There is something immensely satisfying about a tarte tatin. Well, if it’s actually successful. It might be due to the fact that as the story goes, it was an unintentional discovery, born from a mistake by the Tatin sisters in Lamotte-Beurvron, France. The knowledge that brilliant things can spawn from seemingly disastrous culinary errors helps keep morale up when things don’t quite turn out as planned. You never know – that mishap from the other night could become next tarte tatin! Or perhaps the satisfaction’s due more so to the process of constructing the tart upside down and the suspense of turning it out. Will it work or will it fall apart in a sticky mess? You stick your tongue out in concentration, brace your legs, count to ten and send a quick prayer to the cooking god. Preparation – and a little sucking up to higher powers – is key. Oh, you don’t do that? I swear it helps. Continue reading
This post is not intended to put you off eating meat/poultry/fish. I don’t believe in forcing one’s opinions and way of life onto others. I do hope, however, that it will prompt you to reconsider how much you value the hunk of muscle on your plate. It doesn’t sound very appetising when put that way, does it? When I used to eat meat, it had to look nothing like the body part it came from. I remember being revolted at finding little feathers on my barbequed chicken wings. They didn’t seem so finger-licking tasty after that. We used to loan some of our land to a neighbouring sheep farm and in return would receive a butchered lamb. Dad used to torment my sister and I by saying that it was our favourite one (i.e. the cutest & cuddliest). At the time his teasing seemed plain mean but looking back on that now, I think he was onto something. Becoming detached from the origins of the meat we eat, whether it be by happenstance or intentionally, has consequences.
Taste Without Waste 