Stir-fry Noodles with Tofu.

Tuesday 22nd May 2012

In complete contrast to my last post here is a meat-free, dairy-free, vegan meal packed full of veggies with a creamy ginger & coconut milk sauce. Yum!

Last Monday morning.

“Dad, can we have noodles for dinner?” My son, Zephy, asked.

He had decided, on this Monday morning, at 8.30am, during the walk to school, that he wanted to eat noodles for dinner later that night.

“Not today, because I’ve already got dinner sorted for tonight but I’ll try & sort something out for in the week.” I told him.

For the last four weeks (& the foreseeable future!) I’ve been going through physiotherapy for a persistent adhesive capsulitis. The therapy session starts at exactly the same time that we would all be sitting down for dinner so I’ve been trying to prepare our evening meals at various times during the day so that when we arrive home from football practice or whatever it is we are doing that day, all I have to do is warm it through & serve up before dashing off to rehab. This takes some organisation on my behalf. So as all the prep needs to done beforehand, the one pot meal has become the order of the day. Unfortunately the meal Zephy was requesting needed to be cooked fresh, to order.

Tuesday evening walking back from football practice.

“Hurry up!” I said. “Put your foot down! I’ve got to get back to put dinner on.”

His eyes light up.

“Oh yeah, we’ve got noodles tonight, haven’t we?” He asked slowly losing his smile as he noticed I was grimacing.

“Eh no, not tonight big guy.” I guiltily replied.

“Oh Dad! You said!”

“I don’t have time on Tuesdays sorry. I’ll sort it out for Thursday, ok?” I said trying to placate his disappointment.

“Thursday!” He exclaimed. “That’s ages away. Why can’t you do it tomorrow?”

“Mummy cooks on Wednesdays, doesn’t she? Because I get back late. I’ve got more time on Thursday, I’ll do it then.” I promised him.

The heat was on. I had to come up with the goods or be labelled a nominal father for the rest of my life.

Thursday morning, I spent the hour I have free sourcing the various ingredients I needed. Water chestnuts, tofu, coconut milk, noodles, veg & coriander. I then spent the other hour I have in the afternoon, before ferrying him to various clubs, chopping it all up, making the garlic & ginger paste & portioning the raw ingredients into 3 separate bowls ready to throw together when we arrived home.

After school on Thursday.

“Come on dude! We’ve got to get our freak on tonight ‘cos I’ve gotta cook dinner before I go out.” I informed him striding ahead.

“Have we got noodles?” He asked eagerly doing a half run half walk thing behind me.

“Yup!” I replied grinning.

I threw together two steaming bowls of noodles at lightening speed, announced I was leaving & ran out the door leaving my wife & Zeph in the middle of the bath routine.

When I returned an hour later, I spied two very empty bowls just where I had left them.

“How did the noodles go down big guy?” I asked poking my head around the bedroom door amidst story time.

“Yeah good…thanks.” Came the reply.

Evidently, a way to a boy’s heart is through his stomach.

*Footnote: Just before going to press I asked Zephy what made him want noodles that day.

“I don’t know. It’s just that my brain & my taste buds were telling me that that was what I fancied.” He explained earnestly.

Liver & Bacon with Onion Gravy.

Tuesday 15th May 2012

I’ve had the fortune, or the misfortune as a certain vegeterian may comment , to try some rather unorthodox foods in my life. Some of which have been appreciated more than others. An entire tête de veau took a bit of stamina to get through whereas the barbecued chitterlings, served with chips, were something I’d gladly eat again.

Once I’d ditched my pseudo-vegetarian beliefs back in ’94′ anything animal based was fair game & I worked my way through all of these with gusto. Crispy pig’s ears, barbecued shark, devil’s kidneys, stuffed lamb’s hearts, cold tongue, roasted snails, foie gras, pig’s trotters, baked goat, crocodile, pig’s cheeks, goose barnacles, deep fried lamb’s brain, bone marrow, tripe in milk, ox tail, emu, lark’s tongues, wren’s liver, jaguar’s spleen, chaffinch brains & jaguar’s earlobes… Ok, that was a joke! I’ve never tried ox tail. I nearly had you there though, didn’t I.

When feeding a child, as I do everyday, there is a temptation to trick them into eating certain foods. Whether it be by smothering it in ketchup, mashing it out of all recognition or just plain lying.

So far, we’ve not had to employ any of these tactics to get my son, Zephyrus, to eat but I remember very clearly when I was a child, & we still joke about it now, telling my 5 year old brother that we were eating Chinese food when in fact we were eating Indian food & visa versa. He was obviously trying to regain some control over what he ate & decided that he wasn’t keen on either Indian food or Chinese food. His only problem was, that he couldn’t remember which one he wasn’t supposed to like. We would just inform him each time that it was actually the other one that he didn’t like & with that he seemed satisfied to chow down on whatever was on his plate.

Thankfully, my wife & I have successfully navigated our way thought the minefield of food persnicketiness by, amongst other things, telling Zephy what it is he is eating.

“Is that the guts Dad?” Zephy asked as I was washing the liver.

“No, you can’t eat the guts of an animal. Although you can eat most other parts.” I told him. “It’s liver.”

I watched his face for any signs of a curling nose or a turned up lip but nothing came.

“Can I touch it?” He enquired.

“Yeah,” I said plonking a wet blubberous pieces of liver in the palm of his hand. “What d’ya think?” I asked.

“Yeah, very good.” He said handing it back & running off.

He obviously wasn’t fazed by what he saw because he managed to polish off everything on his plate at dinner.

Toasting Marshmallows.

Tuesday 8th May 2012

Everyone loves a bonfire, right? Then I’m no different. But they’re not what they used to be 30 odd years ago.

Back in the day, we were able to blaze up at anytime of the day or night as long as the neighbour’s washing wasn’t out on the line or, at least, if the wind wasn’t blowing in their direction!

We had a patch of grass at the bottom of Mum & Dad’s garden that was left to overgrow, where we lite our fires. In those days, it was standard practice to dispose of anything in the flames from newspapers & broken down cardboard boxes to empty plastic coke bottles & metal tin cans. Literally the whole rubbish bag was fair game. In fact I have a battle scar on my thigh from an airborne shard of burning plastic that managed to land on my bare legs.

Ah, the 70s.

Cooking on the pyre was difficult, owing to the noxious fumes, but not impossible. There was always space for a few foil wrapped potatoes to be thrown into the embers to be retrieved later, shrivelled & nigh on inedible. Nevertheless, we would smother them in butter & eat the charred remains.

Marshmallow, on the other hand, had to be regulated a bit more intensively & so were taken indoors to be toasted by the open fire on long silver skewers. Whereupon my sisters & I would set about cremating our fluffy, cloudlike delights.

Thankfully, some things in life have changed for the better. Gone are the days of only having one rubbish bin in the corner of the kitchen & the liberal attitude towards pyromania in your own back garden. But through it all, the marshmallow has risen from the flames (Honestly, I couldn’t have made that up if I had tried.) & claimed its rightful place as the toasting aliment of choice.

Zephy came up with this idea as we were walking around the supermarket. We all ate them as an afternoon snack. Well, I say we, but after a couple of slightly over-cooked ones he decided that I should eat any he didn’t like the look of, which meant quite a lot.

The single-flamed candle is the best I could do at such short notice.

Carrot Cake with Lemon Cheese Icing.

Tuesday 1st May 2012

My beautiful wife has just completed her 42nd year on this mortal coil. This is what I baked to celebrate the occasion.

It’s rare that I bake a cake. Apart from the fact that my baking acutraments leave something to be desired, 2 out of 3 of us in residence aren’t that fussed about cake. Having said that, a birthday is not complete without one & so around this time every year I root out my hand-me-down rusty cake tins & set about making birthday cakes.

Zephy used to take in a cake to celebrate at school which was quite a challenge as it had to be enough for 50 kids (2 classes) but they put a stop to that after only but a few years. It has now been whittled down to two. One for celebrating with friends & another with family.

Last year I made a Barcelona FC flag for him & his friends.

“How did the cake go down?” I enquired.

He generally has a picnic in the park after school on a Friday which means I can’t attend as I work late that night.

“Yeah, good.” He replied not making eye contact with me.

“Really!” I said taken aback, knowing that he doesn’t usually lavish such high praise on a baked good.

“Well,” He continued. “I didn’t actually have any myself,”

“Oh.” I said looking down with a little too much disappointment.

“But everybody else did & they loved it.” He consoled touching my hand.

Blessed are the meek. 1:50

He did, however, manage to force down a slither of Mummy’s though.

Hamburger & Chips.

Tuesday 24th April 2012

One of the best things about teaching is when one of my students gets whatever it is I’m trying to teach them. Whether it be teaching a 4 year old how to hold a pair of scissors or a teenager the difference between two verb tenses, it always makes me feel like I’ve done my job properly. To see the look on their faces as the penny drops, never fails to choke me up.

Learning another language is incredibly difficult & so this doesn’t happen as much as I’d like but when it does I revel in the glory.

Being able to hold a tune is a prerequisite for teaching primary. Luckily I’m quite partial to belting out a rendition of ‘Sing a rainbow’ or ‘Incy wincy spider’. Of recent, we’ve been working on an arrangement of the classic ‘Old McDonald’ which, not by coincidence, tied in perfectly with an episode of the kids program ‘Big cook little cook’ I wanted to show my group.

“McDonald!” Sacha exclaimed turning round in her chair & beaming at me.

Sacha is a very bright, funny, challenging & mischievous 5 year old student of mine. She loves singing & does it with gusto. I was so taken aback that she had understood something & been able to connect that to something we had been studying in class, I burst into song urging her to join in.

“Yeah, Ol’ McDonald!” I repeated beginning to sing the familiar nursery rhyme in an effort to control the tears.

“Yeah, I love McDonald’s!” She said still smiling.

That Ronald bloody McDonald has got a lot to answer for!

Sautéed Vegetables with Bacon.

Tuesday 17th April 2012

My beautiful baby boy is growing up.

Zephy pulled open the front door just as Zachy hit the bottom step.

“D’ya wanna come in a play for 5 minutes?” He blurted out.

He has been waiting since 5.30 for him to come home. It’s now 6.40.

“I’m going to get some beans for my Daddy,” He replied a bit taken aback by Zephy’s sudden appearance. “I’ll come back.”

His two best friends in the whole world, Theo & Zachy, live five floors above us. We hear them leave for school most mornings & generally catch them just in time for a quick game of footie on there way home. The 3 of them have lived in each other’s pockets since birth. They are Zephy’s surrogate siblings. They rearly argue but they do tussle for supremacy from time to time.

Theo is the oldest, weighing in at a double figured 10 years old. He’s a typical eldest child making most of the decisions for the collective. He’s a quiet boy in contrast to my son, Zephyrus. Cautious of adults, but in his element when running around with a ball on the concrete concourse in front of our flats. I have a lot of time for Theo, & much to his annoyance, persist with trying to make eye contact & keep his attention. In return, he humours me & quietly grins at my endless stream of ‘Dad jokes’. A far exchange from my point of view.

Zachy is the baby of the group clocking in at nearly 8, & is quite different from his older brother. He has a broad toothless smile that is often encircled by chocolate. Being the youngest, Zachy works hard to gain pole-position. He’s a feisty kids who’s not averse to thumping a fellow football player if he gets unfairly treated. I like kids with character & passion both of which he has in bucket loads.

Zephyrus fits squarely in the middle of the two at 9 years old next month, whereby he is constantly trying to catch up with Theo, while at the same time keeping one step ahead of Zachy. Needless to say, it keeps him on his toes.

Zachy returned 5 mintes later, tin of baked beans in hand, & immediately got down to business; football trading card analysis.

After a while Ben, Zachy’s Dad, called in search of beans & so Zachy headed up for dinner.

“You couldn’t pop down & get me an onion could you Zeph?” I asked realising that I hadn’t been as efficient as I had thought with my shopping list.

“What, downstairs?” He replied.

“Yeah.” I said rummaging around in my bag looking for my purse.

Below our building are two business premises. One is an architects office & the other is a corner shop. It sells a bit of everything & is very handy at times like this. The two Indian guys who work there, are there from 8am until 11pm seven days a week & I am very grateful to them & therefore try to give them as much business as I can, no matter how small.

In the past Zephy has been a bit scared to go down the one flight of stairs, out the front door & out of my sight. Telling me; “I’m not old enough to go out on my own yet Dad.” but today he excepts his mission, presumable spurred on by Zachy’s bravery or maybe just because he didn’t want to be out done by him. I used to run similar inane errands for my Mum when I was a kid. On reflection, I was probably a bit older but would always jump at the chance to assert my independence. There was also the chance to get myself a 10p mix-up with the change which was a good incentive.

I watched Zeph turn the corner of the front door & slip out of sight before going back inside to give him some room to grow.

Two minutes later he returned tumbling the onion across the wooden work top.

“Can I keep the change?” He asked holding onto the change from a €10 note.

Cheeky bugger!

Quiche Lorraine.

Tuesday 10th April 2012

‘There are moments you remember all your life
There are moments you wait for and dream of all your life
This is one of those moments,’
Barbra Streisand -This is one of those moments.

“What ya doing?” My son, Zephyrus asked.

He has been lolling around in the corridor for the past 30 minutes.

“Making dinner. Can you put 3 ounces of that in there for me?” I asked pointing to the butter.

To my total surprise, he picked up the butter & began spooning it into the mixing bowl. I probably ask him to help me a dozen times a day, to which the usual reply would be;

“I’m just jibbing!”

For some reason the task at hand today, took his fancy & so jibbing was put on the back burner.

“How’d you get it off the spoon?” He asked trying to flick what was left on the spoon into the metal mixing bowl, but instead catapulting shards all around the kitchen.

“Use your finger,” I encouraged taking his finger to scoop off the remaining butter. “Have you washed your hands?” I asked noticing the grime that had been worked into the palm of his hand.

“Oops!” He replied putting a buttered finger to his lips.

“Go & wash your hands & then come back & finish this.” I called after him dashing for the bathroom.

This is the point where, in the past, I lose him to yet more jibbing. Apart from the fact that he has to walk past his jibbing ground to get to the bathroom, washing his hands his not a chore that he relishes & therefore could waylay his return. In his defence, most boys of his age have an eversion to water. But 30 seconds later there he was.

“What shall I do now?” He asked.

For the next 30 minutes we worked together to create our evening meal. I moved swiftly behind him setting up the next step for him to complete.

“Break the eggs in that bowl & then add them to the big bowl. That way if you get any shell you can fish it out easier…Mash the cheese & mix it in with the egg…a bit of salt…& pepper…wipe that round with butter…put flour on there,” I directed.

He moved effortlessly around my tiny kitchen completing each instruction like a pro until he had placed the last slice of tomato on top of the flan.

“Can I watch tele now?” He immediately asked.

“Look at that!” I enthused. “You made that!”

“Yeah I know. Can I watch tele?”

“Well done Zephy, that’s excellent! Yes you can watch tele.” I said trying to catch him off guard so I could plant a smacker on his cheek.

It defiantly was one of those moments.