Cooking Frenzy

Lately I’ve been in a little bit of a “let’s-be-gourmet” kind of mood. But it’s important when trying to be something to keep it rustic. You don’t want people to know you tried too hard. You want to come across casually good at cooking.

Like “[sigh and look disinterested] yeh, I just whipped up this three layered chocolate marquise with a crusted sugar top, felt like something sweet after my <something French> dinner.”

So of course I went straight to the absolute master of rustic-meets-gourmet cooking – Jamie Oliver.

He helped guide me. But, like all organised religion, it’s important not to have blind faith and stick 100% to the book. You need interpretation.

So below are pictures of the things I made recently:

1.        Parmesan, red onion, mushroom quiche I made (felt like a quickie ;-P), I even made the base from scratch. Huge hit on the Sabbath table.

2.       Thai rice paper rolls (not their not filled with Thai people, that would be racist, or sexist, or murder, or cannibalism, or some shit)

3.       <stolen image> lentil patties

I might post the recipes up soon, if you ask for them in the ‘comment’ section below.

They are Me original recipes.

Got Milk

One of my professors at uni used to say that Milton, who was blind and so got his daughters to write down his poems for him, used to wake up in the morning full of verses he had dreamt about and say “he wanted to be milkd” which is a fun metaphor. Without comparing myself to Milton, or putting sick images in your head, I just want to give a pashut update.

Start with the general:

This country’s disregard for nut allergies has just caught up with itself. Someone was killed by a Belgium waffle she was told was not coated with Nutela but rather chocolate spread (Read more). The waiter was wrong, the girl died. We all knew this was going to happen sooner or later. You lawyers out there, I’m wondering, who gets charged for manslaughter?

In other news, university students are now entering their second week of camping outside the municipal building protesting the rent prices. You can smell the camp from a larger radius each day. There was a huge march in Tel Aviv as well

This started as a protest about the high prices of cottage cheese (which has become the icon/scapegoat for the high prices of all milk products). It’s funny to see the students merge the two causes in their banners which read: “Let’s go live in Bibi’s Cottage house!”

Cottage in English is a word used for a small house, but in Hebrew it just means a house made out of cottage cheese. Funny image.

Meanwhile up the road each Friday afternoon DJ’s and bands pack the streets for a pre-Shabbat street party which are a barrel of fun. This week they covered a small area with sand and small kiddie-pools and splashed around the blearing music. If your ears didn’t melt from the heat, they would have from the music.

Still working at the ice cream store. The ice creams still taste oh so sweet and are so brightly coloured that this week a kid actually smashed her face against the glass trying to get a closer look.

I publicly apologise for laughing.

But it was hilarious head this massive thud and seeing a face print on the glass, and then the three second pause before the crying begins. She was fine after her parents stuck some ice cream in her mouth.

Despite this, the work is actually sucking the life out of my soul. To hold my sanity together I decided to embrace the inevitable shattering of sanity hoping that the paradox would confuse the system and I would leave each shift unharmed.

Halfway through tribal dancing with my eyes coated over with white chocolate spread I remembered that my boss can watch the cameras from his computer at home. Too bad I had also just used the toilet with the door open. He can enjoy that in his spare time I guess.

The other way I not amuse myself is by turning each request into an innuendo – In your end-oh!

We have a flavour called ‘alfahores’ which is based on an Argentinean biscuit, but Americans come in drunk late at night and just read half the sign and ask “What’s an ‘Alpha-whore’?”

Then some people come in and ask “Can I try your Belgium chocolate?” Having dark skin I just take a moment, laugh to myself and carry on.

Then after they take eat my Belgium Chocolate they ask if they can pay me.

Then there’s the people who say “ah its dripping all over me” and when the freezers are on too high they say “it’s so hard” and I’m just like –“ YEH IT IS!”.

See what this place is turning me into, a sick old man!

Anyway, that’s all from me, I’m out!

Tel Aviv Street Art

The Israeli culture, in my experience, is all about getting your message out there, getting your voice heard. There are many way the people here do it; some through their voice, some through their car horn, other silently through a simple hand gesture. What better way to do this than leaving a permanent mark on someone else garage door, wall or body.

Tattoo culture is getting really big. A girl I worked with got her grandfather’s number tattooed on her arm. I think that’s a bit far, but I wasn’t going to mess with a survivor wannabe.

As well as tattoos street art is also becoming popular. I’m not talking about some punk kid with one hand holding a joint and the other on a spray can attempting to write his name on a wall like COPE2 on crack. I’m talking about artists who are turning the museum inside out, tacking the art to the streets.

There’s heaps around Jerusalem, in the back streets where the cats chill with the people who jabber like prophets. But I spent the last week in Tel Aviv (with my mum) and saw a bunch of cool stuff. Not sure who the artist is or what the meaning is behind it, all I know is it makes the city more aesthetically pleasing. These are some of the shots I took:

Sydney Eyes

My mum’s been visiting here for the past week along with half the Australian Jewish community.

It has been really great to take a break from Aliyah and just enjoy being a tourist here. I’ve even taken a holiday from Hebrew. Even simple things which I know would be easier in Hebrew I say in English. I’m on holiday from Aliyah, no Hebrew. Pure tourist. I even hold a map 24/7 so people don’t even try to ask anything. I’m not from here. If someone asks for directions I just respond with a wide-eyed “Slicha, ani iparon, lo Ivrit”.

On the other hand it has been so good to give my mum a window into my life here, I think each day she’s taking to the idea of me living here more and more. She actually let me stay.

It’s also been great to take a break from kvetching and just to have my mum feed me and sleep in hotels by the beach – this is the life!

When I heard that some of my friends from Mother Oz were coming, I got quite nervous. I didn’t really feel that 6 months was enough time to set up my life to a point where I felt comfortable showing my friends. It’s was an unwelcome clash between the old and new.

I kind of anticipated that if they saw my place, job, or new friends they would instantly think to themselves; “You left us for this?”

It was difficult for me to imagine that through their ‘Sydney Eyes’ my life here would appear settled and that I would look happy – of which I am both.

By ‘Sydney Eyes’ I mean eyes that compare here, to Sydney; Firstly Jerusalem has no beach. Second, my place hasn’t been refurbished since the 70’s (it’s still swinging baby!), although there a plenty of flowers around town you often get a waft of sewage poking your nostrils like a curious kid with a packet of skewers.

Also, my city has had more conflict in a week, than the whole Australia has had in its entire history (excluding denying asylum seekers entrance, and the stolen generation).

I would just curl up into a ball of inadequacy at the thought of comparing the cities.

I decided to confront my fear by having a close friend from Sydney sleep over. We had a ball. She got along great with my roommates, enjoyed our nightlife experience with a friend of mine from Ulpan and felt comfortable in my place.

After her visit I realised I was the one who had ‘Sydney Eyes’ and that it’s me who has to get used to my lot here.

Still haven’t returned to Aliyah life yet, in fact I’m sitting on a balcony now with the rays of the late afternoon sun poking my skin looking out at an unadulterated 180 degree view of the beach.

The Mediterranean is so close I could pee in it.

But when I do return, I will jump back into Aliyah with new found vigour! Like a young stallion in the prime of his youth with nothing to lose and everything to gain. And gallop off into the horizon!