Mad, crazy, f***ing world

I hate Christmas. It makes me act crazy.

I have, in the last week:
1. Bought more things than I can afford;
2. Bought more things than the people they are destined for need;
3. Been to the beach;
4. Played catch-ball on the beach;
5. Seen more greedy, grabbing, grubbing shoppers than I need for a lifetime;
6. Almost suffocated from driving around underground parking lots (thinking it would save time) that don’t declare they are FULL before letting you in;
7. Acquired one of those silly asymmetrical tans where only my right arm is dark brown from sitting in (overground) traffic;
8. Not had enough champagne to compensate for the above.

Look, I can’t even write in paragraphs anymore.

The turkey better be damn good. And there better be lots of champagne. Otherwise I quit.

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Turn left here

By the looks of this blog you’d think all I do is eat and drink. This is not entirely untrue, but neither is it entirely true. So, in the spirit of Christmas, I thought I would make some lists.

Let’s start with
Presents I Hope Not to Get:
1. A subscription to the new SA glossy InStyle.
2. A book either on How to Stop Smoking or How to Clean Up Your Life.
3. Any cd featuring Il Divo.

Good, now that’s out the way. Now for
Things I Do Well Besides Eating and Drinking:
1. Pretending to speak Chinese (wo xihuan he kafe)
2. Actually speaking Danish (Du må da være helt agurk. Rød grød med fløde)
3. Saying things at inopportune moments, thinking I’m being funny.
4. Getting defensive when I get falsely accused of no.3.
5. Making non-smokers want to smoke.

Favourite Discoveries in 2006:
1. Switching from freestyle to backstroke mid-lane (switching back is still a little clumsy; need to work on that).
2. Gnarls Barkley.
3. A boy on my bus who looks like Gael Bernal.
4. Will Self’s acid wit on Grumpy Old Men.
5. Cocaine. (That was a joke, mother. See no.3, previous list)

Favourite Rediscoveries in 2006:
1. Pork crackling

Most Startling Revelations In My Life, Ever:
1.
(to be continued)

Best New Niece in 2006:
Zahara. Don’t you just want to eat her?

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Peking the Duck

There was a birthday yesterday and it called for bubbly and Peking Duck. The bubbly was easy:


In taking on the duck I was taking on a challenge which many have tried before me, with varying effort and success. It is not a difficult dish to make, but one which requires process and, for optimum results, a lot of equipment which I don’t have. Like after blanching the ducks in vinegar water, you’re supposed to hang them in a cool draughty place to dry out for 4-5 hours. Then you bathe them in a honey-soy-lemon concoction and hang them again for as long. People with meat hooks have tried this in their fridges, in their showers, hanging off table corners in front of a fan.

I have no meat hook and neither did I quite relish the idea of a duck hanging in my living space for a large part of one day. So I started (copped out) with the very beginner option of doing the first drying in the fridge, uncovered. After they had had their honey bath, I grew bolder and took advantage of a windy day in Cape Town, and they spent the afternoon on the balcony:

(The perspective shot:)

A lot of other stuff happened in between, but when they came out the oven some hours later, they looked like this:

Not quite as dark as they should be, but they looked and smelled good, like roast duck should. The carving (or shredding) was less painless. In fact, I’m not convinced about the ratio of bone to meat to fat on this bird to make it worth the effort (and the price). In truth, half way through negotiating the meat off the carcass I was wishing it was a chicken.

Nevertheless, the meal had to come together and come together it did. And not without Chinese pancakes neither. From scratch, of course.

I’m a sucker for process, and I love the things you can do with flour and water. That part was definitely worth it (Chinese pancakes are great: like little rotis, speckled on one side, lightly steamed on the other and with the faintest taste of sesame oil). The meal finally did well to fill hungry bellies.

The best part about Chinese food is that it is so clean and fresh (despite the fatty duck) and fills you up without making you sluggish. This was important, because being a birthday, we needed a cake. Fortunately someone else was in charge of the baking, because I doubt I would have had the energy to produce this little sugar bomb. It was not just any cake, you see. No. It was a double layered chocolate cake filled with caramel and smothered with THREE slabs of melted chocolate and spotted with smarties. So decadent, but very delicious, I might add. And, not to be outdone by the duck, the cake was kitted out with the best birthday candle I’ve ever seen. It’s a rose that, once you light it,

it opens up into the loveliest little flower:

You gotta hand it to the Chinese.

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If you run out of popcorn

but happen to have a couple of sweetcorn lying in the fridge, do this and you’re on the road to Wellville:

Dinner:

And so passes another week of hard work and hard play, with some good returns and some less good. Good: the completion of two dollar-earning articles; news of potential funding for my first conference (this also involves my first trip to the us of ah. Texas of all places); solid socialising with old and new friends; a tender pepper steak and vintage bubbly. Less good: fatigue.

Javol. Tomorrow’s going to be another long day, home after 8. My new strategy is to plan ahead. So, in the oven, a non-traditional peposo. This is an Italian boeuf-bourgignon-type dish, minus the trimmings. Basically tough meat in a bottle of red wine and a lot of pepper cooked overnight in a cool oven. Tomorrow morning it will be thick and tender and the thought of getting back to it will pull me through the day. Mine obviously has plenty of garlic, half an onion and very possibly some mushrooms (to be added pre-consumption). If it’s really tender I’ll flake the meat and cook spaghetti for a bolognese that will rock your world.

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Drring drring

Imagine, dinner with an in-built ringer…

phone.jpg

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Sprout the Brussel

Here’s another important fact about me. I like brussel(s) sprouts. Nay, I love them. Just look at that, how can you not love them?

I don’t eat nearly enough of them. But if I did, I would always start by steaming them lightly (yes, this is why people don’t like them, they are always horribly overcooked). They can be perfect just like that, with a little knob of good butter and either a grind of nutmeg or some freshly grated pecorino. Another favourite: cooled, quartered and added to a salad of sweet leaves (butter lettuce is good), crumble some blue cheese and walnuts in there, finish off with a generous glug of olive oil and balsamic, fresh pepper and some crunchy salt.

Hmmm, glorious food.

(p.s. The explanation for this flurry of posting is that I am clearly hard at work. Deadlines!!)

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Dinner for One

Here’s a quick and delicious fix for coming home hungry and not in the mood for “cooking”: rice cakes topped with a few pieces of iceberg, followed by some kind of cheap-ish pepper salami that has been fried gently on a dry pan (for that crispness, you gotta render the fat), followed by thin slices of Edam cheese, followed by some thinly sliced cucumber.

(Useless trivia: in Danish you say “du må da være helt agurk”, meaning “you must be mad”. Cucumbers, therefore, are the essence of madness)

Because I am lucky enough to work at a wine shop, my “leftovers” often consist of a not-so-shabby bottle of wine that may have been opened for tastings in the shop. So to go with the above feast, this very lovely Fairview Viognier, which retails at a price far above what I would pay for wine that I may drink on a Wednesday.

Just a glass, mind you. There is a fine line between the gourmet and the gourmand (epicure vs. glutton).

Oh, I forgot to say in the previous post about the cookies that you can feel free to amend the recipe in the way that Alice Toklas did to her fudge, or brownies, or whatever it was. For you, gourmet (pas gourmand!), this is one way sure way to make everything taste even better.

Enjoy responsibly.

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The mighty olive strikes again

I had big plans for a productive day yesterday. Then I was reminded of a plan that I myself had instigated last week for a collective outing to watch the notorious Borat. And so it was that I found myself back in a shopping mall, that den of evil that once was my favourite haunt. (The reason it’s not anymore is simple: no money = no fun).

Borat was brilliant and disturbing and slightly more and less than everyone had expected. I have little to add to what everyone else is saying about it.

But I was quite proud of the cookies that I whipped up in a fit of (further) proscrastination as soon as it became clear that no work would be accomplished and I still had an hour to kill.

I’m generally pretty good at oven work (baking, roasting etc.), but there are some things I stay away from because I never seem to get the chemistry right and generally prefer the bought versions. Muffins and cookies fall into this category. (Having said this, the cookie thing never bothered me much because I don’t actually like them that much. That I can’t make good muffins does bother me, because I do like them.)

Anyway, I was on the phone to a friend who said, “Why not bake some cookies quickly?”. I don’t think it was meant with any seriousness, but such is the power of language. It sows seeds. So I did a quick search for “easy cookies” and found one recipe that looked relatively simple, involving the usual basics: eggs, flour, baking powder, sugar, butter. Great, I have all that.

No, wait. Problem. I have no butter. Another search: “olive oil cookies”. I found a recipe for Made in Napa Valley Lemon Olive Oil Cookies. This could work.

Of course neither my cookies nor any of my ingredients were Made in Napa Valley, so making full use of my baker’s creative licence, here is my version, inspired by someone in Napa Valley:

1 generous cup flour
1/2 cup sugar (plus some)
1/2 tsp. baking powder
1/4 cup olive oil
1 tbsp. milk
juice and zest from 1 orange
1/2 tsp. lemon essence
spice from 3 freshly ground cardamom pips

Mix all the dry stuff, then the wet stuff, add the dry to the wet, mix it all up till it looks like cookie dough. Roll into little balls, roll the little balls in sugar, place on a baking sheet with enough room to spread (as cookies do), bake for 13-14 minutes at 180C.

The tip from the original recipe to not overbake is pertinent: they feel soggy when you take them out, but as long as they are lightly browned around the edges, they’re baked through, and will harden as they cool down.

They are, in fact, really very nice. As the Napa people suggest, the olive oil gives a nice chewy inside and the sugar coating a nice crispy outside. The cardamom also works well, but I suppose any spice could work, and neither would I frown at going the herb route and adding a little freshly chopped rosemary instead. Imagine that with a cup of good coffee, perhaps a little dessert wine. Buonissimo.

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Crap TV

It’s a sorry situation when you’ve had a long Monday and all you want to do when you get home is to relax in a comfortable couch and watch some good TV.

I have the comfortable couch, but my remote freedom is constrained to the four channels on offer via public broadcasting (make that three: my reception is so bad on the fourth that it doesn’t count).

First there are the incredibly bad adverts to sit through. Like the one for Gaviscon, an antacid. I’ve seen two versions of this one, both featuring someone walking into a chemist in obvious discomfort. The characters are the typical heartburn types: the man who’s been eating too much junk (or beer and biltong with rugby?), and the pregnant woman. What’s funny (and bad) about the ads is that before being given the remedy, they have to listen to the chemist describe not only all the great things about the product, but also the causes of indigestion. And you can just see that all they’re thinking is “Just shut up and give me something to make it go away”. Really, one would have thought that the wooden “scenario” ads might have died a peaceful death back in the 70s or 80s, can’t we just get on with advertising what a product is and does without having to sit through crappy scripts, acting and plastic smiles galore? (Don’t get me started on the toilet products: “It’s not clean till it’s HARPIC clean!”)

Then the “feature” last night was the second episode of the latest season of Footballer’s Wives. I know, I know, I should have known better. And I did, but, you know…

The amazing thing about this programme is that the intrigue is so…unintriguing. That’s about all I can say. In my defence, I did fall asleep before the end. Saved by the couch. Tonight, I read.

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The elusive martini

On recommendation from my friend, Mr. 302, who drives a nicer car than me (yes, it’s a 302), this advice from MisterLucky:

“Before leaving for the office, place the best gin your paycheck allows in the icebox, along with a bottle of Noilly Prat or other fine vermouth. A glass pitcher and stemmed glasses should rest in the freezer compartment. Why not make fresh ice while you’re in there?

Upon your return home, put some Henry Mancini on the Hi-Fi and fill up the pitcher with ice. Pour about a capful of vermouth over the ice and coat well with an iced tea spoon, or better, yet a glass stirring rod.

Place your cocktail strainer (or a wooden spoon in a pinch) over the pitcher and strain. The old vermouth goes down the sink.

Now pour in your gin. Stir gently but briskly. Rough treatment might excite you but it bruises a dry martini. Taste is not affected but since a martini is a treat for all of the senses we feel the eyes should be let in on the fun.

If you notice, our ice is melting. Quick! Strain the nectar into stemmed cocktail glasses. Garnish with lemon, olive, onion or serve au natural. Check for unsighlty and diluting specks of ice and serve.

Note: There is no such thing as a vodka martini. There may be a vodka/vermouth drink that you enjoy but it is NOT a martini.

Thank you for your very kind attention.

I don’t know if 302′s own martini expertise comes from here; I am willing to bet it probably doesn’t, and besides, 302 does not snub the vodka. Anyhow, I’m beginning to understand that the culture around this drink is very serious indeed.

Pity so many of the bartenders in this country still labour under the impression that VERY dry martini = lots and lots of vermouth. Ugh!

The problem comes down to books again. If more people read books, they would have heard Hemingway say that one needs only show the vermouth to the gin, that’s it. OK, maybe that’s an urban legend, I haven’t actually read it either, and if you look up Hemingway’s martini, “The Montgomery”, you’ll see that the ratio is in fact 15 parts gin to 1 part vermouth. But it’s a good story. And the drink does look fine, does it not…

ps. I didn’t realise that there is a whole cookbook named after the old man. Amazing what cool things one discovers when looking for something else.

martini.gif

(Image courtesy of that book)

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