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www.kiwizine.com

find my lastest at

http://anaiid.com/barton/

Kids eat your brussel sprouts

Brussel sprouts have a weird stigma attached to them, I think some cartoon character displayed disgust at the poor little defenseless cabbagey looking vegetable. “Yuk brussel sprouts” from the likes of daffy duck and its popularity was destroyed. Now in reality it is most likely that you hate these things because you were served them horribly overcooked causing them to taste and smell sulfuric.
So this is the key to helping the brussel sprout out of it misconceived unpopularity: do not overcook.

This recipe combines fall (autumn) produce into a very American thanksgiving style side.
Find a nice squash, I love Kabocha (Japanese pumpkin) it has an almost red yellow flesh and great flavor. Peel it and cut into bite sized cubes, toss in olive oil and season with some smoked paprika, salt and pepper then roast in hot oven until just tender 10 – 20 minutes depending on size. While the squash is roasting prepare the sprouts by slicing a good chunk off the stalk and removing as many of the outer leaves that are easily separated. Slice the remaining core into halves or quarters depending on size.
Candy some nuts, macadamia or pecans are perfect but pistachios or cashews could substitute. Heat some sugar and liquid in a heavy base pot until light caramel forms then add nuts. I used some sugar, honey, soy, lemon juice and chili flakes. Let nuts cool in pot or on a tray.
Saute (fry in hot pan to brown) brussel sprout halves in a oil adding butter and minced garlic as the sprouts colour. Finish with the leaves and a hit of lemon juice a spoon of crème fraiche is also nice. Total cooking time of sprout should be 3 – 5 minutes until softened but still crunchy. Toss together with roasted Kabocha, dried cranberries and chopped nuts.

Great with roast chicken or turkey.

Use the sprouts to make many other creations, add citrus segments, pinenuts and pomegranate or a little rice, potatoes to beef it up just don’t cook them too much and remember they have a bitter flavour.

this blog

is more about my tales of cooking, helping me construct a cookbook with a story of the interesting happenings during my time using knives as a ticket to travel. Expect more recipes and tales of where my knives take me

the fisher

Finally employment was secured as long as I completed the STCW course and made my flight with enough money to pay for a taxi to flisvos marina. With no money how was I going to survive for the week. I couldn’t bear the though of returning to a campground especially seeing as though no one would share my pain and the random street stained mattress had been given up on leaving only a thin layer of nylon between me the ground and a nights sleep.
Adrian had got me the job so I returned to his office to tell him about my financial difficulties. “What are you doing here? I got you a job” The wirery old guy was a difficult one as this was his game and he played it better than the rest. As I explained my potential for starving and sleeping on a beach, the Fisher decided he would continue his nurturing of my entry into the world of super yachting. “Daywork! Right I got some of that for you, Rent! I have a self contained apartment, come here tomorrow lunchtime”.
Ok, I got trounced in that round but the outcome seems to be successful.
Adrian Fisher had a reputation as a really good agent who would get you a job if he liked you. My form had been better in the first encounter loaded with the low down from another yacthie wannabe, I arrived at his office expected a different approach to reviewing candidates.
As I entered his territory I saw a couple waiting for the man, they had a appointment and had called him, apparently he wouldn’t be long. I joined them and as we did the idol chitchat more entered the fisher’s lair.
What are you doing here? They were not ready for the attack and responded meekly requesting to register with a form, What do you do, have you worked on boats before? The negative response was crushed with I don’t take people who have not experience. Next the couple who had to fight for their appointment to be honored and then And you?
“Well I heard you were an excellent agent with interesting techniques” Oh did you well you two wait I will be back, and you leave I told you I don’t take people with no experience. We were left bemused and stunned, Is he for real? With a few shakes of the head the room returned to waiting for the return. I was nervously thumbing through a yachting magazine when I came across an article written by this weird man on crew placement. What are you still doing here I told you to go! They couldn’t believe he wasn’t even willing to take a resume, then he asked for them, by the time I had got mine out of my bag he was already shooing the two inexperienced lads out the door and was onto harassing the couple. He snatched mine resume, queried my experience and was back to his office. We all remained, silenced but for a murmur between the couple. At least he was looking at our resumes.
The lads were returned their resume’s with some mild abuse and were aggressively shown the door, then he went at the couple, was this their appointment? As he tore apart their prospects for having similar resumes. What did you copy this from each other? No we have been working in the same places. Well what kind of job are you looking for? Will you work separate? I was still holding the magazine when my continued presence occurred to him. Anything good in that? Well yes as a matter of fact a interesting article on crew placement by you. That line or my cv earned me the time of day, well at least the instructing to stay because he wanted to talk to me.
The talk that followed another period of enjoying his waiting room was like no other I will every experience. It left me exhausted, emotionless yet overwhelmed. He went through a process of demeaning me for my appearance, attacking my abilities and generally integrating me about my family and love life. When it got down to my cooking and the menu examples I had attached to my resume, my restrained ego and confidence in my abilities served me well. Have you cooked all of these dishes? How many times? Where did you learn, where is the training?!! What kind of chef are you, rate yourself, are you Michelin star, well your not, but are you 5 or 4 or 3. He pressed me relentlessly on this issue while outside on the terrace smoking all over me. Finally when my deflective answers were unable to move us past the star ranking I stuttered out “Some of my dishes are near Michelin star level and in the right environment with the right team I would strive hard to achieve that level”. Done now wasn’t that easy come back tomorrow I have some jobs I want to talk to you about.
So lunchtime I show up with my bags and am driven to his house shown my room and day work duties. I was expecting to be sanding a capping rail, not his shutters and now he was asking what kind of food I would normally buy.
Eventually I was cooking for him, stuck a hours walk from the train feeling trapped, unable to hang out with friends and encountering increasingly uncomfortable situations. A shirtless old strange man inspecting the place where you sleep with a nonchalant ease in proximity where too many details are communicated. I had to get out but delicately with out ruining the advantage of having the fisher like you. His promise of returning after a year or two in the job he had gotten me and being able to have any job I want needed to be secured.
I could see his hurt, but stood firm and was very appreciative when he drove me back to a few day of relative increase comfort before my flight.

He liked to surround himself with attractive young people of both sexes, the puzzle of a man came out for all the yachting world to gossip about when he died 8 months later at home alone with the tv on.

Living in London

London, the first stop for my and many kiwi’s OE. It was a grey gloomy unfriendly system shock after years living surrounded by mountains, lakes and trees.
While wandering the streets I noticed I was the only one looking around, the heads were all down and my meandering was causing chaos. I bumped into people disrupted human traffic flow and even caused a few people to avert their gaze from the ground, I was the small town weirdo who wanted to say a friendly hello to passers by. My Brother helped me out with practicing pronouncing e’s so I didn’t face life in London as Bin who wrote with a pin he also hooked me up with some studios catering work. I had knives and some skill with them so ended up getting paid more than the driver who got me the job.
The old rocker chef, designed and preparing food that rivaled the quality of sound system he had in his kitchen, I really liked his scotch quail eggs and later copied his stuffed chicken wings. After helping prepare a gourmet buffet lunch I couldn’t believe the continued requests for scampi and chips. This scampi stuff must have been amazing, straight out of the freezer, a brief stint in the fryer resulting in a kind of fishy tasting watery mush glob. I never gave real scampi a chance after tasting this English favorite.
Two weeks into my experience as a dosser, it all made sense well the 400 quid made me happy as I could convert it into NZ dollars and think I was earning a fortune. A few nights out and a sublet later I was slapped with the cost of living my grace period was up, it was time to be independent and support myself.

Live in pub work manages to trap many antipodeans, offering low wages and bad accommodation it doesn’t make sense. I guess I fell into it like many because it was easy, killed two birds with one stone, job and abode.
After an hours “training” I had learned everything; take product out of the freezer and destroy it in the microwave, fryer or merrychef. My enthusiasm for cooking was being destroyed by merrychef cooking. A kind of microwave furnace hybrid that was essential to creating terrible gasto pub wannabe food.

Recipe – Caramalized onions
Chop an onion and deep-fry it in non-specific animal fat until well colored.

My fellow staff enjoyed the daily specials like procuttio wrapped chicken with mushroom duxselles but the punter’s orders continued to read; steak and ale pie with microwave frozen veg, sausages and mash with “caramelized” onion gravy.
Each week TNT magazine brought hope of a job that would save me from deteriorating mental health. I had decided any job involving rush hour tube commuting was likely to cause serve depression or multiple homicides. It meant the years of studying economics was fairly useless to my employment prospects. Cooking was what I wanted to do, despite the pitiful wages and this skill wasn’t part of the requirements of a London live in pub cook.
My hope of an escape rested on an advert requesting a chef for Southern Spain, the restaurant was close to a ski field, I didn’t need any more details just the job. So I set about a program of persistent harassment, daily emails with titles progressing from keen kiwi to the keenest and phone calls bordering on begging one day and demanding the next. Two weeks later I reined victorious and was booked on a easy jet flight to Malaga.

Before I left London we barbequed in the snow, people started asking me about the job and place and I realized maybe some of those details might be important. How much are they paying you? Who are you working for? Are you going to be able to cope without any Spanish? Where exactly is it? “You’ll end up working for someone like Basil Faulty”.

Tyra

So the camera arrived and I struggled my way through making a tape. It was fun but difficult and of course once I sent it off I figured out a much better angle. Will see what if anything they make of my kiwi styles.