Spiced, Poignant Warmth

Dear Frankie
2005; Emily Mortimer, Gerard Butler, Jack McElhone
Directed by Shona Auerbach

The storyline of this Scottish film sounds touching enough: single mother writes letters to her son, pretending to be son’s away-at-sea father. “Father’s” ship is coming to port; nine-year-old Frankie (a wise, unforgettable Jack McElhone) is expecting to finally meet his Da. Frankie’s mother (the luminously beautiful Emily Mortimer) hires a stranger to play the part.

And it is a beautiful story, a touching story. But the best moments are the most unexpected. The pace set by director Shona Auerbach is lilting and lingering and true to life. She doesn’t rush us to reconciliation or to words that will ease an awkward silence. As gentle and lovely as Dear Frankie is, it is also a tense film, one in which I found my heart pounding through many scenes, waiting to see or hear what would come next. No scene is as fraught with tension as the moment when Frankie meets the man (Gerard Butler) his mother has hired to be Frankie’s dad for the day. Almost every emotion in the human spectrum runs through us in those few moments.

Herein is the genius of Dear Frankie: that the filmmakers, Auerbach and writer Amy Gibb and each actor is creating a real story, is inhabiting a real role, a real life. (No, I don't mean that it's based on a true story, just that it's so genuine to how we feel, react, behave.) They are not acting a part or having the perfect screen kiss or laugh. They hold back, they hesitate, they suffer, they are silent for long moments, they experience a hundred feelings in the blink of an eye. We forget how pretend and glossy films usually are, how simulated the world they create, how artificial the responses we have to them. We forget, that is, until a film this true comes along and holds up a mirror to human experience.

This drink is a deep, hot cherry cider capped with a small dollop of whipped cream and shaved chocolate. I watched Dear Frankie recently on a chilly October night and it seems like a perfect autumn film, capturing so much of that season’s melancholy and changefulness. But you could (and should) watch it any time of year. The drink, on the other hand, is good for autumn, better for winter, and truly perfect for Christmas.

SPICY CHERRY CIDER
This cider is inspired by a recipe on Epicurious.com.

4 cups cherry juice (100% black cherry juice, such as R.W Knudson's)
2 cups apple juice (again, only the best: Tropicana, or another 100% apple)
1 cup brandy
2 tablespoons sugar
4 cinnamon sticks
20 whole cloves
1 large apple, cored and cut in quarters (peeling it isn't necessary)

1/3 cup whipping cream (optional)
1 ounce bitter sweet chocolate (optional)

Stir the cherry juice, apple juice, brandy, sugar, cinnamon, cloves and apple together in heavy-bottomed saucepan. Bring to a boil and reduce the heat to medium, stirring regularly. Simmer for ten minutes or so. (This isn't to reduce so much as it is to infuse the drink with the spices.) Remove from heat and strain out the cinnamon sticks, cloves and apple chunks. Discard the spices and the apple. (I also save the apple in the fridge sometimes and mash it's pulpy, garnet coloured, sweet spiciness into a bowl of thick, plain yogourt for my breakfast next morning.)

Pour the cider into 5 teacups or small mugs.

Whip the cream if using and shave the chocolate. Dollop some cream and sprinkle some chocolate onto each drink. Serve immediately. Serves 5.

The Conchords and Mini Pavs

Flight of the Conchords: Complete First Season
2007; Bret McKenzie, Jemaine Clement
Directed by James Bobin (6 episodes), Troy Miller (2 episodes), Taika Waititi (2 episodes), Paul Simms, Michael Patrick Jann (1 episode each)

The Flight of the Conchords are a 2 man novelty band, a folk parody duo from New Zealand, consisting of Bret (not Brit) McKenzie and Jemaine (not Jermaine) Clement. I heard of them from my brother about a year and a half ago, when he emailed me a Youtube clip of the Conchords live. I had to watch the video three times before I knew what I thought.

McKenzie and Clement's humour is subtler than I'm used to and certainly quirkier. It's also more innocent, sweet and naive. Like that first song I heard them sing, their first season took some getting used to for me. By the third episode, however ("Mugged"), I was hooked. The series follows the guys trying to make it big in America. With their earnest band manager, Murray Hewitt (the awesome Rhys Darby), their best friend, Dave (Arj Barker), who can't remember where they're from half the time and their one fan, the obsessed stalker, Mel (Kristen Schaal), Bret and Jemaine navigate their way through body image issues, suffering discrimination, attempting to pay the rent on their little apartment, and taking advice from David Bowie. Throughout each episode, the guys sing their hilariously original and clever songs. The soundtrack is definitely the best part of the series.

Girlfriends come and go throughout the 12 episodes, but the real relationship story here is between Bret and Jemaine. Their friendship and musical partnership is severely tested at times, but proves true.

Ultimately the Conchords make me grin. I love them and can't wait for Season 2.

MINI PAVLOVAS

Why? Because pavs are originally from New Zealand and I couldn't resist the opportunity to make them, having wanted to for a long time. And because I'm one of the typical people Bret and Jemaine meet who know nothing about New Zealand. "Like Lord of the Rings....Frodo...The Ring! Pavlovas! Well, don't let me bore you with my knowledge of New Zealand." And finally, because pavs are fun to eat. Airy, chewy and subtle.

3 egg whites

1/2 teaspoon cream of tartar

1/2 cup sugar

1/4 teaspoon vanilla extract, almond extract, or rosewater

1/2 cup whipping cream

1 large pomegranate

Beat the egg whites with the cream of tartar until foamy (about 2 minutes), then begin adding the sugar, 1 tablespoon at a time, until you have stiff peaks. This will take 8-15 minutes. (I intended to time it, but my beaters died partway through, destroying my clock-watching abilities.) Test if the meringue is stiff by pulling the beaters out (after turning them off!) and seeing if the whites stand up where you pulled the mixer out.

When the whites are stiff and shiny, gently fold in your vanilla or rosewater. (You won't need more than the amount specified, as the long, slow baking really brings out the flavour. Next time I use rosewater, I may actually do a bit less, like 1/8 teaspoon).

Line a baking sheet with parchment paper and dollop the whites onto the pan (makes 12 pavlovas, 2-3 bites each). If you want a "nest," make an indentation with the back of your spoon.

Bake at 250 degrees Fahrenheit for 1 hour. Turn the oven off, but leave the meringues in the oven to cool for 20 minutes or so. Transfer to a wire rack to cool completely, peeling them off the parchment paper first.

TO ASSEMBLE THE PAVLOVAS:

Whip the cream until it stands in soft, floppy peaks. You could sweeten the cream with a half tablespoon of sugar, but I didn't, as I found the pavlovas sweet enough. Set aside.

Cut the pomegranate in half and hold 1 half upside down over a plate. Whap the skin of the fruit with a spoon to make the seeds come raining out (the funnest part). To assemble each mini pav, dollop the cream evenly in the nests and sprinkle the pomegranate seeds evenly over each pav.

Enjoy with some quirky comedy.

The Egg Curse

So, I made the Pavlovas. And they came out beautifully. As it turned out, I had nothing to worry about.

Meringues might not seem like that big of a deal, and now that I've made them, they really weren't that scary. But the fact is that baking with eggs has never been my favourite thing to do. Chucking a couple in a cake - no problem. When a dish showcases the eggs, however, like an omelette, a custard, or a pavlova... that's when I get tense. The egg curse has hit me one too many times. I've considered calling myself ovo-intolerant and just not using them, but the little buggers are just too useful.

So, with trepidation, I made my pavlovas and everything was going well, until I got to the beating till stiff stage. The meringue was shiny, pristinely white and firming up, when I smelt burning rubber. Smoke wisped from the side of my beaters, at the part where the cord runs into the body. The beaters sputtered, sighed and whipped their last.

Oh, I know it wasn't the fault of the eggs. But, damn it, something happens to me every time I cook with them. I have a new set of kitchen beaters that I bought for this eventuality. My old ones belonged to my great grandmother and I don't use them that often, because I knew they were close to going to the great kitchen in the sky, but I suppose I thought there was something special about making my first meringues with my Grandma Myrtle's beaters. And in the end, there was. If the beaters were going to die, this was the way to go.

I gently coiled the ruined cord around the body and tucked Great Grandma's beaters away. Then I finished the pavs with my new shiny, speedy, smug and soulless beaters. And as I said, they came out beautifully. A blend of traditional and modern, gentle-paced and speedy, my past and my future.

My mixer, sighing its last words:

Pavlova virgin...

Today, I'm planning on making pavlovas for the first time. I've always been nervous about meringues and the whole "beat till stiff and shiny" part. But it's time to bite the bullet. Lobster doesn't scare me anymore; nor does pie crust. Time to try making mini pavlovas. Inspired by a recipe I read for "Christmas Pavlova" in Nigella Lawson's How to be a Domestic Goddess, I'm going to use my mom's meringue recipe and flavour my mini pavs with rosewater (a la Nigella) and decorate them with dollops of whipped cream and pomegranate seeds. Raspberries would be yummy and so delicious, but pomegranates are in season now and I'm trying to eat more seasonally and locally and so on. (Not that pomegranates are local to my province, but anyways).

I'm planning on pairing the pavs with one of my favourite new DVDs and posting on it in the next few days. We'll see how it goes! (Beaters in one hand, fingers crossed on the other, muttering prayers under my breath to St Martha, patroness of bakers....)

A Bittersweet Partnership

Persuasion
1995; Amanda Root, Ciaran Hinds
Directed by Roger Michell

Of all Jane Austen's books, Persuasion was “the one most likely to make me cry.” Before I read Sense and Sensibility, Persuasion was my favourite of Austen’s novels and I still feel the most empathy for Anne Elliot than any of the other Austen heroines, except perhaps Elinor Dashwood. Persuasion is brilliant because it not only recognizes that suffering is part of love but opens up that suffering and shines a light on its every nuance. Reading the novel can be almost painful at times.

The film version, directed by Roger Michell and starring Amanda Root and Ciaran Hinds of the Royal Shakespeare Company, nails the suffering of Jane Austen’s Persuasion so perfectly that I almost wonder if the next time I read the book, Amanda Root’s large tortured eyes and beautiful, exquisitely sad face will have replaced my own mental image of Anne.

I never cry watching romantic films because even the most intelligent, unconventional rom-coms are still predictable. We know they’re going to end up together and it’s (somtimes) great and it’s (sometimes) satisfying but it doesn’t produce intense emotion in the viewer. Persuasion is more predictable than most, for me anyways and for all those who have read the book at least six times. But the directing, the gorgeous cinematography and especially the acting are just so good that I was moved to tears anyway. So many of the actor’s emotions are conveyed by facial expressions rather than dialogue and one would be hard pressed to find better actors to play Anne and Captain Wentworth than Root and Hinds. All I can say is, Bravo!

A bittersweet love story is best accompanied by a cranberry applesauce that combines the tartness and sweetness of autumn in one delicious (and beautiful) dish. I sometimes eat a piece of shortbread with this but it isn’t required. If making your own applesauce seems like a lot of work, please just commit to trying this recipe once. It really isn’t that hard (you don't even need a food mill) and it’s so good it will likely become a regular in your repertoire. Cranberry applesauce can be served as a side dish, as an appetizer, as breakfast, as dessert, hot, cold, or unaccompanied, which is perhaps the best way to experience its bittersweetness. (Unaccompanied, of course, except for the rugged face of Frederick Wentworth and the pathos in Anne Elliot’s eyes.)

CRANBERRY APPLESAUCE

1 cup fresh cranberries
Scant 3/4 cup sugar
2 cups apple juice (or water, if you don't have the juice, but it's better with the juice)
1 cinnamon stick
4 whole cloves
Juice of 1 lemon
2 1/2 pounds tart apples, such as Granny Smith, peeled, cored and roughly diced

In a heavy saucepan, bring the cranberries, sugar, apple juice, cinnamon stick, cloves and lemon juice to a boil over medium-high heat. Reduce to medium-low and simmer, stirring occasionally, for 5 minutes. Add the apples and bring back to a simmer. Simmer about 10 minutes, until the apples are soft, but not mush.

With a slotted spoon, scoop out the cranberries and apples and set them aside. Bring the syrup back to a boil and simmer until reduced to 1/2 cup, about 15 minutes. Remove from heat and taste. (Be careful! It will be very hot!!) If you want it more sweet, stir in some honey, a teaspoon at a time. Discard the cinnamon stick and cloves. Stir the syrup back into the fruits. Serve the applesauce warm, cold or room temperature. Store in the fridge, where it will keep (fierce and unabashed) for up to 1 week.