... and all that jazz

For everybody who abides by the english grammar rules (I wish to envisage your presence ), any city is a she.

Amsterdam is a city. Hence, it is she? Hm, I like to think of Amsterdam – my Amsterdam at least - as He. He is…

An old friend. Who speaks a different language but, nonetheless, greets me in English. An old artist. Who observes the people and paints his sketches in the wind. A skillful musician. Who plays a snow-white piano on a podium set on one of the canals and fills the air with crystal sounds of music. A sleepless clubber. Who so vehemently enjoys and makes the most out of each passing moment. An old flame that’s my Amsterdam. Who still holds my heart , inspires me, gives me a cheek to stand up and lock eye with challenges (and there are many of the latter, I’d love you to believe).

I seem to be talking romance here. And reasonably so as I have a few. First and foremost, this is my romance with life, otherwise I become defunct. And the other first and foremost (in my world, it’s pretty much possible), my romance with chocolate (of course you saw it coming, didn't you?). Romance, love, penchant, obsession, physocological issue, you name it. On my part, I’ll only tell – with the utmost excitement – I found ze place in Amsterdam where I can step in, anxiously touch and sniff everything, make humming noises that are typical for a neurotic person, get a look of deep appreciation and complete understanding from my fellow-comrades, and feel myself at home.

Before I utter the password combination into THE world, I find it crucial to underscore I wasn’t on the hunt for my daily choco fix when I chanced upon the place. And as I’m saying this, I’m holding my hands crossed on my chest as a sign of being honest and sincere to the core. I merely walked along the streets minding my own business. Ahem. But you know, how it usually happens. You just live calmly, plan your days as you’re used to, and then something comes along your way. And you are not you anymore. Your life changes. You become a different person. A better person. With a bigger supply of chocolate. That’s grand, people. Simply smashing.

Puccini Bomboni. In my vocabulary also known as 'ze place'.

What do you normally say when you discover another place to satiate your longings for things chocolate? Oh la la. Blah blah blah. And all that jazz (I like how it sounds). I think if I paraphrase Aldous Huxley’s words* and say, ‘for every chocolate lover who has any taste of their own, the only memorable taste will be the one they themselves have tasted’, I’d then pursue my intention to urge you, once in Amsterdam, take an action and go there. Go there, you should!

As to me, my natural shyness won’t prevent me from presenting myself on the spot every now and then, and sample every of a few dozens bonbons which are the forte in this place: filled with liquors, spices (thyme, nutmeg, cinnamon or anise, to name a few) and other heart-pulsation elevating combinations. I have yet to eat my way through love-inducing cornucopia that’s so serenely residing at Pucchini Bomboni. One at a time though. One at a time.

For now I’ll run a risk to seem obsessed, and yet I’ll mumble something, hopefully profound and comprehensible. It is about Amaretto Bonbon I gifted myself with the other day: how it sensuously enveloped my palate, how I loved that soft, feathery sensation when cocoa powder that constitutes the toppping landed itself on my lips and how I might as well liken it to a kiss. Now is it normal or what?

*I wasn’t familiar with those either. Untill I got myself a small Moleskine city notebook (I just needed to show off a little bit. Thank you for your genuine understanding.) where the original expression printed on the facing page says, ‘For every traveller who has any taste of his own, the only useful guidebook will be the one which he himself has written’.

Puccini Bomboni (several locations)
Staalstraat 17, tel: 31 (0) 20 6265474
Singel 154, tel: 31 (0) 20 4278341

My wind of changes

The wind of changes has arrived. It is blowing into my face, deconstructing my hair-do (on days when I have one), and streaming my clothes (not exactly in Monroe’s style, and yet pretty much close to it). But what really counts is that it is capturing my heart and making me restless. Positively so.

And this is when the memories of one of my favourite fairy tales (back in my childhood and, unquestionably, now too), Merry Poppins, step forward and shine through the myriad of thoughts, and thoughts, and thoughts. As a child, I think I didn’t get the precise message of the story, enjoying mostly the atmospheric feeling rather than contemplating on the essence of changes as such. One extract, however, I sincerely committed to my memory: the episode when the gulps of enigmatic northern wind communicate to Merry Poppins, the mysterious nanny who always arrived and left with the wind, the impending changes in her life. Again.

It was a Monday, the first chilly and gloomy day after the continuous heat party that so sensuously mellowed the Moscow’s hard-working brains earlier (with my active taking part in it too, of course). I walked in wind. It smelled of rain. I thought of chocolate (for a moment, could I assume you buy into my logics?). And there was a moment, when I spotted a single leave spinning around in wind’s whirlpools. I slowed down my pace and watched. The wind blew sharper and brought the leave right in my feet. I paused to entertain my thoughts. After I resumed my walk, I knew exactly what I felt and where I stood. Anxiety. Light uncertainty. Big adventure. Things are changing. Time has come to go further. That was my wind.

My Dear Friends and Readers, for those of you, who are in the know, and for those, whom my telepathic waves didn’t reach yet, I’m now happy to say I’m leaving Moscow and going somewhere else. I’m going to a petite country that speaks to me so well; the country – to coin a phrase - of excellent cheeses, fragrant tulips, warm-hearted people; the country that caught my heart a while ago. The Netherlands.

I’m leaving behind my family and a few dear friends. True, I’ll be missing my mom and dad in earnest, but as I once said, ‘I’ll better be missing them knowing that I am pursuing my dream, rather than sticking to them and growing bitter and angry about the missed opportunity’. (My wisdom seemingly doesn’t know any boundaries, and humility too.)

This decision didn’t come out of the blue. For a few years I have been working on a puzzle that’s my dream to unite the fragments into the framed picture. I changed the ways, I took the roundabouts, what remained intact was the destination.

Now, I’m proud to be bearing a title of a student again. A pre-Master’s (and further, Master’s too) student in English language and culture, to be more exact. And if you haven’t yet bought into my logics, leave it at that then. English language and culture in Holland - this is so my style.

And as we are talking a long-term trip here, I shall also do my very best imaginable to pack my bag reasonably. * While I’ll still have to give my luggage contents umpteenth clear and crispy thought, one thing will remain non-negotiable. My chocolate stash.

And as I’m favouring the major changes in my life at the present moment of time, please bear with me.

As soon as I settle and unpack my bags, I’ll be with you again.

And in the meantime, all that’s left to say is, ‘thank you for your continuous companionship’.

*Among the public, I’ve been known for schlepping a way too heavy bags and paying really big money for excess luggage

Choice-challenged, I am.

Are you good at making choice(s)? Pity me, I’m not. I would kindly ask you to thoroughly read through the used negative particle, for by this I mean to say how wildly and inhumanly messy and dishevelled I get when I am asked to choose. Before I progress in my explicit narrative, let me just mention that it’s always somehow easier to make a choice between good and bad, or bad and worse, isn’t it? But when you are to choose among the best, what do you do? I think I am congenitally deprived of understanding.

With the profound lack of choice making technique thereof, I am naturally bound to let my wallet go thinner on my invading visits to a summer farmer’s market, and fill my wicker basket of a considerable (keyword) size with fresh summer fruits and vegetables full to the brims. I think I’ll set aside my ridiculous complaints about how nature rendered me choice-challenged, and rather be more useful by suggesting you a few ways to consume all the bountiful glory in relatively short period of time to save the edible gifts of nature from meeting their murky days on a kitchen counter, obscure depth of a refrigerator, or what have you. * Shall you pretend you didn’t know it before, I will be very much grateful.

All the minutiae being said, now hands down to business.

Episode #1.

Considering the amounts of, say, red currants I’ve got this week, the only way to eat my way through the berries was to come up with a numerous amount of interesting (at least to me) and edible (to me and everybody else) ways to use them fresh(ish). [Side note: I would very much love to re-enter realms of baking too, but as my story has it, my oven waved me a farewell (got broken, in other words) and retired peacefully a good while ago.] To praise my originality (you may indeed roll your eyes at me here), I worked out that salmon is a very good friend to red currants slightly sautéed in white wine. They sound so singsongy together, especially if salmon is prepared with lemon juice and cinnamon. The latter is so good at lifting delicate salmon flavour that I am really chuffed to have learnt this.

For 1 serving you’ll need:

1 salmon fillet (about 80-100 gr)
salt and pepper to taste
a small pinch of ground cinnamon

red currant sauce
a handful of fresh red currants
pepper (salt) to taste
1 tsp cane sugar
2 Tsp dry white wine

1. Rub fillet with salt, pepper and cinnamon. Let stand for a while.
2. Heat a non-stick frying pan over medium heat, pour 1 Tsp lemon juice in it and cook salmon 5 min on each side (natural fatty oils oozing from salmon fillets in the progress of cooking spare you a need to be using any other oil).

3. In a small saucepan over medium heat, sauté red currants slightly sprinkled with fresh ground pepper in white wine for a few moments, add sugar. When the mixture bubbles, set the saucepan off the fire and pour the sauce over the salmon fillet.

And while we are at salmon talking, there is another bit of my recent epiphany (berries-unrelated though), Salmon with cumin. Naturally, cumin’s flavour is very strong and might be overwhelming, but if used moderately, neither is the case. On the contrary, in this companionship salmon only gets scores (as if it really needed any): earthy flavours of cumin compliment very well the juicy salmon flesh.





Yields 4 servings

4 salmon fillets
1 tsp cumin seeds
½ tsp freshly ground black pepper
½ tsp sea salt

1. Rub fillets with salt and spices, drizzle juice of half a lemon over salmon, let stand for a while (preferably overnight)

2. Heat a non-stick skillet coated with olive oil over medium heat, and cook fish for 3-5 min on each side, or until fish flakes easily with a fork.



Episode #2.

I got a few petite melons (so petite that they freely fit in the palms of my hands each) the other day, and in my vain attempts to stay cool when it’s almost 35 degrees centigrade outside, I undertook this Simple melon and yoghurt sorbet project (do I really sound pompous?).

Yields 4 servings

250 g fromage blanc/or greek yoghurt
200 g fresh melon, deseeded and cut in small chunks
75 g honey (I used a multi-floral variety)
juice of ½ lemon
fresh mint for decoration

1. Cut melon in small chunks.
2. In a separate bowl, combine yoghurt, honey and lemon. Mix well.
3. To the yoghurt mixture, add melon and stir well through. At this point I also added a handful of sesame seeds to enrigh my sorbet-to-be with light crunchiness.
4. Transfer the final mixture to the plastic container and put in a freezing camera of your fridge for first 2 hours. Stir thoroughly every two hourse to prevent the formation of ice crystals.

Although the recipe requires 4 hours of freezing, it took my fridge more than that (up to 6) to come up with a decent sorbet (age issues, I believe).

It was too hot to pause for a picture, however.

Be well!

*Have you noticed yet, to form long and incoherent sentences is my talent too?

Jamais vu

July 2, a day when I made my first appearance to the world, or, if I now try and employ a tiny bit of modesty, simply my birthday. An undisputable excuse to play hooky and treat your smart (oldish) self to a memorable experience, which is what I did. And loved so.

In all respects, this day was bright and colourful, especially at the moments when sun and thunder clouds secured Moscow with an unforeseeable weather. Gusts of wind, downpours and sunrays alternated each other in a city’s heartbeat. And just as I was halfway through my leisurely walk about Arbat* neighbourhood, the clouds zipped open and it started (again) to rain. In no time moscow turned into a big swimming pool with shower facilities. I did not fancy either.

Solution?

To look around, spot a small cozy terrace hidden in the luscious greenery, read a signpost and rush to the premises immediately.

Why?

First, it is raining cats and dogs and everything else in between.
Pre-first, it might be another bona fide hidden gem Moscow has to offer to a seeking eye.

And it is indeed. It is. It is. (Here you should hear my loud applause and incoherent exclaims). Let me just tell you that in my continuous quest for things and places I shall love (in Moscow and everywhere else), I got a new find. And luckily so, it happened on my B-day.

[On the side note, I shall also remember this day (I humbly believe that a moderate self-promotion wouldn’t do any harm, so i’ll repeat the date of my birthday, which is July 2) as a stretch of time when I experienced both jamais vu and deja vu. Though on this a bit later.]

So, the place I intend to give a speech about bears a charming name of Gogol Mogol (a russian for egg nog). Its founders idea was to capture (in what they did succeed) an atmospheric aura of a french bistro of the early XX century (please look here if you wish). Posh (but not repulsively so), enchanting interior of two (only) rooms, the infused in the air bitter leatherly aromas of ground coffee entwined with liquors, swooping and disarming odours of dark belgian (I swapped a few words with a very well-informed bartender, you know) chocolate; all these veied for my heart and won me over. One minus though: there is no area for guests with no-smoking preferences. What, in my humble opinion, is sort of a drawback, as smoke fumes might considerably hinder your experiencing chocolate diva (I agree, when it comes to chocolate, or more exactly, disturbing me from my chocolate, I get that ferocious and bitchy). For that matter, I headed outdoors, took a seat at one of the terrace tables (tented to protect all types of individuals, bitchy included, from rain), ordered things I was craving for, and rested. Truly rested. Idly observing people vs. rain battles, hearing and listening to the thunder roars, enjoying a good book, being purposefully lazy. And I’ll tell you what, my hooky was splendid.

Now, a few words on my vu’s (in order of their appearance).

Jamais vu. In opposition to the physchological term, I only intend to refer to one of the cafe’s signature desserts, where major roles are given to grated carrot, hazelnut and lemon juice to star in. And since I have a big thing about carrots, I couldn’t help but trying it. Now, a drop of critique, or is it criticism? Anyways, I loved the idea of a light carrot dessert, and the way it was presented also appealed to me.

Moroccan coffee with chocolate, water and dessert

But then again something lacked, which I failed to fathom on the spot (truth be told, I did not want it either, for I preferred to initially enjoy things, rather than review them right away). Later, however, I got my humble share of enlightenment to grasp the thing that escaped me earlier: carrot must be freshly grated. The more it sits, the more cartoon-y mouthfeel it’s most likely to give.

Deja vu, the psyche thing in all its glory. After tasting the featured dessert, I found myself thinking I experienced something similar before. I briefly lived through my childhood memories to recall how my mother used to trick me into more frequent vegetables consumption by throwing together a very simple dessert of juicy grated carrot mixed with crashed walnuts and honey, for good measure. Since then, I am a girl who knows her carrots*.

The day was a great gift in itself, as any other day, too.

Although the photo below has no particular relation to all said above, it's smileworthy. I hope you are with me on this.




*Arbat area means to Moscow quite the same as what Montmartre does to Paris.

**I have now set myself a mission to come up with my own interpretation of the jamais vu carrot dessert. Once happy with the results, I’ll let you know.

Gogol-Mogol cafe
Gagarinsky side-street 6
Tel: 007 495 203-55-06

Child, adult, and a smoothie

I believe it is the first summer of my life when I virtually will not have carefree and careless vacation as I used to have, say, even a year ago. Now, is it what they call adulthood or what? Busy times from the moments the sun rises to the hour when it sets and even beyond? Wait. Although I consciously chose such a busy life schedule, it, in no way at all, means I took up a subscription for a membership in a ‘desperate racers agaist time’ club. No, no, no; point!

When rushing, I often find myself driven into a stupor, emotional and intellectual infertility, you name it. When relaxed, I manage to do more than I initially plan (=load upon my shoulders). Astounding as it is, and yet so natural.

However, thinking back into my childhood I see a girl whose innate habit seemed to be a continuous complain on how slowly time dragged. To mute me for a while, one had to treat me to a massive scoop, or even two, of chocolate ice-cream. *insert a loud slurp here* If aforesaid weren’t enough to make everybody cuss (to themselves though), this girl also bore an identity card (imaginary) of a v e r y picky eater. If there was anything dairy (but certainly for the ice-cream, and then again even the latter had to be flavoured and coloured to buy me into idea it wasn’t made of milk), onion-y (God forbid if I spotted a trace of onion floating in a soup) in my vicinity, in no time I turned into an uber-disgruntled child; and this – as I was told later – wasn’t a dream come true for either my mom or omas.

But truth be told, my blacklist of things edible played havoc with my childhood gastronomic life indeed (sounds so pathetic, I know). Sigh. Mention smoothie and I would literally burst into tears (I mean real tears) only thinking of milky-something passing my lips. I even can recall how unce upon a summer time in my family’s country house I spent a W H O L E day at a veranda table attempting to make a single sip from a glass of milk, which my maternal oma so competently put in front of me with intention to bring me up (obviously). I felt miserable. Apparently, upon my birth I got bestowed with lots of antibodies to guard my gastronomic immunity to things a way too many to cover in one post and, miraculously, not to bore you (hello, still reading? Phew!). Smiles.

Days changed nights. Time passed. And here I am: a character with a newly-acquired desire for everything new and unknown (=untasted). The wind of change arrived, and with that, the wall of ignorance finally fell. Rejoice, I did!

And now, My Dear Readers, after I long foreword we have at last reached a point where a recipe should stand up for other narrative nuances. The choice of this recipe, or more likely yet another idea/suggestion for numerous smoothies, - hence all the talk above – has its roots in my recent love for simplicity, a need for a good mood and nutrition right at the start of a working day (or any day, if we are at that). So, go mention smoothie now or, even better, treat me to one, and Bob’s your uncle - you’ll have me smiling.

Ah, adulthood! Great time; time when we can consciously find answers to our cravings (even childish ones) and satisfy them with such a pleasure. After all, it’s all about attitude, isn’t it?

**********
Finally, smoothie talk; and no rocket science. Smiles.

As said earlier, these are only ideas, not a recipe per se.

(ideas source: http://www.kuking.net/ (in russian)

Idea 1.
A medium-sized banana
150 ml skimmed (or low fat) milk
150 gr plain yoghurt
1 tsp honey (any kind of a runny consistency)
a dash of cinnamon

I also experimented with fresh mint, and even fresh green basil. Both perk up banana flavour and generally refresh things up.

Yields 1 serving.

The method (can’t be more simplier):

Peel and cut banana in big chunks and put all the ingredients in a blender. Process until smooth. Serve. Smile.

Side note: if you use a ripe banana, skip honey, or else the smoothie might be overly sweet.


Idea 2.
1 ripe avocado
250-300 ml milk (any kind you like)
1-2 Tsp honey
Fresh berries for garnishing

Yields 6 servings

Method (simplicity in its original form):

Halve the avocado, scoop out the flesh. Blend all the ingredients in a food mill. Garnish with mashed fresh raspberries or strawberries. Serve. Smile.

Side note: I especially love silkiness of avocado flesh embodied in the milk or yoghurt.

Idea 3:
½ mango
1 medium-sized banana
juice of one orange
2 Tsp bran
1 Tsp sesame seeds (roasted)
2-3 tsp honey

Serves 2

Method: not to bore you to death, let me just suggest you scroll up and read the description above.

Side note: if you use ripe mango and banana, you might not want to add honey at all.

*********

That’s it, My Friends. Easy-peasy, filling, simple, summery and smile-inducing.

P.S. Couldn’t help but taking a shot of a mother and daughter enjoying a gentle Sunday walk. Each of the two has their own matters to take care of.

Say cheese, read something else :)

To my mind (and taste too, for that matter), to be able to enjoy food also means to have food you absolutely love and...errr...love NOT. Through learning this I'm learning much about myself, I think.

Lately I learnt that:

1. I'm a girl who generally loves her cheese(es)! Only thinking of this I'm gleaming and feeling content!

2. I'm a girl who does not like certain sorts of cheese I thought I (would) love. With pure, sincere, ever-lasting love. But, alas, no. *sigh* It somehow even feels as if you fall out of love after the engagement. Sad, isn't it?

Oh My Dear Readers, don't arrive to any conclusions too soon. Please. Let me first tell you that I tried. I tried hard.

Pecorino Romano. I first saw 'him' (for more emphasis, I'll call it 'him' if you don't mind) a few years back in Holland. 'He' spent a few days in my kitchen. But nevertheless, I did not fall for 'him', although I sensed I would. Honestly.

Last weekend we met again. On weeks of Italy in Gum*, Moscow. So, I brought Pecorino Romano home. Put a thin sliver of the cheese between two pieces of rye country bread, which I also brushed with olive oil from one side, spread with ginger-apricot sauce and layered with ruccola salad leaves, and set the assembly onto the heavy skillet to cook for a few moments until the bread is golden-brown and the cheese is melted. In overall, the sandwich turned out to be fantastic. But I still did not like this cheese. Again. Oh. Something about it simply does not match my taste, although I'm partial to strong, pungent, flavor-forward, smelly sorts of cheese. Anyway, I want to believe I will get over it with time. (Don't I sound as though I'm in denial, by chance?). As they say, there is time to love and time to turn away.

But then again, I gingerly felt for something else (see below)

*****Ginger-Apricot Sauce/Spread*****

(yes, again the sauce. And sorry guys, no photo this time. *wink, wink, wink* Some things are simply not photogenic, no matter how delishious they taste.)

A handful of dried apricots (sour-sweet variety)

A 5-cm knob of fresh ginger, finely chopped

1 Tsp tabasco sauce

3 Tsp tamarind water - to make which, you should solve 1 Tsp tamarind paste in 100ml hot water (the original recipe, however, suggests you use 3 Tsp soy sauce, which, to my taste, would forward salty tones to the front in the sauce, and I think I wouldn't really appreciate it. So I swapped the latter for the tamarind that blended in the mixture mildly and kept the tastes in balance)

2 Tsp olive oil

Method:

1. Soak dried apricots in hot water for 10 mins.
2. Meanwhile, chop ginger finely.
3. After soaking, rinse the apricots. In a blender, process the apricots and ginger until the consistency of a puree.
4. Add the remainder of the ingredients and pulse until thouroughly mixed.

The combination of flavours gives me a distinct warming sensation. A spicy, slightly fiery tickling taste of fresh ginger mixed with dried apricots and tamarind - which add up their fruity tones to the composition - distinguishes or even extracts natural taste and texture of poultry or, say, lean meat; it might as well push forward salty cheese taste (while we are at it).

*Situated right at the Red Square, GUM is a shopping mall (grocery store inclusive) n.1 in Moscow. Feel like splurging? Come here!

Good manners and my 'pet' sauce

It happened last Saturday when I lost grips to my good manners (it was at a family dinnertime and my parents were not very much impressed, really).

But My Dear Readers, I had a reason! I got so overwhelmed and excited that I simply couldn't help but licking my lips noisily, using my fingers stead of a fork or a spoon and 'ohh la'-ing after each bite I so joyously took. *Generally, I always abide by the etiquette rules. And yet, My Friends, there are occasions when it's simply not the case. Don't you think so?*

And I only hope I might be justified for such a wild mannerism of mine when I tell you this...

I made a Light Basil Dressing Cream.

Obviously, still not convinced, aren't you!? Oh..

Ok, then I'm gonna sound this out to you. It was the FIRST time ever I made a sauce that everybody at the table (7 people) was raving about when tasting and eating. Huh!

Moreover, it is the sauce I'll always make when fresh basil (its green variety) is in season. Yes, this is really very serious. Phew. If I can, I will even call it my pet sauce. Or saucie. Because only something as fresh and full of flavours could actually make a girl get a 'pet sauce' in her surroundings. Creamy and yet light and silky texture, strong but delicate basil flavour enriched with a citrus tang, refreshing taste of a perfect harmony between the sweet, salt and sour, and a long-lasting feeling of lightness, all this you are bound to experience - mannerly or otherwise. *smile*

*****Light Basil Cream*****

(recipe source: Gastronom magazine*, April 2008)

A big bunch of fresh green basil (only leaves)

250 g plain yoghurt

1 Tbs sugar

1 tsp sea salt

1 Tsp lemon juice

3 Tsp extra virgin olive oil

Method:

1. Put all the ingredients except for the olive oil in a food mill and blend until pureed.

2. Now set the blender over a low mode and start pouring the oil ever so gently into the pureed liquid.

3. Serve with grilled vegetables, cold potato or pasta salads or as a dip for vegetable sticks (although it is a bit runny for the latter) or whatever takes your fancy, for it is absolutely versatile. And for that matter, indubitably goooood!

4. This sauce tends to thicken when refrigerated, so make sure to bring it to room temperature before using.

*A russian counterpart of internationally renowned Bon Appetit and Gourmet.

P.S. Speaking of good manners...Even gorgeous birds of peace (pigeons) have those moments, too. *insert a smug face here*