Daily Prompt: Teach your Bloggers Well

We all know how to do something well — write a post that teaches readers how to do something you know and/or love to do.

What can I do well? Everything really to keep me alive. I can cook. At least I have not yet poisoned anyone, although this week I had a low with my cooking. One of those days when you don’t know what to buy and cook. Monday was successful. We had polenta with cipolata (you know those small sausages) and peas. The polenta was mixed with parmesan cheese and butter (of course) and it was a success. 

Tuesday was doomsday (at least for me). Mr. Swiss suggested cervelat, the Swiss sausage, only available in Switzerland although I believe the skins are imported from Brazil, because they have the best quality for the super cervelat. I don’t mind a cervelat and I quite like it with hashed browns (fried potato - have to speak American colonial here other no-one really knows what I am talking about) and cauliflower: two days if sausages, it can only get better. It was decided that as we had french fries on Sunday, it would be time again for pasta. I like pasta, with a tomato sauce called spaghetti, but I was not in the mood for pasta with my cervelat. So we all sat down to lunch and it was all eaten, but I did not enjoy it. I told everyone that it was the last time I would fry a cervelat and serve it with pasta.

At the moment I am in a photographic form of mind. Armed with my mobile telephone and camera nothing is safe from me. I don’t know if I can do it well, but it is fun. To illustrate my photographic abilities there is a photo of a photo. I took a photo with my mobile which is still on the phone and to illustrate my crafty methods, I took a photo of the photo on my mobile phone with my iPad and then beamed it over to my Flickr site, where all my photos originate on these blogs. I know I am clever, brilliant, ingenious - there are not enough adjectives to cover my abilities. 

There are of course a few rules to be followed when taking photos. I took the photo on my mobile phone in a small restaurant where they sell cakes and all sorts of creations. Unfortunately my mobile phone did not spring to photo immediately and I was standing in the tea room and I think the ladies serving in the tea room were a little annoyed, although I did not notice it. Actually the tea room had our Apple shop (computers) in the back room and I just wanted to look around. Mr. Swiss found perhaps I should not take photos in public places. We escaped and there was no damage done.

Oh, come on WordPress, I wrote it all last year and I am really getting bored with these warmed up prompts, just like my caveat with pasta. The cauliflower was also not so good.

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: Sad but True

Tell us about the harshest, most difficult to hear — but accurate — criticism you’e ever gotten. Does it still apply? 

Photographers, artists, poets: show us HARSH.

If I was asked perhaps forty years ago I would probably have written a record blog in length, accusing the world of not understanding my talent, being ignorant of my gifts but today, I do not even hear criticism, and am also in the lucky position to be surrounded by comments which are more in the constructive line of things.

Of course there are some people, some places, where criticism is the daily bread. At work it is a pastime, not even a hobby. What would a chief be when he would not criticise? He would be a failure. He is under the impression he has to keep his staff on their toes, grovelling for favours and living in fright that they might do something wrong. Luckily I am gifted with a thick skin, often a duck’s back. You know the one where comments just run down like water. I always felt so sorry for the workmates I knew who seemed to spend their lives apologising and felt they had to justify every action and comment they made, before they were asked.

Somehow a comment remained that a colleague once said in the office. She was new and was learning the routine and was one of the competent workers. My chef was OK, I had no problem with him. If you made him a coffee in the morning and let him read the newspaper in peace, he was a fantastic bloke. He was god’s gift to women (he thought), but I always treasured his way to leave me alone with the work. Now and again he would ask a question, but with my natural talent for avoiding negative situations, I would tell him I am looking into it and that seemed to suffice.

Then one day this fairly new person in the office asked “What does he have for a function?”. I stifled my laugh, but thought about it. She had hit the nail on the head. In future I did not hear the negative criticisms, questions, or even try to think how this human ballast looked when it stood under the shower, those words spoke volumes. I survived him in the office to cut it short. I had an early retirement because I was probably considered eventually as the living dead, and I was costing too much. The company was suffering under the economy.

Does anyone ever dare to criticise my cooking? Sometimes. Who am I to judge if the criticism is warranted or not. I remember the famous words of my mother, when I was a victim of her daily cooking.

“I pity your old man when you get married, he will be living on fish fingers.”

To explain “old man”: it is an endearing cockney term for husband and fish fingers were the revolution in fish cookery. Most children at that time did not know that a fish had fins and swum. They grew up with the impression that they were born into the world shaped as fingers, coated with bread crumbs and fried. I was lucky, before this glorious invention I had seen and eaten real fish.

However, my mother found this a brilliant invention and at least once a week this formed part of my diet. Was it to be doubted that “my old man” would eat this in his marital bliss. Of course now and again I serve this delicious revolutionary meal, but I also branch out into other directions. I do not actually hear criticism from my cooking victims, I just notice when the aromat is added to the food, more salt and perhaps some other saline spice. The mention of it being hospital food I ignore. My taste buds still work perfectly but as you grow older it might be that some people need more salt in their food (notice, no names mentioned).

The dish in the photo (which I photographed as an unforgettable memory) is an own composition. I quite like hot and some time ago discovered a Spanish sausage known as chorizo, nice an spicy flavoured with a good portion of paprika chile I think. So I developed this idea and cooked it in a tomato sauce with spring onions. I found this fitted perfectly with Italian pasta, preferably penne. This is the proof that “my old man” is not just fed with food, but with events, with creations and he has survived. Thus this dish is known as Chrorizo al penne di mama Angloswiss. I think I will cook fish fingers on Friday for lunch with chips as a change.

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WordPress Weekly Writing Challenge: Cook of the Year

Jack Crow was the first to get his food. It was a self-service restaurant, but he was always given the first choice. He chose a chicken soup as a starter, followed by roast pork, vichy carrots and pommes duchesse. Gradually the others took their place behind Jack and their plates were filled.. There was only one dish on the menu, it was not a gourmet restaurant, but a secret tip amongst the guests. They knew why they wanted to come to this particular place, it had the best reputation for food.

Jack Crow often wondered at the secret of the cooking and asked the supervisor who the cook was.

“Just eat your food Jack, you don’t really want to know who the cook is. We always have the same cook and he does the job well.”

“I just want to thank him for the great meals is conjures up. No harm in that is there?”

and so the cook was brought to Joe’s table.

“Are you the bloke responsible for all this fine food? Actually you look familiar, have we met before, or did you cook in one of those posh restaurants in the West End where I used to eat, when I was living somewhere else.”

“No, no, I never had the chance to work in the West End, but I don’t want to bother such an important man as Jack Crow with the details.”

“I have got all the time in the world” answered Jack, “take a seat and tell me all about it.”

The cook looked at the man in charge of the restaurant, but he nodded in approval so the cook sat down and started to tell his story.

“I used to work in a French restaurant in Soho and then I saw there was a cooking competition on the TV for Cook of the Year. I was one of the best in the restaurant and the owner told me to enter the competition. If I won it would make good publicity and one of the prizes was to work as a cook in one of the best restaurants in town.

The cook paused to make sure he was not boring Jack Crow, but Jack said he should continue

“Did you win the competition?”

“Sort of. First of all I had to be chosen, but they appreciated my cooking and I qualified quite easily. I just had to prepare some oysters, serve a Chateau Briand with sauté potatoes and fennel purée. I was one of the best, so I soon arrived in the finals of the completion.”

“So you won.”

“Not really.”

“Tell Jack what happened” said the restaurant supervisor. “We don’t have all the time in the world. The restaurant is closing soon, and everyone has to go. You have to clean up the kitchen and make orders for tomorrow’s dishes.”

“OK, ok” answered the cook. “No rush, the next part is now coming.”

“And the finals?” Jack Crow was getting impatient.

“Yes the final night, there were just two of us left. Actually there were three cooks in the final, but the third cook had an accident. That was Basil Greenleaf, the son of the famous Mayfair restaurant owner. Unfortunately he had an accident with his Jaguar on the evening before the final and crashed on the motorway. The car was a complete wreck and so was poor Basil. By the time they had cut him out of the wreck, he was gone.”

Here the cook made a pause in the story telling to compose himself before continuing.

There were only two of us left. Pauline Camroux, the daughter of Patrice Camroux the famous wine expert and myself. Unfortunately , she was quite distraught when she arrived at the competiton and had to be comforted by the judge Maurice Poubelle. She fell into his arms and was crying.  He was full of sympathy for her and asked what had happened.

“I am so sad. Minou my Persian cat has been stolen. When I awoke this morning to serve her chopped liver and she was gone. I called for her everywhere. I just do not know how I am going to get through this competition.”

“Don’t worry Pauline, we will help to find Minou after the competition. Now just concentrate on your cooking skills and I am sure everything will turn out well” said a concerned Maurice Poubelle.

We began to cook. We had to select various products from the choice given to us and create a five star menu with three courses which was served to the judges for their approval.

I decided to start with honey glazed onion rings, followed by sautéed pistachio crusted salmon and as a desert chocolate mint soufflé. I was sure this was a winner and I would walk away with the prize.

Eventually the food was served and despite Pauline Camroux’s problem, she succeeded in presenting her menu of  bouillabaisse, followed by milk lamb, gratin dauphinois and broccoli in a sauce hollandaise. As a desert she had prepared mincemeat palmiers with vanilla ice cream.

Both our meals were perfectly cooked and prepared, although I was sure that my chocolate mint soufflé was a winner.

There was a silence in the television studio, nerves were at their zenith and I was waiting to feel my hand being raised as Cook of the Year. Unfortunately it was Pauline Camroux’s hand that was raised and she was proclaimed Cook of the Year, despite the fact that her Persian cat Mimou was waiting in my apartment to be fed with a daily dish of chopped liver.

Of course I was angry, felt cheated, my cook’s pride was injured. It was not easy playing around with the brakes on Basil Greenleaf’s Jaguar. I just grabbed the first thing that came to my hand, a meat knife, and stabbed Pauline Camroux. Unfortunately she survived, otherwise I might have become cook of the year as the runner-up.”

“Of course” said Jack Crow, who was serving his sentence in Her Majesty’s prison for murder, embezzlement, a bank robbery and fraud. “Now I remember you. I believe you got life.”

“Yes, for the murder of Basil Greenleaf and stabbing Pauline Camroux” answered the cook. “That is why I am now serving a life sentence in this prison.”

“All the better for us prisoners” answered Jack Crow. “I have never eaten so well in a prison. You are one of the best, so keep cooking.”

And all the other prisoners in the restaurant stood up and started to clap.

WordPress Daily Prompt: Red Pill, Blue Pill

If you could get all the nutrition you needed in a day with a pill — no worrying about what to eat, no food preparation — would you do it?

Photographers, artists, poets: show us NOURISHMENT.

You want to do what! Replace our beautiful, well formed, 100% veal swiss sausages with a pill. It took me more than forty years to perfection my ideal of Swiss cooking and now I can just throw experience and knowhow away; just swallow one of these and you have time for all the other things you want to do.

I do not think so. My mum always said “I pity your old man (she meant husband – she was a cockney). All he is going to get is fish fingers when you get married.” Sorry mum, but you could only cook what your mum cooked and to be quite honest, it was not my taste. Admittedly money was scarce at the time, but the saying “as long as we have food on the table, is all that matters” did not really impress me. It meant that life’s nourishment consisted of boiled potatoes with every meal. As a vegetable we had greens (some sort of English type cabbage) and a piece of meat (I was too young to know the difference in quality). One day I rebelled. I think it was the first sign of enjoying the art of cooking. I said “just a mixed salad and some meat will do”. I was looked upon as a cuckoo’s egg that had been laid in the family nest, but at least I ate it all.

Later I spent two years in an Indian-Swiss household and then I really learnt how to spice my food. Mum only used salt and pepper (I think). I discovered chilli, cumin, turmeric, cardomum, coriander, and cooking in Ghee instead of oil.

The next step to my culinary development was catering for a six-headed family every day, until the kids left. It is now just me and Mr. Swiss – at weekends and evenings my eldest son. It was then I discovered Rösti (a fried potato dish), Bratwurst (see photo above) and geschnetzeltes (finely chopped meat usually served in a cream sauce). Switzerland having Germany, France and Italy as neighbours, our cooking had a definite continental influence.

Now I should replace my creative talents in the kitchen with a pill: no more shopping excursions in the morning, choosing the vegetable, examining the meat, and buying according to the seasonal offers? : no way.

The scene changes to lunch time..

“Love, what’s for dinner?”

“I thought I would serve one red one and a blue one today. There is now a new development.. At last the colours have been mixed. There is a striped pill in red and blue, and if you miss a salad on your plate, you can have a pill with an additional green stripe.”

“Anything to drink?”

“Of course. If your pill gets stuck in your throat, you can wash it down with a glass of water.”

So husband and wife sit down to a meal and after two minutes they are finished. There is no washing up to do: a stress free life. Wife has spent the morning playing with her vacuum cleaner and the extra time won by not cooking or shopping, she might play games on Facebook. She just loves café world, where you can build your own café, cook dishes and build various kitchen machines. She can even expand her virtual restaurant, accommodating more guests and have a wider choice on the food offered. In the meanwhile her husband decides to take a walk into town where he meets some friends at a street café. He orders a cup of coffee and a croissant. He finds it good that the wife has no stress with cooking, but now and again likes to reminisce how it used to be.

No, people, this is not my idea of life. As opposed to my mum that regarded cooking as a necessity, I enjoy cooking, especially since I am retired. I enjoy my shopping excursions, meeting people, talking to people, the real world. I enjoy designing a meal; savouring the flavours and spices, trying something new.

The bitter pill we might have to eat one day is that the world is not producing enough food for everyone. In our comfortable Western world, we see the pictures of starving children in other lands torn by wars and greed of their government. Those children would be thankful if their mothers gave them a pill or two every day to ensure their healthy survival. There are always two sides to every coin.

How to become a Master Chef

There are not many programmes I really enjoy watching on the TV. A couple of "soaps" one being based on where I grew up called "East Enders", although it does not really have a lot to do with where I grew up, and another a German version of an English soap based on Coronation Street, known as Lindenstrasse.

Now and again something might catch my eye and then I like to watch it, one of these programmes is known as "Master Chef". You have the television studio complete with a modern kitchen and two experts, one who is himself an authority on cooking and the other owning one of those "top" restaurants where you pay a lot of money for something original and excellently cooked, although a matter of taste I suppose. In any case I could not afford to eat in his restaurant.

So the stage is set and then you have the contestants, four young men or women who are cooks in their own right and compete against each other to be the "Master Chef". They have to carry out various experiments in cooking to suit the observant eye of the two judges. That is where the fun begins. The first task is usually something they all have to cook, and the three best win, the fourth going home. I am looking at this programme with a Swiss husband, so the discussion revolves a lot upon "What is that?". This week they had to cook a guinea fowl. So Mr. Swiss asks what is that, and my answer was some sort of chicken, not really knowing what it was. In any case it did look like a chicken, but a bit on the yellowy side and a little bit smaller. I had to look it up in the German-English dictionary and found it in German. Then I knew what it was (a Perlhuhn - sort of a game bird). In any case the four cooks did their presentation. One got quite a black mark as he did not trim all the feathers from the leg, although you really needed a magnifying glass to see them.

Then there was the case of preparing a squid. The squid was fully grown and you saw the four contestants do their tricks with it. Three passed the test but the fourth. He was really a disgrace, he did not skin it and left the quill in the body. Are you with me, I think I would have left the quill in the body as well. It seems that none of the four cooks had ever prepared squid before, but naturally no. 4 had to go home.

Another grave mistake was when cooking a dish containing potatoes, I think it was with fish, but cannot remember. However, that is not important, but again a crime was committed. They all had various ingredients to work with and one of the contestants made an orange salad to go with the meal and actually, most unforgivable, put it on the plate next to the potatoes. It seems, according to the experts, you never, ever, make an orange salad with potatoes in a meal. I was so glad that I had never made this mistake.

Actually I really feel sorry for the on-going master chefs. The young men are mostly in their twenties, and could be my sons, so probably I develop maternal feelings when they get told off for their mistakes. They are asked how they would feel if they fail and have to drop out (only one can win of course) and the usual answer is that they would be devastated and really, really (mostly said twice) want to win.

One of the tests is to cook for the critics. That is not easy, as cooking critics seem to have only one purpose in life, to destroy any self confidence that the cooks might have left after the preliminary tests. Such remarks as "I could not taste any sugar in that desert" or "I would not even serve that to my dog" are often heard. I remember this week, one of the contestants decided to cook a king sized ravioli with some sort of expensive rare filling. Alas he only had ten minutes to go, and had not even made it. He was ordered by one of the experts to go now to the critics and apologise that the next course would be ten minutes late, which he did almost with tears in his eyes. It was a wonder he did not kneel down as he gave up his apology. One of the critics naturally had to say "let's hope we can eat it when it arrives". Luckily it turned out perfectly and the meal and reputation of the young cook, was saved.

Oh, how I love this programme. At the moment the quarter finals have been shown and next week we have the semi finals. Probably the cooks might be shipped to another destination in some sort of exclusive eating temple to be even more insulted and stressed in the kitchen.

When asked, the cooks usually have the target of owning one day their own restaurant and becoming famous in the cooking world.

There is just one problem I have now, when I cook at home, being told that presentation is just as important as cooking. I do find I now harvest praise when the meat or veg is cooked to perfection, which it usually is. I suppose the programme does influence certain people. I just ask myself what they do with the meals cooked on the television. The two judges in the studio really only take a few bites of the expensive exclusive food that is cooked. Perhaps the cameramen and studio workers enjoy the five star menus afterwards.

This programme just gets me thinking.

Cooking with me - Apple rings

In Switzerland we have a series of cookery books called Betty Bossi. Betty Bossi does not exist, but if she did her family would have a cake for every day of the year. Betty Bossi also makes baking utensils and sells them with success. Her latest development is a form for baking apple fritters. The trouble with fritters is that the kitchen gets full of oily smells and the preparaton can get a bit messy. Here is how Betty Bossi does it. First of all you have to have the special form for baking. I ordered one a couple of weeks ago and now it has arrived. Here are the ingredients for the apple rings (all in metric):

1 3/3 dl milk
2 Tablespoons of butter, to be melted and cooled off
1 egg yellow
70 grammes Flour
A pinch of salt
1 tablespoon vanilla sugar
1 small spoon backing powder
1 egg white - stiffly beaten
2-3 apples
3 tablespoons cinnamon sugar (cinnamon powder mixed with sugar)

Here are the ingredients surrounding the form I got.

I have now put all the ingredients together in the blue bowl with the exception of the egg white (which has been beaten stiff in the white jug) and the apples. I mix all the ingredients together with the electric mixer.

I then add the beaten egg white and fold it into the mixture with the spatula.

The mixture is quite thick. I then leave it for 30 minutes to settle. I then take my apples, peel them, core them and cut them in rings about 8 mm thick.

The apple rings are then placed in the special oven form.

Then I pour enough of the cake mixture into each ring form to cover the apple rings until it is used up.

I then put the mixture in the cake form in the over preheated to 200° C and leave them to bake for 20 minutes.

Then remove the cakes from the form and turn them in the cinnamon-sugar mixture. You can eat them warm or cold. On the recipe it is recommended to eat them with a vanilla sauce, but they taste just as good without. There is something in England called custard and that would go with them just as well.

Cooking - Asparagus

Today I cooked asparagus. Asparagus is a strange vegetable and I know it cannot be bought everywhere. It grows in Switzerland in certain areas near a place called Kerzers. The best asparagus apparently comes from Alsace in France, although today you get it imported from all over the place. The season starts late March and goes through to about May. I notice the season starts earlier every year. The price seems to depend on the weather allowing more or less to be harvested. As you can see from the pictures it is a strange plant. It makes nice leaves, and indeed you can buy asparagus as an indoor plant, but the actual life takes place underground in the earth. I am no expert, but the asparagus sticks grow upright in the piled up earth. If you are a gourmet, and really want to do things properly, then you would only eat asparagus that has been pulled out of the earth on the same day as you eat it. I am not a gourmet (in my family we eat to live and not the opposite) so I buy it in the local supermarket. They were selling it for 11.50 Swiss francs for a bunch weighing one kilo, so I bought 2 kilo for 3 people. If one more was at the table I would have bought 3 kilo. When I paid for it at the till the lady said that looks like nice asparagus, I wonder where it comes from. My curiosity was awakened and we found to be from Peru. Now how fast and well it arrived in the Swiss supermarket from Peru I don't know, but I didn't ask questions. So here is today's evening meal.

First of all the ingredients. On the right the asparagus and on the left the meat we eat with it. Ham and a special dried ham from the Grisons part of Switzerland. I am doing things the local way, but I am sure each country would have its own meat to suit. I have butter and a lemon ready and the packet with Sauce Hollandaise written on it is the sauce to eat with the asparagus. There again a gourmet would be shocked to see that I make my sauce hollandaise from a ready mixture. I have made my own, but I never really saw the point. I had a husband and two hungry growing boys to feed - they ate quicker than I could cook and it was just not worth it. Making a sauce hollandaise takes time and patience.

The next step is to cut the ends off the asparagus. The ends are supposed to be important. From these you can see if the asparagus is fresh. If they are dried out that is not supposed to be so good, and the ends are a bit tough to leave on.

The next part is to peel the asparagus. I usually do it with a potato peeler starting from just under the heads (never peel the heads, that is the best part) to the bottom. I then put the peeled asparagus into some water in case there is any grit left on them from the earth. A super housewife would save the peelings to make an asparagus soup.

In the meanwhile I have put a large pan half filled with water on to boil. When the water boils I squeeze half a lemon into it, add about half a teaspoon of salt and butter. The lemon juice makes sure that the asparagus stays a light colour. I am not sure about the butter, but butter is always good.

I would say that 30 minutes is long enough to cook the asparagus. A test is to prod it with a knife at the bottom part of the asparagus. If it goes through easily then it is cooked.

When the asparagus is cooked then drain off the water. As asparagus keeps a lot of the water I find it advisable to put it on the turned off cooking range to help to reduce the remaining water in the asparagus. Just to let it evaporate a bit.

I now make the sauce hollandaise according to instructions on the packet. I buy mine in the local supermarket. According to my youngest son it's the best one. Although he doesn't live at home any more, his presence is felt. I put 250 deciliter milk in a pan and empty the powder from the packet into it. Then stir with a whisk over the heat until it boils. When it starts to boil and gets quite think I melt 50 grammes of butter in it whisking all the time and that's all there is to it.

And there we have our evening meal ready to be eaten. Asparagus is something a bit different, but in Switzerland it is eaten a lot when in season. It was quite a custom at home to have it for Saturday evening meal, but by the time May came along I think we had all had enough. As I have said before, I am not an expert cook, just enjoy cooking and I don't believe so much in recipes but trying things out according to your own tastes. So, as we say in Switzerland - en gute.

Deutsch: Ich habe bewusst keine deutsche Übersetzung gemacht. Ich bin sicher, dass ich muss keine deutscher sagen oder zeigen wie man Spargel macht, und ich bin auch sicher das jeder hat seine Rezept was meine in Schatten lasst. Für irgenwelche Verbesserungsvorshlage bin ich auch dankbar.

Saturday Lunch - Cooking with tabbynera

Yesterday I was shopping in the local supermarket and they had a special offer on bacon. Now bacon is not just bacon as it can be smoked, dried or just salted. In Switzerland mainly smoked salted bacon is eaten, although just salted is can also be made, which I actually prefer. As usual I have to cater for the tastes of my masculine household, so bought a piece of smoked salted bacon. I decided as it was Saturday lunch, and I didn't particularly want to slave all morning in the kitchen preparing some sort of exotic vegetable with it I decided on frozen green beans (just boil, salt, flavour and serve) with potatoes. So here we go.

This is more or less what I need. From right to left - bacon, potatoes, frozen beans and a Waadländer Sauscisson - something Swiss. It is a large sausage filled with pork and spices packed in a skin. This matches well with the bacon. Actually there is a dish in Switzerland called a "Berner Platte" (Bern plate) where these ingredients form the basis, it is typically of the area around Bern and probably comes from the many farms there. A proper Berner Platte would have some bones, cooked ham, boiled beef and perhaps cabbage, but as I was only doing Saturday lunch and not a banquet I just left it as it was.

The next step was to boil some water in a pressure cooker and when boiling to put the bacon into it. Note I did not use my giant pressure cooker, but a flatter one, althugh it doesn't matter as long as it serves the purpose. Of course if you don't have a pressure cooker, then you can use a large saucepan filled with water, but the cooking time is longer. I have about 800 grammes of bacon and it will take around 30-40 minutes under pressure.

In the meanwhile, whilst the bacon is under pressure, I boil some water in a saucepan and put the sausage into the saucepan. My sausage was longer than the width of the saucepan, but with a bit of encouragement I managed to wedge it into the pan. I then put the lid on the saucepan. Cooking time also about 30-40 minutes, but not under pressure - otherwise the sausage would probably explode.

So now we have on the right the sausage and on the left the bacon left to cook on their own. Now we can take it easy, read a book, the newspaper or perhaps do some blogging. About 20 minutes later we have to think of our beans.

First of all I chop an onion in small pieces. My onion is a so-called echalotte, but the special long ones. I just have my own little gimmicks in the kitchen, but a plain ordinary onion does the trick just as well. I also chop up a garlic clove in small pieces. For those who do not like garlic, just leave it out. I find if everyone in the family eats garlic we don't annoy each other so much with the smell.

While I was cutting my onion & garlic I had started to boil some water in a large saucepan. When it boiled I added some salt and put the beans in to cook. I used a kilo of beans.

So now we have our beans (at the back) sausage (front right) and bacon (front left) cooking nicely.

Now to the potatoes. Peel them and put them in a dish. As always I cook them in the microwave, but you can cook potatoes according to your own system. Main thing is that you can eat them afterwards. I sprinkled them with salt and put them in the microwave for about 10 minutes. I did not cut them but left them in one piece - this is the custom in Switzerland when making a Berner Platte.

In the meanwhile the beans are cooked so I drain them off in a sieve or colander or whatever it's called.

I then melt some butter in a saucepan and put the chopped onion and garlic in the pan to fry until they are more or less transparent.

Then put the beans in the saucepan and mix with the onion and garlic. The strange container next to the pan is a Swiss spice called Aromat which no real Swiss can live without. I mean you don't have to use it, but I sprinkled it over the beans just to keep my Swiss men happy. I quite like it myself, althugh perhaps not so healthy. For those with glutamin allergies I would avoid it.

So the beans are now ready, the bacon is cooked and the sausage as well. I cut the rind off the bacon and slice it.

This is the bit where it could be that I lose my temper, but not always. The sausage should be peeled. Either you don't peel it, cut it in slices and everyone peels their slices at the table or you prepare it before. I prefer to prepare it before, as it can be that a few negative remarks are heard when eating. The sausage is hot, really hot, and when you prod it or cut it to take the peel off it can be that you burn your fingers with the hot juice that escapes. Nevertheless, as can be seen, I did manage to do the job.

The potatoes are then also ready and here is the finished meal. Tradition is to put the beans at the bottom, the bacon and sausage and potatoes on top.

Just a few words to myself. I am not a professional cook, but have been married nearly 40 years, brought up 4 children (2 arrived with husband, and the other two are mine). During the years when the family was younger I cooked for all to survive. I was even a cook for 3 years before I had my job that I have now. I was employed in a Kinderkrippe (a place where children stay during the day when their mothers go to work). I was then cooking for 30-40 children and 12 adults every day - breakfast, lunch with tea and coffee break, but that cannot be compared. It is a different system.

Today I have a full time job, Mr. Swiss looks after himself at home and I eat in a restaurant in the local supermarket. In the evening Mr. Swiss looks after food - usually something cold, meat and cheese and salad. I am "allowed" to cook at the week-ends, so it is more a pleasure these days than a job or work and I have more time to sort out what and how. The idea is mainly that everyone wants to eat what you cook. I would of course mention that sometimes things do not turn out as they should - but nobodys perfect.

Let's bake a cake

It was my birthday on Thursday last week so I gave myself a present and took the day off work. I also added Friday to make a nice long week-end and now its back to work on Monday. It is custom where I work to bring something to eat for coffee break. As we are many people – about 20 – I usually back about 3 large cakes, the reason being that it is cheaper than buying something. I used to bake a lot when the kids were at home and when I was allowed to eat the sweet stuff. As the years go by the kids grow up and move away and I am not supposed to eat the sweet stuff any more. This year I decided to make a Santa Claus Cake, a Spice Cake and a Chocolate cake. The last two are my own recipe, just basic. The first one I found in a recipe book some years ago, and my birthday being on St. Niklaus day I found it quite appropriate. Living in Switzerland I use the metric system for weights.

125 gramme Butter
200 gramme brown sugar
A pinch of salt (in the flour)
2 Eggs
200 grammes Dates
60 grammes Walnuts
60 grammes Almond splitters
2 Tablespoons Rum (I used Cognac – anything alcoholic does except for methylated spirits)
350 grammes Flour2-1/2 teaspoons baking powder (In Switzerland we cannot get self-raising flour as in other countries, so we always have to put baking powder into the flour)
2 deciliters of Milk

So here we go

Here we have the ingredients all ready to be used. Of course, something to weight the ingredients is also necessary - you will see this in further photos.

Any cake tin can be used, but I will be using this one. It's called a "spring form" in German and quite useful when the cake is finished as you just release the clip on the side and the cake is released from the tin. You can also serve the cake on the base. First of all grease the tin.

I then weigh the dates

and start chopping them in large pieces.

Now weigh the walnuts

I usually break the walnuts into large pieces by hand.

So now we have the dates, walnuts and almond splitters ready

Put the butter in the mixing bowl. I usually leave the butter at room temperature when I start making the cake as it makes it softer and easier to beat.

I use the electric mixer for making cakes and beat the butter until it is soft.

Then add the brown sugar

and beat it together with the butter

Now add the eggs one after the other and beat into the mixture with the machine

and the mixture should look as above

Add the dates, walnuts and almonds and a generous dose of rum or in my case cognac - what you happen to have in the bar

Start mixing this all together. Notice I have changed the whisk on the machine to something less fine. You just have to mix the stuff together now and not beat it.

Now everything is mixed nicely together.

Put the flour and the baking powder onto the mixture

and add the milk. In the recipe it says add the milk and flour alternatively, but I find that if your have an electric mixer you can just as well add everything together and mix on a slower speed.

The cake mixture is now complete.

It can now be put carefully into the cake tin (did another wonder work by holding the camera in my right hand and balancing the cake mixture in the left).

I usually make a deepening through the middle as when the cake rises (and we all hope it does) it evens out better.

Mr. Swiss found this photo would not be possible, but I again decided to prove it was. I had to do it with a flash, but it worked out ok. Here you see the cake after about 20 minutes in the oven.

And here is the final product. I wrap it in aluminium foil and keep it in the fridge until Monday when I take it to work. It then stays fresh.