The Baked Alaska story

It was Rhiannon’s birthday coming up and I wanted to do something
special. I researched some cake recipes and decided on something I had never made before:
Baked Alaska.

As I read I found several different recipes for this classic,
but all of them included ice-cream,


So, for a week before the party, I was busy with my ice-cream maker-the kind where your rotate a cylinder inside a bucket with and ice-sakt mixture. I came up with some strawberry, some chocolate and some apricot from earlier this year.

I baked a cake as well. A gorgeously soft.golden sponge cake from scratch. It had lots of eggs and sugar!!

So the day of the event I put the thing together. I melted the ice-cream slightly and formed it into rounds which then refroze. Later I put the cake together and sandwiched the ice cream between the sponge layers. I also added some strawberry puree and whipped cream, flavoured with bourbon, in the layers.

A layer of chopped crystallised pineapple that I had made earlier was the topping. I then put the whole thing back in the freezer.

Guests started arriving and the party began to hum. First I served some drinks, then I was entertaining. At the busiest time I started the meringue. It took a dozen egg-whites. I whipped up a storm and there was a lot of snowy looking egg-whites in the bowl. It finally had the right consistency.

By this time we were getting Rhiannnon out of the room in anticipation.

I took out the frozen cake from the fridge and started covering it with meringue. It took a lot of it to cover the cake but finally I was done.

It looked like this:



Finally I was ready and the cake went in the oven. I had really no idea how long it would take. It took less time than I thought.

I opened the oven door after 8 minutes and took a peep. The cake was already faintly browned all over. I gave it a minute more and then took it out. A faint dribble of molten ice-cream was flowing from the cake.

I held it a minute in front of me. It was an amazing creation!
Then I very carefully carried it over to the main table where I set it down. I was grateful it was over! That baking had been a challenge. But now I had Sabrina and Kaeti to help me decorate.

There were quite a few decorative features. Some baby concord grapes that I had coated in powdered sugar gave a festive air. Then the candles and some colored sugar on top. And the name Rina of course in a pink gel.

It got quite a reception that cake and people asked me all sorts of questions. Definitely my most ambitious cake project yet.

The long search for Buddha's Hands

Looking for this rare and beautifully perfumed fruit took me to some out-of-the-way places in San Diego county.

The other day I came across a box of the exotic citrus Buddha Hands in the wholesale market and asked them where it was from. I was thinking imported but they said it was local. So when I got home I did the research and found the name of a grower: Cunningham Farms. In Fallbrook near Temecula- 95 miles away from my home

On further investigation it seemed that I would find the Cunningham Farms stand at the Farmer’s Market in Temecula on a Wed or Sat. So bright and early last Wed I set out for the market. With Mapquest in hand I negotiated the several freeways needed to get there. A stop off in Corona after an hour’s drive brought me to a McDonalds and breakfast. Fortified, I drove on and got to Temecula before 10 a.m.
Well, I had thought of Temecula as a small town but it turned out to be a large, not very lovely one. Stopping off in the downtown area I enquired at the Temecula Olive Oil company’s lovely shop and was directed to the shopping Mall on the other side of the freeway.

I found the shopping mall but no market. I asked in the gas station and no one knew of it. I asked more people outside filling their gas-tanks but no luck. An older gentleman was very helpful. He told me he had never heard of a Farmer’s Market on a Wed. and he’d lived here all his life! When I mentioned the farm was in Fallbrook and maybe I should head for there he was encouraging.” Fallbrook’s a lovely little town,” he said. Anxious to find myself in somewhere a little more charming than Temecula I decided I would head there.

So back on the freeway for five miles than off at the sign: Another seven winding miles took me to Fallbrook. It was a small town:
“Easy” I thought “People here will know about Cunningham Farms.”
Well, the florist didn’t so I continued onto the centre of town which had been closed off for a Veteran’s Parade.
“ I’ve never seen a veteran’s Day Parade’ I thought. “ I’ll give this a try.” So grabbing my camera I headed for the main street. I got there in time to photograph the end of the parade.

The people watching looked like genuine inhabitants so I asked them. No one had heard of Cunningham Farms. I found a bookshop and asked to borrow a phone directory. I looked through it. Not only no Cunningham Farms but the three numbers of similar businesses all gave me that disconnected message that is so disheartening. This was one out-of-date directory!
Now time was marching on and I got nervous. I wondered if my memory was playing tricks and I had the name wrong. I drove around town and found another fruit distributor. They couldn’t help me either. I was getting very seriously worried now.

In my time of need I pulled up outside a local bar and decided this was auspicious. They served me a beer after I struggled to convey that Miller Draft was not a draft but a bottled beer- :Oh Miller Genuine Draft you mean”- the missing word genuine being the clue- and no they hadn’t heard of Cunningham Farms either.

I sat in the corner and wondered why this was so difficult. I looked at my phone. “Help me”, I said.
Brain said Directory Enquiries, so I dial 411. After a minute of automated recordings when I feel this is another blind alley, a human voice comes on the line. “Cunningham Farms in Fallbrook?” “Yes” I say. “Here we are; Cunningham Organic Farms “. And in no time I had the address and phone number in my hands, or at least in my phone’s memory. Relief. I look out onto the Rite-Aid parking lot and give up a little prayer.

The beer and this new information revived me. I finished my bottle and jumped in the car. I got directions from the man standing next to his pick-up truck and I was off.

Well, this wasn’t a simple trip. I left Fallbrook on De Luz Road and immediately entered a pristine wilderness. This was a park or reserve I thought as I drove through the unspoilt canyons with no habitation at all.

It was slow, twisting road but very beautiful. Then I come to a summit and start descending. The scenery changes and there are some farms with fruit trees. I have my lunch parked in the driveway of a persimmon farm with heavy fruit on many trees. The owner drives past me as he leaves the road and enters the property but ignores my wave.” What’s with these people?” I think.

More driving . It seems the numbers will never climb to the one I need. Then the numbers do get close. I see one just a little smaller than the address I am seeking and get excited. I drive round a corner and pas t a couple of driveways and then find another farm, I look eagerly at the number. Its too large! I have gone past the one I want.
I retrace my tracks and go up the unmarked driveway. There are houses up here but none look right. There’s no sign and no one to ask.

Disappointed I return to the road and drive to the too-large number. I look at some strange large objects on the ground. Are these gourds I ask myself? Maybe…and in fact I had found Welburn’s Gourd Farm.
A pick-up truck enters the property a little ways away and I wave. The driver comes round to talk to me.
“ Do you know Cunningham Farms?” I ask. He does. The tension of the day dissolves a little bit.” You have to go back that way to the Calle Roxanne and follow that side road”. Amazed, I turn the car round for one more time and head the way he indicates. I turn off onto Calle Roanne and I see an electric cart coming down the road towards me. By this time I have no problem in waving wildly to get the guy’s attention.
“ Are you from Cunningham Farms?” He is and it seems my luck has changed. He tells me to wait there a minute. He goes on and in a minute returns with a passenger. “Follow me” he says and I do.

Up the street and soon it becomes an unpaved road. A little further we go over a crest and I see my Mecca. A sign with COF on it and beyond it a vista of green. Fruit trees, more trees and growth and what looks like a couple of houses. It covers a small valley and it’s a welcome scene.

And in a minute under the shade of an oak tree I meet George Cunningham, the owner of this spread. George to his credit accepts me as genuine after I pour out my story of missed contacts.
“ My wife is a the farmer’s market in Temecula today.” Wow, so there was one. I felt stupid.
But we talked about fruit and citrus fruit in particular and it was clear George was an expert. I found out about new fruits like finger limes and commercial fruit.

I gave George some of my products and he ferried me inside the family home. Luckily his wife and grand-daughter had just returned and I was introduced.
Then off to the top of the hill and I got to see my first Buddha Hands tree. It was impressive and worth the long search. I tasted Meyer Lemons, exquisitely tangy. I told George I was not impressed by persimmons and he gave me some of his crop to try. I liked them better but George thought I was just trying to humor him. I was on firmer ground with his dried persimmons which were really tasty and just right for one of my fruit-cakes. But what was really intriguing me were the long and strange-shaped vegetables, a creamy brown color, lying on the ground just behind the cases of fruit stacked up. “Tahitian pumpkin” he said and this was a first for me.
“Best pumpkin ever- only raise it for the family. They use it grated raw in Tahiti.” Again, I don’t think I have come across raw pumpkin use.
But I was unable to persuade George to part with one of his pumpkins so bearing the bags containing Meyer Lemons and the hard-won Buddha Hands I returned to my car.
“Just one more thing George, I would like to take a few pictures for my blog.”
“ Go ahead ,” he said and with that we parted company and my visit to the Farm was over. I left in a bit of a daze and returned to the main road. There was still a spectacular drive ahead of me to connect with the freeway and I enjoyed passing through this remote corner of San Diego County with its spectacular fruit orchards. And unfathomable street numbers.

Raspberry Jam

Raspberry jam

Turned out to be very straightforward, and unlike many other fruit the berries gave a very good set.

I picked up two boxes of nice raspberries at the downtown market. It must be the end of the season for raspberries but nowadays who knows? It seems there is a year-round supply of strawberries coming to us from Mexico.

I took 18 6oz punnets ( clam-shells) of the berries for a total of about 7lbs of fruit. I added 5 pounds of non-refined sugar and away we went.

It looked very good simmering in the pot.

The berries broke down very quickly and there was no need to add water. A beautiful, rose-like perfume, filled the house and Rina ,drawn to the kitchen, spent many minutes stirring.

Now having cooked a good many jams I knew that patience was required. I put the pot on a low simmer and gave it a good hour’s cooking. Then after checking it I gave it another 45 minutes. By that time the colour had got darker. When I pat the side of the pot it is really hot

The skin that forms on surface when it nears readiness was clearly visible. Just to check I took out a dollop and put it in the freezer on a plate. Sure enough after a couple of minutes the liquid had semi-gelled and as you moved it with a finger the surface wrinkled. Ready!!

I sieved half of it to make jelly. It will be more convenient when its time to make a sorbet or a delicious sauce for duck!

Here’s the jam and the jelly in jars.

I'm back!

After a truly frightening summer and a bizarre vacation in San Clemente California: i am back. I will be writing a new blog immediately.

Giant and extra-big lobster....

The giant crustacean

A few months ago I was in Koreatown visiting the HK Supermarket. I have bought some good seafood there in the past.

They have some tanks with live fish in them and usually there’s some Korean Halibut in there. Large, flat, green guys about 10-12 lbs each. There’s other tanks and they usually have Crabs-Dungeness- and lobster. Well, today I had come in to look a the crabs ,and they looked pretty nice all crammed together in their tank in their brown splendor,legs agitating the water. But when I looked at the blackboard with the prices on it I noticed that the crab and lobster were the same price- at $11.99/ lb. So I thought that the lobster was a bit more special. I started looking in the tank a bit more carefully and got the attention of the fish-counter person.

It was a pretty long tank- about 12 foot I would guess- and over on the left side I noticed one I liked. I chose him because he had a really large left claw and I like claw meat. As you probably know lobsters have one claw quite larger than the other.

“I’ll have that one", I said ,pointing to the guy I had chosen. So the man takes the wooden implement they use to hook out the lobster and starts fishing. First try was no good. He was trying to manoeuver from the right side along the tank but he didn’t have the right angle. Then the head fish-guy joins in and suggests he use the step ladder. So he sets up the step ladder and tried again. It took him three more tries before he got it and even then it was touch-and -go as the lobster seemed to be stronger!

Finally he fishes it out and I see the whole glorious thing. And it is a big one! He gets it onto the scales with some difficulty and the pointer reads 5 lbs 12 oz. WOW!! That’s the biggest lobster I have ever bought .

Then came the packaging . At first they want to put it in a big plastic bag but I am having none of that. I want to make sure that he arrives home still alive. Working in restaurant I knew that they transport them in boxes usually with some wet newspaper on top. So I issue the order and they go and find a suitable box. They take the lobster out of the black trash bag and put it in the box. Then, by some gesturing, I show them the paper towels on the wall. Finally they get it!

They peel some off and get them wet and put them over my lobster. They bring the box around to my cart and I wheel it carefully to the check-out. I am so proud of my purchase that I open the box to show it to the checker and the bagger. They murmur appropriately complimentary phrases in Korean. Like “what a beauty”.

Then it’s in the back of the car and I am on my way home. Driving fast: quite an adrenaline buzz this lobster buying!!

I had texted Rina ; “ Put some hot water on”. When I got home there was a kettle singing and another pan of hot water boiling. Perfect!!

Well it took a while to organize things but finally I had my biggest pot on with boiling water . I had added salt, peppercorns and a squeezed lemon. Then; the moment of truth: I opened the box and let the big boy loose. He squirmed around on my counter as if he knew what was coming. I turned off my sensitive-feelings knob and just grabbed the beast. I put him in the water but at first it seemed he wouldn’t go in. He had one claw outside, or the body wanted to back out or another scenario. But finally I had the giant crustacean in the water, making his last contortions.

I cooked the lad for ten to fifteen minutes. I was sure by now that he had cooked through. Quite relieved and glad this ordeal was over I hooked him out and put him on a platter. I was ready for a break and a beer!

Later I attacked the lobster and it was a job. I got the head off the tail and half a gallon of fluid came out. Then I took of the claws and the legs.

Lobsters have ten legs which include the claws.

So finally I get the tail itself out of the shell and plump it down on a scale. It weighs a meagre 12 oz!! But I know those frozen tails you buy can cost upwards of $9 each and they only weigh a mere 2 oz. So doing the calculation I reckon I got a bargain.

.

Man we feasted on that lobster! It was one meal over two days and required a lot of butter! I melt my butter and add in a sliced jalapeno, as well as lemon juice and salt,pepper. Then I let the butter sit in a low oven for half and hour to let the flavors infuse and evaporate excess moisture.

When I had given up on our crustacean Rina hauled the carcass out of the fridge and, attacking the body where the legs attach, managed to extract a full extra plate of meat.

<

Giant and delicious lobster we salute you!!

Big-Bottle Freak!!

Pictures: Stainless steel fermentation tanks and a selection of tonneaux,or medium-size oak barrels stacked outside and inside at the Thunder Mountain Winery in Paso Robles, a vineyard scene on the Vineyard Drive, , Jonny indulging at the 2006 Hospices du Rhone, Paso Robles.






August 10th; the Pourtal Wine Bar in Santa Monica:

We had gathered to taste the wines of Bonny Doon from Santa Cruz Ca. and meet the wine-maker Randall Grahm . Grahm has been wending his eccentric way through the Californian wine world for more than a quarter century now. The difference being, of course, that, at first, he was considered a strange fellow for searching out varietals from the French Rhone valley and beyond, whilst now he is praised for his foresight! Certainly the Syrah, Grenache, Mourvedre and others are right at the forefront of the wine industry now and the annual Hospice de Rhone gathering in Paso Robles,Ca is a hedonist’s delight for lovers of Rhone wines and their emulators all over the word.

We came to taste the Cigare Volant the flagship wine. I thought I’d ask him if he had any memories of the 2004 vintage . He did not. But he did recall that in the beginning when he made the first wine in the broad Southern Rhone style ( that would be 1984) the technique was very rough and ready:

“ Just get plenty of Grenache. Mix in the other varietals and let it sit in a huge wooden tank after fermentation”. He said that since those first vintages his technique had improved and some sophistications were made.
“ But you know; now I have come full circle.” That rough and ready technique he started off with is the one he has come back to in recent times.

Over the years he has added the Cigare Volant white and rose. He makes a splendid Syrah as well as wine from the Nebbiolo and Sangiovese grapes. The favorites of Italy and particularly Tuscany. He talked eloquently about how he had made his way in the in wine world and how he had stumbled on the Rhone style.
“ Well, you know at first I was just a Pinot Noir fan but then- well-it broke my heart." He was in contact with Kermit Lynch, an innovative wine-importer from San Francisco. “Kermit introduced me to the wines of the Rhone Valley and I found my calling.”

I was taking all this in and meanwhile going back to the tasting spigots located round the room. The Pourtal has an innovative system in which flights of wine are located in oxygen free cabinets. On entering the bar you buy yourself a smart-card and put money on it. Then you go round the room inserting the card above the wine cabinets. When you press the button below any wine the machine dispenses a one-ounce pour into your glass and deducts the appropriate amount from your card. One finds it frighteningly easy to run through your weekly allowance with just a few tastes.

Having tasted several of the wines of Bonny Doon as well as some others I returned to the little circle surrounding Randall.

Now he was expounding enthusiastically on a new system of ageing or “elevage”.
“ I put the wine in demijohns- glass containers, also know as carboys- and “bons-bons” in the French. About 5 gallons capacity. The result is phenomenal.” Well, actually the result should be phenomenal but we don’t know yet as he only started with the 2008 vintage.
“ Yes .I have divided the 2008 wine into three parts. One goes into the traditional Rhone barriques –large wooden casks holding hundreds of gallons.
Some go into Bordeaux-style tonneaux- much smaller barrels. And the last part I am ageing in the glass…and I like it.”

So you will have to wait and see the results. The 2008 vintage is a good three years away from being released. The 2005 is now being released to members of the Wine Club. It costs $32 a bottle.

The Boony Doon Vineyard has practised Biodynamics since 2004 ( more..)

Well, one thing in the wine world has absorbed me this year: Big Bottles.

Magnums Jeroboams Methuselahs Imperials: the names are so evocative.

The 2008 Bordeaux futures campaign this year started it. Looking at the order sheet one day I was told that on almost all wines one can order magnums, double magnums and imperials. Some charge more for this bottling service than others.
Then later in the campaign a new size surfaces. A few chateaux offer their wine bottle in Melchiors.
Never heard of a Melchior ? You are not alone. I hadn’t and neither had Grahm. But a Melchior holds a whopping 18 L of wine or 24 bottles. So effectively it is two cases worth of wine in one bottle. I haven’t seen one yet- it must be impressive.

And more recently I have seen the 2007 CNDP’s ( that’s Chateau Neuf du Pape to the ignorant) offered in sizes on the pre-arrival offers: magnums, double magnums jeroboams and so on.

Well, that interests me a lot as I am planning a wedding dinner for myself and I want to have plenty of large bottles on the top table.They look great and make the party.

So as I found a moment to get his attention I mention my interest to him:
“ I’m a big-bottle freak. Can you help? Maybe, if I come to the winery?”

I seem to have struck a chord.

“ Oh absolutely. I can hook you up with 3 and 5 liter bottles. And not just one vintage: from 2005 ,2006 and 2007. I love big bottles too. Never had bad wine out of big bottle.”

We parted on good terms and I intend to take Randall up on his word when I am next in Santa Cruz : described in the Bonny Doon Vineyard brochure as ‘ The heartland of New Age thinking, dreaming and deferred transition to “adulthood ‘. Now someone up there has a way with words!


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Picklefest 2008 at Machine Project, Los Angeles

I have been pickling veggies the lactobacillus way for a year now.

Fellow gourmand Kaeti Humphrey sent me the invitation to Picklefest 2008 at the Machine Project, a gallery in Echo Park and, of course, I jumped on it.

I arrived about 3pm on a fine Saturday afternoon to find a room full of fellow picklers toiling away. I brought in my materials bag and got oriented.
There were two long tables with both sides occupied. People were working away with cabbages, ridged cucumbers and all manner of veggies. At the back there were boxes full of the Mason jars we were going to use. At the front there was a cooler with spring water and containers of natural salt. It should be iodine free.

So I found a spot and, squeezing in, started my preparations. I had brought with me the following:
Some Persian mini-cucumbers with smooth skin, some Swiss chard and some baby carrots. This was the mix that ended up in the jar, with the Swiss chard being reduced to the stems only.

I didn’t have much to do: I partially peeled the cucumbers because that’s the way I like to treat them, trimmed off the carrots and separated the chard stalks from the leaves. I took one of the quart-sized mason jars and arranged the vegetables inside. I filled the jar till the water came over the veggies and then added salt. I didn’t measure it exactly but used two handfuls. The brine came out salty enough but not too salty. It was beginner’s luck. Putting the cap on the jar I upturned it a few times and could see that all the salt had dissolved.Then I took the jar home and watched carefully as the vegetables became pickles. It was easy.


The useful tip I learned was to put some food wrap in a ball at the top of the jar. This was to keep the vegetables underneath the surface of the water. I quickly found out that any vegetables exposed to air will go rotten.

Lacto-bacillus fermentation is anaerobic. The fermentation takes place without oxygen.
What happens when food ferments? Well the bacteria lactobacillus which are found everywhere including in the human body convert starches in the food to lactic acid. Lactic acid is a preservative and also has a refreshing sour taste. The appetizing flavors of sour-dough bread and yogurt are due to lactic acid.




So as long as you have the naturally occurring bacteria and you don’t allow in other bacteria that might give off-flavors the process should work fine.

As the fermentation takes place the sugars in the vegetable break down. You’ll see that over time the cukes change in texture. The cucumbers shown above were fermented for 6 days in the summertime in Los Angeles ( room-temp). The carrots took longer to break down; 10 days. You can taste when the pickles are ready and then it’s time to refrigerate. Leave them too long and they won’t be good. Some develop soft spots. But on occasions- when I consider the pickle too mild- I have brought the jar back out into room temperature and given them an extra two days. It increased the acidity and savor.



This fermentation is what produces two other famous pickled products: sauerkraut and kim-chee.

So my recipe goes like this:

2lb of Persian cucumbers
2 serrano chillies
2 peeled cloves of garlic
2 large handfuls dill weed
Salt……about 3-4 Tbs
Spring water to cover

Semi-peel the cukes. Its a zebra-stripe pattern down the cukes! It works!
Put them in the jar with the halved chillies, garlic and dill weed. Best prepare the brine outside the jar and then pour it on. You can warm the water a little if you like. Cover the little green fellows carefully with the brine. As mentioned a ball of film or a folded baggie on top will keep the veg under the surface which is most important.
I put the pickle bottle somewhere convenient then turn it every day and have a look. If it's working a slight white scum will form. Check the pickles every day and taste when there’s very little of the original light green color left. They should be tasty, salty but with a good acidity. They should have an even dark green shade.
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A Best Breakfast Ever story

Two years out of college and Tina Reynolds was ready for her big European trip.

So she set off from her home in California and in one jump she achieved a huge change in culture by arriving in Prague, capital of the Czech Republic. For the next two months she saw many more changes as she went from the Republic to Switzerland, Italy and then France.
In France she saw the sights: Toulouse, Marseilles, Grenoble as well as a weekend in Paris. The last part of her visit was to pleasant Normandie, on the north-west coast.
From there she left by ferry boat to cross the Atlantic to south-east Ireland. She got off the boat in the port of Rosslare and she was in the Emerald Isle. It had been a tranquil voyage with no seas rough enough to disturb the stomach.

By now this energetic American girl had done plenty of travel and toted her backpack round many Continental cities. She had jumped on trains and caught buses. She had experienced the inconveniences that beset all travelers and suffered varying qualities of food .
Eating mostly on the run the diet had been assorted but just recently seemed to have consisted exclusively of bread and cheese!
So arriving in the land of green she put her sights on her destination which was County Galway; all the way on the Western coast. To achieve her goal the friends hired a car and took off down the pleasant roads of Ireland.

About in the middle of Ireland , and pleasantly rural, is the village of Adare.
Adare is a traditional Irish town with a river, a castle, picturesque ruins and meandering streets of thatched cottages. The centre, of course, provides for the many shoppers. Businesses are agricultural-related with plenty of horse-chandlers and feed-stores. Adare has many renowned stables.

It has also become a centre for another kind of commerce having become famous as the wedding capital of Ireland. From around Ireland and the world couples descend on this County Limerick town, often described as “the prettiest village in Ireland” to tie the knot against scenic back-drops.

To continue our amazing breakfast story:
On arriving in Adare, in the late afternoon, the company sought a pleasant place to stay the night. They followed a recommendation and headed out to a B and B on the outskirts of the town.
Now B and B’s are the alternative to the hotel in many parts of Ireland. They are, of course, privately run and while offering less facilities than the hotels they make up for it with a more personal service. The one they had chosen was a large house set in some grounds with horse-runs, fences and jumps scattered around. A large horse-box stood in one corner of the parking area. Clearly the family had an equine-related business.

Settling in for the night, quite early, Tina had a sound and dreamless sleep. Up in the morning with her friends, they all trooped downstairs to find the dining room where they had had a brief meal last night.

The table was set for the six of them and looked glorious with country flowers in white jugs and silver toast-racks, standing proud and shiny like ships with their cargo of toasted plain and fruit soda-bread.
They settled in and helped themselves to glasses of juice from a side-board. Soon the hostess came through the swing-doors from the kitchen her arms full with laden plates. Tina looked up and anticipation sent a pleasant tingling sensation to her tummy. This was the first meal in such a pleasant and homely surroundings that she’d had in a long while. Perhaps since she left her home on the West Coast .

In due course the plate landed on Tina’s place-mat and she gazed at it. It looked yummy! A traditional Irish breakfast, of course, it included a fried egg and rashers of bacon, a sausage or two and, in a nod to the vegetable world, half a tomato. At the side of the plate was something Tina didn’t recognize- a dark circle that looked meaty but could it be some strange Irish mushroom? No! She soon found out it was a slice of the famous blood-sausage or black pudding. Black pudding and its cousin the white pudding are a mainstay of Gaelic cuisine: both are made from pork, black has the blood as well . Now Tina had some misgivings about this new breakfast item but on putting a piece in her mouth found that it was as delicious as the rest of the meal. Washed down with some good coffee; egg, bacon and the rest of the contents of the plate soon disappeared.
Our hostess was on the ball and, observing how fast Tina had polished off her plate, removed it and took off for the kitchen:
“I like a hungry girl!”
Emerging through the swing-doors the dynamic lady of the house put a second plate in front of Tina . This soon went the same way as the first. If anything it tasted even better and Tina’s satisfaction was growing by bounds.
“Whoof…Time for a break”. Tina headed outside to indulge her vice: a cigarette break and found herself looking at the horses in the field munching the grass. The younger son of the house came walking up to her. They exchanged a few words and he mentioned how happy she made his mum:
“My mum likes you a lot.” He said.

And indeed when Tina returned to her seat she found out that a third plate of food was awaiting her attention.
After a moment of doubt Tina knew she was up for the challenge and dispatched more egg and black pudding, then finished the meal off with a slice of toast and marmalade.” Its home-made!” the hostess remarked.
“And I’ll see you sweet lasses later for I have my shopping to do!!”

They were left alone in the dining room contemplating a full stomach and the bottom of a coffee cup.
And for Tina, at least, just one more cigarette outside on the porch. . She felt good…more than satisfied …… just complete . Totally at one with the world; and the velvety, brown horse looking at her.


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My Best Breakfast Ever

My best breakfast ever…
I remember it well. I can still taste the combination of crusty and creamy and sweet. It was a classically simple breakfast that I had assembled myself during a walk through a small village in the hills between Istanbul, sitting on the Bosphorus, and the border with Greece.
The scenery was magnificent: green hills stretched away to pine forests with some grey stone mountains above.
There was a timeless feeling about this small place as if yesterday Greek warriors had passed through in a marching phalanx. The day had started much earlier in Istanbul. I left the small hotel in the city and then came a walk, a bus and finally a ride in a stranger’s car. But it was still mid-morning and my appetite had been fanned by the combination of exercise, scenery and the excitement of the travel. The hunger magnified all the tastes. It enhanced the flavors and the satisfaction.

I was dropped off by my lift in the middle of town. So I wandered down the street and found places to shop. From one store I bought a large hunk of the typical local bread; a crusty sourdough with some large holes scattered through it. To go with it I searched out a pot of local yoghurt: creamy and tangy fresh. The topping that brought out the flavors of both was a portion of local honey. Runny and sticky, redolent of the pinewoods, it was totally awesome.
I soon found a spot by the roadside to eat and put down my backpack with my clothes that had seen thousands of miles of travel since I left the dusty Khyber Pass just a week ago.I had travelled all the way across Afghanistan, Iran and Turkey. Many bottom-breaking miles I had ridden across parched deserts in the most basic of buses with no suspension and the thinnest of covered seats. With no heating either many nights were spent on the road in wakeful discomfort. Only when the morning came and warmed the metal can on four wheels did comfort return and sleep came.
It had been a startling and amazing first introduction to the orient. My first travel outside Europe. We had seen many strange sights and woken up in the oddest places.

But my companions had fallen away with different itineraries. I was now headed back to England – home after a four week voyage of discovery. And there was a lot of university work awaiting me at Oxford.
Having found my breakfast niche with a flat stone on one side I chewed and I swallowed. I made fast work of that one-pound piece of dough. The sweetness of the honey satisfied some deep urge inside and the creamy curds lined my stomach in a totally satisfying way. Soon I was
scraping the bowl and looking for shards of the bread’s crust that had exploded onto my lap. Then I was done; satisfied, complete and ready to go forward on my journey.
The next few miles were easily accomplished with the new enthusiasm I felt. By the middle of the afternoon I was at the border bidding goodbye to the Turkish border guards and handing over my passport to the new ones from Greece. Soon I emerged with a stamp on it and started adjusting to the new language, different currency and local customs I was facing.
But a little closer to home now with only Europe to hitch-hike through!

The Best Breakfast ever- some questions

The Best Breakfast Ever (BBE)? It's that once-in-a-lifetime combination of events that brings you to a different appreciation of a meal. It's some strong influences that made this breakfast so very special that it stands out in your memory in technicolor even though it happened many moons ago. It's an event that comes in your
" Best of ..." category. It stands alone. How did it come to pass?
Here are some questions that may prompt your memory:


Can you describe your BBE?
Where was your BBE?
What were the circumstances that made this BBE so special?
What did the BBE include?
And the BBE ambience...why was that so special?
So there's a start to my enquiries. Reader- I want to know about your BBE.

Breakfast

Isn't breakfast just the most evocative meal of the day? It sets the tone for everything that's ahead . It happens as you are barely awake so there may be a lot of reaching into the fridge and just going with whatever comes out - oh carrots and bacon? OK!
Its a peculiar and individual meal. Many breakfasts are consumed alone and none the worse for that. But often it may be shared and enjoyed with that special someone. Then it also revolves on who is motivated to make it.Getting the kettle on may be a very good start.
Myself ,being a Brit, I am firmly in the substantial breakfast camp. Goodies like cooked meats ,eggs and vegetables-even remnants of yesterday's dinner- are all acceptable.
For that very special breakfast we must go into the fish/seafood territory- see later : kippers and haddock.

When I travel it's a challenge. Some venues in the world offer interesting alternatives- Congee in Hong Kong with abalone is an example. In other places there seems little on offer after coffee and pastry; (Gallic enthusiasts-you know that I'm talking about your shortcomings!)

And then there is a topic close to my heart. Its called the Best Breakfast Ever- and it is just that. We will be returning to this subject in the future so put your thinking cap on!