SOUTH AFRICA HAS A NEW MUTANT NINJA PRESIDENT




READING:

An Elegy for Easterly by Petina Gappah is a debut collection of 13 beautifully written short stories about current day Zimbabwe and Zimbabweans, and I was fortunate to snag a pre-publication copy as a member of Library Thing Early Reviewers.

I grew up in Central Africa and know Zimbabwe quite well, and I thought that the author had captured the place and the people brilliantly. Living in Zimbabwe under Robert Mugabe's despotic regime is fairly ghastly, and these stories could have been quite depressing, however Petina Gappah is very skillful and manages to depict the crazy nightmare of daily life in Zim without loosing the humour, doggedness and sheer determination of the ordinary people as they struggle to keep everything as normal as possible. Many of the stories have a core of poignancy but through it all life goes on; people fall in love, marry (even if no-one will tell the bride that the groom has AIDS), gossip about servants, cope with or practice corruption, try to eke a living or complete their academic studies.
One delightful tale is about a low-ranking Zimbabwean diplomat who has been posted to Switzerland where in his innocence he falls prey to one of the infamous Nigerian 419 email scams. Another tells of a night spent in the 'Hotel California' - located in Kamativi - an establishment that should be given a wide berth.
The story of a family waiting at Harare airport for the flight from London filled me with sadness. Many of the passengers who arrive on this regular flight bring foreign currency or goods no longer available in Zim - something to look forward to; but this family is waiting for the body of a son who died abroad, so that he can be laid to rest in the ancestral village. The reader learns how he came to go abroad and die there, and the stresses it has placed on the family.

Petina Gappah is a terrific writer and a great addition to the fairly short list of modern African writers from Zimbabwe, and I am really looking forward to reading her next book, which I believe is a novel.

Rated 4.5*


RANTING:

Last week London was full of tourists as it was the Easter vacation for millions of school children all over Britain and Europe - God knows, in this economic downturn London needs all the tourist money it can get.
Among the visitors to our fair city were Klaus Matzka and his 15 year old son from Austria. Mr Matzka is particularly interested in modern architecture. They had taken pictures of various famous London landmarks but then whilst photographing some of London's iconic red double-decker buses, they were stopped by two policemen and interrogated.

"First, we were told that it is forbidden to take pictures of anything in conjunction with transport. Then our names, passport numbers and London hotel address were noted. After that we were forced to delete all pictures that included any transport - even pictures of the new underground station in Vauxhall, which is a modern sculpture."

I should point out at this juncture that what they were told is NOT TRUE, there are no legal restrictions on photography in public places. And furthermore, the police had no legal right to delete any photos that the Matzkas had taken. This minor incident leaves a very nasty taste in the mouth, indeed the Matzkas have said they will never visit London again.

Photographers, both amateur and professional are finding themselves stopped more and more frequently, often by PCSOs who erroneously cite Section 44 of the Terrorism Act as a reason. Either these police personnel are poorly trained and don't understand the law on terrorism, or they are power-mad little jobsworths (or both) who feel important when they stop people and demand to see their photographs.

Its rather ironic that this is going on when Google Street View is sending camera cars round the nation, filming anything and everything with impunity - frankly any potential terrorist worth his or her salt would be far more likely to use the Google images than bother going out to take their own. The Government has whipped up such a climate of paranoia over terrorism and national security - out of all proportion to the real risks - that all sorts of people are using it as an excuse to try and limit the freedom of the individual.

From now on I intend to carry my camera in my handbag at all times and whip it out to take pictures of taxis, lorries, buses, police cars, carrier pigeons and bicycle couriers - and just let anyone try and stop me.


RECIPE:

If you are not all chocolated out after Easter, this recipe might be just what you fancy to please family and guests. I served it at a dinner party recently, together with two other desserts, and carefully wrapped the uncut portion for the following day's meal. The next morning I discovered that it had vanished, someone (who shall be nameless) had decided that they would eat it for breakfast! I've made it again, so that I could photograph it, but it didn't last any longer second time round.

CHOCOLATE TART
Serves 8 (or 4 normal people and 2 greedy ones!)

200g plain flour
120g butter
2 tablespoons caster sugar
1 egg yolk
2 tablespoons cold water
~~~
300g butter
200g good quality dark chocolate
3 eggs
3 yolks
100g caster sugar
2 tablespoons brandy or dark rum

Cocoa powder and icing sugar for topping

Whiz the flour and butter together in a food processor, stir in the sugar, and then the egg yolk and water to form pastry. Wrap in clingfilm and chill for 30 minutes. Pre-heat the oven to 180 C. Roll out the pastry and line a 23cm loose-bottomed flan tin. Prick the base and bake blind for 15-20 minutes. Break the chocolate into small pieces and melt it together with the butter in the microwave - approx 2 mins on high - until it is all liquid, mix well together. Allow to cool slightly. Whisk the egg yolks, eggs and sugar into the chocolate mixture. Stir in the brandy or rum. Pour the mixture into the pastry case and bake in the oven for 20-25 minutes until just firm to the touch.

Dredge the top of the tart with a little sieved icing sugar and cocoa powder.
Serve with a dollop of whipped cream.

YOU MUST REMEMBER THIS
A KISS IS JUST A KISS,
A SIGH IS JUST A SIGH
THE FUNDAMENTAL THINGS APPLY
AS TIME GOES BY.
The song that kept buzzing in my brain during the wedding we've just attended in Casablanca

READING:

Gods Behaving Badly by Marie Phillips is the book I read on the flight to Morocco, and it was just the ticket for reading on a journey, quirky, light and very funny. It is Marie Phillips’s first book and I look forward to what she writes next.

All the gods of Ancient Greece are living in London where they share a large, very squalid house (gods don’t do housework) in Hampstead, which they bought cheaply in 1665 during the plague. None of them are enjoying life, their powers are dwindling as no-one believes in them anymore, and being immortal isn’t much fun when you face an eternity of boredom.

Aphrodite, goddess of beauty and desire, has a side job answering sex-chat lines on her mobile, Artemis, goddess of hunting, has become a professional dog walker, while Apollo, god of the sun, is trying to build a career as a TV psychic, and Dionysus, god of wine, runs a nightclub called Bacchanalia down near Kings Cross; all very different from their golden days on Olympus.

As we all know, boredom often leads to mischief, and when Aphrodite decides to get her son Eros to meddle with Apollo’s love life to punish him for having turned an Australian lass into a tree, she starts a chain of events which turns all their lives upside down. Her little ruse misfires and a young cleaning lady and her rather boring Scrabble-playing boyfriend get caught up in the ensuing hoo-ha. In the end some of them go to hell and back before everything is satisfactorily resolved.

Its all good, lusty, over-the-top fun.

4.5*

RANTING:

After three wonderful weeks of travelling in Morocco and the south of France I am feeling so laid back and full of the milk of human kindness that it seems impossible to rant about anything. However I will share with you three things that pissed me off during my blogging break.

The first was the security official at Gatwick, who, when presented with my plastic bag of shampoo, toothpaste etc (I had gone to great trouble to ensure I was carrying the correct sizes) quibbled at my contact lens liquid which was a half-full 120ml bottle, and confiscated it – something that has never happened at any other airport. He told me I should buy a smaller size in the Boots on the duty-free side. I explained that the liquid I use doesn’t come in smaller bottles. He said that in that case I should have decanted it into a smaller bottle. I pointed out that the liquid was sterile, and decanting it would mean it was no longer sterile….anyway, at the Boots on the other side I asked for a smaller bottle of the liquid and was firmly told by the pharmacist that it doesn’t come in smaller sizes (I know!) and that anyway contact lens liquids were usually fine with security. Huh!

The second irritation was that at a truly wonderful Moroccan wedding, with over 150 guests, at which no alcohol was served – it was a Muslim household – some of the male (Muslim) Moroccans saw fit to smuggle in Chivas Regal, Johnnie Walker etc, and whilst everyone else was drinking mint tea, sparkling water and soft drinks, they were surreptitiously tanking up whereas the UK/US contingent were scrupulous in honouring the custom of house and stayed sparkily sober until 7.30am when festivities wound to a close. Hypocrisy always annoys me.

And finally, en route home to London by TGV and Eurostar, Lille railway station got my goat. All but one of the electronic ticket readers was out of order, necessitating 20 minutes of queueing, we were then herded into a waiting area for some time before being able to descend to the Eurostar platform, and when we were finally allowed to go through, the only lift was not working which meant that disabled and elderly travellers with luggage – not to mention anyone travelling with a baby in a buggy – were left struggling down a fast moving escalator. When someone asked the railway attendant if they could take their luggage down in two batches they were told that if they went down, they could not get back up again to collect anything else. This helpful information was accompanied by an attitude of supreme Gallic indifference. A fellow traveller (French) turned to the DH and said that France needed someone like Maggie Thatcher to get the French unions into line…..only repeating what was said! So let’s hear no more of how crummy our railways are compared to the French ones.

RECIPE:

As a family, we are intermittent pudding eaters; in winter we love our puds, but at other times of year a piece of fruit or cheese hits the spot. However, every once and so-often I have a craving for something sweet after a meal and this recipe is perfect. Make it, pop it in your freezer and it will be there just when you need it -and if you can add a chocolate covered finger biscuit so much the better!

APRICOT & AMARETTI ICE CREAM
Serves 6 elegantly, or 4 greedily

350g jar good quality apricot jam
2 tablespoons lemon juice
250ml double cream
28g amaretti biscuits, roughly crushed

Beat the jam with the lemon juice to slacken it. Whip the cream to soft peak stage, and fold it into the jam. Fold in the crushed amaretti crumbs. Spoon the mixture into a freezer container and freeze. There is no need to beat this ice cream as it freezes.

IF YOU CAN'T SAY ANYTHING NICE, ITS BETTER NOT TO SAY ANYTHING AT ALL - as someone's granny once said....

READING:

Last month a Canadian cousin of mine mentioned that she’d just finished Lullabies for Little Criminals by Canadian author Heather O’Neill and that she’d found it heart-wrenching. Always on the lookout for something new I got hold of a copy and it jumped straight to the top of my reading pile.

Baby – which she takes pains to explain is her real name – is the narrator, and is twelve years old when the book begins. She lives with her heroin addict father Jules in the red light district of Montreal. Jules was only 15 when Baby was born, and has taken sole care of her since her mother died when Baby was an infant. They lead a ramshackle life, moving from one crummy apartment to another whenever lack of money or Jules’ drug induced paranoia determines it. Dressed in a motley assortment of clothing from thrift shops, and items found in dumpsters, often dirty and smelly and underfed, Baby still manages to get to school every day, despite the chaotic life she and Jules lead. Every so often Baby comes to the attention of the social services, and she is taken into either foster care or sent to juvenile detention for a few months. These placements should offer her some respite from life with Jules, but they have their dangers too, both physical and emotional.

Baby has always told herself stories about things, her sharp intelligence and self-awareness have given her some advantages when it comes to grasping fleeting moments of happiness in a horrid life. Above all, Baby – like all children – just wants to be loved and looked after. This makes her vulnerable to anyone who shows her affection and understanding, and when Alphonse, a local pimp, sets his sights on her she has no realisation that he is grooming her for his own uses. She moves into an “adult” world even though her thoughts and emotions are still those of a child. Eventually Baby finds that she needs to escape from the mess in which she is living, and her feckless father manages to help her to find a way to make her way towards a new life.

There is a phrase you often hear quoted about someone’s childhood, “because of so-and-so happening, they grew up quickly”, but I am not sure that is ever true, children may appear to be grown up and behave as adults but in their heads they still think very much as children, and approach life from a child’s perspective.

In Family Court here in Britain I have come across cases of parents like Jules, and children not dissimilar to Baby, they are always difficult cases to resolve, and I often felt frustration at having to implement the least bad option rather than any positive option

Baby is such a strong character, and so real that there were moments when all I wanted to do was hug her and take her home with me. At other moments, as an adult, I could see what was coming and desperately wanted to warn her not to do certain things, or fend off some of the appalling people who treat her so badly.

I realise that this may not sound the most appealing book to read. It is certainly not warm and fuzzy. However I do recommend it very strongly, O’Neill’s imagery is beautiful and her writing often lifts the subject matter to poetic levels.

Rated 4.5*

RANTING:

Who would spend hard earned money on a tell-all memoir by Jordan, Britain’s most famous topless model? Not me that’s for sure. But neither will I be rushing out to buy a copy of the memoirs of Cherie Blair, Lord Levy or John Prescott. As far as I am concerned they are just as ghastly in concept as anything ghosted for Jordan.

These three individuals stood, for different reasons, close to the heart of government in Britain for several years: Cherie Blair as a celebrated QC and wife of the Prime Minister, Lord ‘Cashpoint’ Levy as a so-called ‘eminence gris’ and major fund-raiser for the Labour party in general and the Blairs in particular, and John ‘Two-Jags’ Prescott, the belligerent and bumbling Deputy Prime Minister.

In the past month all three have produced memoirs, extracts from which have been published, with much trumpeting, in the broadsheet papers.

And nasty, spiteful, self-serving stuff it has been too.

To be honest I have not read it all, but some of the things they’ve said in their books have been impossible to avoid as the media has seized on them with glee and reported and re-reported each one. So I have heard about Prezzer’s referral to Gordon Brown as a “little shit” and his bulimia…did I want or need to know this? Levy’s fury at being used to raise money and then dropped in the mire by Blair and the rest of the Labour party when things got smelly smacks of one long whine, and that never makes for enjoyable reading.

But the gold medal for bitchy score settling must go to Cherie Blair whose memoir leaves no personal detail untold. For a woman who ostentatiously guarded her family’s privacy to now give us the gory details of her contraceptive arrangements, her miscarriage and how her husband used it to deflect speculation about the situation in Iraq, her rows with Alistair Campbell and others, is breathtaking in it’s hypocrisy.
This is the kind of stuff that should be aired in a ranting blog, and not in a supposedly serious book.

We need politicians whether we like them or not, and this kind of back-biting, mud-slinging stuff damages the public perception of them, and increases the view that they are all absolute rotters to the core. It makes me shudder, thank god that I am not now, and nor have I ever been a member of the Labour party.

RECIPE:

This past 10 days the weather in London has been absolutely divine - hot and sunny, and we have been able to eat outside almost every evening. We've also been entertaining quite a bit, and as ever I like to prep as much as possible well before hand so I can sit and enjoy a drink with our guests before the meal. I love granadillas - or as the Brits call them 'passion fruit'; when I was a child in Africa I often ate one like a boiled egg, with the top cut off and a teaspoon. Combined with mangoes they make the most delicious mousse, and this is a really good dessert which can be made in advance.

MANGO & GRANADILLA MOUSSE

Serves 6-8

2 large ripe mangoes
5 granadillas (passion fruit)
3 egg whites
240ml double or whipping cream
1 sachet (10g) powdered gelatine
10ml tropical fruit juice (lemon or orange juice will do as well)
2 tablespoons caster sugar
Sprigs of mint for garnish

Put the fruit juice into a small non-metal bowl and sprinkle the gelatine over it, leave for 5 minutes to become spongy.

Place the bowl in the microwave and heat for 1½ minutes until the gelatine has all dissolved (do not let it boil). Allow it to cool while you prepare the fruit.

Peel the mangoes and cut the flesh into chunks, retaining as much juice as you can.

Spoon the pulp (including pips) from 4 of the granadillas into a blender, add the mango chunks and caster sugar. Whiz everything into a purée.

Add the cool gelatine liquid to the puree, stir to mix together.

Beat the egg whites to stiff peaks.

In a large bowl, whip the cream until very thick, and then add the mango puree and mix together gently.

Carefully fold the beaten egg whites into the mango/cream mixture.

Spoon into individual serving glasses or one large glass bowl and chill in the fridge for 3-4 hours.

Before serving, spoon a little of the pulp from the remaining granadilla on top of each mousse, and garnish with a sprig of mint.

60 YEARS OF MARRIAGE DESERVES CELEBRATING - I've been doing just that with family and friends who came from all over the UK, and from Canada, New Orleans, Milan and France, to join my parents for a three day extravaganza celebrating their anniversary.
The Queen even sent them a congratulatory card!
It was exhausting but wonderful.


READING:

As you may have noticed, most of the books I read are fiction – but every so often I read other things; Black Diamonds by Catherine Bailey is non-fiction, and is sub-titled ‘The Rise and Fall of an English Dynasty’. The story it tells is so engrossing, contains so many fascinating characters and is written in such a compelling way that I could not put it down. I had to keep reminding myself that it was not fiction; it was history that I was reading.

This is the story of one of England’s great aristocratic families, the Fitzwilliams of Yorkshire and their grand country mansion Wentworth; how they rose to prominence and how they declined; it is also a history of the coal mining which enriched them, the growth of the miners’ unions, and the changes in society which saw their fame and fortune fade.

Calling Wentworth House a grand country mansion doesn’t really do it justice. Wentworth was - and is - the largest privately owned house in Britain; it is absolutely enormous, an estate agent would probably have an orgasm trying to describe its 400 rooms and its five miles of corridor. Guests who stayed there were given little silver caskets of different coloured confetti so they could lay a trail in order to find their way back to their bedrooms after dinner.

Opening with the funeral of the 6^th Earl Fitzwilliam in 1902, and the succession of his grandson ‘Billy Fitzbilly’ the reader is immediately plunged into a bitter family row over the inheritance, mental illness, and the rumours that the new 7^th Earl was a ‘spurious child’, a changeling.

No novel is more extraordinary than this, for the next 70 years the family packs in illicit love affairs, chorus girls on the make, forbidden love, war heroes and violent death – including the tragic relationship they had with the Kennedy family.

Entwined with all this, is the story of the miners and their families who worked the Fitzwilliam mines for centuries, the dangers, squalor and poverty that was their lot. Finally it is the story of class war and a way of life gone for ever.

Catherine Bailey has done an impressive job in researching and writing Black Diamonds; I learned a great deal of early 20th century political history from the book, and have gained real understanding of the growth of the union movement in Britain.

Wentworth House still stands, no longer owned by the Fitzwilliam family it is shuttered up and closed to the public, but there is a public footpath which passes close to the magnificent main façade – I am determined, one day, to go to Yorkshire and see it.

Rated 5*

RANTING:

I’ll bet that you have at least one garment made from wool, most people do. Where did the wool come from? Why, from sheep of course. A sheep shearer removed the fleece from the sheep so that it could be processed into wool, the sheep was not harmed, and grew a new fleecy coat which could be sheared off a year later.

Mankind has been shearing sheep for thousands of years, in Europe, north and south America, Asia, India, Australia….everywhere that there are sheep to be shorn.

For many years, Kent County Show here in England, has had a demonstration of sheep shearing, and it has always been a popular event at the Show. This year however it has been banned – animal rights activists have demanded the ban. One of them is quoted as saying “Sheep have rights too. I thought it was cruel, so complained.”

What a completely loony attitude.
The thing that makes me really annoyed however, is that Kent County Show has knuckled under to their demands and scrapped the demonstration.

Millions of us now live in big cities with very limited knowledge of farming or country life – we’ve all heard the jokes about kids who thought spaghetti grew on trees, or that peas were manufactured and came in plastic bags automatically. Jamie Oliver – all power to his elbow – has tried to teach school children about where food comes from, what different vegetables are and how chickens should be farmed. People ought to know where the wool they wear comes from too, and how it is obtained. A demonstration of sheep shearing at a county agricultural show seems a small but appropriate way of doing just that.

Perhaps if some of these animal rights activists had actually lived on a farm, or had seen sheep being sheared when they were children they wouldn’t adopt such stupid and extreme views and then try to force them on the rest of us.

RECIPE:

Last weekend there was a big lunch party to celebrate my Aged Parents' Diamond Wedding Anniversary and the chef made Croquembouche as the dessert. Croquembouche means 'crunch in the mouth', and is a big cone of choux pastry profiteroles, filled with cream or creme patisserie, which have been dipped in caramelised sugar and then piled up into a big cone studded with fresh fruit or flowers and with a topping of spun sugar . This dessert is often served at French weddings, christenings and other family celebrations.

Assembling a Croquembouche is quite a palaver, and making spun sugar is definitely not part of my culinary repertoire, but the profiteroles are a doddle to make. Although they have become a bit of a food cliche, they are always popular, particularly with men and children - so here is my recipe for them.

CHOUX PASTRY ~~~ PROFITEROLES

Pre-heat oven to 200°C – it is really essential you do this as the oven must be up to temperature before you put the pastries in to bake or they will just go soggy.

Line two baking sheets with non-stick paper.

350ml water
150g butter
200g flour
4 large eggs

Beat the eggs together in a jug and set aside.
Sieve the flour into a bowl and set aside.
Put the water and butter into a sauce pan and heat gently until the butter has dissolved, then bring to the boil.

Tip all the flour into the boiling butter/water whilst still on the heat and beat vigorously with a wooden spoon until everything is well combined and forms a ball coming away from the sides of the pan.

Remove from the heat and allow to cool for five minutes.

Then beat the egg mixture into the dough bit by bit, using an electric hand mixer. Make sure each addition of egg is well incorporated before adding more. The pastry should be able to hold its shape, but not too runny.

Using two spoons which have been dipped in water, spoon balls of the pastry on to the prepared baking trays, they should be 5 cms apart to allow for expansion in the oven. Any pointy bits of dough can be pressed down with a dampened finger.

Bake in the centre of the pre-heated oven for 20 minutes. DO NOT OPEN THE OVEN DOOR DURING THIS TIME. Then switch the oven off but leave the profiteroles in the oven for a further 10 minutes until golden brown and crisp.

Remove from oven and cool on a wire rack.

They can be filled with Crème Patisserie or whipped cream, and served with chocolate sauce; or they can be filled with a savoury mixture of seafood in a white sauce, or cream cheese and herbs.

They freeze well unfilled.

"THIS CAPE IS A MOST STATELY THING, AND THE FAIREST CAPE WE SAW IN ALL THE WHOLE CIRCUMFERENCE OF THE EARTH" Sir Francis Drake, 1596 AD

READING:

Allegra Goodman’s book Intuition is set firmly in the world of biological science, and explores the relationships, ambitions, and ethical standards of a group of biologists working in a research institute at Harvard in Cambridge Massachusetts. The Philpott Institute, which relies on public grants for its funding, is headed by Marion Mendelssohn, a pure scientist, and Sandy Glass an ebullient and charismatic oncologist. Under them is a team of Post Docs (scientists who have done their PhDs and are no longer students), researchers and technicians. Various trials are ongoing in the search for cancer cures. Cliff, a young, good-looking, and very ambitious Post Doc, seems to have discovered that the cancerous tumours in mice can be reduced by injecting them with R-7 virus.

Sandy Glass is jubilant and pushes for fast-track publication of the results as this will bring kudos to the Institute and secure further, much needed, funding. Marion is more cautious and feels it is too early to go public, but Sandy prevails. Robin, a senior Post Doc who is both colleague and ex-girlfriend of Cliff’s, is dubious about some of his results. She takes her concerns to Marion and Sandy but they do not take her seriously. Eventually, not able to cope with the pressure of having to work with Cliff on his project, and unable to continue her own line of research, she quits the Institute, and conveys her niggling doubts about the R-7 virus results to ORIS, the Office for Research Integrity in Science. She has lit the touch paper to a real brush-fire. The politics of scientific research on both a micro and macro level come under the spotlight of media attention, with unforeseen consequences for those at the Philpott and for Robin herself.

One is never quite sure of Robin or of Cliff. Were Robin’s motives in going to ORIS driven by unacknowledged jealousy of Cliff’s apparent success? Was Cliff so sure that he was on the right track with his research that he massaged the data to give favourable results? What IS truth in scientific terms?

What I really liked about the book was the sense that the researchers at the institute constituted a family, with Marion as mother and Sandy as father. They might squabble and bicker amongst themselves, but when faced with outside criticism they immediately presented a defensive united front.

Outside the genre of Sci-Fi – which may have many for all I know - it is rather surprising that there haven’t been many novels featuring science and scientists. Off hand I can only think of Frankenstein by Mary Shelley, and Arrowsmith by Sinclair Lewis, and more recently The Andromeda Strain and Prey by Michael Crichton. As we move into the 21^st Century, I predict that there will be many more books set in the fascinating world of scientific research.

A word of warning for any anti-vivisectionists reading this post – this book will have you baying for blood (so to speak) as the descriptions of the mice used in the experiments and what is done to them is fairly graphic.

Rated 4.5*

REUNIONS & REMINISING :

No ranting right now, I have been having the most wonderful time catching up with old friends. Going back to the school you left 40 years previously and sitting in the dining hall with the same people you sat with all those years ago certainly unlocks the memory vaults. Sights, sounds and smells came rushing back to mind.

Over the past four days we have had a full programme of cocktail parties, a church service, a lunch with speeches, a fantastic dinner which lasted until 2am, and finally, on a glorious hot day, a fabulous lunch on the terrace of one of South Africa's premier wine farms which is home to one of our classmates. As might be expected, there has been much laughter, a few tears, endless chatter, and an atmosphere of genuine affection for one another.

RECIPE:

Before I left for South Africa we had friends round for dinner, and as the starter and main course were influenced by Thai and Indian cooking, I thought I should keep up the fusion food theme with the pudding, and I wanted something I could prepare in advance. This hit the spot, and everyone raved about it. A simple twist on an old faithful.

I'm afraid my photo seems to have vanished, I will try to get it back when I get home.

COCONUT CRÈME CARAMEL
Serves 8

1 cup granulated or caster sugar
⅓ cup water
1 can (400ml) coconut milk

½ cup cream
6 large eggs
½ teaspoon vanilla
Pinch of ground cardamom (optional)
½ cup dark brown sugar – firmly packed

Toasted coconut and finely grated lime zest to garnish

Pre-heat the oven to 160°C

Set out 8 oven-proof ramekins.

Combine the granulated sugar and water in a small non-stick saucepan, heat gently, stirring all the time until the sugar is dissolved. Increase the heat and bring up to the boil. Boil without stirring until the syrup turns an even golden brown colour. It takes 5-8 mins, and you must watch it carefully as once it starts to colour it can overcook very quickly.

Remove pan from the heat and quickly pour some of the caramel in to the base of each ramekin, swirling it round to cover the base completely. Place them in a large baking tin with space between each and put to one side to set.

Whisk the eggs together in a large bowl, add the coconut milk, cream, vanilla, brown sugar and cardamom (if using). Beat together until well combined.
Carefully pour this mixture into each ramekin. Pour boiling water into the baking tin so that it reaches halfway up the side of each ramekin. Set the baking tin in the centre of the pre-heated oven and bake for 30 minutes or so, until the custards are just set. Remove from the baking tin and set to cool on a wire rack. When cool cover each ramekin with clingfilm and put in the fridge for 4-5 hours or overnight.

When ready to serve, run a knife round the side of each ramekin and carefully turn out onto serving plate. Sprinkle with grated lime zest and toasted coconut.
Delicious on it’s own or with a tropical fruit salad.

Wishing all who visit this blog a very happy, healthy and peaceful New Year and may 2008 be a special year for you all.

YOUTH IS WHEN YOU'RE ALLOWED TO STAY UP LATE ON NEW YEAR'S EVE. MIDDLE AGE IS WHEN YOU'RE FORCED TO. Bill Vaughn


READING:

2007 - My year in books

99 books read
85 fiction
54 female authors
45 male authors
18 crime fiction
14 non-fiction
7 translations
6 biographical
4 from Africa
2 graphic novels
1 short stories
0 classics

Really ghastly books: 2
The Secret by Rhonda Byrne
Maggie's Tree by Julie Walters

The ten books I read this year that I thought were particularly good:
Arthur & George by Julian Barnes (fict)
Restless by William Boyd (fict)
Half a Yellow Sun by Chimamanda Ngozi Adichi (fict)
Mr Pip by Lloyd Jones (fict)
Helpless by Barbara Gowdy (fict)
The Vanishing Act of Esme Lennox by Maggie O'Farrell (fict)
Animal's People by Indra Sinh (fict)
When a Crocodile Eats the Sun by Peter Godwin (non-fict)
The Year of Magical Thinking by Joan Didion (non-fict)
Stealing the Scream by Edward Dolnick (non-fict)

I have kept a little notebook which lists everything I've read over the past 11 years - more or less!
Just the title and author are listed, plus a rating number and from where the book came. Of course I now include a symbol to indicate whether I've written about the book on my blog. The system is pretty crude but acts as an aide memoire, and from it I gleaned the above figures. On average I read 104-110 books a year, this year is down, and I suspect that is a direct result of packing and moving house.
I also have a notebook in which I list any book I hear of, have recommended to me, or see reviewed, so that when in bookshops and libraries I can seek them out. This little Moleskine notebook is known in the family as "Mum's book of books" and I carry it in my handbag at all times. I have another blogger - Dovegreyreaderscribbles - to thank for the idea, and I can't imagine why I wasn't doing it years ago.
Next year I will make an effort to read some classics - I have four lined up and waiting! I will also try to read more books on science - my DD thinks I am weak in this area, and she is right.

Finally, I have a fellow blogger, Charlotte of Charlotte's Web, to thank for the idea of listing my reading for the year, she did it on her blog and I have shamelessly copied her!





RANTING:

Sir Walter Scott, Robert Burns, Ian Rankin, Lewis Grassic Gibbon,
Robert Louis Stevenson, John Buchan, Alexander McCall Smith, Sir Compton MacKenzie, Alasdair Grey, Muriel Spark, Ali Smith, Irvine Welsh, Alistair MacLean, Christopher Brookmyre, Hugh MacDairmid, George MacKay Brown, Iain Banks, J M Barrie, Liz Lochhead, James Boswell, William Boyd, Dorothy Dunnett

What do they have in common? silly question really – they are all famous Scottish writers and poets.

For some mad reason the U.S. Library of Congress which has the distinction of being the biggest library in the world has decided that they are all “English” writers, and is now reclassifying all work by Scots.

700 years of Scottish literature will now be categorised under English literature. As the Library of Congress subject headings are used by libraries all over the world, this decision would be widely copied thus wiping out a distinct literary category.

As a former librarian I think that it is an outrage, and I think all Scots should protest by writing to Dr James H. Billington, the Librarian of Congress. Dear reader, if you are an American of Scots ancestry, I urge you to protest to your Congressman/woman. Do not let the literature of a proud and ancient nation be subsumed in an act of ignorant cultural imperialism.

RECIPE:

It's New Year's Eve, and I have to take a dessert for the buffet table at the party. I've made an old favourite, which looks great and tastes fabulous and takes no time at all to make. If you've never made a roulade before don't be nervous, as it is easy-peasy when you follow
the instructions.

CHOCOLATE & RASPBERRY MERINGUE ROULADE

5ml (1teaspn) each of cornflour, vanilla extract, white wine vinegar
15ml (1tablespn) cocoa powder
20ml (4teaspns) water
4 egg whites (large) at room temp.
225g caster sugar

icing sugar for dusting.

For the filling:

150g luxury dark chocolate spread
300ml whipping/double cream, whipped to give soft peaks
200g frozen raspberries

Preheat oven to 150°C

Line a 33cmx23cm swiss roll tin with baking parchment

In a bowl mix together the cornflour, vanilla and vinegar.
In a separate bowl combine the cocoa powder and water.
Whisk egg whites to soft peaks and then whisk in the caster sugar a tablespoonful at a time together with a small amount of the cornflour mixture. Continue adding sugar and cornflour until the meringue mixture forms stiff peaks. Gently fold in the cocoa and water mixture.

Spoon the mixture into the tin and spread evenly. Place in the preheated oven for 45-50mins until crisp on the outside but still soft inside.

Remove the meringue from the oven and cover loosely with foil for 15mins.

Turn onto a large sheet of greaseproof paper and carefully peel off the lining paper.

Leave until cold.

Spread the chocolate spread evenly over the meringue. Cover with a layer of the whipped cream and sprinkle the raspberries on top leaving a 2.5cm gap at the ends.
Carefully roll up the meringue- lengthwise – using the greaseproof paper to help you shape it as you roll.

Place in fridge to chill before transferring to serving dish and dredging with icing sugar mixed with a little cocoa powder. Decorate appropriately. Keep chilled until ready to serve.
Serves 8 -10

I EAT PEAS WITH HONEY, I'VE DONE IT ALL MY LIFE.
IT MAKES THE PEAS TASTE FUNNY, BUT IT STICKS THEM ON MY KNIFE.

READING:

Our book group never meets in August, too many people are away on holiday or visiting or being visited by friends and relations so we take a one month break. Years ago we established a tradition of having a supper party at the July meeting, and instead of reading a book to discuss at that meeting, we each bring a dish for the buffet, and three paperbacks, one of which must be relatively new. All the books are piled on a table and then, after much eating, drinking and gossiping, everyone can select three books for summer holiday reading. The system works very well, and it is surprisingly rare to find we have duplicates.

I’ve been giving my selection of books to contribute some thought, and thought you might like a sneak preview:

First up is ‘Notting Hell’ by Rachel Johnson. Set in what is now one of London’s most sought-after postcodes, this is mummy-lit of a very superior kind. Being a Notting Hill Mummy is a full-time job and requires a six-figure income. After all one has to have the house feng shuied, the kids in the best private nursery-schools, daily dog-walkers for one’s designer Labradoodle, a personal PA, and a family nutritionist. One must always be on the q.v. for who is going up in society and who is going down, what is in and what is out. Its all so exhausting darling, that you will need private yoga classes and regular wheat-grass smoothies to alleviate the stress.
As one of the cover blurbs says: “snappy, witty, clever, shallow, heartless, and hugely readable’.
BTW the author is journalist sister of blond mop-headed Tory MP Boris Johnson and I suspect that the characters are all based on real people.

Rated: 3.5*

My next choice is A Quilt of Dreams by Patricia Schonstein, a South African writer who studied literature at UCT under the aegis of J. M.Coutzee. The book is set in Grahamstown, a small city in the Eastern Cape, during the 1990s when political unrest was at its height. Reuben Cohen van Tonder is an unhappily married, alcoholic jew who runs a local bottle store. He had a ghastly childhood which has left him with a well of deep unhappiness and he is desperate for peace of heart. Vita Mbuli is a young Xhosa girl, daughter of a black activist, who has become determined to undo the curse that she thinks has given her family such bad luck down the generations. Although these two characters have never met, the story flips in and out of the past, linking them together. Magical realism is the ideal style of writing to interlace the brutalities of apartheid, anti-semitism, tenderness and hope.

Rated: 3*

My final choice is The Easter Parade by Richard Yates; I read and enjoyed his book Revolutionary Road which is being made into a film starring Kate Winslet, and that nudged me into reading this book – I think I preferred it to Rev. Rd.

It is about two sisters, Emily and Sarah Grimes who are the daughters of divorced parents. They grow up to become very different women; Sarah settling for marriage and suburbia, and Emily wanting a much more exciting life. Both women are trying to find the happiness that has eluded them since their parent’s parting. Beautifully written.

Rated 4*

RANTING:

Tony Blair, Cherie Booth/Blair, Alastair Campbell, Fiona Miller...wouldn't it be wonderful if we never had to hear from or about any of this incestuous little group of ex-chums ever again? No such luck. Apart from the fact that we'll hear no end of TB trying to sort out the Middle East (some hope), I now learn that the BBC has paid £250000 for three one hour programmes featuring Alastair Campbell reading his sodding diaries aloud. That's £250000 of license-payer's money so he can advertise his book. Words fail me. I am seriously, SERIOUSLY, pissed off.

RECIPE:

Considering this is July the weather has been unseasonably cool, wet and gloomy. I long for proper summer sunshine. The other day I bought some strawberries to serve when my daughter came for lunch; I was intending to have them with some icecream, but it was so chilly I felt we all wanted something warm to eat.....hmmm, warm but summery, using strawberries....hey presto

ROAST STRAWBERRY TART

400g ripe strawberries, washed and hulled
2 Tablespoons ground almonds
4 Tablespoons caster sugar
1 packet ready rolled puff pastry
Icing sugar for dusting

Pre-heat oven to 200°C

Using the base of a cake tin as a template, cut out a 24cm circle from the puff pastry and lay it on a greased baking tray. Using a sharp knife and a steady hand, score a second circle 1½ cms inside the edge of the pastry circle. Take care not to cut right through the pastry when doing this.
Sprinkle the ground almonds and 1 tablespoon of the caster sugar evenly over the inner circle. Place the strawberries, pointed end upright, closely together in the inner circle. If there are any gaps, cut a strawberry into quarters and use the sections to plug them. Sprinkle the remaining caster sugar over the strawberries.

Bake in the oven for approximately 25 minutes, until the edge of the tart is puffed up and golden, and the berries are dark and beginning to caramelise.

A dusting of icing sugar over the berries is all the garnish required.

Serve hot, warm or cold with a dollop of crème fraiche or a scoop of icecream.