The Family Meal: Home cooking with Ferran Adria How many of you read the introduction to cookbooks? That bit at the beginning where the author – usually a celebrity chef – will tell you about their motivation for the book. Where they will give you a feel for why this is the most important cookbook they have ever written – most important time of their cooking lives; before they go off on a crusade to convince you why you should buy certain foods, from certain people, at certain times of the year. Ignore their mantra and you effectively miss the point of the book (which is really just to make more money on the back of a TV show). This book does not do that.
Monthly Archive:: November 2011
And he saith unto them, Follow me, and I will make you fishers of men. Quick pop quiz time – where does that line appear in the bible? No checking through google. Come on class. Hurry up. Yes you, Fetherstonhaugh. Come on, boy. Speak up. Yes, that’s right. Matthew 4:19. I don’t expect many to get that. Nor to know that it is from the King James Bible. The reason I’ve put it at the top of this post is to highlight a reason why someone may choose to follow another. To decide that what that person is saying, is worth paying attention to. I must inform the reader that the idea of this post was formulated, as most are, under the influence of alcohol.
The rain was getting harder. Nix was sure Chris was behind her when she walked out of the bar; but now he was nowhere to be seen. She tried to call out to him, but couldn’t make herself heard over the sound of car horns and revellers spilling out of the bars on First Avenue. She dived in to a doorway, desperately trying to regroup her thoughts; regain her composure. Maybe it wasn’t such a good idea to have had that final giant martini. She looked in her bag for her mobile phone. It wasn’t there. She emptied the contents of the bag on the floor. It still wasn’t there. She swore. She chastised herself for swearing. She swore again. She was about to brave
I see her now. She is dancing between the pedestrians on the side walk – disappearing and reappearing from behind the plumes of steam that rise from the road. I watch her as she punches the air – no doubt listening to something upbeat on her iPod. She is oblivious to the people around her. She bumps in to someone. They go as if to snarl, but in an instant, their face glows with warmth and humility. She apologises. They chat as if they have known each other for years – and then, like the strangers they are, disappear back in to their own worlds. She bumps in to someone else. I call her name. “Nix!” She waves back – a smile arching over the
“Right chaps. The battles lines have been drawn. Blog A. I want you to come round the rear flank of the profit making organisations that use bloggers without paying, and tweet them hard. Blog B. It’s your job to facebook status the life out of those websites that use our content without asking, and don’t link to our sites in the way we expect them to. What’s that Blog A – you’re happy to hand over your content for free, even though there is no guarantee it will lead to anything else? What about you Blog B. I take it your think any exposure is good and you simply feel honoured that a popular website is using your content without adhering to our agreed protocol?
I’m surrounded by books. Big books, small books, hardbacks and pamphlet like notebooks. There’s fiction, non-fiction, maps and instruction manuals. There is basically one of every style of book you could want for; not just in one room – but nearly every room, hallway, prominent space or hidden away within my in-law’s house. I’ll confess that I’m not a massive reader. Not in the sense of the majority of the books that are usually here within arm’s reach. I do read – every day. You’ll find me nose deep in papers, websites, forums, briefing papers, textbooks – the types of printed or electronic source material that is designed to inform, rather than allow the reader to escape. My attention span; no – my patience doesn’t
I’ve written in the past about the need to smarten myself up. To confront my apathy towards shopping and to add a few, choice pieces a month to my – what can only be described as a, relaxed wardrobe. I often look back to a bygone era, to a time when the idea of leaving the house without a pair of slacks, a suit, even a tie was alien to men of a civilised world. As someone who plays bowls, it’s still commonplace for me to see a man, in a tie, who is not coming from a day’s work – who believes it to be normal to put that extra bit of effort in to the way they look. It might not shout cool
Some days are close to being perfect. When everything we do is in unison, in harmony – in a total understanding of what makes us feel right. Other days are not so. Those are the days when we let our frustrations get the better of us. Where we raise our voices, our ire, and we clash like jagged rocks falling from cliffs, in to a turbulent whirl pool – in the angry seas below (too much?). There are reasons for this. You mum will allude to the fact that I get easily frustrated. That I more often than not approach situations in a negative bent. That rather than come down to your level , I might increase the size of my frame – as though
Why do you choose the wine you buy? I mean – what makes you choose the wine you buy? Are you the sort of person who once had a bottle with friends, or in a restaurant, and have steadfastly stuck with the same bottle ever since? Did you once watch a well known American comedy series about a group of acquaintances, which was usually sponsored by a wine organisation – and then decided that you would give that wine a try? Do you always go for the second most expensive wine on any list in a restaurant? Or are you governed by what supermarkets decide is cool, or are paid to confirm what is cool? Do you drink New Zealand Sauvignon Blanc for no other
I should be bothered. I should raise my frustration from a mere iota, to that of a defence readiness condition closer to one than five. I should expect a specialist, employed by a hospital, to be able to read my notes before I walk in to his clinic; and for that clinic to be on time – not just once – but in the majority of cases. I should expect to walk out of that appointment knowing that my condition is not just manageable, but more so, being resolved. I should care. WHY DON’T I CARE? I’ve lived with a condition for 20 years now. I developed swelling of the left knee at 16. Having played a lot of sport in my youth, I simply