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i made a drawing a couple of weeks ago. did some picture research on the internet, sketched a rough on paper, redrew all the components in a loose and scribbly fashion on the back of some official letter i’d been sent, scanned them in, then pieced it all together in photoshop. i was pleased that day to finally figure out how to drop colour into a tonal greyscale drawing, without the colour layer obscuring or compromising the pencilled outlines.

layers > multiply

that’s all it took. for years i’d wondered. i sent it off then, to where it was needed, and not an hour later, received a two-word reply: oooooh! beautiful! how warm and shiny i felt.

the kid works much quicker. she takes a sheet from my tray of one-sided printouts, and draws directly in any shade of felt-tipped marker. a few days ago she grabbed the nearest biro and made my new favourite drawing: a joyous supermarket excursion with a cat, a mouse, and a family of tiny kittens. it really sums up the happiness i feel when i’m at the supermarket.

(though not the bit where i stand in a queue for 20 minutes because my woolies refuses to put more cashiers on, grumble, gnash.)

something else that makes me happy is the super speedy three day sydney zine from dawn at handmadelove, full of drawings of smiley food to eat around sydney (in three days, oh the pressure!). just look at the lovely watercolouring, and the cheery lettering. here’s one of my favourite cafes, badde manors, #3 in glebe. it’s true: they do have a way with potatoes.

[ picture from handmadelove ]

posted by ragingyoghurt on 8 March 2010 at 12:40 am

permalink | filed under bookshelf, drawn, kid

summer took the stage for a last curtain call.

saturday, we traipsed across the lush green lawn of a historic house in a leafy north shore suburb, and watched chocolate suze get hitched in jolly rollicking fashion under the impossibly bright and burny sun. afterwards, there was coca cola, and orange juice, and fairy floss, and a fat, sprinkled krispy kreme doughnut — and that was just the kid. afterwards, her head didn’t quite spin around, but the sugar gave her enough of a buzz to carry around, for the rest of the afternoon, the enormous lollypop she charmed out of the bride.

it was still summery when we got back to the city, so we sat a while in our box seat above the town hall intersection, watching the finely-tuned ballet of crisscrossing pedestrians in the golden light. and because the box seats are actually three big corner windows in the children’s department at kinokuniya, we also kicked back, made ourselves comfy, and fashioned a small pile of books to pass the hour.

on one of the shelves, i found a book called “all kinds of families!“, with pictures by one of my favourite illustrators, marc boutavant. we sat and read it for a bit, this jaunty rhyme by mary ann hoberman, but when i got to the verse that went:

clams in the sea make a clammily family
lambs in the field make a lambily family
jams in their jars make a jammily family
and yams in the cupboard a yammily family

i knew that i would have to take it home with us. books are family too!

happy days to you and the mister, mrs noods! we are honoured to have been there to see the beginning of your own little family. may your fridge always be overflowing with treats.

posted by ragingyoghurt on 1 March 2010 at 11:29 am

permalink | filed under around town, bookshelf, kid

i have returned home from an evening that began with the final preschool parents’ committee meeting for the year, and ended with several rounds on the sushi train. in between i bought — for twenty bucks in the sale racks of gleebooks — a heavy tome with a simple typographic cover, called, “vegetable love“.

it contains no pictures, and 750 recipes. o how i love vegetables!

why, this very afternoon i made a matching set of tartines, topped with a couple wedges of laughing cow and a bunch of asparagus and some green capsicum, grilled and seasoned. a selection of green vegetables makes me so happy. sometimes i can get five or six in a meal, but today, just two was enough to put a smile on my face.

posted by ragingyoghurt on 16 October 2008 at 10:44 pm

permalink | filed under bookshelf, kitchen, lunch

this time last week, the cold, harsh light of day saw me finishing up the last, leftover slice of a sour cherry pie with a pistachio crumble topping. i was sad to see it go. it had been long, long overdue, and the previous friday afternoon i had arrived for a weekend at my aunt’s house with two containers of dry ingredients measured and mixed and ready to go. one was to become the crust, and the other, the crumble.

more weeks ago than i’m prepared to specify, the good people at penguin mailed me a crisp, new copy of “the sweet melissa baking book“. i must admit i was not immediately enamoured of this book. aside from feeling generally ambivalent about cake (!) after the nonstop cakefest that was xmas, new year, chinese new year, sister-in-town… there was the somewhat lacklustre publication design to get past.

it’s 2008 after all. who puts out a cookbook — a cakebook, no less — with no pictures but for an 8-page colour section two-thirds of the way through? the rest of it — 240 pages in total — is cheap black helvetica on cheap white paper, with copperplate headings and mustard yellow embellishments. there are bees on every second page — the logo of the eponymous brooklyn-based bakery. it really looks like an early-90s effort, and even coming from me, with all the golden memories of the early 90s, this is no compliment, humpf.

but. see. the more i flipped through the book, never really wincing less at the just too large italicised helvetica introductions to each recipe, the more i came to realise that you really shouldn’t judge a book by its interior design (the cover is… fine. not “ooh baby, you so fine”, but just, “oh, alright. fine.”: there is an honest photograph of a chocolate cake, crowned in nubile and glistening berries; but there is also a subhead in 12pt helvetica bold.). in fact, the book is so packed full of delicious-sounding things, that i could not decide what to tackle first.

there is a good selection of trusty basics: orange-scented scones, chocolate chip cookies, chocolate walnut brownies. there is a chapter of some quite over-the-top layer cakes: sweet almond cake with lemon curd and lemon mascarpone frosting, roasted pecan cake with caramel orange marmalade and burn orange buttercream, (there is a classic red velvet cake with cream cheese frosting.) there is a bit up the back full of truffles and caramels. and in between, there are buns, pies, cookies, cakes, and cookie cakes.

eventually, i picked the sour cherry pie with pistachio crumble, because i love every single word in the name (yes, even “with”.). also, in her introduction, sweet melissa claims it is her favourite pie, and a best-seller at her bakery. there was even a glossy colour photograph of it. i set to work.

the section on pies begins with a lesson on pie dough. it is a comprehensive breakdown on all the elements that go into the crust, and what to do with them. there is a page on pie dough technique, followed by three recipes for different sorts. all up, it’s 11 pages of thorough instructions, about an hour and a half of combined chilling time alone, and me, a pastry novice, making a rather wonderful crust that baked up golden brown, light, crisp and flaky.

yay.

the crumble topping, with its whole oats ground to a flour and its pistachios hand-choppped, was even more wonderful — sweet and crunchy with a rich, buttery, pistachioey flavour. the cherry filling — now that’s where i came unstuck. i’m blaming the kilo of frozen cherries; i’m going to argue that they released a lot of moisture as they thawed in the oven. at the end, they were so plump and juicy that the base of the pie crust disintegrated into soddenness. delicious sod, mind, which more or less rendered this pie into a crumble with a pastry crown. and we all fell upon it like bears.

one of my favourite memories of new york is of sitting in the upstairs cafeteria at bloomingdales, eating a wedge of blueberry pie to recover from the ordeal that is accompanying my mother shoe-shopping. the crust on top was light, crisp and flaky, and sprinkled in sugar. once i figure out how to overcome the soggy fruit, i think this book will take me right back.

posted by ragingyoghurt on 5 May 2008 at 9:13 am

permalink | filed under bookshelf, cake, kitchen

i was eating a bowl of foodhall pho bo tai the other day. nothing spesh, but at that moment, sitting at the counter overlooking the theatre that is sussex street traffic, i thought it was the best thing ever to be eaten. oh, how i love the heady herby beefy broth, the slurpy noodles, the bouquet of basil and sprouts that wilts in the hot soup. now you want one too, don’t you? i ♥ vietnamese food.

so despite the vow i’d taken to not buy another cookbook ever, i found myself standing in line at borders* a few weeks ago, with this handsome tome in the crook of my arm: “secrets of the red lantern: stories and vietnamese recipes from the heart“, written by the clever kids who run that surry hills restaurant.

i used to live a few blocks away from red lantern, would walk past it pretty much every day, and i never went. so silly. just look at the book, full of evocative photographs of delicious food. (the feelings they evoke are hunger, i think, and regret.)

but here’s the thing: a lot of the ingredients in these recipes are things i have sitting in my kitchen, or are, at least, familiar things i grew up with. most of these look to be comforting and achievable recipes. i could make this stuff at home. i think.

if i really felt like it, i could even make the pork terrine, the pork pate, the pork belly, the garlic mayonnaise and the pickled carrots required for a banh mi sandwich. there you are: the recipes for each component are helpfully compiled on consecutive pages, with a persuasive picture coming up the end for encouragement. for now, though, i’m happy to pay three dollars to the chatty girl in the tucked-away shop in the other chinatown foodhall. well, maybe i’ll give the pickled carrots a go.

i’d also like to make canh chua ca, the tamarind fish soup of which i ate great tureens as i moseyed through vietnam in the time of SARS. and i will make banh xeo, of course. and the avocado ice cream? mmmmaybe.

but it’s not just a cookbook; alongside the pretty pictures, and the compelling recipes, are chapters of a family history woven through: a story of a childhood in saigon, an exodus aboard a boatload of refugees, a life rebuilt in cabramatta. there is a dictatorial asian father, an estranged daughter — the storyteller, plain and true –, a time in the desert (figurative), and finally, redemption. it’s more than you could ask for, really. i expect it will be on my bedside table for quite a while yet.

* are you signed up to the borders mailing list? they send you a better than average discount coupon or two every week, perfect for when you need that 35%-off nudge to buy yet another cookbook.

posted by ragingyoghurt on 28 November 2007 at 11:09 pm

permalink | filed under bookshelf

my other weakness, you may know, is “the new yorker“. so i was pleased — acting on a sedaris tipoff — to stumble upon this slideshow of food-themed covers in the upcoming food issue. just look at that gorgeous wayne thiebaud painting!

(upcoming in sydney, i mean. i guess it’s already out across the pacific.)

posted by ragingyoghurt on 30 August 2007 at 8:14 am

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i arrived home from melbourne to find a flurry of delivery notices on the doormat. the fedex man had been while we were gone, thrice in the week, each time leaving another official bit of card saying, “we were here, you were not”, with the final one adding rather threateningly, “we will be returning the package to sender”.

but i called them up on monday and grovelled a little bit, and a couple days later, my parcel showed up, from the good folk at penguin: a handsome hardcover called, “alone in the kitchen with an eggplant: confessions of cooking for one and dining alone” (edited by jenni ferrari-ader).

“look!” i said to the boy, “people send me books now, because i am media!”

“you mean, because you have a blog?”

“yes?”

“that’s ridiculous,” he said.

which maybe it is, a little. after all, i mean, who am i?

well, never mind me. here is a collection of 26 essays, personal stories from an eclectic mix of writers including amanda hesser (food editor of the new york times magazine), nora ephron (chickflick writer), haruki murakami (tedious postmodern novelist), and steve almond (whose book “candyfreak” — a brief history of regional american candy — i am also currently in the middle of). i am reading them as the editor intended — in order — and a handful of chapters in, have encountered someone who ate asparagus every day for two months, someone who was happy to subsist on crackers:

…most nights i did not feel fancy at all. i ate slices of white cheese on saltines with a dollop of salsa, then smoothly transitioned to saltines spread with butter and jam for dessert. i would eat as many as were required to no longer be hungry and then i would stop.
- ann patchett

…someone who relied on black beans throughout grad school, someone — at last — who didn’t make eating at home alone seem quite so dire:

my home-alone dinners are often composed of one or two flavours, prepared in a way that underlines their best qualities. eggs are high on the list. i rarely eat breakfast but i adore eggs and there are very few opportunities to eat them at other times of the day. so i might poach one and lay it on a nest of peppery or bitter greens. i might toss a poached egg with pasta, steamed spinach and good olive oil, and shower it with freshly-grated nutmeg and cheese. or, i might press a hard boiled egg through a sieve and sprinkle the fluffy egg curds over asparagus. – amanda hesser

which is the way it should be, no? when else are you going to get the chance to cook exactly what you want to eat, without having to take into consideration anyone else’s particularities? the week i had to myself, that week boy and kid were away, i made spaghetti with shredded brussels sprouts sauteed in rocket pesto, and a tofu green curry with as many green vegetables as i could pack in. i’m sure i would’ve made several more meat-free, veggie-packed things, but i also had to fit in some leisurely solo cafe meals, a vegetarian dinner at BBQ king — it can be done!, and adriano zumbo, three times.

this is a book about how food fits into people’s lives. there are no glossy photographs of tasteful little dinners and convenient lunches, but there are recipes now and again, for such things as roasted beet and cucumber salad with ricotta salata, truffled egg toast, kippers mash, yellowfin tuna with heirloom tomatoes and oil-cured olive and caper salsa. see, it doesn’t all have to be about drinking your lonely way through a giant pot of soup.

though it could be, if you wanted it so. it’s not so horrible to eat alone, is it? don’t you? (and what do you eat? tell me. tell me!)

and that is why this book is such an enjoyable read: all those dirty little dietary secrets. and, ok, all the moments of glorious self-discovery. it’s like reading food blogs! at its best, it’s like reading orangette.

i am looking forward to the penultimate chapter, “instant noodles” by rattawut lapcharoensap, because actually, that is one of the things i like to eat best, when i have the pleasure — the luxury — of being home alone.

posted by ragingyoghurt on 24 July 2007 at 2:35 pm

permalink | filed under blog, bookshelf, kitchen

the coughing started towards the end of matt moran’s masterchef theatre at the good food and wine show. as matt moran arranged raspberries atop a creme base, the one sharp point at the back of my throat grew into a great spluttering fit. i don’t think it caused too much disruption; the applause for the raspberry tart drowned me out.

but i have been coughing for just over two weeks now. at its worst it was the kind of cough that brings up brown and lumpy from my lungs. now, the germs seem to have all gone, but i wake up at four in the morning, still coughing, and the only way to get back to sleep is to watch cindy crawford’s informercial (“i never thought i’d be in an informercial…” she says, not batting an eyelid.) and read another chapter of “snow“.

having only vicariously experienced the good food show of previous years via grab your fork, i asked helen for some tips. “bring a backpack… get $25 worth of samples,” she offered helpfully.

so we hit the ground eating, deborah and i: lavosh bread topped with figs and white cheese, unusual jams — strawberry-balsamic vinegar-black pepper — on bite-sized scones, little cups of ready-peeled crabmeat, south australian pasta sauce made with south australian tomatoes, pomegranate green tea, chocolate…

for me, the show was all about chocolate. five minutes in we had found an organic chocolate stand with samples of buttermilk chocolate (“it is very sweet,” warned the samplegirl. and it was.) then we found the lindt stand, where a lady distributed raspberry lindor balls, and right behind her stood another lady handing out orange lindor balls. then the adora stand, where you present your hand, palm up, and the kind counter ladies filled it with callebaut chocolate buttons. the ikea stand missed a great opportunity to supermarket their range of swedish food (they were selling kitchens) but there was an enormous bowl of daim candies for the taking. not an hour into the show, we were walking down the aisles, woozy and lightheaded. but not one to let a feeling of unwellness stop me from eating chocolate, i plundered the sample trays of the three or four other organic chocolate stands, a generous hunk of a triple chocolate cookie and a teaspoon of wattle seed white chocolate mousse.

we sampled savoury for a bit — dried figs, fish tofu, curry on rice (twice!), corn chips — and then we bought the donna hay magazine show bag. curiously, it contained no donna hay products (besides the magazine, which irritates me), but was startlingly value for money. $7.95 bought us a couple of mini samples: a small packet of cardboard corn cakes and a tiny bottle of shower oil, but also a host of full-sized products like a pump pack of liquid hand soap, a tin of moroccan spice flavour rub, a 750g carton of raw sugar, a dozen dishwasher tablets, a pack of disposable plates edged with blue daisies, and a loaf of bread (!). [edit 22/06: and a three-pack of chocolate brownie-muffin bites, and a bottle of fiji water.]

across the aisle, the delicious magazine showbag upped the stakes with gourmet samples and a bottle of wine and a coffee voucher and a lindt chocolate cupcake, but you only got the showbag if you took out a subscription to the magazine. fair enough. but in a glorious twist of fate, deborah bought herself a subscription, and then handed me the cupcake. thanks, lady!

and so it was this moist, dark cupcake with the lush chocolate ganache that sat in my lap during the matt moran cooking show, though it didn’t really make it past the first few minutes. being in row g, we missed out on the plate of salt and pepper squid that got passed ’round the early birds up front, but he sure made it look easy, cleaning the squishy beast. “even simple enough for donna,” he quipped. then he picked up his cookbook several times, stroking the cover gently, like a proud papa.

the theatre disgorged right by the glitzy display of curtis stone’s new cookware range. silicone sheets with shallow star-shaped moulds for making wafers. double-walled glass ramekins. nice, and of course, we need more celebrity chef cookware. but the bright yellow C logo all lit up like broadway gave us the giggles.

we did a last lap around the exhibition hall, to buy the things which we’d been listing in our heads. there were other things we might have bought, at special show prices, if those prices hadn’t been tied to unmanageable quantities like five tins of powdered stock, or four bottles of soy sauce, for $10. (though at the kikkoman stand, we learnt that a teaspoon or a tablespoon of soy sauce in a dessert such as a lemon tart could really bring out the… tartness. when quizzed further, the counterman admitted that a tablespoon would actually be a lot, and the recipe developer actually recommended more like a teaspoon. perhaps the recommendation should actually be no soy sauce whatsoever in your dessert. anyone care to try this?)

so for me, what ended up in my shopping bag were three bars of single-region lindt dark chocolate (and a coupon for a free lindt macaron at the lindt cafe) for $5; the $25 adora chocolate showbag containing one each of their sixteen truffles, a dark chocolate bar, a bag of chocolate-enrobed turkish delight (from iran), and another mini belgian chocolate bar; and a carton of the organic triple chocolate cookies sampled earlier in the day.

way earlier. a week ago, i asked helen if two hours would be enough to see everything. wisely, she’d said to budget for three. as we left the exhibition hall, an announcement came through that the show would be closing in 15 minutes. i guess this means we’d been there close to six hours.

the show closed at six, but by five, the exhibitors had already begun scrubbing down their counters, and the samples were long gone. en route to the exit though, we were stopped in our tracks, because the good man at king island dairy was still handing out little tubs of chocolate creme dessert. what it is, is pure thick cream (53% milk fat, no vegetable gums or whatever) combined with belgian chocolate. genius.

i immediately wanted more, but it was dark outside, and there was a healthy walk to the buses ahead of us, and how were we to know that halfway through, it would begin raining sideways?

posted by ragingyoghurt on 19 June 2007 at 11:16 pm

permalink | filed under around town, bookshelf, chocolate, shoping, snacks

the kid was drawing circles with dots in them the other day (“biscuits!”), when i said, “why don’t you draw a hot cross bun?”. she only paused long enough to look at me like it was a really good idea before she went on to draw bun after bun after bun. three pages of them in fact, until she got bored and wandered off. illustrated food blog? it’s a cinch!

how is it easter already? well, ok, only good friday, but it was only last friday that i discovered the hot cross loaf at bourke street bakery and promised that i would return for it. by wednesday, it struck me that it was only a couple days away from the easter weekend, and after that… who knew if hot cross loaves would still be baked. after all, bourke street bakery is not a link in a chain of franchise bakeshops who churn out hot cross buns all year ’round.

after an obligatory hour spent with the ducks, geese, pelican and playground at victoria park, we arrived at the bakery on the stroke of lunchtime. i had never registered before if it was set up to eat in; other times i had only stood just inside the narrow doorway for as long as it took to order a takeaway loaf or tart. but yes, there is a single corner table, which might seat four snugly, and if you have an extraordinarily long torso, there are also three stools at a counter mounted so high up the wall that it came up to my chin.

all seating will be free if you arrive at an early hour as we did, but if you spend too many minutes trying to choose what you might like to eat (as i did), the corner table with the sensible seating will be taken, and you will be forced to perch on one of the bar stools. when maeve sat down, the counter was t h i s far above her head.

but so, the choice, enormous! i knew there were delicious sausage rolls (a few years ago i had the lamb, harissa, almond and currant one, and this time, eyeing the pork and fennel — there is also a chicken option — i went with the lamb again. the pastry so flaky and buttery! the filling so flavoursome and crunchy with chopped nuts!), but there is also pizza (ready-made, cut into slabs) and panini (the kid chose roast pork with coral lettuce and mayonnaise on a herby-oniony roll).

by the end of lunch, we had migrated to the corner table after the original inhabitants vacated, and there was a good two thirds of pork sandwich leftover for my lunch the next day. also, maeve had endeared herself to the countergirl to the extent that she offered me anything in the window in exchange for the child. my eyes darted to the chocolate tart, but in the end, i paid my $5.50 for a hot cross loaf and we skipped outside to the bus stop where we waited quite a bit over half an hour for the every-20-minutes service back home.

earlier in the day, in the treasure trove that is the discount-stickered upstairs shelvery of gleebooks, i had found “candyfreak“, which is self-explanatory, really, and an appropriate read for the choc fest that is the easter holidays. [of course, you could argue that chocolate is not really candy, that it is a whole different (and better) entity, which it is, but yeah, maybe next time.] there is a front-cover endorsement from amy sedaris, and a blurb about the author, steve almond, being “the dave eggers of food writing”, and the dust jacket itself mimics the silvery foil of a candy bar wrapper, so clearly this book (published in 2004, two copies left at gleebooks, $14.95 reduced from $44) is like, waaay cool. we shall see; i’m only up to chapter two, and steve is still talking a bit more about himself than about candy… and i never really could get into dave eggers anyway. but i have skipped ahead, just right now, and there is a visit to the necco factory, whose outlet store annex in boston i visited with my obliging sister several years ago.

[ sighs wistfully ]

we pass like ships in iChat.

posted by ragingyoghurt on 6 April 2007 at 10:43 am

permalink | filed under around town, bookshelf, kid, lunch, nellie

[ all art in this post by dinah diwan, from "the ethnic paris cookbook" by charlotte puckette and olivia kiang-snaije ]

a couple of weeks ago, the fedex man showed up at the door with a package for me. it was a copy of “the ethnic paris cookbook“, from the good people at dorling kindersley. i was surprised, and pleased, because it had only been a week or so since i replied to a mass-emailed offer of a copy to review. who doesn’t like DK? with their range of educational books, illustrated with copious deepetched photographs? a favourite pastime was flipping through any of the DK travel guides until i got to that double-page spread in the food section, showcasing a deepetched array of that country’s national cuisine. mmm… spatzle…

“the ethnic paris cookbook” is certainly lavishly illustrated, but with actual drawings. [who doesn't like an illustrated food blog? maybe one day i could become one, but for now of course, you can go to lobstersquad.] the slightly naive (deceptively so), very charming, incredibly detailed artwork by dinah diwan distinguishes the book from the rest of the pack: ink drawings painted vibrant colours, collage, and rubber stampage run the gamut from raw ingredients, to instructional diagrams, to finished product, to paris streetmaps and shopfronts.

there’s a lot packed in. the book purports to “focus on the ethnic influences on paris’s haute cuisine”, and brings together recipes from a diverse range of cultures, grouped into: morocco, tunisia and algeria; vietnam, cambodia, laos and china; japan; lebanon and syria; cameroon, senegal, the west indies and the caribbean. phew. but how does this make it a paris-centric book, and not just one that represents any city with an enormous migrant population, like, um, sydney? here, we can easily (from the city, at least) catch a train and within not too long a time (fingers crossed), experience any one — and quite a few more — of the cuisines listed. maybe even some of our best friends are…

well, for one, thailand doesn’t feature (though there is a recipe for green papaya salad), but see, aside from recipes (over 100 apps, mains and desserts) and mini-essays on key ingredients, the authors have included reviews (and addresses) of the parisian restaurants (and pastry shops and providores.) which examplify these disparate cuisines, as well as stories of the individuals to whom recipes have been attributed. there are brief histories of the various ethnic communities within the city — the chinese in france, for example — and overviews of today’s streetscapes. in a small section titled, “japanese grocery stores in paris”, they list three, and then go on to say that “because these grocery stores are quite expensive… many japanese now shop at korean grocers in the opera neighbourhood or in the japanese section of chinatown supermarkets”. truly, insider information.

and so, why a whole chapter devoted to japonisme? i think the answer would have to be the maccha macaron. japan and france, food, fashion and art, they have this thing going, non? in fact, there is no recipe for green tea macaron in the book. there is, instead, a recipe for black sesame macaron, and given my brief, confusing history of macaron-making, i shall be giving it a miss. however, after i procure a madeleine tray this weekend, i will give the green tea madeleines a go. watch this space.

also tucked away in the japanese dessert section, a sweet little tribute to chocolate and zucchini.

i really do like the japan chapter, mainly because i’m that way inclined, but there is more from the book that i would try: beet salad with harissa (tunisia), banh xeo, finally (vietnam) — there’s also a recipe for banh mi, but holy moley, have you seen santos’ lobster banh mi? she wins!, beef and okra stew (cameroon), grilled chicken with garlic sauce (lebanon)… or actually, maybe, just maybe the tabbouleh sorbet.

[ it looks like "the ethnic paris cookbook" is only published by DKUS for now, but of course, is available all over the internet. ]

posted by ragingyoghurt on 6 April 2007 at 5:40 am

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