tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7997122695852235782024-02-19T18:24:40.265+02:00Black Pepper PlumUnknownnoreply@blogger.comBlogger72125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-799712269585223578.post-28043895184228205522014-05-24T10:26:00.003+02:002014-05-24T10:28:41.714+02:00Yum-mo (or what I'm all about these days) My great big exciting news is that I've launched a cookbook this year (2014). It's called <i>Yum-mo: Fun Fresh Food for students and beginners</i>. It was hauled off a ship in the docks of Cape Town harbour at the start of May.<br />
<br />
And now it is in major bookstores (real life bookstores) for people to pay R200 for. And cook from. They pick up my book (which is adorned with the face of Martha, a friend of mine) and then they read those words I wrote back in 2012 during my final, buzzing, dancing year at Rhodes. And my sister goes into bookstores and rearranges the displays so mine is on top. It's marvellous.<br />
<br />
And they make decisions about what to cook. They buy things I recommend. It all blows my mind.<br />
<br />
And that, dear folks, is the reason why I am never on black pepper plum anymore. I thought of exploding this blog - but no. It's a sweet, virtual monument to three years worth of rambling, cooking, tasting. It stays.<br />
<br />
But if you want to see my student/ beginner/ everyone cookbook (and it really is for everyone - the recipes are often classics with twists. They're food you can eat every day) then move along to my website at <a href="http://yum-mo.co.za/" target="_blank">yum-mo.co.za</a> (where you can order it) or like the <a href="https://www.facebook.com/pages/Yum-mo/390009317679122?ref=hl" target="_blank">Facebook page</a>.<br />
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Some pictures:<br />
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That's me and the main commissioning editor, Daleen, on the day I first saw the book. I was so delighted I danced in the elevators on my way up to the twelfth floor of Media 24. </div>
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This is an example of some of the beautiful photography in the book. Photographers Andrew Brukman, Chris de Beer and Sara Garrun did a beauty job. I styled (or learnt to) and it was quite a journey. </div>
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Here's a photo of stage two of the launch, when there was a lucky draw to win books. The students of TUKS University's Honours Marketing Management class made it all happen quite magnificently.<br />
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That's me, signing a book. I've never felt so swish in all my life.<br />
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And that is le front cover. Beautiful.<br />
<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-799712269585223578.post-61563561152673511442014-01-20T08:43:00.000+02:002014-01-20T08:43:21.219+02:00Delicious Dinner: A menu <div class="MsoNormal">
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<span lang="EN-GB">This blog isn’t even a blog anymore, a
pity. It’s a rusty old archive of things I cooked and words I wrote in orders and ways that sometimes make me cringe when I read them. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB">It is useful, though. I love how
it takes me on a food-memory excavation, the click-through I can do of things I
made and loved. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">In this spirit, I might posthumously write
up some menus and recipes I’ve done this summer. The favourites, a kind of note or memory-boost to my future self. So that next
year, when I sit at this old Hermanus kitchen table, I can click through and
take courage.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-size: large;">Notes on Last Night</span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB">Canapés:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB">Biltong
cheese straws</span></b><span lang="EN-GB"> (Home-made rough puff pasty with
egg-wash, and on the other side – blue cheese melted with butter and soy sauce,
with fine biltong sprinkled over). Delicate and moreish. I'm not in blog-mode currently so I forgot to take a picture. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB">Parmesan
crisps with Jane Coxwell’s guacamole and pomegranate seeds.</span></b><span lang="EN-GB"> They look like little frogs on parmesan toadstools, and they taste
incredible. I mourn every guac I made without fresh ginger in it, thanks to Jane. (Whose cookbook, Fresh Happy Tasty (see <a href="http://janecoxwell.com/" target="_blank">here</a> is one of the very best books you can
spend money on). <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal">
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<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span lang="EN-GB">Starter<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB">Crayfish
salad with vanilla linguini, tomato, basil, thyme. <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">Steam crayfish in wine, bay, fennel. Cool,
remove tails. Clarify butter, whisk in lemon juice and thyme leaves, coat the crayfish
in this. Make vanilla linguini and cook until just done. Fork into centre of
plate. Take some beautifully ripe tomatoes, and peel (blanch for only 10
seconds, refresh). Cut into petals. Deep fry skins for garnish. Plate: linguini.
Torn fresh basil. Crayfish tail, tomato petals, drizzle some left over lemon
butter sauce over. Sprinkle with picked thyme leaves and pop tomato skins on
top. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
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<span lang="EN-GB">Main
course<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB">Miso-marinated
beef fillet<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">I crusted it in sesame seeds – a bad idea.
Seeds burn and you can’t sear the meat properly. Still delicious, but leave the
seeds off. Fry in sesame oil. Serve with jus that has miso, soy and drippings
from pan. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB">Shoestring
sweet<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>potatoes </span></b><span lang="EN-GB">– a bit labour intensive without a deep fryer. I got over shifting
pots of oil around to avoid burns and did half the sweet potato in the oven, so
that there were some roasted bits and the crunchy thin chips on top. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB">Roasted
pumpkin with lime, pistachio and cinnamon butter.</span></b><span lang="EN-GB">
This was the best idea I’ve had in ages. Pumpkin is so good. It’s so so good. I
roasted it until soft, and the butter was comforting but fun at the same time. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB">Rocket
broccoli <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">From another must-have cookery book The
Kitchen by Karen Dudley (see <a href="http://www.karendudley.co.za/who.htm" target="_blank">here</a>). I had to go to Banks in Woodstock this week, so I went
it to buy a famous <i>Love sandwich </i>(gammon! yes!)<i> </i> and I met her, Karen.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I just held her hand like some groupie and
told her thanks for the recipes, which are a private chef’s godsend. She smiled
and laughed and asked for my details so she could pass on work. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">The recipe involves boiling (or blanching)
broccoli and dousing it in a sauce made of rocket blitzed with olive oil. It’s
so simple but it works. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span lang="EN-GB">Dessert<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">I made a recipe from Taste Magazine (the
Jan/ Feb issue had loads of delicious things in). <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB">Ginger
mousse</span></b><span lang="EN-GB"> (which is airy, and actually more like a
panna cotta cut into cubes – Italian meringue and cream folded into a gelatine
mixture) <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB">With
almond biscuits</span></b><span lang="EN-GB"> (the recipe calls it’s crumble, but
it’s more shortbread. I added fine ginger and cinnamon and cut them into
triangles) <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB">And
geranium syrup</span></b><span lang="EN-GB"> (sugar syrup with geranium simmered
in it, which also means you can now garnish with beautiful purple flowers) <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB">And
strawberry coulis and fresh strawberries.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">The recipe calls for vanilla ice cream too,
but I thought there was already enough going on. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
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<span lang="EN-GB">With
coffee<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB">Blackberry
macaroons<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">I’ve been trying for aeons to get perfect
macaroons, with varying degrees of success. This time I used the basic
Ottolenghi recipe, added some blackberry essence and purple colouring. For the
icing, Philly cream cheese with soft butter and vanilla, with fresh
blackberries. It was perfect because they weren’t too sweet but the fresh
berries made them a little jammy. I’m about as proud of them as a momma-bear of
her cubs. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-799712269585223578.post-76389301554725238762012-09-06T21:53:00.003+02:002012-09-06T21:53:48.121+02:00Cinnamon and Naartjie Carrot soup <br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
(Thanks @chef_grl for inspiring me to write a post again, even if it's just a quickie with a phone snap. Hope you like the soup) </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
End of term.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Fridge full of scraps <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Lots of deadlines <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
No-one wants to leave the house to shop. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I scrounge around the cupboard and the fridge, and find</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
1 bag of carrots <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
half a thingy of cream <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
and that’s about it. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I have flour and yeast in the cupboard, a naartjie in the
fruit bowl, and 6 hungry, busy mouths to feed. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
It's not exactly rocket science...<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">Cinnamon and Naartjie Carrot Soup</span><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
1 leek (all I had, but I’m sure an onion will do great)<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
1 bag of carrots, peeled and chopped<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
abour 3- 4 cups water. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
1 naartjie <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
1 spoon brown sugar <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
1 teaspoon cinnamon <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
125ml cream <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Fry the leeks in hot oil<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Bang in the carrots. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Add the water, and the whole naartjie. Cook until carrots
are soft. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Remove the naartjie, let it cool a little then peel and add
the segments to the soup. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Blend with a hand blender, add cream, cinnamon and sugar and
season well with salt. Serve piping hot. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I made huge breadsticks to go with mine, (a basic 4 cup flour dough divided into six long breadsticks and baked), and we didn’t even need
spoons. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Full bellies and happy hearts <3<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiz7Cmk-ASugh63zs092GLHhZSQMyUm93RzeBTvKx_g3HxPXD1b41BS-8ZvB9283VvnjCk7KQHZWtudtFvlDlD_EK5fn-1m1kuaaaCi870K_lHqONzUz6fsVdudwNp_P1SqatdhOKLuxw/s1600/IMG-20120906-00389.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiz7Cmk-ASugh63zs092GLHhZSQMyUm93RzeBTvKx_g3HxPXD1b41BS-8ZvB9283VvnjCk7KQHZWtudtFvlDlD_EK5fn-1m1kuaaaCi870K_lHqONzUz6fsVdudwNp_P1SqatdhOKLuxw/s320/IMG-20120906-00389.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<!--EndFragment-->Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-799712269585223578.post-85837649226547086662012-08-17T10:30:00.000+02:002012-10-15T10:02:00.589+02:00Oppikoppi: Sings to the senses<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsKu80gMwb8r26DoXpAFRwCjyCuRWXnRkDiTJz0g6fC13STIGbMGc9hRxUSKL9G24e_ugncbRUJOeA9ycueMOjIcD3hguaYOvsPeRzk2nKzOqSKQvR75rHqaahSsjBB3LmTd254c8ntQ/s1600/beauty.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsKu80gMwb8r26DoXpAFRwCjyCuRWXnRkDiTJz0g6fC13STIGbMGc9hRxUSKL9G24e_ugncbRUJOeA9ycueMOjIcD3hguaYOvsPeRzk2nKzOqSKQvR75rHqaahSsjBB3LmTd254c8ntQ/s400/beauty.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
When you go to Oppikoppi you must leave your anxiety at the
gate.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
There is no space for it inside. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
There are just 20 000 other people looking to dance and jump
and gurgle with laughter. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
We all experienced Oppikoppi in different ways <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj26hVYHkZrybdBjGv_gx3dpAWTd4sEZKgKTULuVUx8aR5lqq5Z7_wCLIHqyYRjfvni4nmQARF-skhY3ceBbeKE1LW1mTC89nVYzGjCQ0TLjMRUZlKngolTKzwmQLYgxU51G3UVMA32iA/s1600/sweet-thing.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="310" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj26hVYHkZrybdBjGv_gx3dpAWTd4sEZKgKTULuVUx8aR5lqq5Z7_wCLIHqyYRjfvni4nmQARF-skhY3ceBbeKE1LW1mTC89nVYzGjCQ0TLjMRUZlKngolTKzwmQLYgxU51G3UVMA32iA/s400/sweet-thing.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<b>Body</b><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
My <b>knuckles</b> are
cracked, skin still dry. My hands held another’s. Weaving in and out. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>Skin</b> a sun-shade
darker. Dust in every crevice. Black boogas. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
My <b>knees</b> shook
and they shook; and my <b>feet</b> throbbed
from adventures in tommy tackies. Boots, next time. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
My <b>arms </b>waved, in
praise, and in happy hellos, and goodbyes. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
My <b>mouth</b> screamed
and sung along. It giggled and laughed. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I licked my <b>lips</b>
over and over, dry air. Kiss, kiss. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjz2x544JQE9HgXt3dBwq55H3n0nJe8K8wrkRzHH8p-vwGs83ifJBcbUEI0udTAMlsBwpen5d0SO0qDbHavO1ioF_sIXnjg2u4bqSMdcgP6Vk4-91S4K7K0RaebbmjID8Y0qHnERJ6mIg/s1600/sun-n-trees.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="302" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjz2x544JQE9HgXt3dBwq55H3n0nJe8K8wrkRzHH8p-vwGs83ifJBcbUEI0udTAMlsBwpen5d0SO0qDbHavO1ioF_sIXnjg2u4bqSMdcgP6Vk4-91S4K7K0RaebbmjID8Y0qHnERJ6mIg/s400/sun-n-trees.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<o:p> </o:p><b>Ears</b></div>
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<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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As we walked up and down our home stretch, Beton Boer road,
there was a constant cloud of dust above us, punctuated by bursts of
conversation. About shows, about beer, about philosophy, about race and about
South Africa. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
But we came for the music and we flocked to see Die Heuwels
Fantasties on Friday night, as did many who reveled in the electric air “It
gave me goosebumps” someone said. Not to mention 340ml, Bombay Show Pig, Kongos, Aking, and Jeremy Loops who all blew my skirt up. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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Lonehill Estate was my surprise band highlight. Donning
green streaks and pink goggles the lead singer was cheeky and vivacious,
drawing the crowd in with his antics and confidence on a hot day amongst the
rocks. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi943-cJPaNk9jwOh7VHgpZ66ZKXX_Bp1QffhBp_C7F9_u99vf2aYBOkiUOIfEqHJ_ImaLst7JKFh5NNSXoAj2OY6oGWiLbZO-dY_YJVtYjvAHgGhZElk_VQT9aMQv_TcD_1X5L4ey6xg/s1600/lonehill-estate.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="282" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi943-cJPaNk9jwOh7VHgpZ66ZKXX_Bp1QffhBp_C7F9_u99vf2aYBOkiUOIfEqHJ_ImaLst7JKFh5NNSXoAj2OY6oGWiLbZO-dY_YJVtYjvAHgGhZElk_VQT9aMQv_TcD_1X5L4ey6xg/s400/lonehill-estate.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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Shadowclub and Beast (and many other grand bands) also graced the stages, although I
confess I was at that time holed up in my tent. I hear they were fantastic. <o:p></o:p></div>
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French band Babylon Circus were a feast, but Eagles of death metal<br />
<a name='more'></a>were my main attraction, and man, to hear the crowd respond to Hughes' surprise that “a little ol’
hillbilly like me could come play for y’all out in the African dessert” was
hilarious and awesome. That’s rock and roll. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-h5s7eCMfO13-msu8djgutYxnGTR4VZhfJ4WrH4qczl8yzyvphydogOhnnZttoPw_n_ZsBLvvFUx7nT6qh10wB8QuqagWsllCU4GCY3ENneNBqQMdbk6F-MB4Crt1-OvVdXCN7-NrqQ/s1600/eagles.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="303" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-h5s7eCMfO13-msu8djgutYxnGTR4VZhfJ4WrH4qczl8yzyvphydogOhnnZttoPw_n_ZsBLvvFUx7nT6qh10wB8QuqagWsllCU4GCY3ENneNBqQMdbk6F-MB4Crt1-OvVdXCN7-NrqQ/s400/eagles.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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Same goes for Enter Shikari whose
bounding energy transfixed me, and it was cool, cool, cool to watch Seether
respond to the roar for Sarongas by playing the old favourites that sweetened
my highschool years. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Not really being a Bullet Fan I enjoyed their guitar show. But things like walls of death scare
me and I think they scared a girl who fell on the floor. I hope she is all
right.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRCcynNsj9JJKvhn9hUKq7kGj6uQwSx5S-ziRbXTWVUjAI376qIPHuVb7-8-Kiip0TBq4Gw8ycCOnOzpXEZGlG51Y_FAicGQMSmXCjBtjy-G81WfG-prcOWRCHlUlIyaOUYH9jQZtJ9Q/s1600/hands.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRCcynNsj9JJKvhn9hUKq7kGj6uQwSx5S-ziRbXTWVUjAI376qIPHuVb7-8-Kiip0TBq4Gw8ycCOnOzpXEZGlG51Y_FAicGQMSmXCjBtjy-G81WfG-prcOWRCHlUlIyaOUYH9jQZtJ9Q/s400/hands.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<b><o:p> </o:p><span style="text-align: center;">Eyes</span></b></div>
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<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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Your eyes are treated because it feels as if the festival is
framed by thatch and white Kalahari thorns. Suspended from trees are lampshades
and baubles in pastel colours and whites that seem to sew everything together. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWLK9N52yvzzai_n58W3JUdyTSQz9l3rO5ScDF-djwWzdv4MlCpMym3Dq5UONKGZTIkdJthp2_DqtgBVo8jJp6Ni3y-PPSG8gsT8-6gCGBLv_t2ycLVjisexQcA3I7ZcHLY2oCetZefQ/s1600/nightime.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="285" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWLK9N52yvzzai_n58W3JUdyTSQz9l3rO5ScDF-djwWzdv4MlCpMym3Dq5UONKGZTIkdJthp2_DqtgBVo8jJp6Ni3y-PPSG8gsT8-6gCGBLv_t2ycLVjisexQcA3I7ZcHLY2oCetZefQ/s400/nightime.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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My favourite was the Skellum stage, with the tree poking out
back, right. Watching a rock and roll show while perched on a boulder with your
feet hanging over the edge is gratifying. The Red Bull stage, although
squished, was a natural amphitheatre that let the sound roll off and slam back
and made you feel safe <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
and happy. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMn4gQ_b5U7RiUrQWva1D_DC3QqSev9g5kBGMKNuaDVvsiiS3ojGo_oa4Eu05luWRrDxftdMJDXDcWE6pjYeJxLdcwt_nHcxNYuKEsFWxjbRrXjf-y4UCDgjvStwVe86oADYJ06nsmKA/s1600/walking.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="291" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMn4gQ_b5U7RiUrQWva1D_DC3QqSev9g5kBGMKNuaDVvsiiS3ojGo_oa4Eu05luWRrDxftdMJDXDcWE6pjYeJxLdcwt_nHcxNYuKEsFWxjbRrXjf-y4UCDgjvStwVe86oADYJ06nsmKA/s400/walking.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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There is hot sunshine in the daytime that bakes the earth
and sends us to retreat in the shade or beneath hats. Some people spun a slack line
between the low trees and did their tightrope jig. Sometimes they fell off,
injuring sensitive bits, and the crowd responded in guffaws and laughs. Others
sat on their trademark Oppikoppi couches, surrounded by curios people.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<b>Taste</b><o:p></o:p></div>
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There is wonderful food to be had. We visited ‘Kobus se gat’
more times than can be good for your heart. But the roosterkoek, slathered with
butter or even jam and cheese, was heavenly. After all the shows were done, and
all the bellies filled with drink and laughter, we roasted our hands over the
dying coals, scraped together to cook a final rectangle of dough that would be
munched and cherished. The pizzas were fabulous, the burgers looked good
although I never sampled any; and the chipstix phenomenon of deep fried swirled
potato had many followers. I ordered one with a cheese griller in the centre,
very high on the list of life’s creepy foods, but it was salty and satisfying.
More so than the deep-fried corn dog that appealed to the eye, but upon tasting
was not as gratifying as I hoped. For lunch we ate mostly fresh things- a
welcome oasis. I packed seed rolls, cheese, tomato and lettuce in for rolls
along with apples, naartjies and bananas that, I believe, along with my
insistence to mix tequila only with orange juice, saved me from stinking
hangovers. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglpBLRTkvGal2vyEjcTwMitV1YZyW17qrKkCNx6L6S54gfg98pfSjueuAeCf_UmnQWOiIZcCjHZKnBey1qPOK35LonDrz3Oc7kzkdytG4V0Kud3F005RIOw2k5ksiPUIMAED9Xp25mCw/s1600/rosterkoek.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="276" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglpBLRTkvGal2vyEjcTwMitV1YZyW17qrKkCNx6L6S54gfg98pfSjueuAeCf_UmnQWOiIZcCjHZKnBey1qPOK35LonDrz3Oc7kzkdytG4V0Kud3F005RIOw2k5ksiPUIMAED9Xp25mCw/s400/rosterkoek.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<o:p><br /></o:p></div>
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<b>Collectively</b><o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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The crowd was a bizarre and beautiful collection of beings.
Everyone in love with everyone else. In love with their presence there,
grateful to share the energy, the space and the celebration of music. The
mutual human appreciation led to shouts of “Oppi” to which strangers responded
“koppi”, that echoed throughout the festival, roping people together. Random
shouts were not random, daily societal norms get revamped and toppled.
Littering is not littering, there is a reckless enjoyment in tossing things
into bushes. These things are only revealed as vulgar on the last day when we
pour out in rows and rows, leaving behind a wasteland of scattered chairs,
clothing, bottles and memories both frantic and romantic. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSAedac618QTTrfhWDP1zWgNJxaTjtHABYmq3mZWECD6yvOqrzsDYx2ma3Z-nl0fRnTsl1RTpNgvXRjJgOFr7tMb-BFG26DB6jKsFZ5ux8ZKu3nveu8cy0OrAEQK3cQBuqd0H-e0mA3A/s1600/sweetest.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSAedac618QTTrfhWDP1zWgNJxaTjtHABYmq3mZWECD6yvOqrzsDYx2ma3Z-nl0fRnTsl1RTpNgvXRjJgOFr7tMb-BFG26DB6jKsFZ5ux8ZKu3nveu8cy0OrAEQK3cQBuqd0H-e0mA3A/s400/sweetest.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<o:p><br /></o:p></div>
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<b>For me<o:p></o:p></b></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I went to Oppikoppi with someone I love, which is
liberating, and a great bunch of comfortable people. I took a real holiday
despite the toll on my body. I <i>lassed</i> my
stresses at the gate, and within hours the music, people, and irrepressible
atmosphere helped me let go, let go, let go. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioGTOYqmMFi0FVxbjbbQqnvkdDZcIcc1MR7CqD2ee6pXQ6jY7JKqEobb031DSXMlX2d1RTb-iY8cKp-xc2PE6vlSyGmmxwnN-0gXbzXL6giFHu-MHSXGa-nzZavzlUKaN5-cxz9tO-Ww/s1600/bye-bye.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="273" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioGTOYqmMFi0FVxbjbbQqnvkdDZcIcc1MR7CqD2ee6pXQ6jY7JKqEobb031DSXMlX2d1RTb-iY8cKp-xc2PE6vlSyGmmxwnN-0gXbzXL6giFHu-MHSXGa-nzZavzlUKaN5-cxz9tO-Ww/s400/bye-bye.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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(Photos by Andrew Pullen and moi)</div>
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0Northam, South Africa-24.95 27.266667-24.9787935 27.227185000000002 -24.9212065 27.306149tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-799712269585223578.post-83097336762213117422012-06-15T10:30:00.000+02:002012-06-15T10:30:04.047+02:00Kiss from a quince<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihMLY-QvWAhrX_kkGEz2RoLfm9Eiida3lOG_FtwfJVbGfmosaBUPlVuv4UYSTmhyphenhyphenLGpFntleiPlNHHlXTMXynxO5ctLbVGtSoN-GlqdAfKFxQk_3qp0r7nPeUzLVSl1zINIGkSuAKy-g/s1600/quince+6.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihMLY-QvWAhrX_kkGEz2RoLfm9Eiida3lOG_FtwfJVbGfmosaBUPlVuv4UYSTmhyphenhyphenLGpFntleiPlNHHlXTMXynxO5ctLbVGtSoN-GlqdAfKFxQk_3qp0r7nPeUzLVSl1zINIGkSuAKy-g/s400/quince+6.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Everything we eat has a story. A story about where it came
from, how it was made, born, or spouted; and how it travelled toward us. </div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Everything we eat also <i>becomes
part of our own story</i>. A link in the web of meaning that flavour holds for
us. Each bit of sustenance that passes over our lips has the potential to start
a story, or to stir up a memory. </div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Quince, for me, <i>is
winter</i>. It’s granny food. It exists, in bottled form, on the colour scale
from fleshy crayfish to sensuous stripper red. It’s neatly layered in conserve
bottled, lids tightly screwed on. </div>
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<br /></div>
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I don’t really remember by granny ever making anything with
quince. Maybe she did, and I only associate it with her because the senses of
smell and roots of nostalgia were affixed in me before my visual memories.
Maybe I associate quince with the wrinkled faces of old women I saw as we
paused at farm stalls across the country during family holidays. Neatly packed
in rows with handwritten labels. Part of the granny-domain. </div>
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<br /></div>
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Either way, I walked into a local supermarket last week in a
post-exam daze. My mind was still whirling with theories and ethnographic
accounts. I was craving something I couldn’t name. </div>
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<br /></div>
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I saw the quince, bright yellow, bulbous on the shelf,
larger than the surrounding fruit. I knew immediately that they were what I
needed. I selected three, smooth skinned and heavy for their weight. </div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTdu6or1AdMYGKk-Vc4rUY0_0_EuT2YQHxW0wg7WiltBOMp2ERkMqqiVXW1gJI5Dlg1EX7vkKatwytVqKOxqG8o8bDec8VxtlmNMVbw2V_3lWDoExjXcUBq5c_w7FurCuNqQSbWCw7fQ/s1600/quince+.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="278" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTdu6or1AdMYGKk-Vc4rUY0_0_EuT2YQHxW0wg7WiltBOMp2ERkMqqiVXW1gJI5Dlg1EX7vkKatwytVqKOxqG8o8bDec8VxtlmNMVbw2V_3lWDoExjXcUBq5c_w7FurCuNqQSbWCw7fQ/s400/quince+.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Quince poached in rosé wine with orange and vanilla </span></div>
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I bought them home, and started to put the exam out of my
mind as I emptied the <b>bottle of rosé wine</b> (merlot and pintoage) that I had
bought into a saucepan with <b>1 cup of sugar</b> and <b>1 orange,</b> cut into wedges. I
peeled the <b>three quinces</b> one by one, with a peeler, nibbling at the skin to gauge it.
Apple-y and sour, strong.</div>
<a name='more'></a><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMipQbJmHs7kG3CwTDVvoX2ipeME8C3SGET1kyfTjT1LHHA5kcDLe03FR-XWiA3iQUitlwSauyE9VF2FnjuzI_Qu__evvVgJKs1dBpQSmhJZBH0bUqAqxhZP2KSwTNOCTO97k7L33VuA/s1600/quince+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMipQbJmHs7kG3CwTDVvoX2ipeME8C3SGET1kyfTjT1LHHA5kcDLe03FR-XWiA3iQUitlwSauyE9VF2FnjuzI_Qu__evvVgJKs1dBpQSmhJZBH0bUqAqxhZP2KSwTNOCTO97k7L33VuA/s400/quince+2.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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Then I tackled the flesh. Quince are hard fruit, similar to
apples and pears in that they have seeds in the centre. I used my biggest knife
to cut them in half first, bearing two pretty halves, like a cross-section of a
heart. (Using a baby serrated knife might lead to breaking the blade). I cut them into slices and removed the
seeds. You also have to cut out the hard bits around the seed section.</div>
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As I cut them, I placed the slices into the pot, added
enough water so that they were all covered, and then put it all on medium heat
to simmer. After about an hour I added <b>3 vanilla pods</b> that I had hanging around
the cupboard, wrinkled up and dry. They were plumped out after an hour or so,
so I slit them in half lengthways and dropped the seeds in, leaving the pods
too. </div>
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After about 2 and a half hours over medium heat, my quinces
gave way to being poked with a knife. If I had left them on longer, they would
have turned a ruby colour, but I had cut the slices a little too thinly, and I
didn’t want quince jam. </div>
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I ate some for breakfast today, and I baked the rest, along
with 3 apples that were going begging, into a saucy crumble that warmed us from
the inside. (See the apple crumble post I did <a href="http://www.blackpepperplum.blogspot.com/2012/02/apple-crumble.html" target="_blank">here</a>, and use that basis. Although
I multiplied it by two, you will have to judge how much quince you are using
for the crumble part). </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_w_nlamgFsHOv7mcd1AJKeVOly8VDXOFc8HtfdmqW6iy1-QQqe3GyOq1yyb-Or3j1Vkmb2v0HaOA3yfZmJxULYL320WQSREebu6a1rs-kYWUe_MPw761-lGyP5PvAmL8PJXTMm5R3NA/s1600/quince+3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="272" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_w_nlamgFsHOv7mcd1AJKeVOly8VDXOFc8HtfdmqW6iy1-QQqe3GyOq1yyb-Or3j1Vkmb2v0HaOA3yfZmJxULYL320WQSREebu6a1rs-kYWUe_MPw761-lGyP5PvAmL8PJXTMm5R3NA/s400/quince+3.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDJz3M3PdoeE-WB556RdQVqjMI0Gc1clic88NntLa4xZ74dFDhhibw3SBQ9gLsdFUgNP8gaeKWRLJhyphenhyphenxsorTIaEoCcoQj2y4_Ylphc0nKkQ7FUi6C1M_7Qyvd5jqfbwFXp__-l-aLSrQ/s1600/quince+5.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDJz3M3PdoeE-WB556RdQVqjMI0Gc1clic88NntLa4xZ74dFDhhibw3SBQ9gLsdFUgNP8gaeKWRLJhyphenhyphenxsorTIaEoCcoQj2y4_Ylphc0nKkQ7FUi6C1M_7Qyvd5jqfbwFXp__-l-aLSrQ/s400/quince+5.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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The latest chapter in my quince story is a passionate one.
The colour of the fruit matches my tongue; the syrup is gloss on my lips. To
bite it is to kiss it.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXkHuPsnZZk9-fihzYn7zDYYlEofnObxls9OR4s6SasjjmuvgGsqcRYIh5zXhHBLjDpMMKRAQz1pTlBbJHhgaNZEyE8RR8MnAxKeViQgVdUQatiqAvwsdYeMJdolI7yPFAgd7husAAXQ/s1600/quince+4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXkHuPsnZZk9-fihzYn7zDYYlEofnObxls9OR4s6SasjjmuvgGsqcRYIh5zXhHBLjDpMMKRAQz1pTlBbJHhgaNZEyE8RR8MnAxKeViQgVdUQatiqAvwsdYeMJdolI7yPFAgd7husAAXQ/s400/quince+4.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<!--EndFragment-->Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0Grahamstown, South Africa-33.30566 26.52453-33.358742500000005 26.445566 -33.2525775 26.603493999999998tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-799712269585223578.post-72420162925607120692012-05-18T07:49:00.000+02:002012-05-18T07:57:37.699+02:00A Book deal with a side of sweet potato<br />
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Shock and horror. </div>
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I’ve been a bad blogger.</div>
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but I do at least have a <i>book deal! </i></div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTZunjiofh6a_ppGJG_g2MWwoGUeWB6BEHvuO9L1oeI2O3szNkfuY012cgkMzHvBf15-vtNnPLFYChZzhHXww_Oi4H8gzDi4kWlbinX7WezvMLu44aO1x-jrh9ivYmdMxat1fPv-kYNw/s1600/Chris+de+Beer_3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTZunjiofh6a_ppGJG_g2MWwoGUeWB6BEHvuO9L1oeI2O3szNkfuY012cgkMzHvBf15-vtNnPLFYChZzhHXww_Oi4H8gzDi4kWlbinX7WezvMLu44aO1x-jrh9ivYmdMxat1fPv-kYNw/s400/Chris+de+Beer_3.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">(This photo is not really relevant to anything in this post, I just put it here because photos are nice. However, it will come into the story later.)</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Yes. Despite the fact that this is meant to be my year of
writing (that is indeed a part of what I’m studying) and despite the fact that
it’s compulsory for me to blog every week for my course; I have left my poor
little blackpepperplum to ferment in the back of a dark cupboard, just like the
sweet potato we now have sprouting roots and feelers because nobody remembered
to cook it. I am planning on planting it this weekend. Just like I am planning
to <i>blog more often</i>.<br />
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In fact, the sweet potato with feelers is just the perfect
metaphor for my life. This blog is the sweet potato, once fresh and budding
with potential. It is currently in a stagnant stage. It’s on hold. Why? The
cook has found other things to fry. Yes, by frying I mean writing. (I am
getting heavily involved in my metaphors here, please just oblige me). </div>
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The thing that I am writing is a cookbook for students. </div>
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Its name is<span style="font-size: large;"> <i>Yum-mo: Student Cooking 101</i>. </span></div>
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(I am silly pleased about this, you have no idea) </div>
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This is the story of how it came to be: </div>
<a name='more'></a>Last year I used to cook for my
digsmates, and sometimes I told them fun facts about food and showed them how
to chop vegetables. I also let them borrow my chef’s knife. Someone once said:
“Carina you should write a cookbook for students”. I don’t even remember who, I
just buried the idea in my mind underneath the Trobriand Islanders, critical media theory,
and Afrikaans literature. <br />
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Then, when I was private cheffing in December, the idea
stuck with me again. I started to toy with it here and there. I did a bit of
research into how this whole publishing things works and then I went “pfffttt,
this does not even look like a remotely feasible possibility”. </div>
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THEN a yellowtail came along and changed my whole life. A
big yellowtail. </div>
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I cooked it on the braai with delicious fillings, and served
it with a summery vinaigrette. The meat was soft and succulent, it was quite
the perfect fish. THEN, the family I cooked for said, “Ooh, Carina, this fish
is delicious, but it’s so big, we can’t even make a dent in it. Please can we
have it for lunch?” </div>
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I saw a gap. I said “yes, of course, but it’s my Aunt
Hanna’s Birthday picnic tomorrow in Stellenbosch. Would you mind if I prepared
the fish salad in advance so that I can attend her birthday?” And they said, “of
course! Go and have fun”.</div>
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And then I went. And there I sat chatting to my sister and
aunt about this idea of mine, when my aunt’s friend said he was interested in
hearing about my idea. So I drank some more wine, and I told him. He liked the
idea a lot, and since he has published two books himself, and used to work for
Media 24, he said he would try find out who to speak to. </div>
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And he did. And I bit my fingernails a lot, and I wrote a
pitch. And they liked it. Now I have a contract with Human and Rousseau, a very
respectable publishing house. I have to submit a manuscript by 31 October. </div>
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The end. </div>
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So, you can understand why the sweet potato passed by
unnoticed? Since my Yum-mo project began, my life has been a swirl of cooking
and writing recipes, calling up friends to try things. Burning things. Making
some things seven times. Selecting photographers, trying to explain to
designers what I want when I really have only a smidgeon of an idea. Having
photo shoots. And photo crits. And attending university at the same time. The
assignments, essays and readings must go on. </div>
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The cool thing about my sweet potato is that it never went
rotten. It just carried on growing all by itself, unnoticed, modest. </div>
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After I plant my sweet potato, I am going to start a whole
new veggie garden in the form of a new website at yum-mo.co.za. I'm also twittering it up under the handle @yum_mo. But more about
that later. Enough metaphorical speech! </div>
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(Time to water the plants). </div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUJXIMnIgyRaX3RQ0hfBd-QOP0Nhpia1o5dZkmor-lhRStQrYF63LCx8S70Zd4BtCVvCvWock-7BiaFDyTnVAHEDeE9O1nCsrC86kRnSaDO25BeDmHyRDXp5-6daHLiYcJU5YMG6bglg/s1600/Chris+de+Beer_7.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUJXIMnIgyRaX3RQ0hfBd-QOP0Nhpia1o5dZkmor-lhRStQrYF63LCx8S70Zd4BtCVvCvWock-7BiaFDyTnVAHEDeE9O1nCsrC86kRnSaDO25BeDmHyRDXp5-6daHLiYcJU5YMG6bglg/s400/Chris+de+Beer_7.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The relevance of these pictures are that they were just random picks from one of my photo trials. They're by Chris de Beer, and yes, she got the job. </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<br /></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-799712269585223578.post-54669341133255919722012-04-18T11:02:00.001+02:002012-04-18T11:03:19.352+02:00Eet en onthou: Woordfees 2012<div class="MsoNormal"><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: white; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; font-family: 'Times New Roman';">Ek eet, en ek onthou. My</span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman';"> herinneringe </span><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: white; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; font-family: 'Times New Roman';">is gevleg met maaltye, met</span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman';"> proe sensasies </span><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: white; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; font-family: 'Times New Roman';">en</span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman';"> eet rituele</span><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: white; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; font-family: 'Times New Roman';">. Verlede kwartaal vanaf die 9de na die 11de Maart, is ek en vyf klasmaats, deur die Nederlandse Taalunie na</span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman';"> Stellenbosch </span><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: white; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; font-family: 'Times New Roman';">toe gestuur om die</span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman';"> <a href="http://www.woordfees.co.za/">Woordfees</a></span><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: white; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; font-family: 'Times New Roman';">, en onder andere die Neerlandistiekdag by te woon. Heel gaaf, dankie.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: white; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; font-family: 'Times New Roman';">Ek proe die naweek nog.</span></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigccoynehWyYrVCYM3bsMx79vZJpelfKiHWAia_1VixT3QE2IwSGSoJTXeIObMXM7ch7a_zGNvU-cKRju3VhsJMBuKCRSs8-a7A3vb8uj7bnhSy4TrexkU0bmUJkgAm9vrZ73keZCSTw/s1600/La-Motte.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigccoynehWyYrVCYM3bsMx79vZJpelfKiHWAia_1VixT3QE2IwSGSoJTXeIObMXM7ch7a_zGNvU-cKRju3VhsJMBuKCRSs8-a7A3vb8uj7bnhSy4TrexkU0bmUJkgAm9vrZ73keZCSTw/s320/La-Motte.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Die nederige standbeeld wat ons na La Motte verwelkom het</td></tr>
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</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: white; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; font-family: 'Times New Roman';">Die</span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman';"> Greyhound bus </span><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: white; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; font-family: 'Times New Roman';">was, voorspelbaar, twee ure laat. Op ons tasse het ons in die</span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman';"> parkeerterrein </span><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: white; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; font-family: 'Times New Roman';">gesit en uiteindelik, verveeld, ons lekkers uitgedeel.</span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman';"> Wine gums </span><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: white; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; font-family: 'Times New Roman';">en saggeel</span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman';"> dinosouruse </span><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: white; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; font-family: 'Times New Roman';">bedek my tande met ’n laag soetgoed. My goedkoop</span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman';"> pastel gekleurde </span><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: white; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; font-family: 'Times New Roman';">lekkers was</span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman';"> fassinerend </span><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: white; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; font-family: 'Times New Roman';">op die rak,</span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman';"> maar </span><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: white; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; font-family: 'Times New Roman';">in die mond was hulle hard, en skreeu- soet. Ons probeer die smaak uit ons monde kry met ’n</span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman';"> vodka </span><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: white; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; font-family: 'Times New Roman';">– suurlemoen –</span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman';"> ment </span><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: white; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; font-family: 'Times New Roman';">mengsel. Die </span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman';">gevolg </span><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: white; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; font-family: 'Times New Roman';">is ’n</span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman';"> gegiggelery </span><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: white; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; font-family: 'Times New Roman';">en ’n goeie begin.</span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman';"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: white; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; font-family: 'Times New Roman';">Ek het nog nooit</span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman';"> lang afstand bus gery </span><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: white; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; font-family: 'Times New Roman';">nie. En as ek weer daaraan dink, weet ek wat ek sal onthou. Die reuk van my mede passasier se toebroodjies, toe sy 3 uur in die oggend haar dosie se deksel oop kliek en die</span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman';"> gis reuk </span><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: white; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; font-family: 'Times New Roman';">van brood laat ontsnap. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: white; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; font-family: 'Times New Roman';">Met honger mage het ons op Stellenbosch aangekom. Voordat ons selfs kon stort het ’n vriendin ons opgelaai en <a href="http://www.la-motte.com/">La Motte</a> toe geneem waar ons eerder geld aan wynproe wou spandeer as ontbyt. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
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</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: white; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; font-family: 'Times New Roman';">My</span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman';"> gunstelinge </span><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: white; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; font-family: 'Times New Roman';">was die 2010 La Motte</span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman';"> Millennium </span><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: white; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; font-family: 'Times New Roman';">wat jou na gebrande suiker herinner en die mond plesierig skok. Mens wil jou lippe daarna bly lek. Die 2009 Chardonnay was ook veral</span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman';"> lip lekker</span><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: white; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; font-family: 'Times New Roman';">; dit proe soos heuning en botter, met die perfekte maat van Franse hout. Die kroon van die proe was die bediening van mosbolletjies wat dié tyd van die jaar gemaak word. Mens</span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman';"> voel </span><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: white; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; font-family: 'Times New Roman';">asof die wyn en die brood, wat met die</span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman';"> oorskiet </span><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: white; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; font-family: 'Times New Roman';">gis gebak word, ver langs familie is wat juig om weer saam in die mond te kuier. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: white; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; font-family: 'Times New Roman';">Van die Neerlandestiek Dag bly Kees ’t Hart by my: hy lees voor en hy dans sy eie roman, ligvoet met</span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman';"> swaaiende </span><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: white; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; font-family: 'Times New Roman';">heupe.</span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman';"> </span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman';"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 13.35pt;"><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: white; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; font-family: 'Times New Roman';">Tussen in lesings en gesprekke, breek ons en eet bros,</span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman';"> botterige </span><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: white; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; font-family: 'Times New Roman';">Nederlandse koekies, ’n ligbruin goud kleur. Gemaak met regte botter, kraak dit in die mond. Dis altyd vir my snaaks dat al die gaste, aanvanklik huiwerig, net na die uitstalling van koekies kyk. Wanneer hulle uiteindelik hulle hande uitsteek, vat daaraan en saam eet, dan word hulle skielik meer gesellig en menslik. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 13.35pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 13.35pt;"><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: white; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; font-family: 'Times New Roman';">Die koekies is bros soos die Nederlands op my ore, en die oë van die digters is soet soos wat hulle soek- soek in die gehoor in kyk.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 13.35pt;"><br />
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</o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 13.35pt;"><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: white; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; font-family: 'Times New Roman';"> In swart en wit tree</span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman';"> Sjon Brands </span><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: white; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; font-family: 'Times New Roman';">en</span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman';"> Dorith </span><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: white; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; font-family: 'Times New Roman';">van der</span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman';"> Lee </span><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: white; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; font-family: 'Times New Roman';">van die</span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman';"> </span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman';"><a href="http://www.theatervandeverlorentijd.nl/">Theater van de Verloren Tijd</a> </span><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: white; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; font-family: 'Times New Roman';">op, intiem, met hand gebare vorm hulle meer betekenis; met gesigsuitdrukkings, altans stout en kill, deel hulle die geheime in gedigte. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 13.35pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 13.35pt;"><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: white; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; font-family: 'Times New Roman';">Daardie Saterdag aand besoek ons Soete Groete by <a href="http://www.devettemossel.co.za/">De Vette Mossel</a>l, ’n</span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman';"> affêre </span><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: white; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; font-family: 'Times New Roman';">wat soos ’n eksotiese reisende sirkus van plek tot plek verplaas en die geur van die Weskus saamsleep, sanderig, vrygewig en jolig. Die eerste gang is</span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman';"> bakke </span><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: white; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; font-family: 'Times New Roman';">stomende mossels wat op die lang tafels geplaas word. Hier is geen messe of vurke nie, net papier borde en servette en hulle waarsku dat ons die perfekte mossel skulp nou moet uitsoek om heel aand as lepel te dien. Die aand is n windvlaag van heerlike kos, gesels en luister. Gebraaide snoek, konings word bedien en</span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman';"> ysterpotte viskerrie voel asof hulle oneindig is.</span><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: white; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; font-family: 'Times New Roman';"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: white; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; font-family: 'Times New Roman';">Die wind het heel aand geratel, en al hoe sterker en sterker gewaai. Naderhand lag ons soos ons sandkorrels hap, en onder in ons glase klein</span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman';"> hopies </span><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: white; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; font-family: 'Times New Roman';">daarvan kry wat dit laat voel asof ons dalk seewater in plaas van wyn gedrink het.</span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman';"> Petra Müller </span><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: white; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; font-family: 'Times New Roman';">staan op die verhoog, en lees gedigte van haar <a href="http://nb.bookslive.co.za/blog/2012/02/24/nuwe-digbundel-deur-petra-m%C3%BCller-gedigte-rondom-die-gedagte-van-geel/">nuwe bundel</a></span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman';"> </span><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: white; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; font-family: 'Times New Roman';">voor. Die wind storm om haar, en in daardie oomblik lyk sy vir my soos ’n towenaar wat woorde nes winde met die gefladder van haar gekreukelde hande kan oproep.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: white; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; font-family: 'Times New Roman';"> Hulle oorweeg dit om die ete te verskuif maar ons skud ons koppe, nee asseblief nie. Dit voel magies hierso. Ons kyk en luister na Alexander</span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman';"> Strachan</span><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: white; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; font-family: 'Times New Roman';">,</span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman';"> Diana Ferrus</span><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: white; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; font-family: 'Times New Roman';">, Alfred </span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman';">Schaffer</span><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: white; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; font-family: 'Times New Roman';">,</span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman';"> Leonard </span><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: white; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; font-family: 'Times New Roman';">Nolens en Kees ’t Hart, deur</span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman';"> Dorothea </span><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: white; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; font-family: 'Times New Roman';">van</span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman';"> Zyl </span><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: white; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; font-family: 'Times New Roman';">voorgestel en gemaklik gemaak. Die woeste weer gee die gevoel dat ons almal dalk in ’n warrelwind opgesuig gaan word, en met die tik van ’n afwesige kulkunstenaar se hakke vervoer sal word na ’n ander plek, ver weg en sprankelend; soet en sappige</span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman';"> koeksisters </span><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: white; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; font-family: 'Times New Roman';">steeds in ons hande en monde. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: white; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; font-family: 'Times New Roman';">Toe ek daardie aand gaan slaap, voel dit asof ek in ’n skip gewieg word deur die see (en nee, ek het nie te veel wyn gedrink nie!)<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
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</o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: white; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; font-family: 'Times New Roman';">Toe word ek wakker in sonnige Seepunt, my lief het my toevallig na </span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman';"><a href="http://www.capetownmagazine.com/bars/Gesellig-Restaurant-in-Cape-Town-is-indeed-gesellig/53_22_17500">Gesellig</a> </span><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: white; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; font-family: 'Times New Roman';">toe geneem, ’n eetplek in Seepunt waar daar kroketten op die spyskaart is, wat ek natuurlik bestel het. Daar kom hulle toe, wel op ’n</span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman';"> droë </span><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: white; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; font-family: 'Times New Roman';">stukkie brood en teen ’n</span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman';"> hengse </span><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: white; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; font-family: 'Times New Roman';">prys, maar die vuurwarm harde kors kraak oop as ek dit byt, en die sagte, ryk vulsel skiet die mond in en wip my terug na my kuier twee jaar terug in Amsterdam. Ons het daar in die laataand na ons feesviering en dans, by die masjiene krokette gekoop om die bier te</span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman';"> absorbeer </span><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: white; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; font-family: 'Times New Roman';">en die maag te bevredig. Dis ewe puik vir ontbyt. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
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</o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: white; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; font-family: 'Times New Roman';">Ek skryf dit weke later, maar ek proe die naweek nog.</span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman';"> </span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman';"><o:p></o:p></span></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0Stellenbosch, South Africa-33.9366667 18.861388900000065-34.005062200000005 18.782684900000067 -33.8682712 18.940092900000064tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-799712269585223578.post-69747181295632130892012-03-18T08:17:00.000+02:002012-10-15T10:50:08.724+02:00St Paddy's Day: Spinach and basil mayonnaise<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <o:DocumentProperties> <o:Template>Normal.dotm</o:Template> <o:Revision>0</o:Revision> <o:TotalTime>0</o:TotalTime> <o:Pages>1</o:Pages> <o:Words>284</o:Words> <o:Characters>1622</o:Characters> <o:Company>carinatruyts@gmail.com</o:Company> <o:Lines>13</o:Lines> <o:Paragraphs>3</o:Paragraphs> <o:CharactersWithSpaces>1991</o:CharactersWithSpaces> <o:Version>12.0</o:Version> </o:DocumentProperties> <o:OfficeDocumentSettings> <o:AllowPNG/> </o:OfficeDocumentSettings> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:WordDocument> <w:Zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:TrackMoves>false</w:TrackMoves> <w:TrackFormatting/> <w:PunctuationKerning/> <w:DrawingGridHorizontalSpacing>18 pt</w:DrawingGridHorizontalSpacing> <w:DrawingGridVerticalSpacing>18 pt</w:DrawingGridVerticalSpacing> <w:DisplayHorizontalDrawingGridEvery>0</w:DisplayHorizontalDrawingGridEvery> <w:DisplayVerticalDrawingGridEvery>0</w:DisplayVerticalDrawingGridEvery> <w:ValidateAgainstSchemas/> <w:SaveIfXMLInvalid>false</w:SaveIfXMLInvalid> <w:IgnoreMixedContent>false</w:IgnoreMixedContent> <w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText>false</w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText> <w:Compatibility> <w:BreakWrappedTables/> <w:DontGrowAutofit/> <w:DontAutofitConstrainedTables/> <w:DontVertAlignInTxbx/> </w:Compatibility> </w:WordDocument> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:LatentStyles DefLockedState="false" LatentStyleCount="276"> </w:LatentStyles> </xml><![endif]--> <!--[if gte mso 10]> <style>
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St Patricks’s day in Grahamstown signifies many things: Primarily, its an excuse to dress up in green, brandish a beer glass all night and join thousands of others behaving abominably in bars. Great. Except that it also signifies green beer (whose bad idea was that anyway?!), sometimes accompanied by free green cane shots. Sies. The combination of these someone leads to a green mess in gutters. Not so Irish. </div>
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This year, I squirmed at the thought of St Paddy’s. It was a rainy Saturday, and mugs of tea appealed to me more than liquor. I decided to resist the peer pressure and stay at home like a grandmomma, catching up on my work. Yes, I even wrapped my knees up in a crocheted blanky while I read. </div>
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It felt great. I thought of all the loud noises I was escaping; the squash of bodies and the smell of cigarettes, beer and burps. I made a green mayonnaise as my spirited token for the day, and settled back smugly. There is a time for everything.<br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Spinach and basil mayonnaise </span></div>
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<ul>
<li>1 tsp butter or olive oil</li>
<li>One cup mayo (I use <a href="http://www.blackpepperplum.blogspot.com/2010/12/mullet-with-o.html">this</a> basic recipe)</li>
<li>1 bunch spinach, stalks removed and rinsed</li>
<li>2 handfuls or 40g basil leaves</li>
<li>½ avocado, cubed (optional) </li>
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<li>Heat the butter/ oil in a large saucepan until hot and add the rinsed spinach. Put the lid on. The water from the spinach should create enough steam to wilt it. Leave for about 2 minutes- the leaves should be <i>just</i> cooked.</li>
<li>Add the basil leaves to the spinach (they should wilt a little from the heat) and then squeeze the whole mixture with your hands ( I do this over a colander in the basin) until it is dry.</li>
<li>Chop this green mass finely until it reminds you of an Irish cow’s cud. Good.</li>
<li>Now blend it, along with the avo, with the mayonnaise until you have a tasty green concoction. This is the good kind of green- not the scary, green cane kind, but a nice, natural, edible hue.</li>
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We piled our mayo onto hamburgers with tomato, beef patties, lettuce, fresh avo and caramelized onion. Delicious Saturday. </div>
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<!--EndFragment-->Unknownnoreply@blogger.com3Grahamstown, South Africa-33.30566 26.524530000000027-33.356998000000004 26.457566000000028 -33.254322 26.591494000000026tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-799712269585223578.post-75928396908840355182012-02-26T21:51:00.000+02:002012-02-26T21:51:18.185+02:00Apple Crumble<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <o:DocumentProperties> <o:Template>Normal.dotm</o:Template> <o:Revision>0</o:Revision> <o:TotalTime>0</o:TotalTime> <o:Pages>1</o:Pages> <o:Words>234</o:Words> <o:Characters>1336</o:Characters> <o:Company>carinatruyts@gmail.com</o:Company> <o:Lines>11</o:Lines> <o:Paragraphs>2</o:Paragraphs> <o:CharactersWithSpaces>1640</o:CharactersWithSpaces> <o:Version>12.0</o:Version> </o:DocumentProperties> <o:OfficeDocumentSettings> <o:AllowPNG/> </o:OfficeDocumentSettings> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:WordDocument> <w:Zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:TrackMoves>false</w:TrackMoves> <w:TrackFormatting/> <w:PunctuationKerning/> <w:DrawingGridHorizontalSpacing>18 pt</w:DrawingGridHorizontalSpacing> <w:DrawingGridVerticalSpacing>18 pt</w:DrawingGridVerticalSpacing> <w:DisplayHorizontalDrawingGridEvery>0</w:DisplayHorizontalDrawingGridEvery> <w:DisplayVerticalDrawingGridEvery>0</w:DisplayVerticalDrawingGridEvery> <w:ValidateAgainstSchemas/> <w:SaveIfXMLInvalid>false</w:SaveIfXMLInvalid> <w:IgnoreMixedContent>false</w:IgnoreMixedContent> <w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText>false</w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText> <w:Compatibility> <w:BreakWrappedTables/> <w:DontGrowAutofit/> <w:DontAutofitConstrainedTables/> <w:DontVertAlignInTxbx/> </w:Compatibility> </w:WordDocument> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:LatentStyles DefLockedState="false" LatentStyleCount="276"> </w:LatentStyles> </xml><![endif]--> <!--[if gte mso 10]> <style>
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<div class="MsoNormal"><i>Floury apples</i>. I don’t understand them. I don’t understand how they are still sold in stores. I don’t understand why people still buy them, planning to eat them… for fun. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">One of my housemates recently got hoodwinked into buying a pack of “sweet and crunchy” red apples only to find that the texture was a combination between sponge and sand. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Not fit for the lunch box, we decided to find a purpose for the apples. we decided that if you can get past the sif texture to the timeless ripe- apple taste, you're still the winner. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><i>When life throws you floury apples</i>- make apple crumble. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: large;">Humble crumble </span></div><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Yes. The 70's are back. We moved into a fully furnished house and it came with these period petal glasses. We love them so don't laugh. </td></tr>
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<div class="MsoNormal">You can use this basic crumble recipe to top all sorts of baked fruit dishes. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"></div><ul><li>12 small apples, peeled , seeds removed and quartered</li>
<li>1 tablespoon butter</li>
<li>1 tablespoon brown sugar</li>
<li>1 cup flour</li>
<li>¼ cold butter, grated</li>
<li>¼ cup sugar </li>
<li>5ml cinnamon</li>
<li>1 tablespoon brandy (optional)</li>
</ul><ol><li>Preheat the oven to 180C</li>
<li>Heat the butter in medium saucepan, sauté the apples with the brown sugar until caramelised. Add ½ cup water, pop the lid on and simmer for about 5 minutes until the apples are a just tender; there should be a bit of moisture left over. Add the cinnamon. Also, add a dash of brandy at this stage if you’re feeling lavish.</li>
<li>Meanwhile, make the crumble by rubbing the butter into the flour until it resembles breadcrumbs. Stir in the sugar.</li>
<li>Turn the apple mixture into a shallow baking dish (the kind you would use for lasagna) and sprinkle the crumble mixture over.</li>
<li>Bake for about 30 minutes until the crumble is starting to brown on top.</li>
<li>Serve with a dribble of fresh cream, or with custard. </li>
</ol>Comfort Is: Hot and sweet.<br />
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<!--EndFragment-->Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0Grahamstown, South Africa-33.30566 26.524530000000027-33.356998000000004 26.457566000000028 -33.254322 26.591494000000026tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-799712269585223578.post-83363877689464583422012-01-28T18:08:00.004+02:002012-01-28T21:28:39.067+02:00Fresh fig, Parma ham, and Rocket salad with Cabernet Sauvignon reductionIt's a scorching hot day. The kind where you'd rather not do anything, cause moving translates into sweating, unless it's in the direction of the pool or the sea.<br />
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Guests flew in from blustery England this morning. I could think of no better February salad than this one to welcome them in:<br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Fresh Fig, Parma ham and Rocket salad with Cabernet Sauvignon reduction</span><br />
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I was planning on going with the old goat's cheese standard, but this submission on my new fave <a href="http://drizzleanddip.com/2010/03/23/black-fig-parma-ham-and-mozzarella-salad-sexy">Drizzle and dip blog</a>, which credits Jamie Oliver, gave me the idea to use mozzarella instead. I love mozzarella. I think mostly because it's a word with two 'z's and two 'l's. Which ups it's dialogue cred and also makes it sound sultry in an Italian- only kind of way. If you can't get hold of a sufficiently sultry mozz, I recommend a nice Chevin (not the same sex appeal, really but you can't have it all)<br />
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<ul><li>about 50ml cabernet sauvignon vinegar ( I use <a href="http://www.willowcreek.co.za/vinegar">Willow Creek's</a>) </li>
<li>5ml sugar </li>
<li>Fresh figs (I used both purple and green)</li>
<li>Parma Ham, thinly sliced </li>
<li>Buffalo mozzarella ( I use fior di latte from <a href="http://www.pugliacheese.co.za/">Puglia cheese</a>, available at good deli's) </li>
<li>Rocket</li>
<li>olive oil</li>
<li>Black pepper</li>
</ul><div><ol><li>Place the vinegar and sugar in a small saucepan and whisk until sugar is dissolved. Bring to beoil and allow to reduce to a syrup- y consistency. To test, remove from the heat, dribble a bit on a cold saucer and refrigerate for a minute. If it's syrupy then, it's ready. </li>
<li>Quarter the figs (you want to expose those blushed pink cushions inside, don't you?) and arrange on a platter with the other ingredients, shredding the mozzarella by hand. </li>
<li>Drizzle olive oil and reduction over, and perk up with some freshly ground black pepper. Welcome back. </li>
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Pop the leftovers on a piece of crusty bread from The Baker Boyz at the <a href="http://www.hpf1855.co.za/events/food-a-wine-market">HPF Saturday food and wine market</a>. Oh, yes.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2Hermanus, South Africa-34.4092004 19.25044360000004-34.4300744 19.199634600000039 -34.388326400000004 19.301252600000041tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-799712269585223578.post-65839179685581029092012-01-27T16:47:00.000+02:002012-01-27T16:47:49.045+02:00Yakitori Chicken skewersNothing yukky about this Japanese treat. <div><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnjiNz4FFdtu1a9sgURSzbeVfYZCROJOiuGquG0MLXhK87bk1p_qb_CnehUlVCwotcuWa5KVjgeiPudwUFdTsYNv1CWT1Su408WZCamQ8Q7suecFTQcOKDlLvSoHcY9lV2Y6EUPrK5mw/s1600/Real+nice+yakitori.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnjiNz4FFdtu1a9sgURSzbeVfYZCROJOiuGquG0MLXhK87bk1p_qb_CnehUlVCwotcuWa5KVjgeiPudwUFdTsYNv1CWT1Su408WZCamQ8Q7suecFTQcOKDlLvSoHcY9lV2Y6EUPrK5mw/s400/Real+nice+yakitori.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div><br />
</div><div>I used <a href="http://www.saveur.com/article/Recipes/chicken-and-scallion-skewers-yakitori?cmpid=tw">this grand Saveur recipe </a> to spice up my chicken skewers. The addition of spring onions (scallions, green onions, as you will) makes the recipe into Negima Yakitori. </div><div><br />
</div><div>I adapted the recipe... </div><div><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsJDAqdIjeSEd62Jn5GjrYnhV-JHZ9-ZtvTTLc-n4tQPtMD41p1xyIwEgjt6w3JsG5x_P8n3Gupb6LbsbO6f8N7N5iW9eO6jomBFBs2-g2I6SH9gsHjIhnD5c79gykipvWZ6o861C_RQ/s1600/yakitori+skewers.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="275" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsJDAqdIjeSEd62Jn5GjrYnhV-JHZ9-ZtvTTLc-n4tQPtMD41p1xyIwEgjt6w3JsG5x_P8n3Gupb6LbsbO6f8N7N5iW9eO6jomBFBs2-g2I6SH9gsHjIhnD5c79gykipvWZ6o861C_RQ/s400/yakitori+skewers.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div><a name='more'></a></div><div>Since I had some poussin carcasses hanging around my freezer, and I didn't feel like deboning thighs, I roasted those bones in the oven (not broiled) until browned, and just used a pack of deboned, skinless thighs. And it didn't take me an hour and a half to reduce, since I halved the recipe... which was perfect for 6 skewers. </div><div><br />
</div><div>Lips are pursing. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBZD-ZyQ6PNiDg7t2BzRIKhE1T_KG4X3GJx1PdvHUdnnwrxT79zcK-MyH9qDZryWoQfKJdI7iSd4h5WubOZ-cMdlASOiiSxYN6aiLey_NV-YeDoeFnMoiiKRAQxBC2LcpiAhW4-Z7Klg/s1600/braai+day+yakitori.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBZD-ZyQ6PNiDg7t2BzRIKhE1T_KG4X3GJx1PdvHUdnnwrxT79zcK-MyH9qDZryWoQfKJdI7iSd4h5WubOZ-cMdlASOiiSxYN6aiLey_NV-YeDoeFnMoiiKRAQxBC2LcpiAhW4-Z7Klg/s400/braai+day+yakitori.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div><br />
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</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0Hermanus, South Africa-34.4092004 19.25044360000004-34.4300744 19.199634600000039 -34.388326400000004 19.301252600000041tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-799712269585223578.post-30313621750299549592012-01-25T22:29:00.004+02:002012-01-26T22:01:43.604+02:00Cloudy Prawn, Ginger and Sesame cakes<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPcXOwp-eG10g5WCZneIUTWQed33CxjWEBZ1i3dBPqxl4CJdnhyphenhyphenfjSExogmokoZ9L6jJ15LU5mK0QC4gBGpy2TJXMgf95BwhTr326D5N7mPgBHBOMhDxoKRsz_ZXJjjmkfjn4b4ilTew/s1600/IMG_3740.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPcXOwp-eG10g5WCZneIUTWQed33CxjWEBZ1i3dBPqxl4CJdnhyphenhyphenfjSExogmokoZ9L6jJ15LU5mK0QC4gBGpy2TJXMgf95BwhTr326D5N7mPgBHBOMhDxoKRsz_ZXJjjmkfjn4b4ilTew/s400/IMG_3740.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">An elbow- watching, palm-clapping, enthusiastic high five to <a href="http://www.foodandhome.co.za/index.php?p[IGcms_nodes][IGcms_nodesUID]=9168dc769e45dadf174c579141b413e3">Food and Home magazine</a> for a grand February issue. I don’t know when last I bought one, (I ignored them for a while because a flashy macaroon front cover recipe I sweated over didn’t work) but this one was worth it. Totally. The styling and photography is much improved except for a few photoshop hiccoughs. I feel that some thought really into went into this. And always one to appreciate a bit of serious <i>foodthought,</i> I thought I’d tell you why I like it: </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">There’s interesting niche stuff (chocolate focus,) the books, restaurant reviews, competitions and usual. But also some really thoughtful tidbits like useful salad dressings, a food market insight, recipes from movies (I’m going to make Uma Thurman’s <i>pretty fucking good milkshake</i>, from Pulp Fiction, soon) and a zoom in on seasonal produce. It also helps that they published an extract from the fantastic- looking <a href="http://yummythymes.blogspot.com/p/book-savour.html">Savour </a> cookbook by Hirschowitz, Alsfine and Sacharowitz that I have been eyeing out for a while. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I tried out the Prawn and ginger fishcakes on page 62 for dinner. I adapted it rather a bit, as I do; but the foundation is theirs and it’s GREAT.<br />
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</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: large;">Prawn, Ginger and Sesame cakes</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpFirst" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -18.0pt;"><span style="font-family: Symbol;">·<span style="font: normal normal normal 7pt/normal 'Times New Roman';"> </span></span>300g cooked prawns, deveined, shelled and chopped</div><div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -18.0pt;"><span style="font-family: Symbol;">·<span style="font: normal normal normal 7pt/normal 'Times New Roman';"> </span></span>300g mashed potatoes (about 3 medium potatoes, peeled, boiled and mashed) </div><div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -18.0pt;"><span style="font-family: Symbol;">·<span style="font: normal normal normal 7pt/normal 'Times New Roman';"> </span></span>½ red onion, sliced</div><div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -18.0pt;"><span style="font-family: Symbol;">·<span style="font: normal normal normal 7pt/normal 'Times New Roman';"> </span></span>1 small spring onion, sliced</div><div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -18.0pt;"><span style="font-family: Symbol;">·<span style="font: normal normal normal 7pt/normal 'Times New Roman';"> </span></span>1 small red chilli, deseeded and sliced into small cubes </div><div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -18.0pt;"><span style="font-family: Symbol;">·<span style="font: normal normal normal 7pt/normal 'Times New Roman';"> </span></span>about 3cm fresh ginger, finely grated </div><div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -18.0pt;"><span style="font-family: Symbol;">·<span style="font: normal normal normal 7pt/normal 'Times New Roman';"> </span></span>juice and zest of 1 lime (optional) </div><div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -18.0pt;"><span style="font-family: Symbol;">·<span style="font: normal normal normal 7pt/normal 'Times New Roman';"> </span></span>juice of ½ a lemon </div><div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -18.0pt;"><span style="font-family: Symbol;">·<span style="font: normal normal normal 7pt/normal 'Times New Roman';"> </span></span>handful of fresh coriander, chopped</div><div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -18.0pt;"><span style="font-family: Symbol;">·<span style="font: normal normal normal 7pt/normal 'Times New Roman';"> </span></span>2 handfuls crunchy cereal like Special K, crumbled (just squish in your hand)</div><div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -18.0pt;"><span style="font-family: Symbol;">·<span style="font: normal normal normal 7pt/normal 'Times New Roman';"> </span></span>salt and white pepper</div><div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -18.0pt;"><span style="font-family: Symbol;">·<span style="font: normal normal normal 7pt/normal 'Times New Roman';"> </span></span>Sesame oil for frying, or grapeseed if you don’t have </div><div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpLast" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -18.0pt;"><span style="font-family: Symbol;">·<span style="font: normal normal normal 7pt/normal 'Times New Roman';"> </span></span>White sesame seeds </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpFirst" style="margin-left: 18.0pt; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l1 level1 lfo2; text-indent: -18.0pt;">1.<span style="font: normal normal normal 7pt/normal 'Times New Roman';"> </span>In a bowl, mix the prawsn, mash, onions, chilli, chilli, ginger, coriander and cereal together with a spoon or fork. Season to taste. </div><div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin-left: 18.0pt; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l1 level1 lfo2; text-indent: -18.0pt;">2.<span style="font: normal normal normal 7pt/normal 'Times New Roman';"> </span>Shape into round balls then flatten to make cylinders, trying to get their edges nice. Pop in the freezer for 10 minutes or so then roll in the sesame seeds in a plate, or pat them on gently. Freeze for another 20 minutes or so. (This helps them keep together while cooking) </div><div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin-left: 18.0pt; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l1 level1 lfo2; text-indent: -18.0pt;">3.<span style="font: normal normal normal 7pt/normal 'Times New Roman';"> </span>Heat the sesame oil until hot, and fry the cakes for a few minutes until browned on either side. Eat quickly. </div><div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpLast" style="margin-left: 18.0pt; mso-add-space: auto;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I served them with a dribble of sweet chilli syrup: Make a basic sugar syrup by dissolving a half cup sugar in a half cup of water along with a squeeze of lemon juice. Whisk until dissolved over low- medium heat then allow to boil down and reduce for about 5 minutes over a higher heat. Seed and finely chop one red chilli and add that to the syrup. Cook for a minute or two before removing. Don’t serve piping hot. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><i>Mouths burnt with hot sugar will miss out on the tongue- twisting cloudy prawn cakes. </i></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguWQvgBCdmjsqDJPv03wNC-iZiCrbQcPG2PDwI54LBYRKa-iCMo-TCqdncNGbGOaO1DyyBsTrXUPZo2EBgHnLv25Dqj4BD_MOXu3taOvQ5V8EW03U4F6q5BKHVJPiCQSyuK9Kzj30UPA/s1600/IMG_3742.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="290" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguWQvgBCdmjsqDJPv03wNC-iZiCrbQcPG2PDwI54LBYRKa-iCMo-TCqdncNGbGOaO1DyyBsTrXUPZo2EBgHnLv25Dqj4BD_MOXu3taOvQ5V8EW03U4F6q5BKHVJPiCQSyuK9Kzj30UPA/s400/IMG_3742.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal"><o:p><br />
</o:p></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2Hermanus, South Africa-34.4092004 19.25044360000004-34.4300744 19.199634600000039 -34.388326400000004 19.301252600000041tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-799712269585223578.post-86102188394904687642012-01-18T18:34:00.002+02:002012-01-26T18:10:48.988+02:00Granola squares<div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiTll3_3w8q0QUnJMiLWOnigk0E1sftE0JeQtdCdZIcnw8eprUrmge4nuxQAUbxa4tpritss3PBKL3Em1OZ9IXeG-XMvBG6Cm3ylnFsRLJAlMEdc1Wt7zhbBWotS6KZaXp0Q2R27n1PQ/s1600/My+granola.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="303" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiTll3_3w8q0QUnJMiLWOnigk0E1sftE0JeQtdCdZIcnw8eprUrmge4nuxQAUbxa4tpritss3PBKL3Em1OZ9IXeG-XMvBG6Cm3ylnFsRLJAlMEdc1Wt7zhbBWotS6KZaXp0Q2R27n1PQ/s400/My+granola.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal"><o:p><br />
</o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal">My granola glistens. It’s softer than you’d think, and it’s studded with all sorts of treats. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">The recipe draws on inspiration from both the Essential Baking Cookbook and Ottolenghi. The list of ingredients is flexible- Play with it, see what’s in your storecupboard. But this is my fave combo of sweet, crunchy, chewy, citrus-y moreishness. Keep it in the the fridge. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><ul style="margin-top: 0cm;" type="disc"><li class="MsoNormal">1 cup cereal (like special K) </li>
<li class="MsoNormal">½ cup pecan nuts, toasted</li>
<li class="MsoNormal">½ cup flaked almonds, toasted </li>
<li class="MsoNormal">½ cup ground almonds </li>
<li class="MsoNormal">1 ½ cup rolled oats </li>
<li class="MsoNormal">¼ cup sunflower seeds</li>
<li class="MsoNormal">¼ cup pumpkin seeds</li>
<li class="MsoNormal">1 ½ cups dried fruit (I used prunes, raisins, soft apricots, nectarines and pears) </li>
<li class="MsoNormal">1 tablespoons (30ml) mixed candied citrus peel </li>
<li class="MsoNormal">1 tablespoon mixed spice </li>
<li class="MsoNormal">250g butter</li>
<li class="MsoNormal">1 cup castor sugar</li>
<li class="MsoNormal">2 tablespoons honey </li>
</ul><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><ul style="margin-top: 0cm;" type="disc"><ol start="1" style="margin-top: 0cm;" type="1"><li class="MsoNormal">Preheat the oven to 150 C, line a 25x 35 cm baking tray with baking paper and butter, leaving an overlay on the sides for easy removal. </li>
<li class="MsoNormal">Place all the ingredients in a large bowl, except for the butter, sugar and honey. </li>
<li class="MsoNormal">Place butter sugar and honey in a medium- large saucepan and stir without boiling until the sugar has dissolved. Allow to boil and continue stirring until a light coloured caramel has formed and thickened slightly. </li>
<li class="MsoNormal">Combine caramel with the dry ingredients and pour into baking tray, spreading evenly. If you like your granola a little thicker, use a smaller tin. </li>
<li class="MsoNormal">Bake for about half an hour, then check for doneness. It should be light brown on top. </li>
<li class="MsoNormal">Allow to cool in tin the refrigerate for a few hours until set before slicing into bars or cubes. Keep in the fridge. </li>
</ol></ul><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-799712269585223578.post-21397340009173196942011-12-26T22:18:00.004+02:002012-01-26T18:11:49.885+02:00Road tripping: The Garden Route<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcshJITPjkfcMoUSKjDXNIK_L9uIautqZKobYBc_x7LEt3c647hf2lRjlOEAKXVBbJp1L5OT7KSK2PlqaIL6zItHSGqu3CU9rj8eUHR8gHnO-uKIuvrX0r_Ix8TAyJw4KmVF2zBQt8rg/s1600/1.1.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcshJITPjkfcMoUSKjDXNIK_L9uIautqZKobYBc_x7LEt3c647hf2lRjlOEAKXVBbJp1L5OT7KSK2PlqaIL6zItHSGqu3CU9rj8eUHR8gHnO-uKIuvrX0r_Ix8TAyJw4KmVF2zBQt8rg/s400/1.1.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjeTPeB1bxBAy53xpxyXTmGqHcSMdKyuNwhTlrbbWivAKCG34eZBUTLZTgqtdM0iWFRF_3Omz5nDvGXkfOCmPLbHGu-LGisg66yhhl4mUSmRqaRn8fmDtOQRGRTPjLeksxkIG08ltKyQ/s1600/9.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjeTPeB1bxBAy53xpxyXTmGqHcSMdKyuNwhTlrbbWivAKCG34eZBUTLZTgqtdM0iWFRF_3Omz5nDvGXkfOCmPLbHGu-LGisg66yhhl4mUSmRqaRn8fmDtOQRGRTPjLeksxkIG08ltKyQ/s400/9.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><a href="http://www.krugerpark.com/storms-river-mouth.htm?gclid=CPvEz9vDoK0CFUxypAodwnaEmg">Storm's River </a> is a magical place. The background of dark trees, craggy rocks, course sand, and the wild sea make me feel sort of crazy and content simultaneously. We arrived just before sunset, and settled into our little forest cabin. Dammit; I like forest cabins. Then off to the beach for a look around. I reached happily back into memories of my childhood holidays there. Everything seemed to have shrunk, now that my lens was no longer that of a twelve year old's. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsV4JMaJ9eL-Fnzxx_JNYoYrObRyuQZCW7wPZ0n-6o7IFTdt0H_u6s2yrsmDAs0TsbzviDGzTHN40Whze4iiNhSZImhDLNE2zHQcmssAprVv9H-xP6iA52EqHLS2aecmjhrQgPj2u0fA/s1600/8.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="305" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsV4JMaJ9eL-Fnzxx_JNYoYrObRyuQZCW7wPZ0n-6o7IFTdt0H_u6s2yrsmDAs0TsbzviDGzTHN40Whze4iiNhSZImhDLNE2zHQcmssAprVv9H-xP6iA52EqHLS2aecmjhrQgPj2u0fA/s400/8.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Dinner at the restaurant surpassed all expectations (previous encounters had been tough, bland and poorly served). I had blackened sole, the flesh melting tenderly in the mouth before giving way to a shock of well- selected spices.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><a name='more'></a><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">The next day we explored the hang- bridge path, and braved a very steep incline on the viewpoint path, to be rewarded with our own bench, and this view: </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZdOq0YxKii4HigPA9FJNt8npr4omFRE3k-kD8KrcV8aJCt8IjcKR_n8b3XcEfawnZjoHjg-zFsuKUSGfh-ffQ9nZbVlo15P_msSD3ywwYSY0KM7u46DWjCLWek4eXk0wpp4-JdXNDkQ/s1600/7.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZdOq0YxKii4HigPA9FJNt8npr4omFRE3k-kD8KrcV8aJCt8IjcKR_n8b3XcEfawnZjoHjg-zFsuKUSGfh-ffQ9nZbVlo15P_msSD3ywwYSY0KM7u46DWjCLWek4eXk0wpp4-JdXNDkQ/s400/7.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">We climbed into the car with sweaty, sandy bodies and made our way to rainy Knysna, then on to Buffel’s Bay: An old family haunt that takes up the biggest part of December in my memories. It’s a beauty. Surrounded entirely by nature reserves, the beach is great, the sea is tolerably warm and safe, and vibe is relaxed. Everyone is happy to be there.Family braais and chatter, building puzzles and playing scrabble when it rains. Shopping in Knysna, hiking in the leafy forest with it’s fresh- dew smell and fleeting loeries.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzpdVHkxyFWD5OA-zJ2GzEJ1E-V5goSqpM0E-cIE9SN3jWI2GNKicA9fwvtH0wz1Y9ndTxaYTgBKPgXABrDQbSLpMcHpW1HNmvyoCJzVBUzJQMrc8BXJq4RwSGhayIpjJOUu14c28Log/s1600/24.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzpdVHkxyFWD5OA-zJ2GzEJ1E-V5goSqpM0E-cIE9SN3jWI2GNKicA9fwvtH0wz1Y9ndTxaYTgBKPgXABrDQbSLpMcHpW1HNmvyoCJzVBUzJQMrc8BXJq4RwSGhayIpjJOUu14c28Log/s400/24.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">At the Knysna Heads</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLtkR3kTCpI16rrfNVWkx4mZE87zdOg8T-RpXgkplZXbC7tjQAO7k-m9bFowIVFB8ytfA5UQSyLBPOaD2AEXcUjppHhBNWnyC_37sS_BNtyA8iLqJVbGk2OAHK-ZWj8eA3kqZRjHVWWA/s1600/25.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLtkR3kTCpI16rrfNVWkx4mZE87zdOg8T-RpXgkplZXbC7tjQAO7k-m9bFowIVFB8ytfA5UQSyLBPOaD2AEXcUjppHhBNWnyC_37sS_BNtyA8iLqJVbGk2OAHK-ZWj8eA3kqZRjHVWWA/s400/25.JPG" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">One of many exceptionally tall trees in the Knysna forest</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWNvZk1l1XdG3dDOhiK0zGOzkFfiZigeeNpMoNQMAiH2mDWfGZDgImoxC8oB1YJa_8Kz51WWg3XHpiwxwDhAanTruSRbT9xmI6eyIOW5lC8I2dJuY-rrqPoSZoEnjHt0SNnfLGv1tSPw/s1600/27.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWNvZk1l1XdG3dDOhiK0zGOzkFfiZigeeNpMoNQMAiH2mDWfGZDgImoxC8oB1YJa_8Kz51WWg3XHpiwxwDhAanTruSRbT9xmI6eyIOW5lC8I2dJuY-rrqPoSZoEnjHt0SNnfLGv1tSPw/s400/27.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The remarkable Octopus Stinkhorn that we found on the forest floor. It's pretty but it reeks of putrid flesh. </td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="MsoNormal"><o:p>W</o:p>e had lunch at <a href="http://www.iledepain.co.za/">Ile de Pain </a>. I had the chicken salad, a rather mono peanut- drenched affair; I wish I'd ordered the beautiful duck confit, the mushroom tart or the bread tasting platter. I did make a very good call, however, in ordering some Opera Tart to take home with us. Markus Färbinger’s serious chocolate slice, with it’s multitude layers and tantalising textures is the best sweet thing ever to hit my palate: It is perfect.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Our exit from the <st1:street w:st="on"><st1:address w:st="on">Garden Route</st1:address></st1:street> was grand: We drove on gravel roads from George to Oudshoorn via Montagu pass, stopping over at a unique winery in an unlikely place: <a href="http://www.heroldwines.co.za/">Herold Wines </a> is perched high in the Outeniqua mountains, where it still smells like fynbos. We stopped for a lovely tasting, I especially fancy their 2009 Sauvignon blanc and the pinot noir- Crisp and refreshing with decent mineral tones. It feels like you’ve touched the mountain soil, the rolling clouds, and the trickling gold brown river with the tip of your tongue. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgq_G3NvMTMHjDAnT1h6M9aTWC78Qj8HtqffMMw-PnE1MhWVWAraMjyn_KE9NlFrB1fENPYSkFNWR-r_brfi-O6c9CeTlgMCOcQb4dLloyEwtxfKFe_A5cSd43qgDSENTnybXIBQrya2Q/s1600/11.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgq_G3NvMTMHjDAnT1h6M9aTWC78Qj8HtqffMMw-PnE1MhWVWAraMjyn_KE9NlFrB1fENPYSkFNWR-r_brfi-O6c9CeTlgMCOcQb4dLloyEwtxfKFe_A5cSd43qgDSENTnybXIBQrya2Q/s400/11.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLAaZEaHsf0bS1oDRhmrW8y2epTX61Ph93wg3vSUhyGU4dw1eCIEz_tsmI9FEuYfcLiysM_KCutF8bKbZxkIOCMmBfYomyh7KdHsxe7E5NjNr2IUVEYnXsn1Z_RmR574V4KCWEHYroAw/s1600/12.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLAaZEaHsf0bS1oDRhmrW8y2epTX61Ph93wg3vSUhyGU4dw1eCIEz_tsmI9FEuYfcLiysM_KCutF8bKbZxkIOCMmBfYomyh7KdHsxe7E5NjNr2IUVEYnXsn1Z_RmR574V4KCWEHYroAw/s400/12.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Photo's by Andrew Pullen, (the best co- pilot) and I. </div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0Garden Route National Park, South Africa-33.8341255 23.453797300000019-33.984745 22.611543300000019 -33.683506 24.29605130000002tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-799712269585223578.post-68368273554904561882011-12-24T15:40:00.003+02:002012-01-26T18:33:30.744+02:00Christmas fever: Quince, red onion, rosemary and rosé wine stuffing<div class="MsoNormal">You know it’s Christmas when the queue in the Hermanus Woolworths winds up and down three aisles at 7 30 am. It’s a killer hot day, and everyone’s dashing around trying to keep the festive spirit together.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I’m also getting in on the fever. I’ve baked like a banshee today, a second batch of mince pies, a lemon and vanilla biscuit wreath, a batch of puff pastry and a few other things are ticking over. The other day I attempted to bake some Lebkuchen but they turned out rock hard. So I whipped out the gold and silver dust, and a dash of yellow raffia, and did some cookie pimpin' for the tree.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFwjee1Ac9wP2VIZEseGDBN9fIBs27qJQyz8GpebZNi3cL4kdyLa5LIkfGseL-4Go3XEglvIbLRnMU2p3gXZwLRTRjw4xYavKlw3-RZbbOQnjUoSHmgvK4qZBEC3th2dGWNPVrlAHgBg/s1600/christmas+fever+1.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFwjee1Ac9wP2VIZEseGDBN9fIBs27qJQyz8GpebZNi3cL4kdyLa5LIkfGseL-4Go3XEglvIbLRnMU2p3gXZwLRTRjw4xYavKlw3-RZbbOQnjUoSHmgvK4qZBEC3th2dGWNPVrlAHgBg/s400/christmas+fever+1.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">My fave thing from today is the quince stuffing I dreamed up for the half- smoked turkey tomorrow: </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: large;">Quince, red onion, rosemary and rosé wine stuffing </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
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</div><div class="MsoNormal">1 red onion, finely chopped</div><div class="MsoNormal">Dash of olive oil </div><div class="MsoNormal">1- 2 cloves garlic, depending on how tight your family is, crushed</div><div class="MsoNormal">1 tablespoon (15ml) red wine vinegar</div><div class="MsoNormal">½ cup dry rosé wine </div><div class="MsoNormal">3 slices white bread, crusts removed, blended to make crumbs</div><div class="MsoNormal">40g pine nuts, toasted and roughly chopped </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><ol start="1" style="margin-top: 0cm;" type="1"><li class="MsoNormal">Sauté the red onion in the olive oil for a minute or so before adding the garlic</li>
<li class="MsoNormal">When cooked through, add the red wine vinegar. It might splutter so watch your face. </li>
<li class="MsoNormal">Then add the rosé wine and reduce until the liquid is nearly all gone. Add the rosemary and fry for two minutes. </li>
<li class="MsoNormal">Add the breadcrumbs and pine nuts. Season to taste with salt. </li>
</ol><div class="MsoNormal">How Christmassy and curios is that reddish purple colour with smatterings of green?</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIl6b43VYlYftXm9QcNY9CSTD_tEl9RTVpv8dojRU0d2pz4h93USY8LE9FsBb16FrvCWzY8Mk6r4vRN6Xqc_0C1HOLVvf-K2SDr4R43cOvQwyReJ42oxJeklzJxBSRe-QZxdSrG9nqPg/s1600/christmas+fever+2.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIl6b43VYlYftXm9QcNY9CSTD_tEl9RTVpv8dojRU0d2pz4h93USY8LE9FsBb16FrvCWzY8Mk6r4vRN6Xqc_0C1HOLVvf-K2SDr4R43cOvQwyReJ42oxJeklzJxBSRe-QZxdSrG9nqPg/s400/christmas+fever+2.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1Hermanus, South Africa-34.4092004 19.25044360000004-34.4300744 19.199634600000039 -34.388326400000004 19.301252600000041tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-799712269585223578.post-75158583274156038932011-12-22T08:14:00.003+02:002012-01-27T22:38:37.876+02:00Decemberitis: The fear of cooking failure<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj269_NBSczyaVNt601-ukdD7wFsBukvr3uxZAQ8nE3UGLCIYzrq9nBmt4-6xgX4QHJAbqGn1TMvE8f6AAZx5QnfTNWFgoHxYz_3B5GWZ9sYj0lG9fHk1NiLnQM0kCwj6Skbfd8pTlxWQ/s1600/emergency+dessert.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj269_NBSczyaVNt601-ukdD7wFsBukvr3uxZAQ8nE3UGLCIYzrq9nBmt4-6xgX4QHJAbqGn1TMvE8f6AAZx5QnfTNWFgoHxYz_3B5GWZ9sYj0lG9fHk1NiLnQM0kCwj6Skbfd8pTlxWQ/s320/emergency+dessert.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Mageirocophobia: The fear of cooking. I am not a sufferer. But every year I fret from a dose of what I call <i>Decemberitis: the fear of flops.</i> It creeps up on me towards the start of the festive season. After six months of my academic, student lifestyle (where I eat communally on a low budget, only cook once or twice a week, and leave my favourite kitchen equipment to gather dust in the cupboards) I start to prepare for my private cheffing stint in Hermanus.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">The annoying worrying starts. What if I’ve lost my touch? What if I can’t chop fast enough? What if… what if…. They don’t like the food? I try to resist it, going through old blog posts, proof that I can. Paging through my favourite recipe books, hoping inspiration will strike. Googling away at food blogs while I should be studying for exams.<br />
<br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">On my first day of work I get a caught by a speed trap en route to Hermanus. Then, the guests arrive late. The butcher order isn’t in yet and I go shopping elsewhere. The meat is not top notch. (I don’t recommend Woolworth’s sirloin, mine was super- stringy) A first lunch flop. This is exactly what happened last year and the year before. A tradition perhaps?<br />
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</div><div class="MsoNormal">Slightly lost in the kitchen wilderness, I can’t remember where everything is kept. Do they like garlic or don’t they? Will they mind if it’s 10 minutes late? Is my intuitive taste still intact? </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">And then, a call at 10 30. I’m shopping, lunch is planned, and then I hear five more people will be coming through. A big knot in the belly. But, thank goodness, my kitchen brain kicks in. I’ll combine my dinner calamari with the small fish braai I was planning. I’ll add another salad, and some baby potatoes. I panic for a second on the dessert. A <i>slideshow of pudding pictures flashes through my mind</i>. Sorbets, parfaits, tarts, baked puddings, mousses. None of them are instant, aarrgghhh. But I keep sieving and then I hit on grilled fruit, with crème fraiche, vanilla and mint, maybe? I get home and decide on a lime syrup, too. I buy some larny chocolate biscuits. A pretty dessert, done in a flash. I calm down then. I’ve found my feet in a day. Cooking is like swimming, or singing along to Silent Night: You learn it once, and then its yours: Engrained like the blackcurrant juice stain on my white t-shirt. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: large;">Quick dessert: Grilled fruit with lime syrup, and other goodies </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 39.05pt; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; tab-stops: list 39.05pt; text-indent: -18.0pt;"><span style="font-family: Symbol;">·<span style="font: normal normal normal 7pt/normal 'Times New Roman';"> </span></span>A selection of ripe but firm summer fruit: Mangoes, peaches, nectarines, apricots</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 39.05pt; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; tab-stops: list 39.05pt; text-indent: -18.0pt;"><span style="font-family: Symbol;">·<span style="font: normal normal normal 7pt/normal 'Times New Roman';"> </span></span>A dash of vegetable oil </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 39.05pt; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; tab-stops: list 39.05pt; text-indent: -18.0pt;"><span style="font-family: Symbol;">·<span style="font: normal normal normal 7pt/normal 'Times New Roman';"> </span></span>Vanilla paste </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 39.05pt; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; tab-stops: list 39.05pt; text-indent: -18.0pt;"><span style="font-family: Symbol;">·<span style="font: normal normal normal 7pt/normal 'Times New Roman';"> </span></span>Slivered almonds (or whatever suitable nut is gracing your store cupboard), toasted.. Slightly burnt is ok as you can see from the picture. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 39.05pt; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; tab-stops: list 39.05pt; text-indent: -18.0pt;"><span style="font-family: Symbol;">·<span style="font: normal normal normal 7pt/normal 'Times New Roman';"> </span></span>A small slab of Lindt chocolate- I love intense mint. Or whatever chocolate. Or chuckles. This is a very freelance thing, can you tell? </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 39.05pt; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; tab-stops: list 39.05pt; text-indent: -18.0pt;"><span style="font-family: Symbol;">·<span style="font: normal normal normal 7pt/normal 'Times New Roman';"> </span></span>Good quality chocolate biscuits, broken into chunks. I chanced on the kind with mousse inside. They were a hit. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 39.05pt; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; tab-stops: list 39.05pt; text-indent: -18.0pt;"><span style="font-family: Symbol;">·<span style="font: normal normal normal 7pt/normal 'Times New Roman';"> </span></span>A couple of mint leaves </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 39.05pt; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; tab-stops: list 39.05pt; text-indent: -18.0pt;"><span style="font-family: Symbol;">·<span style="font: normal normal normal 7pt/normal 'Times New Roman';"> </span></span>Crème fraiche (mix with low- fat yoghurt to decrease those calories) </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 39.05pt; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; tab-stops: list 39.05pt; text-indent: -18.0pt;"><span style="font-family: Symbol;">·<span style="font: normal normal normal 7pt/normal 'Times New Roman';"> </span></span>¼ cup castor sugar</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 39.05pt; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; tab-stops: list 39.05pt; text-indent: -18.0pt;"><span style="font-family: Symbol;">·<span style="font: normal normal normal 7pt/normal 'Times New Roman';"> </span></span>½ cup water</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 39.05pt; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; tab-stops: list 39.05pt; text-indent: -18.0pt;"><span style="font-family: Symbol;">·<span style="font: normal normal normal 7pt/normal 'Times New Roman';"> </span></span>Juice and zest of 1 lime </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 75.05pt; mso-list: l0 level2 lfo1; tab-stops: list 75.05pt; text-indent: -18.0pt;">1.<span style="font: normal normal normal 7pt/normal 'Times New Roman';"> </span>Peel and prepare the fruit, halving or quartering the nectarines, peaches and apricots and cutting the mango into nice chunks. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 75.05pt; mso-list: l0 level2 lfo1; tab-stops: list 75.05pt; text-indent: -18.0pt;">2.<span style="font: normal normal normal 7pt/normal 'Times New Roman';"> </span>Get a griddle pan nice and hot, and then add a small bit of oil</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 75.05pt; mso-list: l0 level2 lfo1; tab-stops: list 75.05pt; text-indent: -18.0pt;">3.<span style="font: normal normal normal 7pt/normal 'Times New Roman';"> </span>When the oil is heated, grill the fruit in batches, turning them to get a criss- cross pattern if you fancy.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 75.05pt; mso-list: l0 level2 lfo1; tab-stops: list 75.05pt; text-indent: -18.0pt;">4.<span style="font: normal normal normal 7pt/normal 'Times New Roman';"> </span>Remove and drain on paper towel. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 75.05pt; mso-list: l0 level2 lfo1; tab-stops: list 75.05pt; text-indent: -18.0pt;">5.<span style="font: normal normal normal 7pt/normal 'Times New Roman';"> </span>Use a pastry brush to paint a dash of vanilla paste on the exposed surfaces of the fruit</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 75.05pt; mso-list: l0 level2 lfo1; tab-stops: list 75.05pt; text-indent: -18.0pt;">6.<span style="font: normal normal normal 7pt/normal 'Times New Roman';"> </span>To make the syrup, pop the castor sugar and water in a saucepan with the lime juice, stir over low hear until the sugar has dissolved. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 75.05pt; mso-list: l0 level2 lfo1; tab-stops: list 75.05pt; text-indent: -18.0pt;">7.<span style="font: normal normal normal 7pt/normal 'Times New Roman';"> </span>Boil away until it’s a syrup-y consistency, then remove from the heat and add the lime zest. Serve slightly warm or let it cool down. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 75.05pt; mso-list: l0 level2 lfo1; tab-stops: list 75.05pt; text-indent: -18.0pt;">8.<span style="font: normal normal normal 7pt/normal 'Times New Roman';"> </span>Bang the whole lot (fruit, biscuits, nuts, mint leaves) onto a pretty platter. Use a peeler to grate slivers of chocolate of the side of the slab. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 75.05pt; mso-list: l0 level2 lfo1; tab-stops: list 75.05pt; text-indent: -18.0pt;">9.<span style="font: normal normal normal 7pt/normal 'Times New Roman';"> </span>Serve crème fraiche/ yoghurt and lime syrup alongside. What?! Yes. Simple and yum. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-799712269585223578.post-52330571955829438132011-12-19T21:15:00.001+02:002011-12-19T21:17:31.694+02:00Road tripping: Eastern Cape<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifmlsBPBqepbRbUDlNDTCy2W7BNvUCu4OvLXyajmLUfY2lH1f6_1vcSHE8NzpIQ7tnzpD-7dsYeFiAfvIcHwpMh1eP_f41RJNh2dOYC_G-10lxjmPJcCSGBNCYQ_FClEDbhI2XKS9VLg/s1600/3.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="298" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifmlsBPBqepbRbUDlNDTCy2W7BNvUCu4OvLXyajmLUfY2lH1f6_1vcSHE8NzpIQ7tnzpD-7dsYeFiAfvIcHwpMh1eP_f41RJNh2dOYC_G-10lxjmPJcCSGBNCYQ_FClEDbhI2XKS9VLg/s400/3.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
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</div><div class="MsoNormal">I'm writing now from <st1:place w:st="on"><st1:placename w:st="on">Bantry</st1:placename> <st1:placetype w:st="on">Bay</st1:placetype></st1:place>; the doors are open to let the sea air through and there is still sand between my toes from Glen Beach. </div><div class="MsoNormal">The sea was as cold as slush puppy but we stayed in, soldiers. </div><div class="MsoNormal">Beach bats. </div><div class="MsoNormal">Good friends. </div><div class="MsoNormal">Ice cold coke. </div><div class="MsoNormal">Paragliders suspended in the blue sky; Table Mountain grand behind us. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
I feel rested and smug. My skin is browner. My hair curlier from the sea. My brain has rebooted. December has been a most beautiful month. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">It started in the Eastern Cape, with a <a href="http://www.nanaga.co.za/">Nanaga</a> Pie that was confirmed to be <i>the best pie ever</i> (By a man who doesn't normally like pies) .Then Grahamstown: The rain had finally cleared, it smelled of dust and the stench of exams had finally been erased. We celebrated the holidays with wine at the Monument, and pizza at the Rat and Parrot, which is just as it should be. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcqzIx1ivdXOmVvvLy2vGiLgSaKk_fHYxLu831dJuBrpzXnX6fw9MaPwzhbLuZQXYHuVScHun5oaL3NB7G_QoAkjIQRQUmvw-JVj7f8_FYenerTXemHdbt3H2You6AMrd7WOR7QkA7qQ/s1600/6.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="298" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcqzIx1ivdXOmVvvLy2vGiLgSaKk_fHYxLu831dJuBrpzXnX6fw9MaPwzhbLuZQXYHuVScHun5oaL3NB7G_QoAkjIQRQUmvw-JVj7f8_FYenerTXemHdbt3H2You6AMrd7WOR7QkA7qQ/s400/6.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Bathurst toposcope.<br />
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</tbody></table><div class="MsoNormal">Then Bathurst. We ate breakfast at <a href="http://www.pigandwhistle.co.za/">The Pig and Whistle </a> (the oldest pub in the country, they say). They also say there's no thirst like Bathurst, but hey that's down to personal experience. Then we stopped over to visit <a href="http://www.facebook.com/pages/Richard-Pullen-Studio/158390630845341?sk=app_2373072738">Richard Pullen's</a> pottery studio, where three magical no- moisture-yet-beautiful-and-smart- salt cellars left with us as Christmas gifts.<br />
<br />
On Sunday I visited the bustling <a href="http://www.bathurst.co.za/Arts%20&%20Crafts.htm">Bathurst Market </a>, a treat. The Grahamstown bread man is now selling his loaves there. I bought some yummy pesto too, and a bag of beautiful tomatoes. They made a tasty brunch when we got to Storm's River after a lovely stay in Port Alfred.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">On the way to Storm's, we took my little Tazz on some back roads, between Boknes and Alexandria. A herd of cattle blocked our path, and <i>herded us</i> for a while. So beautiful, so typically Eastern Cape Summer: Lush greenery, deep blue sea, mottled cattle; and the freshest air in and out of our lungs. </div><br />
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</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0Eastern Cape, South Africa-32.2968402 26.419389000000024-34.4027587 22.689900000000023 -30.190921699999997 30.148878000000025tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-799712269585223578.post-79804516779484256562011-11-28T13:57:00.000+02:002012-01-27T22:39:00.472+02:00The End of the Year<div class="MsoNormal">I love the end of the year, I really do. </div><div class="MsoNormal">It’s bursting with promises. </div><div class="MsoNormal">It unties the twisty knots that built up through the year. </div><div class="MsoNormal">It’s beach time. Families hanging out. Talking about 2011. And 2012. Stories and pipedreams. </div><div class="MsoNormal">It’s being silly with brothers and sisters. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-1UElLbPVvEO8cFeag6akULyEifmxp_U0ofxAoQ95jlm3HzpkHe8lNx3pYae9eO7236i0vIG8xAl-a2hFMbp0wvnoKtwuJN4EfePKFcalJig7KQOivmTSQ7S7rhsgGMOSS3Ab_YuC8w/s1600/brothers+and+sisters.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-1UElLbPVvEO8cFeag6akULyEifmxp_U0ofxAoQ95jlm3HzpkHe8lNx3pYae9eO7236i0vIG8xAl-a2hFMbp0wvnoKtwuJN4EfePKFcalJig7KQOivmTSQ7S7rhsgGMOSS3Ab_YuC8w/s320/brothers+and+sisters.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Ching chong cha. </div><div class="MsoNormal">Road trippin’. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcUAiAXYtKbmLOcJnfHduhl-llL3visJ3qp2vzu91Kg_Pd0HFui1DiEsG1OwqF02GW2uUDrvbqgcY-lryCavMUP0RqEvigc6kuIEPokjE4xqz8WmUtw2j8MhsHQwf9B4c20PktKB5g6A/s1600/fedics%252C+al+and+sa+21st+wknd+041.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcUAiAXYtKbmLOcJnfHduhl-llL3visJ3qp2vzu91Kg_Pd0HFui1DiEsG1OwqF02GW2uUDrvbqgcY-lryCavMUP0RqEvigc6kuIEPokjE4xqz8WmUtw2j8MhsHQwf9B4c20PktKB5g6A/s320/fedics%252C+al+and+sa+21st+wknd+041.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">It’s ice cream and presents and listening to all the music on your iPod you’ve been neglecting. It’s finding new favourites. </div><div class="MsoNormal">It’s many cappuccinos and remembering how to be a tourist in your own country. </div><div class="MsoNormal">It’s moaning about the weather that’s never compatible with your plans. </div><div class="MsoNormal">Sunblock. </div><div class="MsoNormal">It’s saying goodbye to sweet Grahamstown and its criss-cross networks of friends and people buzzing in and out from my home to the peripheries of this bubble. </div><div class="MsoNormal">It’s me getting the chance to go to Hermanus and private chef and play, play, play </div><a name='more'></a>with all the ingredients that I love. To write and photograph and immerse myself in food and eating and that lovely town. <br />
<div class="MsoNormal">It’s cookie batter and dark chocolate, mixing and whisking and flavouring.<i> It’s a bang of colour of texture and taste that I manage with my hands and my senses. <o:p></o:p></i></div><div class="MsoNormal">It’s seasons greetings and kitsch Christmas lights. We whinge about the commercialisation of Christmas. But really, we all love a bit of tinsel. </div><div class="MsoNormal">It’s tinsel. That’s it.</div><div class="MsoNormal">The end of the year is tinsel.</div><div class="MsoNormal">It’s sparkly and vivacious and totally gratifying in its frivolity. </div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-799712269585223578.post-25234585075086276552011-11-04T18:40:00.000+02:002012-01-27T22:39:48.253+02:00Love: Chocolate mud Cake with Raspberry Meringues<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjHNIwQxHNKeAXMGl5QsV6WBVeC__BnRpuE16Fo2YIWXs2Wz2tQPLPjARV8T_Am6E8Sl4oDX7pLPbV-Pz1IF1cWrenaQRB7suYOdoavM0misW466T_yroy1XOtvjlgbJM6TFsZ7BtEQQ/s1600/cake+6.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjHNIwQxHNKeAXMGl5QsV6WBVeC__BnRpuE16Fo2YIWXs2Wz2tQPLPjARV8T_Am6E8Sl4oDX7pLPbV-Pz1IF1cWrenaQRB7suYOdoavM0misW466T_yroy1XOtvjlgbJM6TFsZ7BtEQQ/s320/cake+6.JPG" width="240" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I attended a very beautiful 21<sup>st</sup> party recently. The kind with warm friends, great outfits and songs written especially for the birthday girl. Someone shouted “cake is love” before Candace cut the cake, and screamed; with a room full of people who adore her joining in. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Cake contains the kind of love that cut be portioned and shared, from plate to mouth to mouth. With receptive grins and crumb- cornered mouths and licking of icing off fingers. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I had a cake- making project coming up and I was feeling inspired. Efe is a cake- lover, a dark- chocolate lover; and the kind of person who generously shares her passions. She commissioned me to make the party centrepiece and I agreed, despite 7 looming academic pieces of work and all sorts of other little stresses hanging about my mind. I agreed because there is nothing as satisfying as </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Googling chocolate cakes when you should be studying (thank you <a href="http://sweetapolita.com/">Sweetapolita</a>, you are great.) </div><div class="MsoNormal">Going shopping and putting 2 kilograms of chocolate and 1kg of butter in your trolley. </div><div class="MsoNormal">Discussing cake making with Chef Jenny, and Thandi from <a href="http://www.food24.com/Restaurants-and-Bars/Restaurants/Haricots-Deli-Bistro-20091105">next door</a>.</div><div class="MsoNormal">Making a cake of three tiers that you know will be dismantled in minutes</div><div class="MsoNormal">The reward that comes with a chocolate- smattered/ pink/ silver dusted dirty apron </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwzwTE79Xo74sSjampb9ayBcBXPjYMxewkUERXPgRUCxClvP2kpdHwt4HyS0KQo4V2zwDIwa1bGogmf3iHGU0K6iNWXyxrnjKCYBqeYbshF75n9PZ8UIlh0YURUk5pRg4O07AfW8Rn4g/s1600/effie%2527s+cake+and+i.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwzwTE79Xo74sSjampb9ayBcBXPjYMxewkUERXPgRUCxClvP2kpdHwt4HyS0KQo4V2zwDIwa1bGogmf3iHGU0K6iNWXyxrnjKCYBqeYbshF75n9PZ8UIlh0YURUk5pRg4O07AfW8Rn4g/s320/effie%2527s+cake+and+i.JPG" width="228" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Watching the birthday girl’s face when she sees the sparkles and the pink fairy dust and the crowds of friends singing, and bursts into tears.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Before you start worrying that this is going to be a deeply emotional and teary post let me tell you that making this kind of cake requires brute physical strength. Well, ok, if you don’t have a whisk attachment for your mixer, that is. The rest is all quite sentimental and airy and fun. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Three tier Chocolate mud Cake with Raspberry Meringues</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"></span></div><a name='more'></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgDTLDOEDGYVpRMbA8I8S8TfI1KAryAfgIcDbu8WvYu9_Sc4ROefmzCrw-lnq59aGikWKx5app6ODcwx8Fe2AIowcvDgkTk0EvAVRndHCR3TB_6-QcSG5qtUlBwT-epem_E8z3JNMXBA/s1600/cake+4.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgDTLDOEDGYVpRMbA8I8S8TfI1KAryAfgIcDbu8WvYu9_Sc4ROefmzCrw-lnq59aGikWKx5app6ODcwx8Fe2AIowcvDgkTk0EvAVRndHCR3TB_6-QcSG5qtUlBwT-epem_E8z3JNMXBA/s320/cake+4.JPG" width="234" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal">I adapted the cake recipe (very very barely) from <a href="http://books.google.com/books/about/The_essential_baking_cookbook.html?id=T3dExi65_N4C">The Essential Baking Cookbook</a>, </div><div class="MsoNormal">The frosting is by Sweeta Polita, find the recipe here. I got the raspberry- jelly and freeze- dried berries idea for the meringues from Sweeta Polita, too, but adapted it according to the basic recipe I learnt at <a href="http://www.silwood.co.za/">Silwood Kitchens</a>.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Chocolate mud Cake </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7DClj9eLPUMKWZYtkcSunzVEUTJk6tyltx2axiOArF0H7zn90HoYoow1Ue5Nd3THE4GHn2adY1eo0ncsZgUjRN9011k51fNiKGpMtWdujCFLiJt0x_Y0FggOmqegdWVILlk9V7-utmA/s1600/cake+3.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="231" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7DClj9eLPUMKWZYtkcSunzVEUTJk6tyltx2axiOArF0H7zn90HoYoow1Ue5Nd3THE4GHn2adY1eo0ncsZgUjRN9011k51fNiKGpMtWdujCFLiJt0x_Y0FggOmqegdWVILlk9V7-utmA/s320/cake+3.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal"><o:p><br />
</o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal">(I made this recipe three times, once for the middle layer, and then dividing the other two between a very large 26- 28 cm cake tin with a removable base, and a 20cm tin for the top one) </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><ul style="margin-top: 0cm;" type="disc"><li class="MsoNormal">250g butter</li>
<li class="MsoNormal">250g dark chocolate, chopped (I used Cadbury’s dark) </li>
<li class="MsoNormal">3 tablespoons good instant coffee powder</li>
<li class="MsoNormal">¾ cup hot water</li>
<li class="MsoNormal">150g self- raising flour</li>
<li class="MsoNormal">150g plain flour</li>
<li class="MsoNormal">½ cup cocoa powder</li>
<li class="MsoNormal">½ teaspoon bicarbonate of soda</li>
<li class="MsoNormal">2 ¼ cups castor sugar</li>
<li class="MsoNormal">4 extra- large eggs</li>
<li class="MsoNormal">2 tablespoons oil</li>
<li class="MsoNormal">½ cup buttermilk </li>
</ul><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 36.0pt; mso-list: l1 level2 lfo1; tab-stops: list 54.0pt; text-indent: -9.0pt;"><!--[if !supportLists]-->1.<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";"> </span><!--[endif]-->Preheat the oven to 160C. Line a 22cm cake tin with a removable base with baking paper and a collar that extends about 4cm above the rim. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 36.0pt; mso-list: l1 level2 lfo1; tab-stops: list 54.0pt; text-indent: -9.0pt;"><!--[if !supportLists]-->2.<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";"> </span><!--[endif]-->Place the butter, dark chocolate, water and coffee powder in a saucepan over low heat and leave to melt gently.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 36.0pt; mso-list: l1 level2 lfo1; tab-stops: list 54.0pt; text-indent: -9.0pt;"><!--[if !supportLists]-->3.<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";"> </span><!--[endif]-->Sift the dry ingredients into a bowl and stir in the castor sugar.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 36.0pt; mso-list: l1 level2 lfo1; tab-stops: list 54.0pt; text-indent: -9.0pt;"><!--[if !supportLists]-->4.<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";"> </span><!--[endif]-->In a separate bowl, lightly beat the eggs then combine with the oil and buttermilk. Mix into the dry ingredinets with a wooden spoon. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 36.0pt; mso-list: l1 level2 lfo1; tab-stops: list 54.0pt; text-indent: -9.0pt;"><!--[if !supportLists]-->5.<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";"> </span><!--[endif]-->Slowly add the melted chocolate mixture, stirring as you go. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 36.0pt; mso-list: l1 level2 lfo1; tab-stops: list 54.0pt; text-indent: -9.0pt;"><!--[if !supportLists]-->6.<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";"> </span><!--[endif]-->Pour into the prepared tin and bake for about 1 ¾ hours. The smaller cake will take about an hour and the larger one at least 1 ½ hours. Test for doneness with a skewer- it should come out caked with a few moist crumbs. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 36.0pt; mso-list: l1 level2 lfo1; tab-stops: list 54.0pt; text-indent: -9.0pt;"><!--[if !supportLists]-->7.<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";"> </span><!--[endif]-->Leave to cool in the tin for at least 30 minutes before turning out and leaving to cool completely on a wire rack. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Dark Chocolate frosting </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I used Rosie from Sweeta Polita’s recipe, as you will find it <a href="http://sweetapolita.com/2011/08/sweet-salty-salted-caramel-chocolate-fudge-cake/">here</a> under dark chocolate fudge frosting. I doubled the recipe and had a good bit of icing left over (see end of post) </div><div class="MsoNormal">It really is essential that you leave the chocolate to cool completely, else it will melt the butter and your bill will skyrocket. I used 2 slabs of Lindt 60 % dark chocolate, and Cadbury’s dark for the remainder. </div><div class="MsoNormal">I added ½ cup of <st1:place w:st="on"><st1:placetype w:st="on">Cape</st1:placetype> <st1:placename w:st="on">Velvet</st1:placename></st1:place> (that’s 1 cup for double the recipe) and I suspect that any other cream liquor such as Amarula will be delicious. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Raspberry Meringues</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9XaBAthTpaLq9zQwjuu_kHoMNORWvfGULvGHrpr0nSG3jEw-wP8rlNo80Jm7Oc4wxp0bbAcb9uyM6X9arm5dw6bB-2yjDnctSbpwNNnPuVuGEbzgntCLAArvNxNL2f7ygbZ0S5fPl8Q/s1600/meringues+2.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="259" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9XaBAthTpaLq9zQwjuu_kHoMNORWvfGULvGHrpr0nSG3jEw-wP8rlNo80Jm7Oc4wxp0bbAcb9uyM6X9arm5dw6bB-2yjDnctSbpwNNnPuVuGEbzgntCLAArvNxNL2f7ygbZ0S5fPl8Q/s320/meringues+2.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">One Wednesday night saw me come home from a drink across the road and pour out a whole bowl of Special K cereal into a bowl. My housemate’s eyebrow raised. She clearly thought I’d had a beer too many before I explained that I desperately needed freeze- dried raspberries and there were none to be purchased in Grahamstown except as inclusive with cereal. They add a delicious flavour to the meringues, although the batch I ended up using didn’t contain any (you can only buy so many boxes of cereal for purposes of obtaining the added sweets). </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">The recipe makes 2 large trays of meringues. I only used a few for the top, and served the rest alongside, packed in sweet little rows and dusted with icing sugar. They add a welcome crunch and contrast to the moist, fudgy cake. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><ul style="margin-top: 0cm;" type="disc"><li class="MsoNormal">3 extra- large egg whites</li>
<li class="MsoNormal">Castor sugar, according to weight (no more than 210g) </li>
<li class="MsoNormal">About ½ cup freeze- dried raspberries (optional) </li>
<li class="MsoNormal">1 (80g) pack of raspberry flavoured jelly powder (The Pick ‘n Pay brand gave the best results, as there aren’t too many synthetics in it)</li>
<li class="MsoNormal">1 very strong whisking arm or a mixer with a whisk attachment</li>
</ul><ul style="margin-top: 0cm;" type="disc"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><ol start="1" style="margin-top: 0cm;" type="1"><li class="MsoNormal">Preheat the oven to 110 C. Line 2 baking trays with baking paper or tinfoil.</li>
<li class="MsoNormal">Place the egg whites in a large stainless steel or glass bowl and weigh. </li>
<li class="MsoNormal">Now, you need double the amount in weight of sugar combined with jelly powder (so double the weight of the egg whites and subtract 80g for those less mathematically inclined). Measure it out. </li>
<li class="MsoNormal">If you are using the freeze dried raspberries, then blend them with the sugar in a mixer until the sugar goes a pretty red colour. (Make a bit of extra red sugar for decorating, if you like)</li>
<li class="MsoNormal">Whisk the egg whites until stiff peaks form, then gradually start to add the sugar in a thin stream (it helps to have an assistant here). Whisk until the mixture is stiff and shiny. </li>
<li class="MsoNormal">Pop big spoonfuls into a piping bag with an large open nozzle and carefully dot raindrop-ish blops onto the trays. </li>
<li class="MsoNormal">Bake for about ½ hour, checking constantly. If your oven is as retarded as mine it might start to singe the bottoms and make them crack before they’re dry. If this is the case, turn the oven off after 20 minutes and leave them in there. But watch like a shark- spotter.</li>
</ol></ul><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">To finish </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">The top cake (if you made 3) will be too big, trim it down to small- saucer size. Hand out the offcuts to willing mouths or use them to fill up any dips caused by sinking centres.</div><div class="MsoNormal">Lather the cakes in the voluptuous icing, be generous. Slap it on and scrape it off, dipping your palette knife into hot water if you feel the need.</div><div class="MsoNormal">Use left over red sugar from the meringues to sprinkle on the tops of the cakes. If you haven’t any, just add some red food colour (powder) to a bit of icing sugar. I added silver and pink, too. Use a tea strainer to dust it over. </div><div class="MsoNormal">Using a fine brush, dust the meringues with silver food colouring, and maybe a touch of red. </div><div class="MsoNormal">Stack those bad boys on top of each other, topping with a few meringue cones. </div><div class="MsoNormal">Pop some sparklers in the top on the night if you fancy. </div><div class="MsoNormal">I used the left over icing to top some cupcakes a few days later, on Halloween, when the sumptuous cake- memory had sufficiently faded. Ok, my cupcakes weren’t scary despite the fact that I made the vanilla butter red (well, pink) with left over sugar. And I was planning to pipe some awful word on them, like… like. I don’t know. Horror. <i>Freak show</i>. Whatever. But my digsmates teased me (deservingly) and I decided to let the scariness slide and make them pretty. A normal vanilla mix studded with left- over chocolate chunks, with some icing smashed on top and a sprinkle of gold (Can you tell that I opened up my fairy- dust stash for the first time in a while? ) </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJA-6Tm6QUKl1EQv5uqnF_tx7i7PmPtN294rvcTWi-ZpwsR1gSLqdt5xm1DKqa65V-Cz7V3grRKFe86u4vBiKWTPvs8WY_QRoqJsWRTlSO1Lz9ywB9eEWF8I2nN9sP2zbqfz6Ql3sAOg/s1600/cupcake+1.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJA-6Tm6QUKl1EQv5uqnF_tx7i7PmPtN294rvcTWi-ZpwsR1gSLqdt5xm1DKqa65V-Cz7V3grRKFe86u4vBiKWTPvs8WY_QRoqJsWRTlSO1Lz9ywB9eEWF8I2nN9sP2zbqfz6Ql3sAOg/s320/cupcake+1.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Share the love.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
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</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com3Grahamstown, South Africa-33.30566 26.524530000000027-33.356998000000004 26.457566000000028 -33.254322 26.591494000000026tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-799712269585223578.post-30643247315292742292011-10-14T18:15:00.000+02:002011-10-14T18:15:03.507+02:00Rocking the daisies 2011<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><style>
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</div><div class="MsoNormal"> (Because every now and then you experience a weekend that sits like a burnished blimp on the surface of your year. You feel compelled to write about it quickly, before it seeps away into your wash bucket of tousled memories. )</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidLM3_805LI4TwpYQiUyCySvXC1PxvjEMJY5iFaavx0PNwvrTA_mtZPoeunc12dZArM2BpybeWhiLR1Zldw5PK3sYrpAsSGYMx9T2IJiHkrEXTBBlR_CoszE8PzDkWEmRFuYxhMlGdKQ/s1600/3.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="273" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidLM3_805LI4TwpYQiUyCySvXC1PxvjEMJY5iFaavx0PNwvrTA_mtZPoeunc12dZArM2BpybeWhiLR1Zldw5PK3sYrpAsSGYMx9T2IJiHkrEXTBBlR_CoszE8PzDkWEmRFuYxhMlGdKQ/s400/3.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjNHmLy1KQ2Nq8Zybu3qlQ9a5kp75MRyjfeQ7kMEj1hacfL0GANnHLwv4pW_r2UUUGgzcLQQbHgS6OQlZCUyVihIx5A8kQd7hPNirof0fRJoHXerTL1Bhgu_jrnNpBz3rxgQ_w87rPuA/s1600/22.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="297" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjNHmLy1KQ2Nq8Zybu3qlQ9a5kp75MRyjfeQ7kMEj1hacfL0GANnHLwv4pW_r2UUUGgzcLQQbHgS6OQlZCUyVihIx5A8kQd7hPNirof0fRJoHXerTL1Bhgu_jrnNpBz3rxgQ_w87rPuA/s400/22.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">It started with a frantic phone call on Wednesday. A friend’s lift had bailed out and a free ticket was on offer in exchange for a driver. Keen, I said. It has dawned on me lately that life is too short to let the good things go.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Then in an eye- blink I was standing in throbbing crowd, surrounded by shrieking girls and the tang of sweaty bodies. Jack Parow was waving his armpits in my face, which is what you do when you’re cooler than everyone else. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">There were squeezy bottles being filled with gin dry lemon, beer, vodka coke, redbull, and lots and lots of water in between. Hot air wrapped like a blanket around us. A sweaty, close blanket that could only be temporarily escaped by a plunge into the dam; in bikinis, onezies or your summer dress. Or starkers. <span> </span>There was dancing waist- deep, toes squishing in the mud and wondering what the poor ducks must think of these crazed beings.<span> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhv7_518ba2GAAPS3CKExjRVOIQWb_RQV4E0c2WCrO8xfvPcBUPWKxuXLQEOcz1YOtstMLo_smrMU__mytO3JYzm3ZAM4QOFBk0L1UV0eEh7L0PhxYzL__tLkb_HrbgTOovus8gPRInSA/s1600/19.1.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="285" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhv7_518ba2GAAPS3CKExjRVOIQWb_RQV4E0c2WCrO8xfvPcBUPWKxuXLQEOcz1YOtstMLo_smrMU__mytO3JYzm3ZAM4QOFBk0L1UV0eEh7L0PhxYzL__tLkb_HrbgTOovus8gPRInSA/s400/19.1.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlou8J_8RUFR4EBQQut4-nzBqi7a5ixWpfPP6VvY1QD4EtYHkuvrsxsF6A1owSWo6WsiWG7NpJNEXejZA9m_K6XcurZUjhaeDl4ihyphenhyphen2Ii81hdx6u4ULTPjRDV-TwBB9tJvG0s9KxoG-g/s1600/23.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="302" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlou8J_8RUFR4EBQQut4-nzBqi7a5ixWpfPP6VvY1QD4EtYHkuvrsxsF6A1owSWo6WsiWG7NpJNEXejZA9m_K6XcurZUjhaeDl4ihyphenhyphen2Ii81hdx6u4ULTPjRDV-TwBB9tJvG0s9KxoG-g/s400/23.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"> There were porter loos: Solidarity in lack-of-toilet- paper, and long queues. Volumes could be written on the twisted expressions </div><a name='more'></a>of people bursting for air on exit from those blue cubicles. <span> </span><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsYiqn1g7ZPtZIvcooD0W-8au2QdILR2qkwNnXCblyvz9V1QHYCSiwOz5zvACaJD-t79ZkPSWtITNiXxTXXNN3RF9Wmg2H1NIuyGQaHVfpNxet5LLEjFHTg9ZxpX8J0rCpW5ZOuAwg0g/s1600/4.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="233" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsYiqn1g7ZPtZIvcooD0W-8au2QdILR2qkwNnXCblyvz9V1QHYCSiwOz5zvACaJD-t79ZkPSWtITNiXxTXXNN3RF9Wmg2H1NIuyGQaHVfpNxet5LLEjFHTg9ZxpX8J0rCpW5ZOuAwg0g/s400/4.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Most of all there were very many musical treats: <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Psr_a-uBcGQ&feature=related">Shadow Club </a> was my fave, Jacques Moolman swallowed the crowd who were ignoring their hangovers and scrunching their eyes into the sun, just rock n roll. <a href="http://www.aking.co.za/">Aking</a> was grand, I’ve never seen a drummer whose face was such a reflection of his sound. <a href="http://civiltwilightband.com/">Civil Twilight</a> and <a href="http://bandofskulls.com/">Band of Skulls </a>(visiting from the UK) infected the crowd with a bizarre energy. And I fell a little bit in love with the dramatic Inge Beckmann from <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=beyJUmO2mw8">Lark </a>.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
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</div><div class="MsoNormal">Life is too short to not-</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Roll around in the grass, in the electro tent, getting twigs in your hair. </div><div class="MsoNormal">Let music infect you as you watch time frames shrink and stretch.</div><div class="MsoNormal">Notice the kaleidoscope of colours and people, of mannerisms and expressions that bounce and smash into each other </div><div class="MsoNormal">Eat falafels and Hudsons burgers and Doritos chip rolls, with beer. </div><div class="MsoNormal">Wake up at 6 30 to watch the rugby with 10 thousand other people who threw their beer on the floor when the ref messed up and rose to their feet when we scored. </div><div class="MsoNormal">Write down the great moments. Plato said it:<span> </span>A life unreflected is not worth living.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgClTVSPJpX6xKxRNdD6cV7EymynA5naX_R0Wrem4eNLsv3FsjTUWYrtNsvrtSMWSUh02wva3R4A8d6IHw_Y27kRKFUIGTUMHK0ARpWz1e7rJQjoRp8qFNLRX3ZexiAvhEpCAN0fxwZRg/s1600/21.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="263" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgClTVSPJpX6xKxRNdD6cV7EymynA5naX_R0Wrem4eNLsv3FsjTUWYrtNsvrtSMWSUh02wva3R4A8d6IHw_Y27kRKFUIGTUMHK0ARpWz1e7rJQjoRp8qFNLRX3ZexiAvhEpCAN0fxwZRg/s400/21.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><br />
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</div><div class="MsoNormal">Sakitumi. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOFdLYs4h-JiHDmhyphenhyphengmpPGEJPB4yEEysdpXQpI7nj_NL8Jx8u8LLnmtNe4OkmE8F0BvxwdtGCK-Vv9Fdl5g7MHvJfjNiuB0-VRMMfZigtRXGchqten01vzawXW2ldzUA-Fx4t5TcxERw/s1600/10.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="288" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOFdLYs4h-JiHDmhyphenhyphengmpPGEJPB4yEEysdpXQpI7nj_NL8Jx8u8LLnmtNe4OkmE8F0BvxwdtGCK-Vv9Fdl5g7MHvJfjNiuB0-VRMMfZigtRXGchqten01vzawXW2ldzUA-Fx4t5TcxERw/s400/10.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"> Thanks Andrew Pullen for photographs.</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1Cloof Wine Cellar, Darling 7345, South Africa-33.482425 18.52346399999999-68.639622 -41.24216100000001 1.6747719999999973 78.28908899999999tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-799712269585223578.post-15734500871364359062011-09-15T12:42:00.002+02:002012-01-26T18:13:22.969+02:00Drakensberg Adventures<div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">(also, <i>How</i> <i>to warm up dinner and make breakfast on a fire without the use of pots</i>)</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMledHjoSYEvbE6tt_8xDOCfeRajyYjol2cLb8xP2TBMrapzOidgAXz5GsunrbZ5NZHU0yDkAZRVe1nh97wgcdFngo77eCxpdsD82fvWQRC4TfUtcRh9lfIbKlYmYuqqa-aHc1xLD2qw/s1600/monks+cowl.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMledHjoSYEvbE6tt_8xDOCfeRajyYjol2cLb8xP2TBMrapzOidgAXz5GsunrbZ5NZHU0yDkAZRVe1nh97wgcdFngo77eCxpdsD82fvWQRC4TfUtcRh9lfIbKlYmYuqqa-aHc1xLD2qw/s400/monks+cowl.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><br />
<div class="MsoNormal"><a href="http://beargrylls.com/">Bear Grylls</a> would be proud of this one. My friend T and I arrived in the most majestic Monk’s Cowl in the Drakensberg after a long academic term and a 12 hour drive. We were met by a beautiful campsite, all set up. We went for a walk, we had potjiekos, and drank wine and spoke rubbish with my parents. Then we slept all morning, ate some glorious lunch, and helped my parents pack up, leaving us behind with a tent and all the basics we would need. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><i>Except pots. </i></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">So, what do you do if you find yourself in this situation? (All reality show participants can take note here; this is a typical <i>African mountainous</i> scenario.) Like a reality TV game, you have certain tools but not others. The mission: to eat. Points given for resourcefulness. Points given for laughs. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">This is what you do:</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">You make it feel like a game because you’re on holiday and its much more fun that way. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Then, you scout the premises for any useful tools. Girls get resourceful.</div><div class="MsoNormal">Don’t get overly enthusiastic now. It seems a good idea to uproot the fence to get at that piece of wire; but they do have security guards. Look elsewhere. </div><div class="MsoNormal">A flat rock- great. A piece of thick wire. Kindling. Check. </div><div class="MsoNormal">You figure out that you have got tinfoil and you feel grateful. </div><div class="MsoNormal">You pour yourselves a drink (you can make this step 1 depending on how perplexed you are). </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Then, you make a serious fire. You disinfect that piece of wire that you found behind the scullery block by burning it and wrap up your mother’s camping plates in tinfoil.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6KxpWjfGsuDfqTPTWAeN5sOFev4vFW1Vs_THTP73FShF2Z70neWpq8spE5LeyF1eJ1cwfZ4UKmDHhTHJKnNpM3KPrWsq_AaQInK6R_Ryv6gteclC7bOED-jN3pO73N3w15HrTHi4Nag/s1600/fire+1.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6KxpWjfGsuDfqTPTWAeN5sOFev4vFW1Vs_THTP73FShF2Z70neWpq8spE5LeyF1eJ1cwfZ4UKmDHhTHJKnNpM3KPrWsq_AaQInK6R_Ryv6gteclC7bOED-jN3pO73N3w15HrTHi4Nag/s320/fire+1.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Pop the potjie kos on there and stir a bit. It can get messy if you can’t see what's going on but no matter. It takes a while to heat up, you have put that foil plate right into the ash. Cover it up. Yes, potjie does taste better the next day. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEht6L1ZJRvNRN7tNWfRNqp_Hxr8jrfyyor4GBDXLfy-uO1geBsuduQVflRhLCsK733ZtByzcQwwGjlp4nR85r6jwpPxe_np28TeMNcKDdvuvImb7QPqdzxzg6pryBjsg1g9BD5F73LjIA/s1600/potjie+2.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEht6L1ZJRvNRN7tNWfRNqp_Hxr8jrfyyor4GBDXLfy-uO1geBsuduQVflRhLCsK733ZtByzcQwwGjlp4nR85r6jwpPxe_np28TeMNcKDdvuvImb7QPqdzxzg6pryBjsg1g9BD5F73LjIA/s320/potjie+2.JPG" width="239" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal"><o:p><br />
</o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal">(We just laughed while we waited because the moon was so bright it was bursting. We could see up to the cliff faces, we could see a controlled veld fire with its orange streaks ripping through the landscape. We couldn’t see anyone else, and sometimes its so damn nice to know its just you and the mountains and your dinner.)</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Day 2. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">The breakfast was our greatest feat. Pure ingenuity, Grylls would certainly agree. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqR0QUhxK0XmuBNQRqHJgW6JhUg_fscuZusnRwXgrnMFw_J010ZZVub2rntLz-W4AMcGG62B5W0ff_x2xh7T146J5iBNwURsBhCKKx7KcXvQvdqUmSfVBJEEvX3c_yvz8cbesw503xsg/s1600/bacon+1.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqR0QUhxK0XmuBNQRqHJgW6JhUg_fscuZusnRwXgrnMFw_J010ZZVub2rntLz-W4AMcGG62B5W0ff_x2xh7T146J5iBNwURsBhCKKx7KcXvQvdqUmSfVBJEEvX3c_yvz8cbesw503xsg/s320/bacon+1.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
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<div class="MsoNormal">Make the fire on top of a flat rock. Wrap that bacon around your burnt piece of wire. Suspend it over the coals. Turn it every now and then. Don’t burn your toes. Don’t burn your shins ( I did, I was so excited about my scrambled egg pan invention, I didn’t notice my shins flush red. They looked weird and mottled all day.)</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiL9V7b8LYtlPc8stk0wyRnt4o6C-PWMJOF8MnPxVqhWlNvZkwz1KTd6MVHZpzWtrw5qRuFGxBl_ieNvWdORjunV-vWfEgmHwKnqvZ9LNIfE4r9YN-4Z8aHTSuIpq9H9AIrzsccY0kQ1A/s1600/bacon+2.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="237" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiL9V7b8LYtlPc8stk0wyRnt4o6C-PWMJOF8MnPxVqhWlNvZkwz1KTd6MVHZpzWtrw5qRuFGxBl_ieNvWdORjunV-vWfEgmHwKnqvZ9LNIfE4r9YN-4Z8aHTSuIpq9H9AIrzsccY0kQ1A/s320/bacon+2.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtD0Pcqjr7BtubYtOnsk-sDbur9WdwiTTOo1euxjDDs7BG3cXAJAlsnu1yfb6bNjQvutd06xN0VYofAvKLuFbpUuOc5LfOaQdEkZYcUxuQB_k9ziUVAgmncAvQeKazkVlZTn1BzNiLdA/s1600/bacon+4.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtD0Pcqjr7BtubYtOnsk-sDbur9WdwiTTOo1euxjDDs7BG3cXAJAlsnu1yfb6bNjQvutd06xN0VYofAvKLuFbpUuOc5LfOaQdEkZYcUxuQB_k9ziUVAgmncAvQeKazkVlZTn1BzNiLdA/s320/bacon+4.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Get ready for the most deliciously crisp, super- smoked bacon you will ever eat. (Oh man.) Then, when the bacon is nearly done, clear the ashes off that flat rock. Make a little bowl with a piece of tinfoil and pop it on top. Melt some butter in there. Now pop your whisked eggs in. Stir as per usual. But be very very careful. This is a fragile vessel. You don’t want your scramble spilling into the fire. Treat it like you normally would- with love and care, letting it just firm up but not get stodgy and overcooked. Season it well. Add some mature cheddar. (We didn’t have a grater either- I peeled the cheese into thin slices then chopped them up.) </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBGfjgH5jFaNfE4AUyP4THjYJ8b40gmF_6vWguu8PQjjNk0X5FieUa2daaJPItThFatH7Rd5M3xqjJsGBuJ7x48JxtM1VXfnVLhN6r89pKsEVsvjIIMDFBZycVkFjOKsmxApSdLol2eg/s1600/bacon+3.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBGfjgH5jFaNfE4AUyP4THjYJ8b40gmF_6vWguu8PQjjNk0X5FieUa2daaJPItThFatH7Rd5M3xqjJsGBuJ7x48JxtM1VXfnVLhN6r89pKsEVsvjIIMDFBZycVkFjOKsmxApSdLol2eg/s320/bacon+3.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal"><o:p><br />
</o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal">Make your toast before hand on the grid. ( I know, I know what you’re thinking. There was a grid? How silly. They could have cooked the bacon on the grid. But this is reality TV and there are points for resourcefulness and ingenuity, so come on). </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikIa9bvbL-4YRP-xHQ0Rn4H0O8OkUiHCLXKTYYQ4RBk8bObQLLBJeSOa5zAC0k8PWkVXTloiN8HC4zMKTFSJGvwpk9KTWwdqThSP1pMXf02nlKoziQbQgK1USXNtP-spKed-v2pubqoQ/s1600/bacon+5+JPG.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikIa9bvbL-4YRP-xHQ0Rn4H0O8OkUiHCLXKTYYQ4RBk8bObQLLBJeSOa5zAC0k8PWkVXTloiN8HC4zMKTFSJGvwpk9KTWwdqThSP1pMXf02nlKoziQbQgK1USXNtP-spKed-v2pubqoQ/s320/bacon+5+JPG.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal"><o:p><br />
</o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal">Eat your breakfast and feel well chuffed with yourself and the beautiful day that’s unfolding. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHlKSTd9dHMJ-e-95yWCSxXPBYAgxjzBGXJ5slSfdQ9YS9pr0bQNO0ZuBwPy-gzwIxZCZeTgg6f-2FT2MTLmdMkRLT-8ATK4-YSFJhxqAJh3RrJTYHzWuaxgSZeKB5cOHciRrrvzvgpw/s1600/feeling+well+chuffed.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHlKSTd9dHMJ-e-95yWCSxXPBYAgxjzBGXJ5slSfdQ9YS9pr0bQNO0ZuBwPy-gzwIxZCZeTgg6f-2FT2MTLmdMkRLT-8ATK4-YSFJhxqAJh3RrJTYHzWuaxgSZeKB5cOHciRrrvzvgpw/s320/feeling+well+chuffed.JPG" width="240" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Pack up your site and take your time. Watch out for the monkeys, stealing your biscuits. Maybe make a short video. Pack a picnic, drive to Dragon’s Peak. You’re supposed to pay to have a picnic there, its that pretty. But a big smile and wave at the gate might do.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPAPPZI-CDctTL1EiHFwNVJuvdvYzSPLNBcqt0v64-e0e4Jbx5nSJz6J_q5P3RYxomQm-BIHXdYOukyHrT-hk1KQ_-no9EKEd049esDeDGfNGUzCVqWCPXfsQiGSAhUet_iLP5Ifcetw/s1600/Dragons+peak+2.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPAPPZI-CDctTL1EiHFwNVJuvdvYzSPLNBcqt0v64-e0e4Jbx5nSJz6J_q5P3RYxomQm-BIHXdYOukyHrT-hk1KQ_-no9EKEd049esDeDGfNGUzCVqWCPXfsQiGSAhUet_iLP5Ifcetw/s320/Dragons+peak+2.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdaEDA9pHa_kcgHGMtY4KKcdAr1egzim-FLEaTvmdwmjgXrDOZljig_-4En-1NiTfYSgNLHuIM3IzJCHArwAkYDfporUoS_OJblzGZcnohnJUqHHYRLGx-4AUy_G4h1AljwxrX4dZURQ/s1600/Dragons+peak.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdaEDA9pHa_kcgHGMtY4KKcdAr1egzim-FLEaTvmdwmjgXrDOZljig_-4En-1NiTfYSgNLHuIM3IzJCHArwAkYDfporUoS_OJblzGZcnohnJUqHHYRLGx-4AUy_G4h1AljwxrX4dZURQ/s320/Dragons+peak.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">You can stop at the Stonechat for coffee. You can stop at the Wafflehut, buy a carpet, whatever. You can stop at a roadside stall with a closed down adventure centre thing and take a quick illegal swim. Then run!</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyJWBHmtmvGu5AOx5Hqd0RtTbuwtexnPht5frL2XGNc0qxDuKpsCsz10Oem581GMmaO2ddmokeAjEDqGnzt8-Hpbu6JRi2O25Y-Y0m82JmPCu3stCubE5FCsSBCgGbHOK4A8_k5LbizA/s1600/waffle+hut.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyJWBHmtmvGu5AOx5Hqd0RtTbuwtexnPht5frL2XGNc0qxDuKpsCsz10Oem581GMmaO2ddmokeAjEDqGnzt8-Hpbu6JRi2O25Y-Y0m82JmPCu3stCubE5FCsSBCgGbHOK4A8_k5LbizA/s320/waffle+hut.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-tOLX3gfx9Y-5QtmUwcAyH3Uhks4ZX2ewb8F7UsRU-umHORP2cXBF7vJZO0WtuCoe99iyeR-oAImMSTw5wLI4KL60aPcaH8QzcvX0ACjS1u_mRDJDq-XT2x674-zg3PJXkp_P2GuJlQ/s1600/swimming.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-tOLX3gfx9Y-5QtmUwcAyH3Uhks4ZX2ewb8F7UsRU-umHORP2cXBF7vJZO0WtuCoe99iyeR-oAImMSTw5wLI4KL60aPcaH8QzcvX0ACjS1u_mRDJDq-XT2x674-zg3PJXkp_P2GuJlQ/s320/swimming.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">The tribe has spoken. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
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</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0Cathkin Park, South Africa-29.003927 29.394713499999966-29.065733 29.341693999999965 -28.942121 29.447732999999968tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-799712269585223578.post-67079803929600844452011-08-27T20:42:00.003+02:002012-01-27T22:42:04.028+02:00Pan- fried Silverfish with Radish, Sweet Pea and Mint salad<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg07dct3SVmR8Nx-g5OOPQ0aonD8B5nqosE16o9o_egjfVXzKXpRnqjvf_FpZM9dS1KOoMY48YmRHoclxLGP9Y8foLVoS_nig2cUEPbFrPEpZmuSkhQFNbltM9H5SD24lAG5EOL5xcIPA/s1600/forked+salad.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg07dct3SVmR8Nx-g5OOPQ0aonD8B5nqosE16o9o_egjfVXzKXpRnqjvf_FpZM9dS1KOoMY48YmRHoclxLGP9Y8foLVoS_nig2cUEPbFrPEpZmuSkhQFNbltM9H5SD24lAG5EOL5xcIPA/s400/forked+salad.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">When you live in a small town you might have the pleasure of running into several friends at the Saturday morning market. Many of whom you saw last night at a quirky, tasty poetry reading; where <a href="http://www.grocotts.co.za/content/cafe-dvine-just-15-04-2011">Cafe D'vine </a>gave out gorgeous lemon poppy seed cupcakes; and where you were moved by the generosity of people sharing their intimate favourites, their inside jokes, their stories of heartbreak and heartshare and taking a dump in the veld.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">When you live in a small town you jump up and dance when you find out (and I am pleased to announce) that Lungi and Ingram’s fresh vegatable stall is expanding to a permanent shop in Peppergrove centre. Their sweet peas have been called ‘a miracle of life’ (McDougall:2011).</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFieCupVaDA_9iqiqhPmvGUQgbr49zap1eisrOmOBtnICTCaBou83peAhHgwqPNYcQyZ6Nb5qAJ4ekPe0z-4FVO83dPSYyfxuEG6zT4XuULUiSiTtDs48sOsx-jncHzN_C2Who4sy3iw/s1600/radishes+and+sweet+peas.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFieCupVaDA_9iqiqhPmvGUQgbr49zap1eisrOmOBtnICTCaBou83peAhHgwqPNYcQyZ6Nb5qAJ4ekPe0z-4FVO83dPSYyfxuEG6zT4XuULUiSiTtDs48sOsx-jncHzN_C2Who4sy3iw/s400/radishes+and+sweet+peas.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Produce from Lungi and Ingram's fresh vegetable stall</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="MsoNormal">When you live in a small town you might end up standing at the great cheese stall in awe and excitement. But you’re a student on a student budget and so you ask the man to please cut you a R12 (about £1) piece of cumin cheese. He puts a thin slice on the scale and announces the price: R21. You cringe and say sorry, I really only have R12 on me. Then the woman beside you tells the man to wrap up the cheese, “you can’t have that little cheese” she says, and pays the difference.<br />
<a name='more'></a></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">When you live in small town you might go to the fish stall and ask them how they recommend cooking this carpenter fish you’re buying. And they’ll point at their big fat indexed file and say, just take a recipe out of there. </div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlw0kZ3fg2bjg9l_HZ5r0intEqV-i2CS_vuLfYNa-xZP7EVOvkRRu5LSSt_NeQy16geIj0r91fDYEoeYF0NfH70ulazTxLUTPIS4xqfrMi_AjKGw_jAP9utBzTOVPydPo8Gycxtbq3Cw/s1600/ghtseafood.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="298" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlw0kZ3fg2bjg9l_HZ5r0intEqV-i2CS_vuLfYNa-xZP7EVOvkRRu5LSSt_NeQy16geIj0r91fDYEoeYF0NfH70ulazTxLUTPIS4xqfrMi_AjKGw_jAP9utBzTOVPydPo8Gycxtbq3Cw/s400/ghtseafood.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Grahamstonians can order online at <a href="http://www.gtseafood.co.za/">gtseafood</a></td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="MsoNormal">When you live in a small town you go to the market and run into some gardening friends and then decide to quicks go pop some seedlings in the soil at the Common Ground garden and in a few weeks we’ll have rocket and spinach, eh? </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoRI7bc-8maaDmZWay8XbeCtQP6YPdpXrv7iHhqvy9-Gx5U-62fvsG_vd2LdBudtLWvrba35LvD-d4vZ0klcKJgN3YM-q0_HM1wS_NiRRVHCb7bSABCkRXVtDjMhCBiUScN98uMenW_w/s1600/market.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="237" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoRI7bc-8maaDmZWay8XbeCtQP6YPdpXrv7iHhqvy9-Gx5U-62fvsG_vd2LdBudtLWvrba35LvD-d4vZ0klcKJgN3YM-q0_HM1wS_NiRRVHCb7bSABCkRXVtDjMhCBiUScN98uMenW_w/s320/market.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Saturday market scene in front of the Old Gaol, Grahamstown</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="MsoNormal"><o:p><br />
</o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal">And then as you walk the two minutes home you see the woman who bought you that delicous cumin cheese talking to her friend that runs the <a href="http://www.homeground.co.za/">Homeground</a> coffee store and you feel like that’s just so frikkin nice, man. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Then you go home and cook the fish you just bought from the fish guy and the veggies you bought from Lungi and you drink some Zonneblom Blanc de Blanc and we all agree that life is a funny thing, but its good. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I like living in a small town. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Pan- fried Silverfish with Radish, Sweet Pea and Mint salad </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGoL9BLvB8EiicwwX4sOklv8XV0qBbJdwJNlWe9ARaVLRwxZEi3Tf__wWNn66ksHZVNuoaYLksDKX9tcy8y06IlkmXjjqfMmiY5WPnOgKQzcMw6rxthQ5W4kOSAdzAu0WbNQwlY8hH_Q/s1600/fish+lunch.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGoL9BLvB8EiicwwX4sOklv8XV0qBbJdwJNlWe9ARaVLRwxZEi3Tf__wWNn66ksHZVNuoaYLksDKX9tcy8y06IlkmXjjqfMmiY5WPnOgKQzcMw6rxthQ5W4kOSAdzAu0WbNQwlY8hH_Q/s320/fish+lunch.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I feel a bit guilty: After I bought the carpenter fish from the market I checked it out on the <a href="http://www.wwfsassi.co.za/">Sassi website</a> and found that it was listed as orange, eek! Its best to eat fish on the green list, I know, but Sassi agrees that you’re allowed to indulge in the orange- listed on special occasions. It wasn’t a planned special occasion, but it became one thanks to this flaky-tasty-soft treasure; which is at least line- caught and not trawled. GT seafoods are at the Old Gaol on Wednesdays and Saturdays, and I hear the prawn braai they had going on was lip- smackingly good. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiF6-54NyzZHvcU_sYkBCwaClD26br5w6GSSVZWfIYrF6verfNunRtBv65MZenqL4WRnrLhBdPsQgJvvatWQsTWlazkAj4MVPdXN0qtoy5zfhOCyt0kUWSbuOoQXaL_yIPaHwi8dFdNYg/s1600/Prawns+on+the+braai.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiF6-54NyzZHvcU_sYkBCwaClD26br5w6GSSVZWfIYrF6verfNunRtBv65MZenqL4WRnrLhBdPsQgJvvatWQsTWlazkAj4MVPdXN0qtoy5zfhOCyt0kUWSbuOoQXaL_yIPaHwi8dFdNYg/s320/Prawns+on+the+braai.JPG" width="238" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Grahamstown Seafood Prawn braai. Smelt too good. </td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="MsoNormal">This lunch serves four and cost us each R30, including wine and the sides. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">For the salad: </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><ul style="margin-top: 0cm;" type="disc"><li class="MsoNormal">1- 2 bunches radishes, chopped</li>
<li class="MsoNormal">½ cucumber, peeled into thin strips</li>
<li class="MsoNormal">1 big bunch fresh mint, leaves picked</li>
<li class="MsoNormal">A good bowl of sweet peas, podded (a good- natured housemate comes in handy at this point)</li>
<li class="MsoNormal">2 avocados, chopped and doused with a bit of lemon (Can I please brag at this point and say we have a huge avo tree behind our house that recently gifted us a ton of green goodness, so come visit avo- lovers)</li>
<li class="MsoNormal">Salad leaves</li>
<li class="MsoNormal">Extra- delicious extra virgin olive oil</li>
<li class="MsoNormal">Balsamic vinegar</li>
</ul>For the fish:<br />
<ul style="margin-top: 0cm;" type="disc"><li class="MsoNormal">4 portions filleted silverfish, also called carpenter, doppie or Kaapenaar according to ever- useful <a href="http://books.google.co.za/books?id=BCmpPUg9E_UC&pg=PA196&lpg=PA196&dq=Complete+South+African+Fish+and+Seafood+cookbook&source=bl&ots=d6hm0DBTHg&sig=Hu6lN7RIc5_E06B1cmvrAZRQtP0&hl=en&ei=MzlZTuz-CsKy8QPk2u21DA&sa=X&oi=book_result&ct=result&resnum=3&ved=0CCcQ6AEwAg#v=onepage&q=Complete%20South%20African%20Fish%20and%20Seafood%20cookbook&f=false">Complete South African Fish and Seafood cookbook</a>. You might have to tweeze out the pinbones. </li>
<li class="MsoNormal">40ml cake flour</li>
<li class="MsoNormal">5ml ground cumin</li>
<li class="MsoNormal">5ml salt</li>
<li class="MsoNormal">Olive oil and butter for frying</li>
</ul><div class="MsoNormal">To serve: </div><ul style="margin-top: 0cm;" type="disc"><li class="MsoNormal">Boiled baby potatoes, maybe with some chopped fresh oregano and olive oil</li>
<li class="MsoNormal">A dollop of home- made lemon mayonnaise with chopped capers in (teehee, I am not giving out this recipe, as I plan to be selling some myself at the market next weekend.) </li>
</ul><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><ul style="margin-top: 0cm;" type="disc"><ol start="1" style="margin-top: 0cm;" type="1"><li class="MsoNormal">Dress the salad leaves in a bowl with the olive oil and balsamic. Add the reaminng ingrediants. That’s all. </li>
<li class="MsoNormal">Make sure the fish is bone- free. Get ready a shallow plate with the flour, cumin and salt in. </li>
<li class="MsoNormal">Heat up the oil and dip the filleted fish in the flour, cumin and salt mixture. Add to the pan, followed by a good knob of butter. While it simmers in the butter, you can scoop some over with a dessert spoon, only turning the fish once. It shouldn’t take more than three minutes. </li>
<li class="MsoNormal">Eat outside. With a good sauvignon blanc (I wouldn’t recommend the pairing we had with Blanc de Blanc- it wasn’t nearly crisp enough, it kind of just fell through the palate and went boing! as it went) </li>
</ol></ul><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXQIM5njoyzo_2J8NcbaFCNPcOUkrXw42WCbMzb0lzzIjaAMQRbIdcPi4Gu7Sx5xzi8q3NU8oom-5zOOYxWRC81Kzu3yLUH_OoZdA0oah2OGefpRbPiI3jZIZ50iiMXNpNsCTRMWkd8w/s1600/our+avo%2527s.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXQIM5njoyzo_2J8NcbaFCNPcOUkrXw42WCbMzb0lzzIjaAMQRbIdcPi4Gu7Sx5xzi8q3NU8oom-5zOOYxWRC81Kzu3yLUH_OoZdA0oah2OGefpRbPiI3jZIZ50iiMXNpNsCTRMWkd8w/s400/our+avo%2527s.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br />
Just me showing off an avo from our tree </td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikw_ZLNuxTbJW9az7J7Miso5rSwbMz4KneoIbmB8yn56BxysjB4vSIsbpsUWSwp6jqsANhaUss5HgjL5VRAM2sMv3niE621bPqEDKgdXw7_Yhw9c0lcEAHI1lsbio-dNMynXMw3-7Fyg/s1600/Pea-+sheller.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikw_ZLNuxTbJW9az7J7Miso5rSwbMz4KneoIbmB8yn56BxysjB4vSIsbpsUWSwp6jqsANhaUss5HgjL5VRAM2sMv3niE621bPqEDKgdXw7_Yhw9c0lcEAHI1lsbio-dNMynXMw3-7Fyg/s400/Pea-+sheller.JPG" width="296" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The pea-podding champ</td></tr>
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</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2Somerset St, Grahamstown 6139, South Africa-33.3127194 26.521960400000012-33.3180214 26.518066900000012 -33.3074174 26.525853900000012tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-799712269585223578.post-64263757629951261162011-08-14T19:39:00.001+02:002012-01-27T22:42:42.043+02:00Sweet potato and Strawberry starter with Paw-Paw pip dressing<div class="MsoNormal">Its not every day that your brother turns quarter-of-a-century years old and happens to be in town. It’s not every day you find out that you are being flown to <st1:city w:st="on">Cape Town</st1:city> next weekend to represent <st1:place w:st="on">Rhodes</st1:place> at <a href="http://vinovarsity.withtank.com/news-blog/">vinovarsity</a>. Its not every day that you notice the first strawberries for sale (and cheaply, at Her Majesty’s Fruit and Veg). Its not everyday that its Intervarsity and the streets of Grahamstown are sprinkled with students in hand-painted overalls, with crackling bottles in hand- already stumbling and ready drink themselves into a purple haze. </div><div class="MsoNormal"> </div><div class="MsoNormal">To celebrate this special day, we had a larny dinner. My brother resided over wine tasting practice (he had a big challenge in helping us prepare for the competition next week). I went out on a limb and bought lamb. And strawberries. And almonds for toasting. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiibGGjndUhgW8p1RkrWLJzpuCJgtZpMbvIujJNxFHZTGvreGLZ0uI4-QAcQCtRmgucLTxVj0y83fl7aQ4Zz3LYjyC5_FFvqjoOI3Pvi2B1JKkwDkrnX7JajhXlBWnuBOKokgwwXVRMuQ/s1600/strawberry+and+sweet+potato+salad.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiibGGjndUhgW8p1RkrWLJzpuCJgtZpMbvIujJNxFHZTGvreGLZ0uI4-QAcQCtRmgucLTxVj0y83fl7aQ4Zz3LYjyC5_FFvqjoOI3Pvi2B1JKkwDkrnX7JajhXlBWnuBOKokgwwXVRMuQ/s320/strawberry+and+sweet+potato+salad.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">My favourite kind of dinner parties are the ones where the kitchen swells with friends. (and, admittedly, when some of them stay over to help wash the mountain of dishes). </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjInzttXn4YSUyV4eLqevsGKCgoTsvWhv567MZub2QTBHJ3H6bfouuuyx4OXvWpCElUZT05R76pSWGf6yee3H3LwTA6hEA1ePfy3Bzf68TztzPSYOmzJimckOZaGZqRec0RulufinJarg/s1600/dishes.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjInzttXn4YSUyV4eLqevsGKCgoTsvWhv567MZub2QTBHJ3H6bfouuuyx4OXvWpCElUZT05R76pSWGf6yee3H3LwTA6hEA1ePfy3Bzf68TztzPSYOmzJimckOZaGZqRec0RulufinJarg/s320/dishes.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The measure of a good friend...</td></tr>
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</o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Sweet Potato and Strawberry Starter with Paw-Paw pip dressing</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I found the inspiration for this recipe in the <a href="http://www.pasella.com/">Pasella</a> cookbook which is full of other quirky ideas. I adapted into a salad that’s a bit more schmancy, but if you don’t have a ring, you can just pop all the ingredients in a bowl and serve it as a side. The pips really add another layer of flavour. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Seves 8 as a starter</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">For the salad: </div><ul style="margin-top: 0cm;" type="disc"><li class="MsoNormal">2 large sweet potatoes ( buy them with diamter in mind- you want to fit the rounds into a ring)</li>
<li class="MsoNormal">1 clove garlic, crushed</li>
<li class="MsoNormal">½ teaspoon paprika</li>
<li class="MsoNormal">A big dash of olive oil</li>
<li class="MsoNormal">Juice of 1 lemon</li>
<li class="MsoNormal">Salt and pepper</li>
<li class="MsoNormal">Rocket/ and or micro (baby) salad</li>
<li class="MsoNormal">450g fresh strawberries</li>
<li class="MsoNormal">A dash of balsamic vinegar</li>
<li class="MsoNormal">250ml vegetable oil, for frying</li>
</ul><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">For the dressing:</div><ul style="margin-top: 0cm;" type="disc"><li class="MsoNormal">About 3 tablespoons of pips from a paw-paw</li>
<li class="MsoNormal">1/3 cup extra- virgin olieve oil (this makes the student budget squeel just a tad but you have to live a little) </li>
<li class="MsoNormal">2 tablespoons apple cider vinegar</li>
<li class="MsoNormal">1tablespoon castor sugar</li>
<li class="MsoNormal">1 teaspoon <st1:city w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">dijon</st1:place></st1:city> mustard</li>
<li class="MsoNormal">½ teaspoon salt</li>
</ul><div class="MsoNormal"></div><ol><li>Preheat the oven to 200C.</li>
<li>For the dressing: Place the paw- paw pips in the bowl of a small blender and whizz until nicely crushed. Add the remaining ingredients and blend. Set aside until dinner time.</li>
<li>Wash the sweet potatoes but don’t peel them. Cut them into 8 rounds about 1,5cm thick. You should have enough left over to peel into crisps, (or use another sweet potato). Place the strips in water to fry later. Place the slices in a bowl and add olive oil, paprika, lemon juice, salt and pepper. Mix well with your hands. Place in a roasting tray and bake for about 30 minutes or until golden brown, even a little caramelised. Since my oven burns the fun out of anything near to the bottom element, I turn them once during baking.</li>
<li>While the sweet potatoes are baking, cut the strawberries into cubes, about 1cm big, setting 5 big juicy ones aside. Blend the juicy ones in the same bowl as the dressing, and mix in with the cubes strawberries. Add a dash of balsamic and about 10ml of the dressing.</li>
<li>Heat up the vegetable oil, and dry the sweet potato strips before frying. Remove from oil when they are golden brown and drain on kitchen towel. Try to stop everyone on snacking on them before dinnertime.</li>
<li>When the sweet potato is done, remove from the oven and allow to cool until just touchable. Use a ring cutter of about 4- 5cm diameter to cut out rings, or if they are the perfect size already, squish them into the base of a ring that’s resting in the centre of your plate. Now spoon in a layer of the strawberry mixture.</li>
<li>Dress the leaves in a touch of dressing and pile carefully onto the strawberry layer. Top with a few crisps and swiggle some dressing around using a teaspoon.</li>
</ol><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">= crunchy, sweet, sour, savoury, smooth, yum!</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">You can do everything a few hours ahead and just warm up or bake the sweet potato before dinner. Its nice when its still a bit warm.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7RDOJdfF_BMzgTLPf6cvuxXj76B92xhXBF7PXuAesOhfM7Jpl1RWt06qrx2mYmT7PTnR8SdJ4teTwU9RtTAyXOo6Khgg6RwzxP8gMqyE6ugKM-gxqG9fsyP7JXJCM0tVxVeEy_alRrA/s1600/Whale+teaching+Ta+how+to+deal+with+a+stack.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7RDOJdfF_BMzgTLPf6cvuxXj76B92xhXBF7PXuAesOhfM7Jpl1RWt06qrx2mYmT7PTnR8SdJ4teTwU9RtTAyXOo6Khgg6RwzxP8gMqyE6ugKM-gxqG9fsyP7JXJCM0tVxVeEy_alRrA/s320/Whale+teaching+Ta+how+to+deal+with+a+stack.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">It seems Whale is teaching Ta how to approach a stack</td></tr>
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</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-799712269585223578.post-90487374629096099432011-07-22T23:53:00.001+02:002011-08-27T20:49:17.792+02:00My advice for Tourists in Paris<div><div class="MsoNormal">Wear Birkenstocks, sneakers, or your choice of can-wear-all-day-<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">sans</i>-blisters footwear. The pavements are hard and the queues are lengthy.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOKJhrWP8gE3OZ6Jb5bOR-qzYZDvruRYRl0E4w-iKoYxQBNbwbhV9cOMGb_IgRAZz0eIdqFGuX9uzMRlMCo0pi4KvXyJOf_pzKc5nKBC56N5o8u2XhzC_hFPstVesyJHR4ruBC8Lnygg/s1600/long+queues.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOKJhrWP8gE3OZ6Jb5bOR-qzYZDvruRYRl0E4w-iKoYxQBNbwbhV9cOMGb_IgRAZz0eIdqFGuX9uzMRlMCo0pi4KvXyJOf_pzKc5nKBC56N5o8u2XhzC_hFPstVesyJHR4ruBC8Lnygg/s320/long+queues.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Take a whole day for the Musee d’Orsay and the Louvre. I did, and only saw about an eighth of the Louvre. But you can only do THAT MUCH museum, eh? </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiA1hzVQEnKSN9gTfkebHwXGMTd6HYoevEAH32SUIzW4JoRhyu07A6ESmm6ediHQanJLfZq9t6slZj6TyFI5ODL_zS34np9QJfBFwOq1tdLkDGJB62x-Do_SICPohumRBF6cl9AuXwPUw/s1600/The+ceiling+at+the+louvre.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiA1hzVQEnKSN9gTfkebHwXGMTd6HYoevEAH32SUIzW4JoRhyu07A6ESmm6ediHQanJLfZq9t6slZj6TyFI5ODL_zS34np9QJfBFwOq1tdLkDGJB62x-Do_SICPohumRBF6cl9AuXwPUw/s320/The+ceiling+at+the+louvre.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Try to find yourself two European art- history fanatics to be your guides through said- museums. They can sometimes be found at bars across from backpacker hostels (I’m just saying). If you don’t stumble upon any knowledgeable new friends, I would recommend those earphone gadgets that tell you about the artwork you’re viewing. For me, those stories bring art to life.<br />
<a name='more'></a> </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTsJqgpXZDKAYsObCNZFUiRUWlGegeXlCgJlFmplFXUVmM24Nb_BimJX4pVEW3S9mTh-nwv-X6G7nuRRF6jZN5AsFRpmZE9xRCvyfZcMgE9mfgwNa3BelXTxzyQ01KYtFSgtucGR6Jqw/s1600/Royalty.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTsJqgpXZDKAYsObCNZFUiRUWlGegeXlCgJlFmplFXUVmM24Nb_BimJX4pVEW3S9mTh-nwv-X6G7nuRRF6jZN5AsFRpmZE9xRCvyfZcMgE9mfgwNa3BelXTxzyQ01KYtFSgtucGR6Jqw/s320/Royalty.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Royalty at the Louvre</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="MsoNormal">Try to speak French to the locals. They can probably understand your English, but its much more fun for them to hear you ask for “tin of white wine”. And they do appreciate the effort. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIW6QOBPq36F9WYaKsbNaONzcCFQSaeSl5PQtCqxAdHLO61OHPg0Q76rLUmFs__Up43cu1AznwvWgoOOSVaM0zxm60UvkbnMxVBipfI0e_3BYMxTxgsXGC7i7GDObzC2Ds0xYo98Ef_Q/s1600/jardin+de+tuilerie.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIW6QOBPq36F9WYaKsbNaONzcCFQSaeSl5PQtCqxAdHLO61OHPg0Q76rLUmFs__Up43cu1AznwvWgoOOSVaM0zxm60UvkbnMxVBipfI0e_3BYMxTxgsXGC7i7GDObzC2Ds0xYo98Ef_Q/s320/jardin+de+tuilerie.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Myself and Roberto: an art- history fiend. </td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="MsoNormal">However, don’t get sucked in by overly- gallant French men. I was walking peacefully down the road, and returned (rather too enthusiastically, I suppose) a ‘bonjour’ from a cyclist passing by. He stamped on his brakes, asked where I was going and then insisted on walking with me all the way to the station, “Ma Cheri”. Well now, I was just beginning to think that these Parisians are unfairly represented as rude and annoying. Then the gentleman walked all the way into the station with me, and with a dramatic gesture, parked his bicycle right in front of the ticket line. I thanked him, but didn’t manage to turn away in time to avoid his embrace, and apparent attempt at having a good snog. Now really. All I said was “bonjour” and “I am from <st1:country-region w:st="on">South Africa</st1:country-region>, <st1:city w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Paris</st1:place></st1:city> is beautiful” and he figured he could make out with me in the ticket queue. Merde.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMftqwxKFnEmMdtQGiELWcObdSJHnAlk3O-GhplOnoPtJhwGQaBP2ou6IUn5EPQNLM04KqwvxGL0YTJ4Z5D0pHM3xU3Fq_7uHvp3pQAwZZMtaKVGmJVfsmJznSZy19v5fQBBJwP5BHYA/s1600/Ominous+clouds+jardin+de+tuileries.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMftqwxKFnEmMdtQGiELWcObdSJHnAlk3O-GhplOnoPtJhwGQaBP2ou6IUn5EPQNLM04KqwvxGL0YTJ4Z5D0pHM3xU3Fq_7uHvp3pQAwZZMtaKVGmJVfsmJznSZy19v5fQBBJwP5BHYA/s320/Ominous+clouds+jardin+de+tuileries.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal">Sunny skies is summer. What, are you an idiot? This is <st1:place w:st="on">Europe</st1:place>. Prepare for rain.</div><br />
<div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiV5w-ukEC5nG6QXWGHwswH7G4T2fCkld49XYOMFz23vHGG_cKsgKDhCX5rIy9y3eUxRCfdf6rSIcaHBwelzRY9BAwbc9fQfo715zDjPzCLuIL3Mao6Witp7WyoV7y_d7M8TvziJmriUA/s1600/Kids+and+boats.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiV5w-ukEC5nG6QXWGHwswH7G4T2fCkld49XYOMFz23vHGG_cKsgKDhCX5rIy9y3eUxRCfdf6rSIcaHBwelzRY9BAwbc9fQfo715zDjPzCLuIL3Mao6Witp7WyoV7y_d7M8TvziJmriUA/s320/Kids+and+boats.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Parisians at the park</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="MsoNormal">Leave your children at home. Except for a few colouring-in crayons at the Louvre etc, <st1:city w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Paris</st1:place></st1:city> doesn't seem to be a child- friendly place. It just seems unfair to drag little ones up and down those cobbled streets. And no, they do not care for the Manet exhibition, and are only going to annoy other people by trying to hide under display cases. Also, exhausted, they might throw a tantrum on the descent of the Arc de Triomphe, and refuse to advance ONE more step. This will cause a huge traffic build up and people above you who have claustrophobia and fear of heights will begin to use colourful language.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmn7uEjWZdUazNYR9_e2nc_WvTWYAaCaitEQ_jA2-bIvfklyp4mwMIl8dvpr7najZohY-8NLmm5V7NwPTX_PJW9UBlf6MwLoY3V-FJ5x9ssKB8e6v-f4E2rXUlq3Z3usGm5xXFAxcgZg/s1600/arc+de+triomphe.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmn7uEjWZdUazNYR9_e2nc_WvTWYAaCaitEQ_jA2-bIvfklyp4mwMIl8dvpr7najZohY-8NLmm5V7NwPTX_PJW9UBlf6MwLoY3V-FJ5x9ssKB8e6v-f4E2rXUlq3Z3usGm5xXFAxcgZg/s320/arc+de+triomphe.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">View (1) from the Arc de Triomphe</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="MsoNormal">Buy and up-to-date guide book, read it, and leave it at home, (unless it is very thin and light or you are Iron man). How I cursed my baggage of an annoying 2003 TimeOut that weighed me down like a packhorse. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1Fd7Vr6-aECAiirWRRb3dVhbfenI_yUUJerz8rXCzF_As4kuuzNtfwPG9aUVxzQUiZKzibYqGm-dAu0upauXJki5dwzrQvTd8JeUVYV_ylJ0qZIup9cq1Tb4v9JdBG5JQ-NFBHZIdnw/s1600/guidebook.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1Fd7Vr6-aECAiirWRRb3dVhbfenI_yUUJerz8rXCzF_As4kuuzNtfwPG9aUVxzQUiZKzibYqGm-dAu0upauXJki5dwzrQvTd8JeUVYV_ylJ0qZIup9cq1Tb4v9JdBG5JQ-NFBHZIdnw/s320/guidebook.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Take advantage of your age… If you’re between the ages of 18- 25 you can get good discounts at most museums. Plus, if you’re an EU citizen of the same age, you get in for gratis, mahala, zilch, and save 10 Euro’s at big museums. That’s a lot of cash money. It’s 3 beers. Or 4 ‘café’s’ depending, I suppose, on how old you are.</div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilj85aO_cK2vYoozZYPwobZQHD9urveR-eS-yQbbkaxq6T0_6bfKpw_LC2O0-rBfL4YilKtAnnWSyhfAWFC39edG7bu5LEfIda9iF3QEcqeTyuknyemGb0Bge5oM-iegjbEfhYvkXIYg/s1600/backs+of+bathroom+doors.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilj85aO_cK2vYoozZYPwobZQHD9urveR-eS-yQbbkaxq6T0_6bfKpw_LC2O0-rBfL4YilKtAnnWSyhfAWFC39edG7bu5LEfIda9iF3QEcqeTyuknyemGb0Bge5oM-iegjbEfhYvkXIYg/s320/backs+of+bathroom+doors.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Scribbles on the back of a bathroom stall</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="MsoNormal">Don’t get off the train at Gare du Nord with a backpack and a large handbag and decide to walk up to the Sacre Coeur, down through Montmarte, past Pigalle, and the Opera House, to the Jardin de Tuileries, then up to the place de la Concorde, over the Seine and along to the Musee d’Orsay before deciding to take a train to your distant hostel/hotel. Just don’t.</div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-bottom: 0.5em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; padding-bottom: 6px; padding-left: 6px; padding-right: 6px; padding-top: 6px; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgySypQKxC3SReKtMPk1zSctIVgFEbq0kL1CV5Wq7AnPECLR5R6QCls29OW8_7KlN22hXpwNpOrBd6xqKVz9jAETpvVum_u1uhJqbtt_g-mdZ76L4eF5_Bhefn_DEYK2T20vmdppVwliA/s1600/The+Seine.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="245" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgySypQKxC3SReKtMPk1zSctIVgFEbq0kL1CV5Wq7AnPECLR5R6QCls29OW8_7KlN22hXpwNpOrBd6xqKVz9jAETpvVum_u1uhJqbtt_g-mdZ76L4eF5_Bhefn_DEYK2T20vmdppVwliA/s320/The+Seine.JPG" style="cursor: move;" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 13px; padding-top: 4px; text-align: center;">It looks close, but it is far, far away.</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="MsoNormal">Drink your coffee black. Just ask for ‘un Café’. That is what my <st1:city w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Paris</st1:place></st1:city> trip tasted like. </div><div class="MsoNormal">Powerful, stark. Unadulterated. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9rM4Z3I9Xi0mURxAlg79CEelFRjLNYtaEsu3jiukLHFph7b9z05Xjqnr6jhbOQtcUcIOfZ9pO9XSGEBF2oAE9n6FuHhyqvFA1nrQZqxHeVlyqaE8C6cWorbTFC1k2VWq4oWijoJnSvw/s1600/coffee+stark.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9rM4Z3I9Xi0mURxAlg79CEelFRjLNYtaEsu3jiukLHFph7b9z05Xjqnr6jhbOQtcUcIOfZ9pO9XSGEBF2oAE9n6FuHhyqvFA1nrQZqxHeVlyqaE8C6cWorbTFC1k2VWq4oWijoJnSvw/s320/coffee+stark.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 157.2pt;"> </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 157.2pt;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlcTGSDxNcgQkW9enTmiVJg2vfOkM3XETMkr2VuV4LxcY_kvJVay6_M23E92dBLZB5eOnnbTy2c_MmphvDEC7gQLeoLYw7l7nAgixoe_RT-3TltQLlKciG2w0F5yyO_dVYHtOWLY4E9g/s1600/un+cafe.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlcTGSDxNcgQkW9enTmiVJg2vfOkM3XETMkr2VuV4LxcY_kvJVay6_M23E92dBLZB5eOnnbTy2c_MmphvDEC7gQLeoLYw7l7nAgixoe_RT-3TltQLlKciG2w0F5yyO_dVYHtOWLY4E9g/s320/un+cafe.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 157.2pt;"><br />
</div></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2Paris, France48.856614 2.352221900000017748.813328 2.2293609000000179 48.8999 2.4750829000000176tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-799712269585223578.post-85519823702907208962011-07-15T01:20:00.000+02:002012-01-27T22:43:14.951+02:00The last Elderflower in England<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVYJKWclw1Od13TivGOWQumC_Vwnjll4o_x1hQTk2-yhmbkoSEPyeXdO1jyU2SOCPlZFwMSEYUD3LqKS9Ngw0KJn2Ag9bL5hJTrXIR_8KNMbvcEmZi0TWtzrHj7f3KXCovAwyti0ynfQ/s1600/the+last+elderflower.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVYJKWclw1Od13TivGOWQumC_Vwnjll4o_x1hQTk2-yhmbkoSEPyeXdO1jyU2SOCPlZFwMSEYUD3LqKS9Ngw0KJn2Ag9bL5hJTrXIR_8KNMbvcEmZi0TWtzrHj7f3KXCovAwyti0ynfQ/s320/the+last+elderflower.JPG" width="240" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I recently took a train to the Cotswold's, that ancient place where the cottages are all cute and crumbly, and where strangers wave at you as they pass you in the lane. We were just entering one such cottage when my friend Muppet and her sister Eva started to lament their laziness at not picking elderflowers earlier, as the season was nearly spent.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcOj7cff22b-3qKJikaBQ_YVPjxWeD5q_gCB_ZPjwv-TGQXb6D3Fqsebo3v068F0qR-ceMhrOLGutenjhdFmXPuZqO8EyYVlhiVrlN0MDIVPeGEcRjS9Thl-eoRtBnDFK5eRcITg7D4w/s1600/the+cottage.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcOj7cff22b-3qKJikaBQ_YVPjxWeD5q_gCB_ZPjwv-TGQXb6D3Fqsebo3v068F0qR-ceMhrOLGutenjhdFmXPuZqO8EyYVlhiVrlN0MDIVPeGEcRjS9Thl-eoRtBnDFK5eRcITg7D4w/s320/the+cottage.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I was a little confused. Days previously, I had collected bushels of elderflower (or so I thought) on the side of the road. The white heads were absolutely everywhere. The only reason why I hadn’t made my cordial yet was because I couldn’t find any citric acid. (I must mention at this point that I had never really seen elderflower before, but was going on a vague memory of something I'd seen on<i> google image </i>once.) I pointed out to Muppet, sheepishly.. that there was loads of elderflower in their driveway.</div><a name='more'></a><br />
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</div><div class="MsoNormal">Well now Carina. That is in fact- <b>Cow Parsley</b>. I was stunned at this revelation, and very relieved. The cow parsley that had been standing in a bowl in our kitchen <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">reeked</i>. It smelt as if a musty cow had taken up residence behind the fridge. Every time I got a whiff of it, my mind boggled as to how this flower could produce the sweet cordial that the English so fancy drinking. </div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWb9QvxQlTbLfFXRuKcyWEG34lq-4LpwYUxjKAhZFTzhCtlHCrOLST4RnjFwh_hFDIOoX7eyHGpbdNkrUhWyyQdIR1Yi0FKE7b-zRzzApv9gUxp5kNx5zcqaXAhrN1SixkOlnLMhIhwA/s1600/Rosie%2527s+backyard.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWb9QvxQlTbLfFXRuKcyWEG34lq-4LpwYUxjKAhZFTzhCtlHCrOLST4RnjFwh_hFDIOoX7eyHGpbdNkrUhWyyQdIR1Yi0FKE7b-zRzzApv9gUxp5kNx5zcqaXAhrN1SixkOlnLMhIhwA/s320/Rosie%2527s+backyard.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Those little white heads on the left, are NOT elderflower. But the tree on the far right had some blossoms. </td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="MsoNormal"><o:p>L</o:p>uckily I was saved by the fact that I decided to visit Greenhampton at the last minute, abandoning my cow- parsley cordial making event, and our laughter at my folly inspired a serious <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">elderflower cordial mission.</i> But the season was almost over indeed. We had to clamber up on walls with a window hook.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihGR5QOjhRiaG5H9N7Q0GOOWF2tEFG3SwuSyxN2GPSin1FpbVouySz_4yyDdQ31s4vMqeFPTRr8C1xd2Ap6KEBvIcZVVWklqy2ukcNHuT_buVyb-riINGO2mE2Xwwrhg7mQhnxNXiBUg/s1600/elderflower+hunt+begins+2.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="244" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihGR5QOjhRiaG5H9N7Q0GOOWF2tEFG3SwuSyxN2GPSin1FpbVouySz_4yyDdQ31s4vMqeFPTRr8C1xd2Ap6KEBvIcZVVWklqy2ukcNHuT_buVyb-riINGO2mE2Xwwrhg7mQhnxNXiBUg/s320/elderflower+hunt+begins+2.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal">We walked up and down the road, and out to the field in our search. We leaned over fences and got attacked my stinging nettles. The pickings were slim. So we decided to turn our excursion to the beautiful old Saxon town of <st1:city w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Winchcombe</st1:place></st1:city> into an <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">elderflower hunt</i>. As we drove along the lanes, we glared at the hedges like safari tourists searching for the Big 5. Every now and then- a shriek! Bingo. The car stopped, out bundled three girls and a window stick; and the passers-by would stare, baffled, as we manoeuvered our long pole about in the bushes, counting the heads as we went along. About two hours of hard tracking yielded 75 blossom heads. Perfect. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibSJjhcj9cqi8h-YLfZEngOAPET9BikMk2RHICDFVpEhmfi8U6VqarhY73MEmqlb7QhzzY7tY7qOlrURQlgtjzfddHliCrB2EbakmOk6YWAKr0tC06orfWEjAwXRaq8iEHW0l-BHdD1w/s1600/flower+hunting.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibSJjhcj9cqi8h-YLfZEngOAPET9BikMk2RHICDFVpEhmfi8U6VqarhY73MEmqlb7QhzzY7tY7qOlrURQlgtjzfddHliCrB2EbakmOk6YWAKr0tC06orfWEjAwXRaq8iEHW0l-BHdD1w/s320/flower+hunting.JPG" width="241" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><o:p><br />
</o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal">And then for the cordial. An easy feat after our long hunt. The recipe is Eva’s- and it is terrific. The addition of oranges (as opposed to all-lemons) was Jemima’s idea- she is one of the great cooks behind Britain's wonderful <a href="http://www.pottedgame.com/"> Potted Game Company</a> (coming soon to Borough Market, I am pleased to inform you). I do plan to smuggle a small bottle of cordial home to <st1:country-region w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">South Africa</st1:place></st1:country-region> for those who want to taste it there. Luckily for all of those in the <st1:place w:st="on"><st1:country-region w:st="on">UK</st1:country-region></st1:place>, Eva and Muppet have started a great catering company called <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Two Nightingales</i>. They haven’t got their website up quite yet, but you can find their details on their <a href="http://www.facebook.com/pages/Two-Nightingales/202893986397670">facebook page</a>. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlkKK8eLNr2dK1N6BTacfo_o58go91PH_K8UEKrXoD5aSKZAVMUUsjYV0cZ7TbzOMDmvocBmji32SXUcc-ySqAbkW73HrI2VcELEFvUhgVdL2K6-G9ZGR0jH-9ckAEiRRUFOzRzIBHyQ/s1600/oranges+and+elderflower.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlkKK8eLNr2dK1N6BTacfo_o58go91PH_K8UEKrXoD5aSKZAVMUUsjYV0cZ7TbzOMDmvocBmji32SXUcc-ySqAbkW73HrI2VcELEFvUhgVdL2K6-G9ZGR0jH-9ckAEiRRUFOzRzIBHyQ/s320/oranges+and+elderflower.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal"><o:p><br />
</o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal">I do like to believe that we picked the last elderflower in <st1:country-region w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">England</st1:place></st1:country-region>. But if you still have some blooming nearby- pick quick! Don’t forget your window stick and some anti- nettle gumboots. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBKFOaX0c2Ztz1xGKVppixUjHipmulTlGNA744vGKh1JOeGbnE5ZwzUMlezcQr0LBPB09QSBlApMlaqbo_1S7z6KE0_PnHawGxOwzJpMBvOh3F05EyTuwEnGXGHv-TdDARFDIkcZMeHw/s1600/thistle+safe+boots.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBKFOaX0c2Ztz1xGKVppixUjHipmulTlGNA744vGKh1JOeGbnE5ZwzUMlezcQr0LBPB09QSBlApMlaqbo_1S7z6KE0_PnHawGxOwzJpMBvOh3F05EyTuwEnGXGHv-TdDARFDIkcZMeHw/s320/thistle+safe+boots.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">There are rumours that the last elderflowers in season make bitter cordial. And also that ones picked in the morning are sweeter and better. I taste our cordial, and I say: Bollocks. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Eva’s Elderflower cordial</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5T67Qs2IoQYY7RobF_54gh4kysjtDVUNcdLl-trTeG8KvYWvYKXpFFqmyTA6Ja-emd9VPsEkhCmsJitv88b2BL1WZah9wyJGHzDrLIxeKQsK7K1MZS3Wn_B2er6CoVnleaL6G5u-QIg/s1600/straining.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="235" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5T67Qs2IoQYY7RobF_54gh4kysjtDVUNcdLl-trTeG8KvYWvYKXpFFqmyTA6Ja-emd9VPsEkhCmsJitv88b2BL1WZah9wyJGHzDrLIxeKQsK7K1MZS3Wn_B2er6CoVnleaL6G5u-QIg/s320/straining.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><ul style="margin-top: 0cm;" type="disc"><li class="MsoNormal" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; tab-stops: list 36.0pt;">25 heads elderflower (Please see this image link if you are unsure, and smell it- the scent is unsurprisingly sweet, and not cowpat- like at all)</li>
<li class="MsoNormal" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; tab-stops: list 36.0pt;">1.5kg sugar</li>
<li class="MsoNormal" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; tab-stops: list 36.0pt;">1,5 l water</li>
<li class="MsoNormal" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; tab-stops: list 36.0pt;">3 lemons, thinly sliced</li>
<li class="MsoNormal" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; tab-stops: list 36.0pt;">2 oranges, thinly sliced</li>
<li class="MsoNormal" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; tab-stops: list 36.0pt;">50g citric acid</li>
</ul><ul style="margin-top: 0cm;" type="disc"><ol start="1" style="margin-top: 0cm;" type="1"><li class="MsoNormal" style="mso-list: l0 level2 lfo1; tab-stops: list 72.0pt;">Pick through the elderflower heads and make sure there are no bugs on them.</li>
<li class="MsoNormal" style="mso-list: l0 level2 lfo1; tab-stops: list 72.0pt;">Make a suger syrup with the sugar and water in a large saucepan- stir to dissolve the sugar then bring to boil for about 5 minutes.</li>
<li class="MsoNormal" style="mso-list: l0 level2 lfo1; tab-stops: list 72.0pt;">Add the remaining ingredients and leave<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>covered, overnight.</li>
<li class="MsoNormal" style="mso-list: l0 level2 lfo1; tab-stops: list 72.0pt;">Strain through a piece of muslin cloth in a sieve and funnel into your bottles. Make sure you do get around to sterilizing the bottles, as explained in <a href="http://blackpepperplum.blogspot.com/2011/07/berry-picking-for-jam.htm">this post</a><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">, </b>the precious cordial really will go mouldy quickly if you don’t.</li>
</ol></ul><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWVdQz7x8gnnlvaFI13zdZv7EVUFdBuEHLielew11U3z9TGQpS-TWY-bGs9-6ofPJhvDJcuJ4036vSVne6wD5Pf5N8D3vintgRrWY-K1O-O9h2tNEIUxv3qoZJp9dMRxb1t1wTJN57kw/s1600/the+last+of+this+year%2527s+elderflower.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWVdQz7x8gnnlvaFI13zdZv7EVUFdBuEHLielew11U3z9TGQpS-TWY-bGs9-6ofPJhvDJcuJ4036vSVne6wD5Pf5N8D3vintgRrWY-K1O-O9h2tNEIUxv3qoZJp9dMRxb1t1wTJN57kw/s320/the+last+of+this+year%2527s+elderflower.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
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</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0Cotswold, Gloucestershire, UK51.835737410450726 -2.091117164843808551.488479910450728 -2.5399221648438086 52.182994910450724 -1.6423121648438084