Tetherd Cow Ahead

Whilst browsing at a famous Melbourne market a little while back, Violet Towne made the astute purchase of this Semak Vitamizer recipe book from the 1950s. The cover illustration of a young woman pouring milk into a jug full of orange and carrot juice only hints at the wonders inside…

After some technical explanation of how the Vitamizer actually works (‘The four little blades, which resemble a ship’s propellor, are sharpened and set in such a manner that, when they revolve at 18,000 revolutions per minute, they set up a violent flow or current surging through the contents of the container…’) a photographic spread introduces you to the kinds of treats you might be able to conjure up, now that you’ve purchased your Semak Vitamizer.

Truly, with the Semak, the world is your oyster puree!

Well, I know you want to get started, so let’s have a look at some of the ‘lovely Vitamizer dishes illustrated on this page’. The first offering is a serving of something so redolent of ten-day-old wallpaper-paste residue that it had to be garnished with parsley in order to have any chance at all of resembling food:

Yes, I know, a valiant attempt, but still mysteriously unappetizing. Ooh, and what’s this? Some crackers smeared with faeces and topped with leaves:

I know your mouths are watering at the very thought of walking up to the canapé table to be greeted with such a festive presentation! Am I right? Well the delights are only beginning. Next on the menu, that staple of 1950s cuisine, Sewage Loaf…

…again embellished with a jaunty sprig of parsley in order to differentiate it from a hastily made mud brick. Of course, if you’re making things out of poo, there’s no real need to vitamize anything at all – just crumb the turds directly and arrange on lettuce…

… with parsley, it goes without saying. It keeps the breath fresh.

Moving on, a puzzling dish of custard and… er… small squares of toast? Sewage Loaf? Linoleum?

There’s no parsley, so maybe I’m on the wrong track and it’s not food at all. Home-made aquarium sealant, perhaps. Or a science experiment.

And don’t forget – if you run out of ideas on a food photo-shoot (especially if all the food looks like crap), you can always open some tinned spaghetti and pour that into one of the bowls. No-one will notice.

If you make it past this introductory page, some of the non-illustrated recipes that the Semak Vitamizer book goes on to offer (for which, thankfully, you have to summon up appropriate images in your mind’s-eye) include ‘Prune Satin’, ‘Date Milk Shake’ and ‘Tomato Corrective’. There is also ‘Fruit Mould’ and, for the very brave, ‘Mock* Pate de Foie Gras’ (really, don’t ask – suffice to say it includes a sprig of parsley).

And so we close our Semak Vitamizer recipe book for now. Just remember:

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*The ’50s was truly the decade of ‘mock’. When we were kids, my mum used to make us ‘mock fish’. It was actually just potato cakes or latkes. For some reason, for many years until I was set straight, I thought we were eating ‘mop’ fish. I maintain until this day that the things on the plate had more in common with mops than they did with fish.

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Faithful Acowlytes King Willy and Pil have been been on a pilgrimage to Cow Central these last few days, and lawks, I thought they’d never leave what a fabtacular time we’ve all had. There was gingerbread, and whisky and birthday cake and all manner of shenanigans. Hopefully, by now they’ve made it back through Sydney Airport without being assaulted by biker gangs and are kicking back with extra spicy Virgin Marys on their terrace.

While they were here, they were amused to discover that I have my own brand of milk.

This is something that, until they pointed it out, I’d comprehensively failed to notice (that sometimes happens when one is the spokesperson for a supernatural being). Henceforth let it be known that here at The Cow, not only do we have plenty of The Milk of Human Kindness, but it’s low fat as well!

Only From Tetherd Cow Ahead liquor outlets. Refuse all imitations.

Today,while looking for something else entirely* I came across an image of a curiously titled painting, ‘In Praise of the Pickled Herring’, by the 17th century Dutch painter Joseph de Bray (someone of whom, until today, I was entirely unaware).

The website where I learned of Joseph, which is dedicated to ‘Food in the Arts’, leads me to believe that this painting is a fine example of ‘Fish Still-Lifes’, an artistic niche that had also previously (and regrettably, I must add) passed me by.

This is the full version of the painting (click to get a closer look), which features, as a centrepiece, a stone table drapped with herrings and onions, and inscribed with the poem that gives the painting its name. It was penned by preacher and poet Jacob Westerbaen, and contains the picturesque declaration that the consumption of pickled herring:

Will make you apt to piss
And you will not fail (with pardon) to shit
And ceaselessly fart…

I immediately set about attempting to track down a complete rendering of Westerbaen’s poem, because if anything at all in this world is certain, it is that Cow readers will be clamouring to learn all that is to be known about literature that involves soused fish, poetry and bodily functions. It appears, alas, that no-one has seen fit to bring the genius of Westerbaen’s herring musings to the digital world, which is a shame because I feel it is more than obvious that there is a monumental dearth of pickled fish verse in our lives today. To that end, faithful Acowlytes I know you will more than rise to the occasion, so I’m declaring a TCA competition:

Your task, should you choose to accept it, is to write a paean to preserved fish. You may include references to the digestive process if you wish. Most importantly you should understand that you toil in the shadow of greatness – make Jacob Westerbaen proud!

There will be a real prize this time.

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*Another reason I love teh internets.

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I’m posting this for Colonel Colonel after his recent paean to fresh corn. I suspect it’s very close, if not identical, to his own recipe, but heck, why do you care? You should be out firing up the barbecue!

Ingredients (makes a good sized salad for a half dozen guests):

• 3 large ears of fresh corn
• 4 – 6 Roma* tomatoes
• 1 Spanish (red) onion
• Half cup of good quality olive oil
• Salt & pepper

Strip the corn and barbecue it evenly all around over an open flame. Some ‘burnt’ bits are good. Let it cool down enough to handle (with your hands) easily.

While the corn is cooling, chop the onion and tomatoes semi-finely (the bits should be about the same size as a corn kernel. Roughly – we’re going for hearty & rustic here). Now cut the cooked kernels straight off the cobs with a sharp knife (I break the cobs in half first – it makes cutting easier). Mix the kernels and the chopped tomato & onion in a glass or ceramic bowl with the olive oil, and a good amount of salt & pepper. Let it all stand covered (not with plastic wrap! Use a tea-towel or something clothy) at room temperature for at least an hour. (It can be refrigerated, and keeps very well, but don’t serve it cold).

Do not make this salsa with tinned corn kernels. Do not make this salsa with inferior olive oil. Otherwise, improvise away. I prepare the version above specifically to serve with spicy meat or seafood. If you’re intending it as an accompaniment to a milder meal, a good teaspoon of ground chili (or a chopped fresh Thai chili) livens things up. As another variation I sometimes add a half teaspoon of smoked Hungarian paprika…

Bon appétit!

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*I use Roma tomatoes because they tend to be better than most supermarket varieties, but I recommend you use any kind of heritage or home-grown tomatoes if you have them – as fresh as possible.

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Last night I had a dream that I invented a new form of donut called ‘The Zero’. The donut batter was aerated with helium, which meant that after the donuts were cooked, they weighed exactly nothing.

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This is possibly related to Benedikt Dantzler’s helium aerated flummery. I sincerely hope things don’t turn out for me as unpleasantly as they did for him…

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