Cuando Canto

My very first from-the-blackberry-post!

…when you give Little Bit a camera

PS. How awesome is it that I got to meet Evelyn? Solidarity!

Here’s some pictures that I took on an outing with Lori Inman.

Yeah, I live close enough to Lori to know her. Jealous much? She’s exactly as cool as you would think (or quite possibly even MORE).

Caroline climbing:

And then the artsy view of mom (that would be Lori)

I had no idea Lori could clamber. Is it only in TN that we clamber? Anyhoo, she’s really good (and not at all awkward as that link might lead you to believe). She totally schooled me, in both the good way, i.e. taught-me-how-to-do-this; and the bad way, i.e. showed-me-up-pretty-bad.

Either way, I’m glad I know her and glad I got to spend some time with her. Love me some Inman’s.

When Little Bit & I got home today I showed him my purchases for the day. Score! Teff flour (I’m not going to comment on the fact that I asked the store where I found it to let me know if there were ever able to get such a thing, AND THEY DID NOT).

I have previously attempted the elusive injera (and failed miserably). I chalk the previous failure up to having used regular flour because I couldn’t find teff.

Little Bit, in his inimitable Little Bit way, proceeded to explain to me exactly how you make injera.

Furust zis stuff, zen water. Vroom, vroom, vroom. Wait, maybe srreee day, smell YUCKY, zen smell, ugh, zen hot. Zen (circular arm motions), zen vroom. Look, zen no finished, wait.

Translation: First, add the teff (zis stuff), then add water. Stir. Wait about three days until it starts to smell pretty bad. Once it smells that way, heat up your skillet. Then pour the batter into the skillet, then cover. After a minute or two, check on it, if it isn’t finished, wait a couple more minutes.

That was about 6pm this evening.

He just came back from the kitchen where he saw that there was indeed some injera batter sitting on the counter waiting for the requisite souring.

Little Bit: Mom, me sorry, you think injera yes. Me not know, really.

Translation: Mom, I know that I told you how to make injera and I’m sure that you followed my instructions to the letter but I may have misled you into believing that I had injera making skills that I do not, in fact, possess. I apologize profusely for leading you astray and I will make every restitution I possibly can to make this right.