Fitzpatrick's Pub in Carlingford

(Photo credit: Wikipedia)

I had reason to dip into that long-defunct food blog, The Fat Expat, this evening. I found my recipe alright, but I also found an old review of Fiztpatrick's fine public house near Carlingford.

And it made me wonder for how much time I managed to make - back in the day - for posting things to blogs: my way of compensating for the journalism I was no longer doing and the book writing I had paused as I worked out what the hell it was that publishers actually wanted (something I still, clearly, find challenging).

Anyway, this is the review I wrote of Fitzpatrick's back in 2009 - just as valid today as it was six years ago...

Eating in Ireland is truly a roller-coaster ride that lurches easily from (if you’ll excuse the term) feast to famine. When it’s good, it’s very, very good but when it’s bad it’s usually so bad that it’s an experience in itself. Sometimes the simplest things delight – bacon, cabbage and potatoes, the national dish, sounds awfully plain, but at its best it’s a revelation: a golden ‘floury’ spud, tranches of steaming pink, tender bacon and a pile of slightly crunchy, slightly salty cabbage cooked in the bacon water and running every gamut of green from the pastel light green of sun shining through winter surf to the deep green of the fresh fields in the spring.

Parsley sauce is a love it or hate it experience, but I love it, curly parsley chiffonaded into a butter-rich creamy thick sauce that drops rather than pours.

And then there are the awful disasters – these days from Irish chefs treading the same well-worn paths of wretchedness that the Brits have already blundered along - stupid cack-handed melanges of ‘Thai-style’ spices imposed on ingredients that deserve more respect, awful attempts at food with ‘molecular’ influences and, unforgivably, ‘nouveau Irish’ food – piss-poor attempts to serve classic Irish dishes in plates of clashing flavours and colours that revolt rather than delight.

This, then, is the gastronomic wilderness that is Ireland post ‘Celtic Tiger’ - it’s a dangerous place, people, a country in transition... You will always find Cork’s Ballymalloe, the mother-lode of Irish cookery, a place of wonder.

But I found an almost equally wonderous thing near Carlingford – a pub that looks so cod-Irish from the road that anyone but an American would shudder and pass it by. And yet the locals flock there in their hundreds, Les Routiers has slapped its mark on the place and so many awards decorate its walls you can almost see them in the sea of mad memorabilia that covers every surface – horizontal and vertical alike. And I include the ceiling – you have to duck at times to avoid being brained by low-hanging beams festooned in brass pumps, irons, cameras and, well, just stuff really.

Fitzpatrick’s pub should be a disaster. It’s famous, bang on the tourist trail and decorated outside with flowerbed jokes, bicycles, baths and bedsteads. They pour Guinness with a flourish of shamrock on the ‘head’, for God’s sake. Eat there. It’s expensive (you’d better be ready to shell out €30 for a main) but I loved it. When food makes me laugh, I know I’ve ‘arrived’ – and I laughed my way through dinner at Fitzpatrick’s.

We ate in the restaurant (a small area to the back of the huge, labrynthine pub) which has its own separate kitchen and a ‘local’ chef. The main kitchen had a chef from Newry, but we decided not to take the foreign food. Service to begin with was a bit patchy – our Sancerre came warm and with a lot of mucking about with the glasses, but eventually things settled down and the Fleurie that followed was a delight. The wine list is basic, smartly compiled and good.

Breads were offered around, Irish brown, white, garlic and others – and then the kitchen sent out a tiny bowl of vegetable soup as an ‘amuse geule’ – a little taste of warm, mushroom-dominated thickness that was just right for the rainy night. I took a starter of pan-fried scallops and black pudding, purposefully courting disaster. I have always hated ‘surf and turf’ dishes, believing (perhaps perversely) that if God had intended beef and shrimps to be in the same place he’d have arranged things that way rather than separating the two environments quite so effectively.

It was really good. It would have been stunning and world-class if the scallops had been slightly less cooked, had spent a couple of minutes less on the pass under lamps. But the black pudding was rich, crumbly and served with a creamy slightly sharp sauce that did it proud, almost a béarnaise but not quite. I was grinning by now, and it wasn’t the excellent Sancerre alone. Other starters taken included breaded mushrooms with garlic mayonnaise, which were pronounced good but would have been better fried and served dry rather than buttered as they were. Odd that you could get a black pudding scallop starter right and muff a breaded mushroom dish, but there you go.

My main was classic stuff – an 8oz fillet steak served on a celeriac mash (note no horseradish addition to the mash, thank God. Horseradish mashes are an invention of the devil) with a black truffle sauce and foie gras. I thought I’d go for the light option, obviously. It was impeccably executed – a delight. The steak beautifully done and the little decorations of foie gras were fried off so they were crisp outside and yet wobbled, the sauce was rich and dark, pungently contrasting the rich, buttery mash and it was all topped with crisp onion rings in a light batter. The fries that came along with it were fat, crisp and floury when cut. A bowl of crisp, green spring vegetables with a rich cream sauce and another of new potatoes in butter arrived for each pair of diners. Others had sirloin steaks, a plainer serving of huge and beautifully cooked steak and then there were plates of fresh sea-bass.

Desserts came with an attendant cardiologist. I passed and selflessly ordered an Irish coffee (yup, a shamrock of brown sugar was dusted on it. I forgave them) but others took silly things like a walnut and banana crumble tart: rich, warm and gloopy, swimming in a crème Anglais, apple tart and ice cream and the ‘special’, organic strawberries and strawberry ice cream served in a little brass bucket alongside strawberry compote and cream. It looked outré, chi-chi and crass and tasted divine.

We went off to the bar for icy glasses of Tyrconnell (Ireland’s finest single malt and a whisky that eclipses much that Scotland offers, IMHO) afterwards. Because if you’re going to be this indulgent, you might as well go mad. Good wine, outstanding food and our insanely opinionated waitress, Carrie - part entertainment and part expert guide to the menu, women's hurling and the delights of working in a restaurant with the boyfriend (‘the boyfriend’, the barman, was of course stopped and shown off to us, to his horror) meant that we all agreed our evening in Fitzpatrick’s was a one-off, a memorable evening of excellence in a convivial, warm place filled with laughter, cheer and delight.

The Mount Lavinia Hotel, Colombo

Built in the early years of the C19th as the British governor's residence, extensively rebuilt in the 1820s and used in the Second World War as a British military hospital, the Mount Lavinia is a stunning colonial building wrapped around a beautiful small beach. It's all teak and brass, white walls and colonnades. It is without a doubt one of the most impressive colonial buildings you'll come across in Sri Lanka - a country with a rich stockpile of amazing colonial buildings (the Galle Fort Hotel is one such - and an excellent hotel to boot).

It's also thoroughly neglected.

The evening we arrived, the hotel reception and bar areas were liberally provided with a collection of buckets, from coloured plastic pails through to white plastic tubs, and soggy towels. The bar area was shut because of the water. There had been rain that day, we were told.

Bring a bucket for monsieur! 

And I'll chuck in a free signed copy of Beirut - An Explosive Thriller 

to the first commenter who identifies the film that quote comes from.

Sri Lanka gets a lot of rain in general - and Colombo's wettest average month is October when the city gets something in the range of 300ml of rainfall. London in the same month could expect perhaps 70ml. So rain is hardly a surprise, is it? And if you're going to dot your five star 'breathtaking colonial experience' reception with buckets, couldn't they at least be brass or branded? Paint tubs are hardly de-rigeur.

Our room was old and dowdy, the ancient green patterned carpet was stained. The sheets were also stained, something I regard with mild horror in hotels, no matter how washed those sheets have been. There were no bathrobes or slippers, although there were tea and coffee facilities and a minibar. The vintage AC worked. The bathroom was old but clean and functional. The balcony, overlooking the palm-lined beach and giving a view across to the main hotel restaurant and terrace areas, was a place of sublime and magical beauty. The stormy evening added to the sheer gloriousness of it all.

Although shuttered by the rain, the bar off reception was open for business. The seating in the bar area is strange, more suited to being a waiting area for reception than a bar. It certainly lacked any romanticism or link to the hotel's much-touted colonial heritage. Large blue sofas around chunky coffee tables are more suited to large groups than romantically inclined couples and the service was slow.

The bar area, as many of the hotel's other surfaces, was dotted with palm shoots in terracotta trays. These, we were informed in a leaflet, were part of an earth day project to 'give back to the community we gain so much from'. The hotel buys the seeds, plants them until they sprout then gives them back to the community the seeds come from so they can plant them along the river banks. Quite mystifying, really, sort of greenwash without a point.

Escaping the drip of water into plastic buckets and the frigid AC in the lobby bar, we went upstairs to eat, only to find the only choice in town was the Indian theme night at the hotel's gorgeously Victorian Governor's Restaurant. We stayed at the Mount Lavinia because of the food - the executive chef here, Chef (Dr) Publis Silva, has published a number of popular Sri Lankan cookbooks. So we were looking forward to a lively menu of Sri Lankan specialties rushing out of a bustling, world-class kitchen. This, we fast found out, was not going to happen.

Meeting cookbook author and Mount Lavinia's executive chef, 

the engagingly eccentric and 78 year-old Chef (Dr) Publis Silva. 

That's a story for another day but it was a strange, 

strange encounter in which he promptly sold me a cookbook.

The Mount Lavinia really only has Governor's Restaurant - although its website talks about seafood cove (open air dining on the beach) and the terrace (open air dining at the poolside), there is really only one restaurant as such. Especially when it rains, which it does quite a bit in Colombo - as we have already discussed. Governor's has an open air area and closed, air-conditioned area. There is an á la carte menu, which is a pretty standard walk through coffee shop fare the world around. And there is a buffet - offering, on the night we were there, the delights of India. There was also a smaller area of Sri Lankan food on offer.

We'd been looking forward to fine Sri Lankan food flung together by the best in the business. What we got was a fight for a table (reception had told us not to bother booking, we could just rock up. Rocking up, we were told all tables were reserved. A short, taut conversation later we had a miraculous table appear) in the restaurant's enclosed area.

And what an area. It's a Victorian tea-room, white pillars reaching up to the far ceiling, panelled teak windows all around. It reminded me of the achingly beautiful Cinnamon Room at Galle's Lighthouse Hotel and, for all I know, this room could have inspired architect Geoffrey Bawa to build that very lovely (and hopelessly bad) restaurant.

The buffet was, well, lazy. There were two dishes of each salad on the salad buffet, one in front and the one behind a repeat in case the front dish ran out. Nothing stood out, it was the usual melange of seafood in dressing, green salad, beef in vinaigrette and the like. The hot Indian food (not really matched up with Indian starters to any great extent we could see) was a standard rolling out of Northern staples - chicken makhani, dal makhani and the like.

The Sri Lankan food suffered from being piled up in large containers, slowly steaming away for hours and becoming tough and dull in the process, rather than being cooked in small batches and frequently refreshed. A black pepper mutton was spicy, hot and tough, the beef was also tough. The fish curry was tasty, but the fish flaky and dry. A lotus root and yam curry was overcooked by the time we reached it. The hoppers were cooked live and were stunning, light and crispy with a soft heart - and served with a rich onion sambal that wasn't as hot as most you'll find on offer with hoppers. These were the best we've ever had but, tellingly, they were the only things on the whole buffet that were freshly made.

The desserts were awful. Tiramisu is made from mascarpone cheese and egg yolks, 'lady finger' sponge dipped in coffee or, better, liqueur- not Polyfilla-like imitation cream and chocolate sponge. Many of the other desserts defy description. The 'creme brulee' was floury, tasteless and the sugar topping was soggy.

The service was pretty much as bad as you'd get. With absolutely no food knowledge on offer, the waiters were disorganised and appeared to be randomly assigned. Getting any request met was down to spending minutes on end waving your hands and crying out at them as they ran past avoiding eye contact with any of the tables. The whole wearying thing cost twice as much as dinners in other hotels we'd stayed at during our trip.

We left the Mount Lavinia totally perplexed at how you could make so little from so much. it's lazy, there's no other way to put it. There is every reason to invest in this hotel, to re-evaluate the limited facilities and shabby furnishings and come up with something truly outstanding that delights and inspires - a hotel that lives up to the standards and expectations of that rich colonial history. It's a beautiful building, but the colonial heritage schtick doesn't go deeper than the structural level. Everything else is just bleh. As it is right now we wouldn't go back if you paid us. We just thought it was all such a terrible shame.

Of Goats...

(Photo credit: heliotropia)

Our neighbour is in the habit of slaughtering goats outside his villa. He's got a killing tree they hang from as he slits their throats then beheads and skins them. I make no complaint, but it can be a tad disconcerting to be popping down to Spinneys and find your gaze caught by the sight of glistening viscera and a pavement swimming with blood as a man in a shalwar kameez hacks away at furry folds.

They were preparing for a feast the other day, a pile of three beheaded carcases awaiting skinning as another was hoisted up. Must be a big family do or something.

It all rather got me thinking about the whole process. My mum remembers killing the pig from when she was a child, Wales in the 1930s, a big family and community occasion. Sarah remembers animals being slaughtered at home - Ireland in the 1970s was a very rural place indeed. Today, of course, we're too squeamish for that kind of thing in the West. The very sight of slaughter is something we cannot bear. We're far too sophisticated to stop and contemplate the fact our food contains, you know, dead stuff.

Sarah came back from school a couple of years ago with the marvellous news she'd told her class of five year-olds McDonalds were made out of cows. The class wouldn't believe her, a torrent of yews and general sick fascination following. These kids have only ever seen chicken on foam trays. They make no connection between a hen and the supermarket shelves.

Imagine - they mince up dead cows to make McDonalds. Lucky she didn't tell 'em what they put in the chicken nuggets, isn't it?

And strangely, in our rush to be 'humane' and escape the appalling sights of death, pumping blood and warm, fatty flesh I think we've become less human. We talk of humane killing and buy our food wrapped in plastic so we never have to become involved in the messy death of our next meal. By being 'humane' I think we seek to exonerate ourselves from the fact we kill to eat - and survive. And yet my neighbour understands his food, has taken the blood, the responsibility, on his own hands. He's a lot closer to life, through the cycle of death that feeds it, than I am picking my nicely prepared and sanitised meat product in a packet from the chiller in Spinneys.

Mind you, the spectacle of a bloody-handed bloke in a shalwar kameez hefting a big pointy knife in the street plays a lot better in Sharjah than it would in Surbiton...

A Taste Of Helsinki

(Photo credit: Wikipedia)

We've taken to going to Northern Europe for a quick break every summer and so decided to follow our trips to Tallinn and Stockholm with a jaunt to Helsinki this year. I'd recommend the city heartily; there's planty to do and see there, from the insanely useless fortification of Suomenlinna (second only in historical uselessness to the Maginot Line) to the many museums and art galleries - it's a delightful place to spend a few days exploring. The hooch, incidentally, isn't as expensive as everyone insists - particularly if you're used to Dubai prices! The Finns' relationship with alcohol is similar to that of the Swedes and for this reason, Helsinki serves the world's smallest Martinis (by law they can only serve up to 4cl of hard booze at a time) - and you can only buy the good stuff from official booze shops, which is a little like finding yourself in a Baltic Ajman, if you know what I mean.

Everything else apart, we ate like kings. The food in Helsinki was glorious - the first surprise being the 'street food' in the central market, where flaxen haired girls handed out food cooked on massive griddles - the rickety plastic-sheeted tables under the orange awnings of their stalls packed with eager eaters. Each stall has a single dining-table sized griddle, split up into various foods, from sides of salmon and piles of whitebait to mixed vegetables and potatoes sauteed with smoked sausage and patties of minced reindeer. The piping hot food is piled into a cardboard bowl and slathered in garlic sauce and eaten with a plastic fork and a bottle of cold near-beer (those alcohol rules again).

At the other end, there are serious restaurants. One such is all-organic micro-restaurant 'Ask'. It had to be done, really. Ask is only about a year old, so it's not featured in the Rough Guide or other tourist maps and things you're given as you wander around Helsinki. The restaurant seems almost to encourage that understated status - you'd really want to know where it is because there's no signage on the exterior of No. 8 Vironkatu (a turn left off Mariankatu, which you'll pick up just past the Presidential Palace at the end of the market square). 

First things first - eating at Ask is a funfair ride, so you have to give yourself up to the experience. You get a four or eight course tasting menu for your 55 or 85 Euro respectively. Asking what was on the menu when I called, I was told 'We don't know - chef's still down at the market'. If you think that response is a good thing, you'll love Ask.

For another 50 (or 80) Euro, you can buy into the wine selection to accompany the menu. That's pricey, even by Finnish standards, but having gone through the wines I'd say it was reasonable value for money. One of our table of two doesn't do fish or game I explained when I booked. No problem, they told us and we chatted about what she does like. We pitched and were sat at a table for two at the back (great - the other one was near the door, which was open to a chilly, rainy August evening) in the almost starkly minimalist restaurant - tiny, with a total of 26 covers.

Drinks? A Vodka Martini ordered, only to find that we were in the grip of the Organic Police. No inorganic Martini although we could have an organic vodka and some wholesome fruit juices. Right, then - we'll take the organic champagne from Vertus instead, which was lovely. The four course menu, which most around us took that night, was brought out by the chef owner himself, with the efficient service from the waitress limited to explaining (at some length) and pouring the wine, clearing plates and offering bread. Each course was introduced, again at length. This is all part of the performance and the best thing to do is sit back and enjoy it.

You order your main and they do the rest. If you're frustrated by the limitation, don't play - you'll just end up angry and muttering. If you're willing to give it all up and go along with the game, fling yourself in with a whoop. An amuse bouche, a vegetable stock foam with herbs. Delicate, surprising and fun but served with clunky wooden spoons that somehow didn't suit the precision of the dish. And now we have a green salad, little leaves and flowers sprinkled on a cut glass dish with little dabs of a rich, creamy dressing and a spray of elderflower dressing pumped by chef as he chatted then sprayed over the collection. Our first wine, German and surprisingly dry for all that. The combination was sensational. One flower was a little camphorous, something medicinal in there, a hint of coal tar. What was it? Yarrow. Of course. Yarrow. Silly me.

The second course, a Riesling (if memory serves) - again, complex and drier than expected - accompanying, was 'egg, roots and buckwheat'. We're playing, of course, it's altogether more complex. A moment of fear from Sarah the fussy eater opposite as an egg yolk is spied sitting on top of the rich and meaty-tasting (but no meat involved) buckwheat porridge. She don't like runny eggs. But no, the sunset-orange yolk was cooked to perfection, just firm and yet tender and yielding. The roots, painfully young (it was a guilty vegetarian pleasure, a little like eating veggie veal. We were giggling about the idea that hard-core vegetarians would be demoing outside this place within the year about cruelty to young beets), were tender and their little sprigs crisp and salty - a parsnip and carrot (both the size of a delicate lady's little finger) along with a tiny beet and some crispy wisps of green and a drizzle of oil finished off the tiny dish. It was grin-inducing perfection, a variety of flavours and textures that absorbed and entertained. You'd almost ask for the Curly-Wurly at this point. A pause, some conversation. The rain started to come down hard and, finally, the front door was closed against the chill.

The main - chicken (rooster, in fact) was served across from me as a result of our chat on the phone. I had the wild duck. It was so wild I got a nice crunch of lead shot as proof. Introduced as wild duck, chanterelle and kale, the dish was a set of pink slices of rich duck breast cooked on the bone and served off, laid on a mild mustardy bed with fried kale and dabs of wild buckthorn. The plate could have been warmer, tell the truth. The rooster was perfection, served to the same accompaniments which didn't quite serve the lighter meat as well. However, a burned butter was poured over the chicken rather than the red jus with the duck and both were glorious. A Puligny Montrachet (organic, natch) with the chicken and a chilled French red - a Beaujolais as I remember, it was all becoming a bit of a procession of things by this point and I'm not quite pretentious enough to spoil a meal by taking notes - were both a welcome change from the German stuff and both were complex, fine wines that sat perfectly with the food.

We're happy and thoroughly relaxed by now, sitting back and chatting about the food. Because yes, it is all about the food. A wee dish of beetroot snow and red berries appears before little tulips of dessert wine appear followed by a dish of warm, crispy waffles surrounded by bilberries and sorrel leaves and topped with a scoop (chef allows himself a flourish by now as he serves it) of burned butter ice cream. Smashing - absolutely smashing.

Coffee (the filter system is introduced, the one time in a night of long introductions when I wanted to switch the patter off), Panamanian and organic of course. The cups are 1950s vintage Arabia porcelain (Arabia is Helsinki's premier porcelain factory and something of a national monument. And no, it's got nothing to do with Arabia Felix). Fine, but don't feel you have to tell us that, dear. By now the intros are wearing thin. The receipt for your bill tonight is printed on handmade organic paper using squid ink from outer Carpathia. Sorry, wandered into over-introduction reverie there.

Petits fours - a meringue, a little cream with a berry (a rare misstep, the cream was floury) and a tiny warm chocolate liquorice cake, the size of a thumbnail and reminiscent for some reason of one of Pierre Gagnaire's crazy little ginger biscuit with salt topping moments. A Finnish apple brandy for me and the evening rounded off by a walk home through the drizzle. I went to the toilet and came back to the brandy, thankfully missing its introduction.

So, in short, if you're going to Helsinki, book this restaurant. Pay the price. Go with the flow, sit back and enjoy the theatre. It's worth every penny and every second. They could pare back the introductions a tad, perhaps. But that's just cavilling - we had no complaints at all really. An altogether remarkable meal.

And if you're thinking about spending a week somewhere interesting next summer, give Helsinki a shot. You could do a lot worse, believe me.

Hotel Chocolat And Brand Positioning Online

Hotel Chocolat, Kensington, W8 (Photo credit: Ewan-M)

We were talking positioning brands online the other day on the Business Breakfast – it's linked here if you fancy a listen in - about the changes in the rules that taking an ‘offline’ brand to the Web entail. As part of that chat, we looked at some brands that had moved the other way – digital brands that have made their way onto the high street. One of the more high profile successes at this has been Hotel Chocolat.

I am, and always have been, a huge fan of this company. Started by founder Angus Thirlwell and co-founder Peter Harris as a business selling mints in 1988, by 2003 the company had become known as ChocExpress, a catalogue-based mail order business (with a website) that included a chocolate tasting club – a concept that was to be core to Hotel Chocolat and a club that today has over 100,000 members.

The trouble was that ChocExpress didn’t reflect the luxurious image that Thirlwell was after for his premium chocolates. And it was that dissatisfaction that led to the product I first encountered in my mum’s living room many years back. It was a luxuriantly packed box of chocolates, more like a hat box than a chocolate box, with a ‘Hotel Chocolat’ room card-key and a ‘do no disturb’ sign to hang on the door while you had your one-one experience with that box of very fine chocolates indeed. The chocolates had individual recipes, lavish descriptions and a little card for you to take tasting notes and send them back to Hotel Chocolat.

Here was an online business with a two-way customer communication mechanism built into its very DNA long before everyone had started talking social media.

The brand, and its promise, was incredibly strong. It was unique, clearly differentiated and communicated throughout the product offering – and the website which took over from the catalogue as the premier conduit for reaching customers. Although Hotel Chocolat was quick to open high street stores, it has been the Internet business that has driven the incredible success of the company which now employs over 800 people and has a real Hotel Chocolat in the Caribbean and its own cocoa plantation to boot. The company has launched a range of sub-brands, including boutique cocoa outlet Roast+Conch and Cocoa Juvenate, a range of cocoa-themed beauty products. There are over 70 stores in the UK’s high streets, five in the US and three in the Middle East. You can nip down to Mall of the Emirates if you fancy a chocolate rush par excellence - the only shame is that Hotel Chocolat's boozy chocolates don't get a look in. Because they, my dears, are very good indeed.

And that website’s still there, reflecting that brand positioning as strongly today as it did almost ten years back when I opened a posh-looking box of chocolates in my mum’s living room and was transfixed by the painfully smart marketing that met my eyes just before I lifted the paper covering to reveal the rows of little shinies underneath.

You know, I might be lying about the positioning. It might just be all about the chocolate after all…

Genetics, Biodiversity And The UAE

English: Cobs of corn (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

I was mildly alarmed to note a story filed by national news agency WAM recently that referred to a new law being studied by the UAE's Federal National Council. that had been referred to the FNC's Committee for Foreign Affairs. That bill was the 'bill on plant genetic resources for food and agriculture' and the second I saw that, I thought 'Uh-oh, here comes Monsanto'.

I couldn't have been more wrong.

The debate over Geneticall Modified Organisms, GMOs to you, has raged fiercely since companies started to commercialise products built around the new and exciting science of genetics. Experimenting with, discovering more about genetics, is important research - it's only recently we have mapped the human genome, and our understanding of genomes in general is scant. Every step we take forwards opens vast new tracts of understanding and potential cures for humanity's ailments. Yet we understand so little about these incredibly complex building blocks - and the tiniest changes to them can have massive, far-reaching consequences. So glibly splicing, twisting and shaping genes for wide-scale commercial deployment has always given me the shudders.

Something like 85% of US corn is genetically modified. A good example of this is Monsanto's 'Roundup ready' (TM) corn, which is modified to make it resistant to Monsanto's Roundup (TM) pesticide. This allows farmers to use larger doses of stronger pesticide, increasing crop yields and helping them to pay for Monstanto's seeds - which they have to buy annually. It also, incidentally, ensures that traces of that pesticide are in the food you're eating. And you haven't been genetically modified to make you resistant to it. The market leading corn in the US is (and have a think about this name as you're eating one of those little polystyrene cups of hot corn with butter sauce down at the mall) Monsanto's triple-stack corn, combining  Roundup Ready 2 (TM) weed control technology with YieldGard (TM) Corn Borer (Bt) (TM) and YieldGard (TM) Rootworm insect control. Yummy!

It's not just corn, either. 91% of the US soybean crop (those yummy Planters peanuts are roasted in it) is GM and 88% of the cottonseed crop. Over 90% of the US (and 90% of the Canadian) Canola crops are GM - Canola is a brand name for a hybrid variety of rape that contains less acid (natural rapeseed produces a bitter oil not suited for food use - and Canola sounds so much nicer than rape, doesn't it?), originally developed in Canada and now grown all over the world. Canola is a hybrid, not inherently GM, but most of the current North American crop is GM.

About 90% of American papaya and sugar beet crops are GM. Other GM foods are also making their way into the American soil now, including courgette (zucchini to them). The bad news is that the EU has approved the sugar beet 'product' - and also that GM products can be imported into the EU if they are to be used as animal feeds. Ever smart to an opportunity, Monsanto has produced a genetically modified ('roundup ready') alfalfa - an animal feed crop.

All of this tinkering with our food has had one interesting side effect. Companies have raced to 'own' foods - Monsanto, for instance, makes its money on selling seeds (and pesticides) to farmers. And it wants to protect its intellectual property, so it has patents on its corn and other products - and duly licenses these to other companies. So food becomes Just Another Technology. Something to be abused at will by any dominant player.

Which is where the International Treaty on Plant Genetic Resources for Food and Agriculture comes in. A number of the world's smaller countries spotted companies trying to patent various useful plants and objected to this 'genetic imperialism'. The treaty establishes a framework whereby food cannot, effectively, be patented in a way that prejudices the rights of farmers and communities and limits the ways in which companies can dictate the use of a food crop or product. For instance, Monsanto doesn't like farmers using 'farm collected seed' because then it couldn't sell 'em another bunch of seed every year. Farmers sign a contract with Monsanto which contains a number of provisions and restrictions and grants Monsanto a number of rights - including the right to monitor the farm to ensure the farmer doesn't save seed. That contract applies even if a farmer doesn't sign it but opens a Monsanto seed bag. This treaty acts against that sort of behaviour in a most timely fashion.

Although the treaty in no way limits the use of GM crops, it does limit the ways in which companies can use market dominance and the toolbox of other corporate egregiousness to dictate commercial terms to the world's less well off. And at its core is a commitment to biodiversity and the preservation of food producing communities.

That the UAE is a signatory to it is a little piece of rightness.

The Displaced Nation

Just in case you could care less, I was interviewed recently by US-based expat blog The Displaced Nation and they posted it today. A wide-ranging chat, we talk about how I got to the Middle East, books, wine, literary controversy and stuff.

It's linked here.

In one of those odd little marvels of serendipity that is the Internet-driven process known as 'discovery', Displaced Nation's ML Awanohara was trawling the Interwebs looking for expat food stuff and stubbed her toe on dead food blog The Fat Expat. That led her to my books and a quick read later she was hot on the interview trail.

Unlike many writer friends who have an abhorrence for the evils of publicity, I enjoy interviews. They often focus on my favourite subject. Me. I must check with my agent and see if that seems immodest. I'm sure it's fine...

Tim Horton's Coffee. Yum. Not.

Image via WikipediaCanadian coffee chain Tim Horton's has opened up in Dubai to much applause. It was thus that I found a colleague tucking into a cup of 'Tim Horton’s French Vanilla Cappuccino'. It is, according to the tin, "Rich and delicious". It smelt vile - sickly and unreal. Curious, I flipped the tin to read the ingredients label and this is what I found:

Sugar, coffee whitener [corn syrup solids, partially hydrogenated coconut oil, sodium caseinate (a milk derivative), dipotassium phosphate (E340i stabiliser), sodium tripolyphosphate (E451i), mono and diglycerides (vegetable), diacetyl tartaric esters of mono and diglycerides (E472e), sodium silicoaluminate (E554), artificial flavour], nonfat dry milk, instant coffee, artificial vanilla flavour [dextrose, maltodextrin, artificial flavour, tricalcium phosphate (E341iii)], artificial vanilla flavour [maltodextrin, artificial flavour, silicon dioxide (E551)], silicon dioxide (E551 anticaking agent), cocoa (processed with alkali), salt, carboxymethyl cellulose gum (E468 stabiliser).

The headlines are as follows. One cup of this product contains ONE FIFTH of your recommended daily intake of saturated fats, something like four teaspoons of sugar - the ENTIRE recommended daily intake of added sugar for a woman according to the American Heart Association and contains not one vanilla seed. It's also got no French in it. It does pack a neat punch of trans-fats, corn syrup and artifical flavourings and preservatives.

Let's take a look at that rich and delicious mixture in a little more detail... The ingredients in caps are the main ingredients, the ones just bolded are sub-ingredients of the main ingredient above.

SUGAR
The largest ingredient by weight in this product is not coffee, it's sugar. A lot of sugar. In fact, over half the content of that tin is sugar - 20g for each 35g serving. The tin's nutrition label cleverly dumps the sugar content together with fibre (0%, how could you expect to find fibre in something this processed?) under 'carbohydrates' which means it's only 8% of your recommended daily intake. Quite apart from the fact that almost a tenth of your recommended carbohydtate intake is provided by one cup of hot drink, this prestidigitation with labelling avoids telling you that this drink contains 100% of a woman's recommended daily intake of added sugar and 50% of a man's recommended intake (the recommendation comes from the American Heart Association). Not bad for one cup of gloop, is it?

COFFEE WHITENER
This contains: corn syrup solids, partially hydrogenated coconut oil, sodium caseinate (a milk derivative), dipotassium phosphate (E340i stabiliser), sodium tripolyphosphate (E451i), mono and diglycerides (vegetable), diacetyl tartaric esters of mono and diglycerides (E472e), sodium silicoaluminate (E554), artificial flavour

Deelicious! A brief examination of those yummy looking ingredients!

Corn Syrup Solids
So the largest ingredient in the whitener is, you guessed it, more sugar. Corn syrup solids are made by removing the water from corn syrup. As you'll know from previous posts, the majority of corn in the US is genetically modified and corn syrup (high fructose or otherwise) is ubiquitous in American processed foods.

Partially Hydrogenated Coconut Oil
Also known as a trans fat. Oddly, the tin's label proclaims 0% trans fats, but they're definitely in there - coconut oil is a saturated fat to start with, but when treated with hydrogen bubbles to thicken it, ('hydrogenation') it becomes a trans-fat, a man-made fat that suppresses your body's use of 'good cholestrol' and adds to its stock of 'bad' cholestrol.

Sodium Caseinate (a milk derivative)
This is an odd ingredient, as it is permitted by the US FDA to be an ingredient in 'non dairy' creamers, and yet is, as it says on the tin, a 'milk derivative'. Casein is a protein found in milk and this ingredient, which is a thickener and adds a 'dairy taste' to products, is obtained from fresh and/or pasteurized skimmed milk by acid coagulation of the casein. The mix is then neutralised using sodium hydroxide and powdered.

Dipotassium Phosphate and Sodium Tripolyphosphate
The first is a stabiliser, the second a preservative and moisture retainer.

Mono and diglycerides (vegetable),  (E472e), diacetyl tartaric esters of mono and diglycerides (E472e)
Mono and diglycerides are fats, used to extend shelf life, add a creamy flavour and help to bind other ingredients together. There's a lot of debate about them as they have appeared on food labels in place of hydrogenated oils, although they're a sort of new name for an old friend as they are, themselves, hydrogenated in the production process. The latter ingredient is sometimes referred to by the more friendly acronym DATEM.

Sodium Silicoaluminate and artifical flavour
The first is an anti-caking agent, the second is artificial.

NONFAT DAIRY MILK
Funny in a highly processed product packed with fats that they'd choose to use 'nonfat' powdered milk. Just out of interest, powdered milk contains higher levels of oxysterols, cholestrol derivatives that have been associated with the depositing of fatty materials on artery walls.

INSTANT COFFEE
What it says on the tin.

ARTIFICIAL VANILLA FLAVOUR
There are actually TWO artificial vanilla flavours in this product. Both contain processed sugars (dextrose and maltodextrin), tricalcium phosphate (also charmingly known as 'bone ash') or silicon dioxide, which are both anti-caking agents. And both contain 'artificial flavour'. This is a product that has never seen a vanilla pod and probably wouldn't recognise it if it did.

COCOA
Don't worry about the (processed with alkali), it's a process used in many cocoa drinks and just balances the natural acidity of the cocoa.

SALT
Quite a lot of it - 6% of your recommended daily intake (10% if you're over 51 or black).


CARBOXYMETHYL CELLULOSE GUM
A thickener.

So there we have it, a delicious drink in which no single ingredient has not undergone processing, which packs together artificial flavours with various ingredients designed to artificially trick you into thinking you're drinking something lovely when in fact what you're drinking is a cocktail of dubious fats, artificial flavouring agents and thickeners - and so much sugar you're likely drinking a whole day's recommended intake in one cup.

Enjoy!

The Paper Diet

Image via Wikipedia

One of the most annoying radio ads currently is the awful Pull! Pull! Ad. You know the one:

Pull! Pull!
Arrrghhh!
Come on, pull! You can do it! Pull!
Arghhhhhaaauuuuuugghh!
Zzzp
Ever felt like getting into your dress is getting into labour?

Gratingly idiotic, annoyingly voiced, unpleasantly connoted and insultingly mindless, it's not just an awful piece of advertising (and let's face it, it's gotta be pretty awful to stand out in the circus of misbegotten creative maladroitness that is Dubai radio advertising), but it's promoting an awful little scheme, too.

The breakfast cereal people have come up with a great idea: diets that are based around eating their virtually content-free product twice, instead of once, a day as part of your weight control/loss regimen. It’s brilliant – how to double sales by preying on people’s desire to lose weight.

This stuff is worthy of Edward Bernays, the 'father of modern PR' who hooked America's women on smoking by having them light their 'torches of freedom'.

The idea's nice and simply. All you have to do is eat a bowl of puffed rice and/or wheat crackers with low fat milk for your morning and lunchtime (maybe with a little naughty fruit!) and then have a meal at night. Together with increased exercise the result is, hey presto!, weight loss in just two weeks!

Two weeks?

Yes, two weeks! That's all it takes!

Let me save you some money as well as having to ingest GM ingredients processed with high fructose corn syrup, artificial ingredients, palm oil extracts and flavourings. Eat a sheet of paper with a cup of black tea in the morning and one more at lunchtime. You can put some milk in the tea. Have a normal meal at night, but walk briskly for at least an hour. You can use cardboard boxes if you like, but try and cut down on the total surface area, perhaps A5 size.

You'll lose weight in no time!