The Debutante's New Writeups

Belgian beef braised in beer (recipe)

2009-11-06T17:29:58Z

This is more popularly known as beef carbonade, carbonade of beef, or carbonade à la Flamande. It is less popularly known as Vlaamse stoverij, which is probably its more accurate name given that it is Flemish beef stew, and that's well, Flemish. Or Dutch, if you want to be technical; Dutch and Flemish are practically the same language. In fact, the more that I think it about it, the more bizarre it is that people call it beef carbonade. Carbonade comes from the Italian carbonata, which means to cook over hot coals or to grill, whilst this is a braised dish. Quite frankly, it's the culinary equivalent of the Schengen agreement.

Being a traditional dish there is no defined method for it. Every family has its own variations and its own secret ingredients, from gingerbread, to redcurrant jelly, to vinegar. The general agreement is that it uses beef, dark Belgian beer, onions, and something to make it a little sweet and a little sour. And it takes a long time to cook. (Pleas…

Lisa Hannigan (person)

2009-10-25T20:57:06Z

21:37 Josh: Oh and you have to, right now, put on the song I Don't Know by Lisa Hannigan. It's the sweetest, loveliest song in the world ever.

...

21:45 DEB: Can we go see her live?

It took me all of eight minutes, three sentences from Josh, and two songs to decide that I wanted to see Lisa Hannigan live. Even by my lightning standards in spontaneity, that was a blisteringly fast reaction. What had I heard, what had I felt, that convinced me I needed to do this?

Well first of all, I was enchanted by I Don't Know's winding melody and its horn arrangement. I'm a sucker for a good horn arrangement. And maybe because the lyrics, telling of the plunging and soaring uncertainty of meeting someone whom you'd like to get to know better, resonated with me.…

hedgehog (thing)

2009-09-25T23:16:43Z

Hedgehogs: endearing little spiny things that shuffle around undergrowth, are invariably full of fleas, and used to confound our dog because she would want to play with them and they would curl up into a protective ball. However, it would appear that their cute nature, flea infestation, and protective spines have done little to deter the human population from eating them. I was recently sifting through recipes in the British Library, most of which were for hare, pigeon, and rabbit — essentially anything that could be trapped or caught in the British countryside — when I stumbled across a method for preparing hedgehog. I was intrigued, not least because it occurs to me that the nutritional benefits to be gained from a hedgehog are probably outweighed by the energy expended to prepare it. Yet it would seem that hedgehog has been included in the human diet for thousands of years, and as a consequence there are numerous recipes for it.

Perhaps…

Editor Log: August 2009 (log)

2009-08-29T22:15:05Z

June, and July, and August

In between Wimbledon, Royal Ascot, the Tour de France, the Ashes, a wedding in Ireland, a nodermeet, moving offices, touring breweries, and doing some work, I've been hanging around this place, too. Inevitably, some things have been going on.

The privacy of private messages

In July, the CST_group and I were asked to clarify if someone sending a private message via e2 retained the copyright to those words. This arose after a series of private messages were posted in a node by the recipient, upsetting their original author who felt that the recipient did not have the right to reproduce these words for public exposition.

GrouchyOldMan did an excellent job of untangling what is a complicated and largely untested area of law. He determined that, erring on the side of caution, it…

August 18, 2009 (log)

2009-08-18T20:07:25Z

I was running late for work this morning. Very late. As I arrived at the station I was reminded why I prefer to be in work for 8 a.m. rather than 9 a.m. The platform was thronging with people and it seemed unlikely that I would be able to get on the next train, let alone find a seat. Following a sleepless night and a queasy breakfast my journey into work was resembling more a test of endurance than its usual ten minutes checking emails and twenty minutes reading The Economist. There was an instant, I admit, when I contemplated turning on my heel, walking back to my flat, and cocooning myself in my duvet. But I didn't. I waited three minutes for the next train.

To my surprise, and doubtless that of every other person waiting, the next train that rolled in was half empty. I sat down, tried to ignore the unpleasant amalgamation of stale sweat and last night's alcohol emanating from the gentleman sitting next to me, deleted a writeup,…

halos (in the mist) (fiction)

2009-07-25T00:01:51Z

Waiting for the Flow.
On the inside looking out.

Standing on the balcony, I'm enveloped by a thin drear, a clinging damp mist. I watch as the steam from my tea rises and mingles with the moisture hanging in the air; the hot swirls with the cold. It's as if I'm watching my burning temper merging with frozen calculation, and dissipating; or perhaps it is my torrid fear colliding with stony determination.

There are, inside me, words that need to be said. I am a chamber of bubbling rage and, just as welling magma, it is preparing to course like lava, a cursing diatribe. Yet somehow, between the venom in my head and the silky-sweet words on my page, this grisly polemic is trapped. Maybe it's trapped by my own terror of the consequences these words might wreak. Or maybe my wrath is confounding my thoughts.

Usually, each word comes to me as…