A libation to potation

Hot water with lemon.

Hot water.

Water.

Coffee.

Hot water.

Fennel, peppermint, green, or black tea.

Water.

Hot Ribena.

Water.

Wine.

Peppermint or camomile or dried berry tea.

Hot water with lemon.

 So runs my daily drinking cycle (during the week). There are, of course, possible alterations to the schedule. An espresso might interject ‘twixt the hot water and herbal tea. The hot Ribena in summer months is generally ousted in favour of a cold Ribena, or when the wind blows me into a particularly sybaritic mood, perhaps even a smoothie. In place of the evening’s herbal tea, there may occasionally be a hot chocolate or hot rice milk.

What never changes is the first and last drink. That sweet nectar from Zeus’s cup, hot water with a quarter of a lemon squeezed and flesh torn in. And, just as the drink itself is immortally unchanging, so too is the vessel from which it is drunk. (When I’m at home that is.)

It is the perfect size – it holds just enough liquid to satisfy my acetous palate, but not so much that I can hear myself slosh up the stairs. It is the perfect material: glass – a firm favourite of mine when it comes to drinking vessel materials. There is something about the feel of the rim against my lips, and the manner with which it holds the temperature of the drink. An espresso or cappuccino from a glass cup is imbibing heaven.

But then the idea of drinking another hot beverage, such as herbal tea from this vessel is absurd. It is the perfect size and perfect material (and perfect rim-thickness) for hot water with lemon. Perhaps at a push I will concede hot water too. But don’t try any other funny business.

(If you had previously decided to see past all of my foibles and anal-ness, I’m really making that hard now, aren’t I?!!?)

I’ve started now so I may as well continue.

There is my vessel for coffee – either a wonderful potato, or one from a Francis Bacon exhibition in Madrid gifted to me by very dear friend. The Olympics one is for The Boy. He got all feverish and patriotic on me during London 2012, the consequence being two vessels, a towel and a hoodie.

This is my vessel for double espresso macchiato, and then the one for espresso. And there’s the hot water and lemon vessel. Very Morandi.

Here my vessel for hot chocolate or hot rice milk – Lea & Perrins vs Pear’s Soap. A decision that always has me flipping a coin in the end to rectify the matter.

Each vessel has been ordained The Vessel of whatever drink after careful consideration of size, material and width of the rim. I avidly hate thick-rimmed drinking vessels. I like to feel the liquid in my mouth, not the liquid accompanied by the rim.

This…what is ‘this’? Precision? Fastidiousness? Punctiliousness? O.C.D??

Anyway, this ‘way of approaching drinking vessels’ was brought to the fore of my mind whilst visiting a dear university friend. She loves her tea. And, as with me and my first (and usually only) coffee of the day, it must be done right. If not, there is the potential for the whole day to be affected by it.

As is my wont I had woken at stupid o’clock for a weekend, and crept downstairs to amuse myself with her cat and fish. (‘Amuse’ meaning playing with one and watching the other. Not mixing the two. That would just be carnage.) When my friend awoke, I asked if she’d like tea, to which the answer was, of course, “yes”, and so I set about making it. I fell almost immediately, however, at the dizzyingly high hurdle that is, what vessel to use???

Like me, my friend has lots of vessels. All different shapes, sizes and materials. I knew what a powerful component of her day’s destiny laid in my hands. My knees weakened. My hand hovered over one vessel, but then I spotted something else at the back that looked even better, and so chose that.

The kettle clicked. Boiling was over. Tea bag laying prone and exposed at the bottom of the vessel, schpoon at the ready, sugar pot alongside.

Like a silver bullet sent from above, my friend suddenly trotted downstairs, favouring her first tea over having a shower.

Relief. She can make the decision.

Turns out she uses the vessel my hand first hovered over. Withering cat rot! Always go with your gut instinct.

And so it turned out that on the weekend there were particular vessels used, whilst during the week when time was restricted, other vessels were used. And aside from such practical considerations, there were thems that she liked and thems that she didn’t simply because she did and didn’t.

We both, however, agreed that this ‘way of approaching drinking vessels’ was only apparent when in our houses. When in other people’s houses of course there is not the option to root through their drinking vessel cupboard in order to find the correct vessel. That would just be rude. And when in restaurants or cafes, if we knew to avoid them for whatever reason we would (Starbucks, along with so many other heinous crimes, serves coffee in vessels with rims as thick as Dame Edna’s glasses), but if we didn’t then no big drama.

What is it about size, shape and material that can alter so dramatically (even if on a subconscious level) our enjoyment of a drink? There obviously is something or else why have so many different shapes, sizes and materials been used through the centuries?

Bone china is renowned as being the finest choice for hot drink vessels, and glass for cold drink vessels. But why not start drinking out of bone china tumblers and glass mugs? And what is a cup if a mug is a mug? Does it come down to a saucer? Why then do we ask for a “cup of coffee” (or tea) when very infrequently they are served with a saucer beneath? And where does the phrase “to be a mug” come from? Where is the correlation between a mug and being made use of, or being taken advantage of? Was it created by a staunch advocate for mugs’ rights?

All these questions, and more, fly through my head with just a simple sip, endlessly whirling around, like tea leaves in the bottom of a ___________ - fill in the blank.

Love in the big city

Street art heart.

Two metre long pikes and gingerbread men

A present that would probably provoke the same reaction as opening a parcel from Dear Old Granny containing yet another pair of thermal all-in-one:

"Oh. Lovely. Great. Just what I needed. Yes. Wow. So kind."

Blink.

Giving the stuff of life. By giving food. I like that.

And actually, it's only the pike that would bamboozle me. Gingerbread Men are undeniably enjoyable. The whole ‘politically correct’ motion to rename them Gingerbread People is, as with all things P.C, head-bashingly absurd. Next we’ll be eating ‘European Fancies’.

Pfft.

Universal and unique

Pasta, udon, reshte, Spätzle, thukpa, idiyappam, kalguksu, pizzocheri, soba.

Pizza, pide, peshwari naan, flammekueche, manakish, pissaladière, lahmacun, pastrmajlija, spanakopita.

Piadina, chapati, tortilla, Staffordshire oatcake, flatkaka, lavash, pita, markook, injera, rieska, roti, arepa, laobing.

Falafel, polpette, kibe, kofta, frikadelle, keftédes, bakso, kufteh, kyufte, ballekes, gehaktbal, köttbullar, bola-bola, klopsy, almôndegas, cá viên.

That, my friend, is a culinary world-wind. (Terrible, I know. Sorry.)

Right there you have one culinary item, in numerous different culinary languages.

The origins of food and dishes, like all things historical, are gratifyingly untenable.  There is no way that anyone can argue with complete conviction that a dish has been invented entirely or for the first time by their people or area.

Why?

Way back when (I’m not sure exactly how far back, I didn’t listen in history lessons at school, but let’s go reeeeallly far back. Suspend your imagination for me), tribes or communities travelled. Others stayed where they were and met said travelling souls. If it went well, the meeting would be amicable, and shelter and food would be offered to the travellers - the earliest and most fundamental form of ‘hospitality’. As thanks for this gesture, the travellers would very probably have given the hosts gifts – sometimes clothes or jewellery, but also food stuffs. And this happened all over the world, throughout history, with different peoples.

How on earth can you say with conviction that in ___AD, People A brought Item 1 to People B. And that no other People A, or other People, were travelling at the same time to a different place with the same Item.

Pfft.

It was cultural exchanges like this that saw the apricot, native to China, move through the Persian Empire with travellers and on into the Mediterranean, where it was received and cultivated with much enthusiasm. From there, it was Spanish explorers who then took this soft and delicate fruit to The New World, aka America. Today it is the ‘Persian Empire’ that reigns supreme in terms of apricot production, notably Turkey, Iran and Uzbekistan.                                                                                                                                            

But don’t get too comfortable. There are also sources that trace the apricot back to 3000BC in India.

And then pizza – Italian? Yes. Immediately a mental image is conjured up of a mad, wiry Italian pizzaiolo, hurling the oyster-coloured cloth of dough in the air, and catching it again effortlessly, before slapping it down on the marble work-top and slathering it in tomato, mozzarella and oil.

But, did it begin there? There are records of Ancient Greek travellers taking flat bread, topped with oils and herbs to sustain them on their journey, known as pita. Pizza. Pita. Pita. Pizza. It makes sense, right?

But then what about Turkish pide? Pizza. Pide. Pide. Pizza. Again, it could work.

New Zealand proclaims they invented the pavlova, and Australia recoils in shock and incredulity that they could utter such falsity when they invented it. The only thing that can be certain is that it was named after a Russian ballerina, Anna Pavlova, as it was said to be a dessert as light as her dancing. Why Russia hasn’t blundered in with some claim as to its etymology, I don’t know.

Maybe they have.

Anyway, it’s the manner in which food is both familiar and alien to us, simultaneously.  I’m taking a punt here and guessing that you’ve eaten a pizza before. Perhaps you’ve even had the misfortune to have eaten an American pizza..? But if I asked you whether you’d eaten a lahmacun before, you might not be so sure. In a way, you sort of have – it’s a Lebanese pizza, traditionally topped with cheese or thyme and eaten for breakfast.

I am not in any way seeking to reduce the lahmacun’s culinary status by subsuming it in with that more famous and universally eaten alternative, pizza, but I mean only to highlight the marvellously similar, and at the same time, diverse quality so many foods have.

We are all ‘different’, and so are our cultures, but essentially we are all made up of the same ‘stuff’, just like cuisines. Whilst we have undergone civilisation and social development at different speeds, we will all face essentially the same challenges: how to cross an expanse of water; how to build a structure; how to preserve or carry food whilst travelling; how best to cultivate food. And from all of these challenges come solutions, which are carried forward and refined as time goes by, both to improve and to meet the newer challenges confronted. Just like the invention and development of dishes: pastry initially used as a container for food whilst travelling or working, to then finally become the height of chic, and culinary accomplishment.

Thanks to travelling, and people sharing or taking an interest and seeking to imitate back in their homeland, we can all bring and give parts of the world we inhabit. And this is not only on a transatlantic scale. I can bring or take ideas to friends. The other day I was introduced by my Japanese boss to the delights of umeboshi – Japanese pickled plums. I was told how to use it in a traditional sense, and also that it was equally delicious used as a pesto. En route home I started thinking about what other uses there are for pesto. By the time I got home I had decided to make umeboshi and coriander coated river cobbler, served with zucchini and pecorino carpaccio. A riot of flavours, all of which were heavenly – a global union so vibrant, it made UN Council look like a mother’s meeting.

It makes the world feel less anonymous and alien for me - that when I am chomping down a plate of linguine, I am, in a way, eating udon (if I squint a bit). And that when I am eating gelato, I am also eating ice cream. Sort of. And that a falafel is essentially a vegetarian polpetta, and that a polpetta is essentially a small hamburger.

I can feel a dinner-party game a-brewing: Name the Food Synonym.

Perhaps a catchier name is required, but you get the idea.

Any suggestions anyone?

Great Exclamations

I would like to keep this blog as a space for words and thoughts and wonderings. I would like to keep away from using this space as a speaker box for ranting. You don’t come here to read tirades and outbursts. (Hopefully) You come here to read words. Words that may at times provoke thought; words that may provoke a smile; words that may even provoke a wry snort. But you do not come here to read words that have flung forth from the fiery depths of my mind, saturated in venom and bile.

Ok, well maybe I went a bit over-board there, but you get my drift.

It is for the reasons above that I am going to try very hard not to rant. But I think it might actually turn out to be, in technical terms, a rant.

Forgive me, for I am about to sin.

Exclamation marks. A punctuation mark much beloved amongst marketing and advertising companies. “CRAZY REDUCTIONS!”. “HAPPY HOUR!”. “BUY SEVEN, GET THE EIGHTH FREE!!”. It is there to express, yes, you guessed it, exclamatory comments. Comments that require the reader’s attention, and denote that there is something of interest in that phrase.

“I’m wearing an orange jumper today.”

A fairly innocuous statement. Nothing out of the ordinary, nothing really to pay attention to. It is clear what the phrase means. You can ingest and move on fairly quickly.

“I’m wearing an orange jumper today!!”

Now we’re talking – those two leggy loons of linguistic regulation automatically make you think “Ooooh. Orange??? How very risqué.”, or perhaps, “A jumper? Ugh. You’re mad. Don’t you know it is all about the cardigan this week.”

And there you have it. By the simple addition of our stately syntactical friends, we have elevated the statement to one denoting surprise, shock and interest.

Red.

What connotations does that bring to your mind?

Roses?

Hearts?

Lips?

Sexuality?

Post-boxes?

Telephone boxes?

Royal Mail?

Warmth?

Heat?

Fire?

Danger?

Depending on how your mind works, whether it ponders on the expedition of communications, or your partner’s corporal qualities, red can mean a variety of things to each person. I think what is quite universal, however, is red being used as a cautionary signal. The hazard light button in cars is red. Fire or smoke alarms often are red. Low batteries on electronic devices are, by and large, red.

Now combine the two. Red + exclamation mark.

The Holy Grail of Exclaiming.

That packs a punch doesn’t it? A double whammy of “LOOK AT ME GODDAMIT”. You see a red exclamation mark and, even if only subconsciously, you know you are going to have a closer look or be aware.

If you take this tour-de-force of alarm and warning, and confine it to that oh-so-perilous sphere of work emails, you have yourself a sure-fire way to p**s me off.

For those of you fortunate enough to not work in an office environment or in a job that centres on emails, that ‘!’ is an optional extra one can add to an email of “high importance”.

If I was that ‘!’, frankly I would feel used and abused by today’s office dwellers. I have counted today, and from the same person I have received nineteen emails marked with ‘!’. Actually, every email this person has sent me has had the ‘!’.

I very readily give people benefit of the doubt, but, on this occasion, I seriously doubt that every word that has seemingly flowed so effortlessly from their fingers is of such great importance.

Have they not heard of the boy who howled wolf?

Just like there is an ‘International Talk Like a Pirate Day’, I would heartily support an ‘International Exclamation Mark Amnesty’ day. A day in which people, if their message is so very important, used other means to convey said importance – by calling, for example, or, more revolutionary and new-age still, doing the task themselves instead of creating a huge chain of responsibility by passing the job or follow-up on to their colleagues.

Ground-breaking ideas, I know. That one might be better placed taking responsibility for one’s own needs and tasks…

And then as soon as that colour and irritated vigour rises up in me, so it ebbs away in the face of the Corporate Machine and status quo.

Pfft.

For my part, just like I turn off lights and radios and TVs when not in the room, and how I don’t stand under the shower for 27 minutes in the morning, and how I do my grocery shopping on foot and not in the car, I don’t use the ‘!’ until absolutely vital (and I can’t quite remember what about work is truly ‘vital’, but then that’s a whole other post right there). Like all of the other examples, I don’t expect my actions to dramatically alter the global situation, but, it’s me doing my bit. Because your life is only that – your bit to look after. Yes we impact other people, but then you should be looking after that bit, the impacting bit, anyway.

It would be nice to think that 19-exclamation-marker would see how I never use the ‘!’, and be prompted to think about their usage of it, and realise how much they’d been exploiting it, and resolutely promise to never over-use it ever again…

But then it would also be nice to think about pretty much anything else other than work emails and ‘!’s.