[What, you think my bed is a mess? Of course it is! Why on earth should I maintain it as a welcoming nest-like environment when the chance of some bright young thing deciding to jump my bones is less than zero? Far better that the other half of the bed get used as an office and general store room. I once unearthed an unopened jar of Hyderabadi-style lime pickle there. That was a happy day.]
So I'm sure you can guess which pipe I had in my mouth when I left the house this morning for my post-coffee smoke.
It is very likely that I will leave the house again in a couple of hours, to see if any of the nearby stores carry Indian pickles. Achars, as you probably know, are made with a lot of salt, plus oil to prevent spoilage and air exposure, and sometimes a little vinegar or lime juice. But they rely on salt and oil for keepability. Obviously they are strong flavours, and spices like turmeric and chili are used liberally to make them. A family prides itself on its particular pickles which often are recipes passed down through generations.
A shelf of fine achars is a treasure. Not only hot pickled lime wedges, but also green mango, carrot, green or red chili, and others. Some of these pickles aren't meant to last for years, most cauliflower pickles are best eaten within a few months.
[Mango pickle: amb ka achar. Lime or lemon pickle: nimbu achar. Carrot pickle; gajjari achar. Garlic pickle: lasson achar. Chili pickle: mirch ka achar. Cauliflower pickle: pulgobi achar. Dutch Indonesian mixed pickle: atjar tjampur.]
Yes, I have my own recipes. Fine-tuned over the years. But I am a lazy person nowadays, and simply want a decent achar to go with my spicy slop over noodles with a slice of bread and a dollop of sambal.
Patak's, from England, is a good brand.
Achar is wonderful.
[There's still at least one more pipe somewhere on the bed. It's something I carved a long time ago, sort of in between Charatan and Stanwell in inspiration. Elegant. And I would love to make a drawing of it; but I can't do that until I find it again. There's no more Indian pickle in the bed that I know of, but I did find my Serbian gangster fedora. Not that I ever wear hats.]
Not surprisingly, the last two smokes yesterday were also in Comoy pipes.
One at around seven o'clock, after a strong cup of tea. The other tennish, following another strong cup of tea. Milk and sugar.
Red Virginias, touch of Perique.
[The stuffed creatures are all in a row looking at me reproachfully; they did not appreciate the recent upheavals.]
And there you have it; civilized life requires FOUR things:
Achar, sambal, strong tea, and pipe tobacco.
TOBACCO INDEX
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4 comments:
Ahoy-hoy, Myseigneur BotH!
We have returned after a long period of absentia with herald of our journées of the Far Orient, and 'tis all a wondrous tale to behold and retell. It has literally been weeks, and we have spent said weeks rejoicing in the Fest of Weeks.
When we last informed you, the monde had been enflagrated by the horrid Woochang-Hankew Influenza, which had spared nobody but the most faithful devotées of Turcoman-bashy and His Hallow Ruhnama. We spent the entirety of Ramazan under His protection in the Most Holy Abode of Ashgabat, enjoying refreshing Ephtars post dusk and nourishing Sohours ere the dawn, while delighting in His Anointed Arkadag's feats of musical and dentistrial endurance, modified ever so slightly to ensure their extra halalitude during the Offenbarungmonat.
As the days of Ramazan the Sacred were exeunt with the ‘Ied of Ages, the sovereigns of the world declared their dominions victorious over the accursed malady, yet chided us to take cautious measures whilst enlucrifying their lands with touristic tomfoolery.
As such, we deemed it sufficiently right and appropriate to resume our normal routine of worldtrotting. Knowing what would truly protect us on our paths, we clutched the Hallow Ruhnama to our bosoms as we bade farewell to Turcoman-i-stan with prostrational supplications of gratitude. This did we set forth into perilous aires, ready to know the lost communities of the globe once more.
Our premiere locale was Her Imperial Majesty's Crown Jewel, the Raj of Himalaya, where we spent the first days of La Festa Schabuot. Thereupon we convocated with the Scierpae of the Qaratic fé. They were truly fond of this telling, which speaks to their reason o'being:
"We ascend these mountains every day, much like our Master ascended the mount, and not once did he commit oral heresy."
When it came time to sanctify the day, the Scierpa handed us a horn of yac. Being of such advanced age and having fought in the Great Long Wars, our first instinct was to apply the smaller end to our auricules, so as to better hear the sage's sermon. They corrected our false pass before we could sully it with ear-wax, saying rather that it was a libation corn through which the holy fruit of the vine is passed through the larger end to be received by the communiant on the smaller end.
In contrition, we allowed them to serve us the vigne in its right and proper manner. Nevertheless, we did not impress upon it the indignity of using it as a mere musical instrument.
That would have been an embarrassment.
Seeing as we were in altitudinal hochts, we offered the Qaraites a serving of chaghba (çağba), a confection of the Turcomans of Asia Major, which (as some may require reminding) is lifted either before or after the machen, dependent on the community of the celebrant. We had learnt its arte de cuisson during our time there, and thought it fitting to present to those who lived on high.
Shortly thereafter, in the Intermediate Days of the Weeksfest, we paid a visit to Old Krung Thep in Siam, for which the vulgar name is not to be mentioned in the presence of male members.
A pilgrimaging cohort of Chewchowians were lined up to pay tribute to a revered and esteemed holyman. Upon entering his presence, the pilgrims knelt on their left side, and beseeched he bless them with transcendental wisdom. Surrounded by his cohort of twenty maidservants, who guarded his inviable person with their own carne, he bestowed upon them the inculcatorio asfollows, betransmitted from the days of Ribbi Shakyamuni:
"Pentēkostḗ is the leb of the holidays, so we eat leben on it.
On Pesach, one may not eat leaven, because we have not yet reached the lev of the holidays.
Also, Pesach is not a khale-day, because we can't eat khale on it."
Whereupon the gourou granted the bention dependent on the supplicant's stature, the Chewchowians offered their obligatory tributes in divisions and numbers of five, and they merrily marched on their ways with embrightened countenances.
We took notice of His Eminence's vestments, which could only be described as a "croppe du toppe". We inquired to the Chewchowian faithful as to the significance of such a garment, but 'twas apparent that we had crossed an unspeakably egregious tabû, for the Attendant Guardiennes quickly gave us chase from Krung Thep for the unforgivable offense we had committed against Lord Chipgubdel.
Being pursued by twenty femmes wearing naught but jewelry and weaponry is at once enticing and terrifying.
We journeyed to Laa Islha Fhermosa, so named by the Ibericans as a compromise in the Treaty of Tordesillhas; the negotiated terms: Should I stay or should I go? (It was decreed that the Spaniols would stay, and the Lusitanians would go.)
The islet was once home to the Sepentrional Ephraimite Tribes and Meridional Iudaean Tribes, more the Samarito-Cuthites twixt the montes Gelarilazim and Elabalal.
Today, it is majorly settled by Cathean heathens, who call themselves the Taivoranghese, but they attempt to pay tribute to the original inhabitants by offering servings of Poisson Coréen, or Koreanischerfisch, much to the chagrin of the Israelite tribes, for whom it is unfit for consumption. The aboriginals much prefer offertories of Légume Anglais, or Englischeskraut, and true to Israelite fashion, they serve it with congelated garlique.
The Catheans not merely exiled the Northern Tribes to oblivion in accursed lands for the amusement of Medioreginal travelers, but also bade the remaining Israelites speak not their sauvage tongue, but contrarily Tamarao.
O Fortune was in our favour when we were told of this, for we no longer needed rely on the services of our traductor, as Tamarao was well within our command! As such, we left him on the side of the road to his own devices.
We were salutated by the remnants of Iudahite culture, who were in the midst of preparing their Wochenfest. The cacophany was palpitable.
And so on the eve of their fête, they welcomed us with this Tamarao psalm:
Ci nati vulasjoti sjisen tjémémen
Ci nimen kelén-keléno
Rentja tekotjas cecen tekotja
Oman tekotjas rentjatopu yawti
Oman pata tjencilay
(Hee ya ha ya ho ae)
The Iudaean elders regaled us with a tale of their people, which they termed the Lake Tuba. Logically, we enquired whether there be a Pond Tuba for those who had not the stamina for the night entire, which they found as risibly nonsensical as the prospect of a Sea Trompetta.
The Lake Tuba proceeds as such:
Erefore our civilised age, 'twas a time of war and strifefare, whence the natives battled over the proper intonement of signs and lettres - a remarkable feat for an unlettered folk.
Once, upon a river ford in Fhermosa's centre, an encampment of Boreals were a-travel towards the stuporific Orient of Fhermosa, when they encountred themselves a band of Austral warriors.
Asked them the Australic guards, "Be ye Ephraimoid?" And they said, "Nay".
Told the Iudaeans to the Ephraimians, "Say ye now the word 'mata'," and they responded "masa", for they could not frame to pronounce it according to the Iudaeic way. Whereupon hearing this, the Southerns launched a merciless invasion upon Northerly lands, which they heretofore dub "The War of Northern Aggression".
'Twas at this fortuitous moment when an exposition of the Dutch East India Company (VOC, pronunced "fock" as per the reglen of Netherlandish), in their quest to find blessed fields on which to cultivate precious tobacco, stumbled upon Fhermosa's fertile soil, besotted by the blood of bellicose natives. Not desirous of seeing good land gone to waste, the Netherlanders convened a council to enact a cease-arrow between the Sepentrions and the Meridions.
In his infinite wisdom, the VOCer councilhead declared, "Thus shall the word in question 'matsa' be!" The tribes, gasping in bedazzlement, accepted the decree upon themselves lovingly and willingly, wondering why in zounds they have not thought of it before.
This inaugurated the Golden Age of Het Eyland Fhermosa, where the Dutch and the natives worked as one to exchange holy texts and tend to crops of The Golden Leaf, amidst other fructs and herbes of lesser import. They furthermore recruited indentured labourers from Greater Cantonia, who brought with them delectables of a refined and processed variety. Thus was the award winning combination of taback and diem-sim imprinted on the Dutch palate.
Lastimately, the VOCers were expelled by the Ching-chow (Tamarao: Akwa), yet in a gesture of goodwill, the Payses Basses still maintain the position of Suzerain to this very day (Incumbent: Geert van den Bloem). We inquired as to where to find Meneer van den Bloem on this islet, but due to the Hollandophobic policies of the Mandarins, His Excellency the Suzerain could only be found at the Political Representative Office of the Fhermosan Sovereigntude In-Exile (PROFSIE) in the capital district of Those United States, which we decided was certainly not to be included in our travels.
Those Etatsunisiens can be a difficult bunch.
After our farewells with the Iudaeans, we parted to Mount Gelarilazim, passing throngs of Taivoranghese colonists, to attend to the ceremonies of the Fhermosan Samaritans, who much prefer the nom "Canacanavoe" (Tamarao: "Kaninaobu").
The montanial tribesmen still speak the old langue, and as such we retrieved our interpreter, whom as you may record correctly, we had abandoned at the side of the road in our enthuse to converse in Tamarao.
Nevertheless to say, he was very, very upset.
Pentecostal offerings of boar, skewered on banana leaves and doused with millet liqueur copiously, were splayed out to honor the Creator. The spears were then adverdently made cruciform, then burned to ashes immediately and spat upon with betel chaw, in a clear rebuke to the heretics who strayed themselves towards the Hapsburger Ways.
The nearby ecclesians could only stare and cower in fear.
And, arms crossed, the priests intoned the Sixfold Blessing thus (correspondent with its customary nonmandatory Tamarao translation):
Wan ka kaming tera (Itayce kaylay tera)
Tu keras gowing tera-tera (Ljantayce kayco tera-tera)
Seri keras BUM tera (Santaice cwangcay ici tera)
Abo yisa boi tera (Ikehesan tjawswé HE tera)
Tu bois ha faboi tera-tera (Ljankehesan késwé he tera-tera)
Seri bois noboi tera (Sankehesan méswé he tera)
And may it be a Will, and let us say: Tera!
The eldest of the shae-men, no doubt a shae-man of utmost prestige, began the benedictum half a second after the younger and remarkably less prestigious ones. Upon quickly realising his errour, he retrogressed to half a second before, where it is his rightful place.
Inexplicably, our escortes included in the benediction were cackling uncontrollably, and we looked upon them as if they were daft.
We inquired as to what lay in wait for us on Mount Elabalal, and they merely pointed to the ashen staurogramme, decorated with the ruby stigmata of expectorate areca. We understood immediately, and dared not to utter the mamme-zère's name in their presence.
The chaghba was better received by the Cutheans of this altitude, for they could never refuse succres, both fermented and non.
It would be nice to correspond with the Dutch Suzerain of Fhermosa by telegram or letter-carrier. One is made to speculate how Taback and Diem-sim fares on the Atlantic Coast as compared to its homeland on the Pacific. (In our recallment, these staple foodstuffs are known as "TAPAs" thereabouts, but we could have been lead astray by incorrigible fappers who have pilfered our wits.)
Geert is an amusing name, especially when pronunced in its original Hollandaise.
Geert.
You should try it.
Attentatively, with Suitable Détence Sociale,
Thirty Day Beer
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