The Drink: Hot toddy

"All the rich requisites are brought from far:
the table from Japan, the tea from China, the sugar from Amazonia, or the West Indies,
but that 'Scotia does no such costly tribute bring,
Only some kettles full of Todian spring"
                                                                  — Allan Ramsay, poet, written 1721

None have missed the references to the dastardly cold from whose grips I have thankfully loosed myself — to some degree. The cold remedies have been much appreciated; some I tried out of sheer desperation (garlic cloves grated into a large glass of orange juice) others I avoided out of fear (running naked outside in -20 weather as "cold killer" — definitely not).

Numerous people offered some form of hot toddy, a hot alcoholic drink which most health practitioners recommend not using due to lack of evidence of benefit and its potential for dehydration and other ill effect.

Despite this, hot toddies seems the preferred cold remedy, probably due to its efficacy as soporific aide, historical legacy ("my mom used to make them") and tasty ingredients. What is there not to like about a hot drink (soothing to throat) requiring whatever strong spirit you prefer (whisky, gin, brandy) and a bit of sweetener (honey, sugar, even maple syrup)?

A Wikipedia writer suggests the term Hot Toddy might have been adopted sometime in the 18th Century, reflective of Tod's Wells, aka Todian in Allan Ramsay's poem posted above. The well was one of the providers of water in Edinburgh; with the gaelic term uisge for water used to name whiskey it is possible Todian was used to name a source of whiskey.

Hot toddy, then, could refer to warmed Whiskey. Accurate, or not, it seems to remain a staple of my UK-descended friends and colleagues.

Recipes often include a lot of spices of the typical sweet sort, including cardamom, cinnamon, ginger, cloves, allspice, etc and addition of some citrus. Some include addition of tea bags, others include butter or hot milk — which Id' recommend avoiding if one is  producing too much phlegm

I remain unconvinced alcoholic beverages actually assist healing; I often make a similar drink as the one listed below, but without the booze. However, I do admit a bit of spiced, warm booze after a bracing winter outing is perfect. 

II provide a loose recipe here but I am intrigued to know your favourite (there's a spot for comments below this post).

A Hot Toddy variant (or everything but the kitchen sink, warmed up)
1 tbsp honey (or more to taste)
4 whole cloves
liberal pinch of cardamom seeds
grated nutmeg
cinnamon stick
3/4 glass tea
2 shots whiskey (or favourite alcohol)
1 slice lemon
boiling water
Fill glass with boiling water, spices and cinnamon stick. Pour in alcohol and stir in the honey. Add lemon slice. Drink.

The Materialist: but, what about the snot?

A man who is not my grandfather using a handkerchief

My grandfather carried hankies. As does my dad. I wish I were a hankie person for its Brideshead-Revisited Oxbridge overtones but, despite my friends continually declaring I am a man in a woman's body (there are very important things to denigrate about such an assertion, not least being the assumption there are things that are universally male and female — besides the obvious. And even then ...) I cannot get with the hankie thing.

Firstly, what happens to the snot? I mean, sure I would use my grandfather or dad's hankie when handed to me as a kid if it looked all nice and pressed and unused. But then it went back into their pocket. Offered to me with even the slightest hint of a crinkle to it and I'd balk.

I've cringed while watching my dad use his hankies over and over again, much the way I cringed when he used to go to Canadian Tire on Saturdays covered in sawdust wearing his half-broken glasses, 70s running shorts and knee socks with leather slippers. Did he use the snotty parts? Did he somehow know, through cunning folding, what were the clean bits? Did he — shocker — simply not care?

The Materialist: Kotty fetish

Log illustration by etsy.com seller golly bard, via It's (k)not wood

In this time of belt-tightening, faux croc and fur are being joined by faux wood — or rather, wood grain — as the au courant item to have. That is, according to trés chic home-furnishing magazines. 

And the blog It's (K)not Wood run by Emilyn Eto and Jonathon Lo, two self-professed wood-grain nuts. 
[I, too, did not know such a fetish existed until a friend pointed me to this site and declared her own penchant.]

Emilyn and Jonathon have posted about such lovely items as wood-grain art and sculpture, wood-grain shoes, wood-grain pillows, wallets, belts, wrapping paper, etc. 

And this acrylic wood-grain side table designed by Gus* Design Group of Toronto. It's 12"x12"x18" and "... mixes organic lines with modern materials."

Unlike the old wood-grain panelling maybe still found in your parents' basement, this table shall never, ever be confused for the real thing. 

Which bemuses me. Isn't the point of faux wood-grain to make it appear it is wood? or is isn't it? 

Someone please explain this to me.


• Timber table, $199.95 at bobbyberkhome.com or Gus Modern for retailers near you.

The Materialist: Here today, scones tomorrow

hmmmmmmmm Scone Witch scones. hmmmmmmmmm

Scones and tea promote bliss, says my friend Laura, who is on month four of being a new mom.


It's been a harrowing experience for both of us, as I adjust to my childhood friend becoming a real, actual adult (who knew!) and she deals with the awesome task and responsibility of rearing a new born. .


I do believe the treat of vanilla cream scones from The Scone Witch, dotted with little crystals of sugar and smeared with pats of unsalted butter, helped her navigate the first trials of motherhood.  (That, me holding the baby so she could have a shower while her husband was out of town and watching endless movies featuring Victorian-garbed men of the Jane Austen and Brontë persuasion, promoting discussions about which we'd not kick out of bed.


Yet despite our weekly consumption of scones I have heard recently Heather Matthews, owner of the aforementioned purveyor-of-bliss, is in financial straights, which could mean the end to all things delightfully butter-and-jamed. 


"WHAT!? Nooooooooooooo," Laura said on hearing this, making her little baby squawk. "Man. I guess scones are the first thing to go when there is an economic downturn.
"We need to make t-shirts. We must do something. I think we should get a scone petition going or something .... Well. Obviously, I'm just going to have to eat more scones."

This is real

MEMORANDUM FOR THE HEADS OF EXECUTIVE DEPARTMENTS AND AGENCIES

SUBJECT: Freedom of Information Act

A democracy requires accountability, and accountability requires transparency. As Justice Louis Brandeis wrote, "sunlight is said to be the best of disinfectants." In our democracy, the Freedom of Information Act (FOIA), which encourages accountability through transparency, is the most prominent expression of a profound national commitment to ensuring an open Government. At the heart of that commitment is the idea that accountability is in the interest of the Government and the citizenry alike.

The Freedom of Information Act should be administered with a clear presumption: In the face of doubt, openness prevails. The Government should not keep information confidential merely because public officials might be embarrassed by disclosure, because errors and failures might be revealed, or because of speculative or abstract fears. Nondisclosure should never be based on an effort to protect the personal interests of Government officials at the expense of those they are supposed to serve. In responding to requests under the FOIA, executive branch agencies (agencies) should act promptly and in a spirit of cooperation, recognizing that such agencies are servants of the public.

All agencies should adopt a presumption in favor of disclosure, in order to renew their commitment to the principles embodied in FOIA, and to usher in a new era of open Government. The presumption of disclosure should be applied to all decisions involving FOIA.

The presumption of disclosure also means that agencies should take affirmative steps to make information public. They should not wait for specific requests from the public. All agencies should use modern technology to inform citizens about what is known and done by their Government. Disclosure should be timely.

I direct the Attorney General to issue new guidelines governing the FOIA to the heads of executive departments and agencies, reaffirming the commitment to accountability and transparency, and to publish such guidelines in the Federal Register. In doing so, the Attorney General should review FOIA reports produced by the agencies under Executive Order 13392 of December 14, 2005. I also direct the Director of the Office of Management and Budget to update guidance to the agencies to increase and improve information dissemination to the public, including through the use of new technologies, and to publish such guidance in the Federal Register.

This memorandum does not create any right or benefit, substantive or procedural, enforceable at law or in equity by any party against the United States, its departments, agencies, or entities, its officers, employees, or agents, or any other person.

The Director of the Office of Management and Budget is hereby authorized and directed to publish this memorandum in the Federal Register.

BARACK OBAMA

The Drink: Inaugural cheer for a dude called Obama

Inaugural cheer created by Danielle Tatarin

It's an "era of responsibility," so let's get our drink on.

Susan Sarandon definitely had one. Surely Anne Hathaway sipped a bit. Matthew Modine, well, he may have quaffed a few while feeling a few bums at the Creative Coalition Inaugural ball Tuesday night. [Inaugural why? says he/she who lives under a rock. Well, there's this dude called Obama ... ]

Danielle Tatarin, mixologist and proprietor of Vancouver-based Designer Cocktail was asked to make a tipple specially for the celebration, to be served at the gala featuring A-list, artsy Democrat sorts.

What's a Canuck doing making the drink for all those Americans at the U.S. President's Inaugural ball. Who knows. Maybe 'cause we rock? Or that the gala was thrown by all those movie-star sorts who, we know, <3 Vancouver. Or maybe it was simply because Dani works with the Wild Hibiscus flower/syrup company and they were sponsoring the gala ...

Oh yeah. Big business will still be around in Obama's time. Or, um, at least family-run business focused on being artisanal-ish. Hey, at least they have an American office — though they're Australian. Really. But the Hibiscus is red! That's kinda American, or at least a third American ....
... onto the drink.

The Materialist: Deep breathing in the office (or how I was saved from murdering my computer)

Heart-rate reducing, happiness inducing buddha wall. Cunning. And Lovely.

I love getting excited about Stuff. Particularly Stuff that lowers my heart rate (prednisone + computers that do not work = potential heart attack), does not clutter up my life and is FREE.

Enter the Zen Buddha wall, hosted by the Zen Desk folk (computer help desk service based out of Denmark) using the lovely, calming sounds concocted by FM3 out of China. Now, apparently you can get these little boxes from FM3 that generate the meditative sounds on loops (and I will try to get my hands on one for review ASAP) but having access to a site that produces these sounds at the office has been, today at least, extremely useful. 

Imagine you're about to slam a fist through your monitor due to its inability to do anything — or imagine whatever is your particular office frustration. Then imagine the calming sounds of music, akin to birds lightly twittering or waves slowly creeping up a beach, in an oddly not-boring loop reaching out gently to soothe your savage breast. 

Yea, I know; you're thinking boring and annoying. Not. SAVIOUR.  Heart rate down. Contented feelings abound. I love this wall.

Have not quite figured out how the entire wall-system works, just yet, but it appears each little icon produces a sound (or six) and you can play several at the same time. Why you'd want to, I know not. One is spare and soothing; more would be cacophonous. 

You must, must bookmark this site.

must. 

optical illusions

My current glasses, ones bought a few weeks ago when it became clear the contacts were not going back into my eyes anytime soon and my other ones were, well, broken and the wrong prescription, are not the perfect glasses. 1 — they are solid black (not the optimum tortoiseshell) albeit with clear accents. 2 — they hurt, even after three adjustments. Either my right ear keeps shifting in place or there is something ultimately wrong with the arms or the flourishy-man who insisted on adjusting them too much in the shop.

So I've been trolling for other glasses. And yesterday, in a fit of despair, I bought these frames on ebay.

Also Oliver Peoples, I do recall trying them on in a shop and liking them somewhat, though they hearken to my old, broken glasses so were not bought. Discovering yesterday there is no way to replace or repair the old glasses (Bebe's Fritzie), I bought them at a vastly cheaper rate.

However, today I have discovered that though they were described as demi-amber in colour, Oliver Poeples has never made them in that colour. Rather, I fear they are burgundy in tone. Egad. Anyone know about Oliver Peoples Boheme?

Well, for $60 I think I can live with that. On occasion. The tortoiseshell, slightly cat-eyed, glasses hunt continues.

Man I miss my contacts.

The Materialist: Frankly, my dear

Rhett Butler in the colourized Gone with the Wind. Yawn (except for him)

Clark Gable as Rhett Butler is maligned in that he is only remembered for uttering what may be his most forgettable line in what remains a bafflingly popular movie. 

His scampy character is the only good thing in a monstrously long bore (though I will give Vivien Leigh props for being so obnoxiously annoying as Scarlett) which seems to be the only thing on, ever, when you are sick at home, unable to rise off the sofa even to fetch DVDs, drives full of other movies or even a paltry reach for the remote. 

What about Rhett Butler's great lines like: "I'm very drunk and I intend on getting still drunker before this evening's over."

or: "With enough courage, you can do without a reputation."

or the even better: "No, I don't think I will kiss you, although you need kissing, badly. That's what's wrong with you. You should be kissed and often, and by someone who knows how."

Saucy man.

You may have guessed, I am not a fan of Gone with the Wind. I also scream with agony when The Wizard of Oz is offered. The Marineland theme song makes me want to jam pencils in my ears. And I kick puppies. Send the hate mail here. 

Atypyk's pencil moustaches. ha ha.

I do however like pencils and novelty, non-plasticized, un-girlie pencils are my fave. Playing with said pencils is very satisfying. These would be extremely amusing. 

They feature famous moustaches: Salvador, Zorro, Burt, Django, Clark. 

I can imagine many a writer's-block-moment whiled away playing with pencils, taking pictures of self with pencils, dressing up self and others with outfits and making videos ....

Really, consider them a boost to your creativity.

• Moustache pencils, €9.50, atypyk

The Drink: Happy Go Lucky cocktail

Sally Hawkins in Happy Go Lucky

British actor Sally Hawkins won my heart as the stoic, gentle Anne Elliott in the 2007 made-for-TV movie of Jane Austen's Persuasion (alongside the film's wonderful soundtrack and camera work).

If it were not for trademark tells I'd not have recognized her in this year's Happy-Go-Lucky, for which she won a Golden Globe tonight, beating out the likes of Meryl Streep. In it, she plays a very real, slightly befuddled North London schoolteacher named Poppy who soldiers on, happy, in the face of everyday misery and cruelty.

Though Poppy loves a good stiff drink, I give you a virgin cocktail called Happy-Go-Lucky to commemorate her win. Not least because I think Poppy, who loves her booze, is more sober than we might realize. It's rather lively coloured and sweet which I am sure would meet with her and her kindergarten class' approval.

The Happy-Go-Lucky virgin cocktail
3 oz cranberry juice
4 oz orange juice or pineapple juice
1 squeeze lime
1/2 tsp grenadine
ginger ale/beer or soda to taste
garnish: cherry, lemon or lime, mint leaves, or all four
Fill a highball glass with ice. In shaker, shake ingredients well. Pour into glass. Top with at least two ounces (or more to taste) of ginger ale/beer/soda water. Decorate with garnish and other fun accoutrements like parasols.


Good on ya, Sally.

She was absolute charm accepting her award tonight, fumbling and teary-eyed on the stage in what appeared to be real awe. (Though, as loathe as I am to harp on such things, did anyone else think she looked ludicrously thin? I adored how naturally gorgeous she was in Persuasion and am now concerned ... as one can be from a distance.)

amour

Am feeling so full of golden, velvet, green-leaves-rustling-in-the-breeze-against-blue-sky love for so many today. Had unbidden lovely thoughts about an ex lover; glorious given the years I spent uncharacteristically, out of utter frustration, wanting to punch him in the nose.

Isn't our capacity for loving someone, several people, so much and so pervasively awesome? Giving in to it is so rewarding and so geniusly great for your loves. I forget, now, why I ever don't.

It is bloody fantastic when you realize you love someone, will love someone, despite their being an ass and with the very active knowledge they are an ass and that you gain, not lose, in acknowledging so.

I have a 'friend' I unintentionally offended and the limits of our exchange hampered my instinct to stroke his face and smile, today, apologizing. Not sure it is something I'd do normally, out of a concern of invading someone else's space without express welcome and unsettling them. I'd have done it today.

Caress. Stroke. Embrace. Warmth. Smile. Sparkle. I want to give it all away, glisten everyone with beams of amour, let those dear to me relish in pockets of resonating love. hmmm.

Love. Despite the pain. And now I shall head off to that party, briefly, and try very hard not to hug everyone close.

What IS wrong with me. *sparkle*

crossed-fingers and rabbit feet

It's been three months*. Three whole months. A small yet not insignificant time.

If I can get through to February all will seem possible. Even with this dastardly weird sinus-infection-in-eye-ness.

Menstruating now and afeared. Am tired of being held captive by my body.

Today, for the first time in a year, I felt the old visceral wanderlust sink in. The thought, without a second-guess: "I should go to China next month and write that damn book."

It was lovely. I grinned. "Hullo, me. Missed you."

Maybe. Maybe the doctors were right and taking the damn pills does help. Will help in the long run.

I'm starting to think about my plans. The Tour d'Afrique. A triathlon first, as trial. More performances. Life.

All because I've not had a migraine in three. whole. months.

Seems a small thing but oH! so tear-inducingly exciting. This year feels like it's going to be a good one. Gentle. Slow. But good.

(knocking on wood)

*Had written two months; is actually three. huzzah!

catatonia

Query: Why does lying in a bathtub for fewer than six minutes produce stultefying feeling of catatonia while spending 20 min. in a much hotter dry sauna makes one feel invigorated?

Hypothesis: More water is leeched out of one's body in bathtub (through osmosis) than is lost sitting in the sauna, mimicking if not creating dehydration.

Conclusion: ... anyone willing to do experiments? I'm busy taking a nap.