Merry Christmas and Happy New Year!

Just about to leave work ... still to shop, and go to the market for a last few gifts, then to the train station to collect family ... it will be a lovely German christmas on the 24th - baking cookies and roasting duck with all the trimmings ... then traditional christmas for me on the 25th with turkey and the tree and presents and mince pies ... then off to Brest, Belaruß for New Years and Russian Christmas ... happy new year everyone! be nice to the young and the old and the less fortunate. I know we try to every day of the year, but often we forget.

:O) katrin

Recipes: Mum's Christmas Fruit Cake

i keep one christmas cake for the following thanksgiving ... slowly steeping in its' fruit and alcohol for an entire year. we opened the tin yesterday to a wonder - almost a pudding ... lovely crumb, beautiful texture and taste and aroma. we passed it around for the first quarter of an hour simply sniffing! :O) now I notice, dear readers, that I have left the recipe at home!! then tomorrow for the recipe. my mum always got the cake much denser, almost black ... llike the plum pudding ... but sadly she is gone and taken the secret with her into the clouds. poka! katrin

-----

fruit must be soaked a month in advance. you can add to it.
for two small (8 inch) cakes i use 2 kg of mixed fruit.
this is left in a sealed container to soak in molasses, brandy, rum, brown sugar, cloves, cinnamon, nutmeg and orange juice - with just a splash of balsamic vinegar. :O) fruit and nuts are candied orange and lime peel, dried dates, apricots, prunes, half walnuts, half almonds. this is my own taste, so you could simply use one type of nut and one type of dried fruit as you will. i have made the cake simply with dried dates and almonds as well.

the cake pans are lined in brown paper which keeps the cake from sticking or burning and also means you can store the cakes in this paper wrapping for the length of time until you eat them. the cake batter is topped with a round of brown paper before it goes into the oven.

I do not use a bain marie in the oven to bake the cakes, though i used to. Oven temperature is 120 degrees celcius convection oven. Cakes are baked for 2 hours - until the toothpick is clean.

Ingrediants for cake:
4 cups sifted flour with 2 tsp baking powder.
12 eggs, 400 gram sugar, 400 gram butter.
beat together butter and sugar, add eggs one at a time, add wet mixture to dry.
then fold in fruit mixture to cake batter.
split between your two cake tins.

you can make the entire batter into one cake. cooking time would then increase to 3 - 3,5 hours depending on your type of oven.

when cool, place in tin and seal with tape until christmas, or next christmas, or next christmas ...

merry christmas! :O) katrin

wintersalon09 in vienna

Chocolate by Warren Laine-Naida, Photographed by Anastasia Abramova. Salon by Sylvie Proidl. Vienna. Eat at Treszenewskis Buffet. Wear Dorothy Strange. Tear out your heart and cover it in marzipan. The coffee’s to die for and don’t forget to bring back some chocolate …

Ms Abramova is a dear friend of mine. Her big green Russian eyes have captured hundreds of delicious moments, not only in her present home of Vienna. Hoping to see a coffee table edition of her photos in stores soon? I've been trying to convince 'Nastya of that for some time now. The photos are as beautiful and alluring as the photographer.

her facebook album(s):
http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2031541&id=210100598&ref=mf

Falling Asleep at the Wheel ...

sometimes I wonder if this really happened or if I read it somewhere ...

55 euro later I have a badge and an info package. Boy are these euro notes funny looking. A bit big too. Like play money. Weird. ‘Jessie Watkins, Marlies’ is printed on my name tag which I wear on a red white and blue lanyard around my neck. Cool. I walk to the conference room and take a seat in the half full room near the front. Katrin walks on stage right on time and everyone applauds. She’s exactly like her picture. Middle aged, stout but not fat – firm – commanding, but gentle, taller than I had expected with shoulder length dark blond hair held up with a clasp – she’s wearing jeans and running shoes, a white polo shirt and a small set of pearls. Her hair is up and her glasses sit on the edge of her nose. I laugh a bit to myself. She looks as if I had taken Maya and stretched her another foot. Katrin is introduced, and the title of her talk, ‘Taking the Bite out of Social Networking’ appears behind her on a large wall screen. “Good morning. My name is Katrin Lawson, I’m currently living in Germany where I work for a large food service company – which I won’t name as they aren’t paying for the spot - I’m a chef, a mum, and my blog, when I have time to write it, is Dandelion Jam.” There is a brief moment of laughter from the audience and from Katrin herself as she looks at her notes, “If you find yourself in the wrong talk, you now have the chance to leave, I believe there’s a talk on chocolate sculpting going on next door … ” She smiles and there’s more polite laughter. She turns around and looks at the screen behind her as the title changes to a slowly animated selection of restaurant images. “I’d like to talk today about social media and how it affects your audience, the millions of middle class foodies and cooks who enjoy the food we prepare for them in our various businesses around the globe every day. As if that weren’t a daunting enough task as it is, internet blogs and food channels are making them even more demanding, expectant, and knowledgeable than they already are. So, what does this mean for us? What the heck is social marketing to your average restaurant owner? How does the internet take the old addage, ‘One happy customer tells two friends but one unhappy customer tells ten friends’, and with a simple mouse click changes ten friends to three hundred friends on foodbuzz, or twitter, or facebook? …” Katrin’s voice continues as the slides behind her change and I look around the room’s hundred odd faces. Until know I hadn’t thought that there were obviously other people around the globe reading Katrin, that it wasn’t just me. Funny. I had taken her words and imagined they were for me alone. I smile to myself and lean back to listen.

... :O) kisses, katrin

Close to the Maddening Crowd - in the Algarve, Portugal

Dear Readers - this a bit late hitting my blog but I wanted to share it with you!

Next time I’m looking for a bottle of HP sauce I’m going to simply fly to Portugal because the store shelves are just sagging with the stuff. What a shock! Biscuits, Quality Street chocolates, anything that wouldn’t be out of place on any High Street in London. Portugal is sadly not far from the maddening crowd. Fortunately for us however our hotel (Hotel Casabela) was in Ferragudo and not in Portimao. Ferragudo is a small village with a beautiful beach and fishing village while Portimao is like Atlantic City populated by drunk Brits FORTUNATELY seperated by a wide estuary which you must drive around. Even though I’m dying for a full English Breakfast I know that my stomach would be dragging in the sand at the end of the week unless I pay close attention to what I put away so it’s fish and salad most of the way. The salads are amazing and you really must try one because they are almost exclusively a sort of greenish red beefsteak tomatoe, very large and thickly cut with onions and balsamic vinegar and then there is a lot of garlic. The fish you can get cheaper anywhere BUT in Portugal - funny that because they’re scooping them out of the ocean at the edge of our table and whacking them over the heads before our eyes but there you go eh? a warning: do be careful of the plates of prawns and other delicacies they place on the table while you're deciding what to order because these are NOT free. It's just like when you’re in Paris when after dinner you notice a few extra bucks at the end of your bill because of the table cloth or in Germany because you ate a pretzel from the basket which you thought was ... bread? Same thing as the plates of lovely fried fish in Portugal. But I digress - right well, just pump that up a notch and you have the Algarve. If you’re not sure don’t eat it okay? We made especially sure we didn’t crack any of the packets of sardine paste not just because it was absolutely disgusting I am sure but you are going to get nailed for each cachet of butter you open. So you’ve been warned! :O)

The fish was REALLY good and so was the the sun setting behind the guy at the grill and the kids tootling by on their electric scooters adding extra charm. Even the girls ate without complaint. If you aren’t sure, then order the King Fish with the huge eyes. Start with some prawns sauteed in garlic and don’t forget the salad. Wine. Forget what you heard about the scary Algarve wines fondly know to the locals as “Dog Throttler”. No matter how hard we tried we only found wine from the north of Portugal on offer and they were all very good. The whites especially from around Porto where light and tasty.

So I’m wondering, what’s with all this we hear that the world’s ocean levels are rising each year? What about the water carved 10 story high cliffs I’m seeing here on the Atlantic coast? Where did all that water go then? If it’s rising on the east coast of the US it must be because the world’s tilting and all the water from the west coast of Europe is getting sucked away. Wasn’t the water level then once much much higher? Where did all the water go? Hell, the grand canyon was full of water once. And WHO are these people who bring inflatable wading pools to the beach!?

ola! :O) katrin

... and the winner is ...

... chococo! after tasting a dozen of the chocolates we brought back from the london chocolate week kickoff chocolate unwrapped, we found chococo the best for taste, packaging, friendliness and honesty of their makers, price and family interactivity value! others we love? paul wayne gregory definetly got my vote for the most amazingly friendly chocolate makers. wonderful packaging, design and wonderfully tasting would be lauden chocolate.

http://www.chococo.co.uk/ Claire and Andy Burnet. :O) katrin

London Calling

I love breakfast buffets, and for years the best I had ever eaten was in Toronto’s Royal York and the worst at some little place in Baker Street. I know there have been some very good breakfasts in between but some just stick with you. The Princess Hotel in Bacelona has an excellent breakfast buffet included with the price of the room as does the Reval Hotel Lietuva in Vilnius, Lithuania. The May Fair has one of those breakfasts which you love to hate. First because costs almost 20 pounds, but ours was included in the price of the room, and second because it’s gorgeous! So I have to hate it for its generous gorgeousity! Hubby was still snoring and the girls had not yet called so I went to enjoy the luxury of a single breakfast – then sat in one of the deep leather sofas in the lobby while I waited for the restaurant to open. I understand half seven to be 630 and not 730. Such is the result of living so long in Germany. Full breakfast menu, as much as I wanted it, I had to decline if I was to remain fit for the rest of the day and not simply go back upstairs and curl into a ball of lard beneath the comforter. How can some people eat so much for breakfast? Are they agricultural labourers? In construction? Certainly they don’t physically appear to be in any of those professions. The buffet was piled high with mini boxes of Dorset Cereals and jars of Wilkin and Sons jams, glass jars of Loseley dorset cream yoghurt, tall muffins wrapped in cones of baking paper and topped with lovely goo, bowls of fresh blueberries and strawberries (in October?) salmon, meats, cheeses … how was I to eat all of this? My cappuccino arrives thick and creamy and warm and topped with chocolate and I’m full already just looking at it. I’m the sort of woman who, when you look at me you would think, oh she probably eats her fair share. I look healthy and full figured and I’m proud of it. As a mother and chef I don’t need a decorative figure, I need a useful one. However I keep fit and can still easily turn heads when I need to. However, I really can’t eat that much without feeling somewhat inert and unhappy. So I try to pace myself between what my eyes and mouth want and my stomach will tolerate. I order two poaced eggs on buttered english muffins but the muffins are somehow delivered cold which is quite a feat considering the open kitchen in two tables away from mine. However the smoked salmon, herring, tomatoe and mozzarella with a crusty roll, followed by fresh blueberries and strawberries with yoghurt, granola and honey filled me nicely However I still had another two hours before London Chocolate Week’s Chocolate Unwrapped begins …


The show is quite wonderful. Kate and Emma and their team have finally taken a great idea and put it under one roof. Hats off to Suzanne at Sick Children’s Trust, Antonia at Ooh La La Chocolaterie, Artisan du Chocolat, Lauden Chocolate, Paul Wayne Gregory chocolates, Claire and Andy at Chococo, Clay Gordon, and Bill McCarrick to mention but a few of the devoted and talented people on site. Chocolate is becoming more and more exclusive, almost tentative and beyond our reach, in its packaging. Like an elixir. There is no reception for my mobile in the ballroom so I go upstairs to text hubby I see five messages from the girls who are apparently lost somewhere near the Thames but who think they can make their way safely in the direction of Piccadilly which isn’t far. So all is not lost. As long as we are in sms contact we know they’re alive. I have sent hubby out in search of postcards and when he returns we take a break from the chocolate show to dash over to the Clarence for a half pint and some of their amazing seasonal sausage and mash with parsnip chips and gravy. I’m not particularily hungry having drunk 5 cappucinos since breakfast and while I do feel a bit like a jumpy cow they are just the sort of thing to melt the taste of all that chocolate from my mouth. I order half a London Pride with Lamb and Apricot sausages and hubby takes a full pint of the Landlords ale with the Cumberland sausages. There is no mention of crisps while we’re waiting which I know I won’t regret later, being so partial to them. The sausages are brilliant and we have a wonderful but short lunch.


When the girls arrive breathless but happy two hours later we decide to make our way out together. We are very cavalier about the weather and were running down Berkeley Street from our rooms in the May Fair much later with no umbrellas and only sweaters on when the rain appeared out of nowhere. Well, from the grey windy horrible London sky actually where it had been lurking since our arrival that afternoon. Beneath an awning one of the girls notices the taxis rank beneath a stand of trees and we all run over and pile in. “Harrods please!” We were a bit far away from Kensington being at Green Park and once I had my bearings I realised we could have taken the tube which was probably cheaper. The taxi ride was 5 pound 80 when the friendly lights of Harrods greeted us. Sending my husband in for some umbrellas, I sent the girls off to wait for their father in the safety of the Harrods food arcade and ran back down the street to Harvey Nichols which I had noticed a few blocks back. Coach products were nowhere to be found but Chris, a lovely blonde in a black pant suit, was very helpful in helping me to select a D&G wallet to replace the one I had stolen last week with not only my credit cards inside but also my Victoria Secret points card. Which is worse I’m still debating. The wallet was marked at 185 pounds but rang on the till at 170 pounds. So I was very happy when I ran back to find my pastry muching family under the awnings of Harrods near the Kensington tube station. “Corn beef pasties!” They all cried in unison. We decided we should go back to the hotel and get some of the many foodstuffs I’d promised friends back home from the Sainsbury’s next door. So we went into the tube station only to find that it was 4 pound a person for the two stop return trip. So we went back up the stairs and found an empty taxi. London is the easiest place I have been able to find a taxi outside of … Minsk perhaps but then you never know if they’re over charging you or not. Back at the hotel, the girls go up their rooms to watch TV while hubby and I go along to Piccadily Square and marvel at the wonders of London at night and in the rain. All those umbrellas make the sidewalks that much more full. We stop off for a peek at Eros which has been under renovation as long as I can remember, and then stop in at EAT for a clam chowder and a thick slice of brown bread each. We sit there and fill ourselves with warm comfort as the rain drops outside. For dessert we buy 400 grams of chocolates from Maison du Chocolat next door to enjoy back at the hotel. And then I have to have a second look when we pass beneath Parket Snob Eatery and look through the windows at the restaurant which is oddly enough almost empty. London is a scream! LOL! katrin

Recipes: Sundried Tomatoe Cheese Biscotti

300 gram flour
1 tsp baking powder
100 gram butter
80 gram sugar
2 eggs
8 unoiled sundried tomatoes julienne
100 gram grated padano cheese
sesame seeds or poppyseeds to coat

whisk sugar and butter together.
add eggs and whisk.
add cheese and tomatoes.
flour and baking powder sifted together and then folded into mix.
form into a single log on baking paper, roll in seeds.
bake.

180 C convection oven. 30 minutes, slice the loaf and let dry on lowest heat setting and with the door open to let out the steam.

I just never find time to blog lately. Already thinking of Thanksgiving and Christmas and my heart just flutters! I love biscotti, and the glass jar on the counter is mostly always empty. Except for the last one of any batch which as a family rule is always left in the jar as a polite reminder to make more. We love savoury biscotti with soups or as a change from croutons with salads or as a low sugar snack. poka! katrin :O)

Recipes: My Favourite Quiche

dough
200 gram flour
100 gram butter
salt and pepper to taste
5 TB cold water
mix to form dough, cool, roll out into pie round.
much easier to roll between two sheets of plastci wrap.

preheat oven to 180 C and blindbake the pie shell.

quiche
10 strips bacon gently fried and drain of fat then chopped
2 cups grated mixed padano and a strong bergkäse
3 eggs & 1 cup heavy cream mixed together.
salt, pepper, nutmeg to taste. chives.

place cheese then bacon in form and fill with egg mixture.
bake for 20 -25 minutes at 180 C. I like my quiche softer.

enjoy with a light, cold, white wine. my favourite? pfalz sauvignon blanc or a cape riesling

enjoy! :O) katrin

Closing Summer Lake BBQ ...

The paddle boat is taking on water fast as the 7 of us balance precariously on its plastic form. Spreading ourselves in the optimistic hope that by distributing our weight we can make it back to the shore of the lake before the water level gets critical. Hubby is laughing at us from his seat on shore with the girls by the grill enjoying a cold glass of chardonnay and toasting marshmallows, while his crazy wife and a few of the others desperately attempt to bail the increasing flood with our wine glasses. The back begins to disappear beneath the surface as we scramble, reminiscent of Kate and Leonardo, to the bow of the boat, getting our asses wet in the process. Ruby takes a mouthful of her wine before remembering it was the same glass she has been bailing with ... wet and wonderful as summer sets for another year ... :O) katrin

Island Paradise

When we packed up the troops and headed off to the island Thursday last I was not an optimist. Three little girls, gear for weather both good and bad - the forecast said rain but it's August for goodness sake - a 3 hour train ride and then a boat from the mainland, spades, boots, sun lotion, buckets, suitcases, macs, bathing suits - the list was endless. When the sun fell behind the clouds and the rain began bouncing against the windows of the train car as we drew closer to the coast my heart began to sink. Even the boat began to toss in the swell of the short distance between mainland and island ... But boy can appearances be deceiving ...

The sun never stopped shining for three nights and four days on my paradise island of Norderney. Even the girls found themselves enough to do. We were able to wander along the endless stretches of white sand from the beachfront hotel to the lighthouse 15 kilometers away. And back again. My hair was full of sand and my skin became sunkissed and red and my head cleared and hubby's libido bubbled to the surface again. Heaven.

Now back again on the mainland there are still bits of me which did not return yet and for which I am waiting so that I can get the hell to work this morning! good luck I don't think ... there is my soul which is still sitting in the 'Milchbar' on the beach drinking endless cappucinos and watching the whitecapped waves crash against the shore while I read. Some part of the libido of my college days is still in 'da Sergios' drinking white wine and eating tortellini stuffed with walnuts and gorgonzola while the full figured blonde mother of two across from us argues with her husband on the one hand and flirts with me on the other which makes me both inwardly blush and yet very excited. My heart is still wandering along the beach accompanied by the soundtrack of wind and waves and gulls. My tongue is enjoying the simple fare of cheeseburger and perfectly salted fries at the 'Surf Cafe' - and yes the wind blown sand must have something to do with their perfect saltiness and texture.

A perfect long weekend. ahoy! katrin

Recipes: Green Tomatoe and Gooseberry Chutney

1 kg small green tomatoes, cut in half.
500 gram gooseberries, cut in half.
250 gram apple, peeled and diced.
250 gram brown sugar.
150 gram raisins.
200 gram chopped onion.
splash of olive oil.
225 ml cider vinegar.
1/2 teaspoon salt.
1 tablespoon mustard seeds.
2 teaspoons ground ginger.
1 teaspoon cinnamon.

bring all the ingrediants to a boil but only half of the tomatoes and gooseberries.
let cook out until 1/4 volume is reduced and thickened.
add remaining gooseberries and tomatoes - stir in.
store in jars in 'fridge when cool. enjoy any time!

ciao! katrin

A Summer Cold

I thought I was going to make a pretty clean break of it over the weekend. Friday I was nursing along a nice head cold and had opened a bottle of Shiraz to help me ease through the snuffle filled nights while the girls stayed with my mother and my man was … with his buddies playing poker? Or he was in his workroom sawing through reinforced cement? There was certainly a roar coming from somewhere downstairs. Anyway. But I just couldn’t get out of wishing my best friend Gail a happy birthday; it only coming along once a year.

So Saturday night I’m in this bar amidst a gaggle of womanhood, paying my respects, buying Gail and sundry drinks, promising myself that I’ll only stay an hour, my sinuses playing merry hell in my head, when I feel a sturdier than normal female presence slowly envelope me. I flag down the bartender for another wine spritzer and flip through the snack menu. A manicured hand reaches around me and takes up my lighter. I turn to the left and a blonde looms, bigger than life, beside me. It takes me ten seconds to wish I were in my bed. It takes me ten minutes chatting with her before I realise he’s a transvestite.

I excuse myself and make my way to the little girl’s room, and once inside turn on the faucet, rest my throbbing forehead against the cold porcelain of the sink and silently count in prime numbers. I get as far at 47 before the door opens and hits me in the side, smacking my forehead against the gurgling faucet. “Thanks for that sister!” I tear off a handful of paper towel and wipe the water from my blouse. Why didn't I stay in bed? …

Recipe: Rosemary Pots aux Chocolat

I have a rosemary bush in the garden that is as tall as me ... what to do with all this rosemary?! while a Fall herb, it can be nice and refreshing when mixed with lemon and ... dare I say chocolate? :O) of course I dare.

juice 1/2 fresh lemon
100 gram sugar
120 ml white wine
2 sprigs fresh rosemary
75 gram dark chocolate
250 ml cream

Heat lemon juice, wine and sugar in pan until sugar dissolves.
Strip rosemary leaves and add with finely grated chocolate to mixture.
Add cream and bring to gentle boil.
Reduce to a simmer and cook uncovered for 30 minutes.
Stir mixture together, remove from heat, strain rosemary leaves.
pour into 6 small glasses, let cool, gently chill.

Recipe: White Chocolate Lavender Truffles

the white chocolate melts in your mouth and then you get this lovely lavender taste ...
wonderfully delicious!!

200 gram white chocolate

100 gram creme fraiche

50 gram butter

3-5 shoots fresh lavender from garden

melt the butter and white chocolate, add the lavender.

let infuse for one hour away from heat.

reheat the mass and gently add creme fraiche.

let drip out of a sieve into a bowl.

press the remaining chocolate out of sieve, crushing lavender in process.

when cool, form into balls with small scoop - size of truffle, or roll in hands.

serve cool but not chilled.

WOW! voted Top9 in foodbuzz on July 27th 2009.

Thanks to all! :O) Katrin

dripping wet but happy - back from Niagara

it has been too long, and probably never, that i took a vacation and wrote nothing. actually writing nothing for two weeks! twitter does not count. fingers must be kept lubricated other than by covering squirming children with sunscreen or with bbq sauce. so after two years and another squirming child to entertain, we retravelled niagara and i revisited some of my past lovers - jackson triggs and walter pelham - made a new lover - lailey - and felt utterly relaxed and happy to be be away but in familiar waters. jet lag means i am still awake and i hear through the stillness of the house the movement of children also awake in the middle of the night. we went for groceries this evening - after a few hours stolen sleep as the washing machine ran and the kitchen became an obstacle course of open and half empty suitcases. we walked through the german store speaking english ... i gave in to a frozen pizza but not ice cream ... and when we returned i held a heavy bottle of golden coloured chardonnay, covered in condensation, in my hand. I poured a glass and thought of the hot sunshine of a very few days previous, of old friends and new, of laughing and enjoying so many flavours of summer - of the tang of new wines on my tongue, of the smell of asparagus and chocolate, rich peppery steaks and grilled peppers lingering in the back of my mouth ... this was all just a few days and hours ago - and I was very sad. ciao for now - katrin

almost packed

and now I can't find the travellers checks ... hmmm. well, we got a great rate rom the Delta Chelsea in Toronto and now we're almost ready to sit back and relaaaaaaaax. oh I cannot wait for the Niagara foods & wines as they can ONLY be prepared in SW Ontario to grace my lips! heaven. you really MUST go to that place. Don't order it in. Go. Enjoy it where it grows, where it is at home. The S&L of food. Seasonal & Local. ... wait a moment ... why is the hamster not in his cage ... ?! see you in two weeks - Katrin

A little vacation is due ...

… 192 hours and 17 minutes until vacation. Usually I have things packed a week in advance, purchased a few books for the long and lazy days in the mountains, confirmed bookings, boarded the cat and topped up on calcium-beta-caratin. This year however, I let my husband do all this. He is sooo organised. The poor dear even ironed what we’re taking! It’s coming down in buckets outside, a real monsoon, and as I peer out from my office window I can see half the gardening crew watering the trees and the other half cutting the edges of the lawn with a weed whacker. Ironing things before you pack them, watering plants and cutting the grass in the rain. I don’t know girls, what do you think - why are men so complicated? :O) 192 hours and 14 minutes …

Recipe: White Chocolate Cheese Parfait

White Chocolate & Cheese Parfait (6 portions)

300 gram soft goats cheese (chevre)
100 gram white chocolate
500 ml cream

1/2 fresh papaya
1/2 fresh mango
1 fresh red chili pepper
1 fresh lime

Whip room temperature goats cheese until creamy.
Finely grate white chocolate. Whip the cream.
Gently fold all ingredients together.
Spoon mixture into 6 glasses and cool.

Cut papaya and mango into very fine pieces.
Cut the red chili pepper into very fine slices.
Mix together with the juice of the lime.
Serve spoonful on top of each parfait.

Enjoy!! katrin

grill night in garden!

Saturday. I'm a little lobster short and stout, here are my pinchers, here is my clarified butter and some chopped egg and caviar ... sorry ... ahem – is this turned on? … So we dumped in the grill coals and lathered them with the hooch in the plastic bottle and then kicked it up a notch with a match or two and we were in business. We held it together, the other mums and I, this time with grilled peaches, chicken in olive and tomato pesto with garlic head and apples filled with cranberry jelly and martinis on the patio as the sun slowly set on our little patch of heaven. For all the moaners and nay-sayers, for all the hot-heads and complainers, life is what you make it; we were doing just fine and the glow of the barbi drew out the others, the critics and cynics, the basketball Bobs and the volleyball Vals, slowly, slowly from their haunts. Knocking back a few brews between laughs, between sticky chocolate bananas and vulgar vagaries, the night past too quickly. Here’s to next week and maybe we’re grilling on a matchstick held tenderly over a Bic lighter, but we will survive to grill another day, in many ways. Now I’m off to slather on some après sun. I’ve got a mean sun burn happening here. What you get for sitting outside over lunch, playing in the sand with the kids all afternoon, soaking up those rays sans sun cream like a cowgirl. You know the risks but you just can’t be patient in collecting those rays one at a time, building up a base, no. No, you gotta be at the wine festival in 2 weeks and you can’t be white. You decide to sprint the distance. So you hot dog it through the day and end up looking like a damn lobster at night… good night! :O) katrin

salad time in the city ...

sunday afternoon the sun came out just long enough for us to hesitate in lighting the grill but still pack up the girls and head off to the garden to see what had become of it since our trip to Belaruß. the gate creaked open, and the overgrown willow branches sprayed us with the raindrops of the previous day. the garden was an overgrown delight! beneath the nestles and the weeds, once we had our hands and our forks amongst the undergrowth we found early zucchini, a dozen heads of lettuce, strawberries and tomatoes, raspberries and gooseberries ... the herb garden of sage and rosemary, basil and lavender, mint and parsley were a delight! but where were the slugs that last year had cost us so many plants? not so many slugs this year. perhaps they got the message? I see our friend the mole is back in residence, and there is certainly a mouse of or two living amongst the compost... the only stain on the garden recently is the empty chicken coop which had housed four egg laying hens until some creature decided to snap them up. not a pretty sight when you go in search of eggs in the morning! girls mostly found nestles this afternoon ... they will go about without their gloves! bye! katrin

Recipe: Basil Ganache filled Tuiles

200 gram dark chocolate
100 ml creme fraiche
24 fresh basil leaves
One batch Tuile dough.

Melt chocolate, add creme fraiche and basil leaves.
Leave to infuse at room temperature and sieve ganache leaving behind basil leaves.
Do not refrigerate.
In oven and wrapped around handle to form half closed tubes.
Fill 6 tuiles with ganache, when cool, from each end.

Enjoy! Katrin

OH! Tuile dough .... :O)

250 gram white sugar
100 gram melted butter
150 gram flour

2 eggs

let dough rest for 10-15 minutes
180 C or 350 F oven

spread dough on heated baking sheet, spread out a good sized circle.

slide up with a spatula and wrap on handle of wooden spoon.

slide off when cool.

should be used soon! humidity in air makes them soft.

Behind the Windows

Our city never lacks for a tour bus trying to negotiate its' length down the 17th century cobblestone street, past triumphal arches and tree lined academic boulevards. I often see them from the window as I'm washing the dishes, or making dinner, or typing on the keyboard in our second floor flat. So reminiscent of New York brownstones that I have to fulfill my fantasies of living in Boston (not in New York but they do have brownstones in Boston that are still nicely located from what I could see looking down from the Hancock Observation Tower) by carrying my bike up and down the stairs on my shoulder like they do in the movies - but with the girls following behind, bickering or calling or ... I think it's ironic that when I travelled through foreign places I always thought it would be an adventure to live there, how exciting it must be to reside in this city or that, how much better life must be secreted behind those walls living the life of a bohemian or a rich advertising executive; little did I know that behind all those walls were people like me doing dishes. -- katrin

If you can't stand the heat ...

My sleep was broken at precisely 4:15 am by the staccato ring of my telephone.
“… mmm Yes?”
“You’re not going to like this, but the fire alarm’s going off in the main kitchen …”
“Great. Yeh, that’s great, perfect, thanks …” What is this conspiracy?
I get dressed and cast a bleary look into the mirror before grabbing my car keys. I can just make out the sirens coming from down the street. Just great.

The main kitchen is vibrating from the klaxon’s belches. As regular as a heart beat the sirens pound out their call: “WAKE … UUUUUP … WAKE … UUUUUP … youregonna BUUUUUURN …. youregonnaBUUUUUURN …” The building is empty except for the security team from the main gate and some chattering students from the student bar passing by outside - a swirling cloud of girlishness as loud and bright as a gaudy funfair on a sunny summer afternoon in Nantucket. God bless ‘em …

The darkness inside the kitchen swirls and vibrates with red lights, the belch of hydraulic brakes, diesel fuel, and the clatter of men and machine as the fire trucks arrive. Within minutes the place becomes a pumping mass of testosterone as firemen and police mingle about, writing notes, chattering into walkie talkies, checking the air ducts, doors, moving through a fine white powder on the floor leaving behind footprints as clear as on any dance school floor. Then as suddenly as it began the sirens end, the testosterone slowly ebbs away, the carnival midway of candy floss and cracker jack retreats into the night.

"Looks like one of your fire extinguishers self activated in your hood here ... should get that replaced in the morning." I am handed a pink copy from a clipboard and then I am once again alone in the silent, depth of the night. I make a final round, lock the door behind me and drive home. I drink a glass of milk, sitting back gratefully in my own kitchen. Kitten purrs with joy to see me back, stained and warm from her nightly prowl. She jumps up onto my lap and purrs gently as I run my fingers through her thick black hair. Her eyes consider me for a minute before she jumps down, stretches her back and jumps daintily onto the couch.

“You’re such a parody kitten.” She smiles, if cats can smile. I undress again and crawl back into bed, turn off the light and fall asleep. - Katrin.

where does it all go?

I just don´t understand recycling; I mean, I can understand recycling glass and metal and paper but then why, when you buy it back, does it costs twice as much. Why do I want to spend twice the price of fresh new paper on old uneven grey paper? Doesn´t make sense does it? The biggest question I have is where does recycled toilet paper come from? I don´t want my toilet paper recycled! I want it to go away and disappear somewhere in a big pipe. I certainly don´t want to see it back on the store shelf! Was it mine? How do they recycle it? Is there a wet and dry section down there somewhere? concerned - katrin

Raising Children, Mah Jong and Baking

Just returned from a long day and evening preparing for big event tomorrow. The girls are in bed and my darling man has cleaned and defrosted some salmon. But not left any wine to chill. Hmmm - well then I will go on the wagon tonight. As I was driving home I was thinking about raising my children - who rarely see me it seems, but who at least don't starve. Which is easier, raising children or baking?

Well, have you ever sat in on a game of Mah Jong? You just line up your tiles, move them about and get your ass kicked. It´s a very complicated, stressfull game and I compare it to raising children; because you don´t know the rules. In fact I have yet to discover any rules at all. My girls certainly don’t know what they are because I’ve asked them on many occasions. Children don’t come with a users manual, even though I did write one for my father when he once had the girls for a fortnight. You spend all your time raising them as you would have liked to have been raised at the same time feeling guilty if you aren’t being as good a parent as the woman down the street who’s kid plays the piano and wears clean shoes all the time or the guy in your office who takes two weeks off each summer to take his son to father and son hot air ballooning school in Austria. The guilt and need to ‘keep up with the parent-Joneses’ springs from your subconscious if you even so much as yell at them.

Then there's baking. Pure science - there is one way to bake and you need to follow a recipe. Baking is science, while cooking is art. So perhaps raising children is a bit more like cooking than baking. There is no one, right, guaranteed perfect way to raise them - most of the time you learn from experience what best results from what goes in the pot.

luv - katrin (v tired)

Recipe: Chocolate Cake

I love this cake ... now of course I feel the need for a coffee to go with it. What ever happened to really good, thick, coffee anyway? The best coffeee is either in Erfurt (must be the heavy metals in the water) or in Vienna ...

300 gram dark chocolate
75 ml cream
200 gram butter
200 gram sugar
6 eggs

Melt chocolate and cool.
Whip softened butter with sugar.
Whip egg yolks with melted chocolate.
Whip egg whites. Whip cream.
Gently fold all ingredients together.
Pour into cake pan. Bake 25 minutes 300 F/150 C.
Let cake cool 3-4 hours.

… I swear the battery on this laptop has a half life of 15 minutes … but let’s not go there – I fear that my gut pounding, tear choking prose might make many of you nervous – therefore the tone of my discourse while the cake bakes will be much cheerier, off key, bouncing, fluffy, jelly jammy ….. me? Me, I’m dead tired. Tired of eating over-cooked fish in other people’s restaurants and tired of repacking chocolate sculptures into bubblewrap filled boxes …

…but I have a flight to catch kids – have to fly to Vienna to scare the straights with my chocolate perversions – scare the people right – you know, next time you stick a wad of chocolate into your mouth then think of the 200 000 plus that work as slave labour to get those cocoa beans into the shops … well, we’ll see how this plays in the big city right? Last year the small town punters loved it, goggled it up, literally walking about with the pieces in their grubby little hands licking them content as pigs in …. The big question is of course, will it play in Peoria?

Well, now I’m all out of licorice, the coffee maker is gurgling and screaming, and my man has just padded barefoot past my field of vision with a croissant in his teeth and a twinkle in his eye, so it’s time to go. Let’s keep this happy boys and girls – Vienna is a very long way away. It’s almost not even really western Europe, much – I mean, pull out your Atlases – it’s teetering on the brink of the Ottoman sultanates. You need patience – you need a taxi and a train and another train, a bus, a plane, yet another train, and a subway before you are there. But damn is the coffee worth the trip …

It’s drizzling rain as I enter the Museum Quartier 21, snuggled in between all those temples, all that art, all that money, all that pretence and whispered critique and well – the organiser of the show confided to me over a beer at 2 in the morning of my arrival that only “serious art” makes it here. Serious art. So I’m feeling pretty good. As you would, wouldn’t you? As you would.

7:00 pm. There is a hushed silence as I enter the roped off area in a sparkly blue body stocking wearing nothing else but a pair of swim flippers and accompanied by six dwarves dressed in sackcloth and ashes. The block of chocolate awaits me in trembling anticipation beneath the hot lights. The crowd holds it’s breath as the music crescendoes and I attack the chocolate block’s girth with a vigorous urgency and a battery of instruments including an electric toothbrush, a hair dryer, surgical tweezers, nose hair clippers, an electric whisk all lending a virile and yet somehow unclear significance to the performance.

When it is done I motion to the dwarves who wheel over the iron basket of glowing coals on squeeking coasters to my side. I remove one of the red hot branding irons from the fire and as the halogen spots explode in intensity ram the branding iron into the middle of the chocolate sculpture where it sizzles, leaving my initials. Then all is darkness and silence. The crowd goes absolutely, fucking, bananas … Vienna. Eat at Treszenewskis Buffet. Wear Dorothy Strange. Tear out your heart and cover it in marzipan. The coffee’s to die for and don’t forget to bring back some chocolate …

Cassandra

"Mom? ... Mom? Why did you cook the chicken with nuts? A nut doesn’t belong in food. A nut is a nut. You wouldn’t put a marble in your food would you ... ? ... Mom??" My eldest daughter tears the chicken from the bone with a furtive, feline quickness like she hasn’t eaten for many days. She looks up from her plate across at me, her fingers go from the greasy chicken to the bread she has saved up on her plate against 'her black days', to the chicken, to her hair, she draws the small bones from her mouth and concentrates on the meat between her fingers now, calming, aware the meal won’t be stolen from in front of her. She begins humming, softly between chews … All the Angels sing, Hold on to Jesus’ hand, we will all be safe ... "Mum, can I watch some TV?" I raise my eyes from the keyboard and stare at her over the rims of my glasses. "Cassandra, sweetie, do you mind? Go find your sisters, I have to get this blog written … "

Dandelion Wine and Onion Marmalade

see, when i was growing up my father made wine. not from grapes, but from whatever we had in the garden: plums, peaches, pears, apple and of course dandelion. the basement smelt delicious each fall and summer as he created ciders and wines and softdrinks -and my mother canned and froze whatever was she could fit into a glass or a freezer bag. it was like being raised by hamsters, darling! my father wanted to bring a bottle of his dandelion wine to his parents one trip across the pond to england - this must have been 1975 ... and the pressure in the cabin released the cork and the entire overhead filled with the fragrance of dandelion wine. and onion marmalade? long before it was fashionable to make the cute little puree often coloured with port or brandy reduction and plop it down next to your steak, everyone knew the succulent tastes of caramalised onions left to sweeten in the pan after the meat had been taken out. when i was in college i was dying to try something- anything - out in the kitchen to take home and show i wasn't a complete loss to my parents. all i had was a pound of sugar and a pound of onions. toss in some olive oil, garlic and my travelling companion herb de provence - well, i'm still making jars of this today and everyone is STILL shying away until they have it in their mouth. then the jar is quickly emptied. i'm sure if i called it onion compote there wouldn't be such a performance. but i'm not about to.

dandelion wine and onion marmalade. and while i have not yet made dandelion jam i'm sure to before this blog is complete. time for a nightcap. katrin

In Flight Snacks

I flew to Berlin for the weekend with Lufthansa which charges an arm and a leg and if you´re lucky you´ll get a bun tossed to you mid flight. The good thing is that the flight is only about 40 minutes long. I would like to comment on in flight snacks. You eat them so its relevant. Yes it is.

Why do they call these little snacks on airlines ´light refreshments´? Because I mean there isn´t the least little thing about them that refreshes you. On the contrary. You feel more bloated and thirsty and uncomfortable than before you consumed them. Have you ever felt refreshed after downing the little bag of peanuts and a coke trapped in your seat between the fat man and the smoker with as much leg room as you have in the toilet? You wouldn´t pay for a seat in the toilet for forty minutes now would you? As a matter of fact I think there was more leg room in the toilet. Perhaps it would be better just booking the men´s room. At least you wouldn´t need to get up when you need to pee, smashing your shins on the briefcases disguised as carry on that they`ve snuck down out of the overheads now that the flight´s airbourne and the stews don´t care.

The flight behind us, even after 17 years in Germany I find Berlin to be the unchallenged center of great food and service in Germany - and it's still beautiful but you have to see it before it's competely built upon so hurry. Now off to the Hachescher Höfe for lunch!

Been There, Done That

if anyone asks if I have taken the overnight through the wilderness then i can say it is so. but all i wanted to do when the family had tumbled through the door and dumped suitcases was fall into a bath and splash myself with iced vodka. i think i left my head on the train. certainly sleeping there has left my neck out of joint. the way we were shunted back and forth through warsaw at midnight left me dented ... and now the question is - do the laundry and pack it immediately back into the suitcases for toronto? the kids have left theirs undone and laying in the middle of the hallway - all the holiday goodies have been ransacked leaving only their dirty clothes within the empty samsonite shells. my lovely man has found me a glass of ice and some scotch. which will have to do until we fill the fridge up again. work calls tuesday but first i have to see what the garden looks like. good nite! katrin

Night Train to Berlin

with the exchange rate climbing in our favour more and more each day, i have a heavy heart packing the suitcases this afternoon. there is still the cloud of vodka in the air and the gifts we thought we had all packed and accounted for - except for the terracota bison that is - have been added to by an enormous rocking rabbit with a bell at its base. traditional and fun but it will require another hand which we no longer have. sigh - well it will have to come with us somehow. i awoke this morning early to get us first class tickets on the train which has already left moscow and heading this way fast. from there warsaw and berlin. and finally home to bremen where dinner and friends await. as does alot of laundry and the hope that some of the chocolate remains intact lodged within all the packages and boxes. a happy troup however. now why is my husband frying cutlets at this ungodly hour? poka poka! katrin

Grandfather's Dacha

the problems at passport control pale in comparison with the complications of baptism for our smallest. but those of you from ex soviet states know what i'm talking about ... exhausted from our trek through countless dusty offices we were bundled into the car without seatbelts or childseats and driven to the outskirts of the city to relax at grandfather's dacha. bouncing along the country roads round potholes large enough to be tank traps to the end of a lane we reached a small two story house set inside a camouflage of apple and apricot trees, rows of freshly planted strawberry and leek plants, and a pond filled with excited frogs splashing in the light rainfall. up the rickety stairs, filling the small kitchen with our numbers and lighting the metal wood burning stove set into the stone fireplace. a large frosted bottle of vodka, fresh polish sausage from down the border road, bread from the market that morning, green onions and garlic pulled from the garden edges and still wet from the grass. the plastic oilcloth spread over the wooden table and small glasses slapped down onto its surface, the bread cut thick by a heavy hand and toasted on the metal plate on the now hot iron stove top. dripping from the recent thundershower apples are brought in through the upstairs window. after lunch we sleep where we sit and when we awake from this dream we happily find ourselves still in the dacha at the end of the lane.

poka! katrin

welcome readers

yes another blog, but a blog with a purpose. my mewings have been confined to my own kitchens until now - where only my husband and staff need have suffered them quietly. but i would like to share the moments of dandelion wine and onion marmalde with a wider public. perhaps then my long suffering private audience will get less of an earful and have more time to enjoy what they eat and drink ... but internet is slow here at 5 am in the ex soviet belarus republic today. the dacha is fine- but more on that when i am full awake darlings.

poka! katrin