tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-45391439548412330882024-03-13T12:53:53.547+01:00The Social Life of FoodA blog about food, cooking, culture and life. This is not just recipes, it is a rough guide to food as a cultural phenomenon. A sort of pop-anthropology maybe? I believe that to really experience and enjoy food, you need to understand it; where the ingredients come from, why it is cooked that way, and its social context.
I pick up ideas from whereever I travel so this should be a very varied read.Belhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07916775694088500932noreply@blogger.comBlogger21125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4539143954841233088.post-28671034526616950082010-01-22T00:17:00.000+01:002010-01-22T00:18:21.589+01:00The Familiar in Unfamiliar Surrounds<span style="font-style:italic;">(reposting this since the original was completely overwhelmed in Japanese spam for some reason!! had to delete it!)</span><br /><br />For lunch today, I found myself reheating canneloni in the microwave. In a kitchen that hadn't be used for cooking in for at least two years. In remote, Northern Nicaragua.<br /><br />How on earth did I end up with this for lunch??<br /><br />The canneloni specifically came about after a plaintive request from my erstwhile landlord, Henry. He is half Nicaraguan, half American, or "medio-gringo" as his friends say. He has been living with his Nicaraguan-Canadian wife, Emma, here for years now, and together they run a small cafe, called Picoteo. Picoteo actually means "snacks" or "little bites", and they serve up nachos, cakes and typical Nicaraguan fare like tostones (slices of plantain, flattened and fried), tacos, and the ubiquitos gallo pinto (white rice and red beans, cooked separately and the fried together, occasionally with onion if you are lucky). They opened the cafe two years ago, and are so busy that they eat all their meals there, which is why their kitchen hasn't been used for so long. But Emma apparently gave up cooking for herself years ago, and Henry was making very hard-done-by complaints about not having had proper canneloni for twenty-two years!!<br />So I made them canneloni, which was actually quite a feat of technical and culinary engineering in that kitchen - I found that neither Emma nor Henry actually knew how to light the middle of their oven, for instance. It is gas, and I didn't think it wise to stick my head in a gas filled oven with a lit match, but we got there eventually. Locating ingredients proved difficult as well. Nicaragua has an abundance of fresh, fantastic quality, predominantly organic and exotic (from my view point) fruit and vegetables. However, finding familiar things, European ingredients, is easier said than done. The only mushrooms I could find were canned, for example. (I then had to butcher the tin with a machete because Emma does not own a can-opener!) Fresh veg is cheap; ludicrously so in the market, so I spent hours chopping up fresh tomatoes. Although Nicaragua produces a great many vegetables, it does not manufacture cans for them to go in. A 400g tin of tomatoes in the supermarket here cost five times as much as the equivalrent does in Britain, because all canned stuff in Nicaragua is imported from Costa RIca.<br />That said, other ingredients are incredibly cheap. For my meat stuffed canneloni, i bought half a pound of export quality minced beef, for less than a dollar. This goes to show how much crap I eat in Britain - this mince was amazing: it actually tasted of meat! Impressive. Nicaraguans have no concept of intensive farming. Beef cows (well, bulls, I assume), roam around freely, eating the things cows are supposed to eat (rather than sheep brains), and with the possible exception of the oxen used to pull carts, they have pretty happy lives. And you can taste it. The 'export quality' thing bugs me though - like coffee, Nicaraguan produce is quality graded, and the best stuff is exported for the best prices, leaving normal Nicaraguans to eat whatever is left over, crap coffee and fatty, tough meat.<br /><br />My canneloni was good, but not the success I was hoping for however. What spoilt it, was the topping. Nicaraguan cheese does not melt. Nicaraguan cheese (and, from what I know, cheese all over Latin America) is straight out of the cow. Like Indian paneer, it is curd cheese, just the solids separated from the whey. Unpasturized in fact. And in the absence of refrigerators, it is usually crammed full of salt to preserve it. Definitely an acquired taste! Acquiring it means potentially risking contracting TB as well! I have done my best and am now quite adept at crumbling the stuff into my gallo pinto for breakfast. In Cafe Picoteo, they serve tostones topped with little cubes of deep fried cheese, and apart from being a heart attack on a plate, it tastes fantastic. However, trying to melt it into white sauce for a pasta topping just doesn't work. It just goes slightly grey and lumpy. It did toast quite nicely in the oven (eventually) and tasted fine, but my presentation skills were somewhat lacking<br /><br />Overall, I was quite impressed with the canneloni, and it certainly made a change from incessant rice and beans. I have also conquered my fear of Emma's kitchen, and proved to myself at least that it is possible to create "familiar" dishes almost anywhere...Belhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07916775694088500932noreply@blogger.com40tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4539143954841233088.post-30629512316163090682009-03-07T23:34:00.002+01:002009-03-07T23:44:42.202+01:00Doctor Coffee´s Cafe fantasiesI am thinking a great deal about my cafe. I am dimly aware that I am getting impatient and over-ambitious again, and this is probably a result of being bored and lonely on fieldwork. At times I can get passionate about my PhD, of course I do. Despite not enjoying Costa Rica, this is still an amazing opportunity. I have three years to travel, talk to people and write about coffee. That is exactly the sort of thing Bel enjoys. But right now, I am fed up. I want to actually get on with things - start putting all the stuff I have learnt about coffee and Central America into practical use. <br /><br />Without wanting to jinx things, there is the minutest possibility that an opportunity to get started with my cafe may present itself in a few months time. I just do not want to get my hopes up in case it doesn't happen. But I can still fantasize.... My main problem is just that Dr Coffee's Cafe is never going to exist in Darlington. I am adament about that. From experience, I know that the sort of place I want to open just would not work in that dull, chavvy little town. I am resisting the urge to point out how I know this, and what it would take to actually stay afloat - not things that I would consider doing. I hope I won't sell out. Even ignoring the world economic crisis and my total lack of finances, I do not fit in in Darlington, why on earth would my cafe? But escape maybe possible.... and soon, I hope.<br /><br />In the mean time I am planning and scheming, and collecting recipes for things that would work well in cafes. I am leaning away from Mexican food, particularly not Tex-Mex, because it is done too often, and usually quite badly. Last week I got to dabble in the Carribean, some things I liked, and can be done simply and quickly, providing steady supplies of plaintains and coconuts can be procured. Other things I liked too, but are potentially problematic - not being next to the Carribean sea is an issue - I doubt I'd be able to serve up blue crab salad, for instance. Also, Carribean food is based around slow cooking - it fits their outlook on life! Huge vats of stews bubbling away, usually with rather unappetising parts of a pig in them (I always tone down my patented Trinidad Pepperpot, leaving out the trotters, for example). The stuff is usually fabulous, but more suited to restaurant cooking than quick, small plates in a cafe.<br /><br />Here in the Pacific side of Costa Rica they live off rice'n'beans as ever, but usually in the form of Casado, which is the 'house plate'. Funny word, <span style="font-style:italic;">casa </span>means house, obviously, but I am <span style="font-style:italic;">casada</span> - married. I am assuming the food is called that because it is what bored housewives cook up everyday? That says it all really. I can't afford to eat out at restaurants in Costa Fortune, so I either cook for myself here, or go to "Sodas" which are fast food sort of places that serve up fried chicken, or <span style="font-style:italic;">casado</span> - rice, beans, some sort of meat, and salad. It is extremely boring. <br /><br />So, I don't think I will be taking many culinary tips from Costa Rica. And neither will I be getting my coffee from here. Not that Costa Rican coffee is not good, it is, but it's the principle of the thing! I am not a fan of how it is produced here. (sorry, I mean I am not comfortable with the quotidean knowledges and practices embodied by actors in the production of this commodity. Obviously.) But that is a different story entirely. <br /><br />Coffee will come from Nicaragua; Solcafe in particular. I would really like to serve it up Cuban style, and French pressed, and Turkish style as well as good espresso. And the food will be a mix of Peruvian/Andian, Argentine cowboy food, ("meat and heat") Nicaraguan simplicity, Carribean colour and Amazonian exoticness, suppliers allowing... Maybe not the guinea pig or iguana though... I want to be the first person in Europe to import Flor de Caña rum, and maybe even Peruvian Pisco. And beer in litres. Inca Kola, anyone? I am also collecting bits and pieces to decorate the place with while I'm here. Cyberllama will rise again, and possibly incorporate the evil looking Nacho pots that Emma has in Picoteo as well.... and there will be rocking chairs and hammocks so people never get round to leaving. <br /><br />Sigh.<br /><br />Why aren't I infinitely rich and able to get on with all of this immediately?Belhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07916775694088500932noreply@blogger.com17tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4539143954841233088.post-25445383405415668172009-03-03T22:46:00.001+01:002009-03-03T22:46:40.652+01:00Simple rice and beansCentral Americans eat a lot of rice n beans. This is usually in form of 'gallo pinto', the pinto referring to the type of bean (red pinto, or "frijoles" in Nicaragua, and black pinto in Costa Rica), and Gallo actually means 'cockerel'. Gallo Pinto has no chicken in it, but the white rice and red beans is supposed to look like the spotted feathers of a rooster, or so I am told. (I have to be American and say "Rooster" not Cock, because there is a company in Nicaragua who make chicken stock cubes. Their slogan is "el gallo mas gallo!" The most chickeny chicken! But it's the masculine word, so it could just as easily translate as "the cockiest Cock". I bought my friend a Gallo Mas Gallo t-shirt, hoping he doesn't get it.)<br /><br />Moving swiftly on from chickens, here is my recipe for gallo pinto, Nicaraguan <br />style:<br />400g dried red pinto beans, boiled for 4 hours in salted water or (45 mins in a pressure cooker)<br />You can of course use a tin of beans, but I am aiming for authenticity, and a gallo pinto breakfast is nothing without the smell of beans that have boiled over night, filling the whole house in the morning.<br />Equivalent weight of white rice, cooked separately from the beans.<br />1 small white onion.<br />Vegetable oil.<br /><br />Fry the chopped onion in the oil until browned. Then add the cooked rice and stir until coated with oil, then add the beans. Stir until well mixed, but gently so that the rice does not mush. <br />Serve the result with a large lump of white curd cheese, corn tortillas, and hot chilli sauce. And if you want to really fill up, add fried or scrambled eggs and fried plantain slices on the side. <br /><br />I stayed on a coffee farm out in El Campo of Nicaragua for a while, with a local family. They ate rice and beans for every single meal without exception, three times a day. This was Rice And Beans, not fried together like gallo pinto, mainly, I think, because they couldn't afford vegetable oil very often. For breakfast you got it with fresh tortillas - made from maiz grown on the farm, soaked over night in water and then ground at 4am every morning by the dedicated Doña Maximina, then patted out into tortillas and griddled. I fell in love with those tortillas, they are absolutely nothing like anything you can buy in the supermarkets at home. Occasionally, for lunch you got a bit of grilled chicken with your rice and beans. The chicken had probably been running round under your feet that morning. They were happy chickens, and exceptional tasting. Not only were they annoyingly free range (anyone who has accidently met an indignant chicken nesting in the latrine in the middle of the night will quickly become a fan of battery farming...) but they were also entirely corn fed. All the maiz that couldn't be used for tortillas became chicken feed. The meat was juicy and full flavoured without any additives whatsoever, and the eggs we got with our evening dose of rice and beans, were naturally huge and bright yellow.<br /><br />The other maiz based Nicaraguan favourite is Nacatamales. Traditonally served at weekends, these things can fill you up for the following week. They are maiz meal dumplings, stuffed with onion, herbs (oregano, I think), a little chiltoma (like bell pepper) and either beef or chicken. These are then wrapped in banana leaves and steamed. It gives a decadently greasy, very heavy and oddly textured meal in one - there is no way you could consume anything else with it, it is so filling. I once tried something very similar to this in Peru, there just called 'tamales' and I hated it. I can't figure out what it is the Nicaraguans do to their dumplings that make them so good!<br /><br />If all this sounds dull, then please read on. The key to Nicaraguan cuisine is simplicity. They rely on the abundance of great ingredients close to hand, that they don't need to really do much to them, everything naturally tastes great anyway. Other dishes I've adored here are pollo en salsa jalepeña, which is just that: chicken breast with a creamy jalapeno sauce, served with yet more rice; nachos con frijoles (fried tortilla slices with ground up frijoles to dunk them in) curvina tipitapa - fried red snapper smothered in tomato and onions (and rice), and vigaron, which is a large tortilla stuffed with cabbage salad, boiled yukka and fried pork rind, doust in chilli sauce.<br /><br />Of course, not everything is so familiar, but still the simplicity remains. In a tiny place in Esteli, I tried sopa de garrobo - Iguana soup. The recipe is as follows:<br />Remove feet and head from medium sized iguana.<br />Place in large pan of water.<br />Add chopped onion, sliced potato or yukka, some chiltoma, salt and tumeric and boil until the iguana meat is soft enough to joint easily in your fingers.<br />Serve with tortillas. And rice if you have room. <br /><br />And if I've mentioned the word "fried" too often for comfort, I'd like to point out that I've lost over 8 kilos in the four months I've been out here, without trying. Simple, but delicious Nicaraguan food is a winner with me!Belhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07916775694088500932noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4539143954841233088.post-6735841812938570432008-10-05T22:45:00.001+01:002008-10-05T22:45:00.703+01:00"Can I have a decent sized bunny please?"This weekend saw the first ever <a href='http://www.darlington.gov.uk/Culture/Events/Darlington+Food+Festival.htm'>Darlington Food Festival.</a><br/><br/>We missed it yesterday by going to Gateshead to buy Carl some new corals and shrimps for his marine aquarium from the dudes at <a href='http://www.cyberaquatics.co.uk'>Cyberaquatics.</a> That night I made seafood stir fry - and yes I am aware of the irony. Cyberaquatics has been branching out, and now stocks snakes, lizards and various cute furry rodents, including "Classic rabbits." Quite what was classic about them I don't know, they just looked like your average bunny to me. I think they must have had a population explosion though, because there were five little bunnies in one cage, and they were priced at £6. Not bad! They were pretty big too - I silently named one "Lunch" and seriously considered getting one for the ferrets (a bag of ferret food now costs £5.49...). Carl told me I was cruel. I don't think the ferrets would have agreed.<br/><br/>But as usual, I digress...<br/><br/>This morning we toddled down to the food festival, held in the Market Square. The website claimed there would be "around 100 stalls". There wasn't, but as the <a href='http://darlingtoncouncillor.blogspot.com/2008/10/darlington-food-festival.html'>Darlington Councillor</a> shows on his blog (with a video) it was absolutely packed on both days. Typically, the first stall we encountered was a guy from Wakefield selling exotic curry mixes, chutneys and pickles. Carl got his beloved Lime Pickle, I tried an award winning aubergine chutney (with aubergines grown in Yorkshire), and picked up some tips on marinating paneer... After that we spent quite a while "sampling" artisan cheeses from Wensleydale (caramelised onion cheese being the favourite here). Of course I had to try The Coffee Company (the only one?) - who had a proper espresso machine with a hand pump. We were accosted by a wandering band with trombones all dressed as chefs outside the Caribbean food stall, and also by a bloke dressed as the mad hatter, advertising the Mad Hatter Tea company. Having sampled that North-East staple foodstuff - chorizo, we bought plenty of exotic sausages from <a href='http://www.broommillfarm.co.uk/'>Broom Mill Farm </a>near Bishop Auckland, including chilli,lime and ginger sausages which I can't wait to try.<br/><br/>Inside the main tent there were cookery demonstrations done by a "TV chef" who I'd never heard of, (having looked it up, it turns out she's on <i>This Morning</i> - never having got up in time for that, this could explain my ignorance!). There were also more stalls - fantastic Pie Men with proper thick pastry pies crammed full of Serious Meat. We tried a Cumbrian Rocket from the dried meat stall- a fiery hot pepperami type thing. There were also a few fudge stalls which my parents would have loved, more cheese, and more sausages. One stall was decorated with a load of feathers- ah ha! A purveyor of the finest ostrich meat! - steaks, mince, pies, even a joint of sorts, constructed with ostrich and chicken breasts. From Preston!<br/><br/>I really, really enjoyed the festival, it was great (and inspiring) to see really good quality produce available fresh, often organic, and well, just Real Food I suppose. There was one stall selling t-shirts promoting the <a href='http://www.slowfood.org.uk/'>Slow Food Movement</a> with lots of information leaflets, which I relished until I noticed it seemed to be mainly about things happening in Italy. There were several other stalls which we didn't get a chance to see, but with the exception of our sausage man, nothing was spectacularly local. Sure, Wensleydale, Wakefield, Cumbria and Preston aren't <i>that</i> far away, but then chorizo, lime pickle, and ostrich steak aren't really typical dishes of Northern Britain either. There was some black pudding on offer, but I was expecting to see more "traditional British cuisine" from "local" sources. - But then, I wouldn't even know what that would entail actually. <br/><br/>But back to the point...between the fabulous pies and the Cumbrian Rockets, there was another miscellaneous meat stall. It had beef sausages with Newcastle Brown Ale in them, which was good, but it also had a huge tray of vacuum-packed (but still bleeding) rabbits and hares. These,even without their heads or skin, were far larger than my "Classic Rabbit" Lunch, and considerably less messy to consume. I proffered a fiver, asking "Can I have a decent sized bunny please?". I got one. I love rabbit - it has such a distinctive smell, and really rich taste. We wandered home to cook it for Sunday lunch. ("Lunch" went into a casserole, with red wine, onions, carrots, parsnips, garlic, rosemary, and my own secret ingredient, a double shot of espresso - and very nice he was too. The ferrets approved of the leftovers as well!)<br/><br/>On route home however, I saw something which shook me to my very soul, sent icy shivers down my spine, and produced indignant levels of bile in my stomach.<br/><br/>They're putting a fucking TESCO EXPRESS in the Cornmill!!!!! Aaaaaaaaaaargh!!!!!! <br/>HOW COULD THEY??????<br/>Darlington actually achieved a certain claim to fame in a wonderful book called <a href='http://www.tescopoly.org/'>Tescopoly</a> by Andrew Simms - we are one of very, very, few towns in the UK that doesn't have a Tesco. In fact, we saw off Tesco when they planned to build a massive one right on the corner of the market square, 200 yards from Sainsbury's. Three planning applications to turn an old petrol station on North Road into a mini Tesco have already been rejected as well. Go us!! We shall RESIST!!! Or so I thought. But no, for some INSANE reason, someone, somewhere has agreed to let the corporate monopoly take over an empty unit in the shopping centre. <br/><br/>It just makes me so angry that this is being built, when there are small, independent,companies offering fantastic quality food from a few miles down the road. Instead of supporting our indoor market and shopping there, it's a safe assumption that a good proportion of the Darloite population will traipse round a generic, soulless supermarket buying completely unethical, mass produced, over processed, unseasonal food shipped in from the other side of the globe - because it's "convenient." Tesco is "easy" and non-scary. Food is 'sanitised' and made appealing by packaging; it looks safe and uncomplicated to prepare. My Lunch bunny was quite literally bones and blood and guts in a bag - turning him into something edible was quite a task. But it was completely worth it, and I far, far prefer eating like that. Hopefully events like the Darlington Food Festival will convince other people of that too!<br/><br/>Gah.<br/>Belhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07916775694088500932noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4539143954841233088.post-56851255323030987782008-07-22T13:56:00.004+01:002008-07-22T17:10:42.027+01:00Some good grease....Wasted.My university project at the moment concentrates on the idea of food waste. Specifically, mine is coffee waste and is dwelt on a great deal on <a href="http://drcoffee.wordpress.com/">my other blog</a>. However, in the more general literature review, I've had to quickly learn a lot of discourse about food waste, both socially and in more pragmatic terms.<br /><div xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml"><br />Project 5 of our Waste of the World programme concentrates on UK waste management strategies; that lucky team get to delve into the maze of inconsistent, contradictory recycling guidelines, where each and every local authority has its own set of rules. The bit that caught my attention was the celebration of a relatively new scheme using an Anaerobic Digester. There was a massive one built in Ludlow, which my Dad's<a href="http://www.wasteless.co.uk/"> </a><a href="http://www.wasteless.co.uk/">Wasteless Society</a> were heavily involved in. The idea was simple: get everyone's "green" waste - kitchen scraps, grass clippings, "organic" waste, collected in the local recycling scheme and put it in this Digester. It squashes it all, decomposes, and then the resulting gases and presumably some of the compacted waste can be used as fuel.<br /><br />Get rid of the governmental strategy papers and funding bids and community cohesion plans and all the other bureaucracy surrounding these schemes, and what you get is basically a giant compost heap. Theoretically, it's a sound idea. Except the whole concept relies on the cooperation of the local community. To encourage people to recycle, the local council decided to only run a rubbish collection service every fortnight, but to collect the green waste for recycling every week. This not only stopped people composting their own waste for their private gardens, it also meant that they had plenty of non-compostable rubbish building up whilst only being able to dispose of it once a fortnight. As such, they started putting plastics, wood and all their inorganic waste in the green recycling bins, and hiding it under organic waste so that they could get rid of it. And of course, this waste going into the digester meant the machinery broke, and strangely enough, this stuff didn't decompose well either..... So much for well researched, joined up government....<br /><br />Where I live, private recycling is very good; we have regular collections of paper, glass, and tin, the council gave out free compost bins as well, there is a huge "household waste recycling centre" up the road, and the two of us now produce less than half a black bag of non-recyclable rubbish a week. However, the same cannot be said of business recycling. It does not exist in Darlington. When I worked at the cafe, all the kitchen scraps, food past its sell by date, coffee grounds etc - all of it, despite being mainly recyclable or compostable, got chucked in the regular bins and collected weekly destined for landfill. We used to sneak the less disgusting bits home with us, just cos... well, because it seemed such a waste.<br />Worse still, I worked at a very busy pub in the middle of town, the sort of place that's open from 8am to 1am seven days a week. There was no facility to recycle the glass that the pub generated. Every day we'd fill one of the big green wheelie bins with discarded glass bottles, and the whole lot would end up in landfill, as would all the waste from every other pub in town. The amount of waste from those alone is unimaginable.<br /><br />We do try and do our bit for the environment though, and we even help that pub with its recycling. We run our car off used vegetable oil. My husband converted the (diesel) engine on our old Peugeot to run off chip fat - it's not an overly complex thing to do, since diesel engines were originally designed to run off peanut oil in the first place. We get our fuel from the pub kitchen. The big fryers are emptied and cleaned once a week, and there is usually 30 litres of oil awaiting our collection in big buckets on Sunday afternoons. We take it home, and put it through a very fine filter set in a water butt in our garden (to get the chips out!) and then it is ready to go straight in the car. Of course, if for any reason there is no oil to collect (and while we're on the subject of food waste, pub kitchens are infamous. One of the most common reasons why there is no oil sometimes is that the chef has refilled the fryers and forgotten to put the plug back in the bottom and flooded the entire kitchen with 30 litres of grease...) - we can always buy vegetable oil straight from supermarkets and chuck it in the tank, but nowadays even that is expensive!<br /><br />Free, recycled fuel is definitely the way to go, though. True, our car does smell of chips, especially when stuck in a traffic jam, and virtually every one of my husband's t-shirts has splashes of veggie oil down it, but these are small prices to pay, given we can smugly laugh at everyone else queuing up to pay £1.30 a litre for dino-diesel. Carl even got on TV, have a lookee at his video <a href="http://www.facebook.com/home.php?#/video/video.php?v=13747651173">HERE.</a><br /><br />Veggie cars are sustainable too. There is a lot of hand wringing by environmentalists over biodiesel using up precious grain crops that in turn push up world food prices, etc. Mass producing palm oil involves destroying rainforest and so on and so forth. But what no-one considers is how much oil is used, and then disposed of by cafes, restaurants, pubs up and down the country on a daily basis. This oil can easily be filtered and used as fuel, as we do. In our experience, most places are happy to give you their oil, as some have to pay to have it taken away. Or worse, they simply chuck it down the drain. I read somewhere that 300 tonnes of reusable oil is poured down the drain <i>every day</i> in the UK. Vegetable oil is a very misunderstood substance, I think. We found a few drums of the stuff at the Household Waste Disposal site, and asked if we could take it for the car. We were told we couldn't, because it had been classed as Hazardous Waste, and we'd have to pay for it and fill in loads of forms or something.... doh. Vegetable is not flammable unless under highly intense heat or pressure - if you drop a match in it, it will go out. If you spill it, it will biodegrade in a matter of days. How or why it could ever be hazardous I cannot fathom.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp3.blogger.com/_ZAAPa16isnQ/SIXd-Vq7ZwI/AAAAAAAAAE8/3iLQNK3RyOw/s1600-h/BBB08015.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 193px; height: 235px;" src="http://bp3.blogger.com/_ZAAPa16isnQ/SIXd-Vq7ZwI/AAAAAAAAAE8/3iLQNK3RyOw/s320/BBB08015.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5225827005672154882" border="0" /></a><br />At the beginning of July we drove our veggie mobile all the way down to Buckinghamshire, to what is now the annual Biodiesel Buddies Barbecue. A guy has a field, and everyone who runs their car off chip fat (or tractor, landrover, or caravan, come to that) congregates there to discuss the merits of biofuel. As a veggie-oil-fanatic's WAG, I found myself cooking for 20 veggie geeks over a campfire. It was bloody brilliant. I made potjiekos and Trinidad Pepperpot and my infamous potato salad and rice and even very special campfire coffee. But I digress....<br /><br />The 'convention' also involved others demonstrating their latest ideas for veggie burning efforts. Chug had an old Lister engine and was trying to run a generator off veggie oil. Others had Turk burners. Making biodiesel involves mixing veg oil with methanol and caustic soda, and the end result produces biodiesel and glycerin. The Turk burners allow you to burn that glycerin by-product, and one bloke was even seeing if he could use them to heat his house. Someone else had designed a system (for some reason, elegantly wrapped in a green velvet curtain) that allowed you to reclaim the methanol from the biodiesel so you could reuse it. We also had a compost toilet which was infinitely less smelly and more civilised than conventional portaloos, and even solar powered fairy lights- very pretty!<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp0.blogger.com/_ZAAPa16isnQ/SIXgCOy5o6I/AAAAAAAAAFE/k0if5GOsdIk/s1600-h/05072008382.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp0.blogger.com/_ZAAPa16isnQ/SIXgCOy5o6I/AAAAAAAAAFE/k0if5GOsdIk/s320/05072008382.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5225829271569277858" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp3.blogger.com/_ZAAPa16isnQ/SIXgCdg7lPI/AAAAAAAAAFM/1wU2rymKv8E/s1600-h/06072008414.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp3.blogger.com/_ZAAPa16isnQ/SIXgCdg7lPI/AAAAAAAAAFM/1wU2rymKv8E/s320/06072008414.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5225829275520439538" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp1.blogger.com/_ZAAPa16isnQ/SIXgChGsK9I/AAAAAAAAAFU/IGDMVJUH52I/s1600-h/43401166.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp1.blogger.com/_ZAAPa16isnQ/SIXgChGsK9I/AAAAAAAAAFU/IGDMVJUH52I/s320/43401166.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5225829276484119506" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">The Lister engine, a Turk burner and the methanol reclaiming drum.</span><br /><br />For more info on all this, please have a look at the <a href="http://www.vegetableoildiesel.co.uk/">Biodiesel forums</a> that inspired all this.<br /><br />The possibilities with this fuel from food waste are endless. If Ludlow get their anaerobic digester working, you may even get cars running on reclaimed/recycled LPG from compost... or something like that. My understanding of the chemistry here is very vague, but I appreciate the concept. Food doesn't have to stop being useful after we've finished eating. Your car can eat the leftovers!<br /><br /></div>Belhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07916775694088500932noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4539143954841233088.post-59360080701242575322008-06-21T16:42:00.003+01:002008-06-21T17:01:37.736+01:00The Boiled, the Bland and the Bizarre<i>(This is a paper I wrote for uni, years ago (third year undergrad to be precise). I loved writing it, and it's kinda relevant to this blog, so I decided to repost it!)</i><br /><br /><center>Introduction</center><br /><br />“Latin American food is, by our standards, bland. So bland, that during my 6-month stay in Peru I lost two and a half stone, simply because I got so bored of the food that I stopped eating it. After this plan eventually made me ill, … I suddenly learned the true value of Peruvian cooking. If anything, it is just so much easier and logical. I am now hoping that my host family’s taste of the British food I cooked them was enough to make them understand my own confusion with their food.” (Terrill,: 2001:49)<br /><br />I know I am not alone in experiencing intense culture shock when it comes to alien eating habits, and it is this phenomenon that this project aims to explore. The questionnaires and interviews conducted aimed to examine travellers’ initial reactions to the food they were offered in Central America and the Andean region of South America. (For reasons of space and a lack of participants, the Caribbean and jungle regions have not been included.) Some foods were obviously more popular than others, and the interviews attempted to inquire whether these foods were popular because they were more recognisable or similar to British foods. What is it about Latin American cuisine that British travellers find so hard to adapt to? Why, when ‘British’ food is so varied and encompasses influences from so many different cultures, do we find it hard to adapt to another culture’s eating habits? Once the extent of culture shock has been established and analysed, suggestions and recommendations are made to help cope with the food in an alien culture.<br /><br />The participants in this study are all current students or recent graduates who have had some experience of travelling, be it backpacking around several countries, or volunteering in one particular place. The majority have travelled in Central or South America. For comparison, and to give further examples of culture shock, some students who have travelled or volunteered elsewhere in the world but have sampled Latino food have been included as well.<br /><br />Some information from the participants was collected in face-to-face interviews, other parts in email questionnaires, and some material is semi-autobiographical.<br /><div style="text-align: center;"><br />Towards a definition of Latin Food<br /></div><br />A possible, if very vague definition of Latin food is that it is a combination of vastly different influences, altered to fit with the restraints of climate, ingredients and ease of preparation. That definition, however, could also easily apply to British food. Possibly the defining point of Latin cookery is simply that it is very difficult to extricate one historical influence from another, and as Luard (2002) suggests, “It would be a very brave ethnologist indeed who could … claim exclusivity [in South America] for the use of the earth oven … a method of cooking, which… is common throughout South East Asia as well as among the aboriginal shore dwellers of Australasia. (Luard, 2002:10)<br /><br />Central and South America has been colonised by many European groups, the Spanish and Portugese, the French, the English, the Dutch, and even the Welsh in Patagonia.(Hutchinson, 2002). All these groups brought with them their own style of cookery, the Spanish possibly introducing rice dishes as a derivation of paella, and the Portugese settlers bringing the taste for seafood, both presumably also carrying Moorish influences, given the time period. (Luard, 2002).<br /><br />The New World was, of course, discovered on a search for a new spice route to the Orient and India, with people’s tastes clamouring for the exotic. With the settlers came the slave trade, and consequently some sorts of African influences, such as the Creole and some forms of Caribbean cookery. In more recent times there has been an influx of Oriental settlers, shown by the numerous “Chifa” restaurants in the Andes, mixing traditional Andean food with Chinese and Japanese dishes. All this disregards the traditional cookery from the Aztecs, Mayans or Incas civilisations, or the plantain-based food of many of the Amazonian tribes. In short, the combination of all these peoples intermixing and sharing recipes is what makes Latin food so unique.<br /><br />International influences aside, cuisine is also enhanced or sometimes restricted by the available ingredients, and cooking and storage arrangements. The Spanish settlers saw that the Argentinean and Chilean plains in Patagonia were ideal for grazing cattle, and as a result beef and red meat is a key ingredient in these areas. Barbecuing is also extremely common, as is salting and drying the meats, which evolved in the absence of refrigeration. (Luard 2002). Unusually, for a long time the cow was seen only as a meat animal, and was not often used for milk and dairy products. (Aguirre, 2003). Finally, the raw fish ceviche dishes on the Pacific coast again may have stemmed from not having a way of transporting fish successfully given the lack of ice and refrigeration in the coastal deserts.<br /><br />The differing climates in the region (dry, hot coastal desert, cold, hypoxic highlands, and humid cloud- and rainforests) mean a lot of different crops came to flourish. International businesses and slave owners quickly came to recognise the potential advantages of cash crops and plantations with crops of coffee and sugar cane, and more recently the multi-million dollar cocaine industry based on coca crops. In the Amazon, more exotic flavourings such as chocolate and vanilla can be grown, along with a huge variety of nuts and unusual berries. All these crops required indigenous knowledge to process successfully. Finally, the staples of potatoes, cassava and plaintain became encompassed within the cuisine of the settlers as well.<br />Food from the traditional Mayan or Incan cultures is heavily entwined with their belief system and cosmology as well. The Mayan’s prized their rich, dark, bitter chocolate as food for only the elite in society and it was used during religious ceremonies.(Hutchinson, 2002) Another example is the Incan’s use of the guinea-pig, as food, as a part of Shamanic healing rituals, and in some cases, as sacrifices to the Gods. The name for guinea pig, Cuy, is not, as many suggest, from the noise they make (“Cwee-Cwee!”), but from the Quechua ‘kawe’ meaning ‘life.’(Morales, 1995). The legacy of the guinea-pig continues despite the conquest of the Inca’s as shown by its infiltration of the Catholic religion. The huge “Last Supper” painting in the central cathedral in Cusco, Peru, appears to show Christ and his disciples sitting down to a meal of cuy asado.<br /><br />Given this extraordinary range of influences and ingredients, it is not hard to see why some travellers are not able to adapt easily to Latin cuisine. What is surprising is the way most backpackers’ overriding impression that Latin food is bland and unvarying.<br /><br /><center>A Gringo’s Eye View</center><br /><br />As shown throughout the interviews and questionnaires, many travellers experience “Gastronomic culture shock”, because the food they receive is either not what they are accustomed to, or not what they expect. Gorden (1988) describes the shock in the following way:<br />“Often an American guest arrived in Colombia determined to follow dietary customs. He had fantasies of eating unusual foods such as squid, goat, fried grasshoppers… or food smouldering with chilli pepper. … He was usually not prepared for what he found. Instead … he found that the food is very “bland,” “starchy,” “greasy” and “monotonous.” The gastronomic jolt was not in specific strange foods but in a different balance of fairly familiar items.”(Gorden, 1988:78)<br /><br />The Bland:<br />No one in the surveys particularly disliked any of the food they were given while staying with a Latin American family; what caused problems was the tediousness of it. By definition, staple foods are bland, and have to be made more interesting and palatable by supplementing them with meats, vegetables, spices and herbs with stronger flavours. In this country, we eat rice only in conjunction with a hot curry sauce, or a sweet and sour stir-fry. Potatoes are served in many forms, for example, mashed with butter and milk, roasted then dowsed in meat gravy, deep fried as chips then splashed with salt and vinegar, or whole potatoes are baked then topped with cheese and so on.<br /><br />In Central America and in lowland South America, rice is the staple, and although rice is still ubiquitous, the potato makes more of an appearance in the Andean Highlands. In theory at least, Western travellers should not be too shocked at having to eat rice and potatoes since they do so at home quite comfortably. What has the greatest effect on the Gringos’ stomach is the blandness of it, and lack of variation, particular when the traveller is staying with a host-family. Rice is often served as an accompaniment to every single meal, since it is economical, filling, and suitable for the entire family. In Nicaragua and Honduras, it is sometimes served up three times a day, rice and frijole-beans for breakfast or desayuno, refried rice and some sort of mashed vegetable, or a fried chicken leg for almuerza and any leftovers are dressed with chilli and scooped up with an equally tasteless tortilla for supper or cena. In the questionnaire and interviews, the travellers in host families all described the food similarly:<br /><br /><blockquote>Fairly bland. Not exactly haute cuisine, but it was cheap, and it did fill you up<br /><br />Mind-bogglingly, taste-bud-dullingly monotonous<br /><br />Peruvians eat A LOT of rice and chicken. Make that rice with every bloody<br />meal, without sauce, just plain dry rice. BORING.<br /><br />I actually found it very good. Having said that, I tend to like bland and boring food which might explain why I enjoyed it so much. It wasn't very inventive and they do not appear to use a lot of spices. </blockquote><br />Nutritionally speaking, this style of food provides an adequate diet. The sheer amount of starch and carbohydrates provided a slow but steady release of energy. Proteins and vitamins come from the occasional meat and vast array of vegetables and fruit on offer. (Luard, 2002) However, our diet in Britain is not the same in the sense that we get the same nutrients from different sources. We tend to eat more meat, probably because we are able to afford it. We certainly eat more processed foods, high in salts and preservatives. Finally, a lot of our energy comes from sugar and sweetened foods. (Gorden, 1988) In contrast, there are very few sweet dishes in Latin America. In Peru, although chocolate and sugar cane grew readily in the countryside, virtually all of it was exported and so very little was available to the general public. In Central America, the only chocolate available is thick, rich and very, very dark, almost bitter. Although it contains the same amount of caffeine as a milk chocolate bar, (Luard, 2002) it does not have the sweet taste some backpackers craved.<br /><br /><blockquote>We then arrived in Antigua, Guatemala, and were in such shock at the … extortionate number of Tourists and Fairy lights that we spent most of our time in the (swanky) cafes drinking hot chocolate, comparing its quality and taste to the last one we had had … in a quiet Mayan village …so desolate that all you could do was...drink hot chocolate!!</blockquote><br /><br />Fresh fruit and vegetables were in abundance though, and it is these food groups that the travellers seemed to be most enthusiastic about. The range of fruit was truly astounding in some parts, with some fruits that were unrecognisable and unheard of it Western supermarkets. Ensalada de Fruta for breakfast was a favourite among all the travellers in this survey, as well as the delicious “frescos” or “jugos” which were liquidized fruit with either milk or water and cooled with shaved ice.<br /><br />“As we all sat around drinking our jugo de piñas I started thinking about the bizarre fruits in the market that we would never see again when we returned to Britain. Elise’s favourite is Atuna - fruits from, of all things, cacti. Surprisingly juicy and neon pink, like a miniaturised watermelon. I prefer Granadia - some relation to the pomegranate, which is a round, yellow thing with a very hard shell, and what looks like frog-spawn in the middle. You tap it on the table to crack the skin, then pour the jelly into your mouth.” (Terrill, 2001:61)<br /><br />The Exotic<br />Another part of gastronomic culture shock did come from the exoticness of some of the food, Peru providing some very odd concoctions from a Gringo’s point of view. These included ceviche, which can be found along all parts of the pacific coast. Essentially it is raw fish marinated in lime juice, the acidity of which ‘cooks’ the fish. It is also customary to serve “leche de tigre” as an accompaniment. This is the juices from the cerviche mixed with vodka and knocked back as a shot, unsurprisingly, not a favourite among the few backpackers who dared to try it. Sometimes it is not just the ingredients that shock, but also their preparation:<br /><br />Remember the joke: ‘What’s red and green and goes round and round and round?’ In the market they sell frogs and toads alive. When you buy one, they slit it down the back, still alive, and take the skeleton out. Then they put whatever’s left in the blender, add salt and give it to you in a glass to drink. I nearly puked. (Terrill:2001:62)<br /><br />Many travellers enjoyed the vast array of soups available all over Latin America, especially since these too involved some exotic ingredients and unknown recipes. Since soup is designed as a starter only, part of the culture shock in many cases was from happily slurping an enormous bowl of sopa (broth or water-based soup) or chupe (milk or cream soups), feeling full, and then being expected to consume a large plateful of rice as well. Another danger was never knowing what you would find actually in the soup. In some cases this really was a shock:<br /><blockquote>I absolutely loved the pumpkin soup. Why? I tend to love soup and this soup was exquisite.<br /><br />… Also the bizarre soup I got served in Peru: noodles, vegetables, topped by a slice of toast with a fried egg on top!!!<br /><br />Oh God!! They put chicken feet in the soup! All the kids were sucking on them! Yuk!</blockquote><br /><br />The plata tipica on the Pacific coastline near Leon, Nicaragua, is sopa de res con punche, or beef and crab soup (Schechter:2001). This is served as illustrated, with a very large chuck of beef in the middle, swimming in its own broth, with roughly chopped potatoes, corn cobs, marrow and other unidentifiable vegetables wallowing beneath the surface. A few crabs’ legs appear to be crawling out of the side of the bowl, which you are encouraged to crack open and suck the juices out of. The whole thing was served with a dried avocado skin to act as a spoon. This dish alone demonstrates how so many Gringo travellers get culture shock from the food they experience in Latin America.<br /><br />Perhaps the worst shock from food that travellers experience is the Latin American tendency to eat animals that we in Britain would consider to be pets. The coastal regions of Central America mean that supplies of turtle meat is readily available in the dry season, and a few British volunteers working on conservation projects in Costa Rica were horribly disheartened to find the turtles they had spent all day rescuing, ended up on the menu in their local restaurant.<br /><blockquote><br />I have a little tip for Gringos everywhere: never ever order anything off a menu that you can’t translate. Do you remember that soup in Maderas? [on the Nicaragua-Costa Rica border]. I ordered something I couldn’t read, and got a soup which had something like a golf ball floating in it. If you hadn’t told me huevos tortugesa meant Turtle Eggs, I would have eaten it, and that would have broken my heart. </blockquote><br /><br />Perhaps the most infamous example is the Andean cuisine of roasted guinea pig.<br /><br />My shoestring travelling mantra is always “never refuse free food”, and so when Mitzy’s parents offered us a meal, I responded very positively. But oh dear..Forgive me Father, for I have sinned,.. Picante de Cuy! In other words, Roast Guinea-pig in spicy sauce! Fortunately they’d chopped the poor thing up so it no longer resembled my childhood pets...usually they served Cuy whole, complete with head so you know you are not eating rat, which is delightfully reassuring. I eventually squashed my taunting conscience and tried the thing, and I have to admit I quite liked it. (Terrill, 2001:68)<br /><br />As explained in the previous chapter, the guinea pig, or cuy is very important in Ecuador, Peru, Argentina and so on, both as a good food source, and as an animal with religious and spiritual significance. Try as we might, very few travellers staying in the Andean highlands managed to convince their host families that they couldn’t eat Cuy, because they had kept guinea-pigs as pets when they were younger. The equivalent would be a Peruvian telling us they couldn’t eat lamb or mutton because they’d had a pet sheep in the past. To us, this sounds equally odd, and we would be unlikely to take this complaint seriously, just as the Peruvian’s disregarded ours. (Morales, 1995)<br /><br />The Unclean<br /><br />Another problem faced by the inter-cultural traveller is how much to trust the alien culture’s level of hygiene. In most rural areas in Latin America, it is not advisable to drink the water. (Schechter, 2001) In Peru, you cannot drink water straight from the tap; the cleanest water available is straight from the mountain streams. (Rachoweiki, 2000). In Central America, the water is drinkable in the major towns and cities but again, it is less hygienic in rural areas. (Hutchinson, 2002)<br /><br />Many travellers are wary of particular food as well, based on (often exaggerated) stories of horrendous illnesses from other travellers, or from their own experiences:<br /><br /><blockquote>Come on Bel! You saw the state of the river! No-one drank the water, not even the locals. I didn’t fancy drinking unpasturized milk either.<br /><br />I was warned against eating ceviche (raw fish). Normally, I'll try anything,<br />but I know you can get badly sick from eating dodgy fish in particular (i.e.<br />non salted, non refrigerated)<br /><br />Someone tried to tell me the frijoles were poisonous if you didn’t cook them properly..? I wouldn’t eat the “meat” in Vigarones having found a bit with the hairs of the pig still attached once.<br /><br />I’d never try cerviche – not after hearing about David ending up in hospital on a drip after eating it. No way.</blockquote><br /><br />In a way, this fear of certain foods, in particular, meats, cannot help culture shock. In order to fully acculturate, travellers must not be afraid to get involved with local customs, try typical foods and attempt to live as local people do. Travellers can never truly feel at home until they do this. Some gringos who worry about getting ill from eating foreign food tend to start searching for restaurants that do “familiar” western food, such as burger bars and pizza places. Again, by surrounding yourself with familiar foods, this aspect of the alien culture will always be unfamiliar.<br /><br />Wariness of unhygienic food can also lead to problems for those travellers living with a local family. It is pointless and also quite rude to ask if food is safe if all the other members of the family are happily eating it, and can be seen as a slight on the family’s cooking. (Gorden, 1988)<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;">Festival Foods<br /></div><br />One of the most unnerving and disorientating times for volunteers abroad appears to be major festivals, such as Christmas or Easter. This confusion is enhanced particularly as the seasons are reversed in the southern hemisphere, and the climate is very hot all year round in Central America. Each of the participants in this project appears to have a fixed idea of what should happen at the celebration, a mental image of the ideal Christmas based on what they are used to from their own experiences at ‘home’ with their families. All unconsciously expect festivals abroad to be similar, but as most found, they are not; the differences depending on the climate, customs and religion of the area visited. It is not too much of a generalisation to say that Britain as a nation has a much more secular approach to Christmas and Easter than the strictly Catholic countries of Latin America. As a result, each backpacker who experienced a major festival whilst abroad felt somewhat bewildered, as shown from their comments in interviews.<br /><br /><blockquote>Christmas in Argentina was really weird, kinda flat, They [host family] all went to midnight mass and put a crib scene up in the window, but that was about it. I was expecting something a bit bigger. Really felt homesick then.<br /><br />I was in Guatemala for Christmas. All the streets were filled with Mayan Indians in their brightly coloured clothes, so they had to be my colourful Christmas tree this year. And the nights were cold enough to imagine Christmas! Somehow it being sunny and warm didn’t feel right. <br /><br />Easter Sunday, and we had rice for lunch again (first fried then boiled, its all the rage in Nicaragua!). There was a new drink for Easter … it involves boiling up pineapple skins, adding raspberry colouring so it goes pink, and blending it with boiled rice. I braved a glass with my rice and beans … and again at supper. I was hoping that it was ok to decline the third time running, I just couldn’t do it.<br /><br />Its Easter week and I don’t have any chocolate eggs! ¡Que horror!<br /></blockquote><br />In the Catholic calendar, Easter is the most important festival, marking the death, resurrection and ascension of Christ in the New Testament. In Britain, although Easter is marked and has religious significance to many people, the festival has nothing like the intricacy or preparation and the scale of the celebration is not comparable with those in Latin America. In the UK, typical Easter foods would include Simnal cake (a spiced fruit cake usually covered in Marzipan), and ‘hot cross buns’ with the cross presumably representing the crucifix. Chocolate eggs are a relatively new tradition. The religious connection is unclear; some assume a hollow egg is a symbol of the empty tomb after Christ’s resurrection, while another theory claims an egg is a symbol of new life, which is again linked with the resurrection. Easter also marks the end of Lent, where people traditionally give up certain foods for forty days, representing Christ wandering in the wilderness. Lent starts with Shrove Tuesday, when all the milk and eggs and other dairy products are used up (usually in the form of pancakes), and these foods are not consumed for the following forty days.<br /><br />In contrast, in the Andean region, Easter is celebrated with large feasts, in which all the extended family are invited. In Argentina, this takes the form of a huge beef-based barbecue, where whole cows are roasted out doors over a wood fire.<br /><blockquote>“Barbecue on Sunday! More food than you can shake a stick at! And ALL of it meat!” </blockquote><br /><br />Similarly, in Peru a feast is prepared, but the symbolism of the food is a peculiar meld of Catholicism and the older Andean religions. The Semana Santa (Holy week) cuisine is “Pachamanca”, or “Earth food” in the Quechua language. This is a meal of mutton cooked on the bone, broad beans still in their jackets, potatoes and a type of cornmeal-based dumplings steamed in maize leaves, called Tamales.<br /><br /><blockquote>…I remember when my host sister came to visit from the states for the first time after ten years and the family made Pacha Manca which is very time consuming and invited the whole family over to welcome her home. Tamales are part of Pacha Manca, as in they are part of the food which is cooked underground. They basically consist of crushed corn mixed with either salt or sugar and wrapped in leaves from corn cobs. I remember asking what they were, and was told “Es Tamal” and thought I wasn’t being told their name, but that they were bad, as in non-tasty, or “Esta Mal” as I soon found out, they were as disgusting as their name suggests. </blockquote><br /><br />The whole concoction is cooked in an earth oven, consisting of hot rocks in a hole in the ground, with the food piled on top and the heat sealed in by piling the earth back in on top of a tarpaulin. This ritual is apparently in honour of “Pachamama” or Mother Earth, but the confusing thing is that the earth mound is decorated by placing a Christian crucifix on the top, so the oven looks rather like a grave. Pachamanca celebrations also include the consumption of Calientitos, (lit. ‘little hot ones’) – a cocktail served up hot in shots, based on Peruvian Pisco brandy. Older members of the family also chew coca leaves. Traditionally, some coca is also buried in the ground, and some alcohol deliberately spilt on top in honour of Pachamama.<br /><br />This whole elaborate ceremony is almost incomprehensible to most travellers, as the meal is so symbolic, both for the Catholic religion as also the older Andean earth rituals. There are virtually no similarities between Semana Santa rituals in South America, and Easter festivals in Britain, and at this time of year, a gringo could feel a very very long way from home.<br /><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;">Conclusions<br /></div><br />The differing degrees of gastronomic culture shock experienced by the travellers relates to their individual circumstances. Their own preferences concerning food should be taken in to account, for example, whether or not they are vegetarian, have any allergies, or in some cases, whether their religion prevents them eating particular foods. Within this survey, a traveller whose religion forbids her to eat pork, and who was served in on a regular basis in Peru, experienced extreme culture shock. The author has a distinct hatred of fish, much to the disappointment of her host-family<br /><br />The most obvious differentiation that should be made is between travellers staying with local families and travellers passing through as tourists. These interviews showed that it was the travellers living with host-families who remained convinced that Latino food was bland and unvarying. This relates to the socio-economic status of the family involved, and in many cases the food did not vary because of financial restraints. Travellers planning on staying with host-families should be made aware of this because, as shown, relations with the host-family can become strained if the gringo obviously dislikes the food that the family take for granted. If the monotony of the food becomes too much, one suggestion would be to supplement the diet by visiting local restaurants and cafes, possibly inviting the family as well, and to sample some of the more exotic dishes on offer.<br /><br />In the opposite case, travellers who ate solely in cafés and restaurants were the ones who expressed disgust at the more exotic dishes they encountered. This can be remedied in some way by suggesting the traveller asks for “el Menu” or “Comida Corrida” in restaurants, which is usually very similar to what local people would eat at home, and typically rice and bean based, neither ingredient of which is particularly unknown.(Schechter, 2001) Also, as stated in one of the interviews, it is not recommended that the traveller ask for anything on a menu that he cannot translate, to avoid unwelcome surprises.<br /><br />One thing that all travellers should avoid is trying to surround themselves with foods that remind them of home, such as always going to Pizza places, burger bars or restaurants that offer other Western foods. As with any form of culture shock, the disorientation is only relieved by submerging yourself in the alien culture until it becomes familiar. Eating Western foods alone not only has the effect of making you more homesick, it also singles you out as permanently different to the local people, which, if the traveller is aware of it, exaggerates any feelings of not fitting in locally.<br /><br />Similarly, being paranoid about becoming ill from local food has the same effect in the community. The quicker the traveller samples and becomes accustomed to the food, the quicker he will build up a tolerance to any unhygienic aspects of it.<br /><br />No-one can ever be truly prepared when visiting a foreign culture, but culture shock is vary rarely a permanent phenomenon, and most symptoms can be relieved as soon as the traveller acculturates to the new surroundings.<br /><br /><center><span style="font-size:100%;"><u><b>Bibliography:</b></u></span></span></center></p><span style="font-family:Courier New,monospace;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:Times New Roman,serif;"><span style="font-size:100%;"><b>Aguirre, P.,</b></span></span><span style="font-family:Times New Roman,serif;"><span style="font-size:100%;"> </span></span><span style="font-family:Times New Roman,serif;"><span style="font-size:100%;"><u>2003</u></span></span><span style="font-family:Times New Roman,serif;"><span style="font-size:100%;"> The Culture of Milk in Argentina in </span></span><span style="font-family:Times New Roman,serif;"><span style="font-size:100%;"><i>Anthropology of Food Journal</i></span></span><span style="font-family:Times New Roman,serif;"><span style="font-size:100%;">, No. 2, September 2003.</span></span></span></span> <p style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family:Courier New,monospace;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:Times New Roman,serif;"><span style="font-size:100%;"><b>Gorden, R.L.,</b></span></span><span style="font-family:Times New Roman,serif;"><span style="font-size:100%;"> </span></span><span style="font-family:Times New Roman,serif;"><span style="font-size:100%;"><u>1988</u></span></span><span style="font-family:Times New Roman,serif;"><span style="font-size:100%;"> </span></span><span style="font-family:Times New Roman,serif;"><span style="font-size:100%;"><i>Living in Latin America, A Case Study in Cross-Cultural Communication,</i></span></span><span style="font-family:Times New Roman,serif;"><span style="font-size:100%;"> National Textbook Company: Chicago</span></span></span></span></p> <p style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family:Courier New,monospace;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:Times New Roman,serif;"><span style="font-size:100%;"><b>Hutchinson, P., </b></span></span><span style="font-family:Times New Roman,serif;"><span style="font-size:100%;"><u>2002</u></span></span><span style="font-family:Times New Roman,serif;"><span style="font-size:100%;"> </span></span><span style="font-family:Times New Roman,serif;"><span style="font-size:100%;"><i>Central America and Mexico Handbook</i></span></span><span style="font-family:Times New Roman,serif;"><span style="font-size:100%;">, Footprint Handbooks: Bath</span></span></span></span></p> <p style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family:Courier New,monospace;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:Times New Roman,serif;"><span style="font-size:100%;"><b>Luard, E.,</b></span></span><span style="font-family:Times New Roman,serif;"><span style="font-size:100%;"> </span></span><span style="font-family:Times New Roman,serif;"><span style="font-size:100%;"><u>2002</u></span></span><span style="font-family:Times New Roman,serif;"><span style="font-size:100%;">, </span></span><span style="font-family:Times New Roman,serif;"><span style="font-size:100%;"><i>The Latin American Kitchen</i></span></span><span style="font-family:Times New Roman,serif;"><span style="font-size:100%;">, Kyle Cathy Limited: London</span></span></span></span></p> <p style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family:Courier New,monospace;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:Times New Roman,serif;"><span style="font-size:100%;"><b>Morales, E.,</b></span></span><span style="font-family:Times New Roman,serif;"><span style="font-size:100%;"> </span></span><span style="font-family:Times New Roman,serif;"><span style="font-size:100%;"><u>1995</u></span></span><span style="font-family:Times New Roman,serif;"><span style="font-size:100%;"> </span></span><span style="font-family:Times New Roman,serif;"><span style="font-size:100%;"><i>The Guinea Pig, Healing, Food and Rituals in the Andes</i></span></span><span style="font-family:Times New Roman,serif;"><span style="font-size:100%;"> University of Arizona Press: Arizona.</span></span></span></span></p> <p style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family:Courier New,monospace;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:Times New Roman,serif;"><span style="font-size:100%;"><b>Rachoweiki,</b></span></span><span style="font-family:Times New Roman,serif;"><span style="font-size:100%;"> R.</span></span><span style="font-family:Times New Roman,serif;"><span style="font-size:100%;"><u>2000</u></span></span><span style="font-family:Times New Roman,serif;"><span style="font-size:100%;"> </span></span><span style="font-family:Times New Roman,serif;"><span style="font-size:100%;"><i>Peru</i></span></span><span style="font-family:Times New Roman,serif;"><span style="font-size:100%;">, Lonely Planet Publications: Melbourne </span></span></span></span> </p> <p style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family:Courier New,monospace;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:Times New Roman,serif;"><span style="font-size:100%;"><b>Schechter, D.,</b></span></span><span style="font-family:Times New Roman,serif;"><span style="font-size:100%;"> </span></span><span style="font-family:Times New Roman,serif;"><span style="font-size:100%;"><u>2001</u></span></span><span style="font-family:Times New Roman,serif;"><span style="font-size:100%;"> </span></span><span style="font-family:Times New Roman,serif;"><span style="font-size:100%;"><i>Nicaragua,</i></span></span><span style="font-family:Times New Roman,serif;"><span style="font-size:100%;"> in Zingarelli, D., Davis, J., Gorry, C., Hellander, P., Miller, C., and Schechter, D., </span></span><span style="font-family:Times New Roman,serif;"><span style="font-size:100%;"><u>2001</u></span></span><span style="font-family:Times New Roman,serif;"><span style="font-size:100%;"> </span></span><span style="font-family:Times New Roman,serif;"><span style="font-size:100%;"><i>Central America on a Shoestring</i></span></span><span style="font-family:Times New Roman,serif;"><span style="font-size:100%;">. Lonely Planet Publications: Melbourne.</span></span></span></span></p> <p style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family:Courier New,monospace;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:Times New Roman,serif;"><span style="font-size:100%;"><b>Terrill, A.,</b></span></span><span style="font-family:Times New Roman,serif;"><span style="font-size:100%;"> </span></span><span style="font-family:Times New Roman,serif;"><span style="font-size:100%;"><u>2001</u></span></span><span style="font-family:Times New Roman,serif;"><span style="font-size:100%;"> </span></span><span style="font-family:Times New Roman,serif;"><span style="font-size:100%;"><i>Gringa!</i></span></span><span style="font-family:Times New Roman,serif;"><span style="font-size:100%;"> (As yet unpublished)</span></span></span></span></p><br /><span style="font-style: italic;"></span></span>Belhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07916775694088500932noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4539143954841233088.post-56869849469037322012008-05-28T18:54:00.002+01:002008-05-28T23:22:44.256+01:00How to deal with a Dudhi, and other Obscene Vegetables.This is Jo:<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ZAAPa16isnQ/SD3Tvk7MpcI/AAAAAAAAADU/5Mj3eRn7ToU/s1600-h/jo.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 188px; height: 178px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ZAAPa16isnQ/SD3Tvk7MpcI/AAAAAAAAADU/5Mj3eRn7ToU/s320/jo.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5205549558629443010" border="0" /></a><br /><div xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml"><br />Last week, for reasons best known to herself, Jo proudly presented me with An Obscene Vegetable. This vegetable (if, indeed, it was actually a vegetable) was about a foot long, rounded and about 2 inches thick, and a lovely pale green colour all over, rather like a slim, pale marrow. At least, the marrow is the safest description we could come up with....<br /><br />This Thing turned out to be a Dudhi, although knowing this did not really shed light on what to do with it. According to the shopkeeper, Dudhis go well in curries. This remains to be seen, since when I finally got round to cooking it, (as opposed to staring at it in the fridge nervously, waiting for inspiration to hit) I wasn't brave enough to add it to pilau or fry it up in spices or marinate it.<br /><br />Instead, I created Dudhi Pie. This was a recipe invented on the spot, and as such, whatever I did to the Dudhi, I could always pretend it was supposed to be like that and get away with it. At an educated guess, I assumed the Dudhi was some sort of squash, so I put it with courgette, potato and plenty of cheese. I also made a herby eggy mixture with nutmeg and tarragon, and poured it over the top so the whole thing resembled quiche. I topped it with toasted breadcrumbs and slabs of brie. I had no idea if any of those ingredients and flavours suited a Dudhi, but it looked vaguely appetizing.<br /><br />I did not even know if I was supposed to peel this thing. I brutally chopped its end off, and found it to be exactly the same colour inside as it was outside - the pale, pastel green. I peeled half of it experimentally, anyway. and found that I was just scraping off strips of green. It was indeed very squash like, but not actually squashy, the flesh is firm. Also, there were no seeds inside like a marrow or pumpkin. It smelled very fresh, like cut grass almost. If anything can smell "green" then this is it.<br /><br /><div style=""><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ZAAPa16isnQ/SD3UbE7MpdI/AAAAAAAAADc/-MF7V1kjANA/s1600-h/24052008250.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 142px; height: 190px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ZAAPa16isnQ/SD3UbE7MpdI/AAAAAAAAADc/-MF7V1kjANA/s320/24052008250.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5205550305953752530" border="0" /></a> <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_ZAAPa16isnQ/SD3ZYU7MpoI/AAAAAAAAAE0/bKcUSKNn0cI/s1600-h/24052008252.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 217px; height: 162px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_ZAAPa16isnQ/SD3ZYU7MpoI/AAAAAAAAAE0/bKcUSKNn0cI/s320/24052008252.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5205555756267251330" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ZAAPa16isnQ/SD3ZYE7MpnI/AAAAAAAAAEs/84EW7TqfDIA/s1600-h/24052008251.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 217px; height: 161px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ZAAPa16isnQ/SD3ZYE7MpnI/AAAAAAAAAEs/84EW7TqfDIA/s320/24052008251.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5205555751972284018" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ZAAPa16isnQ/SD3XUE7MpkI/AAAAAAAAAEU/8Xb8tnoU6pg/s1600-h/24052008254.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 191px; height: 255px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ZAAPa16isnQ/SD3XUE7MpkI/AAAAAAAAAEU/8Xb8tnoU6pg/s320/24052008254.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5205553484229551682" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_ZAAPa16isnQ/SD3XUU7MplI/AAAAAAAAAEc/vCBKESOifvw/s1600-h/24052008255.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 189px; height: 254px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_ZAAPa16isnQ/SD3XUU7MplI/AAAAAAAAAEc/vCBKESOifvw/s320/24052008255.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5205553488524518994" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ZAAPa16isnQ/SD3YbE7MpmI/AAAAAAAAAEk/oWiDKLCzbC8/s1600-h/24052008256.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 181px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ZAAPa16isnQ/SD3YbE7MpmI/AAAAAAAAAEk/oWiDKLCzbC8/s320/24052008256.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5205554704000263778" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /></div>I cooked my Dudhi pie for around half an hour until the egg had solidified and the top browned. As pies go, it was a little on the heavy side - I think it would work as a cheesey quiche, and doesn't need the potato. But the Dudhi did make it a little different from average baked squash dishes. It has a delicate, almost nutty flavour, a little bitter and very 'summery', and it worked very well with nutmeg and the brie. It is nicely savoury and to my mind, (and my husband's) the whole thing tasted like it ought to be good for you. Overall, a success, methinks.<br /><br />Unfortunately, Jo was not around that night to try the Dudhi. However, I have half of it left; a vegetable as obscenely sized as that could not be consumed by the two of us in one sitting. So, assuming it doesn't go off in the fridge (though quite how you'd tell is beyond me), I shall endevour to curry this strange object. Results to follow! I hope Jo continues to surprise me with Odd Vegetable matter. They are useful excuses to experiment in cooking, and hopefully my eccentric friends will be able to sample these experiments next time!</div>Belhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07916775694088500932noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4539143954841233088.post-62405368505273600922008-05-20T20:28:00.003+01:002008-05-24T17:13:10.801+01:00An evening of international feasting and other debauchery<div xmlns='http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml'><div style=''>I like having friends for dinner. The other evening we welcomed Anna to the table. (and very tasty she was too.)<br /><br />Vague cannibal references aside, this particular dinner was marked by it's total randomness, or, if I am to be less flippant, by my inspired 'fusion cooking.'<br />Anna is accustomed to big, warming, and filling dinners. She makes a fabulous 'bigos', or Hunter's stew, national dish of her native Poland. Bigos usually contains a variety of meats of which the only compulsory one is kielbasa, or Polish smoked sausage. As she puts it, Poles are big on dead pig. I have attempted bigos-making before as well, it appeals to my preferred style of cuisine: bung everything in a big pot, slow cook it an see what happens. Along with Miscellaneous Dead Pig, bigos also contains huge quantities of fresh cabbage and sauerkraut. It is one of the few dishes I am willing to describe as 'hearty', which is not a word I like to use often. It also gives you serious wind!<br /><br />What do you feed a Pole? I asked myself. I wasn't willing to cook her bigos in case my version wasn't up to scratch. Instead, I did chose to do Trinidad Pepperpot - Caribbean as the name implies, but with some odd similarities to the Polish counterpart. The idea of a pepperpot is to slow cook the different meats (again, mainly pork) together with plenty of spices, so that the meat practically crumbles and melts in the mouth. The longer you leave it, the better it gets. Whereas the rest of a Bigos is made up of cabbage, a pepperpot is obviously full of colourful bell and chilli peppers. Another similarity though is the presence of vinegar, cider vinegar in pepperpot counterbalanced by rum and brown sugar, and residue from the sauerkraut in bigos, topped up with red wine.<br />The combination of roasted spices in the pepperpot gives it its distinctive Caribbean flavour, but those are my secret recipe and will remain undisclosed for now. That evening, I simmered it for nearly four hours, and it was indeed a thing of beauty. However, in a break from authenticity, I used my Potjiekos pot. The Potjie is my giant, cast iron cauldron that I lovingly lugged back from South Africa. As previously discussed, the Afrikaans are also fans of slow, meat-filled one-pot cookery. Pepperpot was originally a slave dish in the Caribbean, designed for ease of cooking - one pot suspended over a fire, and enough spices to disguise low quality meat and offal that would have gone in it. My recipe requires pork - shoulder or chop, belly if you have no alternative. However, the original recipe requires trotters, snout and other squidgy bits I'd rather not contemplate. <br />It does interest me a great deal that this style of cooking - big meaty slow-cooked stews pop up all over the world. The English equivalent I guess would be a good casserole or maybe even a pot-roast. Some Himalayan curries are done in this fashion using up tough goat meat; Norwegians do thick fish stew with heavy dumplings, but all are variations on the theme. It seems to equate to a cooler or possibly mountainous climate however - I cannot think of a Meditteranean or Oriental equivalent! <br /><br />To celebrate the universality of this food, I cooked Caribbean pepperpot, using Danish pork, in a South African pot, in my kitchen in north east England, for a Polish gourmet. It was accompanied by Mexican guacamole using avocados from Israel, and for dessert I made Brazilian 'Santa Catalinas' (a mousse made from cream, rum, Italian-style espresso and in this case, Ecuadorian chocolate) and washed it all down with luxurious Nicaraguan coffees. Once digested, we drank Chilean wine and then boiled ourselves in an authentically Finnish sauna. It was a great night, and we are all encouraged to celebrate diversity, right? But not so much the Food Miles. Doh.</div></div>Belhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07916775694088500932noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4539143954841233088.post-80020673326301506232008-03-30T23:07:00.001+01:002008-03-30T23:07:59.451+01:00Testing my new ScribeFire...<div xmlns='http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml'>So, does this work? Can I type away on here without having to log on to the interweb? If I have to log on, what is the point of this program? Maybe it is for office-workery types who can't go on livejournal or blogspot from work, but can type away on here and upload it whilst keeping up the pretence of doing something useful? If so, it is yet another form of procrastination for me at university. I would not get into trouble for using a blog at uni, but I would feel embarrassed if I got caught... that could be because I am arrogant enough to believe someone cares if I am working or not...<br/><br/>You could also copy-type - use the split screen thing to see one website and blog about it on another? How sad is that?<br/><br/>Could I use it for my 100words? Doubtful, that would be a bit too complicated. <br/><br/>Ok, so it feeds directly to The Social Life of Food. So I best mention something about food. Two ideas did spring to mind earlier. I made Mexican Mole Poblano on Easter Monday. It was truly amazing. Easter is an excuse for chocolate after all, but not always poaching chicken in a chili-chocolate sauce. Making mole is a fine example of Slow Food; I followed a traditional Mexican recipe which included making up "proper" chicken stock (instead of "cheating" and using "convenient" stock cubes - all words I am not suppposed to use nowadays). It also involved lots of fun things like grinding cloves and peanuts in a pestle and mortar (feel the raaaaage!!! So theraputic!!) and also my personal favourite as recommended by my heroes, The Hairy Bikers, <b>setting fire to a tortilla, and crumbling the black ashes into the pot.</b> This apparently gives it a warming, rich, roasted flavour. The mole when finished, is indeed rich and warming, but that could come from any of the ingredients. Personally, I just like setting fire to things. The finished dish took nearly four hours to construct. I was mightily, mightily impressed with it. Somehow things always taste better when you've put so much effort in to it. Pictures will follow when I work out how!<br/><br/>The other idea was about slow cooking in brick ovens - tandooris, or pizza, or even some Mexican dishes. A friend of a friend has been constructing said brick oven in his back yard in Sheffield. Hopefully much fun shall be had at Cooking Parties this summer...<br/><br/>And now, trial of ScribeFire ends.<br/><br/>Night night.<br/></div>Belhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07916775694088500932noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4539143954841233088.post-33721068323083657682007-12-03T17:48:00.000+01:002007-12-06T12:25:12.466+01:00Time, Space and OrangesThis morning, a total stranger gave me an orange.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_ZAAPa16isnQ/R1fbHPYT04I/AAAAAAAAABM/e2EwTgG14pk/s1600-h/03-12-07_1541.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_ZAAPa16isnQ/R1fbHPYT04I/AAAAAAAAABM/e2EwTgG14pk/s320/03-12-07_1541.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5140818417100772226" /></a><br /><br />The man was also absent-mindedly waving an orange flag, and it was this which I noticed first. It is a long walk all the way up West Street towards Sheffield university, and at about 10.30am, and three weeks before Christmas, the pavement was extremely busy. I thought he was trying to flag down the overcrowded bus, amidst the throngs of people in the street. It was only when he came up to me and asked if he could give me an orange did I spare him a second thought. <br /><br />I was also half asleep, and also in a hurry. I am one of those uncaring people who secretly hopes that the person walking along r e a l l y s l o w l y in front of you will soon fall down a manhole cover or something, I hate to admit it, but I don't often pay much attention to people around me. As such, being given an orange in the middle of the street by a bloke with a flag was a bit of a shock. So much so, in fact, that I just muttered "thank you", carried on going, and didn't even register the incident enough to ask WHY he was handing out oranges. It was only when, a little further up the road, another man stopped me with an orange that I worked out what was going on. The second bloke had the common sense to hand out flyers with his oranges. They were trying to raise awareness for a homelessness charity, based in Orange Street, Sheffield. Had I looked at what was in my hand, I would have noticed that each orange has a slip of paper with a website address on it. All very well and good, but not exactly immediately obvious to the semi-conscious commuter. To give them a helping hand, the charity has a blog <a href="http://benscentre.wordpress.com"> here</a>. Giving out oranges is innovative, and I am grateful for my unexpected vitamin shot this morning. I have a lot of respect for these people now.<br /><br />However, the whole incident has got me pondering again. Such is the depth of my projects at the moment that I cannot experience isolated incidents without reading a great deal in to them, especially if they involve food. The orange has now interested me a great deal.<br /><br />The advertising did work, eventually, in that I have now looked at their blog. Ben's Centre is a charity providing support and a safe environment for Sheffield's street drinkers. They are now based in Orange Street in Sheffield, and have seemingly adopted the orange as their logo. The fruit becomes a space, and with a bit of publicity, the space becomes a place. The space will become fruitful. The space also develops an identity of its own through its citrussy badge: a sanctuary - bright, colourful and cheerful, orange being a colour as well as a fruit. Healthy and healing- oranges are full of good vitamins and are great for dealing with hangovers. And given a community, an ideology and an identity of its own, the space has become a place.<br /><span style="font-style:italic;">(That, incidently, came from my own meanderings around the subject of oranges. I've just checked the "Ben's Logo" page on their site, and as it happens, I am spot on. That was exactly what they had intended to do with the logo. Which either means they are very clever or I have worked in the community/charity sector before. Both are true.)</span><br />But where did the orange come from? The website says... Tescos. Bah. I had been hoping for more than that somehow, although kudos to Tescos for donating said orange. There is no labeling on the orange apart from Ben's website. I have no way of telling where this orange originated. The chances are it was grown in some tropical but very poor country, and flown thousands of miles around the world, before getting scrubbed, waxed, weighed and regulated by Tesco's buyers, then chucked in a box and donated to the people on Orange Street around the corner. This orange is probably more well-travelled than I am, and is doing far more to help humanity than me. As such, I <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_ZAAPa16isnQ/R1fbXPYT05I/AAAAAAAAABU/FsZ8ME2L3xo/s1600-h/03-12-07_2309.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_ZAAPa16isnQ/R1fbXPYT05I/AAAAAAAAABU/FsZ8ME2L3xo/s320/03-12-07_2309.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5140818691978679186" /></a>felt very guilty about eating it, I am not worthy! <br /><br />There are a lot of tricky issues to do with the journey of this orange - environmental objections to the C02 emissions caused by flying oranges around the world, first world apologists who knowingly exploited third world orange growers and the inherent inequality of global capitalism. So far, so unoriginal. There is no connection with the orange farmer here, globalisation means that oranges are available ubiquitously, and unwittingly detaches us even further from thinking about what we really eat. The orange helps Ben's Centre create an imagined/constructed locality, but this is not the locality of the fruit's origin. <br /><br />I for one have a keen interest in the Slow Food movement - which, in practical terms, means celebrating local and seasonal food, no forced, high yield crop growing. Slow, because you have to wait for the right season to get various different fruits or vegetables, negating the need to ship fruit around the globe. Celebrating home cooking too, none of the highly processed 'fast food'. Celebrating actually engaging with food again. If I followed this ideology to the letter, this would normally mean no oranges, especially not in December in Sheffield. <br /><br />But in one sense at least, I have engaged with this orange, and that is in part to do with Ben's Centre. As well as raising awareness of a very worthy cause, they provided me with a welcome breakfast, and food for thought. It made me think about where I was and what I was doing, which in all seriousness, is a rarity. I like to think I do engage with the space known as Sheffield. I love this city, and I greatly enjoy my time here. Yet every time I am here, I rush up the hill at top speed, worrying about being late for meetings or lectures, generally with my head lowered, stooped under the weight of laptops and the enormous piles of academic papers I have so many good intentions of reading -later. I am usually in a bad mood, because my train has been nearly always late/cancelled/very very slow/overpriced. Sometimes I have headphones on, blotting out the world around me in favour of listening to Muse sing songs about the Knights of Cydonia or something equally obscure. Mentally and emotionally, I am not really in that space. <br />But really, why am I in such a rush? No-one at university is really going to mind if I am ten minutes later. Once on a train, I have absolutely no control over its speed, and there is no point in getting cross with it if I can't do anything about it. I ought to appreciate the time I have on trains, to appreciate the journey itself instead of impatiently awaiting the destination. I should take an interest in the city around me, the people that I nearly walk in to, for example, the charity workers who stand out with orange flags trying to gain your attention for long enough to give you an orange with a website on it. In the time it takes me to walk up the hill, there are half a dozen charity workers making breakfast for homeless people, my lecturers prepare their talks for that morning, my train heads on its way towards Plymouth, a Tescos employee stacks the fruit shelves in store, and no doubt, someone on the other side of the world starts picking oranges. As much as there is to be said for the Slow Food movement, perhaps there ought to be a drive towards a Slow Travel movement too, to encourage you to use you time wisely, to think of all the things happening simultaneously in the world, and to appreciated the created spaces around you. And to merrily suck on very social oranges.<br /><center><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_ZAAPa16isnQ/R1fbkPYT06I/AAAAAAAAABc/IcxgfN0R9Fo/s1600-h/03-12-07_2311.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_ZAAPa16isnQ/R1fbkPYT06I/AAAAAAAAABc/IcxgfN0R9Fo/s320/03-12-07_2311.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5140818915316978594" /></a></center>Belhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07916775694088500932noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4539143954841233088.post-84843542409759362792007-11-14T14:20:00.000+01:002007-12-06T12:26:03.246+01:00The art of cappuccino and the art of making money.Today I am pondering this wonderful creation, the cappuccino. In case you didn't know, (and if you rely on coffees from Nescafe vending machines, you won't) a cappuccino is traditional quite a small drink, mostly a double espresso shot topped up with foamed milk. Anyone wanting a longer drink should have a latte, the same thing, but with more milk added. A cappuccino will cost you anything between 55p in a sincerely dreadful vending machine at Doncaster train station (these are the lengths I go to under the name of research - or possibly caffeine addiction) to the £2.65 Grande-mug-with-extra-shot at Caffe Nero. (I would quote Starbucks prices but haven't yet swallowed my pride enough to dare go in there). I will cover why I need an extra shot in Nero's coffee later.<br /><br />I spent happy afternoon the other day, being instructed in how to make the perfect coffee at a rather obscure little factory in Blaydon in the outskirts of Newcastle. This would be Pumphreys Coffee company. They have been importing, roasting and selling coffee from there since 1750, and are now running Barista training courses. This is because, as our instructor, Stuart tells us, he hates seeing all the hard work that so many different people put into to producing the coffee, ruined at the last minute by untrained, or often plain lazy baristas. The commodity chains involved in producing a cappuccino are infinitely long, and necessarily global. The coffee growers, graders, buyers, shippers and importers, roasters, packagers, marketers, salesmen, distributors, and coffee shop managers; not to mention the dairy farmers, people who pasturise milk, bottling factory workers, health and safety regulators, supermarket or dairy buyers and even milkmen have all had some involvement in your cappuccino, then there is the designers of the espresso machine, the maintenance man who adjusts it for you, the cardboard cup manufacturers, brand designers and so on, have all contributed something too. And then a bored, underpaid, dispassionate and usually part time barista, screws it up. And still charges you £2 for the privilege.<br /><br />At Pumphreys, we're taught how to make an excellent espresso base (and even with a fully functional espresso machine and perfect ingredients and equipment, it can still go wrong very easily.) You then froth milk - and this is equally as important and as skilled as making the espresso. It should be heated to about 55 degrees centigrade, or 131 farenheit, and no more. You need a bit of air in it, but not a lot, no huge bubbles. The end result is velvety smooth throughout, the same consistency all the way through the jug, and is shiny and filled with tiny microbubbles. If you can pour it on top of your espresso, and if you are very artistic, you can make fabulous patterns with it. Here is Stuart creating "Latte Porn" - sure he won't mind me borrowing it.<br /><object width="425" height="355"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/SK8kbc2F8pk&rel=1"></param><param name="wmode" value="transparent"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/SK8kbc2F8pk&rel=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" wmode="transparent" width="425" height="355"></embed></object>"><br /><br />For the record, not only do these coffees look great, they taste fantastic. So, if given the opportunity to train, why aren't all cappuccinos like this? Where I used to work, at the Voodoo Cafe, (an independent and very unique place!) we took the time to learn properly, and although ours were never that pretty to look at, we invested in very high grade luxury coffees and then practiced making them properly. We had a whole range of different coffees to try; different espresso bases in different varieties of coffee. We also tried to keep the prices competitive. Our 12-ounce cappuccinos were £1.50. Even taking into account my bias, compared to the competition we made some of the best coffees in town. However, I am informed that this cafe is sadly facing closure now, mainly because it is not making enough money. <br /><br />Compare this to life at Caffe Nero. Nero is a big brand. It is the 20th fastest growing company in the whole of Europe, and currently has over 330 stores in Britain. And every single one is identical. This means that whichever store you go into from Brighton to Glasgow, you know that there will be brown leather armchairs, little circular tables, the coffee bar usually in the middle, a fridge full of cakes (the same cakes...) the same rather dated pictures on the walls, and even the same music playing at the same time of day in each store. You will also know the prices are the same throughout the country with the exception of those in central London and at airports, and that your loyalty card will work anywhere. If you pay attention you will notice that the staff will even say more or less the same things to you; the Six Service Steps we are all obliged to follow. You will be very familiar with the Nero logo, which is plastered all over each store, all over your cups, plates and bowls, the take-out cups, the take-out sleeves to stop you burning your fingers on the take-out cups, the take-out bags, the t-shirts of all the staff, the retail bags of coffee, containing the secret Nero Blend, all the cake wrappers and sandwich boxes, and even on the napkins. <br /><object width="425" height="355"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/uFcsjeOzLw4&rel=1"></param><param name="wmode" value="transparent"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/uFcsjeOzLw4&rel=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" wmode="transparent" width="425" height="355"></embed></object>"><br />(This film, incidently, was made for another coffee-related ESRC sponsored PhD project... I am not alone!)<br /><br />The other thing that is identical in every Caffe Nero is the coffee - supposedly. Each new employee has to undergo "weeks of intensive training before being allowed to serve an espresso" (from their promotional leaflets). However, this intensive training does not include actually tasting the coffee. We are taught that if the right amount of ground coffee goes into the handles, and it pours for the correct length of time (a full ten seconds less than Pumphreys recommend), and it has a good crema on the top, then it is a good espresso and can be served. This is not a good argument however, because espressos can look very good but still taste awful. In my experience at Nero, I am in the minority because I actually drink the coffee there. Most do not touch the stuff.<br />With an not-so-great espresso base, the next step is the milk. In Nero, this is heated to 60 degrees centigrade/ 140 farenheit. We pump a lot of hot air into it, until in separates, with thin but very hot milk on the bottom, and a raft of thick, dry foam floating on the top.<br />From this, the cappuccino is made, to the Nero Way: 1/3 espresso, 1/3 hot milk, 1/3 foam. The foam is occasionally so thick it has to be spooned into the cup. It is then topped up with the hot milk until the foam bulges out of the top of the mug, in the trademark dome shape Nero prides itself on. Think muffin tops. I always ask for an extra espresso shot, because with this level of milk, it is often not possible to taste the coffee at all.<br />If the cappuccino does not look right, we are not allowed to serve it. I have actually had someone complain that she did not have enough froth on her cappuccino and I had to make her another one, heated even higher and with even drier foam. By this time, even I could smell that the milk was burnt, but this is what she wanted.<br /><br />Overheating the milk is a cultural phenomenon, it seems. Try as we might, in this country we are still very much tea drinkers. When we drink tea, we make it with boiled water, then sit, chat and stir it until it is cool enough to drink. When we make coffee, we expect it to behave the same way. But it doesn't. Tea needs the heat to infuse properly. Burning the coffee by brewing espresso at too hot a temperature makes it unplesantly bitter and metallic tasting. Heating the milk until is separates for a Nero cappuccino makes it smell of baby sick (yes, I have been able to test and research this claim as well recently) and lose its natural sweetness as well. Cappuccinos made at 50-55 degrees centigrade - which is the optimum temperature for both espresso and milk - is designed to be drunk as soon as it is made. Of course it goes cold quickly, but better that than burning it?<br /> <br />As I've already pointed out, Caffe Nero is a success story, it claimed record profits this year and has made a serious amount of money, very quickly, and all apparently by creating generic stores selling underextracted espresso and burnt milk drinks. But there is no denying that they "look" like good cappuccinos. Large chain and branded coffee have created this image of what an ideal coffee looks like in the UK, and if anything deviates from this, customers will not recognise it, and it will not sell, <span style="font-style:italic;">even if it tastes better.</span> Which is what may have been happening at our independent cafe. For all the authenticity Caffe Nero claims: "The best espresso this side of Milan" for instance, or "A True Italian Coffee" they are still buying in to, and perpetrating this ideal of image and appearance over taste and quality. For as long as we consumers continue to buy these imitations, nothing is going to change. Which I think is quite sad really.Belhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07916775694088500932noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4539143954841233088.post-85963718919562796522007-10-31T22:17:00.000+01:002007-11-14T14:20:48.120+01:00Supermarket Psychology and the biography of my pumpkinsI am sitting in a rather sterile cafe in a supermarket in Darlington. Darlington has a small and rather obscure claim to fame - it is not only one of the few towns left in Britain which does not have a Tesco, we also officially saw them off - nearly 90% of the population rejecting Tesco's bid for planning permission. This is all well and good, until you realise that instead of Tesco, we have two Asdas, two Morrisons, Sainsburies, two Icelands, LIDL, ALDI and two Nettos. And Darlington is not a big town by any stretch of the imagination. It is, supposedly a market town though. And we do have a local market, the indoor one open 6 days a week, and an open market on Mondays and Saturdays. But no-one goes to it. Many stalls do not last very long, and those that do are hardly make a great deal of money. I had a stall for a while, and can vouch for the idea that being a market trader is neither fun nor profitable, and I know I wasn't alone in thinking that. There are various excuses for this decline in the market - recently restructuring of the town centre has meant that the bus routes no longer go close to the market to bus in the old ladies, the weather is usually pretty appalling so nobody wants to shop outdoors etc etc.... but the real problem is that people selling food on a small scale, and selling locally produced, seasonal goods, cannot compete with cheaper, mass produced, exotic and year-round food available conveniently from supermarkets.<br /><br />Market forces! This is what capitalism is about! I hear ye cry. Supermarkets are phenomenally successful and popular for a reason, and that reason must be that people actually want to shop in them. If they didn't, then supermarkets wouldn't make any money, much like the market stalls. But is it really as simple as that? Supermarkets disconnect people with the produce they are buying. They are easy, convenient, entirely because you don't have to think about the shopping. Its merely a chore to be performed each week, hopefully as quickly as possible and with minimum fuss. Everything is in one place, and right in front of you. There is no hunting for the right things, no running between different stalls to get meat, veg, fruit, dry goods, cleaning materials...just trundling up and down the neat, accessible aisle, equipped with an oversized basket on wheels to help you. People go to supermarkets to get 'food for the week' or to 'pick up something nice for dinner', not for the experience of finding a new foodstuff, or even to enjoy the task at hand. Not, in short, to connect in anyway with the food on offer.<br /><br />Today I am in Sainsbury's. I walk in - this in itself is unusual since the whole place is designed to be driven to - and I am greeted by a giant cardboard pumpkin, holding shelves full of edible pumpkins, and the slogan, "Try something new this Halloween". Along with my oversized squash, I am invited to pick up a free card detailing Jamie Oliver's recipe for pumpkin soup. Its not exactly original. Pumpkin boiled up with onion and chicken stock and a bit of ginger so it sounds exotic. Mine is far more interesting, in my humble opinion. On the back, there is another recipe for Rice Laska Soup which does involve pumpkin, along with lime leaves, chinese five-spice and coconut milk, all of which are available in a British store, in late October, obviously. The pumpkins are enormous, mine is a good foot across, and all for 99p. The Halloween sticker on it gives no clue as to where it was grown. When I did get it home (its weight providing another good reason why most people drive to supermarkets), it carved beautifully, and there is now an evil looking Jack O Lantern in the window. I also cruelly turned its innards into soup, and even with my extra spicy Carribean recipe (with chilli oil, ginger, nutmeg and orange juice) it tasted very very bland indeed. The pumpkin didn't even roast well, just turning to mush in the oven. These pumpkins were grown specifically to be enormous as Halloween decorations, not to eat. They were pumped full of water, size and price at the expensive of flavour and quality.<br /><br />This pretty much sums up the whole supermarket experience for me. A great deal of literature has already been written on the topic of how evil supermarkets are; I have already mentioned the threat to smaller food retailers, but on top of that there is exploitation and domination of third world producers, sweatshop and child labourers, the energy and resources wasted in the 'food miles' associated with shipping, for example, strawberries in October, all the way from 'Israel' (read: occupied Palestinian territories). Commodity chains get longer and longer and more and more complex, and the consumer is removed even further from the producer. And you really do not want to know what they do to chicken... (adding beef proteins, for the record, which help the meat absorb and retain nearly 50% added water. Legally, too. Note to the reader: reading Felicity Lawrence's 'Not On The Label' can make you anorexic)<br /><br />I do not want or need to reiterate any of that. What I am more concerned with is quality, or lack of it. I am not denying that supermarkets are cheap and convenient, nor that they offer a great deal of choice and variety. What I am questioning is their ability to provide consistent quality and value for money. Of course, it always looks so tempting, all the exotic, colourful fruits that are intentionally placed at the front of the store to seduced you in, or the enticing aromas of freshly baked bread that are deliberately blown around the shop... and it works, I always spend more money than I intended, and get really into the idea of cooking, every time I go in there. I am weak and gullible and naive.<br /><br />On average, we spend about 10% of our incomes on feeding ourselves. This is not a great deal, and in fact, is less than we did 30 years ago. But the poorest fifth of the population still spend over 30% of their incomes on food. Significantly, the lower your income, the more likely you are to be overweight, or have diet-related illnesses. This seems to be because, the cheaper the food, the more more processed it is likely to be. And the more processed it is, the more fat, sugar, salt and additives it is likely to contain. Here are some examples from Sainsbury's.<br /><blockquote>'free range' chicken breast fillets - 350g for £3.99, and tikka masala cooking sauce, £1.49 or:<br />Chicken Tikka Masala (canned, serves 2) for 89p <br />Fresh Mango (from South Africa), 99p each or<br />canned mango slices in syrup, 39p<br />Lincolnshire sausages, 2 packs of six for £4 or<br />frozen Toad-in-the-Hole, microwavable for £1.99</blockquote><br /><br />Depressing, isn't it? This is not to say, however, that the more money you spend, the better the food will be. Skinny celebrities seem to be able to spend a great deal of money on eating not a lot at all. My 99p pumpkin was not processed into pre-made, salt and fat-ladened soup, (43p per can) but it is highly likely that it was grown outside of this country, shipped or even flown in, and given its size and lack of flavour, grown using a lot of unpleasant fertilisers and pesticides. I could go to the indoor market and buy one for 60p, but it would be a lot smaller, the skin might be blemished, and worse still, the market doesn't have a conveniently located car park and I would have to carry the thing home. On the up side, I can be assured that it was grown up the road on a farm near Richmond. About 8 miles away. And it might even taste like pumpkin! <br /><br />I am now, for the first time in over two years, in a position where I can afford 'decent' food. I've always managed to save money on food because I love cooking, and prefer, for instance, to make sauces than to buy them in jars. I am finding myself being a bit more liberal with the food budget now- buying *good* meat from the market, which is fresher, local, less stuffed with nasty things, but twice the price of Sainsbury's. This does not however, mean that I am price-blind. Supermarkets have to make their money somehow, and going on the assumption that the majority of customers want to find what they need quickly and easily, means that supermarkets are likely to play tricks. Take, for example, last weeks Christmas pudding experience. Immediately in front of you as you walk in, is a rack of "snacking nuts and seeds." A snack sized bag of whole almonds (100g) will set you back £1.89. But walk to the back of the store to the 'baking' section, and I can get 100g of 'baking' almonds for £1.09.... which is not only daft, but infinitely frustrating, and totally deliberate on the part of the shop.<br /><br />Basically, in supermarkets, you are paying cheaper prices, but through clever marketing and gratuitous trickery, you are paying for convenience and speed and packaging, not for quality or piece of mind. Supermarkets have taken over the country entirely because this is a compromise most consumers are willing to make.Belhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07916775694088500932noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4539143954841233088.post-87919454876210937942007-10-24T12:50:00.000+01:002007-10-24T13:01:55.063+01:00The Proof is in the PuddingChristmas, above anything else, is a social phenomenon. Whether you are religious or not, , love it or hate it, that time of year is always significant. There is a social obligation to spend Christmas with family, friends, loved ones. Even if you have disowned your family and are sick of your friends, you are still required to fake enjoyment of the season or take pleasure in stubbornly ignoring it. It does not go away easily.<br />Quelle soprise! Christmas is also a time for feasting. For a supposedly Christian festival (and I use the term lightly so as not to offend my Pagan friends' Yuletide celebrations) it does do a lot to encourage the breaking of nearly all the deadly sins. There's anger at annoying in-laws, envy of other people's presents, greed at the sheer capitalist commercialism of it all, lust running rampant at office Christmas parties, and of course, gluttony during the feast, followed by sloth when you can't move having eaten too much. I forget the seventh.<br />Last weekend, that is, the 21st October, we held the Annual Family Christmas Pudding Making Ceremony. This event usually occurs at around the same time every year, not, I hasten to add, because we subscribe to the supermarket-inspired idea that Christmas starts on the 17th September, but because a good pudding has to be fed. This means, alcohol is added to it every week for the next two months. In more over-enthusiastic years, our version has been less of a pudding and more of a pile of fruit stuck together with brandy. But it is amazing, honestly!<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_ZAAPa16isnQ/Rx8y_usZORI/AAAAAAAAAA0/TQy3JrKTtms/s1600-h/lechef.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_ZAAPa16isnQ/Rx8y_usZORI/AAAAAAAAAA0/TQy3JrKTtms/s320/lechef.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5124870971418294546" /></a>The Construction of the Pudding is quite a lengthy process. I swear when we were younger, it used to take all day - which it probably did when my mother was faced with two young children, plenty of things to measure at once, and plenty of sticky sweet ingredients to protect from being eaten pre-cooking. Chopping up glace cherries was obviously the favourite job, although I loved playing the hard kid by daring to put my fingers in the hot water used to blanch almonds. Grating lemon and releasing that glorious smell was a prized job as well.<br />I don't know if it was the wisdom of maturity, or the fact that I bought all the fruit in pre-measured bags, but this year it took less than an hour. We all helped, Mum weighing our flour, grating lemons and handling the alcohol, Dad chopping cherries, beating eggs and restricting alcohol, and me adding copious amounts of spices and chopping the almonds. We even invested in a huge bucket from B&Q to mix it all in, since my own mixing bowls were inadequately small. When all the ingredients are in the bowl, everyone has to have a turn stirring, and making a wish. This is obviously, the most important part. My wish from last year did actually come true in a vague sense - be careful what you wish for! The Power of the Pudding is uncanny.<br />Last year, I was startled to discover that this annual ritual is not actually a universal affair. Apparently, not everyone makes their own pudding! So, in order to correct this quasi-religious apathy, I endevoured to bring Christmas pudding making to the masses - that is, the Teenage Fanclub who occupied my cafe. <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_ZAAPa16isnQ/Rx8zausZOSI/AAAAAAAAAA8/kYmo1NwV8C8/s1600-h/hardatwork.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_ZAAPa16isnQ/Rx8zausZOSI/AAAAAAAAAA8/kYmo1NwV8C8/s320/hardatwork.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5124871435274762530" /></a><br />Making a pudding (or, three puddings) on that scale, with a dozen teenagers "helping" and even when I had prepped everything , measured everything and chopped everything in advance, still took most of the afternoon. Even uber-cool cynical adolescents are somehow awed by the simple task of stirring fruit in a big bowl. Most still refused to admit they like Christmas, but once again, the time-honoured tradition of preparing food together won over the desire for street cred. Nothing to do with the mulled wine I fed them at all. I just hope all their wishes came true!<br />For the record, the teenagers' puddings turned out beautifully, and disappeared from the cafe very quickly indeed come December. Hopefully, they also turned out better than shop-bought ones. Although the supermarkets own designer puddings aren't actually that bad, they are nothing like as alcoholic. They are also not as sentimentally valued. Nothing compares to the festive spirit, sociality and genuine enjoyment of a family cooking session; that is not something you can package in red wrapping and flog at Tescos.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_ZAAPa16isnQ/Rx8zoOsZOTI/AAAAAAAAABE/rpR0zTmGZEw/s1600-h/masterpiece.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_ZAAPa16isnQ/Rx8zoOsZOTI/AAAAAAAAABE/rpR0zTmGZEw/s320/masterpiece.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5124871667202996530" /></a><br />At great personal risk, I have decided to include our family'stime-honoured recipe. This makes three large puddings, suitable to feed a gluttonous family for an extended Christmas feast. <br /><center><span style="font-weight:bold;"><br />Ye Olde Terrill Family Christmas Pudding Recipe</span></center><br /><br /><blockquote>…approach love and cooking with reckless abandon….<br /></blockquote><br />Ingredients:<br />500g raisins<br />500g currants<br />500g sultanas<br />250g breadcrumbs<br />250g flour <br />125g mixed peel<br />250g brown sugar<br />1 tsp baking powder<br />3 eggs<br />500g chopped suet<br />100g chopped almonds<br />200g glace cherries<br />Peel & juice of 1 lemon & 1 orange<br />1 tbs black treacle<br />2 tsps mixed spice <br />100g ground almonds<br />Large slosh of sherry/whisky/rum<br />Large slosh of dark beer <br /><br />Mix all dry ingredients together. Beat the eggs with the treacle and pour into middle of ingredients, add enough liquid to bind everything together. Add all fruit, nuts and zest. Stir and make a wish! Put into greased pudding basins and cover with greaseproof paper & silver foil (or clingfilm if microwaving)<br />Boil for 4-5 hours.<br />Store in a cool place and re-boil for 1 hour just before serving (or microwave for 10-15 mins)<br />Have fun and don’t eat the cherries!Belhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07916775694088500932noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4539143954841233088.post-34807175243008840662007-10-16T16:05:00.000+01:002007-10-16T18:23:44.042+01:00A hedonistic approach to the anthropology of food.Several of my more academic readings have led me to ponder what we really mean by 'food'. To me, it *means* a lot. I enjoy eating it, I enjoying cooking it, a lot of my social life somehow revolves around it, I love exploring it, I used to be employed as a professional preparer of it, and now I spend a great deal of time writing about it and studying it. It also gives me most of the nutrients I need in order to survive and function as a human being, but for me, that is not the reason for my interest in it.<br /><br />Food is nutrition. Humans need some form of food to fuel the body. On a purely reductionist/scientific level, I personally need 2000 calories, containing 5g salt, 70g fat, a little calcium, about 20 different vitamins and a certain amount of fibre and carbohydrate per day. All this is to be washed down with about 2 litres of water. That 'diet' in pill form if necessary, would sustain me, and keep my own four-buckets-water-and-a-bag-full-of-salt form mobile and functional. It would not, however, allow me to 'live' a fully human life. <br /><br />Instead, and allowing for human interaction, culture, pleasure-seeking, and all round messiness, we choose a far less efficient method of fuelling our bodies. We have a huge range of edible susbstances in our world, and the variety is added to by a seemingly infinite number of combinations and cooking methods. So basically, we eat what we choose, based on personal preference, and social norms. Whether or not our chosen diet patterns give us all the nutrients we require is left virtually up to chance. I know I ought to eat fish to get my omega 3, I know I ought to cut down on my caffeine intake and stick to my recommended number of alcohol units, I know that fruit is far better for me than anything else I normally snack on, and I know that Friday-Night Drunken Kebabs have no useful content whatsoever. But in terms of what I actually consume, and choose to consume, nutritional value is almost irrelevant.<br /><br />Should I take more of an interest in nutrition then? Is there a place for it in anthropology? Maybe, on some level. At least in the Western world there is a trend nowadays towards reconnecting with the food we eat. Spurred on perhaps by food scandals in the media, the situation European farmers find themselves in, food regulatory legislation, global warming scares affecting our crops, awareness of 'food miles', the Slow Food movement, Britain's rising obesity epidemic and so on. I'd like to think some of this awareness occurs because people are finally beginning to notice how awful fast food and convenience food actually is. There are very many fashionable schemes to eat locally, that is, to eat things produced in this country. Organic food is lauded as being healthier - for the environment if not for your wallet. We are supposed to eat our Five-a-day fruit and veg, McDonalds has even attempted to do salads, Smoothies are the new power-food, more and more Fair Trade products are on the shelves, obsessive dieters starve themselves to size 00 and celebrity chefs and diet programs are taking over our TV sets. It can be argued that we are now more aware of what is good for us, and good for the environment, than at any other time.<br /><br />This is not to say, however, that because we are aware of it, we choose our food differently as a result. There is always an element of luxury and food-hedonism involved. There are very few people in the world who can stick to healthy, nutritional diets if they do not actually like the healthy nutritional food they are supposed to be eating. My three favourite 'luxuries' are coffee, red wine and chocolate, all served as dark, strong and as full bodied as possible. Despite reassuring claims from the psuedo-science community that a glass of wine a day is good for you, and that caffeine can ward off alhzeimers and dementia in women and that chocolate makes you produce happy-chemical in your brain, it is a pretty safe bet that none of these things are particularly nutrient-rich or 'good for me'. In nutritional terms, a standard (10oz) cup of black coffee on its own is 32 calories and 0.125g of caffeine. To fulfill my daily calorie allowance, I would have to drink 62.5 cups of the stuff, giving me 7.8g of pure caffeine. 10g is enough to kill me. All this is conjecture because, despite popular belief, I do not exist off coffee alone, and even on my most caffeinated days, I've never got anywhere near 62 cups. The point is though, that I am aware of the lack of nutritional content of my favourite foodstuffs, I am also acutely aware of the dangers of addiction and hypercaffeination. But I love coffee.<br /><br />What nutritionists and hard-core diet fanatics don't take into account is the fact that foods serve other functions besides substinance. They have social meanings too. Throwing a dinner party is a social event, 'going for lunch' with someone shows friendship, tea breaks at work provide a welcome excuse to interact with colleagues. In a time when we no longer 'break bread' with new acquaintances, we have substituted the informal invite of 'come over for a cup of coffee sometime'. "Are you coming up for coffee?" asked after a date is a very useful euphemism; whether or not the coffee is drunk, or even actually made is irrelevant, but in this sense coffee is vital to the reproductive survival of the human race... (ahem).<br /><br />It is short-sighted to ignore the nutritional aspect of our food when studying our eating habits, but it is equally pointless to focus entirely on that and not account for the social and cultural functions and customs. Our little luxuries in life may not be healthy, ethical or environmentally friendly, but cracking open a bottle of wine with an elaborate dinner party, queuing up or stuffing chocolate cakes in the cafe with friends are part of our culture. These actions have other, less scientific reasons behind them, and a little culinary hedonism is what makes life enjoyable.Belhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07916775694088500932noreply@blogger.com20tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4539143954841233088.post-530218625200002732007-08-12T18:38:00.000+01:002007-09-02T21:08:13.489+01:00Currying favour in PeruIn 2001, I spent six months living and working on volunteer projects in central Peru. I lived in Huancayo, which lies at 3300m above sea level, and is about 7 hours east of Lima. It was more than a little isolated. To begin with, I stayed with a host family, who I really did not get along with. They didn't seem to have any real interest in hosting a foreign volunteer, and I often felt completely out of place. The eldest son, Jhimmy, was the worst, and he constantly teased me knowing that I couldn't respond. I got extremely unhappy and homesick, particularly when it came to food; Mama Gladys's cooking was... well, it wasn't inedible, it was just highly boring and greasy. Boiled chicken legs with fried rice, for instance, or mashed and unidentifiable vegetables. At this point in the expedition my language skills were minimal, and I felt I couldn't afford to be rude about the food, even if I was able too.<br /> <br />I badly needed some decent grub (which Peru is actually extremely good at) and a good bonding session with the family. Both were going to be a long way off, as I was soon to discover. One incident which really brought this home to me was the day that I tried to cook dinner. Nearly a month away from home, and the one thing I missed most, was curry. I love the stuff, and strangely enough, there is no equivalent in Peru. My darling Carl had obviously picked up on my distress, and had dutifully posted me 5 packets of curry powder round the globe. So, going on the general assumption that the way to people’s hearts is through their stomachs, I bravely mimed cooking actions and pointed to myself, and the family humoured me.<br /><br />My friend Elise, a confident, highly attractive French-Canadian girl working on the volunteer project with me, had offered to come over to help with dinner. She was also intrigued to meet the family and see what I was making so much fuss about. The curry itself was a success, given our reliance on pre-packaged food. Trying to turn a dead, plucked chicken into headless, feetless, chicken fillets minus those grey wobbly bits in the middle was a unique experience, and I will never say another word against corporate monopolised convenience foods ever again. Still, between the two of us, we created quite a passable dinner.<br /><br />The meal, as a social event, couldn’t have gone worse, in comparison. The family made generally appreciative sounding noises, but not towards me. They loved Elise. They asked her all the questions I was expecting them to ask me, and although her Spanish at that point was only slightly better than mine, they did not laugh at her, they were patient and made an effort to help her out when she got stuck. Jhimmy laughed and joked. They even asked her what I’d put in the curry. I felt awful. Elise chatted away as best she could, but admitted to me afterwards that she felt really embarrassed. I have never really felt so small, unattractive or useless in my life!<br /><br />This story does end happily, in that I eventually got moved to a different family who were utterly wonderful and who I am still in touch with six years later. I made them a curry too, which probably was a lot more hassle than it was worth given my issues with butchering chicken, but they were far more enthusiastic!<br /><br />'Curry' is a wonderful concept. Bung whatever you like in to it, cover it with a fantastic array of rich, aromatic spices and serve. Its so versatile, and as I discovered after being forcibly weaned off the packet powdered versions, not actually that difficult to create. The best bit is, it smells so good, and can take quite a while to perfect, and so the curry chef can look marvellously professional in the process.<br /><br />Curry, obviously, originates in India, and according to urban legend, was designed to cover the taste of bad meat. Which does beg the question, what on earth were they trying to cover when they invented the phal? Whether this is true or not, curry and India have become inseparably linked. Even so, the vast array of curries from Asia never actually make it to Britain, and what we call Indian take away over here is probably unrecognisable over there. The other classic urban myth is that the Balti was invented in Birmingham. It might well have been; we used to live round the corner from the infamous Mr Spice take away, who sold, along with 'authentic' baltis and masalas (masala incidently, just means 'mix'), pizzas, chow mein, burgers and chips. All highly Indian, I'm sure. He was one step away from selling chip shop curry sauce! Curries have be anglocised to the extreme; whereas they are no longer 'authentic' or traditional in form, they are tailored to include recognisable ingredients you can easily buy at home in the UK. (Another reason why my Peruvian efforts required the use of packets - there is no way I could have translated the spice list into Spanish!)<br /><br />How to make curry gravy:<br /><br />6 large white onions<br />4cm (about 50g) fresh ginger<br />4 cloves garlic<br />1 litre water<br />1 tin chopped tomatoes<br />6 tbsp veg oil<br />1 tsp tumeric<br />1 tsp chilli powder<br />1 tsp tomato puree<br /><br />Peel the onions, ginger and garlic, and chop up finely. Stick the garlic and ginger in a blender with about a quarter of the water and blend until smooth. <br />Put the onions, the ginger/garlic paste and the rest of the water in a pan. Simmer for about 40 mins.<br />After it has cooled, blend the whole thing until absolutely completely smooth.<br />At this point the mix can be frozen to use later, it lasts practically forever.<br />Next, add the oil, tomato puree, tumeric and chilli to a pan, and heat. When the oil is hot, add the chopped tomatoes and cook through.<br />Finally, add the onion mixture, and simmer for a further 20-30 minutes. Keep this in the fridge until you are ready to make the full curry. It can keep for quite a while, and you can even freeze it at this point as well, but the tumeric and chilli tend to lose their potency if you do.<br /><blockquote><br />This is the basis of all curries. </blockquote><br /><br />My favourite curry is a Makhan, or Makana. This is neither too mild and rich like a korma, or blow-your-head-off-Hot like some vindaloos, so it keeps everyone happy. And it is more interesting than your standard tikka or balti. It is also relatively simple, and bar raiding the 'herbs and spices' section of Sainsburys, doesn't require much of an effort to find the ingredients. <br /><br />This will serve three hungry people, or the elusive "four servings" recommended by diet-conscious recipe authors.<br /><br />50g butter<br />1/2 pint curry gravy (as above)<br />2 tbsp tomato puree (yep, more!)<br />2 tsp garam masala<br />1 tsp ground cummin<br />1 fresh green chilli, finely chopped<br />1 tbsp (yep, tablespoon) chopped coriander leaf - fresh is best but dried will work<br />3 tsp lemon juice<br />1/2 pint single cream<br />4 chicken breasts, cut into largish chunks<br /><br />additional ingredients which go well: yellow bell pepper, thinly sliced, another white onion, chopped, and a large handful of raisins.<br /><br />First, shallow fry the chicken until cooked through and slightly browned. If using, add the peppers and onions and saute until soft. Set to one side. <br /><br />In the same frying pan, add the curry gravy, tomato puree, garam masala, cummin, chilli, coriander and lemon juice. Stir it all up.<br />Bring to simmer-point and cook through so the flavours combine, and gradual mix in the butter so it melts in to the spices.<br />Once all is blended and the butter has melted, mix in the cream and bubble up<br />Add the chicken, peppers and onion back to the pan, and stir in the raisins. Cook until all is heated through.<br /><br />Serve with basmati rice, (or whatever the stodgy boiled rice is they so love in Peru)<br /><br />That wasn't too difficult was it? Expect your guests to be overwhelmed with admiration at your Asian culinary prowess, unless of course, they prefer the company of your friend and can still see chicken feet sticking out of the bin in the kitchen. <span style="font-style:italic;">buena suerte</span>Belhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07916775694088500932noreply@blogger.com35tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4539143954841233088.post-71751644404546996092007-08-05T22:04:00.000+01:002007-09-15T11:44:20.190+01:00All hail Kaldi, discoverer of the black drink of happiness.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos-553.ll.facebook.com/photos-ll-sctm/v116/82/46/615032553/n615032553_214181_5157.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px;" src="http://photos-553.ll.facebook.com/photos-ll-sctm/v116/82/46/615032553/n615032553_214181_5157.jpg" border="0" alt="" /></a><br />Once upon a time, in ancient Ethiopia, Kaldi the goat herder sat, no doubt picking his nose or dreaming of that really beautiful ewe he saw in the market last week, or whatever 16th century goat herders usually did while sitting in a field full of goats.<br /><br />This was no ordinary day, however. Today, the noise of frantic bleating drove Kaldi to get up from his comfy rock and check on his subjects. The goats were acting strangely; their already-mad yellow eyes were stretched wide and darting about uncomfortably. Some were dancing manically, to music no sober mortal could hear.. others were eating the ancient african equivalent of hot water bottles. The head Ram had just completed a phenomenally complex and ground breaking PhD thesis in a little over three hours, which sadly Kaldi didn't even notice in all the comotion.<br /><br />The centre of the bedlam seemed to be coming from a small shrub, with dark waxy leaves and bright red berries. Some of the kids were skipping round it excitedly, then taking large bites, chewing the tasty-looking red cherries.<br /><br />Instead of rounding up the goats and sending them home for the night, possibly with mugs of horlicks and security blankets, as all good goat herders should, Kaldi decided to find out what all the fuss was about. Grabbing a handful of cherries, he chewed them slowly, wincing at the intensely bitter flavour. The cherries had small green seeds in the centre. These were good. You couldn't chew on them, they were far too hard. Kaldi didn't want to swallow them either; even he knew that goats could digest things far better than humans could. But sucking on the hard little green things was very pleasant. Not too bitter, just, nice. Exciting even. Yes, he could take to these. In fact, he was goingtogoandtelleveryoneallaboutitrightnow! Yes! He'druntothevillagerightnow and hemightevendoalittledancejusttocelebrate! Woohoo! Ow. now his head hurt. Butitsstillgood! yusyusyus!<br /><br />Kaldi abandoned his goats, with no thought to their welfare, and bounced energetically off to the village, where he confidently ran up to the local Imam.<br />"Hey!" he panted, "Igotthese aaaaaaamazing beans! They're brilliant! you can chewtheredbits and suckonthegreen bits and they make you wannadanceandsingandstuff!"<br /><br />The Imam gave the manic fool a whithering look. Having mentally slowed down that sentence, he eventually patted Kaldi patronisingly on the head, and calmly told him he must be possessed by an evil spirit. The red cherries were obviously designed by the devil to tempt gullible souls, and therefore must be disposed of accordingly.<br /><br />Kaldi ran home, fuming, humiliated and nursing the world's first caffeine come-down. The goats could not sympathise. The small, seldolm used walnut thing that rattled about behing their yellow eyes seemed to be aching. This was far too much for your average cloven lawnmower to comprehend.<br /><br />The Imam, however, in an act of incredibly fortunate but righteous stupidity, threw the cherries on to the fire. They cracked and popped, and turned a deep, shiny brown colour. The resulting aroma was intoxicating, almost like luxurious incense. This couldn't possibly be the work of the devil. The beans must be divine, and the resulting drink a gift from God himself...<br /><br /><br /><span style="font-style:italic;"><span style="font-style:italic;"></span> Ok, so this is an example of artistic license rather than historical integrety, but you get the general idea! And I much prefer this version of events.</span>Belhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07916775694088500932noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4539143954841233088.post-78963885529309001452007-07-22T22:31:00.000+01:002007-08-03T00:29:02.778+01:00Celebrations - Food fit for a bride?Wedding food can be more elaborate than any other celebratory feast, even more so than some major religious festivals. As with any aspects of the wedding, a lot of preparation is required. It is significant that an emotional, legal and often spiritual joining of two poeple is celebrated by inviting large groups of friends and family together to feast and share food.<br /><br />In Mexico, wedding food contains a lot of fruit, symbolising sweetness in the marriage and of course, fertility. Elaborate fruit jellies are made and presented to the bride and her family. In parts of India, sweetmeats are served at the wedding for similar reasons. In Cape Malay cuisine, Muslims cook up extremely complex, rich dishes to show off both their hospitality, and their prosperity.<br /><br />In Britain, reserved understatment capital of the world, we do not really get it right. The idea is there - get everyone together for the celebration, but collectively we are far more likely to have a light finger buffet than a full sit-down feast. The emphasis is on the celebrating, not necessarily on feasting.<br /><br />There is one tradition we all adhere to though, and that is the wedding cake. These are elaborate, far more so than any other part of the wedding food. Wedding cakes are usually huge, three-tiered affairs, plastered in white icing to match the bride's dress. They are also almost always fruit cake as well. Whereas this is not necessarily the nationsl preference, it does lend itself nicely to the other purpose of the wedding cake. Fruit cake does not go stale very quickly, it is also quite dry, meaning it is more easily transported. It can be sent to far off relatives who cannot attend the wedding for instance. <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_ZAAPa16isnQ/RrJdfEBm-FI/AAAAAAAAAAs/rQhEjvIMoa4/s1600-h/308.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_ZAAPa16isnQ/RrJdfEBm-FI/AAAAAAAAAAs/rQhEjvIMoa4/s320/308.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5094236916747270226" /></a>Pieces are often kept by the newly-weds as souvenirs of the day. It is a very British irony that the main focal point of the wedding feast is not designed to be eaten.<br /><br /><br />There are those, of course, who flaut tradition. My husband happens to like penguins, so for our wedding, we had a three-tier cake with sugar penguins sliding between the layers, and a bride and groom penguin sitting on top, complete with top hat and bridal veil. We also tried to keep everyone happy; we had one fruit layer, one chocolate and one sponge layer. We did send slices to obscure relatives (I think one bit made it to Peru in fact!) and we kept the sugar pengins as keepsakes.<br /><br />My friend also had a wonderful cake at her wedding. <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_ZAAPa16isnQ/RrJbekBm-EI/AAAAAAAAAAk/r92GkWB7Nog/s1600-h/028_28.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_ZAAPa16isnQ/RrJbekBm-EI/AAAAAAAAAAk/r92GkWB7Nog/s320/028_28.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5094234709134080066" /></a>Not only was it chocolate flavoured, it was also shaped like Terry Pratchett's Discworld - a cake turtle, with four sugar elephants supporting the 'disc' depicted in icing sugar on the top.<br /><br />This was not the only thing unusual about her wedding food. They opted for a buffet at the evening reception, but for various long and complicated reasons, quite a few guests, and the bride herself, ended up hanging round their house before the ceremony, looking hungry. I offered to cook, and was then faced with the slightly daunting prospect of trying to feed a dozen people very quickly, with few ingredients, in a tiny kitchen, with no idea what they liked... Worse still, I was prevented from spilling anything down bridesmaids dresses, and banned from using any chilli or garlic (my staple ingredients!) for fear of foul breath making the groom run a mile before the ceremony was completed.<br /><br />I did want the meal to be vaguely unusual and memorable though, and it also had to be varied to cater for all tastes. Eventually I decided on quite a haphazard spread. One very rich red meat dish to add luxury, an 'interesting' chicken dish for the less adventurous, a token vegetarian dish and a simple but filling salad. With my husband employed as commis chef ('Commis' is a technical term, short fot 'commiserations darling, you are the skivvy'), and another friend volunteered at short notice to be the Chef de Partie in charge of dessert, we managed to create the following five dishes in under two hours. I was quite proud of myself.<br /><br />All quantities in the following are negotiable - basically add to taste, and multiply by the number of people catering for. Eventually, it will just 'look right'.<br /><span style="font-weight:bold;"><br />Dead Bambi Avec Chocolat</span><br /><br />A few decent sized venison steaks, roughly cubed<br />A bar of strong black chocolate<br />Roughly half a bottle of full-bodied red wine (we used South African Pinotage because we like it)<br />Half a dozen small shallots, finely sliced<br />Slog of Olive oil<br />Several cloves of garlic if the bride doesn't object!<br />Large pinch of rosemary.<br />Freshly ground black pepper to season.<br /><br />Heat the olive oil in a heavy-bottomed saucepan, brown off the meat and sweat the shallots with the garlic. <br />After a few minutes, add the wine and rosemary, and heat through.<br />When the pan is simmering, grate in the chocolate and stir through until it has all melted.<br />Simmer for a further 20-30 minutes until the meat is gorgeously tender.<br /><br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">Mojito Chicken Stirfry</span><br /><br />Oil for stir frying<br />Chicken fillets, sliced into strips<br />Green pepper(s) cut into thin strips<br />1 large white onion, roughly chopped.<br />Very large slog of rum (I prefer dark, but any sort works!)<br />2-3 Tbsp dark brown sugar<br />Several large handfuls of fresh mint, ripped up<br />Freshly squeezed lime juice.<br /><br />First, get a large frying pan/Wok very hot until the oil is sizzling. Flash fry the chicken, onion and peppers until the chicken strips are cooked through and the pepper has blistered. Splash in the rum, (it may actually flambe dramatically if you get it right! This is great fun, looks highly professional, but can be dangerous in small kitchens!). The alcohol will boil off, leaving the flavour in the chicken. Turn down the heat in the pan and stir thoroughly.<br />When the pan has cooled, stir in the sugar, mint and lime juice. The sugar should thicken the lime and other juices, but shouldn't burn. <br />Serve immediately, spooning left over juices over the chicken. <br /><br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">Creamy Butternut Squish</span><br /><br />One large, obscene butternut squash <br /><span style="font-style:italic;">(I've always found the bigger they are, the more obscene they look, and the worse they look, the more fun they are to chop up violently. Not that I have issues or anything)</span><br />Creamy soft cheese, or mascapone.<br />Olive oil<br />Rosemary (preferably fresh sprigs)<br />Freshly ground black pepper.<br />Large handful of halved walnuts<br /><br />This really is more of a squish than a squash.<br />First, peel and chop the squash into large chunks. Drizzle in oil, sprinkle with rosemary and roast in the oven until soft and slightly caramelised. Stir in the walnuts and continue roasting for a further ten minutes. Finally, stir in the soft cheese and season liberally with black pepper. The squash should slightly disintergrate. Return the oven for a few more minutes to heat the cheese, then serve hot and gooey.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;"><br />Bel's Famous Potato Salad</span><br /><br />Large collection of chopped boiled potatoes, cooled.<br />Very large calorific quantity of mayonnaise<br />A few teaspoons of mint sauce (or, fresh mint and a splash of vinegar)<br />A few spring onions very finely chopped.<br /><br />This was discovered entirely by accident, when I couldn't decide whether to do minted potatoes or a mayo-rich salad. It is dead easy. Basically bung everything in a bowl and stir.<br /><br /><br /><br />And finally... <br /><span style="font-weight:bold;"><br />Sticky Toffee Pudding</span><br /><br />(with many thanks to Hilary Parker for this, who stepped in miraculously as a highly skilled Chef de Party. She excels in the sticky toffee department and this recipe seems to turn out perfectly everytime with little obvious difficulty)<br /><br /><blockquote>Most recipes seem to have dates in – however I use sultanas instead because they’re easier to find & I like them! And it still tastes yummy. This recipe happily fills an 8 inch-ish (20cm) square cake tin. I find this divides up into 9 decent portions, more if you’re not that hungry! <br />I’ve also made individual puddings in 4 inch (10cm) sized ramekins, these make about 6 largeish puddings.</blockquote><br /><br />Serves lots!<br /><br />Ingredients:<br />2oz (55g) butter<br />6oz (170g) demerara sugar<br />2 tbsp black treacle<br />1 tbsp golden syrup<br />2 eggs<br />7oz (200g) self-raising flour<br />7oz (200g) sultanas<br />10fl oz (290ml) boiling water<br />1 tbsp bicarbonate of soda<br />½ tsp vanilla extract<br /><br />For the sauce:<br />4fl oz (110ml) double cream<br />2oz (55g) butter, diced<br />2oz (55g) dark muscavado sugar<br />2 tbsp black treacle<br />1 tbsp golden syrup<br /><br /><br />Method:<br />1. Butter the tin or ramekins and dust with flour and preheat oven 200C/400F/Gas 6.<br />2. Using a food processor cream the butter and sugar together.<br />Slowly add the golden syrup, treacle and eggs. Continue mixing until the mixture looks smooth, then turn down to a slow speed and add the flour. Mix until everything is well combined.<br />3. Add the boiling water to the dates and tip into a blender. Secure the lid firmly and blend to a purée.<br />4. Add the bicarbonate of soda and vanilla.<br />5. Pour this into the batter while it is still hot and stir well.<br />6. Pour into the tin and bake for 20-25 minutes until the top is just firm to the touch.<br />7. Make the sauce: simply place all the ingredients in a pan, bring to the boil, stirring a few times and then remove from the heat. Put to one side until ready to use. <br />(This keeps ok for a day or two in the fridge if you make too much – just gently reheat on the stove.)<br />8. Serve the pudding in bowls and coat with the toffee sauce. I like it with vanilla ice cream, but cream or custard go equally well!<br /><br /><br />The above five dishes easily fed ten people with leftovers (saved in the fridge for the groom and best man as an unidentified surprise!). Whereas I don't always recommend cooking unfamiliar dishes in strange surrounding within rather stressful circumstances, I can vouch for the fact that everyone seemed to enjoy it, and the wedding afterwards was absolutely beautiful. And neither the bride or I popped out of a dresses either!Belhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07916775694088500932noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4539143954841233088.post-26465308484186483632007-07-16T23:20:00.000+01:002007-08-03T00:30:19.715+01:00The Almighty Braai<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_ZAAPa16isnQ/RqE8Lpb_TOI/AAAAAAAAAAc/zhfhpH8_LQE/s1600-h/manmakemeat.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_ZAAPa16isnQ/RqE8Lpb_TOI/AAAAAAAAAAc/zhfhpH8_LQE/s320/manmakemeat.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5089415224704847074" /></a><br />Ever since we'e had enough garden space to accomodate one, my husband has been on about getting a braai. Soon enough, a huge barbecue arrived and Carl started to get highly testosterone-fuelled and devolved to a state of caveman-esque fire-tending and meat cooking. To his credit, he does not conform to the stereotype of British men in that he is actually quite good at it. The fire stays lit, and the meat is cooked through properly, rather than burnt on the outside and pink in the middle. Its also delicious!<br /><br />What is the difference between a barbecue and a braai then? I never really understood this until Carl finally took me to South Afica to meet his family, and essentially, to pig out. <br /><br />It turns out, the word Braai refers to far more than a barbecue. Braai refers to the contraption on which the fire is contained, and what supports the main grill. South African braais are always done over fires, or at least, hot coals. The idea of a gas fuelled barbecue is practically blasphemous. Many campsites and hostels in South Africa advertise the fact they have 'braai facilities'- meaning space for fires.<br /><br />Braai can also mean the food - well, meat - that goes on it. Afrikaners are big on their meat. Anything is acceptable; beef, lamb, pork... crocodile, zebra, ostrich, and of course 'venison'. Venison in South Africa does not just mean deer meat, it refers to any edible antelope: springbok, gemsbok, impala, even Kudo. (Of these, I personally love springbok, it's very tender. Kudo tastes more like mutton.) Braais can also include potjiekos - meaty stews slow cooked in special cast iron pots. The favorite braai meat is boerewors though. Boerewors are spicy sausages made with both beef mince and pork, but with garlic and spices. Buying good boerewors can be tricky, as there are hundreds of varieties, including 'braaiwors', designed specifically for the barbecue, but tend to be lower quality and more fatty. Steaks, wors, ribs and potjie are all served up in large quantities with miscellaneous salads and copious amounts of beer.<br /><br />Finally, a braai is a social event. As soon as we arrived in South Africa, we were invited to braai. "Bring beer!" Getting a fire going, preparing the potjie, getting it up to cooking temperature and grilling the meat all takes time. Generally it is a family event; everyone gets involved, even if it is just to toss salad or chill the beers. And of course, everyone can sit round the fire, usually drinking, while it all cooks. Braais take all evening, so it is used as a good excuse for a mini party, to catch up with people and as an all purpose get together. Even better, it has to be done outside. This means there is plenty of space, and the gathering is very informal and relaxed. In the case of Carl's family braai, three generations were involved including our eighteen month old neice, who joined in by getting her braai potato salad mushed up for her, and toddling round offering people soggy bread rolls. The family dogs were also invited, to chew the bones. Sitting round a fire on a warm evening on the edge of a huge mango farm under the mountains in the Lowveld was a wonderful experience.<br /><br />That said, however, braais are not confined to more tropical climes. We have successfully held braais in our back garden in north east England. Believe it or not, it has been possible to find a whole evening where it was both warm and dry (though peculiarly, this was easier in April than July this year!). We have a large charcoal fuelled barbecue, which is strong enough to hold our potjie pot, and on it goes as much meat as we can get in our local supermarket or butcher. The trick is, to get everything cooked at the same time, which requires a constant heat source, keeping the temperature even over the whole grill. I have made my own burgers and even veggie burgers to be grilled on the braai, and it is even possible to make boerevors at home. Carl cooks away happily, I make potato salad, hungry friends arrive and the beer flows freely. "Gesondheid!"Belhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07916775694088500932noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4539143954841233088.post-15242804209960378052007-06-23T21:15:00.000+01:002007-06-23T21:24:51.981+01:00Why I hate Ding-Ding food.For the record, this is an old post, I just hadn't uploaded it here before. I survived three weeks of making ding-ding food. The following explains my total lack of patience with it.<br /><br />My Dad just rang. "How's the new job going?" he asks. A resoundingly apathetic 'MEH' is the reply.<br>The New Job, at a pub/company which ought to remain anonymous given the following rant, is neither faaaabulous nor hideous. It is just... MEH. Working there has numbed so many braincells already that MEH is about the limit of my relevant vocabulary right now.<br><br>Sunday roasts....that staple of British 'cuisine'. Homely comfort food. Carl's speciality in fact. Nuked beyond all recognition at work.<br>Chicken 'saddles' arrive in individual vaccuum-packed frozen parcels. They are then microwaved for exactly four minutes.<br>If you have the beef option, this means I get to stick another frozen bag in a pan of hot water. The meat is already sliced and comes frozen in gravy. <br>Mash potato is in frozen plastic tubs, already portioned up, and microwaved.<br>'Roast' potatoes are sliced up, frozen and bunged in the deep fat fryer.<br>Miscellaneous frozen veg is 'steamed' in a little plastic bag in the microwave.<br>Synthetically spherical balls of stuffing are frozen and deep fried too.<br>Yorkshire puddings are Auntie Bessies frozen finest.<br>Gravy has never been introduced to the meat before, and comes in individual frozen blue sachets and unceremoniously dumped into gravy boats.<br>The whole plateful (with each item placed on exactly the right spot on the plate, according to the dreaded Spec cards) takes under ten minutes to "prepare" - they don't even use the word "cook"!!!<br><br>Something deep in my brain is beginning to tell me: I can do better than this.<br>I really really hope I can, anyway. Is this really better than being unemployed?<br><br>Nevertheless, Carl sends me cute little Positive Affirmation messages when I'm at work: "Going to make my Bel the best roast in the world ever today! xxx" At least I get decent meals at home then...<br><br><br />I also found this, which tells you all you need to know about the food there:<br><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://i161.photobucket.com/albums/t213/JustBel/Mad%20Finns/fatcontent.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px;" src="http://i161.photobucket.com/albums/t213/JustBel/Mad%20Finns/fatcontent.jpg" border="0" alt="" /></a><br /><br />ONE THOUSAND FOUR HUNDRED AND TWENTY NINE CALORIES ON BREAKFAST???Belhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07916775694088500932noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4539143954841233088.post-55031990028259376812007-06-23T19:04:00.001+01:002007-06-23T19:09:07.431+01:00The wonderfully named Potjiekos<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_ZAAPa16isnQ/Rn1hqLV9JhI/AAAAAAAAAAU/eF7ZS-CRoUU/s1600-h/potjie.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_ZAAPa16isnQ/Rn1hqLV9JhI/AAAAAAAAAAU/eF7ZS-CRoUU/s320/potjie.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5079323331971065362" /></a><br />Another enormous South African feast. Potjiekos (pronounced, delightfully, Poi-kee-koss) is perhaps even more of a social event than a Braai, mainly because it can be an all day affair. Potjiekos literally means Pot Food, it's a huge stew where everything is cooked in one big pot. Potjie pots can be bought in South Africa although I have never seen them anywhere else. They are large round cast iron pots with lids, and look remarkably like witches' cauldrons. A traditional potjie has three legs, so it can stand in, or over, a fire. You can now buy 'platpotjie', with flat bottoms too however, enabling them to be used over gas hobs. All are very heavy and awkward, and from personal experience, a right pain to get through customs when faced with baggage weight limits!<br />The pots themselves need a lot of looking after. The cast iron can easily rust, and although we all need more iron in our diet, this is not the best method of obtaining it! After initially 'firing' by viciously scrubbing it and then heating oil in it until it smokes, it then needs to be cleaned thoroughly after every use, and re-oiled before storage. However, the more the pot is used, the better it is for cooking.<br /><br />The history of the Potjiekos started with the Voortrekkers, Dutch explorers who first moved their settlements out of the Cape, and slowly conquered a larger area of southern Africa. This meant, among other things, that whole families spent a long time travelling together, living out of wagons. The potjie pot was relatively easy to transport, and this style of one-pot cookery suited outdoor cooking over open fires. Whatever animal was shot that day ended up in the pot, with a new animal added each day, guts and all, making for a very interesting stew!<br /><br />The contents of modern potjiekos is entirely a matter of personal preference. The Afrikaners will usually opt for meat, meat and more meat, but this is not always compulsory. The idea is to slow cook it, so it is ideally suited to tougher meats; an Afrikaans staple is mutton, although I use lamb since it is more readily available in this country. . Along with meat goes 'filler' – usually potatoes, but sometimes winter squashes such as pumpkin, or even pasta for the more experimental cooks. And then vegetables (as long as you have onion in there, everything else is negotiable). And then spices. You can actually buy official potjiekos spice mix, but the packet does not admit what goes in this. At an educated guess and a good sniff, I would say a lot of garlic powder, chilli and monosodium glutemate (MSG). Cape Malay cooking, with the heavy Indian influences, use a lot more spices, often giving the dish a very rich, sweet taste, and in my humble opinion, far more pleasant than excessive use of MSG.<br /><br /><br /><br />My first taste of potjie was at my husband's family's house, on a mango farm in the Limpopo province of South Africa. My father in law was extremely proud of his creation, cooked on a braai he had built himself. He was very attentive to the pot, stiring away merrily, whilst all the time getting us all to chop things for him, and swigging from cans of his beloved Castle lager. Potjies take so long to do, it is more or less compulsory to start the drinking several hours in advance!<br /><br />While this recipe is not necessarily the most traditional in terms of ingredients, it is far quicker and more simple to cook than other varieties. This should not take much longer than an hour to do. It is also extremely rich. Biltong, incidentally, is just portions of dried meat, like jerky. This recipe can easily be doubled or halved,depending on the size of the feast, the trick is to keep the ingredients in proportion with one another.<br /><br /><br /><br />Biltong Potjiekos – By Les Townsend<br /><br />Serves 10-12<br /><br />6 onions, chopped roughly<br />1.5kg shell pasta<br />1kg grated biltong (any animal!)<br />750ml cream<br />3 green peppers, sliced<br />5 chicken stock cubes<br />5 cloves garlic, crushed<br />6-8 tbsp tomato paste<br />1kg cheddar cheese, grated<br />500g mushrooms<br />Vegetable oil<br /><br />In the prepared potjie pot, fry the onions and green peppers in a little oil until softened.<br />Combine stock cubes with 1½ litres of boiling water and add to the pot. Add the pasta and cook through.<br />Add the cream, biltong and cheese and cook until thick and bubbly.<br />Finally, add the mushrooms, heat through, and serve.<br /><br /><br /><br />Now we have established the basics of potjie cooking, here's a more traditional recipe. 'Bredies' are a Cape Malay stew, slow cooked, and go perfectly in a potjie pot. I came across this recipe when on a cultural tour of the Townships around Cape Town; the original uses mutton, but I adapted it to include ingredients you are more likely to find in Britain. Desperate to try out the potjie pot that I had lugged half way around the world, I first cooked this for my parents, using lambs' neck slices from their friendly local (Welsh) butcher. My parents are the sort who shudder at the thought of garlic and adding even half a teaspoon of chilli powder makes them gibber incoherently in the corner, rocking backwards and forwards alarmingly. As such, I did not go for the interesting Cape Malay curries, which can also be cooked in this manner. The spices in this give the dish a warming aromatic flavour, but for anyone prone to ordering the blandest thing on the menu, this is not gastonomic terrorism. Just close your eyes when you add the garlic.<br /><br />Lamb's Neck Potjiekos – loosely based on Cass Abraham's Tomato Bredie<br /><br />Serves 4 hungry people<br /> <br />8 slices of lamb's neck, including bone<br />very large glass red wine (Pinotage of course!)<br />250g new potatoes, chopped (halved if small)<br />1 large onion, roughly chopped<br />2 red peppers, sliced<br />12 vine tomatoes, halved<br />1½ tsp ground cloves<br />1½ tsp ground cinnamon<br />2 tsp sweet paprika<br />3cm fresh ginger, finely chopped<br />2 cloves garlic, crushed<br />1 tbsp fresh chopped coriander<br />Plenty of vegetable oil.<br /><br />Add the cloves, cinnamon, paprika, ginger and garlic to some oil and heat in the potjie pot until fragrant. Add the meat and potatoes to the pot, then add layers of onion and pepper. Finally, add the tomatoes to the top of the pot, and sprinkle over the coriander. Pour the wine over the top and allow to drain through. Put the lid on the pot and leave to simmer.<br />After half an hour, stir the pot well so that the meat is now on the top. Cover again, turn the heat down if necessary, and leave to slow cook for as long as possible. Good after two hours, even better the next day.<br />Serve with rice – if you have room!Belhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07916775694088500932noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4539143954841233088.post-7457140182827580232007-06-23T18:50:00.000+01:002007-06-25T23:58:15.129+01:00The Social Life of Food<i>An old Portuguese legend tells of that most creative of dishes, Stone Soup. Stone Soup was first made by hungry Travellers, who, arriving in a quiet village with no money or provisions, were refused food by the locals. Desperate for something to eat, they set about boiling a large stone in nothing but water. Soon enough, the villagers were intrigued. Not wanting to show too much interest of course, each wandered over separately to inquire what the Travellers were up to. </i></span></span> </p> <p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">“<i>We're making Stone Soup!” came the reply. “It's nearly ready.” And with that, they would enthusiastically taste it. “Almost perfect. Almost, but, it needs a little seasoning. Could we trouble you for a little salt? Just a pinch will do.”</i></p> <p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;" lang="en-GB"><span style="color:#000000;"><span style="font-size:100%;"><i>So, one villager brought salt; no-one can deny a cook a little salt, can they? The soup was definitely getting there, but it could still do with a little something. Stock? Could anyone spare some stock? It would make all the difference. And potatoes. Just a few, you know, to thicken it up a bit. “We want to make sure there's enough Stone Soup to feed everyone, after all.” One villager was convinced that a handful of greens would also be a perfect addition to the wonderful Stone Soup. “A little pork too, perhaps? Not too much, you don't want to drown the flavour of the stone....”</i></span></span></p> <p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;" lang="en-GB"><span style="color:#000000;"><span style="font-size:100%;"><i>Before long, the whole village was enjoying a delicious, simple, Stone Soup, and the Travellers got their dinner. The best part of course, was that the stone was so good, it could be saved and reused infinitely.</i></span></span></p> <p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br /></p> <p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">The purpose of this legend is unclear. Perhaps it is just teaching that something can come from nothing. Or that too many cooks don't actually spoil the broth. Have your stone and eat it too! Maybe it is a stark warning – do not strange trust men boiling water by the side of the road? Either way there are now numerous restaurants in Portugal selling the legendary Stone Soup, or Sopa de Piedra. That surely is the point. Good food can be created out of the simplest of ingredients, and that the acts of cooking and eating can, and should be, enjoyable social events. Food has a social life all of its own. </p> <p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br /></p> <p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span lang="en-GB"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="color:#000000;"><span style="font-style: normal;">A </span><i>Companion </i><span style="font-style: normal;">is literally, someone you break bread with. We hunger after our ambitions. When we realise something, we wake up and smell the coffee. Traditionally, the “breadwinner”, once he has earned his crust, comes home to his “sugar” “honey” or ”sweetie”, who will be sure to know the way to a man's heart. Troublemakers are known as the 'bad apples.' Pregnancy is euphemistically called “having a bun in the oven.” More strangely, when accompanying a loving couple, we are seen as a 'gooseberry'. When suspicious, we know trouble is brewing. We English 'Roast Beefs' sneer at the 'Frogs' across the channel, or the 'Sauerkrauts' further north, that is until our 'goose is cooked' and we have to eat our words or eat humble pie. We are occasionally starved of love, we lap up information, and we cook up plans. That is just the way the cookie crumbles... Food pervades virtually every aspect of our lives, even down to our language, expressions and proverbs. Food is also culture. The methods of cooking, preparation and serving dishes varies as much between cultures as the choice of ingredients does. One man's roast dinner is another's Holy Cow. </span></span></span></span> </p> <p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br /></p> <p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">Food also fulfils a basic, instinctive need. We are all required to fill our bodies with some sort of energy source on a daily basis. Every culture on the planet has some sustenance system in place with which to satisfy this need. We humans are lucky in this respect, in that we are omnivorous; we can and do eat anything, unlike, say, poor Koalas that are restricted to a diet of eucalyptus, eucalyptus and more eucalyptus. Instead, we have the whole world in which to grow and produce a huge array of the most luxurious and exotic foods imaginable, and we choose to eat such nutritious culinary delights as Pot Noodle, burgers, oven chips, breakfast cereals covered in chocolate with added marshmallow shapes, cheese strings, canned spaghetti rings, Dinky Doughnuts, donner kebabs, microwaveable rice in little bags and chip shop curry sauce.... I have recently had the pleasure of feeding a group of bright but infinitely cynical teenagers who took up residence in my café. In their world, the five food groups consisted of grease, sugar, caffeine, nicotine and alcohol (although there was always some debate whether 'grease' should be replaced with the more specific “cheese” or even “chips”, and whether chillies should be a food group in their own right.) That said though, they had no hang ups about food as such, as long as it was put in front of them instantaneously and cost them little more than £2.50 a go. This was a demand I was happy to fulfil, as long as no baked beans were ever involved.</p> <p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br /></p> <p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">This book is not designed to preach, however. The recipes here are not included with a specific diet mantra in mind, following them religiously will not make you lose weight unless you are already morbidly obese (in which case, get help from someone more qualified!). They will not change your life dramatically, I doubt they will help you reach inner peace or enlightenment, and they definitely will not help if you happen to be allergic to half the ingredients. </p> <p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br /></p> <p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">It also does not make much difference where the ingredients come from. We are assured on a seemingly hourly basis that misshapen vegetables hand-grown in organic certified soil from the Garden of Gethsemane, watered with pure mineral water and tended by born-again, virginal vegans and transported to your (feng shui'd) table by Buddhist monks on solar-powered bicycles, are far better for you. Somehow I doubt it. I would prefer to believe that the animals I eat had happy lives, that vegetables were not sprayed with all manner of carcinogenic chemicals, that the growth of cereal crops did not further the destruction of the rainforest, and that the fruit was not grown by underpaid workers in the developing world, but I am not naïve. As such, I support the Fairtrade movement whenever and howsoever I can, and I try to buy in as much locally produced food as possible. However, buying non-organic food from corporate multinational supermarkets does not mean you will be eternally damned. Honest. </p>Belhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07916775694088500932noreply@blogger.com1