winter is my favourite time of year, especially when i jump into my woollies and snuggle up by the fire. but no matter how many mugs of hot cocoa you warm your fingers with, winter some how still manages to suck out all the luscious juice from you, leaving your hands and feet looking like a dry prune.
worry not! this almond milk made with white fungus and egg white will nourish you from within.
we left copenhagen on a cool autumn evening. the carriage was warm and gentle like the friendly ticket man who is fluent in danish, german and english with a strong northern european accent. eye-to-eye, he walked over with a mighty smile, ‘excellent,’ he said after checking our rail passes and off we go into the fields of gold and a sea of glistening grey-blue. as we passed through a woody patch of flimsy trees, i glugged down a big mouthful of jordbaer yoggi, slowly crushing the tiny seeds of the small fruit, which slid down slowly in a flow of creamy white. the carton so large and the yogurt so thick i struggled to hold it up high with a long pause so yoggi can make way to my hollow mouth at its own pace.
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the sky was a dirty white and the air so cool, we walked along fredericiagade, nibbling at the long loaf of sweet bread we’d bought in the morning from lagkagehuset, one of our favourite bakeries in town. fragranted with cinnamon and honey, loosely braided with custard a pale yellow oozing out, we teared at it as we walked towards the design museum. one bite and the almond flakes crackle over the soft plump bread. the design museum danmark is housed in the former royal frederick hospital, an elegant rococo building built in the mid-eighteenth century by king frederic v’s court architect nicolai eigtved. the collections took us on an accelerating ride from medieval crafts to urban designs of today, including early eastern inspirations, popular porcelain and faice from renaissance, elegant twirls of art noveau, innovative avant garde designs, and simple functionistic pieces by paul kenningsen, philippe starck, arne jacobsen, peter jensen and so on.
the oven is still warm and the whiff of sweet zesty air hovers around the quiet kitchen unit. to help let go of the wonderful book of ‘the particular sadness of lemon cake’, i’d baked a lemon cake, with blueberries and honey.
as i read the last lines of the book, an image of a little girl kneeling in front of a chinese altar breezed into my mind.
the three storeys, reddish-brown zitan altar, was lit by three red bulbs screwed tightly onto the underside of each level, where half-burnt incense laid along with red plates of fresh fruits and porcelain statues and wooden frames of the chinese gods. and right there, in front of the altar, on the shiny red-wood floor, a six-year-old with long black hair and a neat straight bang, knelt with her hands clasped together in one straight line and murmured a prayer she’d learnt from school. for the health and happiness of her family. her chinese eyes fluttered and her small round cheeks wobbled as she said her prayer to the father, the son, and the holy spirit, in front of the chinese gods.
mackerels are in season right now and our local market has some great silver bellies to offer. we’ve simply stuffed it with baby fennel and coriander and popped it under the grill for a fuss-free lunch. the mackerel was so big we had to share it between the two of us.
1 x 500g fresh mackerel
1 baby fennel
a handful of coriander
2 big fat juicy tomatoes
1 bulb of garlic
2 tbs balsamic vinegar
1/2 tbs brown sugar
1 tbs honey
sea salt Read the rest of this entry »