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I shall try to define myself in a sentence with a pithy comment at the end:
I'm just an English bloke who lives in Canada after marrying a Canadian lady he met while living in Japan. Yeah, that old cliché.

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Posts tagged FOOD

Apr 11 '14

Friday 5 of the best meals I can remember off the top of my head

  • Kyoto, under the cherry blossom trees during Hanami, with Mrs Fuiru and two friends. We’d visited Ginkakuji temple and then wandered along the Philosopher’s Walk to find a spot to eat in. The route was packed, and it took us almost the whole distance to find somewhere suitable, under the trees, next to the stream. It was a gorgeous spring day. Earlier in the morning we’d gone to a specialist foreign food store and bought all the things we couldn’t normally get in our small towns - Smoked meats, Pate, French bread, crisps that weren’t seafood flavour - and a bottle of wine, corkscrew and plastic glasses. It was the most glorious picnic I can think of.
  • Tokyo, in a tiny sushi restaurant called Daiwa next to Tsukiji Fish Market. Mrs Fuiru and I had been wandering around the market, and after we left we wanted a late breakfast. This was the first place we found. It was a little hole in the wall across the street with enough room for about half a dozen people. The set breakfast menu was amazing: fish that literally melted in my mouth. A few years later I saw that the Guardian called it the place to go if you want the best sushi in the world.
  • Canoe, Toronto, when my wife graduated from Teachers college and her parents took us out. I don’t remember exactly what I ate, but it had fish and foie gras. We all tried everything that everyone else ordered, and each taste was better than the last.
  • My wedding dinner. Friends still talk about the cake. I still think of the short ribs. I’m still bitter that we didn’t get any crab cakes.
  • A large commercial izakaya in Ena city, Japan, where the girl sitting opposite me (who I’d had a crush on since we first met) kept brushing her leg against mine and when I asked her about it she said “isn’t it obvious? I’m attracted to you,” and before I left we kissed outside long enough for me to miss the last train and I was forced to go back and ask if I could stay at anyone’s apartment and she said I could stay with her and a few weeks later when I told a friend that she and I had started dating he smiled and said “you’re gonna marry that girl” and he was right. I don’t remember what I ate.
23 notes Tags: food
Mar 19 '14

How to make a delicious crab pasta salad

[This recipe is adapted from the Looneyspoons cook book]

Combine mayonnaise, sour cream (half cup each), a little lemon juice, dill, mustard, salt and pepper in a bowl. Refrigerate until needed.

Cook pasta according to directions.

Dice one green and one red pepper. Chop up one green onion.

Retrieve package of crab meat from fridge. Notice large cut in the package, indicating that contents of package have been compromised. Throw away crab meat.

Stand at the kitchen counter for several seconds, contemplating the loss of your main ingredient.

Cry manly tears of sorrow as you retrieve bowl, milk jug and box of cereal.

Jan 27 '13

A Big Welcome to all my new Food Blog Followers

Please feel free to take a moment and look through my most recent posts, realise what a terrible mistake you made, and reconsider your process for following food bloggers.

28 notes Tags: FOOD
Jun 17 '12

Grape Pie

Last weekend, when Steve stayed at Casa De Fuiru, he brought a purple box with him.

"This is for you," he said, presenting it to my wife and I. "It’s a Monica’s grape pie. Monica’s does the best grape pies." Then, barely audibly, he muttered under his breath: "And lo with this blessing, thee I also do curse."

Steve then went on to tell us that since he tried these pies for the first time, he has literally thought about them every day.

I watched him as he said this. His eyes looked into the distance, and for a second I no longer saw Steve. Instead, I saw a sailor, clinging to a raft in the middle of the ocean, his eyes scouring the horizon for blessed relief, knowing that with each rise and fall of the sun there may never be an end to his torment.

I saw the man who, as a child, watched Aphrodite bathe, and who lived his life knowing he would never again see this epitome of beauty (unless he drove 45 minutes away, to Naples, NY, and bought one (I was starting to see Steve again at this point)).

Tonight, Mrs Fuiru and I tried the pie. And lo, with that blessing, we are now also cursed.

Monica’s grape pie is like someone melted down a candy store and placed it inside a pastry crust.

It’s like having a party in your mouth that’s fully catered, with none of the premium liquors running out by midnight and the next day someone else cleans and tidies your house.

After tonight, if I were to ever write an erotic novel, it would be about an innocent young man who is seduced by a wanton grape pie that makes him do all sorts of pervy things, most of which involve putting spoonfuls of the pie in his mouth, slowly. The eighth chapter would consist of nothing but groans, while chapter sixteen would be banned in Hungary. The cover would be a black and white photograph of a plate with pastry crumbs on it.

Since eating a piece of this pie, I have become illogically and obsessively jealous of the foil dish it came in, because that goddammed foil dish has been able to cup the joyous grape pie against its bosom for several weeks. If I could be reincarnated as an inanimate object, it would a foil pie dish with a Monica’s grape pie in it.

After eating her first mouthful of this pie, my wife said, in a halting and disbelieving fashion: “I don’t really understand what’s happening in my mouth right now.” Before either of us could eat any more, we embraced for several seconds.

Steve, if you’re reading this, I wish to thank you. Thank you for sharing your curse with us. Our lives will never be the same again.

Apr 16 '12
Fig and mascarpone focaccia bread, fresh out of the oven. Insert sound of angels singing from on high here.

Fig and mascarpone focaccia bread, fresh out of the oven. Insert sound of angels singing from on high here.

Mar 5 '12
My wife made vanilla-glazed donuts this weekend. I have two in my bag right now.
I’d usually insert some kind of humorous recognition of your inevitable jealousy at this point but that would delay my ability to eat the fucking hell out of these delicious fucking home-made donuts in my bag.

My wife made vanilla-glazed donuts this weekend. I have two in my bag right now.

I’d usually insert some kind of humorous recognition of your inevitable jealousy at this point but that would delay my ability to eat the fucking hell out of these delicious fucking home-made donuts in my bag.

Feb 21 '12
You may recall a couple of weeks ago I decided to write some invented meal/dish names on our kitchen blackboards and my wife took it upon herself to create one of them. And lo, Strawberry Oops was born. 

I decided to have another go at the dish invention business this weekend, and hopefully Mrs Fuiru will be able to make something else from my list. This week the dishes were:
1: Bastardised Potato
2: Chickensanity
3: Chocolate Moussaka
4: Soupe de Fin du Monde (End of the World Soup)
5: Chutney Houston

I really hope she makes Chutney Houston.

You may recall a couple of weeks ago I decided to write some invented meal/dish names on our kitchen blackboards and my wife took it upon herself to create one of them. And lo, Strawberry Oops was born.

I decided to have another go at the dish invention business this weekend, and hopefully Mrs Fuiru will be able to make something else from my list. This week the dishes were:
1: Bastardised Potato
2: Chickensanity
3: Chocolate Moussaka
4: Soupe de Fin du Monde (End of the World Soup)
5: Chutney Houston

I really hope she makes Chutney Houston.

Jan 18 '12

Fruit babies

One thing I’ve come to learn about pregnancy is that there is a tendency for information resources to express your unborn baby’s size in terms of comparable fruit. Six weeks ago our child was the size of a grape. Three weeks ago, a lime. Last week, a lemon. Right now apparently my wife is carrying an apple inside her. The only reprieve from all this fruit was when, between the sizes of a lime and a lemon, our baby was “about as big as a medium shrimp.”

Thankfully for the less culinary-minded among us, many of these sites link to pictures of the foodstuffs we are now trying to measure in our head. Just in case we are becoming overly obsessed with whether my wife’s womb is currently harboring a Cox’s Orange Pippin, a Washed Russet or - God forbid! - a Nonnetit Bastard, there it is, removing all doubt: A Honeycrisp. Goodness.

I never really thought about measurement in this way before. Normally, if something is below a certain size, it’s enough to express it in inches, centimetres, feet or metres. You don’t usually go for the comparable objects unless you’ve got something above a certain size. Being British, I’m used to being told that something is “about the size of three double-decker buses” or has the area of “twelve football pitches.” I’m sure other nations have their own standards of comparative measurement; Giant Buddha Statues in the Temple of Nara, for example, or Donnie Wahlburgs.

The problem I have now is that preparing meals is becoming rather a traumatic experience. It’s fine and dandy to tell me that my offspring is currently the size of a lime, but try taking that image out of my head when it comes time to garnish the Pad Thai for dinner. Standing over the cutting board, knife in hand, small green fruit in front of me, I look like Brad Pitt at the end of Se7en when Morgan Freeman’s trying to talk him out of shooting Kevin Spacey. Do I really enjoy citrus fruit enough to cut what is essentially my own child into segments?

God help me if I’m asked to help with a fruit salad any time soon. I’ll probably start rocking back and forth in the foetal position on the kitchen floor, gibbering to myself and sobbing.

In a way, though, I remain curious each week as to what size my baby will be. It’s less out of interest in the development of my child, and more about what food he/she will now resemble. Will they ever be the size of a pomelo? Durian? Would the makers of the sites ever suggest that my child resembles an Ugli fruit? Would they dare? And should there ever be another week with no fruit for suitable comparable size, will they go back to the crustacean route? Will my baby ever be a langoustine?

Nov 7 '11
My wife made chocolate peanut butter and jelly pillow cookies at the weekend. Holy fucking shit on a bollock sandwich, they’re amazing.
The best part of yesterday was the part when my wife came into the kitchen while I was studying and said, “Phil, you’re going to hate me for this…”
"Oh no, what is it?"
"Well, I need to take a photo of the cookies for my blog…"
"Uh huh…"
"And I want to show the filling, so I need you to take a bite out of a cookie and let me take photos of it. And then eat the rest of the cookie."
"You unspeakable monster."

My wife made chocolate peanut butter and jelly pillow cookies at the weekend. Holy fucking shit on a bollock sandwich, they’re amazing.

The best part of yesterday was the part when my wife came into the kitchen while I was studying and said, “Phil, you’re going to hate me for this…”

"Oh no, what is it?"

"Well, I need to take a photo of the cookies for my blog…"

"Uh huh…"

"And I want to show the filling, so I need you to take a bite out of a cookie and let me take photos of it. And then eat the rest of the cookie."

"You unspeakable monster."

Nov 4 '11

Basically, it’s a video in which a woman is eating a “Milk Seafood” cup noodle (no comment) in a snowy forest (as you do) and a man with cheese for a head and a man with a pepper grinder for a head approach from behind some trees and the woman screams and the two men somehow repeatedly laser finger cheese and pepper into her cup noodle while going “Chi-chi -chi-chi” and “pe-pe-pe-pe” in a musical fashion while she keeps screaming and they repeat this several times and then they implore her to eat some of her cup noodles, which she does despite her fear (possibly because she’s afraid they’ll kill her if she doesn’t comply), and then she realises it tastes even better for their intervention and they agree with her and in the time it took you to read this you could have probably watched the thing.