BINCHOTAN CHARCOAL AND CALLIGRAPHY BRUSHES – project “52”

23 July 2015

With no more time to waste Takahiro grabbed an old sake bag kneeled down to the fireplace and filled it up with binchotan charcoals.  They were just as good for keeping him warm, cooking with them or drawing, as well as keeping his water clear and pure.

Yes, drawing…  That reminded him to look under pile of hemp mosquito mesh where he was keeping his calligraphy brushes.  Long boar bristles and fine white and blue porcelain handles – they were jewels for him.

Well, that’s about all he needs.  Time to kiss the forehead and hand to his old mother and father, ask them forgiveness, guidance and blessing, and on the road to mystique Himalayas.
The road is long and winding...
© 2015 – sophia terra~ziva.  all rights reserved


HOMEMADE CULTURED BUTTER – MY HUMBLE “WELCOME” AND “THANK YOU”

19 July 2015

Every summer my parents would take a four-weeks break and we would share this time in resting in the high mountains and fun on the seaside of Bulgaria.  Filled up with fresh air from the highlands and adventures, games and new friendships we made on the beaches of Black Sea, we will get back home with the predictable detour – Aunty Mara, the old grandma of our friends who was still guarding her centuries-old stone build house as the last fortress of the deep-rooted traditions of the people from Valley of the Roses.
She was very strong and agile for her age and nothing and no one could wipe the always-ready smile of her face.  She was a joy to be around.  Our visits were exciting her and best way to show her delight was to spread a big table and snow it down with food, treats and small goods.  And it all was homemade – buffalo milk yoghurt, sheep milk brined white cheese, sausages, preserves, pickles, sweets, freshly baked bread and, of course, her staple cultured butter.  Ah, the taste of this butter, spread on the crunchy full of air pockets rustic sourdough bread with wild yeast passed down from many generations was unforgettable.
My sister and I were happy to run on her tiled backyard, chase the goat and count the chickens, while Mamma, Dad and Aunty Mara would sit under the mixed shadows of the grape vines, that has climbed all over the veranda roof.
It was a wonderful way to finish our summer break.  I will miss this peaceful carefree time and the delightful food from Aunty Mara, as they were for me more than a food.  They were a warm gesture of being loved and welcomed.
I think it is time to show you how much I am trilled every time you stop by to say "hello" or just to read my stories and look at my recent images.  Today I will greet you with the homemade cultured butter that I learned from the old knotty hands of Aunty Mara.
HOMEMADE CULTURED BUTTER:
600 gr or more pure double cream, which has to contain 51% milk fat or more
1 cup of natural yoghurt with Lactobacillus Bulgaricus
sea salt

Method:
Mix the pure double cream with the natural yoghurt, cover with clean cotton cloth and leave it on room temperature overnight or 24 hours until it reaches the thickness of yoghurt.  To check, just stir with a spoon and lift it high – it should run down in a thick ribbon instead of thin string.
Move the bowl with cream mixture in cool and dark place like the refrigerator for another 24 where it will mature and develop texture.
The next day the aged and ripened cream will be ready for churning.  It will help if you chill the tools you are going to use to churn the cream.
Thank Good, nowadays we have some helpful kitchen utensils and we don’t need to work the cream the old-fashioned way.  Pour the ripened cream into the chilled processor bowl and blitz it as you pay close attention, as the cream can turn lumpy and separate fast from the buttermilk.
Stop the churning when you see the buttermilk separates.  Pour the butter and the buttermilk in a strainer over a big clean bowl and collect the buttermilk.
In a clean bowl place the lump of butter and pour over it some chilled water.  With a wooden spoon or spatula start turning and kneading the butter till the water turns milky white.
Discard the water and continue to work and knead the butter with the wooden spatula until the butter develops creamy texture.  In the process of kneading incorporate the sea salt.

Place the butter on clean cotton cloth and pat it dry.  Press down and roll the fresh butter in desired shape with kitchen waxed baking paper and store in refrigerator.
Well, that is all.  You can’t have it any fresher or tastier!  And look at it, please – doesn’t it look like a golden nugget!

Till our next bread with butter!
My warm wishes,
Sophia
© 2015 – sophia terra~ziva.  all rights reserved


RUSTING MEMORIES, KEYS AND EVEREST – project “52”

15 July 2015

I gave you all the keys to my heart…
(strewn keys as riddle),
…You chose to climb Everest.

My memories are rusting;
The Tree of Life has rotten…

Who knew you loved me!



© 2015 – sophia terra~ziva.  all rights reserved


THE LEGEND OF THE TALKING TREE – project “52”

18 June 2015

It was a simple tree, ordinary looking tree.  No botanist would stop and think an invisible dragon guarded it.  The locals called the dragon Simorg and they would ask him for permission before cutting down a tree, as they feared they might cut the Tree of Life by accident.
The fruits it bore were full of wisdom.  The Elder of the village would come to ask the Tree of Life and its dragon to share some fruit and seed for well-needed knowledge, or to find answers of hidden secrets.  Every now and then the Elder came to sit down next to the tree, cradled between its knotty wooden fingers of tree roots that were clutching the earth deep down.  The juices of the roots were bringing up the tales and rumours from the world below.  The tree was buzzing with the stories from the Kingdom below and the wise man can tell that he can hear the tree talking.
One day the old man took along a strange young man, a botanist, who was visiting the village looking for the giant seedpods of the blackbean chestnut.  The tree was generous and dropped on the ground quite few seedpods for them to pick.  The elder cautioned the eager young man to take his time and listen and thank the tree.  “The nature is talking to you.  Harvest its wisdom,” explained the old man.  Than he sat down amongst the wooden fingers of the tree roots and let the young botanist wonder around the tree, collect and draw sketches of seedpods, branches, leaves and acorns.
When at late morning a squeezing feeling of hunger started to twist their stomachs, the elder offer him a modest snack with tinned sardines, dried olives, red onion and brown bread.  It all had so different taste and one would wonder if the fresh air, the hunger pangs or something about the place and the tree they were next to made the simple humble food taste so, so nice…
As they were sitting on the ground and enjoying the food, something whooshed and airstream twisted around them.  The young man jumped on his feet looking all around, trying to catch the invisible.  The old man chuckled in his white beard.  He knew the dragon was in good mood and having little amusement with the unenlightened botanist.  Then he looked up between the tree branches and whispered, “I know Simorg, we have some rectifying work ahead of us”.
Till we sit under the wise tree again,
Sophia

© 2015 – sophia terra~ziva.  all rights reserved

Proudly designed by Mlekoshi playground