Spiced Christmas Rice Pudding Recipe

The Swiss Cafe on Grafton Street (Cairns) used to sell small tubs of cold spiced rice pudding - ever so refreshing on a hot Summer's day! At one point I was treating myself daily.  Last week, my neighbours urged me to purchase the Morrison's rice pudding, which was a right steal at just 13p per can (it's no secret that the Yorkshire man hunts bargains as well as game). I hadn't eaten rice pudding in over a year and when I called my mum in a flurry of excitement, she reminded me how much I love the spiced version. Today I tossed a few spices in and the result was nostalgia inducing. I happened to have a bottle of cherry brandy in the homestead, so sloshed in a few cheeky teaspoons BUT, I wouldn't say that this is mandatory for success. The spices are so Christmassy and it is lovely served either straight from the stove, or chilled with a cup of tea. I am supposed to be cleaning the house in anticipation of Kane's arrival home - but couldn't resist sharing my version of Spiced Christmas Rice Pudding. Bon appetit!

Spiced Christmas Rice Pudding

Ingredients:
2 cans of plain rice pudding
Small handful of sultanas
2 cardamon pods
4 shakes ground nutmeg
4 shakes ground ginger
7 shakes ground cinnamon
5 tsp cherry brandy

Method:

Heat the rice pudding and sultanas in a saucepan over low heat for 2 mins. Split open the cardamon pods and add only the small black seeds from within. Add all other spices and the cherry brandy. Turn up ever so slightly, so that the pudding is simmering gently. Stir frequently to avoid sticking. Allow to simmer for a further 5-7 mins until the sultanas are plump and the pudding is exuding a fragrant aroma. Either serve hot as a winter warmer, or chill in the fridge for a few hours and serve as a refreshing after dinner treat. I think it seems more than appropriate to serve this for breakfast also. 

September 2011: Le Grande Maison, Loire Valley

This blogging business is tough going! This morning I found myself reminiscing about an out-of-this-world macha and white choc chip cookie experience at Bob's Kitchen in Paris. This got me thinking - how could I possibly begin writing about our March 2012 visit to France, when I completely failed to recount on an equally memorable Loire Valley experience from our van trip last September? With a freed-up Monday bank holiday on my hands - I best take a crack at it. The last stop of our 2011 European van trip. Here goes:

It's funny isn't it? We are always in need of a holiday. And when we're on holiday? We're planning the next. After accidentally discovering a nudist colony in Port Leucate, choking on a fish bone in Arcachon, losing to a van-intruding spider in Saint-Gilles, bathing outside a toilet block using 2L plastic bottles in a town whose name I couldn't pronounce, and might I mention, sleeping in the back of a van for four weeks, we needed a holiday. Don't get me wrong,  every destination...every experience, was memorable in its own right; I thrive on adventure and the unexpected. Hell - I believe in scheduling time for the unexpected! But the thought of a real bed for two nights at Le Grande Maison in the Loire Valley, inclusive of a five course wine tasting supper, sounded too good to be true.

On arrival, our English hosts, Sue and Mikaela, showed us to our room; a 17th century stone bakehouse still featuring its original oven. Kane and I spent the afternoon winding down in the estate gardens, with tea, biscuits and a light read; he  researching the geography of the Loire Valley as a wine region and me, with Elizabeth David in hand. French Country Cooking - how fitting! Soon, we were ready to explore. We set off for a stroll through the vinyards. When immersed in such tranquil surrounds, it's difficult not to forget about everything. This is exactly what the doctor had ordered. Our reason for stumbling across Le Grande Maison became even more clear when we discovered a tree laden with plump, ripe figs. WIN!

That evening, we met with our fellow guests to admire the sun setting over the vinyards. The five of us stood in awe, sipping our aperitif and enjoying Sue's bite-sized cheese puff pastries. The supper to follow was perhaps just as impressive as the view - five courses, five impecably chosen wines, a triple-sec shooter and a coffee to finish. With personalised menus to welcome each party, we couldn't praise Sue and Mikaela more highly for their attention to detail and willingness to share information about the wine and growers (all local to the area). Infact, all five of us enjoyed the evening so much that we booked supper for the following evening, requesting that this time, our tables be pulled together. It was one of those perfect evenings - great food, great wine, great conversation. There we sat in the 17th century Maison dining room, sharing the day's wine-tasting highlights and ooh-ing and ah-ing over Sue and Mikaela's gorgous selection of local cheeses. Our Texan fellow-diners also shared a hot tip - Chevre topped with a drizzle of honey and a sprinkle of white pepper. OMG. Do it! This is a no-regret situation that you should indulge in immediately - if not sooner.

I couldn't recommend Le Grande Maison more highly. If headed toward Saumur in the Loire, you simply must book a room ( http://www.lagrandemaison.net/ ). Be sure to ask Sue and Mikaela about the history of the pigeon tower, as it is absolutely fascinating. More importantly, pick their brains about the region's wine-tasting hot spots. Saumur is known for it's unique sparkling red - and partnered with a generous slice of chocolate cake, you won't be disappointed. I promise.

Donostia, Basque Country

Donostia-San Sebastian is Basque Country. A coastal city in the North of Spain, just a hop, skip and jump away from the South-West border of France. During our six days camped in the eastern beach car park, I saw a very cool seaside town mastering the balancing act between old world and new. Think: bustling street markets and Balenciaga, cobblestone alleyways and opulent architecture. We thought it was fantastic...and apparently, we're not the only ones. San Sebasian has been dubbed the European Capital of Culture for 2016. During this time, the city will host a multitude of events celebrating the similarities and diversities across European culture. 

Kane and I were lucky enough to roll into town on the fifth day of the International Film Festival. I've always wanted to attend Cannes, so saw this as a 'warm-up', so to speak. We managed to snag tickets to a midnight screening of Steve McQueen's 'Shame' - a very raw drama about the life-shattering emotional struggles faced by a man with uncontrollable sexual urges and an addiction to pornography. Although the cinematography is very clever and the film received rave reviews, I have to be honest, in that I found it far too confronting. On day 2, I bought a pair of Tom Fords to replace my six-year-old sunglasses, which for the past year, had served the sole purpose of keeping hair of my face. In amongst the red carpets, blinding flashes, all-important festival ticket holders wearing lanyards, and cityscape swarming with paparazzi, I couldn't help feel just a little bit famous. Well - why not?

Our camp in the Eastern beach car park

But it wasn't all glitz and glamour. I mean, we were in San Sebastian. The major attraction?  Surf, sun and sand.  Having set up camp in the eastern beach car park meant that every day, we could wake up, whack on some togs and trot down to the beach (yes, with me, its all about the 'trot'). Once one became accustomed to dodging the White Pointers, it was easy to meld in with the crowds of people going about their way...sunbaking, picnicking, building sand castles and hitting the surf. It is during times like this that I wish I'd jumped aboard the 2002 Blue Crush phenomenon and been one of the those girls who learnt how to surf, just so that they could feel  a little like Kate Bosworth riding her first wave. 

For the lover of baked goods, San Sebastian is home to hundreds of gorgeous pit-stops overflowing with sweet treats. Everybody develops a favourite. For us, it was Barrenetxe. The family's link to confectionery and baking can be traced all the way back to the late 1600's  - and the hard work has paid off. Their San Sebastian establishment is an absolute temple of confectionery - with macaroons, croissants, truffles and miniature cakes piled high on the counter-top, in constant view (and easy reach) of the coffee bar dwellers. We visited every day. Possibly excessive - but that's the way I roll. My absolute favourite was Txintxorros, almond and candied orange peel cake miniatures, topped with a thin layer of crushed almonds - made with eggs, sugar, flour butter, almonds, candied orange and water...ONLY to be found in Barrenexte. As a friend recently pointed out to me, cake for breakfast, is so underrated. To top off the entire experience, the manager (and barista) made a killer coffee. He had mastered the knack of steaming milk. How could I tell? Not only through the creamy, perfectly aerated result, but through the staccato bursts of air - a rhythmic, tightly-pursed-lips kissing sound, which occurs every second or two, when the jug is tilted ever so slightly. He always delivered a deep golden crema and, each shot was timed down to the second, resulting in nothing less than a perfect start to the morning. It wasn't all roses though. I should mention that on the occasion that his employee made our coffee, it was nothing to write home about.

Barrenetxe cabinet selection

Txintxorros @ Barrenetxe

As this is a blog about Basque country, I suppose that I should follow suite and mention the traditional Pintxo (pronounced 'pincho'). At home, this is what we would refer to as 'tapas', except, Pinxto are served in line with the Spanish translation of their name - 'Pincho', meaning 'spike'. That is, skewers are used to fasten typical Basque favourites such as croquette or stuffed peppers, to small pieces of bread. Pintxo are served from the bar. I love the idea of this style of dining, however, from our experience, pricing is not for the faint hearted. At around two euro a pop, it's easy to rack up an enourmous bill without noticing. For much better value, we dined at Restaurant Urbano, where I ate pan fried foie on green beans and a bed of mashed potato with truffle oil, followed by the most incredible squid done three ways (ink, with onions and grilled). Kane had an egg cooked at thirty degrees, served on a bed of fried peppers with sea salt. Sadly, I can't recall his main! This particular find has a few bad reviews on TripAdvisor but honestly, other than my pineapple and rum soufflé which was not a soufflé in any way shape or form, the service and quality were fantastic. If you want to escape the bars and get out for a nice dinner in San Seb., I would definitely pay Restaurante Urbano a visit. 

View from our camp site and the picnic wall

When not dining out, we enjoyed simple picnics by the sea. One evening we  picnicked on the rock wall overlooking the eastern aspect of the beach. Nothing compares to taking in the ambience with a bottle of red, locally marinated artichocke hearts, fresh bread, olive oil and balsamic. It was actually a very bizarre experience. Within five minutes of us settling on the wall, about twelve wild cats emerged from the shelter of the rocks. They sat just meters from us, watchful, proud and ... judgemental? I felt as though I had been teleported to a fairytale hearing and my case was being presented to a jury of cats. I wondered if their shiny coats were a result of  a diet rich in omega-3. You know, from swiping sardines living solitary existences in rock pools. BAM. Mraauuuw!! Just like that. 

On our final evening, we utilised our wheels to explore the rugged coast line. After taking a few turns too many, we ended up off the beaten track, on a road set into the cliff face. We managed to find a spot to pull off the road and set up our dining room (a tiny fold out table, 2 tripod camper chairs and a double hob gas burner). Overlooking the ocean, with what looked like Christopher Robin's Hundred-Acre-Wood behind us, the location couldn't have been more perfect. It was here that we cooked salted pan fried green peppers and a first attempt at paella. I am ashamed to say that we used frozen, pre-packed seafood, because we had been too late for the fishmonger! Despite the fact that I felt at risk of chipping my dentition on sand excreted from the cockles, it was an experience in itself - homemade paella, overlooking the San Sebastian coastline  - complete with crashing waves, a beautiful sunset and the silhouettes of parachuters, making their way back to land. It was  a surreal evening and the perfect end to our San Sebastian experience.

Preparing and snacking on salted green peppers. Note the incredible backdrop!

San Sebastian sunset on the final evening of our stay

The following morning, we were sad to say goodbye but make no mistake - next Summer, we are SO there!

Hasta pronto amigos!

When in Aix

Situated in the south of France and once home to the post-impressionist revolutionary, Paul Cezanne, Aix en Provence may well have been my favourite van trip destination. If not for the endless supply of farm fresh chevre, for the patisserie windows filled with perfectly iced calisson, unmistakable aroma of Herbes de Provence, and boutique-lined cobblestone passageways. The city breathed a welcoming, South-of-Paris hospitality -  from the owners of Arc-en-Ciel camping ground, to the retail assistant who made phone enquiries regarding a fine we had received on the toll road. Our visit also marked the occasion of a baker insisting that I have an oven-fresh baguette, instead of her day-old display stock. As though it happened yesterday, I can still see her wiping a few strands of greying hair from her sweating brow, giving me a cheeky smile and cocking her head toward the oven. Although we didnt speak the same language, words weren't required to highlight the importance of a fresh baguette. Yes, in Aix, generosity is everywhere. But perhaps the most notable act, was that of Anna, a road-side greengrocer assistant.

Kane and I met Anna on our first evening in Aix. I had wanted to try out a couple of dishes inspired by Elizabeth David's French Country Cooking. After collecting a few bits and bobs, we paid. Anna was astounded. For some reason, she was under the impression that the few items we had bought, would be the only and entire contents of our evening meal. We tried to convince her otherwise but she seemed dubious. After a lengthy discussion about where we had travelled from, she asked, "Do you like chevre? It comes fresh from a farmer four kilometres away, every single day".  We both responded that we liked chevre very much. Without further ado, she wrapped two rounds (one natural and one coated in ground black pepper), in waxed paper. The cheese was unpriced. When we asked how much, she insisted that we take it as a 'gift'. I couldn't have been more delighted! How kind of her!

That night we enjoyed a camping feast fit for kings! We started with the chevre and fresh baguette. The goats cheese was gorgeous and creamy. Being in a whole league of its own, it would be rude to compare it to any that I have eaten before. We then went on to enjoy whole baby endives, stripped of their outer leaves to avoid bitterness and sautéed in salted butter. This was followed by a simple dish of poached button mushrooms in fresh, thickened cream. Whilst preparing the dish, I could hear Elizabeth David's voice in my head - "To have anything else with them, would be absurd!" As a main course, we prepared a soul-warming tomato soup enhanced with a vegetable and chicken stock, seasoned with fennel, thyme and bay, and heartied-up with half a cup of rice (added 15 mins prior to the intended serving time). It is the perfect dish for a couple of campers working from a teeny-tiny camping stove, with only one pot! What a memorable Autumn evening. There we sat, cupping our bowls of soup in both hands, to generate extra warmth, occasionally moving one hand to pick up our glass of local red. When we had finished our soup, we used up the last of the baguette to mop up the juices.

The following evening, we returned to buy some more fresh fruit and veg. We told Anna how much we enjoyed the chevre and that this time, we would actually buy a round! Again, she refused - this time, wrapping three rounds of goats cheese in waxed paper, insisting that we needed one of each variety! That evening, we were spoilt for choice, with the addition of chevre heavily coated in dried Provencal herbs (Anna's favourite).  The following morning, we  left Aix. To thank Anna her for her kindness, we stopped by the greengrocer, with a bottle of wine in hand. Our new friend wasn't in, so we left it with her boss. Without stipulating who we were, or what we were grateful for, we asked him to pass on a 'thank you'. I'm sure that Anna would have known.

Since our time in Aix, we have been eating young chevre as if  it's going out of fashion (sadly, nothing compares!) About two-three weeks ago, Kane and I went out for dinner and although I'm unable to recall the restaurant's name, I am able to recall what was an ingenious entrée! Pan fried soft goats cheese, served on brioche, with caramelised onion and a side of tomato and ginger relish. It was nothing less than ridiculously incredibe. The following day I couldn't stop thinking about it, so decided to use up the tomatoes in my fridge and embark on an experiment of re-creation. Here is what I came up with:

Tomato & Ginger Relish


Ingredients:
Small dash of extra virgin olive oil for cooking
4 medium-sized ripe tomatoes chopped into quarters (the riper the better)
1 tbs sugar
1/4 large onion finely diced
1.5-2cm of a ginger knob (finely grated)
Pinch of nutmeg
Pinch of salt
2 cloves
Splash of port (be generous, if you must!)
1 tsp sweet balsamic glaze (I used an aged fig variety)

Method

In a small saucepan, cook onion and ginger over a low-medium heat in olive oil until fragrant and onion is soft with transparent quality.  Add tomato and sugar and stir frequently until sugar has dissolved. Turn up heat slightly and add generous splash of port - let it bubble away so that the alcohol can sizzle off. Add all remaining ingredients and turn down to low. Allow to simmer gently, stirring every now-and-again to break up the tomatoes, until your relish has reduced to a lovely jam consistency. At this point, you must fish around for those cloves and whip them right out! (An appetizer quickly becomes UN-appetizing when one of your guests crunches on a clove!)

Refrigerate before serving as a side to a whole round of fried goats cheese on thick slice of fresh crusty bread, or even better, brioche. NB: Prepare your goats cheese by quickly pan frying over high heat in a  non-stick pan on both sides until golden.

Keep any left over relish sealed in the fridge... no doubt you will be craving it the following evening and will be thankful that you didn't wash it down the sink!!

Reggio Emilia, The Little Province That Was Not

As we drove along the Brenner Pass from Austria into Northern Italy, I was completely overwhelmed by excitement. The Dolomites competed heavily with the Deutsch Alpenstrasse for the most scenic driving route yet and I reveled in the delights of the eating experiences, which I knew were yet to come. Since visiting Florence, Bologna and Pasiano (Pordenonne) with my girlfriends in March, I hadn't stopped thinking about the carafes of vino, never-ending bread baskets, bottomless olive oil dispensers and multi-course meals. Beautiful people everywhere. How was this so? Antipasto, primi piati, secondi, insalata, dolce. Every. Single. Day. I swear - other than when we were scoping out one-of-a-kind leather garments and accessories, all of our time was spent meandering from one eating establishment to the next.

This time, Kane and I were confined to just 3 days in Northern Italy, as we needed to make it to a music festival on the south-west coast of France by September 17th (which, incidently, was later cancelled. Boohoo). Despite our time constraints, I was determined to take a self-guided foodie route through the province of Reggio Emilia. Geographically, Reggio Emilia is comprised of Modena (famed for its balsamic vinegar, as well as motor giants: Ferrari, Lamborghini and Maserati ), Parma (hello, Parmigiano Reggiano and Parma Prociutto!) and Reggio nell'Emilia  (Lambrusco wine, Parmigiano Reggiano and interestingly enough,  Max Mara fashion line, whose headquarters were established there by Achille Maramotti in 1951). To experience multiple food products with P.D.O status in the actual communes that they orginate? Living the dream. Or so I'd imagined....

What I did not imagine was this:

We arrived in Modena at 6.30pm, mapless and unable to find anywhere to set up camp. Our GPS was of no help whatsoever, because outside of the UK, it only identified toll roads. Epic fail. In desperate need of consolation we parked in the city centre and decided to seek out something delicious. This should't have been hard, as arguably, we were in the food capital of the world. 6.30pm on a Monday. Everything was shut. Perhaps one could expect this in Mareeba. But Modena? Really? We roamed the deserted cobblestone passages. Church bells echoed.  Romantic? Nostalia inducing? Lonely? I couldn't decide. Eventually, we found a  fast-food pizza joint. A chain. Ugh. I can't recall the details of our order. Nothing out of the ord. But it filled the pit in my stomach. I still find this concept extremely depressing - being in Italy and eating something not worth talking about...something which merely filled the pit in my stomach. Double Ugh. Not to worry though. One does not appreciate the simple things in life when all is smooth sailing. Case and point being that the very next morning, we were nothing short of ecstatic that the University of Modena guards had not 'moved us along' from our chosen camping spot in their campus accommodation car park.  Things were lookin' up!

Modena, Day 2. After an espresso and croissant, it was all systems go. We set off to the Office de Tourisme in Piazza Grande to find out which Balsamic Vinegar producers would allow us to tour the premises. None, apparently. Yes, owners conducted factory tours, however, it was a blunt 'no' when the booking agent mentioned that we were an English speaking couple. We had not given enough notice. Pigs trotter! There we were, in Modena - home of Aceto Balsamico di Tradizionale. I could not let this rest. So, whilst at the Laundromat, I attempted to ask an elderly Italian man if he could direct us to a balsamic vinegar producer; "Poui arutarmi atrovare, Aceto Balsamico Tradizionale di Modena fabricca, per favore?" I have no idea whether my tensing or syntactical organisation was correct - but who cares about incorrect tencing when a nonno correctly interprets your question!? BINGO, BINGO, BINGO!! I could have jumped on top of the dryer and done a happy dance. Except, I can't dance. The nonno directed us toward a food market, however, at some point we must have confused right with left, or left with right. After 45 minutes, we gave up. Just when I thought it was all over, we spotted a balsamic vinegar specialty store. I ran in to ask whether we could visit their supplier. He seemed ticked off that I didn't buy anything but willingly handed over their address. To our dismay, the producer was located in a tiny commune on the outskirts of Modena, called Magreta, which we (and our not-so-trusty GPS) had never heard of. After another hour of searching and befriending service-station attendees who provided directions, we struck gold! Ahhhhhhh. We were exhausted - BUT - we had made it. As we strolled through the gates, it all seemed worth it. "I knew we could get here. I knew it!!" We knocked on the door and were unpleasantly greeted by a woman who told us to come back in two and a half hours. It was siesta. Ahhhhhh, of course. Siestaaaaa - how could I forget!!??? This was possibly, the most inconvenient siesta ever!! Well, having only a couple of days to get to south-west France, we didn't have two and a half hours. Bastards. I climbed back into our van, fighting back tears.

I felt a tad better after consuming what was possibly the best pizza of my life at Pizzeria D'asporto il Gatto & La Volpe (mozerella, radicchio, pancetta, Grana Pedano, Aceto Balsamico - just 6 euro including drinks). However, my mood plummeted for the umpteenth time that day, when we drove into Reggio nell' Emilia. There it was.... the Parmigiano Reggiano factory which I had dreamt of for months...maybe even years...SHUT DOWN. As in, broken glass windows, 'i-haven't-been-open-since-the-seventies,' shut down. I didn't comment. Just sat, in silence. The wheels of our van went round and round, round and round, round and round. As we drove through Parma, I didn't protest when Kane kept driving. It had been a long day and I doubted I could cope with any more disappointment. If bad things really do come in threes, we were destined to discover that the curing and preparation of Parma Prociutto had recently been banned in the region.

As we drove over the border, exiting The Little Province That Was Not, my tears fell. I felt like a small girl, who had run away from home to see the fair - but when she arrives, the fair is over...the carnies are packing away sideshow alley and sewer rats are feasting on stale popcorn. The more I thought of the small girl, the more I sobbed. I was so disappointed. And worse yet, was disappointed in myself for feeling so let down by...well...food. How ungrateful of me! A wretch! Poor Kane. What was he to say about all of this? Tears and all? Rather comical upon reflection.

I apologise. Today, I have presented you with the Oh-So-Sad-Tales of an Aspiring Gastronome. You're probably wondering why I haven't at least included some photographs of Reggio Emilia for a bit of a reader pick-me-up... but the truth is, I have no photographic evidence of my heart break. What I will share, though, is a picture of the sun set, which followed this day. A magical view from the Cinque Terre coast line. The kind of sun set, which makes you feel grateful that you are alive and kicking, remorseful for crying about food (ahem!), and above all, excited about the wondrous prospects that lie ahead.

Weisswurst: The Golden Rules

Although my Opa Wolfgang is from the north of Deutschland, it was not long before my robust Germanic bones felt right at home in Munchen, further south. Conveniently, we were able to set up camp just a hop, skip and metro ride from the city. It soon became clear that we would need at least three days to even scratch at the surface of Munich's rich cultural landscape. Having covered little German history in my schooling, I was blown away by the beauty and revival of the Bavarian capital, which I learnt played such a significant role in the Thirty Years War, was once the Hauptstadt der Bewegung (capital of the [Nazi] movement) and was subject to seventy-one air raids over six years in WW2. Luckily for us, we were able to undertake a self-guided, mp3 tour. This allowed for plenty of breaks, during which we were able to feast on street vendor goodies to our hearts content. Yay!

For as long as I can remember, a big juicy Bratwurst with sauerkraut and mustard has remained somewhere between 1 and say, 7, on my top-treats list.  So naturally, prior to this visit, my Deutschland-related day-dreams were mostly occupied by large quantities of wurst, served  by Bavarians dressed in lederhosen, entertaining me with traditional folk dance, whilst smashing beer mugs together  - exclaiming  'Prost!!' Not to have tested these expectations, would have been unthinkable!

I'm not really one for guided tours, however, I jumped at the chance to attend a Bavarian Food Tasting tour for just 22 euro, including all food and beverages. On meeting beneath the Rathaus Glockenspiel in Marienplatz, our local guide announced that there would only be 3 attendees. Brill.

Rathaus-Glockenspiel (New Town Hall, Munich, Germany)

My learnings from the half-day experience far exceeded my expectations surrounding the Bavarian culinary scene. Let's skip straight to the highlights. Weisswurst (meaning 'White Sausage'). Essentially, a short and stout, predominantly veal sausage, boiled and served in a bowl of hot water containing fresh herbs. Un-bloody-believable. Admitting this next fact of life is not going to be my classiest moment. They served me two; I could just about have inhaled twenty. When it comes to the degustation of  Weisswurst, there are a number of time honoured traditions with which most Bavarians comply (NB: inhalation is NOT one of them).

Weisswurst: The Golden Rules

•  Must be eaten before the  church bells strike noon. 
• This practise arose prior to the invention of ice-boxes and refrigerators, when the un-smoked meat was at risk of perishing and therefore, had to be consumed soon after production.

• One draws/sucks the meat from the casing, using their teeth. 
• As the story goes, in 1957, a butcher was making Weisswurst in Marienplatz. Being Mardigras, the celebrating masses ate with hearty appetites. Eventually, the butcher ran out of wurst casings (made from sheep intestine) and sent his assistant to fetch more. However, when the assistant returned, he presented the butcher with much thicker, tougher intestine of hog. Being more difficult to chew, the patrons sucked the meat out, leaving the casings to be disposed of.

• Weisswurst are boiled gently (for about 10 mins), not grilled, baked or fried! 
• When the butchers assistant was only able to obtain hog intestine casings, they were concerned that it was more susceptible to splitting if fried over direct heat. As a result, the decision was made to cook the wurst in simmering water. Weisswurst are usually served in hot water. This prevents them from becoming cold and unappetising!

• Always served with senf, a sweet Bavarian mustard

My re-creation of the Weisswurst experience back at camp. Breaking the third golden rule because we didn't have an unlimited supply of serving bowls. 

Aware of the fact that I am rarely able to beat my foodie experiences into neat, minimalist paragraphs, I have done my best to summarise the rest of my Bavarian culinary experience with a few [lengthily] captioned photographs Hooray! 

Cheese deli in the Munich food markets.

 I found it interesting that particular retail spaces in the food market will always be reserved for sale of particular products. For example, if this cheese seller had to close his doors, only another distributor of  artisan cheese could take his place.

Sharing platter of cured meats.

 Our guide had a good insight into the history and making of each and every one of these! Leberkase (located 12-3 o'clock on the plate above) is a fast food favourite throughout Bavaria. If ever in need of a quick bite, we would pull over and order a thick hot slice of leberkase on a bread roll with senf mustard. Really delicious.The name translates to 'liver-cheese' BUT, in actual fact, the product contains neither liver, nor cheese!! Our guide told us that the meat, which contains ground pork, beef and onion, gained its name through the word changing form a number of times. My university linguistics lecturer would have loved to have wrapped his teeth around that one! haha, pun intended.

Creating a campervan cookery masterpiece using fresh strawberries and raspberries from the markets

Tadaaaa!!! :D

Beer garden in the Munchner food Markets...just as you would imagine.


That's all folks. 

Auf Weidersehen! Tschuss! Goodbye!

An Unfortunate Aspic Encounter

Aspic, by the definition of Mastering the Art of French Cooking authors Julia Child, Simone Beck and Louisette Bertholle (1961), is "the whole decorated dish of various elements coated with or molded in jelly [Gelée]." They note that "gelée is the French culinary term for beef, veal, chicken, or fish stock which stiffens when cold because it contains natural gelatin, or because gelatin has been added to it." In essence, this means that an aspic is any edible matter suspended in a savoury jelly, which may or may not have been created through the extended soaking and rapid boiling of calves feet or cracked veal knuckles. Now, whilst I do enjoy a good knuckle cracking at the end of a long day, the thought of cracking veal knuckles, or harvesting the foot of a wee calf  and reducing it to a liquid, for that matter, rubs me the wrong way. But i do enjoy sour worms, which I presume contain some form of gelatin and therefore, are probably derived from the same methods. Hmmm... this was an unexpected ethical twist. Let's save that one for another rainy day. Today, I wish to report back on my first (and most likely, last) aspic experience, which took place in the German metropolis, Frankfurt-am-Main (named after the Main River, pronounced 'Mine').

View of the Frankfurt cityscape and Main River from Maintower (200m)

Often to the great entertainment of my family and close friends, I exhibit nonsensical behaviours, characterised by what I like to describe as a heightened sense of cuiriosity. 

Exemplar 1: Age 2 1/2; swallows a smooth precious stone after being warned not to touch the precious stone. 

Exemplar 2: Age 14; Protrudes tongue, allowing it to make contact with dry ice covering rear aspect of standing fridge/freezer whilst no-one is in the house, despite sneaking suspicion that tongue may stick.

Exemplar 3: Age 20; Places raw egg in plastic bag and attempts....actually i'm not going to publicise that one on a public forum.

Evidently, elements of my intelligence are yet to develop beyond Piaget's preoperational stage of cognition.  It is therefore, no surprise, that I so eagerly ordered aspic of suckling pig meat from a restaurant in Frankfurt, after being firmly warned by Julie Powell (author of Julie & Julia), that aspic jelly should be avoided at all costs. What she didn't say is: 'avoid even if sliced into triangles and arranged on a platter with traditional Frankfurter green herb sauce'. And P.S, I was already dying to dry the herb sauce after reading about it prior to our travels...and menu item 85 was the only dish in which the sauce featured. 

The waiter seemed most delighted when I placed my order. He also reported that the dish was one of his own favourites (trust me, I already considered that this may have been a poor translation of what he actually meant to say -but no, he definitely spoke English as fluently as your average Australian man). Our meals arrived within fifteen minutes. Not bad.

Upon being served, I felt...tentative. I could see where they were headed with presentation but in actual fact, the triangular slices of suckling pig aspic bared an uncanny resemblance to  piggy ears. You know...the kind that you see on headbands that college students wear to fancy-dress fundraisers. Needless to say, I was still keen to give it a whirl. My first impression was - 'OK, not bad. I could possibly get used to this'. The pieces of suckling pig were tender and on a whole, the aspic was well seasoned and flavoursome. The nature of the texture required 2 x mastication reps, at which point the jelly melted in my mouth. From what I've heard, a good aspic is one which does exactly that - melts in the mouth. So on a technical note - ten points to the chef. On a personal note, as a savoury, this was not a texture I had experienced before. Two slices in and too far out of my comfort zone, I politely pushed my plate to the side and began to contemplate: do modern-day beings actually enjoy eating aspic jelly or is society merely clinging on to a culinary practice of it's predecessors? I am certainly not one to disrespect tradition. I could cope with savouries being set  in solidified consomme as a decorative measure at Christmas time - but to pretend that I enjoy the likes of meat  set in a sliceable savoury jelly would be simply outlandish. No can do.  As for the Frankfurter sauce, it wasn't the bang I was expecting but in fairness, the cold pig set in clear jelly probably didn't do it justice. Whilst I am pleased to have been exposed to the time-honoured art-form of aspics, I would not voluntarily subject myself to this experience again. If you, on the other hand, wish to ignore my advise and meddle with such madness, Mastering the Art of French Cooking devotes an entire chapter to aspics. Go on, have a crack.