I haven’t been cooking and shooting lately, but I have enough stock to allow me to post archive recipes for some time. As long as I have the mindset to write and edit and publish, I’m safe, and you’re getting recipes 😂
So here it goes
I made this last year and I was experimenting with some dark moody photography but it’s such a pity that I kept these photos stored for a year now. I probably shared one photo as part of a trio of dark moody light tests on Instagram, but the rest are now to be shared.
Let’s move down the spectrum from yellow and orange to RED.
Strawberry season might be over around here, but I have another long lost jars of preserves that I had to look for and unearth from the abyss of lost jars.
I remember making this jam a couple of years ago when I got a few crates of strawberries and sat on the floor with legs crossed washing the strawberries, picking the stems off, and cutting them in half. Just like zesting the whole crate of lemons, this task is kind of relieving for me as it takes my mind off things for a while.
I asked mom for the recipe she used to use when she made jams. Usually one would use the same weight of fruits in sugar, but it differs depending on the sweetness or tartness of the fruits. I don’t thing there is a problem in adding more sugar, except maybe getting an overly sweet jam overpowering the flavor of the fruits. But adding less sugar will make the jam rot easily. Therefore, for strawberries, I used 800g per 1 kilogram, and some of them have been sitting on the shelf since I made them in 2017 – hides his face Continue reading
I told you it will get lemony here. Try not to get too sour about it.
Let’s go down this yellow brick road and I’ll show you around what I did with those lemons other than freezing the zest and juice, and making a wonderful sorbet.
With this plethora of lemons, I couldn’t help, while zesting, but pick out the best –and the most emotionally unavailable– ones to praise and cherish and photograph. Then, believing that they would rot after a while, like everything else, I decided to fight their sourness with my saltiness, and press all of it and let it wrestle trapped inside a jar, stacked in my kitchen cabinet.
If you’re anything like me, it would be the joy of your days to be in the wilds surrounded by nature. One can’t think of being away from nature would create a sense of anxiety that is only cured by total immersion.
This is one of the little things that one finds out about himself gradually as days go by. One goes from despising the idea of camping out there in the wild exposed to wild animals and insects to despising the idea of being in the middle of the concrete jungle exposed to wild humans and insects.
Whatever you do in the mountains feels purposeful. Sometimes you go for a walk in the neighborhood and that feels rewarding, sometimes it’s watering the garden, other times it’s the time take to remove the weeds, or climb up and pick the produce and pluck out the good ones. It feels that whatever you do is rewarding in a sense. Nature is rewarding and with some more time and patience, those rewards get more valuable.
Christmas in the camp is different.
We don’t live in tents anymore, but everyone’s roofs and extensions are made of corrugated metal sheets. It’s never a silent night when it’s raining. Every single drip of rain is heard tic-toc-ing on the roofs echoing one another into a deafening harmonious symphony.
Christmas in the camp is engulfed with church bells jingling at midnight calling for celebratory mass. The Maronite monastery uphill, and our modest Greek Catholic church by the side of the camp both hold masses filled with joyful Christmas chants for believers to have a blessed eve. I lead the choir for a while after being a member for long. Those chants were magical in lyrics and melodies that fill you up with warmth and joy. Continue reading