Hogmanay

Since our annual community get-together last week we’ve been inundated with gift-bearing pilgrims from afar. At today’s breakfast count, ten different nationalities were stood or perched around the kitchen. And outside at the back, I can hardly move for all the panetone, stollen and clementines. On the other hand, having sorted it out, I can sit down and answer to coffee in a language of my choosing: “Si, Tak, Yes, Ja, Da, nice-one-Bruce”.

Down at the retreat house, Geoff and his workers have finished fitting out the library, which now awaits its books and the electronic catalogue that’s being developed by Sahan in Bradford and Ko Ko and Co. in Glasgow. The goodwill biscuits, which I enjoyed making last week, were packaged by Mame over Christmas into attractive parcels and yesterday afternoon four of us took to the lanes to deliver them. Returning along the back road in the half-light of early evening Ajahn Abhinando and I stopped to talk to a neighbour recovering her naughty hounds from the top of the hill: “Would we be doing something for the new year?” and “Would it be anything like a Scottish Hogmanay?” she asked. Well, yes and no: “No” to the whisky and reels. But “Yes” to the something. We didn’t go into details, but as many of you will be aware, each New Year people come to take part in the ‘Forgiveness and Aspiration’ ritual and to meditate together and drink tea. You are very welcome.

Then, during the first week of January most of our guests will trickle away to continue their working lives, as we ready ourselves for the winter retreat which begins on Sunday 7^th. In the kitchen, the way things look at the moment our needs are few:

• ‘bouillon’ stock
  
• red/green lentils
• eggs
  
• and some paprika perhaps.

Certainly we have a lot that is orange and round. On the other hand with two months of being shut away in store for four of us, a stock of savouries in the freezer would also be helpful.

As for the storesmaster, well his list keeps growing:

• cling film
• kitchen roll
• fire wood
• danish oila
• tough scrubbing brushes for the floor
• set of 3 ecover eco-balls
• ecover toilet cleaner
• lime scale remover
• wood saw
• throat lozenges
• herbal cough mixture

Thanks also, but we have plenty of the following:

toothbrushes, salt, instant coffee, towels, soap.

The Low Friars

This week there’s been lots of kitchen conversation on the theme of vegetarianism. But my only contribution is to notice there’s been no loss of life on the ‘veggies’ chopping board as a result. This is not to say, however, that there’s been no linguistic confusion in the kitchen. The arrival of mince pies, for example, has caused quite a stir amongst the continentals in our community: “What exactly is mincemeat?”… “Does it have meat in it?”… “Why is it called mincemeat then?”…“Isn’t it easily confused with minced meat?” “Is it suitable for vegetarians?”

Well, whatever it is their arrival is timely, since we’re right on the brink of our annual influx of seasonal visitors, who begin arriving tomorrow. For many, I suppose, it’s a chance to escape the general madness into our haven of hill-top sanity; though living here, that sanity isn’t always apparent. As an example, these last few afternoons the monastery kitchen has been more of a biscuit factory than a place of composed contemplative cooking, as I continued the yearly tradition of home-baking goodwill cookies for our neighbours. What they will do for relations between us remains unsure however: Ajahn Abhinando, stopping by to make tea for Geoff Jackson and his workers (who are down the hill building the retreat house library) suggested not much, when he stood there as I chopped chocolate, and laughed at his own imaginings of cracked teeth all over the parish. He made me laugh too, but he didn’t shake my optimism that they would turn out all melt-in-the-mouth. Anyway, what can you do? You make them, you bake them, and then they are what they are - which at the very worst is practice for the next time.

…the next time. Ajahn Munindo thinks that ‘the next time’ rather than baking biscuits, I might be a monk. Personally I’m not so sure about that. Although this Tuesday the ‘blinkered sceptic’ in me was challenged a bit, as Ajahn Sawaeng, Tan Hiriko, Ajahn Munindo and myself drove into Newcastle for the midday meal at Neo’s place in Chinatown. It’s the ‘@Bangkok Café’ and to get to it we rolled down ‘Monks Road’ and on to ‘Low Friar Street’, where it sits on the corner – few locations for a dana could feel more eerily fitting.

Except perhaps the top of Harnham Hill. So if you find yourself joining us at some point over Christmas, you might wish to know that the following would be helpful:

• Normal milk
• Tahini
• Tinned red kidney beans
• Paprika (sweet)
  

Other helpful items for outside the kitchen would be:

• Stamps (any value)
• Fire wood
• Danish Oil
• Tough scrubbing brushes for the floor
• Lime scale remover
  
• Wood saw
• Herbal cough mixture
• Throat lozenges
• Dust masks
• Ecover Toilet Cleaner
  

Silent Veggies

Following last week’s blog there was a welcome flood of root vegetables into the larder. Which is a good job too because I’ve just dropped our only resident Swede at the airport. Anagarika Arne joined us from Amaravati in the summer and leaves us now, taking his computer wizardry and his gentle appreciative eye with him. That’s a shame, but we wish him well. Neither is it our only loss. On Monday, Samanera Ñanamoli temporarily leaves us to spend the winter retreat at Chithurst. Now Samanera Ñanamoli is a sharp cookie, with his skilful finger in a few pies. But no role of his is more important (except perhaps as the Ajahn’s attendant), than that of breakfast master. So it’s been with interest and some anxiety that I’ve followed his recent transmission of the power porridge lineage to our new heir Anagarika Radek – good luck Radek and keep it thick.

In his new job, Radek will no doubt notice that I labelled the chopping boards this week. Not just because it’s been silent either – but also to avoid any future confusion between pineapples and onions. I labelled one board “for veggies only” thinking that to be unambiguous, until I later realised it might not be a wholly appropriate instruction in a monastery kitchen. Time will tell. At any rate, I know what I mean, so with me doing most of the cooking this past week, the community has, I think, been fairly safe.

One other event of much greater import: Today our office manager, Penny, and one of our committee members, Nick, were married in Scotland. Knowing therefore that she wouldn’t be here, and to mark the occasion, she offered all the ingredients to prepare and offer a meal on their behalf. I wondered to myself as I cooked whether they were enjoying haggis, neaps and tatties on their wedding day, but I suspect not. We wish them well.

…No, we are not in desperate need of tatties, neaps or haggis. Though the following would certainly be useful:

• Fruit
• Cheese
• Long-life semi-skimmed milk
• Turmeric, garam masala and ground coriander.

Not edible, but also of use to the stores master would be…

• Stamps (any value)
• Fire wood
• Danish Oil
• Teak Oil
• Tough scrubbing brushes for the floor
• AA batteries

Thanks, but we’ve plenty of the following:

Toothbrushes, salt, instant coffee, towels, soap.

On The Road

This week the monastery kitchen took to the road, as Tun Hiriko, Samanera Ñanamoli and I spent a night out in the wilds. Judging by the weight of his rucksack Ñanamoli might not have left the sink behind. But I made do with the dripping rock above our heads and a brushwood stove. I enjoyed it very much; the simplicity and improvisation of working with an open fire – the primitive pleasure of sitting around together staring into the embers. Come the morning we returned under a bright moon, stopping in the trees to lay our Guardian Weekly tablecloth over the beech leaves and prepare breakfast: Which amongst other things (but not porridge) consisted of Kendal Mint Cake – as used “by the successful British Everest Expedition in 1975 and by other great expeditions since the turn of the twentieth century.” Quite, indeed.

Wednesday proved something of an expedition too. The stove stayed cold, the monastery closed down and the whole community headed south as an A1 Buddhist convoy, until we arrived at the Thai restaurant in Kathy's hotel, the Sun Dial in Northallerton, for the midday meal offering.

And so today's meal consisted of reheated Thai food which Kathy and her staff kindly gave to us on leaving. With a few additions here, a few additions there, and a little jiggery-pokery with Anagarika Radek's pasta, I managed a new variation on our east-west theme. It happens often, actually, that I find jiggery-pokery a useful skill; the ability to embellish and embroider a bit; to be the spin-doctor of the monastery kitchen, reworking yesterday's food to successfully offer it today. I see it as serving economy and thrift and its outcome as a canny test of monastic dispassion.

This coming week will be somewhat different as we all go silent and stay put – one of a number of 'silent weeks' dotted through the year which the Ajahn views as our contribution to global sanity. Personally speaking, I find them a challenge to my sanity. So having the daily task of preparing a meal can be a welcome and fruitful distraction; an interesting one too, if it involves the silent ‘co-operation’ of a visiting guest. It’s strange to work like that with someone; sometimes fraught with tension, sometimes peaceful and companionable. Rather like the silence itself. Either way, the view from the monastery kitchen is not the same.

Right now though, the view shows that the following would be helpful:

• Soya milk (preferably GM-free)
• Semi-skimmed long-life milk
• Tahini
• Brown rice
• Garlic and root ginger
• Root vegetables
• Cheese

And that some additional items would also prove useful to the storesmaster:

• Batteries (size AA, AAA)
  
• Stamps (any value)
• Fire wood
• Danish oil
• Teak oil
• Long matches
• Old newspapers (not just for tablecloths)

Thanks you too, but we have plenty of the following:

Toothbrushes, salt, instant coffee, towels and soap.

Pestle and Mortar

Thursday evening already and I seem to have spent more time behind the wheel than in front of the stove. Together with all the medical trips, dental trips and premature departures, I could be forgiven for a little paranoia; for wondering if there is a conspiracy to keep me out the kitchen, or why Tan Hiriko needs inoculations, or Ajahn Abhinando his teeth looking at. “Is it my vege-stew?” “Is it my bread?” When our friend Maureen arrived with her mortar board I couldn’t help conclude she was dropping a hint to that effect. What ever next? Caretaker Richard bringing his power tools to the meal? Sometimes, it’s difficult to get things just right; either the bread’s half baked or its ‘crusty’ enough to challenge vows of harmlessness and I’m left thinking I should stick with the driving.

Though perhaps I do myself a disservice… Maureen’s-mortar-board was, after all, of the academic variety. It was fitting therefore, that a day or two later we were visited by a group of young religious-studies students from York, who cooked and offered the meal. Well… there was nothing half-baked about their home-bake. Their questions afterwards were pretty good too.

That was on the Tuesday. The next day saw a Sri-Lankan/Thai co-operation in the kitchen. Sompong and Hall, two of our Wednesday-regulars, brought their grandson Liam with them – an inquisitive and likeable young lad who took great delight in the mains water failure prior to washing up. “You didn’t. Did you?” he exclaimed as I told him I’d informed Northumbrian Water we had “a young boy here, desperate to get stuck into a pile of dishes, and where is our water?” I really ought to be more careful with my precepts (as well as those Ikea drinks glasses).

…Mortar, mortar-boards, pestle and mortars. I could continue the theme with talk of Samanera Nanamoli’s power-porridge, but no one would believe me after last Sunday’s Dhamma talk: Everyone thought the Ajahn was suggesting the reality is preferable to the concept, but maybe he was just pointing out the difference. You’ll have to come and see for yourself won’t you?

If you do, perhaps you could keep in mind our need of the following:

• Soya milk
• Long life milk
• Tomatoes
• Brown rice
• Tahini

And the fact that we have plenty of salt, instant coffee, white rice, towels, soap and toothbrushes.

Rumour has it that the stores-master would also find the following useful:

• Stamps (any value)
• Fire wood
• Teak oil
• Danish oil
• Microporous sticking plaster
• Old newspaper (for fires)

Transferred

With two mornings of dry weather it’s been more like ‘view from the kitchen roof’, as my skill scrubbing carrots was transferred to the plastic corrugations above the back path. I teetered on egg shells and slimy planks trying to avoid an appointment with the stone flags beneath and asked myself if it was worth the bother; they leak like the new sieve from Mame and need replacing like the old one, which couldn’t distinguish water from rice. The newly-returned Ajahn Sawaeng nearly got a soaking from on-high, but otherwise no one seemed to mind my absence from the kitchen, which is not surprising with our Italian friends around. Yesterday, for instance, was the birthday of our good friend Cesare; a kind and refined Milano gentleman with a surprising distaste for coffee, and English grammar acquired from Jane Austen and the Bloomsbury group. He invited various friends to join us (all past visitors of the informally emergent ‘Ratanagiri-Milan branch’, for whom Northumberland is more accessible than Rome) and gave his culinary flair – as well as theirs – a long leash. Happy birthday Cesare.

For the rest, our needs remain the same as the blog in the beginning – though did I mention egg shells??? Then we must be using them all up. They rarely languish in the cupboard for long and are almost always welcome. Along with the occasional bottle of fresh milk. Till next Friday…

In the Beginning

Welcome to our new blog from the kitchen of Harnham Buddhist Monastery, otherwise know as Aruna Ratanagiri. It was the abbot, Ajahn Munindo’s idea. And when it was first mentioned it set me thinking, remembering something I’d read in a novel of Peter Hoeg’s. He reckoned no matter how grand the house or how attractive the other rooms, people always gravitated to the kitchen; the hub; the place where people live out their lives in the domestic situation. I thought about this in the context of the monastery. And actually, it more or less holds true here at Harnham. Yes, yes, I know that the senior monks diligently stay away; and the Dhamma Hall is the heart of the community, but the truth is - no kitchen, no food, no monastery. Ask Maslow.

Or come and see for yourself. See where people brew tea before puja; meet for chores; greet each other; gather for breakfast; discuss the day’s work; meet in the evening; first go when they arrive at the monastery; share, work and talk when preparing food. It’s the kitchen. The place where the formal midday meal is usually offered – a link where the monastic and lay communities meet in a very human way.

Which is what this blog is about. Generating a link. It’s not an official monastery press release. It’s the blog from me, Jim, the kitchen manager. An interesting word I think, blog. Like a blend of “blag” and “plod” that might well describe the credentials of its author. Not necessarily representative, therefore, of the community’s or the abbot’s views. Just "A view from". Those of you who’ve been here will know that the actual view from our kitchen is obscure and unspectacular. That it looks through two sets of windows - which are not cleaned as regularly as they could be - past neglected shrubs and clumps of sycamore trees. You look out whilst chopping parsnips, to see the fine morning weather beyond. Dear reader, please take that as the metaphor, whilst I try my best to approximate to a true rendering of kitchen events and needs. Hopefully I'll have more luck than I do approximating to recipes.

Talking of which, a few words if I may on ingredients. Sometimes I'm asked “what kind of food do you eat or cook at the monastery?” Which is a difficult question to answer, given the variety of cooks and cultural influences. But if I had to give our ‘style’ some sort of a label I'd say it was “fly-by-the-seat-of-your-pants-east-west-fusion” (still talking about the kitchen, you understand?) That means we are sincerely grateful for whatever's offered, and work with it. Nevertheless, it's helpful, given the extent of people's generosity combined with our limited storage space, to be able to identify what we really need and what we have in excess. So, if you consult this blog, you can rest assured your offerings will be quickly in the pan and avoid a neglected, languishing life in the cupboard before they're used.

Quickly-in-the-pan just now, would be:

· Semi-skimmed long-life milk

· Soya milk (preferably GM-free)

· Tahini

· Coconut milk

· Tomatoes/tinned tomatoes

Neglected-and-languishing just now, would be:

· Salt

· Instant coffee

· Black tea

· Biscuits

I have heard from the monastery’s Stores Master that the following would be helpful:

· Stamps (any value)

· Ecover Multi Surface Cleaner

· Fire Wood

· Teak Oil (from builders merchant)

For those of you who might enjoy sharing the view from our kitchen, it is my aim to update this every Friday.