the sun is shining on | this is my winter story

I didn't think it would take me this long to write this post. I have been avoiding it for several reasons - not knowing the words, not knowing how, not even knowing whether writing it was necessary. And yet I can't begin to write again here without acknowledging what's been going on. 

In 2009 I had an accident up a mountain in Wanaka. I was learning to ski that season, and my boyfriend at the time (a proficient skier) was racing a friend, on a snowboard, who was staying with us. I happened to be in the blind spot that both of them jumped into. My ex-boyfriend zipped past me, the snowboarder was not so lucky, and crashed directly into me from behind. My only memories of it are my ex zipping past, and then looking at sky hearing someone going nuts at my snowboarder friend. I landed on my back, on my bindings, which made for some interesting bruising, and didn't have a helmet on. 

A few hospital visits later and quite a bit of imaging, I was given a Philadelphia collar to wear for the next two months. It was determined after a ct scan that I had probably fractured my c1 vertebra - this is the first vertebra of your spine. Thankfully, there was no displacement; but to be on the safe side I was required to wear the neck brace for two months, at all times. 

In retrospect, the most difficult part of rehabilitating this injury was recovering my neck muscles after two months of immobility, but thanks to the support of my family, my ex-boyfriend, and my wonderful flatmates at the time, and probably my own bloody-mindedness when it comes to rock climbing, I gradually got better. 

Since then, I have always been more aware of my neck, but it's a fine line sometimes between being too aware and too cautious, or too stubbornly zealous. In the past five years, I've been learning to accept and acknowledge my limitations, not just neck-related, without letting them define me; and this is something I imagine I'll continue learning for the rest of my life.

In early April, I well and truly re-exacerbated my neck injury, mainly from exercising too much and getting slightly addicted to the endorphin rush of cycling to the salt water pool, doing an hour of my old swimming exercises, and following that up with a run along the beach before cycling home. Admitting that I am in pain is something I struggle to do, and on the day I finally did and went to the doctor for some effective pain relief, I also "actively witnessed" a near-miss incident between a pedestrian and a car by uni, and treated my seized muscles to some sideways whiplash. 

Recovering this time has been much more active, and involved physiotherapy with a physio I trust from the acute stage, and the endless patience from family members and friends around me has been truly invaluable. Pain can change your persona, and it takes really special people to understand that. I'm lucky for all the people who've given support, and who continue to give it.

I've never written here about emotional pain, and that's been a purposeful choice. I'm a writer, and for a long time I've written poetry as a means to express myself. Sometime in 2009, emboldened by encouragement by my Dad and sister, and from friends who already blogged like N, I started a blog where I share poems, called a pastiche. I called it "pastiche", because that was what it started as, but "pastiche" was taken, so it became "a" pastiche. 

At the beginning of 2011, two significant things happened. My best friend's mum Mary passed away on 4.01.11 after a long and brave battle with cancer. Two weeks later, my then-boyfriend of two years moved to Switzerland, and on the same day he left I started my first ever graduate job as a research assistant in a lab in Dunedin. Two months of strange, frustrating long distance communication later, we broke up.

In hindsight, it was impossible for me to separate my feelings of grief for Mary and my sadness on a relationship ending. Every time I felt the latter, I'd feel guilty because he was still alive, and Mary wasn't, and that was the tragedy. Mary was my other mother in so many ways. I don't think I'll ever not miss her, it's just that time changes how you miss a person. I'm not convinced it gets easier, either, perhaps more that you get used to bearing sadness with grace.

This blog, Maitland St Meals, started after someone I once cherished - the ex-boyfriend who supported me through my ski accident - took offence to a poem I wrote, and wasn't shy about telling me exactly how it offended him and what it made him think of me. I'm sure he had legitimate reasons I cannot possibly know for his reaction; but it made me question everything I had ever chosen to share, to read my words in a different light. It stopped me from sharing my poems online for a while, and soon after I changed lots of the settings on my poetry blog so now it appears more as a personal folio rather than a forum. I still go through cycles of self-doubt - and sometimes these cycles can be good to keep your feet on the ground. 

I've been so thankful for this blog and the comments people leave - it's served in equal parts me and you, I'm sure. That's because reading this blog (and I do read my old posts) reminds me how much I love food and eating and cooking and sharing food; and that's a comfort in times when it's hard to find the motivation to cook. 

Recently, that motivation to cook has been notoriously difficult. In November 2013, I found out, randomly, from Facebook that a good old friend of mine, AT, or Truesy as I knew him, passed away in July 2013, after a fighting brain cancer, just like Mary had. He was a great friend to me during my final years of high school, and I've got fond memories of taking him to my leaver's ball, and though we grew apart when I moved to Dunedin, we stayed in touch sporadically, as people often do. He grew up to be a paramedic, and while looking after the young pedestrian suffering from shock who I actively witnessed almost get hit by a car, they said through tears whilst walking to student health, "oh how do you know what to do..you should be a paramedic or something," and later I thought, with a smile, about the great big cycles of the universe we cannot possibly hope to know. 

On the 4.05.14, another friend from our close-knit group of high school friends, Grace Yuki Kinsella, unexpectedly and tragically died in Japan. That's all the information we have. She was quirky and deadpan funny, and I miss her in ways I don't yet have the ability to describe. There were plenty of good times we shared. It's been somewhat of a comfort to imagine Grace and Truesy getting on like a house on fire somewhere beyond the sun, as they did at that (extremely over the top) leaver's ball. 

Throughout this past six months, I've been so lucky and grateful for other ways in which the universe has watched out for me - or at least, that's what its felt like. I'm still not sure what I believe in a spiritual sense and in many ways, I hope I never do because part of the privilege of being human is to wonder. There's two yellow tulips in a milk bottle vase by my bed, I've got a desk at an awesome underground studio in Dunedin, my lab work has progressed throughout this time, and I'm blessed with a great network of Dunedinites - the sort of people who, when their oven breaks, will bring over homekill venison steaks to cook at Maitland St and fill the house with cooking smells while J's away.

So life's been a bit hard recently, but that's okay. That's okay because I can still make haloumi from scratch, and two chocolate guinness cakes at night for an event the next day, and last minute "vegeree"- brown rice, caramelised onions, havoc chorizo, eggs, nuts, cheese, and something green, shared with friends T and T, and because there will always be more music to listen to. 

I went to Tiny Ruins on Saturday night, accompanied by friend A who took friend J's ticket at the last minute. It was the most unexpectedly delightful gig. The music was expectedly beautiful, and this song in particular made me think of grace yuki, whose middle name means snow in Japanese. It's definitely worth listening to the more recent releases too, where the additional instruments complement so well. The unexpected delight was in the intimacy of the venue, which encouraged and invited conversations that have left me intrigued; and I left that night feeling personally delighted that the ability to be intrigued by one conversation still remains possible. 

See you soon; and thank you, as always, for reading.

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title from little bombs - aimee mann

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images -

1. 9 January 2014, a pavlova by Grandma Jojo, transported to the beach by car, to celebrate my parents' 33rd wedding anniversary - it was a memorable dinner. 

2. Mayor Island, one of the many swims in January 2014, Waihi Beach. Kodak portra 160

3. Arranging onions sometime in February 2014. My trusty red digital took this. 

4. Rain on Bowentown, January 2014; Kodak portra 160. 

5. My Grandad Lawrie watching a sudden shower at the beach house. One of my favourite pictures of summer this year. Kodak portra 160, probably shot at 200. 

6. Kinloch, looking at the sun through a telescope. Ilford FP4 125, probably shot at 200 as well. 

7. Half moon, January 2014, Waihi; kodak portra 160

8. Reflections on a January 2014 evening at Waihi Beach; kodak portra 160

apple pie where my body's made of lead | april already?!

carey's bay dinner (fish burgers from the port fish supply) view, late March 2014

I did not plan on a hiatus - and nor do I apologise for it. Sometimes real life demands attention and for me, blogging is an indulgence I allow myself. It's also a funny thing, blogging; writing things and not really being sure of who reads and who doesn't; and I'm pretty much anti-labelling anything about myself to the point of absurdity..

What I'm trying to say is that things at Maitland are trucking along well. We've had visitors; people have moved in and out from below and above... My supervisor casually said a while ago "you know Maitland St sometimes sounds like a soap opera." and I grew up with Coronation St loving parents (ey Dad!) so I understood the comparison.

I'm thankful now for colder weather, slower songs, and being gentle on myself. Hope you're well, wherever you're reading this from.

title from apple pie bed - lawrence arabia

it undulates on the waves and crushes the water | aubergine pickle

Sometimes, the universe dictates exactly when you will make a new recipe. Ever since reading the lovely Jay's recipe for aubergine pickle, it's been on the to do list in the back of my mind. At the time, it was spring, heading into early summer, and aubergines weren't available in our part of the country. More recently: late summer, early autumn, I remembered the pickle recipe when I saw Taste Nature had aubergine on special. Thanks to the small amount of data I have on my phone, I located the recipe and purchased all the necessary ingredients, planning to make aubergine pickle in the next day or two.

It wasn't meant to be. The aubergine and capsicum sat in the fridge over the weekend. That weekend was a particularly full one, involving a full day in the lab as well as enjoying the sun (and helping make some earth bricks) out in Osbourne. I cycled home from the lab on Saturday to find J wrapping hot dishes in towels for the 20 minute drive out of the city. We arrived at T and L's lovely nearly-completed abode overlooking the inlet just as the sky was beginning to turn pink. We ate dinner as the sun set. To see pictures of the amazing view and also of the house in progress, have a look at T and L's awesome blog and housebuilding diary. 

Eventually, it got dark enough for the lantern to be switched on and L taught J and I some of her pilates moves to stretch our muscles before the lantern was switched off and all was quiet and dark. I slept under the window on the mezzanine floor and could see the stars outside. I felt overwhelmingly grateful to live in a city in which a short drive from the CBD takes you to a place as beautiful as Purakānui, where the stars are bright and so much more visible than from Maitland, and where the night is so silent, save for the occasional "baaa" of sheep.

As I was drifting off to sleep, I realised that a year ago, I didn't know J or T or L or Maitland St. I was newly back in Aotearoa, 7kg below my normal weight, and with about 20% of my usual energy levels. And while 2012 was a difficult year for me in many ways, I realised then that I do quite enjoy where it led me, because right now, life is pretty wonderful. I'm grateful for our Maitland St home and for being lucky enough to meet inspiring individuals such as T, L and J; who've given me experiences that enabled me to fall back in love with this city I live in, this city that is home. As 2012 drew to a close, I often thought of a wise woman's words: "bloom where you are planted". I'm not sure if I'm "blooming" just yet, but I'm well on the way. I also know that happiness and contentment can change like seasons do, but that's all the more reason to continue to take pleasure in the moments right now. I went to sleep smiling, and slept better than I had in a while.

When we returned to the city and reality on Sunday night, the aubergine and capsicum were redirected into the best gourmet vegetarian burgers, and I put aubergine pickle out of my mind. As it happened, L returned home about a week later with five large gifted aubergine going wrinkly, requiring immediate use. How could I not make aubergine pickle?

aubergine pickle

I modified the recipe both to increase the amount and to compensate for some ingredients I was missing. Jay's version, the original, looks much darker than what I ended up with. If you've only got one aubergine to use, you can scale down this recipe, or use the original. I have modified the spices slightly, added lemon juice, and I didn't add any rapadura/sugar. If you scale this recipe down and plan to eat it straight away, you can just keep the pickle in a jar/container in the fridge - in which case, ignore the instructions for bottling.

3 large aubergine

2 red capsicums

2 onions

3 cloves garlic

2cm ginger root

1 red chili (fresh; optional)

2 tsp coriander seeds

2 tsp ground cumin

1 tsp ground cinnamon

1 tsp dried chili flakes

juice of 1 lemon

1 tsp coriander root (chopped)

1/2 cup mint leaves

1/2 cup coriander leaves

500mL apple cider vinegar

sea salt and cracked pepper

1 tbsp olive oil (or more)

Cut the prickly tops off the aubergine, and slice in half. Cut the seeds out of the capsicum and cut into thirds. Place on a roasting tray and roast for 20-40 minutes at ~200ºC or until soft. Let cool, then peel off the skin - try and retain as much of the aubergine flesh as possible. 

Whizz the roasted capsicum and aubergine together in batches in a blender so they are roughly combined but not as smooth as a paste. In the meantime, chop the onions finely, heat some olive oil and cook on medium heat until the onions are very soft. Don't be tempted, as I was, to only chop the onions into chunks - large pieces will remain in your pickle at the end. 

Grate the ginger and garlic and add to the onions with the ground spices, coriander seeds and root, and chopped, deseeded fresh chili. Add the aubergine and capsicum flesh, and cook for a couple of minutes, stirring continuously. 

Add the apple cider vinegar and stir through, then simmer on a medium-low heat for 20-30 minutes. While this is cooking, thoroughly wash some glass jars and their lids. At Maitland we re-use any glass jars, but are particularly fond of ones with screw top lids that have a poppable button in the middle. Bake the jars for 20 minutes at a low heat (around 125-150ºC) - ensure you are using good quality glass. If any glass goes cloudy or browny or cracks in the oven, do not use that jar and put it in your recycling.

Add the coriander and mint leaves to the pickle, and some sea salt and pepper to taste. You can adjust the consistency with olive oil, and add more mint or coriander leaves once its cooled. If you're bottling some for long term storage, it is important that the glass jar, the pickle and the lid are all hot when sealed. I keep the pickle on a medium heat, and keep the jars in the oven and take them out one at a time to fill. Right before I do this, I boil the jug and put the lids in a stainless steel bowl and cover them with just boiled water to sterilise them. 

Carefully remove the jar from the oven, trying to avoid touching the top or neck of the bottle. Instead, hold jars from the base with a tea towel or, preferably, an oven mitt. Spoon pickle into hot jar, squashing it down to remove any bubbles. Fill to the neck of the jar. Use a clean fork to fish the lid out of the boiled water and use the tea towel to tightly screw the lid on whilst still hot. Repeat this process until all the pickle is used. 

As the pickle and the jar cools, you'll know that a seal has been formed if and when the lid button pops down. Any jars that don't pop down haven't correctly sealed and you'll need to keep them in the fridge and consume immediately. Sealed jars will keep for ages - the vinegar is a preservative - and sometimes, the flavour is much better after 3 months of standing at room temperature. 

Luckily, I had two large jars and one small jar successfully seal, one jar didn't pop down and the left overs went into half a jar that also didn't seal. The two large jars will rest in the pantry until winter, and the small jar was given to a preserve-making colleage L. One of the jars that didn't pop down has formed the basis of my work lunches for this week, and the half jar is in the process of being consumed at Maitland.

This pickle is delicious. It's good as it is, and I can believe that three months of resting will make it even more incredible. In addition, eating aubergine pickle in June will be extra pleasurable for the luxury that is summer vegetables in winter. Everyone who's tried this pickle so far has enjoyed it, even a couple of workmates who don't eat much aubergine. My favourite way to eat it? On top of a cheese toastie at lunch or with cheese and spring onion on top of a corn cracker, as pictured.

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In other news, which is unrelated to aubergine pickle, but may be of interest to food-interested readers, one of my bestest friends, and lovely person Ayla, has just launched her food and wine blog, Taste Flutter, today. She's extremely knowledgeable about food and wine and always feeds me well when I visit her, and she's also hilariously funny when she writes. Have a look!

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day 11/365
today I'm grateful for endorphins - getting me up in the morning and into the pool before 7:30am. Those who know how much of a morning person I'm not will understand how big that is for me! Now, it's late in the day and I've just cycled home via the climbing gym. My muscles are tired - I will sleep well tonight!

title from kings of convenience - my ship isn't pretty

set your intentions, dream with care | summer and a playlist

Oh, what a week it's been. We've been so lucky with the weather, sunny days everyday. That's unheard of around these parts where January is usually a month of cold snaps and frequent rain. "We've really had a summer this year," says Karen from Mazagran as she weighs and grinds beans for me. She's right, we really truly have.

This weekend L and I made hay while the sun shined! Well, not really, but we did help a friend of L's move and stack some bales, which involved an adrenaline-inducing ride over bumpy farm land on a ute piled high with hay bales. I finally got a tour of T and L's beautiful future abode. L and I stood at the Mapoutahi pa site and looked out over the cliffs to the deep green ocean. On the way home, we stopped at Merrell's for raw milk, yoghurt and his homemade mango lassi, not knowing that T did the same on his way home. I think we will be making another batch of haloumi this week..

1. New onions, garlic and fresh ginger - the beginning of a dal.

2. Coagulating milk to make haloumi and ricotta.

3. Homemade haloumi, sourdough toast, tomatoes and mint: pretty delicious lunch.

4. Boysenberries and chocolate ice cream - a sundae in a tea cup.

5. Part of the homemade card printing process

8. An opshop mission yielded a work top, and magazines from the 80's as a gift to a friend M who had an epic 80's party on Saturday night, involving the limbo, dance-offs, multiple leotards and pretty outrageous hair. This was one of the ads from a 1983 woman's weekly. Times change!

Linking to Em's stills collection.

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day 9/365

today I'm grateful for osbourne and the mapoutahi pa site - beautiful, hidden places that I've just discovered. I'm grateful to live in a city I'm still discovering, seven years after moving here .. 

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title from xavier rudd - follow the sun. 
Click read more for playlist ... 

the waves clap goodbye to sorrow | keeping cool

It has been a hot summer here in the Southern Hemisphere. On Christmas day it was 34ºC where we celebrated, and mid-30's heat has become somewhat usual for me. I know those reading in Australia are suffering through weather a good 10ºC warmer than us here, and those around the other side of the world are most likely cold. 

I returned to Maitland St with sand in my pockets and ears, the salty water curling my hair into ringlets, with a suitcase full of unnecessary clothing and also blueberries, avocados, and some rhubarb from my grandparents garden. I have been spring cleaning the past few days (I know, it's not seasonally accurate to call it spring cleaning) which has meant, mainly, clearing out my wardrobe, many loads of washing, and decluttering. Just before you think I'm completely boring I should probably mention this was punctuated by a evening with two beautiful ladies, H and S, watching some Black Books and Becoming Jane, drinking merlot and limeade. S picked us up and dropped us off in her red refurbished mini - think Mr. Bean's car. Such a treat to ride in! 

For the past six years summer has been a time of change - I have moved every summer to a different abode. This summer I'm not moving anywhere and I'm so grateful to be staying still, putting down roots (literally, in the garden), focussing my energies for the year ahead. 

1. Saying goodbye to the family was made better by this welcome back to Dunedin - in the past I've written about how it often rains upon returning to Dunedin - but this was a very beautiful exception.

2. Hanging washing by the light of the setting sun.

3. A grapefruit from my Grandad's tree was a bit too old to eat, so I squeezed the juice and added it to my ginger beer - delicious.

4. Another gingerbeer addition - the last of the Waihi beach blueberries frozen into iceblocks, inspired by L.

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day 7/365
today I'm grateful for holidays with family, with friends, time away from usual daily routines. Oh, it's so refreshing! 

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title from come in please - edward sharpe & the magnetic zeros

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all the silver girls gave us black dreams | things lately

I've been a bit quiet around here, after the intensity of last week I've been enjoying evenings spent at home or in the garden, taking pictures here and there ..

1. As authentic as I could make - dal makhani. One of my favourite Indian curries that I made for dinner tonight to celebrate the fact that this time last year I was heading to India.
2. Ginger and cracked black pepper - crucial additions to the perfect cup of chai tea. Saffron is another decadent addition!
3. This afternoon was a wet, warm one - quite unusual for Dunedin. The windows were open and the pot was steaming, just like the ground outside. 

4. Rye bread and Bonne Maman cherry conserve - delicious!
5. One of many coriander plants in our garden that I harvested this week.
6. Coriander roots, ready for processing.
7. Simple crostini made with going-stale sourdough, home made coriander pesto, tomato, red onion, feta for the annual Maitland St barbeque which started outside in our courtyard and finished much later in our landlord's place with dainty small glasses of cointreau "that's not for the parsley!" and the trying on of vintage hats from the 1920's. A most excellent evening!
8. One from India last year - a rooftop restaurant in the desert city of Jaisalmer.

9. Spice paste - I made four different types of kratiem prik thai spice paste with our big coriander roots harvested this week from the garden.

10. Spice paste, frozen in convenient usable amounts in our ice cube tray.

11. Sunrise in Wellington last week - photo taken at 5:30am, the beginning of a beautiful day. 

I cannot write a post without mentioning the unmentionable - the tragedy of the loss of 28 lives this week in Conneticut. I've avoided news articles on it, as it is just heartbreaking. It makes me realise the value of taking time to be grateful, being mindful, and appreciative. I also sometimes think how incredibly lucky I am for all of it - every single thing I have, lucky to be born to the supportive parents I was born to, to be blessed with brothers and a sister, to live in a house, to have a wide range of friends, to enjoy the food I am able to enjoy. It's overwhelming how lucky we all are, against the most incredible odds. 

This year we're not doing Christmas presents. My sister and I might make small crackers for our family members (she might not know this yet... Hi loo lah!) but apart from that we'll just be enjoying the time together, just the six of us. If the weather is nice we will drive up to a secluded piece of land in the middle of the forest, and stay in a simple hut and possibly sleep under the stars. We won't have a huge Christmas dinner as we'll be limited to what we can carry on our backs into the hutt - it's a 40 minute walk from the end of the road. It's going to be simple and relaxed, and I for one am looking forward to it. What will your Christmas look like?

I leave you with this video - I thought of the story of stuff after I watched it, and implore you to recycle, reuse, make something for your gifts. I read a lovely post today about making a vegetable garden for a Christmas present. Show people you care by caring also for the planet.

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day 6/365

today I'm grateful for gardens and all the goodness they provide - the satisfaction of nurturing a seedling, watching it grow, and harvesting it. Our coriander produced a bumper crop this year that got made into pesto, kratiem prik thai spice paste, and gifted to a few friends. We still have some leaves frozen for future garnishes! 

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title from conversation 16 - the national

keeps me searching for a heart of gold | pumpkin fruit cake

There is something familiar about traditions. Comforting in their reassuring sameness; while everything else might be different, you can guarantee that the one thing, that one tradition, will be as it always was.  I first realised I was a creature of habit when I worked Sundays at a supermarket when I was younger. The Sunday paper used to contain an excellent small magazine "Sunday"*, which had short but interesting features, a little piece on home interiors, a "going up, going down" column...you get the idea. I loved it. Every Sunday, I would run a bath when I got home from work, find the Sunday magazine, and read it while I soaked my tired body. Until one Sunday when I couldn't find the magazine anywhere around the house. "Oh," said Dad casually, "we didn't get around to buying the paper today." And, just like that, my Sunday evening was ruined. In retrospect, it seems a little dramatic, but little rituals are calming amongst the chaos - all the other unexpected events the day can bring.

There are a number of traditions in my family that revolve around food. There is always pink lady cake on Dad's birthday, at Christmas there are fresh berries, and whenever I visit Wellington Dad makes espresso at home. Pumpkin cake is another tradition. Whenever my Grandma Gwen would fly up to Wellington to visit us, she would carry two pumpkin cakes in her suitcases for us. Most often, these were never iced, and were enjoyed for afternoon tea, or in school lunches. We always tried to get a piece with the strange, circular, green or red cherry-jelly. Sometimes these were picked out in advance. Pumpkin cake was usually cut in squares, like fruit cake is at Christmas, and for special occasions, it was iced with butter icing flavoured with port wine; with the same circular pattern knifed into the icing. That's just how it always was.

Like any good recipe, the pumpkin cake has a story. My grandfather was a minister, and in the 1960's, being a minister meant making regular visits to the parishioners, keeping up with their lives. On one particular visit to an elderly lady called Mrs. Hunter, my grandad was served this cake. He liked it so much, he wrote the recipe down on the back of a visiting card** and brought it home to my grandmother. Grandma was intrigued by the use of mashed pumpkin in the mixture - something "quite radical in cakes in New Zealand at the time." It has now been a family favourite for about fifty years! 

*the Sunday magazine still exists, however I can no longer attest to its quality.

**visiting cards were used by ministers, left when they had visited but nobody was home.

mrs. hunter's pumpkin fruit cake

courtesy of my Grandma Gwen

250g butter

3/4 cup sugar

1 egg

1 cup cooked mashed pumpkin

1/2 tsp almond essence

1/2 tsp lemon essence

1 tsp vanilla

2 large cups flour

2 full tsp baking powder

500g mixed dried fruit

Cream together the butter and sugar. Add the egg, and beat again until soft and creamy. Add the cooked pumpkin and beat again. Stir in the three essences. In a separate bowl, combine the flour, baking powder, and mixed fruit. Stir the flour over and through the fruit until it is thoroughly coated. Mix together the separate mixtures and stir well.

Spoon into a greased lined 22cm round/square cake tin and bake for 1 3/4 - 2 hours in a moderate (150ºC) oven.

Notes from my grandmother -

This cake keeps well and is best left for a few days before cutting. "Large" and "full" refer to non-level measurements. In terms of the baking, a "moderate" oven is not specific, but grandma says it's better to cook it cooler and longer. The cake is perfectly delicious un-iced but a simple butter icing flavoured with port wine (or a little ginger beer) makes it more of a special-occasion cake. 

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What family traditions do you have that revolve around food? Any recipes that have been in your family for generations? I'd love to know ...

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day 3/365

Again, it goes without saying, today I'm grateful for traditions: those strange, endearing rituals that identify us and our families.

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title from neil young - heart of gold

so tomorrow there will be another number | meat and three veg

After this lovely lady's post, I've been thinking about food choices a lot more this week: thinking about my own personal journey to the way I eat now, and how those habits developed over time. My food journey began last year - six months into my first "proper" job since finishing my degree, I found myself with a little extra money each week and the ability to be a little more flexible in what I ate. After four years as a student surviving off a very minimal weekly income it was a luxury to be able to afford to experiment a little more in what I cooked and what I ate. 

Prior to this, my food choices had been based around affordability: sometimes this meant two baked potatoes or two minute noodles for dinner in those weeks where there were bills to pay and shampoo to buy. At the end of my fourth year, busy with writing a dissertation, this changed a little to include time as a factor. Could I cook and eat in less than 20 minutes? If not, I didn't buy it. In those last two weeks of 18 hour writing days, I survived off plain pasta, canned tuna, apples, and a whole lot of caffeine. On the last night before my dissertation was due, I was writing all night in my office at university. A friend called me at 7pm: "I'm outside," he said, "come down, I've got dinner for you." And he handed me a warm plastic container full of pesto pasta, before skating back off into the night. I've never forgotten that gesture. 

Most of my friends and family know me to be a vegetarian. And that's mainly true - I only rarely eat meat, and when I do, it's important to me that it is local, free range, and organic; and that I feel like my body needs it for nutrients. This year, I've eaten meat on two occasions. The first was when there was no other option for dinner, out in the wilderness with family. The second was last night.

J returned from four days tramping (hiking for US readers) with plenty of stories of interesting people they'd shared a hut with. They had met some hunters who cooked freshly caught chamois (also known as "shammy" to locals), and also gave them some to bring back home to us. It ticked all my personal "boxes" when it comes to meat-eating and when J told me she planned to cook it for dinner on Tuesday night, I told her I'd love to try some. I'd never eaten chamois before. I made this sauce to go with it - I think it would make a great accompaniment to lamb or beef as well.

mushroom & black pepper meat sauce

This meat sauce would also be great served with pasta for a vegetarian dish. The quantities used here make enough for four people.

Slice two red onions into half rings, and soften them over a medium heat with a little olive oil. Turn the heat up a little and add some apple cider vinegar and honey or balsamic vinegar. Cook for around 30 minutes until caramelised. Add about 1 glass of red cooking wine to the pan - it should bubble a lot, if it doesn't turn the heat up. Chop 8 flat mushrooms (I used portobello) into quarters and add to the pan, letting them cook in the wine. Stir in as much freshly cracked black pepper as you'd like. Turn the heat down to medium-low. Add 1 tbsp flour - either white or wholemeal and stir. This will thicken the sauce up - add milk to thin it back and keep warm until ready to serve.

Last night I cheated a little - we had some french onion soup to use up, so I used that instead of caramelising onions. 

So it came to be - a traditional "meat and three veg" meal was served at Maitland St. The cooking was very much a team effort, with much discussion and consulting the internet as to how to cook the meat. The piece we were given looked like a beef fillet would, so we sliced it into medallions and cooked it, as T would describe "pshhhh....pshhhh..." - translates to one minute each side in a very hot pan. We ate it with the mushroom sauce, potato and kumara (known outside of Aotearoa as sweet potato), mashed together, and lightly fried cabbage and red onion. It was delicious.

I think the biggest mistake we can make is to be inflexible in our diets. I realised that it's important to me to eat mainly vegetarian, but that it's also okay for me to eat free-range, organic, local meat now and then too. After all, isn't it all about moderation?

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I've decided that each day I write a post I'm going to include a word or two about something I'm grateful for that day. I used to reflect once a week and take the time to be grateful, and I think that it's helpful for me to look back over my day with gratitude now and then.

day 1/365 
Today I'm grateful for clear and cloudless skies, and that I work in a place where I can take twenty minutes in the afternoon and sit underneath a weeping willow tree, looking at water and the old fashioned clock tower buildings of the university I work at, enjoying the fresh air in my lungs and sun on my skin.

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title from stars - celebration guns