July 2016 - My Soul is Scottish

Scottish meatloaf in a slow cooker

It’s been too long since I spent a day cooking. It’s been a shite week and in the interest of everyone else’s safety and my sanity, my phone is off for the weekend. I’ll deal with the world on Monday.

A few weeks back I mentioned I was seeing a nutritionist and for the most part, I’ve been able to stick to her food guidelines. Bonus is 12 lbs. have found a loving home elsewhere and 15 to go! The challenge is keeping the food interesting and not defaulting to comfort foods that are ‘off-menu.’

Although it’s the middle of summer and the air outside feels suspiciously like Satan’s sauna, I need comfort food. It seems to be where the road leads when I’m stressed beyond reason. The challenge is making it taste like comfort food but without the inevitable calorie bomb that comes with the deliciousness.

My mom makes a kickass meatloaf in the slow cooker so I’ve found a traditional Scottish meatloaf recipe cooked in the oven that I’m going to attempt to tweak to fit both my eating plan and morph into a slow cooker recipe. Basically, I’m winging it and hoping for the best. The bonus with meatloaf is that it can be served hot or cold so with a salad, it is a great dish for a scorching summer.

Ingredients:

2.5 lbs Angus beef mince (ground beef)

1 large onion, finely chopped

1 tbsp mixed herbs (Italian seasoning for me)

1 tsp each of Cumin seeds & Oregano

2 eggs

2/3 cup of seasoned breadcrumbs

2 gloves of garlic, finely chopped (I use more which is probably why I’m still single….)

Ground black pepper and salt to taste.

(I tossed in a 1/3 cup of grated Parmesan cheese because why not, oh and 1 tbsp of crushed red chili flakes because I eat that with everything, but both are completely optional.)

Toss all the above ingredients into a mixing bowl and mush them together with your hands, (or a wooden spoon if you’re squeamish but seriously, driving a spoon through that consistency will take more elbow grease.)

Time to get your hands dirty mixing up the ingredients

I’m a weirdo and eat raw ground beef so I taste to make sure I like the flavour and tweak if needed. Most people would put this in the ‘you’re going to die of salmonella’ category so taste or not, it’s up to you.

Take a fair sized piece of aluminum foil and fold in half lengthwise. (Pictures included to show what I mean). This goes into the slow cooker lengthwise and slightly up the sides. It makes it dead simple lifting the meatloaf out of the cooker without having to dismantle it. Because of the weight of the meatloaf, you need to fold it double or it will just tear and you’ll lose your mind. It also traps most of the juice so clean-up is a breeze!

Fold in half lengthwise, doesn't matter whether shiny side up or down. — Fold in half lengthwise, doesn’t matter whether shiny side up or down.

I shape the mixture into a loaf shape in the mixing bowl so I can get one hand under it to move it to the slow cooker.

Roll it up into a loaf shape in the bowl to make moving it to the slow cooker a bit easier

Pop it in the slow cooker, 6-8 hrs on low or 3-4 on high.

Instead of putting the liquids into the meatloaf, like you would for a traditional oven loaf one, I keep it aside and use as a glaze for the last 30 mins of cooking time.

Glaze ingredients:

1/3 cup of ketchup (I use jalapeno ketchup/tomato sauce)

1/3 cup Dijon mustard (or whatever mustard floats your boat.)

1 tbsp Worchestershire sauce (Lea & Perrins of course, because the Empire runs on this stuff)

Mix together in a bowl and pop in the fridge while the slow cooker does its thing.

You can add 2 tsp of brown sugar to the glaze but because this is Murica, the ketchup already has a metric ton of sugar in it so I leave that out. But again, taste and see if you would prefer it sweeter and toss some in if you need to. Dijon mustard has a vinegary tang to it so you might prefer a slightly sweeter taste. Cooking is more intuitive rather than strictly to a recipe so wing it. You’ll be fine.

Spoon the glaze over the meatloaf about 30 mins before the end so it can warm through. It makes it look delicious because meat in a slow cooker can look very pale. The glaze fixes that right up.

Final product after the glaze is spooned on

Meatloaf is great on mashed potato but because it’s 8 billion degrees outside (and my eating plan frowns on potato) it’s going to be salad for me.

DSCN7567

You’d think that cooking a meatloaf in a slow cooker without adding in liquid would make it dry but it comes out surprisingly tender without that sometimes sawdust texture that meatloaf has. Give it a go. Who knows? Maybe it will become a simple family favourite.

Emigrating 101

Something I’ve been asked many times over the years is ‘Isn’t it difficult moving to a new place and starting again?’

Well that depends on which thing you’re looking at. Yes and no.

When you’ve made up your mind that you’re going to pack up and move to a new place, be it another country or just a new city in the same country, your reason for making the move will be a huge factor in the Yes/No category. So does your level of attachment to the place you’re leaving. If you have a tight tie to the place you’re living in now, then severing those ties will be difficult, no matter how green the grass is at the new destination. Leaving friends and family behind can be painful if you’re used to seeing each other constantly.

I’m the emotional equivalent of barbed wire so leaving things behind has never been a deciding factor in my moves. Don’t get me wrong; I miss my friends and family sometimes but I can stand alone without them if I need to, even while I sob into my wine.

If you’re moving because you want a change of scenery/found your dream job/following the love of your life/want a better quality of life, then no, it’s not difficult. Maybe a tad uncomfortable, but not difficult. You have to get comfortable being uncomfortable.

When you’re making a change as drastic as emigrating/relocating, then you already know going in, that certain things are going to change so those things are not unexpected. The job, home, neighbourhood, people, culture, transport, language and possibly foods are all going to be different in the new place.

It’s the little things you don’t expect that blow holes in your resolve. I moved from an English-speaking country, to another English-speaking country, then again to a third English-speaking country and the language changed completely. I didn’t expect that and it was a difficult transition initially in each place. What was Maizena in one place, was cornflour in the next place and cornstarch in the third. Going to the grocery store in a new place and attempting to explain to some poor unsuspecting individual what you’re looking for is painful. Does it come in a box, tin, packet, what colour is the packaging? I DON’T KNOW!! A roll was a bap and then a bun. A multitude of things have been lost in translation at each stop.

While it’s perfectly acceptable to ‘bum a fag’ from someone in England, you’ll probably be sued in the US for using that terminology to ask someone for a cigarette. I asked the receptionist at work for a plaster and it was met with ‘like plaster to put on the walls?’ No. To put on the finger that’s bleeding all over your desk. ‘Oh you mean a Band-aid.’ Sure, if that’s the technical term, then yes, one of those please.

Something as simple as going to the store for bread and milk was dead easy in SA. Do you want white or brown bread? Sliced/unsliced? Milk is fat-free, 2% or full-cream.

Well…….. stateside it takes 95 decisions to pick up those 2 items. Bread you say…? Well lady, do you want white, brown, rye, wholegrain, multi-grain, gluten-free, square, round, bagel, bun, pita, herbs/no herbs, ciabatta, long bun, round bun, pre-sliced, cheese-topped and which cheese, low-cal, low-carb, artisanal? There’s a whole aisle just for bread, go nuts. Take your time, no rush.

Milk…… dear God. Do you want fat-free, whole-milk, almond milk (sweetened, unsweetened, flavoured, unflavoured), goat milk, soy milk, vitamin D, 2%, skimmed, semi-skimmed, organic, in a glass bottle, plastic container, what size do you need that container or would you prefer a carton?, coffee-creamer because there’s hazelnut, French vanilla, chocolate, mint, Irish creme, mocha, salted caramel, pumpkin (yes you read that right!), Italian creme, creme brulee, or just original if you’re undecided.

Bread and milk alone have caused complete melt-downs at the grocery store because all I want is standard army-issue bread and milk. And if you’re also buying cheese, seriously, get that first because by the time you’ve made a decision on that, your milk will have passed its sell-by date so pick that up fresh on the way out. Some cheeses age really well so that’s an added bonus as it will age perfectly while you decide on the bread you’re going to put it on.

Not knowing which store sells what is another thing that’s been especially difficult with each move. Finding an apartment is child’s play when measured against the mayhem of finding a place to buy a saucepan.

Thankfully SA and UK were both Commonwealth countries so quite a bit of their terminology was the same but that’s not to say there wasn’t confusion along the line. A flap-jack in SA is a crumpet in UK and a UK flap-jack is a crunchie in SA. A scone in UK is a biscuit stateside and there’s honest to God no substitute for what an American calls a scone. Scones do not come in triangles and absolutely DO NOT have corners!

Getting stateside and seeing biscuits and gravy on the menu made me puke in my mouth a little because who the hell puts gravy on a chocolate-chip biscuit?! Which leads to biscuits being cookies, scones being biscuits and biscuits with gravy being surprisingly good.

Ordering chips stateside only to be asked ‘what flavour chips would you like ma’am?’ Uh…. hot on a plate, what other flavour could there possibly be?! Oh you mean fries…….. Sure. Yes. Those. A whole plate full. Thanks. Do you have vinegar? *blank stare* So that’s a no on the vinegar then.

Tomato and basil crisps…… Wrong. On all 3 words. Tomayto and baysil chips is what I was meant to ask for.

Those things will break your brain when you relocate so seriously, be prepared because this is the type of stuff they DON’T tell you when you clear Customs at the plane station. It will be your greatest challenge and triumph once you master it.

In preparation of my intended move home to Scotland, I’ve started following multiple Scottish pages on Facebook and let me tell ya, scored top marks on a quiz on ‘which of these words do you understand.’ I’m prepared this time. I can almost speak fluent crazy so it’s only a matter of finding a job and a city to call home now.

Picking a country, packing your bags, booking a ticket and organising a lift to the airport is simple but be warned: there be madness past those gates.

Lazy Sunday trying something new

There’s a Vietnamese food place a block from the office and the last 2 weeks have seen me inhale copious amounts of beef pho. It’s heaven in a bowl with just the right amount of spicy to make my tummy do a happy dance. The problem is the cost of buying lunch downtown tends to add up after a while.

In an attempt to solve this problem I found a YouTube tutorial by Mrs Nguyen on how to make beef pho from scratch. It’s a somewhat lengthy process if you’re doing the stock from scratch but it’s Sunday so all I have today is time.

The quick trip to the store ended with me drenched and running through the car park barefoot because during the 10 minutes I was shopping, Thor lost his mind and unleashed hell and 2 inches of rain in that general area. So slapped my shoes in my bag and hoofed it barefoot in ankle-deep water to my car. Probably not the smartest thing to do in a thunderstorm but hey ho, those little rubber soles weren’t going to save my arse if lightening struck anyway so why ruin a good pair of shoes?

As ridiculous as this sounds, it felt great running through puddles barefoot while everyone else was standing in the doors of the store waiting for the mayhem to pass. Sometimes you have to be the weirdo because this stock isn’t going to cook itself and Thor doesn’t exactly publish timetables for his mood swings. I haven’t got all day.

Looking at Mrs Nguyen’s stock pot, I needed one and thankfully my store is just the place for a cheap one of those so I’m now the proud owner of a monster pot that won’t fit in any of my cupboards. I’ll also be the proud owner of about 1.5 gallons of beef broth in 6 short hours.

Oh man, I wish you could smell how good this is! The star anise, cinnamon and ginger smell incredible and I cannot WAIT to stick that pho in my face for dinner! I’ll be sure to provide a delicious rating later.

Mrs Nguyen's beef pho - delicious! — Mrs Nguyen’s beef pho – delicious!

In the meantime my OCD is in the mood to spring clean so I’d best go and work that out of my system.

what the hell is going on around here?!

Social media is inundated with #blacklivesmatter; which is then countered with #alllivesmatter.

Yes, all lives should matter, but they currently don’t matter equally. There’s an implied ‘too’ at the end of #blacklivesmatter.

As a white South African, I know about the stigma of being a racist. White = racist in SA; it’s one of the reasons I left because you can call me a lot of things but NEVER call me a liar or a racist. I’ll straight up lose my shit.

My brother & I were fortunate enough to go to a private Catholic school in the 80’s, which was multi-racial before it was legal in SA. We grew up not knowing what apartheid was. It was a concept that only really hit home when we went to the regular public high school and our friends weren’t allowed to go there until they opened the schools 3 years later. Don’t bloody call me racist!

Seeing what’s going on in the US and it’s the same but without an official name. It’s not labeled so it’s somehow OK to push people around and treat them as less under the guise of something else. LIFE MATTERS. It doesn’t matter whose life it is. At the moment, some lives are valued less than others because the outer packaging comes in a different shade.

What the bloody hell is wrong with people?! How is it, that as the most evolved species *and I use that term lightly!* are we this pathetic and destructive?!

In SA apartheid created a system where entire demographics were excluded from basic education. They’re reaping the toll of that decision now. In the US, people have access to the same education system yet still cannot find a way to live with people that don’t have the same reflections they do. WHY?!

The candidates running for office terrify the bejesus out of me because it’s a case of which flavour of madness do you want to sign up for over the next 4 years. Neither.

Aggression and anger are at max level mental right now and it’s breaking me on the inside. Y’all are at a 12, I need you at a 2. Calm the hell down!

In a country that prides itself on defending the weak and rescuing those who have no voice, HOW THE BLEEDING HELL is this still happening?!

Advice is a splendid thing

Advice is a splendid thing. Most times. There’s the usual unwanted advice; usually dispensed by some well-meaning individual and then there’s the advice you actually ask for.

Lately I’ve asked for advice from different perspectives; Brexit has thrown a spanner in the works so having a few varied opinions on the matter seemed like a good idea. Well, it wasn’t.

The advice itself is pretty solid, but the state of confusion it’s left behind is shite. Hearing rational people suggest that I NOT relocate for a while has crushed my spirit. The idea of staying here one month longer than the time I set for myself has all but wiped out my will to live because I know they’re making sense. These are people who care about me and my well-being and I love them for it.

My sanity has taken a hit and I feel myself circling the black hole of depression. I can’t sleep, I don’t care about anything, I’m angry, I hate people and my brain/mouth filters are malfunctioning on a level that any Scotsman would be proud of. There’s no patience left to deal with anyone or anything else.

Each time I’ve switched countries the decision to do so came from a purely emotional point of view; logic followed during the actual relocation. Each time things fell into place and I landed on my feet after the transition period into a new culture. This time I’ve applied logic first and let me tell you, it sucks sweaty balls! The idea of renewing my lease and staying in my job makes me want to step in front of the express train.

While navigating this internal chaos there are still friends around me who need constant validation. There’s nothing left to give those friends right now. No, I can’t keep telling you what you want to hear about your guy and no, I can’t pretend to care it matters to me right now. Accept what is or change it but stop repeating the same conversation hoping I’ll tell you what you want to hear. I’m finding it very difficult to give a toss about other people’s sex lives while mine has been on ice for longer than I care to admit.

It’s time to take my own advice. Accept what is or change it. If the job ticks me off, it has to go. If this place grates my carrot, it needs to change. If the call back to Scotland will not be silenced under the volume of helpful advice then I need to heed it and go. Yes, this could be the dumbest thing I’ve done in years but I can get over dumb. Regret, not so much.