Lean In Ladies! Actually... no, not so much?

What does a rainy Sunday at the end of May spell?  Binge-watching reality TV!  Blessing for my children - it's for you too! In my defence, earlier this morning I cooked some seriously savoury organic home-grown stuffed peppers and experimented for the first time with my husband’s favourite Middle-Eastern treat “Mahalabia” with a perfect result!   So, darlings, judge me all you want, but I sank onto my sofa in the afternoon to watch the finale of MasterChef Canada Season 2 one more time. And as a refresher, a few of the previous episodes. OK, I admit it -  I binge-watched people cook for about 5 hours! To explain further, this has been an emotional season.  "Serbian" stuffed peppers After all, my sister - our family’s own kitchen maven - was a contestant herself! One day, for a few hours our family and friends and colleagues were guests on the set as she cooked for that coveted white apron. Star-struck by the familiar surroundings, the young producers running around with clip-boards, the cool camera crew following us around - never mind the three famous judges - this was a fun and unforgettable escape from my regular career of mostly serious, medical stuff. Seriously sinful: Mahalabia No surprise, the flourless chocolate cake, the staple of our many family celebrations won the palates of two out of three judges. White apron was awarded with our whole family sharing that moment, crowding the TV-kitchen space. Lights, Camera, Appetite, Adrenaline, Action!  It took me a solid hour to tame my disappointment after the very first episode finally aired in early February. After reaching the top 25 home chefs, my sister was asked to surrender her white apron. 16 others moved into the cooking Coliseum, an insanely-equipped stainless-steel kitchen. My bitterness was somewhat soothed by the knowledge that, for our family, food is a thing of pure love - a meditation over the stovetop rather than a competitive sport. But it was easy for me to continue being glued to the TV -  feeling a pang of hunger - every Sunday at 7:00 PM because of two other amazingly talented and strong home chefs, Line and Tammy, who knew how to cook, decorate, cooperate and compete while clearly becoming good friends along the way. And when Tammy - the incredible hunter-gatherer mother of six - was sent home mid-way through the competition, this mature female friendship made me root even harder for Line, a military veteran French-Canadian power mom, who single-handedly raised her daughters. Battling poverty yet learning the daring art of “chi-chi-foo-foo” cooking! As a former single mother I nodded to myself: “Whoa! Line it is!” The cooking show ended two weeks ago, together with a myriad of other reality shows, designed to catch our attention, our likes and re-tweets in the winter-to-spring timeline. Reality TV fame evaporates faster than alcohol in a flambé, right? So why talk about the #MCC Season Finale now? For someone who is a volunteer life coach dedicated solely to assisting women in transition, the social media thread linked to a nation-wide opinion of who deserved to win MasterChef Canada Season 2 served as an incredible case-study. And amazingly enough - the comments are still coming in. Facebook seems to greatly extend the life of the show! Here is an observation: When a man cooks well (even though a major error was made deeming those sweetbreads impossible to serve at a fine-dining restaurant) other men are: "Whoa! Dude! Make the west coast proud! Go Dave Go!" They even call him “bro”. Not a single word of criticism, let alone an offensive word. Nice. I took the past two weeks to diligently comb through the MasterChef Canada’s Facebook page and capture an opposing phenomenon.  When a woman cooks well - (although she served the steak rare rather than medium rare) it is the other women who are the ones to comment the most. And although there are certainly those who offer praise and encouragement, there is an  o v e r w h e l m i n g  number of women whose comments are derogatory, dumb in their menace yet intending to hurt. The range and ravage go from commenting on finalist’s Line’s strategy, to assaulting her looks, to hating her voice, to judging her personality.  Sad. Actually - suffocatingly sad.  In this mid-second decade of the 21st century women still have a lot to conquer and overcome: Equal pay. Rape culture. And in many places, the right to end pregnancy. The right to love another woman. Cat-calling. Fair employment opportunities and career advancement. Learning to Lean In is no small task. With these we are only touching on our first world problems. What about Malala Yousafzai’s battle for girls’ right to education? Or the Nigerian girls being abducted by Boko Haram - some of whom are forced to wed, while others are raped and killed or forcibly used as suicide bombers? We are talking Canadian women watching a Canadian cooking reality show, choosing to spend their on-line minutes to harass and bring the fellow woman down as hurtfully as they can. What is it that makes women who live in one of the safest and most prosperous countries in the world want to pour malice onto a TV-show contestant?  How does one know that what you see is not just a well-planned scenario (did someone say alternate ending?) of a savvy TV show producer who calculated: “In this corner a blue-collar dad who must provide better for his family”… “In this corner an ex-military single mom in high heels”. Let the kitchen gladiators take their knives out! The Truman show. Clearly, it works, because we all watched. And cheered. And some of us even pimped up their kitchen skills due to the show, gaining some unnecessary gourmet pounds along the way.  But, fellow woman, yes you who shamelessly (your first and last name fully displayed) took jabs at one of our own after her incredible kitchen stamina and success - are you done now? Did this virtual stoning make you feel better? Taller? More accomplished? Do you feel safer in your own world now that you slung hurtful words and insults at a woman you don’t even know? Let me tell you a secret - I don’t know Line either!  But I have learned that there is nothing like cooperation if not the camaraderie of mature women who can empower, support and change the world. One kitchen, one classroom, one boardroom, one stage at the time. As a life coach, I want you to feel the sweet and powerful ambrosia of that amazing bond. It will do you so much good - give it a try!  Where to start?  I’m a pharmacist and a kitchen enthusiast - so here is the Rx or a simple 5-step recipe on how to move on from this bitter unfortunate phase to a graceful and more the real you life. (those comments on Facebook - that can’t be the real you! I refuse to believe that!).  Here we go:  Step 1 - Cleanse. Pledge not to eat fast food or drink pop or munch cheezies for the next 2 weeks. Not kidding. I don’t care if the pop is diet or made with splenda - it’s equally poisonous. Water with lemon and real food for 2 weeks, darling!  Step 2 - Forgive. Your mother or step-mother or a mean aunt or a bitchy neighbour or that cruel nun who beat you with a stick in school. Forgive whoever it is who convinced you that women are no good. You might have been wronged at an early age. Seek help. And trust you can heal.  Step 3 - Cook. Tie an apron on, get some fresh organic ingredients, blast your favourite music and cook your heart out. Use the best food. Bring out the fancy plates saved only for special occasions. Feed your family. Feed your friends. Feed a stranger. Today. Feel the joy that accompanies whole food and whole life.  Step 4 - Watch Season 2 again. Find something you appreciate in every contestant you ever bitched about, focusing on women. Stay on task. Don’t go drooling over the handsome crooner again, the one who branded himself the sexy-food chef. If you want to support him, buy his music. Remember why you are here. To learn to be kind to women. Yourself first. Watch, breathe and repeat after me: It’s only TV. Breathe. It’s only TV. Breathe.  Step 5 - Remember that one woman in your life - there must have been one - who stood out for you as someone strong. Or brave. Or wise. Or selfless. Or capable. Or kind. Or all of the above. Go talk to her. Call her and tell her how meaningful she is to you. And why. Send her a letter. Or write it all in a journal tonight if she happens to be in another realm. But take the time to recognize and honour the sacred feminine. It is your birthright. For your own sake. And your daughter’s sake. And your son’s sake. And the world’s sake. Now take a minute to realize that the person you have been slandering all along is that woman for someone else. For me, that was my mother’s friend Sonja*. I observed her become a kick-ass engineer and then a bride (little girls remember beautiful brides!), compete and win in the men’s professional world, start her family. Then experience real hardships - divorce, life-threatening illness of a child, civil war. Through it all she stayed strong and focused and wise. You know what else I remember her doing? She would often call or come talk to my mom, who was over 15 years her senior, to harvest energy and kindness and a sense of support and relief and hope. All these decades later, that friendship still lasts.  And when I had my own hardships to deal with, I looked for Sonja, 15+ years my senior. What I got from her was gold. Relief. Timeless wisdom. And two years ago, during my brief time in Belgrade, I knocked on her door. And hugged her. And told her how much strength I had received from her courage. Sharing that was one of the best feelings I have ever experienced.  I want that feeling for you. That’s all. Because being gracious tastes so good. Just like Line’s crème brûlée. A few days ago, I ran into the MasterChef Season 1 finalist Marida Mohammed - where else than in the best roti place of the Greater Toronto Area! She was having lunch with her twin sister Narida and their very lucky and proud mother. I can’t say what struck me more - how warm and welcoming they were when I approached recognizing them or how passionate and personable their suggestions on what should I taste first from the restaurant’s incredible menu. How poised yet pumped when talking about the launch of their Twice de Spice adventures-in-food company! Palachinka (Serbian for crepes) So I decided to watch the finale of Season 1 of MasterChef Canada again. Got hungry again. Got angry again - Marida didn’t win (nothing against the young Eric Chong but I favourited Marida’s spice art quite a bit more throughout the whole season). But anger doesn’t feel good so I looked for a way out. My signature thin crepes with blueberries and crushed candied pecans. Phew - it worked!  Then I remembered. It’s only TV. A producer sitting down and action-planning the business of the first 3 seasons of the Canadian franchise of the show. What will rake up the ratings? Attract the advertisers? Where will the top 8 home chefs cook in Season 3? Aprile’s Origin North and Bonacini’s Canoe have already done their turn.  But of course: “Silly me - I now see - R&D**- it’s only TV!” * her real name, XOXO! ** read the reviews then tried for myself - R for robbed, D for disappointed!

How to Prepare a Chef

Who knew that an evening of mindless channel cruising could've led me to gain 6 pounds in mere two months... Damn cable TV!

Season 2 starts Feb 8 @7 pm EST

Thanks to Netflix and programming on demand, I haven't entertained the regular sit down evening in front of our ever growing TV screen in quite a while. Life is busy, kids are really small and really loud and usually, by the time we have them wrestled down to bed and could actually drop on the comfy couch to watch something, all that is offered is the grim recap of the worst news from around the world. If it's CNN we also get why they knew about the bad news all along coupled with why it will never get better. As the turquoise-eyed and tight lipped anchor keeps questioning the two opposing parties in the latest conflict, they yell, bark and interrupt each other leaving me with an upset stomach, a fluttering heart and an uncomfortable feeling I wasn't smart to bring three lives into this unhappy planet. As if none of any opinions even matter, the blood red ticker line at the bottom of the HD screen keeps counting the dead, measuring disasters, ramping up warnings. Exactly what full time employed busy mother of three needs at the end of the day. Yeah right.

But then, I remember the super-power of pressing the channel up button and I rip through a few dozens of channels. Click. A powerful car commercial. Click. A must have mop for our home. Click. Cereal commercial portraying a family just like mine starting their day happy, organized and serene. Shut up! Click. A guy getting eaten by a snake. Click. Dermatologist recommended face cream that is proven to take away my early signs of aging. Click. A history lesson showing how Holocaust was ignored for the first three years of the WWII. Click. Vitamix infomercial. I stay here longer as a very eloquent dude that clearly abused some self tanning product, throws in a half of a green cabbage with some frozen berries, making a delicious vegan ice-cream. The attractive brunette is licking the spoon tossing her hair back. Simultaneously I restrain myself from agreeing to four simple payments -- I have already bought the mighty machine and note to self I must try this mix, since it's promising pleasure. A lot of pleasure. Click.

On the next channel, a guy is sweating while peaking through the oven window. A girl is vigorously chopping parsley nervously glancing at the clock. Another woman is contemplating a disaster - the dough might still be raw in the middle. Three men in sleek suits are circling around them like sharks, asking somewhat uncomfortable questions as if these people, handling both hot and sharp objects while counting seconds are in any position to be chatting. The tune that accompanies them is something from a heart-stopping thriller. Or the "JAWS" movie, hence the shark analogy. Nevertheless my eyes are glued to the TV. When the show ends in some 15 minutes, a woman has been eliminated in a "Survivor" like fashion; instead of her torch being extinguished she is told to take her apron off, her kitchen war flag with her name embroidered on it. She has been defeated and she sheds a few tears.

"Join us next week to find out who will get 100 000.00$ and the title of the first MasterChef Canada!"

Without hesitation, I hop on Google, find out when and on which channel the show runs, so I don't have to chase it on the West Coast schedule and I put it in my calendar. That's how much I needed to know what happens next! Then I realize, I am starving...

Family treasure written in Serbian Cyrillic

Strong women, fearless, educated and opinionated have always been a point of pride of our family. As a girl, I enjoyed hearing about my great grandmother Milena Tubić, who was in mid 1800's one of the first woman teachers having to acquire her higher education in Thessaloniki, Greece as there was none for women at that time in Serbia. Milena survived four wars, lost three homes and mourned two children, somehow still keeping her spirit bright and empowering. Everything she knew she taught her one surviving daughter, my grandmother Tomira. Milena died peacefully four months after the birth of her last great-grandchild: me. The most incredible woman on my grandfather's side of the family was his mother Ljubica Čemerikić "Maka" who crossed the Atlantic on a ship back and forth ten times, so that she can live with her daughter's family after they immigrated as well as stay close to her sons. In March of 1972 she was hit by a car and suffered a fracture, then got transported to a Belgrade hospital where she shared the room in the ER, divided by only a curtain with the index case of the major strain of Variola Vera. The male patient from Kosovo contracted the deadly virus while on a pilgrimage in Mecca, bringing it to Serbia where the last case of the disease was reported in 1923 and it was considered extinct. 10 000 people have been quarantined, 175 patients contracted the disease, 35 died. Within the following two weeks 18 million citizens of then Yugoslavia, had to be vaccinated to prevent the spread. My extraordinarily feisty great-grandmother spent the maximum number of days in the hospital quarantine, watching people around her get sick and die, helping the decimated hospital staff as much as she could. When the quarantine ended, she walked out of the hospital walking with canes, never even contracting the disease. She died here, in Canada at a tender age of 102.

Our Grandmother's Cookbook

Both women and all of their daughters have been extraordinarily gifted in the kitchen. Despite the times of wars, scarcity and the lack of the essentials in the kitchen, such as a fridge, these women got known for their culinary skills. My grandmother Tomira, who held a degree in Ethnography, wrote it all down, in several tomes of handwritten manuscripts. When she finally got two granddaughters after two grandsons, she was determined to transfer her amazing skills onto us.

I'm not sure what came first, me being a tomboy or the need for the pots and pans to be washed so that the baking and cooking can move on at lightening speed - these were the pre-dishwasher years - but I personally never acquired any of that training. Although I truly enjoyed hanging out in the kitchen, being seduced by my grandmother's stories laced with a whiff of vanilla and the opportunity to lick every bowl, I never got even close to making dough, seeing the yeast rise, bundling the future loaf of delicious bread in a warm kitchen towel. Or handling the big cut of meat, skillfully removing skins and tendons off only to inject it with garlic and almonds then rub it with freshly-ground spices. But my sister... Oh goodness! From a very early age, she was all into it, wrapping herself in our grandmother's apron - her favourite dress-up - and mimicking her every move. Asking questions. Measuring. Sprinkling. Decorating. Tasting all along. Then proudly serving, basking in reactions of people who have seen it and tried it.

Forty years later and my sister Mina is still at her counter, cooking and baking. The dough simply loves this woman! Her kitchen is her sanctuary. Whether seeking relaxation or just plain fun, she always ends up elbow deep in the flour preparing old recipes and inventing twists and turns that make our family favourites more modern, worldly. Can there be a higher endorsement than that she picked a new stove instead of a ring for her 15th wedding anniversary? That stove is her jewel. Our entire family gathers around her table, for holidays and special occasions as that sense of major accomplishment and pride still accompanies the extraordinary love she pours into dishes that look great and taste out of this world!

So when a week later, the first ever MasterChef Canada trophy got awarded together with a hefty dollar prize and showers of confetti, I knew my sister Mina belonged in that kitchen.

Guess who's the finalist on MasterChef Canada Season 2?!

Strong, slender and competitive, our family's "foodie" finally had an arena for where to showcase her passion.
The following two summer months, as any good coach does, I watched and re-watched the entire Season 1, living through every tough scenario of the pressure cooker and surprise challenge. Somehow I wanted to make sure that the flavours of the Balkans make it to the show for the world to see, try and taste. While at work in colourful Scarborough, I went crazy exploring the local favourites of Indian, Korean, Pakistani, Sri Lankan, Malaysian and Japanese cuisines - we shall not be niched! I took photos of every plate, then savoured that first bite, acting as a judge! At home, I cooked for my own family, throwing butter left, right and centre (calorie count doesn't seem to matter in this competition) making sure all was done within one hour. Needless to say we dined really well last summer in our very own kitchen! My sister and I got really close - I dare say closer then ever - experimenting, calling each other many times a day, exchanging kitchen tricks. My waistline soon climbed another size - oh well, I will walk it off! We became so MCC-obsessed that even my 6 years old son started counting seconds for me as I poured milk into his morning cereal: "10 seconds left, mama, you'd better be plating!"

The MasterChef Canada Season 2 is starting in two weeks. To say I am suffocating with excitement is an understatement. However, it is not the proximity to the reality TV fame that is the most exciting thing to me. What is so monumentally great is that my sister Mina, a woman with a husband and teenage kids, an aging parent and lot of friends, a successful professional career and a busy schedule as a fitness maven,  someone with important deadlines and to-do lists like the rest of us, has decided to bravely press the pause button on all that and take some serious time to play kitchen, just like when she was a kid.

So you want to know the best recipe for how to prepare a Chef? 

Take equal parts of skill, passion and creativity, preferably with long roots (do not remove!), seasoned with discipline of a black belt karate master and spiked with wicked measuring skills only a pharmacist might have; marinate in love for a decade or so. Then let her loose and let her play!