I got asked today if it were really possible for a couple of neo-Nazis to kill 100 black students and then Barack Obama. I am often a focal point for the ills, and the questions about, my country. When you're the only American within the vicinity, you get asked the questions about America.
Fair enough, because when I ask 'do they really fry Mars bars?' I ask the nearest Glaswegian, or when I wondered why I could be arrested and imprisoned for shooting someone in self-defence, I asked an English person.
The answer to the question isn't as easy as it seems. An immediate answer would indicate that no, it is not possible for a couple of narrow-minded white supremacists to kill a bunch of black kids and then a presidential candidate. Our country, as hard as it has tried to not, can actually be tolerant. And they would be found out.
But thinking about it for the day, another strain of thought emerged. They, these 'this country is a Christian White country' people, may be small in number, and it is easy to dismiss them, but they can, because of lax gun ownership laws or the easy availability of bomb-making materials, cause a disproportionately large amount of damage. (The Oklahoma City bombing is an example).
So, yes, it is possible for a lot of black children and Barack Obama to be killed by a small narrow-minded group of people.
What a completely absurd conclusion to contemplate in this day and age.
Tuesday 28 October 2008
Monday 27 October 2008
Craig votes!
The less than ideal place I get put in when elections come around is that I get to vote in elections in the States, where I am not really affected by the outcome, and not in the UK, where I am affected by it. You can argue that we are all affected by the choices American make, but voting law doesn't really reflect that.
This fact does not sit well with some of my friends back home. It is a little too close to having a foreigner influence what they see as their, and not my, elections.
But it is still my country, and I still have the right to vote. And this election, this so very decisive moment in American history, is too important, the choice of roads to go down so very different, that any discussion about my right to vote would be mere quibbling.
McCain-Palin '08!
No no no. just kidding.
Friday 24 October 2008
Working late on a Friday night
As I left the agency around half six tonight, there were still four creatives working. Scurrying around trying to get things done so they could leave. It occurred to me that all four were working on projects for me. Before you say anything I'm calling you a muppet and saying I didn't need to be there any longer.
And anyway that's not the important part. All four of them were excited to be doing what was keeping them late on a Friday night. They were all determined to do the best job they possibly could. They wanted to be there.
They looked serious and important, I have to say.
The projects they were working on are both really interesting in their different ways. Interesting enough to make them serious men doing serious things on a Friday night.
For being able to work with such talent as them, and to see them acting this way, I stepped a little lighter and held my head a little higher on the way to the pub.
Thank you boys, thank you.
And anyway that's not the important part. All four of them were excited to be doing what was keeping them late on a Friday night. They were all determined to do the best job they possibly could. They wanted to be there.
They looked serious and important, I have to say.
The projects they were working on are both really interesting in their different ways. Interesting enough to make them serious men doing serious things on a Friday night.
For being able to work with such talent as them, and to see them acting this way, I stepped a little lighter and held my head a little higher on the way to the pub.
Thank you boys, thank you.
Wednesday 22 October 2008
The letter
It's like getting a cut on on your finger, and only when it hurts eery time you use it do you realise how aluable your finger is.
For some reason, I can't use the key between the c and the b.
Al Gore quoted a friend of his, a scientist, who said 'climate change is ultimately about whether or not haing an opposable thumb and a cerebral cortex is a viable option'.
I am off to figure out why I hae fingers now.
For some reason, I can't use the key between the c and the b.
Al Gore quoted a friend of his, a scientist, who said 'climate change is ultimately about whether or not haing an opposable thumb and a cerebral cortex is a viable option'.
I am off to figure out why I hae fingers now.
Tuesday 21 October 2008
Alnwick Stew
When I was at university, quite a long time ago now, I spent six months studying in the Northumberland town of Alnwick. That's 'Annick', mind. We actually lived in Alnwick Castle, home to the Duke of Northumberland.
For a pimpley teenager from the Midwest, this was a big deal. It was where my life zagged when my friends zigged. I saw my own country though the perspective of another country. Among many, many other things, I learned to be open to trying new things, because you never know what you are going to experience. And I learned that European women can be smokin' hot.
I still, over 20 years later, think about it, or remember something, or reference it, a number of times a day. And my experience there can follow me and pop up in surprising places.
Like The Times, the right-wing paper in this country. Gordon Ramsay has published a new cookbook. And one of the excerpt recipes was for Alnwick Soup, adapted, as he wrote, from the fameous stew.
?
So I raced to Google and found that that sure enough, there was a stew you could only get in Alnwick, that it was loved by the late Ian Percy (the Percys owned the castle), who ate it at the White Swan, and that I'd never heard of it.
So I made it. It would be a way to bring the past into the present, and reconnect me with my with the place. It did.
You see, when I was there, Alnwick was a post-industrial shithole. Having no money, we rarely ate out. But it reminded, the way only food can remind you of a place, me of being in Alnwick. It was hearty, and sparse. It was cheap, and simple. At first, I thought it was bland.
But I cooked the leftovers, and discovered something else. It wasn't bland. It was understated. Maybe subtle is a better word. It was never going to be full of the firey spices of Indian cooking, obviously. Or deep and layered like French cooking, I knew. It was, well, British. Of a time and a place. And what I discovered is that's exactly what I wanted it to be.
Alnwick Stew
900g piece gammon
25g butter
3 onions, chopped
2 tsp dry English mustard
4 large waxy potatoes, peeled and cut into slices the thickness of a £1 coin
2 bay leaves
1 litre hot vegetable stock, made with low-salt bouillon powder
handful flat-leaf parsley
1. Place the gammon in a large pan of cold water and bring to the boil. Remove the gammon and discard the water.
2. When cool enough to handle, cut the meat into 2cm cubes.
3. Melt the butter in a heavy-based pan.
4. Put half the onions in the bottom of the pan and season with black pepper and a little mustard powder.
5. Layer half the gammon on top, seasoning again, then top with half the potatoes and a bay leaf.
6. Repeat with the remaining ingredients: onions, mustard, black pepper, gammon, potatoes and bay leaf.
7. Pour in enough stock to reach just below the top layer of potatoes. You may not need it all.
8. Bring to the boil and simmer gently for 1 hour until the meat and vegetables are cooked.
9. To serve; spoon into shallow bowls and sprinkle with chopped parsley
For a pimpley teenager from the Midwest, this was a big deal. It was where my life zagged when my friends zigged. I saw my own country though the perspective of another country. Among many, many other things, I learned to be open to trying new things, because you never know what you are going to experience. And I learned that European women can be smokin' hot.
I still, over 20 years later, think about it, or remember something, or reference it, a number of times a day. And my experience there can follow me and pop up in surprising places.
Like The Times, the right-wing paper in this country. Gordon Ramsay has published a new cookbook. And one of the excerpt recipes was for Alnwick Soup, adapted, as he wrote, from the fameous stew.
?
So I raced to Google and found that that sure enough, there was a stew you could only get in Alnwick, that it was loved by the late Ian Percy (the Percys owned the castle), who ate it at the White Swan, and that I'd never heard of it.
So I made it. It would be a way to bring the past into the present, and reconnect me with my with the place. It did.
You see, when I was there, Alnwick was a post-industrial shithole. Having no money, we rarely ate out. But it reminded, the way only food can remind you of a place, me of being in Alnwick. It was hearty, and sparse. It was cheap, and simple. At first, I thought it was bland.
But I cooked the leftovers, and discovered something else. It wasn't bland. It was understated. Maybe subtle is a better word. It was never going to be full of the firey spices of Indian cooking, obviously. Or deep and layered like French cooking, I knew. It was, well, British. Of a time and a place. And what I discovered is that's exactly what I wanted it to be.
Alnwick Stew
900g piece gammon
25g butter
3 onions, chopped
2 tsp dry English mustard
4 large waxy potatoes, peeled and cut into slices the thickness of a £1 coin
2 bay leaves
1 litre hot vegetable stock, made with low-salt bouillon powder
handful flat-leaf parsley
1. Place the gammon in a large pan of cold water and bring to the boil. Remove the gammon and discard the water.
2. When cool enough to handle, cut the meat into 2cm cubes.
3. Melt the butter in a heavy-based pan.
4. Put half the onions in the bottom of the pan and season with black pepper and a little mustard powder.
5. Layer half the gammon on top, seasoning again, then top with half the potatoes and a bay leaf.
6. Repeat with the remaining ingredients: onions, mustard, black pepper, gammon, potatoes and bay leaf.
7. Pour in enough stock to reach just below the top layer of potatoes. You may not need it all.
8. Bring to the boil and simmer gently for 1 hour until the meat and vegetables are cooked.
9. To serve; spoon into shallow bowls and sprinkle with chopped parsley
Monday 20 October 2008
We Need To Talk About Socialism
I had an academic-type tell me years ago (in one of those idealistic conversations that at the time seems like it was aided by the drink, but was probably really hindered) that the communists ruined socialism for everyone else because of what they did in Russia. Which, of course, culminated in the spectactular failure of a planned economy. It's ideals got corrupted by human nature, he'd said, and wasn't really socialism.
Indeed, during the Cold War in the States, it was a common insult hurled at the Left with great effectiveness by the Republicans. And just last week McCain, with considerably less success, accused Obama of being a socialist. They have so effectively owned the word that the Left has been powerless to have any reasoned debate about it.
I've often thought about what my better-educated friend said that night. And thought it a shame to pillor a well-meaning, if loose, theory because it'd been basterdised by one group.
But it was the victory of victories; free market capitalism had won the ultimate ideological battle and history was over.
So the American way was the right way. It was undisputable, and capitalism took off unchecked. It was shortly after the fall of Russia that Wall Street met Main Street, and, aided by internet stock trading, everyone was investing in the stock market. If you didn't have a portfolio, you were nobody. Status symbols changed. What car you drove or what job you had meant less than what stocks you invested in and how wealthy you'd become. And it went on, only slightly bumpy, for 20 years.
And then we get to now. The fierce urgency of now, That One says. While much of the country got richer, it was mostly a few who got very, very richer. They had done it by devising more and more complex ways of tapping into the earning power of those who didn't work in investment banking and had to make their money the old fashioned way, by earning it. A transfer of the cash earning potential of regular people into financial products to sell to other banks. It created the biggest wealth disparity in American history. In the country that still believes, to this day, despite it's actions, in the proud principle that all men were created equal.
It crashed. And the American way is no longer invincible. Now both Cold War ideologies have failed. And they failed the people the were both meant to empower.
So let's have a conversation about socialism. A national one. Let's talk about nationalising the services that are nesessary to conduct one's life. Like banking. And utilities. Health insurance. Food. Maybe even car ownership.
Because so few people in America have sought to understand what socialism really represents, it's the word that's bad, not the ideology. It would seem the Republicans think socialism is ok when the wealthy are in trouble. Now that socialism has been applied to the wealthy, maybe the time has come to talk about socialism when the not-so-wealthy are in trouble.
Can we have it back please. The word. God knows nothing else seems to be working these days.
Indeed, during the Cold War in the States, it was a common insult hurled at the Left with great effectiveness by the Republicans. And just last week McCain, with considerably less success, accused Obama of being a socialist. They have so effectively owned the word that the Left has been powerless to have any reasoned debate about it.
I've often thought about what my better-educated friend said that night. And thought it a shame to pillor a well-meaning, if loose, theory because it'd been basterdised by one group.
But it was the victory of victories; free market capitalism had won the ultimate ideological battle and history was over.
So the American way was the right way. It was undisputable, and capitalism took off unchecked. It was shortly after the fall of Russia that Wall Street met Main Street, and, aided by internet stock trading, everyone was investing in the stock market. If you didn't have a portfolio, you were nobody. Status symbols changed. What car you drove or what job you had meant less than what stocks you invested in and how wealthy you'd become. And it went on, only slightly bumpy, for 20 years.
And then we get to now. The fierce urgency of now, That One says. While much of the country got richer, it was mostly a few who got very, very richer. They had done it by devising more and more complex ways of tapping into the earning power of those who didn't work in investment banking and had to make their money the old fashioned way, by earning it. A transfer of the cash earning potential of regular people into financial products to sell to other banks. It created the biggest wealth disparity in American history. In the country that still believes, to this day, despite it's actions, in the proud principle that all men were created equal.
It crashed. And the American way is no longer invincible. Now both Cold War ideologies have failed. And they failed the people the were both meant to empower.
So let's have a conversation about socialism. A national one. Let's talk about nationalising the services that are nesessary to conduct one's life. Like banking. And utilities. Health insurance. Food. Maybe even car ownership.
Because so few people in America have sought to understand what socialism really represents, it's the word that's bad, not the ideology. It would seem the Republicans think socialism is ok when the wealthy are in trouble. Now that socialism has been applied to the wealthy, maybe the time has come to talk about socialism when the not-so-wealthy are in trouble.
Can we have it back please. The word. God knows nothing else seems to be working these days.
Saturday 18 October 2008
Who Is The Wanker Now?
Spent Friday afternoon at The Hospital working with my Head of Planning on a presentation we're doing. It's a private members club the senior management at Digitas are members of. It's great for entertaining clients and for getting away to do work, as we did. Good food, good service. It was just too bad about the clientele. I'd always been envious for status symbol reasons that I wasn't senior enough to get a membership.
It's the kind of place habituated with arrogant ATL advertisers. It has it's own recording studio, so maybe it's also used by people in the film industry. Or ATL creatives who are frustrated film directors. You know the kind. Too old to be wearing skinny jeans, black metal studded belts, T-shirts that don't quite cover their budding bellies. And some sort of complicated, highlighted haircut.
Upon leaving, I took the lift down with 4 blissfully-unaware-of-me people that I'd seen earlier. They had left their stuff on a table we needed so we could spread out. They're right, I suppose, but it was a little inconsiderate. In the lift, they self-confidently poked fun at each other and laughed alot. They were all dressed very well. My judgement of them was an attempt to be fair, and not let my own circumstances cloud it.
I'd decided that while their self-confidence and obvious financial success were annoying, I couldn't really find any moral or other fault with them.
Outside, on the street as I was walking towards the Tube, two of them tried to hail a black cab. The man whistled and held up his hand. The woman screamed 'Taxi! Taxi!' as if the driver could hear her through closed windows, with the radio probably playing. His light was off, meaning he wasn't picking up passengers, and he passed by without stopping.
'Cunt', said the man.
'What a wanker', said the woman.
It was then that they went from mildly annoying to proper totally self-involved assholes. And it's why I am no longer jealous that I don't have a membership to The Hospital.
It's the kind of place habituated with arrogant ATL advertisers. It has it's own recording studio, so maybe it's also used by people in the film industry. Or ATL creatives who are frustrated film directors. You know the kind. Too old to be wearing skinny jeans, black metal studded belts, T-shirts that don't quite cover their budding bellies. And some sort of complicated, highlighted haircut.
Upon leaving, I took the lift down with 4 blissfully-unaware-of-me people that I'd seen earlier. They had left their stuff on a table we needed so we could spread out. They're right, I suppose, but it was a little inconsiderate. In the lift, they self-confidently poked fun at each other and laughed alot. They were all dressed very well. My judgement of them was an attempt to be fair, and not let my own circumstances cloud it.
I'd decided that while their self-confidence and obvious financial success were annoying, I couldn't really find any moral or other fault with them.
Outside, on the street as I was walking towards the Tube, two of them tried to hail a black cab. The man whistled and held up his hand. The woman screamed 'Taxi! Taxi!' as if the driver could hear her through closed windows, with the radio probably playing. His light was off, meaning he wasn't picking up passengers, and he passed by without stopping.
'Cunt', said the man.
'What a wanker', said the woman.
It was then that they went from mildly annoying to proper totally self-involved assholes. And it's why I am no longer jealous that I don't have a membership to The Hospital.
Thursday 16 October 2008
The Gin Club
So tonight there's a party. Sponsored by The Gin Club, a sort of not real club of Creatives who once drank a bottle of Spanish gin one of them brought back from holiday.
Another one of them won the agency's Diamond Geezer of the Month Award (helped, I am sure, by a massive lobbying campaign), which comes with a nice £100 prize, and kindly donated all £100 to the Gin Fund. Another lobbying effort got our big chief to kick in yet another £200 to the Gin Fund.
We're moving you see, to shiner, more civilised offices on Charlotte Street, the Madison Ave of the ad industry here. (Though Char Men doesn't have quite the same ring to it.) We are losing our beloved playroom, replete with snooker table, darts, table tennis and big huge windows, and The Gin Club is having one last bash to ring out the old, not much liked Eversholt Street office.
I expect many sore heads in the morning. Mine included.
Wednesday 15 October 2008
Countries Get The Leaders They Deserve
In 2004 it was said that the Republicans got Middle America to vote against their economic interests. Their reply was that there are more important things than money. This, I think, is unique to American politics. That political outcomes are determined by people voting for what is best for them individually.
This Federal election cycle, as we are all well aware, has been very long and unusual in the choices that have been presented, and in the audacity of the twists and turns. Not to mention so, so historic that one such as me, who, while being possessed of strong opinions, is not enough of a political pundit to give it proper justice.
And smack in the middle of it, we get a financial crisis that is so, so historic that rather suddenly America finds itself in a situation it hasn't found itself since--you know it's coming--the Great Depression. Which, like the Great War, looks like it will now become known as the First Great Depression.
The two are not unrelated. Those Middle Americans who voted in the party that believes in no regulation whatsoever (don't worry, they market is it's own regulator), are now at risk of losing the wealth they've acquired during the boom, the less well off of them are at risk of losing the homes they believed they were entitled to, and those among them who spent their lives saving for their golden retirement are at risk of losing much of their money, some of whom will need to go back to work to live until they die.
I honestly believe that Barack Obama will win this election. Personally, it means I can stop fucking apologising for the behaviour of my country and it's current administration to every non-American I meet. For America, it means that it can finally stop the reckless, 1% of the population enriching, Republican Contract with America that has so damaged the lives of many, many people in America and across this shiny blue sphere.
But even if, and at this point it's still an if, he wins, the numbers show America is still divided. As I write, The Guardian has Obama ahead by 7.3%, 49.8 to 42.5. So that leaves almost 43% of the 300 million people in America disatisified with their president.
Winston Churchill once said that Americans always do the right thing, but only after they've exhausted all the alternatives. Has America run out of alternatives yet, or are there alternatives we, the rest of the world, have to live through before Americans make the right decision?
Today, right now, from my window in Great Britain, it seems that Middle Americans need to lose their homes and be left out in the cold November rain for them to realise that they were wrong.
This Federal election cycle, as we are all well aware, has been very long and unusual in the choices that have been presented, and in the audacity of the twists and turns. Not to mention so, so historic that one such as me, who, while being possessed of strong opinions, is not enough of a political pundit to give it proper justice.
And smack in the middle of it, we get a financial crisis that is so, so historic that rather suddenly America finds itself in a situation it hasn't found itself since--you know it's coming--the Great Depression. Which, like the Great War, looks like it will now become known as the First Great Depression.
The two are not unrelated. Those Middle Americans who voted in the party that believes in no regulation whatsoever (don't worry, they market is it's own regulator), are now at risk of losing the wealth they've acquired during the boom, the less well off of them are at risk of losing the homes they believed they were entitled to, and those among them who spent their lives saving for their golden retirement are at risk of losing much of their money, some of whom will need to go back to work to live until they die.
I honestly believe that Barack Obama will win this election. Personally, it means I can stop fucking apologising for the behaviour of my country and it's current administration to every non-American I meet. For America, it means that it can finally stop the reckless, 1% of the population enriching, Republican Contract with America that has so damaged the lives of many, many people in America and across this shiny blue sphere.
But even if, and at this point it's still an if, he wins, the numbers show America is still divided. As I write, The Guardian has Obama ahead by 7.3%, 49.8 to 42.5. So that leaves almost 43% of the 300 million people in America disatisified with their president.
Winston Churchill once said that Americans always do the right thing, but only after they've exhausted all the alternatives. Has America run out of alternatives yet, or are there alternatives we, the rest of the world, have to live through before Americans make the right decision?
Today, right now, from my window in Great Britain, it seems that Middle Americans need to lose their homes and be left out in the cold November rain for them to realise that they were wrong.
Tuesday 14 October 2008
The Focal Point For All Opinions Of America
We often use this rather talented, older English illustrator when we need illustrations for our clients. I really like him. He's the gentle, considerate kind of English that is easy to enjoy. Affable to the point of verbosity, conversations have a tendency to get away from him. I ran into him outside having a cigarette today.
And apparently, because I am American, he thought he would tell me about a radio program/programme about America he'd heard last night.
This guy, Simon Mayo, went travelling to five/5 cities around America and reported back. And my friend was stunned, as he said, by the poverty and despair Mr. Mayo found in Detroit. Now, anyone who has seen Roger & Me or 8 Mile, or read a few papers in the past few years, knows how bad it is these days in Detroit, and just how many hard-working people there are struggling to get even a little moment of the comfort we so easily buy.
But my friend didn't. And he had to tell me about his ignorance. He said America had always been portrayed as the City on the Hill; shiny, new, a place where everyone was wealthy, or at least wealthier than most people in Britain. He'd never learned about the dark side of the American Dream.
So I sat there and listen to him tell me loads of information I already knew. And he would (or should, if he was a thinking man) know that I would know. Which meant that the conversation wasn't really about telling me about America. It was about telling me that he liked America and Americans. So it was about trying to impress upon me that he thought I was an OK guy.
Which, when your country is the Eliot Spitzer of the world, is not a bad compliment at all. Even if getting there took awhile.
And apparently, because I am American, he thought he would tell me about a radio program/programme about America he'd heard last night.
This guy, Simon Mayo, went travelling to five/5 cities around America and reported back. And my friend was stunned, as he said, by the poverty and despair Mr. Mayo found in Detroit. Now, anyone who has seen Roger & Me or 8 Mile, or read a few papers in the past few years, knows how bad it is these days in Detroit, and just how many hard-working people there are struggling to get even a little moment of the comfort we so easily buy.
But my friend didn't. And he had to tell me about his ignorance. He said America had always been portrayed as the City on the Hill; shiny, new, a place where everyone was wealthy, or at least wealthier than most people in Britain. He'd never learned about the dark side of the American Dream.
So I sat there and listen to him tell me loads of information I already knew. And he would (or should, if he was a thinking man) know that I would know. Which meant that the conversation wasn't really about telling me about America. It was about telling me that he liked America and Americans. So it was about trying to impress upon me that he thought I was an OK guy.
Which, when your country is the Eliot Spitzer of the world, is not a bad compliment at all. Even if getting there took awhile.
Monday 13 October 2008
I got new socks!
Apparently the fascination with color/colour is a British thing. All I know is that Eva, because they have a bit of color/colour, won't steal them.
Sunday 12 October 2008
Comfort Food
I think one of the finer contributions the British have made to the world culinary scene has to be the Sunday roast. It's like a little Thanksgiving, only you get more choice of meat. And you don't tend to eat enough for three. Or fight with your sister.
You can have it down your local or not so local pub. And not all Sunday roasts are equal. Some are more equal than others. The Bulls Head, where Eva works, does Sunday roast. Just not very well, while the pub up the road, The Bell and Crown, actually does a rather nice one. And if you ever get the chance to go to a pub that has a carvery, you should cancel any plans you have so you can tuck into the juicy slices of meat they shave off for you.
And cooking it for friends is always a very pleasurable way to wind down the weekend. Expecially when you have friends like mine, who can all cook.
Today, this Sunday, is a little different. I do miss the foods of my life in America; indeed, one of the reason I started to cook was so I could cook the foods I couldn't get in London. Like decent Mexican. Or me mum's goulash, which I have since discovered isn't really gulyas. Or anything remotely resembling it.
Our comfort foods remind us of who we are, of where we came from. That is why we turn to them for, erm, familiarity.
I have had a usually very dormant craving for Chilli con Carne, or Chilli, as we call it. It's from Texas, not Mexico (to complicate things, Texas used to be a part of Mexico, there was a war and it eventually asked to be annexed), and was the stew that crews on long cattle drives would cook.
Fortunately, a seemingly crackin' recipe appeared in The Guardian. It was from the people that started a lovely fast-food chain, yes they do exist, called Leon.
The chilli is currently making the last little bubbles of simmering before we (being Eva and I. She had a rough day, and my desire to cook dovetailed nicely with needing to take care of my woman) stack it on freshly baked bread and whack it in our gobs.
One of the things I like about the dish that has made my flat smell so wonderful is that it is a chilli in which meat is only probably 1/4 of the dish. You see, most American chillis, they're all meat, a few beans and some green peppers. This recipe is a more balanced dish, like the stews, which it essentially is, from other parts of the world.
If you're interested, here it is. I'm off to eat:
Satisfies four very hungry gringos
1 heaped tsp dried chilli flakes
2½ tsps ground cumin
2 tsps dried oregano
1 tsp cinnamon
5 sprigs of thyme, tied together with string
5 cloves of garlic, roughly chopped
500g braising beef, chuck works well, roughly chopped into 4cm chunks
3 tbsp olive oil
1 heaped tsp cumin seeds
1 heaped tsp coriander seeds
Half a red chilli (or more if you like it hot), thinly sliced
2 Spanish onions, cut into large dice
2 carrots, cut into small dice
1 x 400g tin of chopped tomatoes
2 x 400g tins of kidney beans, drained (If using dried beans, soak about 200g overnight in cold water and add at the same point in the recipe as the tinned ones.)
One small red onion, thinly sliced
Juice of one lime
Salt
Put the dried chilli, ground cumin, oregano, cinnamon, thyme and half the garlic into a dish and add the beef. Turn the meat to coat and leave in the fridge to marinate for a few hours - overnight if possible.
Heat the olive oil in a deep stew pot over a medium heat and gently fry the cumin and coriander seeds for a few minutes until you start to smell them.
Whack up the heat, stir in the beef with the thyme and fry on all sides, picking up a good brown colour. Add some salt, the fresh chilli, remaining garlic, Spanish onions and carrots and keep stirring until the onions are transparent and the carrots soft - about 15-20 minutes.
Tip in the chopped tomatoes and simmer for 10 minutes before the kidney beans join in the fun.Pour in water just to cover, and simmer for an hour with
the lid on. Then take the lid off and simmer for up to an hour more, until the meat is very tender and the whole lot has become quite thickened.
In a little bowl squeeze the lime juice over the thinly sliced red onion; turn the onions over with a spoon a few times, then leave to macerate for half an hour.
Finish by adding a good pinch of ground cumin to the chilli to give fresh flavour to the slow-cook. Lastly check the seasoning and consistency - if it looks a little dry, just slowly stir in water until it is pleasingly loose.
Have all the necessaries on hand: sour cream (we use good-quality yoghurt instead), macerated onions, wedges of lime and a ukulele player.
Satisfies four very hungry gringos
1 heaped tsp dried chilli flakes
2½ tsps ground cumin
2 tsps dried oregano
1 tsp cinnamon
5 sprigs of thyme, tied together with string
5 cloves of garlic, roughly chopped
500g braising beef, chuck works well, roughly chopped into 4cm chunks
3 tbsp olive oil
1 heaped tsp cumin seeds
1 heaped tsp coriander seeds
Half a red chilli (or more if you like it hot), thinly sliced
2 Spanish onions, cut into large dice
2 carrots, cut into small dice
1 x 400g tin of chopped tomatoes
2 x 400g tins of kidney beans, drained (If using dried beans, soak about 200g overnight in cold water and add at the same point in the recipe as the tinned ones.)
One small red onion, thinly sliced
Juice of one lime
Salt
Put the dried chilli, ground cumin, oregano, cinnamon, thyme and half the garlic into a dish and add the beef. Turn the meat to coat and leave in the fridge to marinate for a few hours - overnight if possible.
Heat the olive oil in a deep stew pot over a medium heat and gently fry the cumin and coriander seeds for a few minutes until you start to smell them.
Whack up the heat, stir in the beef with the thyme and fry on all sides, picking up a good brown colour. Add some salt, the fresh chilli, remaining garlic, Spanish onions and carrots and keep stirring until the onions are transparent and the carrots soft - about 15-20 minutes.
Tip in the chopped tomatoes and simmer for 10 minutes before the kidney beans join in the fun.Pour in water just to cover, and simmer for an hour with
the lid on. Then take the lid off and simmer for up to an hour more, until the meat is very tender and the whole lot has become quite thickened.
In a little bowl squeeze the lime juice over the thinly sliced red onion; turn the onions over with a spoon a few times, then leave to macerate for half an hour.
Finish by adding a good pinch of ground cumin to the chilli to give fresh flavour to the slow-cook. Lastly check the seasoning and consistency - if it looks a little dry, just slowly stir in water until it is pleasingly loose.
Have all the necessaries on hand: sour cream (we use good-quality yoghurt instead), macerated onions, wedges of lime and a ukulele player.
You can have it down your local or not so local pub. And not all Sunday roasts are equal. Some are more equal than others. The Bulls Head, where Eva works, does Sunday roast. Just not very well, while the pub up the road, The Bell and Crown, actually does a rather nice one. And if you ever get the chance to go to a pub that has a carvery, you should cancel any plans you have so you can tuck into the juicy slices of meat they shave off for you.
And cooking it for friends is always a very pleasurable way to wind down the weekend. Expecially when you have friends like mine, who can all cook.
Today, this Sunday, is a little different. I do miss the foods of my life in America; indeed, one of the reason I started to cook was so I could cook the foods I couldn't get in London. Like decent Mexican. Or me mum's goulash, which I have since discovered isn't really gulyas. Or anything remotely resembling it.
Our comfort foods remind us of who we are, of where we came from. That is why we turn to them for, erm, familiarity.
I have had a usually very dormant craving for Chilli con Carne, or Chilli, as we call it. It's from Texas, not Mexico (to complicate things, Texas used to be a part of Mexico, there was a war and it eventually asked to be annexed), and was the stew that crews on long cattle drives would cook.
Fortunately, a seemingly crackin' recipe appeared in The Guardian. It was from the people that started a lovely fast-food chain, yes they do exist, called Leon.
The chilli is currently making the last little bubbles of simmering before we (being Eva and I. She had a rough day, and my desire to cook dovetailed nicely with needing to take care of my woman) stack it on freshly baked bread and whack it in our gobs.
One of the things I like about the dish that has made my flat smell so wonderful is that it is a chilli in which meat is only probably 1/4 of the dish. You see, most American chillis, they're all meat, a few beans and some green peppers. This recipe is a more balanced dish, like the stews, which it essentially is, from other parts of the world.
If you're interested, here it is. I'm off to eat:
Satisfies four very hungry gringos
1 heaped tsp dried chilli flakes
2½ tsps ground cumin
2 tsps dried oregano
1 tsp cinnamon
5 sprigs of thyme, tied together with string
5 cloves of garlic, roughly chopped
500g braising beef, chuck works well, roughly chopped into 4cm chunks
3 tbsp olive oil
1 heaped tsp cumin seeds
1 heaped tsp coriander seeds
Half a red chilli (or more if you like it hot), thinly sliced
2 Spanish onions, cut into large dice
2 carrots, cut into small dice
1 x 400g tin of chopped tomatoes
2 x 400g tins of kidney beans, drained (If using dried beans, soak about 200g overnight in cold water and add at the same point in the recipe as the tinned ones.)
One small red onion, thinly sliced
Juice of one lime
Salt
Put the dried chilli, ground cumin, oregano, cinnamon, thyme and half the garlic into a dish and add the beef. Turn the meat to coat and leave in the fridge to marinate for a few hours - overnight if possible.
Heat the olive oil in a deep stew pot over a medium heat and gently fry the cumin and coriander seeds for a few minutes until you start to smell them.
Whack up the heat, stir in the beef with the thyme and fry on all sides, picking up a good brown colour. Add some salt, the fresh chilli, remaining garlic, Spanish onions and carrots and keep stirring until the onions are transparent and the carrots soft - about 15-20 minutes.
Tip in the chopped tomatoes and simmer for 10 minutes before the kidney beans join in the fun.Pour in water just to cover, and simmer for an hour with
the lid on. Then take the lid off and simmer for up to an hour more, until the meat is very tender and the whole lot has become quite thickened.
In a little bowl squeeze the lime juice over the thinly sliced red onion; turn the onions over with a spoon a few times, then leave to macerate for half an hour.
Finish by adding a good pinch of ground cumin to the chilli to give fresh flavour to the slow-cook. Lastly check the seasoning and consistency - if it looks a little dry, just slowly stir in water until it is pleasingly loose.
Have all the necessaries on hand: sour cream (we use good-quality yoghurt instead), macerated onions, wedges of lime and a ukulele player.
Satisfies four very hungry gringos
1 heaped tsp dried chilli flakes
2½ tsps ground cumin
2 tsps dried oregano
1 tsp cinnamon
5 sprigs of thyme, tied together with string
5 cloves of garlic, roughly chopped
500g braising beef, chuck works well, roughly chopped into 4cm chunks
3 tbsp olive oil
1 heaped tsp cumin seeds
1 heaped tsp coriander seeds
Half a red chilli (or more if you like it hot), thinly sliced
2 Spanish onions, cut into large dice
2 carrots, cut into small dice
1 x 400g tin of chopped tomatoes
2 x 400g tins of kidney beans, drained (If using dried beans, soak about 200g overnight in cold water and add at the same point in the recipe as the tinned ones.)
One small red onion, thinly sliced
Juice of one lime
Salt
Put the dried chilli, ground cumin, oregano, cinnamon, thyme and half the garlic into a dish and add the beef. Turn the meat to coat and leave in the fridge to marinate for a few hours - overnight if possible.
Heat the olive oil in a deep stew pot over a medium heat and gently fry the cumin and coriander seeds for a few minutes until you start to smell them.
Whack up the heat, stir in the beef with the thyme and fry on all sides, picking up a good brown colour. Add some salt, the fresh chilli, remaining garlic, Spanish onions and carrots and keep stirring until the onions are transparent and the carrots soft - about 15-20 minutes.
Tip in the chopped tomatoes and simmer for 10 minutes before the kidney beans join in the fun.Pour in water just to cover, and simmer for an hour with
the lid on. Then take the lid off and simmer for up to an hour more, until the meat is very tender and the whole lot has become quite thickened.
In a little bowl squeeze the lime juice over the thinly sliced red onion; turn the onions over with a spoon a few times, then leave to macerate for half an hour.
Finish by adding a good pinch of ground cumin to the chilli to give fresh flavour to the slow-cook. Lastly check the seasoning and consistency - if it looks a little dry, just slowly stir in water until it is pleasingly loose.
Have all the necessaries on hand: sour cream (we use good-quality yoghurt instead), macerated onions, wedges of lime and a ukulele player.
Saturday 11 October 2008
What matters about America
Went to some leaving drinks last night for a Project Manager who is going back to school. To LSE no less. We went to a place called Bar Vinyl, 'London's original DJ bar'.
One of our planners, an Italian who grew up in Milan, said something interesting. "I'm sorry but my only experience of America was San Francisco. I felt so free. I have never felt so free in all my life."
That's what America has always represented to other people around the world. The place where they can get away from the social or governmental or financial circumstances that restrict them.
America is often painted as presiding over the rest of the world. But, in it's own way, America really belongs to the rest of the world.
One of our planners, an Italian who grew up in Milan, said something interesting. "I'm sorry but my only experience of America was San Francisco. I felt so free. I have never felt so free in all my life."
That's what America has always represented to other people around the world. The place where they can get away from the social or governmental or financial circumstances that restrict them.
America is often painted as presiding over the rest of the world. But, in it's own way, America really belongs to the rest of the world.
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