SignWithAnE

It’s Numberwang!

By E | Posted on: March 6, 2010

It’s Saturday, and because I’ve been buying apples and not eating them (it seems that I too, ‘emotionally … don’t always feel like an apple‘), I decided to bake an apple cake.

When I told the Philosophe he laughed and said I couldn’t, because there’s no such thing as an apple cake.

I don’t know what planet he grew up on, but where I come from, that’s Numberwang!

If you don’t know numberwang what it is, you can catch up here:

And if you still don’t know, maybe the German version will help:

Now excuse me while I go pull my wangernumb out the oven. It’s looking (and smelling) fine, and in an hour or so, with a nice glass of crisp cold white wine, I may even be persuaded to forgive the blazing heat as I tuck into a slice of emotionally satisfying apple (and cardamom) goodness.

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A wine worth waiting for

By E | Posted on: February 28, 2010

A little over two years ago I hid a special bottle of wine in a special cake. You can’t see much here, but this is me revealing my surprise to my new husband.

I chose it because he told me it was his favourite. I had never tasted it myself, and since that day I’ve been looking forward to finally pulling it out of our small collection of wines earmarked for some future special occasion. We’ve spoken about drinking it on our fifth anniversary, or some such weighty (and horribly far off) date.

Well last night we had some friends for dinner who had recently celebrated their tenth anniversary, and the evening happily turned out to be perfect for sharing a special bottle of wine.

So it’s gone now. But what a beautiful wine, and what a lovely and unexpected way to enjoy it. It’s nice to collect nice things (especially nice wine!), but so easy to forget that half the point of keeping something is to be able to enjoy it too.

Of course this wine is so good it could probably have kept very well for another five years. But we did it no disrespect by ending its life when we did. We will have to restrain ourselves with its 2006 sibling, still snug in its cellar spot. But how sweet to know that in three years or so I have another taste of the good stuff lined up (not to mention all the other pretty good stuff I’ll be enjoying along the way). It’s a lovely life I’m in, and it all started with a bottle of wine in a cake…

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Gotcha!

By E | Posted on: February 25, 2010

I was so annoyed when I blogged about Killer At Large last night that I forgot to mention one of my main irritations during the film. That was probably as it should be, because I needed to do a little research to confirm my suspicions, and now I have.

About half way through the film, we witness Governor Schwarze-muscle announcing one of the first bans on junk foods in schools – “This will be the toughest school nutrition reformation in the nation,” he proclaims. “We are going to terminate obesity in California once and for all.”

Then comes a scene which one reviewer describes as “Perhaps the most outrageous scene in Killer at Large…. The setting is the perimeter of an enclosed yard; it’s around noon. A whole gaggle of kids, between eight and ten years old, are pressed up against a chain link fence, grasping through the links to procure some meager sustenance from altruistic aid workers who are unloading supplies of food from stacks of boxes. There’s a certain mad desperation to it all, like we are watching bare survival at its most primal and basic.”

“Is this some sort of refugee camp in a war torn Third World country?” he asks. “Some horrible prison for children in some benighted corner of the globe, far from America? In fact no, it’s an elementary school in California, and the adults handing food to the children are concerned parents. But the “who” involved is not the real shocking part – it’s what they are passing to them: piles and piles of junk food – cookies, candy, soda, etc.”

Well, the “who” here does matter, I think. Because this particular scene is NOT from Hollywood High, as we are led to believe by the narrator. Here are a few shots from the actual movie (compiled with the aid of the snipping tool, my favourite new Windows 7 gagdet):

If, like me, you have been keeping up with the doings of a certain Mr. Oliver over the years, you’ll very quickly recognise this exact scene as that of the infamous “sinner ladies” who were demonised for selling “junk” to school children after they refused to eat the “healthy” meals that Mr. O helped to put in their canteens. It was The Sun that published the infamous picture in the UK in 2006, which unfortunately I cannot reprint here without permission (!!), but you can click here to see it for yourself.

This one is from The Daily Mail:

The other reason that this was so easy to identify (and therefore seriously sloppy plagiarism) is because Julie Critchlow, the short-haired blond woman, went on to become a bit famous for getting an apology from Mr. O for badmouthing her, and for becoming one of the main players in his Ministry of Food series. Here they are in the first episode sharing a spot of curry in her living room:

Jamie’s Ministry of Food was also, incidentally, the “inspiration” for his upcoming Food Revolution USA, which is basically him taking his Rotherham show on the American road. Well, actually on the West Virginian road, to Huntington, the “unhealthiest city in America” (all of which surely also helped to getting Mr. O this year’s TED prize). Watch the splendiferous preview here.

I digress. This is not about Mr. O (for once). This is about the sensational twaddle that is Killer at Large. Could I be overreacting? If we’re having a conversation about whether obesity really is a killer, and at large, then perhaps. There are some truths to those claims, and a small forged scene doesn’t detract from the facts.

But we have to seriously question ALL of the “facts” when it turns out that even one of them is manufactured. Yes, that scene did take place, but in a different time and place (on a different continent!), and it is dishonest and shameful to present it as otherwise. Also, you can’t help wondering why bother? If obesity really is the killer at large that the filmmaker sets out to “document”, then why the need to falsify evidence at all?

Misrepresentation and intellectual dishonesty (or just laziness) are the killers at large. How are we supposed to get anywhere with this sort of rubbish making the rounds?

Posted in Food Media, Jamie Oliver, Posts, Rants | Tagged celebrity chefs, Jamie Oliver, Killer At Large, Killer At Large review, Obesity, TED | Leave a comment

The killers at large

By E | Posted on: February 24, 2010

So I’m watching this documentary, Killer At Large. It’s about obesity, in case you missed the pun. And after one talking head in the form of a rabbi, I start noticing how more and more talking heads are actually talking churches. There’s the imam, there’s the reverend, there’s the monseigneur. This must be truly “objective”, in other words, since all the world’s religions are safely represented. And no sooner had I made this observation than the next talking head was Michael Pollan.

Need I say more?

Of course there are lots of medical doctors saying things too. ‘We live in an “obesogenic environment” ‘.’ True hunter-gatherers that we are, we’re all genetically programmed to not stop eating until all the food is gone’. Which begs the question: why, then, aren’t we ALL obese, and in the tragic situation of “having to” undergo liposuction at the age of twelve?

Well that’s because beneath all the talk of obesity as viral, global, “not your fault” (ie. BEWARE, it can GET YOU too), is a beautifully masked lie that we are all the same. It’s this absurd game of political correctness for a bunch of “experts” to sit around and blame the environment (rather than people who just eat too much), when what they’re clearly doing is pitching their own tents on a desert island – somewhere naturally unaffected by the Plague. If it did come by, it would probably see that they have PhDs and grass-fed beef in their fridges, and just waft on by to the next Twinkie-sucking sucker. (It’s a clever Plague).

Me, I blame it all on the penny polony.

My friends gave me this and I didn’t eat it. Is something wrong with me?

Posted in Food Media, Posts, Rants | Tagged Killer At Large, Killer At Large review, Obesity | 1 Comment

Bye Bye Peanuts

By E | Posted on: February 18, 2010

Peanuts. I’ve always loved them. I like most kinds of nuts, and most kinds of peanuts, but really none more than these pictured here. Grown in Swaziland, and roasted by Hansen women in kitchens around the world (including in Swaziland). The recipe is secret, so there’ll be no instructions here. Suffice it to say that they delight most people who try them, making jars of them excellent gifts too. I have given many people peanuts. In fact, I am the peanut queen.

The first time I discovered a writhing worm in a handful I was busy chomping my way through, I stopped eating them for about a year, but then I forgave them. Yesterday I discovered one of the bags of the raw nuts was the source of what I will call a maggot infestation in the top part of our kitchen cupboard. The brave man who came and helped me to remove them will say that “infestation” is an exaggeration. But when you hate writhing worms as much as I do, anything more than one is an infestation, because the very sight of them infects my brain and makes my stomach churn. Anyway, maybe not legion, but they were definitely more than one.

I cannot forgive my beloved peanuts twice. It is the end of an era and I am dethroned. I will observe a moment of silence before I apply my mind to what I can eat instead.

(While I do that, and to end on a more pleasant note, you can admire this beautiful birthday cake I am proud to say I helped to manufacture, and which was a feature of what was, indeed, a fabulous garden party:

)

Posted in Cooking, Posts | 1 Comment

The month that was

By E | Posted on: February 6, 2010

So we cruise into February, and somehow our house is still full of builders’ dust. But at least there are things to show for it, like a newly tiled balcony from which to watch the sunset and sausages crisping on the braai.

And, inspired by surprisingly great eggs benedict at the famed Roundhouse Restaurant, I set about making my very own English muffins. Easy peasy, really – just bread dough dusted in semolina and cooked on the stove top rather than the oven:

Except that I managed to very nearly destroy this brand new Scanpan frying pan in the process (I should have known better, of course, than to treat a non-non-stick pan as if it was something else). And while the muffins looked good and pretty authentic, they were lacking the nice holey holes inside. I think they were basically too big, and I blame Hugh Fearnley-Whittingstall for that, because I followed his recipe so precisely that I even went to the anal extent of weighing each clump of dough (90g!). Next time will be better.

I also nearly destroyed my ice cream machine with a disastrous custard thickened with cornstarch. I blame the New York Times for that.

I will, however, take sole credit for a creme fraiche ice cream I whipped up the day after some dinner guests claimed they were too full to eat the dessert I had prepared (berries and creme fraiche). With a sprinkle of toasted almonds and said berries macerated in balsamic vinegar, it was magnifique!

I’m also looking forward to sampling the batch of sesame seed and ginger ice cream I churned just a little while ago. (OK, so I lie, I have obviously tasted it already. It rocks. So I look forward to other people sampling it and telling me how brilliant I am).

In between the dust and ice cream, I even managed to get in a bit of work, and tomorrow I get to go to a fabulous garden party. So much to do, and so little time for modesty.

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Beautiful chicken

By E | Posted on: January 24, 2010

I’m experiencing the photography dilemma again. Taking a picture of a roast chicken is crap! It looked so good, and smelt so damn fine, that I had to collect my husband to watch me pull it out of the oven.

“It’s beautiful!” I said.

“It’s beautiful?” he responded, with that sceptic’s smirk of his.

Well yes, and I dragged him into the kitchen to pull out this.

Well, not that. A better 3D copy of that, complete with a mind-numbing smell of roast chicken. It’s a bit like toast, or popcorn, or bacon. Just yum!, as Roger Webb may say as Jeremy in the excellent Peep Show.

Not being one of those people who has a roast chicken in my weekly repertoire, I had to look for a recipe, so I confess this was as easy and delicious as the one who will not be named promised it would be.

But that’s not the whole truth either. This bird, you see, had also been injected – via my new favourite gadget, the Williams Sonoma Flavor Injector. Thanks to that large syringey thing on the right, this chicken was pumped full of sherry, garlic, herbs (thyme and rosemary), a bit of dijon and a touch of maple syrup. Sweet baby Jesus succulent juicy chicken breast.

Tomorrow’s chicken and chorizo risotto will rock like a rocket.

In other news, I’ve committed myself to reading a complete stranger’s blog, only because in it she chronicles the unbelievable stupidity of actually living according to Michael Pollan’s food rules for a year. I should be saying yawn, but instead I am plotting my next book. It will be a chronicle, to borrow Rob Lyons‘ excellent phrasing, of ‘organic, cattle-produced fertiliser: bullshit.’ Oh, and of this excellent revelation: ‘The only reason privacy ever existed was because Facebook didn’t.”

I’ll call it Addicted (with Security Settings) to Virtual Bullshit.

Posted in Cooking, Jamie Oliver, Posts | Tagged Flavor Injector, Jamie Oliver, roast chicken | Leave a comment

When life gives you lemons

By E | Posted on: January 21, 2010

you obviously slice them thinly before caramelising in butter, maple syrup and chilli flakes:

Then chop them finely (including as much lemony goo as possible from the pan), and add them to a salad:

(This is particularly good with spicy fishcakes).

When life gives you ginger, on the other hand, I suggest you send it through the food processor a few times, mix with a bit of water, and make ginger ice cubes. That way your drinks get more, rather than less, interesting as the ice melts.

And if life should finally give you a craving for a really good brownie that does NOT involve beating eggs and sugar forever, or melting butter and/or chocolate, or any of the things that add a bit of effort to the process, try these Jamaican coffee numbers. No, they don’t contain anything illegal, and no, it doesn’t have to be Jamaican coffee, as per recipe. I used Italian dark roast, and here’s the newsflash: I used olive oil instead of butter (I wasn’t trying to be contrary. We just didn’t have butter). A little research tells me that substitution should be 75%, ie. 3/4 cup oil for 1 cup of butter. And since nothing has to melt, you just bung it all in a bowl, mix it with your electric helper, bake, cool, and later slather with a “ganache” of chocolate, coffee, (rum) and crystallised ginger. Hot damn these were good.

Also very good is this recipe for lamb braised in milk with fennel. I couldn’t find fennel, so let dill and a bit of aniseed stand in, which they did with aplomb. Who woulda thunk it. Life isn’t always a beech.

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1 down, 51 to go

By E | Posted on: January 9, 2010

As arbitrary as year changes often are, I definitely prefer the end of week 1 in January to the end of week 52 in December. Gone are the silly pressures about what to do to stay up till midnight – and beyond – on some prescribed day (rebels that we are, we simply ignored this requirement and went to bed, as usual, way before then). Gone are the silly forebodings about how to be “better” in the new year, and how to capitalise on the last remnants of badness before the clock strikes 12.

(Hickory dickory dock. Confession: In acknowledgment of the excellent service provided to me by my faithful liver in my lifetime, I did order a wagon for the new year. But I forgot to order one that doesn’t stock whisky.)

Yes, by the end of week 1 in January, most of the silliness has dissipated and people are either a) back at work, being conscientious, b) back at work and hating every second of it, c) cleverly on holiday, or d) none or all of the above. In short, life is back to normal.

For me, that includes the absence of Zuma the frog, whose ball-blasting revenge gave me excellent opportunity to develop my hand-eye-colour coordination, and to write off about a week’s worth of potentially productive hours. I used to be embarrassed by my addiction, but I’m better now.

I’ve instead managed to do a bunch of less fun but probably more important things, like renewing my residence permit at the god-awful Cape Town branch of Home Affairs. Enough said. I’ve also been able to catch up on some lond-overdue reading, like David Benatar’s Better Never to Have Been (The Harm of Coming Into Existence).

The title and subtitle do well to summarise the fact that this is not a happy book, and it has clearly already upset a number of people (this review, aptly titled “Whose miserabilist of them all”, is quite funny, while this one fuelled a response from Benatar himself). But it is refreshing to read something deeply provocative and counterintuitive (to use one of Benatar’s own favourite adjectives) by someone who is clearly intelligent, and not a (complete) nutter. I would challenge anyone who is considering childbirth to read it, and to think very carefully about their choices.

The one thing I haven’t been able to stop thinking about is the completely accidental and/or random nature of conception. I’m not talking about the accident of two strangers coming together, but the one of one particular sperm penetrating one particular egg to produce one particular zygote (yes, you were one too, Google it). Your parents could have had sex three times a night for seven nights in a row around the time you were conceived, but you have no way of knowing which seconds of those steamy (or not) encounters had the right zygotic groove.

That’s me and my lovely sister, whose name rhymes with vanilla. Now just imagine: if I had been conceived the night before, or after, or not exactly when I was (in which case I wouldn’t have been conceived) , and the same with my sister, Signe and Pernille nee Hansen might look like this: