Once, during Prohibition, I was forced to live for days on nothing but food and water.... W. C. Fields

No, this post is not going to be about W.C. Fields, but I couldn't pass up his comment when I saw it, since this post is going to be about food. Not anything that I've cooked, this time, but street food that I found at the Friday night fair that is held each week in the underground carpark in Henderson. 

Unlike the foody travel shows on TV that you might have seen, I didn't buy and sample each item I'll show you. I had already eaten an early dinner at home, and I didn't want to spend a couple of $20's.  

I did buy one hard-boiled egg cooked in tea and spices though for a dollar, and some plums to bring home, but that was it.  

This is a view down one of the aisles at the fair. The fair starts at 5:30 pm and this was taken just about 6 I suppose. As you can see, the place is already jumping. I found that if I show up around 7 pm, it is so packed that it's elbow to elbow, too hot from all the grills and not as pleasant.  

So, lets get down to looking at some possibilities for a snack. Who doesn't like meat on a stick? There are lots of choices here...

These selections are fairly cheap, any 3 sticks for $5.

Sorry, my photographic skills are not evident in this next picture. The three items listed on the sign are garlic prawns, mussles, and squid tentacles.

Then there is the meat that goes into combination meals with an egg and the chopped up meat on top, and rice and some veggies down below in the bowl.(next picture down)  Not a bad price for a fast meal.

All this meat has made me thirsty, let's find a cool drink.

The girl working this booth looks unhappy with her job. It's true she didn't have any customers, at least not when I took this photo, but maybe that's because she was charging $5 for a coconut and everyone knows that you can buy the same thing at any fruit market around town for $1.99.

It's just not worth $3 to have someone knock a hole in the top and add a straw. 
Besides that, there is a thin layer of very tender, very delectable coconut 'meat' along the inside of the shell that can be scraped out with a spoon. I think it would be a shame to buy a 'drinking coconut' and then throw part of it's goodness away. 
Judging from the empty spaces in front of her booth, most people agree with me. 
Here is a photo from back in 2012 that shows the 'meat' inside.

Here's one of my favorites. They're called Khao Tom at an Asian market I frequent, but this version is a little better because they are grilled over charcoal just before they're given to a customer. It adds a little smokiness to the flavor too from the charring leaf. I'm sorry the photo is slightly out of focus. This is made by wrapping a length of banana in sweet, sticky rice and wrapping that in a banana leaf and steaming it. 

Khao Tom are delivered on Tuesday and Friday mornings to the Da Hua Market across from the Mall and since I shop in the morning, I often buy them while they are still warm from the steamer. 

Here is an in-focus photo I took of some Khao tom in 2013. These have taro inside instead of banana so the filling doesn't show up like banana would. (The sugars in the banana tend to turn it browner.)

This one is a 'Korean fritter' made with an egg batter and veggies or meats.

A kind of dumpling...

And here is my tea egg. It comes with a cracked but still attached peel. (I already peeled half of it)  You can make these at home. I found out that it's strong black tea and 5 spice powder. It tasted better than it looks but I'd prefer one of Jeanne's devilled eggs. 

These are waffles with sweet red-bean paste on  the inside.  

Purple rice congee is a rice porridge or pudding. It's sweet, but not too sweet.  I've had several kinds of congee since it is available canned in all the Asian markets. The can of congee also comes with a tiny plastic spoon so you can eat it on the run. Another fast food.

Finally, an old friend. Fritz's Wieners.  

Thank goodness for Fritz's Wiener stands. The first one I found, on my first trip by train into Auckland, was across from the Ferry Building. I tried their $7 spicy bratwurst. (In the photo, there is a pile of them on the right side of the grill and in the front row.) It was somewhat coarsely ground, juicy, spicy and salty. It is what all sausages ought to be. It's the kind of sausage that makes you want to eat it too quickly. These sausages remind me of home. 

Well, that's it for today. Are you hungry?                     -djf

North Head, Revisited "Breathe deeply the scent of a cave. It's odour carries hints of it's mystery. Accept it's cool caress."

My comments recently in this blog about North Head triggered in us the need to return. Here, then, is a new series of pictures that specifically highlights one of the underground areas.

I hadn't yet shown you the actual caves that exist on the island. They were incorporated into the network of tunnels that were dug in support of the gun emplacements.  

Here is an intrepid explorer shining her torch into the darkness as we arrived. You'll notice that there is a well-worn trail entering the cave system by the larger upper hole. The younger members of any expedition usually opt for this head-on approach to exploration, many times dragging along a somewhat less-willing senior member as support and backup.

Meanwhile, on the other side of the hill, a perfectly good man-sized opening exists for those spelunkers with less pliable joints. The tunnel is tall enough here to allow entry standing upright, but I notice that most people bend over just a bit as they do. A psychological thing no doubt.

Once underground, the camera loses definition in the darkness, but I like the effect.  I'll show you a comparison later between using a flash and no flash, with only my headlamp providing the light for the camera. Go to your right up ahead. I see a cave creature of some sort. Let's investigate.

Yeah, it's a little 'scurry' of cavelings.  Completely harmless, but they are known for shining their torches directly in the eyes of adult explorers. Use caution around them. 

As you can see, these caves are visited by all manner of life-forms.

  

We've reached the 'Grand Hall."

We now exit the caves and make our way toward the gun. We're in the upper burrows of the south battery gun emplacement. 

What?  Ok, we'll take one quick peak out of the 'window' and see what's happening back on the 'topside.'   

"All quiet, Sir, no enemy sighted."

Now, back to the business of finding the disappearing gun.  Fortunately for us, it only disappears from the surface world. We'll find it easily enough. "All roads lead to the gun," after all, but lets check the map just to be sure.

Right, it's down this passage way.

Then, around the corner and go toward the light you see ahead. The last two shots shows what it looks like with the flash..oops, we got a deer-in-the-headlights dad peaking out from an ammunition storage locker.

Without the flash, my headlamp provides a much softer look.  It was only candles back in the late 1800's so this is a much more realistic view. Walk into the light....

I found it, grandpa. It is BIG. It is HUGE!

Wow, I know, my eyes too. I'll be able to see without squinting in just a second...that's better.  I wonder what this gun looks like from outside?

Very impressive huh?  Hey, do you see that little covered observation post directly behind the gun and the flagpole, right in front of that couple?  

Yeah, this is it. See the trap-door in the floor?  Well, I've got an idea.  Lets go back underground and find it.

Ok, we're back in the tunnels. We go down through here, and look for a stairway heading up.

That's it, we've found it. Now, can you see if there is a ladder leading upward to a steel trap-door?

There is? Amazing, you've found the trap door leading to the observation post we just saw above the gun. Good work explorer team!              -djf

Today I decided to do something a little different. Recently I completed an essay about my marriage, marriages in general, and the greatest threat, as I perceive it, to both of them. Maybe you'd like to read it.

The Greatest Threat.

1-15-15

My wife and I have recently celebrated our 41st wedding anniversary in New Zealand. We have been singularly blessed.

If I had been asked just after our wedding, so long ago, how I viewed our life, I would have replied that we were very 'lucky,' to be able make our start together by spending 4 months in Spain while my new bride continued her education at the University of Madrid. Years later, as we bought and sold houses, gave birth to our daughter and advanced in our careers, I would have termed us 'fortunate' to have been able to choose, as we did, our life style and to slowly realise as the years passed, that our plans to attain our American dream were working out very well indeed. Finally, in the slow and steady way that both evolution and our Lord appear to work; interesting coincidence, that, I have come to realise that we have been helped along from the beginning by a Power who must love us very much. Go figure.

Marriage is not easy after all. There are a host of reasons why couples can be blind-sided, and fail at it, even when their intentions at the beginning are the best. The world after all is full of temptations and many is the couple who has faltered, as one or the other of the pair has succumbed to the charms of a fair stranger. Fortunately, my wife and I had higher standards, and it would have taken a really outstanding stranger to turn our heads. In the Upper Peninsula of Michigan where we lived, I guess the crop of such is notably lacking, as the really top-notch strangers regularly migrate to the cities and beaches of the southern climes where snow shovels and mosquitoes play a much less significant role in daily life. I personally, have never even run across a pretty-good stranger and so was not tempted along those lines.

But there are other dangers to a marriage. Money is a big one. Most couples I'm told spend a good deal of their time debating how best to spend it and why the husband doesn't make it faster than he does, and therefore solve the problem by making the first part of the debate moot. In our case, my wife and I were impervious to this pitfall since we both grew up poor. The fact that we made any money at all came as kind of a surprise to us both and when the greenbacks started to pour in, relatively speaking at least, we finally realised that we had attained 'two-income household' status. Paying the bills finally became easy and for some unknown reason, we never got into the habit of conspicuous consumption. We just relaxed, payed the bills and stashed most of the rest of it away. Starting out poor helps to make one a good saver. Once the food is covered, you generally can't think of anything else to buy due to lack of experience.

I love my wife very much. I call her Honey, or 'Hon' most of the time, although I use “Yes, Dear,” fairly often when I notice a certain mood prevailing at our house and I conclude that 'to serve' might work better for me than 'to be served' just then. During those times she has sometimes questioned whether my nickname for her is 'Hon' or 'Hun.' I have always assured her it is the former of course. I'm proud that we have been able to weather the many storms that trouble so many marriages. I trust that we will be able to continue.

Still, there is one other danger to wedded bliss that I think is the single greatest threat to a marriage. I have never heard it discussed, either on TV talk shows, not that I watch such drivel, or in print for that matter. It is a constant menace. Many a man has been laid low by this threat and I admit that I am not above falling under it's spell at times. Much as I love my wife, I have to admit that she and most other women drive me nearly to distraction at times by their use of a certain article of feminine “apparel.”

I'm talking of course about “purses.” To be stuck behind a woman at the check-out counter of any store ranks as the purest form of torture a man can experience in daily life and one that could even lead to the end of a marriage. So many women's purses resemble the one that Mary Poppins carried in the movie of the same name. They defy physics, Newtonian or otherwise. Some unknown mechanism allows the women to stuff a life time of accumulated junk into it, regardless of it's apparent size. They must weigh enough to make the cars the women drive exceed load restrictions on many roads during spring break-up every year. And yet, the women are able to carry them around on one shoulder. It only becomes apparent just how much accumulated matter has been stuffed into this 'black hole' when the woman lofts it up on to the check-out counter and opens it. A man, caught in close proximity to this event horizon, (behind her in the check-out line) suddenly feels a sickening spinning sensation as he enters that 'timelessness' while the woman searches through the purse's many alternate dimensions for her wallet.

It seems logical to me that a woman, doing her shopping on any given day, and visiting a number of stores, would see that her wallet was readily available and within easy reach, at least after the first store. Nevertheless, it's been my experience that this almost never happens. The woman rarely, if ever, finds her wallet on top of the pile. My theory is that as soon as a woman's wallet is inserted into the purse after each use, it is instantly transported to the most distant and hard to reach dimension the purse contains. What else could explain how she must dig through the contents and actually stack some of the smaller items on the check-out belt before finding it?

And women have themselves added many further refinements to this 'torture by purses'. One of them has to do with the opening of the purses themselves. “Yes, Dear” currently has a purse that resembles a backpack. (The men reading this will no doubt shudder but this needs to be said.) When she opens it each time, the strap on the top flap that passes through two loops on the body of the thing must first be undone and the flap raised. Then, the strings encircling the top end of the backpack must be spread from their tightened and closed position to the open. This takes two hands and and a spreading motion is used. Only then, can she begin to dig into the contents. Eventually, when the wallet is located, it is withdrawn and the second refinement of torture begins.

The wallet is opened, by unzipping a zipper than extends around three sides of it. The folding money is located and the woman once again checks the total on the check-out screen. She then begins selecting bills from a wide assortment of denominations. It is astounding how many one dollar bills women carry. She counts out bills that will exactly cover the dollar amount and then, to the horror of the man behind her, unzips the coin purse section of the wallet and begins to count the exact coins needed. She knows of course that the check out girl will happily and patiently wait as long as it takes for this process to be completed. Once the check out girl gets off work, she'll be doing her own shopping after all.

So far, the level of torture has been painful for the man in line, but it now becomes almost unbearable. He now notices for the first time, that the woman checking out has held back one or two items and now asks the check out girl to 'ring these up separately.' All too often they are items of feminine hygiene that men don't like to even be near. Then, the process of paying the exact amount repeats itself.

Finally, when the man is sweating, his eyeballs are protruding, his joints all assure him that they are about to fail under the strain of staying in place in the line, the woman begins the process of taking her receipt, inserting it into the wallet, zipping the coin purse closed, zipping the wallet closed, inserting the wallet into the purse, pulling the drawstrings of the opening, closing the flap of the purse, hoisting the purse to her shoulder and finally moving her ponderous shopping cart slowly away.

I have seen many a man reduced nearly to tears during this ordeal. He may look the same afterwards, but I assure you he is not.

In the movie One Flew Over the Cookoo's Nest, Chief Bromden (Chief Broom) thought that Nurse Ratched could vary the passage of time by turning a dial in a door. It could be made to run faster or be slowed down almost to a stop. I now think this is very likely to have been true. I have seen women in stores routinely slow time down until seconds become excruciatingly long and they have done so without dials of any sort. Just their purses. I think it may be some sort of time/space singularity brought about by close proximity to extremely massive objects.

I have written to the managers of several stores suggesting what I think would be a useful and humane change to their check out lines. It would prevent needless suffering for millions of men. Many stores now have lines that handle customers purchasing 12 items or less. This is fine, but how much better it would be if there were check-out lines that handled men only?

I can imagine the lines of smiling and relaxed men, moving steadily along, paying for their purchases with twenties and fifties taken from their pockets. Any change they're given is efficiently stuffed back into a separate pocket along with the receipt. Naturally, the check out person is male. Yes, I can imagine a store where men exit the sliding doors with a smile on their faces and whistle on their lips.

Unfortunately, I have received only a few replies to my letters from these managers and most of their letters follow a similar vein. “I received your suggestion, Mr. Foster. I even took it home and shared it with my partner and she agrees that it is a very, shall we say, unique, idea, but one that shows typical male bias. Very Truly Yours, Ms. -------.”

Fortunately, the well of patience that men draw strength from is almost as limitless as the dimensions within a woman's purse seem to be. I will continue to persevere. After all, we men have developed some protective strategies. We can time our checkouts to some extent. As we approach, if we notice a number of females lining up, we can loiter in the beer or sausages aisles, even if we know we're not allowed to buy any of those items. We can then move slowly toward the checkout while wistfully inspecting the baked chickens and donuts displays nearby. And finally, when one of the rare lulls in females occurs, or when an extraordinarily brave man or maybe an unaware one gets in line first, we can make our dash and secure our places behind him. (The security cameras in stores must often show crowds of men slowly circling the checkout area awaiting their chance.)

To be strictly fair, I must admit that I once benefited from a purse and at the time it seemed to be no less than a miracle to me. It was way back when my wife and I were still quite young. Her purse at that time was in it's early stages of development. It had not yet taken on as much matter as purses of a more mature woman would have. You could say I suppose that it resembled a newly formed star, many years away from having sufficient mass to start it's collapse in to a black hole.

I had been involved in racing canoes down many of the boulder-strewn rivers in our area for a couple of years. On this particular day, 'Hon' had accompanied me to the first race of the new racing season. As I performed my pre-start checklist, I realized that I did not have the elastic strap that held my glasses in place. I had last used it the previous year, during the race that closed out that season's schedule, a 30-miler from Gwinn to Rock. Given the boulders in the river we were running today, and the number of competitors who would all be trying to get through the rapids at pretty much the same time, I knew what our chances of 'dumping' were, and preferred to have my glasses attached firmly to my head.

I commented unhappily that I had forgotten the strap to 'Hon' and she just smiled. She reached into her purse and pulled it out. She told me that she had had it there since the last race. While I was delighted to have it and thanked her profusely, I was still aware of a fleeting, only half-formed feeling of dread regarding this power that women wield.

At the time of this writing though, I have to report that I feel optimistic about the future. Here in New Zealand, most people, men and woman alike carry a type of debit card that withdraws any monies spent directly from checking or savings accounts. It is almost faster than paying with large denominations of bills, which men have always relied on, since no change is given.

They also carry travel cards for use on trains, buses, and ferries. These allow the fare to be paid by simply passing the card in front of a card-reader. These readers are of sufficient power that they can actually read a woman's 'ATHOP' card while it is still in her purse! Men, can you imagine the breakthrough in technology this represents? The limitless dimensions of clutter that lie within a purse no longer matter. Men and women alike can stride through the travel-hub turnstiles without breaking rhythm.

While I attempted unsuccessfully to lobby store managers to consider “men only” check out lines, some heroic inventor, a man no doubt, thought 'outside the box' (or purse in this case) and changed the world.

As this catches on, I predict that the mental health of millions of men will improve. My own state of mind borders on bliss when 'Hon' travels with me on the train and simply waves her purse across the reader.

And, think of how many of those otherwise compromised marriages will be saved. Society as a whole will benefit.

I really wish I could meet whoever it was that performed this technological miracle. I'd invite him over for a beer and a brat to express my thanks and those of millions of men. Well, I would the next time 'Hon' lets me buy some beer and sausages anyway.

++

Waiheke means either "The long, sheltering island," or "Island of trickling waters," depending on what account you want to believe. Well, I have re-named it again. To me, after riding around on it all day, it is the "Island where nothing is level."

Today's adventure takes Jeanne and I to Waiheke (Why'-he-key) Island, located in Auckland's Waitamata Harbour. It's New Zealand's most densely populated island with 8,700 permanent residents and 3,400 more that have a 2nd home or vacation bach on it.  

It's very hilly and rocky. This combination makes it a very good habitat for grapes, and wineries dot the island like sheep in a field. What with all the wineries, fancy restaurants, beaches and sun, tourists dot the island as well. 

Allison gave us a winery tour voucher for our 41st anniversary and we made use of it recently. 



                           



We travelled to Auckland in the morning via bus. The bus stop is just 100 yards from our house. (The entire train system was shut down for maintenance and upgrades necessary for the upcoming conversion from diesel trains to electric.) When we got into the city, we picked up our ferry tickets first and then, since we had about 50 minutes to kill before the ferry left, bought coffees and ate ham and egg breakfast sandwiches on the benches overlooking the ferry and cruise ship docks. It was sunny and promised to be an ideal day.

We were met at the dock on Waiheke and shown to the wine tour bus. We soon discovered that the carpark at the wharf (behind Ethan in the picture) is probably the only level place on the island. 

Auckland and the 'Western Heights', where we live, are undeniably hilly but nothing compared to Waiheke for steep slopes.  If you scroll back up to the satellite view of the island I included, you'll see that there are ridges everywhere. 

A couple of posts ago, I talked about how many curves there are on the road between Henderson and Piha. Well, Waiheke has even more curves, but then adds the third dimension to the curves. On Waiheke, not only is a driver always going around a curve, he is also always going up or down. I noticed that the very comfortable wine-tour van was a 5-speed standard shift. I wondered if that was because the stresses put on an automatic transmission under such conditions would give it very short lifespan. The driver often had to downshift to his third gear to make it up some very steep grades and used fourth when coming down again. I was very glad not to be driving, believe me.  

He's wearing a bandana because he fell recently and his forehead is unsightly.

This was the view we got after only about a minute of travel as we headed for our first tasting at a winery called Jurassic Ridge.

In the shot above, Auckland would be in the distance, about 40 minutes away by ferry and Rangitoto is visible to the right.  

Over the course of the day and the three wineries we visited, Jurassic Ridge, Peacock Sky and Obsidian, we tasted 21 wines and one liqueur, a lemoncello. By the way Kim, the lemoncello from Peacock Sky was not as good as the one you gave us. 

I liked a sign that the owner of Jurassic Ridge had placed in his tasting room. "A grapevine is a tool that allows us to taste the soil."  Of the three hosts, he talked the most about the chemistry of wine and about the soil specific to his ridge-line vineyard.

Here are the place settings that awaited us at Peacock Sky. Our host was a very jovial sort who coached us to try each wine alone first, but then experiment with wine-food-wine, as he put it, to see how various food flavors affect how a wine tastes. For each wine then, he had a separate nibble prepared for us to accompany it. It was entertaining and fun, and since it was about noon, the snacks were quite welcome.  

I found, at the conclusion of the tasting at Obsidian, that I probably would have been just as happy to have tasted only about 18 wines.  When we were seated at our lunch destination, Casita Miro, and the waitress asked if we wanted to see their wine menu, I declined and opted for just water and lots of it. Jeanne agreed. 

Lunch at Casita Miro was great. Every one of It's staff showed that rare ability to appear to be having 'the most fun ever' while they worked their backsides off.  It was very busy but the food came quickly and was delicious. The owner, a retired doctor, loves the work of the Spanish artist Gaudi, and so has modeled his menu on Spanish cuisine and the hillside behind the restaurant in to a Gaudi-inspired fantasyland.  

more of Casita Miro at: www.casitamiro.co.nz/

see Sagrada Familia, church designed by Gaudi at: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sagrada_Fam%C3%ADlia:

Notice the section of roof on the left side of the photo. That is the roof of the restaurant. There is no level ground here!

The day went quickly and we were whisked back down to the ferry by 4 p.m. The crowd sharing the ride back to Devonport and Auckland with us was a little redder in the face from the sun and a little sleepier from the fun. Especially some of the kids who were asleep before we untied.  One last look back at a very special place. -djf

Thanks, Mom, for making new foods an adventure.

OK, I admit it. I like to eat. Almost everyone does, of course. But I like to try new foods, I think, more than many other people do. And I have Mom to thank for that.

When we were kids, it was Mom who was always ready to try something new, and to our young palates, exotic. Kropsua is one that comes to mind. I don't know if it is a Finnish or a Swedish oven-baked pancake, but we kids loved it and felt very international when Mom made it for us on a holiday morning.

And I remember taking rides to Black River Harbor on Lake Superior and stopping at a little family-owned butcher shop on the way back for a stick of the butcher's homemade bologna. Mom would take a knife, and before we were 100 feet up the road, heading for home again, be slicing off pieces and passing them to us clamoring beasts in the back seat.

Not that everything we tried was accepted. My Dad was the only one in the family who would eat filia, also known as viili, that a neighbor gave us. It was a Finnish type of yogurt, but seemed slimy and stringy to me. I didn't even want to watch him eat the disgusting stuff. And then there was the time we bought a bag of dried Chinese plums in Duluth, thinking that they'd be sweet and fruity. They weren't and went quickly out the windows of the car before Dad was up to cruising speed.

Now, all these years later, it still excites me to try whatever it is that I haven't tried before. This trip to NZ, has been a goldmine for me and most of the nuggets I've found have been delicious. Some have been just palatable, and a few have been awful. Maybe you'd like to know about a few of them.

Now and again in this spot then, you'll find some of my treasures and some of my trash.

First, let's talk luscious.

My friend Andy, who had a fig tree in his yard, but who has now sold tree, yard, and house, bought a motor home, and gone to explore the northern bits of NZ, gave me, as his going away gift, a bowl of figs.

I boiled them in a secret syrup of my own creation. Golden NZ syrup, cloves, cardamon, candied ginger and a few other things went in to it. Even some white wine since I was feeling adventurous.

Let them cool and rest. And sampled a few.

I cut each in half and arranged them 'artfully' around an Indian gooseberry or amla (Phyllanthus emblica) that I found at the Arkh, an Indian and Island market.  The amla was also boiled, but in a plain syrup. They are Extremely tart.

I should have included a scoop of Hokey-Pokey ice cream in my dessert offering. Jeanne and Allie pronounced it good, but the boys would have nothing to do with it.

"And now," as Monty Python used to say, "For something completely different."


This is a bitter melon.

                     
                         This is the inside (surprise!) of a bitter melon.
                                                                             

                 

This is the chopped, lightly boiled, then sauteed in olive oil with sea salt, garlic and pepper flakes, bitter melon. It's quite nice to look at but is inedible. My advice is, if you see something called bitter melon in an Asian market, Believe that it is what it says it is and give it a pass.

So, there you have the 'best of times and the worst of times' for this first 'food' edition. 

I suppose in closing that I should show you something that ranks in my estimation between the best and the worst. Today's offering is the Taro Fish Ball.

Most fish balls are made with potato starch, and fish of course. I'd call their boiled texture 'springy' and the flavor mildly fishy.  These taro balls, which I tried for the first time recently, uses taro rather than potato as you might guess. I thought that they were similar in taste, but the boys distrusted these from the beginning, because of the purple color, I'm sure. They love the regular potato based balls (nice and white) when we cook them with ramen noodles. We also use them whenever we make up our version of a Korean 'hotpot.' 

My suggestion is to find an Asian market if you can, and try some fish balls. Just start off with the plain white ones...                                                                                                       - djf