I have a massive beef with cookbooks. I've been cooking a lot more over the last couple of months and whilst I am more than competent with the basics, I feel the need to try new things and attempt to improve my craft. I like variety and I don't mind having a go at something a bit different: exotic even. However, I have no natural flair for culinary pursuits. The limit of my gastronomic innovation is the addition of chopped mushrooms to the mince and jar pasta sauce. And so I turn to cookbooks.
There are several problems with many cookbooks: they are written in chefinese, they use ingredients which you can only buy in Bolovian street markets, and the instructions are so vague that the novice may as well be trying to prove Pythagoras' theorem on the back of a beer coaster.
If your kitchen pantry is not stocked as well as the shelves of Woolworths or Coles then it soon will be if you try to follow the recipes found in their respective advertorial cookbooks and brochures. And I haven't mentioned the fact that the portions which you end up with aren't sufficient to feed the family of pet mice in your office, let alone the human stomachs you are trying to fill.
Somebody has probably already written it but I am still waiting for the perfect cookbook. You know the one with chicken instead of spatchcock or quail. Mushrooms don't have to be fresh shittake which you have to travel to Japan to buy. There's no mention of Jerusalem artichokes, tagliatelle, witlof, pancetta or pimento stuffed green olives. Four maryland chickens won't feed a single teenage boy so the fair dinkum cookbook doesn't pretend that the whole family will be satisfied. The cookbook I am looking for tells me whether to use Riesling, Chardonnay, Semillon or Sauvignon. It doesn't just say white wine. It doesn't say season to taste, or cook the meat to your liking. It doesn't say process the flour and polenta briefly. It warns you about soggy bottomed pies, and tells you how to avoid them because even though your children like soggy bottoms, you still feel like you've failed.
The bottom line is that, as a slave to recipes, I am at the mercy of chefs who speak a foreign language, chefinese, and who don't overcook or undercook anything. Cooks who evenly multiply ingredients, cut things up just right, and don't murder roast pumpkin salads with lethal doses of parsley.
My success rate is running at about 50%. Everything is edible but sometimes it's only possible to eat after including a prayer for protection with my prayer of thanks.
Sunday, December 4, 2011
Saturday, November 26, 2011
Creative Juice
It was while drinking a glass of orange juice one morning that I had a burst of creativity. In just a few minutes, as the sweet citrus danced on my taste buds en route to my stomach via my throat, I came up with three ideas. This post is one of them.
The idea for my most recently published short story, Goyyou, came to me in a dream. Another time, I was standing at a urinal in a public toilet in Greta when the idea for a story about a small group of insects meeting in a awkward social situation struck me. It became the story, A Place of Refuge which was published by Countdown: School Magazine.
Virtually no one reads Square Pegs so I feel there is no harm in blowing my own trumpet. However, that's not what I'm trying to do. Here's my point: I have lots of ideas. I'm always coming up with interesting characters and plots and weird situations. I've written over 60 short stories and I have plenty more to come. I'm a creative person. God made me creative.I love to write and I feel exhilarated by the process of writing. When I write a story, I feel "right". It is one of my escapes. One of my pressure release valves. Writing helps me maintain my sanity. I have to write.
To paraphrase a quote I read a long time ago, "why wouldn't God, having made me this way, not provide opportunities for me to use my talent to bless others and glorify Him?"
It seems as logical to me as orange juice and toast for breakfast. I have a way with words. I'm not Shakespeare but I can write and I love it, so why shouldn't I pursue it? The answer is, that I am, but it can be awfully frustrating. Writers want readers but I have so few that if my readers were books they wouldn't even occupy one shelf in a small library. For thirteen years I have been working on my craft; writing stories, using valuable writing time to research markets and fiddle with the formatting to satisfy various submission criteria. Submitting stories, waiting sometimes for months, sometimes literally forever, and then having those stories rejected, frequently. Finding time to write more stories and repeating the whole process. It can be terribly disheartening but what can I do? It is no overstatement to say that I was born to write. I love writing. I am a writer so I'll just keep writing.
And so ends my self indulgent post for this week. To my army of readers...
The idea for my most recently published short story, Goyyou, came to me in a dream. Another time, I was standing at a urinal in a public toilet in Greta when the idea for a story about a small group of insects meeting in a awkward social situation struck me. It became the story, A Place of Refuge which was published by Countdown: School Magazine.
Virtually no one reads Square Pegs so I feel there is no harm in blowing my own trumpet. However, that's not what I'm trying to do. Here's my point: I have lots of ideas. I'm always coming up with interesting characters and plots and weird situations. I've written over 60 short stories and I have plenty more to come. I'm a creative person. God made me creative.I love to write and I feel exhilarated by the process of writing. When I write a story, I feel "right". It is one of my escapes. One of my pressure release valves. Writing helps me maintain my sanity. I have to write.
To paraphrase a quote I read a long time ago, "why wouldn't God, having made me this way, not provide opportunities for me to use my talent to bless others and glorify Him?"
It seems as logical to me as orange juice and toast for breakfast. I have a way with words. I'm not Shakespeare but I can write and I love it, so why shouldn't I pursue it? The answer is, that I am, but it can be awfully frustrating. Writers want readers but I have so few that if my readers were books they wouldn't even occupy one shelf in a small library. For thirteen years I have been working on my craft; writing stories, using valuable writing time to research markets and fiddle with the formatting to satisfy various submission criteria. Submitting stories, waiting sometimes for months, sometimes literally forever, and then having those stories rejected, frequently. Finding time to write more stories and repeating the whole process. It can be terribly disheartening but what can I do? It is no overstatement to say that I was born to write. I love writing. I am a writer so I'll just keep writing.
And so ends my self indulgent post for this week. To my army of readers...
Saturday, November 19, 2011
Familiarity Breeds Contempt
There is something that both amazes and pleases many parents, at the same time, about their children's behaviour. Your son for example, spends some time at a friend's place and you speak to the friend's parent, thanking them for looking after your son, and they say, it was a pleasure having him. No trouble at all! He's so quiet. You ask yourself: who are they talking about? Not my son. It couldn't be. Quiet? He's not quiet at home.
Hands up if you've ever had that experience? It's not that much of a mystery at all really. Most children subconsciously modify their behaviour depending on their circumstances. They reserve their worst behaviour for the people they know best: their parents. Most of those children grow into adults who consciously alter their behaviour depending on the situation in which they find themselves. Do you only show your worst to the people you know best? Familiarity breeds contempt. Ouch! That shouldn't be true, but it is.
In different groups of people, we act differently. Especially when we are new to that group. Or is just me? Am I the only one who bites my tongue when I strongly disagree with someone I have just me, and with whom I am going to have to spend more than five minutes? Aren't we all naturally more relaxed and friendly when the people we are with are chilled and amiable? Am I the only one who doesn't say much until he figures out the dynamics of a new group?
Sometimes I actually admire those people who apparently aren't bound by the aformentioned conventions. They act the same, speak the same to all people, in every situation. They are seemingly so comfortable with themselves that they can be themselves all the time. Or is it a lack of self awareness and sensitivity rather than a supreme sense of comfort in their own skin, that makes them act so?
Take the guy who drops the F-bomb regardless of who hears it. Or the woman whose breasts always overflow her low cut dresses. Or the man who makes tasteless jokes, which he thinks are funny, just to break the ice. What about the woman who laughs like a woodpecker, or the fella who has to virtually touch his nose to yours in order to speak with you? Or how about those who have loud personal conversations in public places?
When does 'just being yourself' end, and causing offence, or public nuisance, begin? When does adjusting your behaviour, (controlling yourself) out of sensitivity or simple shyness or caution end, and being a faker, or a game player begin?
If you have simple answers to these questions, I'd love to hear them but Solomon's been dead for thousands of years, and I'm just bumbling through life by the grace of God. Sometimes I don't know who I am.
Hands up if you've ever had that experience? It's not that much of a mystery at all really. Most children subconsciously modify their behaviour depending on their circumstances. They reserve their worst behaviour for the people they know best: their parents. Most of those children grow into adults who consciously alter their behaviour depending on the situation in which they find themselves. Do you only show your worst to the people you know best? Familiarity breeds contempt. Ouch! That shouldn't be true, but it is.
In different groups of people, we act differently. Especially when we are new to that group. Or is just me? Am I the only one who bites my tongue when I strongly disagree with someone I have just me, and with whom I am going to have to spend more than five minutes? Aren't we all naturally more relaxed and friendly when the people we are with are chilled and amiable? Am I the only one who doesn't say much until he figures out the dynamics of a new group?
Sometimes I actually admire those people who apparently aren't bound by the aformentioned conventions. They act the same, speak the same to all people, in every situation. They are seemingly so comfortable with themselves that they can be themselves all the time. Or is it a lack of self awareness and sensitivity rather than a supreme sense of comfort in their own skin, that makes them act so?
Take the guy who drops the F-bomb regardless of who hears it. Or the woman whose breasts always overflow her low cut dresses. Or the man who makes tasteless jokes, which he thinks are funny, just to break the ice. What about the woman who laughs like a woodpecker, or the fella who has to virtually touch his nose to yours in order to speak with you? Or how about those who have loud personal conversations in public places?
When does 'just being yourself' end, and causing offence, or public nuisance, begin? When does adjusting your behaviour, (controlling yourself) out of sensitivity or simple shyness or caution end, and being a faker, or a game player begin?
If you have simple answers to these questions, I'd love to hear them but Solomon's been dead for thousands of years, and I'm just bumbling through life by the grace of God. Sometimes I don't know who I am.
Saturday, November 12, 2011
Household anti-rules
One of the best pieces of advice you can give, or receive, with respect to managing the inevitable problems which arise out of co habitation is "choose your battles".
Basically conflict is unavoidable because people have a propensity to annoy other people. However, if you want to fight about, or pick on everything that someone you share a house or home with does, then you are essentially precipitating nuclear war. One of the cute acronyms which arose from the arms race between the USSR (now defunct)and the USA (now sliding down the toilet on its way to defunct) was M.A.D. Mutually Assured Destruction, and that's basically what you get if you don't know how to choose your battles at home.
In the spirit of acceptance and tolerance, and of forgiveness and grace, I would like to present the following household anti rules.
1. Don't park the car in the empty garage. It must be left on the driveway so the birds can have their evil way with it.
2. Don't hang the hand towel on the rack after you use it. It looks much better, and dries much better if it is left screwed up on the bathroom floor.
3. Rinse the dishes in dirty, oily water and leave them there overnight as this will make them easier to clean in the morning.
Do you have any of your own household anti rules to suggest. I'd love to hear them.
Basically conflict is unavoidable because people have a propensity to annoy other people. However, if you want to fight about, or pick on everything that someone you share a house or home with does, then you are essentially precipitating nuclear war. One of the cute acronyms which arose from the arms race between the USSR (now defunct)and the USA (now sliding down the toilet on its way to defunct) was M.A.D. Mutually Assured Destruction, and that's basically what you get if you don't know how to choose your battles at home.
In the spirit of acceptance and tolerance, and of forgiveness and grace, I would like to present the following household anti rules.
1. Don't park the car in the empty garage. It must be left on the driveway so the birds can have their evil way with it.
2. Don't hang the hand towel on the rack after you use it. It looks much better, and dries much better if it is left screwed up on the bathroom floor.
3. Rinse the dishes in dirty, oily water and leave them there overnight as this will make them easier to clean in the morning.
Do you have any of your own household anti rules to suggest. I'd love to hear them.
Tuesday, October 25, 2011
Truth Hurts
Truth is a hammer
Truth is a fist
Truth is a lightning strike that will not miss you
Stand up. Face it. Be a man.
Don’t be afraid of pain. Pain is good.
Truth is a fist
Truth is a lightning strike that will not miss you
Stand up. Face it. Be a man.
Don’t be afraid of pain. Pain is good.
Saturday, October 22, 2011
Destination Unkown
If you catch a train to work, you arrive at the train station knowing what time your train is due. It might arrive on schedule or late, or even be cancelled, but eventually you will get to your destination. The trip itself will be predictable and unless you have a good book, somewhat boring. After eight hours or so, you will ride the train home again. You paid for a return ticket because you don't want to stay at your destination. You want to go home.
Maybe you are about to take a long overdue and well earned vacation. You have chosen a destination from literally thousands of possibilities, a place where you really want to get away from it all and relax. You might catch a ship or fly, you'll find when your transport departs and from where, and you'll be there, on time and ready to go.
The time spent travelling to your holiday destination may be predicable and not especially enjoyable but when you get there you'll have bucket loads of fun. After a week or two you'll have to go home, and although you might want to stay on vacation a little longer, you can't. You bought a return ticket, so you have to go home. In fact, part of you wants to go home.
It doesn't matter where we go, or how long we stay, or for what reason we are travelling. Most of us will always want to go home eventually. Home is where we belong.
Life is often described as journey, and it is a good analogy. It is a voyage which we must all make and one for which we cannot purchase a return ticket. We do not choose to be born, and death is unavoidable. Much of what happens in between is beyond our control. Sometimes we feel as though we have very little choice, or worse; no choice at all.
We do however have a choice about the final destination of our souls. The Bible says that choice is simple. Hell is eternity without God. Heaven is eternity with God.
Of the two, heaven is the preferred destination, and the only way to get there is to choose to repent of your sin and place your faith in Jesus Christ. Climb aboard the train which is bound for the glory of our eternal home. It is where we belong.
Maybe you are about to take a long overdue and well earned vacation. You have chosen a destination from literally thousands of possibilities, a place where you really want to get away from it all and relax. You might catch a ship or fly, you'll find when your transport departs and from where, and you'll be there, on time and ready to go.
The time spent travelling to your holiday destination may be predicable and not especially enjoyable but when you get there you'll have bucket loads of fun. After a week or two you'll have to go home, and although you might want to stay on vacation a little longer, you can't. You bought a return ticket, so you have to go home. In fact, part of you wants to go home.
It doesn't matter where we go, or how long we stay, or for what reason we are travelling. Most of us will always want to go home eventually. Home is where we belong.
Life is often described as journey, and it is a good analogy. It is a voyage which we must all make and one for which we cannot purchase a return ticket. We do not choose to be born, and death is unavoidable. Much of what happens in between is beyond our control. Sometimes we feel as though we have very little choice, or worse; no choice at all.
We do however have a choice about the final destination of our souls. The Bible says that choice is simple. Hell is eternity without God. Heaven is eternity with God.
Of the two, heaven is the preferred destination, and the only way to get there is to choose to repent of your sin and place your faith in Jesus Christ. Climb aboard the train which is bound for the glory of our eternal home. It is where we belong.
Saturday, October 1, 2011
Two Baskets of Mysteries
Why does tragedy scar some people's lives while others escape the carnage of apparently random misfortune? We all have only partial control of what happens to us. Most of the time we are weak and vulnerable. Any single car journey I make could be my last. I am relatively healthy now but I could be diagnosed with cancer tomorrow. Anything could happen to me or anyone else in this crazy rollercoaster ride called life. But what's the point? So far I have pretty much cruised through life unscathed. Why have I been so blessed when others have been hammered? If 1 in 4 children have been sexually abused, why wasn't I one of them? We hear so many stories of children with serious illness, yet the worst thing my teenagers have been afflicted with is a 24 hour gastro bug.
I could spend the rest of my life presenting examples of the seeming randomness of life but I still wouldn't be able to answer the question, "why?" Perhaps a better question would be: is it even possible to answer the question "why?"
The latter question I can answer. There is much in life which can only be described as inexplicable, as mystery. There is a difference however between mystery that isn't understood, and mystery which can't be understood. Mystery that isn't understood suggests that it is at least possible to find some rational explanation for the unknown. Much like an Agatha Christie novel, one only needs to investigate the clues and apply logic, and the mystery can be solved. Life is not like that.
The mystery of life and its irregular bestowal of blessings and curses upon participating individuals, that is, all of us, cannot be understood. It is, I believe, very wise to know your own limitations. The mystery of random suffering cannot be solved.
There are then, if you accept this premise, two possible responses. Many people take the philosophical view that is so eloquently summarized in the bumper sticker slogan, "shit happens". They accept life as it is without needing a reason or an explanation. That's just the way it is. Others don't need an explanation because they know if they were told the answer, they would not understand it anyway. They do, however, like me, believe that there is a reason. That reason can't be comprehended by feeble finite minds because it emanates from the infinite and indescribable awesomeness of God. There is a reason. There is purpose.
Many say the purpose of life is simply to be born, to live, breed, eat drink and be merry, suffer, ride the rollercoaster, and then die. If that's all there is, then I want my money back. What a rip off! What a waste of precious time. Almost as great a mystery as the question of suffering, is the question why people accept the philosophy that we live, we suffer and then we die, and there is no point to it. That's not good enough for me. I need to know there is more, even if I can't understand it, and I do...and I can't.
I could spend the rest of my life presenting examples of the seeming randomness of life but I still wouldn't be able to answer the question, "why?" Perhaps a better question would be: is it even possible to answer the question "why?"
The latter question I can answer. There is much in life which can only be described as inexplicable, as mystery. There is a difference however between mystery that isn't understood, and mystery which can't be understood. Mystery that isn't understood suggests that it is at least possible to find some rational explanation for the unknown. Much like an Agatha Christie novel, one only needs to investigate the clues and apply logic, and the mystery can be solved. Life is not like that.
The mystery of life and its irregular bestowal of blessings and curses upon participating individuals, that is, all of us, cannot be understood. It is, I believe, very wise to know your own limitations. The mystery of random suffering cannot be solved.
There are then, if you accept this premise, two possible responses. Many people take the philosophical view that is so eloquently summarized in the bumper sticker slogan, "shit happens". They accept life as it is without needing a reason or an explanation. That's just the way it is. Others don't need an explanation because they know if they were told the answer, they would not understand it anyway. They do, however, like me, believe that there is a reason. That reason can't be comprehended by feeble finite minds because it emanates from the infinite and indescribable awesomeness of God. There is a reason. There is purpose.
Many say the purpose of life is simply to be born, to live, breed, eat drink and be merry, suffer, ride the rollercoaster, and then die. If that's all there is, then I want my money back. What a rip off! What a waste of precious time. Almost as great a mystery as the question of suffering, is the question why people accept the philosophy that we live, we suffer and then we die, and there is no point to it. That's not good enough for me. I need to know there is more, even if I can't understand it, and I do...and I can't.
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