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Upon completing my masters thesis, I celebrated by leaving my poor husband on his lonesome for three weeks while I gallivanted. He retaliated by finding us an apartment.

There was one catch, I suppose: what with apartment hunting, working and lack of a constantly available car, NTS couldn’t move much of our stuff over until I came. Until the day I came, to be exact, since we were turning in the keys to our old place the next day.

So we moved.

I didn’t cook that night.

The next day NTS and I went to work. I spent my day putting things places, and was much surprised to look up at some point and discover that it was time for dinner.

This was complicated by the fact that our refrigerator was due for replacement, so we didn’t dare buy a lot of perishable items. And so began the great forage.

BRID You know what we haven’t had in a while? Pancakes. Let’s have pancakes.


Flour, eggs and milk being among the very basic stocks in our house, this seemed like a great idea, but the full extent of the genius didn’t become clear until later.

It took an unconscionably long time to track down the flour. It turned out to be in full view on the table, but both of us were somehow certain–up to and until the moment that we found it–that the bag was blue, like the sugar bag. It was red. A cunning and devious disguise.

At this point, let us backtrack to my time in the US. Knowing how I must miss the delights of home while I was gone, Daddy had provided a great big jug of pure maple syrup and a bottle of thick, dark blueberry sauce. Despite the birthday and Christmas (!) presents I distributed like a fore-sighted Santa among my various relations, my luggage did not, as expected, return much lighter than it had come. It was, however, deliciously laden. 

And so it was that for our first meal in our Edinburgh apartment, I cooked German pancakes after the recipe of my host grandmother* in Germany ten years ago, spreading them thickly with blueberry sauce my dad had sent with me from home. It was a very gemuetlich sort of housewarming and sets the scene for cozy mixed meals to come.

View from Ben A'an

As another little taste of the northeast, and a fusion between countries, here’s what I’m listening to just now: Acadian Saturday Night. Don’t look at the picture, it’s scary; just play the music. 

*I was part of an exchange program in Germany for a year after high school. The fact that I spoke no German was apparently no impediment to participation.