Retiring Chronically Vintage

Yesterday, after two very snowy weeks of early March, I felt the first tender rays of springtime warmth dance upon my skin. I took Annie out back and together we played amongst them, both entranced by a sensation that we had very nearly forgotten.

It was a moment of simple, untainted pleasure of that sort we all long for in our lives and it reminded me a great deal of the powerful feelings of warmhearted compassion that myself, Tony and Annie have been incredibly blessed to receive from scores of wonderful people – including many in the vintage community – over the past five months since the fire.

From that horrific day onward, there has been a part of me that had suspected this post would eventually happen. Perhaps many of you saw it coming as well.

What occurred to us on that fateful, (ironically) rainy October night changed us forever. In one fell swoop it rewrote our lives and tore into the fabric of who we were at our very cores.

Though some pieces have been mended, others that remained (now) strengthened, and some are lost forever, we are not the same people we were before the fire. I highly doubt most folks would be, if they went through something similar.

Hardship and challenges make you and shape you. They can break you, too, if you let them. Yet from that very first evening as we stood cocooned in shock and grief, we swore that we wouldn’t let that happen and with your profound help (of every conceivable variety), love and support, it hasn’t.

Though I had, for some time, remained optimistic that I’d be able to pick up here much like before, in the ensuing five months it has become glaringly apparent to me that such is simply not possible.

Too much has changed. Though my love for vintage, my tremendous appreciation for this community, and my passion for rocking old school styles will never waver for a moment, I have come to realize that, as much as it genuinely pains me to the pit of my soul, I need to retire this blog.

Between the continued (very) poor state of my health in the wake of the blaze, the challenging road ahead as we continue to rebuild our lives, and the reality that certain things can never go back to as they once were, I know in my heart of hearts that this is what is right and healthy for me at this stage in my life.

I want each of you to know, and pray that you will believe me when I say, that this decision did not come easily or lightly. I agonized over it relentlessly for months and talked about it with Tony until I the point where I wouldn’t have been the least bit surprised if he’d started throwing things at me to get me to drop the subject (of course my sweet husband would never actually do that, but I wouldn’t have blamed in the slightest him if he had!).

For the better part of eight years (including the 2.5 for which, before the fire, I had my eponymously named Etsy shop as well; it will not be returning either), this blog was a huge part of my world – just as each of you were.

I adore, care about, and appreciate all of you more than you will ever know. Parting ways, in a vintage blogging context at least, is beyond hard for me to do.

I have had many sleepless nights, shed my fair share of tears, negatively impacted my health further from the stress of debating what to do, rung my hands nearly raw with anxiety, searched the furthest recesses of my heart, and, again, did not get to this point easily or lightly. Please know however, that it is a choice that I have reached for certain. 

Here we are then and there’s no sense in dragging things out.

Instead I will thank you – each and every one of you – for the innumerable ways you’ve enriched my life since Chronically Vintage began in April 2009. We’ve talked, we’ve laughed, we’ve inspired one another, we’ve grown as people, we’ve changed, and we have come to be dear friends.

{You mean the world to me - each of you. Thank you for the great times, the kinship, and for your understanding about my tremendously difficult decision to retire CV. Vintage photo image source.}

In our darkest hour, you were there for me and my family and I will be grateful for your help, compassion and remarkable generosity (including both your monetary donations and care packages) for as long as I live.

The physical gifts you gave me (us) helped me to come back to many important parts of myself. They cloth me, we eat off of them, we even bath with some of your presents (soaps and a beautiful floral print shower curtain, for instance). You often knew what we needed, even if, in our haze of grief, we didn’t.

You took us by the hand and the heart, you believed in us and we have grown stronger in many ways again because of you – just as I have always derived strength and comfort from this amazing community.

While I will no longer be blogging here at Chronically Vintage, I plan to keep this site (which houses just over 1,500 posts) alive for all to enjoy, learn from, and be inspired by.

You can continue to connect with me on social media, where as time goes on, I hope to share an even broader scope of myself and my many different interests – a giant one of which will, of course, forever be vintage.

Thank you all so much. Thank you for the memories, the smiles, the joys, the ways in which you've helped me grow, and countless other things that will stay with me for all of my days. 

I want you to know that you can always email me and that, I hope, should any of you ever find yourself in dire straights, I can be there for you however possible, too. Just ask, night or day.

I won’t say goodbye, instead I will say that I love you. That you mean more to me than I could ever begin to put into words, and that I hope with all my might you’ll understand my exceedingly difficult decision to retire from this blog and to look ahead to other (largely unknown at present) chapters in my life.

It has been a joy and an honour to connect with all of you throughout CV’s life and I look forward to continuing to do so via social media (particularly on Instagram and Pinterest), your blogs, emails, snail mail, and other avenues for a long time to come.

Friendship, much like the appeal of the past itself, is often timeless and so too, in my eyes, are each of you. 

Forever and always your friend in all things vintage,

❤ Jessica

Would you like to be interviewed for my blog?

Earlier this month I had the pleasure of interviewing Emileigh Rogers from the terrific vintage lifestyle blog Flashback Summer. Many of you commented on that post expressing your interest in these kinds of interviews in general, and also (in some cases) eluding that you might like to take part in one yourself.

I've toyed with the idea of launching a blogger-to-blogger ongoing post series before and your extremely positive response to Emileigh's Q&A session has shown me that there would be a serious desire amongst my readership for just that.

As such, I'd like to take the opportunity today to encourage any and all fellow vintage (and rockabilly and pinup) bloggers who might be interested to drop me a line and we can discuss the possibility of such further.

These kinds of posts do certainly take some time and effort on the part of both parties, so they wouldn't be a weekly occurrence, more like a periodical one in vein with some of my ongoing series here such as Saturday Snapshots and Adventures in Vintage advertising. I think that an interview post a season or perhaps one per month, if the amount of interest was that high, would be a fairly likely.

{I might not be the BBC, but I am the "CV" and I would absolutely love to interview you, if you're a fellow vintage blogger who wants to have a fun heart-to-heart with me about the vintage related topics that you’re most passionate about. Zip me an email and we can take things from there. Image source.}

There really isn't much in the way of criteria involved if you'd like to be interviewed, other than that you need to have an active blog or strong social media presence (YouTube, Instagram, Tumblr, etc) that you use as a micro blogging platform, that pertains to vintage or a very similar field (and do note, this can mean vintage decor, vintage fashion, classic movies, being a pinup model, etc).

I will of course vet all blogs and will not team up with any in this interview type of capacity that are spammy or completely commercially driven. I’m looking for genuine vintage loving bloggers with sites similar to my own and Emileigh’s.

That's all there is to it! In fact, you don't even have to blog in English. If you speak English as your second (or third, etc) language to a degree that you can confidentially navigate a series of interview questions, which I will be sending you via email, then by all means, you're welcome to get in touch.

Though there will be some similar questions (such as something in the vein of "How long have you been blogging?" and "Can you tell me more about your blog?", each interview will be unique and tailored to the person that I'm asking the questions to.

Your interview with Chronically Vintage will be free press for your site and a way to help connect with an even larger audience of fellow bloggers and vintage enthusiasts worldwide. You are welcome to blog about it on your own site, share it on social media, or mention it anywhere you'd like and I in turn will do the same thing once it has gone live here.

I think this is a really fresh, exciting prospect and eagerly look forward to interviewing some of you, my dear fellow vintage bloggers, in the months and years to come. Thank you so much for letting me know how much you enjoyed Emileigh's interview and for spurring me on to launch this new post series.


*PS*

Speaking of interviews, I had the immense honour of being interviewed by fellow vintage loving gal Lottie Ryan for her stellar site Whose That Lady? earlier this month. If you haven't read our highly intimate interview - which covers topics such as my life with multiple chronic illnesses, my passion for vintage, and running an Etsy shop - be check it out now here today.

What being unique means to my life

Every week, nay, nearly every day, I receive emails from companies that are woefully ill suited to my blog (and often personal interests, too) suggesting that I write a promotional post on their behalf for my blog featuring one of more their products or promotions - usually things like trips to countries, wonderful though they may, that I'll likely never step foot in; home appliances I shalln't be buying anytime soon, or flower delivery services that don't even send order to my country. While part of me appreciates, from a business standpoint, why such companies send out these generally entirely boiler plate filled emails, I never act upon them.

Their impersonal requests, sent to hundreds, if not thousands of folks on all rungs of the blogger popularity ladder do to not speak to me. They don't stir my heart, cause me to stop in my tracks and get lost in a thunder storm of thoughts. They are not who I am and what my blog is about. Yet for every rule there is an exception and when said exception comes delivered with your name and a friendly note from someone you've already had pleasant correspondence with, that feeling shifts radically.

Earlier this week I received just such a (positive) email from the fine folks at Unique Vintage. The message, simple, polite, and earnest, merely wondered if I'd be interested in taking part in their recently launched #iamunique campaign which encourages people from around the world to use that hashtag for their photos, tweets, posts, what have you, anytime they want to convey the message that they are indeed unique.

{A handful of the awesome people that Unique Vintage has highlighted as part of their inspiring #Iamunique campaign.}

We've all heard the jaded axiom before: "You're unique, just like everyone else" or some variation (often with the world special used in lien of unique) before. And it's precisely that, an apathetic line delivered, more often than not with an air of smugness and and thumbing of the nose towards the notion that each of us is unique.

Sad really, because we are. Even those who, for better or worse, spend much of their time and energy emulating others are unique beings. No two people, not even identical twins are every truly, exactly the same.

It is our our differences, our similarities, and yes, even our specialties that make us unique. You could quickly trust your hand up in the air say, but wait, aren't they just using the word unique because it's in the name of their company. And if you do, my answer would be a kindly delivered, "So what?". If, as Marshall McLuhan wrote back in the 1960s, the medium is the message, than it's high time that the media of hashtags and social (fittingly) media itself, a rather cloistered and at times carbon copied segment of modern society, embraced and celebrated the concept of what being unique really means.

After all, I thought to myself, as I read what this campaign is aiming to do and how the word unique tied into Unique Vintage's very moniker, I too took a word from one part of my world and applied it to another when naming my blog.

Long time readers who have been with me for many a year now, bare with, as I know you've heard this tale before (I promise you though, you haven’t heard it quite like it). It warrants telling again, for it is part of what makes me and my very blog itself unique.

You see, once a while back, nearly six years ago to be precise, I was in my mid-twenties and incredibly ill. I mean, scary, kiss-the-ground-each-morning-because-you-woke-up ill. I'd already been a multiple chronic illness fighter for a few years and at that time I was was going through one of the worst spells of my life on the health front. It lasted for years. I was (physical) weak and incredibly exhausted. Pain alone would have been a welcome respite from the nightmarish agony I was living. Tears took more energy then I could muster most days. But I didn't feel sorry for myself or bemoan my lot in life - for I still had life and hope and the perpetually present thought that I was more than just the sum of my medical problems.

I began to focus, if only in my mind, on those very things. The elements that made me whole and interesting. Those that had walked with me since my earliest memories and others that hopped on an open box car somewhere along the way in this wild journey we call existence.

There was my immeasurable passion for animals. The way I could scent the world with the fragrance of vanilla tobacco smoke and never tire of it (I don't, and have never, smoked, I just madly adore that scent). There were the countless books, lapped up with more gusto than a kitten going at a saucer of milk. There was my camera, trusty companion, sometimes source of income, silent witness to things far too easily forgotten, buried beneath the weight of the daily grind.

There was the reams of research done in the name of my family's genealogy. Always searching, always wanting to know and understand more. To see not only branches but the very roots of my kin's own tree. There were dolls, some new, some old, and a few cherished childhood mementos of various sorts. Letters received and drafts waiting to be sent, all in cursive - the product of a refusal to extinguish an age old art.

In the closet of my mind's eye hung fashions both real and imagined, lingering alongside roses and honeysuckle and wisteria from backyard gardens long moved on from. A million memories like the grains of sands that clung to my young legs on the beaches - second homes, really - of my youth.

There were the scars from battles won and surrenders survived. Literal and metaphorical. Notebook upon notebook of poetry, often my one and only saving grace. There were songs, ballads from kindred spirits and rebel wordsmiths that highlighted and shadowed recollections more vividly than light ever could.

Faces and places, loves and hates. Failures and successes, both spectacular, both powerful, both invaluable in shaping my morals, my ethics, my beliefs, my politics, my compassion. Notes of romance from my husband, his gentle voice, sagely wisdom, twinkling eyes.

Losses and gains, and a hundred million pains and everything and nothing that made me who I was. That made me unique.

I turned to one interest, one passion that had shone like a lighthouse beckon since before I could even read the printed word on my own: history, and by extension this word and world we call vintage.

It was my in my closet, on my bookshelves. It woke me up to hand fistfuls of coins to strangers on sleepy, sun-kissed Saturday mornings. It gave me my first job and many along the road between then and now. It was what made me ask follow up questions to elderly people's stories about their early days. Humbled me in my tracks. Shone and gave and invited me to always return, no matter what.

It knew me as well, perhaps better even, than I knew myself, for it had seen all who came before me and will encompass all who follow. The words that appeared to me next, the very name I bestowed upon this blog - and myself from that point onward - were "chronically vintage".

This love, the beautiful, amazing, endless bank of knowledge was not a negative form of the word chronically, as it is so often implied or needed to be used (as in the case of ongoing health problems). It was a positive. An all encompassing, fantastical, joyful experience that comes from being so very blessed as to be tapped by the universe to preserve and celebrate that past each and every day.

In the midst of a nightmare, I carved out a tiny niche of beauty. My corner of the web, yes, but also a reclaiming of the fact that I was so very, very much more than my medical situation. I was unique, but at the same time united with others in a common interest, a shared adoration.

We are each as unique as our finger prints, our DNA, our souls - and yes, even our blogs and social media statements. That, my sweet dears, is part of the message behind Unique Vintage's campaign and why, unlike all those other emails, this one set my fingers ablaze and spurred today’s post to life. Not entirely unlike when my blog itself came into being late one April evening in 2009.

{#iamunique and wonderful, flawed and human, passionate and perpetually optimistic, and I wouldn't have it any other way.}

Here is to being unique. To walking proud and standing up for your right to be an individual. Brave, elegant, raw, gorgeous, troubled, sweet, hopeful, brilliant, and yes, even stylish. No matter what, no matter where, no matter the cards that life has dealt you. For in being unique, we triumph and we find the strength by which to pick ourselves up when the chips are down and the promise of tomorrow isn't always a given.

#Iamunique, and so too, thank the universe, are each and every one of of you. This is my story. What's yours?

Guess who Queens of Vintage crowned Vintage Queen #136!

...Hint, you're reading her blog right now. :)

Santa can skip my stockings right on by this year, because the coolest and most exciting Christmas present one could possibly hope for as a vintage blogger came my way yesterday morning when Queens of Vintage dubbed me Vintage Queen #136.

I've been a devoted fan of Queens of Vintage's stellar site ever since it launched back in 2009, and have especially enjoyed their Queens (and Kings and Couples) of Vintage series from the very beginning. Not only has it introduced me to several vintage folks I didn't previously know, but it has also warmed my heart time and time again when I saw many of my fellow old school adoring friends from around the world make it onto this venerable list.



{A screenshot of the Queens of Vintage's post from yesterday in which they very sweetly named as me Vintage Queen #136. Click here to read the outfit photo filled full interview.}



For years now (since the series started, to be exact), I've harboured a secret longing to one day wear the Queen of Vintage crown, and am pinching myself like there's no tomorrow over the fact that this incredible honour actually happened to me. I sincerely mean it when I say that this is my favourite Christmas present this year - in addition to being one of the absolute biggest highlights not only of 2013, but of all the years I've been a die-hard vintage lover.

Thank you so tremendously much, Queens of Vintage, you've made me the happiest lass in Canada!!!

In which I am humbled and touched beyond words

Originally, I didn't have a post slatted for this gloriously warm last Friday of July, but then something happened that moved me to my core and which I wanted needed to blog about immediately, and so I'm doing just that right now.

I've had the great pleasure of knowing Lorena - a very talented artist from Brisbane, Australia - through both of her engaging, beautiful blogs (Balea Raitz Art and In Vogue One Day) for quite some time now, and we've long enjoyed swapping comments on each others sites.

Lorena had indicated before to me that she was interested in drawing me, and I'd happily said I would be honoured to have that happen anytime, but I didn't know that she was hard at work on a sketch this month, nor that she posted it on Balea Raitz Art until today. Imagine my double take inducing surprise when I visited her blog a few minutes ago was greeted with an illustrated image of myself.




This is the first time I've ever had anyone draw me as an adult, and I truly cannot begin to express the mixture of joy, appreciation, and amazement I'm feeling at the moment over the awesome image of me that Lorena so thoughtfully created (which is based on a photograph from this outfit post taken in the spring of 2012).

As I've touched on at various times here over the years (such as in this post), I have struggled with some really hefty self-esteem, self-confidence, and body image related issues over the years (which are not helped one iota by my battle with severe chronic health problems). Though I have gotten somewhat better in this regard, it took me a very long time - almost all of my life - to not look in the mirror and think that I was horrendously, hideously unattractive.

I am exceedingly well aware of the fact that I'm not, in most peoples' eyes, what one might call conventionally beautiful, and between all of these points, I honestly never imagined that anyone would look at me and choose to see me as a source of inspiration for their artwork - let alone want to draw an image depicting me.

At the age of 29 years old, I am incredibly humbled learn that I was wrong. Dead wrong. Someone found inspiration in me and created art with that. My goodness, I can think of nothing more touching or uplifting for my soul, spirit, and self-esteem.

Lorena's incredible piece exudes a sort of radiant beauty that I have honestly never seen in myself when I looked at my reflection, but which, clearly she was able to wisely see and transform into art.

The words "thank you" fail to do justice for gift of this incredible illustration, as well as for what, in one lightning fast instant, it taught me to see in myself. However, I will say them with as much conviction and sincerity as anyone has ever held before all the same: thank you deeply, dearly, and forever, Lorena.

At the hospital

Hi everyone,

Jessica's husband here. Jessica was admitted to the hospital earlier this week and is currently waiting for surgery. It may get a little quiet around here for a few days. Please bear with us and a sincere thank you for your understanding.


Sincerely,
Antonio (acangiano@gmail.com)

PS: Gwen, if you're reading this, Jess is truly sorry, but she's going to have to delay the giveaway that you'd had planned for the 24th. She will contact you to reschedule it as soon as possible.

Wonderful Wednesday Recipe: Springtime Berries ‘N’ Cream Roll-Ups

If I’m not mistaken, this recipe hails from amongst my mother’s collection, though I’ve tweaked it a little over the years. The original suggested that the roll-ups be baked sans berries inside (and to instead top the baked roll-ups with all of the berries), but I much prefer to include most of the berries in the rolls-ups before I slide them in the oven.

This dish works equally well as a sweet – but certainly not cloyingly so – dessert or as a decant breakfast or brunch entrée. While I like to eat it piping hot, you can allow the roll-ups to come to room temperature before serving them, though I feel that they are their finest while still piping warm, the juices from the berries leeching into the soft, lightly toasted white bread.


{Strawberries, such as the ones featured in this old school fruit crate label, make a particularly nice inclusion in this tasty, cream cheese filled recipe, but you can use any variety of berry you fancy. Beautiful vintage illustration for Ozark brand strawberries via Meaghan Courtney’s Flickr stream.}


If you’re fortunate enough to have your own garden, harvest whatever fresh, gorgeous new springtime berries you have on hand. Failing that, I encourage you to seek out ripe, small, luscious organic berries from your local farmer’s market or produce shop. Just about any berry (strawberries, raspberries, boysenberries, blueberries, blackberries, huckleberries, etc) works well here, so let your imagination run wild.


Springtime Berries ‘N’ Cream Roll-Ups

Ingredients

•4 ounces cream cheese, softened (reduced fat cream cheese can be used)

•1/2 cup white sugar, divided in half

•1 egg yolk

•10 slices white bread, crusts removed

•1 1/2 tsp ground cinnamon

•3 tbsp butter or margarine, melted

•1/2 whipping (heavy) cream, whipped (add sugar and/or vanilla to taste)

•1 1/2 cup (plus a few extra, set aside) fresh springtime berries, such as a mix of strawberries and raspberries, or blackberries and red currants


Directions

Preheat oven to 350°F (175°C/gas mark 4).

In a small mixing bowl, beat the cream cheese together with 1/4 cup of white sugar, add in the egg yolk and beat until smooth.

Lay out the ten slices of white bread on a flat surface and spread approximately 1 tablespoon of the cream cheese mixture on each slice. Next evenly divide the 1 1/2 cups of berries between the slices of bread and top each piece with an equal quantity. Proceed by rolling each slice of bread up as though it were a jelly-roll, starting with the longer edge. Place the rolled up slices of bread, seemed side down, into a lightly greased 10 inch x 15 inch glass (or ceramic) baking dish, in a single layer.

Lightly brush the top of each bread roll-up with melted butter (or margarine). In a small mixing bowl, combine the cinnamon and remaining sugar and spread evenly (with a spoon or using your fingers) over the buttered tops of the bread roll-ups. Bake for 10-12 minutes or until lightly toasted and gently golden hued.

While the roll-ups are baking (and filling the kitchen with the most inviting, sweet berry scent), whip the cream until light and fluffy, adding sugar (I prefer powdered sugar any time I sweeten whipped cream) and a little pure vanilla extra, if desired. Once prepared set aside in the fridge until needed.

Once the berry roll-ups are done, remove from the oven, allow them to sit in their baking dish for a couple of minutes (to cool off ever-so-slightly) and then transfer to individual serving dishes. Serve one or two roll-ups per person, with a dollop of whipped cream and a few of the reserved berries scattered on top or around the plate.

Eat at once, while the berry roll-ups are still warm and the whipped cream is cold, the two temperatures mingling beautifully together in your mouth.

Makes 5 to 10 servings, depending on if you serve one or two roll-ups per person.

Bon appétit!

Wonderful Wednesday Recipe: Creamy Gala Apple, Butternut Squash and Carrot Soup

Before launching into today’s recipe, I wanted to take a moment to extend my heartfelt thanks to everyone who left Valentine’s Day wishes for me over the weekend; it was such a joy to share Cupid’s special day with you all for the first time on Chronically Vintage. I really hope that you each had a marvelous February 14th!

I should also mention that this post brings my "blogcation" to an end. Even though I’ve been under the weather for several of the days I was "off", I really cannot believe how immensely fast an entire week and a half whipped past.

During my time away from actively blogging, I was able to catch up on a sizable portion of my (massively overdue for a reply!) emails and various other online tasks I’d hoped to accomplish, as well as to (finally) do a few things around the house that I’d been yearning to take care of for some time, yet never seemed to have enough hours in the day to quite accomplish.

While I don’t feel like I’ve just returned from a dazzlingly lovely tropical holiday, I do genuinely feel a renewed sense of blogging energy. I’ve better come to terms with the issue that was plaguing me heavily regarding staying abreast with my blog comments, and have also decided that I simply have to allow myself a little R&R sometimes (we all do!).

Once more I extend my deepest and most sincere of thanks to all those who have left comments for me over the past few weeks. Your encouraging, caring, friendly words have been a true help to me. I’ve missed you all dearly, dear friends, and look forward everything that the feature holds in store for Chronically Vintage!



Creamy Gala Apple, Butternut Squash and Carrot Soup

The alternative title for this dish– the one by which it’s best know around my kitchen – is “comfort soup”, for that’s what it instantly delivers to anyone who sits down before a bowl of it. Mild, yet far from bland, nourishing (you can practically feel the many wonderful nutrients from the squash, yams, carrots and apples seeping into your body with each steaming spoonful) and absolutely perfect during the winter months, this soup is exactly what I need today to help banish the rather unpleasant sinus cold I woke up with on Monday morning!

It’s by no means essential that you use Gala apples here, though I do prefer a sweeter apple such as Red Delicious or Pink Lady if I’m out of Galas (if you like would like a bit of tartness, feel free to use Granny Smith instead) – you could even opt for ripe, juicy pears instead of apples should the desire strike.

As with many soup recipes, this one is forgiving. You can forgo the squash and increase the amount of yams (or vice versa), omit the ginger, nutmeg or cinnamon and spring for a jolt of zing with a little curry powder, paprika or lightly sautéed shallots sprinkled over the top right before serving (actually, I have employed shallots before even when I’ve kept the cinnamon in place).



{As if I’d possible contemplate using any other kind! ;-D If you’ve got a hankering for both carrots and a beautiful piece of artwork featuring this humble root vegetable, you can pick up this charming vintage inspired Old Fashion Carrot print for $12.99 (US) from art.com.}

There’s something both heartily rustic and yet so elegantly refined about this soup. It calls to mind quite weekend afternoons spent watching the snow fall tranquilly, the pleasure of happily flowing conversation and many requests for second helpings.


Ingredients

• 4 cups of (homemade or good quality store bought) vegetable broth

• 2-3 medium sized carrots peeled and sliced into circles (thickness of your choice)

• 2 Gala apples peeled, cored and sliced

• 1 butternut squash, peeled and cubed

• 1 large yam, peeled and cubed

• 4 tbsp of butter or margarine

• ¾ cup cream (either single or double, the choice is yours)

• ¼ tsp nutmeg, cinnamon or ginger (optional)

• ½ tsp sea salt (or to taste)

• Freshly milled pepper (to taste)


Directions

In a large, heavy bottomed sauce pot combine the vegetable stock, butternut squash, yam and nutmeg, cinnamon or ginger. Bring to a gentle boil and simmer for 15 minutes over medium-high heat. Lower the heat to medium and add in the sliced carrots and gala apples. Continue cooking for about 20 minutes (or until the vegetables are cooked through), stirring often.

Next, take the pot off the stove and carefully pour the soup base through a colander, into a large bowl or another large pot, but do not discard either the stock liquid or the apples and vegetables. Return the stock to the pot, but not the veggies and apples. Next puree the vegetables and apples with a hand-held mixer or in the food processor (even a sturdy blender would work, if you don’t have a stick mixer or food processor – I’ve made it this way many times and it always comes out great).

Reintroduce the pureed vegetable and apple mixture into the broth over medium heat; add in the cream, butter and salt and black pepper. Stir often and bring to a rapid simmer (but not quite a full-on boil), reduce the heat and cook for another 5-10 minutes depending on the consistency that you prefer (the longer you cook this soup for the, the thicker it becomes).

Serve while nicely warm, ladling ample portions into soup dishes or generous sized cappuccino mugs. Should there happen to be any, leftovers can be stored (covered) in the fridge for up to 3 days.

I adore serving this delicious soup with fresh or toasted slices of French or sourdough bread, homemade apple butter (to keep the apple theme going), and a little jug of fresh cream to be passed around and drizzled into the bowls by all those you may be sharing your table with you.

Serves 3-4 as a starter or light lunch

Bon appétit!

You have all helped me to see the forest for the trees, thank you!

My dearest readers, on Thursday I turned to you for help regarding how to handle balancing my chronic health problems with my desire to keep abreast of the comments Chronically Vintage receives. I’ll openly admit, I was feeling rather overwhelmed as I composed that post. A sleepless night the day before spent mulling this problem over constantly in my mind had really indicated to me that this was an issue I needed to voice and seek assistance with.


{This vintage photo (which comes care of mademoiselle therese’s Flickr stream) of a beautiful maiden languishing on a park bench, clearly looking frazzled and more than a little distraught, is an apt representation of how I feeling on Thursday. After receiving an amazingly kind outpouring of supportive comments and terrific suggestions however, I’m doing a lot better today!}


The unbridled support, understanding, and insight and “love”, too, for that is how you all made me feel, so very loved!) that fill the more the 30 comments which poured in has floored – and touched – me greatly. I truly feel like the words “thank you” fail to express how grateful I am to everyone who shared their thoughts regarding this matter with me. I took all of your words to heart, absorbing the wisdom and guidance you bestowed upon me.

Over the past couple of days I’ve been doing a lot of soul searching, deep thought and contemplation. These things paired with your comments have truly helped me to realize that perhaps I wasn’t looking at the bigger picture of my blog as a whole, but rather focusing on the one aspect that was troubling me the most (trying to figure out how to keep up with comments).

Amidst an emotional day on Friday, it dawned on me that I part of the reason why the comment issue was troubling me so deeply was because it had come to represent a greater feeling of failure in terms of being able to stay up-to-date with many, many aspects of my life (both on and off line) that I’ve been experiencing for years now as a direct result of my medical conditions affecting so many elements of my world.

Continually feeling as though I stumbled three (or thirty!) steps backwards for every one step I took forward had started to weigh heavily on my mind and soul.

While I wouldn’t call myself a “Type A”, I’ve always been a bit of an overachiever and a major workaholic, so just about no matter how far I fell behind in terms of everything I needed to get done, I just kept plugging away ceaselessly, at times spreading myself too way thin. Sure, I’d scaled back in some places (for example, I used to be active on several different online forums, yet these days I almost never post on forums, much as I wish I was able to), but in areas others things had only gotten more harried.

Aside from learning to cut myself more slack (a nearly foreign concept to my mind) and accepting that sometimes I have limitations due to my health, I’ve also realized that periodically I need to take breaks away from certain online activities so that I can put my energies into other ones instead.

This way, I hope, I will feel less like I’m trying to divide myself in ten, twenty, etc different directions at once and more like I can focus on the really key things that need my attention at a given moment the moment. To that extent, I’ve decided to take an immensely small blogging breaking for the next few days.

I cannot stress enough that I am not in any way stepping back from Chronically Vintage – just taking a teeny-tiny break. This blog is a joy and sanctuary for me, I love it (and all of you!) dearly, but want to ensure I’m able to give it my very best by not being crazily inundated by other online activities that I feel I need to tend to as well (for example, at the moment I’ve got a massive back load of emails I feel I must get through, especially those that are still outstanding from 2009).

Not only do I have a lot of overdue things to attend to on the computer, but also in my home and personal life, and I plan on getting some of those done over the coming week, too (however, I will try my best not to pull a “typical Jess” and overexert myself until I cause one or more of my conditions to flare-up). I’m going to tentatively take the coming week off from blogging. At this point in time, I’m planning to jump right back into writing new Chronically Vintage posts next Saturday (the 13th).

In the future, from time-to-time, when I start to feel heavily overwhelmed (by the volume of activities that I feel I’ve failed to keep up with at a level I’m happy with), I will grant myself permission to take small blogging breaks again. It might sound odd, but in nearly all facets of my life, I’ve really never learned how to “cut myself a break”. I hope that this week I will better learn how to do so.

Regarding how to approach keeping up my the wonderful comments that I receive and visiting your own splendid sites, I’m going to take the advice many of you offered to me and just do the best that I can, accepting that some days I may not be able to visit as many other blogs as I’d ideally like to. Instead of worrying about not being able to visit absolutely everyone (and seeing this as a failure), I will try to look at those I am to visit as an accomplishment in its own right.

Sincerely, with all of my heart, thank you very much to everyone who showered me with unparalleled kindness and understanding. Your friendship and support have helped me in so many ways! I feel that your comments paired with a pint sized blogging break (during which time I will try to catch-up on as many things as I reasonably can), will really prove to be just the ticket I need when it comes to finding a deeper sense of long-term online tranquility.

May peace, joy and inspiration be with you all in the coming week, sweetest friends!

Trying very hard to find the right balance (but I could really use your help)

{Vintage photo via cessnal152towser’s Flickr stream.}

Last night I could not sleep. I tossed and turned (thankfully my husband is a fairly sound sleeper and didn’t hear my stirrings), repeatedly got out of bed only to lay back down moments later. Such an occurrence is by no means entirely uncommon for me, but there are times when something is weighing heavily enough one one’s mind to the point of robbing them of slumber, that it is best to seek advice from those near and dear you. I sincerely value each of your opinions and friendships, and want to talk bluntly to you all about something that has been eating away at me for quite some time now, in the hopes that you could help me out with it.

A recent conversation with a very dear friend (and fellow blogger/photographer) of mine in which I spoke candidly about certain elements relating to my health helped to give me the courage I needed to turn to my readers for their impute on this matter. (Once the flood gates have opened, as they say...)

I’ll spare you the details (trust me, you want to be spared), but in short I am not in a good state of health. I have not been since I was 18 years old (I’m 25.5 now), as that was the age at which I developed almost all of the chronic illnesses that I now have (more recently however, one cropped up about three years ago). I’m not, truly thankfully, dying or facing a massive medical crisis at this moment, so please do not think that I was leading this post in that direction.

One of the by-products of some of my conditions (I have about a dozen different major, chronic illnesses and a small number of lesser, but still chronic, problems) is that they greatly impede on the amount of time I’m able to spend on the computer each day.

On what I’d dub a “fantastic day”, I’m able to devote about 1.5 hours to being at my computer (many days this number is smaller, very occasionally it’s slightly higher). Due largely to one of my conditions in particular, I’m forced to break my computer usage time up into approximately two to ten minute intervals throughout the day. While I wish I could spend hours on my laptop daily, doing so is not possible at this point in my life and I have come to terms with this. I’m grateful for the time that I do have on the computer and try to use it as wisely as I can.

However, it is virtually impossible for me to stay on top of everything I need (let alone “want”) to get done online, because my computer time is so greatly limited. Between emails, writing blog posts, administering and maintaining a website (that I founded in 2004) for people who share one of my conditions, devoting time to my photography, doing research, and a trove of other online activities (which, believe me, I’ve already greatly scaled back over the last few years), I continually feel as though I’m falling further and further behind on almost everything I need to do online and on my desktop (e.g. writing blog posts).

Over the past couple of days I took an earnest stab at trying to catch up on the wonderful comments that have been left for me during the last two weeks here on Chronically Vintage, however I wasn’t able to visit all of your blogs. This bothers me so, so much (I honestly get stomach pains just thinking that I’ve not been able to come visit all those who took the time out of their day to visit my site and share their awesome thoughts with me), yet sometimes in life one has to admit defeat. In this case, I’ve been whopped by the sheer volume of comments I’ve received lately.

As I say that, please know that from the bottom of my soul, I am massively appreciative of each of those comments. I cannot stress enough how much I treasure your visits and the wonderful words you leave beneath my humble posts.

And so in lies the predicament. As many of you know, staying up-to-date with your comments (by which I mean visiting and commenting on the sites of those who stop by your blog) can just about become a full time job – or at the very least, take upwards of several hours a day. I have to be perfectly honest, it is beyond my physical ability at this point in time to spend multiple hours a day on the computer (on any activity, be it writing posts, visiting blogs or otherwise), and so I’m left racked with guilt now because I haven’t been able to catch up with all of your comments.

Up until this point, about 98% of the time I have managed to catch-up sooner or later on your comments, but this time I simply cannot. I’m truly sorry. I fully understand (and am not upset in the least) if some of my readers opt to no longer comment if I’m not able to comment on their sites. Please know that I will always give it my “fighting best” when it comes to staying abreast with your comments, but that sometimes doing so isn’t possible for me.

I need your advice. I will always permit comments on my posts, and I love hearing from you all, but I do not know how to approach the fact that sometimes I’m simply not able to keep up with your comments. What do you suggest I do?

As my readers, will some of you be hurt if, from time to time, I’m not able to comment as frequently on your posts as you may on mine? How to I determine what a good balance of time spent on replying to comments is? Perhaps is there something I can do to make up for not being able visit you on certain days?

Am I, as I know my very level headed husband would likely say, worrying about this perceived issue too much? Please, I implore you, tell me how you would handle this situation if you were in my shoes? (Yes, I do see the irony in asking for comments.)

With every fiber of my being, thank you for reading this post and for your impute, sweet friends.

Wonderful Wednesday Recipe: Spiced Apple Cinnamon Butterscotch Chip Cookies

Yesterday, brushing my ever-present shyness aside, I posted a few fairly recent photographs of myself here on Chronically Vintage, and in response was met with an outpouring of the most thoughtfully kind comments imaginable.

I mean it with the utmost sincerity when I say that you, my amazing readers, have the ability to undo a lifetime of self-esteem and negative body image issues with your heartfelt, caring, supportive words. I read through all of your comments, trying to keep my tears at bay, this morning and honestly wished I could reach out and hug every one of you.

I know that there are many out there who haven’t the slightest qualm about sharing their photos publicly, but for those of us who struggle for whatever reason with showing our faces (in photographic form) to the world, positive, caring feedback can truly make an astronomical difference in terms of how our ability to develop better self-confidence, but also to help our self-esteem levels on a day-to-day basis.
From the bottom of my heart, thank you to everyone who left a comment on yesterday’s post, this recipe – a little something sweet for some of the sweetest people on earth - is dedicated to all of you.



~ Spiced Apple Cinnamon Butterscotch Chip Cookies ~

Bursting with the heady, soothing scent of warm spices, these cookies are just the thing to have on hand for lunch boxes, desserts and serving to company with mugs of hot tea, warm milk or even eggnog during the holiday season.



{Making cookies is such a fun (and deliciously rewarding!) activity that usually requires less time than many other forms of baking, making it the perfect for those days when you want a homemade treat but aren’t able to devote ages to hanging out with your oven. Vintage photo of a woman dropping spoonfuls of cookie batter onto a baking tray from the Life Magazine archives.}


Cinnamon is my favourite of all the spices and I constant try to track down, or create my own, recipes that include this aromatic, zingy flavour. This particular cookie recipe is one I whipped up a few years back – during the fall, naturally (no other season calls to mind the pairing of apples and cinnamon quite like autumn) – and continue to make each year when the mercury starts dropping and you’re suddenly hit with the feeling that you want every morsel of food you eat to be wholly comforting in terms both of taste and aroma.


Ingredients

• 1/3 cup vegetable shortening or butter (or a 50/50 ratio of the two combined, which is a favourite cookie baking approach of mine as I find it helps to yield a really nice crumb), softened (room temperature, not melted)

• ½ cup homemade or store bought sweetened applesauce (you want a fine textured apple sauce, so if yours is on the chunky side, you may want to run it through a food mill or food processor before including in the cookie batter)

• 1 extra large egg (or equal amounts of egg whites, I’ve made these cookies with egg white many times and they turns out just as well)

• 1 tsp vanilla extract

• 1 ¼ cups unbleached, all-purpose flour

• 1/3 cup white sugar

• 2 tbsp dark brown sugar

• ½ tsp baking soda

• ¼ tsp salt

• 1 tsp cinnamon

• ¼ tsp nutmeg (optional)

• 1 cup butterscotch baking chips (such as Hershey’s “Chipits”)



Directions

Preheat your oven to 350°F (175°C/gas mark 4).

In a large mixing bowl thoroughly cream the white and brown sugars and butter (or shortening) together with a mixing spoon or electric beater. Add in the egg and vanilla extract and continue to beat until well combined with the sugar and butter; once those ingredients have mixed together well, stir in the apple sauce and beat until amalgamated with the other moist ingredients.

In a separate mixing bowl, combine the flour, sugar, baking soda, salt, cinnamon and nutmeg; stir well, ensuring that the spices are evenly distributed through the dry ingredients.

Next stir one third of the dry mixture to the wet ingredients at a time, stirring (or beating, if using an electric mixer) well after each addition. If the mixture seems slightly dry to you (it should be pretty moist thanks to the apple sauce), add a tablespoon or two of lukewarm water, milk or more apple sauce, if you have extra on hand. Now pour in the butterscotch chips and blend well to ensure even distribution throughout the batter.

Grease or line two baking trays (cookie sheets) with parchment paper (or a non-slip silicon baking liners) and drop cookie mixture onto the trays in rounded teaspoon portions, leaving a bit of space between each cookie (I usually put about 12 cookies per tray). (Note, if – like mine – your oven tends to cook things unevenly based on what height the tray is placed at, you can either bake one try of cookies at time or rotate the racks that the trays are placed on half way through baking.)

Bake cookies for 12 to 15 minutes, or until the bottoms are firm and the tops are lightly golden brown. Allow warm cookies to rest on their baking trays for a couple of minutes and then transfer them to wire cooling racks.

Serve warm or at room temperature, storing leftovers in an airtight container for up to five days (these cookies can also be frozen for at least two months in a freezer safe container).

For an extra special treat, serve the cookies while they’re still toasty from the oven with bowls of French vanilla or caramel ice cream, or with dishes of sweetened whipped or clotted cream for dipping.

Makes approximately two dozen cookies

Bon appétit!

A small handful of photos (of me) from 2009

As we sit here on the 26th day of the first January of this new decade, it feels almost unreal to reflect upon the fact that more than a month has now passed since Christmas – or, from a different perspective, that 2010 is nearly 1/12 complete!

Before this fresh year starts feeling like an old friend, I thought it would be wise to post a few photos (of myself) from 2009 that I’ve thus far not had the chance to blog about. Aside from the fact that I’ve been wanting to share these images here on Chronically Vintage since the moment they were each snapped, by posting them I will be able to clear the photo slate from last year and henceforth share snapshots from 2010 (without the lingering feeling that I should be posting ‘09’s images first).

I made a bit of a promise to myself last year that I would post images on my blog as a means of helping myself work on my self-esteem level and related issues pertaining to sharing photos of myself publicly. Prior to 2009, I’d never been able to work up the courage to post my own image online, but (happily) having finally gathered the nerve to do, I want to make sure I don’t revert to my former photo reclusive self – and what better way to ensure that doesn’t happen to put together posts just like this one?

Two of three separate days featured below are presented in mosaic form, the last entry however is not, as some of the photos taken that night were snapped in such a way as to capture my whole outfit and I didn’t want those particular images to get cropped by the photo tiling application that I use.


{My sun-kissed 25th birthday}


{Captured in the gloriously invigorating, crystal clear July light, these photos document what I was sporting fashion wise on the loveliest birthday I’ve thus far experienced as an adult. I hope they also transmit the immense joy I was enveloped in that wonderful afternoon, for my sweet husband showered me with surprises, gifts and countless reasons to smile from dawn to dusk, and truly made turning a quarter of a century old one of the most memorable days of my life.}


{An autumn evening with Madame Butterfly}


{Notes of opera swirled through this past fall, upon the discovery of a local programme which allows those under 30 years of age to purchase opera tickets a deeply discounted rate (reduced price tickets are highly limited though, so you have to try and snap them up as soon as they’re released!). As a result of learning about this, we able to take in not one, but two, absolutely splendid opera performances last year: The Nightingale and Other Short Fables (blogged about here), and Madame Butterfly.

The images above show what I wore to see the tragically, sublimely beautiful masterpiece that is Giacomo Puccini’s Madame Butterfly (I honestly cannot recommend a viewing of that opera highly enough, even to those who profess to dislike opera – it is a tale that transcends its medium and speaks directly to the heart), as well as a serenely lovely, vintage style poster for the play that I discovered online and wanted to include with this mosaic.}


{The hills were alive with the sound of theatregoers}






{It’s not every day I get to take in a live musical performance, let alone one featuring my favourite Julie Andrew’s film of all time, The Sound of Music – not mention get the chance to see such a show with someone who had never watched the movie before. Though this classic and inspiring tale is beloved the world over, my husband – who grew up in Italy – had yet to view the film and only had a vague idea of the plot.

It was with immense excitement that then that we headed off downtown to catch the show (the fact that I was wearing a new dress that I found on sale for $40, also bolstered by happiness that eve), and I’m delighted to report that we both adored it! All through the evening I sat there singing along in my head to the familiar tunes, captivated by the talented cast’s performances and the utterly magnificent prop work the show included. Though it was the first musical we’ve had the pleasure of seeing together, I sincerely hope it’s only the beginning of our mutual theatre going adventures!}


Looking at these photos of some of the days I really cherish from this past year, I can’t help but feel a bit giddy with excitement thinking of what new memories (be they of fancy nights out or more run-of-the-mill day-to-day happenings) lay ahead in the coming months of 2010.

I’m also excited (silly as it may sound to those who are much less shy than I also) about the fact that I’m gaining a bit more self-assurance when it comes to posting photos of myself. I have each and every one of you, my terrifically sweet readers and friends, to thank for this, as your supportive feedback on past photo posts have done wonders to help boost my confidence.

Many thanks for taking a quick stroll down some of the events that stood out for me last year, everybody, I can’t wait to share some of the best days of ’10 with all of you, too!

Wonderful Wednesday Recipe: Parsnip, Potato and Caramelized Onion Mash

~ Parsnip, Potato and Caramelized Onion Mash ~
This recipe came about when I was living in Ireland, where humble root vegetables have long been amongst the strongest backbones of traditional local cuisine. It is an unpretentious, lovely dish that works wonders as either the star or as a supporting player at any cold weather meal. If you opt to use soy, instead of dairy, cream this dish – which is already vegetarian approved – becomes vegan.

A malleable recipe, you can add or subtract from it, swapping the potatoes for rutabagas or yams, if you prefer. Forgo the saffron and use mild, sweet chillies, grainy mustard, fresh or candied ginger, or a handful of your favourite herbs (whether I’m using the saffron or not, I nearly always toss fresh, marvelously soothing thyme into the mix or garnish the dish with it before bringing it, steaming warm and smelling of the inherent comfort that comes from Mother Earth’s bounty, to the table).


{Parsnips, which largely resemble a carrot in appearance and loosely in taste, are one of my absolute most favourite vegetables. Whether eaten on their own such as slow roasted with garlic and rosemary in the oven, or tossed into a hearty stew, I’m always looking for ways to incorporate these mild, versatile winter vegetables into my family’s menu. Antique parsnip seed package image via thelableman.com}


Serve this hearty root vegetable symphony with roast meats (it shines alongside duck and turkey or a lemony, slow cooked chicken), grilled seafood (particularly those with powerful flavours or seasonings), or, if you make this recipe the centerpiece of your meal, a light salad such as one encompassing other beloved winter tastes such as roasted beets, zesty citrus fruit, or glistening ruby red pomegranate seeds.

When I prepare this dish now in my cozy (re: matchbook sized) Canadian kitchen, I am reminded of wet Irish winters that set a chill into bones so far-reaching, it took a recipe comprised of piping hot starchy vegetables, faintly exotic seasonings and pleasingly sweet onions to work the warmth back into one’s very soul.


Ingredients

• 1lb 8oz (675 grams) of potatoes (I often use Yukon gold or Red Rose potatoes on this dish), peeled and cut into cubes

• 3 large parsnips, peeled and cut into cubes (cut the same size as the potatoes)

• 3 tbsp olive oil, plus an additional 3 tbsp to cook the onions in (6 tbsp in total)

• 2 ¼ cups (600ml/1 pint) of vegetable or chicken stock (preferably homemade or organic)

• 2/3 cup single cream (half and half) or soy cream (such as “Silk Creamer” or “Carnation Soy Creamy Cooking Milk”), heated to a gentle simmer directly before use

• 3 tbsp of saffron threads which have been lightly crushed in a mortar and pestle (or with a wooden mixing spoon in a bowl)

• 1 ½ tbsp soft (light or dark) brown sugar

• 1 large white onion (or equal amounts of shallots) peeled and finely sliced

• Kosher or sea salt to taste and freshly ground black pepper


Directions

In a large sauce pot over high heat place the stock, potatoes, parsnips and saffron and cover the pot with a lid. Bring to a boil then reduce the heat to medium-high, continue to simmer (covered) until all of the potatoes and parsnips are cooked (approximately 20-25 minutes, depending on how warm your stovetop/cooker is and how tender you like your vegetables to be).

Meanwhile heat 3tbsp of oil in a frying pan over medium-low heat and stir in the sliced onions. Cover and allow the onions to brown and absorb the oil. Once they’ve begun to turn a lovely fawny hue, reduce the heat a little and stir the onions occasionally to prevent them from sticking to the pan. They should be sufficiently, wonderfully tender, golden brown and naturally rolling around in their own juices after about ten to fifteen minutes.

Next add in the brown sugar and allow it to be absorbed fully by the onions. Stir for gently for a minute or two until all of the sugar has been dissolved by the onion and onions. Take the onion mixture off heat and set aside until the mashed vegetable portion of this dish is ready.

When the turnips and potatoes have fully cooked to the desired degree of tenderness, remove the pot from the heat and drain the vegetables in a colander (strainer). Reserve a little of the cooking liquid, in case you need to add some of it to the mash for a moister consistency later on.

If you’ve not already done so, heat your cream (or soy cream) in a small sauce pan over medium-high heat just until it comes to a mild simmer (you do not want a rolling boil, which is apt to scorch the cream). Once the cream has been warmed, turn off the burner, but allow the cream to remain in the pot (you’re going to use it momentarily)

Transfer the vegetables to a large mixing bowl and pour the cream and remaining three tablespoons of olive oil over top of them (you could skip the added oil here or use butter, if you wanted). Next mash everything with a vegetable masher (you can also do this in a food processor or stick blender, if you'd prefer) until the mixture is as soft and lump free as possible (alternatively, and this is how I generally mash all of my vegetable dishes, you can whip the lumps out and aerate the root veggies with a hand-held electric mixer/beater). If you feel the mixture is still a bit dry for your liking, add a little of the reserved cooking liquid, so that they end result is a creamy, fluffy mash.

Season to taste with salt and pepper (if you wanted to add fresh herbs, now is the time to include them) and transfer to a serving dish. Slide the warm caramelized onions on top, smile as you breathe in the scent of earthy goodness radiating from up from the serving bowl, and serve at once.

Any leftovers will keep, well covered in the fridge for up to 3 days.

Makes 4-5 side, or 2-3 main, dish sized portions.

Bon appétit!

Wonderful Wednesday Recipe: Welsh Rarebit

For as long as I have memories stretching back, cooking and the realm of gastronomy has been a beloved passion of mine. Raised by a mother who likewise adored the culinary arts, I began learning how to cook from a very early age and haven’t stopped since then (nor do I plan to ever cease!).

While I would consider myself a foodie, I’m not a “food snob”. I love a tasty, rustic homemade dish as much as I do one from a swanky, multi-stared restaurant. I believe strongly that one gets that most out of eating when they’re able to appreciate the beauty and diversity of foods from all walks of life, at all price points, and encompassing a myriad of styles and ingredients.

Though two of my medical conditions have lessened the number of foods I’m able to eat rather significantly for the past several years (and baring the discovery of cures for said conditions, likely will for the rest of my life), I’ve tried never to let this point dampen my love of cooking. Instead of bemoaning those ingredients that were suddenly missing from my plate, I looked at the situation as a challenge to be even more inventive with those foods that I did still have my disposal.

Any time I start longing to toss together a dish I can’t eat (for I love the act of preparing food perhaps even more than actually eating it – or at least I adore the two equally), I just make it for my husband or serve it to dinner guests. Cooking for others is something I enjoy so deeply, I actually dreamed of becoming a professional chef all through my childhood, though (for better or worse) certain events that unfolded in my life meant that this dream didn’t quite come to fruition. Nevertheless, I don’t lament too much over this point, I still get to be a chef for my little family everyday and that brings me a profound sense of joy.

Why, you may ask, am I telling you all this? The reason is that for quite some time now I’ve been thinking about how much I wanted to start sharing some of my most treasured recipes with my readers. Thusly, henceforth from today onwards, every Wednesday (when circumstances permit) I plan on sharing a “Weekly Recipe” from my own personal collection with all of you.

Some of the recipes will be ones I’ve devised myself, others stem from repertoires of my mother and other relatives, while others still are the creations of fellow homecooks and professionals akike that I’ve gleaned over the years and come to count favourites of my own. I will strive to feature a diverse group of dishes that veer towards being both economical (aka, white truffle and foie gras pâté is not likely to crop up any time soon) and easy to prepare (though I do realize that different people have different definitions of what constitutes “easy” when it comes to cooking).

Each week one recipe will get the limelight, paired with a photo of the finished dish (if I happen to have one of my own) or, far more commonly, with a vintage image that relates to the recipe in some way (for example, if the recipe was for spaghetti sauce, I might show a vintage ad for canned tomatoes).

I know that many of my readers are avid cooks and food lovers, too, and really hope that everyone enjoys this delightful new weekly post. If you’d ever like to request the recipe for a particular food, please feel free to email me or leave a comment letting me know what you’ve got a hankering to whip up, and if I have a tried and true recipe for such a dish, I would be honoured to share it with you. (If you happen to try any of the recipes featured on Chronically Vintage, I would truly love to hear your thoughts on them.)

So without any further ado, it’s time to slip on a lovely vintage apron and dish up this Wednesday’s recipe!


Welsh Rarebit
One of the most popular dishes of the early to mid-twentieth century (and certainly one that I’ve seen in a myriad of vintage cookbooks and ladies magazines) was Welsh rarebit (sometimes simply called “rarebit” or “rarebit cheese”), a hearty, homey, wonderfully simple dish that in both comforting and energizing at the same time.

Comprised of a zippy cheese sauce poured over relatively thick slices of bread, this dish is close cousin to both grilled cheese sandwiches and croque-monsieur. It pairs wonderfully with soups (such as roasted red pepper or minestrone), salads, fresh fruit (especially apples, pears and figs), and light fair such as grilled vegetables or chicken.


{This charming vintage illustration, from Eudamonius’ Flickr stream dictates that Welsh Rarebit should always be paired with toast. Good advice, but if you’re in the mood for something a little different, this tasty, versatile cheese sauce also works terrifically over English muffins, crackers, or as a fondue style dip.}


This particular recipe is one I’ve tweaked over the years, sometimes adding fresh herbs such as basil or chives, or jazzed up further with the inclusion of (rehydrated) sundried (or oven roasted) tomatoes or pitted and sliced black olives. Some people like to include a little ale or even hot sauce in their recipes, but I’ve not tried such versions myself.

I don’t know where the original recipe came from, but a handwritten version the basis of this one appears in the first recipe collection I began (in a coiled school notebook) as a youngster, so it may have come from either my mom or one of her cookbooks. Wherever it hails from, this rarebit recipe is a wonderful dish that can be thrown together in a matter of minutes, making it perfect for meals on the go or times when unexpected lunch or dinner gets drop by.


Ingredients

• 6 slices white or brown bread of choice, provided the bread you use is somewhat sturdy (I like varieties such as ciabatta, French, and sourdough – or a luxurious spin, you can even brioche, if you fancy), cut about ¾ of an inch (2cm) thick

• 2 cups grated sharp cheddar cheese (Gruyere is also nice, if you prefer)

• 1/2 cup milk (or, if you’re feeling indulgent, cream)

• 1 tbsp unsalted butter

• 2 tbsp all-purpose flour

• ½ tsp dry English mustard (such as Colman’s) or, alternatively, ½ tsp Hungarian paprika

• ¼ tsp Worcestershire sauce (optional, best omitted if using paprika)

• Sea salt and freshly ground black pepper to taste


Directions

In a double boiler (or a heat resistant glass bowl over a saucepan partially filled with boiling water), first bring the water up to a boil and then reduce the heat (burner temperature) to medium. Melt the butter, add the flour and mustard (or paprika) and stir briskly for a few seconds to combine (thereby creating a pale roux).

Next gradually add the milk and Worcestershire sauce (if using), stirring as you add. Allow mixture to come to a gentle simmer (not a rolling boil) and thicken somewhat. Next add the shredded cheddar cheese, salt and pepper (now would also be the time to include ingredients such as herbs, if you were using them), stirring moderately until the cheese had melted and the sauce has thickened to a consistency reminiscent of hollandaise sauce.

Meanwhile as the cheese sauce is nearing completion, toast the six slices of bread. Once cheese sauce is ready and the bread is toasted, divide the toast between three plates (two slices per serving) and spoon (or ladle) the sauce equally over each portion of toast. Serve and enjoy immediately :)

Makes three servings (two slices of bread each), or however many you wish to divide up between the six slices of bread.

Bon appétit!

Greetings 2010, I’ve been waiting for you!

This week begins what will one day encompass the third decade of my life, ushering in with it the end of ten years that saw much strife and worry the world over. The 2000s were many things to many people, myself included. Though I count myself extremely fortunate that I was not affectedly personally by any of the largest global catastrophes that occurred during the last decade (baring the trickle down effects of the economic crisis most of us are still very much feeling), I would certainly say that I faced innumerable personal challenges along the way.

It was a decade of growth, of pain, of moments that tore at the fabric of my soul, of hope in the face of adversity, of love and laughter, of overcoming the impossible, and immense realization. During the 2000s I morphed from a teenager into a woman, a bachelorette to a wife. I, particularly in the past three or so years, began to truly accept myself. Between the pages of the last ten years, at times, I lived heartache, breathed anguish, felt as alone as the moon, embraced bliss, survived, celebrated achievement, saw certain dreams materialize into entirely different realities, moved on, never stopped hoping.

Some of the very best and the very worst moments I’ve ever known took place in the 2000s, both bolstered me onwards in the most powerful of ways. I haven’t the slightest clue what this newborn decade, the 2010s, holds in store for the world – or myself, none of us do, but isn’t that part of what makes life, the constant sunrises and sets, highs and lows, so very worth it? The possibility that the future holds equal or better opportunities, greater levels of happiness, more beauty than the prior years.

It may sound odd to look to future on a blog devoted squarely to the past, yet in my eyes, the two are not entirely separate beings. In the days of yesteryear, those before my own life began, I find so much to love and embrace, to learn from and aspire to. These elements that speak to my heart help to guide many components of my future, and I hope, will help to make up some of the threads in the fabric of my future.



{The beginning of a fresh decade calls for a little starry eyed optimism, don’t you think? Image, from a 1948 copy of Charm magazine, via myvintagevogue’s Tumblr stream.}


Though it’s the morning of the third day of this massively new year, not the first, I want to take a moment now to say straight from my heart, welcome, 2010, and the decade you launch! No matter what you turn out to be, know that I’m routing for you all the way.

Happy first Stellaversary!

What on earth, you may very rightfully ask, is “Stellaversary”? Well, it just so happens that the word Stellaversary is a completely homemade term I created as a way of marking the date when we first brought our darling cat, Stella home. As today, the 23rd of November, is the one year anniversary of when she came into our lives, I am hereby proclaiming this date to the first annual Stellaversary!

Though both my husband and I had the pleasure of growing up in homes with pets, as a couple, Stella is the first animal that we can jointly call our own. We’re both massive animal lovers and had known from day one that we wanted a pet (or two...), but for the first few years of our relationship our lives were in too much of a state of flux (several moves – including overseas, waiting for life altering decisions from Immigration Canada, etc) for us to have responsibly taken on a pet.

Last year, for the first time ever in our life together, things began to settle down, (positive) outcomes were finally reached, and we knew that at long last it was OK for us to consider bringing home a pet. We didn’t set out on this exact date one year ago with the intention of bringing home a cat, we’d actually gone out to buy a dining room table, of all things! Well, we succeeded in finding a beautiful one of those (on sale!), and afterwards continued bopping around to various places in that part of town.

As the evening wore on we found ourselves at a PetSmart which just happened to be one of the locations that includes an in-house animal rescue adoption centre. All of the cats at PetSmart are ones that have found their way their from animal shelters (such as the SPCA) and who are looking for loving “forever” families of their own. Both my husband and I are huge supporters of adopting shelter animals, so when we saw two adorable, 11 week old kittens staring up at us through the viewing glass of the cat corner (of the store), we instantly asked if we could look at and hold them.

Though we would have loved dearly to be able to have brought them both home with us, we knew that it would be much more economically responsible for just get one cat. The pair that batted their sweet golden eyes at us were brother and sister, of whom we decided to adopt the girl, Stella (at the time she was the calmer of the two, a trait that we thought would make her a good house cat – as we live in a high rise apartment and she wouldn’t, and isn’t, allowed outside...little did we know then that she had a secret rambunctious side that would put the Energizer bunny to shame!).

After speaking with the person in charge of the cats (who told us that the kittens were feral strays, but had no further information about their background other than their age), we loading up a shopping cart (at PetSmart) with everything (and then some) that a young kitten might ever want or need, paid for our kitty supplies, and with hearts bursting to the breaking point with love and excitement, brought our new kitten home.

For the first few days she was very, very shy (she camped out under the sofa for the most part), yet after a little while our new baby cat warmed up to us. We named her Stella (the Italian word for star, as her grey fur and sparkling yellow eyes both reminded me of stars in the night sky) and suddenly we came to realize how very much our lives had been missing without this wonderful animal in it.

Jump ahead a year and Stella is every bit as adorable today as she was back then. Full of spunk and energy, she’s a bright, inquisitive, massively energetic cat who loves to run around the apartment, exploring ever nook and cranny, play with her (plethora of) toys, sleep in her kitty condo (a gift from my parents to their “grandkitty”), and curl up with my us from time to time for a good snuggle.

Stella is not the most “lap cat” of felines, but for all her playfulness, she is exceedingly sweet and often seems to know when I’m feeling extra rough health wise. On such days she’ll curl up with me in bed or on the sofa as I watch TV, purring loudly and nestling her little grey face into against me. Whether she knows it or not, Stella is a therapy pet. Though it was us that saved her, in so many ways she has also rescued us.

She is also a joy, a blessing, and a truly wonderful animal. It’s nearly impossible to fathom how life would be today if we’d not brought Stella home. Though we may very have adopted a different cat at some point, they would not have been our darling Stella. Just as with children, no two pets ever exactly alike, and when it comes to wonderful kitties we could not have found a more darling pet than our sweet Stella.


{1. Even the best of us must rest sometime, 2. A vision of cuteness, 3. "Mommy, mommy", purred Stella, "I saw another one, it's up there, look!", 4. I'm not vicious! You just caught me mid-yawn :), 5. Contemplating everything that flutters, flaps or flies, 6. Pink is the love you discover, 7. Stella wishes everyone a sunny Sunday, 8. Stella ponders whether or not she should steal yet another strawberry from the "human's" curious display of temptation, 9. Sunshine makes me sleepy, 10. What is this strange, warm, wonderful light?, 11. Reach for your dreams, 12. Such a very serious look, for one so young, 13. I'm so precious. Twelve images, to represent each delightful month that we’ve had her, plus one more to symbolize my love for Stella, make up this mosaic that shows the many expressions and moods of our precious grey tabby. All photos were taken by me and are from my Flickr stream.}

My dear friends, please join me in celebrating one year of a life filled with the pitter-patter of four tiny paws, and in the merriment of my endless love for my cat, as we mark the first ever Stellaversary!

What I wore to my first night at the opera

Towards the end of October my husband chanced up a wonderful programme (called Opera for a New Age) that’s in place from the Canadian Opera Company and The Four Seasons Centre for the Performing Arts in Toronto, which allows patrons under the age of thirty to purchase opera tickets at a deeply discounted rate. The idea behind this marvelous programme being that it helps to open up (more costly) events like attending an opera to Toronto’s youth. (They only release a select number of seats per show though, so you have to snap up these bargain rate tickets quickly.)

Having long dreamed of attending an opera, we both jumped at this fantastic opportunity and purchased a pair of tickets to a newly opened performance called “The Nightingale and Other Short Fables” by Igor Stravinsky. The show, which was delightfully experimental, proved to be a very unique foray into the world of opera.

Set against a backdrop of orchestral music and Russian songs, this two act, three part performance veered away from what many would think of as “traditional opera”. The two scenes composing the first act employed highly skilled shadow work (one used hand puppets, the other human silhouettes behind a curtain) and acted out various (short) Russian folk stories. The second act saw a portion of the orchestra pit flooded with water so that puppeteers along with intricately designed puppets could to turn the viscous black surface of the water into an almost transcendent stage upon which to tell the a fairytale-like story about a Chinese Emperor and a nightingale.

I am however, jumping ahead of myself here though! As soon as I knew I would be attending an opera, my first question was: what’s the dress code? After a bit of online sleuthing (the Centre’s site didn’t seem to talk about this point),for better or worse (depending on your personal feelings surrounding formal evening gowns and tuxedos – I love them dearly myself), we determined that the dress code seemed to be what I’d describe as "casual formal". While that might sound like an oxymoron, it in fact encompasses a certain style of dress that allows for everything from suits (for the gents) to cocktail dresses, business suits, skirts of varying lengths and other evening appropriate wear for ladies.

Having never dressed for the opera before, I debated my choice of outfit carefully before the big night arrived. I sidestepped an overtly vintage look, though not intentionally per se. I don’t own many “opera worthy” pieces and so turned to a classic black jersey frock that I felt would ensure I looked neither under or over dressed. In the mood for a smoky eye, I draped my lids in shades of grey and black, which I paired with a red lip (I wear red lips a good 75% of the time, it’s by far the lipstick shade I feel most comfortable in). I wore my hair (which is now at least three inches shorter than it appears in the photos below since I got it cut last week) down, pulling the centre front part back, but leaving the sides free to flow over my shoulders naturally.

My choice of garb for the evening proved to be spot on. Though the majority of the crowd at this particular event was older than my husband and I, I felt instantly at ease with what I was wearing and blended well into the crowd of elegantly dressed, often distinguished looking women and men who shared in the performance with us that night.

Before we headed out to catch the subway downtown, I asked my husband to take a few photographs of my outfit, knowing that many years down the road – and hopefully having scores of operas under my belt by that point – I would want to recall with absolute clarity what I wore to my first opera. Spurred on by the incredibly kind and encouraging feedback I received regarding my Halloween outfit photos, I wanted to share these snaps with you all.







Outfit details:

-Silver tone and pale sky blue plastic crystal earrings: bought from a mall in Dublin when I lived in Ireland, honestly not sure what store they came from (other little stud earrings worn in holes above bottom hoop earrings, also from Claire's)
-Light blue lace camisole: FashionMax
-Black jersey dress: FashionMax
-Black double brass buckle belt: Forever 21
-Black nylons with tiny white polka dots: From eBay a couple of years ago, no label
-Black round toed, faux suede pumps: Wal-Mart
-Lip colour: CoverGirl Outlast Lipstain in #440, over Annabelle lip liner in #205 “cherry”


Attending my inaugural opera was a truly wonderful experience – however the week got even more amazing, for on the Friday (of that same week), we attended a second performance (as my husband just happened to log onto the Canadian Opera Company’s site shortly after they released a new batch of seats to a different opera later in the week). What show was on the bill you may ask? Why none other than the romantic, though (in true opera form) tragic, tale of Madame Butterfly. But the story of that night, my dears, and the photos of what I wore (hint, think more of a 50s style look) to my second opera, are for another post... :)