Cabbage Patch Kid

Tuesday night my parents headed out to the theatre for a dose of Christopher Plummer, two of my BFFs, who I talked to via Skype were off to Bloor cinema for a movie and probably some delicious Thai food, or sushi or something considered equally exotic to where I live now, like say, McDonalds. And I assume that everyone else I know was also doing something infinitely more interesting than what I had planned.

I was settling in for a night of watching The Tudors, one of two shows I can stand on the two channels I get with my rabbit ears (if it's not raining, or windy and I'm not doing laundry.)

However, the downstairs food fairies had other plans for me. Remember back when my evenings used to consist of drinks and dancing? Me neither. Although technically there was SOME drinking involved, last night dancing was replaced with helping to make buckets and buckets of sauerkraut using an antique cabbage shredder and a homemade "pounder" to "Smuck" the cabbage together with salt. (Yes those are technical terms).

So I pretended I was on the amazing race and smucked like a million dollars depended on it, while Food fairy J told me about the giant sauerkraut parties the locals used to have. Families would bring their cabbages and spend the entire day chopping, pounding and salting together to put up enough sauerkraut for the winter.

Sometimes I think the food fairies are like those three godmothers in Sleeping Beauty, except, instead of sewing me magic dresses (which I would appreciate), their job is to educate me about various rural and historical items of interest.

For example, when I recently shouted "Look! A fox!", my city-born eyes sparkling with excitement, Food fairy J, said. "That's a coyote," without even looking at me like I was a moron.

Anyway, maybe my life is not as glamorous as it was, but at least I'm learning my animals. Plus this winter I probably won't get scurvy.