I came across this article this morning… http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/africa/7461099.stm
Here’s the deal…
My grandfather was born and raised in South Africa. So does that mean I’m “black” or at least “mixed”?
Fredrik is now the official pancake maker in the family. I never knew of his pancake making skills because I’ve always made pancakes in the past but from now on, he’ll be in charge.
He made the batter for some pancakes tomorrow morning and just now he decided to give them a try. They were SO GOOD. Light and airy. Just crazy delicious. I could eat like 8 of these in 1 sitting.
Here’s a close up of the maple syrup covered goodness.
I’m sure that many grew up with parents that insisted on eating EVERYTHING on the plate.
My friend Salma used to say, “Think of the starving African children.” as she cleaned off her plate. That lead me to shout, “GO! GO! AFRICA!” one time while dining in a restaurant when she was struggling to finish a plate of fried noodles. She didn’t exactly appreciate it but she saw the humour in it.
I grew up having to eat every grain of rice in my bowl. It lead to a few times where I licked the bowl to get the last grains of rice. My mom didn’t really appreciate that.
I remember my mom telling me that grains of rice left in my bowl would lead me to have a husband with pox marks. My grandmother would tell my cousins that if they didn’t want an ugly wife they would have to leave a clean rice bowl. I remember my twin cousins telling my grandfather that he better clean his bowl or he’ll have an ugly wife.
I’d like to know what other people’s parents told them.
On another note regarding what parents tell their children to get them to behave, my friend Tara told me that her mom used to tell them that she’d sell her and her brother to the gypsies if they didn’t behave or be quiet. My mom never told me that she’d sell me to the gypsies but she did tell me that beggars would take me and chop off my arms and legs if I strayed away from her when we were out (this was when I was REALLY young).
After reading Almost Bourdain’s post on curry laksa, I started thinking about breakfast.
When I was really young, my mom would make me eat an egg and drink a glass of warm milk for breakfast. I stopped getting the glass of milk for breakfast after discovering that my lactose intolerance was one of the reasons why I was getting “unexplained” stomach aches. I stopped eating breakfast after high school started and when college rolled around, coffee and donuts were the breakfast of choice to give me that kick in the morning to survive the 8am pattern drafting class. It wasn’t until the last 5 years that I started eating breakfast regularly again.
Fredrik loves his Swedish breakfast. Boiled egg with caviar on bread. Cheese on bread. Shrimp cheese on bread. Ham on bread. Mackerel in tomato sauce on bread. He loves his bread. The Scandinavians all love their bread. They also love their foods that come out of tubes.
I on the other hand will eat anything for breakfast. Usually depends on what I’m feeling like and depends on what’s available. Every so often I like the bacon and eggs combo. Which makes me wish there were diners here in Sweden.
When Fredrik and I were in Hong Kong, we ate out for every meal including breakfast. Liver congee and plain rice noodle rolls were my choice of breakfast. Oh how I could go for congee and rice noodle rolls RIGHT NOW.
Speaking of breakfast. I’m getting hungry. Think I’ll go check out what I can have.
Ahhh… Sweet gooey milk. What it’s original use was, I have no idea. I recall my dad telling me that when he was young (he was poor growing up) he would thin down sweet condensed milk with water and drink it like milk. I grew up spreading it on well buttered toast. My dad would have it with peanut butter on bread. There are a lot of foods I like that came from my dad.
Now if you want to make dulce de leche, you start with sweet condensed milk. People boil it in the can (REMEMBER to punch holes in the top so you don’t have a sticky milky explosion). I boiled mine in a glass jar. It take a really long time but it’s worth it. Stir it every so often because the bottom will start to brown before the top does.
I made dulce de leche because I came across David Lebovitz’s recipe for dulce de leche brownies. (I used only 1/2 cup of sugar. I figured that the brownie was already sweet enough with the chocolate and dulce de leche.) Now the flat smells like brownies. It’s quite wonderful.
I wish Fredrik was home so he can sample this with me.
It’s so much fun to yell, “Focaccia!” randomly.
Focaccia is also a delicious bread. My mom used to buy them from this Italian supermarket when I was a kid.
I was at the supermarket today and on my list was bread. Looking at all the generic sliced breads and then through the “fancy” breads, I decided that I should bake my own bread.
Bread is really just flour, water, yeast and a bit of sugar for the yeast to munch on.
In case you didn’t pick it up earlier, I am baking a focaccia. To be more precise, a focaccia with caramelized onions and sun dried tomatoes.
I’m waiting for the second rise and it’s KILLING me. I want it now!
I’m also boiling sweet condensed milk to make dulce de leche. I found a dulce de leche brownie on David Lebovitz’ blog. It’s gonna be so good. That’s if I don’t fuck up the dulce de leche.
http://www.davidlebovitz.com/archives/2006/06/dulce_de_leche.html
I’m watching LA INK (There’s nothing else on TV. It was either this or CSI Miami.) and there’s a girl that went in for a tattoo. Her parents were married for 28 years and they got a divorce.
My parents have been together for 27 years and I think I’d lose it if they were to decide to get a divorce. It would totally mess up my head. Especially now that I’m married. I look towards my parents’ and my grandparents’ marriage as kind of what a marriage should be. Both parents and grandparents have been through some seriously rough times.
I’m not saying that my marriage will be perfect. I’m not even going to say that it will last forever. I’m putting all my faith towards the idea that things will last but I don’t want to jinx things by putting money on it.
What the hell is that?
Sometimes I don’t think children from Asian families know the meaning of a supportive family.
Don’t get me wrong. I love my family to bits.
Sometimes it just would be nice if they could be a bit more positive and more supportive.
I’ve been having a hell of a time with preparing myself for dental school. It hasn’t been the easiest journey and there are times that I’ve asked myself if it’s all worth it. What I could really use is someone who knows me to tell me that I can do this. That they have faith that I can handle it and that I can totally rock it.
Instead, my mother is asking me if I’ve thought about what else I can do if I don’t get into dental school.
I know that she’s just worried about my future but that’s not really something I need to concern myself with right now. I haven’t even tried and she’s already suggesting failure.
This is not something new.
When I started my relationship with Fredrik, she would go on about how things might not work out. We’re married now.
When I decided to go to college for fashion design, she had her remarks. I graduated with honours. Despite the fact that I decided afterwards not to continue with fashion, I was still awesome with the program.
Perhaps that’s her way of “encouraging” me. By telling me that it’s not going to work, I work extra hard at proving her wrong and it works out in the end. Still… it’s frustrating as hell. I’d rather have her talk about something else rather than add to the madness.
I know I’m not alone in this situation because I have friends whose parents still say things like “If he/she would just get a real job and get their life on track” despite having a job that they love doing.
Asian parents… they’re amazing in their own way.
Milo actually stayed still long enough for me to take a picture of him.
I was talking to my mom last night and she told me that she’s been interacting with a couple of cats at one of the houses she’s working at. It seems that she’s started to take a liking to them. She refers to them as “big cat” and “little cat”. She said that they follow her around the house while she’s working. They did however rip open one of the garbage bags she had out.
I’m taking it as a sign that she may be opening up to this idea of getting a cat.
The past week has gone by quickly and rather strangely. Can’t say that it’s a nice thing.
I just realized that I didn’t write write that thing I was supposed to hand in on Thursday. Shit.
I’d like to point out that when there’s stuff going on, it tends to clump together.
We went out for dinner with some friends on Wednesday.
Drove up to Öregrund to see Fredrik’s mom on Thursday and spent the night there. Her cat, Nisse, was not happy that we were there. Gave us a few “WTF” mews.
Then on Friday we saw Engel at a club called “The Cave”. Unfortunately it was not actually located in a cave.
Last night we had dinner over at other friends’ place. I had a strange fit of allergies. Not to mention some serious arm pain.
Today we went around checking out houses. Fredrik got his tattoo started and I arranged mine.
The arm still hurts and I’m tired.
Time for bed.
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