26 Nov 2008

Fellow society of food fanatics

I have recently discovered panacea; the holy grail of food madness; the confirmation that I am not as crazy as I thought (or rather, shall I say, that I am certainly not special or unique in my obsession). My religion is food and the temple where I worship is called Chowhound! I never knew so many foodies existed under one same 'virtual' roof and that they not only share my passion for food but also the feelings of inadequacy when faced with people that do not give a damn about what they put in their bodies and mouths. There are as many discussion threads about food as are possibly imaginable (and those I never thought about are there too) and debates can get quite heated, disagreements abound but always with the common knowledge and understanding of food as the driving force in life. Needless to say, I have lately been spending more time than it would be advisable on these forums and I can honestly say that I have found the only form of religion I feel I can believe in!

One of the discussion threads on the site was asking what people thought was the least interesting local cuisine in the world. And no; as tempted as I might have been to chip in with my views on British food, I actually felt quite sorry about the fact that many of those who took part readily chose it as the worst. I think I abstained out of respect for my host country, however uninspired and basic I feel its fare to be.

On a different (but not so different) note, the weekend went really well. The baby was the nicest, best-behaved, most adorable thing ever (and I found myself helplessly cooing over him like an idiot!), we had a very good time with our friends and, most important of all, my food went down a treat! It'd been a while since I'd last heard so many 'yums' and 'ohhhs' and 'ahhhs' during and after dinner and, as you know, practically nothing fills me with more joy than making people happy by serving them good food (I think my Jewish roots have a lot to answer for here, although they must have skipped a few generations because neither my grandma nor my mum were ever particularly interested in cooking). The menu was as follows:

Lunch: Turkey fajitas with melted manchego cheese (the turkey had been marinaded in spices and other juices for 24 hours) served with homemade guacamole, homemade refried beans, salad and corn on the cob.

Dinner: Mushroom and leek risotto with roasted garlic and cherry tomatoes, served with grated fresh mozzarella and fresh basil and bruschettas in Irish brown bread and white cuntry-style bread with goats cheese and garlic.

Dessert: Homemade wholewheat date and walnut cake with warm dulce de leche on top.

The shopping, prepping and cooking was quite laborious but the results were more than worth the effort! And I'm off to devise the menu for this next weekend as Mike's best friend is staying with us for four days and he is a veggie which gives me a great chance to indulge in my love of vegetarian creations without complaints from my better half...

20 Nov 2008

Of going to London and having visitors

I know it's an old cliché but as of late, more than ever before, the fact that I am getting older and, er, wiser (ehem) has hit home big time. Looking back on the last few years and as much as I spent quite some time in Argyland travelling, walking, hiking and camping (where did I get the energy from? I wonder), given the choice and the opportunity I just love spending hours at home simply 'pottering around' (the Britishness of this word scares me...) I've still some way to go as far as achieving domestic goddess status (not that I would ever aspire to be labelled in such a trite, ridiculous way anyway), namely:

- I am not bothered by chores unless I can't get out of them (it's amazing how many perfectly reasonable excuses there are to put them off);
- I have zero gardening skills or knowledge. Having grown up in an urban cement jungle, the furthest I ever got with regards contact with 'nature' was watering the plants in my mum's balcony (and overflowing the pots!) and doing one of those experiments for school where I had to plant a seed in a jar and make sure it sprung properly (again, mum to the rescue).

But, as excessively and obsessively well documented on this blog, somewhere along the way I have become what might be called a 'foodie', although I object to the implications of this word which, in my eyes, are intertwined with poncy, pretentious gourmet, molecular, over-priced and overrated chefs with egoes the size of a small country. The web has given me an outlet in which I have found that a lot of people out there are as insane as I am, thinking of food 24/7 and easily spending hours each day looking at it, imagining it, preparing it and even dreaming about it! If somebody'd told me a few years ago that I would become so passionate about food, I would have laughed in their face...

I was never exactly a 'party girl'. By British standards, I was practicaly a nun! The most I had were a couple of drinks every so often, I never ever tried drugs or smoked (however, I stupidly did take up smoking well after 20 but thankfully it's over and out now) and I went out and had fun in very civilised ways...not like the kids today and their raunchy antics! (and thinking like this is another reason why I'm definetely getting old).

The truth is I am happy living in a quiet, leafy town with just enough movement to satisfy the need for shops/contact with human beings if needed but also plenty of empty, green, beautiful areas where you can wonder around alone without interference, noise, traffic or any of the ailments of modern urban life. I was painfully reminded of how different my life is now to what it was some time ago yesterday when I had to go to London to get some immigraton advice (which after hours of waiting, I never got!). It's the second time in about a month that I have had to go and I always see this as a chance to catch up with friends which I really look forward to...Unfortunately, I am way too optimistic and I obviously do not remember what travelling in London is actually like! The train was delayed (surprise, surprise); I ran to my destination (via two lines of underground) and when trying to find the number 190 on Great Dover Street, it turns out that it is not on the side of the even numbers (as it should!!! Am I right?) but with the odd numbers...How ridiculous is that? By the time I realised that I was walking in the wrong direction and I got back to where I was supposed to go (which, incidentaly, was right opposite the station, staring me in the face!) I was over half an hour late which meant I got the last number and had to wait nearly 3 hours to be seen! When I finaly did (because I pushed my way in) I did not have a recent bank statement and they said they couldn't see me! In a hot panic, I ran to the bank only to be met with another queue, then dashed back sweating and panting to finally be told that I had to pay anyway and that I would get an appointment to come again...By now, I had been forced to cancel my coffee rendezvous with a friend and was left to kill off 2 hours until getting the train back at off-peak time to avoid paying the extortionate fares they would otherwise charge me for the privilege...Needless to say, I got home stressed, famined (I could not eat until almost 5pm!) and in desperate need of a whole day to recover mentally and physically from the ordeal. London's absolutely brilliant for food choices, touristy attractions and the immense pleasure of knowing that you are going back home after visiting it, wherever that might be but certainly not there!

By the way, I've got a family of three visiting this weekend! They are staying over with a baby (adorable and all but still: a real baby!) and I'm starting to panic thinking what to cook for lunch, dinner and then lunch again...I don't want to go overboard and yet I'd like to make something special...So far, I've narrowed it down to about 5 options! Help....Off to do some more research, then shopping, then prepping...Domestic moi?

13 Nov 2008

Recent culinary forays






Not the best pictures or the most sophisticated of dishes but, hey, I spent quite some time making them and the results were pretty well-received so here are two recent pictures of last week's dinners chez moi: the first one is my polenta bruschettas with veg, passatta and buffalo mozzarella and the second, my version of oven-baked Spanish tortilla. Yum!

Bad Food Nation

I've been doing some research on the nature of British food habits and found some very interesting excerpts from a book that I remember hearing about when it first came out a while ago. The author is Joanna Blythman and it makes for a fascinating, riveting read. On "Bad Food Britain: How a Nation Ruined Its Appetite", published in 2006, she delves deep into the root causes of the unhealthy, bland grub that Britons eat and how these lazy habits are driving the population into an early grave.

Some of the depressing statistics she resorts to in order to illustrate her points are, for instance, that one out of every three Britons say they do not eat vegetables because they require too much effort to get ready. Hence the incredible preponderance of convenience, ready-made, boil-in-the-bag, do not lift a finger-type food that only in this country could occupy such a large chunk of the supermarket. This is meant to be the result of the ever-perpetrated myth (which I've heard so often and yet, in every single place I have worked at struggled to see any evidence of) that Britain has the longest working hours in Europe. As Ms Blythman points out, official data shows the average length of the working week in Britain for all occupations, both full and part-time, fell to 31.8 hours in July 2004, the lowest on record. Thus, she concludes, it is not so much that Britons do not have time to cook but rather, that they do not see cooking as a good use of their time (as opposed to drinking which seems to be the favourite British passtime for which, somewhow, there is always time).

It is quite striking that so many people will think nothing of spending hours tending to a garden whilst heating up some processed frozen junk in the microwave. A lot of people I known or have known in the past see cooking as 'boring', 'tiring', 'difficult', etc because they are so far removed from a direct relationship with ingredients that they have lost all track of how they can be handled and turned into a meal without a manual. Relying on instinct, as most cooks do, is a completely foreign concept as they grow up with boiled vegetables and baked meat covered in butter or gravy. Anything else must be difficult so why bother?

Ms Blythman even has the nerve to have a dig at the sacred British roast which, to be honest, is something that exist in lots of countries and is generally associated with basic fare: put some meat in the oven as well as veg, let it cook and eat! Before I get a tirade of abuse, I do like roasts (especially what to me is the best bit about it because it is uniquely British: the Yorkshire pudding) but I think most of their merit resides in the quality of the produce and I have to confess that the first time that I actually had a decent roast was when I met my partner Mike (who takes pride in his). Before that, I had only experienced the straight-from-frozen variety of Auntie Bessy's Yorkshires AND roast potatoes, frozen peas and carrots with no dressing and frozen chicken or turkey plus jars of processed sauces which, in my book, rather than a meal it was a barely edible assembly of joyless rubbish.

Still on the subject of roasts, Ms Blythman goes on to say that: "...there's nothing quite like Bisto to evoke the mood of a traditional British roast dinner. The product comes in a jolly orange tub showing a mouth-watering golden roast chicken, flanked with green beans and roast potatoes.The only thing is, it does not contain any chicken at all, being a mixture of potato starch, maltodextrin, hydrogenated oil, salt, wheatflour, flavourings, colours, flavour enhancers, sugar, emulsifiers, spice, herb and vegetable extracts. Still, it's no fuss ? and it's quick". In a nutshell, the 'I can't believe it's not chicken' chicken gravy encompasses the whole approach to food that has prevailed in this country for way too long. An Italian, Spaniard, Greek Mexican, Chinese, Indian person (and the list could go on almost to include most countries on the planet but you know what I mean) will think nothing, and genuinely take pride in, spending hours preparing their own sauces, dressings and meals, sourcing good produce and thoroughly deriving pleasure and joy out of the process as much, if not more, than the actual culmination of eating the results. If a Brit would actually consider that heating up some chicken in the oven and pouring a ready-made sauce (heated up in the microwave...less washing up to do!) over it is making a meal. My heart weeps for the poor chickens, turkeys and others who had to die only to end up being served in such a pathetic fashion.

Ms Blythman is obviously a very unusual British person who is actually capable of acknowledging how awful the food culture in this country is. As she eloquently puts it herself: "Not the least of our current troubles is our inability to admit that something is wrong. Like an alcoholic who can't accept that he or she has a drink problem, Britain is in denial that it has a Bad Food problem." Ask the majority of Brits what they think about their food and they will defend a plate of overcooked meat with boiled, unseasoned veg slathered in processed gravy as a delicacy! You have to respect the fact that they were brought up on it and indoctrination is one of the most powerful forces to contend with. It takes a very open, self-critical mind to actually question what you were given as gospel even if the evidence pointing to its deficiencies is overwhelming.

The reason why it is necessary to do so is because there is no denying that the British staple diet is extremely unhealthy. This is one of the nasty consequences of early industrialisation. Whilst the Brits were expanding their Empire, feeling rather smug in comparison to those they subjected, in actul fact people in the colonies had, and still have (although, thankfully they are not under the Empire's thumb anymore) a direct relationship and utter respect for their source of nourishment.

In Britain, the industrial revolution and the post-war rations have wreaked havoc with the nation's diet, with food becoming a casualty of the process of mass-production using cheap, chemically altered ingredients and fattening, tasteless ones that were provided in post-war times to keep people going through the hardships such as butter, fatty meats and root vegetables that were easy to preserve and full of calories when times of deprivation and manual labour called for it.

In this day and age, wher the vast majority of us work in offices and do little exercise, the need for that type of food is nearly non-existent and the fact that it is still so prevalent explains, partly, some of the urgent health problems on the rise such as obesity. Alongside her 'first ally' (in war and, apparently, in food as well), America, Britain is leading the way when it comes to junk. It is somewhat ironic how indirectly proportional the quality and knowledge of food is to the supposed progress and advancement of these countries in the world scene.

The book also mentions the national obsession with butter and margarine although the latter has been proven to be one of the worst sources of bad fats. Butter, in moderation, is not bad for you and most countries use it in one way or another to make some of their essential dishes. In India, ghee (clarified butter) is used in many dishes but generally in very small amounts. Most cakes and desserts are made with butter but, again, they are not meant to be consumed everyday but rather, on special occasions or weekends. Margarine, on the contrary, has been marketed as a 'healthy' alternative when in reality it is full of trans and hydrogenated fats proven to be detrimental to the heart, among other things. However, the marketing by the margarine giants, Unilever, has been so clever and persuasive over the years that Brits are actually convinced that it is 'good for you' to spread Flora in lieu of condiments or other spreads over potatoes, toast and all sorts of perfectly nice foods in their own right which see their nutriotional value and taste ruined in the process. Here are some very interesting facts about margarine and butter:

- Both have the same amount of calories

- Butter is slightly higher in saturated fats at 8 grams compared to 5 grams

- Eating margarine can increase heart disease in women by 53% over eating the same amount of butter, according to a recent Harvard Medical study

- Butter has many nutritional benefits where margarine has a few and only because they are artificially added

- Butter tastes much better than margarine

- Butter has been around for centuries where margarine has been around for less than 100 years

- Margarine is very high in trans fatty acids, it increases the risk of coronary heart disease threefold; it increases ttal cholesterol and LDL (bad cholesterol) lowering HDL or 'good' cholesterol; it increases the risk of several cancers up to five times; it lowers the quality of breast milk; it decreases immune response and insulin response and last but not least, it is only one molecule away from being plastic!

Margarine manufacturers are only too aware of the crap they sell, hence the unrelenting marketing campaign focusing on the 'lowering cholesterol' fake properties (cholesterol comes from animal fats so it makes no sense that you would need more saturated and hydrogenated fats to help lower it!), using celebrities extolling the virtues of foods covered in the stuff and the like. The same concept applies to many food products such as processed cheeses, tins and cans, sausages, etc that Brits consume without even thinking of what goes inside them.

The government with their patronising '5 a day' and traffic light signals makes matters even worse. Eating healthily should come naturally from birth and at home; imposing it will have exactly the opposite effect to that one desired as telling people off breeds rebellion. The only way forward is a slow-burning change which will only come with the realisation of how bad things are and a collective effort that will hopefully spread widely enough for the new generations to learn to appreciate, seek and get indoctrinated in good food. Only people like Jamie and Gillian Mc Keith (the latter so easy to dismiss and despise; the former, derided anyway) seem to be publicly spear-heading the move for change in Britain's eating habits. It beggars belief that until Jamie made it his personal mission to tackle school dinners, the parents were only too happy to have their kids being fed turkey twizzlers and chips every day when, as Jamie himself proved when he took the nasty crap to Italy and gave it to some Italian dinner ladies to try, they could not comprehend that such a thing would be actually fed to kids anywhere on the planet, let alone in a supposedly 'developed' nation like this one.

There is always a fear of coming across as pontificating or preachy but it is a risk worth taking when it boils down to something as essential and crucial as good food and the many remifications that derive from it.



9 Nov 2008

Election delight and food traumas

First and foremost, no self-respecting breathing human being on this planet at this point in time could go on with their business without mentioning the incredibly momentous event we were fortunate enough to witness a few days ago which, unbelievably enough, has managed to wipe off cynical smirks off the faces of many a professional skeptic in political matters (such as yours truly). Obama's victory struck a chord with people of all nationalities, creeds, race and backgrounds as he epitomises what most of us suspected existed but never quite got round to see much evidence of it: an intelligent, articulate, level-headed, decent, open-minded, progressive, mesmerising politician and an American at that! It has been particularly easy to give in to the stereotype perpetuated by a vast range of examples of American idiocy and thirst for world domination, especially after 8 years of the Bush administration that managed to eradicate any respect for America that could have existed anywhere on the planet. The fact that Obama is mixed race is, of course, a huge deal in a country where many living citizens are still haunted by memories of segregation and plagued by everyday racist attitudes. But it is not solely about a black man being the first ever president of the most powerful country in the world but also, that somebody with apparently few connections, little backing from the 'establishment', young and liberal could ignite such passion and enthusiasm within and outside his country's borders; that people would reach into their own pockets and give up their own time to campaign and canvass for him; that Americans themselves would be shaken and challenged in what they believed possible; that people from every walk of life would come under one banner and one cause and that, against all the odds, when most of the world had given up hope, a real change actually did happen.

It is too significant to fathom and I wish I could travel to the future and read the history books that children will be taught in 2050 to fully grasp the impact this event will have in the world scene when, hopefully, one day kids will read in disbelief about a time when a black Western president was considered a novelty and a breakthrough. All I can say is that I am excited to be part of it and, for the first time ever, to have cried tears of joy over the results of an election.

On a different note altogether and moving onto the second part of this post's title, my relationship with food is certainly not a smooth ride in any shape or form which is one of the long-lasting consequences of my upbringing. I wouldn't recommend growing up in Argentina and especially not in Buenos Aires to anybody. It is a ruthless place where striving to be thin is the national sport and it is deeply ingrained in the minds of women (men, as always, get away with murder) stemming from the family, school, TV, magazines, etc. Attractiveness, success, the possibility of being loved and wanted are all intertwined with being thin. What I've noticed since I was able to leave this toxic environment and experience other cultures is that, yes, the aspirations of being thinner exist pretty much everywhere. However, in most places, there is a separation between reality and fiction: stars are paid to be skinny, so are models and people might admire them and aspire to be fitter but not to the point of emulating them. For instance, take Mexico (where I lived for almost 4 years) and the UK where I have been living for even longer. In Mexico, people love watching their soaps which are exclusively populated by thin, blonde, blue-eyed pale looking actors who look nothing at all like 99% of Mexicans. They know this but, somehow, it is part of make-believe: you know it is something you would never be nor could aspire to be and watch it as a bit of harmless escapism to be confined to the realm of television.

In the UK, the difference is that people on TV and magazines are, surprisingly, not all thin or traditionally pretty which, I think, is a fantastic thing. Examples are plentiful and across a wide variety of programs. You could never say that British soaps are populated by the likes of Kate Moss lookalikes which is absolutely refreshing as people can actually see themselves reflected in the characters. Also, what struck me the most when I arrived here is that the average size for a woman is a 16 and a 12 is considered slim whereas back in Argyland if you are a size 12, you will most likely get categorised as a bit on the chubby side. Unbelievable but true. Unfortunately and however much rationality one can consciously apply to these matters, traumas have a sneaky way of tricking your mind into reverting to your most vulnerable and certain situations trigger the most child-like reactions. Mentions of food can be a source of absolute joy and passion and turn into a dagger in a nanosecond...I am an over-sensitive cow, I know, but years of bullying, taunting and self-doubt have left a huge mark which I'm still trying to erase. My partner, Mike, does his utmost to reassure me and help me through it but sometimes nothing works...they are resilient little bastards those childhood traumas! But I am determined to win the fight and not allow food to be associated with the darker side of Argentinian neuroses. On that note, for all of you who, as myself, view food as 'porn', you cannot miss the following link: www.tastepotting.com The word orgasmic doesn't even begin to encompass the sensations it arises in me! Now that's what I call proper titillation...What do you reckon?