Posts tagged cooking

chickenwithgarlicbutter
Today's dinner was chicken breast in garlic butter. I ate it with
Tescos out of the packet macaroni cheese prepared by ma and Himalayan
pink salt

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INGREDIENTS: Apple, Black Pepper, Chicken, Double Cream, 
Garlic (chopped as finely as I feel confident enough to),
Mozzarella cheese, Olives, 2x Oranges, Paprika, Tomato

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Tomorrow is a really big day for me, I’ve an appointment at ten in the morning, with the NHS. I’ve so much that needs discussing that I’ve managed to annotate it all on lined cards, so I don’t forget.

Anyone who has PTSD – or has otherwise had to repeatedly recover from numerous incidents in their life that have given them PTSD (and what a souvenir, what a name to succinctly describe an all around life-changing, mind-altering, severely-traumatic experience – flashbacks of the event for who knows how long, freezing into a state of incapacity, difficulty maintaining concentration and staring into space, nightmares of the event, anxiety and an inability or reluctance to engage with humans that you know you would allow to hurt you – ever – and some sad pity towards the ones you don’t care enough about not to hurt back), will tell you that their memory is questionable. Anyone who has grown up in a home with great levels of conflict will tell you that their memory is questionable. I don’t mean the occasional lovers tiff between a cheating mum and dad – I mean – literally not speaking to your mother for weeks unless it was to fight. Not being hugged by your mother unless it was because you’d just apologised for defending yourself in an argument she scheduled to stop you going to see a friend, and of course, never receiving the apology you deserved back.

Apparently growing up amongst a family that never stopped arguing is synonymous with being in a war zone – as in the brain chemicals released in both circumstances do not differ. Numbness and de-sensitivity is a temporary state – I’m sure in years to come it’ll be discovered that the result or outcome of the chemicals that we associate with happiness and the “lack” of feeling associated (wrongly) with sociopathy will be acknowledged as one and the same. A happy person is as oblivious as a sociopath is uncaring, and both are often guiltless about rudeness – ESPECIALLY if the rudeness is inflicted upon a person that deserves it.

The truth is – I’m SO HAPPY. I’m SO HEALTHY. Better than I have ever been, in my entire life – and in the absence of “friends”, “drugs” (unfortunately, because I enjoy those) or cash (sadly, because I enjoy having that).

There’s so much that actually needs to be discussed in that appointment, and it is not happy stuff. And there is so much more than I think could possibly be discussed or comprehended within the time frame. But as always: I make do with what I can. I’ll try to be concise and see how it goes.

I spent this weekend at Picasso’s Place. It’s a local cafe where you can spend hours perched at a table, painting pre-sculpted crockery. It’s then taken from you and placed in a kiln to be collected later. The owner cooks the ceramics about once a week and it’s so nice to have something to look forward to this weekend.

Did you know that Picasso’s career began with ceramics? Ofcourse he’d have been painting before he started working with tiles, but that’s where his career truly began to take off. My grandmother used to paint ceramics and had her own kiln in her home in Paraguay, in her artist’s studio. She had a bathroom she’d painted the tiles for herself. What a dream. If I ever design my own bedroom, it’ll be full of tiles and carpets.

I’ve not asked the owner much about how the items are made, and I ought to. I used to visit the cafe frequently as a child and I’ve thought to for years since but I’ve not felt to.

A girl I was friends with many years ago was at the cafe this weekend and it was really nice to share a room with her. We didn’t speak much – but it was nice to work with her there, all the same.

I made a #WIWTW video to document my outfit. I’ve added it to the >> style << section of my site to edit later. And above is my personal DBZ Pantheon. The credits for the images used in my cover photo can be found by visiting the link @youtube.

The apple piece was inspired by a sketchbook I completed in sixth form, about Snow White. I had been studying Angela Carter’s Bloody Chamber book for English Literature and I wanted to connect my English studies and my Fine Art studies – so I combined the two.

The work is intended for sale on my OphiuchusBorn shoppe, and a 
segment of a biblical (old testament) text I read yesterday in the 
early morning at the kitchen table. It was an inspiring read because
there were parts written about people who prophesy, I want my site
and my work to be available and inoffensive to people of all faiths
so I decided that when it comes to a structure relating to how I
read Tarot - I would like to only discuss what the cards mention in
terms of archetypes in relations to what I have learned from my
experience in counselling and also through my own relationship with
the figures in the cards as archetypes. I will not use the cards to
discuss people's future, only to discuss what the cards might afford
me to reflect about the present and the behavioural cycles in the 
querent's life. I have found that Tarot can be more successful in
resolving long term issues in people's lives than most forms of
therapy, and that promising people a future can be difficult as
when you open a spread to do so, the querent can also exercise a 
freedom of choice - that is they can choose not to take the advice
preceding the potential future the cards suggest. 

So my work is also an homage to the creationist story as written in
the book of Genesis, where the notion of Freedom of Choice is 
written - the 'forbidden fruit' certainly signifies the choice for
Adam and Eve to learn truth - but they have a choice not to.

The choice of a green apple was inspired by Son of Man, by Magritte. 

Ren? Magritte, The Son of Man, 1964, Restored by Shimon D. Yanowitz, 2009  øðä îàâøéè, áðå ùì àãí, 1964, øñèåøöéä ò"é ùîòåï éðåáéõ, 2009
The image was taken from the Son of Man Wikipedia Page. 

I once had a chat with a traveller in Uganda, a man from Israel. I
told him about what my family had done, and he said Thankyou on 
behalf of Israel - quite unpretentiously. A simple "thankyou" - and
he taught me the word "Benadam" - which means "Son of Adam". I wrote
a story later about the nature of parenthood, and divorce, 
the names of the protagonists in the story were 'Aphra' and 
'Benadam'. It subtly discussed the archetypes of man and woman 
leaving one another, to continue life journeys without one another.
I'm sad it was lost.
I'll include some snake references also, as I did do my initial 
sketch using shapes I found in photography on Google.

I’ve listened to this scene – on repeat – while I worked this evening. I’ve not yet fully watched it in it’s entirety.

Above is a video featuring a discussion between Zamasu and Master 
Goasu - that was uploaded by @Dragan Kraljevic. 
I've never seen these episodes but this character resonates with me. 
Like books.. I do judge characters by their covers, I think.

I'm never wrong about covers I like, though. I mean - when I like
a cover it means I'm receptive to learning something. 

There is a first time for everything however.

“You lack faith in mortals, tell me why – this tea is a mirror pointed inward. If the soul of it’s maker is clouded, the tea will be as well. So is it fear that clouds this cup, or bewilderment? Speak.”

“Master Goasu you’ve said something often, to make mistakes but learn from them thus forging a better World. That is the essence of a mortal spirit. But as far as I can see, mortals do not learn this way at all. Planet Barbary is no outliar Master – you’ve seen this countless times before.”

“Patience Zamasu. Every seed needs time to grow.”

“Gardens are tended – not just watched. Should not a gardener not pluck the weeds? When I was invited here, I thought you would teach me divine justice. When all you seem to do is – watch – while these monsters stain existence with each other’s blood.”

“Hm. Zamasu, do you ever ponder the relationship between good, evil and justice?”

“Yes. All the time. Evil is the great obstacle to good. And justice the sword by which good can over come this obstacle and flourish.”

“That is one perspective. But I have come to view it this way: justice is not a sword eradicating evil but a scale keeping good and evil in balance.”

“Balance, Master?”

“One can succumb to evil but reject that darkness and rediscover the light with new understanding – justice makes that journey possible. Evil informs good – and that is why we give the mortals their mind.”

“You give corruption far too much credit. Evil does not inform good, it sullies it, like the barbary sully their world with violence and that arrogant Goku sullied a sacred ground by swinging his fists at a God. Mortals receive the divine gift of intellect, the potential for wisdom. But they misuse it to destroy the beauty of creation. Mortals do not succumb to evil, they are the evil – they create it and spread it with minds they shouldn’t possess – how can we call ourselves Gods if we watch this plight and do nothing to stop it?”

“Zamasu you have a strong hunger for justice – and that can be a great thing. But we must put temperance over righteousness and guide lost children to the good path that seems slow, even for us. Do not forget the true reason you have honed your fighting ability is to strengthen your mind for your journey toward enlightenment. Being Gods does not make us perfect. We too must learn and ?? over time. Reflect on our discussion as you make more tea.”

“Merely watching. That’s a sin too. Don’t you see?”


Last night, I borrowed the tub my ma uses for dishes and began dying clothes that I felt needed to be livened up. If you have garments that you like but are a little boring, I strongly advise you researching how to upcycle them. You might even be able to sell them if it’s something of a talent. I’ll be sure to post the result when I’m happy with them.

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I like to pour the powder in specific areas of clothing and rub it in myself using a toothbrush, it gives you more control over how the dye is absorbed by the fabric. I like messy and directional paint strokes.

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I’m about to visit a local ceramic painting cafe, but here’s what I did this morning while you were all asleep. It took a few hours to make these. I was sort of trying to experiment with interesting ways to serve the food. Which is how I explain my use of lots of different kinds of plates. I mean for the top photograph, I turned a bowl upside down. I liked that it had been designed with a neck at the base of the bowl – which meant that when I poured a bit of left over olive oil on top it didn’t spill over the sides.

I know photoshop can be a little dishonest – so here’s the original. I used the sharpening function though.

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Incase that bothers you… Here’s the original-original.

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Below I used a slate coaster.

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This is the second time I’ve ever prepared spring rolls. So I have to remain humble about it and I do intend to get better over time, I enjoyed cooking and eating this meal tremendously. I learned from watching my maid Mala cook in Dubai a few times as an infant, watching my paternal grandmother preparing dolma, watching arab women hand make bread with their hands – on stoves and without frying pans. I used Vietnamese deep fried egg paper that I purchased from an AZN shoppe in Hackney months ago.

They’re supposed to be crunchy – but I made them using a lot of citrus liquids. I like soft pastries. I used lemon and orange juice. I’ll include a recipe list here incase you want to make some.

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When I worked at Fatface, (I didn’t mention that on my CV because who in the fucking hell would) (They call their often wildly anorexic staff – that is rejected job applicants who’d of preferred to of worked Jack Wills or Abercrombie and Fitch rejects ‘FATTIES” – that is the official job title) – I once worked with a temporary regional manager who taught me that he rather preferred for Fat Face to put less stock on the shop floor, as it made the items look better. There would be two items of every size available on the shop at any given moment and on a good day, it was a successful selling point from a VM (Visual Merchandising) perspective as it kept the staff actively interacting with the shop floor and engaging with products.

So I kind of put that into my choice to only photograph a tiny portion of what were many spring rolls. Here is me preparing them on one of my instagrams. I maintain two of those. One has followers (I’m sure at least 10 or so of them might be real, but I’ve not invested in fake followers because my ego is too big to be able to cope with remembering investing in fake accounts to follow and/or comment me)

 

Can you imagine though: that amongst the reasons I got sectioned, was that I was preparing sushi in my bedroom? (I’ll explain – my family were being rude, nasty and inhospitable and I found that unpleasant – so I avoided being around them. The kitchen was very compact and there was no where to sit. Which is fine, I love compact spaces – but at the time I had a pretty severe bowel condition and not-sitting was difficult. We’ve since had the kitchen relocated.)

Here are some cooking related facts: I was never taught how to cook by my mother. Not once. If I told you about the home cooked meals we had growing up while I was stoned and / or drunk, you and I would laugh together at my mother’s domestic incompetence – which I am inclined to ADMIRE as a feminist. If I told you in a court of law, trying to manipulate you into sympathy – you’d be appalled.

I was raised being told “You will have maids and servants when you grow up.” And if you knew my family history, that wouldn’t be a made up fairy tale – that would be a “when you consider the countries you originate from: it is correct that you have staff to help you maintain your home. It is good for the economy – we come from countries where the divide between the rich and the poor is vast and somewhat unacceptable – so if you have the money to hire home help – you sure as fucking hell do it. There are women who need that money to send their children to school.”

My grandmother used to visit places in Paraguay, where people lived in little shacks and tents, to find staff to help her at home. And she did not have a mansion, she had a humble two floor home.

When I was in the ward, after I’d been exposed to medication that gave me severe akithisia – which meant I was shaking uncontrollably and carrying ridiculous amounts of energy that actually caused me severe abdominal pain (on top of a bowel condition). My doctors prescribed me the wrong mediation to combat this – they gave me lorazepam. A medication that makes you drowsy, intended as an alternative to drugs like valium for high levels of anxiety. I did have anxiety also, which was a natural response to having my autonomy stolen from me and not being given an adequate dialogue with a professional psychiatrist. But that was not akithisia – which I read that a doctor inflicted upon themselves on purpose for a medical study and described it as actual torture.

In spite of the protests I’d made to the staff, that I’d technically grown up in an abusive home – which went unheard because my psychiatrist fancied my sister who decided to look quite nice that day (in what I’d personally describe as a flourescent yeti jumper)

I found out through first hand experience though that the people in charge over the vulnerable and ‘unstable’ spiritual masters that are imprisoned in psychiatric wards – people who have learned to love abusers unconditionally and have rejected the ideals expected of them from the most boring dregs of a society that conforms to ‘normality’ – the social workers, psychiatric nurses and even the psychiatrists, for all of their years of studying the human body – are completely, unequivocally irresponsible and stupid.

I still don’t like hearing knocks on doors. I called up ESA and told them that even though I tried to enter full time education to do a Masters Degree – I couldn’t do it. I was too damaged by the medications I was forced to take, I was too damaged by being introduced to people who robbed me of my autonomy, touched me without permission and who told me lie after lie after lie and pretended that they weren’t observing me when I knew they were. One time I was exercising in my personal space, where I dressed and undressed in a faux privacy and I hit my head on the ground. I mean I really smashed my head, I fell on it with all of my body weight – I could’ve damaged my neck. I’m heavy. By some coincidence a nurse allowed herself into my room as if she had not been watching me and said “are you alright?” and I knew enough – and I replied “Hm? I’m fine.”

There were many moments like that, for years of my life. I act stupid and it helps me get the answers I need. I discussed this by telephone with women I intuited to have big mouths – I want these experiences to be widely discussed. I want everyone who was involved in what was truly torture to not only experience what I did, but to learn to value their personal freedom because I will never not be a person who was sectioned and abused – probably raped a few times when I was sedated – in a hospital – and they will never not be people that engaged in that abuse, they will never not be people that contributed to trauma. Every single person that “looked after” me in that period deserves to lose their job and be given a criminal record too.

My spiritual practice, throughout my life, has taught me that karma is a very real aspect of human existence. My spiritual practice has taught me that you reap what you sow, be it good or be it evil. Do as you wilt but accept that consequence is absolute – even a psychologist or any kind of buff with an understanding of the human mind will tell you that you manifest your own lessons and you will be reminded for the remainder of your life of every nasty thing you ever did, every cruelty, every lie told for any false or unacceptable reason – and the results of your actions will perpetually bring you back to what you have not learned, until you do learn. That is – until you accept that you are in the wrong, and that is an inevitability, your sense of guilt will increase and then it is likely that you will experience “psychosis”.

And no spiritual master like me will help you – because we will value the lessons you need to learn in order to grow. For everyone else.

There is a God but that doesn’t mean that God “loves” you.

 

 

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I love in-oven shots.

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RECIPE

Almond Oil, Apple, Double Cream, Garlic, Leek, Lemon, Mint, 
Paprika, Red Onion, Sausages, Sesame Seeds, Spring Onion and 
[a fresh] Tomato

table

A decanter? As a vase? Really? Really. MADNESS.
Ma is somewhat of a plants-dedicate and she doesn’t appreciate the lugubriousness of flowers. She associates them with death. My spiritual teacher Lisa, when I lived with her, had beautiful flowers brought to her weekly by her now-husband: a teacher for school children. It was charming to witness. I don’t think a man has ever bought me flowers without spending my own money, ha. British men… (I dated a dual heritage half Egyptian half Irish boy that lived on a council estate in East London for four years, he bought me a few gifts, and the most treasured was a perfect jewellery box from a charity shop in Ireland – I am not resentful towards him for having never brought me flowers.) (If he came across this he’d roll his eyes and think ‘she’s kitchen sinking again’ – I’m ACTUALLY NOT. I STOPPED PASSIVE AGGRESSIVELY ADDRESSING YOU YEARS AGO. I LITERALLY USE OUR ETERNAL CONNECTION TO MAKE MEN JEALOUS, OKAY) (“knew it” he’d say – but also privately not believe me.)

I’m sitting in the kitchen, editing a little music video of sorts that I intend to call “painting un marguerites pourpre”; as I prepare lunch. By the way, that should translate to Painting the Daisies purple, google is being a little unreliable today. As I posted previously, I’ve introduced a French Poodle called M’sieur Hugh Le Poodle to Miss Kittie’s entourage of co-characters.

My company in the kitchen as I type, is three chihuahuas who are very keenly and efficiently supervising the preparation of my meal and a glass of ‘cucumber infused’ water.

It reminds me of >> ‘tereré’. << In Paraguay there is a cold drink prepared that has a mixer (often water), it’s intended to be refreshing. It is a mixture of herbs, leaves and mostly anything that adds some flavour. It is drunk through a metal straw, that acts as a sieve – filtering out the excess of herbs etc. Typically you refill the cup, and reuse the spices and herbs in the drink.

Paraguay is a country situated in south to central America, it is very hot and very humid and people seldom drink hot drinks as they do in the United Kingdom. Perhaps to some extent that might be a disclaimer of sorts as to why my family and myself do not often reach for tea. Tea and Hot Chocolate are drinks you have at tea parties and typically at night time. It is not a casual affair, a lot of preparation is put into those drinks: typically at my Grandmother’s friend’s (Latina socialites…) I recall that hot drinks would be served in teapots not directly out of a kettle, dulce de leche, powdered milk – etc.

The success of the video project is undetermined – I’m not sure that children’s paint is the best tool for painting flowers by osmosis – though I imagine the Queen of Heart’s knaves would disagree. I had a little help from Levi to compose a song for it and it is so pretty. It’s in A Minor; (the very saddest key) I used the ‘delicate bells’ option on GarageBand and played around with the tempo. Inspired by the children’s song: “London’s burning, London’s burning”, and a scene from Spinal Tap.

The upload above features a scene from the film Spinal Tap - a backup
singer and guitarist in the band performs a delicate piano piece 
called 'Lick my Love Pump'. It was uploaded by @Nathan Noah

 

Here is the original sample, of a song I channelled Levi to play – that I then played with on Final Cut Pro.

My brother was training to be a sound engineer, drug dealers abused him out of his equipment – one time I took a song I’d made to a show and tell. No one seemed to like it so I thought it must’ve been awful.

Here is how my Final Cut Pro screen is looking.

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This morning, for the third day in a row – I took Tintin on a six am walk to the local park. I was still fully made up from shooting my video and donning the very fullest eyelashes you’ve ever seen. I came back and had to hoover – imagine hoovering at six thirty in the morning. And ma’s dyson hoover is AUDIBLE. I’m not used to traipsing muddy parks (although I did used to go on one to two hourly walks in Farnham, daily, twice a day… I didn’t experience dried mud latching itself to the crevices of my boots – more often than not I wore Moccasins or Vans and they are better suited to mud than Doc Martens. Doc Martens deserve better treatment than mine are getting but I like them to look battered.)

I won’t link the video here but I heard a strange faux edit of an Esther Hicks video where she said something like “Oprah won’t even let us appear on her show because we’re too weird”… Esther Hicks and Oprah are very deeply connected – Oprah was a long time fan of Esther Hicks, and Esther Hicks a long time fan of Oprah also. There is a video that lasts for approximately an hour and a half where Oprah interviews Esther Hicks at great depths about the Art of Manifestation. There is a section on Esther Hicks’ website where you can access original edits of her talks and I would strongly recommend that you do so. These were convincing edits, kudos to the remix squad – because it was not a one man job. No woman would do that.

Today, luncheon is sausages and some left over sauce I made a day or two ago.

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Actually – it is so much more than that.

Amongst this oven din (it’s an alternate word for ‘noise’) is those richmond sausages I’ve enjoyed since I was a teenager, not finely-chopped garlic, lemon seasoned with copious dried mint, onion, apple, leeks, spring onion I believe, and almost the very last of my Israeli Argan Oil. And I’ve thrown in some paprika too. A lot actually.

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And I’ve learned something – if you don’t like to smell of meat – if I do not eat a diet of mostly meat, my body suffers for it – put mint with your cooking. It overpowers the smell of flesh and tastes good with *everything*.

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I’m sort of the Bubba of pork goods, you know how he spends his entire military service describing the various and many methods of preparing shrimp?

This is one of my favourite scenes ever.

My favourite line is: “in the sea of mediocrity, I can be anything! Anything I want to beeeeeeeeeeeee”

I feel like, if Kanye and I had joined the army together – I’d be Bubba and he’d be Forest. Literally, Donda is Forest Gump’s mother. I wish Bubba’s mother was mine but there’s a scene where she says “I guess” – when Kanye (I mean Forest) says “Stupid is as stupid does” – I think about it often. It touched me. Not literally. Figuratively. Psychically.

But he could never join the army. He’s too famous. >:)

This may or may not be something only seasoned (see what I did there, aren’t I clever) Adobe users might be aware of, but CS6 is a superior version of Photoshop to CC – although I like the CC because I associate it with my spiritual teacher Lisa, Coco Chanel and Capsule Corps. The raw edit function was better, it was also much more fun to edit .JPGS. I miss having a 20d. Camera speak.

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This simple meal was prepared with tinfoil. In an oven. I learned that from Jamie Oliver a million years ago, watching him prepare a duck roast.

I stuffed some feta cheese into some tomatoes, mixed a few kinds of oil, paprika, lemon juice mixed herbs, paprika and himalayan salt with my two super inexpensive (I prefer the inexpensive kind) sausages, some super soft white bread (I like my bread white, I like my choclits brown, I like my salami fleshy, I like my wood a dark mahogany to ebony but I can’t afford it) and some lemon drenched parsley. I don’t like parsley unless it is super crispy. Anyway – this was really yummy and I enjoyed how it looked when I plated it. Gordon Ramsey’s voice “PRESENTATION IS KEY” echoes through my mind when I plate food. I am not an accomplished chef but I’m the kind of person who can put so much love into my food, that I can make an anorexic person with ridiculous eating disorders actually want to eat. (RAW salmon drenched in lemon with samphire on the side – she didn’t even like eating fish. That might be the biggest culinary compliment of my entire life.)

Almost everything except for the spices came from Tescos. Tescos has been pretty good to me lately.

I’ve been cooking my meals with an Almond oil made by a company called ‘East End’. I found a small bottle of it in my mother’s kitchen cupboard, it’s got a completely different taste to any oil I’ve ever used before and it’s delicious. I recommend it.

My very favourite kind of oil is Argan oil, I found a very obscure …and expensive…. one from directly from Israel. It was completely worth the price – it comes from a farm that there are photographs of on facebook – they take great lengths to produce a super strength product and it’s got multiple uses. I initially bought it for the stretch marks on my breasts, which it caused to fade immediately (it has to be a consistent thing and I’m not a consistent individual) but I tried eating it and I actually preferred having it around for meals. It’s full of flavour, which is important to me because I’m not a fantastic cook yet. I’m learning all the flavours I like and it is a work in progress.

I have – also – never been the kind of person to spend more than fifty pounds on oil, but I didn’t regret it. I kept bits of the packaging too.