Un p'tit déj d'amour

This last saturday marked yet another paragon of western capitalism, Valentine's day. And now you're all gagging and saying I'm the hardest, unromantic person ever, or else I am a lonesome cow. And none will be correct. I'm about as romantic as the next person, and quite happy in my love life, but, if when I was in my early twenties I found it fun to celebrate Valentine's day with a movie outing and some chocolates or teddy bears, now in my early forties I see things quite differently.

To me the celebration of love should be an everyday thing - it is an everyday thing! Not only the romantic love between two consenting adults (or hormone riddled teens) but also the other bonds of love. There should not exist a day when love is to be celebrated by capitalising on what is the most basic of human traits, and the one that after all, should save us all. To me the thought of having huge companies making a profit out of the pressure advertising and social norm play upon lovers to show how much they do love, and outdo that show of passion for the whole world to see every year, is quite disgusting. It's no one's business how much I love my husband, and it is not the fact that I bought him an expensive watch - which I didn't, as I cannot afford such things - that will prove my love for him.

Love should be shown on those little things, on the everyday, on the fact that yesterday in the late afternoon, my husband got out of his PJ's and went out to the store to get me a bottle of a wine I had so loved and was craving, after spending the whole day toiling away in the kitchen making bread. Love is shown on the little things like waking up one's child everymorning with kisses and a story of how much they mean to us and how we do love them to the moon and back. Love should be shown by a warm, wholesome meal just about ready to be served to someone who has spent the day working to bring home a paycheck and is rather tired, and hungry. Love is in the little things, of the everyday living, and not in a date that has been christianized into a commercial holiday. Just go and find out what that date really was before catholics took over it.

When I first got together with my hubby, a show of his love for me was the fact that whenever we were away at my family's holiday home, he would bring me breakfast in bed. He would hop into the kitchen and get me coffee, milk, toasted slices of baguette with butter drizzling over them. And I would gobble it all down in bed. Now life has changed, and we do not do breakfast in bed anymore, as the thought of crumbs as I am trying to sleep is a bit daunting. Also, now there's a kid who tends to wake up before his daddy does on days off, and has to be fed - or else he will try to feed himself and wreck my kitchen! - and I do wake up a ot earlier than I used to do. But there was breakfast in bed once, and it still stays as one of the fondest memories of our love. So I wanted to revive it, not last saturday, but today, because mondays are always hard. And because there's a corn and rye bread there, that I wanted to share with you.

You will need:

• 1 cup rye flour
• 1 cup cornmeal
• 1/2 cup flour
• 2 tablespoons sugar
• 1/2 teaspoon baking soda
• 2 teaspoons baking powder
• 1/2 teaspoon salt
• 1 1/4 cup of milk
• 1 egg
• 4 tablespoons melted buter

Gently beat the egg and the butter until fully mixed, and gradually add the dry ingredients, mixing well with a wooden spoon. Line a loaf tin with parchement paper, pour the batter into it and bake in a pre heated oven at 180º for about 15 to 20 minutes. Keep checking as soon as you notice the crust is fully formed, using a skewer. As soon as this comes off clean, the bread is ready. Let it cool on a rack and serve still warm or cold. A dollop of this pear and port jam was the best company possible for such a fulfilling bread, that surprisingly kept rather well and lasted a whole week whithout going stale!