Friday, 17 April 2009

Coffee (+ bonus pregnancy factors)

Being only a very short time out from taking maternity leave, my thoughts on coffee are necessarily ambivalent. Pregnancy and caffeine fixes just don't mesh well, and one is made to feel very irresponsible and evil for lamenting giving it up (cos you are automatically a Bad Parent if you don't sacrifice all for your children, and how dare you even contemplate eating that sashimi or ricotta...but that's a rant for another time. Lucky you).

Pre-pregnancy (this time around), my coffee habit wasn't that chronic. Perhaps one 'regular' latte that would sit beside my work PC for hours as I drip-fed caffeine through the day. The 'regular' size is one I would call large, but I realise that we've lost all sense of proportion (literally) since the advent of mega-sizing and those 'grand grandes'. I like my coffee strong and with milk, and have taken to ordering lattes rather than flat whites because some cafes seem not to comprehend what a 'flat white' is. The drink that often turns up irks me with its stupendously expensive 40% hard milk foam ration. It's so wrong.

The problem, as all milky coffee-drinkers would know, is that whether you order a cappuccino, flat white, or latte, many places will just give you a stupidly frothy coffee that bears no resemblance to any of those styles. Just in case any budding baristas are reading this, this is the coffee gospel according to Wiki:
a latte is typically prepared with approximately one third espresso and two-thirds steamed milk, with a layer of foamed milk approximately 5 mm (¼ inch) thick on the top. The drink is similar to a cappuccino, the difference being that a cappuccino consists of 1/3 espresso, 1/3 steamed milk and 1/3 foam. A variant on the latte is the flat white, which is served in a smaller ceramic cup with the creamy steamed milk poured over a single-shot of espresso, holding back the lighter froth at the top.
A flat white is FLAT. That's the whole point. No foam, you silly buggers!

I've taken to having mostly decaf lattes (less regularly, but still at least once a week) because of Sprog 2 and, while I know a bad coffee when I meet it, I'm by no means a connoisseur. So, decaf doesn't really bother me. I figure a badly made decaf latte in a particular place would probably have also been a badly made full-caffeine latte. When I was first pregnant (with E.), I was hardcore about not having coffee. I think I might've had half a dozen those entire nine months (and half of those were decafs). When I was off coffee, and trying not to have sugary drinks (being borderline gestational diabetic as I was [my litany of health woes, let me show you it...]), I found it really hard to find things I'd enjoy as hot drink substitutes. The thing with lattes is the creamy, robust flavour. So, while I don't mind tea, it doesn't quite cut it on either score. I went herbal (peppermint) for a bit and found it very unsatisfactory. Hot chocolates were way too sweet (sickeningly so) and I've never been a fan of chai. It was a tragic time, especially on chilly autumn/winter days.

I've had very few bad coffees since I moved to Melbourne, over 5 years ago now. The bad ones have been expectedly dire (e.g. I foolishly ordered one in a shopping centre food court), and even my blasted heath of a campus has halfway decent coffee at various sites (there remains a distinct dearth of funky and interesting cafes, but I'm resigned to this). 

Getting back to my full-blown caffeine habit after I stopped breastfeeding (1.5 years later...sigh) was liberating. Having been mostly off caffeine all that time, I've come back to it a bit less rabid (I think my daily fix, pre-E., was at least 2, and often 3, lattes a day).

Also, having felt rather deprived and pathetic all the time I couldn't have it, I now approach my coffees with more respect and appreciation. It always takes being without those you love, eh?

Thursday, 2 April 2009

Green things

I've been inspired by Unique Schmuck's blogging about her garden. It's satisfying browsing the back and front yards and knowing what's coming on the vines/branches, what might be ripe soon, and thinking of things we can cook to complement our own produce.

Below are a couple of pics of a raspberry S. harvested for me today. Our daughter, E., tends to descend on the raspberry bushes like a locust so we normally don't get to partake in them (unless we sneak the ones on the bush that are above her eye-height...). This season is the first time I've ever had fresh-picked raspberries from the garden. They're fantastic. I don't think we'll ever have enough harvested in one hit to make anything raspberryish (see reference to locust-daughter above), but it gives us hope for next season's crop...perhaps.



We've had a good crop of capsicums (below) so far this year, heatwave notwithstanding (anything that was on the bush at the time of the heatwave shrivelled and dropped with alacrity). Being a family that's partial to regular Tex-Mex meals, these often ended up in (or on) burritos and enchiladas.



S. built two raised vegetable beds when we moved into our Melbourne house (along with a cactus/succulent shed, fancy front fence, and water-tank stand...). One of the beds is mostly herbs: chives, spring onions, garlic, oregano, flat-leaf parsley and Vietnamese mint (below, with a new basil in the foreground).



The other houses the bushy veges: (rather sad) tomatoes, capsicums, beans, pumpkins (see the beginnings of a Kent below), some stray strawberries and cucumbers.


The front yard has a dedicated fruit tree zone where S. has put in pear, apple, peach, and plum trees, grapevines, and raspberry bushes.

The set-up complements my idea of what a garden is for. I grew up in sub-tropical Queensland with what one might term 'an ethnic garden' (if one wanted to open a can of taxonomic worms): rows of styrofoam boxes with all manner of herbs/spices/veges in them, long beds of bushy vegetables and chillies, kaffir lime, fountains of lemongrass, low beds of cassava and turmeric, and a much-prized parrot mango tree that rewarded us with bumper crops of fragrant, succulently smooth-fleshed fruit every 2 years (the intervening year was not as bountiful). As much space as possible was devoted to growing things that are eaten and used in cooking. The front garden was the only concession to a 'pretty' space, and my father planted out some roses (my mother's favourites) and other flowering things. We had a gigantic wisteria covering a pergola, and its trunk was thicker than my arm by the time we sold our family home.

In Melbourne, I can take just about no credit for the burgeoning garden. S. is the one with the green in his soul, who nurtures the entire enterprise. I'm a staunch vicarious gardener.

Must sees - Red Cliff (2009) and Race to Witch Mountain (2009)

Two films I'm busting to see:

>> RED CLIFF (2009) <<

Angry Asian Man wrote about it back in July 2008, but I've only just stumbled across some pics and reviews of it (including this light one on LJ - half-naked Tony Leung? *books ticket*). I love a historical costume-drama, and when it's an epic Chinese one, odds are it'll get watched in my household.

John Woo directs and, while I'm not a big Woo fan, his association means it'll be a slick flick with great production values. That's all I want from it, really. Simple, yeah? A quick skim around on google images confirms that the movie looks gorgeous.

Oh, you want to know what it's about? Well, ok, this Wiki entry gives you more info about the film than you'll want/need to know. I didn't even make it through the whole Wiki entry so chances are not good that I would ever read The Chronicles of the Three Kingdoms (the historical text, not the war game!). If there's a choice of meticulous, long historical document OR swashbuckling big-screen rendition? I would say that's not really a choice...


Screen shot from Red Cliff - At least we know who gets the remote...

I feel guilty every so often that I haven't got a clue about many of the Chinese literary classics. I know some titles, and I know some authors, but I've never read anything in the 'canon' and don't intend to. Perhaps it's the 'never intend to' aspect that brings forth the guilt, rather than the 'haven't got around to it yet.' Why do I feel the guilty need to know about 'my culture', especially when my entire professional life is based on challenging essentialist assumptions about cultural attributes? Good question...

=====================

>> RACE TO WITCH MOUNTAIN (2009) <<

[Wiki entry that fills you in on plot, if you're into that kind of thing...]

There are only two words to describe why I'm so keen to see this Disney movie:

Dwayne Johnson.

For those who haven't caught up with recent naming changes, another two words might be necessary:

The Rock.

I'm a huge Dwayne movie fan. I can easily trace this to his turn in The Scorpion King (2002), which is a Class A cheesy fare.


From The Scorpion King: Leather-clad Akkadian The Rock (aka Dwayne Johnson, on left)
and Michael Clarke Duncan sporting blue eye-shadow as a tribal king (of course).


I've seen just about all Dwayne's movies and none of his stints on WWF. I think this is a good thing with wanting to take him semi-seriously as an actor. His filmic vehicles are all blockbustery action and comedy (I think he can do good comedy), and exactly the kind of bubblegum I'm after with big Hollywood fixes. He's chosen his films quite well and made memorable cameo 'character' roles (e.g. in Be Cool). Even though folks are always ready to trash someone who comes from a WWF background (which is precisely part of his cheesy appeal), I don't think he's ever let a movie down (oh, I know, I know; how earnest am I, eh?).

I always feel as if I have to justify why I like him so much.


I mean, really, what's not to like?

Wednesday, 1 April 2009

They lied? Say it isn't so

This is probably the most incongruous thing you'll ever see on this blog.

While getting home yesterday - or was it on the news last night? - I happened to catch snippets of some footy news. Always thrilling for me, as you can imagine, being the great AFL fan that I am...

ANYway, I distinctly remember a footballer declaring that he was a "one-man team" and would stay with X team forever. I remember this clearly because I did the internal snigger I always do when I catch a piece of classic sports talk with lovely wrong turns of phrase (my favourite remains the commentator who said that Y was like "a bull in a Chinaman's shop").

Today, I see this article about Lance Franklin and his vow always to stay a Hawthorn Hawk, and the quote is taken as:

"The 22-year-old Coleman medallist yesterday categorically declared he would be a Hawk for life.

'Definitely. I'm going to stay a one-team man and never look like leaving Hawthorn ever,' he said ahead of Hawthorn's clash against Sydney on Saturday night. 'I love the club.'"

Now, that's just wrong. He didn't say that at all. We all know what he meant when he said he was "a one-man team," but that's not what he said.

Oh, sports reporting. You make me doubt your integrity.