August bounty

As September comes around I get nostalgic for the months that have passed since my move to Canada. My mind hops and skips and plots a timeline between the damp green promise of April through early June, through the sensual riot of nature in July and the white heat, the green fertility and prodigious harvests of August. I wonder, what will September bring?

Finally, figs

Figs have a certain mystique all their own, a reputation as a sensuous, aphrodisiac fruit. They were said to be Cleopatra's favourite fruit, and a gift from the god of wine and merrymaking, Bacchus. So there was a weight of expectation when I bit into my first fig many years ago. But those first tenatative bites didn't make me a convert. I still didn't see what all the fuss was about. You want sensuous fruit? Try a Philippine mango, eat it warm and juicy over the kitchen sink with the juice running down your chin as you sink your teeth into that golden, sweet-perfumed goodness. As for those figs, they were sweet, they were soft. But that was it.

When H brought home a tray of purple California figs a few days ago I had another chance to fall in love with this fruit, and yet eating the fresh figs still didn't make a convert of me.

By chance, tonight I decided to roast the figs. Et voila! I can say I now like figs 100% more.

Roasting figs: nothing could be easier. Split each fig in two, lay on a nonstick baking sheet, scatter some thyme leaves, add a cube of butter to each fig, and drizzle generously with honey and freshly squeezed orange juice. Bake in a preheated 400 F oven.

Roasting unveiled the succulence, the sweetness of this fruit for me. Thyme (a mix of lemon thyme and plain thyme from the garden) added a cool herbal note. The drizzle of honey paired well with the faint richness of the butter and the tang of lemon juice. Tomorrow, we will feast on these figs, with a scatter of walnuts.

The flavour orange

I bought Diana Henry's Crazy Water, Pickled Lemon ages ago, drawn to the book by the evocative title, and because I have an enduring fascination with the cuisines and cultures of North Africa, Morocco, Spain, Greece, Turkey, Italy and the whole Mediterranean. But until yesterday I had yet to try one of the sensuous recipes she wrote up so beautifully.



The second impulse for this cake came from a blog I like, Souvlaki for the Soul, maybe because of the writer's Greek heritage. Peter G's "Intense Orange and Almond Cake" looked irresistible! And then I remembered Ms Henry's book has a similar recipe. The eternal perfume of oranges -- so seasonless I even crave them in winter -- married to the earthy crunch of ground almonds (and almonds are so good for your health too). What's not to like?



My recipe is adapted from both Peter's blog and Diana Henry's book. The cake baked for 1 hour and the top was wonderful and crunchy looking as you can see here. In fact, using a food processor to more finely mix the batter and oranges would result in a finer-looking cake, but I'm happy with the rustic, homey goodness I got. H and I had visitors yesterday evening, and I served out slices almost straight from the oven (I'm not too modest to tell you my guests said the cake was "very good").



I had my own slice today and a lovely snack it was too. When I make this cake again, I would probably use the food processor to chop up the oranges, and use caster sugar, for a nicer presentation. If I were bringing it to a party, I would dust it with icing sugar too.

Middle Eastern Orange and Almond Cake
serves 8

2 oranges, organic
3 eggs, room temperature
250g (90z) caster or granulated sugar
55g (2oz) plain flour, sifted
5ml (1 tsp) baking powder
200g (7oz) almond meal or flour
Optional: icing sugar for dusting

Method:
1. Boil the oranges for an hour in a saucepan, barely covered in water. Allow to cool and chop up coarsely (or process in a food processor). Set aside.

2. Preheat oven to 350 F. Grease and flour a nonstick 8in springform pan (or line with baking parchment).

3. Beat the eggs and sugar together until the mixture is pale and thick. Fold in the flour, baking powder, almond meal and oranges. Pour into the baking pan and bake for about an hour or until a toothpick inserted in the middle of the cake comes out clean.

4. Let the cake cool and turn out of the pan.

~~~~~

Prefacing her recipe Ms Henry says: "I love making this. I'm so enthralled by the alchemy that can turn pureed boiled oranges into a sweet, moist cake."

I am too.

Amazing flora

The super tall sunflower finally bloomed two days ago. It is so tall I had to get up on H's pickup to even get near the flower.

The tomato harvest just keeps coming! Incredible. There's cherry tomatoes, beefsteak tomatoes, patio toms and a heritage tomato with yellow fruit (not shown in pic). This morning we also brought in the last of the corn harvest and a few beans (why are they furry? H says they're sometimes like that; never saw furry ones in Asia though)

I cleaned up a little bit around the bed to make it look tidier. I have BIG plans for tomatoes next year and am determined to organise the front yard plantings much better.



The echinacea has been blooming for three weeks or more now. Excuse the hunched pose. H is a patient photographer but I'm not the best model!

Mini pizzas

Above shows two of the six pita pizzas I made for dinner today. A complete, easy meal, with loads of possibilities for the toppings - get as creative as you like! I considered adding marinated artichoke hearts and even some sauteed salmon, but in the end decided to use various combinations of Black Forest ham, mushrooms, two cheeses (Parmesan and a creamy Havarti), half of a smoked sausage and sauteed onions. I also considered making pizza dough from scratch until my eyes lit on the pack of pita that had been sitting in the freezer for about a month now.

Pita pizzas with various toppings

Tomato sauce:
156ml can tomato paste
398ml can tomato sauce
Five cloves of garlic, chopped
Two large white mushroomns, chopped

Toppings:
Black forest ham, sliced into strips*
Smokey sausage, sliced into rounds*
Two large white mushrooms, sliced thinly
Half a red onion, sliced into rings and sauteed till golden
Havarti Jalapeno cheese, cubed
Grated Parmesan cheese, enough to sprinkle over 6 pita rounds

* I was worried that the fat in the sausage and ham could come out during the pizza baking. Pools of fat sitting on top of the tomato sauce would be sooo unattractive! So as a precaution I microwaved the ham and sausage slices on paper towels for 1 minute, drained them and presto, they were ready for use.

Prepare the pizza base: Toast 6 pita rounds lightly, in a 400 F oven. Around 8 minutes.

Make the tomato sauce base: Saute chopped garlic in 1 tbsp oil for 3 to 5 minutes. Add chopped mushrooms and cook for a few more minutes. Pour in tomato paste and tomato sauce and let simmer over medium/low heat for around 10 minutes until the flavours combine. Season with your choice of herbs, salt and pepper. Add a pinch of sugar if the tomato sauce is too tart.

Assemble the pizzas: Lay parchment paper or wax paper on your baking surface (I used three cookie sheets, two pita rounds to a sheet). Assemble the pizzas by coating each one with the tomato sauce. You can then add whatever toppings you like. On one pizza I layered the sauteed onion with the cubed Havarti and ham strips. On another I used the sausage rounds and Havarti. Another pizza had only the sliced mushrooms and ham strips. I didn't use mozzarella simply because I didn't have it, but it's a fine tradition.

Finally, sprinkle grated Parmesan over all the pizzas. Bake in a 400 F oven for 5 to 10 minutes or until the cheeses melt. Here are two of the pizzas after their whirl in the oven:



Delicious! I loved the contrast between the crunchy pita and the savoury sauce and toppings. I can see myself having a fruity red wine to go with this, or with an ice cold bottle of cider which is what H and I actually had.

Have a wonderful evening.

Balm

Daisies...these were blooming in the backyard in early or mid July, when they were quite eclipsed by the riotousness of many gorgeous blooms. But they came to mind as I grieved for our former President Cory. They are modest flowers, but they offer coolness and grace to the beholder.



The dark cool depths of this pond at Van Dusen, where H and I went last weekend along with my sister and her family, are soothing.



The wildflowers at the park are a reminder to trust that all will be well at the end of the day.

In memory of Cory

Teddy Boy Locsin Jr.'s eulogy to the late president - he said it so well. Like him, you'll rarely catch me praying. But she made a believer of me, when she was President, and long after she had given up that position.


Throughout thirteen years of martial law, until I laid eyes on her again, I never thought that I would ever see the end of it. Least of all that my father would survive it. I am not much given to prayer or pious reflection but when I could set aside my anger, I prayed my father would see democracy again.

Late one afternoon, in San Francisco, I got a call. It was from Cory Aquino, for whom I had written one speech after her husband’s assassination. She said she had accepted Marcos’s challenge in a Snap Presidential Election. I put down the phone, and packed my bags, and reported to her at the Cojuangco Building.

I knew then she was the answer to my prayers. What I did not notice was that the closer we came to victory, which is to say the farther the prospect receded that the Marcos regime would survive, the less I felt the anger inside me. As each day passed, bringing me closer to the day I could get even, the less I felt the need for it as I spent more time with the woman who alone could make it possible.

I did not notice, but I was no longer looking back in anger, or looking forward even, to victory and vindication. Only now do I see. I had lived with my anger so long, only for the day to come when it no longer mattered to me. The only thing that counted was that I was living every day to the fullest, bringing out the best in me—for someone else. A dream I hadn’t had since I was a boy, feeding on stories of chivalry, had been achieved. I was serving a woman who was every inch a sovereign, all the more for scorning the slightest pretension to the role.

I did not realize it, even when I was already in the Palace, by the side of the President—among all her advisers, I like to think, the one who loved her most.

It never again occurred to me that I had scores to settle. And not until today, that I had passed up every chance to get even.

From the moment I came in from the airport and reported for duty, and she gave me in return the same smile she gave me on her deathbed, I never noticed… Not when I was with her in the campaign when she corrected me for not looking at the people I was waving at… Nor when I was with her in the presidential limousine looking intently, for her benefit, at the crowds at whom I waved… I never noticed anything. Except that I was with the only person that I would ever want to be with.

I certainly never noticed that I had left my anger behind. I don’t know how it happened. Except that Cory Aquino ennobled everyone who came near her. I have tried to say it publicly but never could finish. If you saw me as I felt myself to be, anyone would fall in love with me. I saw myself in that hospital room, a knight at the bedside of his dying sovereign, on the eve of a new Crusade, oblivious to the weight of the armor on his shoulders for the weight of the grief in his heart.

And because she always doubted my ability to be good for very long… Indeed, when my wife told Ballsy that I prayed the rosary at Lourdes for her mother’s recovery, Cory said, “Teddy Boy prayed the rosary? A miracle! I feel better already.” Because she doubted my capacity for self-reformation, she made it effortless for me by being herself. I did not notice that I was doing right by serving a woman who never did wrong. I am not sure how to take this moral self-discovery. It is so unlike myself. But if it will bring me before her again, I am happy.

Yellow ribbon

For a most remarkable woman who did not ask to be admired and did not ask to lead, but who was loved and admired and led a country anyway.

Rest in peace, our beloved Cory.

Red star

Rust-red (or maroon) flower in the garden, captured accidentally on my DSLR. Original image was pitch black; once corrected in my photo editing software it came out like this.

Dark suns

Echinacea in the garden.

Oh no, another rice pudding!

I'm a true blue Bulakena and I love my kakanins. There must always be coconut milk and malagkit in the house in one form or another. Yesterday I also had some grated coconut (about 2 cups) that I didn't want to throw away. So I fried them in a little grapeseed oil (coconut oil would be great too) until they were golden brown.

Next, I boiled 1.5 cups glutinous rice in 3 cups coconut milk and 2 cups water mixed with about a cup of sugar, stirring constantly over low-medium heat, until cooked. (You can also use a rice cooker to cook the rice, and add the sugar and coconut milk later. The results will be somewhat different and you will need less coconut milk).

Remove to a pie plate or a shallow 8x8 pan. Pour a can of condensed milk on top and bake at 200 C until the milk thickens and turns a golden brown, around 15-20 minutes. Sprinkle the fried coconut over the top and cool down. Best eaten cold.



This tooth-rotting confection is of course a dentist's nightmare (or Christmas bonus, depending on how you look at it!)

With this we had a little locally grown blackberry liqueur that was fruity and just tart enough to offset the extreme sweetness.



BlueHeron Fruit Winery
Blackberry Port
375ml, 18% alcohol

Morning harvest

From the garden this morning: Squashes, yellow beans, and a few cherry tomatoes.

Spider by the front steps

Natural History
E.B. White

The spider, dropping down from twig,
Unfolds a plan of her devising,
A thin premeditated rig
To use in rising.

And all that journey down through space,
In cool descent and loyal hearted,
She spins a ladder to the place
From where she started.

Thus I, gone forth as spiders do
In spider's web a truth discerning,
Attach one silken thread to you
For my returning.