She Gathers No Moss

A Heated Moment

Posted on 5 April 2013 by sheg4184

Have you ever seen one of these? They come in a variety of colours, the most common of which are orange and red, but yellow and purple, pink, white and brown [chocolate!] are also available. Sitting innocently on the supermarket shelf near the bell peppers, I assumed, in my ignorance, that they were dwarf capsicum, small enough to sit in the palm of my hand. Nothing on the packaging left me any the wiser, so I tossed them into the shopping trolley to jazz up our stir fry with a little colour.

As I sliced up the onions and marinated the beef, some inner voice must have warned me to limit the number of orange habaneros I added. Nonetheless, the effect was scary. According to Wikipedia the habanero chilli is one of the most intensely hot species of chilli peppers in the Capsicum genus.

No kidding!

Originating in northern South America, chilli is the Aztec name for the fruit of the Capsicum annuum, and it has been an important condiment in Mexico for thousands of years. Spanish conquistadores noted that the locals ate it both raw and cooked – stewed, boiled or roasted – and that the Peruvians were so fond of it, they would eat nothing without it. The chilli travelled east to the Caribbean with the South American Indians. Columbus, heading west in search of spices, discovered it in the East Indies, and named it pimiento: pepper. Despite this misnomer, Columbus successfully introduced this hot little fruit to Spain. Since then, it has travelled the world with saucy verve, to land up in Manila in my stir fry.

Ripe habanero is 2–6 centimeters (1–2½ in) long. Today, the crop is widely cultivated near its origins, on the Yucatán Peninsula in Mexico, but the name habanero comes from its jaunt to La Habana (Havana) in Cuba.

While researching this bawdy little plant, I discovered there is even a scale for measuring the ‘hotness’ or pungency (spicy heat) of chilli peppers. Scoville heat units indicate the amount of capsaicin present, a chemical compound that stimulates chemoreceptor nerve endings in the skin, especially in the mucous membranes. Thus, a sweet pepper or bell pepper, containing no capsaicin at all, has a Scoville rating of zero, while habaneros will rate between 200,000 and 300,000 Scoville units. A jalapeno is a mere 3,500-8,000 units. While the results are subjective, I can only assume from this rating that the habanero is very, very, very, very hot!

So let me warn you now, if you haven’t already discovered it, that despite the appealing colour, those orange habaneros are frighteningly fiery, and should be labeled with skull and cross bones. After throwing a handful into the wok, I misguidedly rubbed my eyes. I thought my eyeballs were going to ignite. I have never known such pain. The skin around my eyes and cheeks turned flaming red, my eyeballs were bloodshot and bulging. My sympathetic son said I looked like a Vampire, but he only caught a glimpse before I had my face under the cold tap. In despair at killing the pain, I eventually resorted to filling the sink and immersing my entire face beneath the water… for about half an hour.

I have since learned that milk is also a good cure if applied gently to the eyes. It certainly worked on our mouths. Having removed every last skerrick of orange chilli (dwarf capsicums indeed!) from the wok, we discovered that it had nonetheless spiced up the stir fry in no uncertain terms. While our son emptied a carton of milk down his throat, I was scooping tablespoons of yoghurt into my mouth. My One & Only, the brave soul, loved it.

Interestingly, once the pain cleared, I felt I could actually see better than before, but that may have simply been the relief of not going blind. However, my Filipina helper, Phoebe, tells me that a dash of chilli is renowned for clearing the vision, so I now have the proof of a little piece of Filipino folklore.

For a visual, you should watch this You Tube clip someone posted, entitled “Why You Should Never Ever Eat A Habanero Pepper.” Apparently not a clip my son showed his mate before he dared him to eat one…

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=L8ip5oGlMfU

And be wary. A little habanero goes a very long way!

Posted in Food & Wine, Philippines | Tagged capsicum, chilli, Columbus, habanero, hot, South America | Comments Off

Snow & Ice in Manila…

Posted on 1 April 2013 by sheg4184

The temperature is rising in Manila as summer looms, but in the newly renovated New World Hotel in Makati it was snowing in March!

The annual Ball is ANZA’s largest event, and this year it had a new location. No longer did we have to pack a picnic to travel through Saturday night traffic to Manila Bay, last night it was on our doorstep, and what a magical, wonderful night it was!

The Ice Ball inspired a night of glitz and glamour, as the ladies frosted themselves in diamonds, real and ‘virtual’ – Market Market has a great range of $10 diamond tiaras – and the men looked suave in penguin suits and barongs. We arrived at the top of the curved marble staircase to be greeted by members of the Ball committee and a bright green ‘Ice’ cocktail. The mezzanine was soon choc-a-block with glittering guests and it looked like a night at the Oscars. Old friends were greeted with enthusiasm, new friends were made in a moment, and the atmosphere was electric.

At the far end of the room was a winter scene of snowy fir trees and sparkling icicles, where couples posed for formal photographs. Santa’s elves were tinkling about in tights and bells, while canapés and champagne followed in their wake. “All we need now is snow!” one new friend exclaimed.

When dinner was announced and the doors opened into the ballroom, there were audible gasps and cries of delight, as we crossed the threshold and two of Santa’s helpers sprinkled snowflakes over our heads. I hope there are photos to illustrate the beauty of that ballroom, because I am not sure I have the words to describe the Winter Fairyland that met our eyes. Projections of giant snowflakes danced on the walls, while snow drifted gently down huge screens at the front of the room. The table decorations of white branches bedecked in large crystal icicles were lovely, and the icy mist in the air was a final, scene-setting touch.

Full marks, gold stars and whatever medals we can designate go to our talented Ball Committee from ANZA and ANZCham who worked like Trojans to create a truly spectacular setting that simply insisted we all have a fabulous evening.

The event was ably MC’d by past President Bonnie Beach and our own ANZA magazine editor Kathryn Foster, who took on the boisterous crowd in elf costumes to promote raffle prizes and the silent auction aimed at raising money for Bahay Tuluyan. Founded in 1987, Bahay Tuluyan is a non-government organization that provides a variety of programs and services aimed at helping the street kids in the Malate area of Manila. Money raised at the Ball will be used to help develop their facilities.

The local band from last year’s Ball, ‘Authority,’ returned this year and really hit the right note with a wonderful array of dance music, and the dance floor filled beyond capacity to every set, moments after the band started playing. Opening with Midnight Oil was definitely a good call!

And the food – often a tad dubious when catering such large events – was memorable for its excellence. A simple cream of asparagus soup was followed by a choice of barramundi flown in specially from Australia, served with cauliflower puree and lemon and sage beurre sauce, or the most perfectly tender beef (Australian, of course!) that I have eaten in a long time. Unfortunately I was too busy dancing to give the dessert more than a cursory glance before the waiting staff whisked it away, but I hear the trio of mini pavlova, chocolate and passionfruit mousse and vanilla ice cream was scrumptious.

The wines were also well received: a Spy Valley Sauvignon Blanc and a very tasty Woodstock Shiraz/Cabernet and there was also a bar for the spiritually inclined – vodka, gin and rum – so everyone was happy. And apparently the consumption was record-breaking.

I’m not sure what that says about us, ladies and gentlemen, but without a doubt it made for the best party of the year. Thanks ANZA!

*As published in the March/April issue of the ANZA magazine.

Posted in Food & Wine, Lifestyle, Philippines | Tagged ANZA, Authority, Ice Ball, manila, New World Hotel | Comments Off

Where is home?

Posted on 28 March 2013 by sheg4184

Home is a place to live: a place of retreat, rest, comfort, refuge. It can be the house or the town or the country in which we grew up or feel we belong. Some cultures include nomadic people whose homes are mobile, and home can simply refer to a mental or emotional place of peace.

Cervantes said ‘Wouldn’t it be better to stay peacefully at home, and not roam about the world seeking better bread than is made of wheat…?’ Yet for almost twenty five years, we have ignored his unimaginative advice and roamed like gypsies around the globe. Nomad, gypsy, footloose, peripatetic, traveller, transient, drifter, wanderlust: all words relating to the migratory habits of the expatriate.

So where is home? Finding an answer is the perennial problem of any expatriate. I have been asked that question so many times, I should have an answer down pat, yet still I stare, glazed and witless, like a stunned mullet, or a rabbit in headlights. Of course I know where I was born and spent a large part of my childhood, but is that still what I call home?

Whenever you move houses or countries, home is probably what you feel you are leaving behind. And for the time you spend in no-man’s land you may find yourself gravitating back to the city of your birth, in need of assuring yourself that you have roots somewhere.

Resettlement varies depending on the new location, and your age. As you get older, your sense of adventure may not be flagging exactly, but your patience with all the palaver of setting up home again in a foreign country has inevitably taken a beating. For the first few months you will find yourself alternately up to your neck in unpacking and organizing the future, while looking ever backwards to old haunts, familiar faces, familiar tastes. You ring your mother, best friend or sister almost daily, and wonder if you will ever find new friends as good as the last batch.

The last boxes unpacked, you head anxiously out to join social clubs and PTAs, sports clubs or language classes. And suddenly you discover you have ten new names in your cell phone, and you can mostly march them to their faces. You are settling in and finding your feet. You know where to find the local butcher, the baker and the candlestick maker. Your parents are planning their first visit, and you are starting to feel confident that all will be well.

The final lynch pin is the first trip back to base. Three or four weeks is always fun, but never a holiday, as you work through the long list of friends and family you absolutely must see at least once. Lunches and dinners are all accounted for, and in the final days you find yourselves squeezing in breakfasts or afternoon teas until you are fit to burst.

And quite suddenly you feel it’s time to go home. And home is the place, you realize, where you felt new and nervous only a few weeks before. Yet now you want your own bed, your own kitchen, your kids and your partner all under the same roof. And the penny drops. Home is here, at your place, wherever your partner and your pillow is… for now!

* As published in the April issue of the ANZA magazine.

Posted in Lifestyle | Tagged Cervantes, expatriate, gypsy, Home, nomadic | 3 Comments

A Not-So Gracious Tea

Posted on 24 March 2013 by sheg4184

“Its orient tinge, like spring-time morn,
Or baby-buttercups newly-born;
Its balmy perfume, delicate pulp,
One longs to swallow it all at a gulp,
Sure man had ne’er such gifts or theme
As your melt-in-mouthy Devonshire cream.”

An eulogy on a can of cream sent from a lady in Exeter. (extract)
—William Barry Peacock, Manchester, 1853

As you are no doubt aware by now, I love my afternoon tea: the traditional formality; the concept of a tea party rather than ‘just a cuppa’; the dainty cakes and lady-like sandwiches; the sheer self-indulgence. As it was my birthday, I felt that a little self-indulgence should be the flavour of the day. It was also the perfect excuse to catch up with some long lost friends. So imagine my delight to find our own Rockwell restaurant Jessie’s actually did afternoon tea with cucumber sandwiches, scones and clotted cream.

I booked for eight people a week before the event and waited in excited anticipation. My half-serious suggestion of hats and gloves was largely ignored, but I wore my hat and one friend donned a tiara, and the mood was set.

Jessie’s restaurant is very attractive and our round table overlooked the pool, with a beautiful posy of flowers in the centre. (Have you noticed how posies have faded from the floral fashion scene? I miss them, so I was extremely chuffed with this softly pink and pretty arrangement.)

It all went a bit downhill from there. Usually I prefer not to write about places that I can’t be enthusiastic about from some angle, but my disappointment in Jessie’s is such that I’m not keeping it to myself this time. Normally a reputable dining spot, I was possibly overly optimistic. We haven’t eaten there a lot, but we have always been satisfied with the variety of the menu, the quality of the food, the service and the value.

Sadly, I cannot say this about our afternoon tea. Our waiter was almost sullen and not very helpful. We were obviously a nuisance. Despite being only four when we walked in, we had to deter him from throwing the afternoon tea on the table immediately. When it came, perhaps half an hour later, the lovely sandwich fillings (cucumber, salmon, egg) were spoiled by dried white bread left sitting out too long. And the scones and clotted cream verged on disastrous, as the scones crumbled to pieces at the touch of a knife. (The crumbs tasted good, but needed a spoon to be eaten.)

The clotted cream was thin and sour. We sent it back. The manageress assured us it had been freshly made that morning. I disagreed, and told her it was ‘off’. Apparently that sourness is intentional and it is what happens when you mix fresh cream with sour cream and lemon juice!?! I suspect they were thinking of crème fraiche rather than that gloriously rich, golden, eat-with-a-spoon, Cornish or Devonshire cream that adds inches to your thighs at a single glance. We swapped it for some ordinary thickened cream and poured the sparkling rosé. Aah… a good note at last. And the top layer of our tea tray was filled with beautifully dainty cakes, amuse bouche of fresh, creamy sweetness that I am happy to say were delectable.

In the meantime, our ‘jolly’ waiter hovered right behind us all afternoon, looking as sour as the cream. I have never come so close to yelling publicly in my life, but I thought it best to keep my mouth shut and attempt to ignore him rather than spoil everyone’s afternoon by causing embarrassment in the dining room. Friends helped by keeping the bubbles coming, and in the end we had a giggly, girly and decidedly inebriated afternoon. I refrained from snapping at the waiter – but I would like him to know, now that I have cooled down, that he needs to learn a few social graces and some simple rules of waiting etiquette.

I would also like to say that when I popped in the next day to speak with the manager, she was very gracious when I expressed my disappointment and embarrassment at the afternoon’s fare – I had, after all, arranged a party for my friends that proved less than satisfactory. It was disappointing, because the menu had real potential. The atmosphere was relaxing (excepting our one unfortunate waiter), and the setting was very attractive. Surprisingly, I think I would go again, but not before I have passed on my mother’s recipe for scones and a description of clotted cream.

Posted in Food & Wine, Philippines | Tagged afternoon tea, clotted cream, cucumber sandwiches, Jessie's, scones | Comments Off

Freedom

Posted on 20 March 2013 by sheg4184

As our teenage sons baulk at the various house rules we attempt to enforce, I grapple with the idea of them emerging into a world without parental control, and I often find myself contemplating the parenting of today compared with the world we grew up in thirty-odd years ago. Living in a vast Asian city, three quarters of the way up a fifty storey high rise is a far cry from my own youth in a small English county town and a small Australian city on the edge of a desert. In a world where every teenager is armed to the teeth with computers and cellphones, iPods and iPads and parents get nervous when their kids fail to return text messages in a split second, I remember back to my own childhood, when, once we were out of earshot, our freedom was absolute and our parents wouldn’t know where we were from dawn till dusk. I remember my own childhood, without texting, email or Facebook, running wild…

In the days before parents wrapped their kids in cotton wool and bound them up in text messages, we lived in the pine woods that snuggled around the cul-de-sac at the end of our street, aptly named Pinewood Avenue. Here we spent our weekends and our holidays, racing bikes, building camps amongst the bracken or under the rhododendrons and waging war against the boys.

In the winter, when the tracks were muddy and the bracken was dead and soggy, we retreated to the street, but for the rest of the year, the woods were our playground, our haven from parental supervision, aggravating younger siblings, and bossy older ones, where we could lose ourselves in imaginary games for hours on end.

Here we forced our way under the gloomy-green leaves of the lowering rhododendron bushes, creating secret passages and palaces, or we built nests in the bracken, with its dusty, musty, fresh compost smell that haunts me still, the scented stitches in the quilt of childhood memories.

“Mum, we’re going to the woods,” we’d yell over our shoulders as we raced down the drive on our bikes, tearing wildly away before anyone thought to stop us, barreling into the woods and slipping through the trees to the sweet shop to buy ‘four-for-a-penny’ with the tuppence we had smuggled from our mother’s purse, and then pedal furiously back to our latest camp, giggling and whispering, to share secrets and lollies in the damp, earthy shade beneath the rhododendrons.

The sense of freedom from time and the independence from adult rules seems superfluous now we are adults ourselves, but then – o! – the joy of taking charge of our own lives, if only for an afternoon. Burrowing deep down into the bracken like baby deer, we watched the sunlight flit and flicker mysteriously through the pine needles, casting strange shadows of pirates and fairies and other Peter Pan creations.

Then, growing bored, we would hear the siren call of swings and see-saws and the forbidden mill pond from across the busy main road at the bottom of the woods, and we would dash, shrieking, through the traffic, knowing our parents would scalp us if they knew…

…in the days before parents wrapped their kids in cotton wool and bound them tight with text messages, we lived in the woods, wild and free.

Posted in Biography, Lifestyle | Tagged cell phones, childhood, emails, Facebook, freedom, teenagers | Comments Off

A Special Anniversary Dinner

Posted on 16 March 2013 by sheg4184

I really enjoy cooking, but I prefer it if the recipes are relatively simple and there is room to manoeuvre: ‘oops, I don’t have zucchini, what else is in the fridge?’ that sort of thing. And I really enjoy eating out. I am not ‘passionate’ about it (in fact I am over the word passionate – it is over-used and misunderstood), but I enjoy good food as an accompaniment to good company and good wine. A meal should be nurturing, a point in time and place to unite friends, family and even strangers. For me, although the food obviously plays a major role at any meal, it should not be a monologue, but a conversation.

Thus a good restaurant review, to me, is one which covers more than just the meal eaten. Of course it talks about the food, but it does not necessarily analyze it mouthful by dreaded mouthful. I like restaurant critiques that don’t focus so intently on the contents of plate and palate that the vital essence is lost: the conversation; the location; the atmosphere; the service; the décor… all those components that combine to make a wonderful, ordinary or indifferent dining experience.

So I don’t intend to get passionate about cooking techniques, or list the ingredients in every dish, but will attempt to paint a picture. Is the company entertaining or enervating? Is the cutlery comfortably heavy in my hand? Is the table setting aesthetically pleasing: not too fussy, not too bare? Are the waiters distant or over-zealous? Is the background noise drowning out any chance of conversation, as each diner is forced to bellow louder to overcome the dreadful acoustics and the noisy people at the next table? Is the temperature OK, or am I shivering for want of a warm coat or sweltering for want of air conditioning? Is the lighting too dim to read the menu by, or so glaring you need sunglasses?

Last night I found the perfect place for an anniversary dinner with my One & Only (now I am passionate about him) where all those things came together beautifully. We had dressed up for the occasion (our anniversary), so the lights on the exterior staircase made us feel as if we were attending an awards night, and set the mood for something special. We were greeted at the door by a welcoming waiter who instantly recognized my name and ushered us to our table. Our drinks were ordered and arrived in a moment – and isn’t it amazing how much better a Gin & Tonic tastes when it arrives almost as you thought of it and not twenty minutes later? From that moment we spent the evening being thoroughly spoilt by a team of prompt, attentive and informed waiters, perhaps a little over-enthusiastic with the bread basket, but like Mary Poppins, practically perfect.

The dining room was lovely: neither too big that it gets that canteen feeling, nor too small that you feel as if you are on display, like the centerpiece in a cake shop. The interior design was discreetly elegant, simple and subdued. Conversations constituted a gentle background hum, and the table setting did not get in the way of holding hands.

And the menu – yes of course I am going to talk about the food – was beautifully presented and descriptively written: a predominantly European influence with a satisfying attention to detail. There was a good variety of choices, but not too many (I always get worried about the chefs coping with too extensive a menu), such that we had several minutes debating what we would eat (our unwritten rule that we can never order the same thing means it takes some time to share out favoured dishes). The waiters could answer our queries, and we had time to talk without starting to tap our fingers before the first course arrived. O, and there was that small serving dish of two dainty quiches to whet our appetites and introduce us to the excellence of the chef while we waited.

The food was fabulous – not necessarily an appropriate adjective for a restaurant review, but what the hell, it was! It was lovingly presented without fussiness or excessive decoration, and it tasted heavenly. My mouth is watering at the mere memory.

Salmon gravadlax from Tasmania on a warm, buckwheat blini with sour cream, flavoured gently with mustard and dill that made me reluctant to swallow each mouthful, wanting keep it on my tongue a moment longer. I longed for a glass of Claire Valley Riesling to go with it, but as most of the dinner preferred red wine, we tossed up between a lighter New Zealand Pinot and a full-bodied South Australian Shiraz, and picked the later. It was reasonably expensive, in our book, but we were in the mood to splurge.

The pappardelle served with slow braised duck ragout, shaved fennel, rocket and parmesan delighted my One & Only with the finer-than-usual pasta ribbons that didn’t smother the succulent flavours of the sauce.

Then it was my turn for duck for the main course. Duck is a popular item here: we tossed up between ‘three things with duck’ (I loved that one just for the turn of phrase) a roast duck leg served in an orange jus, and a roast duck breast with juniper berries, roasted pears and parsnips, and a cranberry jus. As an Aussie I prefer most of my meat well cooked, so the chef very sweetly allowed me to return my plate, and subtly removed the overt pinkness of the duck breast. It also came back a lot hotter which I really appreciated. I would have preferred the parsnips a little less crunchy, but the flavour of the roast pears added that delicate sweetness which goes so well with a gamier meat.

The One & Only chose veal cheeks served with bacon colcannon (a blast from an Irish past), that caused some discussion. Expecting that pale, milky, delicately cooked veal so popular in Italy, we were surprised to find it apparently slow cooked to the taste and texture of osso buco or the lamb that falls from the shank with a touch. Whatever our expectations, we loved it, and the plates were licked clean… well, almost.

We don’t usually have dessert, but the One & Only loves an affogato, and the fun of putting together coffee, almond liqueur and icecream at the table, and I can never resist a panacotta. This one sounded a little out of the ordinary: flavoured with tonka beans, and accompanied by strawberries and lavender shortbread. Actually I’m pretty sure they were raspberries, which I prefer anyway, and the tonka bean and lavender flavours were so light I think I missed them, but the pannacotta went down silky smooth and richly creamy.

A mouth-watering meal, excellent service and the best of company, with whom neither conversation nor wine glasses ever ran dry… what can I say, except a heartfelt thank you to all the staff at Sala Dining for making our anniversary a really special evening. And to Chef Colin McKay for providing consistently good restaurants in Makati, you have my eternal gratitiude!

Posted in Food & Wine, Philippines | Tagged affogato, Chef Colin McKay, gravadlax, Makati, pappardelle, Sala Dining, The Philippines | 2 Comments

Driving: More Fun in the Philippines!

Posted on 10 March 2013 by sheg4184

Recently we have started teaching our older son to drive. In Manila. I haven’t actively dissuaded him from learning to drive, but nor have I actively encouraged him. There are so few safe places to get him used to driving a car, and our car is a tank. Makati has no large car parks, empty on a Sunday, in which to practice changing gears, braking, reversing, or parallel parking, without the fear of wiping out the neighbour’s car. And EDSA is notoriously nerve racking – even our driver will avoid it if he can, and I only risk it on a Sunday or public holiday – even then I have been known to go head to head with a concrete shoulder while being chased down by a lunatic bus driver. However, Number One Son is nearly eighteen and will be off into the big wide world in a year, so he will need a driving license sooner rather than later.

So when he finally bit the bullet and acquired a driving permit, we supported him. After all, if we were in Australia, he would have been driving for 18 months. We have promised to trade in The Tank a.s.a.p. – I hate driving it too – but in the meantime he is getting his bearings and learning the rules of the road.He made us laugh somewhat nervously, when he brought home the book of road rules. “Will they want the Aussie answer or the Filipino one?” he asked facetiously, when being tested on multiple choice questions. It wasn’t always obvious.

The road sign DO NOT ENTER is:

a warning sign
a regulatory sign
a guide sign

The tips to Filipinos driving in Australia were also a tad worrying:

Wear seat belts both in front and rear of car. (Well we are used to the taxis here, with belts but no fasteners)
Drive no faster than speed limits allow (How unimaginative!)
Never drink and drive. Australian authorities take this very seriously. (Mmmmm…)
Never use mobile phones when driving. (As if we would!)

And in Hong Kong:

Only overtake on the right. (Well undertaking is perfectly valid in the Philippines)
Vehicles entering main road from minor road must give way to oncoming traffic (!!!!)
Vehicles making right turns must give way to oncoming traffic (again… !!!!!)

I am letting my sons learn to drive in a country where road rules are merely a suggestion. In a country where ‘No u-turn’ means ‘Please make a u-turn here like everyone else’; where a red light means proceed if you can safely dodge the trucks; where a slip road means slipping slowly into the traffic on the main road in front of a bus travelling 80km an hour; where a wobbly line means ‘drive like this’; where solid lines on the road are simply to test how many lanes in one direction you can get away with, and where buses have no rules at all, but work on the principle that ‘I-am-so-much-bigger-than-you-it’s-not-worth-arguing!’

Ah well, if they can drive here, they can drive anywhere, and they will have learned to survive some manic situations. As long as they understand that ‘suggestions’ in the Philippines are hard, fine-able facts in Australia! But let’s face it, driving is more fun in the Philippines!

Posted in Lifestyle, Local Culture, Philippines | Tagged driving, manila, street signs | Comments Off

Israeli Cuisine: Exotic Simplicity

Posted on 6 March 2013 by sheg4184

Down a narrow residential street behind Rockwell is an exciting new restaurant, Atelier 317. Opened in November 2012 it is the brainchild of local chef and newly-wed, Stephanie Zubiri-Crespi. The menu is a wonderful potpourri of all her travels and her favourite dishes from the various places she has visited. Stephanie says she does not want to be pinned down to any particular cuisine, but there is a noticeable Mediterranean influence on the menu. So it seemed only fitting that when Stephanie was christening The Gallery, a new space above the restaurant, she would arrange an Israeli cooking demonstration to celebrate.

Described as a chameleon space, the Gallery has a fully operational kitchen and a cosy dining area for up to sixteen people. You can hire this versatile space for private dinners, photo shoots or cooking demos. There are also plans afoot to use it as an art gallery. Last week Stephanie joined forces with the Israeli Embassy to host the visit of two Israeli celebrity chefs, Ruthie Russo and Michal Ansky, for an intimate introduction to Israeli cuisine.

Ruthie & Michal certainly do not look like the archetypal cliché of the family cook, but more like two tall, super-slim models in aprons. Ruthie joked that they were planning a cookery show together: Two Thin Women Eat!

Ruthie is a reputable newspaper food columnist in Israel and has been a judge on Israel’s Iron Chef. Her mother, Nira Rousso, has been described as Israel’s answer to Julia Childs and was – hardly surprisingly – Ruthie’s inspiration to cook.

Israel is a nation of immigrants, a cultural melting pot that is reflected in its cuisine, which consists of influences from the Mediterranean, Eastern Europe, Arabia and North African. Talking to ‘The Philippine Star,’ Ruthie is quoted as saying that its immigrant influences make Israeli food very dynamic, while Michal adds that the lack of a uniform culinary tradition makes it a very easy cuisine to play around with.

In 2007, Michal founded the first Farmers Market in Tel Aviv , which brings fresh produce directly from the farmer to the consumer, and followed up in 2010 with the first indoor market in Tel Aviv. Since then she has been a judge on Israel’s Master Chef and a guest on Gordon Ramsay’s American version. She told me her inspiration for cooking also came from her mother, Sherry Ansky, a renowned food writer and columnist in Israel for 35 years. Her grandmother, too, was apparently a strong influence. When Michal’s first cookbook, Food from Home, was published in January this year, she dedicated it to both women. Michal also has a Masters in Gastronomy acquired in Italy, which she described as a very decadent course.

Our small group gathered around the kitchen bench where Ruthie demonstrated how to create a simple and moreish appetizer – roasted eggplant served over tahini with tomato and green chili – while Michal concocted the main course: a Shawarma salad. Dessert was a delectable yoghurt icecream with spiced honey.

Shawarma is traditionally street food similar to Turkish Doner Kebab or Greek Yiros, and most commonly made from lamb. Michal has created a variation on this theme, a light, fresh meal, using chicken instead of lamb, a trend that became popular in Israel in the 1990s. The chicken pieces are marinated in olive oil and Shawarma seasoning (cumin, paprika and turmeric) and refrigerated, before frying. We watched it frying for hours. We grew old watching that chicken fry. “Chicken should be cooked unti it’s dead!” Michal responded to our queries. When it was thoroughly dead, Michal removed the chicken from the pan and cut it into thin ‘shwarma’ slices.

A large bowl of cooked white rice was then mixed with red onion that had marinated in lemon juice. Michal added hot green pepper and fresh cilantro, but apparently any favourite herb will do.

TIP: tear cilantro, never cut, and use stems for flavour, sea salt adds crunch, and a dash of evoo.

Another tip for wannabe chefs: Michal told us that canola oil, despite marketing to the contrary, is no better or healthier than any other oil. Sunflower, soya, corn, and grapeseed are all better than canola, she claimed, but her true love is olive oil, which she uses all the time.

Piling the rice mixture onto a plate, Michal topped it with chicken pieces before dressing it in tahini, a sesame seed paste. Tahini is like tomato ketchup in the States: the most commonly used condiment in Israel, that is served with everything! The Israeli palate is so sensitive to the taste and texture of tahini, Michal (the font of all culinary wisdom) joked, they have 50 different words for it, as the Eskimos have 50 different words for snow!

Ruthie introduced us to a deep purple egg-shaped eggplant (hence the name, I guess), a corpulent version of the slim-line Filipino variety. Apparently it is also sweeter, fleshier, and has less seeds than Filipino eggplant, but the ladies agreed that the latter can also work for the recipe. Choose the lightest one, Ruthie advised, as the weight indicates more meat, the opposite to choosing citrus fruits where lightness indicates it is too dry.

She then proceeded to roast the eggplant directly on the gas flame, after scoring the skin so it would not explode. This would give it that curiously smoky flavour. When, like the chicken, the eggplant has been thoroughly assassinated, any remaining liquid was drained through a sieve. In the meantime, Ruthie mixed her tahini with water to thin it out, before pouring a pool of the sesame sauce onto a platter. The eggplant, looking mushy and somewhat singed, was laid on top of the tahini, garnished with grated green chili and tomato seeds, and seasoned with sea salt and olive oil. Healthy and simple, this “deconstructed babaganoush” as someone described it, was simply incredible, the heavy, smoky flavour balanced nicely by the ubiquitous tahini.

For the dessert, you need to be prepared early. High fat yoghurt must be drained through cheesecloth and left overnight, for a full cream effect. A dash of sugar reduces the tangy, sour flavour. Once in the freezer, the yoghurt needs to be stirred regularly. ‘Keep stirring,’ Michal told us, ‘to fight the ice crystals, and to maintain a smooth texture. The honey is placed in a small saucepan, heated, and seasoned with whole spices: cloves, star anise, nutmeg, cardamom, cinnamon sticks and dried tonka pepper. These can then be removed before pouring the spiced honey over the ice cream. Tonka pepper? I didn’t know it either. Apparently it’s very popular in Israel: the tonka bean is a dry chilli pepper with vanilla after-taste and will add a kick to the mixture.

Stephanie provided several wonderful dishes from her own menu to add to the feast, and it was a shame that everyone had other appointments. ‘Eat-and-run’ seemed a shabby way to treat such an exceptional meal. Nonetheless, I think I can say honestly that we enjoyed every last mouthful!

* with thanks to the Israeli Embassy for the photo of Ruthie & Michal

Posted in Food & Wine, Israel, Philippines | Tagged Atelier 317, Michal Ansky, Ruthie Russo, Stephanie Zubiri-Crespi, tahini | 1 Comment

To Taal with TourFlair

Posted on 2 March 2013 by sheg4184

Taal: not just a volcano and a lake, but also a UNESCO heritage town in Calabarzon, overlooking Balayan Bay, about two hours south of Manila. Recently, I went on a fascinating expedition to Taal with food safari TourFlair.

The drive took us past Mount Makiling, a legendary mountain in Laguna, apparently ideal for hiking. Mount Makiling is an inactive volcano, thickly forested and rising to 3,576 feet. The mountain was named for Maria Makiling, a mythical creature, ‘half nymph, half sylph, born under the moonbeams of Filipinas’.

Eventually, after a couple of wrong turns (I think we should invest in a GPS next time!) we arrived outside the Basilica of St Martin of Tours. Several small children greeted us with homemade lumps of candle for sale, while their elders pressed us with trays of nutty toffee biscuits. Dodging the vendors and the heat, we escaped into the cool cavern of the cathedral.

This grey stone basilica, like Manila Cathedral, has a checkered history. Originally built on the edge of Lake Taal in 1575, the town and the church were abandoned in 1754 when Taal volcano erupted. Both were rebuilt further south, on a hill overlooking Balayan Bay. Although safe from the volcano, the church was nonetheless destroyed by an earthquake almost a century later. In 1856 it was once again resurrected by architect Luciano Olivero and consecrated in 1865. It has recently been beautifully restored, the walls and ceilings repainted in the original trompe l’oeil painting style that appears three dimensional. The Basilica de San Martin de Tours is reputedly the largest church in Asia, and its tabernacle is made of silver, a unique feature in the Philippines.

We were also invited to wander through the priests house, reached through a doorway in the south nave. What I remember most clearly is a huge open space and the widest, shiniest wooden floorboards I have ever seen. The view overlooking the square and the town to the sea was rather spectacular too. An old, deep water tank, open to the skies to collect the rain, has been cleaned out to create a home for a large collection of ornamental koi, framed by ferns growing from the walls.

Taal was also home to many revolutionary heroes such as the Agoncillo family. Marcella Agonicillo is now known as the ‘mother of the Philippine flag’. She was the principal seamstress to work on the first official Filipino flag, at the personal request from General Aguinaldo. Her bronze statue stands in the garden beside her eighteenth century ancestral home. It is a museum, a gracious old Spanish villa decorated with heavy antique furniture. Like the priests house, the floor boards – no longer cut this broadly – have been polished to a high shine over the centuries. We heaved ourselves up the steep, wooden staircase and admired the wide windows, framed with capiz shutters. Capiz shells are common in the Philippines and were chosen to create tiny window panes during the Spanish Colonial period. Cheaper than glass, capiz had the added bonus of allowing in the light while having the strength to withstand typhoons.

In a neighbouring colonial home we were offered welcome drinks before joining Sau de Rosario, TourFlair’s Signature Chef, on the back terrace overlooking the clear green river – a far cry from the Pasig! Here Sau had arranged a makeshift kitchen for a quick cooking demonstration. The ingredients had been prepared earlier, and were laid out on a large wooden table clothed in lengths of banana leaf. Armed with only a one ring cooker and a blender, we watched Sau whip up a delicious smoked fish pâté in moments. In case you would like to try this simple hors d’oeuvre, here is Sau’s recipe:

Cooking the Spanish (red) onion first, he then tossed in a handful of capers and added a couple of small bowls of smoked fish, a can of coconut cream and a sprinkling of dill. He stirred this over the heat only briefly – the fish is already cooked, so don’t overdo it, he told us –then spooned the mixture into the blender and reduced it to a creamy paste. It can then be poured into a bowl and refrigerated until ready to serve with fresh bread or rolls – Sau had made his own – and garnished with a sprig of dill and a nasturtium flower for a colourful canapé that is quite “Delish-oos!”

While Sau went off to prepare the rest of the lunch, we visited the Villa Tortuga, to play dress-ups in eighteenth century Spanish colonial costumes, followed by a photo shoot. Most of the women joined in eagerly, fluttering like butterflies around the brightly coloured fabrics, picking through full, high-waisted skirts, cobweb-like shawls tied at the waist, lacy blouses and the stiff pena (pineapple) fabric – panuelo – fixed around the shoulders. Draping skirts and passing accessories to finish off the look, the photographers then posed each ‘Spanish lady’ before a painted backdrop, buzzing about as if for a fashion show. Parasols, fans, baskets of flowers, a vase of orchids, walking sticks and top hats were shared and exchanged and everyone looked magnificent, despite the heat. The gentlemen too, took a turn in barong tagalog and loose trousers, top hats and walking sticks. We even had a visit from a Cardinal!

When everyone had posed for the photographers, we moved upstairs to a beautiful Spanish colonial dining room full of holy figurines and family portraits. Two long tables had been set for the five course lunch Sau had prepared for us.

We began with pumpkin flowers stuffed with cheese and lightly fried, tempura style, that were garnished with tomatillos, rucola and tiny, marble-sized tomatoes, and served with a light, tasty tomato chutney. Delicately flavoured, I could cheerfully have feasted on a bouquet of these moreish blooms.

Sau’s ubiquitous fiddlehead fern salad arrived next, served with large, meaty, pan-seared prawns marinated in coconut, a combination of textures that tickled the taste buds.

The soup was a traditional Pinoy bulalo, popular in Batangas and Tagaytay. It is usually made with beef shanks, but Sau had adapted the recipe to use chunks of corned beef and vegetables, over which the waiters poured a hot chicken broth. Sau described it as a bit like an Irish stew soup. It may not have reminded many of us of this thick, winter-warmer stew, but it was nonetheless a healthy and delicious concoction – even to someone highly suspicious of corned beef!

The chicken adobo had been marinated in vinegar. It was simply prepared, surprisingly tangy and filling, served with a ball of Spanish red rice. It pushed most of us to our limits in terms of stomach capacity, but it didn’t stop us enjoying dessert: a medley of green pistachio ice cream with coconut jelly, caramelized mango and rolls of leche flan filled with banana and coated in toffee resembling fried Spring rolls, sausages or cigars, the toffee effectively gluing our teeth together and giving us a dose of schoolgirl giggles that had nothing to do with the lunchtime rosé…

As always, TourFlair arranged a wonderful day of local culture, history and food, and we all went home wiser and well-fed.

*As published in April issue of British Women’s Association magazine

Posted in Food & Wine, Local Culture, Philippines | Tagged Marcella Agonicillo, Sau del Rosario, Taal, The Basilica de San Martin de Tours, TourFlair, Villa Tortuga | 2 Comments

‘Just because we can’

Posted on 26 February 2013 by sheg4184

Hong Kong: tower blocks rising in stately splendour around the harbour as if reaching for the clouds, bedecked in brightly coloured light displays that have us craning backwards to gawp through the rear window of the taxi, mouths wide open like kids in a sweet shop; mammoth tankers cruising across the harbour, dark shadows on the water, while rows of enormous cranes cluster in orderly fashion along the wharfs, looking like some futuristic movie set; immense suspension bridges that would dwarf my beloved Sydney Harbour Bridge, and looming over all, the dark, peaked, green mountains.

We take taxis, just because we can, and it’s a great way to see the city. Swooping between sea and jungle coated hills, we tear down motorways at an exhilarating pace. It is like a roller coaster ride, rocketing from one side of the taxi to the other, despite seat belts. A long, well lit tunnel races under Victoria Bay and the roads sweep and dip around buildings until my sense of direction is as confused as knotted wool. Narrow double decker trams that look like the Knight Bus in Harry Potter squeezing between the cars on Westminster Bridge, so skinny they might get blown sideways by a stiff wind. Double decker buses career past us on the bend – it seems no one drives slowly in Hong Kong – and we find ourselves gasping in expectation of disaster more often than we do in Manila. Yet we love every nerve racking minute, and our taxi driver is delighted with our enthusiasm for his city, and wishes us a wonderful stay, as we finally skid breathlessly to a halt in front of our hotel.

We have come to Hong Kong for a mere forty eight hours of fun. It is my sister-in-law’s birthday and we are celebrating in style. Two nights in Hong Kong, we explained to my One & Only, ‘just because we can’. It becomes the catch phrase of our stay. Let’s take a taxi… just because we can! Let’s get room service… just because we can! Afternoon tea at the Mandarin Oriental? Certainly… just because we can!

An unexpected sleep-in sends us scuttling off to the Peak much later than we had intended, but what the heck, breakfast 1200 metres above sea level will be fun! The small red train grinding up the mountain at a 60 degree angle is breath-taking – quite literally breath-taking on the way down, as we plunge down the mountainside – and eventually the cloud cover disperses so we can admire the view across this amazing, modern city. As we find a tiny corner table for coffee and a muffin, I comment to the waiter about the wonderful view. “Well it would be a darn sight better if the lazy buggers had cleaned the windows properly,” he says scathingly. (OK, I don’t think he actually said ‘buggers’ but that was the tone and the sentiment of it!)

We wander up and down the different levels of the Peak Mall, scaling escalators to admire the misty view from the roof top, meandering out onto the plaza to see the original peak train and a different view to the…umm… south? Descending – stomach lurching sickeningly – back down the mountain, we dip into designer stores, to try on jewels and dresses and shoes along the steep streets of the Mid-levels, loving the novelty of the escalators to drift up the hillside with minimum effort. And isn’t it fun to watch the world going past as you are carried effortlessly uphill? We lean over the railing to see a street market below, and descend at an impetuous rate to walk past open air butchers, green grocers and florists. Sadly, little English is spoken here, so it proves impossible to discover the names of unknown flowers, greens or root vegetables, but we soak up the atmosphere, and sniff at the appetizing aromas wafting through the doors of the tiny noodle shops.

Awkwardly squished between the Chinese signs, grocery stores and cafés is the proof of a truly cosmopolitan city: a shop selling Italian olive oils and vinegars; a Lebanese cafe; an Indian fashion store full of multi-coloured fabrics and dangling earrings; a Thai restaurant; a British boutique… and at the bottom of the hill, Cartier and Porsche, and every other luxury designer you can imagine. We eat noodles and dumplings in a lime green booth on a tiny side street, and sip Singapore Slings at a five star hotel. Three piece suits mingle with barrow boys.

The sun goes down and we head across Victoria Bay on a ferry costing next-to-nothing, the only blonds on deck, to get a fabulous view of Hong Kong’s lights from the water. The trip is over too quickly and we find ourselves rocking manically beside the quay in Kowloon. Staggering off, we find ourselves in a bus station with no idea where we are or where to go. At a convenient tourist information centre we are welcomed by a smiling lady who tries not to laugh at our ignorance as she waves us up the road to the boulevard where hundreds of people have already gathered quietly to watch the lights.

The evening is pleasantly cool, as we wait on the plaza overlooking the water. A group of tourists is singing somewhere in the park below. Cameras and phones in every hand work overtime to make movies and memories, as coloured lights pour like waterfalls down the side of the buildings, and green laser beams pin prick the clouds, all dancing in time to the music.

After this impressive display of modern technology we wander up the road to a piazza in Tsim-Sha-Tsui full of designer shops – Cartier, Tiffanys – that looks like Rodeo Drive. Up two flights of escalators is Hullett House, the former Marine Police Barracks that reminds us of some colonial Mississippi mansion. Dating from 1851, this heritage hotel also houses a number of restaurants and bars, including the Stables Grill.

Here, in the back corner of the hotel buildings, looking along the colonnade and side garden, we order the best pizzas we have ever eaten. Mine is mysteriously named Berenjena, a delightfully thin, crispy base topped with grilled bell peppers, olives, pesto and marinated eggplant. My sister-in-law orders a Margarita, and I am a little scathing about plebeian tastes – until it arrives. The same thin base is topped with cartwheel sized slices of fresh, sweet tomato, mozzarella and fresh basil. Unfortunately she cannot eat it all and needs my (greedy) assistance to clean the plate! The rosé is delicate and light, the service warm, the atmosphere cosy, with dark wooden planks quilting the walls, apparently salvaged from the decks of an old Chinese ship.

We are relaxed and blissful, and finish up floating to the front of the hotel, to sit precariously at a long, Pawn shop style bar with back lighting that makes all the bottles glow, gazing at a room full of art deco screens and European and Chinese dragons. There, the barman pours last drinks and tells us a useful piece of trivia: European dragons have wings, Chinese dragons do not.

It is a whirlwind, fairytale trip indeed, and just because we can…

*With thanks again to my sister-in-law for sharing her photos.

Posted in Food & Wine, Hong Kong, Local Culture, Travel | Tagged Hong Kong, Hullett House, Kowloon, Mandarin Oriental, Peak train, Sound & Light show, Victoria Bay | Comments Off