And Every Moment Is Precious – UK/Spain 2009

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Precious moments.

Basking in the warmth of the fading summer sun in Winchester.

Walking in the rain in London, puddles of water splashing with every heavy footstep.

Inhaling the scent of wet grass and sheep droppings in Avebury.

Marvelling at the 90,000+ mobilephone wave at a Coldplay concert in Wembley as Viva La Vida thunders on.

Going 65 metres up into the towers of the Sagrada Familia to experience a most breathtaking sight that can only be inspired by a greater being.

Standing in awe at its base, and wondering about my puny yet significant existence in this universe.

Getting drenched by angry waves, and laughing at how much I look like a drowning duck.

Meeting Carlos, a film director from Mexico, again and again and again in San Sebastian because the city is only that big.

Being ecstatic with the knowledge that Robert Duvall is sitting just 10 feet away from us while we’re watching his movie, Get Low at the San Sebastian International Film Festival.

Being mistaken for a movie actor (budget movie only).

With eyes closed, listening to the melodious strumming of flamenco music at Park Güell and letting the music envelope my entire being.

Drinking cider in Reading with my brother and realising that despite the different lives we lead, we are essentially the same.

Cheering Liverpool on at the Kop end of Anfield.

Eating Dulce de leche gelato and walking hand in hand, our fingers intertwined, secure in the knowledge that we have each other.

Limping several kilometres along the beach to view The Wind Comb by Eduardo Chillida.

Taking in the colours and smells of the morning markets.

Giggling and making faces at each other at a 3-star Michelin restaurant, oblivious to our surroundings.

Making new friends – Mireia, Elena, Jose Ramon, Carlos, and many more.

Sitting by the beach at night, in silence, and thanking God for every precious moment that He has so graciously given to us.

Getting totally lost in Spain and enjoying our journey of discovery, of life, and of each other.

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For past writeups on food in Spain, check these out:

Mugaritz

On the Pintxos Trail

Note: All pictures, with the exception of the Coldplay album, are mine.

Bakewell Pudding…..or Kaya Kok?

The Original Bakewell Pudding ShopIt is 1860 in Bakewell, Derbyshire. A visiting nobleman arrives at The White Horse, a local inn. He spots a sullen faced woman yawning at the Reception, and approaches her.

‘Harlow. Here got food ah?’ he asks.

Mrs. Graves, upset at the rude interruption to her lovely daydream about nasi lemak with sambal sotong and lots of ikan bilis, gives him an irritated look and scurries to the kitchen to check on supplies and emerges with a triumphant look.

‘All gone already,’ she proclaims. ‘Only got strawberry tart. How?’

‘Aiyah, strawberry tart only ah?’ he sighs.

‘Ya lor. Today got Siti Nurhaliza concert, everybody go to JB to see her, so we don’t prepare so much food here lor.’

sugar

He hesitates. His stomach rumbles. A strawberry tart isn’t much of a consolation when one expects to eat mutton peratal.

‘Harlow, we don’t have all day to decide! You want or not??’

‘Okaaaay la,’ he says. ‘Sure don’t have mutton peratal ar?’ he continues hopefully.

Mrs. Graves snorts in disgust and yells the order to the cook. ‘ONE STRAWBERRY TART. TABLE FOUR!!’

Fifteen long minutes go by.

Bakewell Pudding

‘One KAYA KOK!’ the cook says as she plonks the pie in front of the hungry nobleman.

‘But I order strawberry tart wor,’ he says.

‘I heard “kaya kok”, okay!!!’

The nobleman wonders which part of “strawberry tart” sounds like “kaya kok” and looks to Mrs. Graves, hoping to get some support. But Mrs. Graves is fast asleep, dreaming of curry laksa with plump, juicy kerang.

Bakewell Pudding

He takes a bite of the kaya kok. His eyes widen in delight. ‘Mmmmmm, so tasty!!’

The cook looks at him and thinks he’s a little crazy. She decides not to tell him that she had forgotten to stir the egg mixture into the pastry for the strawberry tart (which she had heard clearly enough), and in her haste to cover up her error, she had spread it on top of the pastry instead.

‘What you call this ar?’ he asks. ‘Kaya kok?’

‘Ya lor. Why? Never heard before izzit?’

‘Cheh. Kaya kok sound obscene lah.’ he says.

The cook rolls her eyes, ready to dismiss him and return to her reverie beside the fireplace in the kitchen.

‘I know,’ he exclaims. ‘Since we are in Bakewell, we call it the Bakewell Pudding LAH!!’

She walks away, muttering obscenities under her breath.

Bakewell Pudding

The nobleman leaves the inn, happy at his new discovery. The next week, droves of people turn up at the inn to taste the wonderful new dessert called the Bakewell Pudding.

THE END?

Bakewell

Well, not quite. And whatever happened to Mrs. Graves and the cook? They couldn’t handle all the extra workload, so they sold their recipe to one Mrs Wilson who turned it into a million dollar business, and I can assure you that at least Mrs Wilson lived happily ever after! For the version of the story unadulterated with sambal belacan or kari kepala ikan, check out their official website HERE.

The Old Original Bakewell Pudding Shop,
The Square, Bakewell,
Derbyshire, UK.

Tel:01629 812193

As always, for residents of the glorious nation of UAE who are unable to access my flickr photos, click HERE for pics.

Note: For a quick and easy recipe for kaya (not kaya kok, but hey, half’s better than none), check out Argus World.

Ingredients for a good vacation

“What is the key,” a little voice whispered in my head, “to a good vacation?”Peak District

“Teacher, teacher, me me me, teacher! Ummmm….being able to see with your eyes what you could only envision in the past based on documentaries on TV and photographs?” the star student answered.

Certainly, that is a plausible answer.

“Photographs, for sure!”

No, I'm NOT in this pix!!  Bald Eagle and Jason

Hmmmm. Another good point. I view everything through my lenses, even when they are sometimes imaginary. Like when you wake up from a deep slumber, and the first thing you do is move your finger to the bridge of your nose to push up the glasses which you thought were there. Imaginary glasses.

“Food!”

figs

figs

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But of course. The excitement of trying new stuff is always great. Like eating blood sausages and haggis. Mmmmmm. And the fruits are wonderful. I tried, for the first time in my life, fresh figs!! There is some imagery attached to figs (no prizes for guessing what), and no, I’m not telling you. I also loved snacking on physalis, a tiny sweet fruit encased in a papery husk.

“Wildlife!”

pigeon ducks sheep

Ferocious British beasts. Let’s see. I saw ducks that could waddle on you to death, several pigeons capable of tickling you with their feathers till you’re paralised with laughter, and a whole bunch of man-eating sheep. Incidentally, did anyone watch Black Sheep? In comparison, it made Quentin Tarantino’s Death Proof highly watchable.

To me, it’s all of the above and one more. People. I’d gladly trade a London Musical with the opportunity to spend time with a friend.

Shepherd's Pie

Cheese Platter

Combine a couple of ingredients, and what do you get? (I’m starting to sound like a cooking show….oh, oh, oh, is anyone else besides me hooked on the Asian Food Channel 703??) People who cook for you! Take for instance, cousin Shobi, who insisted on serving us typical British fare, and she came up with a scrumptious Shepherd’s Pie garnished with chopped leeks. I was touched that she’d do that for us, despite the fact that she was a vegetarian. What an honour to be invited to dinner at her house in Putney, London, to spend a lovely evening with the family.

pork curry

And then, there’s my brother, up in Sheffield, who refused to let me near the kitchen, and whipped up, instead, a delicious pork curry that was not only a welcome sight but which also warmed the tummy. He is fortunate; he possesses a scientific mind, but is more creative than a lot of people I know. Being independent in Sheffield has its plus points. Not being able to taste mum’s cooking because of the million miles between the two countries isn’t. Ouch.

seared tuna with edamame beans

tolouse sausages with mash

We spent a couple of nights at Msiagirl’s beautiful home in picturesque Bath, and we were given the best room in the house where the windows opened out to a view of the entire city built entirely with Bath stone, a limestone that shimmered in shades of gold in the sunlight. And between Msiagirl and her dashing husband, Mr G, they both came up with delicious fare: organic butcher made toulouse sausage casserole in mulled wine with onions, butternut squash and mashed potatoes on the side, seared tuna marinated in soy and wasabe with garlic chilli edamame beans, and tomato and cumin slow cooked organic lamb. Organic food’s a big thing in this home, and one can see the effects of consuming such food, judging from the youth and vitality oozing out of their pores. (Can you tell how envious I am?) The food is certainly oceans apart from that described by Fatboybakes. Organic food, I mean. And never leave England till you’ve tried scones with jam and clotted cream. Absolutely yummy!

scones with clotted cream

I’ve said this before and I’ll say it again. I’m blessed. What did I do to deserve such wonderful people in my life?

For the wonderful people of Abu Dhabi who are unable to view my photos on flickr, click HERE to view pics!