eating, for amateurs

24 Hour Beigel People

2009-09-26T04:43:00.006+02:00

Fyllemat. A Swedish word that begs for an English equivalent. Roughly, it translates into "food that one eats whilst drunk on a night out". I'm not talking about the Taco Bell fourthmeal grotesqueness; that is more a lifestyle choice made by the severly obese. I'm talking about the 3 am, postclubbing I-am-drunk-and-have-no-self-control food whimsy.

As I spent two weeks interrailing Europe and am therefore wise in the ways of European generalizations, I'd like to take a moment to muse about the best and worst of late night eating. Best drunken meal goes to the kebabs of Berlin. Crispy warm freshly toasted bread, kebab that is slowly roasted and carved on the spot, that pool of orange grease around the crust - kebabgasm. Worst goes to the langos of Budapest. Bland and beige deep fried shit with shit on it. Major disappointment.

Nevermind continental Europe. I'm in London now, let's talk about London's finest - Brick Lane Beigel Bakery. Not only is it open 24 hours, it's also fresh and dirt cheap. The prices start at £0.30 for a buttered bagel, and I bought an egg-mayo bagel for £0.95. A horde of bagel fans ranging from Shoreditch twats to neon-vested builders loiter outside. It's well worth visiting.

They also sell baked goods, for equally ridiculous prices.

For being late-night food that isn't deep fried or reheated to the point of nuclear waste, it was pretty fucking fantastic. In fact, all around Brick Lane you will find late night food. Curry houses have very generous opening times, and at 2 am people were still being served. Kebabs, falafels, shawarmas reign supreme at this hour.

I've been hearing a lot of place for a 24-hour diner in Farringdon called Tinseltown, and I'm just dying to check it out. Milkshake at 3 am? YES PLEASE. Alright, so maybe I am making lifestyle choices of the severely obese. But it's alright, eat now diet later.

Party like country folk

2009-07-30T20:32:00.010+02:00

House parties in the countryside used to be a-plenty back in the days of häxblandningar (translated: witch-mix, i.e. a cocktail of miscellaneous booze discreetly stolen from the liquor cabinet) and 2.25% proof ciders. Good times. They always involve a trampoline, somebody throwing up, and raiding the fridge at 4 a.m. whilst sobering up.

Yes, we're obviously having a fantastic time.

Now, I'm off to AMERICA. Stick around for the imminent obesity.

Clothes! Clothes! Clothes!

2009-07-29T19:02:00.004+02:00

It's been a bit quiet on the fashion front around here lately, so here's mixing it up with an outfit of the day. Not me, obviously, as I am neither male nor Caucasian.

M.H. explains: "The hat is my dad's, bought on auction. The shirt was tailored in Singapore in the 80s, my dad's as well. The linen jacket is from Dries van Noten. The linen slacks are from Our Legacy and the mint green belt with lots of holes in it is from Acne. Church's monkstrap shoes. The lavender pocket square with cream flower print is my favorite bargain, marked down from $45 to $7, bought in New York."

Well done M.H.

Fjording Norway: Day 4, Hurtigruten

2009-07-28T00:33:00.000+02:00

We were recently shown pictures of another Chinese family's vacation pictures on board a cruise ship, and it looked like a floating city. So we compared it to our ship in typical Chinese manner. It was decided that our ship was more rustic and homely. Nevermind that M. and D spent their first night completely robbed of their sleep by the ship's engine, which was churning out its environmentally-unfriendly rage directly beneath their cabin. We were nevertheless glad that we were being fed.

Fish for breakfast? I love breakfast far too much to protest.

What do you do on a ship? Essentially, you're waiting for your next meal. To pass the interlude, I read A Picture of Dorian Gray, took pictures, and napped on the deck. A taste of retirement life.

Lunch time! What you see is just the chilled seafood section; on top of that there were warm fish and meat options. I felt obliged to try everything in minuscule portions until I found my favorites (lamb casserole, smoked halibut, and the caramelized onions that accompanied the fish cakes).

In the afternoon we visited two highly unremarkable coastal towns, and then saw a funny mountain with a penetrating hole.

We arrived in the restaurant, salivating, five minutes before they had started serving, and had to suffer the teasing smell of ginger and shallots. Then the starters arrived.

Hurtigruten prides itself on serving local food from whichever port it stops at that day. These beautiful scallops had that tinge of sweetness that only super fresh shellfish have, and when pulled apart...

Oh my. That's some naughtily fresh scallops. Served with lime and carrot puree. If you haven't lost your scallop virginity, do so now, and experience the full glory of nature's best offerings.

We'll skip the uninspiring main dish (beef sirloin with sauteed vegetables - snore) and skip to the dessert.

Champagne soup with strawberries, rhubarb and cream. I'm banging my head against the screen trying to get to it again. You have to excuse the cliches that will pile up because I'm getting too excited just looking at it. I had one mouthful of this and was lost in the tangy sweetness of the soup and the smooth, silky cream. The rhubarb fell apart in my mouth without resistance. I had a mental food-pleasure seizure.

So that was the highlight of the day. Afterward we compared cabins to see which one was less noisy, and at 2 am M. and I do a room switch so the poor woman doesn't go sleepless for another night. Yes, at least the food was good.

The Chinese eat breakfast

2009-07-25T12:45:00.006+02:00

A Chinese breakfast is completely different from the western notion. It's savory, it's warm, and usually involves deep fried dough stick; but don't expect any dairy products or wholemeal. My stomach never agrees with having Chinese breakfasts every single day, but a weekend morning feels tragically incomplete without it.

In Hangzhou, miniature dumplings are sold on pretty much every street before midday. It can be assumed therefore that many people eat it for breakfast. Personally I'm not a big fan, as the fillings tend to be mostly gristle and fat. Certainly a feast for a eyes though to see massive a pan filled with rows of sweaty dumplings.

My favorite Chinese breakfast food are the thick, sweet soups with fermented glutinous rice. Usually with a cracked egg and some miniature rice balls, these soups are the ultimate comfort food for me.

When glutinous rice (i.e. extra sticky rice) is fermented it turns into very sweet, and is often used in desserts. Ferment it any longer and it turns into rice wine.

This is where we buy our breakfast every morning in China. You'll find everyone from businessmen to school children to construction workers in this very popular alleyway eatery. Its specialty are, of course, deep fried dough sticks.

油条, "oil stick", tastes much better than its direct translation sounds. It's slightly salty with a distinct baking soda flavor. Fresh out of the deep fryer, it's crispy on the outside, light and airy on the inside. Not unlike petit choux, actually. It's usually eaten as it is, but is also chopped up into little bits and put into rice porridge, or wrapped in egg pancakes with savory sauces.

Our homemade versions are somewhat smaller.

Frozen deep fried dough sticks can be bought in most Asian supermarkets, as long as you know what you're looking for.

Fjording Norway: Day 3.2, Lofoten

2009-07-24T00:34:00.004+02:00

The boat from Vindstad arrived just in the nick of time for our bus connection, and I ended up having to run from the hotel to the bus station carrying one piece of luggage in each arm and sweating like nobody's business. All's well that ends well.

Even as we were leaving the place, Lofoten never ceased to amaze. On the bus, we encountered more strange meteorological phenomena.

What the hell?

For D. and me, it was mist safari time. I worked the camera, as he barked out instructions from his superior window seat. "Wait moment, wait moment, wait moment, NOW!" We worked in collaboration to capture the elusive well-composed-shot-from-a-moving-vehicle.

Unfortunately, M. slept through the spectacle. Later, we found out from a local that this kind mist happens in Lofoten after a sunny spell. The Norse weather gods have been very kind to us.

After all that excitement on the bus, we were ready for some food. Since we were leaving Lofoten, we thought our meal should consist of a cross-section of Northern Norway produce.

M. had "klippfisk", otherwise known as bacalao. It's a kind of dried, salted cod that is soaked in water for a few days before being cooked. If you're thinking, that doesn't sound very Norwegian, it's not. It's Portugese. Salted cod was made popular after the discovery (or detection) of Newfoundland, and nowadays Norway, with its similar climate, is the major exporter of klippfisk, or bacalao. One piece of trivia richer.

D. had Lofoten lamb. According to the guidebook, Lofoten lamb is supposed to be meatier, more tender and less fatty than the usual lamb, and with a hint of game. My tastebuds aren't trained to the subtleties of game in hints, so I can't tell you whether that's true or not.

I went for whale. Yes, really, whale. Served with salad and chips. It is rather sinewy, and is a bit more tender than beef, but otherwise identical in texture - quite odd to see rare and bloody sea-animal meat. It was served in a pool of peppercorn sauce, so I couldn't distinguish any whale flavor. To be honest, if it were on a menu, I wouldn't choose it again. Nothing wrong with it per say, I'm just not a big fan of bloody meat.

I can't claim to have mentally munched on any ethical arguments whilst eating the oddly beef-like whale meat, but mentioning whale in context of eating should always be backed up with comments on sustainability, so here goes. The quota for minke whales in Norway is 1052 a year, but allegedly only 500 are caught. The whales are DNA marked, to prove its legality. It is claimed that whale hunting in Norway is less for commercial purposes, and more to support its coastal communities. All of this paraphrased from Insight Guides: Norway.

After dinner we say goodbye to Lofoten, and board our ship to Bergen.

Tomorrow: life on a cruise ship, complete with seafood buffets.

Fjording Norway: Day 3.1, Lofoten

2009-07-23T11:24:00.009+02:00

That morning I woke up to a novel sensation - objectophilia. My sleeping clothes smelled of wood, and the scent lingered like that of a lover for several days. I went down to the patio for breakfast. The patio. I was passionately in love with the patio, the cabin, our wonderful Reine cabin, sitting on the ocean with its view of mountains. Sorry E.B., I think I may have had a love affair with an inanimate object.

Breakfast was eaten the way breakfast should always be eaten: with mountains in the background.

Alas, the love affair was sweet but short, and after breakfast we hopped on a boat to see some arctic beaches. Farewell Reine, farewell!

After racing by some fjords, the boat dropped us off at Vindstad. We begin our hike through beautiful desolation, over the neck of a mountain, to the Norwegian ocean on the other side.

Look again. I don't think you've quite grasped the proportions. Those ant-like specks in the middle are people. The red speck on the top right is a house.

There were quite a few kids there. They seemed to tumble down to beach with ease, whilst the rest of us old folks had to step carefully. Some adventurous souls were carrying their babies in baby carrier backpacks. The family nodded in collective admiration.

If you can teach your kids to swim in the cold Norwegian sea, they'll swim anywhere.

Breathtaking, absolutely breathtaking. The journey back was much less impressive. The boat arrives an hour late, and we wait around at the dock "eating the west-north wind", as the Chinese say.

Later: whale meat for dinner.

Everyday should end with a dinner party

2009-07-23T00:24:00.007+02:00

Today we take a break from Norwegian eats to talk about M.H.'s extraordinary dinner party, in occasion of his birthday. He turns 19, and we all benefit.

This year's menu is seafood oriented. This makes me a very happy amateureater. For starters, we have crayfish.

The crayfish has been sitting in a lime marinade for a couple of hours before being baked in the oven.

For those of you interested, the marinade consisted of lemon and lime juice, lime rind, one small onion (diced finely), white wine, olive oil, ginger, and spiced with chili, salt and pepper.

It's an angry little bugger, it is. No matter, it's still ridiculously tasty.

Being Chinese, I'm always expected to take care of the rice. Despite a lifetime of dependency on rice, I only ever make rice in a rice cooker, and perform very poorly without it. Disappointed, M.H. has to do it himself.

For mains: fillet of plaice, served with asparagus and rice. The plaice is cooked in a creamy sauce, with pickles and capers. A Portuguese recipe, apparently.

Plaice. So ugly on the outside, so tender on the inside.

For dessert, M.H. gets out the blowtorch for some creme brule, served with a generous heap of raspberries. For some bizarre reason, I'm the only one who wanted seconds. I was also the only one to request for an additional post-dessert of ice cream. How odd.

Thank you M.H. for a grand meal.

Fjording Norway: Day 2, Lofoten

2009-07-21T11:29:00.015+02:00

On the ferry from Bodo to Lofoten, a camera orgy broke out on the deck. Of course, I had to join in. After about fifteen minutes of overexcited camera clicking, I realized that there isn't really much to see, unless this is your first time on a boat in which case the ocean may be an item of curiosity.

We approach Lofoten, landing at the Moskenes port. Not much to see here.

When I was planning this epic trans-Norway vacation, I had read in a travel guide that Reine was claimed by some to be Norway's most beautiful place. Nothing appeals to me quite as much as a superlative in print, so I booked us a night at a converted fisherman's cabin in Reine. This was possibly the best travel-related decision I have ever made.

Ours is the one with blue window frames.

When we walk in, we are met with the smell of wood (much like freshly opened IKEA furniture). We discover, to our great delight, that the cabin is much bigger than expected. It has an upstairs with a cozy mezzanine, a downstairs with a kitchen and an outlandish view, and an abundance of bedrooms and bathrooms. It is big enough to house two families with one child each, or a family of four and two lonely fishermen. The family spreads out over its new found luxury.

To the patio. The patio is the best part of the cabin. It sits on stilts, over the ocean, which you can see through the cracks between the wood panel floor. Leave me on that patio for long enough with pencil and paper and I will produce at least one major work of literary and/or visual art. It is so inspiring that I vow to buy myself a cabin in Lofoten one day when I'm older and richer.

After several hours of appreciation, we go for dinner. And my God, what a dinner. We ordered the following mains:

Monkfish with apples flavored butter sauce and cauliflower puree

Grilled stockfish with chorizo, almonds and apricots

Stockfish with bacon, carrots, capers and butter sauce

With that we were served homemade bread with dips, and a shot of cold tomato and ham soup.

The grilled stockfish was unanimously deemed to be the best dish. The meat has a very distinctively substantial texture and flakes beautifully. It has a mildly fishy aroma, but is otherwise flavorless; here, it borrows flavor from the salty mash and chorizo.

What is stockfish? It's dried cod. The fishermen catch the fish in the winter, which they hang on wooden racks for two months. Before cooking, the fish is soaked in water for nine days. Which is why it tastes so fresh. It can really only be produced in Norway, and goes to show the powerful impact of geography on food. This also means that Norway has a monopoly of sorts on stockfish, so it is ridiculously expensive to buy in supermarkets.

Photo by Morten Andvig via reinerorbuer.no

After dinner, we sat on our patio sipping tea and studying the arctic sun. Our findings: the sun is actually circling above our heads, constantly above the horizon. This also means that for several months of the year, the sun makes its rounds underneath you. Funny, this concept of day-months and night-months. It's so unnatural to man. It's almost like living on another planet.

A fisherman throws out some fish gibblets to an anticipating pack of squawking seagulls. All is well.

Tomorrow: The family goes on mist-safari.

Fjording Norway: Day 1, Oslo

2009-07-20T11:06:00.014+02:00

Inevitably, a Norway round-trip would have to include Oslo. I've visited Oslo a couple of years ago, but I have no recollection of the place except for a certain "Sculpture Park", and that only because it is always mentioned with a tone of disdain by D. whenever the subject of Oslo is brought up. The sculpture park, and a horrendously overpriced meal of spaghetti.

This time we needed to stop over in Oslo for a couple of hours before catching a flight to Bodo. Our expectations were low, and when expectations are that low the experience slips into the realm of comedy - everything bad is funny, and anything good is a pleasant surprise.

After the a 3.5 hour bus journey (which I managed to sleep through completely, accomplishment of the week) the family needed food. The overpriced-spaghetti trauma was mentioned several times and we decided to go for something cheap and cheerful - kebab.

Kebab? 67NOK, (£6.70 pounds)

Fortunately it can only get better from here, and one massive ice cream later we warmed up to Oslo.

Did you know that Oslo is the only city in the world with a Mini Bottle Gallery? Fascinating, absolutely fascinating.

After finally giving the Norwegian a nod of approval ("It's not actually so bad after all"), we head to Oslo's Gardemoen airport. When we arrive, M. has a food scare ("If we don't eat now we won't eat until we get off the plane. That's several hours without food. I'm just telling you."), which the remaining two thirds of the family relent to. We stuff some heartburn-inducing sausage meals down our throats.

At 22:15 we arrive at the generally uninteresting town of Bodo.

Welcome to the Arctic Circle.

Tomorrow: Arriving in Lofoten, where the family gets to stay in the largest cabin. Success.

Sjömän & Slynor (trans. Sailors & Hussies)

2009-07-12T07:43:00.009+02:00

Everybody loves pretending to lead a life at sea during the summer.

Now I'm off to Norway with the family, to return with tales about seafood buffes and overpriced breakfasts. Back in a week!

Americans make desserts

2009-07-09T19:21:00.015+02:00

America, in my mind, is the home of all things sweet and brightly colored. Back in my international school days, kids would come back from America, accompanied always by a packets of cartoonish candy and tales of outrageous super-sweet snacks. In less than a month I will join the millions of people who have experienced America first-hand and returned slightly fatter, and live to blog endlessly about it. In anticipation of much America to come, here are some selected 4th of July cakes, borne of the patriotic dessert influx that followed the holiday:

Does it get anymore patriotic than an American flag in every slice? I think not. "A little taste of independence in every bite" indeed.

Although this one claims to be in celebration of America, I believe it was probably accidental. A pavlova, some blueberries and some raspberries later, the author suddenly realized that, "Why, this looks very American. Let's call it a 4th of July cake!" Very clever, very clever. Cake is always more impressive when it's categorized.

These are almost too pretty to eat and deserve to be put on display as an abstract representation of the modern American soul.

And last but not least: E.B. and family's traditional American flag cake. God bless America.

Failure is the mother of success.

2009-07-09T14:21:00.004+02:00

On the bus to the dinner part, daintydog asked with a massive grin on her face, "So. How did you fail today? Tell me about your fail." She then opted for a more sympathetic expression, at which point she looked like she'd just had a stroke and paralyzed half her face. The fail in question is the stop motion animation that Isa and I are working on; we've run into some setbacks during editing and spent all day effectively watching the spinning wait cursor.

Nevermind - failing is learning.

Seeing as it is made by myself and Isa, the animation is obviously somehow related to food. We looked around the internet for some inspiration, and found ourselves humbled by greater talents. We said to ourselves: "But they're professionals", and nodded vigorously in agreement. Here are three stop motion animation shorts that are worth developing an inferiority complex about.

First of all, a classic by Jan Svankmajer, starring the most emotionally stirring character of the food world, meat. The strange anthropomorphism makes me quite uncomfortable every time, especially when the slabs of meat move their little meat hands. See for yourself.

Now, for something lighter and less edible, here's a fantastic short that feels like it stemmed from the imagination of a six-year-old. As daintydog so elegantly put it, "If you want to watch something that will make you feel talentless, youtube PES."

This is food stop motion on steroids. Can you identify all the countries? I got a bit lost when all the kebabs appeared, thus revealing my ignorance of world history after WWII.

Eating with Isa & family

2009-07-08T11:25:00.010+02:00

I have the great fortune of being friends with Isa, whose dad is a food photographer. For the past two years or so he's been working with this lovely baker lady to write recipe books, and the cakes she bakes for those photography sessions need to be eaten, somehow, by someone. Yes, my friends, this is my moment to shine. In fact, one of the first things that her dad said to me was, "your reputation for eating precedes you." Thanks, Isa.

Today Isa and I went on an expedition to pick up some cakes.

Pass through these gates for earthly delights.

When I met her she was wearing a pink blouse with a baby blue apron. She has one of those permanent smiles that make her dimples seem as natural a facial feature as her nose or eyebrows, and the first thing she said to us was, "Would you like some wine?" Then she floated serenely into the kitchen as us mere mortals followed, and poured us glasses of rosé. She told us that she used to work in a bakery, but felt so lonely making cakes by herself every single day, that now she's working on a train "where it's me and three hundred other people." She then served us, in chronological order:

Strawberry basil pannacotta
Satsuma star anis pannacotta
Lemon meringue tarts ("I boiled the meringue so it gets a creamy texture. Isn't it lovely?")
Almond apricot tart
Strawberry and cream roll cake
Chocolate and orange sponge cake
Rocky road brownies
Walnut and cream sponge cake

Yes, she is indeed the goddess of cake.

Tonight the eating feast continues as shakebook is throwing a dinner party to celebrate her new found moral superiority. I suggested that we all dress up as the things she has given up: me as a cigarette, Isa as a slab of meat, and daintydog can be Buddha. (She's not actually giving up buddhism but I'm not sure how to dress daintydog up as "non-belief".)

The Chinese make dumplings

2009-07-07T23:29:00.018+02:00

Dumplings. These are Chinese people's (or perhaps just my family's) answer to watching sports together, or going sailing with the family, or picking lice off each others backs. Making and eating dumplings is a session of bonding that is vital to the dynamics of the family; without dumplings, the core of the family is disrupted and we will be reduced to awkward strangers waving to each other from across the hallway.

Today's dumpling session was made that much more exciting by D's fascinating choice of a Chinese audiobook called, simply, "Second Marriage". Every now and then it would hit us with gems such as:

"How you let child get beaten like this? Child only seventeen, he is like bread, with many air spaces..." followed shortly by, "What he love is you, not child."

This sad and controversial tale led to discourse in the kitchen:

M: Don't want to hear anymore. Westerners are like this? Westerners not so complicated.
J: No, westerners more or less like this.
D: More or less, more or less, ai ya, people are same, people are people.

D is wise, D is very wise.

Anyways, back to dumplings. How does one make dumplings? It's a simply process, although not something you make and eat on your own. That would be like barbecuing exclusively for yourself, and only very lonely people do that. No, dumplings bring to mind a gathering of people, socializing with floury hands amidst the sound of sizzling of fried dough, burning their tongues on the hot savory fillings, accompanied by the smell of dipping vinegar.

The concept of dumpling is so successful because it takes advantage of the winning concept that is: STUFF WRAPPED IN STUFF. Now, this paradigm of tastiness is worth its own post, as I'm sure daintydog can tell you all about. Food is always better when it comes with a filling.

The basic premise of dumpling filling is simple: pork and vegetables. Today we used celery (M: Celery too old to eat on its own but if you boil, very tasty in dumplings.)

Then you spice that up with the dynamic duo of Chinese cooking:

Soy sauce and rice wine. Put that in anything and you'll get instant Chinese. For example:
Quiche + soy sauce + rice wine = China-pie.
Now, mix up that filling, preferably with chopsticks for authentic flavor.

Then, prepare the dough. The dough consists of flour and water, at a ratio that should be intuitive to any housewife, until the dough separates from the surface of the bowl. Leave that alone for about half an hour to set.

This is the part in cooking books that I absolutely hate. This is the crafty, origami shit that takes too many words to explain, and requires too much thinking to make sense of. All I can say is: grab your nearest Chinese and ask for help. Then release. Then repeat, etc. The basic idea is that you end up wrapping a dollop of filling in a thin circular sheet of dough. Try to visualize:

And this is how they'll end up looking, if you're skilled enough:

At this point you either throw them into a pot of boiling water, or sizzle them golden in a frying pan. Today we opted for the latter:

And finally, to complete the story, this is what I see when I eat:

These are not summer colors.

2009-07-06T20:53:00.005+02:00

In stark contrast to yesterday's DAGENS OUTFIT, today's outfit is not an ode to summer colors (white and beige), but irrelevantly jumps ahead to winter colors (purple and black), which raises the interesting question: Is it alright to wear winter colors during the summer?

Which just goes to show the kind of superficial thoughts that plague my mind. When I could be using my brain capacity to, say, write a critically-acclaimed novel.

The top is from Sweden and the trousers are from Urban Outfitters.

What do Chinese people eat?

2009-07-06T17:27:00.011+02:00

Sometimes, Chinese people like to eat heads.
Note the sad look on its face. No, that fish is not pleased to be in a soup. Why would you want to eat a fish head, you ask? First of all, the story goes that Chinese people like their fish whole. I think that this is to preserve the savoriness that is lost when meat is separated from bone, but some (western) sources say it's to symbolize prosperity, to which I say: sure. Second of all, head is abundant something which in my opinion is often undervalued, and that is cartilage.

Now, I imagine nobody really goes around saying to themselves, mmm, love that cartilage. That's probably because cartilage isn't exactly a poetic word, and doesn't have the raw pop-appeal that other meat-related words like ribs or steak have. And thinking about cartilage inevitably leads to thinking about bone and there's nothing appealing about bone.

However, I'd like you to take a second and think about chewy candy and jell-o. Keep in mind that sleek sheen and smooth texture. Now, imagine that on a smaller scale, accompanying the savory taste of meat. Imagine soft, sticky and smooth meat but without the sickening runniness of fat. That, my dear reader, is the wonder of cartilage.

Actually, I digress. I don't think I've actually eaten a fish head, because where there is an abundance of cartilage is an abundance of dodgy bits that taste like ocean. Actually, I do have vague memories of myself eating a fish eye as a child, and thinking, "mmm, what a treat". In fact, I may even have fought over that fish eye with my cousin. This is China, ca. 1994.

So, I'm going to finish this very informative post about "heads" with another picture:
I've never actually tried duck heads either. Because, why eat duck head when you have duck?

London eating: Borough Market's finest.

2009-07-06T00:19:00.005+02:00

The first thing you should know about Borough Market is that it's only open on:

Thursdays: 11am - 5pm
Fridays: 12pm - 6pm
Saturdays: 9am - 4pm

Ignorance about Borough Market's opening times causes a lot of frustration and disappointment.

Borough Market is an excellent place to sample food. It's very easy to have a whole meal for free; starting with the freshly squeezed apple juice shots, move on to the friendly/foreign Turkish snacks vendor (sometimes baklava, sometimes Turkish delights). Then, sample your way around the different cheeses, dip tiny portions of pita bread into meze, and do not miss the truffle oil on the way out.

Unfortunately, most of the food requires money in exchange. Sometimes you have to give a little to get a little.

DAGENS OUTFIT (trans: outfit of the day)

2009-07-05T21:26:00.004+02:00

Food is not enough to maintain a happy lifestyle. In order to be happy, one must also dress well. Fact.
The shirt belongs to my mother, the jodhpurs are from Sweden and the belt is from H&M.

Dinner with the Chinese

2009-07-05T19:36:00.004+02:00

(English subtitles)

D: So old, this celery.

D: This shrimp, how much [cost]?
M: I don’t know.
D: So small, this shrimp.

D: This tree, when grow so tall?

M: What is this? This I don’t want to eat. Is fat? Do you want eat this? I give to you, you eat.

FIN

Pizza a la filth

2009-07-05T17:59:00.002+02:00

Ingredients:

1 tortilla bread
Pasta sauce (preferably tomato based)
1 potato, boiled and mashed
Bacon, fried and shredded
Onion, fried
Ham, shredded
1 egg
A pinch of parmesan (or more, if available)

Put toppings on base. Bake in oven until egg is cooked.

"I'm frightened of eggs, worse than frightened, they revolt me. That white round thing without any holes . . . have you ever seen anything more revolting than an egg yolk breaking and spilling its yellow liquid? Blood is jolly, red. But egg yolk is yellow, revolting. I've never tasted it."

- Alfred Hitchcock, famous ovophobe

No, not with your hands E.B. We have a lot to learn.

Work it baby, work it hard. Yes. Yes. YES!

E.B. "It's beautiful, isn't it? It's so visceral. It's almost like dissecting a human body."

K.C. (later on) "Looks like you plated up a good old pavement pizza right there."

Saturday is Breakfast Day

2009-07-05T17:55:00.005+02:00

LURPAK's commercial is by far my favorite right now. I sometimes find myself mumbling its delightful little slogan to myself like a mantra, "Saturday is Breakfast day, Saturday is Breakfast Day, Saturdayisbreakfastday" Sometimes I wake up on a Saturday thinking, "Finally, it's Breakfast Day."

Lately I've come to realize that breakfast is my favorite meal. I think that's because of the unwavering dietary propaganda that: Breakfast Is The Most Important Meal Of The Day. To me, that extrapolates to breakfast being something I'm entitled to as a human being. In fact, I think it should be included in the Universal Declaration of Human Rights that Everyone is entitled to breakfast. And nothing pleases me more than a meal that is not only delicious, but also a fundamental right.

Also, when it comes to breakfast, anything goes. Leftover pizza? Sure. Cake? As long as it's leftovers. A massive platter of greasy mushrooms, deep fried toast, scrambled eggs, beans and bacon? That's only to be expected of you. Granola with yogurt and orange juice? You crazy health nut you. It is the easiest meal to put out of your food-related guilty conscience, because you had to eat it. It's breakfast, damn it, and I deserve breakfast!

The more I think about it, the more brilliant it seems to use breakfast to advertise butter.