It’s an Anica-thing

In my six months in Sweden, I’ve noticed there’s two things I say rather frequently here, whether I’m talking to Swedes or other international students:

     1. “Well, it depends on the state…” when replying to some question about how something works in the US  

       (Most recent usage: Talking about age of consent)

     2. “That’s not an American thing, it’s an Anica-thing” when explaining something I do that is weird

       (Most recent usage: Me cooking bacon in water, which totally blew my corridor-mate’s mind)

Today we had an unexpected free day off from school – no lectures, no pressing projects or papers to write – just a day I could do whatever. As much as I am a nerd and love school, I do miss being able to just enjoy evenings and weekends without having to do any kind of work. (Or if I couldn’t, at least being paid, typically 1.5 times more, to have to do so. Much better than this homework racket.)

So what did I do, as a college student with a surprise day of freedom? I spent the entire day in the kitchen cooking things from scratch, of course! (It’s not really an American thing, it’s just an Anica-thing.) ;)

Does this have anything to do with Sweden? Nope, outside of that’s my location at the moment. I just love to cook and this seemed a good excuse to sneak in a picture of the beautiful lasagna I made I figured I’d share some pictures of just a normal day off here, lest you think I’m just sitting in Sweden all sad and depressed after my last post. 

Not the best pictures, since I wasn't planing on doing this and took them with my phone, but I'm just a food porn amateur. ;)

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I actually started off cooking a bit on Monday, which was a day I needed to work on a presentation and read some papers, but didn't have any scheduled at school time, so I was free to cook too.

I made some marinara sauce, the recipe of which is one of the only good things from being on that low-iodine diet hell over the summer. It's just tomatoes, onions, garlic, fresh basil, salt, pepper, thyme, and oregano, pureed as much as humanly possible and simmered for 2+ hours to make it less itchy. (Mild tomato allergy - less cooked and chunks gives me a rash.)

The internet tells me that the air added in the pureeing
is why my sauce is always orange instead of red.
At least you can tell it's homemade then, right?

That batch gave me eleven 1½ cup servings, which is the perfect to make dinner and have leftovers for lunch.

Today though, I started off making some breakfast burritos. This is my third time making these, and they are amazing. I do a big batch and freeze them, and then have a delicious and nutritious breakfast that microwaves in 3 minutes. 

Oven roasted potatoes, eggs, bacon pieces, onion,
bell pepper, and a little cheese = deliciousness

As I've never been much of a morning person to begin with, and now I have to take my thyroid pill on an empty stomach and wait an hour to eat, breakfast was becoming a major problem before this. 97% of the time I end up eating one while walking to the bus stop.

My beauts ready for the freezer. Freeze on a cookie sheet first,
then when frozen you can dump in a giant ziploc without having
to worry that they'll freeze together.

After those went in the freezer, I also made some Italian sausage (not pictured), then took a lunch break and made a bacon cheeseburger with some of the bacon left over from the burritos. :)

Then the pièce de résistance: lasagna.

This was my first time making a real lasagna, and it is quite an undertaking, but the goal was to be able to have a bunch in the freezer for those I'm-too-tired/lazy-to-cook days. (I walk past a kebob place, McDonald's, and grocery store on my way home from the bus stop, and honestly most of the time I cave is because it's been a long day and I don't have anything easy to eat at home.) 

They do have TV dinners and frozen pizza here, but that's not much healthier. Besides, I had a piece of lasagna when I first moved here, and they make it very wrong (which one of the Swedes I live with concurred as he saw I was making it right, so there). Instead of ricotta they use a béchamel sauce. No.

Ready for the oven. Also, Swedish lasagna noodles don't have ridges.
It makes it easier to layer in the pan, but I kind of miss the
festiveness of the wavy sides.

I went all out for my first foray into lasagna: homemade marinara sauce with homemade Italian sausage, spinach, ricotta, parmesan, fresh basil, and fresh mozzarella I grated myself. And yes, I enjoyed myself immensely, especially when it came out of the oven...

Isn't she pretty?!?

Don't worry, not quitting my day job to become a food stylist.

Verdict: Thumbs up. Next time more sauce, and I'll mix the spinach in with the ricotta instead of a separate layer like the recipe called for. It should also let me get more spinach in there without really affecting the taste. It's still pretty good though, and earned the approval of the meat-eating population of my corridor.

After dinner tonight and lunch tomorrow, I've got 13 little healthy instant meals in my freezer. Funny thing is this sounds like a diet tips blog post - Just prep ahead and easily eat easy all week! - but it did take up pretty much the whole day and would not interest most people. Me, on the other hand? I had a ball. 

In case you don't believe that spending 8 hours in
a kitchen makes me happy. That's a proud,
dorky lasagna mama right there.

I may have missed my calling at being a housewife on a homestead.

Hmm.

The day ended with a special surprise from the grocery store that completed the evening. 

When I was a kid, there was this commercial for this fancy ice cream thing that I longed to try, but we never did. (It was probably too expensive.) For years, I've dreamed of this dessert: 

LOOK WHAT SWEDEN HAS.

I didn't have the Fancy Feast glass goblets to eat it out of, but otherwise it did not disappoint. Kind of like a lasagna made with ice cream and thin chocolate layers. It's like part of my childhood is now complete. 

So there you have it, my random day off, from your weirdo friend. (See, life in a foreign land isn't all walking on cobblestone streets past 1,000 year old buildings and stuff. Sometimes you stay inside, after all.) 

:)

You can’t go home again

They always say you can’t go home again, that what you hold as memories and nostalgia for your past places of being is something that can never be returned to. It will only ever live in your memory, will never be a manifestation of reality again. You can try to go back, but you will just end up disappointed in the long run, because that home you yearn for no longer exists.

It’s a depressing thought, but one I’ve experienced before, with summer camp. It was the happiest times of my childhood, but no matter how much I miss camp, what it was for me is something that will never again be. I’ve revisited my old camp and felt wronged by the changes they made, felt saddened that the girls going there today were never going to know the experience I had. I’m sure the counselors that left the camp when I was young had the same feelings though. I spent twelve summers at a place that will be entering its 67^th summer this year; the fact I have emotional investment is almost as guaranteed as the fact things will not be the same. That’s another thing they say though, right? The only constant is change.

I’ve been quite sad the last twenty-four hours, and it seemed to come from nowhere. I’ve spent all of today at home, in my pajamas. I slept over twelve hours, skipped Swedish class, and didn’t work on a paper that’s due sooner than I want to think about. I’ve cried at least four times today, one of which I kept asking myself, “What’s wrong with me?” It’s as if I was thrown heavily into deep PMS (only I’m on medication to prevent such atrocities), and it’s taken me all day to figure out what is wrong:

I’m homesick.

The worst part though, is I’m homesick for a home I can’t return to.

It’s multi-faceted, really. Part of me is homesick for my life in Vegas, your standard variety homesickness. Not for the city per se, because you know I have a love/hate relationship with my hometown, but for the comfort. I miss being able to buy ice cream at 2am or know where to get great Chinese food. I miss knowing what hikes I could go on to get away from it all to rejuvenate my soul. I miss driving away stress with the windows down, singing at the top of my lungs on a large stretch of deserted highway. I miss knowing a town so well.

More so I miss the friends I had there. With yet another friend getting an amazing job out of state (congrats Amanda, well deserved), it means there’s one less reason for me to ever go back. When I think of the friends I miss the most, the ones I keep in contact with regularly and would want to visit…there’s soon only going to be maybe three left in Vegas. Lots of old friends, coworkers, and places to see, but my base of closest friends now requires a cross-country road trip. Having those friends in one place is a home that doesn’t exist anymore, and won’t ever again.

Another thing not waiting for me in Vegas is my mom. Even though I’m going on 3½ years since she passed, there are still a lot of times when I really wish I could talk to her. When I was in Korea, especially towards the end when I couldn’t wait to get the hell out of my job and back home, we talked 2-3 hours several nights a week. Her practically nocturnal sleep schedule worked perfect for me living abroad, and I think I severely underestimated how important being able to call a friendly voice from back home is. With the 9-hour time difference, I’m stuck with weekend evenings for anyone not local.

As I’m making summer plans to go volunteer on organic farms, I think of how my mom and I talked about having a small farm someday. A cabin in the middle of the woods, with a cow named Bessie and two pigs named Bacon and Pork Chop. (I didn’t say we weren’t twisted individuals…) With her disability payments and Section 8 it was something that we might have been able to financially pull off. Now it’s just another dream that will never be realized. I guess you can also be homesick for a home that never was as much as one that has disappeared.

I’ll never be able to go back home to my mom, and that hurts. I used to call her when I was upset, and now writing has sprung up as a mediocre substitute. It’s a way for me to get it out to make me feel better though, so it’s become a habit.   

I know this is probably not what you want to read about. I only end up posting these, when I do, because sometimes I think you should know where my mind is. Fun adventures with amazing pictures that make you jealous I’m here and you’re stuck back home seem to be the norm. This certainly wasn’t what I was expecting to post on my 6 month anniversary of being in Sweden.

It’s life though, and my lack of posting is not all negative; as living here has become normalcy instead of a novelty, there’s less to share and less pictures to take. Contrary to what this break in several months of silence might suggest, I’ve been really quite happy the last few weeks.

But an adventurous life overseas is still a life. There’s ups, downs, happy accidents, disappointment, joy, the whole host of human experiences. They just come with a Swedish accent now.

I’ll post pictures again – there’s the visit to Iceland before I got here, events during orientation week, and Christmas in Prague to share, and spring break is just around the corner.

Today though, I really miss all of you, and I just wanted you to know.