I did someone a good deed the other day and my house almost burned down. Last time I make that mistake.
I did a friend a favour. She bought me a bunch of roses. Sounds innocuous enough right?
Enter the big brown cat. I'm going to dispense with pseudonyms and refer to him by his given name - Boris. If someone decides to stalk and assassinate him, well honestly it serves him right.
Boris likes his greens. Apparently cats are obligate carnivores, requiring only meat to survive. Not our Boris like silverbeet. And roses.
Knowing this, the blonde (I am not dispensing with pseudonyms entirely, I have become deeply attached to the blonde and would miss him if he were assassinated) put the roses out of harms way. On top of the range hood. Or so he thought.
All was well overnight and well into the next day until we went out. Boris must have got peckish.
He jumped onto the bench and from there onto the rangehood. The rangehood it turns out was not well mounted onto the wall. Rangehood come crashing down onto the ceramic cooktop. So now there Is shattered glass and flowers all over the floor and a rangehood resting jauntily on top of the stove. Now this might not have been so bad had the element not somehow been knocked on. Now the plastic light colour is slowly melting onto the stovetop.
Fortunatly not too far after this time we arrived home to a scene of destruction. I feel it neccesary to point out at this point that this is not on fact our house but we are indeed house sitting for my mother. I guess it is a good thing that she considers the cats as her only real chance of grandchildren otherwise they would have likely been sold off for takeaways.
Anyway, the moral of the story is, don't say it with flowers, it's not worth it.
Wednesday, July 28, 2010
Tuesday, July 27, 2010
But it looked so good in the picture!
Published on foodlovers 26/7/19
I don’t often eat ice cream. Especially the fat laden sugary behemoth that is a Memphis Meltdown – I’m afraid I may be afraid of big nuts as the advertising suggested. There was however a moment of weakness on an unseasonably sunny day last weekend and I found myself leaning over the ice cream cabinet in the local gas station. I got suckered by a ‘new’ sticker.
There are two kinds of people on this earth – those who like their ice cream plain (vanilla, hokey pokey etc) and those who think the more bits and pieces you add the better. I’m firmly in the second camp. Or at least I was. Enter the Rocky Road Memphis Meltdown.
The description on the pack goes something like “A mountain of jelly rippled chocolate ice cream dunked in marshmallow and smothered in choc, nuts and coconut”. The mother in law, who also got suckered in, described it as being like eating a jandle.
It wasn’t that there was anything wrong with it as such. The individual components were fine (excluding the marshmallow which was like cloudy tough jelly) but the ultimate combination was wrong – too much other stuff, not enough ice cream, the whole thing was barely even cold.
I feel the need to add in a disclaimer at this point in the defence of Tip Top. Other people might love the product, it just didn’t do it for me.
Anyway, I was so disappointed that I got halfway through, gave up and put the thing bag in the bag, dropped it in the nearest bin and proceeded to sulk. For some reason food has an astounding ability to upset me; I feel cheated and let down in a way that is neither reasonable nor rational. It’s been happening a bit recently – Pak’ n Save steak that tasted not quite right and my first tasting of Collective Dairy yoghurt which just couldn’t match up to Piako.
Surely I am not alone in being lured in by the look of something to find that the reality is far less fulfilling. Anyone got any good examples
I don’t often eat ice cream. Especially the fat laden sugary behemoth that is a Memphis Meltdown – I’m afraid I may be afraid of big nuts as the advertising suggested. There was however a moment of weakness on an unseasonably sunny day last weekend and I found myself leaning over the ice cream cabinet in the local gas station. I got suckered by a ‘new’ sticker.
There are two kinds of people on this earth – those who like their ice cream plain (vanilla, hokey pokey etc) and those who think the more bits and pieces you add the better. I’m firmly in the second camp. Or at least I was. Enter the Rocky Road Memphis Meltdown.
The description on the pack goes something like “A mountain of jelly rippled chocolate ice cream dunked in marshmallow and smothered in choc, nuts and coconut”. The mother in law, who also got suckered in, described it as being like eating a jandle.
It wasn’t that there was anything wrong with it as such. The individual components were fine (excluding the marshmallow which was like cloudy tough jelly) but the ultimate combination was wrong – too much other stuff, not enough ice cream, the whole thing was barely even cold.
I feel the need to add in a disclaimer at this point in the defence of Tip Top. Other people might love the product, it just didn’t do it for me.
Anyway, I was so disappointed that I got halfway through, gave up and put the thing bag in the bag, dropped it in the nearest bin and proceeded to sulk. For some reason food has an astounding ability to upset me; I feel cheated and let down in a way that is neither reasonable nor rational. It’s been happening a bit recently – Pak’ n Save steak that tasted not quite right and my first tasting of Collective Dairy yoghurt which just couldn’t match up to Piako.
Surely I am not alone in being lured in by the look of something to find that the reality is far less fulfilling. Anyone got any good examples
Thursday, July 8, 2010
Comfort food
Last night the oil heater had to be creakily wheeled out from under the house, filling the house with that concerning burnt dust smell of appliances that have been lying dormant. A whole day had past, I was cold, it was 6pm and up to that point all I had eaten was two weetbix (not a wise move nutritionally I realise but sometimes these things just happen).
The blonde tried, in vain, to convince me that eating out was in order – that nesting in a warm restaurant somewhere, marinating in the fug of someone else’s cooking would be preferable to coming home to a cold house. I can see his point but I had tunnel vision.
I needed cauliflower cheese.
I was in need of comfort and I required comfort food. I made a big bowl of cauliflower cheese, wrapped myself in a rug on the couch and stuffed myself with hot cheesy goodness in front of the TV. It was true happiness, like a hug from the inside, if lacking a little something nutrition wise.
Comfort food is a very personal thing – my needs occupy a relatively narrow space incorporating starch and dairy. I am a self confessed potato addict – A good noodle soup would be the only outlier, particularly the beef dumpling soup from the T-mark lunch bar in Newmarket – I am so emotionally reliant on this soup that I feel I would be unable to move too far away from Auckland.
I lived in Dunedin for nine long winters. As a student with a weekly grocery bill of $20, culinary options were limited. I lived off these -
Ultimate comfort food potatoes
Baking potatoes
2 parts hoisin sauce
1 part whole grain mustard
Preheat oven to 200C.
Microwave potatoes until cooked or almost cooked. Remove and cut slices across the top, hasselback style (using a tea towel to hold the potatoes and prevent burns!). Place on a foil or baking paper lined plate. Mix together hoisin and mustard and spread mixture over the top of the potatoes, pushing it into the cuts as you go. Place in the oven and cook for approximately 15 minutes or until the tops have started to caramelise Allow to cool at least slightly before wolfing down in front of bad day time TV.
The blonde tried, in vain, to convince me that eating out was in order – that nesting in a warm restaurant somewhere, marinating in the fug of someone else’s cooking would be preferable to coming home to a cold house. I can see his point but I had tunnel vision.
I needed cauliflower cheese.
I was in need of comfort and I required comfort food. I made a big bowl of cauliflower cheese, wrapped myself in a rug on the couch and stuffed myself with hot cheesy goodness in front of the TV. It was true happiness, like a hug from the inside, if lacking a little something nutrition wise.
Comfort food is a very personal thing – my needs occupy a relatively narrow space incorporating starch and dairy. I am a self confessed potato addict – A good noodle soup would be the only outlier, particularly the beef dumpling soup from the T-mark lunch bar in Newmarket – I am so emotionally reliant on this soup that I feel I would be unable to move too far away from Auckland.
I lived in Dunedin for nine long winters. As a student with a weekly grocery bill of $20, culinary options were limited. I lived off these -
Ultimate comfort food potatoes
Baking potatoes
2 parts hoisin sauce
1 part whole grain mustard
Preheat oven to 200C.
Microwave potatoes until cooked or almost cooked. Remove and cut slices across the top, hasselback style (using a tea towel to hold the potatoes and prevent burns!). Place on a foil or baking paper lined plate. Mix together hoisin and mustard and spread mixture over the top of the potatoes, pushing it into the cuts as you go. Place in the oven and cook for approximately 15 minutes or until the tops have started to caramelise Allow to cool at least slightly before wolfing down in front of bad day time TV.
Tuesday, May 25, 2010
Good Things Take Time
Posted on http://www.foodlovers.co.nz/
I am slow. Almost slow beyond belief except that this is quite clearly backed up by evidence in multiple forms.
Exhibit A – I initially offered to write some blog postings for foodlovers earlier in the year when Helen asked for offers from the floor. This is several months later and I'm finally churning it out. Slow.
Exhibit B -I've clearly been working on it for quite some time because I wrote about quinces which have such a definite (and now long since past) season. Naturally everyone else also wrote about quinces so I am neither unique nor timely. I can only say that it is an achievement of some kind that I am not right on time for quince season 2011. Next time I will write about canned tuna and save myself the heartache of a slipping deadline.
Of course I am still in a position to resign from my topic, or at least I was before I had written the above paragraphs, and no one would have been the wiser. Unfortunately (to clarify – unfortunately for you) I am also quite lazy and my will to cook is on low ebb so if I cannot be novel I will at least have to attempt to be interesting.
My fellow bloggers have explained more or less what a quince is – a sort of apple trying to look like a lemon and smell like a rose. No one else has mentioned that the down on a quince is known as pubescence. I do feel like I am adding some value.
As other people have mentioned the quince is inedible in its natural form (unless bletted – partially decomposed often through exposure to a light frost) and is often turned into paste and jelly, or in my case, poached. I have made quince jelly and paste in the past with mixed success, the paste being delicious if not somewhat time consuming and the jelly being horrific and also somewhat time consuming. I was both a quince and jelly virgin and the finished product was a thick, tasteless, band-aid hued syrup. I gave an unlabelled jar to my then mother in law who promptly forgot what it was and produced the jar at breakfast time when we were visiting some months later. She assumed something awful had happened to her redcurrant jelly. To my shame I did not disabuse her of this notion.
I got my recipe for poached quinces some years ago from the venerable Judith Cullen of Dunedin cooking class fame. I clearly should have taken her advice and poached them rather than make the aforementioned jelly but better to be a slow learner than no learner at all.
Judith Cullen's Poached Quinces
6 Quinces (peeled, quartered and cored)
1.5 litres water
1kg sugar
2 star anise
1 stick cinnamon
2 cloves
1 lemon, thickly sliced
Combine everything bar the quinces and bring to the boil. Add the quinces and poach in the oven for 6 hours at 160°C.
I am slow. Almost slow beyond belief except that this is quite clearly backed up by evidence in multiple forms.
Exhibit A – I initially offered to write some blog postings for foodlovers earlier in the year when Helen asked for offers from the floor. This is several months later and I'm finally churning it out. Slow.
Exhibit B -I've clearly been working on it for quite some time because I wrote about quinces which have such a definite (and now long since past) season. Naturally everyone else also wrote about quinces so I am neither unique nor timely. I can only say that it is an achievement of some kind that I am not right on time for quince season 2011. Next time I will write about canned tuna and save myself the heartache of a slipping deadline.
Of course I am still in a position to resign from my topic, or at least I was before I had written the above paragraphs, and no one would have been the wiser. Unfortunately (to clarify – unfortunately for you) I am also quite lazy and my will to cook is on low ebb so if I cannot be novel I will at least have to attempt to be interesting.
My fellow bloggers have explained more or less what a quince is – a sort of apple trying to look like a lemon and smell like a rose. No one else has mentioned that the down on a quince is known as pubescence. I do feel like I am adding some value.
As other people have mentioned the quince is inedible in its natural form (unless bletted – partially decomposed often through exposure to a light frost) and is often turned into paste and jelly, or in my case, poached. I have made quince jelly and paste in the past with mixed success, the paste being delicious if not somewhat time consuming and the jelly being horrific and also somewhat time consuming. I was both a quince and jelly virgin and the finished product was a thick, tasteless, band-aid hued syrup. I gave an unlabelled jar to my then mother in law who promptly forgot what it was and produced the jar at breakfast time when we were visiting some months later. She assumed something awful had happened to her redcurrant jelly. To my shame I did not disabuse her of this notion.
I got my recipe for poached quinces some years ago from the venerable Judith Cullen of Dunedin cooking class fame. I clearly should have taken her advice and poached them rather than make the aforementioned jelly but better to be a slow learner than no learner at all.
Judith Cullen's Poached Quinces
6 Quinces (peeled, quartered and cored)
1.5 litres water
1kg sugar
2 star anise
1 stick cinnamon
2 cloves
1 lemon, thickly sliced
Combine everything bar the quinces and bring to the boil. Add the quinces and poach in the oven for 6 hours at 160°C.
Now, Judith's instructions are to put it in the oven at 160°C for 6 hours. Unfortunately the first time that I read this instruction was as I was typing this up. I'm afraid you will notice this is a recurring theme. I did 4 quinces and prorated the syrup down and I didn't use cloves (too lazy to find them in the spice box) or the lemon (didn't have any), cooked it on the stove top for 4 hours – by which stage they were looking ominously band-aid-esque and then left them overnight on the cooling hotplate. They were perfectly ruby red by morning. Queue the sigh of relief. I suppose the moral of the story is that the recipe is relatively foolproof.
So what to do with 4 perfectly poached quinces. I thought about making a cake but getting the mixer out of the cupboard seemed like too much work. Somehow this thought process led to me making a brioche tart. Hardly a labour saving decision.
While this is called a tart in reality it is more like the best possible version of a Danish – sweet doughy goodness melding into abundant custard cut with the acidic juiciness of the fruit. Naturally you can make this using any fruit at all, the original recipe was cherries but I also think apricots would go nicely. Whilst it was not quick in the making nor the writing, I'm going to fall back on the somewhat cheesy mantra of "good things take time".
Golden Custard and Quince Tart
Based on a recipe from the book Tarts; Sweet and Savoury by Maxine Clark.
Brioche Pastry
1 tsp surebake/breadmaker yeast – to use normal (active) yeast see advice in pastry method
1 tbsp caster sugar
250g high grade flour
1 tsp salt
2 large eggs (room temperature)
¼ C milk
180g unsalted butter (room temperature)
Custard and Quince filling
150 ml milk
150 ml cream
Pea size lump of vanilla paste (or use a whole bean and remove before baking)
2 large eggs plus 1 yolk
125 g caster sugar
¼ C standard flour
1 large poached quince cut into 1" cubes
Extra beaten egg to glaze
Brioche Pastry Method
Sift flour into a bowl, add yeast, sugar and salt (if using normal dried yeast add 2tsp to the warmed milk and leave for 10 minutes until frothy then proceed as per the recipe).
Put the eggs into a bowl, whisk well, then make a well in the flour and pour in the eggs and milk.
Mix and knead the dough – it will be really quite soft and will not form a ball as such, I found the easiest way to mix was using one hand to push the dough against the bowl. Once the dough is well mixed slowly add in lumps of the room temperature butter and continue to knead until the dough is stretchy and silken.
Leave the dough to rise for 2-4 hours or overnight in the fridge – be aware that if you put it in the fridge the butter will make the dough go rock hard so I would advise letting it rest on the bench or in a sink full of lukewarm water for an hour to get a decent raising effect.
Knock back then wrap and chill until the dough is firm enough to roll out – about 30 minutes, which gives you time to make the custard filling.
Custard and Quince Filling Method
Put milk and cream in a saucepan and heat until almost boiling. Remove from heat, mix in the vanilla paste and allow to cool to for 10 minutes. In the meantime whisk the eggs, egg yolk and sugar together until pale. Beat the flour into the egg mixture, then the warm milk and cream mixture.
Assembly
Preheat the oven to 200°C on a non-fan forced bake function
I will not lie and say that working with this pastry is easy but it is relatively forgiving and easy to push around. Line a suitable tin (I used a small aluminium roasting dish approx 20×30 cm – if smaller the custard will be thicker but will otherwise be fine) with baking paper up the sides in case of holes in the pastry and subsequent custard leakage. Chill the dough until it is reasonably firm, work quickly and use a lot of flour – if disaster strikes do not be afraid to patch.
Pour the custard into the pastry and place in your hunks of quince. Leave to rise for 20 minutes then fire into the oven. Bake for 15-20 minutes or until the custard is just starting to set then turn the oven down to 160C for a further 45 minutes or so until golden and set. Cool in the tin, serve room temperature.
A Whole New Perspective
It's been a while I know but in the meantime we've sold the house and moved to the other side of Auckland. I am no longer a Westie in anything other than spirit, which might be sad on some levels but otherwise a much shorter commute.
We are currently house sitting until xmas so all our worldly possesions are in storage - including all my baking tins. That gives me a good 7 months of baking at least.
In other news I've written a couple of blogs on http://www.foodlovers.co.nz/ - I'll give them a week or so and then put them on here where I can put some extra photos etc.
Ive also joined the world of twitter - if you are so inclined you can find me at @DancingKumara
Righto then!
We are currently house sitting until xmas so all our worldly possesions are in storage - including all my baking tins. That gives me a good 7 months of baking at least.
In other news I've written a couple of blogs on http://www.foodlovers.co.nz/ - I'll give them a week or so and then put them on here where I can put some extra photos etc.
Ive also joined the world of twitter - if you are so inclined you can find me at @DancingKumara
Righto then!
Sunday, April 4, 2010
Of cleaning, kittens and dentures
I realize it has been a while. I'm afraid I've been a little busy. Not too busy to write if I am being honest but indeed too busy to want to write. Writing requires a kind of mental space whereas recently I have had only 'mental'.
We have put the house on the market. Note the use of 'the house' rather than 'our house' because I have no claim of ownership. It is also worthwhile to note that 'we' have put the house on the market. I take partial ownership of the act on the grounds of many many hours of cleaning.
I'm not entirely sure that 'many many hours' encompasses the sheer pain and torture I have endured. I am not a cleaner by nature. That's not to say that I live knee deep in filth, at worst it would be ankle deep. It is not so much the cleaning I abhore as the tidying, and putting a house on the market involves more tidying than cleaning. I would estimate a solid 30 hours of tidying and a mere 15 hours of cleaning.
I may have mentioned, I'm not so keen on housework. I am not keen to have to repeat the exercise. As a result we have had some changes in the house.
Firstly the kittens have been shipped off to my mother's house. I momentarily left the door to the spare bedroom open while I took some boxes downstairs. The spare bedroom contained a newly made bed a vision of perfect snowy whiteness. By the time I returned upstairs it contained one white bed, one very self satisfied he-kitten deflowering the virgin snowy landscape with masses of brown cat hair and one she-kitten comanding a rigourous assault upon the newly purchased pillows.
We decided perhaps it was best for them to have a little holiday. Better that than kittenicide.
So the kittens, their carry cage, bed, box of toys, food and 6 foot tall cat tree were deposited in my mothers small house. They think it's great - the wood floors make an excellent noise when galloped over and there are fly screens for climbing. My mother has not told her partner that she found the cats licking his dentures. Probably for the best. Much better that he should find out when she's had a few drinks at a dinner party...
We are also no longer cooking in the house. I didn't spend 4 hours cleaning the kitchen from top to bottom just to have to clean it again. All invitations greatfully recieved. We've been eating at Mum's quite a bit. She must have been really bad in a former life.
So fingers crossed the house sells quickly, if not for my sake or for the kittens sake then for my mothers. Worst case scenario she plans to skip the country in about 3 weeks and head about as far away as she could get without being on her way back. I'll try not to take it personally but I will miss the dinners.
We have put the house on the market. Note the use of 'the house' rather than 'our house' because I have no claim of ownership. It is also worthwhile to note that 'we' have put the house on the market. I take partial ownership of the act on the grounds of many many hours of cleaning.
I'm not entirely sure that 'many many hours' encompasses the sheer pain and torture I have endured. I am not a cleaner by nature. That's not to say that I live knee deep in filth, at worst it would be ankle deep. It is not so much the cleaning I abhore as the tidying, and putting a house on the market involves more tidying than cleaning. I would estimate a solid 30 hours of tidying and a mere 15 hours of cleaning.
I may have mentioned, I'm not so keen on housework. I am not keen to have to repeat the exercise. As a result we have had some changes in the house.
Firstly the kittens have been shipped off to my mother's house. I momentarily left the door to the spare bedroom open while I took some boxes downstairs. The spare bedroom contained a newly made bed a vision of perfect snowy whiteness. By the time I returned upstairs it contained one white bed, one very self satisfied he-kitten deflowering the virgin snowy landscape with masses of brown cat hair and one she-kitten comanding a rigourous assault upon the newly purchased pillows.
We decided perhaps it was best for them to have a little holiday. Better that than kittenicide.
So the kittens, their carry cage, bed, box of toys, food and 6 foot tall cat tree were deposited in my mothers small house. They think it's great - the wood floors make an excellent noise when galloped over and there are fly screens for climbing. My mother has not told her partner that she found the cats licking his dentures. Probably for the best. Much better that he should find out when she's had a few drinks at a dinner party...
We are also no longer cooking in the house. I didn't spend 4 hours cleaning the kitchen from top to bottom just to have to clean it again. All invitations greatfully recieved. We've been eating at Mum's quite a bit. She must have been really bad in a former life.
So fingers crossed the house sells quickly, if not for my sake or for the kittens sake then for my mothers. Worst case scenario she plans to skip the country in about 3 weeks and head about as far away as she could get without being on her way back. I'll try not to take it personally but I will miss the dinners.
Tuesday, February 23, 2010
Life in a plastic bag
Ok, So I’ve been a lazy blogger but my excuse is that it’s been too hot and too humid to do anything. That’s why I haven’t been cooking, why I haven’t been cleaning and why I haven’t been exercising. Unfortunately it doesn’t seem to stop me from eating and humidity would be completely unbearable without beer wouldn’t it? One might suspect that living in the climate version of a thermal wrap might result in weight loss but I’m doing my best to fight it. I’ve found remaining completely inactive on the couch to be an effective measure.
If I’m not doing anything (and I’m really not) it becomes rather challenging to figure out what to blog about. The challenges of sweaty thighs and their adhesive tendencies to leather couches offer a myriad of opportunities for descriptive writing to be sure but offer very little enjoyment in the reading. Correct me if I’ve completely misjudged the audience.
Apparently 35 degree heat and 95% humidity is not enough reason for the kittens to seek refuge somewhere less muggy than my lap. The small and boney she-kitten is not so bad but he-kitten is becoming very generously proportioned. I’m sure that rubenesque is not an appropriate descriptor for a cat, let alone a male cat but I am afraid that I can’t seem to shake it from the tip of my tongue. Well insulated, thermally productive, hefty yet surprisingly agile kittens with a persistent in their desire for lap time are not welcome summer time companions. I’m almost thankful for their bet wetting ways so I don’t need to feel bad for banning them from the bedroom at night. Almost.
Not that I’m sleeping at night anyway. If the window is closed it’s like trying to sleep in a plastic bag. If it’s open it’s a competition between boy racers and the hedgehog outside my bedroom window to see who can keep me awake the longest. I can quite confidently say that this might be the first time a hedgehog has won versus a boy racer.
All this typing has built up a thirst. Might be time to peel myself off the couch and get a beer…
If I’m not doing anything (and I’m really not) it becomes rather challenging to figure out what to blog about. The challenges of sweaty thighs and their adhesive tendencies to leather couches offer a myriad of opportunities for descriptive writing to be sure but offer very little enjoyment in the reading. Correct me if I’ve completely misjudged the audience.
Apparently 35 degree heat and 95% humidity is not enough reason for the kittens to seek refuge somewhere less muggy than my lap. The small and boney she-kitten is not so bad but he-kitten is becoming very generously proportioned. I’m sure that rubenesque is not an appropriate descriptor for a cat, let alone a male cat but I am afraid that I can’t seem to shake it from the tip of my tongue. Well insulated, thermally productive, hefty yet surprisingly agile kittens with a persistent in their desire for lap time are not welcome summer time companions. I’m almost thankful for their bet wetting ways so I don’t need to feel bad for banning them from the bedroom at night. Almost.
Not that I’m sleeping at night anyway. If the window is closed it’s like trying to sleep in a plastic bag. If it’s open it’s a competition between boy racers and the hedgehog outside my bedroom window to see who can keep me awake the longest. I can quite confidently say that this might be the first time a hedgehog has won versus a boy racer.
All this typing has built up a thirst. Might be time to peel myself off the couch and get a beer…
Tuesday, February 2, 2010
Toilet training pt 4
Ladies and gentlemen, we have success!
Ok, perhaps not fully blown success but an admirable level of achievement all the same. In the last post I showed off the mixing bowl in the loo. Turned out this wasn't just the greatest of ideas.
She kitten thought it was fantastic. First there was the game of scooping the litter out if the bowl and onto the floor. I could see that this was bad now but I could clearly envisage this becoming more of an issue when the bowl was later removed and I would no doubt find her stuck head first down the lav playing with the floaters. If you have any poo, fling it now...
As if this was not bad enough, she also discovered that the stainless steel bowl made a satisfying clanking noise if you sat in it and rocked backwards and forwards. Now the "how to" website had clearly described that the cat was supposed to stand on the seat with one leg in the bowl, not sitting in the bowl rocking backwards and forwards like an asylum inpatient.
I have two options here. I assume my kitten is either a feces fiddling cretin or she is of above average intelligence and mocking my feeble attempts to train her. I'm now emotionally invested in getting them to use the loo so I'm going with the second, hopefully I'm a big enough person to admit when I'm wrong.
In order to prevent the constant sound of something akin to a cup being dragged along prison bars I invested in some blue tack and applied it liberally around the rim to provide some anchoring effect.
I patted myself on the back for my can do kiwi number 8 wire attitude.
And then she ate the blue tack.
Gifted I tell you. I wish there was Mensa for kittens.
Oh, and they completely refused to use it for the intended purpose.
So I abandoned this approach and turned to my old friend the Internet and my afore mentioned DIY skills.
I went to the supermarket and returned with a disposable aluminium roasting dish and a roll of duct tape. The kittens didn't even have the good sense to look nervous.
I cut down the roasting dish and taped it down onto the bowl. A sheet of newspaper on top and the seat lowered down, a sprinkling of litter et voilà!
And miracle of miracles, they are using it!
From here we cut a hole in the middle, slowly making it larger and larger until it's completely gone. Hopefully.
Ok, perhaps not fully blown success but an admirable level of achievement all the same. In the last post I showed off the mixing bowl in the loo. Turned out this wasn't just the greatest of ideas.
She kitten thought it was fantastic. First there was the game of scooping the litter out if the bowl and onto the floor. I could see that this was bad now but I could clearly envisage this becoming more of an issue when the bowl was later removed and I would no doubt find her stuck head first down the lav playing with the floaters. If you have any poo, fling it now...
As if this was not bad enough, she also discovered that the stainless steel bowl made a satisfying clanking noise if you sat in it and rocked backwards and forwards. Now the "how to" website had clearly described that the cat was supposed to stand on the seat with one leg in the bowl, not sitting in the bowl rocking backwards and forwards like an asylum inpatient.
I have two options here. I assume my kitten is either a feces fiddling cretin or she is of above average intelligence and mocking my feeble attempts to train her. I'm now emotionally invested in getting them to use the loo so I'm going with the second, hopefully I'm a big enough person to admit when I'm wrong.
In order to prevent the constant sound of something akin to a cup being dragged along prison bars I invested in some blue tack and applied it liberally around the rim to provide some anchoring effect.
I patted myself on the back for my can do kiwi number 8 wire attitude.
And then she ate the blue tack.
Gifted I tell you. I wish there was Mensa for kittens.
Oh, and they completely refused to use it for the intended purpose.
So I abandoned this approach and turned to my old friend the Internet and my afore mentioned DIY skills.
I went to the supermarket and returned with a disposable aluminium roasting dish and a roll of duct tape. The kittens didn't even have the good sense to look nervous.
I cut down the roasting dish and taped it down onto the bowl. A sheet of newspaper on top and the seat lowered down, a sprinkling of litter et voilà!
And miracle of miracles, they are using it!
From here we cut a hole in the middle, slowly making it larger and larger until it's completely gone. Hopefully.
Wednesday, January 27, 2010
Geek chic
I have a dirty secret. When no one is around, when I know no one is going to be home I do something that would make some people look at me differently.
I crochet.
I've been doing it for a long time and occaisionally I try to give it up but somehow I always start up again. I will admit kittens and crochet don't mix so I have to wait until they have collapsed at night before I pull out the balls of wool.
Anyway, I'm going to go out on a limb and say I think it's going to come back into fashion. Honestly.
Crochet is given a bad name by doilies and shawls. I don't do that kind of crochet. I make cool crochet. Honestly.
Last Friday some good friends had their baby 7 weeks early. Fortunately although he gave his parents one hell of a shock, otherwise everyone is doing well.
Apart from me. I have 7 weeks less to make something. Hence I've spent the last couple of days crocheting like a crazy person. Just like a crazy person.
The result - my abominable baby booties. It'll be a little while before little Marcus grows into them but I think they are almost as cute as he is
I crochet.
I've been doing it for a long time and occaisionally I try to give it up but somehow I always start up again. I will admit kittens and crochet don't mix so I have to wait until they have collapsed at night before I pull out the balls of wool.
Anyway, I'm going to go out on a limb and say I think it's going to come back into fashion. Honestly.
Crochet is given a bad name by doilies and shawls. I don't do that kind of crochet. I make cool crochet. Honestly.
Last Friday some good friends had their baby 7 weeks early. Fortunately although he gave his parents one hell of a shock, otherwise everyone is doing well.
Apart from me. I have 7 weeks less to make something. Hence I've spent the last couple of days crocheting like a crazy person. Just like a crazy person.
The result - my abominable baby booties. It'll be a little while before little Marcus grows into them but I think they are almost as cute as he is
Friday, January 22, 2010
Toilet training update pt 3
An update on my mission to train my kittens to use the human loo
So far so good. Despite a couple of spilled litter trays through my inadequate blue tacking things have been going well. We have been through the litter tray beside the toilet and slowly raised up with phone books part of the experiment.
No issues or accidents and most importantly no kittens in toilets. At least not by accident. She-kitten has developed a fondness for chasing the water when you flush. Fortunately he-kitten is far too much of a wuss to follow in her paw steps.
The litter trays have been moved on top of the toilet and well secured with blu tack. Still no accidents.
Today we have progressed. We have removed one of the litter trays. It has been replaced with a stainless steel bowl. The bowl sits in the loo. In the bowl is the litter. The theory is that the kitten magically realises it is now supposed to pee in the bowl.
As you can see the kittens and I are equally sceptical on this point. Not that they aren't enjoying it. The litter all over the floor is from she-kitten scooping it out with her paws and throwing it around the room as demonstrated below
Makes me wonder if it won't be a good thing that no one wants to pee in the bowl.
So far so good. Despite a couple of spilled litter trays through my inadequate blue tacking things have been going well. We have been through the litter tray beside the toilet and slowly raised up with phone books part of the experiment.
No issues or accidents and most importantly no kittens in toilets. At least not by accident. She-kitten has developed a fondness for chasing the water when you flush. Fortunately he-kitten is far too much of a wuss to follow in her paw steps.
The litter trays have been moved on top of the toilet and well secured with blu tack. Still no accidents.
Today we have progressed. We have removed one of the litter trays. It has been replaced with a stainless steel bowl. The bowl sits in the loo. In the bowl is the litter. The theory is that the kitten magically realises it is now supposed to pee in the bowl.
As you can see the kittens and I are equally sceptical on this point. Not that they aren't enjoying it. The litter all over the floor is from she-kitten scooping it out with her paws and throwing it around the room as demonstrated below
Makes me wonder if it won't be a good thing that no one wants to pee in the bowl.
The best brownie pt 2
I am truly putting my waistline on the line here in the interest of culinary discovery.
The first time I made this brownie I failed to read the instructions (or used my own initiative depending on your opinion) and deviated from the intended method. Rather than mixing through chocolate chips at the end of the process I melted a block of chocolate and put it in with the other wet ingredients. Oops.
Now there was no issue with the resulting brownie. It was fantastic. However my work here was not done. Lynette rightly pointed out that in the name of science I could not rightly leave the situation as it currently stood. So many questions. So many stones left unturned. So much brownie left unbaked.
So I repeated the recipe, actually reading the instructions this time and using chocolate chips. Turns out I'm just thick not illiterate which is a great relief and this brownie turned out fine.
Just "fine" I hear you say! Yes actually, just fine. Perhaps it's just some misplaced sense of pride but I preferred the stuff up brownie. Not that this one was bad, don't get me wrong, the only way brownie is bad is from a health perspective (although I'm not a fan of fruit in brownies, always sounds nicer than the reality, a bit like fruit flavoured tea)
It took some investigative nibbling to figure it out what the problem was- initially I thought it was just a lot of crust - but scientific eating won out in the end. The issue was that when the chocolate chips were simply mixed through at the end the brownie has little crispy crunchy cooked chocolate chip bits all the way through.
I imagine some of the crispy issue could be resolved by serving the brownie hot. This is my action plan for the remaining 10 large pieces of brownie in the freezer. The intention is that they are emergency brownie in case of impromptu dinner parties. All I'm saying is that there had better be an impromptu dinner party soon because I swear those little slightly too crispy morsels of chocolatey goodness are speaking to me from the freezer.
The things I do for science.
The first time I made this brownie I failed to read the instructions (or used my own initiative depending on your opinion) and deviated from the intended method. Rather than mixing through chocolate chips at the end of the process I melted a block of chocolate and put it in with the other wet ingredients. Oops.
Now there was no issue with the resulting brownie. It was fantastic. However my work here was not done. Lynette rightly pointed out that in the name of science I could not rightly leave the situation as it currently stood. So many questions. So many stones left unturned. So much brownie left unbaked.
So I repeated the recipe, actually reading the instructions this time and using chocolate chips. Turns out I'm just thick not illiterate which is a great relief and this brownie turned out fine.
Just "fine" I hear you say! Yes actually, just fine. Perhaps it's just some misplaced sense of pride but I preferred the stuff up brownie. Not that this one was bad, don't get me wrong, the only way brownie is bad is from a health perspective (although I'm not a fan of fruit in brownies, always sounds nicer than the reality, a bit like fruit flavoured tea)
It took some investigative nibbling to figure it out what the problem was- initially I thought it was just a lot of crust - but scientific eating won out in the end. The issue was that when the chocolate chips were simply mixed through at the end the brownie has little crispy crunchy cooked chocolate chip bits all the way through.
I imagine some of the crispy issue could be resolved by serving the brownie hot. This is my action plan for the remaining 10 large pieces of brownie in the freezer. The intention is that they are emergency brownie in case of impromptu dinner parties. All I'm saying is that there had better be an impromptu dinner party soon because I swear those little slightly too crispy morsels of chocolatey goodness are speaking to me from the freezer.
The things I do for science.
Sunday, January 10, 2010
The Best Brownie?
There has been much debate on the Foodlovers forums recently regarding brownie recipes. I thought it seemed only fair to try out at least one of the recipes. There's nothing like sacrificing your waistline for a good cause.
This recipe comes from Annabelle White's "Best Ever Baking and Slices" and purports to be that used in the renowned Pandoro bakery in Auckland.
100g Cocoa
200g Butter
400g (2 Cups) Caster (or superfine for those non-kiwis) Sugar
4 medium size Eggs
1 tsp Vanilla Essence
90g Plain Flour
1tsp baking powder
200g Dark (bittersweet/baking) Chocolate
Now, I made a slight error which I have only just realised as I am typing - good thing blogger won't let me cut and paste eh! The original recipe used chocolate chips which were added at the end, I used block chocolate which I melted and added. I'll just give you my method but if you wanted to do it without the mistake you would add the chocolate chips, unmelted, right at the end.
Method:
Preheat the oven to 150C, use a static (no fan) function, position your shelf to the middle of the oven. Line a 20x30cm tin with baking paper - I used an old aluminium roasting dish.
Melt butter and sugar. Sift all siftable ingredients into a bowl, add remaining dry ingredients. Add liquid ingredients and mix. Turn into tin, level off and bake for approx and hour - set your timer for about 40 minutes and check every 5 minutes from there - you don't want it overcooked. It should still feel slightly undercooked - e.g. give under your fingers when pressed - when you pull it out. When completely cooled cut into SMALL portions.
This brownie is very rich - probably more so when you melt all the chocolate and mix it in! Also I used 70% cocoa solids chocolate. In hindsight I would recommend a standard 50% baking chocolate.
In terms of chocolate for cooking, there is a certain danger involved with keeping chocolate in the house for cooking. To attempt to circumvent this I store all my cooking chocolate in the freezer - firstly it's not somewhere you usually look when you are snack prowling and secondly, if you do actually want to eat it you really do need to let it warm up to room temperature for it to be even slightly enjoyable and to avoid breaking your teeth. Yes I have tried and you only do it once. Ok maybe twice.
In terms of buying chocolate for baking I advocate for buying reasonable quality but not over the top and for generally buying eating chocolate over baking chocolate because it is generally cheaper. I used to be the chocolate technologist for the biggest chocolate manufacturer in NZ (and no that fiasco wasn't really anything to do with me) and the reason that the eating chocolate is cheaper is that the companies sell a lot more of it so it is cheaper for them to make and market and more worthwhile to sell.
I have some opinions when it comes to very high end expensive imported chocolate. Don't bother using it for cooking. When you are cooking you will cook off most of the finer, more interesting flavours - it's a bit like the difference between a wine you might eat and one you might cook with - you want a cooking wine to be palatable but there is no need to go putting a $50 bottle unless you are rather pretentious or have cash to burn. At least in my not so humble opinion. Getting down off my soapbox now.
So, the all important question - how was the brownie? Pretty damn good, I'd make it again. It was almost verging on being too rich - I know, I never imagined that I would say it either. Definitely a good one to serve with ice cream or cream just to cut back the mouth gluing fudginess a little.
I'd be tempted to freeze a couple of pieces in a bag and to use in case of an emergency dinner party. This of course assumes that you have enough left over to freeze and you have the willpower to leave it in the freezer. Let's just say there is no brownie in my freezer.
Saturday, January 2, 2010
I HAVE FOLLOWERS!!!!
Yesterday I was mucking around with the settings on the blog and I put my 'followers' on the page.
Overnight my number of followers has doubled.
I am honestly feeling the love here!!!
I do realise that it has gone from one to two but that is almost immaterial.
Excuse me while I bask in my percieved popularity...
Overnight my number of followers has doubled.
I am honestly feeling the love here!!!
I do realise that it has gone from one to two but that is almost immaterial.
Excuse me while I bask in my percieved popularity...
Friday, January 1, 2010
New Year's resolutions
I've never been much of one for New Year's resolutions. They seem a bit like the kiss of death for good intentions, a bit like starting a renovation project and being approached by Grand Designs
Off topic -how do those people manage to look surprised that the house took twice as long and cost twice as much - have they never seen the show? So, will you be hiring a project manager? No? You think your wife will probably be able to cover that off when she puts the kids down for an afternoon nap?WRONG ANSWER. You can see Kevin there rubbing his hands in glee. Is it wrong that I find something disturbingly sexy about Kevin McCloud? I think it's the voice, it can't be the male pattern baldness or the penchant for knitwear.
Anyway, resolutions. I can't really be bothered with them. Every year it bothers me that the gym is chocka in January. Fortunately it's pleasantly empty come February. I always tend to view people's resolutions with an unhealthy level of cynicism but they rarely prove me wrong.
I have had one friend who kept her resolutions religiously. Every year she picked a food to avoid. The first year it was chocolate and believe it or not she did it. The next year it was chips, the packet variety not the hot kind. I always thought it was an impressive feat of willpower if not completely pointless at the same time.
So, will I be making a resolution? Actually, despite myself I will. I am resolving to limit my use of the phrase "don't know" in matters of personal preference. I really hate it when people tell me they don't know what they want for lunch or whatever. It adds absolutely nothing so I'm going to try not to do it anymore. I tell you what, it's really hard. I'm actually going to have to think for a change.
The blonde has resolved to eat more slowly. I have already sat through one meal of him chewing steak like a cow chewing cud. It could be a long year.
Off topic -how do those people manage to look surprised that the house took twice as long and cost twice as much - have they never seen the show? So, will you be hiring a project manager? No? You think your wife will probably be able to cover that off when she puts the kids down for an afternoon nap?WRONG ANSWER. You can see Kevin there rubbing his hands in glee. Is it wrong that I find something disturbingly sexy about Kevin McCloud? I think it's the voice, it can't be the male pattern baldness or the penchant for knitwear.
Anyway, resolutions. I can't really be bothered with them. Every year it bothers me that the gym is chocka in January. Fortunately it's pleasantly empty come February. I always tend to view people's resolutions with an unhealthy level of cynicism but they rarely prove me wrong.
I have had one friend who kept her resolutions religiously. Every year she picked a food to avoid. The first year it was chocolate and believe it or not she did it. The next year it was chips, the packet variety not the hot kind. I always thought it was an impressive feat of willpower if not completely pointless at the same time.
So, will I be making a resolution? Actually, despite myself I will. I am resolving to limit my use of the phrase "don't know" in matters of personal preference. I really hate it when people tell me they don't know what they want for lunch or whatever. It adds absolutely nothing so I'm going to try not to do it anymore. I tell you what, it's really hard. I'm actually going to have to think for a change.
The blonde has resolved to eat more slowly. I have already sat through one meal of him chewing steak like a cow chewing cud. It could be a long year.
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