Cooking School Dropouts.


I don’t think I can stress enough how stunningly beautiful the wine country in Niagara is. I mean, wine country in general is stunningly beautiful, but seriously, it’s glorious here (although perhaps I’m a bit biased, being Canadian and all).

The fun thing about the Niagara region as compared to Napa or the Fingerlakes or Spain or whatever is that Niagara just sort of plopped a bunch of cineyards and orchards smack in the middle of a residential neighbourhood. There’s a few areas of long, sprawling rows of grapes, but a lot of the time you’ll see vines that are straddling a typical Canadian house with a front yard full of statuary.

(I did try to take a picture, but at that point I was already several glasses of wine deep and we were in the car. Google it or something).

Strewn Winery is sort of in the middle of this chaos, and mi familia and I ended up there at 10 in the morning to take a cooking class.

As it turns out, although mi familia is composed of excellent cooks, we are collectively pretty awful at cooking school.

Well no, that’s not fair. The women in my family are rebel troublemakers. 

We made it well enough through the plum platz cake, besides the fact that apparently I mixed the dough wrong and you’re supposed to smush it instead of kneading it (although to be honest I couldn’t tell the difference), and my dear grandpere added about half a bottle of maple syrup to it instead of half a cup.

Look at mi Padre and my Papear collaborating nicely on a cake. I bet they never got in trouble at school.

Look at mi Padre and my Papear collaborating nicely on a cake. I bet they never got in trouble at school.

The trouble started when we attempted to make veggie fresh rolls with rice paper wrap. The poor cooking lady held up a limp wet rice wrapper and asked us what we thought it looked like, and my gran went into hysterics because she thought it looked like a condom (it was supposed to look like a wet paper towel so she could make a lame joke about wringing it out. It did not).

But then we made these! Look how pretty these are! AREN'T I TALENTED?? TELL ME YOU LOVE ME.

But then we made these! Look how pretty these are! AREN’T I TALENTED?? TELL ME YOU LOVE ME.

Then our timer went off for our cake, and when Mamma Mia went to check on it, she got a stern talking to about opening the oven.

When we made our mint dressing for our salads, my gran cut too much mint.

I apparently turned the chicken over too many times.

Honestly, we are rabblerousers. 

Things luckily smoothed out as everyone drank more wine, but not before I snuck some contraband mint into our sweet potatoes.

Rebellion is apparently in my blood.

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