A tale of goats, goats cheese and a fussy eater.

Goats cheese, goats and I have had, how can I put this...a some-what turbulent relationship. Those who managed to get a glimpse of the goat and my peanut butter incident, on the edge of a cliff in China, will understand what I mean by my unfortunate relationship with the goats. Too painful to draw upon again but mentioned in my first post.It may have been this fellow.

During my younger years whilst my food loving sisters, who now I understand have fine taste, could gorge on goats cheese like I could  cheddar or occasionally daringly red Leicester – goats cheese never seemed to tickle my fancy. In fact I recall the first time I encountered goats cheese. My chef like older sister Patsy had made  goats cheese topped with caramelised red onions on a beautiful piece of fresh and crisp bread. I was torn as onions were and still are, my one true love. Growing up I would eat onions as one would a delicious apple. On this subject, I  decided to look deeper into my onion obsession on the World Wide Web to see if there was a deeper explanation . According to one source, ‘urban dictionary’ there is a whole group of people called onion people who live on another planet as aliens. As for a deeper meaning there isn’t one.

So with the picture and smell of sweet onions enticing me towards the dish I decided that I would try it. Anything with onions for me, is like ketchup and yoghurt for others- complete.  When I took my first bite I was sickened by the crumbly texture. However, something  more significant and one thing that didn’t leave me for a long time was the smell. ‘ It smells like a farm’, I would claim, which would be met by,’ Just try it’. ‘ OK, now it tastes like a farm’and after taking about 3 minutes to finish a mouthful I went back to my loyal chicken. The one I could  count on. I knew I was a fusspot about food but it was one of those situations. The ones where you ate what you loved so you would never be left feeling disappointed. Every time goats cheese would rear its ,then, ugly head I would: moan and groan, refuse to sit next to any suspects who chose the cheese and demanded that  all the windows be opened so  the  farm smell left the house. Did I mention this was at the age of sixteen and not three. Of course my mother was not pleased by my reaction and told me to open the windows myself -which I did and then sat down shamefully as I had won the prize for acting like the biggest spoilsport in the house.

However, in my twenties and particularly after university, working in China and travelling around South East Asia my taste buds began to change. Perhaps they had been through the moody adolescent stage and were trying to develop into a more mature and sophisticated pallet. Of course, goats cheese was not easy to come by in China. In fact my fellow China troop will agree any cheese was our treat of the year- or we’d have to spend the equivalent of about £6 on the cheese which could easily cover the weekly expenditure of meals. However,  the sheer fact that there was the lack of availability of foods I loved forced me to change my fussy habits. Luckily mummy Ahuja had me covered for an entire 5 years with tea bags.  The things I quickly realised I would have to kiss goodbye to for the year were: cheese, chocolate,hot chocolate, digestives , salt and vinegar crisps, fresh milk and meat I could identify.  

At first I began to lose a lot of weight purely due the fact that there were no knives and forks in sight. Adjusting to the chopsticks meant for the first 2 weeks I was eating the equivalent of half a meal a day. Sometimes four extra peanuts as a treat. I would normally just use my hands, coming from an Indian background, however I did not want my new peers to think I was a strange one so I persevered with the chopsticks.  I gradually got used to my two new best friends and used ying and yang to bring me harmony and a full stomach. Then, the novelty of Chinese food started to wear off and I began missing my home cooked Indian food, pies and pastas. 


Nevertheless, China is the kind of place where you cannot complain and have to suck it up, starve or pay premium prices for mediocre western food. So my pallet and mind became accustomed to trying new dishes and starting again, as a child would, to establish which dishes I liked and could eat more regularly. I must say, I don’t think I could eat anymore Chinese food or even think about ordering a take away because it just won’t be the same. The street food, even though not the most hygienic option was the cheapest and definitely by far the most delicious.

So suddenly, as my taste in food began to change after experimenting in China and tasting the delights of Cambodia, Laos and particularly Malaysia I came to Spain. I was greeted with a  beautifully equipped kitchen and decided to take on the challenge of the goats cheese. I was determined to love it as it would be more of an incentive to be part of the cool sister group. They are extremely cool and as mentioned above have the most amazing taste in food.

So I began by buying it and adding  it to my salads.  I found It worked really well with a green lentils, chopped tomatoes, red onions and a generous dashing of balsamic glaze. This soon became my staple dish. I then began to fall in love with it. It became my cheddar. In fact I don’t remember the last time I bought cheddar. So my hate of the goats cheese diminished and we have  become fine friends.

On that note I have decided to share with you a recipe I recently tried from my trusty,’Tapas  De ayer y de hoy’. Rollitos de pimiento con queso y Limon- Little rolled up red peppers with cheese and lemon / pepper nuggets. Quite the gourmet dish. Of course the star of today’s recipe is my very fond friend:  goats cheese.

Ingredients (to serve four hungry people):

·         2 big red peppers

·         4 spoons of olive oil

·         ½  lemon- rind and juice

·         175g of goats cheese

·         2 sprigs of Oregano (fresh ) /1 tablespoon of Oregano (dried)

·         Black pepper

1. To begin, deseed the red pepper and take the green hat off too. Wash the pepper and then cut it into half. Cut into half again (lengthwise) and keep going until you have long stips of pepper.

 2. Heat three tablespoons of olive oil in a pan and add the peppers. Cook them on a slow heat for around ten minutes until they are completely cooked. Keep them in a hot pan.

3. Whilst waiting for the peppers, wash a lemon, grate the skin and extract its juice.

4. Crumble the goats cheese and mix it with one table spoon of olive oil. Add the lemon’s rind and some of the lemon juice to the mixture. Next add the oregano, some salt, more of the lemon juice and pepper in abundance.

5. Drain the peppers of any excess juices or oil and spread the goats cheese and lemon mixture amongst the pepper slices. Once you have done this the fun begins! Take the pepper slices and  roll them as you would a rollie pollie pudding. Fasten it with a little cocktail stick.

6. Leave them to rest for at least one hour before serving.

I would recommend them as a little nibbler with drinks (tapas) or as one of your starters. The tangy taste of  goat cheese mixed with lemon and pepper is complimented by the sweetness of the red pepper. An excellent combination and a must for those who want to get to know the possibilities of goats cheese better.

Strange how a teapot can represent at the same time the comforts of solitude, the pleasures of company and how it can lift the veil of a foggy day.

Nobody warned me about the kettle but everyone, and I mean everyone, notified me of the incoming fog. The kettle I am referring to is the much loved and necessary household item in the UK. The force behind that cup of tea we all love so much, the one that gives it life. I know that this is certainly true for my family where any occasion calls for that perfect cup of tea. When everything is changing around me for exciting or less exciting reasons, tea is my one constant. It stays the same, never lets me down and gives me the kind of comfort which cannot be explained. Whether one is happy, sad, worried, sharing good news or simply catching up with a loved one tea is key. On a grey English day a cup of tea is just what the doctor orders.

Here in Catalunya, I have found a few tea lovers but more common is the love for good quality coffee. The drinks culture here provides a similar comfort to drinking tea in England. It is often social, an excuse to catch up with loved ones, express our emotions, share ideas  or discuss new ventures. One of my favourite  discoveries and now staple drink (outside of my home) is a 'tallat'. A 'tallat' is a teeny little coffee with a miniscule amount of milk. The perfect drink for those who love the taste of coffee but get the jitters after a normal cup or those that want to taste something that leaves them wanting more. The coffee I've had here is hands down the best I've had anywhere. It definitely beats Tianjin and maybe even London. This little cup of joy fills me with comfort, warmth and energy but also keeps me calm. So whilst the Catalans might not be accustomed to the six cups of tea I have a day, the significance of a warm drink is similar.

Amrita enjoying her tallat!

So, with my love of tea, one can only imagine the alarm bells which rang when I scouted the kitchen for my beloved kettle and could not locate one. The next day I asked my lovely mentor, ‘so do you know where I can find a kettle and what do you do to make tea, coffee or an infusion?’. She answered by telling me it was more common for Catalan households to use the microwave or a saucepan to boil water. I went home that evening to try the microwave method. I must say I was not too impressed. This may be due to the fact that although I am patient with most things in life, unfortunately this quality does not transcend to my need for tea.I would take the cup out and the water would be semi-boiled and frothy (I’m talking a tea bag without milk) and, without trying, I would create a frothy tea latte. Not as luxurious as it sounds

With disappointment in the air, I tried to make another cup this time waiting for the full amount of time which I estimated at 2 and half minutes. I took out the cup and the handle was so hot that I burnt my fingers. Needless to say, I stuck to orange juice that day and waited for the minor burn to relieve itself. The next day I tried the saucepan approach. This was slightly more successful! It was burn free, less of a latte and more of the tea I know and love. However, it was still not the same. I love and embrace change but just not with my cup of tea. As soon as my tea-loving mum came to visit she understood the problem. We went on an adventure to find a kettle. Searching from supermarket to supermarket  when at last, we found one! It lay hidden in one of the Chinese supermarkets which sells everything under the sun, honestly name an item and it’s there! It was a pricey 12 Euros but I took it. We hurried home that day and made the best cup of tea I had the pleasure of drinking in one and a half months. It was worth it.

Now, back to the fog that everyone warned me about. I began the year basking in the glory of the sun talking about how wonderful it was and explaining  how much I loved life. Then I heard ,’but wait until you see the fog’. Or if it was painfully cold one day and I felt as if my fingers were going to fall off (slightly dramatic- I just don’t deal well with cold) one would reply by saying,’ you haven’t seen anything  yet just wait until you see the fog!’. I heard countless stories of previous years where the fog was so low and  thick that it was too dangerous to drive. I anxiously waited for this dangerous fog but it never came. After returning from the Christmas holidays, the fog appeared with vigour. I was amazed  as I had never seen anything like it before. It seemed as though a soft blanket of candy floss rested above my head.  It was akin to a sinking cloud but not quite as fluffy,  more mystical.  Walking through the fog in the absence of others felt eerie at eleven o’clock in the morning.

I have never given fog this much thought but have found it to be quite fascinating. There is no real difference between clouds and fog. Fog is a cloud which has formed near the surface of the earth.When water evaporates from a body of water it does so as water vapour forming a gas wich rises and bonds with dust particles. These then form droplets which join forces to make thick dense fog.

A foggy Balaguer.

The old bridge hidden under the veil of the fog.

My second encounter with the fog was late one afternoon, when I was walking back from the library.  It was dark and foggy so I had trouble seeing what was coming ahead. Those that know me well know of my irrational fear of dogs. Normally, I like to do my research of the paths that lie ahead and like to know in advance which dog is coming towards me so I can redirect my route. This time in the fog, all I could hear was barking, so I looked to my right, left, in front of and behind me and there was nothing. The barking was getting louder. To combat my fear and lack of vision I RAN all the way home and locked both my door and room door and then unlocked my room door to make a perfect cup of tea to settled my nerves. Luckily this water vapour from the kettle gave me a feeling of contentment and provided me with a little cup of heaven.

Oh Christmas log,Oh Christmas log, How lovely are your...droppings?

At the risk of sounding like the legend herself- Gwen from Gavin and Stacy, I have decided to give the omelette speech a rest. Ok, I need to mention it, just one sentence. I did it I finally did it. The Spanish omelette was a roaring success. Hurrah! When I say roaring, I mean my mum didn’t dash to the bathroom or hide it in her napkin. Gone are the painful home economics days where nobody touched my apple crumble.She gave it the thumbs up and I did a little victory dance to celebrate. I realise I have gone over my sentence limit but this omelette was a particularly worthy one. Worthy of a few more words past the punctuation mark of doom.

Frying the potatoes and whisking an egg.

A little on the brown side but perfectly cooked!

This is how you do it.

Now that the omelette victory is out of my system and no that is NOT just another picture of the last very burnt attempt , on to more important matters. It’s Christmas time! Or it was Christmas time at the time of beginning this post. Merry merry Christmas to those near and far! I have decided to gift you all, for a little post Christmas cheer, to some knowledge of a Catalan Christmas.

When looking at the title of the post I know a few people, mainly siblings, will be saying the usual, ‘ if you don’t know the lyrics stop singing the song and making up dance routines like you own it’. Yes, it’s true I have an inability to remember all the lyrics to a song and still continue to sing them with all of me  as if I actually wrote the songs myself. However, this is different. The log I am referring  to is the traditional Tio de Nadal. The faint hearted or those who are not a fan of toilet humour may want to turn away now, shut their laptops or just read on anyway. The log is commonly known as Caga Tio which can be translated as, ‘ shit log’. He is what Santa is to our children.

Caga Tio, was originally just a log of wood but with time has transformed into a snazzy log who is a little less rough around the edges, a reformed character. A pair of eyes with eyebrows to match, a rounded nose and a dazzling smile later and you have a modern Caga Tio. He usually enters the Catalan household on the 8^th of December  ( the day of immaculate conception) until the 24^th or 25^th of December. Caga Tio is well looked after unlike our Santa who gets at best a few cookies and night cap for the chimney hopping. He is covered with a blanket so that he doesn’t get cold and also fed turron as well as orange peel every evening. He does, after all, need his strength for the big delivery day. The general idea is the more they feed him, the more he will poop out.

In order to aid his digestive flow on the 24^th or 25^th of December one would hit him with a stick and would poop out Christmas goods for children. The harder he is hit, the better the goods! So, the kids (or me in this case) hit the caga tio with a stick and sing a little song. The general gist of the song is that Caga Tio should poop out very good turron and not salty fish. Wise words I’d say. After hitting Caga Tio they look under the blanket to see what Caga tio left for them!

Caga Tio is ready to do the deed!

Oh Hello, Christmas surprise!

My next post will be about the famous, ‘Caganer’ in Catalonia, a traditional character in nativity plays who is constanly squatting and doing a number two. I’ll leave you with that thought.

I hope you had a wonderful, wonderful Christmas and have a fantastic new year!

An eggxellent and eggciting vogue of egg- tortilla de patatas

Upon my arrival in Balaguer, I was greeted by the most delicious welcome dinner prepared very kindly by my wonderful tutor now friend. After eating this tasty meal of ‘tortilla de patatas’ with a flavoursome salad to accompany it, as the salads here are hands down the BEST I have ever had as far as my salad experiences have gone,  I quizzed her on this style of egg. In my broken Spanish, ‘ pero como es GRANDE’( actually it might have been in English that day so just in case), ‘ but how is it so BIG’ hand actions and everything. ‘How could this omelette feed an army?’ I wondered to myself. I waited for a secret ingredient like baking powder, magic dust, an exotic herb that makes food high (and rise).The secret turned out to be a very uncomplicated and what now seems a very common sense idea: the number of eggs in the omelette. The ingredients were simple, yet the meal was delectable, I could not stop thinking about that Spanish Tortilla! As a result of this dreaming about eggs, I decided that this week’s mission was to master the Spanish Tortilla. Or at least give it a go before putting it up there with the chef-like standards of my pan con tomate.

However, this time was different; I was cooking for an esteemed guest. A very honest, brutal but beautiful food loving younger sister. I knew that this taste testing would be the truth.  It was crunch time.This was the equivalent of Michel Roux tasting a masterchef dish. So, I consulted my trusty ‘ Tapas De ayer y de hoy’ and looked for something that would help me recreate the eggcellent magic again. The primary aim of this week’s venture was to have zero burns on me but more importantly on my tortilla.  

Now you must be thinking,’but Natasha how egg-otistical of you what did your sister think of the dish?!’. Well, the day the VIP arrived, preparation for this dish was going well, A-ok, like a pro one might say. Many pictures were taken to monitor the progression of this dish. Then, the unthinkable and unexpected happened. After I whipped up the 3 eggs, lightly fried the thinly sliced potatoes, seasoned and mixed everything together; I thought to myself ,' this is going to be a good one'. An egg like I’d never seen before. I added the egg to the hot pan with enough olive oil for the whole of Balaguer so nothing would burn and it happened. It burned. It was not the kind of burn where you could cut off the egg and hide by garnishing it with herbs or the kind of dish you could quickly turn into scrambled eggs. No, it was smoky, black and burnt.  So my sister did not get to try what should have been a fine version of tortilla de patatas but tried one in a restaurant and agreed that it was yummy.

My advice to anyone who wants to try this dish is, well I'm not sure. I'll let you know when I figure it out for round two. Once the scars of this venture have faded. For now I say stick to sunny side up, or even better boiled. 

Everything was ready for the materpiece

It looked as if it was going so well!

The final piece and that was the least burnt side!

Tomato toastie de Catalonia...like a pro.

Today I took the plunge after flicking through my new ,’Tapas De ayer y hoy’ recipe book, a very kind gift, and decided I would become a cooking extraordinaire. So I began with what I thought would be simple, ‘ Pan con tomate’. As at that moment in time I luckily had the last of a loaf of bread, half a tomato and a lot of garlic waiting to be used, this was the perfect dish. Pan con tomate is a popular dish in Catalonia and despite its boring translation of bread with tomato my previous experiences of this dish had been delicious. The first thing I did was crush a clove of garlic and mixed it into a tablespoon of olive oil. I then added the garlic flavoured oil to a hot pan and after a while added the bread. It sizzled which is normally a good sign, so I left it for a while and then it really sizzled and began to burn. I quickly turned off the heat and saved what I could of my project. I managed to salvage half a piece of bread, which was made up of random bits of to work with. Finally I cut a quarter of a tomato and smothered it all over the bread.  Despite a few burnt bits of garlic it was scrumptious! A semi success of my first Spanish dish unsupervised. It is one I would recommend as a starter or to accompany any fish, meat or veggie dish. Oh what a chef I have become!

Before

After

Mi casa es su casa...via the www.

I have officially been in my new surroundings for just over a month and how time has flown. To celebrate my one month anniversary, taking inspiration from Julie Powell after virtually sobbing watching 'Julie y Julia', I have decided to start up a blog to document my Catalan adventure for the next seven months.This is a way for me to keep you all updated and share a little bit of me with you every once in a while.


So I'm going to begin by saying that  my experience thus far  in Catalonia has been completely different to my experiences of China. Was that a, ' Natasha but Ni Hao is it different?', I hear you say? Well, whilst living in China I lived in Tianjin, a city  which has a population of 10.43 million, here I live in a small town called Balaguer which has a comparatively small  population of 16779 and work in a beautiful tiny village called Montgai where there is a grand total of  24 students in my school. In China, I had no prior knowledge of the language and in Catalonia, even though I should be in the same boat as the prevailing language is Catalan, I am luckily surrounded by wonderful people who are willing to listen and help me improve my now somewhat rusty Spanish. They are so wonderful and patient that they don't even snigger at my Spanglish accent. Being able to communicate through language , either a native or widely spoken language, in some way does make all the difference and I sense this is part of the reason why things have seemed slightly easier to being with.

Balaguer, a small rural town North West of Barcelona in the province of Lleida, is my new home. It is nothing like I had expected when I was informed that I would be working in a small rural area. In fact, it has risen above and beyond any expectations I ever had. The town is beautiful as there is a gothic yet modern mix of buildings, both old and new set against a mountain backdrop. One of the most striking buildings is the Santa Maria Church, from which you can see picturesque views of Balaguer, which dates back to the fifteenth century.Just walking to the library (no Catalonia has not changed me into a crazy party girl-yet) I have the pleasure of seeing the most stunning views. Unlike my previous expectations of Balaguer having one bakery, a hairdresser, possibly a bank and let's not forget my good friends the cows and the goats (I say friends but really I mean foes after I was almost attacked and killed on the edge of a cliff by a goat who wanted my peanut butter- but cows are good and sacred) it has almost everything one could need. There are endless numbers of bars, cafes, restaurants, bakeries, butchers, gyms and strangely most of all hairdressers. They're everywhere.


Additionally, I thought that perhaps I'd be the only Indian in the village but to my surprise there's a large immigrant community in Balaguer. From Chinese people to Moroccans, Africans, Spaniards and of course Catalans there is a vivacious community of people from different origins. There is even a Chinese restaurant called, ' Ni Hao'! The world truly is global, all the Anthropologists are right. 

New Amigas of mine saying, 'Ni Hao' at Ni Hao!

So, all in all Balaguer so far has exeeded my expectations and I think it will make an interesting, action packed, adventurous home as being in a quieter, smaller area surrounded by natural beauty makes you want to exercise more. Top off the athletic bodies (of the many cyclists) with a choice of 1000 haircuts- this is my new home.