Day 14: Harry Potter and the lazy cookery book

We've hit a plateau: the children are tiring of the project and I'm fed up having to cajole them every step of the way: this evening saw all four of them take a few bites of the chicken satay with rice, before leaving it behind them (eight-year-old boy requested a ham sandwich at bed time).  Realising I needed to up my game, I decided to seek out some kiddie-friendly recipes that might inspire the children and myself.  I came across a cookbook entitled 'The Unofficial Harry Potter Cookbook' which describes itself as 'more than 150 magical recipes for wizards and non-wizards alike' (talk about trying to cover all bases), with accompanying website.  Seizing upon it as a possible way to invigorate the project, I clicked on the link entitled 'recipes'.

Oh what a con!  The recipes were a miserable list of winter favourites with the odd Harry Potter reference thrown into the title for good measure.  Such as, Aunt Petunias fruitcake (which is basically fruitcake) or Hagrid's Fruitcake (ditto...how lazy is that??) along with a handful of other recipes which don't even pretend to have any connection with HP at all, such as French Onion soup or Beef and Guinness stew!  Talk about cashing in on a cash cow!  Glad I didn't bother to buy the book!  

This got me thinking, perhaps I'll have a go myself: 'The Unofficial Twilight Cookbook' perhaps? Nope, beaten to it by 'Love at first bite: The Unofficial Twilight Cook Book' which includes incredibly imaginative and genuinely terrifying vampire recipes such as 'Jacob Black's grilled cheese sandwich' (woooo!), and 'Tuna sandwich' (Ooooh, I'll never sleep again!)

Would you buy this book?

But I think I've hit on it -- how about 'The Unofficial Girl with the dragon tattoo cookbook'?  It could contain recipes such as 'Lisbeth's Gravlax' or 'Blomkvist's Smorgastarta' and cup after endless cup of ‘Erika Berger’s Coffee’!  Hmmm, forget about the kids, I think I’m on to something!  Now, to find a publisher…..

Day 14: Notes on kitchens

I miss my kitchen in Ireland.  It was a labour of love and the result of months and years of obsessively scouring 'Country Homes and interiors', 'Country living', 'Beautiful kitchens' and 'Ideal Home' magazines for inspiration on what might be my 'dream kitchen'.  Utterly convinced of what I wanted, but unwilling to pay the inflated  prices being asked in Ireland, I commissioned a hand-painted, distressed, wooden kitchen from somewhere in Derby (I found it on ebay).

On a cold winters morning, sometime in November 2006, me, DH and our then one-year-old (who is now six-year-old boy) headed off on the ferry to Liverpool in a rented long-wheel-base-van, to collect it.

We met the kitchen-maker in an Ikea car park in Warrington, where we transferred the units into the back of the van, and then headed back to the ferry which was due to depart in three hours.  Eight hours later, as we drove around a small village in Wales, with one-year-old yelling in his chair between us, we were followed into a cul-de-sac by a lilting Welsh policeman who kindly asked where we were going.  We finally made it to the ferry, three crossings later...

Similarly, my pillar box red fridge was bought from a company in Germany over ebay since it worked out half the price for the same item in Ireland.

The dining table was painted cream and distressed, with two large benches either side for the kids.  I had a beautiful large hand-painted dresser filled with little bits of pretty china and decorative biscuit tins.

The overall effect was very pretty in a shabby-chic way and I loved it and I'm now beginning to recall that I actually cooked in it, in fact, I did everything in it and spent many happy hours sitting at the kitchen table, reading the paper, chatting with friends over coffee and drinking red wine with DH into the wee small hours.

Which brings me to the purpose of this eulogy about my kitchen: I think that kitchens here in the UAE have something to do with the demise of my enthusiasm for cooking.  Kitchens here are ugly and small since they are the preserve of the maids and staff; functional, not decorative.

Our first kitchen in Al Ain was dingy, dark and ugly, with flimsy plastic cupboards and harsh strip-lighting and almost immediately on moving in, my interest in cooking began to wain. In fact, I actively hated being in it and would shuffle in to the fridge to refill my wine glass but other than that, avoided it at all costs.

The kitchen here in RAK is better, but it's still not very attractive.  I really believe that you have to feel comfortable and happy in your kitchen if you are to spend any time in there.  In my opinion, a kitchen should be the heart of a home, where the family come together to eat, chat, socialise and, it has been known, to dance!

In the UAE, houses are built around the public areas where guests are entertained: either in large hallways/reception rooms or living rooms.  Staff shuffle in and out from the kitchen (which is sometimes an outhouse to the back of the house) bearing trays and teapots.

While this truth may hamper my experiment, it won't defeat it.  After all, the kitchen here in RAK is bearable, but I do pine for my lovely kitchen which, sadly, never felt quite perfect during the three years I lived there and I was always seeking ways to improve it -- just goes to show that we're never satisfied with what we have.....

In this..........? (which is a bit like my kitchen in Ireland)

Where would you rather cook?

Or this................? (RAK kitchen)

Day 14: Snacks and wisdom...

Just a quick note for this morning.  Yesterday on the way to Mirdif we stopped at the petrol station for drinks and snacks.  Usually this means 4 bags of Cheetoh's (which smell like trainers worn without socks!) and strawberry milk.  As I climbed out of the car amid a squabble of voices shouting their requests, I decided to ignore them and see if we could do 'healthy' out of ADNOC.  I emerged minutes later with flavoured water and packets of dried fruits and nuts, pistachios and peanuts.

I was met with shouts of dismay and refusal, but they were soon happily tucking in.  I could almost call it a success except for the fact that four-year-old boy threw up all over himself minutes later (always charming although his neighbouring brother wasn't quite so impressed!); although I don't think it had anything to do with the snacks.

In the mall I caved and allowed the two eldest to have pizza, but the younger two happily shared a pasta dish.

On the way home we got caught up in the mother of all traffic jams due to a crash in Sharjah.  For forty minutes we watched ambulances, vehicle recovery trucks and police cars race up to the scene ahead of us (and six-year-old boy peeing into a bottle, much to his joy).  This is not an usual thing here of course, where driving is outrageously dangerous and where many nationalities don't wear seat belts.

As the car crawled along at a snails pace, my daughter commented on the car beside us which saw the parents strapped in the front but the children free and roaming around in the back.  'Look at that, mum' she said 'that is very bad parenting'.  And in a sudden moment of sagacity, I said 'yes, and that would be the same as if me and dad ate poached salmon and spinach for dinner while you lot ate happy meals....it would mean I wasn't taking proper care of you'.

She mulled over this for a moment and I felt I had imparted some profound wisdom to her.  'Can I have a chocolate brioche?'


Ah well....