Media virgins go bananas!

What’s the link between a drive to recruit 130 health volunteers in the next year to share their skills overseas – and bananas?

The first bit is clear:  Katja and I both continue to support VSO, and agreed to lay ourselves bare (metaphorically) to local papers and broadcasters for a bit of publicity.  Our hope: to prompt one or two people to consider volunteering.

Fortunately a slick public relations company generated media interest - we just talk about Cambodia (which we can both do in long, thrilling detail!).

Our first breakthrough was an interview with the Oxford Mail.  Now I’m all for homeworking and family-friendly policies, but I suspect the journalist’s demanding toddler may have distracted her from some of the details of our story.

How else to explain my reported use of the word “helluva” (never once passed my lips).  Or indeed my alleged reference to Katja as “the girlfriend”.  (Our former VSO colleague Sarah likened this to her husband Perry calling her “my first wife”!).

Not to worry - whilst the headline became our unexpected romance, the recruitment message was still there for literally dozens of avid Mail readers last Saturday.

And that was just the start:  this afternoon our burgeoning tour of southern English local media led us to the Banbury Road studios of BBC Oxford.  Perfect - I always knew I had a face for radio!

The presenter, Nick Piercey, was friendly and articulate - and had done far more research (though even he managed to say I was an architect and she was a ‘Katie’!). 

He was also interesting and unpredictable:  we had tried to prepare by swotting up on the countries where VSO place volunteers, and the health issues they tackle.  “So what’s the point of studying philosophy?” came the first question (I paraphrase) – he wasn’t going to allow us to get away with a straightforward advert!

He had clearly read my blog from Cambodia, though I never expected him to home in on a random moment when I found myself watching a boxing match on television with a bunch of soldiers in the house of Ta Mok, the notorious Khmer Rouge butcher.

After stumbling my way through the story he understandably switched to Katja - but again had an unexpected angle, quizzing her on early experiences in East Germany when the wall came down. 

“Bananas!” she exclaimed - that was her enduring memory.  Driving an old Trabant over the border people would throw fruit through the windows, sharing the unknown luxury with their deprived Eastern countrymen.

He clearly loved the story - though, as with the newspaper article, it didn’t have much to do with recruiting volunteers for overseas development! 

But maybe that’s the deal (as we are learning, now we are no longer local media virgins).  What we have to give is an interesting story.  If recruiting volunteers didn’t end up as the main focus, that’s not a problem. 

Because the message is still there; it’s just partially obscured by the girlfriend’s bananas. 

Bath: city of milk and honey

Bath is famous for many things:  warm stone, hot springs, sizzling Mr Darcy.  Less so for cool food and chilled music – but this weekend it changed!

Rachel Demuth isn’t your average celebrity chef.  True, after 25 years her eponymous restaurant is an institution.  Now her cooking school has expanded to purpose-built kitchens and recently welcomed my all-time culinary hero, Yotam Ottolenghi.  If he likes it, it must be good.

Along with her head chef Richard, she is thoughtful, unshowy and lets her food do the talking.  Their latest project is to write about how cooking has evolved over the last quarter century.

Cynically, I asked if this just meant half the portion size for double the price.  Gently ignoring my provocation, they noted that availability of ingredients has grown exponentially, technology for transporting, storing, preparing and cooking has transformed, information and education are revolutionised by television shows and the web, and disposable income for buying food and eating out has rocketed. 

But how will this affect how, say, a cheese soufflé would be made now as opposed to the late 80s?  This is the angle they intend to take – again, they’ll let the food do the talking.

And it was actually the fancy soufflé-type stuff we were learning to do – partly to celebrate Katja's birthday weekend, and also as we hoped the one-day ‘cook to impress’ course would prepare us for a deluge of hungry guests when we move to our new house next week.

The concept makes a lot of sense:  when you have friends to dinner you want to spend time with them, not hours in the kitchen – and this is essentially the same challenge as restaurants have with customers arriving and expecting sophisticated food in just 20 minutes. 

The answer:  do it in advance.  Not just preparation, but also most of the cooking; and then heat, assemble and spend time with your friends – simple!

We also learned loads of top tips.  Blanche everything green, urged Richard, to fix the chlorophyll and retain the vibrant colours.  Smoke vegetables (in a smoking dish not a pipe!), which we did with potatoes to delicious effect.  If you don't have honey, make caramel simply by heating sugar in a pan – no need for water, just keep stirring and it magically melts.  And serve everything in threes.

The best tips were for milk products.  Butter featured highly, hopefully allowed in the context of occasional treats for friends.  Used to grease tins (not oil as I use, as it runs down the side), to coat pasta or gnocchi (the fat keeps it hot much longer than water), and to fry (rather than olive oil, which boils at too low a temperature).

Cream also arose, being added to a reduction of wine and stock to produce an intensely powerful sauce.  Mascarpone, I discovered, is also just cream with lemon juice added.  And I am seriously considering replacing all parmesan with the rich, crumbly Old Winchester.

And one last dairy tip – boiling mustard seeds with vinegar, sugar and water made a wonderful pickle – and even more so if the seeds are first soaked in (you guessed it), milk.

After fun in the kitchen we threw ourselves into Bath – mansions of delicious honey-coloured stone, quirky independent shops (especially B’s Booksellers), the impressive and relaxing Thermae spa, even a literature festival and half marathon to keep us amused.

Our most surprising find was Moles.  Buried minutes away from the Georgian splendour of the Royal Crescent, this is a proper, no-nonsense music venue.  Saturday’s band, The Milk, were a highlight of our trip - a funky mix of sca and pop, performed with confidence and an infectious sense of fun. 

And again, the guys from the band are not your average wannabe popstars – chatting afterwards they were friendly, modest and normal – they let their music do the talking. 

It’s the definition of a successful weekend:  we came to Bath expecting waters, and left having discovered milk and honey.