The Pleasure of Provision

The uncharacteristically cold and wet January weather in Brisbane has had me confined to indoor pursuits this week, and as per usual when the clouds descend and the showers are frequent, my mind has folded in on itself and is content to find pleasure in the most domestic of pursuits, and meaning in those places that are often overlooked on sunny days.
When I wake to the day and hear rain already falling on my roof I long to linger between the sheets, but something deeper inside me wants to patter out to the kitchen and create some warmth and welcome the morning. Today has been one such day, a Sunday morning sky filled with grey clouds, a chill on my nose when woke to my alarm clock, and an idea in my brain to make breakfast for Mum and Dad.

The gentle scent of cinnamon, nutmeg and roasted apple wafted out of the oven as I paused a moment to reflect over the last few days, and the meals that I have made; some nights just for Mum and Dad and I and on Friday evening a feast for friends. The other thought that popped into my mind was a comment from the librarian as I picked up a stack of cookbooks to read over the weekend; "you're going to be busy with all that cooking, better you than me".
I think she missed my point when I merely smiled and replied "It brings me joy."
To me, cooking is more than the mere preparation of fuel for the body.
Imagining something my family and friends will love, selecting the highest quality ingredients I can find, chopping, stirring, simmering and plating in the creation of a meal are all exercises in joy for my soul. They are a moving meditation.
I call it the pleasure of provision. When I am engaged in providing something for my family, whether it is food, or making the house tidy before they come home, or just making Mum a cup of tea while she works on something; I feel warmer inside, I feel that these ordinary days have some deeper meaning, some connection to who I want to be as a person, the life I want to lead, and the things that are most important to me.

One of those things that is most important to me is to be giving to others, to provide for my family, to have something to offer when we all sit at the table. Making a meal, or a treat, to share amongst companions is a physical manifestation of the love and care we share at a deeper level. These plates I fill are only symbols of the hearts that I hope to touch everyday, and the places I hope my love nests itself, ready to nourish when it is needed most.

Roasted Apple and Oat Muffins
You will need to prepare the oat and milk mixture the day before. If you forget to do so never fear, you can just add them as separate ingredients, the oats will just be crunchier than if they were soaked.


Ingredients
1 cup of oats
1 cup of wholemeal plain flour
1/2 cup of brown sugar
1/2 teaspoon salt
1 teaspoon baking powder
1/2 teaspoon baking soda
1/2 teaspoon cinnamon
1/4 teaspoon nutmeg
2 1/2 tablespoons olive oil
1 cup low fat milk
2 teaspoons vanilla
1 large egg
1 apple, quartered and sliced thinly

Method:

1. The night before you wish to cook the muffins measure the milk into a jug and add one half cup of the oats. Allow the mixture to soak overnight in the fridge.
2. The next morning, preheat the oven to 200 degrees Celsius. 
3. While you prepare the rest of the mixture and the oven heats spread the sliced apple across a lined baking sheet and roast in the oven for about 15 minutes or until softened. 
4. Spray a 12 hole muffin pan with oil.
5. In a large bowl mix together the remaining half cup of oats, wholemeal flour, salt, baking powder, baking soda, cinnamon and nutmeg.
6. In the jug with the overnight oat and milk mixture add the olive oil, vanilla and egg. Beat together.
7. Add the wet ingredients to the dry and stir gently, before it is fully combined add the sugar and mix until just combined.
8. Spoon batter into prepared pan and top with a few slices of the baked apple.
9. Bake muffins for 12 - 15 minutes or until tops spring back when lightly touched.
10. Allow to cool for a few minutes in the pan and then remove while still slightly warm. Serve the muffins with butter and jam or enjoy on their own.

These muffins go beautifully with a steaming cup of English breakfast tea and some chunky raspberry jam. Especially on a rainy Sunday morning with those you love.

An Everyday Place, An Everyday Grace

When I was a little girl Mum would make a pot of tea every morning. I would watch her from the table as she carefully wound the strings of the tea bags around the handle of the pot, listen as the boiling water made a slight hiss as it hit the tea leaves, and wait for it to be placed on the table to draw wrapped snugly inside the tea cosy my grandmother had made years before.
A few minutes would pass as Mum busied herself in the kitchen making toast, waving the warm bread back and forth to cool so that it wouldn't melt her butter. Two slices with a yellow coating of butter topped with thinly sliced cheese would be placed at her spot at the table as she sat down to her breakfast. Then the teapot would be carefully turned three times in a clockwise direction before Mum would pour herself a cup and stir in two teaspoons of sugar.
Every morning, tea and toast and a little sigh of contentment.
That half hour ritual at the start of the day reveals more about my mother than an hour's conversation with her could possibly yield; she is tea and toast and a little sigh of contentment.

Rituals are an experience and expression of ourselves in the everyday. They are the fundamentals of self that carry us through the ordinary and the extraordinary. A simple way to connect with what lies at the core of who we are, and what we need, on a daily basis.

Rituals are what soothe and comfort us, excite and entertain us, or give a specific period of time a special meaning for us as individuals or with the ones we love. These simple acts or grand can be a way of showing people we care about them; now I make my Mum's tea some mornings, or they can be a way of saying something about ourself without having to say anything at all.

 The most important rituals to me are those that lie in the every day. I still make myself a cup of tea every morning like Mum used to, even though I now drink it when I get to work and it doesn't come out of a teapot, I still feel the comfort when I wrap my hands around that mug. There is a link across time to the memory of the little girl watching Mum in the kitchen that warms me, starts my day off correctly. There is a link to my Mum, knowing that somewhere she too is holding a cup of tea, letting the liquid warm her hands, breathing a sigh of contentment.
So I stir my tea three times in a clockwise direction, breathe a sigh of contentment, and start my day.