Cucumber salad with mint

I know a few men who recoil at the mention of mint in anything they eat. Unless it's in a mojito that's got as much alcohol as is humanly possible, they say, no mint please, thank you very much.

So I was surprised that one the occasions I made this cucumber salad. It's something like the Indian raita - a side of yoghurt with fruits and vegetables mixed in - that accompanies hot, hot curries, but quite. Unlike most raita, however, this is a tamer version that doesn't have masala or ginger added. And on these occasions, the boys came up to say oh this is very nice, I actually like it! And then I'd tell them it has mint in it, and a they'd look a little horrified. And perturbed.

But that's okay, because for me this has been the perfect potluck dish to bring to parties where the hosts have told me, please don't bring anything because we have enough food, but I bring something anyway because I need to express myself with food. I'm one of those annoying guests you should never invite.

It's light, it's healthy, and it pleases both the men and the ladies, with a subtle flavour of mint, a little garlicky heat, and the coolness of cucumber and yoghurt. Enjoy!

Recipe (serves 6-8 people)

6 medium Japanese or Lebanese cucumbers
2 tsp salt
2 cups Greek yoghurt (go for Greek because it's nice and thick)
3 tbsp extra-virgin olive oil

2 medium garlic cloves
1 tbsp minced fresh mint leaves (about 10-12 medium-sized leaves)
A dash of ground black pepper


So first you start with your cucumbers. Preferably Japanese or Lebanese. The ones pictured here are Japanese. The reason I choose Japanese and Lebanese is because they have less seeds, and so less water. Remember that water in cucumber salad is your personal enemy.



First we slice them up. After cutting off the bitter ends, slice each cucumber into segments. You want to slice that lengthwise, and I'd show you but I forgot to take a picture *blush*

Then you cut those cucumber halves diagonally across into little pieces, and put those in a colander. The next part is the fun bit - we need to wilt them, to get the water out. 

So add 2 tsp of salt, and mix it around a bit

Load up a ziploc bag (here I use two, as I didn't have a large one) with water, seal, and place it on top to weigh the cucumbers down. Set it over a bowl to collect the liquid. Leave that somewhere for about an hour, while you attend to other important things in life, like pestering your family to reveal just what Christmas gift they got you.

Now your dressing. Crush or finely mince your 2 medium garlic cloves. (If you aren't a big fan of garlic, bring that down to one). If you don't have a garlic press to crush garlic with, do invest in it - I can't live my lazy life without it. Add this to 2 cups of greek yoghurt, sitting in a medium bowl.

Now your mint leaves - I finely chopped (okay so not so fine, but I always tell myself no-one notices) enough mint leaves for 1 tbsp's worth. I would have preferred 2 tbsp, but there might have been a revolt. Add that to the dressing.



Add 3 tbsp extra virgin olive oil to your dressing, along with a dash of black pepper. You'll want to stir this mixture up. Place your dressing in the fridge, and let your cucumbers sit for an hour till they are done wilting. You might want to bother your family at this time to ask them to confess what they got you for Christmas. 

After an hour, return to your cucumbers. See? This is the liquid the cucumbers pass out. (Somehow, saying liquid passes out sounds wrong).
 

Now mix your dressing in the cucumbers, and voila!!

Yummy. Now feed that to an unsuspecting man in your life.

 

Abundance

We just had too many apricots sitting on our tree in Perth, and decided to pluck them before the fruit fly eggs in them could hatch and bring forth spawn. You heard me right, people. Bring forth spawn, wriggling spawn. I regret I did not take a picture of those that did.

We hadn't sprayed our apricots this time, which explains the eggs. But organic does that to you - it gives you eggs where you don't want them.

But we digress severely - here, we have an abundance of apricots.

And in case you didn't have a good look at that abundance, there's more abundance here.

I enjoy taking pictures of stoned fruit with fuzzy outsides.

I've always thought that when someone says you get a fuzzy feeling inside, they're really referring to the way you feel when you look at the fuzzy skins of apricots and peaches.

But, goodbye little apricots. Goodbye too, all you unhatched eggs.

You are about to be boiled down. Into very yummy apricot jam.

And you'll go on equally yummy scones (which I promise you will be up soon, and will come in especially useful if you have a nice lazy weekend morning in store. That's if you aren't rushing getting Christmas presents, and like my dad, spiking your children's milk on Christmas eve so you can pretend the next morning that Santa did drop them off under the tree, and it wasn't you stumbling around at 4am trying to slip them in unnoticed. Okay no he didn't spike our milk, but he must have done something for us to not notice for 7 years.)

But enough about the things I did in Perth! I regret I didn't take pictures of the process here, and what is more, in Singapore it's hard to get a basket full of cheap fruit to make jam with. I do have some relatives in South Africa who might be reading this (hullo, Erasmus-es and Uys!), but as is well known, South African ladies quite possibly know all about jam anyway, and their jam would knock my jam off the kitchen counter any day. So it's down to some serious recipe-churning, everyone.

In the meantime, if you don't have a chance to visit till Christmas is over because your children are wailing for presents and your husband is wailing for presents too, God's blessings upon you.

I'm very sorry, everyone

For the dearth in posting. Some urgent matters have come a'calling, but I soon do hope to post something on dips you can bring out for the family over the long Christmas-New Year stretch.

But first, I must tell you somethng that will possibly make you sick, so don't read this if you're about to eat.

Do you remember the year old egg? The picture is reproduced here for your viewing pleasure. It looks deceivingly fresh, but its looks are a lie. This egg was left in the fridge for about 11 months. My father forgot them the last time he was in Perth, and when we opened the fridge door in the Perth home 11 months later, we found a row of eggs. Very old, but oddly smell-free, eggs.



I remember telling my father all about salmonella. About how leaving a cracked egg in the fridge could leave you gut-stricken for days on end. I remember him nodding thoughtfully, saying oh yes, we should throw these eggs away shouldn't we. He promptly exited the house and made a trip down to the store for some fresh, free range eggs. "Why free range, dad? I thought you never believed in the organic free-range thing." "Why, for my daughter of course." And he smiled benevolently.

The next morning, my dad cracked a few free range eggs and served up scrambled eggs. Perhaps it was the fresh air and the holiday mood that had descended upon me, but I thought they were wonderful. I paid him the compliments, and he smiled. Benevolently, once again.

My father revealed two days ago that when I wasn't looking, he had slipped in the year-old egg. You see, he explained, the fridge kept them rot-free. And anyway, it was just one, he said. AND, he added, I didn't see you running to the toilet, innit?

I didn't. So I am still considering if I should, perhaps, one day slip some cream into his scrambled eggs. He hates cream in his scrambled eggs. And then I'll tell him, after he pays his compliements, that ah hah! They had cream in them. You didn't know that, did you?

But I suspect he'll laugh about it. He wouldn't feel ill, as I suppose you might be feeling now. So I suppose all I can do, would be to whine and moan to him about it till the cows come home and enter their sheds and lay on their bedding. But come Sunday, I'll slip double cream in his scrambled eggs, and maybe add a dash of milk. And I'll laugh maniacally and go to bed feeling satisfied with my sad little effort to exact vengeance on my father's risk-taking effort upon my gut.

Me dad

I know we don't look alike at all.

But we share many things in common - we can both live on fish and chips for several days in a row; we're both scared of the sea; we both love baking; and we both fart in public.

I'm sorry, everyone....But, as they say, like father, like daughter.

I'm so glad that of all the people in the world, I got this one as my dad.

What we've been doing

Me dad and I, that is.

My pride and joy of Perth November 08, panna cotta with strawberry coulis. It was edible, eatable, and from a distance, looked pretty!

There's been apricot jam bubbling on the stove

Freshly harvested marjoram hanging out to dry

A year-old egg cracked for to satisfy our curiosity (it was left in the fridge that last time my dad was here - for a year.) And for the record, it didn't smell. At all!

And not forgetting swans. Swans have mean personalities. They're beautiful, and they know it. Oh they're mean. To explain my aversion, I was bitten badly once and my knuckles hurt like crazy. And my dad was bitten, too, while venturing to feed them at a park in Perth. I know I'm whining. But around aggressive birds, I feel like I'm on the set of Alfred Hitchcock's, well, The Birds.

I'd like to post about food

and some pretty swans that near bit my dad's fingers off.

But unfortunately (and in a morbidly exciting way), we experienced an attempted break-in last night, and a window was broken. I am too glad I couldn't sleep, otherwise I wouldn't have heard a sound.

I am also too glad my dad sprung into action the moment I woke him, and grabbed a mighty pitchfork to defend us both. I cowered behind him with a hammer.

Thank God, the burglars had run off by the time we ventured into the garage to fetch our weapons of warfare.

And because, again, I'm a little morbid, more exciting updates later - we might have to have our thumbprints taken! I suddenly feel like watching 2 seasons of CSI.

But on a more serious note, I'm very grateful my father is okay. I will be extending my stay for a week, to settle things and keep my dad company.

Till then, I hope to post up some things on home-made jam, South African rusks, panna cotta and nasty swans.

Love, Sim.