Pain, pleasure

Sunday got off to an unpromising start when I grumpily dragged myself out into foggy, soggy, barely breaking morning for a training ride.

As much as I enjoy cycling, I’ve started to resent spending hours every Sunday morning sweating my way up as many big hills as I can find. My neglected husband and kids agree. But my second and final event looms large so I needed to get in one last ride.

Action Woman in the

72 km class at the
Kona Colville Connection.
12 March 2011.

Despite suffering little physical pain, I struggled mentally the whole way and it took all of my willpower to resist the urge to turn around, head home and curl up with a coffee and the crossword.

Sadly, my heroic efforts featured little in the form of culinary excitement: just a carbo-shot and a sand fly. For the record, I spat, rather than swallowed.

My ride took me out past the Kumeu Showgrounds, the venue for a return on four wheels to the pleasure part of the equation – The Kumeu Country Market.

What a great market it turned out to be. There was a good range of artisan food producers, cooked food vendors and some – but not too many – non food stalls.

Having just biked 62 km gave me license to scoff anything and everything - which of course I would have anyway – starting with Hungarian fried bread, rubbed with garlic and served piping hot with a sprinkling of sea salt. Mmmmmmm.

It was on to Mr and Mrs Serbian Salamis to hoover up free samples and buy some five-star delicious air-dried beef and two spicy pork salamis (a true compliment given that I don’t like pork).

The kids were having their own foodie fun with their $10 allowances, predictably heading straight to the sweet and gut-rot vendors for as many multi-coloured, sugar coated, artificially sweetened horrors as they could guzzle before I noticed.

Meanwhile I continued on my epicurean quest, hovering up an Argentinian beef empanada (okay, meaty but a bit bland) and an Alfajor, which is made of two layers of corn flour cookies stuck together with dulce de leche and sprinkled with grated coconut (a bit dry and crumbly for my taste).

The handmade ricotta.  I took the
vendor's advice and have
been eating it for brekky atop
honey on toast.  Delish!

Full to bursting, I gallantly staggered on to buy some handmade ricotta, cinnamon and sugar coated almonds, cheese (Clevedon buffalo mozzarella and a Nelson grown sheep milk pecorino), some smoked eel, a loaf of ciabatta bread, then a glass of carrot juice to sustain me for the trip home. Burp.

By some miracle we all managed to develop an appetite by dinner time and a pot of home grown, homemade pumpkin soup was complemented by the market's smoked eel smeared on ciabatta, with a squeeze of lime juice.

The evening’s highlight was the Italian buffalo mozzarella classic, Insalata Caprese. Don’t tell anyone, but I like to enhance mine with...I can hear the purists gasping...a wee drizzle of high quality balsamic vinegar. Naughty!  But so, so very nice.

Here's a bit of gratuitous food porn to show what you missed.

As an aside, when you watch a movie or flick through the food or fashion pages in a magazine, have you ever wondered what's lurking off camera? And now for an appetite killer if ever there was one:

Friday-itis philosophy

All day I've been fighting an internal battle - succumb to my creative urges, or earn a living. The living bit got a half-hearted look-in for a few hours but it's now 15:45 on Friday, wine o'clock looms and I've completely exhausted the smidgen of work ethic willpower I'd managed to muster.


Readers of my previous blog will be hugely relieved (weak pun intended) to know that I avoided the effects of a Wood Apple Aftermath. Phew! I'm now going to shift the focus northwards to a more cerebral contemplation.


Many of you will be familiar with my Fire Eaters club. People come along for all sorts of reasons. Some, like me, have partners who don't like spicy food, while others luxuriate in having all of the decisions made for them. Others simply enjoy the company. But I suspect many people's motivations actually lie deeper still.


One of my fellow Fire Eaters put his finger on it recently when he admitted to feeling intimidated by some ethnic restaurants - especially those that only make a cursory (or non-existent) nod to the English language and / or aren't patronised by Kiwis. I know exactly what he means.


Yet this uncomfortable experience provides a really interesting insight into what life must be like for many new immigrants.


I admit to sometimes feeling annoyed and keeping my distance when I perceive a restaurant to make no effort to include the local yokels. A couple of recent experiences have, however, reminded me of the value of keeping an open mind, feeling the fear and crossing the threshold anyway.


After all, what's the worst that could happen? Well, I can think of a few things actually. The potential for inadvertently ordering Dog Intestine Surprise, or encountering a rancid restroom quickly spring to mind. Let's not even think about the left hand thing.


For months I'd unsuccessfully sought out a Sichuan restaurant that wasn't beset by a D food rating and / or damning restaurant reviews. Just before Christmas I lunched with some friends, one of whom is Chinese. We decided to head for the Asian restaurant strip in the Balmoral Shops and get inspired from there.


The first place we happened upon was a restaurant I'd noticed on several occasions and been intimidated by. There is zero English on the signage; ditto on the menu written on an internal wall.


I'd never been inside.


"Look, there's a Sichuan place!" enthused my Chinese friend, so we all trooped in. The food was delicious: spicy hot, tasty and cheaper than chips.


It transpired they had English language menus hidden down the back. Not that anyone could tell me me what "Speculation Over Flour" was. Shame, because I would have ordered it had it passed the pork offal / any-kind-of-brain screen test.


Emboldened, I've returned on several occasions - sometimes without even so much as the kids for protection. I even ended up holding my most recent Fire Eaters there. I called by there at lunch today for a $5 bowl of Dan Dan Noodles (absolutely delicious, I'll regale you with the details another time).


As I leave I usually see the (non English speaking) chef taking a quick break at a side door. We never exchange words, but he always gives me a smile of recognition and I give him a thumbs up.


Now what's so scary about that?

Uh-oh, where's the loo paper?

I really do wonder about myself sometimes. Why is it that I'm drawn to weird stuff?

At the Sri Lankan place (refer to the previous blog) my eyes skipped straight past more conventional offerings such as roti, dosa and appa. I didn't even notice the biriyani or samosa. No siree. There was a brief pause to smirk at Curry Buns before my attention zeroed in on Lump Rice.

Lump Rice?! Who'd want to eat something with a name like that? Well, me, of course (and millions of pregnant Sri Lankans).

So you're hardly going to be surprised to read about what I bought at the adjoining Indian supermarket before we headed to lunch. A tin of this stuff:

Why?

A good question; one that I've asked myself. I think it was the fruit's fungal appearance - there's something appealingly puffbally/truffly about it. Although why I'd be drawn to a fruit that looks like a fungus is anyone's guess. But primal instinct took over and, before I knew it, I was the perplexed owner of a can of wood apple cream. What ever the hell that was.

Over lunch, my friends Lindsay and Freeman, and I contemplated the mysteries of my purchase. And that's when I noticed the fruit was a product of Sri Lanka. I headed back to the Sri Lankan outlet, where the friendly lump rice man was more than happy to tell us all about wood apples. He said to serve it topped with coconut cream and some toddy sugar (like palm sugar).

So this evening I experimented on the family and served them wood apple surprise for pudding. Well, it wasn't really a surprise because I kindly told them about it beforehand and sampled it first to make sure it wasn't disgusting.

I, however, got a bit of a surprise when I opened the can because I thought I was going to see a preserved version of the fungusy fruits depicted on the label. Instead I was greeted with a dark brown poohy looking sludge that smelled vaguely vomity (in the same way a ripe paw paw can).

Oh, yum.

I tasted a bit and it was okay - very soupy, very sweet, ever so slightly gritty, and vaguely medicinal. Topped with coconut cream and grated palm sugar it was okay - certainly edible - but too sweet for my taste.

The kids were happy to try some (I made sure they only saw it after I smothered it in coconut cream). Kieran, the adventurous eater, thought it was okay: "I can't decide whether I really love it, or don't like it". To my surprise, fussy Rory said he was happy to try it, pronouncing it "okay". But I don't think he'll be back for seconds.

Hubby Don, a plain fooder if ever there was one, pretended he didn't hear my offer of an exotic Sri Lankan pudding and his bowl is still sitting unused on the bench.

Interested to know more about wood apples, I headed for Google. Apparently it's native to India, but also grows profusely in Sri Lanka, Vietnam and Cambodia. It's also know as elephant apple or monkey fruit.

It is high in vitamin A, vitamin B and has small amounts of vitamin C. The taste is astringent but sweet, and the pulp and juice are often mixed with other sweeteners to make juices.

And here's the bit that has me slightly worried: when unripe, the fruit contains high levels of tannins, which are useful for treating indigestion and avoiding constipation. Let's hope life later this evening does not imitate the tin's contents. Wish me luck!

Yoo hoo...I'm back!

I'm back!

Have you missed me over the past six months? I didn't think I missed blogging but I've had a few interesting food experiences this week that I feel compelled to share with the world. So here I am again in all my gustatory glory.

I'm always on the look out for interesting food experiences and enjoy discussing food with people I meet - particularly immigrants. Immigrants love talking about their culinary culture and often seem surprised and delighted that a Kiwi gives a damn.

Late last year I had to travel on business and ended up using the services of a Fijian Indian taxi driver for the week I was coming and going. During one of our numerous trips to / from the airport he told me about a small food hall down a driveway in Stoddard Rd (Mt Roskill), which has an outlet serving Fijian Indian food. According to him, the food is very authentic - particularly "Fish in Lolo". Not long afterwards I got talking to one of my client's (Fijian Indian) employees who told me Fijian Indian food is more subtle and refined than Indian Indian food. Like the taxi driver, she also extolled the food hall's virtues and sung the praises of their Fish in Lolo.

Over the past few months I've eaten there several times. The food hall is indeed small - only three outlets (Fijian Indian, Sri Lankan and a Malalysian place hidden round the back by the butcher). The Malaysian place wasn't any good - the most gobsmackingly bland laksa and beef rendang I've ever eaten.

I've had food from the Fijian Indian place several times, but the Fish in Lolo was never "on" when I called in. The other things I've tried are, as my client's employee said, like Indian Indian food only less chilli spiced and more subtle. Nice enough but - to be honest - I think I prefer the grunty king hit of an Indian Indian Indian curry. But then again, subtlety was never one of my strong points.

This week I broke new ground and headed for the Sri Lankan place, zeroing in on the unprepossessingly named "lump rice".

And what a charming experience it was. The outlet's owner is an engaging man who is clearly passionate about Sri Lankan cuisine. Apparently lump rice is a favourite comfort food for preganant Sri Lankans. They wrap it in banana leaves and heat it over the embers of a fire, whereupon the banana leaf aroma infuses the food. Fortunately non expectant Kiwis are allowed to eat it too.

The lump rice arrived invitingly wrapped inside a fresh banana leaf. Inside was a selection of rice, lamb curry, aubergine curry, coconut sambal and a boiled egg. And it was delicious; delicately spiced (in every sense) and tasty. I totally get its comfort-giving appeal.

My friends and I also hit the Fish in Lolo jackpot...at last. But unfortunately it wasn't a golden experience. Fish in Lolo is a large lump of battered (?) fried fish in a thin, mild coconut curry. That in itself was all okay, but what wasn't so great was the curry's dominating stock cube flavour. Not good. And I could taste it for hours afterwards.

You can find the food hall, and a great Indian supermarket at Moshims, 64 Stoddard Rd, Mt Roskill (click on the map to enlarge the view):