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TV chefs February 4, 2006

Posted by BiB in Uncategorized.
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Lukeski is clearly semi-serious about becoming a Jamie Oliver with a tortured, Slavic soul as he has started putting up recipes on his site. Either that or he’s settling down. Anyway, we’re a bit of a foody household here. Not majorly foody, but we rarely eat shit. We do occasionally eat very simply and rushedly, if time or effort is at a premium, and yesterday was one of those days. As I sat beavering away – not – at a translation, the Russian slaved in the kitchen and managed to create delicious smells when it in fact turned out that he was just rustling up some mushrooms for us to throw on top of pasta. Perfectly nice, but I had visions of him coming up with various dead animals. Maybe he’d scoffed them all in the process. Anyway, perfectly nice mushrooms on pasta. Perfectly good lunch.

This morning, both up at crack of dawn, for no good reason, the subject was raised, by the Russian, of what a perfect person he is. Gold, he called himself, if only I’d just open my eyes and see the obvious. His speech reminded me a touch of Mrs. Hfuhruhurr’s wife in The Man with Two Brains who, while being an utter cow, lists all the things she does for him. “I’m your cook, your housekeeper, your lover.” He then listed the delicious lunch. “Was it a Jamie Oliver recipe?” I asked, rubbing the sleep from my eyes. The vagaries of Russian mean that Oliver must decline, whereas Jamie won’t. “Olivera?” he asked back, sleepily. “Famous TV chef,” I snored back. He didn’t seem to have noticed Mr. Oliver’s impact on the world, and more power to his elbow for that. But he had heard of one British TV chef, or so he claimed. “No, it was that female TV chef of yours, the black one.” Could he possibly, in just our few years of acquaintance and with only three trips to England to his name, have become so well informed that he even knew about Rustie Lee? I couldn’t believe it, and let him muddle on for a while, wondering if he had somehow got Oprah mixed up in his mind with Englishness and TV cookery. “The one whose recipes your sister was using for Christmas dinner,” he trudged on. “Delia Smith?” “Yes, that’s the one. Black. Big.” I suppose I should almost find the colour-blindness encouraging.

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1. leon - February 4, 2006

There’s no better household than a foody household, I reckon (this is why I’d rather live with girls, for preference, as they’re marginally less likely to live on breakfasts-in-a-tin, lager, toast etc).

I tried doing a clafoutis last night but when I got home (and after stoning about 1lb of cherries) I realised that the bag of flour I remembered as sitting in the cupboard was actually bread flour, and not clafoutis-friendly plain flour. What the hell, I thought, and baked it anyway just to see what happened. It was a bit like eating a large, chewy doormat with cherries in it, though a few glasses of palinka eased it down a bit.

Belch.

2. daggi - February 4, 2006

Welcome back! Perhaps I’ll force myself to write those blogposts I’ve had in my brain since new year, now I suspect that maybe up to 3 people will read them…

3. BiB - February 7, 2006

We will read them, we will! Write away. Blogging hiatuses are fatal, I now realise. I feel like an alcoholic who’s relapsed, and now have to start my good intentions all over again, except with bloggage, of course, it’s the other way round – it’s the not doing that’s the sin, not the doing. By the way, what’s this tantalising second blog that can now be seen under your profile? Is this a new project in the making?

Leon, cor blimey, a clafoutis. When I said we were foody, all I meant was that we don’t eat sliced white bread or think that ketchup on pasta is a satisfactory meal. But I see I’m going to have to get my standards up! You see the dangers of revealing your innermost secrets in a blog? Fatal!

4. leon - February 8, 2006

It was a failed clafoutis, in fairness.

I need to write more on my site as well, I just need a few more ridiculous things to happen in London to get the creative juices* flowing. Still, it’s a fairly ridiculous place so I shouldn’t have to wait long.

*Bile, usually.

5. BiB - February 9, 2006

I think with a clafoutis, the success is in the undertaking. Don’t be so hard on yourself! I’ve burned baked beans in the past.

6. leon - February 9, 2006

I dunno. You buy the cherries with a vague image in your head; an image of you, perhaps, setting a gently steaming dish on a well-scrubbed kitchen table; a dish filled with a billowing cloud of sweet, light batter, a gentle scattering of caramelised sugar, and rich, plump cherries. You offer a slice to your appreciative partner (insert ideal partner here; I imagined an appealingly lanky, doe-eyed girl whose arms were still speckled with paint from working on her latest masterpiece) and they look up at you with wonder and admiration that a man could possibly be so accomplished in the kitchen (as everywhere else).

Of course, what really happens is that you dump a biscuit-like monstrosity, resulting from the bread flour / plain flour error, on a table cluttered with fallout from your housemates, in front of your younger sibling who is visiting, and who whinges that they’re not even hungry because they just got back from the airport and it’s late. Sigh.

I think I’m too aspirational by half. Still, the Russian sounds like an excellent cook.

7. BiB - February 9, 2006

He has his moments. But I’m currently having a torrid love affair with the raspberry. Twice today already I’ve had to have snacks of raspberry jam on toast, and it wasn’t even breakfast-time. Imagine! And then I had to dash back to the fridge afterwards to scoop spoonfuls of raspberry jam straight out of the jar into my innards. Flipping gorgeous.

I fancy your type of ideal girl enormously. I don’t suppose a New Zealand rugby player would look lovingly at me if I plonked a clafoutis down in front of him. But you never know…

8. leon - February 10, 2006

Not so particular about soft fruit myself, but do eat pears (particularly Conference pears) to the degree that my housemates seem to regard it as one of the cornerstones of my personality (if anyone draws attention to it, I generally just say “I like a small firm pear” and bite into one while raising my eyebrows).

9. BiB - February 10, 2006

Matron!


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