Skip to content
  • Horses and kidneys

    While I was in Edmonton last week, a couple of people mentioned a book that had been recently launched – Ride The Rising Wind: One woman’s journey Across Canada by Barbara Kingscote – about a woman who rode across Canada on a horse.

    This made me think of a gorgeous poem, Jack, by my heroine Maxine Kumin; it’s the title poem from her most recent poetry collection. I was lucky enough to see and hear her at the AWP conference in Vancouver in 2005, where she was the gracious and feisty subject of a tribute by five other poets. Her reading of this poem had us weeping in the aisles. I had forgotten that it starts with a meal of corn on the cob, so topical in these days of seasonal plenty.

    Last night we had steak and kidney pie, which was the ritual dish my mother used to make for all large family gatherings. Kidneys can be a stinky thing to handle but surgical gloves help, as does soaking the kidneys for an hour or two in slightly salted water. I don’t think she added mushrooms to hers but I do to mine; otherwise I think this is the gist of her recipe.

    Steak ‘n Kidney Pie like my mama used to make
    1/2 cup flour
    1/2 tsp salt
    1/2 tsp black pepper
    1/2 tsp paprika
    1/2 kg stewing beef, in 1 inch chunks
    1/4 kg beef kidneys, trimmed and soaked for 1-2 hours in salted water (or well rinsed)
    1 onion, chopped
    2 cups fresh mushrooms, scrubbed and sliced or quartered
    2 cloves garlic, minced
    2 potatoes, peeled and diced
    2 medium carrots, diced
    1/2 cup dry sherry or red wine
    1/2 cup beef broth

    • Mix seasonings in flour and use this to dredge beef and kidneys. Fry the meat in batches in hot fat (bacon fat, according to my mother) until brown on all sides. Remove meat to a casserole. Cook the onions in the same frying pan; cook till transparent and add to casserole, scraping the brown bits into the mixture. Next brown the mushrooms and add them to the meat. Then combine the garlic, potatoes and carrots and stir into the pan for about 5 minutes, until hot and partially cooked. Mix into meat mixture. Stir in sherry and broth; add bay leaf. Cover casserole and cook in 350 oven – or on low heat on the stovetop – for 1 hour, or until the meat is tender, stirring occasionally. Remove and cool; keep overnight if you like or freeze until you need it.
    • When ready to serve, cover the mixture with puff pastry, propping up the pastry with a ceramic pie bird if you have one, and cook in a preheated 375 oven for 1/2 hour, until pastry is puffed and brown and meat is bubbling. You can divide into smaller casserole dishes so you have individual servings if you prefer; adjust cooking times accordingly.

    Perhaps the poet Unknown was thinking about steak ‘n kid when (s)he penned this verse in 1880:

    I surely never hope to view
    A steak as luscious as a stew.
    The latter is the tasty goal
    Of elements in perfect whole,
    A mad assemblage of legumes
    Exuding warm ambrosial fumes,
    Each seasoning of proper length,
    Proving in Union there’s strength.
    A steak is grander, it is true,
    Yet needs no special skill to brew.
    It is an art a stew to make,
    But anyone can broil a steak.

  • Ekstasy in Fernwood and home made ketchup

    I was shocked to find myself at a poetry reading in fabulous Fernwood last night, on a balmy summer’s eve; one of the early events offered by local publisher Richard Olafson in celebration of the 25th anniversary of his press, Ekstasis Editions. George Melnyk was in town, reading from his Elegy for a Poem Garden, poems and photographs inspired by a visit to Ian Hamilton Finlay’s original. Yvonne Blomer read from her new poetry collection, A Broken Mirror, Fallen Leaf; and Eric Miller read from his collection of essays, The Reservoir.

    Summer’s put me in the mood for bbq foods like smokies and hamburgers, and as I checked my condiments I realised I had no Ketchup, so whipped some up from a recipe I’ve had and tinkered with for years. It beats anything you can buy and is infinitely adjustable to suit all tastes ‘n flavours.

    1¼ cups crushed tomatoes (12 oz can) or tomato paste
    1 c water
    ¼ tsp cinnamon
    ¼ tsp nutmeg
    ¼ tsp mace
    pinch cloves
    ¼ tsp dry mustard
    1/2 tsp salt
    1 bay leaf
    1 clove garlic, crushed
    1/3 c cider vinegar
    1 tsp molasses
    1 tbsp sugar or honey

    • Combine all ingredients in a saucepan and simmer until thick, about 40 minutes. Store in fridge and freeze any surplus.

    To guide you as you aim for the right consistency, let us give the last word to that prolific author Anonymous:

    Tomato Ketchup

    If you do not shake the bottle
    None’ll come and then a lot’ll.

  • Festival finale

    Morning…

    Noon…

    Evening.

    The plastic wristbands have been snipped off, the sunburns are being soothed and the festival t-shirts and cds are being assessed for staying power. Where does the festival time go?

    Sunday was a little anticlimactic for me music-wise, but excelled in the food and weather departments. I had a pretty wonderful freshly made waffle for breakfast with strawberries (canned) and whipping cream (aerosol) from Cornstars; alas the Second Cup coffee was so thin we had to get extra shots of espresso from D’Amore’s Deli to get us through our morning. My India Palace lunch was so good – chicken bhoona and saffron rice – that I had supper – beef and potato curry with a crispy samosa – from the same place.

    Started off the day with a couple of nicely done jazz numbers from Mary Coughlan before wandering off to catch up on the latest from the Wailin Jennies – absolutely mobbed at their stage, and double-mobbed at the same stage when Greg Brown arrived in his railway cap to thrill all the women way down to their toes with his deep deep voice. Wandered aimlessly for a while buying trinkets at the craft tent and seeking shade from the blistering sun. Bopped along to Balfa Toujours for a few numbers, then caught a few home truths from Iris DeMent, and on to the supper hour, beating the worst of the food queues and fending off the swarm of entrepreneurial youngsters who offer to return re-usable plates for you (pocketing your toonie deposit). Salif Keita and his 9 musical companions were followed by the neo-folk-activist harmonies of Chumbawamba, and we packed up our tarp after the Blind Boys from Alabama shook a few birds from the trees, not waiting for Sarah Harmer or the singalong finale.

Book cover of Rhona McAdam's book Larder with still life painting of lemons and lemon branches with blossoms in a ceramic bowl. One of the lemons has a beed on it.

“…A beautiful, filling collection, Larder is a set of poems to read at the change of the seasons, to appreciate alongside a good meal, and to remind yourself of the beauty in everything, even the things you may not appreciate before opening McAdam’s collection….”

Alison Manley

Rhona McAdam is a writer, poet, editor, and Registered Holistic Nutritionist with a Master’s in Food Culture from Italy and a deep-rooted passion for ecology and urban agriculture. Her work spans corporate and technical writing to poetry and creative nonfiction, often exploring the vital links between what we eat and how we live. Based in Victoria, BC, and available via Zoom, Rhona is always open to new writing commissions, readings, or workshops on nutrition and the culinary arts.