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Posts Tagged ‘cooking’

Was in Costco this previous weekend and saw my first ever cookbook ereader device: It was pretty, nice to play with, and featured timers, converters and a rich level of content with each recipe.

This little number was exciting. I could picture myself cooking, running out of a wine – and being able to avoid a disaster by looking up the ingredient’s substitution in five seconds. Phew-situation diverted. (I can’t help it, I think in dramatic scenarios.) Then the communication student in me couldn’t help but wonder – what does this little device do through the perspective of McLuhan’s Tetrad. I’m pretty certain that as soon as humans began writing, recipes were created. Can’t you see the hieroglyphics of stewed crocodile? Yum (dramatic  thinking).

But I think that for the most part of history – recipes were personalized and did not bear resemblance to the mass produced secrets of Julia Child’s French cooking nor that Naked Chef”s universal localized agenda. But the books were in paper form. You could write notes, edit emphasis of ingredients,  pages would have actual bookmarks and favourite recipes would bare the stains of meals well-enjoyed and happily-shared. You could give your South African- Afrikaans-university-days’ cookbook to your daughter – Thirty years after your first degree.

Demy, you can’t do  that. And are you charming enough in other ways to make me forget what I lose?

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My Dad was making his famous lemon Meringue pie. If you have not had his version of this pie – simply put, you have just not had the best pie in the world. I cannot spill too many of famous secrets of this recipe (sorry, familial ties bind me), but I will let you know that he makes it with condensed milk (Sugar-laden milk-creamy paste which South Africans are especially enamored with).

I offered to help him make it for a meeting  my parents were hosting (apparently I’m a sucker for punishment?). Any other month, I would take every opportunity during the baking process to consume this stuff. But due to the pact, I could only smell and visually-covet as I whisked away at the sugary velvet.

Stolen from the interweb, but this pies looks = my dad's pie's taste

I told Claire of this accomplishment: She was amazed at my endurance.

As was I.

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