Bottle 6: Dried Honeysuckle Flowers

Yes, yes, the post is late. What of it? I've been in Europe. What are you going to do, fire me?

Actually, this post was supposed to be finished last night, but as I was typing it up I noticed a funny tingly feeling in my lips and looking in the mirror - holy shit - I'm Angelina Jolie on steroids. Yep, I was in the midst of an allergic reaction to the beautiful bunch of flowers that my beau had just brought me. Who would have known I was allergic to daffodils? In an absolute panic, I (rather dramatically, in hindsight) announced that I was going to die and decided that I didn't want to spend my last moments writing a blog. So I watched a movie instead.

I've actually known from the beginning of the month which ingredient I was going to use - partly because in England, where it is Summer, there is an abundance of honeysuckle which afforded me the chance to take photos of it in its wild state for this blog.

OOOOoooOOoOoooh.

The smell of honeysuckle is glorious and what could be better than a flower you can plick (a cross between pick and pluck) off the bush, put in your mouth, and suck out the sugary sugary goodness. Hence, I suppose, the name honeysuckle. Apparently nipples aren't the only things you can suckle.

I had a few shots of me taken, demonstrating this process, but somehow they all managed to make me look like I was smoking a joint on a mountain top:

This was actually a really tricky ingredient; I googled it, and while there seems to be an abundance of delicious-looking recipes for fresh honeysuckle, the dried stuff apparently doesn't appeal to anyone apart from asians, hippies and occultists (oh, and there was a site of Star Trek references to honeysuckle, bizarrely). Now while I'm half asian, like to drink chai and occasionally worship satan, none of these websites appealed to me. Sorry, but I don't fancy making a cup of tea (sorry Naomi), incense, or something called 'witchy cake'. To make matters worse, dried honeysuckle on its own tastes like crap. It's chewy, hard to swallow and very very bitter.

Why did you pick this ingredient, Jason? WHY?

I did, however, discover that honeysuckle is actually a bit of a wonder herb, which has antibacterial and anti-inflammatory properties (wish I knew that yesterday when my face blew up), and has been used for centuries to treat coughs, sore throats, headaches and fever. I did consider contracting a cold to test this out but unfortunately I ran out of time this month. 

So I thought I would stick with the cold and flu treatment theme and make something that incorporates my favourite remedies when I'm feeling under the weather: lemon, honey and ginger. Thankfully all ingredients that have a strong enough flavour to disguise the horrid taste of the honeysuckle. I whacked all of these ingredients in a big pot with a load of sugar and made some delicious marmalade.

I didn't have any bread at home on which to photograph the end product, so....

Here is some on a spoon.

Here is some in a bowl.

And here is some on a daffodil.

Don't worry, I wore gloves when handling the daffodil. I'm not an idiot.

Winter Health Marmalade

4 large lemons

2 cups white sugar

2 cups water

Large knob ginger, peeled and minced

Tbsp honey

Tbsp dried honeysuckle

1. With a paring knife or peeler, take the yellow part of the lemon skin off the lemons and cut into strips. Discard of the white pith. Cut the lemons into slices and remove the seeds unless you like crunchy marmalade.

2. Soak the lemons and rind in the water overnight in a covered container.

3. Add the ginger then bring the mixture to boil in a large pot. Leave to simmer for half an hour. I had a shower in this time. You, too, could shower in this time.

4. Add the sugar and leave to simmer for a further hour. You could have a shower during this time if you haven't already had one at step 3.

5. Turn off the heat, stir in the honey and honeysuckle and leave to cool and set before transferring to sterilised jars (NO you cannot buy them this way. YES you must sterilise them yourself).

6. Have a shower, for god's sake. Oh and change that grubby shirt - half a macaron from last month is stuck on there.

Bottle 5: Candied Violets

This post is brought to you by Mr Butter Nut, homicidal pumpkin.

Welcome to May's ingredient, probably the most fun ingredient I've played with so far. Candied violets make me think of sweet, delicate, old-fashioned desserts, the kind that would sit comfortably on a doily or on a saucer beside a teacup from grandma's good china collection.

This is the third 12-bottle floral ingredient I've used so far. My experience of eating flowers prior to this was minimal (apart from the ones I've had in tea). There were those small red flowers I ate outside of the PCYC before an all ages gig - don't ask why, why do you do anything at age 14. There was the pot-pourri I accidentally ate in an Indian restaurant (see March's entry). There was the blue lotus that I infused in vodka, resulting in a mushroom-flavoured liquor. And there was the more recent consumption of parts of a morning glory plant that had an rather....erm...interesting...effect.

To me there's just something interesting about eating a flower. One minute, it's sitting in the ground looking all pretty, gently swaying in the breeze, enjoying the ooooohs and aaaaaahs and what-a-beautiful-flower-isn't-nature-just-lovelys....and then CHOMP nomp nomp, goodbye, beautiful thing, not so beautiful now are you? It reminds me of my favourite poster:

Violets are apparently quite good for you - they're high in vitamins A and C, antioxidants and AMINO ACIDS: BUILDING BLOCKS OF LIFE". Ha. Thank you first-year Biology. Along with MITOCHONDRIA: "POWERHOUSE OF THE CELL", you managed to impress upon my foggy disinterested brain facts that pop into my consciousness at random times, whilst writing a food blog for example. I'll probably be 90 and wandering around a home, having forgotten my own children and what I had for lunch, still muttering "amino acids, building blocks of life", "mitochondria, powerhouse of the cell - they look like squiggly peanuts".

But I digress.

Pending my upcoming trip to Europe/UK next week, Jason decided to host an English-themed linner party. Linner is to brunch as dinner is to lunch. (Hey that's catchy. I'm going to chant that next time a telemarketer rings). So I decided to make a very English raspberry fool to be followed by very French violet macarons or Macarons aux violettes.

Hey wow, look. I made macarons that actually look and taste like macarons - go me.

So we gathered round at Clayson's and drank Perry (English pear cider) while the boys made full use of their double-ovened kitchen to bring us an epic feast of roast pork with cider glaze and all manner of delicious roasted veges. 

We finished up the meal with a delicious warm homemade honey liqueur spiced with cinnamon, cardamom and nutmeg, a perfect accompaniment to the raspberry fool and macarons, which seemed to be a hit considering the rate at which the plate of them cleared...

...and judging by the size of the hard-on Lyss got after eating a few.

Macarons with Vanilla Cream and Candied Violets

2 1/2 cups almond meal
2 cups icing sugar
1/2 cup caster sugar
4 egg whites
2 tbsp candied violets

Vanilla Cream

2 egg yolks
50g butter
1 tsp vanilla essence
1 1/2 cups icing sugar

1. Mix the almond meal and icing sugar in a large bowl and set aside. Line some trays with baking paper.

2. Whip the egg whites til soft peaks form - I love this, they look so white and shiny and delicious. Then gradually add the caster sugar while whipping. I added some food dye here to make them look more violet-y.

3. Fold the egg mixture into the dry mixture until it's smooth and lovely.

4. Pipe the mixture into rounds about the size of a 50 cent piece. I don't have a piping bag (nor do I have bagpipes, but that is irrelevant) so I spooned the mixture into a ziplock bag and snipped the corner.

5. Sprinkle some crushed candied violets on half of the macarons.

6. Let the macarons rest for half an hour or so to 'dry', then bake them at 150 for about 10 minutes. Allow to completely cool.

7. For the vanilla cream, whip the eggs, butter and vanilla essence, gradually adding the sugar until a desired consistency is reached. Then add whatever is left of the candied violets (I crushed them down into more of a powder).

8. Sandwich the macaron halves with the vanilla cream.

Bottle 4: Preserved Orange Peel

So this month instead of picking an ingredient and deciding how to cook it, I worked backwards by deciding what I wanted to cook and picking an ingredient that I could sneak into the recipe. You know, mixin' it up. Keepin' it real. Pokin' the puppy and shit.

Anyway I thought I'd try to stick to the Easter theme. Apart from the image of Jesus eating chocolate eggs whilst riding a giant rabbit, the first thing to pop into my mind was hot cross buns, a) because they're delicious and b) because hot cross buns are never really far from my mind.

I contemplated each of the remaining ingredients and although I have no doubt that sichuan peppers would make a rather interesting addition to a hot cross bun, I decided on preserved orange peel. Bit of a risky choice, as preserved orange peel is not at all like a candied orange peel, which is a traditional ingredient of the hot cross bun. Preserved orange peel, for those who are not Asian, has a strange, intense, salty-sour-sweet-bitter flavour, a little bit like a traditional chinese medicine shop smells like.

So during the week before the long weekend I set upon my kitchen with the fury of a furious person and baked me some hot cross buns. Pulling them out of the oven, I thought, hey wow, they smell good and they actually look like real hot cross buns. I win.

But wait. Whilst they made like Jesus and rose, the next day I awoke to find they had deflated into hard little hot cross scones that could have been used as weapons under the right circumstances. Still, I took some to work and attempted to distribute them at a meeting. What are colleagues for, if not to offload dubious foodstuffs that they themselves don't want to eat but also don't want to waste (think of the starving children in Penrith). Now they were hard to chew and needed vast amounts of saliva to assist with swallowing, but overall the flavour was good and that's got to count for something, right? Right?

Apparently I am not alone in my difficulties. Upon mentioning my baking attempt to Olivia (the Rosenator; she who got cranky that I didn't make enough reference to her in the last blog entry), she looked at me knowingly and asked, "did they come out more like hot cross rocks?"

Figuring they couldn't get any more stale, I packed up the remaining buns and brought them with me on my long weekend adventure up to the snowy mountains. And on Easter Sunday, by a river in the Kosciuzko National Park, four days after being made, the hot cross buns had their moment of glory.

Of course, we had to BBQ the shit out of them to make them edible. But hey, that's what we Aussies do.

Having eaten four of the six we figured we'd had enough, so like a number of my previously-loved items (clothes, books, ex-boyfriends) they got tossed in the fire. And it was damn lucky that they did because in doing so, I discovered an alternative fuel source to rival all others. That shit burned for hours. While logs reduced to ash around them, those hot cross buns retained their shape and and kept my tootsies warm and toasty whilst I ate a second breakfast of fried bacon to offset any dissatisfaction with the hot cross bun experience.

They may still be burning, who knows.

Hot Cross Fire Bricks

4.5 cups plain flour, sifted

2 x 7g sachets dried yeast

1/4 cup caster sugar

1 tsp each cinnamon, nutmeg, allspice

Pinch of salt

1.5 cups sultanas

Grated rind of 1 orange

2 tbsp preserved orange peel, finely chopped

1 egg

100g butter

300ml milk

Extra caster sugar and cinnamon, for glaze

1. Combine 4 cups flour, yeast, sugar, spices, salt, sultanas, orange rind and preserved peel in a large bowl. Create a well in the mixture. Do not fall down the well.
2. Place butter and milk in a small pan and stir over low heat until butter is just melted. Whisk in the egg. Pour into the well and mix into the flour mixture.
3. Knead on a floured surface until the dough is smooth, then cover in plastic wrap in a bowl and put in a warm spot for 45 minutes (dough will double in size)
4. Punch the dough for being so cheeky as to double in size when you weren’t watching it. Keep punching it til it submits and goes back to its original size, then knead til smooth.
5. Cut into even portions and shape into balls, lining them up in a large greased oven pan (3 rows of 5 buns fit perfectly in my pan), then cover with a damp tea towel or plastic wrap and put in a warm spot for 45 mins (they will double again but no need to punch them this time. They obviously are impervious to violence)
6. Heat oven to 220. Make a smooth paste from remaining flour and water and pipe crosses on to buns (don’t limit yourself to crosses though, you could pipe patterns, polka dots, even advertising onto your buns). Bake for 10 mins then turn heat down to 200 and bake for another 10 mins.
7. Dissolve 2 tbsp caster sugar in 1/3 cup water on the stove, adding some ground cinnamon. Let simmer for a few minutes then brush over the hot buns as soon as they come out of the oven.
8. Eat them straight away. It will just make your life easier.

Bottle 3: Dried Rose Buds

This month's ingredient makes me think of a story. Years ago my family would go fairly regularly to this local Indian restaurant. At the end of the evening us kids would be hanging around the front of the restaurant while the adults squabbled over who got to pay. This restaurant always had a little dish by the cash register with little sweets in it, usually those sugar-coated fennel seeds (another of the 12 bottles ingredients) or sometimes what looked like little coloured cubes of sugar (and taste like little coloured cubes of sugar; I'm sure if we had asked what they were, the response would have been "they're coloured sugar cubes"). On one particular evening Ben (the cousin) and I had stuck our hands in the little  dish and were munching away.

"These taste shit."

"Yeah."

"I think there's a stick in my mouth."

"Gross, it's all dusty."

"What's that blue thing?"

"Is that a rose bud?"

Almost at the same time, we both paused with our jaws frozen open in our closed mouths, staring down at the contents of our hands.

"Ben, I think we're eating the pot pourri."

"Yeah."

I think we can all take a little something from that story.

So this month's ingredient was dried rose buds. What was that I heard you say? Did you say easy? Did I hear you say that would have been easy? Would you like to write this blog then smartie-pants? 

(mmm, smarties)

Anyway what I'm trying to say is that it was actually pretty hard to come up with something delicious to make with this ingredient. They don't smell or taste like anything. Aesthetically pleasing, yes. But that's about it. It's kind of like that time Sarah (the lady friend) and I got served chocolate truffles sprinkled in gold dust. I mean, fuck you, poor people, I'm just going to eat some of this tasty tasty gold. Wait a minute.....

My first idea was a tea. Because when I was in Melbourne earlier this month, every night Angeline (the smile of my soul) would serve me up a lovely pot of rose-containing "nighty night" tea (which she charmingly nicknamed "smackie tea") right before bed. I've never slept so well in my life. Then I actually thought about how thrilling it would be for my guests to come around, to be served up some kind of narcolepsy-inducing brew. Yep, great idea for a party Christie Bee.

My second idea was to infuse the roses in vodka, because hey, if you're going to fall asleep during one of my 12 Bottles dinners, you might as well be drunk too. It didn't work. The vodka turned pink, the rose buds turned white, and it tasted like...well, like vodka with pink colouring in it. So smartie pants here (mmmm smarties) decided to cheat by throwing in some chunks of turkish delight. It didn't work. The vodka got pinker, the turkish delight took forever to strain out, and it tasted like...well, like very sweet vodka with pink colouring in it.

I can't take credit for this month's concoction, the idea came entirely from Adam (the boyfriend), who suggested I freeze the rose buds into ice cubes and serve them in some kind of rose flavoured cocktail. I had to begrudgingly admit it was brilliant. And that I was cranky that I hadn't thought of it first.

I only made 7 ice cubes so I invited 7 guests. They looked so pretty. The ice cubes, not the guests.

The cocktail was delicious god dammit. Like a tangy liquid turkish delight.

Some discussion went on during the meal about what we should call this cocktail. I thought, by golly if Barbara Streisand can have a rose named after her then Jason can have a cocktail named after him. Somehow though, 'The Jason' didn't seem suitable.

The "Rose Dixon"

1.5 shots gin
1 shot lemon juice
1 shot sugar syrup
few drops rose water
5 cardamom pods, smooshed a little
sparkling wine
rose bud ice cubes, to serve

Mix gin, lemon, sugar syrup and cardamom pods before straining into a glass. Add rose water and ice cubes and top with sparkling wine.

On the way home this evening I commented to Adam on the phone that I was heading home to finish my blog. He asked if there were any references to death in this entry. Can you believe the nerve? Well, my dearest, I wasn't planning on it, but if you insist...

ENTRAILS!!!

Bottle 2: Dried Mace Flakes

Ok, so it's the last day of February meaning I'd better get cracking on this post. To be honest I'm a little unhappy that February only has 28 days as I've had less time to procrastinate. And I do love a good procrastination.

Now. Mace flakes. Not to be mistaken with Mace Spray, because Mace Spray is for baddies (eg people with axes loitering outside radio stations) and Mace flakes are for goodies, like me.

In an ideal world I would have liked to have done an experiment with my mace flakes, to see if they do in fact have a similar effect. I would have done this by taking a number of people, and introducing Mace Spray to the eyes of half of them, and mace flakes to the eyes of the other half. Then I would ask my "participants" to fill out a short questionnaire and I would note down some observations about their reactions, eg screaming, crying, begging me to stop, saying, "why, what did I ever do to you, I don't even KNOW you", etc.

To make it ultra scientific, I would control all the variables - for example, I wouldn't just rub the dried mace flakes in peoples eyes (then I would never know if their reactions were the result of the irritation caused by hard dried flakes being scraped up against their eyeballs) - I'd make Mace Water (by soaking some mace flakes in water for at least 48 hours) and spray this directly into their eyes.

To make it ultra ethical, I'd only use participants who are likely to have Mace sprayed in their eyes at some point in their life anyway. Like people with southern cross tattoos, and people with Bipolar.

Unfortunately I didn't have time to do any of this because February only has 28 days.

Ok, I hear what you're saying, "we didn't come here for a lesson on research methods, take us to the food". Greedy fucking bastards.

Mace is the outer covering of a nutmeg seed. It's bright red and attracts birds so that birds will nom the seed and carry it far far away. This is a very very clever and sneaky plant, that will manipulate birds into assisting it to travel across the land for free.

Apparently mace and nutmeg taste similar, but to me the mace tastes and smells more like eucalyptus (not that I've eaten eucalyptus - I'm not a koala, aka stoner bear). The flavour remains in my mouth for a really long time and kind of makes my tongue numb. If I were to hazard a guess I'd say nutmeg would be used more frequently in sweet dishes and mace more commonly in savoury.

This month I've decided to make a nonya achar - which is a pickle I used to eat as a kid. In my memories I imagine that my grandmother made it (my ma ma - mum's mum) but mum tells me no, it was my friend's ma ma. Perhaps as a kid I wished so badly that my ma ma would make achar that I just invented that memory. Like that 'memory' I have of my sister being eaten by a panther in the backyard under a Bridgestone Tyre neon sign, which clearly didn't happen because my sister is still alive. And because why the hell would ANYONE have a Bridgestone Tyre neon sign in their backyard.

As a kid whenever we had achar in the fridge I would get some straight out of the jar (with a utensil of course, mum would have killed me if she had seen me sticking my fingers in a jar) and walk around the house sucking on whatever morsel I had scored (usually a carrot or a cucumber, but I vaguely also remember cauliflower). Due to the extreme spiciness of the pickle my lips would swell up Sophie Monk-style, my tongue would go completely numb, and little tears would form at the corners of my eyes while I wandered in a euphoric haze. Oh, sweet sweet salty-spicy agony. My first friend.

So last week I whipped up a little achar which is happily soaking away in my fridge. A lot of it has already been given away and a lot of it has gone into my belly on a little bench of cheese on a cracker boat on an ocean of white wine.

I think it's pretty delicious and the mace is very distinct. The only comment I've had so far from someone who knows what it's supposed to taste like was from mum. "The cucumber is too salty." But it's supposed to be salty, it's a PICKLE. Sheeeeez.

The best thing I discovered about mace (apart from it looking like dried human skin) is that in large quantities it's apparently a mild hallucinogen, owing to containing small amounts of elemicin and myristicin. I was unable to test this out either - 28 days in February and all. Sorry.

The jar is for you Jase - come pick it up soon. xo

Achar

3 carrots - cut into chunky sticks
3 cucumbers - cut into chunky strips, seeds removed
1 chinese cabbage
Handful of green beans
2 spring onions, chopped
4 cloves garlic
Thumb sized piece of galangal
3 fresh chillies
20 dried chillies
Tbsp dried mace flakes
Tsp serai (lemongrass powder)
Tbsp turmeric powder
2 cups white vinegar
Half cup rice wine
Juice of 3 limes
2 cups crushed roasted peanuts
Half cup roasted sesame seeds
Half cup sugar
Peanut oil


1. Rub salt into the cucumber and carrots and let them sit for half an hour before rinsing and drying well.


2. Boil the beans and cabbage very quickly but don't cook them through. Drain very well.


3. In a food processor, blend together the garlic, spring onions, chillies and galangal with half a cup of water. Alternatively, if you, like me, don't have a food processor, you could just cut everything into miniscule little pieces and beat it to a pulp with a mortar and pestle - it only takes like, four hours.


4. Fry the stuff that you just mooshed up in peanut oil with the turmeric and serai until it starts to smell delicious and the spices start to separate from the oil.


5. Add in 1 cup vinegar and the rice wine, 1/2 cup sugar and some salt. Stir and remove from the heat. 


6. Mix in all the veges and add the lime juice, then the peanuts and sesame seeds. Finally add the mace and mix through. Taste the juicy goodness and adjust according to taste, adding more sugar/salt/vinegar.


7. Refrigerate in large pyrex or casserole dish.


8. Make sure you wash your hands before rubbing your eyes or genitals. Chili can be a bitch.

Bottle 1: Crystallised Mimosa Flowers

The first thing I did when I opened the bottle was give them a sniff, but they didn't really smell like anything at all. Crystallised mimosa flowers are small, round and yellow, about the size of a baby pea (which, as an aside, I really really like, not only because they're delicious but also because there is something thrilling about eating a baby). 

I nibbled at one, and it was surprisingly hard to bite into. The texture is kind of like a musk stick or those lolly cigarettes you used to get as a kid, 'Fads', the candy formerly known as 'Fags'. The name change always amused me. God forbid your child would be so un-PC as to be caught dead with a 'Fag'. But hang on here, why is there even a candy cigarette? FADS. Keeping oncologists in business since 1967.

The flowers have a sweet musky flavour, mildly floral, kind of like talcum powder, and have a small black seed in the middle. I tried to taste the seed on its own but in trying to extract it from the flower I dropped it in between the 't' and the 'y' keys on my keyboard, and lost it forever. 

To be honest, the whole experience made me think of my nanna. The thought of eating my nanna has never really crossed my mind before, but I'm sure she'd be relieved to know that if I ever did feel such a compulsion, then I would have a satisfactory alternative in the crystallised mimosa flower.

Figure 2.1. Me with my Nanna Mimosa

I googled Mimosa. Wikipedia describes a "torturous history, having gone through periods of splitting and lumping." 

Wow. Way to be dramatic, Wikipedia. It's a plant, not a sexually transmitted disease.

Apparently these little doobies are actually crystallised silver wattle or Acacia dealbata, of the Fabaceae family (Mimosoideae subfamily; hence, I suppose, the 'mimosa' title). Mmm. Edumacational.

So, what to make with this ingredient? It's a tricky one, as it seems to be eaten on its own, or a compliment to desserts, rather than used as an ingredient in a recipe. I decided to stick with the Australian theme and make a sorbet using another Australian native, lemon myrtle, or as I like to call it, "bogan's lemongrass", to enjoy with our crunchy little balls of joy.

So, on the penultimate evening of January (how very 'me' to leave it to the last possible minute), the Clayson and Garthanie crew dribbled into Colchester Hall to sample the first of the 12 Bottles creations.

Figure 2.2 Lemon Myrtle Sorbet with Crystallised Mimosa Flowers

Being about 300 degrees in my tiny apartment, it was perfect weather for sorbet. Without wanting to blow my own flügelhorn, I have to say that it actually turned out pretty well considering I don't have an ice cream maker. The lemon myrtle flavour was an interesting and refreshing addition to a typical lemon sorbet, and the crunchy sweetness of the mimosas cut through the tartness really nicely.

Figure 2.3 "Nom"

Figure 2.4 We love them because they're special.

Then, because we hadn't eaten enough dip and bread and olives and stuffed peppers and gnocchi and caprese salad and roasted veges and exotic fruit and lemon myrtle sorbet with crystallised mimosa flowers, we tucked into Stephanie's delicious red velvet cupcakes which turned our tongues red (see figure 2.5) and made our hearts happy and wouldn't you know it, not one cochineal bug was harmed in the making of them.

Figure 2.5 That's how we roll.

Lemon Myrtle Sorbet with Crystallised Mimosa Flowers

1.5 cups lemon juice

1 cup caster sugar

2 egg whites

2 tsp powdered lemon myrtle

Splash of vodka

Zest of 1 lemon

Crystallised mimosa flowers, to serve.

1. Dissolve the sugar in 2 cups of water over a medium heat. Add the lemon zest and let simmer until the mixture becomes slightly syrupy (about 10 mins), then remove from heat and allow to cool before straining out the zest.

2. Mix the lemon juice, lemon myrtle and vodka in with the sugar syrup (at this point you are allowed to drink some of said vodka), pour into a shallow baking dish and freeze for an hour or so until the mix is nearly frozen. 

3. Go do something productive for an hour rather than standing by the fridge like I did, checking every few minutes to see if anything is happening and imbibing more and more vodka to help ease the boredom.

3. In a large bowl whisk the egg whites 'til kind of fluffy then add the frozen mixture and whisk till well blended. Refreeze.

4. Check on the mixture once an hour for a couple of hours, whisking each time. If you're as weak as I am in the arms, you're permitted to mutter under your breath as you whisk. It helps.

5. Serve with a few mimosa flowers on top. Eat with face scrinched up, the way small children look when you feed them lemons, but without the subsequent tears and accusatory glare whilst mum pisses herself laughing. 

What, me? Bitter?

Completed with 26 minutes of January remaining.

Good job Christie Bee.

An Introduction to Twelve Bottles

Every year on Christmas Eve Eve, a few friends of mine get together to celebrate Lesbian Christmas. Now despite what you may think, this is not the one day of the year that we forget all of our inhibitions and have an all-out orgy (believe me, this disappoints me too). In fact, I'm fairly sure Lesbian Christmas has never actually been attended by a real lesbian and there seems to be an awful lot of penis involved. That being said, this Christmas just past seems to have come closest to the essence of lesbianism, with our hosts' female dog Stella developing a taste for my inner thighs.

Moving away from its humble beginnings in an Erskineville share house inhabited by my favourite inter-racial couple Steph and Garth (have cute kids already would you. I need something to poke), Lesbian Christmas 2010 was hosted by 'Clayson' in their highly enviable and trendy Surry Hills terrace.

To rival last year's Duckencock (the younger, more attractive sister of the Turducken), and thanks to an amazing kitchen with two, yes TWO ovens, Jason managed to rustle up a mighty meatcake (see Figure 1.1). An iron deficient's dream dessert, it stood as a four-tiered Fuck You to vegetarians and poor people.

Figure 1.1. Mighty Meatcake

Beef, check. Gravy, check. Pork, check. Apple sauce, check. Chicken, check. Cranberry Sauce, check. Turkey, check. Mashed potato icing, check. Both gluten AND dairy free? Priceless.

Figure 1.2. Inner workings of Meatcake revealed

I consumed enough meat in one sitting to ensure survival until next Lesbian Christmas' Fondue-B-Q, anticipated to be a range of barbecued meats with a gravy fondue fountain.

Now to the guts of the evening and the reason for this blog. Following Christmas dinner it's tradition for the guests to exchange Kris Kringle presents. Opening mine, I discovered 12 small corked bottles with hand-drawn labels and the following instructions:

Figure 1.3. A cryptic note

Knowing my love for food and all things unusual, my KK had filled each bottle with weird and wonderful ingredients, some I'd never seen before and others I'd never even heard of. And so begins my journey, to use one ingredient a month for the next 12 months. Also thought I would take you all along for the ride, making it an interactive experience (some of you will get to taste my concoctions along the way) and one that I'm actually accountable for. And also because I thought I could make something hilarious out of what is possibly the most thoughtful and touching gift I've ever received. So I dedicate this blog to Jason, who is one of my favourite people, not least because he always falls asleep whilst laughing, like so:

Happy New Year all!!