A Chef is Born

Some years ago, I noted a memory of my wife developing a mild obsession with cooking since we moved to Johannesburg in 2010.  A couple of years later; the mild obsession nurtured, and now it is in full bloom.  In July of this year, she could hold it no more and enrolled for a chef’s course.  Being the full-blown lunatic that is my mate, she could not interest herself in the odd cooking class, NO, she will be a qualified chef.  I suppose we only share a trophy, I am not often complemented on my sanity either.

I cannot say that I did not see the signs, there were many signs.  The fact that we own more cooking books than days left over to prepare each recipe presented is a dead give-away and first sign.  Then, she is as thin as a twig, or at least when I wrote this.  I am back after dressing that wound, hope the lump will not be too big, tomorrow is a work day after all; back to the story.  She is as thin as a twig, and we apparently love to watch the cooking shows, all of them, the second sign.  Then came the big one.

It is just over two years since she gathered all the family recipes form all over the globe.  The plan was to soil the pages of an otherwise perfect book with the knowledge that gained countless pounds, engulfing our gene pool over many decades.  The enthusiasm of this endeavour was swiftly replaced with a file full of notes gathering dust.  Enter the engineer.

I recently moved to a new position recently, and quite impressive neglect on the part of business set up - operational procedures did not exist, and there were minimal documented philosophies guiding my newfound team.  I got in the habit of writing stuff, and since there are only so many instructions to give in any professional position, I offered to assist her now that backlog on my end is depleted.  We are writing a cookbook.  I however have no interested in guiding the rest of humanity down the slippery slope of what others love.  Our focus is now on the meals she makes.  I am sure, the family will understand, or I do not care, whatever blows your skirt up.

The first thing of a book is to think of a concept and the second, a striking title.  The concept I touched on, the title will have to wait; there is no consensus on any of the proposals I made thus far; despite the amount of intellectual effort I have presented.

The thing about writing is, there is so much information out there.  I think we are beyond the point of writing for others, we should write for ourselves.  If another appreciate the effort, or can relate to it, great.  It might just get them to note their own ideas too and that for another to discover.

Being a super-efficient engineer, I rapidly drew up a simple format for recipes to go in to.  You have ingredients, a method and a photo; marvellous.  After the second recipe, I realized that is boring beyond comprehension.  We needed some stories to bind this endless listing of how and what into something enjoyable.  My wife gave me the freedom of the pen here and I love it.  She normally gives me some pointers, why she likes it, where it comes from, and so on.  Very important information for me to ignore – who screws up a good story with facts.  Soon, whoever will discover the wisdom I could dream up.

Being a relentless upcoming Michelin Star carrier, little miss are not going to publish anything she did not test.  Food, in my family at least, does not go to the bin.  We cook, and we eat, and if I need to see another bagel after this weekend, I’ll go jump off a cliff.  I put up a brave face with the 6^th batch - this weekend things did not go to plan and bagels were the recovery route.

She got the idea that oxtail can be made as a roast in the oven from an American book.  I do not know what soft massaged cows they herd in the US, Africa is a tough country with flies all over.  A cows’ tail has two purposes, the first and most obvious it to cover the poop fountain and the second is to waive away flies.  After several year of swaying relentlessly, the cow’s tail is the toughest portion of the entire animal.  There is not a snowball’s hope in hell that you get a tender oxtail in an oven after 2 hours, not African cows.  Lesson learnt, meltdown completed and bagels made, we had a re-run on Sunday.  The oxtail, as on many previous occasions went into the pressure cooker for 3 hours; that did the trick.  She popped it into the oven for 45 minutes afterwards, just to make sure and it was delicious.

I am not one to complain about the adventure, it is Monday evening, and I am awaiting the Osso Buco to be finished up, eat like a king every day.  I have to run like hell in order to maintain a reasonable shadow; I gave up on a small one, but as stated before, I do not complain.

Spices - tools does not make you a chef, spices do.  That is my observation.  She was never scared of adding a bit of taste to meals, but nowadays, there is no fear.  They all come out and fortunately, there are things that should be presented together, otherwise we would just have all of them on lamb, beef, ice cream, and carrots too.  She loves the selection and preparation of the spices most, I think.  It appears that she keeps an accurate inventory of the bottles and jars, and have to ensure something goes empty.  Tomorrow she is off to the spice shops, replace what needs too, and find some new tastes to add to her repertoire.

The meals that make the book are very well tested, and they work.  An experiment like this is interesting if you venture close to home.  I suppose one would think that living in Africa where meats are plentiful; we would like the more sophisticated cuts.  However, that is not the tastiest meats you could have.  Over the years, we honed in on the tougher bits that require a bit more effort, like shin, neck, tail, and so on; the effort is always worth it.  Do not get me wrong, I love the odd steak every third day, but I do not live for that.  I suppose, it is clearer now why spices also gets more important, you just have more options with these than with the other cuts.

Here at the southern tip of Africa, we also have good wine.  They go well, very well, with the stews, braises and curries we have.  To be honest, they go pretty well without them too as many a casualty from an evening spent at our home could testify.

As is written in the Good Book, let’s eat, drink and be happy, tomorrow is another day.  Let me risk some truth here at the end, having a chef in training share your bed, is not the worst fate you could be dealt.  It is actually a splendid concept.  The tastes are getting better and more sophisticated as time goes on; simple dinner is more an experience now.

The price I have to pay!

Monday, 12 November 2018

Soweto Half Marathon; An Early Morning Run

The morning started early, very early.  Alarm set for 03:50, and that for a race only 20 min drive from my home.  We try to look enthusiastic at that hour, not an easy feat.  O yeah, we, I conned my little wife into joining me on these adventures about a year ago.  She still refuses the 21 kilometres and progressed up to 10 kilometres now.  That was how this would play out today, I do the half marathon and she, the 10 kilometre.  The dog does not share our optimism, she just do not understand why we have to start moving with lights on and all, at this ungodly hour.  Fortunately, she stays home.

The race was the Old Mutual Soweto Marathon and the venue FNB Stadium.  My start time was 06:30, and my wife’s start was at 07:00.  After what felt like forever, we are in the car and on the way to the stadium.  As we leave the house, the checking start, do you have your race number, do you have your wallet, do you have your running shirt with the licence number.  The answer is always yes, however, for effect, I stop the car, go look in back and report in the affirmative.  These little rituals keep the love growing.

Finding a parking spot is not a problem if you go early enough.  It does come with a bit of cunning and the running community is efficient in their selective following of traffic rules.  I mean, one lane in each direction is not really important if everyone needs to go to the same specific point.  Also, traffic lights just allow others to get the good spots, so they get ignored too when the starting point come into view.

All this done, we are at the race venue, fully equipped, thanks to the prior examination I passed with flying colours.  Physical preparation is very important, however, that happens over weeks and months prior.  On race day, the expectation at least is, you are strong and fit for whatever you are attempting.

This morning was a particularly boring pre-event with not much to do.  Courtesy of the organisers who advised that roads leading to the event will be shut off early, and they had half the world enrol for the event.  That explains the early rise for a local race with a fairly late start.  We were seeded for this event and had to find the seeding pens to get admitted in good time.

The morning was cool, but sunny and with a moderate wind.  Final preparations completed, we made our way to the seeding pens.  Then the big wait, like a lamb waiting his turn to be slaughtered.  It is about the same, at that stage of the morning I was blissfully unaware of the level of torture awaiting me.  Normally these big city races are nice and flat; this allows elite athletes to chase excellent times and world records.  Now that I have the benefit of hindsight, I did not think this through.  Johannesburg is about 1750 metres above sea level, and records are always set at or near sea level.  Still thinking my preparation was flawless to set an excellent time, well for me; I waited it out.  By this time, my wife went in search for her own herding pen.

Eventually the marathon race was set off, and the half marathon herd, about 8000 strong, moved to the start position.  The gun fires, and we are off.  Running is very simple, we all learnt how to do it very early in our lives.  The one foot goes in front of the other and repeat.  If you do this at a more aggressively pace than your previous attempt, the time is faster; that is the science behind it, there is nothing else.  This leaves me loads of time to think of all sorts of anything whilst my body endures the torture.  You are only occasionally required to pay attention, these are for picking up water at the water points, when route split off, or when there are a load of slow runners blocking your way.  All of this result in running being a very relaxing event for me.

Running events of this scale are very well organised.  Between water points there are 3 kilometres, enough distance to start feeling very sorry for yourself and doubt the next water point will still have something for you.  Apart from that, following the instructions of the marshals and dodging the odd idiot in a car ignoring the marshals, are good enough.  Expecting limited interference from natural disaster and meteor strikes, I aimed to be home and dry in about 105 to 110 minutes.

I made an interesting observation in the past 14 months since I started running; the organisers are extremely sadistic people.  They will find some sort of hill in the distance, skilfully guide the runners there, and then make them run up and down the same hill all day long for their entertainment.  The downhill bits are not that bad, I still carry some extra weight, which is extremely efficient as a gravity assist on those parts.  It is the uphill bits where the gravity pack has to be carried along, that kills me.  The organisers for this race did not disappoint. 

The first one and a half kilometres were gentle uphill, good for a start, always good to get that bit over.  Thereafter, we took a sharp turn to the left, the road sign said Diepkloof.  I ran the Diepkloof half marathon a fortnight earlier, and that was an up and down affair of note; this memory raised my level of concern a bit.  It was the next about 10 kilometres which raised concern to a state of panic.  We were going downhill big-time.  I am intelligent enough to know where I parked my car; we had to get back there, so there had to be an uphill in the future.  When it started, we had a 9 kilometre climb.  That gravity pack I described earlier, was fully in play, and this was torture.  With 3 kilometres to go, I found myself looking for that meteor strike that would stop this pain. 

It did not happen, and I finished the race in just over 108 minutes.  I got myself a nice medal for my effort and was re-united with my wife, who was sporting her own medal and clocking a time of 61 minutes for the day.  We shared our stories of the race, the things we thought of whilst running and the things and people we saw on the way.

Why do I do this?  Well, doing no exercise is a sure way of growing ever slower and fatter by the day.  That experiment has been performed by myself in past years, and the outcome is extremely repeatable.  Running, for me, is one of the most efficient methods of exercise, it keeps me healthy and work away stress.  All those things the doctor tells us to do to live longer.  Apart from this, it is very relaxing to get out of bed every morning and go for a quick 7 to 8 kilometre run, it just starts the day right.

The races; I attempt a half marathon at least once a month when in good health, I find it a good test of strength.  For some other weekends a 10 kilometre race is a good training opportunity.  The event organisation assist that I can push a bit more than the morning runs.  There are also the people, the aged advanced are most inspirational to me.  Today there was a guy, 78 years of age, gunning for the same time as me.  I would love to be that guy, at that age.

I also have all that time to think in a relaxed environment, and I collect a medal; Mutley would be proud.

Sunday, 4 November 2018

Do these pants make my ass look big?

The trap was set  unintentionally with a relatively innocent question from the little wife as I got out of bed, "Do these pants make my ass look big?" Sharp fellow that I am, I realized that this one is a death trap, it has to be avoided. But how? She already decided that something was the matter with the picture, that left me with no space to maneuver.

If I uttered a confident "No", she would ask, "What is it then that makes me look fat?" I saw no way off that slippery slope. The response was taking too much time already, I could see it in her face. A simple question demanded a simple answer.

Should I turn comedian with, "Not your pants Hun, it's your ass, that makes your ass look huge!" Most definitely not; that would turn out expensive, very expensive.

I considered, "What about Yes, simple yes?" She needed a response by then, I got the evil eye. The return would be, "So, am I suddenly turning into old fatso?" That was another dead end to avoid. Very evil eye, and I stuttered, "A, ah". My brain seemed to be on vacation for a moment, "Where is that sharp fellow you thought you were at the start of this adventure now?" popped into my scull.

Should I have said something clever like, "I do not know". "Right genius", I thought, the pitch would be back to, "If not the pants, what then?" I was going in circles when I needed an answer. She was truly amused by my silence by then and stopped all other activities to observe me and said, "What now, did you swallow the old flaming tongue completely? That's hazardous, a person can die from that."

The turning gears in my head reminded me of a friend who once reverted to a stock answer in a similar situation, "You have a mirror check for yourself". He was proud of the week of quiet as he spent time in the dog box for that brilliance, "Good old me time", he called it. "Learn from other's stupidity, not imitate it, that's the clever thing to do", another frantic thought. All confidence was gone by then and I felt stupid; stupid and trapped.

Then my mind cleared,  "If you are in a real tight spot, maybe the truth is not so bad", was the final thought before I could string some words together. With an amazingly dry throat, I told her in a shivering voice, not sounding like me at all, "That is an impossible question with no outcome for me, I can have no result there". I shared my train of thought with her, spilled my guts and bore my soul. She was fine with the explanation and understood the sudden illness I contracted, I still paid for it though. Got a knock on the head for my effort and honesty.

She is not huge at all, if you wondered, and I told her as much too!

25 August 2013

Earth Population - Room for Some More !!

Dan Brown's latest novel "Inferno" made me realize that reading can be very hazardous. Overpopulation is stated as a big problem, and a quick internet search confirmed that Brown's fictional characters are not alone in their grave concern about reaching the supermarket, just to find empty shelves. The cause of this disaster would be that one of the other 7.2 billion Earth dwellers took the last items. It seems like popular theory also want us to believe that one billion additional people will join us every 12-15 years or so to burden the planet's resources. It will increase much faster if we do not find a way to curb the relentless fornication. I decided to investigate these claims.

A short history lesson in population tells how humans called a huge party in the year 1800 when there were 1 billion people alive. It must be accurate because back in the day, invitations were mailed to proper mailboxes, and 1 billion stamps were printed for the occasion. Fortunately the press was invented, so the invitation did not need to be hand copied. If it is considered that it took Adam's descendants a considerable time to multiply their number since creation, it is a shock to find that by 1927 another party had to be held as 2 billion people were alive on a sunny Saturday morning. It took only 127 years to achieve the same population growth which took eons before this short historic span. Things then started to gather speed and 33 years later, in 1960, there were 3 billion despite the efforts of mass murder in World War 2 by various players. The Soviets and the Americans realized the soon to be experienced real estate problem and gunned for the moon. This was so expensive that no party could be afforded. In retaliation the earth population got angry and multiplied like there was no tomorrow. 14 years later, in 1974, there were 4 billion, and the world leaders gave up trying to control the growth. At steady pace we reached 5 billion in 1987, 6 billion in 1999, and finally 7 billion in 2011.

For some reason, the world authorities on the subject, projects a world population of 8 billion will be reached by 2025 only. I do not think so. As I am writing this, we are licking on 7.2 billion, according to their clock. We are not yet 2 years down the line from 31 October 2011 - the day that marked when we supposedly reached the 7 billion level. In my book, that means we are even more effective in multiplying our number than the previous 3 decades, and should reach the mark of 8 billion by 2021. This in a time where a popular belief is "the world can sustain 1.5  billion people at American standards of living and consumption" (http://www.worldpopulationbalance.org). Sure, the Yanks do like to have everything, but I think that type of statement only serves them to feel proud of how much they consume against the rest of us, and should not be seen a challenge to upscale your own consumption.

All this statistics are quite boring, so let's ask the important question: "Why do we still find stuff on the shelves of supermarkets?", and "How many people can Earth support?" For our 8 billion people party, date will be advised, we need a venue! Fortunately, with the development of the internet, invitations are much easier to handle nowadays. If we allocate 2 square meters per person (that is a bit smaller than a double bed) in the tent so that they can mingle and not be too crowded, we'll need a tent covering 16,000 square kilometers. A nice rectangular tent 160 x 100 kilometers with the bar at the center, and food close to the north exit, thank you! Since the Chinese are the largest population on Earth, they should host the event - travel costs are thus dramatically reduced . Conveniently most things are made there as well, so orders are placed with Wuyangshi Canvass Corporation for our tent.

Let us have a look at living arrangements for our 8 billion people. Before we stampede over to NASA and jettison some unfortunate souls to Mars, let us analyse the cramp living quarters on planet Earth. Earth is big, very big, but people cannot live everywhere. Fiction wants us to go to the the sea, but let's step away from that for a moment, and accept the oceans are not an option. Some mountains are very high, and remote desert living is also kind of shitty, and let's consider Antarctica nice living for penguins only. As an assumption we could consider half the land mass to be conservatively habitual. That leaves the human race with only 67,470,000 square kilometers (http://en.wikipedia.org). If our 8 billion people were requested to live in houses as a perfect pair on average, and each household have a plot of 1000 square meters, how much land do we need to sacrifice? Amazingly, this arrangement will rid the population of just under 6% of our habitual 67,470,000 square kilometers. Remember, we do not have a single block of flats yet to optimize our living arrangement! The rest we can use to get food and other fun activities. NASA, the efforts to dispatch the first crew for project "Overpopulate Mars", is a bit premature.

Water is the other big killer always pushed our way. The Zambezi river is a nice big one, the fourth longest in the Africa, and the average flow-rate of dumping water into the Indian ocean is about 2,45 million liters per second (http://en.wikipedia.org). If we forget about all the water already used through the dam structure, estimated to be half, and build a big pipe just before the water go to sea and allocate this for human consumption, there will be a bit more that 26 liters for each of our 8 billion family members, every day. This might sound a bit low, but is more than enough if we recycle, for human consumption. All the other rivers can be used to ensure the oceans do not run dry.

What is the problem then? Why are we then stated to be overpopulating the world? Is it not as simple as, "we do not like each other very much?". We find reasons to demonstrate this all the time. There are disagreements and wars about religion, race, economy, petty politics, being scared, retaliation, and various other apparent causes. We are quite efficient in finding motivation for a fight. There seem to be a need to demonstrate superiority over others; be the boss, and that is the real problem. We like to be a bit greedy and bossy! So we advocate to each other, "we are too many on the planet!". With less people around, there will be more wealth for the remaining few, and less people to order around, thus in some way satisfying to the beings we became.

If we could work together as a world population to the greater good of mankind, then we have more than enough space to keep on having steady population growth and loads to share for many decades more. I am sure with combined effort, all resources will be found to be in adequate abundance. At some stage we will be getting overcrowded and have to start moving into apartment blocks when we reach 15 billion or so, but that is still a far way into the future. So Mr. Brown, there is no need for your characters to render the population infertile yet. Getting them to pull in the same direction is more important for the merry growth of our numbers on this good Earth.

18 August 2013