eggbeater

picnic at the westernmost point, isle of skye, scotland.

all you know is that you want to picnic.


you don't know the land
as it rolls out in front of the car.

you look at the map
of this place you've never been
and you pick up a few nibbles
carrots, flatbread, 'crowdie' a scottish cheese, dark chocolate digestives (he says he can eat too many), blueberries, tangerines, juice. salt & sweet.


all you know
is that you want to eat outside
sit away from the wind
but still in the glorious sun.
you get to the neist point lighthouse. park.
all you can see are cliffs and blue blue sea
land stretches out before you: sharp and steep, rocky and open.


so you walk towards the edge
even though it doesn't look like much
your heart is open
wide open


and what looks like a few boulders
under tufts of grasses
is the place.
and very very carefully,


because the sheer drop is obvious,

you both settle in
completely hidden
embraced by rocks
and unfurl your little picnic
right there
at the edge of scotland.

gorgeous.

summer fruit desserts, in London.

I'm back working in a restaurant after what feels like many years. Moving thousands of miles can do that-- separate you from what you know, and remove the ground from beneath your feet. What was a recent experience can feel far away in lieu of disorientation.

For the last 11 years, the ground beneath my chef feet has been seasonal, local, mostly organic fruit; and my moniker, 'fruit-inspired pastry chef,' has been my guiding force. I have picked fruit, worked for farmers at favorite farmer's markets and eaten my weight in citrus and stone fruit many times over. I said for years anad years that I stayed in California for its gratuitous fruit array.

But here in London, fruit is an afterthought. Besides apples and pears in autumn, and gooseberries, elderflowers and strawberries in summer, which few do better than Britain, fruit comes from very far away and few people know when to buy it at its peak. Most fruit and vegetables are here year round, but flown in from various countries and continents catchers-catch can style, making fruit buying confusing at best.

And because few fruits are grown in British soil, they arrive with a high price tag. Using fruit as a primary focus for a plated dessert, here in London, is a bad idea, cost-wise. But also flavour-wise, because seasonal fruit in South Africa or Spain, or even a country as close as France, is probably not picked and shipped as ripe as one would hope.

All this said, I have found trusted places to buy UK seasonal fruit. And the restaurant I work for is produce-centric and we use an amazing produce purveyor, so I feel infinitely grateful/lucky to have well-chosen product close by.

That said, what desserts are on the horizon?

I'm thinking about tahini, white chocolate, bananas, tamarind, black sesame seeds, grapefruit; Thai coconut soup sorbet; manouri, strawberries & pink peppercorns; gooseberries, mint, rosemary, elderflowers & corn; mango inspired gazpacho; buckwheat & chocolate; brown butter, raw sugar, frangipane & nectarines; young coconut, black rice, caramel. For our retail shop I'm contemplating sandwich cookies, chocolate bouchons, Lamingtons, real graham crackers, verbena profiteroles, tart lemon drizzle cakes, peanut financiers, and rich bread & butter puddings.

Moving to a new place means thinking different. Cooking and baking professionally for a new public means learning about their collective palates and historical connections to food, fruit, baked goods, salt. I can still bring me to the table, but I have to compromise too. I can't move forward: careerwise, dessertwise, bakingwise; if I do not take into consideration new soil, new people, new fruit, new seasons, new pace, new price-point, new retail environment, new attitudes about communication/confrontation, new communication styles, new everything, really.

I look forward to changing styles a bit. While I will always be a fruit-inspired pastry chef, I look forward to thinking differently, in a new way, to meet my new surroundings and continue to grow. One can get too comfortable/ too ghetto-ized/ too smug in one's niche/ geographical area/ style. Stuck.

If nothing else, it should be interesting.

Underground Restaurant by @MsMarmitelover. Kilburn, London 13.06.09

you have been on twitter for a while
but when you move 8000 miles away twitter becomes something else, explodes
suddenly it's like when you first met the internet
everything new, you are innocent and trusting
and go to people's houses
you've never met, in Real Life, before.
Oneday
in the land of
nothingness that is neither working nor vacationing
you get a DM
'hey-- you wanna be a guest chef at my Underground Restaurant?' the person's name is @MsMarmitelover.
you say yes and head to her house
even though you have no idea what train you're on and how to get there.

you both talk about a lot of things.
but what catches your breath is that you speak of one of your most favoritest dishes to make and eat
EGGPLANT PARMESAN
you both agree:
when it's Done Right
it takes all day.
and an idea is born.


you know British strawberries will arrive just before June 13
and you don't know what you'll make for pudding/dessert
but you know it will be All About Those Amazing Strawberries.

while you've never been to or cheffed at an Underground Restaurant, you've done a fair amount of onsite catering and know you can handle it. you don't sweat the small stuff and you can pass on a few restaurant tricks. but it's not about any of that. it's about
COLLABORATION
COMRADERIE
COMMUNITY
ACCESS
REVOLUTION
HOME
HEART
GENEROSITY
delicious food.



to see the menu in it's entirety, photographed by the fabulous @MsMarmitelover, go to her blog The English Can Cook. The craziest thing you'll see is me in a dress in the kitchen !

My favourite lines from her inital post on our dinner:
"Shuna Fish Lydon is a specialist in patisserie and custards. What she doesn't know about eggs is not worth knowing."

*

For the photos I managed to catch between prep, plate-up, keeping tidy and generally taking in the whole scene with my heart and mind, check out my set on Flickr.

~

Underground Restaurants -
putting the u back in Guerilla.

underground restaurant above ground menu {ideas}

On Saturday June 13, Shuna fish Lydon is a guest chef at @MsMarmitelover's Underground Restaurant Extra Ordinaire!

Here are our ideas for what it will look like, although everything is subject to change because of availability

or whim.

bread
seeded crackers

starter
chunky gazpacho
goat yogurt granite + basil jelly
chilled fresh tomato soup, croutons

main
eggplant parmesan

salad
rocket + chicory + lemon + pinenuts

dessert
strawberry bavarois + strawberry & herb salad
rosemary shortbread, strawberry relish, ricotta mousse
strawberry granita, sheeps yogurt lebne, pistachio salad
carneroli-bay laurel pudding, strawberry salad, pistachio & rose petal shortbread

Menus are ideas, thoughts, musings, concepts, theory, themes, tradition, revolution, albums, one-offs, off the cuff, pre-meditated, conjecture, psychotic breaks, dreams, stolen kisses, drunk black outs, cock walks, demure courtship, powerplay, negotiation, vanilla lovely dovey rool arounds, theater, dance, Be Ins, walkouts, strikes, community efforts, and...

They grow in the ground, near the sea's edge, in our hearts.

I'll let you know via photos and musings how the day and night went once all is told, fed, washed, minced, chilled, forked, spooned, quenelled, poached, whisked, baked, tasted, nibbled, imbibed,

satiated.

Until next time.

/this is what i want to say about love.

what is the gift?
is the gift loving another or
just loving.
is love a gift at all
or is just
love.
you should ever put just before love
love is bigger than that.

i feel open
i feel broken
i feel naked
i feel am exposed

the gift of love is feeling love
starting from that place
filling you up
where pleasure starts
abdomen meets thighs
it melts me
melts you
light
it's all light
i can't feel my legs
i don't know where i am
but i'm traveling
rocketing -

you're taking me there
{but are you?}
/or is it me?

/this is what i want to say about love
don't be scared of it
sit inside it
even though
it's absolutely terrifying.

i've fallen in love with you and all you want to do is run away
run
get on a plane
disappear
run through the woods
get deep inside
when even a compass can't find your way out
bury you deep

i hold your face inside my hands
and kiss your eyelids
i tell you it will be alright
i place my hands, mouth between your legs
i pleasure you
i feed you delicious food
i take you to where the sky opens up
and swallows us whole
i pull heavy camera to my eye
and you say no.
i tell you your rules are not my rules
i tell you i will never tell.
secret
you are secret
i am your secret.

what is the gift of love.
i feel love
but i never say it
i know it scares you down to your toes
you said this wasn't real.

but you know what?
fuck you and your borders
my heart is mine
my love is mine
my body is mine

/this is what i want to say about love.
it's mine
and mine to give
and you can never forsake it
reject it
give it back
throw it down
break it

Hello love my old friend
Sure is good to see you again

what is the gift?
the gift is love
the gift is a heart
kept malleable
vulnerable, soft, permeable, punctureable
hand me a scalpel,
i'll show you
there
cut there
my heart's been bruised bloodied forgotten discarded dulled
i've sat in the deep waters of grief
i've held the hand of her dying
i've transformed
i've closed up my heart for years at a time
hidden it on a shelf
and smoothed over the door
shallow grave
walked away.

love.

she says the gift is the feeling of it
not the reciprocation
he says no one can ever love you the way you want to feel loved
i say you can't fall out of love
love ain't no fuckin' tree.

/this is what i want to say about love.
it is terrifying
it changes you
it changes everything
it carries you
aloft
from floating you see the land
color blocks and swirvy lines
deep blue water
flattened, like hammer to nail
and it could
float you down
        glide
wing ed
nothing but the wind in your ears and clouds in your hair
nothing but your whole body melting into ozone, hemisphere
but it can also drop you
baby bird
empty nest
what looks to be a parachute, ballast
all hopes
evaporate
eviscerated
a fish hook enters, sharp as a razor
pulled out the way it went in
stuck
barb
tearing
slow death, painful. jagged.

love.
so many costumes, guises.
a siren's call
kiss and a slap

/this is what i want to say about love.
be not afraid to speak it
be not afraid to tell it
whether it is taken from your hands, out of your mouth, from your sex
whether rejected, tied in knots
whether turned into lies
whether told
'no. this is not love. i don't love you. you don't know what love is. i've never loved you. you're not worthy of love. i haven't known you long enough. but i told you not to fall in love with me. you know i don't have love to give you.'

what is the gift?
is the gift loving another or
just loving.

/this is what i want to say about love.
love is delicious
inspiring, opening
it's nothing i want to be ashamed of
no matter the subject
no matter here nor there
no matter gender chosen or assigned
no matter
even if secret, unattainable, gone

love is at my door again
/this is what i want to say about love.

Neist Point, Isle of Skye - Scotland

My Isle of Skye photos are many, and varied. In only a few days we saw, and drove, the entire coast. I've tried to upload them in order of families--- geographical locations, so as to remember the days, the mood, the varied and foreign land.

The Westernmost Point of the Isle of Skye is Neist Point and there's a lighthouse there. It's a ravishing, steep view of desert like cliffs and sea to the horizon. We walked down the side of one cliff where there are hundreds of stairs, but instead of going all the way out to the lighthouse, we parked ourselves against an old drystone wall and watched the light shift from white to yellow to golden orange, feeling Scotland's late spring air shift from warm to cool.

This day was perfect. These photos show a glimpse of that day, and there's more that will be uploaded this week.

All my Isle of Skye photos thus far can be accessed through the Urquart Castle post. I can't say I did any of the land justice because it was well beyond my visual comprehension and I was humbled by it immensely as a photographer. Please take these photos as a document of my first visit to a land I hope to court in the future. I have still, as yet, to make my pilgrimmage to Shuna.

shuna. in a dress.

Tamarillo! my new favorite fruit.

TAMARILLO !

The Mystery Fruit is Solved.
Thank you to all who participated! Many of you were spot on. The rest of you were close or had great guesses.

The lovely Tamarillo is sweet & savoury
tomatoey & melony
elusive like a papaya,
enigmatic fruit like cucumber,
gorgeous to look at
deeply scented like a handsome farmer,
"rich in vitamin E but low in carbohydrates,"
photogenic
sexy



Tamarillo. Tamarillo. O Tamarillo!



Tamarillos are
edible
raw
or cooked



seedy, crunchy, jelly-like
voluptuous
strong
quirky
strange

Tamarillos straddle many fences.
Not everyone will like them.

Tamarillos will keep you on your toes.
And tease you
taunt
with their
je ne sais quoi
flavour.

What is the Tamarillo flavour?
Sun ripened tomato  melon  papaya  guava  red beet.



Tamarillos are the pride of New Zealand.
Yet another reason to go there.

*


This post is dedicated to Keith, who first introduced me to the Tamarillo with his poetic words about Tamarillo Jelly (jelly is something very different outside of the States) and then brought me to The Modern Pantry where I experienced poached tamarillo in Greek yogurt, garnished with New Zealand's famous Manuka honey. After that I was never the same. Obsessed.

So, thank you Anna Hansen for introducing London, and me, to this magnificent fruit!

This post is also dedicated to Bea Vo of her eponymous bakery, Bea's of Bloomsbury. Last week I had the honour of playing in her illustrious kitchen and she sent me home with a flat of raw tamarillos!

And you? Do you have a fondness for this fruit? What do you love about it? What do you do with it?

Mystery Fruit: What am I & What do I Taste Like?