Being soba

I have a passion for soba noodles right now. My dearest friend E arrived at my house last night for a drink - much needed by him as he's being edited a TV reality show. Drinks turned into dinner and as it was a rainy night we decided to stay warm and dry. I scoured the kitchen and put together what became a delightful dish - Soda Noodles with Chicken and Spinach.

Start by cooking the soda noodles. Make sure to use an enormous pot (I used my pasta pot) as they will try to boil over twice (which is the point). Instructions on the package are very straight forward.

While the noodles are cooking, chop 1 chicken breast into large cubes. In a large saute pan (frying pan) heat a small amount of olive oil and brown the chicken. As its nearing the end of cooking - add 1 large bag of pre-washed spinach - which is about 3 large grab-fuls of spinach and let it wilt into the chicken.

When the soba noodles have finished cooking, rinse in cold water. Add to the chicken and spinach - give it all minute as the soba noodles need to heat up again.

Salt and pepper to taste throughout although I tend to wait till the end to pepper as I don't want the heat from the cooked pepper overpowering the soba noodles.


I usually use tofu in this dish. Cube a block of firm or extra firm tofu and brown the same way as with the chicken.

I tend to cook the entire packet of soba noodles and then add them to soups, salads and stews. This recipe is so easy and can be put together with a glass of wine in hand - I chose a crisp Pinot Grigio from Italy.

Do hope you try it.

Coming into land

I am feeling slightly normal again after sleeping for more than 14 hours - jetlag can sometimes be the worst and hits me rather hard. My father gave me the best piece of advice years ago - don't make any decisions in the first 24 hours after flying - and he's right.

Firstly I'm always incredibly weepy and start to compare ridiculously. Yesterday was no exception - I landed at 7:00am and by 8:00am in my mind my entire life here was packed up, animals in quarantine and I was on my way. Its always so easy to blame the place rather than look at ourselves and I'm completely to blame for my mundane life here, I've become lazy and unadventurous. I have made a small list of the things that I would like to accomplish this year; its a reasonable list. Top priority: to dive into doing things by myself rather than waiting to find others to join me.

Here's to an adventurous, busy 2010!

Merry Christmas

(Christmas 2008)

I hope your holiday season is filled with love, laughter and joy. Thank you so much for visiting my sometimes neglected blog. I'm so grateful to each and every one of you.
I will post later from another Hemisphere.
xx

Tomato, pumpkin & spinach curry

I made this last night, it took less than 30 minutes and is perfect for winter dinner. I was in such a rush - I forgot to take photos of the end result. But I can assure you it was a very festive vision. It serves 6 perfectly.

1 large onion, halved and sliced
1 Tbsp vegetable oil
2 Tbsp Madras curry paste
1 small butternut pumpkin, a little over 1 lb (500g), cut into chunks
5 tomatoes, quartered - I prefer hothouse
About 1/2 cup of spinach roughly chopped or torn - I love spinach so tend to add more
Steamed basmati rice, to serve

Cook onion in the oil for 5 minutes until softened. Add the curry paste and cook for about 3 minutes. Add the pumpkin, tomatoes and 1 cup (200ml) of water and stir well. Cover and simmer for 15 minutes until the pumpkin is just cooked and the tomatoes have broken down. Stir through the spinach, salt and pepper to taste. Leave for a couple of minutes to wilt. Serve with basmati rice.

I served this with quinoa last night which was delicious. I dry roast the quinoa in a heavy bottomed pan before adding the water as it adds a slightly nutty flavour. This is an entirely vegetarian dish -

Lest We Forget

Sadly for my grandfather, eldest of three brothers, his war time was to end tragically. He was an expert navigator and bomber fighter, attached to the RAF and took part in most of the major bombing raids in Germany and France. In the Battle Of Brest - the first major daylight bombing raid - he was recommended for a DFC (Distinguished Flying Cross) but, because they were short one medal, circumstances on the day meant he was the one to miss out.

A letter he wrote home in 1941 was telling:

"I have been on quite a number of big bombing raids now and realise that the chances of survival are not as great as they might be. Nearly every trip we lose a percentage of our crews and already a great portion of my class have passed on to that happy hunting ground where we will all assemble at the sound of the great trumpet.

Personally I have no fear of these trips at all, and even much less fear death, particularly when I realise that should that be my fate, I will walk the same lanes and fields as the thousands of other young men who have so gladly and willingly died for this great cause.

Not only that, but we will be in the same realm as the great soldiers of England who have gone before us and blazed the way. I feel proud that I have been allowed to serve as an officer in the Royal Air Force and I want you to feel proud with me rather than sorry for me.

After all my sacrifice is very small. It is M (his wife, my grandmother) and JS (his son, my father) who are making the real sacrifice. Sometimes I feel very mean having left them like I have to fight the great battles of life....."

In 1942 his tour had ended and he wrote to his wife and son (my father) to prepare to shift to Canada as he had a position training air crews there and that is where they would live. Then experienced volunteers were called for a mission over Denmark - my grandfather volunteered for one last mission. Sixty aircraft took off on Sunday May 18th - the plane was hit twice by flak and crashed at 0210 at Galskling, 2km west of Middlefart.

My great grandmother received the "missing believed killed" telegram just hours before my great aunt was to be married. She kept that information to herself until after the wedding. Another great aunt remembers finding the telegram under the mattress as she made the bed for a guest, later that evening. It was to be months before there was finally confirmation of his death.

Of the 60 planes that set off on that final mission, six were lost and only one of the crew lived, was seriously injured and taken prisoner. There is a memorial to my grandfather and the crew of MacRobert's Reply at Middlefart, Denmark - the stone was taken from the crash site. My grandfather's grave is at Odense near a memorial to the fallen.

My father, who is an only child never had the chance to know his father.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Here are a few excerpts from my great uncle's log book - he was an RAF Flight-Lieutenant Beaufighter pilot and night flyer. He was attached to the 29th Squadron, stationed at Brize Norton.

July 23: (his first sortie) enemy aircraft approached from the North East, scrambled after them, pitch dark night. Got to within one mile of them and they scooted for home.

July 25: Daylight scramble in bad weather. Jerry driven off - one crew missing.

August 5: Weather very bad. Dark, raining and bumpy as hell. Intercepted a JU88. It took violent evasive action and got away in the dark. It is believed I damaged him canon fire.

August 13: Tonight Jerry raided Canterbury in strength. Three of us went up to intercept. The flak was terrible. Dunne and Hay were shot down. For Jerry shot down.

September 10: (crashed at Bradwell Bay). Flaps damaged by flak and had to make a blind landing in nil visibility. Lucky to get down.

September 13: A JU88 got on my tail and I just saw it in time to peel off. Tried to dog fight with it but it was too dark so I buggered off before there was one less in the family.

November 13: Over Flushing my starboard engine was hit and started to emit sparks. Got an emergency homeing. Over base, the cloud base was just clear of hills and while on circuit the engine ceased. Maintained height on one engine but hit four trees on approach. Managed to crash land and plane went up in flames; got out by the skin of my teeth. Knocked about and not allowed to do any heavy flying for 3 months.

This marked the end of his first tour.

I will never forget those who have either lost their lives or been gravely wounded in any war.

The Brilliance of Anime

From hair blowing in the wind to the sun hitting the lens of the camera and the rain falling. For the full effect click at the bottom of the frame to make it bigger and turn up the volume.

The added bonus is that its set to "Ce Matin Le" by AIR (one of my favourite bands). Their music is often referred to as electronica, influenced by the synthesizer sounds of the 1970's such as Jean Michel Jarre, Vangelis and Francis Lai.

Found via DailyMotion.

The Phenomenon Of The "Fan" (or groupie)

Over my career I've pretty much spend time with almost every well known actor, celebrity and/or pop star. Most are down-to-earth and live much the same lives as we do, to a certain extent, I'm referring more to the fact that they tune into Project Runway or want to discuss who's going to win American Idol. There are the exceptions, some are complete nutters but obviously for confidentiality reasons I shan't divulge those tasty tidbits.

But I'm more fascinated in the fans really. The ones that will spend days camped outside the theatres, sound stages, venues where their "idol" is to appear. Wearing handmade T-shirts, re-living with other fans the "I nearly met him/her once" stories. They wait patiently for hours hoping to get a glimpse or possibly their hand touched as the celeb is whisked past. On occasion some are invited backstage.

And this is how it goes: they walk in, usually in pairs - jittery, whispering, clutching each others arms, almost in hysteria. As they approach their object of desire, all goes very quiet - they just stop, stand and stare, feet shuffling not really knowing what to do. They share glances with their friend, mouth O.M.G a few times and then start to feel fairly self conscious.

Most well-known people are wonderful with their fans and will chat quite happily knowing that these meetings are sometimes awkward. Whats strangest to me though is - some fans are more interested in having cellphone photos taken with their "idol", then swiftly twittering or texting them out to their friends and others. They're not really that fussed about having any form of conversation with the one person they have lusted after, know the lyrics to very song or watched every film they've been in.

In a way its almost as though they have already played this meeting out in their mind and don't want to corrupt the fantasy.

The secret life of Ingmar Bergman

Interesting article about Ingmar Bergman by Diane Solway here.

via W Magazine Editors blog

Social Mountaineers

I encounter these sorts on a daily basis and it makes me incredibly sad and disheartened. Why must people try and be something they're not conjure up a life that's not theirs. I can understand trying to better yourself but why must average, good people who work hard crave to be someone else and live their lives hoping they have succeeded. A fantasy life of sorts.

A fantasy world of any kind can be a good thing at times - everyone has a dream right? But I'm staggered by how many people misrepresent themselves, build themselves up to be something they're not perhaps to get ahead, be more popular, to climb the social mountain- who knows. Were they raised to feel less than and so form a new version of themselves, mirroring themselves on others and what they think others may like? There's such a misrepresentation there - from the surface everything seems open and honest but then the facade starts to fall and its like talking to the shell of someone else, the accomplishments they have bragged about become an embellishment of what they think they need, to be accepted. The image and personality of this person is not really them, its a replica of who they think they need to be.

That's what I find disheartening.

Shwood - Very snazzy!

Completely groovy and very Mad Men-esque. Each pair is hand-made in Portland from locally sourced exotic hardwoods and the lens are optical quality Carl Zeiss or polarized lens that offer 100% UVA/UVB protection.


I'm having a hard time deciding which frames. They can be ordered from here: Shwood.

Not Everyone Is A Weirdo

Sometimes I am still amazed that there are normal, down-to-earth people in the world.

Every Christmas I travel halfway across the world to see my family.  I dread the flight as am not good at sitting still for long periods of time, without becoming exceptionally bored - a lifelong affliction (ask my poor mother - I am the annoying "I'm booorrrreedddd" child).  This year was different. 

As I was organizing my "area" for the next 12 hours, a bright and shining face said "hello".  I thought oh no, not again.  I had fallen for that before, lulled into a false sense of security by a welcoming face.  The last time I'd been polite, it had started a bout of verbal diarrhea that included being "hit on" profusely for the next 5 hours before having a business card thrust into my face and a "let's get together".  We had to bump into each other again as we waited for our bags.  Had even detoured into the loo to bide my time, so that we didn't have to reunite. Unfortunately that was not the case here.

So I said "hi" rather briskly back to my fellow passenger before busying myself, hoping that he would get the message.  He didn't and asked sweetly if I wanted him to put my duvet in the overhead compartment.  Then I felt bad and said to the devil on my shoulder ....."have a little Christmas spirit, don't be so rude".  And honestly I'm glad I wasn't.  We chatted for hours, found out we are in the same biz, drank lots (a wine and cocktail tasting that lasts for 12 hours), laughed and probably annoyed all the passengers around us.  We vowed to have dinner when he was next in Los Angeles.  

I am a little cautious now I have to admit. I try not to be judgmental or distance but I have, as some would say "an open face".  As was always the case in London, on the "last tube" surrounded by the merry older Irish gentlemen (I'm being politically correct), talking incessantly and incoherently to me while at the same time looking for somewhere warm to end their evening of libation.

So my fellow passenger and I had dinner last week.  Left off where we had started and laughed continually.  We went to the only restaurant in Los Angeles that doesn't take reservations, is packed every night, incredibly noisy and the wait is usually about 2 hours.  We got a table as a) there is a RECESSION and b) no-one else would sit outside, although it was warm enough for summery dress and the heat lamps were a-blazing.  Traveller friend and I are becoming fast friends. 

So, in closing...not EVERYONE is a weirdo but there sure are a lot of them out there.  

Springtime (sigh)

It's truly a stunning spring day here, with birds singing happily.  Its at times like this, there does feel like hope is in the air.  

In Early Spring

Road catkins, russet and tan let the

wind sweep over them as dusk

seeps in along the lake,

and I pass road puddles

swelling to ponds, mirroring

the sky's own silveriness.

At the railroad tracks seven geese

veer off and set down in a field

so that only their necks

speak for them, telling us all

to go on while they rest

by the barn.  Today a man

asked me if I were depressed,

and I looked up and smiled.

No more than these geese or catkins

as light falls around them, no

more than those pine boughs

lifting in the wind - just so,

life goes on.

By Larry Smith

from Writers Almanac.

Hot Cross Buns

This is my attempt at making Hot Cross Buns.  I've been searching for Hot Cross Buns for Easter but they're just not available in the US the way I like them.  I contacted a few different shops here, that specialize in foods other than American; no-one stocks them.  I mentioned to one shop owner that I was going to have a go and bake my own.  He said, "if they turned out well, I will order from you".  Hmmmmm....I think not.

Its all a bit of a fiddle really and takes about 2 hours to make.  They have to "rest" for an hour and 1/2 before being baked.  Mine don't have that mushy almost fluffy consistency that I grew up with.  The actual "cross" turned out well as I made it the authentic way, with flour and water, not icing (counterfeits).

I think I'll leave it to the mass produced experts who make millions of them at a time.  These won't go to waste though - I will serve these to my unsuspecting friends, toasted with pounds of butter.  And a creme egg chaser.

The Most Stunning Image

Kate Moss, taken by Annie Leibovitz for American Vogue in 1999.

From Style.com.

Ho Hum

Mad Girl's Love Song

This was left by an "Anonymous" reader - I love this and thank you to my mysterious commenter.

"Mad Girl's Love Song"

I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead;
I lift my lids and all is born again.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)

The stars go waltzing out in blue and red,
And arbitrary blackness gallops in:
I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.

I dreamed that you bewitched me into bed
And sung me moon-struck, kissed me quite insane.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)

God topples from the sky, hell's fires fade:
Exit seraphim and Satan's men:
I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.

I fancied you'd return the way you said,
But I grow old and I forget your name.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)

I should have loved a thunderbird instead;
At least when spring comes they roar back again.
I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)

By Sylvia Plath

Unspoken Words

Time + Distance

The tea you pour is black and strong.

It doesn't taste like tea to me;

I must have been away too long.

Where's that old fork with the bent prong?

What happened to the hemlock tree?

Have I really been gone that long?

I think I hear the saddest song;

It has no words, no tune, no key.

The tea you pour is black and strong.

You're careful to say nothing wrong,

You seem too eager to agree.....

Yes, I've been traveling far and long,

And now it's clear, I don't belong.

I watch you sash your robe, as we

sit, sipping tea that's black and strong.

I went away too far, too long.

by Leslie Monsour, from The Alarming Beauty of the Sky. 

Seeing The Beauty

I am not an Angeleno, but I am a "legal alien" (shouldn't that be changed at some stage - alien always sounds so suspect).  This is my primary residence right now, due to my occupation.  I arrived here initially at 22, without really knowing a soul.  Like any new city, it took time to figure everything out, make friends, but looking back it was such an adventure, as still is.  

Los Angeles does get a bad wrap at times........smog, earthquakes, crazy people, no architecture and on and on.  I believe every city has history and there is beauty, compassion and inspiration - sometimes you just have to look up!

This building could be anywhere......a million dollar apartment overlooking Central Park, NY or a flat in Notting Hill, in London.  But its 3rd and La Brea (heavy traffic area, for my out-of-town viewers) in LA on a particularly beautiful morning. 

E.1027

This house was originally designed and built by Eileen Gray - who was a Irish laquer artist, architect and designer.  She is one of my favorite artists!

E.1027 was built between 1926 and 1929 by Gray as a summer residence for Jean Badovici. It is situated on the Mediterranean coast of France, at Roquebrune-Cap Martin overlooking the Bay of Monaco. The name of the house, E.1027, is a code for Eileen Gray and Jean Badovici, E standing for Eileen, 10 for J - "Jean" (10th letter of the alphabet), 2 for B - "Badovici", and 7 for G - "Gray".  This was Gray's way of showing their relationship as lovers when the house was built. 

Le Corbusier, who was a friend of Badovici's, visited E.1027 many times.  He added a series of murals to the clean, white walls in the villa between 1937 - 39, without Gray's permission.  She took this an intrusion and considered the murals vandalism.  There has been much discussion on this subject as the murals were either painted out of admiration for her work or jealousy of 

her accomplishments.

Gray was ahead of her time in regards to the design and interior of the house.  Inside and out flowed together, every room flows out to a balcony, shutters, screens and windows are all moveable, allowing the hills and sea surrounding the house, to converge.  Inside there was no wasted space, most furniture built-in and living areas open plan.

Jean Badovici lived in the house until his death in 1956.  The house was then put up for auction and bought by a friend of Le Corbusier.  The house has had two other owners.  The second of which sold many of the villa's original contents to fund badly needed repair work, which unfortunately never got underway.  

After the last owner's death, the house remained empty and was susceptible to vandals and squatters, who damaged the property extensively. In the early 90's Friends of E.1027 was set up to raise money to restore this now historic home.

P.S. My favorite weasel, La Belette Rouge just reminded me that there is an amazing documentary running on The Sundance Channel (sorry overseas viewers).  Its called Eileen Gray: Invitation To A Voyage.

All images from Friends of E.1027

For all the middle children

                       UNCLE JIM 

What the children remember about Uncle Jim

is that on that train to Reno to get divorced

so he could marry again

he met another woman and woke up in California

It took him seven years to untangle that dream

but a man who could sing like Uncle Jim

was bound to get in scrapes now and then:

he expected it and we expected it.

Mother said, It's because he was the middle child,

and Father said, Yeah, where there's trouble

Jim's in the middle.

When he lost his voice he lost all of it

to the surgeon's knife and refused the voice box

they wanted to insert.  In fact he refused

almost everything.  Look, they said,

it's up to you.  How many years

do you want to live? and Uncle Jim

held up one finger.

The middle one.

By Peter Meinke

From The Writers Almanac