Derek Haines's blog

Like, What Is It With Kids And Ketchup

Please welcome Aisha Saeed to the Vandal Blog today. In keeping with the intellectual standing of this prestigious blog, Aisha brings us today her thoughtful insights into topical subjects including multiculturalism, child rearing, the family and most importantly, exotic cuisines and the pleasures of the taste buds. Read and enjoy.

Like, What Is It With Kids And Ketchup?

A few days ago I noticed that Derek Haines was looking for a guest blogger. Intrigued, I inquired. Given the limited scope of his blog (you know, covering just about everything) I felt a bit confused as to how on earth I’d pick a topic. “You could write about anything,”
he said in his e-mail, “like, what is it with kids and ketchup?” That example struck me since at that moment I was eating hash browns, with ketchup.

I’m not sure what it is about kids and ketchup but it made me wonder as I held a bite full of ketchuped hash browns. What is it with me and ketchup?

Growing up as a Pakistani-American, my parents cooked primarily Pakistani dishes. Chicken Tikka. Seekh Kebobs. Kefta with Naan. You know, boring stuff. I craved the exotic: the meatloaf, burgers, beef tacos. Once in a while my mother would oblige with the occasional “American” entree, of course with a twist of chilli pepper or turmeric dashed in for good measure. The vast majority of our ventures into “American” food involved a side of ketchup. In fact, I doubt there were many non-Pakistani dishes we ate that did not involve ketchup. Ketchup was as essential to these meals as plates and forks. You could try eating without it, but that would just be weird.

Years later when I had my own kitchen, with my own stove to cook as I pleased I certainly made the Pakistani standards, the ho-hum chicken biryani or Haleem, but I enjoyed making American food too. I still remember sitting down with my husband for the first time to eat beef tacos.

"What are you doing?" he asked, staring at me as I held a jar of ketchup in my hand, poised to squeeze some some in after the cheese.

“Um, putting in the ketchup?” I said raising an eyebrow. “Relax I’ll give it to you when I’m done.”

He continued staring at me like I had sprouted a watermelon on my head. “What?!?” I finally asked him.

“No one puts ketchup on their tacos.”

“That’s not true!” I insisted, “Everyone does.”

“Oh yeah? That’s why you see so many ketchup packets at Mexican restaurants?”

I paused. Wait. Salsa. Sour Cream. Guacamole for the cost of a small house. But, no ketchup.

The more I thought about it the more I realized that people didn’t really use ketchup quite as much as I did. Save the toddler who loved ketchup on everything from his burger to his matchbox cars, I was the only one drowning everything in the said condiment.

I don’t quite get my love of ketchup, but just like any good therapist will tell you, most of our unexplained behavior stem from childhood. And its true - my childhood foodings of the American variety did involve vast quantities of ketchup. And despite shedding so many other aspects of my childhood from sippy cups to riding bicycles with training wheels, somehow the ketchup habit? It stuck.

For better or worse I guess its now just a part of who I am. I’ll call it a quirk- and hope people find it endearing.


Aisha’s blog is www.aishaiqbal.blogspot.com
Follow @aishacs on twitter


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The Cheat ’s Chook

It has been a long time since I posted a recipe on my blog. As I love cooking so much, this has been very remiss of me. But having just finished cooking a chook (that’s Aussie for chicken by the way) I thought it was an ideal opportunity to share my recipe with you.

So here we go. First, get a chook. If it is frozen, defrost it. If it is fresh, wash it and dry it. If it is still alive, well, you know what you have to do.

Then you take a bunch of herbs. Anything really except freshly cut grass or illicit substances. I like to use sage, rosemary and thyme because it is so melodic. But you can chuck in some parsley, mint, or oregano as well. Also a couple of garlic cloves. Unpeeled, just bashed violently with your fist to let a bit of the flavour out. Push all of this into the chook’s cavity along with a decent teaspoon of butter. I use clarified butter or ghee, but it doesn’t really matter. I was just showing off.

Now plug the hole of the cavity with a third of a lemon. And end bit works best as it fits the shape of the gaping hole rather well. If you want to be fussy, you can sew up the cavity, or do as I do. Stick a couple of toothpicks in the appropriate place to hold the lemon end in place.

Now the tricky bit. Do not put anything on the outside of the chook except salt and pepper. A really good dose of both. Top and bottom, front and back, legs and wings. Sea salt is good but I use fleur de sel de guerande just to show off again.

Now place the chook in a dry roasting pan and put four small teaspoons of butter in the pan. One in each corner logically. But not on the chook. Then chuck it in the oven pre-heated to 200 degrees C. Or about 400 degreed F for 30 minutes. Do not baste at all. Lower the heat to 180 C (350 F) and cook for another 45 minutes to an hour depending on the size of the chook. Remember, do not baste. Repeat after me. Do not baste.

Take the chook out to rest when cooked and use the pan drippings to make a wonderful gravy. Serve with whatever you like.

Too simple.



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Summer Sucks

Summer is only just over a month old and already I have had enough. Enough heat, enough salad, enough cold chicken, enough ice cream.

Now for all you summer lovers this may come as a surprise to learn that there are people like me who just literally detest summer. Having been born and raised in a hot, dry, arid and altogether unpleasant climate in the far, dry west of Australia, I have to tell you I have seen and felt enough boiling sunshine, hot sand and salt water to last a life time.

Since my accidental transportation and relocation to Switzerland I have been in my absolute element enjoying the comfort and epicurean delights of bitingly cold winters, chilly springs and crisp, golden autumns. But the summer still sucks.

So from late June through to the end of August I remain in a grumpy mood as I wait for September to herald the start of my nine months of bliss. The big, big, big event on my personal calendar is the start of the ‘chasse’ or hunting season in late September. Not because I like hunting at all, but I do like the end result on my plate and I munch away heartily in the full knowledge that my meal of wild pig and fruits confirms that at last the hot days of summer are just a memory.

Damn. Still two more months of sweating to suffer.

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The Dietary Dictate By Derek

Far too long ago to find the original article I read, but here goes with paraphrasing a little bit of healthy diet advice from the me, the king of healthy living.

The simple idea in this long lost article was that the act of actually enjoying the time you spend cooking your food prepared your body’s digestive system correctly, and by this process ensured that the food you eat is digested correctly and therefore does not induce weight gain. The acids and digestive organs are alerted by the cooking process, and when you eat, your digestive system is at the top of its game. The same result was found from aperitif. Something to alert your body that food was coming in an hour or so.

Yes, I hear you say that this is a very broad and generalised theory and takes no account of DNA, disposition or genetics. But in a broad sense I believe it to be true. Take Italians for example. Pasta really should be fattening shouldn’t it? French fine cuisine. So heavy on butter and cream, the French should all be 300 lbs! But no.

Where I live in Switzerland, obesity is a rarity. This is not surprising as most Swiss take a great deal of interest in food and cooking. Markets of fresh products abound, and people are very choosy about what they buy. This is similar in most European countries. And of course, fast food per say, hardly exists.

So my health argument is this. It is not necessarily the fast food that leads to obesity. It is that the body does not have the opportunity to prepare itself before you eat it. Therefore, it doesn’t digest correctly and the fats reside in your body.

Give your digestive system a chance. Just look at that Big Mac, and savour it for an hour before you eat it.

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Seductive Mashed Potato Secrets

There is certainly no better way for a man to impress a woman. Just demonstrate your prowess and dexterity in the kitchen before tackling the other rooms in the house. To help those who may need a little guidance, I have a few secret seductive mash potato tricks that will get you on your way. Now girls, stop reading here and I will see you in tomorrow’s blog post.

Right gentlemen, here we go. First thing to do is make sure you buy fresh potatoes. The green ones with 2 inch eyes growing out of the potato basket are for the bin this time.

Next, peel and chop in quarters and boil in salted water until soft. And I mean soft! Now for secret number one. Let the potatoes rest, off the heat but still in the water, for five minutes. It helps increase the starch content. Drain, and then return a low heat. You will see the water evaporating. Then add a good lump of (real) butter, and mash. Now, secret number two. Get ready to add some (real) cream, (or milk or half and half). But add it while the pot is on the heat. (This heats the cream/milk quickly and keeps your potatoes sparkling white.)

Now mash away to your hearts content, adding a little milk again until it’s nearly creamy. Then secret number three. Change your masher for a strong whisk, and whisk like you have never whisked before. Until your arm aches. You will notice now that your mashed potatoes are extra light, fluffy and beautifully smooth. Just like you!

Last little secret. For an added extra, try finely chopping some mild white onion or spring onion, and stir into your heavenly potatoes.

Now fellas, the next secret is the most difficult. Getting your lady to cook something to go with them! Good luck!

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Seduction Success With Compost Cooking

Men know that the ability to cook is a sure fire winner when it comes to impressing women. What is less well known is that by taking the extra step and expanding your culinary expertise to the upper echelons of gastronomic greatness, you will enhance your prospects of successful seduction by a factor of almost ten.

So put away the recipe books guys and start perfecting your ability to improvise your compost cuisine.

How impressive is left over KFC Risotto? I saw this prepared once. What a masterpiece. Hard, almost two week old KFC chicken strips, chips and gravy regurgitated into a masterpiece of Fast Food/Italian cuisine. Chopped finely, soaked for a reasonable amount of time in caustic soda made the chicken tender and moist. The chopped chips adding a crouton touch. And the gravy! Thickening the risotto to a creamy finish.

Or Compost Soup. Take everything out of the bottom drawer of the refrigerator. (That’s the place where we all store good intent.) Inspect the vegetables and cut off all green mould, slimy sections and black marks bigger than your thumbnail. Rinse and chop. Optionally adding leftover bacon, cold meat or rancid salami (with the rancid bits cut off of course) brings a omnivore touch to your soup. Serve with small cheese chunks (again, in the other good intent part of the fridge) but make sure most of the green mould is cut away or at least hidden on the bottom of the chunks.

But what about the rest of the compost in the fridge? Easy. Take it all, dump it in a big casserole and stir rather well. Then add your leftover mash potato on top and call it Shepherds' Pie.

So there you have it. Master these techniques, and your refrigerator will sparkle with space, fresh air and be mould free. Always a sign women look for in a man. A clean refrigerator!

And if your lucky, and you don’t poison her, your chances of seduction success are almost guaranteed!

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Caffeine, Nicotine, Protein

What does it take to keep your concentration going when you have really had enough, but know you just can’t stop? A cup of coffee, a smoke and a packet of peanuts. Remarkable but true.

This is a recipe for success for a number of pursuits. Repairing a crashed computer, completing tax returns, studying or cramming for an exam or even writing a novel, among a number of other mind numbing tasks that I’m sure you can list. Whenever you need long term concentration, perseverance and a desire to stay awake during the process, be well prepared and stocked up.

Now of course, I don’t say that the recipe is perfect or can’t be altered to suit your exact taste. Some people resort to chocolate, potato crisps or tea. While others take the more daring route of beer, wine or smoking something herbal.

Personally, I go with the traditional ingredients. A good supply of fresh espresso, a packet of smokes, and salted peanuts. Mind you there is a danger. Those peanuts are killers, and so often lead to me wanting to replace the coffee with beer, which is alright for a while, but in the long run usually leads to the project being terminated early.

Don’t be afraid to experiment though. I have tried a number of ingredients over the years. Japanese rice snacks were a favourite of mine for some time as well as Coca-Cola of course. But these trends pass, and I go back to the original and best.

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Ahhh Rochat!

Sometimes something is just so special, price is of no consideration. While there are many ways to waste money, spending a fortune at what must be close to the finest restaurant in the world is what I class as money well spent.

Philippe Rochat’s, Restaurant de l'Hôtel de Ville in Crissier, near Lausanne in Switzerland just has to be experienced for you to understand how food can truly become art. I am certainly not a food or restaurant critic, nor am I in anyway a gastronomic expert. But I would describe myself as being somewhat epicurean and know when I am impressed.

The restaurant itself wins no great prizes for decor or grandeur. In some respects I think this is a good thing because the two most important aspects can shine through. The food and the service. Both are totally out of this world.

During our last dinner there, I saw a few diners actually taking photos of each course as it was served to them. I can understand why. Each plate is an absolute work of art. In design, colour, texture, geometry and perspective. I remember one course in particular. A six piece cube of cardon enclosing a vegetable custard, floating in a spinach mouse. It defied physics and gravity. I didn’t want to spoil the beauty of it by eating it. But in the end I did of course.

We lost count of the number of exquisite courses that were included, but by the time we were at around number ten and new courses were still coming, we knew we had not wasted a cent.

The service was impeccable. A quick head count had me at about a ratio of one waiter per two guests, though arithmetic is not my strong point. Towards the end of our meal Phillipe Rochat came and greeted all his guests, one by one, and I found him to be a very gentle and modest man.

Very soon, my wife and I are going again. This time we are going to try the lunch menu. Then we will worry about paying off our credit card later, and be happy with pizzas for the following twelve months.

Phillipe Rochat’s Restaurant de l'Hôtel de Ville is three star Michelin rated. There is no higher rating that this.

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Food Grows In Plastic

We had the experience recently of having someone stay with us for a few months. All was nice, no problems, had a wonderful time and enjoyed the company. Now we have some great memories of the time and of course a bundle of photos to prove it.

The only issue that raised its head was that of food. If you have read my blog for a while, you will know that my wife and I live in the French part of Switzerland. Our guest came from the so called 51st state. Australia. In food terms this is so very true. Australia like the US is fast food, frozen food, microwave and away food and certainly nothing sold or served with the head still on!

So our first scream of fright came when I asked if fish was ok. Yes was the answer. Until, “Eeeek! Its mouth is open! I can see its teeth! Its looking at me! Oh I just can’t!

I tried explaining that the meat at the back of the head and in the cheeks is considered the best. To no avail. I did the only thing I could do. I went to the kitchen, decapitated the beautifully fried creature, and snuck the extra head onto my plate.

A trip to the market had our guest close to nausea as my wife selected a chicken for dinner. Well, of course the head and feet were still on and the fowl needed to be gutted by the vendor. That’s how we get all the prized pieces for making the sauce. It’s obvious really.

“Why do you wash your lettuce and tomatoes?”
“To get the sand off!”
“Sand? Why don’t you buy it washed and in plastic?”
“Sorry?”

You can see that we were having a time of it. No need to go into the stories about the rabbit, the horse steaks or the snails.

“Why is all your food here, so, so...so real!”

This explained everything. Real food is becoming a turn off. No one wants to know that it really had to be killed. Animal or vegetable. Big guilt trip. It is better to just believe that the food you eat, magically grew inside a plastic bag in a freezer.

In my view, I am certainly much happier to buy and eat food I know is fresh. I can look at the clear eyes of a fish and tell that it is fresh. A chicken, rabbit or steak prepared or cut in front of me allows me to know exactly what I am getting. I can see both sides for a start. Equally with fruit and vegetables. I want potatoes with the clay still on. They keep fresher longer. I want to see a few small insects in my lettuce. Proves it has not been sprayed with toxins.

Our guest has left and returned to the world of ‘unreal’ food. And we are still here, enjoying our ‘real’ food and our luck in being able to buy it. Heads and all!

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Fantastic Fondue

If you don’t live in Switzerland or Eastern France, well, I am so sorry for you. Why? Because you have no chance of enjoying a traditional and warming fondue with your family on a cold winter night. As my wife and I have just enjoyed this evening.

My first experience with fondue was unfortunately in Sydney on a hot evening, and I came very close to throwing up. That was over ten years ago. Now having lived through nine Swiss winters, I am now fully fondue accustomed. And not just accustomed as in tolerate. I am in love. If I don’t have a fondue at least once a fortnight in winter, I get very cranky.

So what is so special? Firstly, it is the alcohol burner on the table that keeps the fondue hot, and all around the table warm. Then it is the individual responsibility to stir vigorously each time you dip your bread, as it is vitally important not to let the cheese burn on the bottom of the caquelon. (The pot!) Then there is the pleasure of knowing that you can only drink white wine or tea with fondue. Why?

Because as any waiter in this region will tell you. They never argue with an offensive and loud tourist who insists on drinking Coke or beer with their fondue. Chances are they will die! Or at least be very, very unwell. And you may think I am joking.

The best story I have heard is from my darling wife, who told me that when she was young and waitressing, she had Japanese clients who insisted on eating their fondue with spaghetti instead of bread. Well, each to their own I say.

In the end, the prime reason for eating fondue is to keep warm. And in this regard it works like a treat. Open the doors and windows and let some winter breeze into the house. Otherwise, the smell of cooked cheese is going to kill you the morning after.

And, then there is raclette, but that is a cheese dish for another day.

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