Home cooking

Even as long ago as 15 years, when we were living in Paris, I noticed that food had become international.  I could get almost any British foods I could want in the large supermarket where I did my main shopping.  Equally I could find French jams, croissants, cheeses, in England.  To some extent that's disappointing because it takes away one of the elements of travelling that I enjoyed. 

As I was walking through the market in Canterbury I was delighted to see something very unusual - a stall selling Russian food.  In all honesty, the only Russian food I could say I'd heard of would be borscht, beetroot soup. I think it's Russian.

I can now add two new delights to my list, the first being pirozhki (some debate about the spelling).  This is a bread bun with a savoury filling.  In my case it had minced beef inside.  Very tasty!

Second there is medovik (or medovnik or medoviy or medianyk), although it was called Madonna cake on the stall.  It's a melt in the mouth honey cake.  Absolutely wonderful. The best thing I've tasted in a long time.  Very rich, a little goes a long way.  Sometimes.

As you can see, it's made of many layers of sponge or biscuit with a creamy filling between each layer.  I liked it so much I decided to try to find a recipe but it was easier said than done.  Here is an amalgam of recipes, and I'm making no claims at all, apart from the fact that just reading it brings back the memory of something very special.

Filling

Boil two unopened tins of sweetened condensed milk (or, if you prefer, considered milk as I found in one translation) in plenty of water for about 2 hours, making sure they are covered by water at all times. Remove from the water and ALLOW TO COOL to room temperature before opening.  It will have caramelised.

Beat 300g (10 oz) butter in a mixing bowl until soft and fluffy.  Gradually mix in most of the condensed milk but not too vigorously.

Cake

2 eggs
150g (3/4 cup) sugar
1 teaspoon bicarbonate of soda (baking soda )
3 tablespoons honey, warmed
110g stick margarine or butter
250g (2 cups) flour

Mix eggs, sugar, honey and butter in a bowl over boiling water. Stir constantly until smooth.  Add baking soda, again stirring. Remove from heat and gradually add flour to form a dough.

Divide the dough into as many layers as you want for the cake, maybe eight.  Roll them out into circles of about 1 to 2 mm thick and place on a buttered baking sheet.  Bake in an oven pre-heated to 180 C (375 F) until golden brown.

Remove from oven and trim to shape.  Keep the trimmings and make into fine crumbs.

When cool, spread cream filling on to the first layer of cake, cover with the next, and so on.  Finish off with the crumbs made from the trimmings.

Leave over night.  If you can.

Rice in crisis

Today, 15 May 2008, bloggers unite for human rights.

According to Amnesty International, human rights include the rights to education, adequate housing, food, water.

World stocks of rice have been stable for five years, people have not suddenly started eating more rice, world trade has not collapsed, and yet prices of rice have trebled this year, and with the loss of production in Myanmar, the situation can only get worse.

At the same time however, Japan has a surplus of rice amounting to 1.5 millions tons, which if released on to the market could help prices to fall. However for this to happen, the USA has to lift its objections and Japan has to decide to re-export rice imported from the US, Thailand and Vietnam.

The alternative is that Japan keeps its rice until it deteriorates, while people go hungry.

The full report can be downloaded from the Centre for Global Development

Sadly, I don't think playing the Free Rice vocabulary game will be enough.

Related articles

• How to Burst the Rice Bubble [via Zemanta]

Malawi's maize

I mentioned a while ago that the maize harvest in Malawi was going to be a record this year, on top of a record last year.

While this was good news, I did read elsewhere the question being asked of why they were still receiving aid from the US. It might seem that it’s a good idea – the money could be given to people living in such poverty they cannot afford to buy maize, even at the presumably low prices a record harvest would produce.

Regrettably, according to an article in The Observer, the aid money has to be spent buying American grain which is to be shipped to Malawi. So Malawi farmers cannot sell their produce and the price has dropped drastically, and no doubt the shipping of the grain from the States is adding to global warming. The farmers in the meantime have been struggling themselves and have been put off buying seed from the following year, and they don’t have the money for it anyway.

Then the ban on selling grain outside Malawi was lifted so that farmers could sell the excess to Zimbabwe. Again, a good idea that would support the price of maize and help Zimbabwe’s urgent need. According to The Daily Times in Malawi though, there has been little policing of the amount of maize exported which is necessary to ensure sufficient stocks are left in Malawi for the country’s own needs.

What is required, according to Mary Khozombah who works for Oxfam in Malawi, is empowerment of local farmers.

People who want to help Malawi need to support agriculture by educating farmers, improving irrigation, helping people find other forms of income. We need empowerment so our farmers can export. Ask us! We might come up with good ideas.

Food aid should be the last resort, in an emergency - and even then it should be bought locally if possible.

Celebrate the difference

This is an idea copied from Charlotte’s Web, I have to admit, but it seems appropriate as I return to England and find things, well, different.


First of all the ways I don’t feel British:

I keep trying to shake hands with everyone I meet, if not kiss them. Nor do I stress about how many times to kiss – 2, 3 or 4?

I’m dismayed by infrequent refuse collections in the UK.

I don’t expect milk in my coffee.
We invariably say “bouchon” when we mean traffic jam. Other standards are déchetterie and mairie. Why we should have picked on those in particular I really can’t say.

We’re very surprised not to be offered bread with a meal.

We don’t tip unless service is exceptional and then only a little (15% included is already enough). We love the range of cheeses.


But I am not French because

I observe speed limits, red lights, and I don’t overtake on blind corners.

I don’t like andouillette. I have tried it and I will never, ever, do so again.

I do like mint sauce with roast lamb. I even grow mint in the garden, to the consternation of everyone.

I haven’t dyed my hair any of the varying shades of red favoured by “ladies of a certain age”.

I haven’t even attempted to lose weight by applying any of the creams so widely displayed in pharmacists’ windows.

I’m surprised, shocked even, when the doctor prescribes multiple and expensive medicines.

I don’t think French cooking is the best in the world.


When we used to visit France on holiday, many years ago, part of the enjoyment was looking at and buying the very different goods on sale in shops. Nowadays the range available in all countries has diversified so much that it is hard, if not impossible, to find anything unique. A shame I feel.

The very first time we lived in France, within my first few weeks, I was invited to lunch at the house of an English woman, married to a French man, who had lived there 15 years or so. Excellent I thought, I’ll see at first hand what French people eat at home. I arrived and was told we were having a special treat! How disappointed I was to find that they had been out especially to buy very British ingredients for a very British menu. It turned out to be pork pie with Branston pickle!

It wasn’t until I had been there some time that I realised the craving you get for some sort of reminder of “home”, even if it wasn’t something you would normally want. Something like the comfort of nursery food. I always used to make sure I had a supply of golden syrup and porridge oats, not, I have to say, normal everyday food for us, but I felt they needed to be on hand, just in case of emergencies.

Eating out

We were invited by good friends to be their guests for dinner at a small bar in the country. We had heard them speak about it often enough so we were delighted. We had to phone in advance to sort out a menu because there would be no choice. Our friends drove: we would never have found the way. This was deep in rural France.

We arrived at a somewhat (very) shabby building. No sign there was a restaurant inside, but a Peleforth sign indicated the bar. Twenty or so rusting mouli-legumes were hanging high in the porch, with a light bulb in each handle. They weren’t lit.

It was like walking into another world, another century even. Two men of indeterminate age were leaning on the bar in the faded blue overalls you see everywhere in the countryside. They barely acknowledged our presence. A log fire burned at the other end of the room. The tables and chairs were Formica or something similar. The draught excluder round the window was sticky tape, or perhaps it was holding the window shut. I would have turned around and walked out if we had happened upon the place.

The food however was divine. Good, simple, French country cooking. The local food.

Which brings me to my point. Our younger son and his partner have been in India for the last few weeks. They phoned us from a restaurant, I can’t remember why, something to do with the time difference. Our whole family loves Indian food (most food really) so we asked what they were eating.

Spaghetti bolognaise.

OK …………. fine.

To be fair, I do remember doing something similar when I couldn’t face another mussel in Brussels.