Guilt Free Hot Chocolate

When I told my eight year old son that chocolate is a bean, he refused to believe me. I got to show him the proof only this week, when I found roasted raw cocoa beans at our local organic store. It's the first time I've used them this way, so I decided to start small, with a warm cup of cocoa. Our family is now on a GFDF diet, so I used almond milk - this could easily be substituted with cows milk, but may lose a little of the nutty flavour. 

Ingredients:

• raw cocoa beans (about 15)
• 2 cups almond milk
• 2 tsp sugar
• 1 cinnamon quill
• 1 vanilla bean (split) or 1/2 tsp vanilla

Instructions:

1. rub the beans to remove paper skins, then grind in a coffee grinder or mortar and pestle until a fine powder
2. add all ingredients to a pot on the stove and simmer for 10 minutes or until good colour is achieved
3. strain if necessary and drink!

I made this twice, the second time adding a dollop of almond cream to the mix. Not so guilt free, but richer, and a better colour, as almond milk has a greyish tone. Almond milk is often pre-sweetened, so if you are making this with cows milk, you may need to add extra sugar.

Venice - seeing the gondola half empty

Sometimes, when I'm in Venice, I hate it. Then I get home, and I wonder why on earth I wanted to go at all. It's expensive. The food is less than average. In summer it smells, winter it floods. It is a tourist trap of the highest proportions. Nobody really lives there anymore. It is a ghost town eating travellers souls, selling them breakable trinkets and carefully designed antique squalor, Italian french fries, american coffee, contrived opera and $100 rides in $10 boats.

Then I forget about it for a while. The pain in my wallet eases. I get ripped off in a different destination. I spend too long staring at concrete and mirrored glass, and I flip through a gallery or two of photos. Then I want to go back.
By God, the place is beautiful - there really is nowhere else on earth like it. I don't care how many places call themselves "little Venice" - they're dreaming. But Venice's singular beauty is it's greatest destroyer. As is likely in all areas that become adored, of high demand, then of high price, the broad spectrum of residents dwindles until the culture is sucked away and delivered to more affordable areas. What is left? Tourism and Lindsay Lohan.

Piazza San Marco has become a waiting room for the surrounding attractions. Queues choke the space like a boa constrictor, making it impossible to sit in the sun affront Caffe Florian and enjoy the blinding white parade of columns whilst sipping on ten euro espresso. Inevitably one ends up with an American in one's lap. (Nothing against Americans, but if I'm going to have someone on my lap, I'd rather it be a tall dark Venetian). I've seen the inside of the square's main attractions on previous visits, which is fortunate. I don't have to wait for hours in the sun and view them again - I just don't think I could face it.

Petty crims sell terrible knock-off handbags in front of the Doge's palace and the gondola station, tainting the scene like the preverbial fly in the ointment, and yet, it still makes for a beautiful photo. It's now illegal to feed the pigeons, it's said. They are destroying national monuments with all their sitting around and pooping. But I can see the mess left by the tourists, and this mess of tourists themselves (of which I am one). Another case of man defeats nature, and now one less thing for the kids to do while you are people watching.

Exiting Piazza San Marco is even more difficult than remaining within it. The alleys are like quicksand - the more you move, the deeper you sink. It's best to simply relax and be carried with the flow of the crowd - although don't expect to have your wallet when you reach safety. A small price - I'm sure many don't ever get out at all.

Dining close to the Piazza can also be fraught with danger. I was however lucky enough to be thrust one day into Trattoria do Forni. A plush and wholeheartedly Venetian restaurant once a monastic bakery, and now filled with burly looking wealthy tourists and nostalgic whispers from the hearty guestbook, both famous and infamous. It has a definite gangster feel about it, clandestine, dark and cool, secret and special - non-literally miles away, and yet just a stones throw from the chaos of the Piazza.

There are a few other decent options for stomach fulfillment, but often much further afield. You should ask the bar tender at Harry's Bar while you are sipping a very expensive bellini - he will probably give you some more up-to-date recommendations, but look out for Hosteria da Franz. It used to be on a sleepy wide canal bordering the Giardini della Biennale, but success has seen them close their doors to open further in towards San Marco. Let's hope it doesn't lose it's back-lane style and its reputation for some of the most authentic home-cooked dishes in town. If you manage to get into the new one, look for the bigoli in salsa - rustic coarse spaghetti, and the sarde in saor - sweet and sour marinated sardines, served here with pine nuts. They are also famous for a mamma's recipe tiramisu.

But my favourite little place was one I stumbled into quite by accident. Trattoria da Bepi. (Please don't make the mistake and go to Osteria da Bepi - that's the opposite of this little gem) No canal views, no outdoor tables, no bells and whistles, but wonderful honest food, family run, and completely set aside from the tourist trail. I've eaten there more than three or four times over the years, and it never disappoints, although the black and white bistro gatto has disappeared. They make a superb baccalà Mantecato - a creamed cod dish with crispy bread, but just talk to Loris - he'll set you straight on the rest of the menu. I love Rick Steves' story of a night here, and it appears he had just as much  fun with the carefully selected wines and grappa as I did.

Another escape from the throng can be found on Giudecca. Most never find their way over the water to these mismatched islands of new money and old ruin. But there are two treats - first, before the sun goes down, wander through the old flour mills and granary that are now the Hilton Molino Stucky hotel, and find your way to the rooftop, where you can order an overpriced Aperol Spritz, but suck up the best view in Venice for free.When your eyes are full and your stomach is grumbling, stroll down to Ai Cacciatore, for good local seafood and a local crowd (but avoid if it's busy - it collapses under pressure), waterside without the flotsam of populace and the lackluster "tourist menus" that you will find on the offshoots of the Grand Canal. (Or go to Cip's club if you're feeling flush)


There is always the market - a heaving melee of seafood, chillies, toy poodles, fetid puddles, pooping pidgeons and photographers. It's a destination for any food traveller to seek out, and kills two sightseeing birds with the one stone, as you can weave through the clutter of the Rialto Bridge on your way there. Unfortunately you probably won't have a kitchen, (unless you join a culinary day tour) but you can assess the seasonal offering, making in-restaurant choices more informed, you can grab some fresh fruit to stave off the travellers scurvy and sample some wicked hot chocolate at a standing room only bar like Ai 10 Savi or Cantina do Mori whilst learning how to speak like a Venetian with the generously proportioned market men.

It's odd. Each time I have visited Venice, my favourite district eludes me until it's nearly time to go. Like all obsessed travellers, I suppose I must delve into the unknown before revisiting the hackneyed past. Cannaregio is Venice as it is supposed to be. Quiet, romantic lanes, tunnels leading to surprise inner courtyards, impromptu market stalls, canaries in windows, grannies knitting in rickety Thonet chairs in the streets. The bakeries in this area are cheaper and being less tainted by untraditional tourist demands, provide a more concise array of sweeties peculiar to the area. The further you walk towards Ghetto Embracio, the better it gets.

Cannaregio also holds my favourite palace - the Ca d'Oro. No queues, no pretension, but exquisitely preserved, and with a floor that is the tesselated tile equivalent of the Sistine Chapel. Upstairs is a gallery of treasures and a balcony that overlooks the Grand Canal where you can provide a royal wave to the plebians below and believe if just for a moment that you belong there.

While loitering in Cannaregio, literary gremlins should seek out the Libraria Acqua Alta (map here). It's a decrepit den of prose and dusty old junk, with a good collection of aged prints and maps, a sweet section on erotica, a family of cats, a back door guarded by a plastic fish that steps directly onto the canal, and a full sized gondola holding a shipload of venetian novels and history. There is a sign on the door that says "bed and breakfast" - only for the brave, I would suggest.

All historic cities have a living heart which makes them unique. I've discussed already the personalities of Paris and Vienna. The former an aloof place, requiring patience and work to appreciate, but the potential to reward you as a lover once conquored. The latter, possibly the same, but like many great beauties gives the impression there's not much going on inside. Venice is the opposite - it's a brash wench that sprinkles you with fairy dust, screws you over and spits you out, and yet for some reason you keep returning for more.

Next time, I'm going to stay in Dosaduro, and explore the scholars' quadrant. I'm going to bypass St Mark's square, and instead, visit the Museo Correr and it's cafeteria with a lofty view of proceedings. I'll finally get to San Giorgio Maggiore. I'll dine at Bistrot de Venise and Alla Vedova. I'll visit the veggie garden behind the Church of Santissimo Redentore. I'll go in Autumn, and take my wellies.

-------------------------------------

Where to stay:

• Casa Santa Maria Formosa Golden Triangle location near Rialto Bridge, Piazza San Marco and Cannaregio. Great value, canal views, ancient building, huge connecting rooms, good with the kids, terrible breakfast.
• Hotel Giorgione Quiet, romantic, pretty garden, gorgeously hideous venetian bedrooms, sleepy bar with pool table.
• I think I'm going to stay at La Calcina or Ca Maria Adele next time - depending on budget.

Seven Hour Lamb

I first tried a similar recipe to this from Stephanie Alexander's book: Cooking and Travelling in South West France. For those reading who are not Australian, she is as close to we get as a mother and mentor to all food lovers. She doesn't only cook - she also used to run one of the most famous restaurants in Melbourne, and now she has "retired" to the garden - A kitchen garden, for kids. She's a bit of a superwoman really...

Anyway.

I made her 7-hour lamb with anchovies and garlic, and it was incredible. When I tried to lift the leg out of the pot, the entire bone came away. Our neighbours had been smelling at our door all day, and literally came begging - for food, and the recipe.

I've made it several times since. I still call it seven hour lamb, but sometimes its 7 hours at 120°C, and others its 5 hours at 140°C. Sometimes I make it with a bone-in leg of lamb, and sometimes I make it without the bone. Sometimes it fits in a pot, and others, when it doesn't (like last night), I put it in a deep tray and cover it with a few layers of foil. It always works. It's a fairly traditional french recipe, and it appears many chefs make a version (including Nigella). My simplified one is below.

Ingredients:

• 1 whopping piece of lamb (mine was a 2.2kg leg)
• copious amounts of garlic
• black peppercorns
• 10 slices of streaky bacon
• 2 sprigs rosemary
• splash of white wine
• 2 litres of stock (I used hot water and bouillon)
• salt to taste

Instructions:

1. Set oven to 220°C, then trim any large pieces of visable gristle (leave thin layers of fat - they make it taste good and will dissolve), then stab the meat all over and stuff in cloves of garlic and peppercorns. Then cover with the slices of bacon, and place in a pot or deep baking pan (no bones hanging out please - if they do, get a bigger pot) and splash over some white wine.
2. Cook uncovered for 20 minutes or until just browned, then take it out and add stock and rosemary to the pot and cover well (we don't want the steam escaping. Stephanie seals the pot with dough, but I have found this unnecessary)
3. reduce heat to 120°C and forget about it. (let's hope you remember to put it in at lunchtime, or you're stuffed)

When the lamb is finished, there will be a stack of liquid. You can strain this and serve as is, or reduce it, or even get slack and add a bit of flour or gravy powder over the heat. I diced some onions and chilli, and browned them, then added some smoked paprika and then the liquid and reduced. I served mine with some puy lentils cooked in stock, sugar snap peas and rice. If you would like to add vegetables to the stock while the lamb is cooking, this is also delicious. Add about 5 1/2 to 6 hours in, and remember to take them out about 10 minutes before you serve and brown them in a frypan if you like them crispy.

The mirror of Dorian Gray

There are opposing mirrors reflecting the scene to eternity, volumizing the intensity of the room. The surroundings are lavish to say the least, each surface shiny and refracting light, or dense and lush, absorbing it. Each place is set with four sets of cutlery, three glasses, candles, napkins in perfect poise. There's so many rays bouncing around on multitudinous planes that it feels like I could put my hand in a beam and short-circuit it, turn the room dark.

The people file in en-masse, as perfect as the setting. Sunday dress on a Friday. Silk, linen, labels, bespoke, hair, make-up, lights, camera, action. It's a scene, and the players walk in on cue, silently taking the offered Kir Royale on arrival, floating to the designated table, touching shoulders at other tables in recognition on the way there. Clockwork.

I sit at a table with people I know, and others I don't. It's sedate. half smiles and nods, chit-chat ensues, until the hungriest leaves the table. Others follow, one by one. The buffet in Dubai is not something to be tackled while absorbed in gossip. It requires strict attention, planning and solitude. The offering is both delicious and outrageously varied, and picking up the wrong piece will result in a churning belly, or an over-stuffed one. This is not time to mix ones mezze and hors d'ouvres. Nor is it time to be voted biggest pig of the table as you return with plate after plate of sky high sushi. Restraint. One can always return when the others are not watching.

House wine is poured. A test of the establishment. Fortunately this one is not serving cheap Argentinian swill, and a Muscadet appears in my glass. Unfortunately it is very good, and will require much care in the drinking. Careful not to gulp. Conversation leaps to another level. Seats are swapped, and soon the girls are all down one end giggling, and the men quietly talk shop at the other. It doesn't last long - the men start guffawing soon enough.

The wine is going down well. One hour in, two drinks down. Time for mains. Restraint flees as I help myself to a slab of rare beef on croute. And a smidgen more of the fois gras terrine from the entree stand. Vegetables are for paupers. The spiralled tower of peeled prawns is dishevelled. A commis chef rushes out with more, but the tender morsels are removed faster than they are stacked, and soon the chef stands with the tray while people help themselves like five-year-olds in a candy store with a swiped five dollar bill.

Third drink is poured. They have changed the wine to a non-descript French white, but my appetite has picked up steam. The wine is gone before the main. The room is buzzing. Laughs are loud, and sound like wild animals - chimps, hyenas, kookaburras have moved in and replaced the ladies who were there before. Suddenly I find I know everyone at the table very, very well. Confessions, inner thoughts, profound moments are shared over Chardonnay.

By the time I return with my dainty plate of assorted miniature desserts, everything is funny, hilarious even. We shift back to Kir to partner the sweets, and tuck into macaron and mini mousses, gigling like little girls - male and female alike. The smokers have given up on food, and despite the shamal on the terrace, chain smoke with likewise chuggers, drawing back particles of the Omani dessert with their nicotine hit.

The call of last drinks is like Mr Hyde's elixir, and we turn into ravenous monsters, demanding three drinks per person, raiding the petit fours and cheese displays in an attempt to line the stomach. The table is akin to the Mad-hatter's tea party. Clothing is skewed, shoes kicked off under the table. Someone is singing, and it's not the paid entertainment. Busboys and girls duck the fragments of maelstrom expertly - red wine, chocolate and spittle fly. Large gents stagger and leer. The few children there either look on bored and disgusted or tear around toppling drunkards.

It reminds me of Derby Day, Spring Racing Carnival in Melbourne. The morning brings sunshine, tailored pastel suits, hats and coiffed hair. By the afternoon, the bellies are full, the wallets empty, the clothing mussed and stilletos discarded in preference of rubber flipflops for the way home. The singles hook up with undesirables, the partnered fight with their spouses. The train carrage home is like sweaty dolmades stuffed into a jar. Friends are lost. There's tears. There's laughter. It's ugly after 3:30, just as it is at a Dubai Brunch. Those with beer goggles on don't notice the difference, but those who have abstained quickly skuttle before they are sucked into the drunken debaucherous mire that is the after-brunch.

Is it reasonable to be both disgusted with oneself and yet more than willing to recommit the crime? Dorian Gray could hide his multitude of sins in a picture in the attic. The rest of us have to look in the mirror at the end of the day, and it's not pretty. Brunch is disgraceful example of western expats dragging a city down to its own level, but it's an institution here in Dubai, and a hellova lot of fun. I'll pretend if you like though, that I won't do it again....

---------------------------------

There are different standards of Brunch in Dubai. Everyone has their favourites, but these are mine:

Beachcombers, Jumeirah Beach Hotel. 
ph. +971 4 406 8999
When: Fridays and Saturdays, 12:30-4pm
How much: 250 AED including soft drinks, 360 AED wine and beer, 525 Champagne, wine and beer, kids 115, under 5s free
Go For: the kids. Jumping castle, beachside, clowns, magic, band, juggling, kids room with minders, toys and play stations.

Bubblicious, Westin Mina Seyahi. 
ph.  +971 4 399 4141
When: Fridays 12:30-4pm
How much: 350 AED including soft drinks, 500 AED Champagne, wine and beer, kids 190, under 6 free
Go For: the bubbles. Free-flowing Laurent Perrier, plus heaps of stuff for the kids including a petting zoo!

Imperium, Zabeel Saray. 
ph.  +971 4 453 0444
When: Fridays 1-4pm
How much: 275 AED including soft drinks, 395 AED house wine, beer, and spirits 550 Champagne etc, kids half price, under 4 free
Go For: the whole package. This is the brunch described above. Food is great and the beverage package is generous. Setting is opulent. Don't take the kids.
  
Yalumba, Le Meridien Dubai. 
ph.  +971 4 702 2455
When: Fridays 12:30-3:30pm (then happy hour after)
How much: 499 AED Champagne, wine and beer
Go For: The trash. Silliest, drunkest, rowdiest brunch. Dancing after lunch. Saturday will be awful.

There are also plenty of great non-alcoholic brunches, but that's not really what I'm talking about here. If that's more your thing, lucky you - they're much cheaper. Best I've found are at Almaz by Momo, Abshar Iranian Restaurant, Organic Cafe and More Cafe.

Madagascan Tea Cake

I have some gorgeous Madagascan Bourbon Vanilla in my pantry. For some reason, I'd been saving it for something special, using vanilla sugar or standard vanilla essence in my cooking. Now I'm avoiding using excess sugar, I find myself stretching into my pantry and grasping for flavours that will disguise the fact that my baking is not sweet. The wonderful thing about this is that without extra sugar, you can taste all the tropical flavours - mango, coconut, vanilla and lime. I have to admit though - I'd prefer it with a daiquiri, not tea...

Ingredients:

• 4 eggs
• 250g mango (or one 425g tin, drained) 
• 400ml flour (I use gluten free)
• 4 tsp (20ml) baking powder
• 125ml virgin coconut oil
• 100ml sugar 
• 1 tsp vanilla
• zest and juice of 1 lime
• 1tsp salt
  

Instructions:

1. Preheat oven to 180°C (375°F), then put the mango slices, eggs, vanilla, sugar, lime and coconut oil in a blend and puree until smooth.
2. fold through sifted dry ingredients, then pour into a lined baking tin and cook for 40 minutes or until cake tests done.

Yes, it's an easy one! If you really wanted to ice it, then I'd think a thin, zesty lime juice and icing sugar drizzle would work well, or maybe some sweet vanilla and lime syrup, but it really doesn't need it. I made the cake above twice - once with the sugar, and once without (as cupcakes). It works either way, but I must confess the kids like the sugared version.

Lion's taste rating: 8/10

Healthy inclusions: 5/10

Unhealthy inclusions: 2/10

 

Info on the good stuff:  

Mango

Virgin Coconut Oil
Eggs

Vanilla

Lime

 

My Sweet Heart

I miss sugar. I've left it like an alcoholic leaves a drink. Precariously, I walk this sugar-free tightrope between poisoned pleasure and healthy pain, and every so often I fall. Arabia is obsessed with sugar. I see it every day in a multitude of disguises - each one more entrancing and beautiful than the last. Some forms are traditional, peculiar to the area, and some are more recently embraced from other cultures, and perfected in a unique Arabian way.

One cannot visit the Middle East without entering a sweets shop.  The concept here is totally alien to someone like me. Here, sweets seem as valuable a commodity as spices and gold. Shops are adorned like palaces. Chocolate boxes are too beautiful to discard after eating the contents. Arabic sweet stores put the best French Patisseries to shame. It's not just cakes and pastries here - sugar has been twisted and melded in ways some could not even imagine. I am beginning to think the mythical Willy Wonka must have been born of this place.

First, there is baklava, baclawa, paklava. An ottoman invention, some say - now claimed by many cultures. Many would link it most strongly to Lebanese cuisine, and in Dubai, the Lebanese bakeries are where you will find the best examples. You may think you have tasted baklava before, but it has not truly been sampled until it comes with the entire ambiance of a Lebanese bakery that cooks on site. The perfumes are intoxicating - rose, cardamom, orange blossom, saffron, toasting nuts and pastry crisping in the ovens. I went to the factory of Al Samadi last year, and have only since then begun to love these sweets. You will often find baklava's sibling, kunafa in the same place - crispy vermicelli dough with sweet, marshmallowy cheese and a toxic orange hue from the soaked saffron sauce. Among the best places are Al Samadi in the Dubai mall, Al Reef bakery in Karama, and the Turkish Baklavaji Sweets near Mall of the Emirates.

Secondly, we have doughnuts. I'm not talking Krispy Kreme here, but the relation of the Spanish churro. Serious, serious doughnut. There are many versions according to which cuisine you prefer, but personally I like the local lgeimat, and the Persian zlebia or zolobia. Lgeimat are ping-pong ball sized saffron infused crispy treats served with copious bedrizzlement of date syrup. My best lgeimat experience was at the Cultural centre in Bastakiya, but some say it can be bettered at Global Village. Zlebia come in many shapes and forms, but the ones I love are the bite-sized sticky rose-scented pellets at Abshar on the beach road - a sweet shop attached to a bakery and a restaurant, with metre-long Iranian flat bread, chocolate flavoured Persian fairy floss, and many different forms of Shirini Tar (moist sweets) and Shirini Khoshk (dry sweets)

Ma'amoul (or mamoul, or mammoul) are the next treat to seek out. These are like a five-star fig newton, crumbly semolina pastry, sweet soft date filling, and pressed into moulds as beautiful as the islamic fretwork you will see on the surrounding mosques. They are everywhere - in the supermarket bakeries, placed next to your coffee on a saucer. Try them all, make them yourself. Personally, I love Vivel's ma'amoul (all over Dubai), but I have yet to have a bad one anywhere. You will find the moulds all over if you wish to make them at home - I have yet to try this for myself however. (Another great recipe here for babousa, and my own cheat's version of baklava here)

Ma'amoul of course, brings me to it's innards - the date. Dates grow on trees in my front yard. The variety available is greater than the spread of apples on offer. Red ones, black ones, yellow ones, dry ones, juicy ones, sticky, sweet, fragrant, pungent, bitter, filled, stoned, chopped, mushed, squeezed, pureed or juiced. You can buy them at the supermarket, but treat yourself, and go either to the date stall just outside the fish market in Deira, or wander into the shiny sparkling halls of Bateel. Here, this tiny fruit is to be treasured, and arrives packed in jewellery boxes. The date is paid the attention a great winemaker would pay a grape - each type desired for its own unique character. They also have some of the best date dhibs available.
There are other delectable treats to look out for - halva, a fragrant, semi-sweet tahini based dessert, presented either in tubs to be spooned out and partnered with pita bread, ice cream or simply a mouth, or in bite-sized morsels for melting toasty sesame on the go (there is also non-tahini halva or halwa available). You can't leave the turkish delight behind either. Here, it's not jsut the squishy rosy pillows, but also comes in mint, saffron, orange blossom or nut-stuffed and coconut-rolled versions. Again, Vivel is the shop of choice for me. And, if you don't think you can cope with all that exotic flavour, then you might just like to see what Dubai can do with an ordinary chocolate shop. Patchi, Choco'a and Arabesq will literally blow your sugar-lovin' mind.

And next time you indulge, please pay me a thought, walking my tightrope, and simultaneously falling off my wagon. Ahh well, there's always nuts...

Corn bread without the corn meal

OK - so if you've read previous posts, I'm ditching wheat. I've said goodbye to dairy. I'm getting as much sugar as possible out of our diets. I'm also using unprocessed and non-preserved items wherever I can, to avoid a whole heap of toxic nasties. Also, when refining into meal, corn loses some of its natural goodness. Now, I'm not saying this is all good, but for my family, not only is this a better alternative to ahem, the alternative, but it ticks the other boxes (wheat, dairy, sugar), and hides a daily vegetable. And I can put them in a lunchbox.

Ingredients:

1. 2 cups self raising gluten free flour*
2. 1 cup finely grated carrot (1 medium to large carrot should do it)
3. 1 cup steamed corn kernels
4. 125ml coconut milk
5. 125ml olive oil
6. 2 eggs
7. pinch of salt

Instructions:

1. Preheat oven to 180ºC, then put the corn, oil, milk and eggs into a blender and puree until smooth.
2. Add to large bowl, stir in carrot, then sift flour and salt, then fold through wet mix
3. spoon into greased or lined muffin tins (I use mini ones and get 24)and bake for 12-15 minutes (for small, 15-20 for standard cupcake size) or until just changing colour and firm yet springy to the touch.

*A note on substitution: I use a self raising gluten free flour because many baking powders have gluten in them, and I just find it easier. This could easily be replaced with a wholegrain flour such as spelt, and about 4 teaspoons of baking powder. If you want to make it easier, use tinned sweetcorn. Coconut milk could easily be replaced by any other milk, e.g. rice milk, cows milk, even camel milk (yes, we get that here in Dubai). The olive oil could be replaced with 125g butter, 125ml of extra virgin coconut oil, etc etc.

If you want to be naughty after you've made these healthyish treats, spread some butter on the inside and sprinkle with salt. mmmm

Lion's taste rating: 7/10

Healthy inclusions: 7/10

Unhealthy inclusions: 1/10

Notes on the good stuff:

Corn
Coconut Milk
Olive Oil
Eggs

Carrots

Benefits of skipping the gluten

Teff cookies

After a week of easing my family onto the GFCF diet, I am starting to take things a little more seriously. I have decided that the importance of reducing sugar is in fact outweighed by gluten, casein and toxic nasties, so I have spent plenty of time down at the organic health food shop this week looking for alternative grains and healthier sweeteners.

My friend Edwina put me onto teff. It's a tiny Ethiopian gluten-free grain, and she suggested to mix it with rice flour. First go - Teff cookies, and they are great! This is a super easy recipe, using only one measuring cup. Mine was 100ml (about 4 oz), but you could use anything between about 75ml (3 oz) and 150ml (6oz), maybe adding another egg yolk if you get towards doubling the size.

Ingredients:

• 1 part virgin coconut oil (not the hydrogenated stuff!)
• 1 part raw sugar
• 1 part white rice flower
• 2 parts brown (red) teff flour
• 1 tsp vanilla
• 1 tsp cinnamon
• 1 egg yolk

Instructions

1. preheat oven to 170ºC (350F) put everything in a bowl and mix well with a spoon
2. get your hands in and make sure mixture sticks together when squeezed, adding more egg yolk if it is still too crumbly. Squeeze into walnut sized balls and place on baking paper , press lightly with a fork
3. bake for 10 minutes.

When you remove the cookies they will be slightly soft - don't worry - they harden up as they cool. These would be fantastic with some chocolate nibs, sesame or chia seeds, or an almond pressed into the top.

Lion's taste rating: 7/10

Healthy inclusions: 8/10

Unhealthy inclusions: 2/10

The baddy here is sugar, but seriously, you couldn't make them without it and expect the kids to enjoy them. You could reduce slightly - my eldest son actually told me they were too sweet! (hence the rating of 7 rather than 8). Rice flour is no healthier than wheat flour really, unless you want to stay gluten free. The great inclusions are below:


Cinnamon
Teff
Virgin Coconut Oil
Egg yolk

Arabesque

I posted towards the end of last year regarding what expats might miss or not miss when they move to the UAE. There's another post I need to do - what I would miss about the UAE were I to move back. One of the things I will miss most, when that day finally comes is Islam. I'm not a Muslim. I doubt I ever will be. So why has it become a part of my life that I will miss?

Firstly there is the Adhan. A part of Islam we cannot see, but hear, if we are lucky, five times a day. At the right time of year, it both wakes me and sends me to sleep. It's a fantasy call from the minaret of the nearest mosque, calling those who must to pray. The earliest is at first light, and eases me out of sleep before the shrill tone of my alarm does. I can hear two local Muezzins from my bed, both beautifully in tune, starting only seconds apart. I miss the daytime calls in the hubbub of day unless I am strolling around a sleepy mall where it echos through the marble corridors like a ghost retrieving the chosen. At night, I sway in my hammock, the children in bed, and wait for them to finish the day for me. An eerie serpentine song that reminds me every day that I live in the Middle East.




Secondly, it's Ramadan. Some people hate it. All the cafes are closed during sunlight hours, and there are strict rules on eating in public, even for non-Muslims. But if you can put aside your own small sacrifice, you can watch an entire community of people committing to a task that is actually very, very hard. The dedication is remarkable, and although I have met those who are Muslim and yet also say "I'm not such a good Muslim", most are vigilant. Not only do they fast, but they donate like billionaire philanthropists. Waiters will receive a 100AED tip for a cup of coffee, people erect Iftar tents outside their homes and feed passing strangers at sundown, housewives have their drivers take them to labour camps to distribute food parcels. The town is adorned with coloured glass lamps, and although the days are quiet, the night explodes in vibrant hues and revellers. Random acts of kindness abound, and everyone joins in the Iftar feast, Muslim or not.*

Thirdly, it's the physical presence of the religion, and the beauty carried with it. How could you not love the architecture of a mosque? Each and every one is a fairytale. Yesterday I travelled to Abu Dhabi to photograph the Sheikh Zayed Grand Mosque. I could list all its qualities, but you can read them for yourself on the links. Instead, just visit my gallery here, and see the beauty of the place. It's magical, regal, bold, delicate, brash, refined, symmetrical, contemporary and classic. It's one of those places where a photographer will become rooted to the spot and use an entire memory card before taking a step and finding 100 more views to capture. Perhaps it does not have the whispers of history in its walls like Hagia Sophia, or the Alabaster Mosque, but it will, in time.

Islam can be a beautiful thing to observe, even if from the outside, particularly in a reasonably religiously tolerant place like Dubai. From the sounds of prayer to the design that is imprinted on UAE everyday life as well as its history, to the people - elegant, aloof, and yet giving and thoughtful. Like its artistic Arabesque, the religion flows through life with great finesse, decorating everything around it. And that, when I finally do leave, I will miss.  

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The Sheikh Zayed Grand Mosque can be found at the foot of the Maqtaa bridge, just out of downtown Abu Dhabi (map here). Signage is sparse, and you may have to drive around the entire block until you find the one open gate. There is plenty of free parking.

Admission is free, as is the loan of suitable dress for the mosque (abayas and headscarf are provided for women. Men are also asked to dress conservatively (no shorts or singlets). There is a little leeway with children.

You can join a tour at 10am, 11am or 5pm most days (not Friday mornings), and also 2pm and 8pm on the weekends (Fri/Sat), or you can simply stroll around on your own. 

Further information can be found here.

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*Ramadan is not however perfect, particularly for those who must work outside in public places in Summer. When Ramadan occurs at this time, labourers are not only subject to extreme heat, but also to laws that forbid them to take water. I do understand that the observance of Ramadan is not a simple sacrifice, and that some may have a reason to strongly dislike it. I personally have none.

Spiced Quinoa

I don't know if you read my main blog, or just the recipes here - but our family is making a drastic change to our diet. We are eliminating wheat, dairy, and all heavily processed items and synthetic products - including sugar. So, time to embrace other grains, and I'm starting with the king - quinoa. This is super-duper health food, and has too many benefits to list here. Check out the link below if you don't believe me. I've cooked quinoa before, but only plain, and I didn't think I'd have a chance of converting the kids that way. Hence the spiced version...

Ingredients:

• 1 onion, chopped
• 2 cloves garlic, crushed
• 1 tsp brown mustard seeds
• 1/4 tsp turmeric
• 1 tsp ground coriander (cilantro)
• 1/2 tsp ground cumin 
• 1 cup quinoa (washed)
• 2 cups chicken stock (or salted water)
• fresh coriander to garnish

Instructions:

1. pan fry the onions, garlic and mustard seeds in a little olive oil until golden and mustard seeds have commenced popping.
2. add dried spices and quinoa, and fry for a minute or two, stirring so it doesn't stick. Add stock, and simmer gently, covered, and stirring occasionally for about 15 minutes, or until grains are al dente.
3. Turn off, and leave covered for 5 minutes. Water should all be absorbed, so simply fork through and garnish. 

Lion's taste rating: 2/10

Healthy inclusions: 10/10

Unhealthy inclusions: 0/10

My eight year old son said this tasted like curried cardboard. I however loved it - better than brown rice for sure. We had it with poached chicken and yoghurt (soy), and I added chillies to mine. Next step with quinoa is salads and baking...


Info on the good stuff:
quinoa
turmeric
coriander
cumin