Dear 16-year-old me...

Dear 16-year-old me,

You are not fat. In fact you are dead hot. You’ll only realise this once you do get chubby so take care of yourself.

Take a year off after school, it doesn’t matter what your friends are doing- they don’t exactly make sterling work of life with their decisions. Also, you’ll soon discover; they are not really your friends.

Don’t study law, you hate law. You hate the people who teach law and moreover those who elect to study law. Do literature part-time while you take your year off and sleep, read books and ride your horse. Don’t be afraid – you are strong and smart. Invest in a riding hat that fits and never EVER agree to ride Tamara's horse.

That first love who broke your heart is a sick individual who ends up marrying a fat girl. Revel in that thought for a while.

Eat oranges and read novels, these are your memories. All of those soft winter afternoons indoors reading will be a happy place to go to when the going gets tough. Don’t be afraid to write, you are good at it. One day everyone will agree.

Ignore passive aggressive hints about your worth, you are perfect. You have no reason to get down on yourself. It’s okay to miss your dad. Cherish grandma because she’ll not be around for very long. You did good by her, but she is lonely NOW.

That charming boy who you move across the country for – it’s totally worth it. It will be a long, tough, life-changing experience but you’ll not regret it. Make friends though, because you’ll need them.

One day you end up with a handsome, perfect young man and you’ll get engaged. You’ll have many adventures and you’ll share a love for all the best things in life: books, Yeats, horses, music, dogs, cats, history, cooking and the never-ending process of learning. So please 16-year-old me, do not let anyone convince you to marry that big old slob of a man when you are 23. You do not want to marry so young, it puts you in a slump for a very long time. Save yourself for this young man, he is totally worth it but he’ll need your help to find his way.

PS: stay away from oral contraceptives, take B6 and drink primrose and fish oil because one day you WILL want children.

Love always,

30-year-old you. 

Oh my beautiful captor...

BEFORE anyone recommends a therapist, let it be known that I am talking about my dog. Ahh, now that I typed that I see that a therapist might still be required.

I got a puppy in 2007 – out of a cardboard box. An error of backyard breeding that no one wanted.  He was sickly and stayed that way for the first two years of his life. I cooked him chicken and rice, and sometimes I had to feed him with a spoon.

Eventually through good feeding and lots of love he thrived. And he got big...and bigger...and really rather huge now by normal standards. The thing is, he doesn't like to be away from me. Ever. He also doesn't like dog sitters, at all.

A little friend

Grows steadily bigger...

This behavior hasn't stopped, just ask what's left of my shoes...

Becomes a monster

Last year he was being babysat while I scooted off to watch Uriah Heep. He barricaded the door. That's right – he stayed in my room and moved furniture so that the door cannot be easily opened. He has now learnt to open doors and windows.

Of course when the door won't open he will do battle with it...he is usually victorious

He doesn't like to be out when we are away, and he likes-ish to be in with the option of going out should he feel the need to make absolutely sure we have in fact left. He howls like a wookie.

He can also be credited for putting me off The  Brandenburg Concertos permanently. After going into the vet to have a benign tumour removed he decided I am a shit dog owner and howled and felt incredibly sorry for himself. I tried to play him Bach to calm him down (hey, at 3am you'll try everything). It did not work, despite Bach's best efforts and mine too.

The next day the whole ordeal was almost totally forgotten.

He now comes to work with me.

Don't let his size, his hatred for doors, love for chewing shoes or criminal cleverness fool you. He is a big old cuddle-bottoms and he has been busted snuggling cats.

Tomorrow night we are having a blow-out with a few close mates for my 30^th. You guessed it – he'll be there too. It this Stockholm Syndrome?

He came to lunch today...

Of course if you are going to be held ransom by a dog, who wouldn't choose such a clever, quirky, handsome fellow?

Do it your way...

I am turning 30 tomorrow.

And I have done it my way. I even played drums in a band, badly.

This video reminds me to keep on doing it my way. I hope you guys enjoy x

PS: Keep rocking old Korean dude, you are a legend.

Revenge+FanFrockingTastic

So I have shared all the tawdry details of my love of turquoise and plum coloured eyeliner, but let’s face it – nothing motives you to take your body back more than being squeezed into a designer frock by a long-suffering sales person eager for a commission.

IN FACT, when you espy yourself in the mirror and you immediately notice all the lumpy parts that need attention you’ll be instantly cured of take-out and beer by the gallon.

It shames me to show you some half-hidden evidence. Too much info will scar you for life here:

Oh dear...

This is what happened to me this week. I was almost instantly cured. I have exercised daily since squeezing into this frock AND my lips have not seen a sneaky calorie that my body does not ABSOLUTELY require to function.

So here I am blogging about it with aching arms and a grumbling stomach but it WILL all be worth it.

Because this is a pseudo-foodie blog, here goes my first tip for a low fat recipe:

Firstly, throw out every morsel of tasty food you own – even if it’s low-fat and delicious (yes such a beast exists) you’ll be tempted to over-eat if it tastes too good.

Boil a chicken breast with some salt and herbs;

Boil some brown rice;

Steam some vegetables;

Wipe the tears off your face and eat your bloody dinner! There are children in Africa who are starving. (Like me, a sort of a child in Africa undergoing a bout of self-induced hunger. Note: I am not trying to sound unsympathetic, I blame low blood sugar.)

Now, just so that you know, I am not aiming to resemble a severe-looking model like those in the frock catalogues. Those girls look unhealthy and probably weigh as much as a malnourished kitten. When you can drape a full-grown woman head-to-knee in a large-sized tank top and her skin is transparent from lack of lustre something just screams toxic to me. The thing is, malnourished model ladies: we can all eat platefuls of chemicals and never sleep and have crisp hair and pray to all the gods that the graphics guy can photoshop you enough to look like you are vital once the deed is done.

But I digress. Over the last three years I have gained around one and a half a dress size due to a knee-injury, a fondness for sitting on my rear and reading novels and of course, cooking. Cooking and eating out, a lot. Daily even, sometimes.

So here I am, on the cusp of things, ready to free-weight, static cycle, swim and ride and Special K my way to a healthier self. I’ll walk for breast cancer, starving children, education, saving the rhinos – you name it.

Now, if I can just get off the couch…

Love+New Beginnings

TWO things have happened that had me so troubled and bogged down that I bowed out a little from the blogosphere. But you might as well be told about them now. We lost Eva to hip dysplasia. I think when you rescue dogs you never know, and this was a painful reminder of our own not-knowing and the frailty of our best intentions. She had to be let go, or else her suffering would have only gotten worse. My pain was immeasurable, loads of heaving sobs in bed, in the shower when I could be bothered to have one. No sleep, no food, eventually…barbiturates. I am no good at these things.

I take brother dog with me everywhere. We have each other. We take drives and go to work. I tell him he is smart and handsome. He is. He tries to get along with the kittens. He tolerates their cuddles and eyes them suspiciously. He doesn’t trust their energy and cheerfulness. He sighs a lot. He is too big to play with them.

Also, the farm burnt down. To cinders. The house and buildings were saved. All the animals survived but there was not a speck of green to be seen. The fire started three farms down, and spread about 100kms from there. By the time it reached Natal it was considered ‘unstoppable by human intervention’.  The forever pasture smouldered, the field-shelter was laid to waste.

The forever pasture and favourite tree burnt

What's left of the field shelter

The horses were shocked and bewildered. For days after the fire tree stumps smouldered, smoke hung in the air. Soot blew into the house via the gaps between the floor and the door, open windows, clinging to shoes. The worst part was the smell, the smell of burning. The neighbour lost ten horses. We needed to phone the doctor to get a script for our brave groom with singed facial hair, puffy red eyes and chest pain. He recovered 100%. We were desperately afraid – we’d have to buy in loads of grass, and quick. It was incredibly hard to find decent grass at the end of winter. We managed, in the end. We paid through our teeth for lucerne.

Horses and Adolf immediately after the fire.

The grass is up again. New grass. Amazing. My little garden is thriving. The shoots are turning into onions again, weapons-grade a usual. No less. Corn is growing in the vegetable garden space, there is lettuce and rhubarb in the ground. There is tarragon, basil, rosemary and oregano.  The begonias and violets are out, the jasmine has grown, the day lilies have taken over. A beautiful lily has come up and so has one lonely bush of marigold with wonderful deep orange flowers. The place teems with new life. The poppies have not returned, they are stubbornly still in the ground somewhere. I think they are too fragile for fires and loss.

Carrots?

Horses graze on new grass

Remember Yatan?

 And then it got even more lush:

December, mid-day heat

Masu, theeerrreeeee!

Begonia, basil, onions some pink flower bushy thing

I adopted a gray kitten and named him Yoshimoto. His litter mates’ adoptions fell through and we rescued them. I have no idea what we’ll do with these two extra bundles of life. Feed them, love them…

I flew off to Cape Town on business, I ate more than I should have got very little sleep and I travelled on plane, train, catamaran and rental car. It was amazing. I lived in the fairest Cape for four years as a student and my heart still recognises it as home. So I went home for the first time in six long years. I love you Cape Town.

I saw Uriah Heep, live in concert. They played outdoors on a beautiful escarpment. It was amazing.  New grass was growing while old music hummed around the intermittently rocky and then grassy spaces.

What a night!

We said goodbye to our first groom, he headed back to Zimbabwe to live with his new wife and their brand new child. New life, everywhere. This is the fifth year our living harbour has been in operation. Since 2009. Amazing.

For the New Years Eve I cooked gammon in ginger ale, and lamb in wine. I was joined by my oldest friend in this world – from that soviet-looking era, he calls it a ‘poor white farm school’ – with his delightful girlfriend who put on a fire poi performance. Kyle and Tristan was there too. It was a good time.

On February the 13^th I get to see Rodriguez live in Gauteng. In case you don’t know: Rodriguez is a South American rocker who rose to considerable fame here in South Africa. Recently they made a documentary about him, where South Africans went to look for him in South America, they found him… shortly after a rash of concerts were sold in SA. Good for him, I hope it lines his pockets for a while. We love you Sugarman.

I am starting an art class this month. Weekly and for two hours at a time. I am as excited as a child. My application inquiry read: complete novice with no talent would like to join art classes.

My favourite thing to cook this year has been plain-old breakfast and a delightful peasant stew I made with lamb leftover from the New Year’s roast. If you don’t know how to make potato bake with some milk and a packet of brown onion soup ask me how, it is amazing. My favourite read has been Lisa Klaussmann’s Tigers in Red Weather. I have discovered turquoise and the joys of frivolously buying shoes. I have bought plum coloured eyeliner.

I am turning 30 this month and I have lived in spite of everything. Happy New Year bloggers, may this year gleam as brightly for you as it does for me.

PS: Live in spite of everything, it’s the only way. And also: I’m back J

It's been ‘a lot’…

MANY things have happened. Some happened at once, others in brief intervals between one thing and another, and things keep happening still.

Things happening is good and bad. When the thing happens where I have had too much sugar to focus on working or blogging all in a vain and stupid attempt to stay awake in order that I may work or blog, that is a bad thing happening. When the thing happens when you get food poisoning so bad you are down for three days that too is a bad thing. Eating out when you know you should be cooking your own food, tends to be a bad thing.

When the thing happens where you wake up after three days of being down and in bed with cramps and sore muscles and you wake up and flow into yourself again, scrub off all the sleep and read then you have turned a bad thing into a good thing. When you eat raw food for a week because you feel toxic and lousy, this is also a good thing.

When you stay awake until 2am to finish a company website’s copy and update contents, knowing that you’ll be sleeping late tomorrow and enjoying the camaraderie of a team of people, all in exhausted good cheer and high energy working together like cogs then you have turned a bad thing into a good thing, minus the midnight snacking involving chocolate – but then the jury is out on whether this is good or bad.

When you spend a week or two, perhaps more, in turmoil about whether you should move an old gelding close to the city so you may do horse things in your four days of work things, only to have him stabled three minutes from work with your friend’s horse – this is a good thing. I now have a city horse, he is happy as anything. He thrives on the traffic, the people and the fuss. I think this is good for him too.

When you purchase 16 1.5-meters-high round bales of good grass, that can only be loaded four at a time as opposed to the usual eight – and have it delivered to the farm where a herd of previously neglected, abused, or thrown away animals stand waiting happy, content and fed then you have done a good thing.

When you forget about dessert and remember a few lonely tins of apples, some puff pastry, cinnamon and brown sugar in your pantry, you have the makings of a very good thing indeed.

When your dog looks at you anxiously, waiting for the moment when you cover her with a blanket so that she may sleep during the long winter night, then you have turned bad cold weather into a good warm thing.

Sometimes it helps to group things into two very simple categories. Sometimes it helps to be less cerebral and more impulsive and to try and see all the good you manage to achieve, despite the bad things happening.

This is my living in spite of very long hours of tedious work, food poisoning, tough decisions, bad planning, winter in a summer body and the ever-constant struggle for good grass.

Last-minute pie, anyone?

Love always wins...

LOVE always wins, because love is patience and patience always wins. Patience, incidentally, is the cornerstone of my oxtail stew…well patience, wine and Bisto ;)

I don’t know if one can buy Bisto in the US and Canada, but it is an ancient cheat to help thicken and brown stews.  I say ancient, but the all-knowing Wikipedia says it has been around since 1908 [citation needed].

My old cheat 'Ahhh!' indeed.

To cook my oxtail stew I stubbornly refuse to use a pressure cooker – not because of any logical reason though, it is just one of those things that I inherently mistrust, like alcohol-free beer. What you really need for the perfect stew is a lot of patience.

It also helps having:

Red Wine – Cabernet Sauvignon, if possible – avoid sweet wine.

Six good quality beers

3-4 lovely carrots

1kg of oxtail

1 and a half large brown onions

Herbs to taste – I like oregano, rosemary and thyme

Two tins of whole peeled tomatoes

A good stock – I use Bisto

Salt and freshly ground black pepper to taste

*optional: a teaspoon of garlic, which you fry off with the onions at the very beginning.

Open a bottle of good chilled beer and start drinking it. We grow our own onions, which are so strong that they could potentially be weaponised. For 1kg of fresh oxtail I use one and a half of these diabolical brown onions. Big ones, if we have. I finely chop these and brown them in a large pot with about two healthy glugs of olive oil. I season the meat well with salt and black pepper before adding it to the onions. Brown the meat thoroughly. When the meat is properly browned I add two tins of whole peeled tomatoes and herbs. We also grow our own herbs and I like adding oregano, rosemary and thyme - I am quite liberal with my herbs.  I then stir the lot and let that simmer for about ten minutes before adding about one big glass of red wine, whereupon I close the lid of the pot and let it simmer. At this point I usually like opening a second good beer, and making a start of drinking that. In a lovely old beer mug I mix the stock (Bisto, if you can find it). Two to three heaped tablespoons of stock powder to about 500ml of boiling water. Mix that well and add it to the pot.  Let the whole lot simmer on a lower heat stirring occasionally, to decrease cooking time marginally and to tenderise the meat well, keep the lid closed as much as possible.

If you want veggies in the stew, lovely sweet carrots work well. Cut the carrots into discs, not too thin, and add them about two hours into the process. We also, occasionally, add button mushrooms whole. Open your third beer and start drinking that.

The entire process takes about four hours of cooking, or until the meat is well soft. Oxtail stew is well soft when you can nudge the meat of the bone with no effort.  One can supplement the liquid in the pot with more stock or simply water. Make sure that the rest of your beers remain chilled and, in the company of friends, take a swig occasionally while keeping an eye on your pot.

I shamelessly pilfered this off the internet, my stew is a lot darker and therefore less pretty :)