uncomplementaryskills-blog

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A sonnet about tomato sauce

I decided to combine my love of cooking and writing, and wrote a sonnet

1 small clove of garlic, chopped diced and fried

Throw in an onion if that’s what’s desired

Herbs, such as basil, are great at this time

One spoon or two, of rosemary and thyme

Fry for a minute, ‘till garlic has browned

Then from your cupboard, begin to take down

A tin of tomatoes, juicy and red

Or if you’re willing, use fresh ones instead

Pour in the ten, and then turn down the heat

Prepare other food that you want to eat

Peppers and chorizo go well with this

Pasta or rice to finish off the dish

Begin to serve once all is complete

Now enjoy your meal, and bon appétit

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Vegetable curry!

I’m sorry this is a day later than I promised, but I made an impulse decision to go to improvised comedy last night so I didn’t have time to upload this. 

So this is a completely vegan curry that’s delicious in it’s own right. Good for vegans, or people who don’t have any meat in the freezer and the shop is too far away (i.e. me)

But I really, really doubt you care about that, so on with the recipe

Ingredient list

1 onion

2 medium carrots

1 tablespoon of shredded ginger

5 cloves of garlic

2 tablespoons medium curry powder

1 tablespoon soy sauce

1 tablespoon rice wine vinegar

1 400ml tin of coconut milk

2 bay leaves

1 teaspoon of garam masala

large pinch of salt

1 teaspoon pepper

(not pictured) half a cup of vegetable stock

1 tablespoon of coconut oil

Brown sugar (optional)

I was going to add in beansprouts as well, probably about a cup of them, but when I got home from the shop I found that the bean sprouts I’d bought the previous week were very much off, so I had to throw them out and go without them. 

Anyway. 

1. Finely dice the onions, garlic and ginger

2. Heat up the oil in the pan to medium

3. When the oil is heating, slice the carrots

The veg I used

4. When the oil is hot, add the onions, garlic and ginger

5. Heat for a few minutes, stirring reasonably 

6. Add the carrots, mix well, turn down to low, cover and sweat for ten minutes. Stir maybe 2 or three times during this, not for very long and ensuring that little steam escapes. 

7. Half way through, add the rice wine vinegar, stir and cover again. This is probably where I would have added the bean sprouts, but alas . . .

8. After ten minutes, add the curry powder, salt and pepper. Stir well, the powder will coat the veg and dry it out, making it more inclined to stick. 

9. Slowly add the stock, stirring well, coating everything. 

10. Add the coconut milk and stir in.

11. Bring to the boil, then turn down to a simmer.

At this point, you might think the curry is a little too thin (I did), and want to reduce it a little. If that’s the case, don’t keep it boiling, put it instead to medium rather than simmering. But the important thing is not to keep on boil, or . . . 

Actually I have no idea what will happen to the curry if you keep it on the boil. Maybe it’ll ruin the tastes or something, I don’t know, I just know that it’s usually not a good idea to keep things like this on a high boil for very long. There must be some reason this was told to me, but I don’t know what it is. 

Anyway

12. While it’s simmering (or reducing) add the garam masala and soy sauce

13. Taste as it’s simmering, if it’s too bitter, add a little bit of brown sugar to taste. 

As you can see the end product is darker than what it was before, which I’m attributing to it reducing. 

After maybe 10-15 of low simmering, take off the heat, and serve with rice and naan. 

A good measure really is to start the rice whenever you’ve added the vegetable stock, and take the curry off the heat when the rice is done. 

This will probably make 4-5 portions, give or take one depending on how you define a portion

Like I said, it’s completely vegan, as well as being gluten free (unless you count the naan) and dairy free, so whatever your dietary requirements, you should be able to enjoy this (unless your dietary requirements extend beyond vegan, dairy free and gluten free)

[uncomplementaryskills-blog]

Vegan curry!

So I’m not a vegan. Not even remotely. 

But when it comes to vegan food, there are two things I hate. 

1. Making a meal vegan simply by taking out the animal products and replacing them with substitutes.

2. Taking a vegan meal that’s amazing in it’s own right, and adding meat to it just because you think it’s not complete without meat. 

There are so many amazing vegan meals that aren’t based around some kind of substitute. These substitutes will never be as nice as the real deal, and so the meal is always going to fall short, but when there are so many options that don’t just use a substitute why bother doing it that way?

And so, tonight, I’m making a vegetable curry that’s completely vegan. It’s not a recipe that I’ve made and changed to be vegan, it’s a recipe that never needed animal products in the first place. 

[uncomplementaryskills-blog]

1. A story entitled ‘A New Beginning’

The sun rose that morning, much as it had every morning before. It drifted across the same sky, lighting up the same buildings, and bringing life to the same fields as it always had. The one thing that was different was that today, Famule noticed it.

Of course she had always seen the sun before. She had known it was there. She had felt its warmth and been blinded by its light. But today, on the day she was going to die, Famule began to truly notice the light of the sun. Gazing down from the tiny, barred window of her slave cell, Famule cast her eyes upon the massive city of Arcanium beneath her. Her old window, the one from the communal room where all of Alexis’ house slaves had slept, was just out of sight beneath her, but the rest of the city was lit up in shining splendor. Each pillar of marble glittered in the sun light, and each fountain and statue shone. In the market square, in the centre of the city, merchants were now beginning to open their stalls. Though the words were jumbled and unintelligible, she could hear them shouting out their prices and their deals. Doors and windows began to swing open across the city, inviting in the new day. People were greeting the rising sun with as much enthusiasm as she was finally doing so. She had seen all of this many times before. So many that it had become mundane, but now that she was going to die, it was suddenly so clear to her how much of the world she had missed. Maybe in the next life, or in whatever came after this one, she would see what else she had missed.

 She took a step back from the window and sat back down on the ground. A thin layer of stray was roughly strewn along the dank stone floor, which had been as close to a bed as she had been allowed. Sitting on it sent a chill through her body, though the narrow beams of sunlight that cascaded through the window were slowly warming the room. A soft dripping sound arose from somewhere else in the cell. Another one fell, striking the wooden bowl that had contained her very last meal. It hadn’t rained in almost a week, she noted. There was no reason for the roof to be leaking, other than a deliberate attempt to aggravate her. It seemed death by hanging wasn’t punishment enough for what she had done. Neither were the lashes she had received the week before, that still burned into her back. It seemed they had to have this icy water dripping down onto her as well.

 Famule had lived as good a life as she could, so she believed. If ever there had been the perfect slave, she had no doubt it was her, but someone needed to be made an example of. They had been warned not to approach the new slave, the wizard. They had been warned that he was too dangerous, and that even speaking to him once might cause the building to catch fire. Famule had been the perfect slave in every way, but she had dared to look directly at the wizard. Their eyes had even met for a brief, fleeting moment.

Otherwise, she had been obedient and respectful to her owners, never talking back or resisting. She had served dutifully in everything she had been ordered to do. She had honored the gods of her homeland in Lexia, though if truth be told, it had been so long since she had been there she could scarcely remember their names. There were many of them, and they seemed to represent everything she could think of, but there had been so many to honour and worship that their names had been forgotten. There was much about Lexia she had forgotten. It had been her home for the first 10 years of her life, but after 10 years as a slave, thousands of miles from that home, she doubted she would ever see it again. There had been sand. It had been hotter than it was here. There had been a great feast once a year, meant to honour all the gods of their town. There was very little else that she could recall. Her owners had made it very clear to her that this was her life now. That all of what had happened before was not worth remembering. In her early days here, the lash had been used with great enthusiasm, every time she had even dared to utter a word of Lexian. All that she had left of her old life was tattered remnants and half-forgotten memories. Had this been any other day, thinking these things would have saddened her. Today, however, she had other things to worry about. Soon enough, they would come for her. The door would swing upon without warning, and silent men would grab her. Had she been looking directly down from her window, she could have seen the very place where they were setting up the noose. Instead she continued to sit on the floor, waiting. Waiting and praying to all the gods she could think of that they would have mercy on her. She knew no one here would.

 Perhaps it was half a day that passed before someone came for her. Perhaps it was mere minutes, or perhaps it had been weeks. Sitting in the solitude of her cell, contemplating her death, time no longer seemed to have any meaning. Time simply passed, and at what rate she could not tell. And once that time, her final moments, had passed, the door swung open, and a man appeared. He didn’t say a word to her, but she knew why he was here. Solemnly, she stood up and faced him. Towering over her, he took her hands and bound them together with a thin length of rope. Had the positions been reversed, and this worn and flimsy thing been on his hands, Famule had no doubt he could have easily torn it apart. But he was strong and she was weak. She could barely lift her arms, let alone tear rope apart with them. And if she could break them apart, what then would she do? Tackle this giant of a man and run for her freedom? What freedom would an escaped slave, condemned to death, have in this world? There would be no freedom for her any more. She knew that. She had accepted that, and so the moment her hands were bound and the man led her to the door, she followed him. Dutifully. As she had been commanded. Just like she had always done. She was as good a slave in death as she had been in life.

 As the man led her past the back door to the kitchens, the old familiar smells wafted up her nostrils, and she almost tried to stop. A swift shove to her back was enough to force her to move again, however. The kitchen was where she had been working when she first saw the magician. It was the most frightened she had been in a long time. More so even than now. He towered over even the largest of men, with his head scraping the ceilings in some of the low rooms. His hands and his mouth were bound completely in chains, but for the one finger on each hand that he was allowed to move. Any more, they had been told, and he could have burned the whole place to the ground. Two fingers allowed him to work in the kitchens. Two fingers kept him safe. There was little he could do, but even still, with his monstrous height, the chains that shook and rattled with every movement he made, and the threat that he could easily destroy us all if only he could move another finger was enough that no one had dared try and talk to him. Famule had been the only one who had even looked at him for long enough that he had looked back. Their eyes had linked and she felt some kind of unimaginable pain for just a moment before she had looked away. That had been her only crime.

 The courtyard lay ahead of her now, and she was forced out into the blinding sunlight. The gallows sat in the centre of the yard, as solitary as she was. Beyond it, there was the gate that led out of Alexis’ villa and down into the lower parts of the city. It was closed and locked, but yet there were no guards posted there as usual. As if it was taunting her to try and escape. She could never climb the gate. She could never slip through the bars. She could never escape, but if she could, there would be no one there to pull her back.

The man who had led her down from her cell now led her to the gallows itself. He turned her away from the gate, back towards the building, and secured the rope around her neck. It was cold. She began to shiver, and almost at once the harsh reality of what was happening hit her. She didn’t want to die. Oh gods, she didn’t want to die! There was still family of hers in Lexia. People who hadn’t been harmed or captured during the war. There was a place for her. There was a future. She could marry and have children and have a family of her own. She could do anything if only she could get away from here.

“I’m scared,” she heard herself mutter, almost choking on the words. “Help me,”

It might have been a prayer, or it might have been rhetorical, she wasn’t quite sure. The gods were not likely to help her now. The time for divine intervention had passed. The time for death was now.

She looked straight ahead of her, wanting to die with maybe just a little bit of dignity. The window in front of her was open. Once more, her eyes caught the haunting gaze of the magician. She tried to look away, but the rope around her neck seemed to grow tighter, and her head refused to move. Their eyes locked, and echoing through her head, she heard her own mutter of “help me” repeating over and over again.

 The man who had brought her down from her cell said something she wasn’t quite able to hear, and pulled the lever. The rope around her neck snapped, as if it was nothing more than a fine thread of spider’s silk. Falling through the trap door that had opened, she suddenly found her hands were free now too. Maybe the gods really were listening. Leaping to her feet, she looked up to the window again where the wizard had been, only to find him absent. Where he had been, she saw her reflection in the window, and the reflection of the open gates behind her.

 Renewed strength seemed to flow into her body, as if some god really was rooting for her. Clambering out from under the gallows, she made my dash for the gate. The man who had pulled the lever was running for her, his arms outstretched, but with the new vigor she somehow had, she reached the gates before him. They swung shut behind her, as if some invisible force was controlling them. Famule wasn’t quite aware of how long she ran before she finally stopped, but it was enough. Enough to get her away. Enough to let her hide. Enough that Famule was no longer a slave. She ran far enough that she was free.

“Free,” she said aloud, almost laughing.

[uncomplementaryskills-blog]

52 short stories in 52 weeks

So I reblogged a post a few days ago with a list of story prompts, for 52 short stories, once a week for a year. I’ve decided that I’m going to use them for world building for the world of my novels, Gaiania. Some of them will be related, some won’t. Some will have recurring characters, and part of a larger story, and some will be small, localised events that don’t connect to the others, but all of them should help build the world to be larger and more interesting than it is. 

Week 1, ‘A story about a new beginning’, is taken from an idea I’ve been bouncing around for a while. It’s the beginning of the story of Famule, the first queen of Karjing, who led the slaves in open rebellion against their vile masters. 

Story one gives just a faint glimpse into her beginnings. Hopefully by the end of the year her full story will be developed

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I tried doing this one other time, and I only got to the fourth one. But I’m wanting to try again! I’ll be doing them mostly set in the world of my fantasy series that I’m trying to write, so some, like the “Set in London” ones, will have to be changed, but I’ll give it a try anyway!

52 short stories in 52 weeks

1. A story entitled “A New Beginning”.

2. A story about rising to a challenge.

3. A retelling of a fairytale.

4. A story about three siblings.

5. A story set in London.

6.  A story about finding something that has been lost.

7. A story about a journey.

8. A story set during a war.

9. A creepy story.

10. A story featuring a countdown.

11. A story set at a full moon.

12. A story about a contest or competition.

13. A story that takes place entirely inside a vehicle. 

14. A story from a villain’s perspective.

15. A story set at a concert or festival.

16. A story that begins with a gunshot.

17. A story set in a country you’ve never been to.

18. A story about a historical figure.

19. A story set in a theatre.

20. A story written in 2nd person narrative.

21. A story set on another planet.

22. A story written from the perspective of someone dead/undead

23. A story about a birthday.

24. A story that ends on a cliffhanger.

25. A story set at the summer solstice.

26. A story about nostalgia.

27. A story that features a song or poem.

28. A story that ends at sunrise.

29. A story opening with the words “F*** you!”

30. A story about a magical object.

31. A story set at sea.

32. A story about a curse.

33. A story set 100 years in the future.

34. A story about loneliness.

35. A story that features a real recent newspaper article.

36. A story written from an animal’s perspective.

37. A story about a scientific discovery.

38. A story inspired by a recently observed stranger.

39. A story with only one character.

40. A story about a secret.

41. A romance that ends in tragedy.

42. A tragedy that ends in romance.

43. A retelling of a recent Hollywood movie.

44. A story that takes place the year you were born.

45. A story about a near-death experience.

46. A story about anger.

47. A story about a magic spell.

48. A story set in a strange small town.

49. A story about justice being done.

50. A creation myth.

51. A story set at Christmas.

52. A story entitled “The End”.

[uncomplementaryskills-blog]

Vegetable spring rolls!

So there won’t be a photo of all the ingredients together, because I forgot to take it, but I’m sure you know what a carrot looks like, so I hope you won’t mind.

Honestly I don’t know if what I’m doing is cultural appropriation or not. I’m taking asian foods that I love, learning the basics of how to make them, and then coming up with an exact recipe myself, that definitely crosses the line into “not authentic anymore” territory. Like, I’m definitely not trying to claim these as my original and new ideas, they are definitely based on original and traditional recipes, but quite often I don’t have the time, energy or resources to make them properly. I just make them in a way that I like and that I find easy and that I enjoy. Plus, I don’t know anyone from who’s culture spring rolls come, so I have no one to ask about authentic recipes or traditional ways of cooking. I just use the internet and a bit of creativity. 

If that is cultural appropriation, I suppose so be it. I like the way I cook, and I’m not really going to change it. 

Anyway . . . the spring rolls

Ingredient list

1 large carrot

2 handfuls of bean sprouts

5 spring onions

2 peppers, any colour

3 cloves of garlic

1 teaspoon of shredded ginger

1 teaspoon chinese five spice

1 table spoon black bean sauce

Oil, for frying and coating pastry

Filo pastry (or specialised spring roll pastry. They’re the same, but might be under different names)

1. Finely chop all the vegetables, except the carrot, which you can grate to make it easier.

2. Heat oil in a wok

3. When oil is hot, dump the veg in and stir, making sure it cooks evenly

4. Once the veg is hot, drop in the black bean sauce

Add the five spice as well now

5. Once it’s all thoroughly cooked, take off the heat and drain excess moisture off

6. Bring out your pastry

Be careful with it. It’s delicate, and if you’re not careful, it could easily end up cracking like mine did last night in the fridge. Cover the excess sheets with a damp towel while you’re working to prevent them from drying. You may want to preheat the oven to 180 degrees right about now

7. Lay one square down, with a corner facing towards you

8. Paint a thin covering of vegetable oil around the edges

9. Place a dollop of filling in the centre of the corner facing you. If you want to make more authentic spring rolls, you would use about a tablespoon, spread it out thinner, and roll tight. But as I don’t do authentic, I do inauthentic bastardisations, I used a quarter cup of filling, and made oversized spring rolls, because I was hungry, and effort. Rolling it tighter requires you to be a lot more careful about accidentally tearing it, and since mine already got torn a little in the fridge overnight, I didn’t want to make it worse

10. Fold the corner closest to you over the filling, about half way

11. Fold the sides in, so it looks like an envelope

Make sure to do it tight and not leave too much air spacing 

12. Roll up

If there are edges sticking out feel free to tuck them in a bit more (careful not to tear the pastry), but it’s not necessary unless you want to go for the perfect look. 

13. Make some more!

Depending on the amount of filling you used, you will be able to make a lot more. If you sue exactly the same measurements I did (which you won’t, because I’m fairly inexact (cooking is an art, baking is a science)) you should get 12 of these lil’ bois. I had three for lunch today, or five for dinner last night (I was still sort of hungry after that though), but unless you’re doing them as just a light snack, they should be more like accompaniments to meals, rather than a meal in itself

14. Line an oven tray with baking paper, place as many as you want to eat on the tray, and bake at 180 degrees (celsius) for about 20 minutes. 

As you can see, they’re not exactly round or roll-like, but if I used a little less filling or rolled it a little tighter, they probably would be. But since I cook for my tastes, I don’t really care.

You can put the rest in a sealed container and refrigerate for up to a week. I haven’t tried freezing them yet, but other than the possibility of the pastry tearing as it freezes, it should probably be fine to freeze them

15. Enjoy!

16. Wash your dishes for gods’ sakes! This is a shared kitchen, no one wants to be cooking with your dirty dishes sitting there. And other people need to use those forks! You can’t just horde them all in your room! Show some respect!

17. Try not to be too bitter about your housemates leaving all their dirty dishes in the kitchen. As you might be able to tell I failed number 17.

18. You can go now, you know? There’s nothing else left to the recipe

19. Really? You’re still here? Fine, I guess I can tell you that you are free to experiment with other sauces than black bean. I used sweet chilli sauce last night when I made them, and the next batch I’ll do a honey lemon sauce.

20. No really, that’s it

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Flashback to that one time I tried to be artistic

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A while ago I wrote a book

It was shit. But the ideas behind it were good. Like, really good. Better than I could have written at the time. Recently I thought about redrafting it, but I’ve had too many other things to work on. I did the opening, but that was about it. Tell me what you think of the new opening

A Cup of Madness

 I’m nervous. I really wish I had a better way to describe how I’m feeling now, but nervous is the only word I can think of. I’ve never been on TV before. I’m shaking a little as I apply the final touches to my makeup. It probably smears a little more than I would have liked. I look at myself in the mirror in front of me, admiring the outfit my friend had chosen for me. The black dress clings to my body perfectly, although I think the matching steel bracelets I had on each of my arms might have been a bit too much. They were heavy and weighed my arms down as I try to move them, but either way, I look killer. My hair had been carefully braided, but just before I was set to walk out there, in front of the cameras and in front of the audience, I carefully remove the hair tie and brushed my long blonde hair out and down my back. They were expecting the whole “tortured artist” look, and the braid was too neat. Too tidy. Too organised and that wasn’t why I was here tonight. They wanted to talk about my art and my art wasn’t organised. It was wild and untamed and beautiful and that was why my work had gotten so much attention. I plant a kiss on the mirror in front of me, leaving the red outline of my lips in front of me, and I smile. The light flashes in my dressing room, and the next thing I know I’m sitting in front of the host. The crowd cheers behind me, although the host doesn’t seem to be in the best mood. He had probably already filmed several of these shows in a row and this was the last one of the day. He was probably fed up. I must admit, I don’t actually know his name. I’ve never watched his show before, and it was only thanks to my friend Carol that I’m on it now. She got me here. If it wasn’t for her I wouldn’t be where I am in life at all. I smile at him but he keeps glaring.

“Tell me about your boyfriend, Christine,” he says. He sets a photo of Dan in front of me, but I can’t bare myself to look at it

“Ex-Boyfriend,” I correct him. “We broke up last night. He told me he didn’t love me anymore.” I was surprised that was his first question. He hadn’t even done the audience parts yet.

“Is that why you killed him?” he asks. He sets another photo of Dan I front of me, but this one I know I can’t look at. I don’t want to see what Dan looks like now that he left me

“What?” I laugh. “I didn’t kill him. He told me he didn’t love me, so I asked him to leave my house.”

The crowd behind me was silent. The studio lights seemed to be fading and the walls of the set seemed grey. The bracelets on my wrists feel heavier than they had before.

“What about your father, then, Christine?”

“I don’t want to talk about him,” I snap. “At least not here. It’s not suitable for TV”

He glares at me, as if he doesn’t know what I’m talking about. I’m glad I’ve never watched his show before. He doesn’t seem like a very good host.

“Why did you kill him?”

“I didn’t kill . . .”

I try to move my arms, but the bracelets seem to be holding my hands to the table. They cut into my wrists as I try to lift them.

“What about Zoë Clarke, then? Did you kill her too? How many more people have you killed, or rather, haven’t killed if you’re still trying to maintain your innocence?”

There was no studio. No set. No audience and no talk show. I pull my hands but the handcuffs are on too strong. The red marks on the table in front of me are not lipstick. The table is sticky with the blood that’s still on my hands.

“What . . .” I mumble. “Where . . .?”

“Look, Miss Wells, you’re going to jail for a long time, and nothing you can say is going to stop that, but we just want to know why you did it?”

“I didn’t . . .”

I hadn’t. She did. It was all her and I was innocent.

“It was Carol!” I screamed, remembering. “She did it, it wasn’t me! She killed Dan and my father! She killed that woman in the club and she killed David and James Murphy too!”

The detective sighs and shakes his head.

“We know you did it, Miss Wells. You can deny it all you want, but it won’t do you any good. This “Carol” didn’t do anything, it was all you. You killed them.”

“No!” I screamed, struggling against my cuffs. “I didn’t. I didn’t kill anyone! It was Carol. She was there all of those times. She’s my oldest friend, but she did it. She looks like me, kind of, but she’s blonde, always wearing makeup. Her clothes make rainbows, and she walks on her hands sometimes. She has a ferocious temper sometimes, but for the most part she’s really sweet. It was all her, but she was doing it all for me, whether I wanted to or not.”

He’s almost growling at me at this point.

“Are you trying to tell me you’ve been framed?”

“Actually, only two of my paintings have been framed,” I say, as the crowd cheers at the question. The lights come back on and the set background rolls out. “But they’re both now in the Museum of Modern Art in Dublin. All the rest of the ones that have been sold are in private galleries right now.”

“What?”

“It has been a struggle to get where I am, but now that I can finally start making money from my passion it’s all worth it.”

“Miss Wells, do you know where you are?”

 Had I been in my right mind then, I could have almost heard the glass shattering in his mind as he realised.

“Do you know why you’re here?”

But I wasn’t in my right mind.

“Do you know who I am or what I’m doing here?

I hadn’t been in my right mind for quite some time

“You’re a talk show host, right?” I say, still deep in one of my delusions. “You want to hear about my paintings, don’t you?” I laugh nervously. “Isn’t that why I’m here?”

“Look at this picture, Christine.”

He holds the photo of Dan in front of my face.

“I don’t want to,” I mutter.

“Look at it!” he yells, grabbing my face and turning it towards him.

It didn’t look like Dan anymore. It didn’t even look human anymore. There was so much blood.

“No . . .” I try to say. “He’s not . . . I didn’t . . . I want to speak to him right now.”

He curses and slams his fist on the table.

“Not another bloody lunatic. Do you seriously not know what’s going on?”

“I told you, we’re on a talk show, and quite frankly, you’re not a very good host. I think I could do a much better job than you.”

“Then why don’t you, Miss Wells? Why don’t you tell me what you think happened?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about?!” I protest.

I really didn’t at the time. I had stopped knowing what was going on a long time before that night.

 Maybe I should explain.

 My name is Christine Wells

At the time of writing this book, I’m 23 years old

 And this is the story of why I murdered 5 people

[uncomplementaryskills-blog]

Destiny sometimes proffers us a cup of madness from which to drink

Victor Hugo, The Man who Laughs

[uncomplementaryskills-blog]

Spring rolls

I made them! They were delicious! I’ll make more tomorrow and upload the recipe and step by step guide, because they were unbelievably nice and I want to make more.

[uncomplementaryskills-blog]

Red Rice!

This isn’t really a recipe, so much as it is an inauthentic bastardisation of various mediterranean cuisines, but it tasted good, so I don’t care.

Ingredient list

100g rice

1 clove garlic

Quarter teaspoon of wild sumac

Pinch of salt

Dash of pepper

Dash of paprika

Dash of chilli flakes

Olive oil for frying

Red pepper

Chorizo

So begin by cooking the rice according to packet instructions (e.g. wash, put into cold water, and boil)

While this is happening, you can start on the rest. Probably give it five minutes though, because the rest of it doesn’t take as long as the rice. 

Crush and finely dice the garlic. Add some oil to the pan and put onto a medium heat. Chop a red pepper. When the oil is hot, add the garlic, wait 10-15 seconds, then add the pepper. 

After maybe a minute or two I guess, add the chopped chorizo and fry on low heat until everything seems ready, about 5 minutes.  When the rice is finished, throw it into the pan with the rest of the stuff and turn up to high. Fry on high for a minute or two until the rice takes on a light orange/red colour. 

Serve. I’d recommend red wine, while listening to Taylor Swift’s fourth album

I don’t have any photos yet, because my laptop is being a little bitch, but I’ll add some when I can

[uncomplementaryskills-blog]

I’m back!

Sorry, long christmas holiday, been away from my kitchen and my writing, but I’m back now. A recipe will be coming soon, and hopefully I’ll take a stab at another short story

[uncomplementaryskills-blog]

Black bean fried chicken

Sorry this has taken so long, but finally another recipe. 

This was inspired by me looking at a random shelf in a super market and thinking, “eh, I guess I could do something with that?”

So here’s my totally inauthentic Chinese black bean fried chicken and noodles

Prep time - Approx an hour (although that’s mostly just waiting)

Cooking time - like 20 minutes I guess?

Serves 1

Stage 1

Ingredients

Half a chicken breast

Salt

Pepper

Chinese five spice

Chilli flakes

Black bean sauce - Feel free to make your own if you can, but I can’t, so I bought a jar of it for like £1. You only need a couple of tablespoons

1. Chop the chicken into chunks

2. Coat chunks in a mixture of all the things I’ve written above. Use however much you think you need, but don’t go overboard, you just want to coat and season the chicken

3. Cover and refrigerate for around an hour (I did it for 4 hours because I had class, but an hour should be enough)

Stage 2

Ingredient list (some things in this picture can be ignored)

The chicken from earlier

Oil for frying

Flour

Salt

Pepper

Chinese five spice

Half a pepper

Black bean sauce

Noodles

1. Begin boiling a pot of water for the noodles

2. When the water is boiling, add the noodles

3. When they’re ready, according to packet instructions, drain and set aside

4. While this is happening, put about 1 heaped tablespoon of flour into a bowl, along with dry seasonings (pepper, salt, five spice, adjusted for taste)

5. Heat up some oil in a wok

6. Coat your marinated chicken in the flour mix, covering completely

7. When the oil is hot, put the chicken in the oil

8. Fry until done

9. Chop your pepper (any colour works)

10. When the chicken is done set aside, and drain most of the oil (we don’t want to deep fry the pepper)

11. Fry the pepper

12. Add the noodles into the wok with the peppers

13. Stir, add in some more black bean sauce and stir some more, coating the noodles and peppers with it. 

14. Dump into a bowl with the fried chicken

To be perfectly honest, the picture makes it look a bit shit, but trust me, it’s really good. The chicken crisps up deliciously, and though the crispy bits are liable to come off if treated roughly like they did in that photo, they’re still delicious, as is the chicken underneath. Black bean sauce isn’t something I cook with often, but after this I’m going to try and find more recipes that use it, because it really adds a nice oriental taste to the meals. 

Plus I’ve still got a jar of it in the fridge that needs used before I head home for the holidays

[uncomplementaryskills-blog]

Recipe coming today!

I don’t know what it is yet though. I’m kind of trying to experiment with some ideas and do some stir fry like thing, but I haven’t really planned it yet. 

So tune in later (or possibly tomorrow by the time I upload it) to see me winging it with black bean sauce

[uncomplementaryskills-blog]

Love

Parts I,II,III & IV can be found here

https://uncomplementaryskills.tumblr.com/post/167553414021/drifting?is_related_post=1

https://uncomplementaryskills.tumblr.com/post/167587427731/forgotten

https://uncomplementaryskills.tumblr.com/post/167746314701/escape https://uncomplementaryskills.tumblr.com/post/167808840131/wrong

Squelch, plop

Squelch, plop

Squelch

I stopped walking. This is where the tree had been. Someone had torn it up a few years ago. That part of my life was gone now, plucked up from the earth and tossed into the fire. Maybe they’d planted another tree elsewhere to compensate. I would like it if they did. Someday, there might be another child building a house in its branches. Would his face be bruised too? Would that tree provide shelter from the cruel fist of those who were supposed to love him?

Love

I did love her. There was no doubt about that. With all my heart I loved that woman and I would never stop loving her. I could try and blame her for what happened, and I knew some people would. If it had been a scene from a movie, the audience might even have claimed it was, but it was mine. It was my fault and there was no way I could deny that. I was the problem, not her. I was the problem.

“I have a problem,” I said aloud. It was the first thing I’d said in hours. I should have said it immediately.

I should have said it years ago.

It had taken coming back to this field, to the site where I’d spent so many nights hiding, for me to realise it. This was never going to end unless I did something about it. I slipped a shaking hand into my pocket and pulled out my phone.

“Honey, it’s me,” I said, my voice wavering with each word. “I won’t be home tonight. I think it’s best if I go away for a little while. I need to think some things out . . . I think I need to talk to someone . . . yeah, I still have the card in my wallet . . . I love you, honey. I love you. I love you more than I’ll ever be able to say . . . I love you.”

[uncomplementaryskills-blog]

Wrong

Part 4

Parts 1,2&3 can be found here https://uncomplementaryskills.tumblr.com/post/167553414021/drifting?is_related_post=1

https://uncomplementaryskills.tumblr.com/post/167587427731/forgotten

https://uncomplementaryskills.tumblr.com/post/167746314701/escape

Squelch, plop

Squelch, plop

Squelch, plop

I didn’t know why I was still here. There was nothing here for me but half-forgotten memories of a time when I thought I was happy. A distant twang of nostalgia lay upon the place like a ghost who doesn’t know how to move on. That little boy, hiding from his parents in a tree house he’d built was still here, watching his adult self sulk in the rain. I wonder if he still had the bruises on his cheek, or that cut on his upper arm. To see them now might hurt even more than they had then. Back then he hadn’t known better. It was normal to him. It was life. When that little boy’s friends had asked him about the bruise, he had told them there was nothing wrong.

Wrong                                                                              

There was no doubt in my mind about it. I was wrong. I had done what I swore once I would never do. Just one moment of drifting from that promise was all it had taken. She had said it was okay. She told me as long as it only happened this once she could forgive me. One day, she said, we’d look back on our life and all of this would be forgotten. But I knew those words all too well. I knew the promises people like me made and I knew how little they were worth. I hadn’t said anything when she made me promise. Not because I didn’t want to, because there was nothing I wanted more than to make that promise. It was because I didn’t know if I could keep it. For a while, maybe. One day, far in the future, or close, work would be stressful. My car would break down. My favourite show would be cancelled. Something would happen to set me off. Something would bring out that part of me I’d tried so hard to hide. Promising it would never happen again, when I knew someday it might, would be wrong.