"Flowers seem intended for the solace of ordinary humanity." - John Ruskin
Orchid and Cake
Just in case you haven’t had enough of me straddling the simple act of cooking with ridiculously lofty themes, now I’m going to bring in an obscure mathematic principle. Don’t worry, I hate maths as much as the next normal person. But have you ever asked yourself what beauty is? or why something is beautiful? For thousands of years philosophers and artists have tried to find answers to these questions. Aristotle and Socrates verbally battled each other, Kant tried to sort it out with taste, and even Derrida said the whole thing made him want to vomit. Turns out beauty is a simple ratio 1:1.618. The Golden ratio a.k.a 'Phi', is found everywhere; from engineering to art, and even in nature.
Here is a video to elaborate. The Golden Ratio there are some great examples of how Phi pops up in art – everywhere from the Mona Lisa to ‘Las Meninas’ by Velazquez, one of my favourite paintings.
My own version of 'Las Meninas'
In nature Phi crops up in flowers, seashells and even clouds…
It’s incredible to think that there is something that connects the beauty of a face to the beauty of a star, shell or flower. And to think Shakespeare stumbled upon this very idea a few hundred years ago.
I decided that Phi would be an interesting principle to explore in food. As people generally taste a dish with their eyes, adding a dash of beauty to my cooking couldn’t hurt. And so I devised this geometric cake, sliced in the golden ratio of Phi, but rippled with pistachio sponge to show that though Phi is an interesting phenomenon there is still some randomness to life and nature.
Ingredients
¾ cups of butter 1 ½ cups of sugar
2 eggs
pinch of salt
dash of vanilla
1 ½ cups of flour
½ cup of ground pistachios
1. Heat the oven to 180 F
2.Cream together the butter and the sugar (use an electric whisk if you’re a bit lazy like me)
3.Add the eggs one at a time and whisk until fully emulsified.
4.Add all the other ingredients. If you want your cake to just have a pistachio ripple then save some of the mixture and just add the pistachio to that. Then pour your two batters into the tin to make a ripple effect.
5.Grease a 9-inch springform cake tin.
6.Bake for 40 mins.
7. Allow to cool and then cut in half and smother jam all over the inside.
"Evil is the product of the ability of humans to make abstract that which is concrete." - Sartre
So, to avoid the judgment of Sartre and the reality of the bleak nothingness of human existence, one has to merely to give the concrete an abstract form. I am well versed in this idea, having had my first existential crisis at the age of 9. This may seem a tad premature but you try growing up a Catholic. Although Sartre has fallen out of favour for, well, being too depressing, I find that there is a strange sort of comfort in his ideas. Facing the concept of your own meaninglessness, escaping from the egocentricism of religion, is incredibly powerful. It can either strengthen or destroy, much like Cameron's 'Bog Society,' where no one sees the aftermath of the government cuts in the wane eyes of disabled people, pushed even further onto the outskirts of society. At the apex of consumerism, with its grim landscape of laughing bankers and demand without need, it is only too easy to feel that existence has again withered away into faulting gestures and empty promises.
But at such a time, nothing is more poignant than life. Which only becomes more real the more it detaches itself from the bigger picture and we see it illuminating every being on earth. Take the humble egg for instance. Sure it may only turn into a gammy chicken, but within its unique curvature is the potential for life. And for more recipes than most people could possibly imagine.
An egg is one of the miracles of nature, the messiah of baking, for without it there would be no cake! They bind ingredients in recipes and on their own form dozens of substances, anything from meringue to an omelet.
So when you feel an existential crisis looming. Perhaps if you’ve just invested in your education and found it to be worthless, or realize that there is no longer a left vote, the simplest fix is rustling up some eggs. They are adaptable enough to put in almost any recipe (you can test me on this if you want). The egg is a bastion for human imagination, the concrete thing that you can make into any abstract form you like.
In the Post-existential morning all you need are some fresh ingredients and a free mind. Here are my creations.
Serrano ham, Asparagus and egg stack
This is the simplest recipe in the world but it also looks visually stunning when you 'stack' all the ingredients on top of each other. All you need for this recipe are a few slices of serrano ham, asparagus and eggs and some finely sliced toasted bread.
1. Soft boil the egg in 400ml of boiling water. this is take about 4-5 minutes. 2. Place the serrano ham slices under the grill and allow to cook until browned and crispy. 3. Cook the asparagus. The best way is to plop it into the boiling water with the egg. 4. Assemble all the elements together by stacking them on top of one another. Season to taste and serve.
Pea and Red-Berry Mustard Eggs Benedict
People shouldn't be scared of making eggs Benedict, it's the perfect way to flaunt your cooking skills whenever you feel like it, not just for special occasions. Here I have added my own twist to the traditional recipe to give it a sweetness and freshness from the introduction of peas, served with a peppery redberry mustard.
Pea Hollandaise 3 egg yolks 1/4 teaspoon Dijon mustard 1 tablespoon lemon juice 1 dash of Tabasco 1/2 cup butter 100g of peas
In a blender, combine the egg yolks, mustard, lemon juice and hot pepper sauce. Cover, and blend for about 5 seconds.
Melt the butter and then place into a glass measuring cup. Set the blender on a high speed, and pour the butter into the egg yolk mixture in a thin stream. It should thicken almost immediately.
Add most of the peas to the blender and blend until smooth. Save the rest of the peas for decoration.
Keep the sauce warm until serving by placing the blender container in a pan of hot tap water.
Serve with toasted English muffins spread with red-berry mustard and ham.
Mini Passionfruit and Black Pepper Meringue Pies
It is impossible to feel despondent when someone puts one of these petit tartlets in front of you. Whether or not you like it, your taste-buds will be stirred to life again. Ethereally whipped meringue with a peppery kick nestles on top of a zingy and decadent passion fruit curd in fine, crisp pastry.
Heat oven to 200C/fan. Dust the work surface with a little flour, then the pastry out to the thickness of a £1 coin. Use a cutter to cut out several circles of pastry. Use to line some small tart cases. Chill for 30mins. Line with greaseproof paper and a layer of baking beans, then blind bake for 20 mins.
Remove the paper and beans, then return the tart cases to the oven for 5 mins until pale golden in colour. Leave to cool.
Then scoop out the pulp of 10 passion fruits into a sieve over a large jug. Rub the pulp and juice through the sieve and then discard the seeds. Scoop the pulp and seeds of the remaining fruit into the juice. You should now have 150ml in total - top up with orange juice if you don't have enough. In a pan, mix the cornflour with the sugar, then gradually stir in 200ml cold water followed by the passion fruit. Cook over a medium heat, stirring, until the mixture boils and thickens. Stir constantly. Take the pan off the heat and whisk the yolks into the hot mixture.
Reduce oven to 180C/fan. For the meringue, whisk the egg whites into stiff peaks, then gradually whisk in the sugar until it leaves a peak.
Now add the pepper.
Spread the filling over the pastry base. Spoon the meringue over the filling, starting from the pastry edge and working your way into the middle, then gently swirl the spoonfuls together. Bake for 20 mins until the meringue is lightly golden.
And how do I justify this rambling pseudo-academic jibberish? Well…
"For an occurrence to become an adventure, it is necessary and sufficient for one to recount it." - Sartre
Now, for the viewing pleasure of all you kitchen disaster voyeurs out there, this is what happens when your souffle over-achieves. Funnily enough I've never had this problem before.
Yes, once not long ago, I went to visit someone and ended up passed out in their bed. Not the most dignified position to be in, I’ll admit, and it was made somewhat worse by the fact that I’d just come from a gay festival, at my college in Oxford, called Queerfest wearing a neon tutu and a t-shirt saying “I love pussy”. It was really very lucky that after the night’s festivities of drag queens and random inter-gender pulling I had even managed to end up in a friend’s bed at all. And waking up in the cold dawn light disorientated and surrounded by the gimpy pigeons, who only seem to come out in the early morning, and bemused rowers, is an experience I prefer to avoid.
But as is my firm and adamant belief, nothing says sorry like some good homemade food. Even if you did end up throwing up all over someone’s floor and not stirring from their bed for 48 hours.
Despite the embarrassment of its origins, this recipe has become one of my all time favourites. Bake it and you’ll see why; it’s moist, rich and fragrant from the zest, almond extract and olive oil. This cake is an interesting alternative to a standard sponge, gooey and moreish, with zingy blackcurrant icing to balance out the sweetness. Yum.
And I can say that this recipe officially got me off the hook. I was suddenly forgiven for all my indiscretions and even the two days I claimed the bed for. Result.
Ingredients:
1 cup flour
1/2 cup ground almonds
1 tsp baking powder
1 tsp salt
3 large eggs
3/4 cup granulated sugar
1/2 cup olive oil
A dash of vanilla extract and almond extract. The zest of one orange and 1/2 a cup of its juice.
1. Preheat the oven to 180°F. Place your cupcake cases on a baking tray.
2. In a bowl mix together the flour, almond flour, baking powder and salt.
3. Crack the eggs into another bowl and whisk them to break up the yolks. Add the sugar to the bowl and whisk it for about 30 seconds. Add the olive oil and whisk until the mixture is lighter in color and has thickened, this should take about about 45 seconds.
4. Then whisk in the extracts and zest, followed by the orange juice.
5. Combine the wet and dry ingredients and whisk until they are thoroughly combined; continue whisking until you have a smooth batter.
5. Pour the batter into the cupcake cases, and bake the cake for 15 to 20 minutes, until fully cooked and bouncy to the touch.
6. To make the icing, blend fresh blackcurrant into a smooth puree and then cream with some butter and enough icing sugar to create the desired consistency.
This cake smells good – and so do you after baking it! IFF in Paris have probably spent years trying to capture the floral notes that will be on your hands. This sensual quality makes very good if you’re serving it in bed, like I did.
And if there’s one thing I can say about a two-day gyrating mess it’s that it builds up an appetite. After shaking my bones to some great beats, and being surprised by some sublimely good times, I pondered the usual equation [hunger = time to cook] and felt inspired to document the night a la mode.
This is the recipe inspired by my hazy memories of strange conversations with Lebanese bourgeois boys, muttering about burning tire mountains in an urban dessert, and a spattering of moments with most of Eastern Europe, all to the sound of the spinning decks.
It was time for a spot of cupboard raiding in several people’s rooms, during which time I found a couple of misshapen cigarettes and some suspect reading literature (never trust a pamphlet) as well as more edible treasure. I was lucky enough to come across some bulghar wheat, which was the perfect medium for this dish.
100g rocket
Olive oil, to taste
Lemon juice, to taste
1. Cook the bulghur wheat for 10-15 minutes or until al dente. Leave to drain.
2.Roll the pomegranate on a chopping board and then slice in half. Remove the seeds from the pomegranate, and discard any bitter white pith.
3.Place the feta and pomegranate in a large mixing bowl with the walnuts, pistachios, fresh herbs, rocket and the warm bulghur wheat. Season well and drizzle with olive oil and lemon juice to taste.
What I love about this recipe is that as you bite into the pomegranate, the seeds burst in your mouth in a tiny explosion of taste. This, along with the contrast between the nutty bulghur wheat and freshness and zingy flavors of the herbs and lemon, creates a riot of flavour in your mouth. Every particle of taste is like a note of music in an electro EP.
If you know of any good Lebanese house music that you think could be paired with my recipe please let me know… any suggestions welcome!
And at last I have been forced to succumb to the food of the romanceless; oats. This staple of Scottish fare may have nourished many ginger man-mountains, and even my brother while living rough in Australia (don’t ask), but for me it is a symbol my generation’s lot. The world is not our oyster – it’s our bowl of porridge. Only Goldielocks would truly understand.
And we weren’t prepared for this. Being born in the eighties fostered a certain apathy and expectation of the boom to continue, of heaps of commodities and only so much time to consume them.
Instead it’s the end of the month and after rent and too many small luxuries, I have barely two pennies to rub together. Renting in central London comes at a hefty price and my job in media subsidizes its “take it up the ass” minimum wage only with free lubricant (booze). This cheap buyoff works like a charm in our binge-drinking nation. The memory enema that is booze is the only panacea we post-student hobos have. At least porridge lines the stomach.
But Britain redeems itself as I wander home through the corridors of my building; my nose is accosted with the beautiful Asian and Middle Eastern aromas that permeate its walls at dinnertime. Transparent sustenance maybe, but it invades me with nostalgia for travelling. Oscar Wilde once said that, “a man who lives within his means suffers from a lack of imagination” but I find that living within my meager means sparks mine.
And when faced with an uninspiring ingredient, my mind wanders to strange places to find inspiration - or not so strange, as in this case. I had a mind blank over oats. But then remembered some of the recipes people had divulged to me over the years, whether intentionally or not. From these people I found the spark for my inspiration that oats could not ignite. So here are their recipes, tweaked (made palatable) by me.
Smoked Mackerel with parsley porridge and pumpkin
This is a very strange recipe, from a very strange girl. English, tall, aristocratic waith with long peroxide blonde hair puffed out like candyfloss. I met her of all places in China, on a lovely paid-for holiday for Oxbridge types, a scam in Chinese education-consumerism, but with good heart. You see if you put people passionate about learning in front of a group of eager students we cant help ourselves. We devised how to twist the lesson plans, from ‘super heroes’ to Nietzsche’s Ubermensch, ‘over man,’ unintentionally making the scam actually genuine. I’m not sure what the 16 year olds made of it…
Anyway, this is the only savory porridge recipe that’s ever been suggested to me. Most people would reel in horror at the mention of mackerel porridge, but I saw potential, from the unlikely tastebuds of one person who dared to really push the boundaries. I’ve challenged myself to somehow make it work. I believed it could, and it does. Smoked Mackerel is intense, with a deep fishy saltiness and creamy fattiness. It needs clean flavors to cut through its intensity, like fresh parsley and tart blackcurrants. I’ve rounded this dichotomy of flavors by serving it with peppery rocket and soothing pumpkin puree. A congee with a difference, which we actually tried in China and no one liked.
Parsley Butter
1 garlic clove
3 small shallots
2 tbsp butter
1 tsp of Dijon mustard
handful of rocket leaves
handful of fresh parsley
25g of cream cheese
1. Blend together all of the above ingredients until you have a smooth green coloured butter. Refrigerate.
2. place 40g (per person) of oats in a pan and cover with milk, simmer gently and when the porridge is nearly done add the parsely butter.
3. flash fry one smoked mackerel fillet per person.
4. Make a pumpkin puree by blending chunks of pumpkin with a pinch cumin and cayenne pepper to taste.
5. Assemble the three elements of the dish and serve.
Matcha tea, raspberry and chocolate motchis
Every so often I come across a certain type of person. Seemingly unexpected but oddly symptomatic of some deep discontent, or at least emo-style discontent. Any guesses? It’s people who love Japanese culture. And I mean love it. This love comes in varying degrees, from a love of karaoke, sushi and anime all the way to deep intellectual examination of its culture, usually starting at ‘the Art of War’ and ending as some enduring philosophical psyche stamp. Such a one was the guy who, before my eyes, managed to transform porridge into something like onigiri and motchi, with that same doughy, chewy texture. All he did was leave it in the microwave for too long. Although he still claims it was intentional. I’ll take it as a sign of fate, that something of himself imbued itself into the recipe with a slight of hand. I decided to use matcha tea in this recipe because of our many highly caffeinated adventures on the stuff. (seriously try it)
1.Take a bowlful of porridge and put in as little water as possible to just cover it.
2.Microwave for 1 min or until the porridge is very thick and sticky. Take spoonfuls of the mixture and use your hands to roll into balls.
3.I then made a chocolate soup our of melted chocolate diluted with milk until the desired consistency and placed the porridge balls on top of it.
4.I sprinkled them with sweetened matcha tea and served with raspberry jelly.
Orange and Chrysanthemum set porridge
This recipe is inspired by someone I have never met. One of those people you brush up against in the tide of life, but never see or know. A person made out of mediation on an object. In this case it was some used pots and pans I lifted from a bin. I’m not above a bit of freeganism when the time calls for it. I was living in a building surrounded by international students leaving this isle behind and discarding their debris. What was once practical necessities was now erroneous baggage, to be picked up by some other person in need. My whole kitchen was fitted out this way. I even found a huge unopened bag of chrysanthemum tea, which I’ve only ever had in china before. I knew this lightly floral and earthy scent would go well with porridge in a dessert, more sophisticated in reality than its humble ingredients would suggest.
750 ml milk
225 g oats
3 tbsp chrysanthemum tea
150 g sugar
3 tbsp rose water
1.Gently warm the milk in a medium-sized saucepan on the hob.
2.In a separate larger saucepan cook the porridge and chrysanthemum tea for about a minute, stirring until the oats become translucent.
3.Halfway through the cooking time, stir in the sugar and two leaves of gelatine.
4.Then remove the saucepan from the heat and add the rosewater. Leave to cool slightly.
5.Line four individual pudding moulds with cling film. Then carefully fill with the porridge mix, patting down to ensure there are no gaps. Cover with more cling film and chill until completely set - this should take about 2 hours.
6.To serve, carefully turn the puddings onto plates and decorate with some dried chrysanthemum petals and coulis.
And so, In an attempt to transform porridge into something more palatable, I’ve used all my innovation to take it’s earthy Scottish heritage and combine it with the flavors of more exotic places, where flavor isn’t somewhat ironic and may actually awaken your nose and taste buds from their salt & butter stupor.
Just in case you haven’t had enough of me straddling the simple act of cooking with ridiculously lofty themes, now I’m going to bring in an obscure mathematic principle. Don’t worry, I hate maths as much as the next normal person. But have you ever asked yourself what beauty is? or why something is beautiful? For thousands of years philosophers and artists have tried to find answers to these questions. Aristotle and Socrates verbally battled each other, Kant tried to sort it out with taste, and even Derrida said the whole thing made him want to vomit. Turns out beauty is a simple ratio 1:1.618. The Golden ratio a.k.a 'Phi', is found everywhere; from engineering to art, and even in nature.
I decided that Phi would be an interesting principle to explore in food. As people generally taste a dish with their eyes, adding a dash of beauty to my cooking couldn’t hurt. And so I devised this geometric cake, sliced in the golden ratio of Phi, but rippled with pistachio sponge to show that though Phi is an interesting phenomenon there is still some randomness to life and nature.
