Potato gnocchi with ham and sage. Mise en place, misplaced

I am the queen this afternoon. 

Aurelia brought me a tiny green plastic cup and placed it on top of my study table. With sugar, Her Excellency? she asked me politely. No thanks, just a tablespoon of honey, please. I replied with my right hand holding the cup, a little finger pointing up.

While I was pretending to be part of my daughter's imaginary story, I wanted to distract my mind to more urgent matters, my next exam. I tried carefully to turn my eyes from the royal scene of the room to the screen of my computer where it was displayed, for a long time, a page about "Hygienic in restaurants" one of the subjects of the introductory course of my new career of Patisserie.

I had all the materials set up or mise en place - gastronomic French term that refers to organize and arrange the ingredients. The computer, colourful pens, stick-on-it notes for my resumes, a rubber and a new black notebook - happily decorated with stickers of cars by my second son's busy three year old hands.

Aurelia left the room to bring me a magdaleine from the kitchen to have with my tea. Sorry, Her Excellency Queen, I forgot.  I smiled at her but was thinking, Great! Back to my study. It was my fifth go after four unsuccessful attempts during that day. 

I put my invisible ear plugs to pretend I wasn't listening to the noise coming from the children in one of the bedrooms and  began to look at the screen. My sixth try. I read the first paragraph of the text, underneath the title. Something related to the direction of the food preparation, that it has to go forward so it doesn't get contaminated when…mama!!!! whereee arrre youuu?? I want my plane but baby "guanan" took it. Es mio!! I could hear now Gab crying downstairs, followed by baby Juanan. Gab was shaking vigorously the metal bars of the safety child gate at the bottom of the stairs. He was desperately searching for me.

I intentionally arranged my study on the top floor when I was enrolled in the course a month ago.  Obviously, I was hiding myself from my own family. I needed to go through my notes and get a few ideas in my obsolete head to be able to pass the first exam. I don't know why but it seemed an impossible task. I wasn't putting the blame on the demands of my children, that was unfair. It was my lack of concentration on the screen. After finishing a law degree and my masters, I hadn't really touched a book again for many years. 

I have heard that once you have children, some neurons evaporate with the birth. 

- Does it mean I have lost the only one I probably had? I asked sarcastically my girlfriend. Lucky me, she was not only my running buddy but also a good psychologist.

- Perhaps your brain doesn't get the signals of "studying" or "working" soon after you have babies. Even when you actually sit down in front of the books or are in your office, it will take you a while to concentrate, but it is normal. It is only transitory. It is like when you stop running for a long period, you cannot pretend to run a marathon on your first day!

I kind of felt relieved. Although my mise en place was misplaced by motherhood, affecting my focus on the study, it was going to be a temporary face, as I repeated it to myself. It wasn't all lost, despite my initial disappointment of not getting the habit back straight away.

On my defense, the fact that perhaps children did not like much the idea that mum was studying and not jumping in the trampoline or making figures with play doh, made me feel guilty. Like many non-working mums, my kids spend most of the day with me, until a couple of weeks ago, when I decided to shake my professional life and give it another chance on taking a new journey to follow my passion. I accepted this course as a full time job.

Believe it or not, diplomat's wives do not have always the opportunity to continue their professional life the way they wished. We need to adapt our skills to the circumstances and pass a few barriers such a language, low local salaries, degrees not recognized,…Instead, we can do short courses, study by correspondence or being part of some volunteering work, for example. 

Back to my frustrated moment when the kids were fighting about an orange plastic plane called Dusty while I wanted to continue with the food preparation chapter, I did what you supposed not to do, I gave up. I turned off the computer and disconnected from being a mum - student to be a mum, a single word. I played with the plane with Gab and Juanan pretending to be a pilot.  When my three children were all fast asleep, I left their small world and quickly went up to my cave to study. 

Eventually, within a few days, I learnt to organize my time better. Amazing the things  you are able to do if you have a good schedule in your head that suits everybody. I squeezed those two hours at night intensively…and my concentration increased. Like it used to BEFORE I HAD KIDS. My friend was right.

On the other hand, my kids accepted better the idea of "mum-student" when I made the clever decision of studying in a book shop near by, instead of playing "hide and seek" on the top floor.

Potato gnocchi with ham and sage

The gnocchi recipe is from the cookbook Rafael, which also has a fantastic restaurant in Lima. It is my favorite so far. I made up this dish during that frustrated week I shared with you above. Cooking helped me a lot to put close attention of what I did when I couldn't do it in my studies. 

And my daughter was my best support, in every sense.

Gnocchi

• 3 kg potatoes (floury)
• 4 egg yolks
• 100g parmesan cheese, freshly grated
• 150 g flour 00
• Sea salt
• nutmeg
• 2 kg table salt

Sauce:

• a few fresh sage leaves
• unsalted butter 
• 6 slices of Spanish jamon serrano, thinly cut in small pieces
• Freshly grated parmesan 

1. Preheat oven 180 C
2. Cut the potatoes in half, lengthways. Put them together (in one piece) and place them on top of a oven tray covered by table salt (this will help to absorb all the moisture). Cook them for an hour until very soft. Peel them and pass them through a "potato ricer" twice.
3. Add the egg yolks, salt and mix well. Add the flour, cheese and nutmeg. Knead the dough gently. It should be soft, not dry.
4. Put a big saucepan of salted water over high heat.
5. Make a long thin roll. Cut it in 2cm pieces. Give it a shape with the back of a fork to help the sauce to stick to the gnocchi.
6. Meanwhile, add a knob of butter to a frypan with a few fresh sage leaves. Swirl them around once the butter is melted and continue until the butter gets brownish and the leaves crispy. Place the leaves on a piece of kitchen paper.
7. If the water is boiling, place the gnocchi carefully to cover the bottom of the saucepan. When the come up to the surface, take them out and put them on a warm serving dish. You might have to repeat this step again to finish cooking the rest of the gnocchi (I kept some, well covered, in the freezer).
8. Serve about 10- 15 gnocchis per person. Pour some of the butter on each plate, sprinkle a good amount of jamon serrano, decorate with three or four crispy sage leaves and grate fresh Parmesan cheese on top.

Pizza alla Argentine. Girls just want to have fun

- Ah! so... you have been invited too! Jackie exclaimed with surprise.

- Well, no, not really, this is my house, I smiled, but wanting to laugh.

Last November my husband and I hosted a farewell party at the residence for my friend Olga and her husband Kevin, the Consul of our embassy. Their posting was ending after four and a half years. Olga knew Jackie, a Peruvian mum from San Silvestre school, and they became friends through their daughters Rafaela and Siena, who went to the same classroom as my daughter's, Aurelia.  Friends of my friends are my friends, it couldn't be more true.

Despite moving homes very often, every three years, I count on a few, but not many, marvelous friends in my life, from different countries and backgrounds. When I met Jackie during that cool evening in my house, through a simple but genuine laughter, I had the sense that that sparkle extended my short list of dear friends instantly.

A good friend is not easy to find, don't you agree? In my case, sometimes I honestly need to go beyond the language barrier and perhaps diplomatic boundaries and only when I go through those limits, I feel myself comfortable. My friend is someone who likes me just as I am. She shares my happiness  when something great occurs in my life but she supports me and helps me when I struggle.

Back to more arduous present, school holidays are eternal when you stay in town while most of your friends are away. I keep hearing comments from my mum-friends who complain about having grumpy kids, boring days and resentful mothers. I include myself.

My days are thirtysix hours long thanks to the early start of my kids who unfortunately take it from their mum. During these summer months of December, January and February I have a goal and it is to keep my three children occupied and if possible, knocked out by the end of the day - despite my efforts, I get the opposite effect, they want to keep partying and I am dead-tired by eight o'clock. I enrolled them in school camp, art, swimming classes and playdates. Sometimes, sleep overs.

Our Peruvian friends, Jackie and Rafaela, spent last weekend with us, while Nick was in Cusco looking after eight a delegation of Senior Australian politicians. We played everything that our imagination could think of. We "swam" over a slippery mat covered with soap and water; created figures with clay and houses with lego; run in the garden and jumped in the trampolin, made bubbles in a warm bath; ate homemade margarita pizzas and had a disco party with music and dance in Aurelia's bedroom.

When the children finally went to bed, Jackie and I celebrated a peaceful and relaxing moment with a bottle of Malbec. Pop! That funny noise from the cork marked the beginning of our adult PJ's party . We wanted to turn tired mothers into invigorated teenagers. Call us childish, who cares, we were girls who just wanted to have fun - and we well deserved it.

Haven't you seen Julie & Julia? Let's watch it! I suggested excited to Jackie - probably the wine was making its magic effect. I pressed play, but my friend and I couldn't keep our lips zipped.

I knew the secuences of this comedy by heart, anyway, so I soon lost track of Julie's life to follow Jackie's.We barely knew each other after all! I discovered, for example, that she was the best friend of Josefina Garcia, the daughter of the Peruvian former president Alan Garcia (his first Presidence was from 1985 to 1990 and then he was reelected in 2006 to 2011). Jackie told me amusing stories about her adventures  in palace with her friend. What interesting playdates they used to have!

From time to time, during a couple of lapsus in our conversation, with feet up and our lazy bodies laid on comfortable sofas in the tv room, I had glimpses of the screen when Julia Child decided to enrol in the Cordon Bleu cooking school in Paris, her diplomatic posting. She was bored of the social activities that the spouses of diplomats did in those years of 1950. She was my age. Then, in 2001, Julie was also suffering a lack of professional motivation so she made the decision to write a blog about cooking all the recipes of Julia Child's cookbook - Julia graduated in the Cordon Blue in 1951 and wrote The Art of French Cooking.

A thought bothered me. My life was a juxtaposition of both, Julie and Julia's. I was writing a blog and also enrolled in a two year career of Patisserie in the Cordon Bleu cooking school. I was excited but concerned, will it be too much on my shoulders to do this intensive career, on top of looking after the children and the demands of my diplomatic position? 

I sensed a  little voice within to tell me I was doing just fine, going right at my own pace. I was wrong. That voice wasn't from my inner soul, it was from my lovely friend Jackie who suddenly squeezed my hand, reading my thoughts. Because friends are for you, in moments like this, when they mean a lot without words. 

 Pizza alla Argentine

My favorite butcher is an Argentinean and has a great shop not far from my house. When I crave chorizo parrillero I know where to go, to the counter and see through the window how the meat and spices go through the carcass in a long delicious sausage. The carcass is removed again when I get home for Diego to make pizzas. He places little amounts of the sausage meat on top of the secret tomato sauce that covers the pre-cooked pizza dough made early in the afternoon.

The recipe of the pizza dough comes from also my favorite cookbook The cook's companion, by Stephanie Alexander. I have tried many recipes in my life but this one never fails. And if it does for you, try it again - I faced a disaster when I made the pizza for Jackie and Rafaela, the base too thick and it never got crunchy - don't worry, I am sure there was a lesson. 

Cooking is all about learning and having fun, especially if you have a friend to share it with. 

Good luck!

Base dough (makes enough 2x26 cm pizza trays)

• 1 tablespoon instant dried yeast
• 1 teaspoon salt
• 400g plain flour
• olive oil
• 1 cup lukewarm water

1. Mix yeast and salt with flour. Mix 1 tablespoon olive oil with the water and beat into dry ingredients using a dough hook.
2. Knead until mixture is smooth and elastic, about 8 minutes (or by hand 15 minutes)
3. Grease a bowl with 1 tablespoon olive oil. 
4. ransfer dough to bowl, then cover with plastic film or a tea towel and allow to rise in a draught-free place until doubled in size (about 1 1/2 hours). Knock back dough, then fold gently in 4 and allow to rise again, covered for 35-40 minutes. 

Tomate sauce (Diego's recipe)

1. In a small saucepan, heat 3 tablespoons of extra-virgin olive oil. Add 1 chopped onion and 2 garlic cloves finely chopped. Cook gently until soft. 
2. Add 450g tomato can (we blend whole tomato can into pulpa) and 100 g pasatta pure. Cook in low heat until the oil rises the surface and the sauce has been reduce and is thick, about 30 minutes. Season with a pinch of salt and black pepper.

Pizza alla Argentine

1. Meanwhile, heat the oven to 220C 
2. Grease two trays with oil. Knock back dough and press thinly onto the trays. Allow dough to recover for 5 minutes. 
3. Bake for 15 minutes. Remove them from the oven and spread a thin layer of tomato sauce. Add grated mozarella cheese, small drops of chorizo and slide the pizzas off trays onto oven racks for 10 minutes to crisp bases.
4. Remove and scatter some chopped basil.

Chorizo and arugula fusilli. That wedding dress...

Ten boxes, with mainly winter clothes and shoes, were delivered to our house last Wednesday. They came from a big warehouse in Australia, fifteen minutes from Canberra, where they have been untouched for three years, since we moved to the Philippines in September of 2011.

When the truck arrived at the residence, I was thrilled - although the big container from Manila hasn't been delivered yet. The boxes were left in the television area, upstairs. With a glass of wine and the music of Chambao in the background, my old favourite  Spanish group, I decided to enjoy the unpacking process. You would think that opening boxes and unwrapping brown paper is a tedious thing to do. You might be right, but not for me. I knew that during that hour or two, with no kids to distract me,  I would be delighted with the things I would find inside of the boxes. 

One of them was my wedding dress. 

I took the dress to the terrace, at the back of my house, where there is always a lovely cool breeze  coming from the Atlantic, to get rid of the smell of humidity from the box where it was packed.

With the last sunshine of the Peruvian sun, my mind began to fly in time to a happy past, bringing  me back flashes of memories that made me smile.

... and suddenly I forgot I was in Lima.

I was actually in Madrid, in Almirante street, number 15. I was ringing the door bell of Nick's apartment. It was January of 2002 and I was 24, doing my articles in a law firm that belonged to my neighbour. The night was cold but very pretty thanks to the Christmas lights that were still hanging from the trees of the capital.

Nick and I were together for 15 months, a bit after we met on the Easy Jet plane in September of 2000. Our relationship was good, although it went also through some challenges, I guess like any relationship, but mine had two people from two different cultures, languages and backgrounds.

Nick loved Spain, its culture, the food, the people and his diplomatic life, obviously. He was totally integrated in my country, even he spoke Spanish like a native, without that terrible "guiry" accent. Of course, I helped him with the mistakes.

However, Nick had struggles to understand my dad, who was from Andalucia, South of Spain, and spoke very fast and exaggerated the pronunciation  of  the consonant "z". The night I introduced Nick to my father and his wife Inmaculada we were in a tapas bar near my dad's home. When we arrived at the bar, there was a tense moment. We needed to break the ice, but I didn't know how because I was nervous, so I drunk more wine. My dad, who noticed my state, decided to start the conversation with Nick and said, If you hurt my daughter I will cut your "balls", but Nick laughed hysterically and replied Of course! I knew Nick didn't understand a word of what my dad just said. I laughed so much that a couple of tears run through my face. Since that moment, my dad loved Nick as someone very special.

On the 12th of January of 2002, Nick called me many times during the day to confirm I was meeting him after work at 8.30pm. Nick's youngest sister, Marie Claire, opened the old door of the apartment. She was spending Christmas with Nick but also with Nick's parents, who came with her from Australia.

I recall lovely moments of those Christmas we shared together. One of those moments was the engagement night.

Nick kissed MC on the cheek and whispered in her ear, Wish me good luck! and closed the door behind him. I just heard the word luck and immediately thought the worse, that he was going to break up with me.

We came down in the lift, holding hands. My hand was sweating and his hand too; I was concerned, he was excited. Finally, out in the street, there was still an uncomfortable silence between us, quite unusual. I was anxious and kept thinking, This is the end, Esther, so pretend you don't mind. Nick was thinking the opposite, actually, Will she say yes? 

He stopped me by the arm when we reached the corner of Colon and Recoletos, right in front of the Colon statute. What the heck? I said to myself, and then, in the middle of the street, with people walking by, he gave me a pink rose and said, Follow me "around the world in eighty years" and our life together will be like Colon's, a big adventure. Would you marry me?

I did not expect it at all - mainly because I had always dreamed about that romantic moment in a different way! But Nick doesn't like cliches so he proposed in a cold night, with a noisy traffic around us, but in a very meaningful place. No ring, no romantic dinner.

We went back to his apartment and took his family out to a fabulous place where we ate delicious roast chicken with fries. We also celebrated our engagement with family and friends with a brunch at Nick's apartment a week after. The big heavy rock came years later, in our tenth wedding anniversary, and I bought it myself.

Ancient Chinese wisdom tells us that "The journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step". 

So I said yes to his question.

This recipe is great for a fast dinner and cheap. I used the arugula from our vegetable garden as it grows beautifully.

• 1 red onion, peeled and cut in slices
• 10 slices of a good quality eating chorizo, such as Cantimpalo, cut in small pieces
• Grated fresh Parmesan cheese
• A bunch of arugula, but rocket is fine although it is more pungent
• Fusilli pasta, enough for 4 people

1. Cook the pasta according to the package in plenty salting water.
2. Meanwhile,  in a big frypan, fry the onion until soft and add the chorizo, cook for 2 to 3 minutes. 
3. Once the pasta is cooked al dente and drained, add it to the frypan and mix it well through the onion and chorizo. Add the parmesan cheese and stir. Add the arugula and mix it.
4. Serve immediately with a bit of extra parmesan cheese on top.

Chorizo and arugula fusilli

Rotolo with pumpkin and spinach pesto. Knocking on palace's door

It is time to put my yellow rubber gloves on I thought at 7.30pm last night. I took the cleaning product Ajax and started to clean up like a maniac. The good thing of having a tiny apartment is that the job is done faster! 

While I was doing this kind of "stress- relieve exercise", mopping there, brushing here, I thought of  this year of 2014, from January until now, September. Why? Because in the Southern hemisphere Spring starts on the first of September, tomorrow, and you know what they say, "Spring - clean", like the New Year's resolutions, a new start.

I decided to clean up not only the clutter we won't take with us to Peru, but also my thoughts and emotions, to let some fresh space in my mind for the next episode ahead of us. 

My year began in Spain, as Aurelia, baby Juanan and I were spending Christmas with my family. Short but wonderful visit. Feeling homesick, I came back to Manila and continued with the weekly visits to the hospital for Juanan's multiple casts and a surgery on his foot. Thank goodness we had a restorative break in Australia during Easter (and my first 10 km race!). 

After that holiday, May and June went fast but slow at the same time. 

Time goes quick when you are busy. Indeed, we were occupied with successive farewells and packing up three years of  our lives in boxes. However, when Nick and I had pauses, and I mean dinners, to reflex about our the unsettling present and the uncertainness of our future, a draining feeling of emotional exhaustion invaded us...I remember getting anxious during our last two weeks in Manila. I wished to leave as soon as possible. I fought against this uneasy sensation until the Philippine airlines took off on the 17th of June.  And then, I was relieved but sad and regretting my wish.

We came back to Australia in June and had a wonderful holiday with Nick's family in Port Douglas, right up North in this vast country. It was Juanan's first birthday, on the 11th of july, a very cold but sunny day in Canberra, when we started a new chapter: a transitory period of two months before moving again.

During our time in Canberra I have learnt a few lessons. The most significant one on my way through cooking is that I am certain I can cook with less time, no gadgets and no cookbooks. 

Saying that, I still like having cookbooks in my kitchen as they are little companions of my culinary adventure. Because of the weight, I didn't bring more than two so I occasionally researched in internet for recipes and I must say, the digital version doesn't give me as much pleasure as having a cookbook in hand. I like open it and see that some of its pages are stained by oil or perhaps by the splash of a bubbling tomato soup, for example. I like to touch the recipe as part of my joy of cooking.

Regarding the gadgets, I have used an aromatic glass candle as a rolling pin and a little lunch box as a  cookie cutter, amongst others. However, I do miss my Kitchen Aid to cream the butter with the sugar for the banana bread. I survived without that magic machine but I struggled with a bad knife. A good knife makes your chopping job easier, safer - I almost added a chopped finger to the bolognese last thursday - and with more satisfactory results. The same applies to some soups and winter stews that got burnt in the thin and bad quality pots that the apartment provided us. I wish I had travelled with a heavy cast iron casserole!

For me, cooking is a fantastic way of bringing my own self, but I need to have time to be able to enjoy it. When Nick was travelling for two weeks, it was challenging to make complicated recipes. So I chose simple meals and not necessary plain. They were pretty good, if I say it to myself. And when I felt like having a Spanish omelette or tortilla de patatas,  I recurred to "uncle" television to mind the kids. Nothing wrong with that as my goal was to nurture their tummies, right?  

The lack of "mummy time" frustrated me during the first week in Canberra because I was used to rely on my nanny in Manila to give me a hand in the house so I could concentrate on the children, and myself.  Now, 6 weeks later, I manage my day better. I learnt how to squeeze 10 minutes in between boys' naps  or 15 minutes while they are nicely playing, to write my blog, read the Dish magazine or make a delicious pumpkin pasta rotolo for dinner.

I was even happier when I decided to get up earlier than I used to go for a long run. I loved starting the day with the sunrise but especially I liked the fact that I dedicated time for me, even if the rest of the day went wrong, I was fine. A positive energy changes the way you do things, and nobody else will do it for you anyway. Complaining and whinging do not help at all.

My kids have also learnt to play more with their imagination and less with plastic toys. They made a boat for Gabriel's favourite "elephant" from a weet bix cereal box, and a bed for Aurelia's "leon" using a cardboard box that it contained last Friday three superb burgers from the famous Brodburger cafe near our house. A magnificent take away dinner.

In two weeks time, on my birthday, we will depart to Peru and a new exciting experience will begin again. As I have said in my blog, the diplomatic life reminds me of the classic children story of Cinderella. When I was about to leave Manila I identified my life in the moment when Cinderella runs away from her prince and the carriage becomes a big orange pumpkin, leaving a forgotten crystal shoe on the stairs.

Now, I am in the chapter when Cinderella is wearing an inmaculate dress that her Godmothers made for her. She is coming out of the sparkling carriage leaded by white horses...

...and about to knock on palace's door. Peru.



PS: When I finished writing this post and looked over my laptop and asked Nick what he will miss of Australia. I was expecting a profound answer after I had spent some time meditating about 2014 and  these two months in Canberra.

- humm...my Vegemite. 

Three big jars of Vegemite are already packed

Vegeterian dinner: rotolo of pumpkin with spinach pesto

I didn't have my Anna del Conte Italian cookbook that I frequently use to make pasta at home. So I used the internet an came across with the recipe of  "squash & spinach pasta rotolo"  from Jamie Oliver http://www.jamieoliver.com/recipes/vegetables-recipes/squash-spinach-pasta-rotolo  

It is very good although I used English spinach (instead of frozen) and I mixed through 3 tablespoons of my homemade basil pesto (after you cook the spinach). It was a nice delicious touch.

Spaghetti with jamon serrano, sea bass and garlic prawns. If you were an expat...

It was Friday night and as I watched the Spanish movie "Atlas de geografia humana", based on the novel of my favourite Spanish writer, Almudena Grandes, I was transported to Spain. A deep forgotten part of my heart got very excited and suddenly awake.

I rented this movie, for free, from  the Spanish Resource Centre, an office that belongs to the Spanish Embassy in Canberra. Since I left Spain in 2003 and moved to Australia, alas I was officially an expat, this Spanish office was like a "bridge" between my beloved Spain and  the isolated Canberra.  

But not only this Centre became a refuge for my early days in Canberra, also the Spanish Australian club was an important part of my life in the Australian Capital, and still is - specially when there are chocolate with churros for 5 dollars served the day that Oscar comes with his van stocked up with embutidos such as chorizo, jamon, queso Manchego, and even bags of pulses, cans of sardines, pimientos de piquillo, green olives and Nenuco, a cologne of my childhood that my mum used to pour over my hair before leaving home to go to school!!-.

 Established in 1967, to gather the Spanish community in Canberra

 Oscar behind the chorizos and salchichones...the smell of this delicatessen invades the whole club! it is mouth watering for a non-vegeterian like me

Old people ordering anis con hielo (pastis with ice), quite a strong drink to have at 8am! My husband and his friend Jona had also one, just "to fit into the club atmosphere", he said under my suspicious eyes

 It needs to be updated...perhaps the news didn't get to the club yet

If you were an expat, perhaps you will will identify yourself with some of the comments of this post. Let me explain. 

More than 10 years ago, in April of 2003, I started my life in Canberra (and since then, I have been back 4 times for no more than 15 months each time). During that year I held my "spouse visa", took an English course for new immigrants in  the Canberra Institute of Technology, learnt to drive with a personal teacher called Banjo -imagine Sylvester Stallone but in the Australian version- and covered in tattoos of bloody skulls and black roses. Besides, I worked part time as a Spanish teacher during the day and as a waitress in the evening in a Spanish restaurant, Legends, which to my surprise still survives in the snobby suburb of Manuka.

Those were the months when I had terrible homesickness and felt very lonely in this multicultural society, an adjetive that the Australians are proud of it. During my first period in Canberra before I moved to Solomon Islands in 2004, I didn't understand why I couldn't fit into that society. I tried my best but it was never enough. I know the language barrier was one of the main factors, as I mentioned in my post of "Sorry, I don't understand you".  Indeed, my lack of any linguistic skills made my life more difficult in Australia and even in Solomon Islands, where the environment was in English.

Who would it thought I would be given the  Australian citizenship in 2010? Now that I am dealing with some past events of my life, it is me who is proud!

Anyway, that's a different story but it serves me as a background to explain you how I felt when I was a new Spanish expat in Australia, still very attached to my culture, and how this connection to my country has been "hidden" within the 11 years I have been away from Spain by moving and adapting myself to different cultures not quite similar to mine. 

For me, being an expat reminds you that, despite of moving around the world, there is still an essential part of who you are and where you come from. It is intrinsic to your family name, your origin, your past, your childhood and even your future. Being an expat is special, delicate and fragile.

I miss Spain, to be honest. I know many of my Spanish friends think I am lucky to live this diplomatic life. And I agree with them, I am very lucky and love it. I wouldn't change it for anything. However, I can't help it and when I think of Spain, a wave of nostalgic and jealousy for not being there gives me goosebumps. Truth be told, when you are an expat, there is a natural tendency to idealise everything. When I say everything, believe me, I talk from my own life experience. 

I am very enthusiast when I meet other Spanish people, so much that I take them as my best friends; I tend to speak Spanish very fast if I have the chance to use it with other natives -and even my sense of humour is different!!-  and of course, I am in heaven if you take me to see a flamenco show, my hands immediately start clapping and my feet moving and "taconean" shyly.

And last Friday, when I was watching the movie "Atlas de geografia humana", I had an awkward moment when I was crying and laughing at unison - a couple of glasses of Tasmanian wine also played an important role-.

That's what being an expat gives you: the pleasure of having a good cry for something that makes you really, really happy.

When I look backwards I realise that I should look forwards instead because my Spanish identity goes in my blood and into my children's. Like the roots of a robust olive tree stay strong, seeing the years pass by, from generation to generation, the same happens to your family...

Gabby and Aurelia eating churros, and said yummy in my tummy!!!!!!

This dish was based on the recipe of Neil Perri "Spaghetti with lobster and fish" but I made my own version using the succulent jamon serrano from Oscar (instead of prosciutto ) with its distinctive sweet flavour, prawns marinated in garlic and olive oil (no lobster, obviously) and I panfried the fresh fish (Neil Perri cooks it with the tomato sauce),

Let me tell you that this dish was a total winner with my fussy son Gabriel who didn't notice the fish in the pasta thanks to the tomato sauce. It is a great recipe for leftover white fish you might have in the fridge as long as the tomato sauce you use is good because it is the base, better if you make it at home.

It takes an hour to make the tomato sauce, the rest 20 minutes, including cooking the pasta. We have had it tonight, while Nick is in Perth, and I literally cook it in that time. I felt I was in Master chef with the clock going against me and three little, and anxious, mouths waiting for the verdict.

1. Make the tomato sauce: I fry quickly 4 big garlic cloves, thinly cut, in a deep pot covered with a layer of olive oil.  Add then 2 big cans of diced tomatoes, sprinkle salt and brown sugar, black pepper, stir and leave it partially covered with the lid. After an hour, you will see the oil has risen above the tomato. It is done. Pour some extra virgin olive oil and mix it through.
2. In the mean time, chop more garlic to marinate a handful of prawns, shelled, deveined  and chopped into 1 inch or so. Season the prawns. In a bowl, mix the garlic with 1/2 cup of extra-virgin olive oil. Add the prawns to the bowl and leave them to soak the flavours until the tomato sauce is finished.
3. Put the water with salt for the pasta.
4. Meanwhile, panfry the white fish, chopped and set it outside.
5. Thinly cut a few slices of jamon serrano, and keep them on a plate.
6. Fry the prawns in a very hot and smoky  pan until they are nicely cooked through.
7. Cook the pasta until al dente.
8. Put the spaghetti back to the pot, add the tomato sauce (not all of it, just to cover the pasta), the jamon, the fish and the prawns. Mix it through and eat immediately. Italians do not like to add parmesan cheese to seafood pasta dish, but I do.

Rigatoni with stewed lamb shanks and mushrooms. "Sorry, I don't understand you"

How many times did I hear it? how many times did I say it? A lot, too many to count them.

This was back in 2003, when I moved to Australia as a new bride, as a new immigrant with a very poor English and a very strong Spanish accent.

I have never been a girl with a refined ear for music or languages. Nope, definitely not. Both subjects were my nightmares during my school years in Madrid. Funnily enough I ended being married to a foreigner, who luckily enough, spoke beautiful Spanish and came from a talented family in music.

I was saying that 11 years ago I left Spain and started my adventure with my new Aussie husband who softly reminded me the challenges of moving to another country, Down Under, and facing the English language barrier.

The English what??, I asked him. I had no idea what he was talking about. But soon enough I found out and in a not very easy way... Is there any other? I don't think so. When you hit the language wall there is not a gentle way to go through it. In my opinion, it is a drastic situation where you fight for being "one of them" - an English speaker, in my case- or not.

In April of 2003 I got a job as a waitress in a Spanish restaurant called Legends, in Canberra, in the first 15 minutes of introducing myself to the owner. This job, which was fun to meet lots of interesting people including my very good kiwi friend, Tina, whose friendship lasts until now, was stressful. I constantly made mistakes in taking food orders from the clients to the chef and the other way around, I misunderstood their meals and created considerable problems to the owners who forgave me as I was their daughter. But it didn't feel right to me so I resigned. Sorry, I said, it is my bad English. I promise to come back when I am "an expert" in English (and less clumsy!). 

I never did. I was too embarrassed.

So I decided to fix the problem. I joined the 6 months English course for new immigrants in the Canberra Institute of Technology. I got my two certificates with  a "superior" mark stamped. It wasn't enough though, I still didn't understand when people talked to me very fast. I still felt lonely and frustrated when Nick and I went to dinner parties and I couldn't say anything interesting during the meal -I am sure they thought Nick married to a very quiet boring Spanish girl- while everybody was having a good time. Nick squeezed my hand from time to time to let me know he was there with me, emotionally. It was a relief.

I taught Spanish to private students -some are also still my friends - using my certificate as a teacher of the International House of Barcelona and my experience in Spain during the last few months before I left for good. These private classes were the best escape from my resentment with this country called Australia. It was also a big help to the family income as we were not diplomats while we didn't have a posting. The economic situation was tight -and unexpected for me-.

So many times I was tempted to pack my suitcase to fly back to my country, to my culture. At least they would understand me. I would be myself again. I would be able to buy yogurt without being sent to the "jogging" section in the supermarket because the sales person didn't understand what I was looking for.

Nick kept telling me to have patience and one day you will wake up and understand the language. He was talking from his experience in Spain. I had to believe in him. And in myself, but I felt terribly lost. I had homesickness and zero self stem.

I don't like to admit when Nick is right, but he was. One day I started to read The Australian newspaper and understood more than 5 words in a row. The next day, I highlighted less and comprehended more. I was feeling happy and my confidence in my new adventure grew in a positive way.

The rest is history.

Many years have passed by and now I am writing a blog in English, for myself, with spelling mistakes. Sometimes I am aware of them, but I don't correct them.

They give my blog a personal touch!




Recently back from holidays in Australia I was feeling a bit homesick and craved a stew. It gives me comfort. I went to the shops and came across with some beautiful fresh Aussie lamb shanks (I don't recommend them if you are on a diet…they are so rich!). A luxury to welcome us to Manila.

 I totally made up this dish and I proudly admit that it was absolutely delicious. Here are some advices: 

• You need some crusty bread to soak up the sauce left on the plate after eating the rigatoni. 
• Like any stew, it tastes better the day after. Like any rich stew, it also tastes better with a glass of wine.
• If you live in the Tropics, set the aircon in 16 degrees, like we did and, with a bit of imagination, you will feel like it is Autumn outside!... although, this stew made us sweat anyway.

Rigatoni with lamb shanks and mushrooms

Start this recipe the day before. Serves 4-6

• Marinate: 
• extra-virgin olive oil
• fresh rosemary leaves 
• 2 lamb shanks
• 2 tablespoons butter
• 2 garlic cloves, crushed
• 180 g button mushrooms, finely sliced
• fresh thyme leaves
• 1/2 cup red wine
• 2 cups of roasted tomato sauce (look at my post of "cheesy-veggy travel soup)
• 2 cups chicken stock
• Sea salt and fresh ground black pepper
• 500g rigatoni
• Red chilli pepper
• parsley
• Parmesan cheese, grated

Meat sauce:

1. At least 2  hours ahead you start this stew, marinate the lamb shanks in a plastic bag with the extra virgin olive oil and the rosemary leaves and sea salt. 
2. If you haven't made the tomato sauce in advance (I always have some in 1 cup plastic bags in the freezer), this is the time. Otherwise, skip this step.
3. When you are ready to cook, remove the lamb shanks from the fridge at least 30 minutes prior. Leave them at room temperature, still in the bag.
4. Heat a heavy cast iron pot to medium high heat, add the butter and fry the crushed garlic cloves for 1 minute. Add the mushrooms and stir until brown and soft. Season with salt, pepper and sprinkle some thyme leaves. Set it aside on a plate.
5. Add a lug of olive oil and fry the onion until soft. Set it aside. 
6. With the same heat, add a lug of oil and when it is pipping hot, carefully place the lamb shanks and fry them until brown on all its sides. It will take 5-7 minutes. 
7. In the same pot, with the brownish liquid left from the meat (that will give the stew a fantastic flavour), add the red wine. Scrape the bottom of the pan with a spoon to loosen any cooked-on residue. When the wine has evaporated the alcohol for a moment or two, add the chicken stock, the mushrooms, the onion and the 2 cups of tomato sauce. Season with salt and pepper. When it starts bubbling, turn the heat down to the lowest setting and put the lid on the pan.
8. Cook the stew for a minimum of 2 hours total, but longer if necessary for the meat to come off easily out of the bone.
9. Let it cool and refrigerate it tightly covered in a container. Bring to room temperature before reheating it gently.

1. Bring 3l of salted water to boil.
2. Add the pasta and stir. Keep the water boiling and stir occasionally until very al dente, 10 minutes. The meat sauce will finish off cooking the pasta.Besides, in my opinion, the dish tastes better and the pasta will be more digestible than if it is cooked too soft.
3. Reserve 1 cup of cooking liquid and drain the pasta. This water will bind the sauce with the pasta because the layer of starch and it will also help the taste.
4. Add the cooked pasta to the pot of the meat sauce and cook for 1 minute, at low heat, for a fuller, more intense flavour.
5. Serve with good grated parmesan and sprinkle the red pepper chilli and the parsley. The chilli helps to reduce the richness of the stew, it is not only for the flavour. 

Buen provecho!

Lemon and goat cheese ravioli. Dating Nick after the Easy-Jet flight. Chapter II

He gave me his business card at Heathrow airport after the three hour flight, from Madrid to London, It was September of 2000. My life was about to be turned completely, upside "down - UNDER"-. Whatever happened after that cosmic meeting on the Easy-Jet plane depended on me. I did not give him my telephone number or email address after saying good bye. Call it self preservation. 

When we landed, I knew something happened because I was already feeling little butterflies in my stomach. It was not my imagination, for sure…but "How come? I just met him, and I don't know anything about him except that he is from Australia , he lives in Spain and will stay in my country for  only two more years and likes to eat a salty spread called Vegemite. But he is absolutely the funniest guy I have ever met…and good looking, by the way". This is what I was thinking when we took opposite directions inside the airport. Me, going with my sister and her Sri Lankan boyfriend to their home in London, and him, getting the connection flight to Scotland to meet his Australian "friend". She damped Nick the day before he had to go back to Madrid. I was so glad.

The card read: Nicholas McCaffrey, Tercer Secretario, Embajada de Australia, Madrid. I carried this card everywhere I was in London; it was in the pocket of my black leather jacket. I needed to feel the card close to me, in case I lost it...and him. Even if he wasn't  thinking of me at all. 

I was in London to open my eyes: for quite a long time I was involved in a difficult relationship with a Spanish guy and I had to end it, but I didn't know how- it should have never started, to be honest, but I was too blind and too young. Sometimes you need another person to drag you out of your comfort zone and shake your world. The problem was that I was NOT comfortable in my world of 24 and it was costing me a lot of problems, specially with my dad…until I met Nick, by chance. Although I like to think of destiny. 

My parents always believed that Nick was the answer to their prayers- and my mum also thought that Nick looked like Harrison Ford!. She also gave me the two thumbs up. 

The way my parents met Nick and his parents met me, deserves a proper post, a chapter number III.

On the other hand, on the other side of the world, Nick's parents were praying at the same time for his eldest son to get settle into his first posting as a diplomat. Nick had a girlfriend in Australia but the relationship of eight years ended shortly before Nick started his new life in Spain - I should thank his ex-girlfriend for that, shouldn't I? - living as a single guy, in a huge apartment in trendy Chueca suburb. Yes, this  Australian with his big blue eyes and his cute English accent was having the best time of his life…until I came along and…my whole Spanish family too, of course - but he didn't really know it until we had to go for lunch every Sunday at my mother's place instead of exploring the pueblos of Spain, which didn't make him too happy, let's be frank.

In summary, after all these prayers, I sent an email to Nick, the first week of October and just a few days after I got back from London. That summer of 2000, I decided to enrol in a free course about IT and accounting to increase my skills and being more employable with a recently finished law degree, although the high rate of unemployment in Spain was so depressing that my hopes were quite low.

During one of those boring hours of learning about accounting - there is a reason why I studied law- I decided to send an email to that Australian guy who probably didn't remember the petite Spanish girl he met on an Easy-Jet flight…I doubt a lot whether to write him or not but my sister Maria, who was doing the course with me, encouraged me to click "send" in the email….and I included my mobile number. He called me seconds after receiving my email, in the middle of my class, so I had to excuse myself and went to the bathroom to talk. 

That talk ended in our first date in La Plaza Mayor with his sister Jane who was visiting him for a few weeks, and my friend Nancy. We both needed some "fake" support to break the ice. Was the chemistry still there after meeting him on the plane?  Just in case, I drunk too much sangria and ate nothing. He ate a few tapas and drunk nothing except beer. And the night took over our laughs, the international language between two strange people.

Something began. Something changed in our lives. It was the start of a relationship with many chapters…that now belong to my blog which I share it with you through my cooking.

Happy reading. Happy cooking.

Light lemon and goat cheese ravioli, by YoTam Ottolenghi

Pasta dough:

• 3 tbsp olive oil
• 3 medium eggs
• 2 3/4 cups "00" pasta flour
• 1/4 tsp ground turmeric
• grated zest of 3 lemons
• semolina

1. Whisk together the oil and eggs.
2. Put the flour, turmeric and lemon zest in a food processor and add the oil and egg mixture and blend to a crumbly dough.
3. Divide it into four thick rectangular blocks and wrap them in plastic wrap. Chill for at least 30 minutes or up to 2 days.
4. Lightly dust a work surface with flour. Take one piece of dough and flatten it. Pass the dough through the widest setting of the machine and repeat the step, narrowing the setting by a notch each time until the lowest one. Keep each sheet under a list towel.

Filling:

• 200g soft goat cheese
• a pinch of salt and chile flakes
• black pepper
• 1 egg white, beaten

1. Combine in a bowl the filling ingredients except the egg white and crush together with a fork

1. Use a pastry cutter to cut discs of 3-inch from the pasta sheets. 
2. Brush each disk with the egg white and place a heaped teaspoon of filling in its centre. 
3. Place another disk on top and press gently to get out as much air as possible. Seal the edges of the two disks together.
4. Place the ravioli on a dish towel or tray sprinkle with semolina.
5. Leave to dry for 10- 15 minutes or cover with plastic wrap  and keep the ravioli in the fridge for a day.

1. When ready to cook, bring a big pan of salted water to the boil. Cook the pasta until al dente.
2. Drain and sprinkle with some crushed pink pepper corns, chopped tarragon and grated zest of 1 lemon. Drizzle some oil over the ravioli and around them and a squirt of lemon juice if you like.

Slow cooked beef ragu with pappardelle for a lazy Sunday...

I am not sure whether yesterday I was tired because Juanan woke up five times during the night or because I had a date night with Nick, drunk a Cosmopolitan cocktail on a empty stomach and the alcohol went straight to my head (and I almost went straight to the floor!).

I think it is hangover and not the lack of sleep (I tend to blame the poor baby all the time when I am tired!). The first hangover I have in four years since December of 2010, a month after we went back home, Australia I mean, from our posting in Buenos Aires. In Argentina, we spent three wonderful years and our first child, our daughter Aurelia, was born there.

My sister in-law, Holly, and Nick's brother, Joe, organised a beautiful outdoor dinner for all the McCaffrey siblings in their trendy house of Carlton (which actually belongs to Nick's parents but they were renting it at that time) a couple of days before Christmas Day. 

The setting for the dinner was adorable thanks to the long wooden table and the small details and efforts Hol and Joe put into it to create a welcoming atmosphere. There were pretty fresh flowers, small candles and white cotton napkins, individually folded, on top of each dinner plate. 

They made crusty pizzas, plenty for all of us, although we fought for the last piece of each one. As it was the beginning of summer and the breeze was a bit cool we drunk a few bottles of red wine from Hol's uncle's vineyard to keep us warm. I always suffer of cold- as my father said I was like an olive in a tooth-stick- so I drunk too much.I had the best night ever but also suffered a terrible hangover the next morning, that's why I remember it very clear.

Since I came back from Spain this 9th of January I haven't had time to chat properly with my friends or even Nick. When I wake up he is already at the embassy and in the last few evenings we are too busy with the children and too tired to be unable to make sentences with actually sense . It is everyday's life at the moment.

However, we both were looking forward to having a nice dinner out so we booked in one of our favourite restaurants in Manila, Massetto. I took Nick there for his birthday when we just arrived in Manila and the week before Gabriel was born two years ago or so. The restaurant has a cozy and romantic ambience where the food is divine (although some people had not so good experience) and the light and music perfectly adjusted.

After having the pre-dinner drink in the bar we moved to the table. The Cosmopolitan was already floating in my head so I ordered my main very quickly without looking through the menu in detail. I was starving and getting tipsy. Nick, of course, totally in control.

I am glad he ordered some fried calamares with alioli to start with. Each bite of the crunchy calmer helped the cocktail to slowly touch base in my head and my words, my stories about the trip to Spain, my worries about what is going to happen in the next few months before our final departure from Philippines, our holidays in Port Douglas, what to do with the children while we are in Canberra…one thing after the other, the conversation kept going with more wine and more food.

Nick chose pork belly with lentils and I had for a main course pan fried fresh cod over a bed of white bean puree. Absolutely mouth-watering.

We were enjoying the date night so much that we forgot for a couple of hours we had three little children at home being looked after by our lovely yay a Jennifer who by almost the end of the meal sent me a text of a hungry baby Juanan.

It is fascinating to observe how good food and great conversation make a night out hard to forget…so hard that I thought of that dinner all day on Sunday when I struggled to do things with the children instead of laying down on the sofa and drinking water to heal my hangover. Que me quiten lo bailao.

Made fresh pasta following the recipe of the post of Spinach and ricotta ravioli under the pasta label. When you have the lasagna sheets done, just cut them in stripes of different sizes, one wider than others, it is ok. 

A traditional Italian ragu sauce will take you a good twenty hours of cooking and you will need more than 25 ingredients to prepare it. You can substitute the beef cubes for minced beef or pork.

For the ragu, make sure the beef is at room temperature. I used 2 thick slices cut in cubes of US blade beef. Add some salt and leave it outside for 30 minutes.

Meanwhile, using medium heat, fry 100g of pancetta with the white part removed, until crispy and brown. Set it aside. In the same pan, add a tablespoon of olive oil and when hot, cook 1 chopped carrot, celery and onion until soft and golden, add 2 garlic crushed and cook for 2 minutes. Set all the ingredients aside on a bowl.

Always using the same pot with the juices, add more olive oil and start frying the dusted beef cubes, three at the time, to brown the meat. Don't crowd the pan and wait until the meat is really brown (it is called Maillard reaction,http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Maillard_reaction if you are curious about it). Set it aside on a plate.

When you finish with the meat, add all the ingredients, including the meat, to the pot. Pour 2 cups of dry red wine and increase the heat so the alcohol evaporates. Add 1 cup of tomato sauce if you have some already made or a can of diced tomatoes, and 1 cup of beef stock.

Season with salt and fresh pepper and made a bouquet garni with a bundle of any fresh herbs you might have in the fridge. I used thyme and parsley and laurel. Add it to the pot.

Cover and simmer to low heat for 2 hours, checking from time to time.

Serve this ragu with pappardelle  and a nice glass of water…

Buen provecho!

PS: Nick found the dish too rich but I loved it, perhaps because I was craving something hearty for my hangover…