The Magic of Numbers

 

Do you believe in the magical power of numbers? If you do you will understand why I am afraid of this year. Number nine is not a favorite.

 

But then I was crossing the room where the TV intermittently works when I heard one of the millions visionaries of this world telling that 2009 is going to be an exceptional year for people born in my month.

 

I started to dance like an apache. Finally 9 and I could be smoking the peace pipe. Maybe the visionary saw my awkward dance (and didn’t liked it) because he looked straight from the square glass of the TV into my eyes and said:

 

“It’s going to be really exceptional for people born before the 11th…”

 

What a cold bath! Sometimes there’s a world apart between exceptionally good and just good. That’s how it looks like from the start. Do you think my disappointment lasted? Nope. If 2009 cannot offer exceptionality I’ll have to dig some by and for myself.

Welcome, You

 

As a reflex of the rainy quietness characterizing our last Sunday of year 2008 we had to forget our plans of a nice sunny day at the club and opt for the tempting buffet put together by a local hotel.

 

Unfortunately, the food at this restaurant is only good during two or three periods of the year. Maybe they coincide with the regular visit of chefs who work with the resident staff to improve the normal standards.

 

The streets were very calm, seemingly sleeping after the 24th commotion and before the neighbouring turn of the year. There’s rubbish pilling everywhere. During our route to and from the restaurant the three of us discussed what the cause of such carelessness might be. Is it because all the town-council went on holidays in the worst period of the year? Is it because the town president and wife were hit by a car while walking on a street of this town?

 

One thing stands clearly after last Sunday: 2008 said goodbye with rain and rubbish. Welcome, 2009.

Playful Night

 

I was glad I had prepared dessert in advance since the 24th was half spent on dirty roads, as you may guess from my previous post.

 

Tuesday I put together what we call rabanadas or fatias douradas (kind of sweet French toasts), my tropical rice puddings, a nutty cake, a summery dessert and a tray with dried fruits. We also had the traditional Bolo Rei, a Portuguese version of the fruitcake, but this one was baked somewhere else. Yea, it was a first easy successful effort.

 

On the 24th, before leaving for a quest, a dry storm and a feverish city in festive preparations, I left Tieta with a note telling all I needed ready so that I could finish our dinner and supper trouble free once I was back. Organization paid off. Usually pays. In busy days, my kitchen philosophy is: divided by two even the hardest task seems easy.

 

Between us we wrapped: 1) A cream soup (90% Tieta’s and 10% Seabell’s). 2) The main Portuguese dish of bacalhau or cod fish (75% Tieta’s and 25% Seabell’s). 3) Chickpeas salad (50% Tieta’s and 50% Seabell’s). 4) Bacalhau with cream (10% Albert’s and 90% Seabell’s). 5) Roasted lamb with pomegranate sauce (15% Tieta’s and 85% Seabell’s). 6) Rice with almonds, sultanas, etcetera (85% Tieta’s and 15% Seabell’s).

 

When I prepare so much food it’s quite strange to be able to say: this time everything was yummy. This only happens to me in very special circumstances, good for everybody except for me. The normal is to have always something with excess of salt (Paul hates it) or any other motive to complain. Not this once.

 

Our tradition is bacalhau and a roast. For quite sometime we had only turkey, but then it became boring. So now we intercalate with lamb. TD, Andy and JP love bacalhau with cream. If it was only for the three of them I wouldn’t have to cook anything else. Half of the tray was gone that same night. The first thing I had to do the next morning (11:30) was reheating it for Andy and friend Gito. Case closed.

 

Another successful aspect of this season was playfulness. We have friends and neighbours who systematically offer bottles of good whiskey or Porto. They are highly appreciated and don’t stay with us for long. That’s why I decided, a couple of years ago, that those bottles should belong to the one who gives the most unexpected and acclaimed gift. This year Paul got the bottles with a collectors guitar picked for TD. The second best gift was a set of toy-like (but operational ones) walkie-talkies, one of Andy’s gifts from Paul and I. This one deserved a second place because it turned our night into laughs. It was more or less like this:

 

Andy: “Roger. I can clearly hear you. Over. Cambio.”

 

TD: “* * *, I am in the kitchen with this * * * off…”

 

Later:

 

Andy: “Roger. Where are you now? Over. Cambio.”

 

TD: “Under the rain, you * * *. Half way to the school. Just tell me if you understand me. Cambio.”

 

Yes we had a rainy night. And though I can’t say it was a silent night, I guarantee you it was a playful one.

 

                                                                                                                         This one is for JP.

Learning to Give Back

 

When my father wanted to share a bit of his wealth he used to select old people. Usually he paid a festive meal for an entire institution and bought clothes or blankets.

 

Here people die so young that I am not sure if asylums exist. It’s understandable why I picked children to share with. They are so much easier to love that I even feel guilty for selecting them. They end up giving you much more than you could eventually offer.

 

We heard of a local institution devoted to street kids just to discover, in the end of two painful searching days, hot like a walk inside a volcano, something that all international donors must be well aware of: many existing social establishments are mere frauds. I really would like to have the patience to describe you what our small party went through and how disappointed we all felt. Discovering the existence of people in this world trying to make a living out of the misery, abandon and poverty of others, in this particular time of the year, was the only sad note we had.

 

Andy refused to go back home with all the food and more than 100 presents I had so carefully wrapped. That’s when I remembered one of the places visited during this two days quest. Church institutions are one of the few we can really trust. So I went back to a place previously visited, from where I had left with the promise of coming back with toys and lunch for the children.

 

The nuns teach and shelter 250 children on the outskirts of Marracuene village, nearly 100 of them in a permanent basis. That means a third is alone in this world.

 

I was already captivated by the pack, particularly by courageous little Joana. (Picture? Yes. And she assumes an apprehensive but decided pose.) That’s why the promise of returning, though I wasn’t expecting I would so soon. But in a very windy, dusty and frantic 24th of December afternoon we met the nuns and children again. I don’t have to say how they welcomed the gifts, especially when told that the donation included shoes and shorts for sport activities.

 

I think Andy enjoyed sharing this experience with me. He and I simultaneously understood that giving back is also something we can learn and teach.

My Hands Hurt but My Heart Exults

 

I had the intention of giving a bit of what we have to people in need. I thought about doing it through a church since they have the knowledge and vocation for charity.

 

But then I saw on the local TV a guy who once was a maluene (street child) and grew up with this idea of helping other kids like him. He now feeds and shelters 100 homeless kids under the community house The Bean Sauce My Mother Cooked.

 

Strange as the name may sound, on a second glimpse you’ll see it’s all about comfort. The hearty guy put it all in a single sentence. He wants that place to be like the beans mothers once prepared for them. Hopefully, the majority could taste that sauce. Before divorce. Before AIDS. Before violence. Before negligence.

 

I’ve spent the last days before Christmas working to give presents to a bit more than one hundred kids. There’s something useful and something playful for each one. There’s food too.

 

We waited TD’s arrival to visit the “Beans House” (as I call it now) and pour a bit of sauce into one hundred young lives.

Have a Tropical Rice Pudding

 

This recipe is kind of a gift for people suffering from lactose intolerance. The basic idea was received with such enthusiasm by people I know that I instantly decided to post it as soon as I could.

 

First You Get

1 to 2 coconuts or a 200g pack of good quality desiccated grated coconut
½ or 1 cup of good white rice per person (depending on your appetite)
1 portion of honey or sugar (depending on your sweet tooth)
1 or more of the following (optionally): lemon peel, vanilla pod or essence, cinnamon stick, ground nutmeg and/or egg yolks
1 portion of ground cinnamon and/or mint leaves for decoration

 

Now You Blend The Milk

If you are bold enough to use fresh coconut, start by getting skilled hands to remove the hard shell for you. Once removed, you cut the white flesh in cube sizes, and into the blender they go. You can leave or remove the brown skin. That only depends on your personal option because the end product is almost the same.

 

First grate the cubes. Maybe you’ll have to do the process in two, three or more rounds, depending on the quantity, the nature of the task and the performance of the blender. Next you have to add hot water to the grated coconut, and blend it into a smooth liquid paste. If your base is the industrial grated coconut, your life is a lot easier, since you just straightly add hot water. In any case, do be careful while working with hot stuff and blenders. If you select a good quality product, the taste and final result are the same.

 

Finally you are going to drain the paste though a spot clean cloth or any other similar method in order to obtain the coconut milk. If you really wanted it nutty, you may wait a couple of hours before pressing. You can add water to the smashed coconut before discard it and repeat the process in the blender if by chance you thing the liquid is not enough, as far as the result is milky.

 

Finally You Put It Together
Bring the coconut milk to a boil in a pan adding a pinch of salt when still cold. The right clean portion of rice follows only when it’s boiling. The rice is cooked in this milk, just adding one or more optional items to improve scent and flavor. When the liquid is almost absorbed you add honey or sugar. If you decide to make it creamer by using egg yolks, you have to be very careful not to scramble them inside the rice. There’s a method and you have to make sure you know and follow it.

 

You let the rice dry a bit more or less, depending on your personal taste. In the end, it’s all about ground cinnamon and maybe the color and zest of a few leaves of fresh mint. Bon appétit.

Record of Dive-4

 

It seems appropriate to write a last diving report before 2008 ends. This is what I can say about my seven divers, after two years reporting about their lives too. 

 

 

Date of Dives: December 2008
Dive Locations: Doha, Maputo and Joburg
Type of Dive: scuba
Maximum Depth of Dive: 78ft
Breathing Mixture Used: regular air
Weather Conditions: varying from windy to very hot

 

 

Divers and Jobs: Andy is happy and when he is happy he really likes to do things with us, like our recent muddy Montanhana experience. He is canoeing again and obviously complaining of such demanding exercise. Maybe he will be here for News Year like two years ago. Jo is going to be a father in a couple of months. He is currently drifting between Maputo, Durban and Luanda. I bet he doesn’t want to go far so soon.

 

I guess it might be JP’s first or second festive season far from us. He will be missed. NB should be with JP in Doha. Meanwhile something went wrong because on the 7th of December JP informed us NB had quit the job and without a single word flew from Doha.

 

Paul stopped his word factory for holidays. Usually December and January are the right period for that. TD is busy with gigs and studio, I think. When it’s like that the rest of the world doesn’t exist for him. Vic is still a gym instructor and a dedicated law student.

 

Seabell is missing tae and dance but she always finds things to keep herself entertained. Since she went to the Kruger and complained about the dry spell, it has been raining beautifully. If it happens again, she will offer her services in other parts of the world. She should complain about so many other wrong things besides dry weather! I thought of including our dog in this record. Rightfully. I’ve been reading newspapers to find a girlfriend for Thoth. It’s about time. So far no luck for him. Mating time is now, so pups only in a few months time. Meanwhile, Thoth and I patiently wait.

 

As for this country, the end of 2008 will be anything but boring. With a new hit from local star MC Roger and the third prison break from celebrity bandit Anibalzinho, there’s more than enough for a very hot summer. Hotter than piri-piri chicken.

Grown Ups’ Toys

 

There is an important aspect about the spirit of Christmas that is usually lost with time. I don’t know if it’s of becoming adults or of lack of imagination but we stop giving toys as presents to grown ups. We start selecting items we think people like (or worst, we like), normally useful things, and the playfulness becomes a mere souvenir of the past.

 

I am glad Paul and I feel the same about this issue. This year we were so worried in buying something useful as playful. Right. We are back to toys. We should have done it long ago, but the important is that we got it now.

 

Thinking of the toys we picked, maybe my title shouldn’t be Grown Ups’ Toys but Toys for Grown Ups. I just hope the idea is understood and accepted. Playfully.

Socks and Beans

 

We talk with JP often. In reality, Paul calls him almost everyday. Sometimes I am near and talk with him too. It’s still hard for us to realize he is all grown up now. I still do thinks for him as if he was attending boarding school instead of working. And I should know better because he is not only working but also getting the usual responsibilities (and benefits) coming with the job and the growing up process.

 

Before he leaves I make sure all his socks have a red mark, not very different from the one I had when in boarding school. After his two months working period, I cannot avoid my contrariety when I notice he always returns with only half the socks he had left with. I didn’t say a thing because I know that’s not his fault but of the person who is washing for him. Last time I thought about sending socks without mark too with an attached note to the laundry saying: “I would appreciate if you lose only JP’s unmarked socks. Thanks.”

 

I have a few other behaviors belonging to this “boarding school complex”. I was aware of it when I recently talked with him and intentionally avoided to tell about the Brazilian feijoada we had for lunch. You know, small black beans with lots of spicy dried meat, plus a few treats like fried bananas and slices of orange… I cannot avoid a certain degree of guiltiness for having the things he likes when he is absent. And even knowing how lousy my mother was in the kitchen, I guess somehow I always missed her hated casseroles too.

How I Invented a Dessert

 

I like to be active around 5pm because that’s the time of the day I am so famished I could eat almost anything. Usually I have some fruit around 4 and off I go to tae or dance. When I return I am too tired even to articulate my jaws. That is a good way to go through that dangerous period.

 

Now I am not dancing or kicking. Around 3 I start to have visions of wonderful tasty treats for tea: scones, croissants, mille-feuilles… Ninety per cent of the time those treats can only exist in my mind. Since I know now how wheat is bad for me, better keep them in there.

 

Without treats, I am left with my frustrated appetite and helpful imagination. Lately, every single afternoon is creative time. Sometimes creativeness doesn’t go any far than fruit. Sometimes it is pure chance. Leftovers are great. The result is the strangest combinations. Try this one: slices of Tieta’s white polenta mixed with sweet potato, all sweetened with wild blossom honey. Different, isn’t it? People who cannot eat bread routinely and don’t believe in like the diet supermarket options have to have strange ways of feeding themselves.

 

But it’s during this quest for edible stuff that I sometimes come up with a new recipe, like a sweet rice pudding I think I invented (or maybe already exists and I’m not aware of it). I will show the how to very soon. It’s good as only a rice pudding can be...