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Monthly Archives: December 2011

so guess who doesn’t have diabetes anymore.

there was cause for a celebration a couple of nights ago (not the return of normal blood sugars at that stage, although i’d had my fingers crossed for the last week and a bit following my post natal glucose tolerance test), and we found ourselves around a table at hellenic republic, bathed in the golden light of the early evening, with lamb and potatoes and cypriot grain salad (and cabbage salad, yes, and eggplant dip and calamari and octopus, and hell why not, a spanakopita and three lamb chops), and these amazing chargrilled green chilli peppers all smoky and succulent. the platters are small at hellenic republic, but when one of the birthday girls orders double of everything for the table, you suddenly find yourself approaching a dangerous level of satiety.

dangerous only because you must leave room for dessert. the kid and i are never two to go past a mess, so we got the hellenic mess to share. unexpectedly, it was plated in a bowl — a jumble of rosewater meringue, orange blossom jelly, vanilla-infused cream and a dribble of strawberry ouzo sauce poured at the table. (the waiter dispensed it from a small bottle, and i thought he might leave it after the ceremonial pour, but no, he whisked it away.)

mmm… it was a lovely mishmash of flavours and textures. the pistachios were crunchy to offset the crisp meringue; the jelly was wobbly and ethereal. in fact, the delicate orange blossom flavour was probably a bit overwhelmed by the strawberry sauce. but then i was a little too: the ouzo made my belly clench. perhaps if there had been more cream…

no matter. it was gone in minutes (the kid had three helpings), helped along by a pot of mountain tea. see how pretty, the basket of pale green herbery. the internet tells me it is ironwort.

it was still daylight when we left the restaurant. it was a jolly walk home.

posted by ragingyoghurt on 30 December 2011 at 6:55 am

permalink | filed under cake, dinner

it was my birthday a couple of weeks ago, except now that i write this, i see that it was actually five weeks ago, gah.

my olds were in town, as were the boy’s, and an aunt of his, and a cousin, and we thought we might wander into carlton for a catch up and celebratory luncheon. pizza and gelato were on the horizon (essentially, a replay of the kid’s birthday do some weeks back, but without the paint), but i knew that we would never get into D.O.C. at peak lunch hour. so we tried the aunt-recommended place, and when that proved to be a heaving mass of lunch crowd, we crossed the road to the place previously vetted by the boy’s parents: cafe trevi.

what it had going for it was that it was empty. where it fell short — way, waaayyy short — was the food. the boy and i shared a couple of pizzas, and they were so awful we couldn’t bring ourselves to finish them (and you know, just for perspective, on the occasions that i’ve had say, domino’s, i eat until it’s gone). the bases were sturdy, bland dough trays on which some nasty plastic cheese was melted, and toppings — some strips of leather masquerading as prosciutto for instance — artfully arranged. the others seemed to be enjoying their food, so perhaps we just ordered the wrong things.

however, everybody agreed that the mixed salads were dismal: some roughly chopped pallid iceberg, a couple slices of cucumber and a wedge or two of anaemic tomato, carrot sticks, and — here’s the kicker — dressing perched precariously atop the lot in disposable plastic tubs, one of balsamic vinegar and another of commercial salad cream. low fat mayonnaise, even.

i must say i took a perverse pleasure in dipping carrot sticks in the salad cream. maybe i even enjoyed it, far more than i did the pizza anyway.

dessert down the street at casa del gelato almost made up for it. but not really, i was so grumpy.

last sunday, the boy proposed a carlton excursion, which began with an expedition through the melbourne cemetery. i love a good cemetery: that old one in the middle of athens, where the boy and i wandered 11 years ago; paris’s pere la chaise, in which my sister and i became lost, and cold, and hungry one wintery afternoon in 2007; waverly cemetery in sydney, the site of a fine twilight picnic overlooking a chinatown cream cake and the crashing waves of the tasman sea… good times!

melbourne general cemetery is a world class cemetery. the internet tells me it was established in the 1850s, and that it houses around half a million. what i can tell you is that it is a wonderful collection of gilded script in slabs of marble…

it’s a place where all the branches of christiandom exist peacefully…

there is a chinese section,

and a jewish section.

many angels, some beheaded.

it was shortly after we discovered the amazing shrine to elvis presley — a grotto covered in succulents and engraved marble plaques that looked like velvet elvis paintings — that we realised we were hungry. we meandered through the historic gravestones…

…to the exit, and found ourselves on lygon street just before three. and then after some discussion, we found ourselves at D.O.C. negotiating pizza.

sadly, the special from the other time — porchetta with mustard fruit — wasn’t on the menu, however there was a most agreeable offering of parma ham with buffalo mozzarella, fresh figs and a pungent undercurrent of gorgonzola. we were similarly smitten by the porcini pizza, which included a melange of mushrooms, all cooked to perfect succulence on a white base. the kid had her own margherita, because some things are just too delicious for her. case in point: unsatisfied even with this plainest pizza on the menu, she removed every basil leaf before it was deemed acceptable. by the end, we were so satiated we couldn’t even manage gelato. still, it was the birthday pizza luncheon that was meant to be.

four months ago, i got an email of just two sentences: “…just been diagnosed to have possibly lung cancer with metastases to the spine. i feel so bad we did not take her back pain seriously, attributing it to the hard physical housework she’s been doing.”

during the week just past, an update: “…sadly not responding to her treatment. yesterday’s scans show that the cancer has spread to her brain, liver and more bones, and fluid has collected around her heart and in her lung. she remains brave and is taking whatever comes.”

at what point does living with cancer tip over into dying from it? i am not convinced it is all just a state of mind.

posted by ragingyoghurt on 18 December 2011 at 12:28 pm

permalink | filed under around town, lunch, misc

so yes, i’m afraid i wasn’t so good at being confined. (and that’s only 4 weeks according to chinese tradition. we were chided by some lebanese ladies at the kid’s school for bringing harlan out to the twilight picnic a couple of weeks ago — “we don’t let the babies out until after 40 days!” they said, and, “put a hat on him — he is cold!”). the monday after the saturday birth, i was trawling the aisles of bas foods with my mother, in search of treats (peach nectar, pistachios, and ülker chocolate biscuits). in the couple of weeks that followed, i turned down my mother’s numerous offers of sesame-oil-ginger-chicken — instead, we did the rounds: mr close, lux foundry, arcadia…

surely this is as nourishing (and heaty!) as anything soused in ginger wine? behold the baked eggs at arcadia, on gertrude, which come with a 25-minute-wait warning. i picked the option with the lentils, and there must’ve been almost two cups in there, buried under the eggs, all salty and herby and crusty-topped. (the surface was all salty and stinky, from a layer of melty taleggio.) it tasted so deliciously of hearty good health that the sheer volume of lentils never got boring (the intermittent pieces of juicy celery helped).

this dish proved easy to eat with one hand, as the other hand occupied itself with the intricacies of breastfeeding. i ate every last pulse, and every last herby leaf from the sprig, and then rolled up the street to bask in the friday sunshine.

posted by ragingyoghurt on 14 December 2011 at 1:34 pm

permalink | filed under around town, lunch

“this is the last thing i will cook for you,” said my mother, before bustling into the kitchen. it was lunchtime, her final day in melbourne after five weeks of maternal duty. she had come to cook confinement food, but the first half of her time here, there was no kitchen, and the second half saw her in delicate negotiation with the boy to see who would flex whose culinary muscle on any given night. in the end, i think she only managed sesame oil chicken with ginger, stewed pork, bak kut teh, and a couple rounds of turmeric salmon. the bottle of ginger wine she’d brought with her was only half gone, the additional two bottles i received as a gift, completely untouched. her mission to brew up vast quantities of tong sam and longan tea was aborted — the vile memories of this peculiar beverage from seven years ago still lingered in the back of my throat. while still in singapore she had discussed this tea, enthusiastically. “no,” i said. so she arrived with a kilo of the herb (and four bags of dried longans). “no,” i said. so she asked again and again over the next fortnight. “no,” i said, “but are you asking until i say yes?”

“no,” she said, “but i couldn’t remember what we had decided, and i wanted to make sure.” i wonder if the wonderherb tong sam is as beneficial to short term memory as it is to milk production.

this past saturday she had planned to celebrate harlan’s month on earth with a party (when i’d told her i didn’t really have anyone to invite, she volunteered a few of her family friends and distant cousins). there would be ang ku kueh, and red eggs, and curry chicken with nasi kunyit and roti jala.

in the end, there were just red eggs, and no guests. pinkish eggs, really, when the dye didn’t quite take. the recipe called for them to be boiled for 35 to 40 minutes and then immersed in a dye bath. somehow they ended up being cooked for a good hour or so — impressively rubbery things, with thick grey circles surrounding the yolk, and blotchy patches of pink in the whites where the dye had come through the cracks, and a mildly sulfurous aroma. i’d be eating rose-tinted egg salad wraps and cold, sliced boiled eggs with matching beetroot on toast all week.

saturday evening, party plans scuttled, i took my mother to cumulus inc. for dinner, where she paid. the next morning, after she arrived back in singapore, i received a txt informing me that she’d left the roti jala mould in my kitchen. perhaps i will have curry and roti jala in my future after all.

plus i may have to make this soup again — tasty and calming enough to eat beyond the period of confinement.

marinate minced pork with cornflour, sesame oil and salt. fry julienned ginger in sesame oil, then add chopped garlic and salt. add the pork and fry until not quite browned. add water and bring to the boil. simmer. add meesua. serve with baby cos leaves (or baby spinach, in this case), and… a spoonful of ginger wine.

happy full moon, sweet baby!

posted by ragingyoghurt on 7 December 2011 at 11:04 am

permalink | filed under kid, lunch

now here’s a bunch of vegetables that puts the aforementioned hospital veggies to shame.

the other tuesday saw me strapping on the baby and heading into the city for a wander. after stopping in at outré for a squizz at the tattoo art exhibition — which of the angelique houtkamp prints do i want the most? — it was still early enough that lunch at earl canteen seemed like a good idea.

turns out it was a great idea. in an effort to teach my eyes that they aren’t in fact bigger than my stomach, i turned a blind eye to the seductive salads in the counter display and only ordered the trout nicoise sandwich for luncheon, all fishy, oily goodness. it came as a sturdy plank of red-onion-flecked focaccia, filled with fat fillets of freshly seared fish, nestled warm in a ruffle of butter lettuce and mayonnaise. there were green beans and slices of tomato, though not nearly enough of them. perhaps it was just as well — any more and i would’ve had trouble eating it with one hand, as one must do, with a baby in the other. thanks, earl of sandwich!

when we left just before the lunch crowd, i must’ve still had a hankering for beans because the big green salad came with. later in the afternoon, sitting on the couch at home feeding the baby, i could not have been more pleased with the great pile of perfectly blanched green beans and asparagus spears, and strips of grilled zucchini, atop a bed of mixed leaves and herbs. the little tub of light, lemony dressing provided just enough of a glisten. i can’t say who enjoyed afternoon tea more that day, but i suspect it was probably me.

posted by ragingyoghurt on 3 December 2011 at 12:10 pm

permalink | filed under lunch

Monthly Archives: December 2011

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