Tuna curry snack / Snack de atum e caril

I think you'll all agree with me when I say food is just the perfect motive to bring people together.

This is just a little snack I often make to enjoy while I'm watching TV. But it's also nice when you have your family or friends over, because you can prepare it in advance.

You'll need these (and some parsley).

Boil an egg. Blend the canned tuna, 2 dessert spoons of mustard, 2 dessert spoons of curry mix, the boiled egg and some parsley. Roughly spread the mixture on some pringles. 

Try it with a glass of red wine, or an iced red fruits, orange and chocolate drink. 

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Julgo que todos irão concordar comigo se disser que a comida é o motivo perfeito para reunir as pessoas.

Este é um pequeno aperitivo que costumo fazer para petiscar enquanto estou a ver TV. Mas também é bom quando recebem a vossa família ou os vossos amigos, porque o podem preparar antecipadamente.

Coze um ovo. Mistura o atum em lata, 2 colheres de sobremesa de mostarda, 2 colheres de sobremesa de mistura de caril, o ovo cozido e alguma salsa. Espalha grosseiramente a mistura em algumas pringles. 

Experimenta com um copo de vinho tinto, ou uma bebida gelada de frutos vermelhos, laranja e chocolate. 

Happy Halloween week! / Boa Semana de Halloween!

Ah... There's nothing quite like coming home at 7pm after being away for 13 hours and having a
Dulsao Nespresso [in a plastic cup; yes; the only way I enjoy it]
with one of the chocolate ghosts I made yesterday.

Pepper crepes / Crepes de pimento

Hello, everyone!

I already started my second job, which meant a lot of initial paperwork, leaving home early and coming back almost straight to bed, and getting used to new people and routines. 

I have to admit: I adapt easily, except to new names. In recent years, I've developed a technique to overcome my little problem: as soon as people aren't watching, I note down the names of the people I've just met or heard about whom I think I will need to talk to later. I know, it sounds silly, but when you have to talk to a lot of people at work all the time, it's awkward when you still don't know their names or their job functions [have you ever talked to someone only to find out later it was your boss's wife? well, I have]. And it gets even worse as time goes by. It's not the first time I've worked in a place for 6 months and am too shy to ask someone their name, when I talk to them every single day...

Anyway, I really needed this weekend break to memorize everything I've been absorbing. 

And today we had to change the clocks. Yes, WINTER IS COMING! So I decided to make a colourful brunch to attract positive vibes for next week. To make these pepper crepes, simply

grill an orange and a yellow pepper. When they're done, wash them, take away their skin, and slice them.

Fry some thin bacon strips and 3 minutes later add the mushrooms. Fry them for a couple of minutes.

Les ingredients

Mix the ingredients and serve them on crepes.

I LOST myself in sweet tooth heaven. As Locke says, "I've looked into the eye of this island, and what I saw was beautiful."

I'll tell you all about the SECOND part of brunch later this week, after Foodie Penpals October Reveal day, since I used some of the ingredients I got.

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Olá a todos!

Já comecei no meu segundo emprego, o que implicou uma série de papelada inicial, sair de casa cedo e regressar praticamente direitinha à cama, e habituar-me a pessoas e rotinas novas. 

Tenho de admitir: adapto-me facilmente, excepto a nomes novos. Nos últimos anos, desenvolvi uma técnica para superar este pequeno problema: assim que dou conta que as pessoas não estão a olhar, aponto os nomes das pessoas que acabei de conhecer ou de quem ouvi falar com quem possa vir a precisar de falar mais tarde. Eu sei, parece tonto, mas quando têm de falar com muitas pessoas no trabalho a toda a hora, é estranho quando ainda não sabem os seus nomes ou as suas funções [já falaram com alguém que mais tarde vieram a descobrir tratar-se afinal da mulher do patrão? bem, eu já]. E ainda piora com o tempo. Não é a primeira vez que trabalho num sítio há 6 meses e me sinto demasiado envergonhada para perguntar o nome de alguém, quando falo com ele/ela todos os dias...

De qualquer forma, estava mesmo a precisar do intervalo proporcionado por este fim de semana para memorizar tudo o que tenho vindo a absorver. 

E hoje tivemos de mudar os relógios. Yes!, "WINTER IS COMING!" Por isso decidi fazer um brunch colorido para atrair vibrações positivas para a próxima semana. Para fazeres estes crepes de pimento, simplesmente

grelha um pimento amarelo e outro laranja. Quando estiverem prontos, lava-os, retira-lhes a pele, e corta-os em tiras.
Frita algumas fatias de bacon finas e 3 minutos mais tarde adiciona os cogumelos. Frita-os durante alguns minutos.

Mistura os ingredientes e serve-os em crepes.

Mais no fim da semana conto-vos tudo sobre a SEGUNDA parte do brunch, depois do dia de revelação de Outubro do programa Foodie Penpals, já que usei alguns dos ingredientes que recebi.

Aletria

Great news: I finally got a second job, working part-time in a building opposite the one where my first job is. 

These past few days have been hectic as you might imagine, but in a good way. I didn't even have any time to celebrate, so tonight I did "aletria". Aletria is a really thin type of spaghetti - I've seen it mentioned in some places as vermicelli, in others as capelinni, and in others as angel's hair. The recipe was brought to Portugal by the moors, and is traditionally done during Christmas time.

Boil 100g of "aletria" in water for 5 minutes. Drain it. Then add it to a pot with 400ml of milk, lemon peel and 150g of sugar. 

When it is boiled, add 50g of butter. Take the pot out of the heat and add 3 yolks, previously beaten. Heat the mixture so the yolks will boil slightly.

Serve the aletria in individual bowls, sprinkled with some cinnamon on top. Garnish with hibiscus flower confit: its tangy flavour is the just perfect match to give this dessert some balance.

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Grandes notícias: arranjei finalmente um segundo emprego, a trabalhar em part-time num edifício em frente ao edifício onde fica o meu primeiro emprego. 

Estes últimos dias têm sido de loucos como podes imaginar, mas no bom sentido. Nem tive tempo para celebrar, por isso hoje fiz "aletria". A receita foi trazida para Portugal pelos mouros e é feita tradicionalmente durante o Natal.

Coze 100g de aletria em água durante 5 minutos. Escorre-a. Junta-a a um tacho com 400ml de leite, casca de limão e 150g de açúcar. Quando estiver cozida, adiciona 50g de manteiga. Tira o tacho do lume e adiciona 3 gemas, batidas previamente. Aquece a mistura de modo a que as gemas cozam ligeiramente.

Serve a aletria em taças individuais, polvilhadas com canela. Decora com flor de hibisco confitada: o seu sabor ácido é o par perfeito para dar equilíbrio a esta sobremesa.

It's World Food Day, so this time I've brought you food for thought. / É o Dia Mundial da Alimentação, por isso desta vez dou-vos o que pensar.

In my opinion, one of Margaret Atwood's most touching texts:
Na minha opinião, um dos textos mais tocantes de Margaret Atwood [em versão original. "Bread" = Pão]:

BREAD

Imagine a piece of bread. You don’t have to imagine it, it’s right here in the kitchen, on the breadboard, in its plastic bag, lying beside the bread knife. The bread knife is an old one you picked up at an auction; it has the word BREAD carved into the wooden handle. You open the bag, pull back the wrapper, cut yourself a slice. You put butter on it, then peanut butter, then honey, and you fold it over. Some of the honey runs out onto your fingers and you lick it off. It takes you about a minute to eat the bread. This bread happens to be brown, but there is also white bread, in the refrigerator, and a heel of rye you got last week, round as a full stomach then, now going moldy.Occasionally you make bread. You think of it as something relaxing to do with your hands.

Imagine a famine. Now imagine a piece of bread. Both of these things are real but you happen to be in the same room with only one of them. Put yourself into a different room, that’s what the mind is for. You are now lying on a thin mattress in a hot room. The walls are made of dried earth, and your sister, who is younger than you, is in the room with you. She is starving, her belly is bloated, flies land on her eyes; you brush them off with your hand. You have a cloth too, filthy but damp, and you press it to her lips and forehead. The piece of bread is the bread you’ve been saving, for days it seems. You are as hungry as she is, but not yet as weak. How long does this take? When will someone come with more bread? You think of going out to see if you might find something that could be eaten, but outside the streets are infested with scavengers and the stink of corpses is everywhere.
Should you share the bread or give the whole piece to your sister? Should you eat the piece of bread yourself? After all, you have a better chance of living, you’re stronger.How long does it take to decide?

Imagine a prison. There is something you know that you have not yet told. Those in control of the prison know that you know. So do those not in control. If you tell, thirty or forty or a hundred of your friends, your comrades, will be caught and will die. If you refuse to tell, tonight will be like last night. They always choose the night. You don’t think about the night however, but about the piece of bread they offered you. How long does it take? The piece of bread was brown and fresh and reminded you of sunlight falling across a wooden floor. It reminded you of a bowl, a yellow bowl that was once in your home. It held apples and pears; it stood on a table you can also remember. It’s not the hunger or the pain that is killing you but the absence of the yellow bowl. If you could only hold the bowl in your hands, right here, you could withstand anything, you tell yourself. The bread they offered you is subversive, it’s treacherous, it does not mean life.

There were once two sisters. One was rich and had no children, the other had five children and was a widow, so poor that she no longer had any food left. She went to her sister and asked her for a mouthful of bread. “My children are dying,” she said. The rich sister said, “I do not have enough for myself,” and drove her away from the door.Then the husband of the rich sister came home and wanted to cut himself a piece of bread, but when he made the first cut, out flowed red blood.
Everyone knew what that meant.
This is a traditional German fairy tale.

The loaf of bread I have conjured for you floats about a foot above your kitchen table.The table is normal, there are no trap doors in it. A blue tea towel floats beneath the bread, and there are no strings attaching the cloth to the bread or the bread to the ceiling or the table to the cloth, you’ve proved it by passing your hand above and below. You didn’t touch the bread though. What stopped you? You don’t want to know whether the bread is real or whether it’s just a hallucination I’ve somehow duped you into seeing. There’s no doubt that you can see the bread, you can even smell it, it smells like yeast, and it looks solid enough, solid as your own arm. But can you trust it?Can you eat it? You don’t want to know, imagine that.

Migas

Golden leaves all over my street, the temperature dropping, and the rain with just a few sunny breaks don't fool anyone: Autumn has finally settled. 

I'm more of a Summer girl myself, but there's something about this period, the walnuts, the chestnuts, the first long sleeves, the prospect of a crackling fireplace in the next couple of weeks, that makes me forget the annoying weather, replacing it with a comforting romantic feeling. And giving me time to think about happy days.

I was sitting on my balcony yesterday, thinking about these past Summer holidays: we spent some days travelling through Alentejo, a southern region in Portugal, visiting historical and cultural landmarks and having a taste of some regional dishes here and there. One of the best experiences we had, gastronomically speaking, was trying different versions of one of Alentejo's most famous side dishes: migas. They are made out of softened bread, cooked in fat (usually lard) and some of the juices from the meat that has been cooked to be served with the migas. There are some variations - with potatoes, for example. 

I made my own version yesterday - a bit lighter, adding greens and taking out some of the fat.

Main ingredients of my version of migas: bread, garlic, spinach, bacon, margarine. 

In a frying-pan, fry about 90g of bacon, cut in very little pieces. When it's golden, lower the temperature to medium heat and add the margarine [about 40g]. While it starts melting, add 3 garlic cloves with their skin. Toss it a couple of times so the flavours start blending. Add about 300g of frozen spinach "esparregado" [it is a sort of paste made of puréed spinach and flour, seasoned with garlic, olive oil and vinegar], and let it melt, mixing with a wooden spoon. 

I was going to serve it with a chuck roast, so I took it out of the oven for a bit and removed some of the liquid that formed from the seasoning and the meat [about 80ml], put the meat back in the oven and poured the warm liquid in the frying pan. 

Then you can take the garlic cloves out and slowly start adding the bread. I only used 3 slices, which I cut in smaller pieces. Migas are traditionally done with regional bread from Alentejo, usually at least one day old, but I didn't have any at home, so I used what I had. But you'll notice the flavour will be really enhanced depending on the quality of the bread. So mash the bread with the back of a spoon, and blend it with the liquid so a paste starts forming. Let it cook for a couple more minutes - I love that light toasted taste - and start tossing it up and down, moving your arm back and forth, so the paste starts rolling itself. You don't need to be a Tossing Master: the ingredients will do most of the work for you - they just need a little push.

To plate it, simply turn the frying-pan over the plate and smoothly toss it so it slides onto the plate. It will stay in shape, just like mine [or better]:

Shake, rattle and roll

Migas go really well with grilled meat or roasts, and a glass of Paulo Laureano Premium red wine. Just perfect to reproduce the feeling I got during my glorious meals in Alentejo this Summer.

And you? Do you prepare certain meals specifically because they remind you of times well spent, or is it just me?

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As folhas douradas por toda a minha rua, a temperatura a descer, e a chuva com alguns intervalos de sol não enganam ninguém: o outono instalou-se finalmente. 

Sou mais uma rapariga de verão, mas há algo sobre este período, as nozes, as castanhas, as primeiras mangas compridas, o prospecto de uma lareira a crepitar nas próximas semanas, que me faz esquecer o tempo aborrecido, substituindo-o por um sentimento romântico e aconchegante. E que me dá tempo para pensar em dias felizes.

Estava ontem sentada na minha varanda, a pensar nas férias de verão passadas: passámos alguns dias a viajar pelo Alentejo, uma região do sul de Portugal, a visitar marcos históricos e culturais e a provar pratos regionais aqui e ali. Uma das melhores experiências, em termos gastronómicos, foi provarmos diferentes versões de um dos acompanhamentos mais famosos do Alentejo: migas. São feitas com pão amolecido, cozinhado em gordura (normalmente banha) e alguns dos sumos da carne que foi cozinhada para ser servida com as migas. Há algumas variações - com batatas, por exemplo. 

Fiz a minha própria versão ontem - um pouco mais leve, juntando verdes e tirando alguma da gordura.

Numa frigideira, frita cerca de 90g de bacon, cortado em pedaços muito pequenos. Quando estiver dourado, reduz a temperatura para lume médio e adiciona a margarina [cerca de 40g]. Quando começar a derreter, junta 3 dentes de alho com casca. Sacode algumas vezes a frigideira para que os sabores se comecem a misturar. Adiciona cerca de 300g de esparregado de espinafres congelado, e deixa derreter, mexendo com uma colher de pau. 

Ia servir com um assado, por isso tirei-o do forno por uns momentos e retirei algum do líquido que se formou a partir do tempero e da carne [cerca de 80ml], voltei a pôr a carne no forno e verti o líquido quente na frigideira. 

Entretanto podes tirar os dentes de alho e lentamente começar a adicionar o pão. Usei apenas 3 fatias, que cortei em pedaços mais pequenos. As migas são tradicionalmente feitas com pão regional alentejano, normalmente já pelo menos de um dia, mas não tinha em casa, por isso usei o que tinha. Mas irás notar que o sabor fica muito melhor, dependendo da qualidade do pão. Assim, esmaga o pão com a parte de trás de uma colher, e mistura-o com o líquido para que se comece a formar uma pasta. Deixa cozinhar por mais alguns minutos - adoro aquele ligeiro sabor a tostado - e começa a lançar a pasta para cima e para baixo, mexendo o teu braço para a frente e para trás, para que a pasta se comece a enrolar. Não precisas de ser um Mestre do Lançamento: os ingredientes vão fazer maior parte do trabalho - só precisam de um empurrãozinho.

Para empratar as migas, vira a frigideira para o prato e gentilmente lança o rolo de forma a deslizar para o prato. Não vai perder a forma, tal como o meu [ou melhor]:


As migas combinam mesmo bem com carne grelhada ou assados, e com um copo de vinho tinto Paulo Laureano Premium. Simplesmente perfeito para reproduzir a sensação que obtive durante as minhas gloriosas refeições no Alentejo este verão.

E tu? Preparas determinadas refeições especificamente porque te fazem lembrar de tempos bem passados, ou sou só eu?

Chocolate salami / Salame de chocolate

First, thank you all for your kind words in my last post. Happy thoughts, right? So, let's think... something SWEET!

If you are Portuguese, you just know this will win you a special place in the heart of your kids' friends. You wouldn't believe how many times my friends asked me "will your mother make her chocolate salami? will she? please..." [along with the famous almond pie, of course]. When a birthday was coming up, when there was a pic-nic, when there was an event at school, during the holidays, you name it. So here is a version of her chocolate salami.

Break 250g of Marie biscuits in small pieces into a bowl. Don't bother to be precise: the bigger bits the better, to contrast with the buttery chocolate, and with the rest of the ingredients the parts which are too big will eventually dissolve.

Mix the biscuits with 250g of sugar and 4 yolks with the help of a spoon.

Melt 200g of margarine and 200g of chocolate in a water bath, stirring until both ingredients are fully blended. [If you want to, you can use cocoa powder instead of a chocolate bar, but the butter in the bar will give it the extra sweetness I love].

Pour the mixture into the bowl and use a wooden [or plastic] spoon to mix everything.

Peekaboo!

Spread a sheet of aluminum foil on a board, and place the amount you want on the aluminum foil. Roll over the foil into a cylindrical shape. Press it with your hands. I usually do separate rolls if I intend to use them at home - it's easier to store. But when I'm doing it for a party, I use it all in a larger roll.

Store in the fridge and serve it in slices when it's solid. 

It's not strawberry season, but I still managed to pick these up from my parents' garden and brought them this weekend.

***

Primeiro, obrigada a todos pelas vossas palavras simpáticas no meu último post. Pensamentos felizes, certo? Portanto, pensemos em... algo DOCE!

Se és português, sabes que isto te vai ajudar a ganhar um lugar especial no coração dos amigos dos teus filhos. Não irias acreditar na quantidade de vezes que os meus amigos me perguntaram "a tua mãe vai fazer o salame de chocolate dela? vai? vá lá..." [juntamente com a famosa tarte de amêndoa, claro]. Quando um aniversário estava a chegar, quando havia um pic-nic, quando havia uma festa na escola, durante as férias,... Por isso aqui fica uma versão do salame de chocolate dela.

Parte 250g de bolacha Maria em pedaços pequenos numa taça. Não te preocupes em ser preciso: quanto maiores forem os pedaços melhor, para contrastar com o chocolate amanteigado, e com o resto dos ingredientes as partes que são demasiado grandes vão eventualmente dissolver-se.

Mistura as bolachas com 250g de açúcar e 4 gemas com a ajuda de uma colher.

Derrete 200g de margarina e 200g de chocolate em banho-maria, mexendo até ambos os ingredientes se envolverem completamente. [Se quiseres, podes usar pó de cacau em vez de uma barra de chocolate, mas a manteiga da barra vai dar a doçura extra que adoro].

Verte a mistura na taça e usa uma colher de pau [ou plástico] para mexer tudo.

Espalha uma folha de papel de alumínio numa tábua, e coloca a quantidade que queres na folha de alumínio. Enrola a folha numa forma cilíndrica. Pressiona-a com as tuas mãos. Normalmente faço rolos separados se quero usá-los em casa - é mais fácil de guardar. Mas quando estou a fazer para uma festa, uso tudo num rolo maior.

Guarda no frigorífico e serve em fatias quando estiver sólido.