem is then time management and not the amount of projects, homework and assignments we receive.

I will be cramming it all Sunday night. 

Have a nice March break ^^ 

Shoveling Snow - a Manly Adventure

For my parents, they only knew what winter was once they arrived In Canada.

My dad’s first day in Canada was in the middle of winter. Coats, boots, mittens, hats, gloves: they were unfamiliar pieces of clothing to him. His family and he did not know what extreme cold was. The volunteer Olivette who welcomed my dad’s family to Shawinigan (3h away from Montreal), keeps telling me that my uncles walked from one apartment to the next in sandals in the middle of winter. Once they got accustomed to the weather, the appropriate statement is:

For the generations born in Canada and for the long-immigrated established people: You have only experienced winter once you’ve shoveled snow.

When my dad is on a trip, I am the manly man of the house shoveling the snow out of our driveway, even though my mom, my brother and I never use the car. I shovel the snow as soon as possible because as time goes on,  it gets more compact, sometimes saturated with water, sometimes has a layer of ice underneath the snow. And since I’m the one shoveling, shoveling dense snow is not one of my greatest joys.

As a kid, dense snow was the best. It was useful to make snowballs and whip them at each other (even though we weren’t allowed), to make snowmen, igloos, mini mountains of snow to slide down. It is also the prettiest snowfall because since it is so dense, the snow falls down in big flakes as opposed to powdery snow which whips at my face at the slightest wind. However, dense snow is the hardest to shovel. Yesterday, compact snow fell on Montreal. I was too lazy to shovel, told myself I’d do it today. Today, I realized it was a bad idea to let it go yesterday because dense snow holds a lot of water. Overnight, that water drained from the snow to the bottom layer, making it a lot harder to shovel water-saturated particles.

It’s okay, I can do this! LIKE A MAN!