Month: December 2009

Stumped

A few days ago, I cut my left index finger with the back of a knife. How this happened, I do not know. The back of a knife isn’t meant to be sharp. Two blades for the price of one — bonus!

The finger is healing nicely. It’s at that itchy stage, which signals that the body is knitting itself back together.

I have been wondering if this cut has changed my fingerprints. Where do fingerprints come from? What layer of the skin is responsible for these whorls and loops? How deep do I actually need to be cut before there is slash across my fingerprints?

I have some friends who work at London Olympic Park site. The security is tough. You can only get in if your hand print scan matches a print stored in the database.

My friends were telling me about one woman whose hands expand in hot weather and shrink in cold weather. On a cold day like today, she sighs and factors in the extra time it will take to get on to site. Her cold-shrunken hands always fail to pass the security test.

A a man who works at the site has no fingers. This stumps (ha ha) the hand print scanner, so his security clearance is based on a retina scan.

This seems unnecessary to me. Surely a fingerless hand (a palm?) is a unique identifier? Seems much more secure than scanning a common garden-variety fingered hand.

Torture

Today, I discovered a new way to torture myself.

It’s snowing here in London and I was very good. Straight after work, I stomped through the slush to get to the gym.

Then I spent 45 minutes on the elliptical trainer… watching Nigella’s Christmas Kitchen. Did my stomach growl and growl! Oh, the pavlova!

Bake off!

At work, they announced a baking competition. There would be four categories: cakes; biscuits; Christmas; and savoury. Home made baked goodies would be displayed and people would pay for those most enticing. All proceeds to charity, of course.

I am not a competitive person but as soon as I read the announcement email, a fire was lit inside me. BAKE OFF! I must win!

Strategy was important. I quickly decided that I would enter a savoury dish. It would surely be a less crowded category than cakes, biscuits and Christmas.

What to cook?  Damjan, I knew, had a crowd-pleasing recipe. I called him in Melbourne to get tips on baking gibanica.

Gibanica (Cheese Pie, Serbian recipe)

500g  fillo pastry
5  eggs
600mL  cream
~150g  fetta cheese
1  tub of cottage cheese
100-150g  grated cheddar cheese
milk/water

Mix the eggs, cheeses and cream in a big bowl.  Reserve 4-6 sheets of fillo pastry for the top and bottom layers.  Add the remaining sheets of fillo pastry into the mixture one by one, ensuring that each one is thoroughly covered (wetted) with the mixture.  If your mixture becomes too dry, add some milk and/or water.

You’ll need a large baking tray.  Grease the tray with a little oil or butter.  Place 2-3 sheets of fillo pastry (depending on thickness) on the bottom.  Pour the mixture into the try, on top of the bottom layers of fillo pastry, and spread evently.  Place the remaining 2-3 sheets of fillo pastry on top of the mixture, this is the top layer. Pour and spread a little water over this top layer until it is thoroughly wet — this is very important!  If the top layer of pastry is dry, it will burn in the oven.  Don’t worry if it seems too wet, just make sure every millimetre is wet.

Bake in the oven on high heat (I think this means 190-200 C, I think I always use something around there).  Baking can take up to an hour, but check it regularly to make sure it doesn’t burn.

I made the pie in time for my weekend dinner party guests to try some for entrée. My efforts had not turned out as nicely as Damjan’s pies. The layers were packed too densely and there was distinct pastry taste. Perhaps it was undercooked?

My guests loved it, though. ‘You’re going to win, we know it!’ They were emphatic.

After they left, I put the rest of the pie back in the oven for another 15 minutes. Better safe than sorry.

On the day of judgement, all the closet cooks came out. We were astounded by how many entries there were. Orange cakes, cup cakes, rocky road, Olly’s hangover recovery chocolate slice, mince pies, German cookies, chocolate chip cookies, dark chocolate brownies, white chocolate brownies, truffles, ginger biscuits, Christmas tree cookies… The long bench full of baked goods was beautiful to behold.

In the savoury category, I was up against sausage rolls and steak-and-ale pasties.

In the end, my strategy worked. I was declared the winner of the savouries!

Paul won the Grand Baker of them All. He must have spent all weekend cooking because he arrived on the scene with five dishes, including the most impressive iced cupcakes I have ever seen. A worthy winner!

Marazion and the Mount

On the last day of our seaside ‘mini-break’, we visited the town of Marazion for fish and chips.

The beach at Marazion

Marazion has something that I consider rare in the UK: a real sandy beach.

Marazion beach

These kids were riding on a stream that emptied in the ocean. I was bit concerned. There was a distinct smell of sewage about that stream. Either the stream was fed by geologically active groundwaters (doubtful) or it was carrying the outflow of some kind of water treatment plant (more likely).

Body surfing kids at Marazion

There must have once been volcanic activity in the area, though. There was slate and granite everywhere.

Wall at Marazion

Besides fish and chips, the other reason we came to Marazion was to see St Michael’s Mount. The Mount is its own parish with residents. The population peaked at 300 in the 1800s. Its castle is the official residence of Lord St Levan. He doesn’t live there anymore but his nephew supposedly does.

St Michael's Mount

When we arrived at the beach, we saw people being ferried to and from the island on small motorised boats.

St Michael's Mount

Some, though, came in on their own paddle power.

Canoes at Marazion beach

Around half an hour after we arrived, I spotted someone in the water, seemingly wading towards St Michael’s Mount!

Causeway to St Michael's Mount

It turns out that there is a man made causeway to the Mount, which can be crossed at mid to low tide.

Causeway to St Michael's Mount

 
Causeway to St Michael's Mount

Soon there was a highway of foot traffic between Marazion and the Mount.

Causeway to Marazion

Urban herd

Around 7:30 AM, I thought I heard the clip clop of horses. I crossed my bedroom and looked outside to see a herd of horses walking on the large road in front of my flat.

There were about thirty of them in neat rows of three. The horse in the middle of each row carried a police person, who also held the reins for the horses either side of him or her. All the horses were brown.

I watched for the minute that it took to get across the main intersection. The ‘clip clop clip clop’ is a lovely sound in the morning.

I have since seen this early morning parade of horses another two times. It seems to happen around once a month.

From Lizard to Mousehole

Winter is here, my ankles can feel it. To escape, I’ve been going through my photos from a summer weekend near Penzance in Cornwall. Yes, that’s Penzance of Pirates fame.

There were all kinds of fun names associated with our mini-break. We stayed at in a village called Lizard and visited Land’s End.

Our weekend home was Nanceglos House, which is a National Trust cottage. It was the old laundry serving Trengwainton House (home to rich folk).

Cottage implies a small and quaint farm house. Well, Nanceglos House sleeps nine people so I wouldn’t call it small!

Nanceglos House

It had its own well, which I’m guessing was very important for a laundry in the 18th century.

Well at Nanceglos House

This beautiful living room was once the main laundry area. I wonder what it was like? Were there great vats of hot water and clothes? Were the workers constantly enveloped by steam?

Laundry room of Nanceglos House

It was a very tall space with wooden roof beams.

Laundry room at Nanceglos House

I love country kitchens! They make me want to cook (and eat). Damjan made a metre long pizza with onion confit. My mouth is watering just thinking of it.

Kitchen at Nanceglos House

Here are photos from the town of Penzance.

This is Jubilee Pool, safely buffered from the ocean.

Swimming pool at Penzance

The eateries reflect the seaside location.

Meadery at Penzance

 
Penzance eatery

We went on to a fishing village Mousehole (pronounced ‘Mowzel’), hoping for fish and chips. In the end, we saved our weekend fish-and-chip quota for the next day.

Mousehole harbour

 
Mousehole harbour

 
Boats at Mousehole harbour

The Mousehole harbour was clearly an attractive swimming spot for kids. The massive wooden gates at the head of the harbour were almost closed so the water was very calm.

Boy in Mousehole harbour

 
Swimming at Mousehole harbour

These kids were watching the others swimming. If you look carefully, you can see a wire cross on the rocky island to the left. At Christmas time, Cornwall residents and visitors converge on Mousehole to see its Christmas lights. Maybe that cross is part of the annual illuminations.

Looking out from Mousehole harbour

Battery consultants

When I walk through the office, I look at the rows of people. My colleagues are spaced around long desks about two metres apart. Each one has a computer and a filing cabinet.

Often, I’ll see people chatting and having impromptu meetings around the communal tables. Occasionally, though, there is no chatter. Everyone is quietly tapping at their keyboards.

Even when it’s quiet, there’s still a lot going on. The activity is all mental.

Still, seeing rows of consultants working hard in their virtual cubicles reminds me of battery hens hard at work.

Obstacle course

It had rained and rained the night before and the puddle had returned. This puddle is an obstacle that regularly shows up to ambush me on the way to work.

Whenever I spot it, I loiter at the edge, waiting for a break in the traffic so that I can dash past it. It’s a good three second sprint so it has to be a large break in the traffic.

This time, the puddle was bigger than I had ever seen. I waited and waited. No cars paused, no break appeared.

Suddenly, there was a lull. It wasn’t much of a lull but I figured it was the only chance I would have. I went for it.

I had almost made it when a taxi cruised into the frame. Immediately, I flattened myself against the fence bordering the footpath, cringing in anticipation of the deluge.

A second passed and there was no deluge. I was surprised. The taxi had created a wave but it was going slowly so the wave was small. Grateful, I straightened my dress and returned to the middle of the footpath.

‘I’m sorry!’ came a faint call. I looked around. The taxi driver was stopped at the traffic lights and had rolled down his window.

He leant across the passenger seat and said again, ‘I’m so sorry!’ He looked upset.

‘Oh! It’s okay!’ I said as reassuringly as a I could.

It was an unexpected moment of London kindness.