Sitting here. Looking at the clock, wondering if the editor to whom I pitched the article I’m struggling to finish (on the subject of blogging) will ever again give me the time of day (I told her I could deliver before Christmas last year, seriously). Thinking about how my wrists and hands are hurting and perhaps I’m getting carpal tunnel syndrome or something. Thinking my lower back hurts too and I’d better hop back on the Swiss ball if I intend to stay laptop-bound all night. Looking at the bunch of silverbeet shining happily at me from its kitchen counter perch ready to give me a healthy meal (if I get off my bum and cook it in a soup with white beans – Lucy, it’s your greens influence). Thinking about how I need to clean up before the cleaner comes tomorrow. Thinking about how pissed off I am that a courier stuffed up and my new Mac laptop didn’t get delivered today as it should have been and how I’ll have to make a special trip to pick it up tomorrow and how my credit card is screaming in pain. Thinking about finding the time to deliver my Taste of Yellow contribution to Barbara before it’s too late. Thinking about a wretched, delusional 7am gym appointment tomorrow I made with my training buddy. Thinking about the book I’m reading (M.J. Hyland’s Carry Me Down) and how nice it would be to snuggle up under my duvet with it NOW. Thinking how the couch looks good too, and some American crime show or other. Thinking about Joanna Newsom (RRR radio playing her right now) and her unusual voice and how I’d like to get one of her albums. Thinking about all the blog-updating I need to do. And thinking about comments – comments on blogs.
Commenting
Have I discussed this before? I can’t remember. But the subject has come up in the course of my interviews for the blogging article (which, as you can see, I’m not thinking so much about if I’m writing a blog post instead). The extraordinary Shula at Poppalina (who deserves an OAM of her own for her courage this month in revealing her mother’s suicide in her blog and writing, poignantly, brilliantly, intelligently, on the subject of suicide) tells me she’s obsessed with stats and comments. “I really need to get a life,” she added in an email to me this afternoon. Obsessed as I am too with stats and comments (I’ve been known to check them many, many times a day), I replied: “Hate it when a post like my latest about Dad's award doesn’t get many comments and then I’m so busy (like with deadlines) that I simply don’t have the time to get back there and put a new post in … feel like everyone who comes by goes ‘look…look! She only got two comments!’ Feel like it must have been a crap post so don’t want to comment on anyone else’s blog in case they stop by mine and see the crap post!” (Did you notice that I’d accidentally left on my Tungsten lighting mode for a couple of those pictures at Government House?)
Earlier this year, with the blogging article weighing heavily on my mind, I noted down from Californian blogger and pastry chef Shuna Fish Lydon's Eggbeater: “We blog, you comment. Your comments are our fuel, our reason to go on posting, our food for blogthought … the salt on our meat, the eggs in our souffles, the chocolate sauce on our ice cream.” (I’d add, the sea urchin on my rice…) Madrid illustrator and blogger Ximena Maier, whose food blog Lobstersquad is a showcase for her irritatingly wonderful illustrations, wrote around the same time: “Someone leaves a comment, I feel very happy ... I am amazed that someone in Australia knows what I like for breakfast. If someone links to my blog, I feel a buzz that lasts for days. And every now and then, you start a flurrying correspondence with someone, and end up putting a face to a name.”
The Playground Theory
My theory is that the blogging world is a bit like a school playground (there is a chance here you know, that I could segue effortlessly in copy-and-paste mode between this post and my article about blogging and kill two pheasants with one stone, as it were … how good would that be?): The most popular girl in school=the blogger who gets the most comments and has the sexiest pics. The kid who is always putting his hand up and going “Miss, Miss!”=the blogger who comments on anything, everything to get noticed but still is ignored. The class nerd with big round spectacles=the bloggers who clearly put an extraordinary amount of work into their blogs and are meticulous in terms of accuracy, historical fact, and pompousness. The class dunce=the bloggers who can’t get through their first sentence without a spelling mistake. In food blogging terms, I’d say that Clotilde at Chocolate and Zucchini (with her petite, brunette Frenchish-ness) and Heidi at 101 Cookbooks (with her healthy glow and headscarf) are having daily playground catfights over the Most Popular Girl in school tag. I’ll be kind, though, and not go further with the analogy.
All that apropos nothing, except that I’d add: “Yes, yes, yes!” … Comments are gold, warmth, love, dynamite!
A Taste of Yellow
And instead of thinking about comments on blogs I should be thinking about Barbara's A Taste of Yellow, her contribution to the Lance Armstrong Foundation’s LIVESTRONG Day Day to raise awareness about cancer. Barbara asked bloggers to cook something, anything yellow for the day and post about it, and urged people to donate money here.
As anyone who has read my blog over time knows, this is an issue close to my heart. My father has an aggressive prostate cancer which was diagnosed very late (a story for another day … one that makes my blood boil). Armstrong’s book sits on the coffee table at my parents’ place (although Dad’s concentration is not so great these days and I’m not sure he’s read it). As I’ve written before, this personal experience of cancer has opened my eyes to a new world that millions around the globe know all too well. The cancer world of doctors’ and hospital visits; endless invasive, intrusive tests and the fearful waiting for their results; the awful indignities of treatments such as radiation therapy and chemotherapy; a sufferer’s tears and exhaustion and depression; debilitating, simply debilitating side effects. What becomes, effectively, a way of life.
My contribution to Barbara’s contribution to LIVESTRONG Day is for my Dad, who loves lemony things. I thought lemon delicious, lemon meringue pie, lemon sorbet, lemon souffle, but settled on this lovely recipe from that lovely, clever Englishman, Nigel Slater. In a food column in The Observer Food Monthly, he notes that the cake is “barely thicker than a quiche” and has a “light crunchy texture to complement the tartly creamy filling. (I cheated and bought a bottle of lemon curd, Forest Preserves brand, which seems to me to be from Dorset. Can anyone tell me the difference between lemon curd and lemon butter?)
Before I flew home to Melbourne yesterday from Queensland I reminded Dad that there was still some cake left in the fridge. “Do you really think I’d forget that?” he replied with a mischievous grin.
Nigel Slater’s Little Lemon Polenta Cake
Serves 6-8
3 large eggs
110g caster sugar
a medium-sized lemon
50g fine polenta (cornmeal)
30g ground almonds
For the filling:
300ml (a 284ml carton will do) double cream
250g lemon curd
To decorate:
crystalised violets or rose petals
Set the oven at 180C/gas mark 4. Line and lightly butter the base of a 20cm round non-stick cake tin. Separate the eggs, putting the yolks into the bowl of a food mixer fitted with a whisk attachment. Add the sugar to the yolks and beat at high speed until they are pale, thick and creamy. While this is happening, finely zest the lemon and squeeze the juice. Pour the juice, a little at a time, into the mix and continue beating until it starts to thicken. Mix the grated zest, polenta and ground almonds, then stir them into the eggs and sugar. Beat the egg whites till almost stiff, then fold the mixture into them. Be gentle but firm, so you manage to both mix the egg white in thoroughly yet keep a light, airy texture. Scrape the mixture into the lined cake tin. Bake for about 30 minutes till the centre is cooked and the top lightly browned. Remove from the oven, run a palette knife around the edge and turn out on to a baking sheet. Leave to cool. At this point it may look less than promising, but don't worry. When cold, slice the cake in half horizontally and place the bottom half on a cake plate. Gently beat the cream until it is firm yet still voluptuous. Fold in the lemon curd, then use almost to smother the bottom half. Place the second half on top, then use the remaining lemon cream to cover the top and sides. Decorate with sugared violets or rose petals, and serve with soft fruit such as raspberries.
