[shepherd's pie] but not as we know it, jim

I’m reminded, ensconced at Welshcakes’ domicile, of Prince Philip who was quoted as saying:

I never see any home cooking. All I get is fancy stuff.

See what you think and before I begin, Welshcakes wishes to issue a warning that if the Jailhouse Lawyer makes any snide remarks about the fare above, he can go forth and multiply [but not in those words].

So here is the scene:

‘Would you like some Shepherd’s Pie,’ asked WCL, expecting the answer yes. So she began preparing one a la Madhur Jaffrey but I can tell you the light hand of Welshcakes was quite discernible throughout.

The aubergines were sliced and griddled first as their olive oil soaking propensities have been swell documented. These were then left to one side.

Next came the taties, boiled whole until only just soft and these also were put to one side, to be sunflower oiled later. Yours truly sliced the tomatoes and then the taties.

Now came the Great Mystery – the case of the disappearing nutmeg. We searched high and low, inside cupboards and outside but drew a blank and decided to go without it. Imagine Welshcakes’ amazement when some hours later there it was, the bottle, sitting right under our noses in one of the cupboards we’d checked.

She still insists it was one of my practical jokes but I swear it wasn’t. Instead I insist back that it is not unlike the case of the credit card in the car. No matter – back to the Shepherd’s Pie.

One large onion, seven cloves of garlic, parsley and a good sized piece of fresh ginger needed to be Moulinexed and then added to three tablespoons of sunflower oil in the large wok until the onion was transparent. The mince then went in with chopped green chilli [which we didn’t have so Welshcakes used her own special mix], turmeric powder, a little salt and gradually, four tablespoons of water judged by the meat.

The mix was stirred until the meat was browned, then covered and left simmering for 45 mins. Next came the all spice, thyme, nutmeg and a little black pepper.

Now a baking dish needed to be oiled and lined with the aubergine strips, followed by a layer of sliced tomatoes, seasoned with salt, black pepper and thyme, then the sliced, cooked potato, brushed with oil and seasoned one last time.

Welshcakes now added her own little touch with a pinch of oregano. Not to be outdone, I was all for adding some rosemary which we picked from the balcony and it added that special something.

The whole thing was then bunged in the oven for about 40 minutes and Roberto was then most certainly our uncle. Now that was what I called a Shepherd’s Pie and I have to nip off now to eat the second half this evening.

Of course, we haven't even mentioned the exquisite lemon ice-cream cake for afters, which melts in the mouth but that will have to wait for another post.

[liberty] invest in it before it's too late

Vietnam as it should have been.

With the anti-foreign push in most countries today, of which I became an unwitting victim, the desire to shut the shutters, shore up one’s personal resources and look after N1 is quite pressing on the psyche.

There is little doubt that people neither want to contemplate what’s coming, let alone read about it in blogs. Feel good stories are the ticket, or focussing on titillation or outrage at some new atrocity the media, esp. Sky News, keeps feeding us.

Then there is the macro-stage, the global stage:

The press coverage of the war in Iraq rarely exposes the twisted pathology of this war. We see [it] from the perspective of the troops or from the equally skewed perspective of the foreign reporters, holed up in hotels, hemmed in by drivers and translators and official security and military escorts.

Whatever your view on it, the Iraq War is a dirty war and America has fallen for it again twice in the space of one generation. It’s dirty because the public and power are not at one, because generals are coming out and speaking, because vets are not coming home to heroes’ welcomes, because the government’s provision of physical resources and services to the troops does not match its rhetoric.

In the World Wars, people were not exactly at one but at least they were looking in roughly the same direction against a tangible enemy. Not so in these two disasters. This is tough for me to say because I am ex-military and I feel onside far more with military mates than with "lefty moaners". Yet Vietnam still sears the brain and will not go away. No one in his right mind says that was anything to do with protecting democracy or preventing the domino effect.

And now we’re shaping up for a third round – Iran. There is, currently:

Iranian President Mahmoud Ahmadinejad's taunts that Israel "will soon disappear off the geographical scene", President George Bush's repeated lambasting of the Iranian Islamic regime as a great danger to world peace, Senator Hillary Clinton's vow to obliterate Iran if it attacked Israel, and Senator Barack Obama's pledge to "do everything in his power" to prevent Iran from obtaining nuclear power.

Having been in a position to discuss Iran at government level in the past couple of years, the message coming through is that Iran is a lot more than just a madman at the helm and could easily draw the U.S. and allies into an endless loop of debilitating tit-for-tat.

America must realize the story’s a lot more complex than Great Satan simply bombing the crap out of the place. Have they learned nothing from Vietnam? The Age article touches on this:

[Iran] can halt its supply of oil, which in the present world climate would cause a real energy crisis, with the price of oil going up beyond $200 a barrel, block the Strait of Hormuz, through which some 87% of the Gulf oil is exported, target oil platforms in the Gulf, and make life more miserable for the US in Iraq and Afghanistan than is the case at present by encouraging its Shiite allies and unleashing its own suicide bombers against the US forces there.

And then there is the scenario which any reader of the apocalyptic scriptures foretells – war between blocs, not nations, deception, Israel caught in the middle of it and the inevitable slide to the feudal bestialization of human beings to an extent not conceived of in the west for centuries.

There is a madness abroad just now and on the homefront – the economic jitters. Personally, I see the last time we really saw hope of escape, at least in part from this constant cycle of being squeezed from above was in Andrew Jackson’s time.

People are forever looking for a political saviour and I suspect one is just round the corner now but it would be as well to check the colour of his coat before extolling his virtues and placing faith in him. He might be working for the other side.

The cynical, serpentine manouevering to get people to relinquish freedoms and the right to elect representatives has to be vigorously opposed. The right to trade and to move about the world is also under threat of sovereign monopolization. The equally cynical invocation of terrorism,illegal immigration and global warming as a tool rather than as a legitimate issue must be seen for what it is and also opposed, at the same time as we oppose that very terrorism, illegal immigration and global warming itself.

The debate has to become less puerile and black and white. Because you oppose something does not make you a traitor - it could equally be making you a patriot.

[glass ceiling] not for women there isn't

Glass ceiling for women? Utter bollocks. Just a question of time till the Feministi journos tried this one.

It was Clinton who not enough wanted plus the spectre of her husband. Fair's fair though - it was a gracious concession speech.

[misteri d'italia] learning slowly

In the early stages of coming to terms with this place called Italy, helping me greatly is the book by Tobias Jones who moved to Parma in 1999.

Named the Dark Heart of Italy, I couldn’t possibly comment on that at this early stage but already some things have become apparent to a man whose eyes have never been turned this way but rather to colder climes. No doubt most readers would have more knowledge of the two Sicilies than I.

Yet bear with me as I make my discoveries and kindly add things you yourself picked up in your travels, to round out the picture.

Stato

Firstly, there is no state called Italy, except in politicians’ minds. It has gone through so many hands, been somebody’s baby, from the Borgias to Berlusconi and the city state is still so deeply entrenched in most places that it explains why Modicans refer to themselves as either that or Sicilian, the south, part of ‘Africa’, as they apply their northern neighbours’ epithet for them.

‘Provincialism combined with urbane cosmopolitanism’ is the way to go.

Catholicism

The religion is clerical, people’s attendance largely social and yet fervent for all that. As the bells chime just now, it is a contrast to where I was two weeks ago with the Muslim prayer call from the minarets.

One place this comes through is if you are convicted of wrong doing in the law court in Primo Grado. No one thinks that is the end of the matter – you’ll be absolved in Secondo Grado later. Sin on Saturday, absolution on Sunday.

Furbo

Some time back I ran an article on this – the admiration for someone who can con his way round the system and make something for himself. Much better, as Jones says, to be furbo [mildly dodgy] than ingenuo [naïve]. To pay an unnecessary fee, to do things by the book, to declare campaign contributions and resign for irregularities, so beloved by the British – that raises eyebrows here.

Ethics

There is bel and brutto. That’s all. Not right and wrong. One dresses to shop, one’s ailments and poverty is not spoken of and is disguised as far as possible.

Laissez faire and bureaucracy

Anything official involves largesse, obsequiousness, long queues, crawling on the belly and begging, in flowery language, to be allowed to pay your outrageous tax and get that little stamp on the document which goes with the other stamped documents which go with the other red tape to pay your fee on this or that. Legitimacy is everything, even to proving you’re a citizen.

On the other hand, the average life has no end goal, no explanation, no rules – it just is. To feel is more important than to think. The summum bonum is figura – the thing you have achieved, which you have made yourself into.

Fantasy and reality

Somewhere in here is the merging of fantasy and reality. Reality is euphemized or ignored, hidden away beneath a layer of words, which are fantasy, which is the real reality, sometimes in blood through history. History and story are the same word in Italian – storia.

Passing someone on the path

An ASBO was coming the other way in south London once and wanted me to step aside. When I didn’t, I got ‘Oh, for f--- sake,’ and other gems but I dug in and refused to move, even pulling a sandwich out of a bag to eat to while away the hours. Twenty minutes later he gave it away.

In Russia, he saw me coming, I saw him coming, we ignored the other and at the crossing point it was two walruses clashing, followed by his denunciations, ‘But it was my path.’

In Modica, he saw me coming, we both stepped aside, he said grazie and buona sera, I responded in kind.

That’s about as far as I’ve got so far on this place here where a gale is currently blowing through the shutter slats and the tiled floor feels cool beneath the feet as I write this.

[prince charles] what if dot dot dot

Hmmm:

In October 1996, London's Evening Standard newspaper quoted the Grand Mufti of Cyprus, who claimed that the prince had converted to Islam.

"It happened in Turkey. Oh, yes, he converted all right," the Grand Mufti was quoted as saying. "When you get home, check on how often he travels to Turkey. You'll find that your future king is a Muslim."

This was one of several reports linking Prince Charles and Islam highlighted by authors Ronni L Gordon and David M Stillman in The Middle East Quarterly in 1997.

This report in the Asia Times is in the nature of gossip rag speculation and yet what if? Where would that leave Prince Charles on his accession, particularly if he is to be divorced by a bored Camilla?

[hillary] post for nunyaa

This post is dedicated to Nunyaa.

[l'altro posto] modican style

The thing which strikes you about this part of Sicily straight away is the friendliness of the people. It's a word bandied about by all tourist boards but in the case of Modica, it is most assuredly so.

Take that one step further, in the form of the cafe of choice in the choice main shopping street - via Sacre Cuore - and you have the makings of a delight.

Ten years ago, L'Altro Posto [The Other Place] started up on this street and a little gem it proved to be too. In that time it has become the place to eat for the business community in this area so why should we be any different?

Quite frankly, if I haven't had my cappuccino and choc croissant by eleven from Georgio or Marcella, I start to chafe at the bit and Welshcakes is of a similar mind with her prosciutto and melon lunch which I occasionally join her for.

This could be followed by fruit, gelati, then an espresso of local origin - Caffè MOAK.

One is spoilt for choice really and all I can suggest is that if you make it down this neck of the woods, seek out L'Altro Posto and you'll be assured of the sort of welcome I too received after only a few days - a beaming:

Ciao!

This is cross-posted at Welshcakes Limoncello.

[raffaele's] modican style

As with many of the best businesses in Modica, the approach to Raffaele's salon is inconspicuous but once the lift decants you into the reception area [or alternatively you can mountain climb up the tiled steps if you're quite sportif], a wonderworld awaits you.

There is the chic, the hustle and bustle, the girls who assist him and then there is:

Raffaele.

Still some years from 'a certain age', the first thing which strikes you about the man is the warm and open smile, the second thing is his pink polo T and the third the women milling around, planting kisses upon his craggy cheek.

He greets us with enthusiasm then zips away to attend to this lady or that whilst a girl brings us an espresso each and on a plush cushioned divan, we await his attendance upon our cappelli although in my case it's more wishful thinking than any specific style.

Welshcakes is whisked away for the shampoo phase and I take my leave with beaming smiles all round.

Oh, by the way, did I mention the views across the Modican countryside from his large window wall?

This is cross-posted at Welshcakes Limoncello.

[interim report] first two weeks

Pretty boring title and not a lot of time to write.

Thank you so much for your comments - I have not deleted even one of them from my e-mail notification and will get to each of you in turn both on this site and visiting you.

So to Sicily. Well, there is Sicily and Sicily and big city issues are pretty much the province of other bigger cities like Palermo, Catania and so on.

This is a less bustling town and that suits us fine although it can make due process longwinded. The trick is to try not to deal with officialdom - read Welshcakes' post on the election to get an idea.

This town is in three parts - alto, sordo and bassa. Bassa is where the tourists go although I don't particularly think it is better. Modica is on the side of a hill but not running down to the sea - rather it runs down into a valley and the sea is 20km away.

This results in a hot dry climate and it can get into the mid 40s in summer. Today is better - 20 and cloudy but we haven't really started summer yet.

Alto is the higher area where the Church of St George is and I haven't been there yet, still tied up in domestic and official status issues. Here with Welshcakes has proved more than workable and she is one hell of a good chef.

Ellee, I did put on some weight early, then changed to the Sicilian diet and lost some and now am about the same.

Sordo, where we live, is the commercial centre of the town and thus does not hold a place in the people's hearts to the same extent. It is modern in aspect, unlike the really ancient architecture in the other two parts. Still, I particularly like it and it's a hop, skip and jump from Welshcakes' school.

Routines have begun and one of mine is the morning capuccino at L'Altro Posto [The Other Place] cafe in the main boutique street. Not exactly chic but quite elevated in theme, let's say. You want to see a cross-section of Modica - it comes through this cafe and I'm now seen as a regular.

Welshcakes' boss's husband said that in the evening, people do not ask, 'What shall we do?' but rather, 'What shall we eat and where?' and this is true.

Another aspect is the treatment, by the north, of this region as 'Africa' and there is truth in this too, in that Rome does not appear too concerned with the lower tip of Sicily. So they just go about their business in an interesting way. There are problems with African illegal immigration [the boat people] but not so much to this town.

One interesting effect is the 'Lotus Eater' syndrome. A sort of languor comes over a person and as it's necessary for a blogger to have fire in his belly, this has seeped away in my case. We were discussing this last evening and I bemoaned the fact that I've already taken on the feminists, gay mafia, immigration, 'Them', PC and other choice targets so what is there left to get apoplectic about?

You see the problem? Lol.

Anyway, please indicate, in the comments section, what aspects you'd like me to post about as it's difficult to think clearly in this euphoric Welshcakes state. Plus I'm meeting the famous Raffaele at the hairdressers later.

:)

[slow boat to oblivion] your seven reservations

Ever thought of sending out the press gang to round up those seven most obnoxious people in your existence? Well, the long boat is at the ready and you can pack them all on board at a most reasonable charge.

Who would your seven include? You can't include known monsters of yesteryear such as Hitler or Idi Amin but modern pains in the butt such as ... oh ... Greer, Shatner, Hilton and so on

Should make interesting reading.