Eighteen was healthy. Maybe that seems like an odd declaration to start this off, but for anyone who has dealt with illness for years, that statement is the dream. Eighteen was the first year since I fell ill at thirteen that I haven’t been ill. I’ve caught the odd cold, but that’s it. Colds. Just like anyone else. Needless to say, Eighteen was a good year. It was also the one of most change and most life of my teenage years thus far.

I graduated. I took the courses that illness made me miss. I got my driver’s license. I worked. I moved to France. I started living on my own. I met so many incredible people. I saw so many incredible things.

Today, I turn Nineteen. That last teenage year is upon me. It starts in the French Alps, surrounded by friends from all over the world, and will carry so much joy. Of that, I am sure. It’ll bring University, a new city, and so much new knowledge and new people. I’m excited to claim Nineteen as my own.

And, as always, the 20th of April also marks the anniversary of this site. Today, it’s four years old. Four! Have I really been doing this that long? Dear me. I love how much it’s evolved over the years. And once I get back to Canada, I’m looking forward to sharing more recipes and goodness like that. For now, all I can give is the odd snippet of life here.

The past few weeks, I’ve found myself writing down things I’ve learned and been reminded of. While in France, and over this past year. So, here we go. Eighteen, thank you. Nineteen, let’s do this.

Nineteen, I’m looking forward to dancing with you, to printing a whole bunch of the photos I make with you, to laughing, to breathing, loving and learning. To traveling and stumbling. To reading and watching. To more French, both here and home. To reunions and new friends. To dreams and the unknown.

All my love.

xox
Lauren

PS- I was on Teen Vogue a few weeks back. Definitely a cool moment in Eighteen.

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This is something I needed to write. Something I needed to share. With eagerness, a need for it to be out there: to declare the remembrance, to express gratitude, and to send love home. Consider it an open letter, and a whole lot of love.

I feel the pull in my chest. That yank which changes how you look at the world. The one that makes you grateful, sad, and joyous. This past weekend was a profound one. I know that my words here will never do it justice, but I can try. I can show you a touch of what I saw, as I filled my memory card to the brim.

This past Monday was the 95th anniversary of Vimy Ridge. It was an important battle for the Canadians in the First World War. It was the first time all the Canadian troops had worked together, giving us a reputation as soldiers not to be messed with. It was “the birth of a nation”. So many died there, fighting for it, for us. Walking through the battlefields, up to the Canadian monument, through the cemeteries, you could feel the power of that war nearly a century later. It’s not something we can dare forget.

My uncle had mentioned that he was going to be in Vimy, for the memorial. It took all of two seconds to know that I had to go: to see him, but also to see this essential piece of Canadian history. Now, I know it was so much more. It was some of the best conversations I’ve had in a long time. It was great Canadian music (played by truly wonderful people). It was heartbreaking. It was beautiful. It is one of the weekends that I will never forget, for all of that and the tug in my chest.

It wasn’t hard to tear up, even knowing that what I saw wasn’t even the half of it. 95 years has masked so much of the death and destruction, but all that valour and emotion is still there. It’s in the air, and didn’t take long to hit home. I’m still processing so much of it, and I’m sure I will be for awhile. Thank goodness the weekend ended with a concert. It lifted spirits, showcased talent, and brought us all together.

Thank you Hugh, John, Geoffrey, Vince, Tobin, Merm, Chris, Matthew, Keith, Sarah, Tim, Kinley, Phil, Emmet, Adam, Josh, Romesh, Katie, Mr. Johnston, everyone at EF, the Easter bunnies, Arras, Lievin, Vimy, all the Veterans, and everyone else whose path I crossed this weekend. I know I’m missing so many names, but thank you all. You’ve left an impression.

Even sculptures on the monument were weeping. Drops fell from the sky, and we each wandered in our own way, reading the names of those without a gravestone. So many names carved into the stone. Lines of last names. Of my last name, and names of those I love. There was even an L. McMillan. It doesn’t hit closer to home than that.

How does one put into words a cemetery? So many lives, so many stories. Pleas on tombstones from mothers. Stones without a name, regiment or anything to say who they were. Boys buried under my feet, even younger that I.

The landscape had such charge. Unnatural, with craters everywhere. You could imagine the war’s destruction, while also not having a clue of what it entailed. The ground which still holds unexploded munitions, that must be taken away with the freezing and thawing each year.

The trenches. Where so many soldiers would have worked. Where my great-grandfather likely put his master builder skillset to work. Where there would have been order, valour, and chaos.

Some of the heavy stuff was broken up by walks. Getting lost in Arras, stumbling upon randomness and beauty. J’ai trouvé architecture surprisingly different from what I see each day in the Alps. J’ai aussi parlé plus d’anglais que tous les autres week-ends en France.

Hey Rosetta! Kind, wonderful people playing great music, and putting on a marvelous show.

Spirit of the West. Fabulous music played and performed by kind, wonderful people.

There you have it. Some snippets from this weekend. Add a mini Easter egg hunt, a handful of fantastic meals, and great conversations, you have a trip unlike anything I’ve experienced thus far. Merci à tout le monde qui était là. I hope that our paths cross again sometime soon.

xoxo
Lauren

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While wandering through town at sunset, I was struck by the need to write. To check in, here. To say hello, and that everything is splendid. Every other trip I’ve written about in this space has been short: a few days, or my first time in Europe- for three weeks. But this isn’t just a trip. It’s an adventure. I’ve been here, studying French in the French Alps for just shy of a month. I have a routine. I’m in tune with the rhythm of this place (more or less!). Most of all, I feel completely at peace.

There has been good, bad and wonderful while I’ve been here. The bad is short, but made me realize the distance from home fairly suddenly, when my cat was hit by a car. When I read those words, my heart fell. My eyes flooded, and before long, I was wandering to a new friend’s apartment searching for a hug. Boy, I miss that girl. She always knew how to make me smile. I love you, Magic.

Besides a touch of altitude sickness, everything else has been great. My classes can be tough, but I’m adoring this struggle. I’m relishing in those awkward moments where I search for a word, or do charades to explain what I’m trying to say. It feels right. I don’t think I’ve ever loved making mistakes as I do here. Tripping over my words, stumbling. Français is my job, currently. Even with my incredibly limited vocabulary and basic français, it’s magic. Everyday, I hear more. I understand even just one more word, one more turn of phrase.

By no means do I expect to be fluent, but I’m slowly becoming comfortable with the language. Comfortable with buying groceries, asking for vegetables at the market, and communicating with those around me, in this foreign tongue.

So often, I find myself walking. Sometimes, it’s en route to school. Others, I let my feet guide me and my eyes wander. I marvel at the cobblestones or the mountains as they turn pink at sunset. Every time, I see something new. Just the other day, I realized I have at least 3 chocolatiers within a two-minute walk of my front door, and that I haven’t set foot in any of them. That’s something I need to remedy soon.

Speaking of chocolate, one of my weekends here, I popped up to Switzerland. I’m still in disbelief that the phrase Switzerland for the weekend can be part of my life for a little while. Anyways, I went to visit Jenn. My darling friend, who lives with her husband Ryan en Suisse. Oui! C’est vrai! (Ahem. Sorry. We’ve been doing affirmations in class.)

We spent the weekend wandering through markets and visiting Chateau de Chillon, while not cooking and eating. We ate so well that weekend. From divine macarons and a selection of exquisite chocolate to homemade tomato sauce and incredible pancakes. Flavour, in each bite. My belly was happy, and my heart was full of beautiful scenes and great conversation. Thank you, Jenn and Ryan, for that weekend.

It’s funny. As much as I have so much to say, I’m also just starting to experience it all. I don’t know where to start. The biggest tales are still unfolding, memories yet to be lived. Right now, it’s the moments that shine through.

When a man stopped me in the street, asking about a bus, and I could answer him. I could speak to him, and even though I got one or two things confused, I answered all of his questions. He did say “thank you” rather than «merci», but that in itself was kind. He let me speak en français, even with my glaringly anglophone accent.

The jeune garçon, zipping by on his scooter, saying “Ding-dong! Ding-dong!” Even the French folks ahead of me were surprised, joking about getting the door.

When l’homme qui m’a vendu la fromage sold me exactly €10,00 worth of cheese. Speaking of cheese, all of the dairy is seriously good here. Like… totally. And all of a sudden I sound like an awkward teenager (well…. I am. A bit. Okay, more than a bit. Okay, I’m going to stop talking now. Okay, like yeah. Like totally.) That’s how good the dairy is. It makes me lose my real words. Don’t even get me started on the yaourt. I’m mildly obsessed. Scratch the mild. I’m obsessed. Especially yaourt nature avec confiture myrtilles sauvages stirred in. Yes. Oui. Get on that.

Skiing in -25°C in the Alps. Each time the chairlift pulled us over a peak, we had another sunrise. I must have seen 5 sunrises that day. I was spoiled, even if I was frozen to the bone. Not to mention, with ice crystals in the air, we skied through a few clouds of glitter. The whole world was sparkly. It’s hard not to romanticize a glittery world, where the Alps are every direction you look, raw and strong as they cut into the sky.

In stark contrast, skiing this past weekend meant taking off excess layers, and a few moments of reclining on chaises soaking up the sun before continuing our run. Besides the altitude sickness I got from the 2000+ meter change through the day, it was beautiful.

With that, I’m here. Ma vie en France has just begun. I flew out here on January 30th: the day that marked four years since my celiac diagnosis. Four years since my life changed in a huge way, allowing the possibility of health. This past 30 janvier, I changed my life in a huge way. Both of those changes have been huge, incredibly fulfilling ones. I’m grateful for both the one that was handed to me, and this one, that I chose and chased.

Dream big. Happy Leap Day, my friends.

xoxo
Lauren

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A week from now, I’ll be settling into my apartment. My apartment in France. Oh goodness, those words sounds like such a far-off dream. The truth is that they are. I’ve spent so much of my teenagehood battling illness, where travel and living abroad was the sort of thing that lit up my dreams. When presented with months in-between school, I researched and looked. I found a school. I found somewhere to learn French. I convinced my parents and worked up the money. Rather than just the high-school level that I completed two years ago, this will be full immersion. While I don’t expect fluency, I can’t wait to dive in.

Long before it began, I dedicated 2012 as a year of chasing dreams. A year filled with growth, the unexpected and joy. I’m so thrilled to have that be coming true, even slightly. Soon, I set off for four months in France. Living in the Alps, surrounded by French. Rather than resolutions, I have my word for this year. Leap.

Leap into the unknown. Leap into my dreams. Leap in, giving all that I have. Leap. Such a simple word, but with so much charge behind it. I think I’m ready, but I know that leaping will be tough at times. It will be scary and uncomfortable, but I will come through it stronger. It will also be invigorating and joy-filled. So, with that, I leap.

I don’t believe I’ll have much internet access while over there, but I’m sure I’ll send tweets and instagrams (I’m @laurenmcmillan on IG) here and there. If I’m lucky, I’ll be able to find an internet cafe every so often to share some of my life over there with you, in this space. Let me apologize in advance for my lack of email replies surely to happen from now through June.

Before I say à bientôt, here are some snippets of my life lately. In between all of the random compiling, the room-cleaning, the studying (with final exams being 3 and 4 days before I fly- eep!), and the constant realizing that I leave for four months in France in just a few days, I haven’t had much time to create in the kitchen. Instead, I’ve been packing and soaking up the world around me. This is some of what I’ve seen, of what I’ll miss about home.

(Yes, I’m a little bit in love with instagram right now.)

Skiing on New Year’s Eve, with friends. The mountains always make my heart full of wonder. I’m so thrilled I’ll get to explore another set soon.

I adore writing letters and cards.

And sending them, of course. (Both the sending and writing are not things I plan on giving up. If anything, much the opposite.)

It had been ages since I went to a hockey game. This one had us on the edge of our seats until the last second. No question, it’s the best sort to attend. (And the home team won! Which made for that much more excitement.)

Flags, all set to sew on my things. (Note to self: after exams, get on that!)

Happy things. Favourites, all around.

Brunch with best friends. Birthday Celebrations. Love. Joy. Laughter. All the best things.

The sunrise. Such a beautiful thing to see, no matter where you are. This one was en-route to see a darling friend. I’m not loving having to say goodbye to friends, but I’m grateful to see some of them before I go!

One thing I won’t miss is the massive studying, which I must get back to.

The chocolate though, I’m not letting go of that. Why would I do that? Chocolate is good for the soul.

So, that’s what’s up with me. I keep doing a double-take at the date, constantly in awe that this is all happening. If you’ve got any suggestions for being gluten-free in France, traveling, or with anything else, I’d love to hear. Thank you for being here.

xoxo
Lauren

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A new year. I love the freshness of it. The idea that anything can happen. The blank page, unmarked by triumphs or failures, only plans and dreams. 2012 is destined to be a year distinctly unlike any I’ve experienced thus far. Big plans, full of space to wander and make mistakes and feel joy are outlined. (I’ll tell you about them soon. Promise!)

We may only be five days in, but I’m smitten. The days have been slow. Pajama-clad mornings, days absorbed in books, with scones. Thrown together, pulled from the oven, enjoyed with some tea and a book.

I’ve also spent a little time reflecting. 2010 was a year marked by illness. 2011 became a year where health flourished. I’m so grateful that I can say that. 2011 was the year I graduated. It was a year where I finally got to meet so many of the friends I’ve made through this space. It was a year of great joy. The biggest illnesses were colds and mild flus (none of that head cold-sinus infection-flu trifecta of 2010, or pneumonia-snowball of 2007. Phew.). This past semester, I’ve missed only 2 days. Two! Compared with the 3-1/2 months I missed last fall, this is heaven. I’m still flabbergasted that it was just two days this semester. A yucky little flu, stealing a few days. No lingering. That’s what I wish for you all. No lingering illnesses. That, and days filled with laughter and great joy.

I know I waxed on about it last year, but the scale? It’s really really great. Changed how I bake. All you need is a spoon to measure out flours. That means that all you have to wash is one spoon. How great is that?!

Oh, butter. You’re pretty darn awesome too.

Using a glass to cut out biscuits or scones always makes me think of my Great-Aunt. We used to make her biscuit recipe all the time, pre-celiac. There was no better way to cut them out than with a glass. Especially one that’s been lightly dipped in flour (I used sweet rice).

We had a little bit of half & half in the fridge, so I brushed the tops with it. I don’t know if it makes much difference, but I love the decidedly whiteness of it. It’s bright, with fat and flavour.

Currants are quite lovely. They give the effect of dried fruit without being overpowering. They become a note or addition, not the entire focus.

Don’t forget to write messages in the flour. It’s an important part of this recipe (not really, but it sure is fun!). Happy 2012!

And there we have it. Currant Scones, with tea. A lovely way to welcome this great new year, and say goodbye to the last. 2011, I’m honoured to have known you. 2012, I’m so ready to make you sensational.

xoxo
Lauren

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I’m kind of in disbelief that there are only a few short sleeps until 2011 is over. It’s been quite the year. These past few months have raced by at lightning speed, with work and excitement flooding the days. Right now, I’m sitting in my living room, with family. We’re all scattered on our various implements and gifts, in that post-Christmas joyfulness. Books, games, movies, and a little writing, here. Every time I’ve sat down to write in the past while, it’s been with a pre-defined purpose. Something that will be marked, graded, sent off to be analyzed by someone wiser than I. Although my final exams aren’t yet upon me, that time where I melt into the computer and pour out an essay that’s been simmering in the back of my head for awhile, that time has been postponed. Repeatedly put off while I write something I’m required to, or study quarks and organic chemistry (but don’t you dare get me wrong- I adore all of the science. It’s utterly enthralling. I can’t wait to learn more and more of it). Now, though, is time for rest and reconnection.

Boxing Day has always been one of those grand yet quiet days for me. Either a day in transit as we recuperate from the festivities of Christmas, or a day like this one. Waking up slowly, skiing, lazing about, with a hearty dash of loving food.

This time of year is one of sharing. Of giving. Of celebrating and loving. These marshmallows? I’ve been sharing them all about. Bags to friends, here and there. Spreading some holiday cheer, all around. Most of all, I’ve been dropping them into hot chocolate. I love to curl up with a cup while decompressing after the day, or while chatting with friends.

To make this recipe even better, it came from my dear friend Aimée, who writes both Simple Bites and Under the High Chair. When I visited her over the summer, she gave me one of my first tastes of homemade marshmallows. Cinnamon and vanilla ones, if I remember correctly. Heaven. I’ve played around with a few different recipes as of late. The vanilla bean ones from Ashley at Not Without Salt are sublime as well. In the spirit of the season though, here is my ever-so-slightly adapted recipe for peppermint marshmallows. If you’ve never had homemade marshmallows, I dare you to make some to ring in the new year, no matter what recipe you use. They’re positively magnificent, and incredibly easy. The only scary part is boiling the sugar. Aside from that, your mixer does all the work. Then, you have marshmallows that you can share with friends, who will be amazed that you! made! these!

Soft, pillowy and collecting light. That crisp winter morning light is such a treat. Especially on days where I can watch it stream in, rather than being out the door before the first ray of sunlight makes its appearance.

After ensuring the top was coated with enough icing sugar, I flipped it over and covered the rest. With candy recipes, you just have to make sure to read the instructions. Make sure to follow them. I know that sounds obvious, and it is. Candy recipes are often simpler than we build them up to be (or at least that’s true for how they’ve been built up in my head!), so read and conquer. You can do it.

On the morning I was cutting these marshmallows, my friend Kate came over (Hi Kate!). I met her through this space. We baked together. One holiday recipe from my family (cookies!) and one from hers. She shared this spectacular bark, a chocolate-laden pistachio bark. Oh my. When my brother found it in the freezer (where it’s stored), he told me to get the recipe. He said he wanted to make it. That’s big, really big. This bark is so incredibly good. Go see Kate for the recipe. I have no doubt that it’ll be popping up in my house sometime soon.

No matter what, marshmallows are a fun thing to throw together. Taste some homemade marshmallows soon, if you haven’t already.

I hope you’re all enjoying the holiday season and copious amounts of hot chocolate! I can’t wait to see what marvelous things 2012 will bring to all of us. I’m positive it’s going to be a phenomenal year, just as 2011 has been. Wishing merry merry, happy happy days to all of you!

xoxo
Lauren

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Falling back is one of those little gifts. We get one extra hour. I suppose it was loaned to us from the spring, but I’m taking it. I woke up before the sun today. My body said it was later than normal, but it was still earlier than I expected to wake. I didn’t grab my phone the moment I got up. Instead, I went to the spot I left my book. I’m in a book phase. I’m in a driving phase. I’m in a dreaming phase. None of these are really phases- but when I’ve fallen really ill or allowed busyness to fill up every moment, I become short-sighted. I forget about the stacks of books I want to read. I don’t write, bake, and only take the odd photo. I lose that part of myself that I need to live, not just survive. The part that makes me so quirkily me.

I finished that book, and have been keeping one in my bag, with me, wherever I go. Marveling at characters, at stories, at possibilities. I’m about to pick up a book my friend A’s mom handed me, after I handed her these cookies. These incredibly simple, marvelous cookies. The cookies based off of A’s grandmother’s recipe- a recipe I found nestled in one of my family cookbooks, handwritten by A’s mom, years and years ago. Searching for a good, old, family-tested oatmeal cookie recipe, I knew I had to adapt it. Nothing major, just to make it gluten-free.

They’re good cookies. Time-tested. After making them, I came across another recipe for oatmeal cookies- almost identical to A’s grandma’s, using all the same principles. These are cookies you could double, and make a date spread to sandwich between two of them, as A’s grandma’s recipe suggested. This time, all I was searching for was a marvelous, simple oatmeal cookie recipe. An oatmeal cookie recipe to celebrate and savour gorgeous gluten-free rolled oats. That’s exactly what it was: a celebration of oats and of oatmeal cookies. The best way I know (along with a few bowls of my favourite soup and a good book) to welcome winter.

Oh, I love this dough. Especially since you can eat it, licking the bowl and all, without feeling the least bit guilty. Or at least not guilty about eating any raw eggs!

I love the “walnut-sized” description. It’s exactly the size you want. A little bigger than a tablespoon, but not too much more. A walnut-sized ball.

Then, simply squish the cookie dough balls down to make your cookies.

They don’t spread much as they bake. But that doesn’t mean they aren’t fun to watch while baking. Especially as the scent of oatmeal cookies starts to spread through the house, it’s hard not to be drawn to the kitchen.

Et voila. Oatmeal cookies. Perfect alongside a cup of tea and a good book.

What are you reading these days? I’m always looking for good books, especially recommended reads!

xoxo
Lauren

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The light is changing. It doesn’t last as long. I wake up in the dark and go to bed when it’s dark, rather than light and light. Fall is here. Autumn can be felt in the air. Each tree and hedge is letting the season change in stride. Some are aflame in reds and yellows, while others are clutching their green with every cell. With the new season decidedly here, it’s time for Thanksgiving. Canadian Thanksgiving, of course!

Time to be thankful, time to celebrate what we have. Time to gather with those we love and savour marvelous food. Turkey, pumpkin pie, all the good stuff.

These biscuits are simple. They’re based off of my millet biscuits, using all the same flours and dry ingredients. The cheese is light and just a nice tone. The sharper the cheese you choose, the more pronounced the flavour will be.

Ribbons of freshly shredded cheddar. I love the simplicity and the flavour it brings.

We make millet biscuits all the time, so this dough is one of my favourites. So lovely. And easy. And since this recipe shares all the dry ingredients, you can make a mix and use it for either.

When baked, they’re wonderful. Subtle cheddar flavour, and brilliant biscuit form. I’m such a sucker for biscuits.

It’s a great time to stop and smell the roses. Figuratively and literally- if you’re lucky enough to stumble upon a rose garden, as I was. I love this time of year. Routine is just starting to return, and nature is bright and reminding me how valuable each moment is.

I hope you all have a wonderful Thanksgiving weekend. I’m thankful for so much, but one of the biggest things is this space. Thank you for all the good you bring to it. It’s truly a joy to share here.

xoxo
Lauren

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It’s been one of those summers not to be forgotten. Magic days spent with best friends. Loving hours spent with family. Love, in every corner. Days spent celebrating now, celebrating this moment. I’ve also been trying to capture it. My hand has been glued to my camera more than ever this summer. At the same time, I haven’t let it stop me from living. Occasionally a friend will take the camera, or we’ll do hold-out-your-arm myspace-style shots just to remember that I was there too. I like seeing the moments through their eyes as well. More than anything, I’m grateful for these memories. The images will simply make them that much more celebrated.

The first half of my summer was spent largely in a classroom, learning Calculus. As much as 4 hours of school (and at least as much homework) everyday wasn’t fun, I loved it. Looking at math in a completely different way was marvelous. Tough, yes, but good. This fall marks the start of my gap year. Last year I touched on how this year would be for university, but things change. Life happens. It knocked me out of school, riddled with illness for 3 1/2 months last winter. I graduated, but I want more. More classes, more time. I want to travel. I want to breathe. The opportunity to take a break doesn’t roll along often – and I’m not naive enough to assume that it will pop up whenever I’m exhausted from here on in, but this time, I’m grabbing it by the horns.

Before Calculus got underway, I had a week. One week of pure summer. Spontaneous sleepovers at best friend’s houses, all-day Doctor Who marathons, mini-road trips, Canada day celebrations, and laughter. So much laughter.

I hiked up to teahouses with my dad.

I watched my brother grow. Grow as an athlete, as a player, and in height.

I baked with my mom.

I made pie, banana bread, millet biscuits, and cinnamon rolls. They were our staples. I didn’t experiment very much with recipes, rather just celebrating the ones we love. Sometimes going back to our roots can be the best thing.

We went back. Back to the place where my grandma grew up. She saw her childhood home for the last time (her words! Not mine.). We marveled at the changes the places that live fiercely in our memories have had. Rather than just the stories regaled each year, new ones came to light. Long-departed family members were painted with memories rather than simply being a name in my family tree. I crave those stories. I don’t want to let them be lost as the years and generations go by.

This summer, I shared food with friends, and family. Pie, of course, but also meals. In the homes of fellow bloggers, great meals. Meals out. A meal enjoyed sprawled in a friend’s backyard, as a final hurrah before she left for university. Meals to celebrate the season. Meals with new friends, and meals with my oldest friends.

People gathered. Not just for meals, but to give, love and celebrate. Being a witness, let alone a participant of this is something I’ll always be grateful for. Tough things reminded me how important gathering with love is. Spectacularly planned or spontaneous, a gathering is a massive gift.

I looked for light. Light in unexpected places. When it commanded attention, I listened and captured. I let myself wander, going down paths I’ve gone down a countless times, as well as those that were new to me.

This was my summer. The summer after I graduated high school*. Now it’s over, and here begins the fall after I graduated high school. There is magic in my fingertips typing that. New recipes and normalcy will come soon enough, but for now, I wanted to celebrate this.

Tell me about your summer. (Or winter, for southern hemisphere friends!). What moments do you want to remember?

xoxo
Lauren

*Title courtesy of my dear friend N. Let’s bake together soon, okay?

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I’ve written this post in my head about ten times. The type of post you think of repeatedly, somehow hoping that it materializes all typed up, with photos at opportune breaks. Every time, it hasn’t happened. Some other pie has come into my life, or a loss for words has washed over me.

I haven’t baked an outrageous amount this summer, but I have baked a lot of pie. I’ve shared a lot of pie. This summer has been about pie. Be it that gorgeous raspberry pie made with the perfectly ripe raspberries, or the peanut butter pie made to remember a man I never knew. The latter was the one that kicked me in the gut (not the pie itself, but the reason why thousands of us made it). I made it for family, using saved images on my phone to read the recipe, in my grandma’s cottage. In the place which was the epitome of family to me. I guesstimated some parts, compensating with as much love as I had. It was a great pie. When it was gone, all I wanted was for it to still be here – for Mikey to still be here. I hugged everyone tighter, longer that day. And have done so every day since.

When I made my next pie, news came of another death. Another man taken too young. Another widow, shattered. More travel, more baking. Another man. This time, it was expected. That doesn’t make it easy. All it does is provide the knowledge that he lived a long, full life. That he met all of his grandchildren, and many of his great-grandchildren.

Pie has been my way to share memories. It’s always been something filled with stories of family. When I think of pie, I think of love. I think of giving. It celebrates the seasons. It celebrates life, love and gathering. Like life, it’s brilliant when messy. In fact, it’s often better. When my sweet cousin asked me what I’d make if I could only bake one thing for the rest of my life? The answer was pie. The answer has always been pie. It’s ingrained in me.

My great-grandmothers, the brilliant women I’ve never met, would throw pies together. A couple, every Sunday. No recipes, just a decided understanding of what to do and how to work a wood oven. I learned how to make pie crust beside my aunt and my cousin. This summer, I made two pies in the spot where I first learned. Standing at the crooked counter in grandma’s cottage, emotions surged through me. The first pie was that one for Mikey, the second was one of this summer’s great discoveries. Raspberry blueberry peach pie. The best pie I’ve ever made? I don’t doubt it.

I also shared pie with friends. One of the best parts about Canada is the diversity of cultures. That meant that one of my friends, who has lived from here to Europe and the Middle East, had never made pie. In fact, she’d only tried two kinds before – one just a few weeks prior to baking with me. After only tasting apple and coconut cream pie, I knew that I had to share a summer celebration pie. If you’ve grown up with pie as I have, you likely know the type. The freshest produce, singing with its sweet summer flavour, thrown into a pie. We had raspberries, blueberries and peaches in my kitchen, so that was the pie we made. Perfection. Watching her enjoy it was almost as good as the pie itself. But that pie would be hard to beat. I’m excited to share more pies in the future, and enjoy more of her favourite treats as well.

I don’t know how to adequately convey the importance of pie in my life. It’s shaped who I am. Not in terms of calories and pounds, but with memories and how I tackle the world. I’m quiet, honest. I’m simple and sometimes messy. I don’t reveal all of my secrets at first glance, but the odd bits, like this space, are out there for anyone to see. I stay in my comfort zone a lot, between two carefully crafted crusts. But if the ball is dropped or you really get to know me, I lay it all out.

They sometimes say that people are like icebergs, with only ten percent of who we are able to be seen. The problem I have with that is that it portrays people as being cold, without compassion. Pie, on the other hand can be warm or cold and is always meant to share. Each pie we make teaches us something. Some decisions in life are big flops, just like the odd pie. Most though, are beautiful in their own way. Some drip with garnet juices, others are tinged with browns around the edges, but every pie is special in its own way. Even if just for the lesson it left, it shapes how you make the next one, as each memory and experience affects how we live.

If I had a recipe for most of these pies, I’d share. The peanut butter pie is over at Jennie’s site (I just made sure the chocolate cookies were gluten-free ones). While you’re there, go leave her some love.

My go-to gluten-free pie crust is here. The crusts are a little bit more tricky than the below filling, but that’s half the fun. Pie crust is one of my favourite things to make.

For the raspberry blueberry peach pie, I threw together a cup or so of raspberries, a cup or so of blueberries, a couple of sliced, skinned peaches, a cup of sugar, a tablespoon or two of cornstarch, some lemon juice and vanilla. All tossed together, allowed to sit for ten minutes. Dumped into a prepared pie crust, dotted with butter and then sealed with a top crust, which was scored to let the steam out. Brushed with a little milk and sprinkled with some sugar. With a baking sheet on the rack below the pie, I baked at 425 for 15 minutes, then turned down to 350 for 45 minutes or longer, until done.

I know, it’s not a specific recipe. It’s a pie recipe. Room to wiggle, room to play, and room to forge your own path and memories.

Now it’s your turn. What does pie mean to you? And what is your favourite type of pie? I’d love to know.

xoxo
Lauren

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