Daily Prompt: Barter System

If the world worked on a barter system, how would you fare? Would you have services to barter? Would you be successful, or would you struggle?

Would anyone like to exchange a 68 year old body for something fresh and new and ready to go. No offers? Ok I cannot blame you, I wouldn’t either and Mr. Swiss says if I find a dealer, then he wants to join as well. I don’t do bartering, it is not the Swiss style. Either you pay cash or forget it. We bartered once in Marrakesh, but everyone barters in Marrakesh. You want a carpet, then no problem. Of course you do not pay the offered price, it is not done, so you have a little argument and feel proud when the seller accepts your price, about half as much as he offered. It was a Beduin carpet, very colourful and I believe we still have it in the cellar. They are probably used to sit on when riding your favourite pet camel. Anyhow no problem, the Moroccans do it, it is part of daily life. They even accept your credit card. In every bazaar in the souk they have a machine. I wonder why the Moroccan sales man was smiling so friendly when we completed the deal. I had a strange feeling.

This is Jamaa El-Fna market in Marrakesh, Morocco. No wonder the people are all standing and sitting. They are waiting for their turn to use their credit cards after a bartering session. Our supermarket system is just not geared to barter.

“200 grammes of Emmentaler cheese.”

“No problem, that would be three Swiss francs.”

“How much? That is far too expensive. It has more holes than cheese. I really think you should deduct the price of the holes. Let us make it 1.50 francs.”

“That does not work Mrs. Angloswissl. We do not barter in Switzerland, the holes are tradition and we have fix prices.”

“That’s Ok, but what about a deduction for the holes. You Swiss have been getting away with that for years. I am not paying for holes, so 1.50 francs.”

“Madam Emmental cheese is Swiss tradition. If it has no holes, it would not be Emmentaler. I am sorry but no reduction.”

“I am not paying for something I am not receiving, ok then make it 1.75 francs or I will go elsewhere.”

“Then I am afraid you must go elsewhere, but you will not pay less. Our Emmental cheese gives the best value for the money.”

“Then we will do a deal. Give me 200 grammes of Gruyere cheese, without holes. How much?”

“That will be 4 francs.”

“Just a minute. I can buy 200 grammes Emmentaler with holes for three Swiss francs and now I buy 200 grammes of Gruyere for four Swiss francs.”

“Mrs. Angloswiss Gruyere cheese has no holes. We cannot sell it at a cheaper price.”

“It is not logical. Sell me the Emmentaler for 1.50 Swiss francs and we will call it a deal.”

“No deal, Emmentaler 200 grammes 3 Swiss Francs with holes, Gruyere 200 grammes 4 francs without holes.”

“But I am getting holes with Emmentaler and I am getting no extras with Gruyere for 4 francs. It does not work out.”

“Mrs. Angloswiss you are confusing me.”

“And you are cheating me. Give me the Emmentaler for 1.50 and call it a day.”

The salesman threw the cheese at me, unwrapped, full of holes. Quite a bargain, I got it free, the pleasure of barter. I took it. He was screaming “I do not sell holes” and the last I saw he was wearing a white padded jacket when they fetched him with the ambulance for the clinic. I heard he recovered after a few months and is now selling cars. I think I need a new car.

WordPress: Daily Prompt - Handmade Tales

Automation has made it possible to produce so many objects — from bread to shoes — without the intervention of human hands (assuming that pressing a button doesn’t count). What things do you still prefer in their traditional, handmade version?

Who makes their own lasagne? The photo is a Mrs. Angloswiss lasagne fresh from the oven. Perhaps there are those with Italian ancestry that would not dream of buying a ready-made, frozen lasagne and would do it all themselves from the beginning. Is it worthwhile to make the pasta pastry, roll it out to size; make a cheesy sauce as well as cook mincemeat in a tomato sauce put it in a dish layer by layer and top it all up with the remains of the cheese sauce, sprinkle parmesan over it and bake in the oven? There are not many that bother today; after all it is all available in the supermarket, even if the British did have a crisis when they discovered that some frozen food companies were using horsemeat instead of the normal beef. Mrs. Angloswiss does it all herself, although I do buy the ready-made pasta leaves to save time.

I have a thing about ready-made food. I do not trust it. I do not know what it really contains and today there is so much automation, the greedy food companies do not really care. Now and again there might be some food poisoning, but nothing serious and today’s news is always news, but tomorrow? If I write a prize suspicious blog today, tomorrow it is already forgotten, or a few days later, because something new has arrived. So if the customers of supermarket “A” all have digestion problems because the ready-made automated food they bought from the frozen food selection or special sterilised section or whatever from the shelf had some sort of germ, who cares. No-one really talks about it a week later and the toilet roll sales multiply in turnover.

If I am invited to a restaurant I will go and I will eat, but I will not visit a restaurant as a treat. I had to make enough compromising solutions when I was a working woman. I arrived home half an hour before lunch. I cooked for my son and I, with enough left for Mr. Swiss in the evening and I returned to the office ninety minutes later. I could not afford to eat in a restaurant with son no. 2 daily, and I did not want to. I had dealt with the shopping problem before I arrived in the office and I had it all worked out timewise. Pasta cooking needed about twenty minutes, veg ten at the most according to what it was, and meat could be cooked in the pressure cooker to save time. I did it all myself. I could have taken advantage of automated food, but would I know what I was eating? There are so many preservatives, chemical elements mixed into everything. It is not my sort of thing. Basically it is all a question of logistics. I remember once I had to bring my car to the garage and near the garage was a MacDonalds. I had to eat something for lunch and so I entered in this fast food temple. I found a small table. The other tables were occupied by mothers and their children. Do mothers actually cook today I asked myself?

Today I am a golden oldie and no longer a working woman, so I have the time to think it over and cook it. I do not need prepared packages. I buy my meat over the counter usually. I do not buy pre-packed meat in a cellophane wrapper. Perhaps I should have married a farmer, then I would even know the mother and father of the cow I was eating, but there I would have a problem. I am not a vegetarian, but prefer my meat to be anonymous, otherwise I would not eat it. If I knew that the leg of lamb I was eating came from the farm around the corner where Bluebell was its mother and the only ram in the pack the father, then forget it. I prefer New Zealand lamb. There are thousands of them roaming the prairies and probably the mothers do not even remember how many children they had. My dad had a basic saying on stock as always “Let’s face it there are enough cows walking around and they must be there for something”. I am not agreeing, but try feeding a cat vegetable, he cannot digest it and so it always eats meat. The human body is able to digest meat, so why not.

That is the food problem dealt with for me. I love knowing how things arrive. I made my own clothes for many years; mainly because I had such an impossible figure, that it was the best solution – I was very tall. I even made trousers for the kids, but that was more a financial solution. Today I have perhaps shrunk a little, but what I have lost in height I have gained in width, although being a golden oldie who bothers. I dress in comfort and comfort clothes give and expand and I can buy it.

I buy bread although I even baked bread almost daily some time ago. Ok, it taste fine, smells good, but is it worth it? I decided eventually no, it was not worth it and so I now buy my bread. I do not eat a lot of bread. Making shoes is nothing I ever thought about, but I do not think so. There is nothing better wearing a pair of adidas or whatever for roaming around the country, and in summer either shoeless or a few leather thongs wrapped around the feet do the job quite well.

A thought came to me. This prompt is really directed at the so-called western civilisations. I remember a week in Marrakesh, Morocco. There is a market (souk), full of hand workers. They recycle what they can. They are not rich people and they would probably laugh when they would see the subject of this prompt. They would not have a great choice (except for the rich), they know how to make everything themselves and do not throw it away because something new has arrived.

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WordPress Daily Prompt: Seconds

Describe the most satisfying meal you have ever had, in glorious detail.

Satisfying meals are many and I really do not need a luxury restaurant or something special. Food is always satisfying if you are hungry, and there is no special dish to qualify. Our food in the Western world is always in plenty and if you cannot be bothered to cook it then there are enough fast food restaurants to sustain your hunger.  I have been cooking for the family for the past forty-six years. I am not a fussy eater, I will try everything. What comes on the table I eat. I am not vegetarian, nor vegan, have no dislikes in connection with religion. There are enough that starve in this world and would be glad of every left-over we throw away, or crumbs that fall on the floor, so food is something you eat to live and not the opposite.

However, there are always meals that stay in your mind as being good, tasty, a cut above the rest. I grew up with english home cooking. My mum could not cook, she cooked like her mother did, which explains all. Her motto was as long as a meal comes on the table, everything is well. Sometimes less would have been more, but I survived. I have no problem with food from other countries. I ate Asian food for two years, living with a Pakistani family. I generally eat European food, being in Switzerland and surrounded by Germany, France and Italy. I also like food from Eastern European countries. I am not fussy.


The interesting part is shown by the photo. I had the chance to spend a few days in Marrakesh, Morocco, through the company where my husband worked. This was a few years ago, but I enjoyed the visit very much. I had never set foot on the African continent, and Morocco was a country full of colours, sounds and sights I had never experienced, not to mention the aromas of the food. They had their own specialities and we were lucky enough on our stay to be able to experience the best of the best.

I am sure what we were served was not the every day food of the locals, but we were visitors and were treated and spoilt by the wonderful people of this country. One evening we were invited to the local casino, a meal accompanied with music. A Moroccan speciality was served, something called Bastilla, which is pigeon pie. One of the people in our group refused it as she said she does not eat the little birds. I found pigeon is not little so why not. To be honest it would not be something I would actually serve at home. The dish reminded me of some sort of grave. There was a lid of pastry and when I lifted it, below was a collection of small bones belonging to the unfortuante bird. The meat was ok, but did not actually stay in my memory as being unforgettable. If I remember rightly the pastry was on the sweeter side and had a sprinkling of icing sugar over it.

One evening we were invited to a bedouin tent. There were a few tents erected for the benefit of the tourists, such as we were. We sat at a round table.  The main course arrived at the table in the middle, it was a sheep. Not leg, or breast but a complete half a sheep had been roasted for our benefit. It was served with couscous and the whole main dish was placed in the middle of the table. Knives and forks were supplied, but we all decided when in Morocco do as the Moroccans do, so we dived in with hands and fingers (only the right hand of course, nations that eat with their fingers never use the left hand, that is reserved for something else). I very much like lamb and as this sheep seem to be quite small I decided it was lamb and not mutton. I remember it being very tender and tasty and I enjoyed it very much. Wine was served with the meal, the Moroccans have quite good wine it seems, although I did not try it as I do not drink alcohol. I am also sure that the Moroccan people generally also do not drink wine, but it is exported and a source of finance.

Of course to complete this typical Moroccan meal, it was accompanied by dancing and singing ladies in the Moroccan way of music. It was an evening not to be forgotten.

That is me second from left. The journey took place in 1990 so I was somewhat younger and still had a figure (43 years old). I could even sway to the rhythm and dance. I think today I would have stayed in my chair and just enjoyed watching.