The Great Pumpkin Pie Bake Off

The pies. Chico’s soft and delightful creation above, my sassy, tangy offering below.

There has been much talk of having a bake off. There has been trash talk, psyching out and general teasing and taunting. And then the day came. There was baking, cooling, debating of accompaniments to be served and then……. the judging. Chico and I have had a longish standing debate about who could bake the best Pumkin Pie, so we decided to take it to the next level and have a tasting. I was freaking as I frantically baked the night before the big day, measuring and timing, trying my hardest to stay cool under the pressure. I was confident when I arrived, until I saw and smelt Chico’s effort, he said he would bring it, and bring it he did.

The judges were eager, and as their fervor rose my nervousness did the same. As the pie was sliced and plated up, the sour cream added as the decided upon accompaniment, it was time for the truth. Too nervous to hear the comments I sat in the other room savoring the slices of pumpkiny perfection. Whose pie would I vote for? While I do love my lemony, zingy, kooky kid on the block, it was Chico’s soft and smooth, pumpkin dream that was really taking my fancy, much to my horror and defeat.

I think I knew in my heart of hearts which pie was going to rise triumphant, and just as I thought, Chico trumped me by one point. Was a I disappointed? Yes. But no worthier competitor could I have faced. Chico, you now have and honestly deserve the title, Pumpkin Pie King.

The judges discuss the finer points of each pie.

China Town Express- Newcastle Upon Tyne UK.

“Noodle soup with char siu” says me. “Do you want the char siu on the side or in the soup” says he. “On the side I say with confidence and excitement.” He nods in approval as he takes my order. After a pause, a glance of acknowledgment, he whisks away my knife and fork, the standard implements assigned to most other patrons in this unassuming eatery, replaces them with chopsticks, smiling, as I show my appreciation with a nod.

The dish arrives, as above, beautiful in it’s simplicity, perfect noodles, sublte, aromatic broth, a feat of precision and soul in itself. And then there’s the char siu. I’ve eaten a lot of BBQ pork in my time, I was gobsmacked. The crunch of the perfectly charred fat, the sweetness of the delicate meat enhanced but not overpowered by the marinade. It was a meal I was sure to remember, a meal I ate alone, with joy and rapture.

Here, in this working class city, shops are boarded up, there is a distinct feeling of emptiness on the streets,  the residents packed up and shipped out in search of work and a better life. Here it is that I find the best meal I encountered in the country. Now, months later, I still dream about it and wonder, will I ever find myself turning the corner and walking into China Town Express again, to sip on hot Hong Kong tea, waiting for char siu perfection to manifest, or, is it better kept as a memory…….

Gumshara Ramen-Eating World, Chinatown Sydney

crisp winter morning

footsteps echo in the light

my heart rests, finds home

Soulful Soup.

Living with my Japanese Mother-In-Law has its perks, kooky insights, impromptu language lessons, wisdom and advice. Occasionally there’s food, home-cooked, self styled, Japanese comfort food. Today was one of my favourites, rice soup. It’s not really congee, the rice still holds it’s form, but it has that warming, gentle character a subtlety that soothes the soul and nourishes the spirit.

Her soup is a bit of a mash up of what’s around, maybe some meat, maybe some fish whatever veges are lurking in the fridge, there are always veges. Today’s star was tofu. It breaks into the soup creating a creamy texture, perfect for slurping on this crisp winter morning. A constant companion is wakame, the friendliest of seaweed. It took me some time to “get” seaweed, and wakame was there guiding me along the way, revealing the flavour slowly but surely. It doesn’t have the brash boldness of hijiki, yet it confidently unlocks the door, giving you the code to understand the seaweed goodness that was so foreign to my western tastes.

I’ve tried to recreate this dish, but it’s never quite the same. Maybe the flavour is lost in translation, maybe it’s the kooky insights, wisdom and advice that makes my Mother In Law’s soup so right, so simple, so her own.

The way of the Dodo

Dodo (Wikipedia)

Well this is my first post. I’m not sure what to write, so this post will probably eventually go the way of Dodo.

The Dodo, now there’s a waste of a perfectly good 20kg eating bird. I’m not too peeved by the extinction of a Tyrannosaur or Brontosaur because, despite looking mighty good on a spit roast, I don’t expect they would have tasted any good. Besides great-great-grandpa didn’t get to eat them.

According to Wikipedia, the records are full of reports of it tasting nasty. I don’t buy it, how can a bird called Mutton Bird be bad? Besides, if it tasted so bad how come you ate them all? Inconsiderate great-great-grandpa.  They should have introduced Earth Hour back then to make them think of future generations.

This from one who turned all the lights in the house on looking for the poker set. Hey.. I was hungry.. I forgot.

Damn, I hope I didn’t extinct the Creme Brulle by doing that..