Now you know how you're cooking and who you're cooking for... but...
What the f**k should I make for dinner? (NSFW)
Love from Lotte - happy new year!
Tuesday, 3 January 2012
Monday, 2 January 2012
Armchair Cookery
I realised the other day that it's ages since we've just done a random post about something co-op-ey, so I'm here to rectify the situation. I've been a naughty blogger recently, but will be trying to keep you more abreast of things in the coming months, promise.
So to start with, let's talk about food.
The best way to get to the heart of anything is through its' stomach, and co-ops are no different. The cooking rota/scheme/system-of-mutual-aid that has been feeding us Golems for almost the past two years is a simple, yet beautiful, thing. Anyone with a few friends living in a small geographical area could replicate it, saving themselves time and money and building closer social ties in the process. It's that good, believe me.
For those who don't already know, this is how it works. There's a chart on the wall in the house where the majority of the cooking co-op members live. We write our names down on the day on which we are happy to cook (currently each member cooks once a week). On that day we cook a meal for everyone else in the co-op (usually in the evening, but we have also had slap-up breakfasts and picnic lunches - it can be very flexible) using whatever budget we feel happy with. We thought about having a set budget, but it works much better letting people spend what they feel they can afford. On a lean week we might cook a big leek and potato soup. On a week when we're feeling flush we might do a Korean feast with 6 different dishes, like I did a while ago. As long as there's a decent size meal, nobody minds.
The benefits of this are hugely varied. The most obvious benefits are that we each only have to cook an evening meal once a week. This saves a massive amount of shopping, cooking, and cleaning up time. The trade-off is that you have to cook for lots of people once a week, but this adds very little to preparation time, and only a little to the cleaning up.
It's also dramatically cheaper, because you're not having to buy ingredients for 7 different meals, but you still get the benefits of a varied diet. In fact, it's much more varied than our diets might be otherwise, because we have 7 different cooks making their favourite dishes, or trying out new recipes we've seen somewhere. We try to take each others' likes and dislikes into account (mostly vegan food, only ethically produced meat if there is meat, nothing too spicy, etc) but that still leaves enormous scope for a widely varied and very interesting diet. I am sure we are all healthier for it. Left to my own devices, I would never get a decent meal together every night, but with the co-op, I don't have to. I only have to be organised once a week, which even someone as wildly disorganised as I am can manage.
On your cooking day, you let everyone know what time dinner is at, and if people need to pick up food later because of work or other commitments, they let you know, and then we all get together and eat tasty nosh. This is one of the other great benefits of the cooking co-op; meals are generally social occasions, with a wonderful sense of community which is perfectly complimented by a full belly. Of course, if you don't feel like being sociable, you don't have to be. You can pick up your food later, ask someone to drop it off at your house, or eat and then leave immediately. As with all communities, it's important to respect the needs and wishes of your members. But on the whole we're a sociable bunch, and dinner might turn into a night out, a film, or a bracing discussion about feminism. Our friendships are enriched by this forced (in the best possible way) contact, and our increased interactions lead to increased outcomes of all sorts.
When friends or family visit us, they are catered for as well, provided you get the say-so from that day's cook, and many a lovely person has joined us for a chaotic, yet tasty, meal. During hard times people can ask for time-off, but are generally still provided for. When Finn was born I had a month off, but was still fed every night. I was in no fit state to do anything at the time, let alone feed myself well, and yet here I was, being fed and looked after by my little community. I wish every new mother could have such a thing.
A wee while ago some friends of ours moved to Swansea and one of the factors behind their move was wanting to be part of the cooking co-op, so we are now 9 people in total (including wee Finn). Naturally he's not cooking for us (yet!), so we have started having a 'week off' option which we rotate between us. So now you get a lovely dinner every night, and you don't even have to cook every week to get it. You save money, time and washing up, and gain social time, a more varied diet, and a wonderful sense of togetherness.
Cassian also did some interesting evidence-gathering with their electricity monitor, and surmised that cooking for more than just yourself at once saves a trucktonne of energy, so this system of feeding yourself has environmental benefits too. You can save even more energy by making use of a haybox, more on that below.
Now, I realise I've gone on at some length, but that's because I think the cooking co-op is the Bee's Knees. There are many, many ways you could organise something similar. You could cook for each other just once a week. You could have one week on, one week off. You could organise it with people from your church, your local pub, your workplace, your extended family. You could do it as a one-off exchange with a nearby friend or family. You have little to lose, and only tasty noms to gain.
If you've made it through this far, you deserve a recipe to get you started. This incredibly tasty vegan stew was cooked (mostly) by an armchair, two blankets, and a duvet in our living room. You raise the stew to boiling on a hob, and then super-insulate it for the remainder of it's cooking time. Very simple, and very satisfying, with no possibility of it getting stuck to the pan. Win all round.
We cooked this for 12, because there were visitors. It was very tasty, and cost less than £10, even with the rice we also cooked conventionally to make sure there was enough grub (there was plenty).
Middle Eastern Aubergine and Lentil Stew
For the food
A large pan with a well-fitting lid
3 large aubergines, chopped in half lengthways and then sliced into chunky half moons
400g of brown lentils
3 large onions, finely chopped
12 cloves of garlic, chopped
6 large tomatoes, chopped
Green chillis, amount to your taste, seeded and chopped
A big bunch of fresh mint leaves, chopped
3 tablespoons of tomato paste
3 teaspoons of ras-el-hanout (a spice mix available in Asian food shops, or look up a recipe online and make your own)
3 teaspoons of salt
A very large glug of oil (we used about 1 1/2 cups, which is a scarily large amount - adjust to your liking)
For the haybox
A sofa or armchair. Foam is a fantastic insulator.
Blankets, duvets, pillows - anything that can be wrapped closely around the pan to act as insulation. You need to insulate it very thoroughly, so the more the merrier. You shouldn't be able to feel any heat coming from the pan once it's wrapped up.
Make this dish at least 4 hours in advance, so it has loads of time to cook and become super-tasty.
1. Find a blimmin' big saucepan, but that will only just fit your ingredients in. For the haybox to work well, you need as little empty space in the pan as possible.
2. Put the lentils on to boil in the saucepan, and cook them until just tender.
3. Meanwhile chop everything that needs to be chopped. Marvel at your effective use of time.
4. When the lentils are cooked, drain them and rinse out the pan.
5. Chuck all the ingredients in and give it a massive and thorough stir.
6. Heat it on the hob with the lid on until it is boiling and the tomatoes are just starting to break down.
7. Take it off the heat, put it on your chair of choice, and then speedily encase it in layers of lovely insulating materials. You might want to put a tea towel under it if you're worried about the bottom of the pan marking your chair, though it should be fine. Tuck it in very carefully with lots of layers, and then LEAVE IT. Don't check on it, stir it, or otherwise let any heat out. Just enjoy knowing that it's merrily doing it's thing with no chance of it burning to the bottom of the pan. Delish.
8. Get it out just before you want it, and be prepared that you may need to give it a quick boost of heat on the hob. Usually it comes out at perfect scoffing temperature though, and is beautifully moist, with the lovely meshing of flavours which only comes from long, slow cooking.
9. Feed lots of people, and enjoy the feeling of having saved all that energy and stirring time :D
- Hannah
So to start with, let's talk about food.
The best way to get to the heart of anything is through its' stomach, and co-ops are no different. The cooking rota/scheme/system-of-mutual-aid that has been feeding us Golems for almost the past two years is a simple, yet beautiful, thing. Anyone with a few friends living in a small geographical area could replicate it, saving themselves time and money and building closer social ties in the process. It's that good, believe me.
For those who don't already know, this is how it works. There's a chart on the wall in the house where the majority of the cooking co-op members live. We write our names down on the day on which we are happy to cook (currently each member cooks once a week). On that day we cook a meal for everyone else in the co-op (usually in the evening, but we have also had slap-up breakfasts and picnic lunches - it can be very flexible) using whatever budget we feel happy with. We thought about having a set budget, but it works much better letting people spend what they feel they can afford. On a lean week we might cook a big leek and potato soup. On a week when we're feeling flush we might do a Korean feast with 6 different dishes, like I did a while ago. As long as there's a decent size meal, nobody minds.
The benefits of this are hugely varied. The most obvious benefits are that we each only have to cook an evening meal once a week. This saves a massive amount of shopping, cooking, and cleaning up time. The trade-off is that you have to cook for lots of people once a week, but this adds very little to preparation time, and only a little to the cleaning up.
It's also dramatically cheaper, because you're not having to buy ingredients for 7 different meals, but you still get the benefits of a varied diet. In fact, it's much more varied than our diets might be otherwise, because we have 7 different cooks making their favourite dishes, or trying out new recipes we've seen somewhere. We try to take each others' likes and dislikes into account (mostly vegan food, only ethically produced meat if there is meat, nothing too spicy, etc) but that still leaves enormous scope for a widely varied and very interesting diet. I am sure we are all healthier for it. Left to my own devices, I would never get a decent meal together every night, but with the co-op, I don't have to. I only have to be organised once a week, which even someone as wildly disorganised as I am can manage.
On your cooking day, you let everyone know what time dinner is at, and if people need to pick up food later because of work or other commitments, they let you know, and then we all get together and eat tasty nosh. This is one of the other great benefits of the cooking co-op; meals are generally social occasions, with a wonderful sense of community which is perfectly complimented by a full belly. Of course, if you don't feel like being sociable, you don't have to be. You can pick up your food later, ask someone to drop it off at your house, or eat and then leave immediately. As with all communities, it's important to respect the needs and wishes of your members. But on the whole we're a sociable bunch, and dinner might turn into a night out, a film, or a bracing discussion about feminism. Our friendships are enriched by this forced (in the best possible way) contact, and our increased interactions lead to increased outcomes of all sorts.
When friends or family visit us, they are catered for as well, provided you get the say-so from that day's cook, and many a lovely person has joined us for a chaotic, yet tasty, meal. During hard times people can ask for time-off, but are generally still provided for. When Finn was born I had a month off, but was still fed every night. I was in no fit state to do anything at the time, let alone feed myself well, and yet here I was, being fed and looked after by my little community. I wish every new mother could have such a thing.
A wee while ago some friends of ours moved to Swansea and one of the factors behind their move was wanting to be part of the cooking co-op, so we are now 9 people in total (including wee Finn). Naturally he's not cooking for us (yet!), so we have started having a 'week off' option which we rotate between us. So now you get a lovely dinner every night, and you don't even have to cook every week to get it. You save money, time and washing up, and gain social time, a more varied diet, and a wonderful sense of togetherness.
Cassian also did some interesting evidence-gathering with their electricity monitor, and surmised that cooking for more than just yourself at once saves a trucktonne of energy, so this system of feeding yourself has environmental benefits too. You can save even more energy by making use of a haybox, more on that below.
Now, I realise I've gone on at some length, but that's because I think the cooking co-op is the Bee's Knees. There are many, many ways you could organise something similar. You could cook for each other just once a week. You could have one week on, one week off. You could organise it with people from your church, your local pub, your workplace, your extended family. You could do it as a one-off exchange with a nearby friend or family. You have little to lose, and only tasty noms to gain.
_________________________________________________
If you've made it through this far, you deserve a recipe to get you started. This incredibly tasty vegan stew was cooked (mostly) by an armchair, two blankets, and a duvet in our living room. You raise the stew to boiling on a hob, and then super-insulate it for the remainder of it's cooking time. Very simple, and very satisfying, with no possibility of it getting stuck to the pan. Win all round.
We cooked this for 12, because there were visitors. It was very tasty, and cost less than £10, even with the rice we also cooked conventionally to make sure there was enough grub (there was plenty).
Middle Eastern Aubergine and Lentil Stew
For the food
A large pan with a well-fitting lid
3 large aubergines, chopped in half lengthways and then sliced into chunky half moons
400g of brown lentils
3 large onions, finely chopped
12 cloves of garlic, chopped
6 large tomatoes, chopped
Green chillis, amount to your taste, seeded and chopped
A big bunch of fresh mint leaves, chopped
3 tablespoons of tomato paste
3 teaspoons of ras-el-hanout (a spice mix available in Asian food shops, or look up a recipe online and make your own)
3 teaspoons of salt
A very large glug of oil (we used about 1 1/2 cups, which is a scarily large amount - adjust to your liking)
For the haybox
A sofa or armchair. Foam is a fantastic insulator.
Blankets, duvets, pillows - anything that can be wrapped closely around the pan to act as insulation. You need to insulate it very thoroughly, so the more the merrier. You shouldn't be able to feel any heat coming from the pan once it's wrapped up.
Make this dish at least 4 hours in advance, so it has loads of time to cook and become super-tasty.
1. Find a blimmin' big saucepan, but that will only just fit your ingredients in. For the haybox to work well, you need as little empty space in the pan as possible.
2. Put the lentils on to boil in the saucepan, and cook them until just tender.
3. Meanwhile chop everything that needs to be chopped. Marvel at your effective use of time.
4. When the lentils are cooked, drain them and rinse out the pan.
5. Chuck all the ingredients in and give it a massive and thorough stir.
6. Heat it on the hob with the lid on until it is boiling and the tomatoes are just starting to break down.
7. Take it off the heat, put it on your chair of choice, and then speedily encase it in layers of lovely insulating materials. You might want to put a tea towel under it if you're worried about the bottom of the pan marking your chair, though it should be fine. Tuck it in very carefully with lots of layers, and then LEAVE IT. Don't check on it, stir it, or otherwise let any heat out. Just enjoy knowing that it's merrily doing it's thing with no chance of it burning to the bottom of the pan. Delish.
8. Get it out just before you want it, and be prepared that you may need to give it a quick boost of heat on the hob. Usually it comes out at perfect scoffing temperature though, and is beautifully moist, with the lovely meshing of flavours which only comes from long, slow cooking.
9. Feed lots of people, and enjoy the feeling of having saved all that energy and stirring time :D
- Hannah
Thursday, 29 December 2011
Sad Times On the High Seas
I'm just posting this very quickly for any regular visitors to the blog who want to know what's going on. Apologies for a lack of pithy analysis or snazzy photography - Finn's a bit poorly and I'm tired.
Anyhoo, these are the haps.
We decided to make another offer on Boat House. We got excited. Christmas preparations happened. We got distracted.
The Wednesday before Christmas we rang the estate agent to put in our new offer. He informed us that the vendor had accepted a cash offer that very morning.
Crapbaggins.
This is us then, back to Square One (again).
Wish us luck.
- Hannah
Anyhoo, these are the haps.
We decided to make another offer on Boat House. We got excited. Christmas preparations happened. We got distracted.
The Wednesday before Christmas we rang the estate agent to put in our new offer. He informed us that the vendor had accepted a cash offer that very morning.
Crapbaggins.
This is us then, back to Square One (again).
Wish us luck.
- Hannah
Monday, 12 December 2011
House Viewing: House of Why
Hello!Well, I'm finally back with an update on our activities, and a report back from our latest house viewing. I'll start with the house viewing, because I know you all love the picturey bits the best ;)
House of Why (so named by Mattie, who is beautifully illustrating the source of this name in the picture to the right) is a 5 bedroom/3 reception room property round the corner from where we live now. It is cheap, very cheap. This explains why we went to see it.
The house is a reposession so it's on at a tempting price for it's size (around £115k), but sadly there is nothing tempting about it. Frankly, the only tempting thing is to walk around it saying "Why???" repetitively, which is just what we did. Subject to a fascinating variety of DIY projects over the years, it has fancy flush spotlights in places and serious structural issues in others. There are built-in DVD shelves and fixings for a large flat-screen TV in the same room as large amounts of homegrown fungus. I'm all for self-sufficiency but growing shrooms out of your walls is taking it a bit far. Suffice to say that this may suit someone, but it isn't us. Another one to put down to experience then. Sad times.
General Updatery
Our final offer on Boat House was turned down and we don't feel inclined to go higher at the moment. It's such a tricky balancing act deciding what to offer, and when to walk away, and it's not something that any of us enjoy. On this occasion it's been a particularly hard decision to make, but we will find the right place in the end. True fact.
In other news, Mattie has decided to move on to pastures new. The precise location of these pastures is as yet unknown, but they look likely to be in the region of Leeds. This move may involve those notorious cattle-rustlers, Cornerstone, and it may not. It may also occur in March, but that is as yet unconfirmed.
Hang on: I seem to be suggesting that Mattie is a cow and that the largely vegan/vegetarian Cornerstone dwellers are cow-thieves. Step away from the metaphor, Hannah (however much I may think that Mattie would approve).
You get the gist though. We will soon be a co-op member down and this makes us all of the sad-but-supportive-of-peoples'-choices. What this means in terms of co-op numbers is also uncertain, but we will keep you posted.
In other, other news, the Localism Bill is now on the statute books, so we are safe and sound as regards the HMO legislation. Woop! That's a little something to cheer us on the long hunt for a home :)
- Hannah
Wednesday, 16 November 2011
No news is good news?
Hello peeps -
I can't believe it's been 5 weeks since we posted about putting an offer in, and I can't quite believe that I still have nothing to tell you.
That's right. We are still in the process of making an offer. Numbers have been bandied back and forth a bit, but as yet there is no conclusion. It's all a bit depressing, and a bit of an eye opener about the absurdities of the house buying process.
I shan't say too much, as the internet is a small place, but we're hoping to have more definite news for you soon. Whether it will be good or bad is rather out of our hands at the moment, so only time will tell.
Apart from the whole offer process, affairs chez Golem are pretty much as usual. Mattie and Sven had a jolly time at the latest Radical Routes Gathering. Cassian has been making awesome comics and generally improving the world one gender-neutral step at a time by drawing attention to petitions such as this. Finn has had his first birthday, taken his first step, and is now capable of turning any object whatsoever into a drum. The rest of us have plodding along being awesome in less definable ways, but being awesome nonetheless.
I promise to update you further when there is something to update, or when, as today, it's been far too long. It's a good thing we're in this for the long haul, eh?
- Hannah
I can't believe it's been 5 weeks since we posted about putting an offer in, and I can't quite believe that I still have nothing to tell you.
That's right. We are still in the process of making an offer. Numbers have been bandied back and forth a bit, but as yet there is no conclusion. It's all a bit depressing, and a bit of an eye opener about the absurdities of the house buying process.
I shan't say too much, as the internet is a small place, but we're hoping to have more definite news for you soon. Whether it will be good or bad is rather out of our hands at the moment, so only time will tell.
Apart from the whole offer process, affairs chez Golem are pretty much as usual. Mattie and Sven had a jolly time at the latest Radical Routes Gathering. Cassian has been making awesome comics and generally improving the world one gender-neutral step at a time by drawing attention to petitions such as this. Finn has had his first birthday, taken his first step, and is now capable of turning any object whatsoever into a drum. The rest of us have plodding along being awesome in less definable ways, but being awesome nonetheless.
I promise to update you further when there is something to update, or when, as today, it's been far too long. It's a good thing we're in this for the long haul, eh?
- Hannah
Sunday, 9 October 2011
The Haps.
Ok, so these are The Haps.
We've decided to give up on the house idea and live on a boat instead.
Sort of ;)
Oh seasoned readers of the blog, you know where I'm going with this. We like Boat House, and since Sven came up with The Plan, we are probably going to make moves towards making it ours. The Plan is an intriguing one as it involves planning to expand into another house in the near future. The Dinghy is not that house though. It just doesn't seem right, for some reason. We're all agreed on this, and we're also all agreed on our love for Boat House.
The logic is that we will get along with one communal room (and oodles of lovely external communal space) until a further house can be bought, and filled with more of our co-opulent brethren, plus one person who will have been residing at Boat House in the meantime.
I realise this sounds bonkers. We've been spending so long looking for somewhere that would fit, and whinging about how nothing does, and now we've gone and fallen in love with something which is unequivocally too small.
Cope.
This house is within budget, allowing lots of scope for eco-renovating it, fits almost all of our far-ranging criteria, and has a sexay garden which is much bigger than we could ever have dreamed of. How could we not?
We're hoping to have another viewing before next weekend (still some unanswered questions and unphotographed corners) and then move on to the whole offer/valuation/survey rigmarole.
Fun times ahoy!
- Hannah
We've decided to give up on the house idea and live on a boat instead.
Sort of ;)
Oh seasoned readers of the blog, you know where I'm going with this. We like Boat House, and since Sven came up with The Plan, we are probably going to make moves towards making it ours. The Plan is an intriguing one as it involves planning to expand into another house in the near future. The Dinghy is not that house though. It just doesn't seem right, for some reason. We're all agreed on this, and we're also all agreed on our love for Boat House.
The logic is that we will get along with one communal room (and oodles of lovely external communal space) until a further house can be bought, and filled with more of our co-opulent brethren, plus one person who will have been residing at Boat House in the meantime.
I realise this sounds bonkers. We've been spending so long looking for somewhere that would fit, and whinging about how nothing does, and now we've gone and fallen in love with something which is unequivocally too small.
Cope.
This house is within budget, allowing lots of scope for eco-renovating it, fits almost all of our far-ranging criteria, and has a sexay garden which is much bigger than we could ever have dreamed of. How could we not?
We're hoping to have another viewing before next weekend (still some unanswered questions and unphotographed corners) and then move on to the whole offer/valuation/survey rigmarole.
Fun times ahoy!
- Hannah
Friday, 7 October 2011
Sven’s slightly but not entirely made up recipe for Apple Ketchup that Mattie and Finn helped with
(as yet untested because we only made in 2 hours ago)
Makes 10 mostly big jars of various shapes and sizes.
Takes some time
Takes some time
1. Volunteer to do roofing at Crabapple a few times, making sure that you take enough cloth bags to bring back 3.5kg of miscellaneous apples. Get one co-op member to meet you at the station to help carry them up the hill. Mattie reckons that the mutual aid adds some sweetness to the ketchup.
 |
| This is too many, 'k? |
2. Chop the apples up into reasonably small chunks, removing the cores but leaving the skin in because you have to sieve it all anyway and peeling them seems like FAR too much effort. Get someone with eyes of steel to slice 800g of onions. If possible choose someone who’s in need of a good cry anyway, it’s a great excuse.
3. Pop the onions and the apples into a large preserving pan that someone had for Christmas last year (festive connection not mandatory for the recipe). Add 1.7 litres of cider vinegar and 300ml of malt vinegar that you saved from some pickled onions because it seemed a waster to chuck it.
4. Feel pleased with how things are going.
 |
| You should aim to be about this happy. |
5. Add 3 heaped teaspoons of ginger powder of questionable provenance, along with 2 heaped teaspoons of cumin, some oregano, 5 drops of Tabasco sauce (Steady!), 1 ground nutmeg, 2 teaspoons of salt, 2 teaspoons of black pepper and 50g sugar.
6. Give it a good stir and then go read the Good Shopping Guide with Finn for a bit because it’s taking ages and he likes books. Alternate these two activities, taking care not to stir Finn or read to the ketchup by mistake.
7. Eventually your house and everything in it will smell of vinegar and the ketchup itself will look very bog like and smell tasty. At this point, turn off the heat and put the mixture through a sieve, regretting not peeling the apples in the first place.
 |
| Acursed sieve clogging fiend |
8. Jar and leave to its own devices until one night you really want some ketchup and think you might as well give it a try. (Sven says ‘At least 2-3 months’.)
9. Feel the love.
Mattie and the Golems
x
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