Ginger Tablet

Happy Thanksgiving, Americans!

Because some of my best friends are American, I've been roped into their festivities for the past few years. I often bring the pie. It's the one time a year I make pie crust. Can you tell? I'm blaming pre-baking the shell in a very deep (but attractive) ceramic dish. I think it will taste good, though. It's gonna be flaky.

Yes, there is a slumping economy of a crust, but I have renewed faith and optimism in my filling made of roasted fresh pumpkin, black treacle and maple syrup (always sneaking a little Canadian content into the Americans' food). And besides don't the stars draw all of your attention away from the defaults? If anyone complains, the maple syrup and whisky whipped cream will shut them up.

Pumpkin pie is of course not eaten over here. J pulls a face whenever it's mentioned.

Last night in our kitchen, I had just finished straining the filling through a seive and the pie was in the oven:

J:  Pumpkin pie doesn't taste like anything.

K: Of course it does. It tastes like pumpkin pie. Nothing else tastes like that.

J: At best it tastes like a vegetable pie.  A sweet vegetable pie. Like carrot pie.

K: Well, you like carrot cake...

J shrugs and dips his finger in some of the leftover filling and gives it a taste.

J: Yup, carrot pie.

I secretly hoped that the raw egg in filling would make him throw up a little bit. No such luck.

I can only hope that the Canadians/Americans will be a bit more appreciative.

"It sure looks homemade" was what J said as I took it out of the fridge. I wished more mild but unpleasant food poisoning on him.

Possible retraction: "It actually smells quite nice" has been the latest verdict. Perhaps I'll spare him, but I do have a few eggs on hand just in case.

A Weekend Away with Stracciatella Yogurt

 

Tomorrow I fly off to Den Haag to try and make some new BFFs within the young, international artists-who-use-textiles club. (A very different club from Textile Artists. We are waaaay edgier.You're just going to have to trust me on that one.) While I'm purportedly going on this trip because I have work in an exhibition that's opening on Saturday, the real reason for the voyage is so I can eat stracciatella yogurt for breakfast three days in a row.

This will be the scene: the window of my tiny studio flat will just reveal the choppy November waves and desolate stretch of sand of Scheveningen (hopefully the nudist section). It will be raining. I will know no one and so will have spent the day, the night, in silence, thinking, thinking, dreaming, thinking. Having walked all day through unknown streets amongst unfamiliar faces, hearing strange voices, my clothes soaked and chilled, I return home to the pot that I love. No not that pot. The yogurt pot. It will sit in the microfridge cold, and promising. Soft white folds cresting the top marked with dark, dark bitter freckles. Time will appear to stand still while I spoon it into my mouth, letting the chocolate just melt before I swallow it down.

Seriously, though, I do like this yogurt. I think one of the small pleasures of travelling in Europe is discovering different yogurt flavours. Don't laugh. I said "small pleasures". There are many greater ones too.

Three things to note: 1) I am not normally a sweets-in-yogurt kind of girl. But the chocolate in this is so bitter that it barely counts.

2) You can sometimes find this at Lidl in Glasgow. It comes in a 1 liter bucket with a handle! J was disgusted with me when I brought some home, but then he ate it all himself and now he must search the dairy section, unrequited. Weeping. Sucker.

3) This isn't a Dutch thing in particular. I think it's a continental Europe thing. And the picture up there is actually for a stracciatella quark which would also be pretty exciting. For me alone.

Ooh. And they have those almond cookies and stroopen in the Netherlands, too. I'll try to take pictures if I can ever stop eating the biscuits. If the images are grimy and flecked with crumbs, please forgive me.

Forgotten Photo - Cobnuts

I didn't tell you about these and now the season is definitely over. Make a note in your 2009 calendar to look out for these in September of 2009.

Cobnuts grow in clusters of three in the southern parts of England. They're actually a kind of hazelnut, and if you find them in early autumn they'll be "green", or basically raw and fresh, unlike most of the dried nuts we normally eat.

I had never had a fresh nut before (gosh, that sounds rude). There was some of the flavour and aroma of a hazelnut, but with the cool crispness of a carrot. They're quite vegetal. You have to work hard to crack them between your teeth, and that makes them a seductive little snack. I love snacks that you have to work for.

To enjoy a cobnut you probably don't need anything other than your pearly whites, but they would also be a good addition to a cheese plate, or you could try them like I did, sliced with ripe figs and topped with honey. There's something so September about that bowl.  Really, put a star in your diary ten months from now.

A dinner invitation

Could you be happier? I could not be happier. Or more emotional. Honestly, just Obama's face is making me tear up. And as soon as they start showing joyful Americans, I'm gone. Weeping and bawling all over my computer. That was some good voting, people. All of you 63,210,812 people who helped to elect President Obama are cordially invited to my place for dinner. Just give me a bit of notice before you come.

In honour of this great day, J is making pizza and then we're going to have cava and chocolate biscuits. To be honest, J's also celebrating some funding that just came through. And I got some shoes fixed and a book in the mail, so that's pretty exciting too. Basically, it's a day of miracles large and small.

To continue that trend, I'm off to see some dear family this weekend and then away for a little adventure of my own the week after. This may make me an even worse than normal blogger. I'll try to have some things sorted out in my absence, though.

I wish you all a good night. I have a feeling I'm going to sleep very peacefully.