Christmas Cake

Disclaimer: After reading this, you may not wish to eat my Christmas Cake this year. This is okay with me. If you see her, be sure to remark on her beauty. And I will have your slice.

It's my Mum's birthday on Christmas Day. She says that this means that when we all grow up and get married, there will be no Christmas holidays that we spend with our spouse's family because she can always play "the birthday card". I counter that when she dies, Christmas will be an unbearable holiday for us, her children, and we will inadvertently pass these negative feeling onto her grandchildren, and no-one will ever enjoy Christmas again. Touché.

Despite all this merriment, it has become a tradition that usually, if things are okay, and I remember, and it's been a good year, and my Dad doesn't just go out and buy a better one anyway, I make a Christmas cake for my Mum's birthday. This tradition was started by my Grandmother, who used to whisk me away for a day of her full attention and baking at half term. I have so many happy memories of those days. Not least of cutting out the circles of baking paper for the bottom of the cake tin, and not realising that her hand-written recipe (that she had kept safe and neat since she was a girl and someone in Ireland had taught her) somehow became attached underneath and was accidentally cut in two! Of course she had me write it out again for her, in my neatest, 10-year-old handwriting. Twice. 

Sadly, when she passed away, the recipe was lost. Both copies, and for a few years I didn't make Christmas Cake.

Then, when I was working as a cleaner for the University of Kent one year, I found a brilliant recipe book in one of the student rooms that we were cleaning out and my supervisor said I could keep it. It was one of those cookbooks where every recipe is a gem, everything it touched turned to gold. I has a bumper year of four Christmas Cakes that year, and they were all spectacular.

Sadly, that book is packed away in the wall of boxes at my parents' house, but I still remember the glow from that victory. Since then, there have been some successes (2009's almond topped beauty) and some failures (2010's burnt mess with Ugandan Sherry which I tried to make while looking after a very grumpy Freddie... My mum took it to her school and the teachers ate it... that lot'll eat anything). So I had a rest year, and now I'm back in the game.

Tunisia is awash with nuts and dried fruits, and so the temptation is to make something almost wholly Tunisian. With my new interest in nutrition and health and stuff, I also thought it would be fun (is 'fun' the word?) to try to make it lower in fat and added-sugar too, leaving out the demerera and the butter. For this reason, there had to be some trials, which my friends have generously leant their tastebuds for over the past few weeks.

I worked on a formula with lots of dates, almonds, walnuts, raisins and a bit of fresh fruit (clementines and apples), some flour and some juice (mango, because that's what was in the fridge) and the christmas spices. Enter Christmas Cake number 1:

Christmas Cake Attempt 1:

So the big problem was that without the eggs, she didn't rise much. At all. Infact she was disappointingly small. To save the icing, but so that it still looked nice, I covered the top with flaked almonds. My tasters liked it alot (because there is no fruitcake in Tunisia, and for many, it had been a while) but it was accepted that without glacier cherries or candied peel or brown sugar, it was just not sweet enough (although, remember people, the 'real' Christmas Cake will get marzipan and icing too). Some people remarked that it tasted weird without the Brandy Sauce - and it was quickly determined that these fools didn't know the difference between Christmas Cake and Christmas Pudding and they were swiftly removed from any further tasting panels.

I should now take a bit of time to tell you about, what I like to call "date beasts". Dates are in perfect season here in Tunis at the moment and you can buy them everywhere by the kilo. But beware. For inside maybe 1 in 10, lurks the deadly "date beasts", little monsters from hell that try to eat your date before you get the chance. For this reason, you have to cut all of the dates up carefully and do a full inspection before you can use them. This makes your hands really sticky, but the thrill of the hunt makes up for it.

Christmas Cake Attempt 2:

On the quest for sweetness, and armed with a bag of dried strawberries from Austria, I took a running jump at Christmas Cake number 2, who came along to my baptism party. I doubled up the mixture (which made it REALLY hard to stir) and used a bigger cake tin, which still meant that the height of the cake was a bit sad. This one still didn't have brandy in, as a gesture to my Muslim tasters and because I only have a small bottle of brandy so it would have to be saved for the real cake.

 

This one got a great reception, although it's possible that people were just being nice to me because they were at my party. Who cares? I now had the confidence to go for the Big Daddy.

Christmas Cake Attempt 3:

And here she is, what a beaut! She is receiving weekly brandy showers and she smells like heaven (I have actually put it in a draw in my kitchen and sometimes just open the draw for a quick waft as I walk past.)

 I don't know...I don't want to tempt fate or anything, but she might just be the best ever!

Brik et Ojja

I was feeling so sad that I never wrote proper food posts about the cuisine in Uganda, the stodgy comfort of matooke, the nutty goodness of groundnut sauce, the complexity of a katogo breakfast (essentially a banana and liver soup) and the gluttonous deliciousness of a rolex (rolled eggs and chapati).

This time, trust me, you will not miss out. I promise to tell you all about Tunisian food, and I'll start with my favourites: brik a l'oeuf and ojja aux crevettes.

Tunisia is a very seasonal place in terms of food. Whereas in the UK, strong trade links means that we can get any food, all year round, for a price. Uganda was different too, as on the equator, the seasons were not very strongly defined, the diet staples were there all year round. But in Tunisia, you are subject completely to the elements. At the moment the clementine season is just beginning, and we have lots of pomegranates, aubergines and tomatoes. In the summer we had peaches, nectarines and strawberries at incredibly low prices. It's not uncommon for me to get a text from a friend saying: "Mate, they have courgettes in Carrefour! quick!" - it seems crazy, but you really look forward to the different farming seasons. I remember last winter when you couldn't get onions for two months. Imagine! No onions!

So the Brik a L'oeuf is a typical starter, it's a soft boiled egg, deep-fried in a filo pastry pocket. I had mine with tuna, but you can sometime get prawn or potato ones. I was so hungover and it was delicious.

You need to eat it with a lovely big slice of crusty French bread to mop up all the egg and it's a bit messy. I've seen people eating these on the street with their hands - I dunno how they do it.

Then on Sunday, when I had this meal, Ojja aux Crevettes was for main course. Ojja is a rich, spicy tomato soup. You have it served with either prawns (like me) or merguez which are spicy beef or lamb sausages (like my companion, Susanna). Then they throw in some eggs which cook inside and go a bit stringy, and they they usually pop an egg in the middle to serve - see the picture. It's a protein feast, with all of those eggs and the seafood, and also goes lovely with a big basket of bread. Beau.

My weekend also featured other culinary delights, but sadly I have no pictures for you. It was my friend Funso's daughter's first birthday and so I went over for a Nigerian Feast. There was fufu and pepper soup that was so spicy that my mouth was on fire, and plantains! Yum.

I managed to speed knit her a little hat for her birthday, and her mummy says it fits perfectly. Bien sûr!

Turkish Nights, Turkish Delights

I'm very sorry that the Baptism post came so late. Wanna know why? It's only because I've been on a business trip to Istanbul all blooming week. 

You wanna know what it was about? It was a conference about Public-Private Partnership financing arrangements for renewable energy schemes in developing countries... now are you wishing you didn't ask? Do you want me to just talk about Turkey and pretend like the "business" part of the trip never happened? Your wish is my command.

So sadly, I only had one night of exploring at my disposal, but don't worry, folks, I made the most of it. I was staying in Beyoğlu, which, regrettably, is not the Old town, so I quickly had to give up any dreams of visiting the blue mosque or the grand bazaar. But all was not lost, the İstiklâl Caddesi was about 1km from my hotel. Beyoğlu is an old immigrant district in Istanbul. The İstiklâl Caddesi is a beautiful old cobbled street, lined with 18th century French apartments, confectionery shops, perfumeries, old bookshops and a handful of  Starbucks' and Burger Kings (oh globalisation... where would we be without you?)

 

A vintage tram runs up the middle of the street and it's all fully pedestrianised. It's really lovely, and it was raining a bit, which made everything all shiny and beautiful.

My fingers went numb from the half-European cold and so I treated myself to some roasted chestnuts. I'm sure it was my first time having chestnuts, but they really look better than they taste. They don't really seem to have much flavour at all! Anyway, everyone was eating them, and I didn't want to feel left out.

At the foot of the İstiklâl Caddesi is the Galata Tower. My picture doesn't do it justice, it really was breathtaking. I couldn't go up, no matter how much I batted my eyelashes, the guards assured me it really was shut - we're not in Africa anymore, Toto.

Then, I did a little bit of shopping - possibly made some mistakes - would you still love a girl in real Turkish harem trousers?

Oh Happy Day!

Hey Gang,

So I need to write about this, but I will try my best to not be all preachy and come across like a crazy person. I'm British, and so naturally believe that Religion and Politics are not discussion topics for polite company, but you will have to excuse my manners a little because this was a pretty big deal.

I only went and got myself baptised. Oh yes. I took the plunge, and got rid of all those nasty sins. Okay, quips aside, let's get down to business. This is what happened:

When I was in Uganda I underwent a series of changes, a bit of soul-searching, a touch of heart-ache and a big dollop of drama. For peace, routine, reflection, singing (man, I love the singing) and because it's fun to dress up, I used to go along to church every Sunday. Church-going in Uganda is a way of life. They were absolutely jam-packed and people even sat outside listening on speakers, or in the pews. The church that I went to on the University of Makerere Campus (one of three) started services at 6am and ran them back-to-back all day until 9pm. I used to go at 7:30am, or sometimes 9am. The sheer mass of the congregation blew me away, so unlike the UK, where attendance is so low that churches are commonly sold off and turned into restaurants, bars or dwellings.
Anyway, although the singing was good in Uganda, there wasn't much of a fellowship, or a community, it was more like a duty, a chore for most people.

Anyways, In Tunis, I've found a church where I feel like I've really grown and embraced my faith. In truth, I have always believed, since I first became a Christian, but I never really found a place that I could practice my faith like I have here. It seemed like the natural time to get baptised into the Church.

So I had to do a bit of prep for the big event. This mainly involved going over to my pastor's house (which I used to call "going to God School") and trying not to swear in front of his young, impressionable children. It seems I passed, because last week, I secured my place in Heaven (!). 

Want some pics? Alright then!

That's right kids, full immersion. And the water was cold. It is November after all!

Afterwards all my friends came round mine and we had a proper tea party. With sausage (REAL pork - smuggled in!) sandwiches, cheese and pineapples and fruitcake. 

There was quite a stir about the fruitcake. I had made it myself, and everyone thought it was great. Maybe I'll develop it into my signature dish - I'm just worried about marginalisation... there are people out there who don't actually like fruitcake. I know, I know... who are these uncouth monsters with such primitive pallets? This is what I used to think too, but then you end up sitting next to one at a wedding and "Hello! More for Me!" happens... and you realise that taste-bud-diversity makes the world go round.

I will give it some thought. It was so yummy. I LOVE fruitcake.

So that's that. I'm off to heaven, have already started tearing my way through the New Testament too, as one of the goals. It's good stuff - there are so many stories that I swear I have never heard before.

Don't swear, Michelle, You're supposed to be a good Christian now.

...Oh yeah... sorry.

Wien we went to Wien

 

There are some places in life that you have really high expectations of, that you really look forward to, and although they don't fail to deliver, you're always left feeling a little dissatisfied, I often feel this way about Disneyland Paris, McDonalds and Ikea. Then there are places from which you don't expect much, but they completely knock you sideways, like the Italian Circus in Tunisia, Kampala Snake Park and (just occasionally) the hairdressers at home. A third, rare category exists, it is made up of places that you have dreamed about, but are scared to expect much from lest you be disappointed. But they blow you away, and you wonder if maybe, just maybe, you actually dreamed them into a reality, they are that perfect and wonderful. Enter Vienna.

 

Vienna was perfect. From the classical music playing on the underground, to the exquisite and accessible art, the well stocked supermarkets, to the incredible dining options. The city oozed charm and beauty and class, while still being so understated, humble and conservative. It was everything that I had hoped for, and it was effortless.

 

We arrived on Thursday night, to refreshing, crisp autumnal weather and an eerie sense of quiet. This was one of the first things that struck me about Vienna - it's so quiet. Where is everyone? But there is a population of just 1.6 million (less that Botswana) which hasn't grown, infact it has shrunk, since the 1920s. Our hotel was easy to find, and close to Belveredere Park, close to everything infact, so we did alot of walking, even though public transport was everywhere.

 

Our first dinner was at a microbrewery called Salm Brau where we had Schnitzel, Wiener Sausage and Bradtwurst. It was my first time to have pork for a long time, and it was brilliant. There was a distinct lack of vegetables on the table, the meat was served with either bread, some parsley potatoes or a pretzel. This was okay with everyone involved.

We spent the evening just walking around, catching our bearings and enjoying the quiet and safety. Looking for a coffee shop or a late-night tipple, we stumbled upon Hotel Sacher, the alleged creation place of the famous Sachertorte. Well, it would be rude not to, right?

Sachertorte is a famous Viennese cake. It's a chocolate sponge with a plum jam filling and chocolate icing. It was lovely - but honestly I preferred the Apple Strudel (be still my heart).

The next morning we headed straight to the Belvedere Palace right near our hotel. The have a huge, fantastic collection of Gustav Klimt artwork. And they have "the Kiss". You're not allowed to take pictures inside - infact the museum staff were pretty highly strung - I reached in my bag at one point to get some chapstick, and a museum lady almost had a baby: "Ziez iz a Muzeeum!!!" - err yeah, surrounded by such beauty, all the more reason not to walk around with chapped lips, Honey. 

The Kiss was beautiful, the colours and patterns so appealing. It is so tender and awkward and glorious. I loved it. They also had 'The Bride' too, which was a lovely surprise.

So that evening, we got a great Restaurant recommendation from a friend of Jung's for a place serving Tafelspitz, which is an Austrian Beef stew. At first I was skeptical, but I was so wrong. The beef in the stew turned out to be huge, tender steaks. It was all a bit complicated and you even got an instruction card that showed you how to eat it. There was one part where you had to remove the massive hunk of (dinosaur) bone from the stew and spread the bone marrow onto your toast. 

When Jasmin exclaimed, "Great! I LOVE bone marrow" I really wondered how well I knew these ladies! haha!

On Saturday morning, we headed over to the Leopold Museum at the MuseumsQuartier, aside from some great Secession art (including Klimt's "Life and Death") they were also having an exhibition of Nude Men in art through the ages. 

 

So amazing, and it generated our conversations for the entire afternoon and evening - we were all a bit surprised by the rawness of the art - but also we were alarmed at how shocking we found it all. It just goes to show how little the nude male form has been depicted in art, particularly before widespread formal education of women began in the middle of the 20th Century. So the question that we pondered so much is: should we really be blaming modern media for the growth of illnesses like body dis-morphia, when females have been exposed to man's idea of the "perfect female form" for centuries, whereas when three well-educated women go to an exhibition of nude men, they have been so little exposed to such art that they... giggle like schoolgirls throughout...?  

 

 Saturday night was our last night - and we had some little plans, but it started snowing, and our wardrobes just couldn't cope with that kind of coldness. Instead we found a TGI Fridays and drank cocktails until we could no longer walk.

It was beautiful. I already want to go back.