This weekend we tried out our Weber barbecue using the indirect method of grilling. Basically, the coals on either side of the grid, with a drip tray in the centre and the food splayed over the drip tray. The heat rises in the kettle giving an oven effect and a barbecue flavour without allowing delicate foods to burn. We'd only ever tried the direct method (food directly over the coals) so this was a revelation.
I had a chicken in the freezer which I defrosted and spatchcocked by cutting down the spine of the chicken with poultry shears and opening the chicken out breaking the breastbone as I did so. I could have faffed about with string and made the chicken hold its shape by using string etc and poking the legs through holes made in the skin at the side, but life's too short. I made a marinade using the following: juice and zest of one orange, juice and zest of two lemons, one chicken stock cube, three cloves of garlic, two teaspoons grated fresh ginger, three tablespoons of apricot jam, half a teaspoon of chilli paste.
Once the coals were at the right temperature we cooked the chicken for twenty minutes each side, adding in the last fifteen minutes a red pepper stuffed with a mixture of mozzarella cheese, breadcrumbs, garlic, dried basil and olive oil. The top of the pepper is cut off, the veins and seeds remove and the stuffing packed in, then the top is replaced and held in place with skewers. Fifteen minutes of barbecuing over indirect heat results in a beautifully soft, barbecue flavoured red pepper, while the filling melts to delicious cheesiness inside the pepper. They were the perfect accompaniment to chicken and baked potatoes.
The peppers tasted so good I'll make them again as soon as I have the opportunity!
Last weekend we visited some of the towns in the Namur province in Belgium. It was a great weekend and we had a lot of fun.
Some notes:
- Don't expect anyone to speak Dutch because they won't.
- Do visit the Citadel at Namur and take a whole day to do so. Do the guided tours (they are available in Dutch English and French) but don't bother with the little train. If you do take the little train don't sit in the front carriage or you will be overwhelmed with fumes.
- Don't bother visiting the Citadel at Dinant which isn't really a citadel but is rather a fort, and costs 7 euros each to get in. We felt we'd been raped. The only good thing was the drive there and the view.
- Do take the time to walk around Namur, it's very pretty. It has this slightly run down air, a bit like Florence, but not grubby. The colours are all muted too, mostly grey, which made me think about how certain cities have certain colours, and how different they all are.
- Do stay outside Namur at the Chateau de la Poste in the Domaine du Ronchinne. The hotel was quite comfortable, if pricey, but then again, you do get to stay in a castle in some exquisite scenery.
- Do drive from Maillen to Dinant like we did and then take the scenic route to Liege.
- Don't stop in Liege, it seems very dirty after the pristine landscape around Namur.
- Do eat icecream - I had violet, grapefruit and pistachio, M had chocolate, snickers and unexpectedly orange blossom, which really did taste like orange blossom.
- Also, buy macarons. Although only buy them from Jean-Philippe Darcis and not from the other chocolatier/patisserie in the same street, for if you do they will be horrible and you will regret it.
The photo above is of the Chateau de la Poste, where we stayed.
We moved to Uithoorn a couple of months ago. Our initial impression was that there is nothing to do in Uithoorn, which isn't far from the truth - bar a nice little harbour, Uithoorn, with its population of a mere 26,0000 functions mostly as a dormitory town for Amsterdam. That said, I suspect most of the eating/socialising etc takes place in the canteens of various sporting venues, as today when I took Seb to his football camp there were a whopping 280 kids attending, each with two parents in tow.
Before we moved I found very little information on the internet, most of it being in the newspaper, so we cycled around, made notes from the newspapers and have had some pretty good experiences for eating out (and some not so good ones). I'll list some below and perhaps revisit this later when we've explored more.
Hertog Jan op 't Water - fantastic food in a wonderful setting right on the harbour in Uithoorn. The building served formerly as the harbourmaster's office. This restaurant holds only 16 people inside and we attended during Restaurant Week. I was impressed, not only for the quality of the food, but the standard of the service. This restaurant serves modern European cuisine. I especialy like that they have a set menu price.
Cantina del Corazon - Mexican inspired cuisine in Nes aan de Amstel, served with a view across the water. We cycled here and very much enjoyed our meal. I can recommend the empanadillas and the Combinacion Corazon, which lets you get a little taste of everything. Their Crema Catalana was a bit tasteless. The only real slight reservations I had is that the restaurant is enormous so when there are only a few guests it can feel a bit echo-ey, and the price was a little steep for what we had, coming in at about 70 euros for two without any booze (except half a jug of sangria). The quality was high though, with the food being some of the nicest we've had.
Indian Dinner Express, Cort van der Lindenplein 5, 1421 NJ Uithoorn,
We've tried having a few drinks at the Station in Uithoorn, in the former railway station building. It was okay for drinks but the bitterballen were truly awful. We've tried La Bruschetta which bills itself as the answer to Italian in Uithoorn and were very unimpressed with the service, ambience and the food. We tried the Argentinian Steakhouse on the waterfront which was average and expensive. We also had some sandwiches at Drinken & Zo on the riverfront, which were ok, but not spectacular. Finally, Hans Ijs, opposite Hertog Jan, has really nice icecream and is worth a stop. Favourite flavours so far are orange and pistachio
Last year's car accident left me with a long term injury. I wrote a tiny bit about the accident in this entry here, but didn't really go into any depth. (In fact, the whole of the last year I haven't gone into any depth, which has made this a very boring place to visit.) Anyway, the car accident left me with two nice little surprises - the first being a grade 3 whiplash injury, which, contrary to popular belief isn't a) a malingering disorder or b) limited to a pain in the neck.
I have a whole medley of exciting symptoms to choose from including concentration problems, memory loss, extreme fatigue, joint pain, headaches, nausea, vomiting, numbness in my face, weakness in my arms and hands etc. The most annoying and debilitating aspect of all of these things is that if you combine them you come up with what feels like an IQ point loss of about 30 points.
Things I can no longer comfortably do include: sports, using a computer for more than about an hour maximum, watching tv for more than an hour or so, reading, listening to music (I have noise sensitivity), adding up any kind of figures or working with numbers.
The second little surprise I have resulting from the accident is a case of post traumatic stress disorder. You can see the start of it if you read this entry (I'm surprised I didn't see the start of it myself). Basically it means I won't drive the car if M is in it because I'm so afraid of killing him accidentally. In fact, I won't drive the car anywhere where I might have to merge into the traffic, so I'm fine on the way from home to the kids school but not anywhere more complicated. Also, I find it discomforting if I'm in a vehicle that has to merge so I get panicky and stressed and start crying if I'm in a bus (in a bus, can you believe it!?) that's on a highway merging into the traffic. Strangely enough I'm confident that M won't kill me accidentally and so I feel secure when I'm in a car with him. Apparently the traumatic event was the accident but the post traumatic stress is related to the fact that I feel responsible for the accident (and the resulting events) even though it wasn't my fault. The whole situation absolutely ridiculous and I'm fed up with it.
I didn't want my blog to turn into a fiesta of misery so didn't write anything about this, or anything about the divorce or finding a new house, or losing my job (due to being sick), or the legal aspects of the car accident, or the month of September where I threw up every day for a month and M's mom was convinced I was pregnant but it was actually just because I have this stupid complaint, or the kids and the way they're changing and growing, but hey it's my space. I can do whatever I want with it (including being a misery merchant).
Maybe I'll write a bit more again now, as a goal for myself.
Just a quick note to say I got a message from amazon.de today saying that orders over 20 euros are now delivered free to the Netherlands. Did you know you can order all your English language books via amazon.de? You just need the ISBN. Another advantage is that they arrive within a couple of days via DHL/UPS and not through the postal system (or, at least, that's been my experience).
Happy bookshopping.
Since my brother and I were little and the cookboy used to have to make us separate bowls because we would fight if we had to share one, I have always been a devoted popcorn fan.
The cry of 'Ephraim, henza lo popcorn!' (pidgin for Ephraim, make popcorn!) would go up and about twenty minutes later two steaming bowls would appear. It was always salted, never buttered. I established my own perfect method of popcorn eating, involving raising your bowl to your lips and sticking your tongue into the popcorn. The perfect number of kernels will stick to your tongue leaving you with your hands free to read a book, play on the computer, whatever. This would later prove to embarrass me in situations when I forgot I was in company.
Sweet popcorn never turned me on, except for these little bags, made by Willards Foods, that we could buy in Zimbabwe with a multicoloured sugar layer over each popped kernel. I have never seen them elsewhere and plain sugared popcorn is, in my opinion, slightly revolting. In South Africa we had Jumping Jack popcorn from Baker Street Snacks which came in White Cheddar (awesome!) and a caramel flavour. This sort of turned me around, but not entirely. The caramel was reminiscent of those toffee popcorn balls we used to eat as kids.
A couple of week's ago I tried a recipe from Rachel Allen for caramel popcorn and now I'm addicted. It comprises of 25 g butter, 25 g sugar and a good glug of syrup, (I used Lyle's in maple syrup flavour), boiled together until bubbling and simply poured over popped corn. I also found a tip for popping corn which stops that slightly chewy damp popcorn you get from having an airtight lid over the pan - simply use a sieve or a metal colander instead of a lid. This lets the moisture out while saving the kitchen floor from a popcorn explosion, and no need to hold the lid on at an angle. The best method I've found is to heat the oil up really high, then reduce to medium as soon as you add the kernels. It seems to result in the most popped kernels and the least chance of burning the popped corn.
Now I'm looking for more popcorn recipes for toppings, although I fear turning into Irina from the Post-Birthday World. Any suggestions?
In my efforts to get well I've been limiting the amount I do, so it was pretty fun the other day to actually make something special for a dinner party. The couple we had over are lovely, but exceptional in that they fight almost constantly. Anyone else have friends who are compulsive arguers?
So anyway, I cooked. Bruschetta for starters, to help absorb all the alcohol in the cocktails we made to get rid of the bottle of strawberry liqueur I had that I didn't want to take with to the new house. It's made of equal quantities of vodka and strawberry liqueur to a triple quantity of orange juice and then topped up with champagne.
Then Jamie Oliver's pumpkin and chorizo farfalle followed by the easiest, nicest dessert ever from Donna Hay. I haven't the recipe in front of me, but this is how it goes:
- Get four glasses, whisky sized (250 ml) will be perfect.
- Roughly break up some amaretti. Her recipe said 200g but it was too much. I used about half that.
- Whip 250 ml cream with some icing sugar (about 50g) until stiff peaks form.
- Make some lemon curd, or buy some, but try making it because it's so easy. I used the recipe in the book, but the microwave one I linked to is just as good, just reduce the quantity a bit.
- Layer the lemon curd in the glass, top with amaretti and then cream, then lemon and cream. You need thickish layers (except for the lemon curd which shouldn't be too deep) and you should end with a cream layer.
- Refrigerate the desserts for a couple of hours and serve.
They may look small but the serving size is perfect and the bite of the lemon versus the sweet almond of the amaretti is superb. If you use orange curd (made the same way) you can soak the biscuits in Grand Marnier. I can imagine if you soaked the biscuits in a splash of limoncello for the lemon curd version it would be great, but I figured that after the strawberry cocktails we might have had enough already.
Yesterday I took Seb for his 9-year old vaccinations. All 9- year olds, or those turning 9 very soon are invited on one day to the health centre and given approximately 2 minutes of time. We stood in the queue, which moved quite quickly. A little girl came out exclaiming 'that wasn't so bad after all.' Seb, always sage (read pessismistic), said 'Oh, don't worry you will feel it tomorrow.' The little girl's mother made a wry face.
Anyway, suddenly we were at the front and walking into the room we faced a chair in the middle of the room, death-by-electrocution-style. Seb was instructed to sit and then 'one two three,and it's done!' cried the nurses as they injected him simultaneously in both arms. It was all over in a minute. He flushed when the needles were withdrawn, but didn't cry, a stark contrast to his baby immunisations.
On the way back to the car we talked about how when he was a baby I thought 9 years was such a long way away. He asked which immunisations he had had and I told him a little bit about the clinic I took him to in Cape Town.
Then I asked him some questions about his new step-dad and whether he was looking forward to living together as a family full-time. It's very rare to have a moment with him alone, where I can give him my full attention and try to get through the haze of Pokemon or Nintendo-fuelled conversation that seems to consume him. He said 'yes, because he's fun' and 'because he helps us a lot and he is really serious about helping us'. The answers stilled some of my hesitations about the huge changes that I've created for our family in the last year. At the same time I felt the nag of jealousy.
I am by no means insecure about my relationship with my children. In other areas of my life, my other relationships, with my parents and my friends I am neurotic, but I truly believe that my children love me unconditionally, and I them. However, the jealousy still tugged.
I realised that the background of obligation and expectation colours everything that we do as parents. I have to love them, therefore it's unremarkable when I do. Whereas if someone with no biological imperative helps them or loves them, it's suddenly remarkable. Perhaps they realise how lucky they are to have the attention and affection of someone who isn't tied to them by blood or obligation, or perhaps they are just basking, like new lovers, in the glow of it all.
My children love me because I am their mother. Equally, they expect me to be their mother and the love and expectations are so tightly entertwined that they would no more expect me to withhold love and affection or attention than they would expect me to jump off a cliff.
I am obligated to help them and take care of them. With that obligation the truly remarkable nature of caring and loving becomes as unremarkable as a white-washed wall.
When I see them experience the sheer delight of the love and affection they're being showered in it's like watching glorious colour being splashed on that wall. Perhaps good step-parent relationships remain forever in the honeymoon stage, where there is always a frisson of excitement that this person chose to love you without ever falling into the post-marriage blues of having to love you.
It makes me glad to see their happiness.
But I'm still a bit jealous when it's not me inspiring it.
Have a look at this. I bet he's never going to forget Valentine's Day again.
NSFW.
Nothing extraordinary in a bowl of pistachios, right? They flavour turkish delight, are a seldom-seen component of a sickly green ice-cream, they are an eastern cuisine staple, they belong in the 1970's with other canapes like bits of pineapple and cheese jammed onto cocktail sticks. Any other uses I've missed out?
I currently live in Utrecht right near the Turkish and Moroccan quarter. The greengrocers are an explosion of tropical fruit and vegetables and the grocers are full of pistachios, couscous, bulghur wheat, beans of all different colours and flavours, turkish delight and other sweets, and an abundance of nuts. I was shopping for some vegetables the other day and a bag of pistachios caught my eye, leaving me awash in a flood of memories.
In the 1980's my mum and dad had an Iranian friend. I don't remember much about what he did, but I remember him, his wife, and I think his two daughters, who used to come out to the farm at intervals. I can recall a dense mop of curly black hair, deeply tanned skin and eyes so brown they looked black. I can remember my dad saying 'He's not an Arab, he's Persian' thus allowing him a caveat from his xenophobic nature. Because, you know you can be friends with someone darker than you as long as they're not really black/Arabic/Jewish, even if they look like they are. I think they must have been Christian too, because my dad wouldn't have favoured any Muslims being in our home.
He used to bring us bags of pistachios, deep green once the shells were off and highly salted. I spent hours shelling the nuts, which I noticed today, as you do, strongly resemble Pacman if you look at them from the side. I was a lonely girl and I remember sitting alone in the lounge, shelling the nuts and examining the inside of the shells, which if you take the time to look at, are a deep rose colour. The perfumed turkish delight that he brought us echoed the pink of the inside of the shells and the green of the nuts. I remember wondering if the rose colour came from the inside of the pistachio shells. I know now that it was probably cochineal that was added to colour the pink bits, if the rosewater didn't give enough colour, but at the time it kept me busy for hours.
I wonder what happened to that family, who were clearly political exiles from the Ayatollah's regime and I wonder how they came in contact and became friends with my dad. I can't imagine how different southern Africa must have been from Iran and in the end I imagine the cultural differences were too great for them to stay friends or perhaps their mutual usefulness ran it's course.
