Posts tagged food

Things I Have Learned

In the past week I have learned that:

  1. The majority of my friends here in the UK are either bloggers who knit or knitters who blog. I had a really nice birthday lunch the other day and counted just three non-knitters (although all three are bloggers). Interesting.
  2. I really, really like edamame and it could very easily turn into an obsession (except my stomach aches today).
  3. My taste in books has become somewhat predictable. I finished reading Andrew Crumey’s Sputnik Caledonia and thought it “freaking amazing” (yes, I’ve lost my critical vocabulary). I searched the net for reviews and came across The Guardian’s review. It thought the book read like a cross between Alasdair Gray’s Lanark and Jonathan Coe’s What a Carve Up!. Those two novels happen to be two of my absolute favourite contemporary novels.. whoopsie.
  4. Sweden belongs to a parallel universe. How else can I account for the fact that I’ve met two Swedish women this past week – one of whom is me in another universe (she has long red hair; I don’t) and the other a parallel universe version of my bestest friend back in Denmark (she has tattoos; bestest friend doesn’t)? Very, very strange .. and fun.
  5. The world is a scary place. This past week has seen big smackdown drama on everybody’s favourite knitting forum and me wising up to the fact that Twilight fans of a certain age enjoy making felted wombs (and the wombs apparently sparkle when you open them up!). You get nutters everywhere – especially among amateur goldfish enthusiasts, I’ve reliably been told – but who would have thought crafters could be that .. well, special?
  6. And who knew that foxes love playing on trampolines? I didn’t but it makes life a little bit better.

I’m off to a hospital appointment this afternoon but hopefully I’ll be able to join my knitting group tonight. I have yarn to show off and an almost completed cardigan (I swear: Forecast (rav link) has been the quickest project ever).

It’s also nice to have ttime and energy to blog once more.

What She Came For

A note to Cail Bruich: when you advertise gravad lax with salad and rye bread, do not serve sour-dough bread. It is not the same. Also, consider serving the sour-dough rye bread with a smidgen of butter. Just saying.

Ah, I am nursing a post-birthday hangover (although not due to any alcohol consumption – perish the thought! – just general enthusiasm). So many of you have sent me birthday greetings – thank you so, so much – and I will make sure to get back to each and every one of you. It might take a few days, but you’ll get a personal thank you.

However, someone is having a very special birthday today! Happy birthday, Charles!

Snapshot

I’m baking a chocolate and beetroot cake; David’s reading an advance copy of Mr Toppit. Later I will rip out the neckline of my now finished-but-unfinished grey jumper (the wool is tickling the upper part of my neck/chin).

I feel so middle-class.

Yesterday We Had Lemon Chicken Risotto

Let’s talk about food.

This weekend I was interviewed by the proprietor of Fur-Lined Teacup on my attitude towards food, what I cook and how food fits into today’s society. It was really, really interesting and the questions made me think about my cultural background, the place food holds in my life and how we all relate to food in various ways.

Mostly we talked about the Slow Food movement which is “a non-profit, eco-gastronomic member-supported organization that was founded (..) to counteract fast food and fast life, the disappearance of local food traditions and people’s dwindling interest in the food they eat, where it comes from, how it tastes and how our food choices affect the rest of the world.” Admittedly that sounds a bit wishy-washy and über-liberal, but it applies to all of us, if you think about it. Why do we so easily succumb to the ready-made lasagna that just pops in the oven, when we could have roasted vegetables with pork chops for the same amount of money and time?

I grew up in the countryside in a family who pretty much lived off the land. I learned which plants were edible and how I could prepare them. Later my palette was shaped by friends who can only be described as “citizens of the world”. They introduced me to authentic Mexican cuisine, Middle-Eastern spices and Mediterranean vegetables. Another friend taught me to use ingredients in unusual ways and how to think outside the box. And so on.

Today I live in a country which has a strange, almost schizophrenic attitude towards food: do you like your chocolate bar to be deep-fried or to be fair-traded? I find myself becoming reliant upon food items that I would not have used in Denmark (ready-made custard, anyone?) and the selection of fresh ingredients restricted compared to my local Copenhagen supermarket (I haven’t seen any Jerusalem artichokes except in one very expensive deli). Here in Scotland you have a greater selection of brands rather than types of ingredients. It is all very intriguing and I still view my grocery shopping as an adventure. I celebrate finding foods I thought were no longer available to me and I like trying out traditional Scottish foods like bannocks, stovies, bridies, the ubiquitous haggis (which is really nice, by the way), various types of seafood and desserts that seem to involve massive amounts of cream. It’s a wonder I haven’t gained more than two dress sizes(!) while I have lived here.

What role does food play in your life, what types of food would you describe as central to you (either by association or because you enjoy it so much) and how do you do your grocery shopping? And how would you respond to the Slow Food movement?

West End Girl

Not everyone can say that they’ve had their knitting-in-progress cooed over by a BAFTA winner and OBE recipient but now I can. My mother’s quite excited.

Yesterday David and I went out for dinner to celebrate my two years in Scotland. On our way to the restaurant we stumbled across ‘Polish Taste’ – a little Polish deli here in the West End. David suggested we could take a look as we were running a bit early and I am very grateful that he did. I found all the things I hadn’t managed to find anywhere during my first two years in Glasgow: affordable buttermilk and live yeast! They also had some very, very delicious sourdough bread. Wooh. I never thought of Danish food as being very ‘Baltic cuisine’ but, according to manager Joanna Korzeniowski, I was not the first Dane to be ridiculously pleased about buttermilk.

And, finally, Lost in Fiction is opening down the street soon. The shop front is all pretty and mysterious. I’m rather excited about its Ffordian/Nextian name. Ooh!

Brambles

It is odd how smells affect the human brain. Example: the leaking water pipe in our kitchen has finally been fixed but there is an odd damp smell in the air. If I close my eyes I’m immediately transported to my great-grandmother’s pantry/scullery in rural Denmark circa 1981.

My great-grandmother lived in a damp old house in a small village. She had a huge garden which supplied her (and her two sons who remained with her) with fresh produce virtually all year round. The house was always in constant need of repair, the loo was outside and there was no hot water – but I had my tree house in an apple tree, the attic was filled with relics pre-WWII and I’d do little archaeological digs at the back of the house (next to the caravan where my mother slept as a teenager, behind the makeshift football pitch/outdoors badminton court and right by the cherry trees). At Christmas time, the house would fill with her eleven children, their spouses and own offspring. Her sons would sit around the big table with their playing cards, their cigarettes and beer bottles. Her daughters would be in the kitchen cooking the Christmas food, opening the mysterious jars on the top shelves of the pantry and cursing the lazy men.

My great-grandmother (and her two sons) moved into our little rural town some fifteen years later. Her house had become too cold and too damp for an old lady. She finally got hot running water, a real bathroom and a shop across the street. But she had her sons build her a pantry and she turned most of the new garden into a vegetable patch.

She passed away some six years ago. And here I am, her quiet great-grand-daughter, in a Glasgow tenement flat on an overcast Saturday afternoon and I’m looking forward to picking brambles later this year and making bramble jam – just like Nan would’ve expected of me.

Can I Have Another Piece..?

I have a guilty pleasure blog that I read ever so often whenever I either want to cheer myself up or want to depress myself (and sometimes I want both – I’m a complex woman). The blog in question is Tartelette and it is a food blog. No, let me rephrase that: it’s a food blog and I tell you them italics there make all the difference.

Tartelette features mainly desserts and baked goods – at least that has been the focus since I started dropping by ever-so-casually. A typical entry would be somewhere along the lines of this Lemon Rhubarb Mascarpone Mousse Cake entry: mouth-watering photography, exquisite recipe and a delightfully humourous blogging voice with oodles of that ‘personal touch’ which is so essential to a good blog read. And, of course, let’s keep in mind that we’re talking about a lemon rhubarb mascarpone mousse cake which is miles away from that lumpy lemon pound cake I managed the other day. It’s good to daydream sometimes.

Seeing as I won’t be making a lemon rhubarb mascarpone mousse cake (nor the honey panna cotta and raspberry terrine, alas), I think I shall have to pay The Mannequin a visit. It is a scrumptious tea and cake shop which has opened just a few minutes away from Casa Bookish. Last time we enjoyed their fabulous New York Cheesecake. I think it’s time we sampled their Belgian chocolate cake.

Five Things I Have Learned Recently

Don’t you just love lists? I do.

+ Mattel has made The Birds Barbie. It’s brilliant. (thank you Darth Ken)

+ Wordle is the greatest thing since sliced bread. It even makes Spandau Ballet seem cool.

+ I have finally found a food item that I simply cannot abide.


The falooda we bought at today’s Glasgow Mela bore an unfortunate resembles to worms bathing in strawberry milkshake with added (pink) tadpoles. I think we were unlucky because all the falooda recipes online have very yummy photos. How did it taste? The kulfi was delicious but I couldn’t really cope with the rest of it..

+ I can knit quite awesome shawls and watch football at the same time. Both my teams are out, alas.

+ This is how stormtroopers are made. They’re not space soldiers of Maori descent – no, they’re Danish!

If Food Be The Music of Life.. Hang On.

Robert McLiam Wilson is an author from Northern Ireland who wrote a series of critically acclaimed novels in the early to mid-1990s. Unsurprisingly he was interested in exploring what constitutes ‘nationality’. At that point I was interested in his works from a literature student’s point-of-view: could I say he was ‘post-colonial’? Could I yoke him in with writers in Scotland who were busy reclaiming their history, language and culture?

Nowadays I am an expat and I find myself wondering about nationality in far more personal terms. McLiam Wilson claimed that he could only define nationality negatively: “What gives it its chiaroscuro, its particular flavour is a dash of hatred and fear” (I quote this from memory). As a Dane, I find myself part of a history which is not unique – it is the history of any small nation fearing its bigger neighbours. Danes’ attitudes towards Germany and Sweden are complicated. In recent years the ‘dash of hatred and fear’ has become more than a dash in Danish politics as right-wing politicians play upon fear of the Others to secure votes. But is that my definition of being Danish? That I support any football team playing against Germany (and to be frank, I actually do for some bizarre reason)? It’d be a poor way of defining oneself.

As the days are getting longer and as the sun starts to beam down, I find myself longing for koldskål – a dish which is the epitome of summer in Denmark. And so it is: the most obvious expression of my being Danish is through food. A positive definition, thankfully. I have found a near-by supplier of rye-bread and my local supermarket stocks food items I never used to touch in Denmark, but which I now happily sample ever so often: salami sausages, Danish cheeses and the inevitable bacon. Sometimes I even make frikadeller (meat balls) with kold kartoffelsalat (cold potato salad). It feels silly but in a comforting way.

Koldskål is not so easy to come by, though. Its main ingredient is buttermilk and that’s not very easy to find (unless you want to go to another part of Glasgow and pay about £1 for half a pint from an organic food store). Here’s the recipe and yes, it’s a main dish..

4 cups of buttermilk
2 eggs
4 tbsp sugar
Dash of vanilla
Juice of 1 lemon

Beat the eggs, sugar, lemon juice and vanilla together in the bowl the soup is to be served in. Beat the buttermilk and fold in a little at a time. Chill. Serve on top of small vanilla biscuits.

Yum.

Stranger Things Have Happened

If somebody could explain to me why I spend an entire day feeling excruciatingly guilty over telling my manager that I’m still ill and, no, I do not know when I’ll be back at work, then leave me a comment. I shouldn’t feeling guilty for telling the truth but I suspect it’s that old authority thing. You know, you see a policeman and you instantly feel like you should be locked up for some crime? Okay, maybe that’s just me ..

I can’t remember where I found this, but it’s actually very good: Garfield Without Garfield. Remember that 1980s comic strip about a fat cat and its owner? That comic strip is actually still in circulation back where my parents live. Whenever they send me a parcel, they always wrap things in the local paper* and Garfield’s there peeking up at me with some bad pun involving lasagna. Gah. But Garfield Without Garfield is different. There is no fat cat spouting lasagna puns; it’s been removed. And the result is a comic strip that’s far funnier and stranger than you might expect.

*click only if you are really bored, able to read Danish and have an unhealthy fascination with farming communities.

Yarn Mention Of the Day: I ordered some yarn off teh interwebs thinking it’d be burgundy with a few freckles of pink. It turned out to be chocolate with quite a lot of pink. I feel like I’m knitting with Neapolitan ice cream.. which is bad for my sweet tooth. Mmm, ice cream..