My Covid Christmas

  

“That’s when my life will start,” the waiter says to me, in response to my query about his current projects besides working in a restaurant. He’s going to apprentice next year, he says, and then his life will begin.  

“Your life is happening right now,” I can’t help but interject.  The mother and the teacher in me are engrained, always there.  “You know what they say about life—it’s what happens when you’re making other plans.  Your life is your experience in the restaurant when you’re here, right now, and outside with your friends and family.  It’s what happens later, when you apprentice, as well.”   Chalk it up to age, experience, inspiration from people I know, all of the above.  I have learned to cherish every moment of my life, even in the darkness.  Rejoice on a Monday, celebrate Wednesday, be as happy on a Tuesday as on a Saturday.  Be happy when we must wear a mask and when we can go without.   Find the jewels in the rough. 

 

That might be why I’m astonished when I hear people say about this Covid Christmas that they’ll celebrate next year.   Next year is uncertain at the best of times, and, in the elongated days and months of the pandemic, when circumstances change from minute to minute, it has never been more important to live in the moment.  We can’t afford to write off Christmas 2020, despite the sacrifices, and bank on gathering with family and friends next year.  What has that looked like for me?

 

It didn’t mean flouting the public health protocols and getting together across provinces, eleven of us under one roof.  Christmas was a quiet affair at our house, just my husband and me.  No massive food preparation, no choir practices, no high chairs or toy boxes or eleven chairs around a dining room table in maximum extension.  No conversations around social issues late into the night, no board games, no taking the grandkids tobogganing or pulling the sleigh to the park.  This year, the in-law year for Christmas, any Christmas hubbub would occur now, in the laconic, surreal days between Christmas and New Year.  But not this year.  

 

Yet Christmas 2020 has presented a myriad of precious occasions to broaden the holiday experience.   In a “normal” year, would our grandson and our niece have texted to discuss the optimal placement of a figure on the Advent calendar they both have, about which you might have read in an earlier post.  That calendar also focused December for our grandchildren, and might even have liberated their parents to direct energy into adding to their own holiday traditions rather than in answering repetitive questions about when Christmas was coming.  

 

In a “normal” year, our neighbour would have headed south, and we would have missed Happy Hours and meals with her, and celebrations of milestones in both our lives.  

 

In a “normal” year, would my husband and I have had time to prepare harp-accordion duets for the Christmas liturgies?  Would there even have been time for those duets during the liturgy, given the critical role of congregational singing in liturgical celebrations?   

 

In a “normal” year, obsessed with a clean house and a packed freezer, would I have recorded The Velveteen Rabbit in eight short chapter videos for the grandkids?  Would I have taken the time to post a few Christmas carols on the harp?  My musicianship developed so much as a result of the recording experience.

 

In a “normal” year, we would have celebrated réveillon after the last Christmas Eve mass, as well as Christmas Day supper, with others.  This year, we connected with any available children on Zoom on both occasions. Although we were in different locations and enjoying different delicacies, our conversation and the immediacy of togetherness transferred online.

 

In a “normal” year, we would have celebrated our daughter’s Christmas birthday a few days later, with singing in the birthday trifle at home.  Instead, we were invited into their home through FaceTime to sing in the birthday trifle our daughter and her family had made and assembled together.

 

In the end, we did celebrate both the essence and the reality of Christmas.   The phone calls, emails, texts, video connections and restricted church gatherings manifested the caring spirit of the holidays.  So too the hand cut-outs of our grandson and his sister that hang on the doorframe, and the first-annual(?) Zoom family games night.   We just can’t afford to sacrifice celebrations because they must diverge from habit and tradition.  Even when things are “normal”, we can’t count on next year, on next month, not even on tomorrow.  Life happens every minute, not at a particular moment that matches a preconceived idea or dream.  As our son has reminded us in a shared article, we don’t know when we are doing something for the last time. Best, then, for the young waiter and for us, to maximize every single moment.  Even when it doesn’t seem logical or possible or even desirable.

 

 

 

The RK Sushi Experi-ment/ence

When I heard that Rice Krispie sushi could be a thing, or was a thing, I thought of the delight in my grandkids’ eyes when they would

see it. Just three ingredients—Fruit Roll-Up, Rice Krispie cake mixture, and a gummy worm centre. This idea is not original—let’s dispel any rumours of creativity—but I can’t remember where I first saw it or who might have mentioned the possibility. I checked online for tips on the process. Okay, not exhaustively. Still, the results weren’t encouraging—the closest anyone came to my vision was a Rice Krispie cake rolled around gummy worms that stretched along one edge, like a jelly roll, then cut in bite-sized sushi pieces, only then to be wrapped in a length of Fruit By The Foot.

 Not good enough. I wanted an authentic roll-up experience, with the Fruit Roll-Up integrated into the “sushi” roll. With no process to follow, I decided to trust my ideas, and to rely on the accumulated wisdom of more than forty years of experience with food. I wasn’t discounting, either, the knowledge gleaned from Food Network. With Rice Krispies languishing on the counter in the downstairs kitchen, marshmallows leftover from summer camping propped beside them, the reminders were omnipresent, if not all the raw materials. 

It seems audacious to say that the planets aligned for Rice Krispie sushi-roll making. Given the pandemic and the political chaos south of the border, the metaphor seems too grand. Let’s say instead that the tumblers fell together at the grocery story (logical) in the transformed bulk bin aisle (unexpected). As I searched for almonds, bags of gummy worms beckoned at eye level. Well. It was a sign. Next, the Fruit Roll-Ups. They still do exist, both in sheets and by the foot. I wasn’t sure, so much time having elapsed since I used to buy the strips to teach simple, compound, and complex sentences to middle years students. Time to head to the til. 

The biggest, challenge, I imagined, was keeping the Rice Krispie batter malleable enough to spread on a sheet of fruit roll-up. What about working on my warming tray covered with parchment paper? 

I would also keep the equipment and materials at the ready: a flat spatula, a cake server, a spoon, and a knife in a tall glass of water; the gummy worms; and the sushi rolls still in the wrapper with the top snipped. Further down that kitchen counter, parchment paper on a cookie sheet would act as the receiving blanket for the newborn sushi rolls. With everything in place, I prepared the Rice Krispie cake and prepared to work as quickly as I could. 

With the Rice Krispie mixture on the stove in stasis on low, I began. Warming tray set on low too, I unwrapped a sheet of Fruit Roll-Up on the parchment paper. As I began to spread some Rice Krispie mixture on top, the Fruit Roll-up sheet disintegrated in the heat. Warming tray maybe not such a good idea. The flopped roll was good, though. Gummy worms are one of my guilty pleasures.

 Round 2. This time, I spread the fruit roll-up sheet directly on the parchment. I spread the Rice Krispie mixture on top with a wet spoon to prevent sticking, and flattened it with the wet cake server. When the sheet was mostly covered, I stretched out a gummy worm (one gummy worm, stretched a little, was perfect), and began to roll with the parchment as leverage. The result: a reasonable looking sushi roll. Still using the parchment paper, I massaged the sushi roll, and molded it to a more streamlined shape. It took its place on the incubator.

Round 3. I was on a roll now. Same procedure, but this time, I used the cake server to flatten the cake mixture as much as I could, much like one would pound a chicken breast or pork cutlet to make schnitzel. Rolling up was much easier this time, and the appearance of the final product had improved dramatically.

My takeaways from this process: 

Fun project! 

Parchment paper is the secret weapon. Nothing sticks. 

I didn’t have to work quite as fast as I had first thought. The Rice Krispie mixture did stay soft in the pan. There was some caramelization, though, of the marshmallow as a result of the prolonged heat, even on low. The cake I made with the leftover mixture had a much deeper flavor than usual. Next time, I might try a hot water bath. The sushi rolls are extremely sweet. One bite goes a very long way. Delicious, though, and soft enough to chew easily. 

I made only five rolls, counting one failed attempt. Two I sliced for the taste test and photo. Two are in the freezer. In the end, the experiment resulted in a delightful experience. Interesting, isn’t it, that both these words, experiment and experience, originate in the same Latin root: "they both come from the word experior, which means, to gain knowledge through repeated trials." To gain knowledge from trying over and over again. In fact, the French word for experiment is indeed expérience! So, in every sense of the word, my experiment did indeed culminate in a satisfying and delicious experience!

 For more information on the etymology of experience and experiment, see Kyle Kowalski and a podcast by Dr. Andrew Weil.