Our far flung festive frolics
Christmas was pretty much a day like any other in Tamano. People went to work, shops were open, cars were on the road in usual numbers, cyclists pedalled their way to wherever they were going. Our numbers were swelled though, by the arrival of Yvette (the Project Manager’s wife) and her two daughters. The first female company for four weeks!
The ladies are all well seasoned travellers, even Siobhan (10) and Chantelle (12) having travelled more in their years than I imagine I will in my three score and ten … or whatever our allotted time is these days. They’ve travelled with Richard to Korea, Romania, Singapore … and were a massive help in terms of making sense of some of the more difficult to discern items in the supermarket. The brightly coloured packets were pickled vegetables. You can buy flour if you know where to look. You almost need not make a purchase if you time your visit for when free samples are on offer. If it is something ghastly, you spit it out, discreetly.
Intake of coffee went up, tidiness of our bungalow went down – taking a holiday while on holiday is really the height of indulgence. And they do say a tidy house is the sign of an empty life, yes. A slightly messy one is a sign that there are girls to chat to and jaunts to go on.
We did have a lovely little Christmas tree, thanks to colleague Owen, which was beautifully dwarfed by the few presents we had. Scarf, pencil case, jumper, diary and gloves exchanged we decided that definitely the best present by far was the bag of oats Yvette had brought out for us from the UK. Strange, for neither of us had put “porridge” on the list of things we might miss.
We also received a lovely cake and bottle of champagne from the shipyard. The cake, decorated with a marzipan santa, candles and holly was a cream affair and, in preparation for dining en masse that night next door, we rested the table in the garden and demolished the cake. Passersby nearly drove into the fence, but at 15oC it genuinely was warm enough. We weren’t actually trying to maintain the eccentric Brits abroad stereotype. That was just a by-product of our al fresco afternoon tea.
The table eventually made its way around to Richard and Yvette’s, as did we a couple of hours later. It was fitting for how far flung and foreign we felt, that we didn’t dine on the traditional fare. We had the most delicious curry I have had in an awfully long time. Bahumbug’s adage that the turkey and trimmings meal is the one part of the Christmas that makes it bearable (though the presents don’t tend to be rejected … ) was swept aside. Our hosts’ modesty that it was just a curry really didn’t wash. It was a feast – of onion bhajis, potato curry, pork curry, aubergine curry, cucumber salad, rice, nan bread … and some mango chutney which they had somehow managed to source, rightly rationed owing to the premium paid for this additional delicacy.
Over the next few days, I tended to time my visits for when Yvette was in the kitchen, hoping to learn a few of her recipes. I’d watch as she chucked ingredients in a pan, no measuring, no scales, no recipe book, just cook. This has become a theme with those whose culinary skills I admire – they can’t tell you really how much of this or how much of that or for how long– they just know. It’s an instinct, born either of a culinary super gene, a seventh sense of what works or practise.
Much as I found with Effie, my Hebridean mother-in-law, there is no secret ingredient, in fact it is the opposite – simple good ingredients combined skilfully and cooked really well. I suppose it’s “the knowledge”, gained either at another’s side or through trial and error, bitter experience (along with sweet, salt and that odd savoury one – umami which sounds and is a Japanese word, the fifth taste having been identified in 1908 by Kikunae Ikeda of Tokyo Imperial University while researching the strong flavour in seaweed broth). Still my scones don’t turn out as perfectly as Effie’s (unless she is standing beside me while I do them) and I don’t suppose my curry will be anywhere near as delicious as Yvette’s.
So when did we start to learn things from a soulless set of instructions rather than from family, a friend or trusting ourselves? Measuring things carefully, panicking over consistency and method? No wonder the chatty, friendly style of Nigella and Jamie’s books and TV shows have been so successful. Cooking is something we have to do, need to do, but I think the best ingredient might be company and the most important skill is confidence. Yet somehow, we have gone from cooking and eating as a family to rush meals through the week then making a big elaborate effort to dine with friends.
Cooking and eating are social activities, they are about fuel for living, our health and well being, not a performance. Little wonder plonking something in the microwave and gobbling it down before the tv is so unsatisfactory, but in the hectic 21st century it’s regrettably a necessary evil. Those of us on an extended holiday though, are now planning to try and gain that confidence trick … and while I’m only vaguely certain about what pre-packs might contain, it’s the safer option. So I’m grateful for the gift of time to experiment in the kitchen and for the willing guinea pig who is happy enough to stomach the good and the bad.
