Month: November 2012

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Improvised sticky date pudding

I haven’t written a recipe post for a while, but this one was too good to pass up. While my experiments in the kitchen don’t always turn out, I’m pretty happy this time.

I don’t like measuring usually and now that I don’t have a measuring cup, I basically guess everything. So please don’t ask for exact measurements.

I was tempted to try to make a sticky date pudding since I had just bought a huge pack of dates – the last few times I bought that many, I had never been able to finish all of it. A quick internet search showed recipes with tons of sugar and butter and heavy cream…so I decided to improvise with the custard cream I had left in the fridge. The instant custard cream I made two days ago was made with the custard cream power (basically corn starch and some flavourings?) and milk, no sugar.

The pudding came out so good I was seriously considering hiding it.

Somewhat Accurate Recipe

Dates, pitted – about 1 cup/200 g/two hand fulls

Custard cream – 1 cup (maybe a bit more?)

Flour – about ¾ cup

Eggs (smallish) – 2

Baking powder – 2 teaspoons

Water – about 1 cup

Make custard cream: buy the instant custard cream powder (I had never bought this back home, but they’re everywhere in Tanzania). Approximately 750 mL of milk with 3 heaped tablespoons. Don’t follow the instructions on the packaging because it only makes a very thin custard cream. Heat most of the milk up until it just starts boiling, take off the stove. Take some cold milk in a cup and mix well with the custard cream powder. Pour gradually into the heated milk and stir vigorously. It should set pretty fast. Leave it to cool down a bit.

Make the pudding: soak dates in water and 1 teaspoon of baking powder. Put on gentle fire to heat up and stir. Take off fire once boiling and water murky from dates. Puree with food blender/processor/one of the hand held mixing things. Add custard cream, eggs, and baking powder. Mix well. Fold in flour until incorporated. Pop into oven at approximately 175C and 25 min. Viola! Tasty amazingness without sugar nor butter.
I liked it so much I even took a photo.

Mzee mlemavu and the daladala this morning

Sat in one of the front seats of the daladala today. After pulling to a stop at the curb, the driver turns around and asks me to move over to leave the aisle seat open. Twisting my head, I saw that the conductor was helping an mzee with a wheelchair onto the bus. I scooted over. The mzee climbed onto the seat next to me, I smiled and said shikamoo. We exchanged greetings and I turned back towards gazing out the window. Morning pre-wake up beverage Tiffany isn’t that talkative.

When the mzee arrived at his station, the daladala was already a bit crowded. He tapped a mama on the shoulder to help him unload the wheelchair and gingerly climbed down the stairs himself. The conductor helped him into the wheelchair and made sure he got onto the pedestrian sidewalk. They exchanged thank yous and the conductor jumped back on. The normally pushy, loud, and extremely impatient driver and conductor surprised me with their gentleness and understanding. The very competitive business of nabbing more customers than the three other daladalas running on the same route at the same time was temporarily put aside. Empathy and compassion shone through.

That’s part of the reason why I don’t want to buy a car. I’ll miss these moments.

That is until I jump on one of the super crowded ones after work and have to elbow my way to a tiny patch of standing space. Cursing is understandable.

—

Mzee = respectful title for an elderly man

Mlemavu = someone with a disability

Shikamoo = greeting for an elderly person

Conductor = person who collects the money and opens the doors and shoves people in on the daladala

Winter

Today, I missed winter…and home.

Thick winter trench coats. With pockets stretched out from jamming my hands inside in weak attempts to keep out the chilly air. Hand knitted scarves from high school. Warm and familiar yarn lovingly chosen as a birthday present. Fake leather boots that go up to my knee. Bought for the comfort of walking around a huge campus in the constant four month rains of Vancouver. Never worked anyways.

Smells of pumpkin spice lattes wafting from a certain overpriced, over-commercialized coffee stop (er…shop). Agora* lures with their winter pies and heated basement and endless homework assignments. Breaths of mist following sleepy yawns. Flakes of snow arriving with the early darkness. Hoods pulled up on heads, insulating against the dots of white twisting into a small storm announcing the arrival of the 43 Joyce Station bus.

Fingers freeze over typing the 5312nd word in an essay due at midnight. Toes of one leg curled under my seat. Belle** curled on top of my other. Faint rising steam from the hot tea dissolving into the cold air, for the environmentalist had to turn off the heating to save the planet. Movie nights with mom/dad, snuggled in one blanket, laughing at some ridiculous Cantonese comedy, pushing my icy cold feet towards their side seeking warmth; eliciting yelps of protests.

Belle zooming around the snow, nose covered in snowflakes, eyes shining like a puppy while white whiskers betray her age. Mom and I never fail to laugh at her antics. Black against white. Tail wagging in the air like ostrich feathers. Walks always doubled in time whenever it snowed.

The sigh of relief stepping into a heated room. Stomping the moisture off my boots. Shaking the droplets from my hood. Feeling the dampness rise off my clothes. Settling down on the wooden chair for another interesting lecture. Another interesting seminar discussion. Another long cold night under a blanket, reading, thinking, and writing.

…

Ah. The indulgence of air condition is a weak imitation of winter.

It’s one of those days.

*Amazing student run restaurant in the MacMillan Building at UBC.

**The dog I will never forget.

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