Friday 13 July 2012

Mamma Mia! That's my idea of a cooking show, Benny, Bjorn, Agnetha and Anni-Frid.




Picture credit: agnethannifrid.blogspot.co.uk


Gimme, gimme, gimme a plan after midnight


"That's an hour and a half of my life I can't get back," I said, under my breath, after watching Mamma Mia.

I didn't like it.  I watched the DVD faithfully a year or so ago - whenever it was - after we given it as a Christmas present.  My comments were not well recieved by the females we discussed it with later. It was made very clear to me that I was a typical bloke, an all round idiot, with no taste or idea what a good film is.

Harsh, I thought at the time, particularly as all the men I spoke to agreed with me wholeheartedly, except they seemed to avoid the backlash. Clearly, Mr Scapegoat again. Can't argue though, that it was the highest grossing film in the UK in 2008.

I've seen the signs before obviously: this male, female thing, Venus and Mars, the canyon that is the difference between the sexes, etc etc.

I mention all this because I'm a home-alone tonight; my wife is out overnight at an Abba tribute show, which in the case of her group, happens to be a hen night.  I'm assured the combination of hens and Abbas makes this just about a damn near perfect combo.  There's a small fleet of cars going with watches syncronised for 4.30pm. There'll be a last-minute search under the bed/back of the wardrobe for feather boas, urgent shopping for plastic glasses and cursing because they didn't put the Cava in the fridge for long enough. And the fact that they only seem to have a measly one case of fizz.  Per car.

"We're having a three course meal first," she said.  Which I thought sounded a bit odd.  That's a long time taken up and a fair quantity of meat and three veg to digest if the required dancing is to take place. 

"DANCING QUEEEEEN, FEEL THE YEAAAH OF THE TANGERINE, OH YEAHHHH!"

I can see it now. Quiet, restrained, it won't be.

I daren't over-quote the lyrics by the way.  I bet there's packs of Swedish lawyers poised to deal with wanton copyright malarkey.

Chicken Tikka, la, la, la, laaaa.


Chicken Tikka, Chiquitita

So I did a bit of Google action to see what is normally consumed at such events.  There was either no food or the ever-present 'finger buffet'.  Greasy chicken legs flopping onto posh frocked laps wouldn't be a preferred option either, I suspect. Lilac feathers accidently dipped into mayonnaise might not be a good look  by the time they're redecorated the favourite top only bought last week from Next.

So I asked my Facebook, PChef chums for thoughts and theories.  I tried to expand the notion and suggest what food you might serve at an Abba cooking show party.  There were the Swedish suggestions of Dime Bars and meatballs.  I like meatballs.  I cooked some for tea last night, but I prefer tomato sauce and not the fruit jam thing as per Ikea. Wierd.  Then there was smorgasbord, which after all is just a posher finger buffet isn't it? I like a few roll mop herrings myself, but there's a time and a place. Then came the suggestions that made me smile.  Chicken Tikka (as in 'Chiquitita' - heard that before but it still made me snort a bit) Doughing Me, Doughing You (for the bread rolls) and Voulez Vonts (vol au vent, obviously).  There were several that suggested an Abba cooking show home party was a real go-er.

I think we're getting somewhere.

Cava, vodka.  Bound to be messy.


The response to my request was - I think - entirely female at time of writing. It's odd how Abba connects in such a way with female audiences.  They've sold over 370 million records and still sell millions every year even though they haven't collectively produced new music since 1982. Each member has continued to work with each other or individually since that time although, unusually, Abba never did officially spilt: they just stopped recording and touring.  I very much doubt that the instigators, Benny and Bjorn realised the impact they would have when the started their musical careers aged 18 in the Hep Cats and The Hootenanny Singers, respectively.

Roll mops.  Swedish enough for you?
However, this is where I may differ from a significant number of the males species.  I like Abba songs.  There.  I've said it now, no going back. They produced some technically fantastic pop songs.  Much has been written about the extraordinary vocal range of the girls in particular which drifts across octaves alarmingly and which makes it very difficult for tribute bands to accurately reproduce the true sound. Sorry, but I like it.

I have been to an Abba tribute show in the grounds of Lincoln Castle one summer and it was great.  People brought picnics and sang rather a lot.  That I can do but I wonder how many blokes will be at this hotel tonight as packs of over 30s women wade through the Cava starters and move onto the main course of Vodka and coke? Messy. Advice:  When you hear gimme, gimme, gimme a man after midnight, check the Exits.

Thankfully I'll be at home.  Chicken Tikka sounds like a good plan, with a few herrings perhaps? Maybe I'll rethink that. I certainly wouldn't fancy doing an Abba cooking show though. No way.

At least now I can watch my DVD of National Lampoon's Animal House without my wife saying," Well that's an hour and a half of my life I can't get back."

Venus and Mars. Ahh , haaaa!

  •  Remember, I'm always interested in any comments and feel free to repost on facebook or twitter, and please join the page - it's on the right side of this page. If you do repost, please drop me a line at mikegetscooking@gmail.com.  It would be great to hear from you. - Mike.

Monday 9 July 2012

I need to have a go at whipping something.

 





I don't really do cream so I'm somewhat unfamiliar with stiff peaks.

 

The runny stuff, the single cream is OK up to a point, but double whisked, fluffed-up cream isn't my number one choice. This is perhaps the reason why I have few whisks at my disposal at home.  Apart from a flick around a gravy, I generally have no need for the things.

Meringue is another mystery to me.  Pavlova is a big hit in our usually male dominated house, so I can't even say it's a girly thing.  I have tried it, but it's a deeply disappointing experience.  You bite into it only to find there's nothing actually in your mouth except a blast of something that was probably very sweet.  It just seems a bit pointless. 

In fact, if I'm honest, puds don't really cut it for me at all.  I'd have a cheese board or just an ice cream if an ice cream should be available. Any flavour. Oh and fruit salad.  I make an excuse for chocolate though.  My passion for chocolate is well-documented in these pages.

Pavlova? I don't really get it.
Yet some people visibly melt at the very mention of meringue.  I've noticed it prompts the occaisional "Oooh...ooooh" with a curious accompanying satisfied or expectant facial expression from those of a female persuasion which suggests I am totally out of my depth when it comes to egg white-based confections.  

I might be wrong here but they so often appear to be the same ladies that go all peculiar when it comes to Baileys, which is another off my radar item. It tastes, to me, like the catch-all medicine that I used get rammed down me as kid that was a cure-all for whatever was ailing me at the time from chicken pox to runny nose.


But of course, it contains cream.  So maybe that's it. Or maybe it's the emulsifier containing refined vegetable-oil which stops the cream and whiskey splitting that doesn't work for me, taste-wise. Whiskey or whisky, on the other hand are big hits with me. We've had an affair for many years.

Double cream, double the fun? Pampered Chef double balloon whisk time.


Anyway.  I'm getting off the point. I would like to get into the whole whisking thing because I think there could be something quite satisfying about it and it's prompted by a couple of events. 

One squirt or two..?
One: I read some - no, quite a lot of  - sniggering from women clearly up to speed with the whole 50 Shades of Grey thing and there were whisk references going on.  It's a not a bedside reading item for me so I can only wonder what caused such sniggers or whether I had totally confused the messages. Maybe it was cream, rather than whisk thing...anyway.

And two: the Pampered Chef double balloon whisk I saw demonstrated a bit back.  It's a strange looking creature, if I'm honest.  It looks like somone started making what a whisk should look like and got a bit confused having too many whisk-type metal bits, mid way. 

Anyway the end result is maximum aeration. Loads of air after a moderate beating. It certainly made short work of the cream I looked at. After giving it a bit of a seeing-to, the female demonstrator had peaks all over the place.  And in record time.

I want to join in the fun.

Taken us a while to get there; we've had a passion for sweetened creamy stuff since the sixteenth century. Maybe my not liking frothy cream thing was also driven by the 'squirty' cream that was a pudding staple in my childhood. Press too hard, one squirt and it was all over the damned place. And it tasted of what, exactly?

I could give a batter a batter. It's a possibility. But maybe I need to get over this whole whipped aversion, get a double balloon whisk, give it a go and see if I can peak.

I might even like it.

  • If you have any thoughts and theories, please feel free to comment. And repost on facebook and twitter as you so please. You can contact me on mikegetscooking on facebook or at mikegetscooking@gmail.com.






Sunday 8 July 2012

Curry please, make sure it's slim line.

 





This is a tricky one and I'm not sure what I think.  This is what set me off...

'You've used the wrong milk again...how many more times.  It's not my milk!'

My wife is now giving me that look that suggests I will pay a heavy price for this latest lapse in concentration at a time and date to suit her. If you lived in my house, you'd hear that quite a bit.  Sometimes I forget, sometimes - I have to admit - I can't be faffed with swapping endless different sorts of milk about.


I was making two mugs of hot chocolate and 'accidently' used semi skimmed milk in both, instead of one with skimmed milk.  Skimmed is the fluid of choice for my wife. I should make the effort particularly as I am getting seriously fed up with others foisting their food and drink notions on me.

We both used to drink full fat.  I can't remember when we shifted sideways, likewise I can't remember when we both dropped sugar.  To go off track slightly, I used to work for a major organisation that sent a 'nurse' around occasionally for workplace healthcare. Now a colleague of mine, true to his agricultural roots, ate vast quantities of fatty bits washed down with Jersey milk.  I haven't seen Jersey milk for years; not sure if you can still buy it.  It's so fatty it almost stands up by itself.

Anyway, the nurse did all the relevant checks during one of her workplace visits and the test results seemed to suggest my colleague had been dead for several years, it's just that no-one had bothered to tell him. He was off the scale; such was the effect of the milk and all round meaty consumption.  Except of course he was very much alive, in pretty sound health generally and was a little surprised to find out he was dead.

Suffice to say, he didn't change his diet, and is still on his toes.


Fish and chips anyone?
Now, I do try to watch what I consume.  I'm not a great fast-food fan, except fish and chips.  The whole burger thing leaves me apathetic. I do need to lose weight though, but that's more to do with not getting off my backside enough.  I don't drink much alcohol really and I don't smoke: never have done, never tried it in fact, so I've no idea what that's like.  It's my choice.  I like choice.  I choose to like choice.

So I'm starting to get just a tad frustrated by the increasing levels of 'skinny' and 'lite' in the choice put before me. No, not just before me, almost thrust upon me. Before we go further, when did skinny become a gastronomic option? I can't remember.  Skinny. Odd.  If I called someone skinny they'd probably be less than pleased.  Slim, yes, not skinny.  And yet if I want a coffee that isn't skinny I'm looked upon like a social misfit.  Yes I know I'm getting paranoid and a bit silly, but I almost feel like I need to apologise in advance when I place an order.
"Can I have the chicken please...and I'd like the skin left on"
"Left on..?
"And a coffee.."
" Skinny..?"
"Just semi-skimmed, please..."
"So...you'd like skin, but not skinny?"
And off she goes to tell her workmates to treat the bloke on table seven with extreme caution as he's clearly unstable.

It's a tricky one.  We should eat responsibly.  We eat too much fat.  I eat too much fat.  I know I do.  I like cake and chocolate and biscuits.  I like to be able to choose a fatty or a non fatty version: example, I prefer low-fat yoghurt.  I like the choice, I just don't like the feeling that I'm wrong to like a battered sausage once every six months.  But maybe I should?  Maybe I'm the one that's wrong. Maybe choice should not be a choice after all.  Food education is a serious matter not to be trivialised as so many people gain dangerous weight levels.  What we do that will make a major impact, I have no idea. I'm not sure guilt is a great option though as it prompts me to eat another biscuit to take the guilty feelings away.  I do think we haven't seriously tackled the issues of high fat foods sold cheaply or marketing to children.  It all feels a bit token.


Fried?..not fried?
I saw this recipe on the facebook thingy for 'lite' fried chicken.  (I can't tell you how much I loathe the non-word 'lite'...anyway.)  The reason why the 'lite' fried chicken was 'lite' was because it wasn't fried.  So what exactly is the point of calling the damn thing fried?  It was oven baked.  But because we all secretly like fatty fried chicken, we have to call a non-fried chicken fried so we can say we haven't actually eaten fried, fried chicken.   If I want oven baked chicken, let me choose that or let me choose a fried version:  why call something what it isn't? We can't seem to make our minds up with messages mixed all over.

I was in a well-known national pub chain pub last night for a meal after a very long day left me too tired to cook.  Browsing through the range of menus before me I glanced at the drinks and saw - skinny singles.  What?  Example: Vodka and a low carb Monster.  I think after grazing through steak, chips, a fried egg and onion rings, a low carb Monster isn't really going to scratch the surface. However, at least I have the option, and we would criticise them if they didn't make an effort.

This reminds me: a while back we went for an Indian meal in a restaurant after which my wife asked for a gin and tonic, but make sure it's a slim line.  That's after a months supply of curry calories in one sitting. I did raise the issue but...

I suppose there are two main threads to all this. Firstly, I am a grown up, I am incredibly fortunate to live in a country at a time in history when I can choose what I want to eat within reason, so please let me choose.  And please continue giving me that sensible option. Just don't make me feel guilty, it will backfire.  And why do we now pretend to eat what we are not eating? I don't understand and I'm not sure the pretend part is helping with food education.  There is a third thread which is about what manufacturers put in our food to make it low or non fat and yet taste 'fatty' and 'creamy'.  But that's for another day.

Guess what I had to eat today?  A chicken dinner and chocolate fudge cake to follow.  Oh dear. I'll be eating deep fried Mars Bars next and that'll really give me something to feel guilty about.

I'm going to quite open here; I'm not sure what I really think or perhaps more accurately, should think. Maybe we are all so disconnected from food and its production that we need protecting from ourselves. Skinny or not so skinny.  That is the question.

  • If you have any thoughts and theories, please feel free to comment. And repost on facebook and twitter as you so please. You can contact me on mikegetscooking on facebook or at mikegetscooking@gmail.com.




Sunday 1 July 2012

Guacamole? No thanks, I've just had a nuclear fallout.

The infamous MFP


Here's a question: will there be any demand for handmade guacamole after the nuclear apocolypse?

Interesting question.  I hadn't thought about it. I think it's safe to say I never would have given this the attention it deserves until I read some jabbering on Her Majesty's Facebook of late. It set me off, to be honest.  What would you fancy after the wholesale slaughter of the human race? The chippie would be closed, so that's out.

I really ought to say upfront that all this is not my thinking. My chum Carolyn was recounting a Pampered Chef cooking show she was at with a new recruit.  PChef makes this non-electrical gadget which PCheffers insist on calling the 'MFP'.  A 'manual food processor' if you like.  Now as you can see from the above pic, it looks like what a food processor looks like.  But no mains electricity is required.  You 'pump it' to quote from the blurb.  In fact  (quote) 'the more you pump, the finer the cuts.'

So if I've got this right, it could be a workout tool as well as a chopper.  Aren't you supposed to 'pump' when you workout?  I've no direct experience because I'm no friend of gyms and I've never seen this chopper - food processor - in the flesh.  I'm sure The Green Godess on Breakfast TV years ago would have found a use for it.  Anyway, to get to the point. A guest at this show suggested that the MFP would be better knowns as a Post Apocalyptic Food Processor, because it needs no power.  Then Linda, quite rightly joined the dots and suggested the demand for homemade guacamole would probably be a tad subdued, perhaps she was, by default questioning the demand for MFPs long term. Not sure if I agree completely. Guacamole is always a bit bland - no, subtle - to me in a nice way and I think I'd like that.  I mean, you wouldn't want anything spicy would you after going through a holocaust?  Enough excitement for one day.
The microplane zester

Apple, Orange and other devices


I could surround myself with other bits of non - power kit like garlic pressers, microplane zesters and so on, although what there would be left to zest is open to question.  And I couldn't ask anyone to find out because my mobile phone would have vaporised at worst or conked out at best, knackered by electrical storms.  Now that would irrate  all the hardcore mobile users wouldn't it?  I'm quite into techie bits  as a rule but the obsession with phones has left me behind.  Do you know, the fifth most popular thing to do with a mobile phone now, is make phone calls? The fifth!


In a bit of a tantrum I searched high and low until I found a phone that just makes calls.  Just calls.  That's it.  I'm happy.  I have no immediate taste for Apple, Orange, Blackberry, Chuck Berry or whatever they're called.

'Hey...can I show you the 5,000 photos from my last holiday I have on my Hokey Cokey 2000, or do you need to know the latest train times in Venezuela...?
'No, but I do strongly recommend you get a life..'

Actually this whole Apocalyptic thing is getting a little clearer to me now.  Those of us of a certain age may well remember the government's advice in the 80s when a Big Bang was a real threat.  They suggested we take all the doors off in the house, lean them against a wall, drape a curtain or two and hide inside. Or under the kitchen table.  Not sure if this was a foolproof plan.


A blast of thermal radiation to the tune of several megakelvins through your letter box would be more than a match for the deluxe kitchen wood effect suite from MFI. Safe to say the cat would be in for a hell of a shock too.

Pinot Grigio - weapon of choice
So all in all, as much as I like the idea of manual food processors and the like, I suspect I wouldn't have much of an appetite, guacamole or otherwise.

50 Shades of Threat


We don't spend much time these days worrying about nutters with warheads and fingers on buttons, well not in the way we used to, certainly.  Todays threats have a different twist. We'd booked flights to the States two days before the Twin Towers.  Friends suggested we should cancel.  Certainly not.  Out of the question.  Didn't fancy giving into that stuff really: we flew.  I certainly don't lose sleep because rightly or wrongly, I'm not scared right now of the Big Bang.

However...I do keep being asked if I'm going to the Pampered Chef Annual Conference.  A huge room packed with hundreds of excitable women armed to the teeth with well-thumbed copies of 50 Shades of Grey and unlimited cases of Pinot  Grigio.

That's a different story.  That's why I'm writing this under the kitchen table.  Move over Tiddles.


BTW  If you like what you read, feel free to repost on facebook, twitter, whatever takes your fancy.  In fact I'd like it if you did.  And PLEASE join the page - on the right hand side, it is a bit of a faff, but there we are.  You can always contact me at mikegetscooking on FB or twitter or at mikegetscooking@gmail.com.  Thanks.