Zeus: my big, strong boy

For those of you following my Twitter feed, you'll know that I've had a pretty rough time over the past few months with my cats Hagia and Zeus.  Hagia passed away in July and last week her brother Zeus lost his battle.  They were both about 17years old.

They were born in my parents' garden on 1 September 1995.  Zeus, the eldest of the litter was the most adventurous of the four.  My father first spied this little stripey kitten when tending the garden.  The grey kitten decided my father was the best thing since sliced bread and bounded out whenever my father went out to pick veggies or water the garden.  Soon Zeus (then called Sofia*), Scutterbotch, Groucho and Hagia moved in.  Scutterbotch and Groucho found homes; Zeus and Hagia stayed.

For almost 15 years Zeus was wary of me--there was no secret he preferred men to women, but I seemed to hold a special place of fear and distrust in this mackerel cat's mind.  He hissed, ran away and generally hid from my sight when I came near.

Four  years ago Mum's cat, Bean, became too rough and tumble.  This aggressiveness became too much to bear.  I'd talked to my parents about moving Zeus in with me (there's no way I'd bring Bean in...he'd simply beat up my poor little girl),  they were against it.  Then one night I received a call from my father asking me to take his sonny boy in.  It was a difficult decision for my dad.  Zeus and my father were two peas in a pod.

So in Zeus came.  Scared, alone, separated from his papa,

Within a few days he was given full run of the house.  It took a bit longer for him to get back in Hagia's good books...they'd been separated for a while and although she was willing to be friends with him immediately, Zeus hissed and growled so much she just went off him.  That would soon be rectified and for the next few years they'd pal around and chatter to one another.

Zeus still treated me as if he thought I was a huge, giant monster.  It didn't help that he developed diabetes and I had to chase him with a syringe of insulin.

In the past year my little mackerel cat's view of me shifted...I was no longer a scary person but someone who was almost okay.  Heck...I could scritch him!  He no longer cowered or hid.

Then Hagia fell ill and passed away.  Zeus' loneliness was so evident.  He simply did not leave my side.  Unfortunately, his health was also on the decline--his diabetes crept back and his kidneys stopped functioning properly.  Daily subcu was thrown into the mix. By the end, he was a shadow of his robust self, weighing about 1/3 of what he did in that photo above.

He spent the last two weeks of his life at the vet's.  I visited him every day, bringing in special people food treats (baked ham, roast beef and turkey) in hopes he'd eat something.  And pretty much every day he came up to me for a cuddle and a purr.  In the end, I had to make a decision...even with artificial stimulants, he wasn't producing enough red bloodcells on his own and his sugar levels kept elevating...and then he had a stroke or some other haemmorhagic episode...he held on until I'd returned from my client's that day.

Zeus purred and slurmed my hand.  It was the most response he'd offered in at least six hours.  We all knew it was a matter of time.

And as my vet said, "he doesn't deserve to die alone."

So I made the call.  He wasn't going to get better.  And I didn't want him to pass, like his sister, in the middle of the night without anyone there.  As he was injected I told him he would be with Hagia soon and they'd play with one another and he would be able to look after her.  He passed, with his head cradled by my hand, purring until the end.

Goodbye, Zeus, my big, strong boy.  You are missed.

jasmine I'm a quill for hire!

* When we first took them in, they were so small...this little grey stripey cat appeared to be a girl, so I named her Sofia...paired with sister Hagia.  The vet set us straight.  When I told my father this, he simply said "He needs a man's name.  His name is Zeus."  or something like that.

edited.

Zeus, jabby-jabs and Toddtinis

What do you see when you look at the image on the left?

Do you see a pussycat, tuckered out after long day of eating, lounging and splashing in the water dish?

Or do you see a content feline, happy knowing he's got it good: food, water, warmth, a sister who actually likes having him around, and a cushy (if not colourful) snoozing spot?

Me? I see neither.

I see conspiracy. I see vengence. I see barf in my shoes.

This is Zeus, Hagia's littermate/brother and Beanie's adopted brother: just as skittish as his siblings and less open to progress and new ideas than The Vatican and the Flat Earth Society combined.

The vast majority of cats prefer women; this one prefers men. He loves his papa (my Big, Strong Cardapoppy) and thinks the exbf is just plain neat-o. He'll even come out and watch male television presenters (I think Jamie on Mythbusters is a favourite).

Women, on the other hand bring a look of terror onto his little furry face. I swear he thinks the female portion of the humman species are all gorgons.

As far as this tiger cat is concerned, My Dear Little Cardamummy is something to avoid. His walnut-sized brain has been hardwired to avoid direct eye contact with her as he scuttles by, lest she notice him, and launch into Euryale-inspired shrieks of "Here Zeusie Zeusie Zeusie! I have some fishie for you!"

I am treated little better. Often our interactions consist of me sitting on the couch, his striated head craning around a corner to fix a terror-filled stare at me. If I obviously notice him, a temporary parlysis takes hold before he tears off to another room. Funny...I've noticed the same with a few human males.

Our truce is such: he does what he wants (within reason) and I feed him and do the box. I don't cuddle him and he doesn't leave me "presents"...anywhere. I don't complain loudly when I slip in the streams he leaves from his paw-dipping drinking technique. He doesn't sharpen his claws on my dining table leg. It works.

Again...certain parallels abound.

Things were going tickety-boo until a few weeks ago: the water dish needed refilling at three times the normal rate, just as the box needed to be cleaned at three times the normal rate, his hearing became comparable to a stone's, the muscle around his spine diminished, and no more arias. Dr. Bonnie confirmed it was diabetes and a new house agreement would need to be "negotiated": twice-daily insulin jabs: 8am and 8pm.

You try and stick a needle into the ruff of a cat who'd prefer you not share the same postal code.

My first solo attempt took 30 minutes. Hiss. Growl. Spit. Shoulders back. Jump out of the box to behind the furnace. Back away from me and try to escape through the gap to the washing machine. Barricades and flashlights. Leap into the box and then into the other corner, even darker and smaller and more difficult to get to. Grab. Jab. Yelp. A present was found later.

I've taken to giving Hagia a fake jab so he doesn't think he's being picked on. But he's smart and has figured out that there's no way his sister could be happy with a needle stuck in her ruff, so he hid, to watch what happens to her.

I wish I knew this before I tried to fake him out.

Apparently I cannot see a grey tabby, sitting under a clear glass table, positioned behind a table leg that's no more than one inch in diameter. Well, apparently not at eight in the morning.

It didn't take long for him to figure out she got the kitty crunchie reward without being poked by a needle. He was not happy. I found another present.

I told you he was smart.

Based on that, a new and somewhat successful routine was developed:

- Before my morning ablutions I plod my way down the steps to the kitchen.
- I enter the kitchen without acknowledging Zeus. Acknowledging him will have him tear down the basement steps like a bat out of Hell.
- I fumble with the syringe and insulin tube, in hopes that I don't prick myself or break the vial.
- I find my way to the basement TV temple with the unsheathed needle. The nanoseconds needed to flick of the orange cap is enough for him to run out of the box and find a place to hide.
- I set the needle down, get the fake jab, the catnip pouch and two crunchies.
- I pretend to not notice Zeus, the stealth cat, is sitting underneath the clear glass table, behind the one-inch diameter table leg, watching me.
- I rub Hagia's face with the catnip, fake jab her and feed her one crunchie.
- Then I coo at her, and tell her what a good girl she is. At this point, Zeus takes off to his carton behind the fireplace, next to the furnace.
- I swap out the fake jab for the real one.
- I find Zeus, chatter at him while I rub his face with catnip. I fumble for his ruff and I jab him. Sometimes he yelps.
- He then gets his crunchy and an extra catnip rub. If I've done well, he'll let me pet him--if I didn't do well he gives me a resentful "you'll pay for this, my pretty" look.
- I guillotine the sharp, toss the rest of it and then really start my day. If I'm lucky I won't come down the steps to find his writ of protest.

All this for one flipping unit of insulin. It's enough to drive a gal to drink. Well, almost.

I first had this drink earlier this summer at My Dearest Todd's suprise (somethingth) birthday party. Quite honestly, apart from my beloved G&Ts, this is now my favourite way to imbibe in hot weather. Besides, it's another way of getting fresh, seasonal blueberries into me (as if I need an excuse to eat blueberries).

I didn't get the proportions from those lovely barkeeps, so after a bit of experimentation, I've settled on this recipe. The blueberries, I suppose, are optional.

But then again, blueberries make this libation a health drink...as opposed to leaving it a mental health drink.

Toddtinis

1 part açai vodka
1 part blue curaçao
1 part white cranberry juice
blueberries



cheers!

jasmine



I'm a quill for hire!

Irish Cream Cupcakes

If I had my camera with me the look would have been captured for all to see.

Not just any look, but the silent glare that simply says "Must you speak so loudly, human?"

No, I didn't get that look from someone wearing a green beer stained "Kiss me I'm Irish" T-shirt.

I got it from my cat.

On the floor, a few feet away from Hagia, two items told a story: to the left were cupcake wrappers, traces of Irish cream glaze left clinging to the paper; to the right, a puddle of cat barf.

Hmmm...I've been here before...sort of. Instead of being helped by My Dear Little Cardamummy down the distilled path of wobbliness, they apparently showed great initiative and helped themselves to discarded cupcake liners from the trash.

Well, they say drunks and other addicts will stop at nothing to get their fix.

Hagia has very...refined...tastes. Ice cream and tuna interest her. Olives, lemongrass and (more recently) bleu cheese keep her by my side. More recently baking--buttery cakes and croissants along with traces of raw flour--cause frantic miaos and pokes.

Being so close to St. Patrick's Day, I decided to create an Irish cream cupcake--a treat that could inspire choruses of "No dear, those are Mummy's special cupcakes." Given she had no interest in other alcohols I've sipped or cooked with (Guiness, wines, liqueurs and the rest) I was more than surprised at her begging for a bit of cake (which she did not get...at least not then). Maybe it's the cream...or perhaps the sugar.

With my luck, it's the whiskey.

These cakelettes are very easy to make. The finished cake has Irish cream's caramelly tones while keeping a buttery-dense crumb and really doesn't need any additional boosting. Yet me being me, I chose to thoroughly embrace the day and gaze the fairy cakes with a thinned Irish cream icing.

Since I'm not a fan of thick icings, the cakes were glazed while still warm--apart from thinning the icing, the flavours to seeped into the cakes and dribbled down the sides and left a thin layer to cool on top. You can, if you wish, cut away any rounded peaks from the cooled cakes and spoon on a thicker icing (vanilla or royal icing would work well) and top with whichever candies, sprinkles or dragees that come to hand.

Irish Cream Cupcakes
yield 12

110g (0.75c +4tsp) cake flour
1 tsp baking powder
pinch of salt
125g (0.5c + 1Tbsp) unsalted butter, softened
100g (0.5c) sugar
2 eggs, lightly beaten
1 tsp vanilla extract
60ml (0.25c) Irish cream liqueur

Preheat oven to 200C/400F. Line a 12-bowl cupcake tin with papers.

Sift together the flour, baking powder and salt. Set aside.

Cream together the butter and sugar until light, fluffy and almost pearlescent. Mix in the eggs one at at a time (or as best as you can), followed by the vanilla.

Incorporate half the flour into the batter, scrape down the sides and then continue with the rest of the flour. Pour in the Irish cream and mix until smooth.

Divide between the papered bowls and bake for 15-20 minutes, or until the cakelettes have risen, are golden and an inserted skewer comes out clean. Cool on a wire rack; decorate as desired.


Irish cream glaze
55g (0.25c) unsalted butter, very soft
30-60g (2-4Tbsp) icing sugar, sifted
1 Tbsp Irish cream liqueur
1 Tbsp cream (heavy or light) or milk (plus more, if necessary)

Beat together the butter and a couple of spoons of the sugar until smooth. With the beaters still going, dribble in the Irish cream and cream. Taste for sweetness--add more sugar or cream (or Irish cream) as necessary for the consistency you prefer.


cheers!
jasmine


I'm a quill for hire!

My Cleo, my champion

As some of you who follow my Twitter feed know this week was a difficult one.

My dear Cleo, took a turn for the worse and a very difficult decision had to be made; this wasn't totally unexpected as he had quite a scare 2.5 years ago.

My ball of purry fluff who came in from the cold wouldn't recover from the particular combination of ailments as what would cure one would worsen another. It was for the best...he was in discomfort, but not in pain and it would have turned very quickly to pain.

We had our last cuddle yesterday, through which his legendary purr started out as a little putter and got stronger and stronger, happy paws and all. I couldn't be there for his final moments, but the exbf told me as soon as Cleo could no longer hear or see me, his purr died down to a bit of a splutter; he thought Cleo hung on for me, and he knew that was our last cuddle. He purred softly until the very end.

I'm teary, but I know this was the best decision for him.

Will be back...in a bit.


jasmine

We'll return to our regularly scheduled programming in a bit

Apologies for the relative silence, but have been preoccupied with non-foodish worries. One of which is the passing of one of the exbf's kitties, Hillary (named after the mountain climber, not Ms Clinton).

We adopted her and her littermate Ophelia back when we were together, in 1994ish. Since then Hillary has barey left his side.

I'll be honest and say we didn't get along. She saw me as "the other woman" and I saw her as the creature who kept beating up my precious little Ophelia. But between her ninja-like attacks, the weirdest predicaments she got herself into (including running around with a watering can stuck on her head), even I'll admit that she was a special little thing.

Her health hasn't been well for a few years--we suspect she was an early victim of the tainted pet food issue, as she lost the use of her kidneys. Much to everyone's surprise, she lived on 20 per cent kidney function for the past few years (yes, subcu fluids every night...which she hated). She was happy (happier now that I'm not in the picture) and purry. This week she essentially got thrush and she stopped eating. This combined with other things precipitated a quick decline. We lost her a couple of nights ago.

Will be back in a few days.

I suspect she is in kitty heaven, asserting her top-cat ness upon every being...and plotting something against me...like arial attacks from celestial book cases or digging little hidey holes from which to leap out and bite my toes...that's okay...I actually kinda liked it here on Earth.

cheers!
jasmine

...and Hagia on her blanket and I with a nightcap...

...collapsed on the chesterfield,
for a long winter's nap...

No, sorry. No Daring Baker contribution from me this month...eight fruitcakes and 20 dozen cookies have pretty much rendered me exhausted for any more Christmassy baking.

Still recovering from three hours of gluttony on Christmas Day and the almost annual Boxing Day turkey pot pie making extravaganza.

Will be back in the New Year. Until then, please keep safe and have a lovely, festive, soused, tea-totalling, quiet and joyous New Year.

cheers!
jasmine

Hagia is veddy veddy angry with me...

Hallo?

Anyone out there? Sigh...

Apologies for the week's silence. Wasn't planned. You see, I'd planned to upload the latest cookbook review last week, but the universe conspired against me.

Okay, not me personally, but said universe decided to play games with the weather in my part of the world. If you're here, you know that we had a very odd warm spell last week. Sure, it was nice, but when the elements change so drastically, it plays a number with my head. Three days of protomigraines. Glah.

For the lucky ones who tried to engage me in coversation, you know how loop(ed) I was on pain pills (my skin started tingling on Friday). Glah. Feeling a bit better now, but am tonnes behind in everything else I was supposed to do...work, housework, sorting through detritus...

No cooking or baking got done, lived on frozen leftovers, meals from my parents and things declared edible from the fastfoodrama mall.

And this is why my cat is veddy veddy angry with me.

I'd always known that we shared certain culinary preferences: Equal amounts of pleasure can be derrived from eating crunchy things as batting them around. Olives are divine. Beef in a can really isn't food. Ice cream is heaven. Sometimes only lemongrass will do.

Well...she's developed other tastes...for baked goods. Okay. I know of other cats who like breads ... and that's okay (I think)...but she never wanted anything to do with cookies or cakes or pie crust. She's developed a particular prediliction for raw flour. I've caught her licking speckles off the phone and the floor and my hands.

So when I brought home a container of Timbits (doughnut holes to non-Canadians), she tried every trick in the book to get one. She sat by my feet and gazed up at me. She pawed at me. she even hopped onto the couch and snuggled up next to me. When her kittenly wiles proved useless, she basically stuck her head on my saucer and tried to liberate a baked ball of doughnutty goodness.

Umm....no.

Then she heard the words she rarely hears from me: "Naughty girl! Down NOW."

She knows what those words mean...she's been caught doing something she's not supposed to do...but instead of running away and hiding behind the couch, she stood at the far end of the room and just glared at me.

You know the look...I'm sure those of you with petulant children have received it: the you are being so unfair to me. I'm a good little one and I deserve a... look.

I got that look ALL EVENING.

Truth be told, I don't know what baked goods will do to cats...but I don't want her begging for food, nor do I want her to further develop her taste for people food. Given she's not a begging cat, I don't know what's gotten into her.

Maybe she's just peeved at me that I've been so busy...or hiding in dark rooms with a glass of water and a few pills. Maybe this was how I was supposed to make up with her: by giving her Timbits...preferably my favourite cherry ones...

Well...she's not going to be happy with me over the next few days as I try and get caught up with things...and formulate that next post. Oh well...'tis the life of a cat.

cheers!
jasmine

BBB & WCB: For Sher

On 20 July 2008 the foodblogging and catblogging worlds lost a dear friend. Sherry Cermak of What Did You Eat passed away of a heart attack. She was lucky enough to have found Bob, the loving man who became her husband. She was an attorney, a wildlife rehabilitator, an avid foodie and a lover of cats.

She was a member of The Bread Baking Babes, a ragtag group of people who, like The Daring Bakers, complete a monthly baking challenge. The BBBs held a memorial food event for her that was open to everyone on 27 July--I wanted to participate, but that was the day after the first anniversary of My Darling One's passing and I was very emotionally drained and didn't think I could post something coherent that would do her spirit justice.

This weekend's Weekend Cat Blogging event is also a memorial event with a food theme, and is Hosted by the House of the (Mostly) Black and White Cats. I'd participated in a couple WCBs in the past, and well, I know I've been remiss in updating you guys on my furry companions, so I thought this might be a good time to do that.

I went through her site, looking for a recipe to create and post--not just for me, but also for Paz who was interested in sharing this post with me--Sher was in her thoughts as well, but Paz's recovery bed is keeping her from the kitchen.

Sher's site had a bit of everything, but it was pretty clear she really liked meatballs. When I saw her mushroom balls post cross my screen, it just seemed to be the right thing to do: not only do I love mushrooms, but Michael did as well.

Sher's page suggested pairing them with a spicy red sauce. I decided to serve them with roasted tomatoes on a bed of rice.

I used cremini mushrooms as I couldn't find portabellos. Since I don't have a food processor, I used the medium side of my box grater to mince the mushrooms. I know it's a bit labour intensive for some, but for those of us who don't have the gadget, I thought the grater worked very well. I used a ricer to extract the juices (if you don't know already, save the mushroom juice and then boil it down a bit. When cooled, you can freeze it or just refrigerate until you next make a beef soup, stew or meat sauce--it adds a really nice depth of flavour). The mushroom balls came together really easily and quickly....and they were easily and quickly eaten--as snacks and as supper.

With regards to my sweet little kitties...when I moved into the condo, I came to a difficult decision. Because of the extra costs of home ownership, I wasn't sure if I could afford to keep the kitties, so my parents came to the rescue and said they'd keep them for me. Yay! We know that Beanie and My Dear Little Cardamummy are quite close, and my dad and Zeus have a certain affinity (as well as uncanny mutual resemblance), and well Hagia is just a good girl so I wasn't too worried.

Unfortunately, a couple of months into the arrangement, I noticed that Hagia wasn't happy. She'd gotten thinner and was looking rather rumpled. Quite a change from my usually well-presented little vampire-fanged grey tabby.

Well...it turned out that Beanie's bullying ways came out very strongly and stopped her from eating and kept her hiding under beds and mostly out of sight. She came out to see me and she just didn't look right...so after many conversations with my parents, I scooped her up and moved her in.

She's quite happy and can eat when she wants and not worry about being pounced on by a cat two and a half her size. She's found a few favourite spots in the condo--under the loveseat in the TV temple, on the second floor landing...and of course, on the couch, next to me as I type...she's usually a little more chatty and headbonky than this, but she had a very tiring day being a cat:



The next major event occurred about two weeks ago. Beanie honed in on poor Zeus...same story as above. But instead of Zeus coming out for a couple of minutes a day, as Hagia did, he disappeared for days at a time. Zeus is a very timid and easily picked on by the bully boy. Add to this he's a stress eater and he put on a lot of weight in a very short span of time.

Well, it all came to a boil an d my father had to break up two pretty nasty cat fights--poor Zeus was made into chutney (as my parents would say). Quite surprised that my father agreed to it, but I think he realised it was no longer fair to Z. I got the call the next day, asking if Zeus could come over here and join his sister.

How could I say no? That would just be mean.

Zeus arrived and spent the first three nights locked in my powder room, scared out of his wits, crammed between the back of the privy and the wall. My parents came to visit him every day (they've actually visited him here more often then me, since they returned from India). I don't know who was more upset about he turn in events, Zeus or my dad...really. Mummy said Daddy was crying along with Zeus...and Daddy never cries.

The next night Zeus seemed a bit happier--still very stressed, but a bit happier...the happiness would be temporarily lessened as I decided he needed a bath...weeks of hiding out in my parent's basement left him with a certain waft. He'd never been bathed before so I had the exbf do the honours. They were both quite good about it.

Zeus now has free roam of the condo. There's a wee bit of hissing still, but the siblings are able to stay underneath the same loveseat together for hours at a time (yes, they come from a hidey, paranoid line)--very good sign, I think. He spends a lot of his life hiding from me (nothing new there) but when he hears me come down the basement steps, he gets quite social and hides behind a fortress wall of laundry baskets to see what I'm doing, in hopes he'll get a little scritch. His favourite spot is the corner behind the fireplace, in a towel-lined cardboard carton. I'm convinced he's dropped at least a pound. I couldn't help but take a photo of Zeus in the laundry sink after his bath. The other photo is him in his carton behind the fireplace.



And before you ask...Yes, Beanie does miss Zeus a heckuvalot...even though "gramma" feeds him lots of his beloved chicken, he doesn't know where his brother went. No, he didn't miss Hagia at all and his ears still go back when you mention her name. He just doesn't understand that he's much bigger than the others and they don't always want to "play." It seems to be genetic...his half-brother is much the same way. And yes, I have a feeling Beanie will be blogging again...

cheers!
jasmine

Feast: Easter Supper

Every Easter supper I try and go for something different, something I've never tried before. This is usually the time for first: the first roast chicken, the first leg of lamb, the first prime rib (etc). This year I was truly at a loss as to what I could do. No, I'm nowhere close to have cooked everything at least once, but I was looking for something a bit more fun than normal.

Then I remembered Meeta's Monthly Mingle theme: Arabian Nights. Apart from the "usual suspects" -- hummus, tabouli, baba ganouj--I've not really done a lot with Arabic-inspired foods. Well, one thing led to another, and I ended up with a hodgepodge of dishes from--or at least inspired from--various areas of the Mediterranean. These ideas and recipes were gleaned from a number of sources--Nigella Lawson, Claudia Roden, Nigel Slater, Delia Smith and a number of web searches:

My version of Jazar Bil Camoun Wal Toum (Carrot salad with Cumin and Garlic) used parsnips and carrots. Given my recent Savour the Season post on parsnips and the surprising lack of carrots in my fridge, I decided to make this Moroccan dish using the two veg. Simply blanch 600g of julienned veg, then saute in olive oil, garlic and cumin. Season with salt and pepper and squeeze some lemon over top. Serve cold.

This Lebanese spinach with chickpeas and onions (Sabanekh Bi Loubia) dish is normally made with either black-eyed or haricot beans (and caramelized onions), but I had a tin of chickpeas on hand. Soften an onion in olive oil, then saute garlic in olive oil and add a thawed packet of chopped spinach. Tip in the onions, season with salt and pepper, add the beans and squeeze some lemon over top. Serve cold.

I suppose the lamb is what started things off for this meal. I didn't want to do the standard rosemary-garlic version, but I saw a recipe for a date and mustard-glazed rack of lamb in The Toronto Star. The rub is made with rosemary, cinnamon, salt, pepper, cumin and coriander seed. The glaze used honey-dijon mustard, mashed dates, rosemary, cumin and garlic.


This aubergine and tomato curry is a cross between the most delicious dish my mummy makes and Lebanese aubergines with tomatoes and chickpeas (Mussaka'A Menazzaleh). Toast some black mustard seeds, cumin, coriander, tumeric, chilli pepper and garlic in olive oil and then tip in an onion sliced in half-lunettes and three chopped Chinese eggplants. Saute until soft. Add three or four chopped, very ripe tomatoes and add some water, a pinch of curry leaves, and salt and pepper. Stir in a tablespoon each of red current jelly and rice wine vinegar. Cook, stirring occasionally until it's all soft and oozy. Serve hot.

Possibly one of my favourite potato concoctions. I originally thought of it as Greek, but I found a Lebanese version of Roasted potatoes with lemon and coriander (Batata Bel Lamou Wal Cosbara). Boil a kilo of potatoes, chop into a very large dice, toss in olive oil, salt pepper and garlic. Roast at high heat (240C/475F) for about half an hour, or until crispy brown. Squeeze a couple of lemons over top and serve immediately.

I used this meal as the excuse to try Nigella's Turkish Delight Syllabub. I tried it before TFE and the exbf showed up and decided it was too rich for us...so what did I do (after I took this photograph)? I dumped everything into the ice cream maker and turned it into ice cream. Still too rich, but at least it's now frozen and buys me some time to figure out what I can do with it...right now I'm thinking of turning it into a frosting for a sponge cake.

And yes, here is the 2007 Easter Beanie picture. He wasn't pleased, but he forgave us...and no...he's not usually wall-eyed...I have no idea where that came from.






Cheers!
jasmine

tags: Nigella Lawson Claudia Roden Nigel Slater Delia Smith Monthly Mingle

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A message from Mr. Bean

Hello all you luvly humman-cats

My humman-cat has been so busy lately she hasn't had the time to talk to you. So lucky you--you get me to tell you what she's been doing -- and what she hasn't been doing...

She's been talking about sumthing called "wurk" and sumthing called "skool" a lot lately. I don't know what they are but she comes home later than normal and then spends too much time with her computter and her books and her papers and not enough time with ME. I even sprawled across her computter to make her pay attention to me and she just moved me...harrumph!...I'm so neglected. Hagia told me she tried the same thing too and all she got was a quick scritch and then back to that tapping thing she does.

She's keeps telling me that she has so many ideas to tell you about--and she started riting these things down, but she hasn't had a moment to finish anything. She knows she has anuther "Savour the Seasons" thing to tell you about and she still has those saucy sauces to tell you about too. She also has a few fotos that she likes very much. None of them are about chicken, so they aren't very interesting.

Everything has been very strange this week. I don't know what's going on. I'm being fed an hour earlier--I like that--so I guess I shouldn't complain...except that I'm not getting any chicken.

Today was quite exciting. She made this big cake that was chocklit and it was coverd in this fluffy white stuff that looked like a giant cloud. I could tell it was very sweet. She also made some ribs and something that smelled sorta like gramma's cornfritters. In fact, she called gramma in India today to find out how to make them. I got to talk to her. She was so happy to talk to me. I miss her. She feeds me chicken and scritches me and she always believes everything I say. I miss grampa too, but he doesn't feed me as much chicken as gramma does...

The humman-cat that looks after me when Jasmine isn't around -- she calls him the exbf--was over and so was that other humman-cat--you know him as TFE. I ran into Mount Catmore because I still am not sure of that TFE fellow...he cuts into my petting time. Anyway it sounded like they were having a little party. I hurd a song and that went "happee burthday to you" and it had the exbf's name in it. I came up after everyone left and you know what? NUTHING was left for me. Not one scrap of meat. HOW MEAN IS THAT? I could smell those ribs--they smelled so good...Don't you think I should have had some of those piggie ribs? I do...

She promisses she will tell you about all of this when she has a moment. She had an essay to give to her teecher today and then she has anuther one for next Sunday. Right now she's looking at me and telling me to stop so she could go to bed.

As usual...please tell her to make me some chicken (a little one will be okay for me). I will luv you even more and I promise not to sneeze on you.

Miao
Mr. Bean (aka Beanie)

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My Cleo...

Some of you know this, but for those of you who don't...

This is my darling Cleo*. He** saw me across a busy street and decided that he was going to live with me (or at least get regular access to me). He saw that I usually visited a certain house and would cry on the front porch until we (the exbf and I) came out. Somehow, this black and white ball of fluff joined the brood...I knew he claimed me as his one and only when one evening, when the exbf was teasing me incessantly (as he is wont to do) and I growled at the man...Cleo thought I was being attacked and came to my rescue, getting into "attack" posture. Since then, he has been my champion. I know, it's a bit of a boy-meets-girl-story...

Almost every time I visit, he's there, with a constant purr that could rival a diesel engine--and I do mean almost every time...I think he hasn't been at my side three times in eight years. He gazes at me, miaos for attention (if I'm reading or something), stretches out a padded, furry paw and then hops up to settle in for a snooze or a cuddle. He is the most calming influence I have in my life.

Christmas Eve he got into trouble--his lungs filled up with fluids and if he weren't already at the vet's for a bit of a "spa treatment" he may not have survived. We took him back to the exbf's after Boxing Day and things seemed to be getting better. The vet, a wonderful and kind person, doesn't know what's really happening to my darling little Cleo--it's not cancer, it's not heart disease. What it is is lymph fluids and fats getting into his lungs, causing him to drown. How and why are mysteries.

Dr. B commented on his eyes--they aren't like regular cat eyes--they're almost human. In them she sees the lives of a 1000 cats. She knows there's something there...I know there's something there too.

As I said, he seemed to be getting better.

Yesterday, Cleo got in distress again, panting heavily and not moving well. The exbf took him to the vet's. Within an hour, Cleo let out a wail that cat specialists know as the wail of a cat that can't breathe and is about to pass on. She saved his life again...he bounces back, but breathing is hard. Dr. B's a strong-willed woman who won't let him pass (if she has any say in this). His motorboat runs when I'm in the room. He knows what the oxygen tank is and that he feels better when it's near.

He also tries to escape his cage and wander down the hallways and visit the other cats who aren't doing nearly as well. He's that sort of being...

We may be able to take him home soon, but until then he'll remain at the hospital, and we'll visit nightly, hoping to see him the next day...hoping to hear him the next day...


jasmine
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*No, I haven't forgotten that this is a food blog...but my mind has been elsewhere as of late...

**Yes, "he." We thought Cleo was a female because of behaviours, but when Dr. B met him, she corrected us--but he responded to Cleo, and didn't mind the name, so "Cleo" he will always be.