Waffenbread

Autumn has arrived in predictable fashion; the air conditioner has returned to the basement, the lights are back on my bike and the waterproofs in my bag, the leaves are a riot of colour - though soggy underfoot rather than crunchy; cooking is comforting and soulful once more, and the first squirrel has been extradited from our attic. Pictured right: apple and pear tasting at Portland Nursery's annual Apple Festival.

It was the Springwater Grill in Sellwood that I discovered Ethan's love of gingerbread, or waffenbread as he calls it, derived from waffen - Ethanese for muffin (the American kind), and bread based presumably on its sliced-from-a-loaf form. He sensed immediately that it would be to his liking, consuming the first half-slice perhaps before the waitress had set the plate down on the table. When it had disappeared entirely she kindly brought him more (it was a sort of complementary side dish), which proceeded to evaporate in similar fashion. His obvious delight compelled me to negotiate the purchase of an entire loaf to take away. This seemed to last only moments longer than it took to defrost. Over the next couple of days I experimented with producing my own version, to the tune of my ancient copy of the Good Housekeeping Cookery Book, which covers almost everything you've ever considered eating, along with quite a few things you wouldn't dream of touching. Having procured a source of golden syrup (not native to these parts) and determined that treacle can be substituted with molasses, we seem to have a winning formula on our hands, and I fully expect waffenbread to be a staple of our diet over the winter months.

Here are some more words in Ethanese:

Badoot - Hamster
Boo-boo-but - Belly button
Winge - Craisins (dried cranberries)




Ethan made a rather fetching giraffe this Halloween.


Left: Ethan helps Mummy navigate the giant corn maze on Sauvie Island. Right: Conker has a lovely stretch after a hard afternoon napping under a plant.


Ethan hanging out at Sunnyside playground.