The Year of the Aubergine

Until I sat down to make this list, I hadn't realised just how many aubergine recipes I had tried in 2022. The wonderful farm from which I get biweekly vegetable deliveries has yet to include aubergines in my vegetable box, but luckily for me a new Asian supermarket opened near campus late last year. They have a beautiful produce section, which includes a rainbow of eggplant in different colours and sizes, including the excellently named graffiti aubergine.

I took this picture to amuse students in my class on ancient graffiti.

During Lent, I tried to keep a vegan or vegetarian diet, which explains the large number of vegan recipes I tried in the first half of the year. Despite this, I have yet to find a vegan cookbook I want to buy--even the ones that claim to be 'easy' are overly fussy or full of ingredients that are hard to find in Lincolnshire. Plus, it seems that many vegan cookbook authors try to sell veganism by focusing on creating taste-and-texture equivalents for recipes based on animal products, and pretending to eat meat never quite works for me. So far, I can always taste the difference, and would rather eat tofu or tempeh or legumes because they taste good as themselves and the recipe that uses them exposes me to a new flavour or technique. My absolute favourite tofu recipe from the list below was the Red-cooked Smoked Tofu, Aubergine and Potato Stew from Asian Green by Ching He Huang--red cooking is a new taste and technique for me, and I loved it.

My public library's cookbook section continues to be a wonderful source of ideas. Although I try not to purchase new cookbooks, I am almost certainly going to add Stir Crazy by Ching-He Huang to my collection. Her instructions are very clear, all of the recipes I have tried have been excellent, and they usually make two servings, which is perfect for a solo cook. For the number of recipes of hers I've tried, I ought to have called this post the year of Ching-He Huang.

I hope you have been cooking and eating well this year!

January 2022

• Peanut, Sesame and Coconut Aubergines from Masala by Malika Basu
• Greek Pumpkin Pie from World Vegetarian by Madhur Jaffrey
  

February 2022

• Yuxiang Aubergine and Shiitake Stir-fry from Asian Green by Ching-He Huang
• Red-cooked Smoked Tofu, Aubergine and Potato Stew from Asian Green by Ching-He Huang
• Vertuta (Moldovan Giant Cheese Twist) from Mamushka by Olia Hercules 
• Brussels Sprout Pottage from Twelve Months of Monastery Soups by Victor-Antoine D'Avila-Latourrette
• Guitaang Mungo (Mung Beans with Coconut) from Sundays at Moosewood
• Sticky Hoisin Broccoli  from Asian Green by Ching-He Huang

March 2022

• Shepherd's Pie from Sundays at Moosewood
• Veggie Ants Climbing Trees from Asian Green by Ching-He Huang
• Sweet and Sour Cabbage from World Vegetarian by Madhur Jaffrey 
• Mother Wolff Soup from Sundays at Moosewood
• Winter Tabbouleh from Easy Vegan Bible by Katy Beskow
• Soy, Lime, and Peanut Stiry-Fry Easy Vegan Bible by Katy Beskow
  

April 2022

• Teriyaki Tempeh with Broccoli from Asian Green by Ching-He Huang
• Dry-fried Chicken from Hunan by Y.S. Peng
• Lentil and Rice Mujaddara from Breaking Bread at Central 
  

May 2022

• Miso Asparagus with Mushrooms from Stir Crazy by Ching-He Huang
• Cabbage and Sesame Salad from Bazaar by Sabrina Ghayour
• Kung Po Tofu from Stir Crazy by Ching-He Huang
• Aubergine in Spicy Peanut Sauce from Stir Crazy by Ching-He Huang
• Fish Fragrant Aubergine from Stir Crazy by Ching-He Huang
• Spicy Soy and Oyster Sauce Tofu from Stir Crazy by Ching-He Huang
  
• Oyster Sauce Chicken from Stir Crazy by Ching-He Huang   

June 2022

• Sichuan Tofu with Celery and Roasted Peanuts from Stir Crazy by Ching-He Huang 
  
• Spicy Oyster Sauce Squid with Peppers from Stir Crazy by Ching-He Huang
• Chili Peanut Lamb from from Stir Crazy by Ching-He Huang 
  
• Spicy Honey Garlic Prawns with Water Chestnuts from Stir Crazy by Ching-He Huang
  
• Vegetarian Soup Kharcho from Supra by Tiko Tuskadze
• Three Cup Chicken from Stir Crazy by Ching-He Huang   

July 2022

• Spiced Carrot Soup from Ripe Figs by Yasmin Khan
• Smoked Mackerel, Shiitake Mushroom, Bamboo and Goji Berry Rice from Stir Crazy by Ching-He Huang
• General Tso's Tofu from  Stir Crazy by Ching-He Huang 

August 2022

• Cardamom Egg Toast from Ripe Figs by Yasmin Khan
• Veggie Dan Dan Mei from Stir Crazy by Ching-He Huang  
• Besan ka chilla from Masala by Malika Basu
• Sabzi Bhaji from Masala by Malika Basu
• Ajadsandali (Aubergine Stew) from Supra by Tiko Tuskadze
• Anytime Tea from Mind Food by Lauren Lovatt
• Harak Osbao (Tagiliatelle with Herbed Lentils) from Ripe Figs by Yasmin Khan

Pack up the Moon

Funeral Blues

Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone,
Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone,
Silence the pianos and with muffled drum
Bring out the coffin, let the mourners come.

Let aeroplanes circle moaning overhead
Scribbling on the sky the message 'He is Dead'.
Put crepe bows round the white necks of the public doves,
Let the traffic policemen wear black cotton gloves.

He was my North, my South, my East and West,
My working week and my Sunday rest,
My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song;
I thought that love would last forever: I was wrong.

The stars are not wanted now; put out every one,
Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun,
Pour away the ocean and sweep up the wood;
For nothing now can ever come to any good.

~ W.H. Auden, reprinted in All the poems you need to say goodbye edited by Don Paterson (London, 2004) 

"The Moon Over Water" by edbadle is licensed under CC BY-NC 2.0.

Perhaps I have a poor sense of humour, but because I read this as a poem about a breakup, it makes me laugh. The poor deprived dog! The skywriting! The no-doubt bewildered public doves! (What a world, that has public doves and traffic cops in mourning gloves.) And then there is the fact that the opening of the fourth stanza packs a genuine emotional punch, as well as being a delightful play on words.

I wonder if this--or any other Auden poems--have been set to music. I can hear the entire third stanza and those lovely lines, 'The stars are not wanted now, put out every one / pack up the moon and dismantle the sun' as a song.

The Love of Clothes

'Clothes make the man,' as the saying goes, so it follows that what a character is wearing says a lot about who they are. Lately, I've been reading Captain Blood by Rafael Sabatini--a swashbuckling novel about a seventeenth-century doctor Peter Blood, whose misadventures lead him to turn to piracy in the Caribbean. 

I loved the first description of Blood's appearance:

He had a pleasant, vibrant voice, whose metallic ring was softened and muted by the Irish accent which in all his wanderings he had never lost. It was a voice that could woo seductively and caressingly, or command in such a way as to compel obedience. Indeed, the man's whole nature was in that voice of his. For the rest of him, he was tall and spare, swarthy of tint as a gipsy, with eyes that were startlingly blue in that dark face and under those level black brows. In their glance those eyes, flanking a high-bridged, intrepid nose, were of singular penetration and of a steady haughtiness that went well with his firm lips. Though dressed in black as became his calling, yet it was with an elegance derived from the love of clothes that is peculiar to the adventurer he had been, rather than to the staid medicus he now was. His coat was of fine camlet, and it was laced with silver; there were ruffles of Mechlin at his wrists and a Mechlin cravat encased his throat. His great black periwig was as sedulously curled as any at Whitehall. 

Blood, a man with a medical degree and an eleven year career as a solider of fortune, loves clothes. In our era, masculinity and love of fashion, do not go hand in hand (see Ben Barry's amazing research on what men wear to work and why). One would not expect a military man to be a clotheshorse. Sabatini, writing one hundred years ago (Captain Blood was published in 1922) turns this expectation on its head. Peter Blood's love of clothes, not just any clothes, but elegant clothes, beautiful clothes, clothes that are made of fine-quality cloth and adorned with high-quality lace--is presented as an important part of his character, one that developed out of his personal history of military service and the practice of medicine. His fine clothes are in complete harmony with his masculinity.

Sabatini's descriptions of men's appearances are a delight throughout the novel. Take, for instance, the introduction of the character of Lord Julian Wade, an English envoy:

He was a young man of perhaps eight-and-twenty, well above the middle height in stature and appearing taller by virtue of his exceeding leanness. He had a thin, pale, rather pleasing hatchet-face, framed in the curls of a golden periwig, a sensitive mouth and pale blue eyes that lent his countenance a dreamy expression, a rather melancholy pensiveness.

Wade's mission--to persuade Peter Blood to turn away from piracy and accept a commission in the Royal Navy (not as implausible as it might sound--see the career of Henry Morgan, on which the plot of the novel is based). When this commission and Blood's budding romance with a woman named Arabella Bishop fall through, there is another wonderful instance where his clothing and appearance provide a look into his inner life as a character:

He was degenerating visibly, under the eyes of all. He had entirely lost the almost foppish concern for his appearance, and was grown careless and slovenly in his dress. He allowed a black beard to grow on cheeks that had ever been so carefully shaven; and the long, thick black hair, once so sedulously curled, hung now in a lank, untidy mane about a face that was changing from its vigorous swarthiness to an unhealthy sallow, whilst the blue eyes, that had been so vivid and compelling, were now dull and lacklustre. 

After further events (I am trying not to give away the plot), the final turn of Blood's fortunes is signaled by a change in his appearance:

...there entered now into his presence a spruce and modish gentleman, dressed with care and sombre richness in black and silver, his swarthy, clear-cut face scrupulously shaven, his long black hair in ringlets that fell to a collar of fine point. In his right hand the gentleman carried a broad black hat with a scarlet ostrich-plume, in his left hand an ebony cane. His stockings were of silk, a bunch of ribbons masked his garters, and the black rosettes on his shoes were finely edged with gold. 

The black and silver is a lovely throwback to the beginning of the novel, and description reinforces the connection between clothes and character. Blood is at his best when he is well-dressed.

Taking delight in Peter Blood's love of clothes reminds me that I am eagerly looking forward to visiting the exhibit Fashioning Masculinities: the Art of Menswear at the V&A before it closes on 6 November 2022!

A Scholar

 pro captu lectoris habent sua fata libelli

 

The light is dying, and the clock has died;

the page succumbs to the atrocious care

that disinters the things not wholly there

by which your solemn field is justified.

You burnish them until they bear the shine

of common knowledge, knowing one black skill

is yours alone: before the greater will

all text is dream, and takes on the design

of what was sought there. Thus your word is god.

This grammarie electrifies the gate;

none pass but such as you initiate.

The students hurry by you in the quad

attending to their feet. What can you say?

You know Shakespeare would have walked that way.

~ Don Paterson, 40 Sonnets (London, 2015)

Gatekeeping and exclusion are endemic to academia, but it's not often you get a beautiful poem about it. I love how Paterson's scholar is an eerie figure whose work includes necromancy, black magic, and spellbooks. At the moment, this poem has particular resonance for me because I am in the final stages of checking over the typeset manuscript of my book and preparing the index. "All text is dream," indeed.

The epigraph is from the second-century grammarian Terentianus Maurus, De Metris; a literal translation is: books have their destinies according to the capability of the reader; or as William Camden translated it books receive their Doome according to the reader's capacity. Another way to put it (though not literally) might be the reader makes the book, in the sense that because of our own abilities and experiences and understandings, our encounters with a particular book will be utterly unique to us as individuals.