Sunday, December 23, 2012
Zombies And Hot Cherry Sauce
Knowing we were in for a stinker of a hot day, I did my writing this morning (two zombie stories have sprung from my revved up mind - now I have to pick the one I think will have the best chance of making a certain antho, which is bound to cause me much angst), then slapped on some sunscreen and a hat, and hurried off to get Xmas supplies. I managed to return before the tub of super luxurious Belgian chocolate ice cream I sneaked into my shopping trolley melted (it was on sale! Also, I'm on holidays! And it's Christmas!)
Now that things are cooling down, it's time to get started on the annual Xmas tribulation of honouring my ancestors by making the ris a la mande for Tuesday's Christmas get together. Not that you'd catch any vikings eating the stuff. Good old rice porridge would have done them fine. Mind you, now that I think about it, where would they have procured the rice? During their annual Yuletide raids on China? Hmm, the history of this dessert is getting dodgier and dodgier. As is, with your average viking not knowing his je suis from his tu est, the a la part gives away it's pretentious and reasonably recent origins - a couple of hundred years ago, when the rich folk of Copenhagen wanted to separate and elevate themselves from the poor, dirty-faced, rice porridge eating peasants, they took the traditional Danish risengrød, luxuriously added the whipped cream, chopped almonds, cherries and hot cherry sauce that only the best kind of people could afford, then gave it a fancy French name just to add to the general snootiness.
How Christmassy is that?
Ah well, as politically incorrect as its genesis may have been, the fact remains that ris a la mande is divinely delicious, and despite the bother, I look forward to the ritual of making it every year (and this year I can take my time, instead of cooking rice at 1 am after getting home from the Arvo Job), the overly dramatic brouhaha of eating it (we're usually already stuffed by the time we get to this calorific dessert) the cut-throat competition of seeking the whole almond hidden somewhere within the sweet mass, and the triumph of loudly gloating over one's prize (mandelgave) if you win (I usually don't. I was practically ancient before I won my first ever mandelgave).
Now that's Christmassy.
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3 comments:
I'm pretty sure the Vikings got to China. There are red-headed Chinese people in the north of China. (I've been in a tutorial class with one and was quite surprised at his pale skin and freckles and yet his Chinese ancestry.)
But...how would they, returning home triumphant with the little seedlings, have managed to stop them freezing up in the little ponds? It's a mystery that could only be solved by an alternate-history short story.
Or... agreement that your theory is correct re the a-la- poshness.
BTW, how sensible to hide an almond. In my childhood we ran the danger of choking on a threepence hidden in the plum pudding. And I don't recall that we got a present. I think we only got the thruppence.
That looks so yummy, and i agree with parlance, an almond is a way better idea than a penny! Must make this :-) Thoraiya
I don't doubt that those dastardly vikings probably made it to China, parlance, and proceeded to insinuate themselves upon the locals. It's what they did, the bastards. There are population pockets of red-haired people in the unlikeliest places. But the rice thing? In the ninth century or so? Hmm. As you said, there's a story there, as there is in what it's like to be the Asian offspring of a barbaric, Nordic raider. Couldn't have been easy for the poor kids.
I never did get the thruppence thing. The thought of a metal coin and gulping youngsters always makes me shiver. I've often wondered what the statistics are for emergency room dashes after Xmas pudding.
Good luck with the ris a la mande, Thoraiya. It might take a few goes to get it right. And look around at different recipes - no two Danish families are going to agree on the best way to make it. Each clan has their own particularities that they swear by because that's how they've always made it, and, naturally, they bag everyone else's version. Sometimes there are even ongoing feuds about the best ris a la mande recipe, and swords are frequently pulled from family vaults to settle the matter :)
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