Yeni yıl; yeni umut, yeni hayaller ve yeni yaşamlar demek bir bakıma. Her ne kadar bir çok olumsuzluk her yıl katlanarak bizlere olumsuz yüzünü gösterse de yinede herkes bir umut beklentilerini yazıp çiziyor aslında. Genelde elinizde sihirli değnek olsa ne yapardınız klişe sorusuna verilen cevaplar üç aşağı beş yukarı aynıdır. Kendini düşünen kişiler para, başarı ister, daha hümanist yaklaşanlar ise savaşlar olmasın, rahat yaşayalım vs.. şeklinde sıralarlar isteklerini. Peki biz güzel ahlaklı toplum ne yapıyoruz? İlla bir sihirli değneğe neden ihtiyaç duyuyoruz yada bel bağlıyoruz. Hiç huzur evine gittiniz mi mesela 2017'de, yine 2017'de hastaneye gittiniz mi kendi ihtiyacınız dışında yada Çocuk Esirgeme Kurumunun bahçesinden içeriye baktınız mı?
Acaba kaç tane yapayalnız yalnız yaşlı insan huzur evinde yeni yılı karşılayacak çocukları olmadan. Yıllarca yeni yılda özel sofralar hazırlamış kaç tane anne, ya o sofralarda aile bireylerinin hepsini o özel masada ağırlayarak kadeh tokuşturan kaç tane baba yeni yılı çocukları olmadan yapayalnız karşılayacak. Kendi kendine tuvalete bile gidemeyecek durumda olan eski Yeşilçam oyuncusu, yıllarca yeni yıllarda sahnelerde alkışladığımız güzel sesli sanatçımız huzur evlerinde nasıl yeni yılı karşılayacaklar.
Uzun süreli tedavi olmak zorunda olan memleketinde imkanı olmadığı için büyük şehirde sefillik çekerek hayata tutunmaya çalışan çocuklar ve aileleri nasıl bir yeni yıl geçirecekler hastane koridorlarında. Aynı hastanede yatan ve yürüyemeyen kişiler nasıl pencereden dışarı bakabilecekler. Bir elinde serum, burnunda oksijen yaşayan kişi nasıl 2018'i karşılayacak.
Ya o özel sofralarda bugüne kadar yemek bile yiyememiş Çocuk Esirgeme Kurumundaki çocuklarımız nasıl 2018'i karşılayacak. Mesela biz yeni bir yıla geri sayım yaparken ondan sıfıra onlar tam tersi zamanı geriye getirip anne babalarına mı kavuşmak isterler? Biz yeni bir yıla girdiğimizde, yeni yılı geçirdiğimiz sevdiklerimize sarılarak kutlarken onlar kime sarılırlar. Eksikliklerini o gün daha mı fazla hissederler.
Yada kadın sığınma evinde kalan nice anneler nasıl yeni yılı kutlarlar. Kırılan gururları, tamiri mümkün olmayan güven duyguları, her an ölümle tehdit edilen kocaman yüreklerini bir kenara bırakıp gülerek eğlenerek mi kutlarlar yeni yıllarını.
Sabahtan akşama çalışıp evine iki lokma ekmek götürmek için uğraşan baba, yeni yılda o özel sofrayı oluşturabilecek bir şeyler götürebilecek midir o akşam eve. Götüremezse ne hissedecektir o gece.
Neden eskisi gibi bir arada olamıyoruz? Neden biz varken ben diyoruz? Neden insanlığa faydalı olmak için uğraşmıyoruz? Neden ziyaret etmiyoruz? Neden birleşip yardım etmiyoruz?
Peki bu insanlara bir sihirli değnek versek neyi değiştirirlerdi. Kaybolan ahlakımızı mı, kaybolan kültürümüzü mü, kaybolan insanlığımızı mı? Neyi?
Her şeyin düzeleceği ve bir daha sihirli değneğe ihtiyaç duymayacağımız bir 2018'e selam olsun...
Güzel sözler, güzel cümleler, güzel yazılar buldukça aşka dair buraya yazmaya devam.. Aşağıdaki yazılar alıntıdır... BENİ SEVMEYİ BİLİYOR MUSUN? Bitmez tükenmez martıların haykırışı var yüreğimde sana dair uçup gelen. Bir yarım sesle sesleniyorum beni duyar mısın? Ayın o acılı suratının ardından gün doğduğunda, kanatlarını çırpan bir küçük kuş olduğunda sabah, sen yüreğini geçmişin kirinden arındırıp benim ellerime koyacakmısın? Beni sevebilir misin? Niyetli misin buna ? Sen ilk yazın kuçağında uyurken yağmurlu serin akşamları düşünüp ödünç verilmiş yataklarda geçirdiğin sevişmeleri hatırlayıp kahrolacak kadar niyetli misin buna? Toğrağın iliğine ve kemiğine işleyen çok eski bir yağmur kadar beni içinde barındıracak mısın? Ay düşmüş toprakta menekşe kokulu öpüşmelerle geçikmiş iklimlerin ortasındayız seninle.
Zaman durdu sanki birden tartışmalar bitti. Güneşe dönüyor ayçiçeği gün hızlandığında ve ben her güne uyandığımda sana dönmeye niyetli. Sana diyor ki gözlerim; sen bir kırlangıç gibisin. Hayatın sana verdiği uslanmaz ruhun içinde her baharda bana dönen ama güzün hep göç eden... Ve ben korkuyorum seni sevmekten.
Bitmeyen şarkılarla avunmayacağım bundan böyle. Bak şimdi gökyüzüne, hayali bir gölgeye dönüşüyor benim bedenim. Her nefesinde solumaya başladın bile beni. Ve ben korkuyorum. Bir kasımpatı çiçek açıyor sarı taç yapraklarıyla. Ve gözlerim tiryakisi olduğum kahvenin tadında. Bunu biliyorum gece parçalanıyor, yıldızlar çıkıyor yüreğimden. Kirpiklerim titremeye başlıyor. Bu çoçuk yüreğine yumulmuş ve bir daha ağlamak istemiyor, anlıyor musun? BEN SENİ SEVDİM Her düş, uzak bir ülkedir. Öyle kolay gidilip gelinmez... Sözcükler bazen çaresiz kalır... Bir sigara, bir tane daha... Odam duman içinde... Başımın üzeri başı dumanlı dağlar gibi... Bu duman içinde olsa başımı dik tutmalıyım. Başım dik... Bu mevsimde pencere, kapı açmak da olanaksız. Dışarıda kurt ulutan bir soğuk kol geziyor. Böylesi gecelerde pencereden dışarı baktıkça ellerim üşür. Ellerimi cebime koymak, ısıtmak isteğiyle devinirim oturduğum yerde. Bu hep yarım kalan bir deneme olarak kalır. Ayıkır vazgeçerim. Az önce perdeleri savurup açtığımda camda buğu, dışarıda karanlık bir soğuk, kendi ışığıyla ısınmaya çalışan sokak lambasından başka kimsecikler yoktu. Camın buğusuna adını yazıyordum ki, komşunun kedisi nereden çıktıysa salınarak sokaktan gelip geçti. Tam bir tekir... Üşümüştür belki de. Kediler üşür mü...? Sokak lambası bile üşüyor. Kediler de üşür elbette... Kedileri anlıyor muyum ben ? Bak bunu hiç düşünmemiştim. Ama anlasam ne olur ki. O benim onu anladığımdan bihaber olduktan sonra. Seni anladım dediklerim hep karşıma dikilip "Hayır, sen beni anlamadın" dediklerinde aklıma bir gelip bir kaybolan ilk ve tek soru. "Peki sen beni anladın mı ?" oldu hep... Şimdi biliyorum ki; hiç bir birimizi anlamıyoruz... Anlamamak pek kötü değil. Buna katlanabilir insan. Asıl sorun anlamazlıktan gelmekte. Bildiğini bilmezden, gördüğünü görmezden gelmekte... Bazen susarız lal bir yalnızlık gibi... Diyecek bir söz gelmez aklımıza... Susmalar hep çaresizliğimize yorulur. Çaresizlik olmadığı bir yana, her susma, susma da değildir... Dil susarsa sırası gelmiştir yüreğin. Bazı şeyler sırayladır. Parayla olmaz her şey. Yürek bilir bunu ve hiç bir övünmeye başvurmadan tüm doğallığıyla başlar konuşmaya. Konuşunca da güzel konuşur. Yürekten... Yüreğin dili gözlerdir. Gözlerini sözlerine dil eder... Biliyorum az sonra çekip gideceksin. Bir bilinmezden geldiğin gibi yine öyle birden bire başka bir bilinmezde yitip kaybolacaksın. Düşlerde gidip gelmek zordur. Uzak ülkelere gidip gelmek kadar yorar insanı. Buyur otur. Ellerin belinde dikilip durma öyle odanın ortasında. Yoksa beni anlamadın demeye mi geldin ? Hayır, anladım... İlk ve tek seni anladım... "Dur gitme..." Duvarlar, pencereler, pencerede cam sallanmasın. Adın silinmesin camın buğusundan. Kapıları çapma... Perdeleri yüzüne çektiğim soğuk gecenin kapıları arkadan kilitli. Konuşuyorum... Bir şeyler diyorum. Sen... Sen yoksun, sesim yok. Yalnızlığında mı bir sesi var ? Bir yüreği var biliyorum. Sesi olduğunu bilmiyordum. Yalnızlığım konuşuyor dinle o zaman... Anlarsan zaten gitmezsin.
Yotam Ottolenghi’s black miso sticky rice with peanuts and brussels sprouts
Old ingredients in a new light. It’s great to shake up the Christmas sprouts with some Asian assistance. Frying them for just a few minutes means they retain the bite they so often lack when boiled and overcooked, and also helps keep that bright colour. Try to get hold of smaller Asian peanuts for this; failing that, just chop regular ones in half.
Serves 8 Thai black rice 700g white miso 160g rice vinegar 90ml saltgroundnut oil 90ml ginger 6cm piece, peeled and julienned red chillies 5, deseeded and julienned garlic cloves 5, peeled and thinly sliced small peanuts 120g, skin on (or regular peanuts chopped in half) sesame seeds 2 tbsp toasted brussels sprouts 1.2kg, trimmed, cut in half lengthways (or quartered, if big) sesame oil ½ tsp mirin 2 tbsp coriander leaves 20g, roughly chopped limes 2, halved
Put the rice in a large saucepan with 1.8 litres water, the miso, two-thirds of the vinegar and a teaspoon of salt. Bring to a boil, then turn the heat to medium-low, cover and simmer gently for an hour, until very little liquid is left. Shake the pan every once in a while to stop the rice from sticking to the base. Take the pan off the heat, cover and set aside for 10 minutes, until the rice is cooked but still retains a bit of a bite; by this time, any remaining liquid should have reduced to the consistency of thick jam.
Heat the groundnut oil in a large non-stick frying pan over a medium-high heat, then fry the ginger, chilli and garlic for two minutes, until the garlic goes translucent. Add the peanuts, fry for three minutes more, until everything is golden-brown and crisp, then transfer to a small plate with a slotted spoon (you want to keep the oil in the pan). Mix the sesame seeds and an eighth of a teaspoon of salt into the peanut mix.
Return the pan to a high heat, add the sprouts and half a teaspoon of salt, and fry for six to eight minutes, stirring often, until the sprouts are dark golden-brown and starting to go crisp. Remove from the heat and stir in the sesame oil, mirin and remaining rice vinegar.
To serve, spoon the rice into a large, shallow serving bowl and top with the sprouts. Sprinkle over the coriander and squeeze over the lime juice, top with the crisp chilli and peanuts, and take to the table.
Yotam Ottolenghi is a food writer and owner of Ottolenghi and Nopi
April Bloomfield’s roasted and raw fennel salad with blood orange and bottarga
Roasted and raw fennel salad with blood orange and bottarga. Photograph: David Loftus
Any time a vegetable is as tasty raw as it is cooked, it’s fun to explore combining its different sides in one salad. For example, I’m big on the crunch and perfume of raw fennel. But I also love the way roasting fennel gives it a meaty texture as well as a sweeter, more concentrated and more complex taste. When you combine the two preparations – along with fennel seeds, pollen and fronds to add even more layers of flavour – the salad goes from just another nice dish on your table to the meal’s main event.
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Serves 4 to 6 as a side fennel bulbs 4 large, stalks and outermost layer discarded, tender fronds reserved, root end trimmed of brown bits garlic cloves 2 medium, finely chopped fennel seeds ½ tsp, coarsely crushed in a mortar dried pequín chillies 3, crumbled, or pinches of red pepper flakes extra-virgin olive oil 55ml, plus 2 tbsp Maldon or another flaky sea salt 1½ tsp blood oranges 4 lemon juice 1 tbsp freshly ground black pepper several turns delicate, peppery rocket a handful unsalted roasted pistachios 50g, very coarsely crushed fennel pollen 1 tsp bottarga di muggine (salted mullet roe) 25g, finely grated
Position a rack in the centre of the oven and preheat to 230C/gas mark 8.
Halve two of the fennel bulbs through the root end, then cut them through the root nub (so each wedge stays intact) into approximately 2½cm thick wedges. Combine the wedges in a mixing bowl with the garlic, fennel seeds, chillies, 55ml of the oil, ½ teaspoon of the salt and 55ml of water, and toss well. Spread the mixture in a heavy enamelled baking dish (large enough to hold the fennel in a single layer with a little room to spare) and cover tightly with foil. Roast the fennel until it is tender (it should meet with almost no resistance when poked with a knife) and golden brown on the bottom, 25 to 30 minutes. Remove the foil and roast just until the golden brown colour gets a shade or so darker, 3 to 5 minutes more. Let the fennel cool to room temperature.
Meanwhile, halve one of the oranges and squeeze 3 tablespoons of juice into a small bowl. Use a sharp knife to cut off just enough of the top and bottom of the remaining oranges to expose a full circle of the flesh on either side. Stand them on a flat end, and cut along the border where the flesh meets the pith, following the curve of the fruit to remove the pith and peel. Repeat the process until all you have left are nice round, naked fruits. If you’ve missed any white pith, trim it off. Slice the fruit crosswise into ½ cm thick rounds. Flick out any seeds.
To the blood orange juice in the bowl, whisk in the lemon juice, the pepper, the remaining 2 tablespoons of oil and 1 teaspoon of salt.
Slice the remaining 2 fennel bulbs crosswise into ½cm thick slices (only remove the core if it’s very tough) and separate the layers with your fingers. Toss the raw fennel, roasted fennel (and any oil and browned bits left in the pan) and dressing in a large mixing bowl. Use your hands to give it all a gentle scrunch – just to help the flavours come together.
Very coarsely chop enough of the reserved fennel fronds to give you a handful. Add the fronds, rocket and pistachios to the bowl and toss again.
Spoon some of the fennel mixture onto a platter, arrange some blood orange slices here and there, then add another layer of fennel and oranges. Sprinkle on the fennel pollen, bottarga and, if you’d like, a healthy pinch of salt. Serve straightaway.
Masala fried mackerel moilee. Photograph: Romas Foord for the Observer
This crisp fried masala fish can easily be the centrepiece at pretty much any celebration, but it is often seen at the Christmas table. Mackerel is good for this dish as it handles the spices well, but in Kerala they can use pomfret or pearl spot. Here in the UK, feel free to try this dish with sea bass or sea bream.
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Serves 4 whole mackerel 4 x 350g, cleaned vegetable oil for deep frying lime juice of 1
For the ginger-garlic paste (makes about 10 tbsp) fresh ginger 100g, peeled garlic 100g, peeled water 175ml
For the marinade ginger-garlic paste 2 tbsp (see above) red chilli powder 1 tbsp ground coriander 2 tsp black peppercorns 1 tsp, crushed ground turmeric ¼ tsp salt 1½ tsp rice flour 1 tbsp cornflour 2 tbsp
For the moilee sauce corn or vegetable oil 3 tbsp mustard seeds ½ tsp fresh curry leaves a sprig white onion 1, sliced ginger 2½cm piece, peeled and cut into fine strips green chillies 4, slit lengthways salt 1 tsp ground turmeric ½ tsp coconut milk 500ml
To make the ginger-garlic paste, chop up the ginger and garlic and process them to a paste with the water in a food processor or blender. The paste will keep for one week in the fridge.
Mix together the marinade ingredients. Slash the fish 2 or 3 times on each side and rub in the marinade. Set aside for 20 minutes.
For the sauce, heat the oil in a pan, add the mustard seeds and curry leaves and when they start to crackle, add the onion, ginger, chillies and salt and cook until the onions are soft. Add the turmeric and stir for 1 minute. Pour in the coconut milk and simmer over a low heat until the sauce thickens to the consistency of double cream. Remove from the heat.
To fry the fish, heat the oil in a wok or deep pan large enough for the fish to fit in. Deep-fry the fish in medium-hot oil for 10–15 minutes, turning them over occasionally to cook all sides, until cooked through and crisp on the outside. Remove gently and place on kitchen paper to remove the excess oil.
Squeeze the lime juice over the fish and serve it with the moilee sauce and steamed rice or green salad as accompaniments.
Slow-cooked goose with apples and prunes. Photograph: Lars Ranek
My great grandmother lived in a small flat and didn’t have a big enough oven for a goose. So, on the morning of 24 December, she would stuff the bird and go to the baker’s shop. His ovens ran at 120C, so he cooked all the geese for the neighbourhood for five or six hours. It gives a fantastic result: soft and juicy.
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Serves 5–6 goose 1, about 5-6kg cider 1 litre
For the stuffing apples 4, cored and cut into wedges shallots 2, cut into wedges thyme leaves from 6 sprigs whole prunes 200g salt 1 tbsp plenty of freshly ground pepper
Remove the fat from the cavity, then dry the goose inside and out with kitchen paper.
Preheat the oven to 120C/gas mark ½. Mix the stuffing ingredients, stuff the goose and sew it shut with a trussing needle and kitchen string. Rub the bird with salt and put it in a roasting tin with half the cider.
Place the goose in the oven and cook for six hours, basting every 30 minutes with the juices. When they evaporate, use more of the cider. Start checking if the goose is done after five hours: a probe thermometer in the thickest part of the thigh should read 80C. Increase the oven temperature to 225C/gas mark 7½ for the last 10 minutes, so the skin crisps up. Leave to rest for 15 minutes, then carve.
Christmas cake. Photograph: Jonathan Lovekin for the Observer
Lighter than the one my mother made. The fruit is not so much currants, as golden sultanas, dried apricots and dark seedy figs. There are hazelnuts too, toasted, halved, and proper candied peel, pale citron and darker orange. The recipe has been made countless times, not only by me but by readers and friends.
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A family cake (this makes a 20cm cake) butter 250g light muscovado sugar 125g dark muscovado sugar 125g shelled hazelnuts 100g dried fruits – ready-to-eat prunes, apricots and figs, candied peel, glace cherries650g in total eggs 3 large ground almonds 65g vine fruits – raisins, sultanas, currants, dried cranberries 350g in total brandy 3 tbsp, plus extra to feed the cake orange finely grated zest of 1 lemon finely grated zest of 1 baking powder ½ tsp plain flour 250g apricot jam
For the almond paste (to cover a 20-22cm cake generously) icing sugar 250g ground almonds 500g egg 1 large lemon juice 2–3 tbsp
You will need a deep, 20cm-diameter round cake tin with a removable base, lined with lightly buttered baking parchment.
Lining the tin: Using the base of the cake tin as a template, cut a disc of baking parchment to fit neatly into the base. Now cut a long, wide strip that will fit not only around the inside of the tin, but a good 9cm above it. (For a 20cm cake tin that will be 66cm.) Place it around the inside of the tin.
Making the cake: Set the oven at 160C/gas mark 3. Using a food mixer and a flat paddle beater attachment, beat the butter and sugars until light and fluffy. Don’t forget to push the mixture down the sides of the bowl from time to time with a rubber spatula. Toast the hazelnuts in a dry pan until light brown, then cut each one in half.
While the butter and sugars are beating to a cappuccino-coloured fluff, cut the dried fruits into small pieces, removing the hard stalks from the figs. Break the eggs into a small bowl, beat lightly with a fork, then add a little at a time to the butter mixture, beating continuously. (If it curdles, add a little flour.)
Slowly mix in the ground almonds, toasted hazelnuts and all the dried and vine fruits, the brandy and citrus zest and juice. Now mix the baking powder and flour together and fold them lightly into the mix. Scrape the mixture into the prepared tin, smooth the top gently, and put it into the oven.
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Leave the cake for about an hour. Then, without opening the door, turn the heat down to 150C/gas mark 2 and continue cooking for an additional one and a half hours.
Check whether the cake is done by inserting a skewer, or a knitting needle, into the centre. It should come out with just a few crumbs attached to it, no trace of raw cake mixture. Take the cake out of the oven and leave to cool before removing it from the tin.
Feeding the cake: If you make the cake early enough, or at least a month before you need it, you get the opportunity to “feed it” with alcohol. Most people use brandy, though I have known those who prefer rum. The trick is to pierce the base of the cake several times with a skewer, then spoon brandy into the holes. I have never found a skewer wide enough so tend to prefer a thin, ie Japanese, chopstick.
Once the cake is completely cool, remove the paper from the base and pierce all over with a skewer or knitting needle. Spoon over enough brandy to moisten the cake but not to make it soggy – I suggest three or four tablespoons at a time. Don’t use your best cognac. Wrap the cake in greaseproof paper and tin foil and store in a cake tin. Feed the cake every few days with the same amount of brandy.
Making the paste: I make my own almond paste in a deep, wide mixing bowl, my biggest in fact. This is because no matter how careful I am, the icing sugar, when sifted, tends to fly everywhere. I do sift the sugar too.
Sift the icing sugar into a bowl and stir in the ground almonds. Break the egg into a small bowl and beat lightly for just long enough to mix the white and yolk. I find the mixing easiest using a food processor with a flat paddle. Add to the almonds and sugar, then introduce enough lemon juice, little by little, to bring the mixture to a stiff, smooth paste firm enough to roll. Bring together into a ball, then turn out on to a wooden board dusted lightly with icing sugar. Roll into a fat cylinder or cake and wrap in kitchen parchment or cling film.
I rather like the pure, spartan effect of a cake covered only with marzipan. If you use golden icing sugar your paste will have a soft, honey-coloured hue, like that of antique linen. Even the most hardened minimalist will agree such a cake needs something in the way of decoration. Marzipan stars of differing sizes pressed on to the smooth almond paste can look suitably festive, especially if their edges are blowtorched here and there.
It may be wise to buy your almond paste ready-made, the results being both easier to roll and available in a variety of colours, some of which are actually appropriate. (No one wants a blue Christmas cake.) The trick when making your own is to get the proportions of almond, egg and sugar in perfect harmony, otherwise it will be either too sticky to roll or too crumbly to lift on to the cake.
Mary Berry says you need 675g of paste to cover the top and sides of the cake. My love of marzipan requires a slightly more generous layer. It takes 300g of almond paste to ice the top of a 20cm round cake. Less if you want a thin layer. The sides take a further 500g. Only you know how much you like almond paste.
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You will need jam too, not much, less than half a jar of apricot.
Covering the sides: I find it easier to put the almond paste in place on the sides of the cake using two shorter lengths of paste rather than doing battle with one ridiculously long one. Those more dextrous than I will probably do it in one go. I use a light dusting of icing sugar to stop it sticking to the work surface.
Measure the circumference of the cake with a piece of cotton or string. Roll a strip of almond paste the same length as the string, and the same width as the height of the cake. (For a 20cm cake this will be about 66cm long and 9cm high.) Brush the sides of the cake with apricot jam, then lift the cake on to its edge and first roll then press the strips into place, trimming as necessary.
Join the strips by pressing lightly with your thumbs, bearing in mind that the sides will be covered with icing.
Covering the top: Roll out the remaining almond paste with a rolling pin on a work surface lightly dusted with icing sugar. Using the base of the cake tin as a template, cut a disc of paste that fits the top of the cake. Brush the surface of the cake with apricot or gooseberry jam (you need a tart fruit to contrast with the sweet icing), then lower the almond paste into place. Smooth flat with the palm of your hand or, using very light pressure, with a rolling pin.
Leave the paste to dry overnight in a cool place before lowering carefully into a biscuit tin and covering with a lid. Should you not have a spare cake tin, you can wrap the cake loosely in baking parchment, then in foil. It is rather important that the cake is stored somewhere cool and dry, otherwise the covering will turn sticky. Four days is about the right time to allow the covering to dry out. If you ice it too soon the marzipan will show through.
