Prophecy fulfilled. Yesterday's Environment Canada extreme weather alert prepared us for the -16C high yesterday afternoon with a biting wind that influenced our decision to wait out the weather at home rather than venture out into the ravine after a beautifully balmy day on Saturday, but when we came down this morning the temperature had fallen much further. The overnight low was about the lowest we usually experience in the winter.

But by dawn it had risen to -26C. And on the porch there was a tiny red squirrel working away at the peanuts and soon afterward a pair of black squirrels and then a surprise, the rabbit that frequents our backyard showed up on the porch as well. Neither the rabbit nor the lone squirrel beside it seemed to mind one another's company, both busy with peanuts. We knew from experience that the squirrel wouldn't budge from the porch even if we opened the door, but the rabbit would vanish if it so much as became aware of a shadow hovering near.

When we prepared to take Jackie and Jillie out to the backyard to relieve themselves after their long restful night's sleep, we first put woolly sweaters on them. They didn't linger long this morning, soon as business was done with, up they came, gingerly raising one leg after another, the cold penetrating their tiny feet.

We left the house soon afterward to do our grocery shopping. Early, to avoid a shopping crush in the interests of minimizing our exposure. Area hospitals, just like others all across the province, are crying 'full'! and the case numbers continue to rise steeply day by day. When we reached the parking lot in front of the supermarket there were few other cars. 

And that meant we could more or less relax with our shopping, since there were few other shoppers, about equal in number to the store personnel stocking shelves. And the shelves were well stocked but for a few exceptions. On the other hand, all the food items that had been advertised on sale, were glaringly absent; the shelves holding these products were bare of their presence, so in the previous days when the sale was announced, clearly people had streamed in to take advantage of the slashed costs.

Food prices across the board have risen around 5 percent in the last month or so, and it obviously strains many peoples' food budgets, but not ours, thank heavens. But there were some sales I took advantage of, not for us, but for deposit in the Food Bank receptacle; cans of Heinz soups, tins of flaked meat, and cans of tuna. I filled up a bag, it went through the cashier, got repacked and placed in the Food Bank  container, itself brimming over with contributions from shoppers able to share with others, and badly in need of pick up.

A raucous reunion ensued when we returned home to haul our groceries into the house. Jackie and Jillie beside themselves with delight and relief that we hadn't lost our way home, and sniffing about for goodies like cauliflower, their most favourite of all vegetable. I took them back out to the backyard while I was still in my coat, and took with a large carrot snapped into three pieces to leave at the back fence for the rabbit. When I went out again a few hours later they were gone.

Each time Jackie and Jillie ventured out to the back yard they stayed there but a moment before hankering to return to the warmth of the house interior. Making it obvious that with a forecasted high of -20C, it wasn't likely we'd be going out for our usual foray into the ravine to circuit the forest trails. They followed me about the house expectantly in the afternoon as they usually do when routine has it that in mid-afternoon we'd generally leave for the ravine, but it wasn't happening today.

Just as well they're easily consoled. And that consolation comes in the form of a vegetable salad, fresh vegetables cut into small-dog bite-size pieces usually consisting of cucumber, bell pepper, grape tomatoes, sometimes snow peas as well, or green peas and partially microwave-cooked cauliflower florets. We'll wait for tomorrow, when the forecasted high is set for -- believe it or not -- a summery -1C.

What could be more routine than weekly food shopping at a supermarket? What could be more familiar than returning to the same supermarket for over thirty years? This is what we've done, fairly well uninterrupted but for the occasional shopping foray elsewhere. Since we moved to our present address three decades ago we've shopped at one particular grocery store. I detest big box stores of any kind and any grocery retailer that sells consumer goods in the same venue as groceries just doesn't appeal to me.

For all of those years I've collected food stuffs in a separate shopping bag to be placed in the large bin placed in most supermarket lobbies, collecting for neighbourhood food banks. It's easiest to just place the non-perishable items, boxes and tins, in a bag to keep it all separate from what we intend to take home with us. Most cashiers obligingly extract each item from the bag and put it through the register, and without exception in our experience, they go on to refill the bag with the items meant for the food bank. For which we unfailingly thank them for their courtesy.

That is, until the advent of the pandemic. Which necessitated that to avoid shopping in crowded aisles we wake early the day we plan to shop to enable us to appear at the supermarket as the doors open for the day when it's least crowded. At first most supermarkets, aware of the heightened susceptibility to severe COVID-induced illness for the elderly, made those early shopping hours specific to their elderly clients.

As time went on, the early shopping hours opened to anyone interested in avoiding crowds. Despite which, at the time that we tend to shop, there are few other shoppers around. The cash is seldom busy with people lined up for their turn to cash out their purchases. We've been exposed to different cashiers during the time of the pandemic than we've been familiar with prior to these additional precautions. Store personnel we'd known from long acquaintance were always friendly and personable, going out of their way on many occasions to be helpful. And always voluntarily re-packing the food bank bag with the items we'd chosen.

There were always smiles and light conversations with that familiarity and friendliness, among cashiers, among some of the people stocking shelves, among some we'd got to know who worked at the back of the store. That casual friendliness has been replaced with another set of workers altogether though we've become familiar with them too, in the sense of recognizing them and greeting them. But some courtesies have dissipated. Now I re-pack the food items...today consisting of four tins of Campbell's soup, four tins of canned tuna, four tins of flaked ham, two tins of baked beans and four boxes of macaroni and cheese.

Doesn't take long so I do a mental shrug. But there's a lot of other packing to be done of all the food we buy to bring home for our pantry and table, and the simple act of courtesy is missed. No customers in front of us, none behind us. We're left with the impression that Canadian service workers facing the public are not as service-oriented as those we invariably come across when we're stocking up in supermarkets in the U.S. where we'd taken summer vacations spring and fall for the past 50 years.

So after our shopping, showering and breakfast, Jackie and Jillie were ready for a nice long romp through the ravine. When we'd left to do the shopping it was hot and clammy out, not even making an effort to dry out from the rain that fell overnight. By the time we were ready for a turn in the ravine the sun had come out and the temperature read only 24C, just perfect. We saw wild cherries dangling bright and cheerful from branches, and surprisingly ripe apples from the wild apple trees.

Wildflowers were in wild and profuse and colourful bloom, and every time we came across someone walking a dog the odour of dog treats carried by Irving clearly communicated to passing dogs who swiftly made friends with Irving, sniffing and snuffling his shoulder bag carrying cookies and water. The cookies got shared around and everyone was pleased. Larger dogs have decidedly better manners than little ones and for obvious reasons. Their humans take more care teaching them manners; the little ones get off easy.

 

Last week when we drove out to do our weekly grocery shopping in the early morning the streets were eerily empty. This morning we were surprised to come against a considerable bit of traffic. And then it dawned; people were driving their children to school. Yesterday was the first day back to school after a prolonged school closure in lock-step with lockdown and stay-at-home orders. We're seeing a modest relaxation of lockdown rules and students are on the front lines.

As usual, few cars in the supermarket parking lot, but as we arrived so too were others arriving. What was unusual this morning was gaping empty shelves in the produce department. Re-stocking was underway but it became clear that the store was understaffed this morning. Many sale items were alluring to people who don't normally shop there as soon became evident, seeing few items being picked up by the few shoppers that were there. And there were empty spaces where the 'sale' items should be. Only two cashiers on duty, another shortage resulting in people lining up spaced apart, awaiting their turn at the check-out, something we haven't seen for months.

Something else we hadn't seen before. Between each customer placing their food choices on the revolving checkout counter belts, notice posted at all the check-outs alerted that the belts were to be thoroughly sprayed and wiped down with antibacterial solution. But eventually the shopping was done and we returned home to anxious little Jackie and Jillie who were duly rewarded for their patience.

Tuesday, my 'free' day means something different should be done, and I decided to bake gingerbread snaps. Last time I used the recipe I cut out gingerbread men. This time  I would be using a small porcelain dough shaper that I've had for aeons, a little bear. The ingredients themselves are simply basic; 1/2 cup each butter (margarine), granulated sugar and molasses. Add a large egg and beat well. And gradually add 2-1/\4 c.flour mixed with 1/2 tsp.baking soda, and 1 tsp. each of baking powder, ginger, cinnamon and cloves.

A lovely, restful day this turned out to be, actually. Heavily overcast, some lazy snow flurries swirling about, and the temperature rose from -10C this morning to -1C this afternoon. A windy day, a damp day, but any day is a perfect day for a tramp through the ravine's forest and that's what we did. Jackie and Jillie expect no less. They sense when we're ready to go, and that's when they become anticipatory.

The wind did a good job reminding us how effective it is in making up for milder temperatures, as we pushed against it making our way up the street to the ravine entrance, then leaving it behind at street level. The creek has remained frozen, and likely that's because for the past week the extreme cold has done a thorough job of freezing the water at depth; it has that appearance of deep-frozen water; opaquely white.

It didn't take us long to understand that we'd have the ravine virtually to ourselves today. Because the weather was so congenial to a longer walk we decided to extend our stay in the forest and go a little further than usual and there certainly was no argument about it from Jackie and Jillie. They worked up a fine appetite and by the time we returned home were ready to gnaw down on a little salad of raw cauliflower and bell pepper.

As it happens, cauliflower and bell pepper are two of the ingredients I'm preparing for our own dinner tonight, complemented with chopped green onions, garlic, sour cream and Cheddar cheese in a bubbling-hot and savoury casserole.

COVID has certainly changed our lives in ways we may not even realize, subtle and nuanced, quite apart from the coping strategies we now employ, separate from the ever-present need to 'remember' maintaining personal physical distance for everyone's good, and the related necessity to observe special hygienic practices, and never, ever to 'forget' to have a face-covering handily in place when moving in indoor public spaces.

With it all comes a certain level of anxiety, it's inevitable, it cannot be otherwise, since our normal pace of life, all our expectations, our casual decision-making, our habitual way of living must all be filtered through the lens of COVID-19. One of the urgencies in living with the spectre of a highly infectious virus with horribly serious consequences for the health-impaired, the elderly, health workers and others is how to safely navigate the ordinary missions of life such as going to a bank, a pharmacy, doing the weekly food shopping.

When that time of the week rolls around for us, I've become aware of small buildup of stress related to shopping. Where once we  would shop whenever we felt like it during the day, and the expedition was a casual affair, now -- as in this morning -- we wake a little earlier, hurry through some routine things, say goodbye to our very unhappily aware puppies and hope we're early enough so the supermarket isn't packed with people concerned with the very same issues of avoiding contracting the virus as we are.

We wave and smile through our masks at some of the store clerks we're familiar with, take care to spritz our hands on entering the store and again on leaving. We remain aware of approved distances between ourselves and others, and we get on with our collaborative effort at getting through all the aisles and selecting all the foods that make up our weekly menu. Casual has given way to shopping as a grim necessity.

When we leave the store we're relieved and we remove our masks, grateful for the free passage of air from our nostrils to our lungs, and at last I can wipe my moist nose, and can see clearly without the interference of steamed-up eyeglasses. All in the nagging realization that this is bruited about as becoming a new reality in our lives for now and in the future. The incidence numbers of infections are steadily rising in Ontario and in Ottawa, both hitting record numbers of infections, hospitalizations and deaths.

The good news that Pfizer and a German pharmaceutical company have hit initial success of 90% positive in their third clinical human trials comes with the caution that more needs to be known about the seemingly successful vaccine; how long it may confer immunity, and the additional caution that once this particular nasty virus threat has passed others will continue to arise in the new reality we are now adjusting to, long warned of occurring at some stage. That stage is now.

Last evening my husband took out the trash and the collected plastics waste boxes and the organic kitchen waste for municipal pick-up today. I washed out our kitchen compost bin and left it to dry overnight. When we arrived back from shopping, my husband cut the stems and excess leaves from the two cauliflowers we go through weekly. In preparing breakfast, I added melon rind, banana skins, coffee grounds, tea bag and a half-bagel my husband couldn't eat. There, the kitchen compost pail is half-full already.

In the early afternoon Jackie and Jillie excitedly reminded us that we've been gifted with another in a series of beautiful days, to get out into the forest and make the most of it. First thing in the morning the sun was full out, but soon in came steely-grey clouds and the sun was obscured. For the remainder of the day the sun has been playing peek-a-boo with us, occasionally breaking through the cloud cover, then retreating as more aggressive drifts came along.

But the temperature had risen to 21C, and a balmy breeze was blowing, and the afternoon was getting on, and two little dogs were becoming anticipation-frustrated, so off we set. The landscape, sere as it is with the absence of foliage, seemed more inviting by far on this warm day with a blinking-sun presence than it did only a week earlier when the ground was in deep freeze, remnants of snow  remained, and our mitten-encased fingers were freezing.

Whenever the sun did manage to break free of the dark gathering clouds its exuberant warmth seemed almost too warm as we trekked through more open areas of the forest. Only a few others were out with their walking companions today, so the trails were free of people, the result being that Jackie and Jillie presented us with a more acceptable level of behaviour. We met a young woman, just five months' pregnant with her puppy bulldog, who was being trained even as they moved through the trails; tempted by tiny treats to bypass running headlong at people out of a playful sense of sociability. 

We met up with an old acquaintance who had informed us just before Thanksgiving that her family was preparing to host a special extended-family event for the day, seating some people in the dining room, others in the kitchen, and others yet in the backyard, coming to and fro, but determined to maintain a respectable distance between themselves, and we thought to ourselves; good luck on that one. Turns out they were forced by circumstances to modify their plan somewhat; fewer people, eight in all, two indoor sites and all went well.

Nights have been so cool lately, brisk winds entering our bedroom window persuading us to pull up a blanket and even then we're not warm enough. So I decided yesterday it was time to outfit the bed with a light-weight duvet. And surely it's much too early for that? Oh right, the last day of August. The month just flew by. My mind is left back in June, so I'm not certain where July and August spent their time. I'd ask Jackie but he's annoyed with me and isn't inclined to have a serious conversation at the moment.

And wouldn't you know it, the temperature descended only to 14C last night, so it wasn't all that cool and there we were, stuck with that too-early duvet. Well, it won't be long before we begin to feel yet again that for a sound night's sleep we need something a little more guaranteed of warmth. But today, the first day of September of the the truly astonishingly dysfunctional year of 2020, turned out to be reasonably warm and unreasonably humid.

When we left for the ravine in the early morning it was still cool enough for light jackets. By the time we exited an hour and a half later, the jackets felt a trifle confining. Still cool enough, however, to enjoy the warmth of the sun shining directly on  us whereas during the frequent hot and humid days of summer we did our best to avoid direct sun contact.

The creek is now running a low level. It's finished carrying all the rain dumped in the forest in the past several weeks down on its  journey to the Ottawa River. Companion dogs coming through the forest steer directly for the cool water of the creek to tramp about in it, and it's shallow enough that the bottom of the creek roughed up by happy paws of large dogs turns turbid with the particulate matter of clay and sand. There's always a wet trail from certain access points leading up from the creek to the banks sitting over it.

A few mushrooms have appeared on the forest floor, now assuming shades of a pleasing yellow. And odd looking fungi grow here and there on rotting tree stumps. Bright red haws have ripened on the area of one of the trails where groups of Hawthorns grow.

A few others were out this morning, unlike the morning before when we saw no one. People move about in a bit of a fog, as though they're not yet, and likely never will be, accustomed to the thought that a highly infectious virus lingers everywhere, that people passing by might be carriers shedding the virus and a social distance must be maintained. 

On return home we showered, had breakfast, cleaned up, and bade Jackie and Jillie sayonara for the brief period it would take to get our grocery shopping done. By some odd alchemy of emotions they know long before we think it should become evident that we're leaving the house in their custody. And they want no part of it. It's the only time we'll hear Jackie whine, while Jillie hangs back forlornly. Usually when we prepare to leave the house they're excited, leaping at us for inclusion, wearing their collars as a signal that they're coming with us.

That excitement is not just subdued it's entirely replaced by hopeless resignation that we're leaving them, poor tykes. When we pull up into the driveway and the garage door goes up we can hear them barking excitedly. They race out to greet us as we haul in the groceeries, relieved they haven't been entirely abandoned. 

A frenzy of leaps and appeals ensues until eventually they calm down and begin rooting about in the plastic boxes holding the items from our grocery shopping. I have already precipitated their curiosity removing the two cauliflower heads to the top of the kitchen counter out of their reach, before Jackie can begin tearing into them. Nothing else excites them as does cauliflower. And for a treat, they get a little bowl of cauliflower florets and feel mollified.

Now that we shop bi-weekly at one of our local supermarkets to minimize the chances of contracting COVID, it seems grocery shopping has become more difficult. For one thing, we're hauling around more food from supermarket to home than formerly, at one fell swoop. Trying to fit food items into spaces -- refrigerator and pantry -- that seemed overtaxed when we shopped weekly. I've even had to increase the items bought and deposited for the area food bank to compensate for shopping once every two weeks.

And perhaps most painful of all, we cannot go whenever we feel like it, we've now got to prioritize time of day and day of the week to ensure there is less contact with other shoppers. Busiest and less-busy shopping days and times of the day are monitored and the results can be found on the Internet. So we discovered Tuesdays are best for our particular supermarket, and of course arriving at seven in the morning is optimum, giving us an hour to shop, when between 7 and 8 are restricted for the elderly and the health-impaired.

This time I didn't forget our face masks. And they are horribly uncomfortable. I've got chronic rhinitis, tend to breathe through my mouth often, and simply can't abide anything too close to my nostrils. I've got to blow or wipe my nose frequently; like my mother I've inherited a permanently runny nose. Beyond inconvenient, to say the least. Mask-wearing impairs my ability to wipe my nose, and to breathe. Moreover, it also interferes with my eyesight. And wearing eyeglasses is another thing; they tend to fog up when warm, moist breath is funnelled up the mask onto the inner eyeglass lenses.

Complaining? Who, me?! My husband has a far easier time with the face mask than I do, but that's life. We also wore gloves. Rubber gloves are an absolute nuisance, so we wear light pull-on gloves and just wash them in soapy water on return home. We were surprised, after a long weekend and with everything closed yesterday, Victoria Day, to see yawning spaces on the shelves in the grocery. Some items were simply not represented.

If anyone was hoping to bring home flour, any type of flour, they'd be sorely disappointed. There was no yeast to be seen anywhere where we normally find it. We hardly expected, after seeing these items in full display the last several times we shopped, that we'd reverse back to earlier times when flour and yeast were impossible to secure. Personally, we found ourselves short of nothing, save for an absence of fresh asparagus and paprika spice.

In the early afternoon we went off with Jackie and Jillie for our daily ravine walk. Another mild day, albeit windy and mostly overcast. Poor little tykes, they get so dreadfully upset when we leave the house and they're left on their own. They're frantic when we return, and ask for reassurance. So how could we disappoint them by leaving them alone again, twice in the same day?

Since, after our traipse through the ravine, where we came across very few people, and were able to enjoy the trails unimpeded, we decided to go along to a plant nursery, figuring that the big rush before and during the long weekend formally opening the planting season, would have exhausted peoples' desire to buy bedding plants. Our neighbours appear to have acquired all the plants they mean to decorate their gardens with; we bided our time this year.

So, we took them along with us since we felt there was little other option. They were so emotionally exhausted with anticipation they'd be left again, they were panting as though from heat exhaustion, although it was cool enough for light jackets today. When we arrived at our destination the plan was for me, equipped with face mask and gardening gloves, to select the usual number of plants, from geraniums to dahlias, daisies to begonias, lobelia to petunias, to begin planting our garden pots.

I had tried to persuade my husband to fill fewer of those giant glazed clay pots since it's such a difficult, arduous chore to empty them at season's end, but he's adamant, he wants the usual garden. So be it. We noted that suddenly our society had graduated from empty roads to busy-as-usual traffic. And we could hardly believe our eyes when on arrival at the garden centre (an old converted farm, actually) there must have been at least a hundred cars and trucks in the parking lot. Where usually there would be maximum, five.

I was prepared to give up. Then thought I'd better have a look around. And when I did, I was truly dismayed. All the low-slung, plastic-sided 'greenhouses' that extended beyond the parking lot were empty of plants. With the exception of a paltry few offerings. As for all the people buying plants as evidenced by the vehicles, I had no idea where they were, since each of the 'greenhouses' I entered was devoid of their presence; besides myself one or two others rummaging about looking for absent plants. Then I realized there was an awful line-up to enter one of the greenhouses, the one that usually houses vegetable plants and herbs.

I did buy a few of the flowering plants I had set out to acquire, but at premium prices, since all the flats I'd normally buy were nowhere in evidence, only single plants housed in pots, more mature and of course more expensive. We came away with a fraction of what we intended to come home with, a reflection of the fact there was little to choose amongst. Everyone, it seems, is bored as a result of the lockdown, of having to work from home, or having work postponed, or losing employment.

Suddenly, everyone has time on their  hands, and gardening seems like a good option. They're right, good for their mental and physical health. Not to mention the immense pleasure in being able to appreciate and nurture nature's vegetation in a landscape of one's own, however large or small. And with the scarcity of some foodstuffs, what could be more elemental and satisfying than growing your own herbs and vegetables?

 

It's been quite a roller-coaster of a day. The weather for one thing. A change in our usual routine for another. That'll do it. We woke at 6:00 am with the intention of waking at that hour. To us now at our age it is an unreasonable hour to rise from a warm and comfortable bed. All the more appreciated that the temperature dipped below freezing again last night.

It's why my husband keeps putting food out for the wildlife that come to our porch. Last night, just as dusk was beginning to bring the dark cloak of night to its fullness, there was the smaller of the two raccoons that come around nightly. We surmise there are two, there might be more. Last year we identified quite a number of different ones including a mother with her cubs. Jackie and Jillie alerted us to his presence, barking at the little crittur (considerably larger than they are). For his part, the raccoon paid no mind to the racket they were making. Instead, he would pause frequently, alert to sudden noises from the street.

Bit of a tangent there. In any event, we got up however reluctantly, at a time of the early morning which, when we were working was routine. Now, in our retirement, routine is awakening two hours later. We looked after the puppies' needs, set the table for breakfast and set off for our usual supermarket to do the grocery shopping, leaving Jackie and Jillie devastated as usual that we are so heartless, leaving them temporarily to their own devices.

We arrived a few minutes before seven, and sat in the vehicle watching as others exited theirs and lined up (the hour from 7 to 8 in the morning delegated for seniors or the handicapped), spaced apart, awaiting the opening of the supermarket doors. We joined them when the first handful in the lineup were permitted to enter. In fact there weren't that many people waiting, no more than twenty altogether. But it took another ten-fifteen minutes before we were allowed entry. The store employees wait until the congestion at the front of the store clears as people begin to wander off to different areas in the store to avoid clustering.

And while we waited, we froze. It was still below freezing, but the wind had picked up considerably and it was frigid. Once inside the store we each began gathering what we needed for another two weeks before we'd shop again. Avocados, oranges, lettuce, bell peppers, were all in the first display and then we moved further into the fruits and vegetables aisles, co-ordinated and determined to maintain distance, take care with what our (gloved) hands come in contact with and fanned out to the various departments, finding everything in good order, the shelves well packed with food.

Oddly enough, for the first time in over a month there were jars and packets of yeast on the shelves. But no flour; no matter the type, the brand, the size, no flour to be had at all. Fortunately we didn't need any of either; I always have a good reliable supply of yeast and flour on hand in the pantry; when they run low, and before they run out, we bring home new supplies.

Once home, the drama and recriminations of re-uniting with our little dogs. Once we apologize sufficiently for abandoning them, they're mollified and we all get on with life. Us to shower and prepare breakfast, them to share breakfast with us once they've had their own. Oh, I forgot; before we went up to shower after the prolonged agony of unpacking the groceries, washing things down with soapy water, from packaging to bags to countertops, we stopped, arrested at the scene unfolding before us as we looked out the front door.

Snowing. Heavily. Enough so that there was plenty down everywhere, presenting us with an as-yet unforgotten spectacle of what winter looks like. Mind, an hour later as the temperature rose to 2C, the snow began melting. And by the afternoon when we were thinking of going out for a hike on the forest trails, we'd had rain alternating with brief bursts of sun. It was merely drizzling when we left the house, but as we made our way through the ravine trails, drenched and muddy, the sun came out now and again when it wasn't raining.

One minute the sky was dark and moody, the next light and fully illuminated. The wind had decreased in volume and pressure, and it soon became evident we wouldn't be coming across many other people out and about because only lunatics like us will head out to the forest when it's raining well before the rain-protective leafy canopy of the forest has become a reality.

Later, I decided to make an onion-tomato-cheese pie for dinner. I haven't made one in ages. Last night I had made baked beans for dinner, and of course that takes hours of cooking. Usually I do the beans several times over the winter, but had neglected to do so this winter. My husband suggested he'd like sausages in the beans as an accompaniment, so I sliced smoked sausages into the beans (they'd been downstairs in the freezer for quite some while) just before the dish was ready for dinner. For today's pie I used rosemary and basil for flavouring. Layers of sliced onions gently fried in olive oil, placed in a freshly-prepared pie shell, with sliced tomatoes over, lots of pepper, grated old cheddar, and then the top crust, to be baked until good and crisp.

Unbaked pie