My obsession with congee

I even do not remember when I first heard or read of congee. It must have been in relation to heath foods. From time to time I get on a health kick and search for foods good for me. I even strongly believe in food as medicine. Please do not take it against me. I can indulge in eating unhealthy food with the best of them. Not that I consider that to be my strength, perhaps the opposite, but to me it is important to enjoy food which is interesting, fresh, simple or, in contrast, refined tastes. I am very eclectic in my food preferences.

But I deviated from my today’s subject. Congee came to my awareness as a plane food but with some magic, healthy qualities. Now that I know much more about it I have realised  that congee’s health improving qualities are simply based on it being easy to digest. It does not cure that much as gives our system a break to recoup after an illness.

This is what Wikipedia sais about it:

Congee or conjee is a type of rice porridge or gruel popular in many Asian countries. When eaten as plain rice congee, it is most often served with side dishes. When additional ingredients, such as meat, fish, and flavorings, are added while preparing the congee, it is most often served as a meal on its own, especially when one is ill. Names for congee are as varied as the style of its preparation. Despite its many variations, it is definitionally a thick porridge of rice largely disintegrated after prolonged cooking in water.

                                   
                              

Maybe it does not look as something one would like to try but I am still interested in finding more and learning how to cook it.

I decided to try to cook congee one day and I found, to my surprise, many recipes on a Polish sites. They seemed sensible enough and I gave it a go. After 2 hours of cooking my congee the water disappeared and the rice started to stick to the bottom of the pot. It was not a success but it was edible. Overcooked rice on its own has a small appeal to me so I experimented with adding in turn goji berries, vegetables, honey and nuts. Honey version was the most pleasing.

From my Chinese friends who treat their food seriously, I got very clear and detail instructions how to cook this specialty. I bought the right rice, picked the time when I intended to be at home for a while as it takes around two hours to cook. In fact my first recipe told me that it takes 4 hours. I was very happy to shorten the time to just over one hour.

My second try was following the recipe given by my Chinese friends. This time I could not believe that I had rice – water proportions right so I changed them to have less water than it was advised. This was another mistake, I think, as I got again a very thick concoction. When I compare my product to pictures, I subsequently found  on Internet, I think that the next time I will follow the recipe to a letter.

Lately I read again about curing power of congee. Traditionally a congee is cooked as soon as a family member is developing a cold. Another use is for stomach upsets and for hangovers. Practical even if time consuming. The hangover cure must be a western use of the remedy, I do not believe Chinse drink that much.  There are stories that Chinese men are very popular with Russian women who chose Chinese man for husbands as they do not get drunk and they do not beat their women.

Buying my special congee rice in a Chinese supermarket in Chatswood, I asked a Asian looking women about how she cooks her congee. Her answer was – I do not cook it, when I want a congee, I go to a restaurant.

The other day I was in a Chinese restaurant and I thought that maybe it would a good time to taste a professional version. To my great disappointment, the owner  of a very good and authentic, Chinese restaurant did not know of such a dish. Did we have linguistic or pronunciation problems? Not sure. I feel like I am in a search of not yet found congee. My post also seems to remind of Proust writing in its verbosity. I wish, I wish...

Mixed feelings about visiting Poland

I am already planning to go to Poland. This time it was going to be a fun trip. At least in parts. I have unfinished business there requiring me doing things which I am not keen on but I organised the trip in such a way to mix duty and pleasure. I am going to have a couple of nice trips while in Poland. 

One trip will be with my best friend I met the first day at uni. Being with Basia is fun  wherever we are and whatever we do. We  seem to talk as if in shorthand. We share jokes which we know very well and still find it funny. We do not have to tell them in full to laugh. A word or two is enough to bring the jokes to our memories. This is the special value of old friendship, I guess. We went our own ways years ago. We both got married and had our lives which did not overlap. But we kept in touch and each time we meet it is as if there was no break between our meetings even if in the past there were many years between them. I am looking forward to the time with Basia.

The other trip will be to Florence. I have never been there. And I am going with my niece, who I feel a very special connection with. She is quite artistic and some time ago was thinking about studying art. It is a shame, in a way, that she decided against it as she would have fulfilled my mother’s dreams of being a painter. My niece studied philosophy  instead and she just recently did her PhD. Impressive girl. It was some years ago when we did our first trip with main goal to visit art galleries. We then went to Holland. We stayed some days in Amsterdam and did a trip to The Hage. I think that we must have visited then most of the Duch galleries. From the beginning I was wondering how I could spend time in my favourite galleries without Martyna, being only 18 then, getting bored with looking at so many paintings.  How wrong I was! She may have had then a stud in her lower lip, she may have been only 18 but she loved the paintings. She did not have enough. Often, I was waiting for her in coffee places, tired and happy to leave the place when Martyna came running towards me to share her impressions and asking for yet another half an hour as she was not done yet. I always thought that galleries are the places to go without a company and see things at my own pace. Martyna and another  friend of mine are an exception. So I am very much looking forward to see art in Florence in a company of the like-minded person.

A lot of fun and pleasure to look forward to even if my mood has been seriously dampened by Mr. Putin’s activities rocking my feeling of safety in Eastern Europe. From Australia the political situation in Crimea does not seem to be directly threatening but listening to Polish radio I have developed different point of view and I hope this is only silliness and unnecessary panic. 

Trust there are no more courses in this dinner

                                             

Pick-up truck and compressor

It is difficult to think that a new pick-up truck and a compressor could be all a person considers the only desirable things in life. Woody Grant, the hero of Nebraska, does.

Ramana , in his post on Nebraska, wrote about the film in such positives that I decided to see it  even if it did not look like my type of thig. And I did not regret it. Actually, I was very much moved by the film, by its warmth, humour and the way Alexander Payne shows us life in Nebraska.

Woody seems to be a little confused by life and due to his age one thinks – Alzheimer? But no, as Woody’s son says – he only believes in what people say. That makes him look as if he was not all there. He believes that he will win million dollars if he shows up in Lincoln, Nebraska by closest Monday to claim the prise promised to him in an advertising campaign. He needs to travel some thousands of miles from his place to get to Lincoln, so he energetically starts walking. As the walking idea does not work out his son decides to drive him there. Good, soft hearted son and stubborn old man. The whole film is about their journey from Montana to Nebraska and reminiscing. The old man’s reason for the journey is to get his one million dollars price and David’s to bond with his father, taking maybe the last trip together. Woody, asked by his son what he is going to do when he gets his million dollars, after some hesitation answers: I will buy a new pick-up track. Prompted by his son what else, declares that he will buy a compressor. Not that he needs it but his old compressor was stolen years ago by his neighbour from Nebraska. He just wants to have a compressor again. I guess, he needs to regain an equilibrium in his possessions. Is it a sign that with age we stop to dream and desire? Maybe for some of us but I would not generalise it. Going for one’s dream, however humble, with Woody’s determination is enviable in my mind. And his dream comes true, strangely enough.

My favourite scene of the film is Woody’s triumphant drive down the main street of the place where he used to live years ago. He is driving his new truck, with a brand new compressor in the back. Woody is sporting a cap with the word WINNER and that tells us how he feels. This honorary round restores his dignity and self-value. And all of this experiences given to Woody by his son. Indecisive man and seemingly less successful than his brother.

I have been introduced by my friends to - Breaking Bad. Brilliant, captivating attention serial, I would recommend. Bob Odenkirk, in Nebraska the more successful but less likeable brother, plays convincingly a corrupted lawyer in Breaking Bad. 

Judy Cassab Exhibition - disappointment?

Fat Thursday

I was going to write about something completely different today but I was reminded that today is the Fat Thursday in Poland. Actually I was listening to the radio news about Ukraine and the Fat Thursday seemed almost more important than political subjects. Such is the power of tradition in Poland. Fat Thursday is celebrated by overeating. Not only in Poland. Germans, Hungarians, Spanish also follow this fattening tradition. Polish favourite pastries are pączki – large deep-fried doughnuts typically filled with rose jam or other marmalades, glazed with sugar.

Another favourites are faworki – thin dough ribbons, deep fried until crispy and sprinkled with caster sugar.

You are meant to consume the traditional sweets to bring you luck. The more you eat the more luck you will have. I just realised that I am in trouble this year. There is no way I could even get one of the mandatory sweets, in Sydney and this time of the day. It is the Thursday evening. The best I could do was to have a piece of toast with butter (as a fat component).  I am not sure at all that I have fulfilled the requirement of the day this way. So talking to my friend in Poland, who was just preparing a Fat Thursday party for his family, I asked if they could have a doughnut for me, like a drink to my health. Have a doughnut to my luck, sort of a thing. I am not sure if this will work. But I did my best to comply.

Judy Cassab

          

                                                                 

One of my big interests is paintings. There is a longish family history attached to it. My mother was a frustrated as she did not feel fulfilled as artist. She was good at drawing and had a keen sense of colour. I think I took the interest in painting with some of her genes. Frankly, I do not fully subscribe to  the theory of genes as a strong determinant of the way we are. I accept that there might be some influence but they are not hard coded in us. Inherited genes can be overridden given special attention. This is my belief. I was always interested in drawing and painting. My mother, however, liked to take over my art homework and produced work which always impressed my teachers. I find is surprising that this treatment has not damaged my independence. However, if I was to dig a little deeper into my psyche, interesting things may came up related to my mother taking over my creative tries. I was growing up believing that my job is to admire paintings of others without trying painting myself. Do I have regrets? Maybe some, but not too strong. I am directing my creativity to writing, this keeps me happy.

One of things I really love doing for fun is going to Art Galleries of the world. Especially, important ones. My favourite gallery is Mauritshuis in The Hague and my favourite painter Vermeer, favourite painting View of Delft. Having written that, I realised that I do not have really a favourite paining, there are many of them. Many others of Vermeer’s as well. And I like portraits best. I guess my interest in psychology comes out to play. So why I selected the View of Delft? Not sure. It is a beautiful painting.

                                       

I was going to write about Judy Cassab not about myself, so ad rem.

Recently I bought Judy Cassab’s diaries from the period from April 1944  to September 1993. Judy is now 93 and I am sorry that she stopped writing so soon. Or maybe she continued her diaries only I do not know about it yet?

Judy Cassab was born in 1920, a Hungarian Jew. She came to Australia in 1951 escaping from painful memories of the war and extermination of her closest family. She was then, already an accomplished painter with special talent and interest in portraits. In a very short time she became famous in Australia and other parts of the world like England, paining portraits of rich and famous, royalty of the world in many aspects of the word. Her paintings are not only portraits. There are also  abstract painting of truly Australian landscapes. I am yet to get to know this part of her art.

Looking at the portraits of Frank Packer and the self portrait, I hope you agree with me she is a great painter.

                   

She is also a wise woman, reading her diary is not only art educational. I have clarified few life questions for myself reading the book. I respond to her sense of humour and I am learning about Australian painters, painting politics, , I am now reading about 1990 times and I will miss my mornings with Judy Cassab’s memories when I finish the book.

In a couple of weeks I will go to see her exhibition in The National Portrait Gallery in Canberra. Really, really looking forward to it. I will write more about her (and myself) after I come back from the trip.

 

12 Years a Slave - story not only about past

I did go to see the film and I am glad. The film has indeed many cruel scenes, but not more than say Django Unchained or other films by Tarantino or many others. Steve McQueen is the director. I did not know him, but I think I may catch up on his other films and see Hunger and Shame at some stage. He impressed me.

Reflecting on violence in films, I question if it is necessary or could intended messages be passed without showing violence explicitly? I do not think that there is one black and white answer to it. Pun not intended.

Was there too much violence in 12 Years a Slave? I do not think so, even if I looked away several times to avoid seeing particularly painful scenes. Painful to watch, yes. There were moments that made me shudder but without the visual message the pain of the story would not be that powerfully shown. The film is not supposed to only move us emotionally; it is meant to make us feel the pain of what it means to be considered a lesser being. I think that the film is important and current as there are people who feel better and even superior to others. 

Thinking about Polish issues, there are lots of condescending words and behaviours directed at people who are “different”: non Catholics, homosexuals, other nationalities, non patriots (whatever that means) and many others just different to “typical” good Poles.

Some others think that riding a motor bike is very suspicious, dangerous to society and should be punished.

There is a scene in the film when Salomon, the hero, is looking through the window of his place of torture and sees the White House.

This story is not only about the past.

The film is also very beautifully filmed by its cinematographer Sean Bobbitt; the pictures of the southern nature are like paintings, some abstract, some impressionistic. They were the moments to take a breath and focus for short moments on beauty, not just human cruelty.

 I got rather serious, too serious perhaps, but such are my reflections after seeing the film.

Another film I saw lately was August: Osage County. Again, a difficult film, this time about the cruelty of a strong woman, brilliantly played by Meryl Streep. Julia Roberts plays another strong woman and she also displays streaks of cruelty. I am not going write about my observations on the subject of strong women, cruelty and reasons. Not this time anyhow.