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added content to article pages

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alicestrt 5 years ago
parent 8e1771ce3e
commit 1131b49b20
14 changed files with 760 additions and 668 deletions
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9
src/components/SplashPage.vue
Unescape Escape View File

@ -36,13 +36,18 @@ a {
width: 100%;
}
.container_width {
max-width: 100%;
padding-left: 0px;
padding-right: 0px;
}
</style>
<template>
<div>
<MenuBar/>
<b-container fluid>
<b-container fluid class="container_width">
<b-row>
<b-col md="6">
<p id="mag_title">Magiun</p>
@ -85,7 +90,7 @@ a {
</b-row>
<b-row>
<b-col md="3">
<a href="/preztel"><b-img class="img-fluid" center src="media/pretzel.png"></b-img></a>
<a href="/pretzel"><b-img class="img-fluid" center src="media/pretzel.png"></b-img></a>
</b-col>
<b-col md="3">

115
src/components/bbq.vue
Unescape Escape View File

@ -2,6 +2,8 @@
* {
border: 0px black solid;
background-color: #ffe6e6;
}
@ -16,106 +18,61 @@ a {
color: gray;
}
.content {
padding-right: 50px;
.title_story {
font-size: 80px;
font-family: 'Viga', sans-serif;
padding-left: 20px;
padding-top: 20px;
}
.container_width {
max-width: 100%;
padding-left: 0px;
padding-right: 0px;
}
</style>
<template>
<b-container fluid>
<b-container fluid class="container_width">
<MenuBar/>
<b-row>
<b-col md="6">
<h1>Egg story</h1>
<p class="title_story">Balcony Marinade</p>
</b-col>
</b-row>
<b-row>
<b-col md="6">
<p class='content'>
My brother has started cooking eggs. A marker of his independence, his progression into manhood. I woke up one morning to a picture he’d sent me of his craftwork the night before.
<br>
As I slept, he’d got cooking.
<br>
<br>
The eggs, his omelet, became a hot topic of conversation at the dinner table that evening.
<br>
<br>
“You need to flip it both sides, make sure it’s golden brown.” Dad had said between forkfuls of food. “Make sure the oil is piping hot, you want to hear that sizzle. I recommend smoked ham, peppers and onions.”
“It doesn’t matter if it scrambles, as long as it tastes good.” Mum encouraged.
“You don’t want the oil too hot,” I warned. “Otherwise the eggs will just wither and burn, you don’t want a weird, scrambled omelet. And don’t add meat. Vegetables are enough.”
<br>
<br>
After some further nights of experimentation, it transpired that my brother’s favorite filling was in fact cheese.
My nan took it upon herself to stand guard over the procedure the following week. The egg wasn’t cooking. “The oil is too cold; it won’t do anything.” He’d taken my advice too literally. I then heard my Nan order: “flip it like this, don’t move it, don’t touch, wait, leave it.”
“You need to be more patient”.
My dad happened to walk past. “Don’t break the eggs over the hob like that, you’re making a mess and life difficult for yourself. Here. Crack it like this.”
“I don’t know how to crack the eggs properly,” my brother replied. “I’ll just practice. Let me do it myself.”
<br>
<br>
It turned out my brother doesn’t like yolk. Or at least, if he has to eat it, it needs to be very, very hard. Funny because neither my mum nor I like yolk either, unless it’s also cooked that way. My dad thinks we’re mad “a runny yolk is the best bit.”
<br>
<br>
My brother then tried to move on to fried eggs, but didn't think he cooked the first batch properly. He felt sick the next day and went to bed early.
<br>
<br>
I woke up the next morning to yet another picture of a prized omelets. I guess he was sticking to what he knows.
Dad commented this one looked much better, he’d obviously taken his advice.
Nan said it was definitely down to her personal coaching.
Mum didn’t make a comment. She’d liked the look of them all.
As for me, I’m not even going to pretend it was because of my frankly lousy egg advice.
<br>
<br>
Since then, I’ve received practically a galleries worth of images of omelets victories.
<br>
<br>
And as some may count this current period through the changing of days, the passing of weeks and the tick of the clock. In our household, the marker of time rests amongst the eggs, the oil and the pan, between the omelets made and the omelets ate.</p>
<b-col md="2">
</b-col>
<b-col md="6">
<b-container fluid>
<b-row>
<b-col md="3">
</b-col>
<b-col md="6">
<b-img class="img-fluid" src="media/eggs/egg1.png"> </b-img>
</b-col>
<b-col md="3">
</b-col>
</b-row>
<b-row>
<b-col md="12">
<p></p>
</b-col>
</b-row>
<b-row>
<b-col md="3">
</b-col>
<b-col md="6">
<b-img class="img-fluid" src="media/eggs/egg2.png"> </b-img>
</b-col>
<b-col md="3">
</b-col>
</b-row>
</b-container>
<b-col md="4">
<b-img center class="img-fluid" src="media/bbq/bag.jpg"></b-img>
</b-col>
</b-row>
</b-container>
<b-col md="4">
<b-img center class="img-fluid" src="media/bbq/convo.PNG"></b-img>
</b-col>
<b-col md="2">
</b-col>
</b-row>
</b-container>
</template>
<script>
import MenuBar from './MenuBar'
export default {
name: 'eggs',
name: 'bbq',
data: function() {
return {
}

75
src/components/breakfast.vue
Unescape Escape View File

@ -1,9 +1,20 @@
<style scoped>
@import url('https://fonts.googleapis.com/css2?family=Viga&display=swap');
@import url('https://fonts.googleapis.com/css2?family=Roboto+Mono&display=swap');
* {
border: 0px black solid;
background-color: #ffe6e6;
}
.title_story {
font-size: 80px;
font-family: 'Viga', sans-serif;
padding-left: 20px;
padding-top: 20px;
}
a:hover {
@ -18,69 +29,61 @@ a {
.content {
padding-right: 50px;
padding-top: 20px;
padding-top: 40px;
font-family: 'Roboto Mono', monospace;
font-size: 15px;
padding-left: 20px;
}
#egg_images img {
width: 100%;
padding-top: 40px;
}
.container_width {
max-width: 100%;
padding-left: 0px;
padding-right: 0px;
}
</style>
<template>
<b-container fluid>
<b-container fluid class="container_width">
<MenuBar/>
<b-row>
<b-col md="6">
<h1>Breakfast</h1>
<p class="title_story">Breakfasts</p>
</b-col>
</b-row>
<b-row>
<b-col md="5">
<p class='content'>
I have started eating in the morning, actually eating, not just chugging sugarless coffee on an empty stomach and calling it intermitent fasting.
<br>
<br>
<div class='content'>
<p>I have started eating in the morning, actually eating, not just chugging sugarless coffee on an empty stomach and calling it intermittent fasting.
</p>
<p>
I have also started to cook more without any recipe, just by following my proverbial and literal gut, and the results are surprisingly good.
<br>
<br>
</p>
<p>
I know I am a good cook for most of the time but I also feel the need for validation, so eating alone, though not unprecedented, is something I have yet to get accustomed to.
<br>
<br>
I've attached some photos in hopes that I would somewhat get the validation I was mentioning earlier. 
</p>
<p>
I've attached some photos in hopes that I would somewhat get the validation I was mentioning earlier.</p>
</div>
</b-col>
<b-col md="7">
<b-container fluid>
<b-container fluid id="egg_images">
<b-row>
<b-col md="3">
</b-col>
<b-col md="6">
<b-img class="img-fluid" src="media/breakfast/breakfast2.jpg"> </b-img>
</b-col>
<b-col md="3">
</b-col>
</b-row>
<b-row>
<b-col md="12">
<p></p>
</b-col>
</b-row>
<b-row>
<b-col md="3">
</b-col>
<b-col md="6">
<b-img class="img-fluid" src="media/breakfast/breakfast1.jpg"> </b-img>
</b-col>
<b-col md="3">
</b-col>
</b-row>
</b-container>
</b-col>
</b-row>
@ -90,7 +93,7 @@ I've attached some photos in hopes that I would somewhat get the validation I wa
<script>
import MenuBar from './MenuBar'
export default {
name: 'eggs',
name: 'breakfast',
data: function() {
return {
}

115
src/components/cake.vue
Unescape Escape View File

@ -1,9 +1,20 @@
<style scoped>
@import url('https://fonts.googleapis.com/css2?family=Viga&display=swap');
@import url('https://fonts.googleapis.com/css2?family=Roboto+Mono&display=swap');
* {
border: 0px black solid;
background-color: #ffe6e6;
}
.title_story {
font-size: 80px;
font-family: 'Viga', sans-serif;
padding-left: 20px;
padding-top: 20px;
}
a:hover {
@ -18,93 +29,63 @@ a {
.content {
padding-right: 50px;
padding-top: 20px;
padding-top: 40px;
font-family: 'Roboto Mono', monospace;
font-size: 15px;
padding-left: 20px;
}
#egg_images img {
width: 100%;
padding-top: 40px;
}
.container_width {
max-width: 100%;
padding-left: 0px;
padding-right: 0px;
}
</style>
<template>
<b-container fluid>
<b-container fluid class="container_width">
<MenuBar/>
<b-row>
<b-col md="6">
<h1>Egg story</h1>
<p class="title_story">The bite that keeps on chewing</p>
</b-col>
</b-row>
<b-row>
<b-col md="6">
<p class='content'>
My brother has started cooking eggs. A marker of his independence, his progression into manhood. I woke up one morning to a picture he’d sent me of his craftwork the night before.
<br>
As I slept, he’d got cooking.
<br>
<br>
The eggs, his omelet, became a hot topic of conversation at the dinner table that evening.
<br>
<br>
“You need to flip it both sides, make sure it’s golden brown.” Dad had said between forkfuls of food. “Make sure the oil is piping hot, you want to hear that sizzle. I recommend smoked ham, peppers and onions.”
“It doesn’t matter if it scrambles, as long as it tastes good.” Mum encouraged.
“You don’t want the oil too hot,” I warned. “Otherwise the eggs will just wither and burn, you don’t want a weird, scrambled omelet. And don’t add meat. Vegetables are enough.”
<br>
<br>
After some further nights of experimentation, it transpired that my brother’s favorite filling was in fact cheese.
My nan took it upon herself to stand guard over the procedure the following week. The egg wasn’t cooking. “The oil is too cold; it won’t do anything.” He’d taken my advice too literally. I then heard my Nan order: “flip it like this, don’t move it, don’t touch, wait, leave it.”
“You need to be more patient”.
My dad happened to walk past. “Don’t break the eggs over the hob like that, you’re making a mess and life difficult for yourself. Here. Crack it like this.”
“I don’t know how to crack the eggs properly,” my brother replied. “I’ll just practice. Let me do it myself.”
<br>
<br>
It turned out my brother doesn’t like yolk. Or at least, if he has to eat it, it needs to be very, very hard. Funny because neither my mum nor I like yolk either, unless it’s also cooked that way. My dad thinks we’re mad “a runny yolk is the best bit.”
<br>
<br>
My brother then tried to move on to fried eggs, but didn't think he cooked the first batch properly. He felt sick the next day and went to bed early.
<br>
<br>
I woke up the next morning to yet another picture of a prized omelets. I guess he was sticking to what he knows.
Dad commented this one looked much better, he’d obviously taken his advice.
Nan said it was definitely down to her personal coaching.
Mum didn’t make a comment. She’d liked the look of them all.
As for me, I’m not even going to pretend it was because of my frankly lousy egg advice.
<br>
<br>
Since then, I’ve received practically a galleries worth of images of omelets victories.
<br>
<br>
And as some may count this current period through the changing of days, the passing of weeks and the tick of the clock. In our household, the marker of time rests amongst the eggs, the oil and the pan, between the omelets made and the omelets ate.</p>
<b-col md="5">
<div class='content'>
<p>
Lately there’s been a lot commotion around baking. I guess that, during these times of economic uncertainty and increased safety in regards to our health, baking has regained its historic potential in terms of comforting and nurturing our struggles. Whether we bake a modest loaf of bread, or we venture in the realm of flamboyant pastries, there’s no denying that it is a zesty and satisfying endeavor.
</p>
<p>
For me, this lockdown has been considerably ameliorated by the prospects of cooking as a practice which brings order, stability and serious amounts of satisfaction. I’ve been tapping into some behaviors which I rarely had time for prior to this forced isolation situation. I’ve been seriously developing a structuring habit in terms of batch-cooking and efficiently (re-)using ingredients which resulted in minimal waste, compared to earlier days when I had to deal with forsaken spoiled items that didn’t get the chance to be prepared in any way. I’ve also previously had a strange aversion for working with dough, batter and ovens, mainly being intimidated by my past failures with unrisen cakes and rock-hard pizza crusts. Thus, having more time on my hands during the lockdown has resulted in an enhanced persistence and a newly found soft spot for baking.
</p>
<p>
However, it’s hard to find resources which were quite common prior to this lockdown situation. Stockpiling and other anxious behaviors make it difficult to still come across the basics, such as yeast or plain wheat flour, which are main staples of European dough. In an attempt to stay resourceful and simultaneously seek novelty, I’ve started looking into rice flours and their glutinous possibilities. The incredibly gratifying chew of Japanese mochi soon revealed itself to me in cake form: Black Sesame Mochi Cake with Black Sesame Caramel.
</p>
</div>
</b-col>
<b-col md="6">
<b-container fluid>
<b-col md="7">
<b-container fluid id="egg_images">
<b-row>
<b-col md="3">
<b-col md="2">
</b-col>
<b-col md="6">
<b-img class="img-fluid" src="media/eggs/egg1.png"> </b-img>
<b-col md="8">
<b-img class="img-fluid" src="media/cake/black_sesame_mochi_cake.jpg"> </b-img>
</b-col>
<b-col md="3">
<b-col md="2">
</b-col>
</b-row>
<b-row>
<b-col md="12">
<p></p>
</b-col>
<p>The recipe is as follows</p>
</b-row>
<b-row>
<b-col md="3">
</b-col>
<b-col md="6">
<b-img class="img-fluid" src="media/eggs/egg2.png"> </b-img>
</b-col>
<b-col md="3">
</b-col>
</b-row>
</b-container>
</b-col>
@ -115,7 +96,7 @@ And as some may count this current period through the changing of days, the pass
<script>
import MenuBar from './MenuBar'
export default {
name: 'eggs',
name: 'cake',
data: function() {
return {
}

164
src/components/cart.vue
Unescape Escape View File

@ -1,9 +1,18 @@
<style scoped>
@import url('https://fonts.googleapis.com/css2?family=Viga&display=swap');
@import url('https://fonts.googleapis.com/css2?family=Roboto+Mono&display=swap');
* {
border: 0px black solid;
background-color: #ffe6e6;
}
.container_width {
max-width: 100%;
padding-left: 0px;
padding-right: 0px;
}
a:hover {
@ -18,72 +27,71 @@ a {
.content {
padding-right: 50px;
padding-top: 40px;
font-family: 'Roboto Mono', monospace;
font-size: 15px;
padding-left: 20px;
}
.title_story {
font-size: 80px;
font-family: 'Viga', sans-serif;
padding-left: 20px;
padding-top: 20px;
}
.image_container {
padding-top: 40px;
}
</style>
<template>
<b-container fluid>
<b-container fluid class="container_width">
<MenuBar/>
<b-row>
<b-col md="6">
<h1>Egg story</h1>
<p class="title_story">My Quarantine Kitchen Story</p>
</b-col>
</b-row>
<b-row>
<b-col md="6">
<p class='content'>
My brother has started cooking eggs. A marker of his independence, his progression into manhood. I woke up one morning to a picture he’d sent me of his craftwork the night before.
<br>
As I slept, he’d got cooking.
<br>
<br>
The eggs, his omelet, became a hot topic of conversation at the dinner table that evening.
<br>
<br>
“You need to flip it both sides, make sure it’s golden brown.” Dad had said between forkfuls of food. “Make sure the oil is piping hot, you want to hear that sizzle. I recommend smoked ham, peppers and onions.”
“It doesn’t matter if it scrambles, as long as it tastes good.” Mum encouraged.
“You don’t want the oil too hot,” I warned. “Otherwise the eggs will just wither and burn, you don’t want a weird, scrambled omelet. And don’t add meat. Vegetables are enough.”
<br>
<br>
After some further nights of experimentation, it transpired that my brother’s favorite filling was in fact cheese.
My nan took it upon herself to stand guard over the procedure the following week. The egg wasn’t cooking. “The oil is too cold; it won’t do anything.” He’d taken my advice too literally. I then heard my Nan order: “flip it like this, don’t move it, don’t touch, wait, leave it.”
“You need to be more patient”.
My dad happened to walk past. “Don’t break the eggs over the hob like that, you’re making a mess and life difficult for yourself. Here. Crack it like this.”
“I don’t know how to crack the eggs properly,” my brother replied. “I’ll just practice. Let me do it myself.”
<br>
<br>
It turned out my brother doesn’t like yolk. Or at least, if he has to eat it, it needs to be very, very hard. Funny because neither my mum nor I like yolk either, unless it’s also cooked that way. My dad thinks we’re mad “a runny yolk is the best bit.”
<br>
<br>
My brother then tried to move on to fried eggs, but didn't think he cooked the first batch properly. He felt sick the next day and went to bed early.
<br>
<br>
I woke up the next morning to yet another picture of a prized omelets. I guess he was sticking to what he knows.
Dad commented this one looked much better, he’d obviously taken his advice.
Nan said it was definitely down to her personal coaching.
Mum didn’t make a comment. She’d liked the look of them all.
As for me, I’m not even going to pretend it was because of my frankly lousy egg advice.
<br>
<br>
Since then, I’ve received practically a galleries worth of images of omelets victories.
<br>
<br>
And as some may count this current period through the changing of days, the passing of weeks and the tick of the clock. In our household, the marker of time rests amongst the eggs, the oil and the pan, between the omelets made and the omelets ate.</p>
<b-col md="5">
<div class='content'>
<p>I first came to the Netherlands with zero domestic skills whatsoever. However, I quickly understood that my previous dining-out-forever lifestyle would be ridiculously expensive in the Netherlands and thus I began to learn some domestic skills. However, just a little over a month into coming back to the Netherlands permanently, the Covid19 pandemic hit. Soon after, the Dutch prime minister began his address to the nation, then social distancing and work-from-home measures came into effect. Meanwhile, back home in the Philippines, my older sister and her fiance were in 14-day home quarantine because her boyfriend came into contact with someone whose family had contracted Covid19 (fortunately my sister and her boyfriend never showed any symptoms throughout their quarantine) and my dad was in home isolation as well and was exhibiting some symptoms (which also very fortunately turned out to be just a bad cough that came with a flu). With much paranoia, I urged my partner that we must stay at home in isolation as far as possible, including avoiding going to the supermarket for fear of coming into contact with strangers. He indulged my pandemic paranoia and obliged. 
</p>
<p>
Our first online grocery delivery with Jumbo went well without a hitch; we had two weeks worth of food. As the days passed my anxiety dissipated largely due to the fact that my dad and my sister turned out to be okay (our worst fears fortunately did not actualise). Whatever residual anxiety and frustration I still had was mostly channelled into sending donations back home to my university alma matter's public hospital (a Covid19 referral hospital) and some other great Covid19 relief initiatives of my sorority sisters and my law school classmates. My emotions having calmed down, I had to pre-occupy myself with something other than fighting the urge to yell at the people I saw outside our window who were NOT observing social distancing guidelines. I did not want to be the new neighbourhood crazy person who yells at random strangers from their balcony (not a great look for me). And so, it was best that I return to my domestic-skills-acquisition lessons. 
</p>
<p>
As our food supplies were depleted, we tried to book another delivery slot with Jumbo but the soonest date we could get our hands on was almost a month away and all the other supermarket delivery platforms were just as far off. Still determined to stay away from any place that had more that 2 people, I scrambled to find alternative suppliers online. After hours upon hours of searching on the internet, my partner and I were able to find alternative food suppliers. We had toko4all.nl (mylittlephilippines) for asian ingredients; mushroomxl.nl for produce; beefensteak.nl for meats; boerthijsbezorgt.nl for dairy and a few produce items; and kaasmarktonline.nl (Van den Herik) for cheese. It was really interesting to find out about these small and medium scale businesses as each of them seemed to have their own story as traders and farmers. For the most part, their services felt very personal because we got to talk to them on the phone for one reason or another even if we ordered everything online. Strangely enough the packaging that their products were delivered in seemed to match our impression of their "personalities". We almost always get sweet little freebies from toko4all.nl (mylittlephilippines), and the couple that owns it even personally delivered our order to our door one time when they struggled to send our order via their normal delivery provider. They're clearly my favourite supplier discovery (I might be biased because I love getting free snacks) but generally all of our alternative suppliers really provide high-quality products and excellent customer service. My partner and I have decided to keep some of them as food suppliers post-pandemic, augmenting them with supermarket purchases only for a handful of products that are too expensive for us to continue purchasing regularly or household products we need but are not available from our alternative suppliers. I'm not really sure why we never considered getting our food from sources other than the supermarket, but this experience has definitely taught us a different way of doing things in our household. 
</p>
<p>
But of course because they weren't supermarkets, the product options weren't as extensive. We just had to work with whatever products they had on hand and whatever bulk quantities we had to buy them in (either to meet minimum delivery requirements or to optimise delivery costs). My domestic skills lessons had become a domestic skills mission boot camp. I took over the kitchen full-time and my partner was demoted from chef to dishwasher. 
</p>
<p>
First step was to plan a menu schedule based on what our alternative suppliers had on hand. It felt like I was on that cooking show where they had those mystery ingredient challenges - challenge accepted. I learned a slew of new recipes from my own asian background plus a lot of other culinary cultures. I also summoned my memories of my paternal grandmother's food preservation techniques and dishes. This was largely guesswork because, while my huge paternal family is almost ALWAYS EATING when we're all together (my partner can attest to this from his being politely over-fed by random family members of mine), I never paid much attention to the cooking and only pretty much took part in the eating of the food. Planning a month's worth of meals may seem overly dramatic, but it was really more to ensure that the food we ordered would not go to waste and that we would have enough food until the next delivery. We did deviate from the menu schedule on occasion and moved around some of the dishes, such as when certain ingredients were about to go bad sooner than we anticipated. Although now we know better the approximate shelf life of our food and try to arrange our fridge and pantry according to expiration date. The desserts and sweets are not projected on the menu plan and are randomly rationed based on intensity-of-craving-in-
</p>
<p>
The social distancing guidelines and the semi-self-imposed home quarantine has definitely accelerated my domestic skills acquisition, although my partner still maintains ardently that he's the better cook despite his demotion to dishwasher. Oddly enough, I've found joy and calm in this new process as it becomes our new normal and we learn to cope together. 
</p>
</div>
</b-col>
<b-col md="6">
<b-col md="7">
<b-container fluid>
<div class="image_container">
<b-row>
<b-col md="3">
<b-col md="1">
</b-col>
<b-col md="6">
<b-img class="img-fluid" src="media/eggs/egg1.png"> </b-img>
<b-col md="10">
<b-img class="img-fluid" src="media/cart/Food_Tocilog.jpg"> </b-img>
</b-col>
<b-col md="3">
<b-col md="1">
</b-col>
</b-row>
@ -93,18 +101,74 @@ And as some may count this current period through the changing of days, the pass
</b-col>
</b-row>
<b-row>
<b-col md="3">
<b-col md="1">
</b-col>
<b-col md="6">
<b-img class="img-fluid" src="media/eggs/egg2.png"> </b-img>
<b-col md="10">
<b-img class="img-fluid" src="media/cart/1Planner.JPG"> </b-img>
</b-col>
<b-col md="3">
<b-col md="1">
</b-col>
</b-row>
<b-row>
<b-col md="12">
<p></p>
</b-col>
</b-row>
<b-row>
<b-col md="1">
</b-col>
<b-col md="10">
<b-img class="img-fluid" src="media/cart/2Planner.JPG"> </b-img>
</b-col>
<b-col md="1">
</b-col>
</b-row>
<b-row>
<b-col md="12">
<p></p>
</b-col>
</b-row>
<b-row>
<b-col md="1">
</b-col>
<b-col md="10">
<b-img class="img-fluid" src="media/cart/3Planner.JPG"> </b-img>
</b-col>
<b-col md="1">
</b-col>
</b-row>
<b-row>
<b-col md="12">
<p></p>
</b-col>
</b-row>
<b-row>
<b-col md="1">
</b-col>
<b-col md="10">
<b-img class="img-fluid" src="media/cart/4Planner.jpg"> </b-img>
</b-col>
<b-col md="1">
</b-col>
</b-row>
</div>
</b-container>
</b-col>

75
src/components/eggs.vue
Unescape Escape View File

@ -10,7 +10,7 @@
}
.title_story {
font-size: 40px;
font-size: 80px;
font-family: 'Viga', sans-serif;
padding-left: 20px;
padding-top: 20px;
@ -36,13 +36,20 @@ a {
}
#egg_images img {
width: 70%;
width: 100%;
padding-top: 40px;
}
.container_width {
max-width: 100%;
padding-left: 0px;
padding-right: 0px;
}
</style>
<template>
<b-container fluid>
<b-container fluid class="container_width">
<MenuBar/>
<b-row>
<b-col md="6">
@ -53,77 +60,57 @@ a {
<b-row>
<b-col md="5">
<p class='content'>
My brother has started cooking eggs. A marker of his independence, his progression into manhood. I woke up one morning to a picture he’d sent me of his craftwork the night before.
<br>
<div class='content'>
<p>My brother has started cooking eggs. A marker of his independence, his progression into manhood. I woke up one morning to a picture he’d sent me of his craftwork the night before.
</p>
<p>
As I slept, he’d got cooking.
<br>
<br>
</p>
<p>
The eggs, his omelet, became a hot topic of conversation at the dinner table that evening.
<br>
<br>
</p>
<p>
“You need to flip it both sides, make sure it’s golden brown.” Dad had said between forkfuls of food. “Make sure the oil is piping hot, you want to hear that sizzle. I recommend smoked ham, peppers and onions.”
“It doesn’t matter if it scrambles, as long as it tastes good.” Mum encouraged.
“You don’t want the oil too hot,” I warned. “Otherwise the eggs will just wither and burn, you don’t want a weird, scrambled omelet. And don’t add meat. Vegetables are enough.”
<br>
<br>
</p>
<p>
After some further nights of experimentation, it transpired that my brother’s favorite filling was in fact cheese.
My nan took it upon herself to stand guard over the procedure the following week. The egg wasn’t cooking. “The oil is too cold; it won’t do anything.” He’d taken my advice too literally. I then heard my Nan order: “flip it like this, don’t move it, don’t touch, wait, leave it.”
“You need to be more patient”.
My dad happened to walk past. “Don’t break the eggs over the hob like that, you’re making a mess and life difficult for yourself. Here. Crack it like this.”
“I don’t know how to crack the eggs properly,” my brother replied. “I’ll just practice. Let me do it myself.”
<br>
<br>
</p>
<p>
It turned out my brother doesn’t like yolk. Or at least, if he has to eat it, it needs to be very, very hard. Funny because neither my mum nor I like yolk either, unless it’s also cooked that way. My dad thinks we’re mad “a runny yolk is the best bit.”
<br>
<br>
</p>
<p>
My brother then tried to move on to fried eggs, but didn't think he cooked the first batch properly. He felt sick the next day and went to bed early.
<br>
<br>
</p>
<p>
I woke up the next morning to yet another picture of a prized omelets. I guess he was sticking to what he knows.
Dad commented this one looked much better, he’d obviously taken his advice.
Nan said it was definitely down to her personal coaching.
Mum didn’t make a comment. She’d liked the look of them all.
As for me, I’m not even going to pretend it was because of my frankly lousy egg advice.
<br>
<br>
</p>
<p>
Since then, I’ve received practically a galleries worth of images of omelets victories.
<br>
<br>
And as some may count this current period through the changing of days, the passing of weeks and the tick of the clock. In our household, the marker of time rests amongst the eggs, the oil and the pan, between the omelets made and the omelets ate.</p>
</p>
<p>
And as some may count this current period through the changing of days, the passing of weeks and the tick of the clock. In our household, the marker of time rests amongst the eggs, the oil and the pan, between the omelets made and the omelets ate.</p></div>
</b-col>
<b-col md="7">
<b-container fluid id="egg_images">
<b-row>
<b-col md="3">
</b-col>
<b-col md="6">
<b-img class="img-fluid" src="media/eggs/egg1.png"> </b-img>
</b-col>
<b-col md="3">
</b-col>
</b-row>
<b-row>
<b-col md="12">
<p></p>
</b-col>
</b-row>
<b-row>
<b-col md="3">
</b-col>
<b-col md="6">
<b-img class="img-fluid" src="media/eggs/egg2.png"> </b-img>
</b-col>
<b-col md="3">
</b-col>
</b-row>
</b-container>
</b-col>
</b-row>

15
src/components/leekpilaf.vue
Unescape Escape View File

@ -18,16 +18,27 @@ a {
color: gray;
}
.title_story {
font-size: 80px;
font-family: 'Viga', sans-serif;
padding-left: 20px;
padding-top: 20px;
}
.container_width {
max-width: 100%;
padding-left: 0px;
padding-right: 0px;
}
</style>
<template>
<b-container fluid>
<b-container fluid class="container_width">
<MenuBar/>
<b-row>
<b-col md="6">
<p>Leek pilaf</p>
<p class="title_story">Leek pilaf</p>
</b-col>
</b-row>

130
src/components/noodles.vue
Unescape Escape View File

@ -1,9 +1,18 @@
<style scoped>
@import url('https://fonts.googleapis.com/css2?family=Viga&display=swap');
@import url('https://fonts.googleapis.com/css2?family=Roboto+Mono&display=swap');
* {
border: 0px black solid;
background-color: #ffe6e6;
}
.container_width {
max-width: 100%;
padding-left: 0px;
padding-right: 0px;
}
a:hover {
@ -18,93 +27,116 @@ a {
.content {
padding-right: 50px;
padding-top: 40px;
font-family: 'Roboto Mono', monospace;
font-size: 15px;
padding-left: 20px;
}
.title_story {
font-size: 80px;
font-family: 'Viga', sans-serif;
padding-left: 20px;
padding-top: 20px;
}
.image_container {
padding-top: 40px;
}
</style>
<template>
<b-container fluid>
<b-container fluid class="container_width">
<MenuBar/>
<b-row>
<b-col md="6">
<h1>Egg story</h1>
<p class="title_story">Luo Shi Fen</p>
</b-col>
</b-row>
<b-row>
<b-col md="6">
<p class='content'>
My brother has started cooking eggs. A marker of his independence, his progression into manhood. I woke up one morning to a picture he’d sent me of his craftwork the night before.
<br>
As I slept, he’d got cooking.
<br>
<br>
The eggs, his omelet, became a hot topic of conversation at the dinner table that evening.
<br>
<br>
“You need to flip it both sides, make sure it’s golden brown.” Dad had said between forkfuls of food. “Make sure the oil is piping hot, you want to hear that sizzle. I recommend smoked ham, peppers and onions.”
“It doesn’t matter if it scrambles, as long as it tastes good.” Mum encouraged.
“You don’t want the oil too hot,” I warned. “Otherwise the eggs will just wither and burn, you don’t want a weird, scrambled omelet. And don’t add meat. Vegetables are enough.”
<br>
<br>
After some further nights of experimentation, it transpired that my brother’s favorite filling was in fact cheese.
My nan took it upon herself to stand guard over the procedure the following week. The egg wasn’t cooking. “The oil is too cold; it won’t do anything.” He’d taken my advice too literally. I then heard my Nan order: “flip it like this, don’t move it, don’t touch, wait, leave it.”
“You need to be more patient”.
My dad happened to walk past. “Don’t break the eggs over the hob like that, you’re making a mess and life difficult for yourself. Here. Crack it like this.”
“I don’t know how to crack the eggs properly,” my brother replied. “I’ll just practice. Let me do it myself.”
<br>
<br>
It turned out my brother doesn’t like yolk. Or at least, if he has to eat it, it needs to be very, very hard. Funny because neither my mum nor I like yolk either, unless it’s also cooked that way. My dad thinks we’re mad “a runny yolk is the best bit.”
<br>
<br>
My brother then tried to move on to fried eggs, but didn't think he cooked the first batch properly. He felt sick the next day and went to bed early.
<br>
<br>
I woke up the next morning to yet another picture of a prized omelets. I guess he was sticking to what he knows.
Dad commented this one looked much better, he’d obviously taken his advice.
Nan said it was definitely down to her personal coaching.
Mum didn’t make a comment. She’d liked the look of them all.
As for me, I’m not even going to pretend it was because of my frankly lousy egg advice.
<br>
<br>
Since then, I’ve received practically a galleries worth of images of omelets victories.
<br>
<br>
And as some may count this current period through the changing of days, the passing of weeks and the tick of the clock. In our household, the marker of time rests amongst the eggs, the oil and the pan, between the omelets made and the omelets ate.</p>
<b-col md="5">
<div class='content'>
<p>
Luo Shi Fen is a soup based rice noodle set originally from Guangxi, China (Southwest bordering Vietnam). “Luo Shi” is a snail like creature that gives the soup base its flavor. Luo Shi Fen is like the durian fruit - some like it, and some hates it for the smell (its smelly and the odor will linger in the space where you cook and consume the dish).
</p>
<p>
I tried to limit and consumption of this package, it is the most tasty brand I found in Asian supermarkets in NL. The too many small plastic packets made me reluctant to buy it on a regular basis - I only buy and eat it once in a while.
</p>
</div>
</b-col>
<b-col md="6">
<b-col md="7">
<b-container fluid>
<div class="image_container">
<b-row>
<b-col md="3">
<b-col md="6">
<b-img class="img-fluid" src="media/noodles/1.JPG"> </b-img>
</b-col>
<b-col md="6">
<b-img class="img-fluid" src="media/noodles/3.JPG"> </b-img>
</b-col>
</b-row>
<b-row>
<b-col md="12">
<p></p>
</b-col>
</b-row>
<b-row>
<b-col md="6">
<b-img class="img-fluid" src="media/eggs/egg1.png"> </b-img>
<b-img class="img-fluid" src="media/noodles/2.JPG"> </b-img>
</b-col>
<b-col md="3">
<b-col md="6">
<b-img class="img-fluid" src="media/noodles/4.JPG"> </b-img>
</b-col>
</b-row>
<b-row>
<b-col md="12">
<p></p>
</b-col>
</b-row>
<b-row>
<b-col md="3">
<b-col md="6">
<b-img class="img-fluid" src="media/noodles/5.JPG"> </b-img>
</b-col>
<b-col md="6">
<b-img class="img-fluid" src="media/eggs/egg2.png"> </b-img>
<b-img class="img-fluid" src="media/noodles/6.JPG"> </b-img>
</b-col>
<b-col md="3">
</b-row>
<b-row>
<b-col md="12">
<p></p>
</b-col>
</b-row>
<b-row>
<b-col md="6">
<b-img class="img-fluid" src="media/noodles/7.JPG"> </b-img>
</b-col>
<b-col md="6">
<b-img class="img-fluid" src="media/noodles/8.JPG"> </b-img>
</b-col>
</b-row>
</div>
</b-container>
</b-col>
@ -115,7 +147,7 @@ And as some may count this current period through the changing of days, the pass
<script>
import MenuBar from './MenuBar'
export default {
name: 'eggs',
name: 'noodles',
data: function() {
return {
}

133
src/components/onion.vue
Unescape Escape View File

@ -1,9 +1,18 @@
<style scoped>
@import url('https://fonts.googleapis.com/css2?family=Viga&display=swap');
@import url('https://fonts.googleapis.com/css2?family=Roboto+Mono&display=swap');
* {
border: 0px black solid;
background-color: #ffe6e6;
}
.container_width {
max-width: 100%;
padding-left: 0px;
padding-right: 0px;
}
a:hover {
@ -18,94 +27,104 @@ a {
.content {
padding-right: 50px;
padding-top: 40px;
font-family: 'Roboto Mono', monospace;
font-size: 15px;
padding-left: 20px;
}
.title_story {
font-size: 80px;
font-family: 'Viga', sans-serif;
padding-left: 20px;
padding-top: 20px;
}
.image_container {
padding-top: 10px;
}
</style>
<template>
<b-container fluid>
<b-container fluid class="container_width">
<MenuBar/>
<b-row>
<b-col md="6">
<h1>Egg story</h1>
<p class="title_story">Something light, like a salad</p>
</b-col>
</b-row>
<b-row>
<b-col md="6">
<p class='content'>
My brother has started cooking eggs. A marker of his independence, his progression into manhood. I woke up one morning to a picture he’d sent me of his craftwork the night before.
<br>
As I slept, he’d got cooking.
<br>
<br>
The eggs, his omelet, became a hot topic of conversation at the dinner table that evening.
<br>
<br>
“You need to flip it both sides, make sure it’s golden brown.” Dad had said between forkfuls of food. “Make sure the oil is piping hot, you want to hear that sizzle. I recommend smoked ham, peppers and onions.”
“It doesn’t matter if it scrambles, as long as it tastes good.” Mum encouraged.
“You don’t want the oil too hot,” I warned. “Otherwise the eggs will just wither and burn, you don’t want a weird, scrambled omelet. And don’t add meat. Vegetables are enough.”
<br>
<br>
After some further nights of experimentation, it transpired that my brother’s favorite filling was in fact cheese.
My nan took it upon herself to stand guard over the procedure the following week. The egg wasn’t cooking. “The oil is too cold; it won’t do anything.” He’d taken my advice too literally. I then heard my Nan order: “flip it like this, don’t move it, don’t touch, wait, leave it.”
“You need to be more patient”.
My dad happened to walk past. “Don’t break the eggs over the hob like that, you’re making a mess and life difficult for yourself. Here. Crack it like this.”
“I don’t know how to crack the eggs properly,” my brother replied. “I’ll just practice. Let me do it myself.”
<br>
<br>
It turned out my brother doesn’t like yolk. Or at least, if he has to eat it, it needs to be very, very hard. Funny because neither my mum nor I like yolk either, unless it’s also cooked that way. My dad thinks we’re mad “a runny yolk is the best bit.”
<br>
<br>
My brother then tried to move on to fried eggs, but didn't think he cooked the first batch properly. He felt sick the next day and went to bed early.
<br>
<br>
I woke up the next morning to yet another picture of a prized omelets. I guess he was sticking to what he knows.
Dad commented this one looked much better, he’d obviously taken his advice.
Nan said it was definitely down to her personal coaching.
Mum didn’t make a comment. She’d liked the look of them all.
As for me, I’m not even going to pretend it was because of my frankly lousy egg advice.
<br>
<br>
Since then, I’ve received practically a galleries worth of images of omelets victories.
<br>
<br>
And as some may count this current period through the changing of days, the passing of weeks and the tick of the clock. In our household, the marker of time rests amongst the eggs, the oil and the pan, between the omelets made and the omelets ate.</p>
<b-col md="5">
<div class='content'>
<p>
It's springtime here in Europe. You can tell by the sudden, welcome arrival of warmer, sunnier days and blossoms. It's been some small relief in this gloomy time to feel the seasons turn, a reminder that life goes on, resolutely. At the start of the lockdown, 5 weeks ago, we wore winter clothes. Today I'm in a t-shirt and jeans. Usually I'd confirm the arrival of spring with new fresh produce in the shops. Back in Australia, the meat industry spruiks spring lamb, and you start to get the first hints of stone fruit coming into season at the greengrocer's.
</p>
It's also Easter now, which usually means very little to me, just a time for egg- and rabbit-shaped chocolates. Australian Easter is in autumn, and spring begins in September. Here, I can clearly see how the symbolism of eggs and bunnies is related to spring and an awakening from hibernation. The past two years I've celebrated Orthodox Easter with friends, somewhat a new experience. Last year I was with Greeks who cooked lamb. A lot of it. Today, my Romanian friend is eating a raw spring onion, held in the hand. Pretty much the most minimal possible preparation, a rejection of culinary technique, to just eat the damn thing and not stand on ceremony.
<p>
<p>
Cooking, something I once loved, has become a chore. It's part of the upside-downness of this particular period of history. Inside is where we work and socialise, time has become nebulous and meals now less a fun event and more a shared responsibility. I still have a Japanese food Instagram account, although I haven't updated it for quite some time. It was once a way to document meals I cooked for myself and shared with others. This period of isolation began with plans to make many Japanese meals with my "quaranteam"; I learned a lot of recipes when I lived in Japan and I enjoy the sociality of Japanese food, which is often made communally.
</p>
<p>
But I've been barely brave enough to leave the house, let alone go to shops to buy the things I need to make Japanese food. Most of these meals require substitutions anyway; at the best of times you can't get everything, even from an Asian grocer. For example, I usually substitute spring onion for negi, an ingredient ubiquitous to Japanese cuisine. I look up negi on wikipedia.org. In English, it's called the Japanese bunching onion, apparently. See also; scallion, welsh onion, long onions. These are just approximations, synonyms, definitely not the same thing as negi. Sometimes I buy salade ui (salad onion) in Dutch supermarkets. It's very similar to spring onion, I can't tell the difference. I imagine it has this name because of its mild taste and so can be enjoyed raw, in a salad.
</p>
<p>
At home, over lunch the other day we talked about how we define cooking. Could you say that you cook a salad? We thought not. At best, you prepare a salad. But isn't cooking preparing food for consumption? Why is making a salad not cooking, then? Would you say that kitchen staff at fast food restaurants like McDonald's are cooking? Or assembling, according to set instructions? As a teenager, I worked one graveyard shift in a McDonald's and then immediately quit. I'd find it hard to argue that I cooked in those 8 hours. But I did prepare food for others to eat. How do we then define cooking, then?
</p>
<p>
A German friend says "I guess in its origin, "to cook" must involve boiling water? Or heat, then. In German, for a salad I couldn’t say "to cook" (kochen) but would say zubereiten (prepare), and it would still apply to cooking in the sense of preparing food. I guess that would be the essence for me, preparing food to be eaten is cooking, no matter if it’s hot or cold. But in most cases you would not use the term, e.g. cook a salad".
</p>
<p>
Cooking versus preparing versus assembling. I always thought it was interesting that the verb most often used in Japanese for "to cook", yaku, literally translates as "grill" or "bake". Can't grill or bake without heat. So, no cooking without fire. Ask someone to gesture "cooking" in a game of charades, and often they will shake an invisible pan with one hand and stir with an invisible spoon in the other. Stirring, or combining ingredients. Shaking, or moving the pan over heat. In winter, we want warm, stodgy meals. In springtime, we feel like something lighter, a salad.</p>
<p>
I share a photo on Instagram of my Romanian friend's hand, brandishing a chewed spring onion, asking if this style of eating it is particular only to Romania. "Yesss" says a Transylvanian.
</p>
<p>
"No :)", says a Bulgarian. "I think it may overall be a Balkan thing. And it is the best way to eat spring onion and spring garlic. Yummmm".
</p>
<p>
"Nope" says a Slovenian. "at least my Croatian relatives do it. And I think Hungarians too. So I guess we are no exception since we pick up on others. My relatives call it LUK :) Sometimes they would dip it in salt or sour cream. Yes, for Easter especially, but throughout spring too".</p>
<p>
I look up spring onion on wikipedia.org. It says they are native to China. I wonder how they travelled west, and how they were prepared to be eaten along the way, this new curious vegetable, this herald of spring. I wonder if a recipe (or lack thereof) travelled with them. Perhaps early European spring onion eaters decided on the most minimal preparation as a celebration of the new season, and a fitting way to respect its produce. A long onion, held in the hand, and eaten raw. A defiance of winter's imperative for heat and "cooked" meals, and a totemic gesture towards warmer, brighter and better days.
</p>
</p>
</div>
</b-col>
<b-col md="6">
<b-col md="7">
<b-container fluid>
<div class="image_container">
<b-row>
<b-col md="3">
</b-col>
<b-col md="6">
<b-img class="img-fluid" src="media/eggs/egg1.png"> </b-img>
<b-col md="1">
</b-col>
<b-col md="3">
<b-col md="10">
<b-img class="img-fluid" src="media/onion/hand.jpg"> </b-img>
</b-col>
</b-row>
<b-row>
<b-col md="12">
<p></p>
<b-col md="1">
</b-col>
</b-row>
<b-row>
<b-col md="3">
<b-col md="6">
</b-col>
<b-col md="6">
<b-img class="img-fluid" src="media/eggs/egg2.png"> </b-img>
</b-col>
<b-col md="3">
</b-col>
</b-row>
</div>
</b-container>
</b-col>
</b-row>
@ -115,7 +134,7 @@ And as some may count this current period through the changing of days, the pass
<script>
import MenuBar from './MenuBar'
export default {
name: 'eggs',
name: 'onion',
data: function() {
return {
}

108
src/components/pesto.vue
Unescape Escape View File

@ -1,9 +1,18 @@
<style scoped>
@import url('https://fonts.googleapis.com/css2?family=Viga&display=swap');
@import url('https://fonts.googleapis.com/css2?family=Roboto+Mono&display=swap');
* {
border: 0px black solid;
background-color: #ffe6e6;
}
.container_width {
max-width: 100%;
padding-left: 0px;
padding-right: 0px;
}
a:hover {
@ -18,93 +27,92 @@ a {
.content {
padding-right: 50px;
padding-top: 40px;
font-family: 'Roboto Mono', monospace;
font-size: 15px;
padding-left: 20px;
}
.title_story {
font-size: 80px;
font-family: 'Viga', sans-serif;
padding-left: 20px;
padding-top: 20px;
}
.image_container {
padding-top: 40px;
}
</style>
<template>
<b-container fluid>
<b-container fluid class="container_width">
<MenuBar/>
<b-row>
<b-col md="6">
<h1>Egg story</h1>
<p class="title_story">Bulk Pesto</p>
</b-col>
</b-row>
<b-row>
<b-col md="6">
<p class='content'>
My brother has started cooking eggs. A marker of his independence, his progression into manhood. I woke up one morning to a picture he’d sent me of his craftwork the night before.
<br>
As I slept, he’d got cooking.
<br>
<br>
The eggs, his omelet, became a hot topic of conversation at the dinner table that evening.
<br>
<br>
“You need to flip it both sides, make sure it’s golden brown.” Dad had said between forkfuls of food. “Make sure the oil is piping hot, you want to hear that sizzle. I recommend smoked ham, peppers and onions.”
“It doesn’t matter if it scrambles, as long as it tastes good.” Mum encouraged.
“You don’t want the oil too hot,” I warned. “Otherwise the eggs will just wither and burn, you don’t want a weird, scrambled omelet. And don’t add meat. Vegetables are enough.”
<br>
<br>
After some further nights of experimentation, it transpired that my brother’s favorite filling was in fact cheese.
My nan took it upon herself to stand guard over the procedure the following week. The egg wasn’t cooking. “The oil is too cold; it won’t do anything.” He’d taken my advice too literally. I then heard my Nan order: “flip it like this, don’t move it, don’t touch, wait, leave it.”
“You need to be more patient”.
My dad happened to walk past. “Don’t break the eggs over the hob like that, you’re making a mess and life difficult for yourself. Here. Crack it like this.”
“I don’t know how to crack the eggs properly,” my brother replied. “I’ll just practice. Let me do it myself.”
<br>
<br>
It turned out my brother doesn’t like yolk. Or at least, if he has to eat it, it needs to be very, very hard. Funny because neither my mum nor I like yolk either, unless it’s also cooked that way. My dad thinks we’re mad “a runny yolk is the best bit.”
<br>
<br>
My brother then tried to move on to fried eggs, but didn't think he cooked the first batch properly. He felt sick the next day and went to bed early.
<br>
<br>
I woke up the next morning to yet another picture of a prized omelets. I guess he was sticking to what he knows.
Dad commented this one looked much better, he’d obviously taken his advice.
Nan said it was definitely down to her personal coaching.
Mum didn’t make a comment. She’d liked the look of them all.
As for me, I’m not even going to pretend it was because of my frankly lousy egg advice.
<br>
<br>
Since then, I’ve received practically a galleries worth of images of omelets victories.
<br>
<br>
And as some may count this current period through the changing of days, the passing of weeks and the tick of the clock. In our household, the marker of time rests amongst the eggs, the oil and the pan, between the omelets made and the omelets ate.</p>
<b-col md="2">
</b-col>
<b-col md="6">
<b-col md="8">
<b-container fluid>
<div class="image_container">
<b-row>
<b-col md="3">
<b-col md="6">
<b-img class="img-fluid" src="media/pesto/1.jpg"> </b-img>
</b-col>
<b-col md="6">
<b-img class="img-fluid" src="media/eggs/egg1.png"> </b-img>
<b-img class="img-fluid" src="media/pesto/2.jpg"> </b-img>
</b-col>
<b-col md="3">
<b-col md="2">
</b-col>
</b-row>
<b-row>
<b-col md="12">
<p></p>
</b-col>
</b-row>
<b-row>
<b-col md="3">
<b-col md="6">
<b-img class="img-fluid" src="media/pesto/3.jpg"> </b-img>
</b-col>
<b-col md="6">
<b-img class="img-fluid" src="media/eggs/egg2.png"> </b-img>
<b-img class="img-fluid" src="media/pesto/5.jpg"> </b-img>
</b-col>
<b-col md="3">
</b-row>
<b-row>
<b-col md="12">
<p></p>
</b-col>
</b-row>
<b-row>
<b-col md="6">
<b-img class="img-fluid" src="media/pesto/4.jpg"> </b-img>
</b-col>
<b-col md="6">
<b-img class="img-fluid" src="media/pesto/6.jpg"> </b-img>
</b-col>
</b-row>
</div>
</b-container>
</b-col>
@ -115,7 +123,7 @@ And as some may count this current period through the changing of days, the pass
<script>
import MenuBar from './MenuBar'
export default {
name: 'eggs',
name: 'pesto',
data: function() {
return {
}

118
src/components/pretzel.vue
Unescape Escape View File

@ -1,9 +1,18 @@
<style scoped>
@import url('https://fonts.googleapis.com/css2?family=Viga&display=swap');
@import url('https://fonts.googleapis.com/css2?family=Roboto+Mono&display=swap');
* {
border: 0px black solid;
background-color: #ffe6e6;
}
.container_width {
max-width: 100%;
padding-left: 0px;
padding-right: 0px;
}
a:hover {
@ -18,72 +27,74 @@ a {
.content {
padding-right: 50px;
padding-top: 40px;
font-family: 'Roboto Mono', monospace;
font-size: 15px;
padding-left: 20px;
}
.title_story {
font-size: 80px;
font-family: 'Viga', sans-serif;
padding-left: 20px;
padding-top: 20px;
}
.image_container {
padding-top: 10px;
}
</style>
<template>
<b-container fluid>
<b-container fluid class="container_width">
<MenuBar/>
<b-row>
<b-col md="6">
<h1>Egg story</h1>
<p class="title_story">A list</p>
</b-col>
</b-row>
<b-row>
<b-col md="6">
<p class='content'>
My brother has started cooking eggs. A marker of his independence, his progression into manhood. I woke up one morning to a picture he’d sent me of his craftwork the night before.
<br>
As I slept, he’d got cooking.
<br>
<br>
The eggs, his omelet, became a hot topic of conversation at the dinner table that evening.
<br>
<br>
“You need to flip it both sides, make sure it’s golden brown.” Dad had said between forkfuls of food. “Make sure the oil is piping hot, you want to hear that sizzle. I recommend smoked ham, peppers and onions.”
“It doesn’t matter if it scrambles, as long as it tastes good.” Mum encouraged.
“You don’t want the oil too hot,” I warned. “Otherwise the eggs will just wither and burn, you don’t want a weird, scrambled omelet. And don’t add meat. Vegetables are enough.”
<br>
<br>
After some further nights of experimentation, it transpired that my brother’s favorite filling was in fact cheese.
My nan took it upon herself to stand guard over the procedure the following week. The egg wasn’t cooking. “The oil is too cold; it won’t do anything.” He’d taken my advice too literally. I then heard my Nan order: “flip it like this, don’t move it, don’t touch, wait, leave it.”
“You need to be more patient”.
My dad happened to walk past. “Don’t break the eggs over the hob like that, you’re making a mess and life difficult for yourself. Here. Crack it like this.”
“I don’t know how to crack the eggs properly,” my brother replied. “I’ll just practice. Let me do it myself.”
<br>
<br>
It turned out my brother doesn’t like yolk. Or at least, if he has to eat it, it needs to be very, very hard. Funny because neither my mum nor I like yolk either, unless it’s also cooked that way. My dad thinks we’re mad “a runny yolk is the best bit.”
<br>
<br>
My brother then tried to move on to fried eggs, but didn't think he cooked the first batch properly. He felt sick the next day and went to bed early.
<br>
<br>
I woke up the next morning to yet another picture of a prized omelets. I guess he was sticking to what he knows.
Dad commented this one looked much better, he’d obviously taken his advice.
Nan said it was definitely down to her personal coaching.
Mum didn’t make a comment. She’d liked the look of them all.
As for me, I’m not even going to pretend it was because of my frankly lousy egg advice.
<br>
<br>
Since then, I’ve received practically a galleries worth of images of omelets victories.
<br>
<br>
And as some may count this current period through the changing of days, the passing of weeks and the tick of the clock. In our household, the marker of time rests amongst the eggs, the oil and the pan, between the omelets made and the omelets ate.</p>
<b-col md="5">
<div class='content'>
<p>
My favourite things that I've had during this quarantine, in no particular order:
</p>
<p>
- cauliflower bites - they managed to lift me out of a couple of really low days
</p>
<p>
- raspberry spongecake - the simplest recipe which I've also shared on Mastodon, proving that it's worth having frozen fruit hidden in the freezer
</p>
<p>
- placinte cu cartofi - I can't even describe the comfort of a placinta, which I ate multiple times a day until they were gone. And I even figured out the trick to keep them soft - cover them while they're hot with plastic wrap.
</p>
<p>
- the first 2 orders of Mcdonalds - In a time when the outside world felt scary and out of my control, having something from Mcdonalds come all the way to my home was a rare moment of normalcy. Can't deny, Quarter Pounders provided me with the perfect amount of joy, until I reached my limit and my body felt wrong. But that was only after the first 2 orders.
</p>
<p>
- my first ever batch of soft sesame pretzels - They came out fat and squishy and I piled them up on a plate, savoured them with my eyes, my phone camera and my tastebuds, and they were everything I wanted and more.
</p>
</div>
</b-col>
<b-col md="6">
<b-col md="7">
<b-container fluid>
<div class="image_container">
<b-row>
<b-col md="3">
<b-col md="1">
</b-col>
<b-col md="6">
<b-img class="img-fluid" src="media/eggs/egg1.png"> </b-img>
<b-col md="10">
<b-img class="img-fluid" src="media/pretzel/pretzels.JPG"> </b-img>
</b-col>
<b-col md="3">
<b-col md="1">
</b-col>
</b-row>
@ -93,19 +104,22 @@ And as some may count this current period through the changing of days, the pass
</b-col>
</b-row>
<b-row>
<b-col md="3">
<b-col md="1">
</b-col>
<b-col md="6">
<b-img class="img-fluid" src="media/eggs/egg2.png"> </b-img>
<b-col md="10">
<b-img class="img-fluid" src="media/pretzel/masto.PNG"> </b-img>
</b-col>
<b-col md="3">
<b-col md="1">
</b-col>
</b-row>
</div>
</b-container>
</b-col>
</b-row>
@ -115,7 +129,7 @@ And as some may count this current period through the changing of days, the pass
<script>
import MenuBar from './MenuBar'
export default {
name: 'eggs',
name: 'pretzel',
data: function() {
return {
}

125
src/components/recipe.vue
Unescape Escape View File

@ -1,9 +1,18 @@
<style scoped>
@import url('https://fonts.googleapis.com/css2?family=Viga&display=swap');
@import url('https://fonts.googleapis.com/css2?family=Roboto+Mono&display=swap');
* {
border: 0px black solid;
background-color: #ffe6e6;
}
.container_width {
max-width: 100%;
padding-left: 0px;
padding-right: 0px;
}
a:hover {
@ -18,72 +27,81 @@ a {
.content {
padding-right: 50px;
padding-top: 40px;
font-family: 'Roboto Mono', monospace;
font-size: 15px;
padding-left: 20px;
}
.title_story {
font-size: 80px;
font-family: 'Viga', sans-serif;
padding-left: 20px;
padding-top: 20px;
}
.image_container {
padding-top: 10px;
}
</style>
<template>
<b-container fluid>
<b-container fluid class="container_width">
<MenuBar/>
<b-row>
<b-col md="6">
<h1>Egg story</h1>
<p class="title_story">Party of 3</p>
</b-col>
</b-row>
<b-row>
<b-col md="6">
<p class='content'>
My brother has started cooking eggs. A marker of his independence, his progression into manhood. I woke up one morning to a picture he’d sent me of his craftwork the night before.
<br>
As I slept, he’d got cooking.
<br>
<br>
The eggs, his omelet, became a hot topic of conversation at the dinner table that evening.
<br>
<br>
“You need to flip it both sides, make sure it’s golden brown.” Dad had said between forkfuls of food. “Make sure the oil is piping hot, you want to hear that sizzle. I recommend smoked ham, peppers and onions.”
“It doesn’t matter if it scrambles, as long as it tastes good.” Mum encouraged.
“You don’t want the oil too hot,” I warned. “Otherwise the eggs will just wither and burn, you don’t want a weird, scrambled omelet. And don’t add meat. Vegetables are enough.”
<br>
<br>
After some further nights of experimentation, it transpired that my brother’s favorite filling was in fact cheese.
My nan took it upon herself to stand guard over the procedure the following week. The egg wasn’t cooking. “The oil is too cold; it won’t do anything.” He’d taken my advice too literally. I then heard my Nan order: “flip it like this, don’t move it, don’t touch, wait, leave it.”
“You need to be more patient”.
My dad happened to walk past. “Don’t break the eggs over the hob like that, you’re making a mess and life difficult for yourself. Here. Crack it like this.”
“I don’t know how to crack the eggs properly,” my brother replied. “I’ll just practice. Let me do it myself.”
<br>
<br>
It turned out my brother doesn’t like yolk. Or at least, if he has to eat it, it needs to be very, very hard. Funny because neither my mum nor I like yolk either, unless it’s also cooked that way. My dad thinks we’re mad “a runny yolk is the best bit.”
<br>
<br>
My brother then tried to move on to fried eggs, but didn't think he cooked the first batch properly. He felt sick the next day and went to bed early.
<br>
<br>
I woke up the next morning to yet another picture of a prized omelets. I guess he was sticking to what he knows.
Dad commented this one looked much better, he’d obviously taken his advice.
Nan said it was definitely down to her personal coaching.
Mum didn’t make a comment. She’d liked the look of them all.
As for me, I’m not even going to pretend it was because of my frankly lousy egg advice.
<br>
<br>
Since then, I’ve received practically a galleries worth of images of omelets victories.
<br>
<br>
And as some may count this current period through the changing of days, the passing of weeks and the tick of the clock. In our household, the marker of time rests amongst the eggs, the oil and the pan, between the omelets made and the omelets ate.</p>
<b-col md="5">
<div class='content'>
<p>
I don’t really know how long it’s been since I’ve been mostly at home, probably a little over a
month. At first, I was enthusiastic about cooking and experimenting with food. It seems like ages
ago I was trying and failing to make my first sourdough starter. That was maybe two weeks ago.
I even announced it on Instagram, but putting it out there didn’t make it stick. I imagine things
followed the same pattern for a lot of people who are social-distancing - a burst of enthusiasm at
the beginning (all this free time, nowhere to go, back to the roots, let’s eat like our forefathers)
followed by a rut of pasta and instant noodles (who cares).
</p>
<p>
The way I usually cook and eat revolves around improvising. I cannot/will not follow a recipe.
Give me your fridge’s contents and I will turn them into a warm plate. All the women in my family
have a repertoire of recipes that they make through and through, not me. I don’t really like
cooking the same thing twice and, since the process is usually improvised, I wouldn’t even be
able to. And I eat out a lot.
</p>
<p>
However, I have a small child who is new to the world of taste, digestion, and to the world in
general. She needs to eat a variety of foods, though she’d probably be happy eating pasta
every day. So lately, I’ve been using a subscription-based grocery delivery service, which
comes with recipes and pre-portioned ingredients. It’s really helpful these days, when it’s
otherwise impossible to order groceries at home, and going to the supermarket feels like a guilty
luxury. I don’t have to think about what to cook for lunch, where to get the ingredients or how
much rice I have to use. Because of the current situation, there’s an ingredient missing from the
box every now and then. That’s when I get excited again, because I get to improvise.</p>
</p>
</div>
</b-col>
<b-col md="6">
<b-col md="7">
<b-container fluid>
<div class="image_container">
<b-row>
<b-col md="3">
<b-col md="1">
</b-col>
<b-col md="6">
<b-img class="img-fluid" src="media/eggs/egg1.png"> </b-img>
<b-col md="10">
<b-img class="img-fluid" src="media/recipe/1.jpg"> </b-img>
</b-col>
<b-col md="3">
<b-col md="1">
</b-col>
</b-row>
@ -93,19 +111,22 @@ And as some may count this current period through the changing of days, the pass
</b-col>
</b-row>
<b-row>
<b-col md="3">
<b-col md="1">
</b-col>
<b-col md="6">
<b-img class="img-fluid" src="media/eggs/egg2.png"> </b-img>
<b-col md="10">
<b-img class="img-fluid" src="media/recipe/2.jpg"> </b-img>
</b-col>
<b-col md="3">
<b-col md="1">
</b-col>
</b-row>
</div>
</b-container>
</b-col>
</b-row>
@ -115,7 +136,7 @@ And as some may count this current period through the changing of days, the pass
<script>
import MenuBar from './MenuBar'
export default {
name: 'eggs',
name: 'recipe',
data: function() {
return {
}

110
src/components/ricecooker.vue
Unescape Escape View File

@ -2,6 +2,8 @@
* {
border: 0px black solid;
background-color: #ffe6e6;
}
@ -16,106 +18,56 @@ a {
color: gray;
}
.content {
padding-right: 50px;
.title_story {
font-size: 80px;
font-family: 'Viga', sans-serif;
padding-left: 20px;
padding-top: 20px;
}
.container_width {
max-width: 100%;
padding-left: 0px;
padding-right: 0px;
}
</style>
<template>
<b-container fluid>
<b-container fluid class="container_width">
<MenuBar/>
<b-row>
<b-col md="6">
<h1>Egg story</h1>
<p class="title_story">When the oven is broken</p>
</b-col>
</b-row>
<b-row>
<b-col md="6">
<p class='content'>
My brother has started cooking eggs. A marker of his independence, his progression into manhood. I woke up one morning to a picture he’d sent me of his craftwork the night before.
<br>
As I slept, he’d got cooking.
<br>
<br>
The eggs, his omelet, became a hot topic of conversation at the dinner table that evening.
<br>
<br>
“You need to flip it both sides, make sure it’s golden brown.” Dad had said between forkfuls of food. “Make sure the oil is piping hot, you want to hear that sizzle. I recommend smoked ham, peppers and onions.”
“It doesn’t matter if it scrambles, as long as it tastes good.” Mum encouraged.
“You don’t want the oil too hot,” I warned. “Otherwise the eggs will just wither and burn, you don’t want a weird, scrambled omelet. And don’t add meat. Vegetables are enough.”
<br>
<br>
After some further nights of experimentation, it transpired that my brother’s favorite filling was in fact cheese.
My nan took it upon herself to stand guard over the procedure the following week. The egg wasn’t cooking. “The oil is too cold; it won’t do anything.” He’d taken my advice too literally. I then heard my Nan order: “flip it like this, don’t move it, don’t touch, wait, leave it.”
“You need to be more patient”.
My dad happened to walk past. “Don’t break the eggs over the hob like that, you’re making a mess and life difficult for yourself. Here. Crack it like this.”
“I don’t know how to crack the eggs properly,” my brother replied. “I’ll just practice. Let me do it myself.”
<br>
<br>
It turned out my brother doesn’t like yolk. Or at least, if he has to eat it, it needs to be very, very hard. Funny because neither my mum nor I like yolk either, unless it’s also cooked that way. My dad thinks we’re mad “a runny yolk is the best bit.”
<br>
<br>
My brother then tried to move on to fried eggs, but didn't think he cooked the first batch properly. He felt sick the next day and went to bed early.
<br>
<br>
I woke up the next morning to yet another picture of a prized omelets. I guess he was sticking to what he knows.
Dad commented this one looked much better, he’d obviously taken his advice.
Nan said it was definitely down to her personal coaching.
Mum didn’t make a comment. She’d liked the look of them all.
As for me, I’m not even going to pretend it was because of my frankly lousy egg advice.
<br>
<br>
Since then, I’ve received practically a galleries worth of images of omelets victories.
<br>
<br>
And as some may count this current period through the changing of days, the passing of weeks and the tick of the clock. In our household, the marker of time rests amongst the eggs, the oil and the pan, between the omelets made and the omelets ate.</p>
<b-col md="2">
</b-col>
<b-col md="6">
<b-container fluid>
<b-row>
<b-col md="3">
</b-col>
<b-col md="6">
<b-img class="img-fluid" src="media/eggs/egg1.png"> </b-img>
</b-col>
<b-col md="3">
</b-col>
</b-row>
<b-row>
<b-col md="12">
<p></p>
</b-col>
</b-row>
<b-row>
<b-col md="3">
</b-col>
<b-col md="6">
<b-img class="img-fluid" src="media/eggs/egg2.png"> </b-img>
</b-col>
<b-col md="3">
</b-col>
</b-row>
</b-container>
<b-col md="8">
<b-img center class="img-fluid" src="media/ricecooker/ricecooker.png"></b-img>
</b-col>
</b-row>
</b-container>
<b-col md="2">
</b-col>
</b-row>
</b-container>
</template>
<script>
import MenuBar from './MenuBar'
export default {
name: 'eggs',
name: 'ricecooker',
data: function() {
return {
}

136
src/components/scooter.vue
Unescape Escape View File

@ -1,9 +1,18 @@
<style scoped>
@import url('https://fonts.googleapis.com/css2?family=Viga&display=swap');
@import url('https://fonts.googleapis.com/css2?family=Roboto+Mono&display=swap');
* {
border: 0px black solid;
background-color: #ffe6e6;
}
.container_width {
max-width: 100%;
padding-left: 0px;
padding-right: 0px;
}
a:hover {
@ -18,94 +27,123 @@ a {
.content {
padding-right: 50px;
padding-top: 40px;
font-family: 'Roboto Mono', monospace;
font-size: 15px;
padding-left: 20px;
}
.title_story {
font-size: 80px;
font-family: 'Viga', sans-serif;
padding-left: 20px;
padding-top: 20px;
}
.image_container {
padding-top: 40px;
}
</style>
<template>
<b-container fluid>
<b-container fluid class="container_width">
<MenuBar/>
<b-row>
<b-col md="6">
<h1>Egg story</h1>
<p class="title_story">acknowledgements</p>
</b-col>
</b-row>
<b-row>
<b-col md="6">
<p class='content'>
My brother has started cooking eggs. A marker of his independence, his progression into manhood. I woke up one morning to a picture he’d sent me of his craftwork the night before.
<br>
As I slept, he’d got cooking.
<br>
<br>
The eggs, his omelet, became a hot topic of conversation at the dinner table that evening.
<br>
<br>
“You need to flip it both sides, make sure it’s golden brown.” Dad had said between forkfuls of food. “Make sure the oil is piping hot, you want to hear that sizzle. I recommend smoked ham, peppers and onions.”
“It doesn’t matter if it scrambles, as long as it tastes good.” Mum encouraged.
“You don’t want the oil too hot,” I warned. “Otherwise the eggs will just wither and burn, you don’t want a weird, scrambled omelet. And don’t add meat. Vegetables are enough.”
<br>
<br>
After some further nights of experimentation, it transpired that my brother’s favorite filling was in fact cheese.
My nan took it upon herself to stand guard over the procedure the following week. The egg wasn’t cooking. “The oil is too cold; it won’t do anything.” He’d taken my advice too literally. I then heard my Nan order: “flip it like this, don’t move it, don’t touch, wait, leave it.”
“You need to be more patient”.
My dad happened to walk past. “Don’t break the eggs over the hob like that, you’re making a mess and life difficult for yourself. Here. Crack it like this.”
“I don’t know how to crack the eggs properly,” my brother replied. “I’ll just practice. Let me do it myself.”
<br>
<br>
It turned out my brother doesn’t like yolk. Or at least, if he has to eat it, it needs to be very, very hard. Funny because neither my mum nor I like yolk either, unless it’s also cooked that way. My dad thinks we’re mad “a runny yolk is the best bit.”
<br>
<br>
My brother then tried to move on to fried eggs, but didn't think he cooked the first batch properly. He felt sick the next day and went to bed early.
<br>
<br>
I woke up the next morning to yet another picture of a prized omelets. I guess he was sticking to what he knows.
Dad commented this one looked much better, he’d obviously taken his advice.
Nan said it was definitely down to her personal coaching.
Mum didn’t make a comment. She’d liked the look of them all.
As for me, I’m not even going to pretend it was because of my frankly lousy egg advice.
<br>
<br>
Since then, I’ve received practically a galleries worth of images of omelets victories.
<br>
<br>
And as some may count this current period through the changing of days, the passing of weeks and the tick of the clock. In our household, the marker of time rests amongst the eggs, the oil and the pan, between the omelets made and the omelets ate.</p>
<b-col md="5">
<div class='content'>
<p>
my lungs<br>
they need to say<br>
thank you to salt<br>
thank you to ginger<br>
thank you to heat<br>
and honey in water<br>
</p>
<p></p>
<p>
my belly<br>
it wants to say<br>
thank you to rice<br>
thank you to noodles<br>
thank you to hotpots<br>
and cookers and kettles<br>
</p>
<p></p>
<p>
but my sanity<br>
she has to say<br>
thank you to you<br>
the strangers and drivers<br>
accepting my orders<br>
in helmets and masks<br>
bringing me dinner<br>
feeding us all<br>
</p>
</div>
</b-col>
<b-col md="6">
<b-col md="7">
<b-container fluid>
<div class="image_container">
<b-row>
<b-col md="3">
<b-col md="6">
</b-col>
<b-col md="6">
</b-col>
</b-row>
<b-row>
<b-col md="12">
<p></p>
</b-col>
</b-row>
<b-row>
<b-col md="6">
<b-img class="img-fluid" src="media/eggs/egg1.png"> </b-img>
</b-col>
<b-col md="3">
<b-col md="6">
</b-col>
</b-row>
<b-row>
<b-col md="12">
<p></p>
</b-col>
</b-row>
<b-row>
<b-col md="3">
<b-col md="6">
</b-col>
<b-col md="6">
<b-img class="img-fluid" src="media/eggs/egg2.png"> </b-img>
</b-col>
<b-col md="3">
</b-row>
<b-row>
<b-col md="12">
<p></p>
</b-col>
</b-row>
</div>
</b-container>
</b-col>
</b-row>
@ -115,7 +153,7 @@ And as some may count this current period through the changing of days, the pass
<script>
import MenuBar from './MenuBar'
export default {
name: 'eggs',
name: 'scooter',
data: function() {
return {
}

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