Apples are from Central Asia 🍎 🍏

As an apple tree among the trees of the forest,

   so is my beloved among the young men.

With great delight I sat in his shadow,

   and his fruit was sweet to my taste.

He brought me to the banqueting house,

   and his banner over me was love.

Sustain me with raisins;

   refresh me with apples,

   for I am sick with love.

— Song of Solomon 2:3–5 (ESV)

Burnt. At first glance, my cake appears to be screaming that word. It's as if it is trying to emulate its more celebrated and ostentatious Spanish cousin: the gazta–tarta of Donostia (San Sebastián). But the truth of the matter is, this baked good is just quite ordinary, if not parsimoniously made.

Apples, Cheddar cheese, Greek yoğurt, pancake mix, and eggs—these were the fridge and pantry leftovers that I wanted to get rid of, but didn't want to waste. So I decided to combine them all together and this sweet little thing was the outcome: Apple Cheesecake.

The apples I used were probably a combination of Pink Lady and Royal Gala. It's very interesting that we have a lot of apple varieties down here in Australia. APAL (Apple and Pear Australia Ltd) lists the commercially grown cultivars here in the great south land: https://www.aussieapples.com.au/varieties   I have yet to try and taste them all!

Historically, apples most likely originated in Asia and is supported by recent scientific studies. Russian botanist Nikolai Vavilov was the first one to propose that Central Asia is the domesticated apple's centre of origin. Meanwhile, French–Swiss scientist Alphonse de Candolle postulated the apple to have existed in Europe, both wild and cultivated, from prehistoric times. He adds that it is also indigenous in Anatolia (modern–day Turkey), the south of the Caucasus, and northern Russia, and that its cultivation began early everywhere.

The erudite English scholar Alan Davidson writes that the main ancestors of the modern apple were Malus sylvestris (the common crab apple) and Malus pumila × mitis, a native of the Caucasus where it still grows wild. There is evidence that such apples were being eaten 8,000 years ago or more, and it is thought that some success had already been achieved by 2000 BC in coaxing the unpromising trees to yield larger and fleshier fruits. The first written mention of apples is usually said to be by Homer, in his Odyssey. But the word he used, melon, was applied by the Greeks to almost any kind of round fruit which grew on a tree. Thus the legendary apples of Greek myth—given by Paris to Aphrodite, or growing in the Hesperides—may have been other kinds of fruit, or no particular kind at all. Similarly, the apples with which the Shulamite in the Song of Solomon (chapter 2, verses 3–5) asked to be comforted were probably quinces. (It is true that the quince, being sour, is not a comforting fruit to eat, but its smell was deemed agreeable.) Nor is the Bible specific about the nature of the Tree of the Knowledge of Good and Evil. The notion that this was an apple tree came much later.

Although lacking visual appeal in the looks department and perhaps it's not the apple of your eye, this Apple Cheesecake is a must try!

References:

Davidson A and Knox C. 1991. Fruit: a connoisseur's guide and cookbook. New York: Simon and Schuster. pp. 10–13 https://archive.org/details/fruitconnoisseur00davi de Candolle A. 1959. Origin of Cultivated Plants. New York: Hafner Publishing Co. p. 236 — first published in 1886 https://archive.org/details/originofcultiva00cand Juniper BE and Mabberley DJ. 2006. The Story of the Apple. Portland: Timber Press. 219 p. https://archive.org/details/storyofapple0000juni Vavilov N. 1930. "Wild progenitors of the fruit trees of Turkestan and the Caucasus and the problem of the origin of fruit trees" in the Proceedings of the 9th International Horticultural Congress, pp. 271–286 (The Royal Horticultural Society – London) — as cited in Velasco et al. 2010 Velasco R, Zharkikh A, Affourtit J et al. 2010. The genome of the domesticated apple (Malus × domestica Borkh.). Nature Genetics 42:833–839 https://doi.org/10.1038/ng.654 Wang N, Jiang S, Zhang Z et al. 2018. Malus sieversii: the origin, flavonoid synthesis mechanism, and breeding of red–skinned and red–fleshed apples. Horticulture Research 5:70 https://doi.org/10.1038/s41438-018-0084-4

Djeran and the transplants

“He who does not take the time to conquer the artichoke by stages does not deserve to penetrate to its heart. There are no short cuts in life to anything: least of all to the artichoke.”

— Edith Templeton in The Surprise of Cremona (1954)

In the Noongar six–season meteorological calendar, it is currently Djeran here in southwestern Australia. It is the “season of adulthood” when cooler weather begins. Unlike autumn in many areas of the northern hemisphere, the transition between summer and winter landscapes down here in my place is not as stark. Vegetation still abounds everywhere. As long as conditions are conducive, even non-native plants can grow and thrive.

Recently, I’ve felt a little nostalgic—like Proust’s so–called “madeleine moment”—from vegetables given to me by friends from their backyards’ bounty. No, I’m not a freshly installed vegan proselyte. Growing up as a kid, I’ve always loved my nateng (i.e. Ilocano for veggies)—thanks to my parents who hail from the northern Philippine provinces who are known for their gusto for such.

One of the healthy greens I’ve been gifted is this bunch of malunggay leaves (or moringa / horseradish tree). It tastes a bit like spinach. Back in my parents’ home—and in true Ilocano fashion—we mingle these leaves with other vegetables to create inabraw or dinengdeng, a simple dish of mixed veggies tenderised in a broth flavoured with bagoong monamon. While cooking, sometimes we throw in a few cloves of crushed peeled garlic and flaked fried bangus (milkfish) to embolden it. To prepare the malunggay leaves, gently run your clawed fingers through the small stems with a pulling motion. You should feel a slight raspy sound and sensation as you do this.

Malunggay leaves (Moringa oleifera)

The other one is a banana heart, including a couple of banana leaves. The banana heart is the site of the tree’s inflorescence where fruits would eventually develop. It looks like a heart–shaped orb and is often burgundy in colour with satin sheen and streaks of white. Akin to an artichoke, the layers of reddish “petals” are removed one by one to get through the cream–coloured “inner heart”. In between these specialised boat–like leaves, you will find the young banana blossoms which are also edible as long as their tough pistils are plucked first.

Banana heart

Banana blossoms

Banana leaves are highly versatile. In the Philippines, they serve as food wrappers for a plethora of rice– or tuber–based cakes, cooking food en papillote style (e.g. tamales, binalot, pinangat, pinais), as well as place mats or table liners particularly during a “boodle fight” or kamayan feast. (Kamayan means “by hand”; a family style communal meal where diners eat without cutlery and instead use their own hands.) When used as a covering or vessel during cooking, the leaves impart a subtle sweet and fragrant aroma to the food—indeed, like a certain je ne sais quoi.

Since I didn’t need the leaves yet, I preserved them in the freezer. But first, I had to clean and make them pliable by heating them carefully over the stove. In this way, they won’t easily crack and break when you fold them for cold storage.

Banana leaves—fresh and verdant

Preparing the banana leaves for storage in the freezer

Filipino food: Kamayan Feast at Sunda Restaurant (Chicago, U.S.A.)

Filipino kamayan table used as a backdrop poster during the UNESCO World Forum in Parma, Italy (12–13 Sep. 2019 / “Culture and Food: Innovative Strategies for Sustainable Development”)

Figs

Figs. It's not the misspelled name of those farmed animals where we get our breakfast smoked bacon and holiday ham from—forgive me for the dad joke. These maroonish and velvety–skinned fruits are some of my favourite that I wish would always be available all year–round. But then, if you come to think of it, that's the beauty of seasonal fruits—there's that unexplainable giddy delight when they finally come, at least for me.

     Surprisingly, about two weeks ago, one of my few thoughtful friends brought figs for me from her own backyard. I was tempted to eat them fresh straight away, but I calmed down and decided to use them for my next cooking/baking project. Actually, I often consider cooking as a rejuvenating therapy for me and not as a chore, especially when done at my own pace and leisure, in the serenity of a tranquil and homely kitchen without distractions. Turning to Marseille–based French chef Gérald Passedat's cookbook Flavors from the French Mediterranean for inspiration, I incorporated these succulent figs with vanilla frangipane (a custard–like almond cream) on a homemade pâte brisée (shortcrust pastry) shell to make Tarte aux Figues (or “Fig Tart” in English). As with many baked goods, the smell of the tart in the oven wafted a pleasurable aroma in our kitchen.

     This Fig Tart is fairly simple to make. First, you need to have pâte brisée, or you can get a store–bought one, if you prefer. I previously made a shortcrust pastry some months ago, kept them in the freezer, and defrosted it inside the refrigerator a day before I planned to make the tart. If you'd like to make the pastry by hand, it would depend on the size of your baking dish. My flour–to–butter (or margarine) ratio is usually 2:1 (i.e. 2 parts flour for every 1 part fat). Start with around 500 g plain flour and 250 g butter and mix them together with your hand until they resemble breadcrumbs. Then, add 1 beaten egg (or a bit of plain tap water; some people use cold water, soda water, etc.) to the flour–fat mixture and combine them together until they form a ball of dough. (Since this crust would be used for dessert, some people add icing or powdered sugar to make the dough as pâte brisée sucrée (sucrée = “sweet”), prior to adding the egg. In such case, you may want to include about a 100 g icing sugar or so.) You may need to add a bit flour, if the dough appears wet. Or, a bit more water, if the dough looks crumbly and dry. Cover the dough with plastic wrap and let it rest inside the fridge for at least 30 minutes.

     While waiting, preheat your oven to 180°C and prepare the vanilla frangipane. The main ingredient for this frangipane is almond meal. In case you don't have some, you can make almond meal by processing whole almond nuts in a food processor until they become powder–like. Combine together ⅔ cup almond meal, ⅓ cup sugar, 4 tbsp softened butter, and a splash of vanilla essence. Afterwards, blend in 1 egg. And there you have it—the resulting mixture is your uncooked vanilla frangipane. As with the pâte brisée, you may reduce or increase the sweetness of your frangipane according to your preference by adding less or more sugar, respectively. Again, depending on the depth of your tart pan or number of people you would feed/entertain, you may need to double, triple, or so this basic frangipane recipe. Any cooked frangipane leftover would make a delicious spread on toast anyway or just by itself—spoon it in your mouth, like what I childishly do each time I open a jar of Nutella^®.





     For the figs, which are the stars of this dessert, slice them into any shape you like: wedges, half–moons, circles, etc. As I only have a very small plastic punnet of fresh figs, I cut them into simple rounds, in order to maximise and totally cover—hopefully—the whole tart top.

     After resting the dough, take it out from the fridge, line it on your baking dish, and blind–bake it. One trick I learned though is, after lining the dough on your tray, you may want to freeze it for about 1 – 2 hours before blind–baking it. This technique somehow prevents the lined dough from shrinking as you bake it, but this could just be another old wives' tale. I would completely understand if you take my advice with a grain of salt—no hard feelings.

     Finally, spread the vanilla frangipane on the blind–baked shell, place the fig slices/wedges on top, and bake in the oven for about half an hour or until golden brown and the frangipane has cooked through. Cool down the baked Fig Tart before slicing and serving.

     Figs take the honour of being one of the handful of fruits mentioned in the Holy Scriptures. You'll probably never look at figs the same way again. Having fought a short bout of depression and loneliness—yet again—recently, I remembered and reflected on a passage from His Word which consoled me:

     “Even though the fig trees have no blossoms,

          and there are no grapes on the vines;

     even though the olive crop fails,

          and the fields lie empty and barren;

     even though the flocks die in the fields,

          and the cattle barns are empty,

     yet I will rejoice in the Lord!

          I will be joyful in the God of my salvation!

     The Sovereign Lord is my strength!

          He makes me as sure–footed as a deer,

               able to tread upon the heights.”

     — Habakkuk 3:17–19a (NLT)

     We all have our individual struggles and battles in life, as well as uncertainties and circumstances that are beyond our control. Yet despite those, we believers still have that unspeakable joy and we choose to remain faithful to our Heavenly Father who holds the future. Although we sometimes get sidetracked with life, drag ourselves, and strive to be joyful, He promises to do good to those who trust Him and to equip us, to conform us to Christ, and to give us the grace we need to endure hardships and to persevere in discipleship, love, and holiness to the end.

“But he said to me, ‘My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.’ Therefore I will boast all the more gladly about my weaknesses, so that Christ’s power may rest on me. That is why, for Christ’s sake, I delight in weaknesses, in insults, in hardships, in persecutions, in difficulties. For when I am weak, then I am strong.”

— 2 Corinthians 12:9–10 (NIV) 

“Not that I was ever in need, for I have learned how to be content with whatever I have. I know how to live on almost nothing or with everything. I have learned the secret of living in every situation, whether it is with a full stomach or empty, with plenty or little. For I can do everything through Christ, who gives me strength.”

— Philippians 4:11–13 (NLT)

     Should we go on our own selfish ways and continue drifting aimlessly through life or are we going to follow, trust, and place our faith in God and yield to His will and sovereignty for our lives?

“When Christ calls a man, He bids him come and die.”

— Dietrich Bonhoeffer, The Cost of Discipleship

“And we know that God causes everything to work together for the good of those who love God and are called according to his purpose for them.”

— Romans 8:28 (NLT) 

https://www.fallingplates.com/en-AU

Pumpkin [mis]adventure: from gnocchi to pane

Pain à la courge / Pan de calabaza / Pane di zucca / Pumpkin bread

Bahay kubo, kahit munti,

Ang halaman doon, ay sari–sari...

...Kundol, patola, upo't kalabasa...

("Nipa hut, even though it's small,

The plants that grow around it are varied...

...Winter melon, sponge gourd, bottle gourd, and pumpkin...")

— excerpt of the lyrics of Bahay Kubo ("Nipa Hut"), a classic children's folk song in the 🇵🇭

     I seem to be pretty enchanted with this yellow–orange vegetable lately. I know. It’s just your average and ordinary kalabasa. Maybe it’s either I’m being nostalgic and reminiscent of my experiences of our countless trips to the palengke together with my mother or it maybe even signs of aging? The very instant of seeing fresh produce in front of my eyes gives me that certain giddy delight, child–like excitement, and appreciation—or I’m just plain weird, if you like, hehe… Well, perhaps because it is the end of winter down here in Australia and a comforting hot bowl of soup, such as pumpkin soup, comes to my mind that would still surely warm up our souls here in this chilly isolated city by the Indian Ocean. There’s probably a bountiful harvest of this stout veggie this year. I’ve seen them being sold at a bargain for only 99¢ per kg in one supermarket. I knew I had to buy one. 😊

     I’ve already done a lot of pumpkin soup in the past. So I thought I’d cook it into something different this time: gnocchi di zucca (or pumpkin gnocchi). Gnocchi (plural of gnocco) are dumplings or small balls of dough traditionally made from potatoes and/or flour that are boiled in water and usually served with a sauce in Italian cuisine. 🇮🇹

     However, despite my best intentions, my pumpkin gnocchi didn’t turn out well—lesson learned for myself, hehe... Good gnocchi is supposed to be light and silky in texture. My first trial was quite dense and has a heavy mouthfeel to it. I realised and learned that the pumpkin was watery—the main culprit—and I should have left it lightly covered and have taken out the central pulpy mass (where the seeds are) before roasting in the oven. When making the gnocchi dough, we only add just enough flour as soon as the dough doesn’t stick on our kneading benchtop anymore. The less flour, the better. Therefore, excess water in the pumpkin would cause it to absorb more flour, and that would make our gnocchi to contain more gluten resulting to a dense chewy consistency, which we’re not after for. Later on in the evening, while consulting my books, I chance upon reading Julia Child’s, Simone Beck’s, and Louisette Bertholle’s advice in their great opus: “Dry out [the potatoes] by stirring them in a heavy–bottomed saucepan over moderate heat for a minute or two until they film the bottom of the pan. Remove from heat.”

     Not wanting to waste the rest of my pumpkin gnocchi dough, I decided to salvage it by just making it into pane di zucca (pumpkin bread). I just incorporated my little magic helpers (i.e. yeast) to help me do the trick. After several hours of proving—because I couldn’t find a spot that is warm enough to encourage my dough to rise—I chucked my fluffy pillow in a 200°C oven for the finale.

     The verdict? If gluten is your friend, you have a love affair with your baked goods, and you adore pumpkin for all its simplicity and humility, then this bright–and–optimistic–sunshine–yellow bread is for you. Its softness, utter deliciousness, and subtle sweetness can leave you gobsmacked and wanting for more. 😋

     Would you like to know the recipe of this bread that can be mistaken for brioche? Just let me know and I'll be happy to share it. 😉

P. S.  The yellowness of this bread is due to the natural colour of the pumpkin flesh which can be attributed from its inherent ß–carotene content (read: nutrient, antioxidant, Vitamin A, good health). 🤓

π day

Love it, hate it, or don't care at all—today is still π ("pi") day. 😊 (Coincidentally, it also happens to be Albert Einstein's birthday today as well.) Could you identify which one is the stargazy pie on my drawing above? 😉 (Hint: The eccentric–looking one!)
(media: pencil and coloured pencils on plain A4 paper)

“...We must have a pie. Stress cannot exist in the presence of a pie.”

—said by Anna to Claire in Boston Marriage (a 1999 play by David Mamet; p. 23)

For many of our friends who are mathematicians or maths enthusiasts out there, they're probably celebrating this unusual day: π day. π is the Greek letter "pi" and is also the symbol for that mathematical constant which represents the ratio of the circumference of a circle to its diameter. (😵 Sorry, what was that again? hehe...) I'm probably not the best person to discuss about maths as I'm quite poor at it, haha... So I'll just refer you to this interesting article about π and π day by the late Professor Jonathan Borwein from the University of Newcastle 🇦🇺.

While π is a very special number in the domain of maths—yet still with practical applications—we shall now concern ourselves in the realm of food where pie is something from an oven that is usually delicious, am I right? 😋 A pie is a baked dish of fruit, meat, poultry, fish, and/or vegetables, typically with a top and base of pastry. It can either be savoury or sweet: from meat pies, buko ("young coconut") pies, apples pies, mince pies, and so forth—the variations are virtually endless! More often than not, we use pâte brisée (or shortcrust pastry) to wrap all of that yummy filling inside.

Shortcrust is a crumbly pastry made with flour, fat, and a little water, typically used for pies, flans, and tarts. We want this kind of texture as we don't want our pastry to be tough and hard when eaten—which would be a result of too much gluten formation. Gluten is a mixture of proteins present in cereal grains, especially wheat (and thereby wheat flour), which is responsible for the elastic texture of dough. What makes shortcrust crumbly in nature is due to the action of fat (e.g. butter). We use fat in a shortcrust pastry recipe as a shortening agent that inhibits continuous gluten development.

In order to make shortcrust pastry, we need to interrupt the gluten structure formed when flour and water are mixed together. This is achieved by using the fat as the shortening agent and involves mixing the pastry in two stages: In stage 1, the flour and fat are mixed together so that the flour particles become coated with fat. In stage 2, the water is added and the pastry is mixed until it just holds together. Overmixing at this stage will increase gluten development which reduces the shortening effect and results in tough eating baked products. The figure below shows how this process works to prevent continuous gluten development (Patient 1994).


Structure of shortcrust pastry Fat coats fragments of gluten to prevent them from forming a continuous sheet (Patient 1994)


Anyway. That's all for now my friends. Happy π Day to everyone! 😊 🎉


P. S.  Have you found the stargazy pie on my drawing above yet? 😉 It's a kind of fish pie traditionally made in Cornwall (in the UK), with the heads of the fish appearing through the crust. 🐟 I hope I can make this Cornish pie too someday should I be able to buy pilchards/sardines over here in Perth. 😋

🍽️ My take on the Paleo Diet: Roasted Harissa–rubbed Chicken with Salade Composée & Avocado–Cauliflower Mousse and Coconut–Nectarine Tart

My modest attempt of a watercolour rendition of my Coconut–Nectarine Tart and Roasted Harissa–rubbed Chicken with Salade Composée and Avocado–Cauliflower Mousse
[media: watercolour on plain A4 paper (notice the buckling/warping of the paper); need to use real watercolour paper next time—if I would ever have money to spare for that)]


Hey guys! How are you all doing? 😊 It has been more than a month since my last post. School has been quite busy. I reckon I've already told you that we're not just cooking all the time, but we also have theory classes and time–demanding worksheets to accomplish. In particular, one of our units (SITHCCC307) required us to do research about various types of special diets, do an oral report/presentation of our findings in front of our class, and come up with our own modified dishes that we have to cook during our final practical assessment for that unit. 😱 Yeah, you can just imagine how stressful that sounds! But I took it as a challenge, an adventure, as well as another avenue for creativity. 🤔 💭 → 😃 💡

Our chef instructor assigned me to report about the Paleo Diet. I've heard of this diet fad before, but I couldn't be bothered learning more about it. So, on to the Internet and school library to see what I can find. My full written report—including my modified recipes—can be found at the end of this post. Now for my dishes.

Since the Paleo Diet encourages more protein intake, I decided to use lean chicken breast, because it's relatively cheaper. (We have to source our own ingredients, so I just opted for more economical products instead.) I would have wanted to use exotic venison or even kangaroo or bush chook (i.e. emu) meat. However, they're either expensive or not readily available from where I live. To jazz up my poultry, I decided to use هريسة الفليفلة الحارة (or simply "harissa") which is a spice mix used in Maghreb or North African cuisine. I came up with this idea as I wanted to add a touch of Middle Eastern flavour to my dish. Having worked and lived for two years in Qatar 🇶🇦, I still crave for Middle Eastern / Arabic food from time to time. In addition, I would like to try out new spices and I haven't really used harissa before in my own personal cooking, although I knew it's got a Middle Eastern character because the Maghreb area is still essentially and culturally part of the greater Middle East region.

I didn't want my chicken to be alone and single—like me, hehe...—on the plate, so I've also made a side salad to go with it. I then remembered Rachel Khoo's colourful Salade d’hiver avec une mousse au fromage de chèvre—which in turn got her inspiration from Estonian chef Peeter Pihel 🇪🇪—and thought I'd use that composed salad. But the Paleo Diet doesn't allow cheese and other dairy products. (I even had to take out the bacon from the original recipe!) I then had to replace the Selles-sur-Cher cheese mousse with an alternative. Many Aussies love their avocado and I like avocado too—except for its prohibitive cost most of the time (at least for frugal me, hehe...)—so I said to myself why not create a creamy avocado–based mousse? I thought of other Paleo–friendly ingredients and I selected cauliflower and coconut cream as my base components. I simply call my accompanying salad as salade composée or composed salad, which is basically a modern untossed salad arranged aesthetically on a plate where each carefully chosen ingredient complements the other: hot and cold, raw and cooked, mildly salty and sweet.

Of course, would I forget dessert? No way! I still reckon that a meal wouldn't be complete without something sweet to cleanse our palates. For my Paleo dessert, I recalled watching this video shot in the beautiful state of Victoria and the last dish Rachel made was a chia jam–filled nectarine tart. The Paleo Diet restricts refined sugars, thus I tapped natural sultanas to sweeten my filling. Drawing from my tropical Filipino heritage, I also used coconut to intermarry with the nectarines.

Before writing my report and recipes, I had to test all the modifications I've made—true to my other hat of being a professional scientist / chemist, hehe...

🤓 Experimentation and recipe modification/development in progress... (18 February 2017)

😊 And the initial results were these:

During last Wednesday's (8 March 2017) final practical assessment for our special diet unit, this was how I presented my dishes 😊 :

So, in conclusion, will I switch to a lifetime of adhering to the Paleo Diet anytime soon? Not quite because I still love my rice, bread, and cheese. That's all for now my friends. Before I end here, I share with you a copy of my Paleo Diet report that I submitted. I hope you can also try cooking these two dishes and let me know what you think afterwards. 😉 Bon appétit!

🐟 Fishy Thursday 🎣

(media: pastel à l'huile / oil pastels on plain A4 paper)

“...If you give a man a fish he is hungry again in an hour. If you teach him to catch a fish you do him a good turn.”

— in Anne Isabella Thackeray Ritchie's Mrs. Dymond (1885)

Last Thursday (2 February 2017), we started with our seafood course—one of our courses for our final semester at culinary school this year. For our first lesson, we were introduced to an assortment of fishes found here in Australia and we were taught how to fillet several types of round fish. Below are the pictures I took during our seafood class. 🐟  But first, let's have a little bit of trivia... 😊


🤓 TRIVIA:  Did you know that many fishes contain oils called omega–3 fatty acids that have health giving benefits? Two of these ω–3 fatty acids are DHA (docosahexaenoic acid) and EPA (eicosapentaenoic acid).

Structural formulæ of two ω–3 fatty acids

(Image taken from the Sigma–Aldrich website)

🤓 ...another TRIVIA:  👃 The "fishy" odour that we associate with fish is largely due to the formation of trimethylamine (TMA) from trimethylamine oxide (TMAO) that many fishes naturally contain. TMAO is broken down into smelly TMA by bacteria or fish enzymes. Lemon juice or vinegar—both acidic liquids—are frequently suggested for removing fishy smells when cleaning fish since they help convert stinky amines such as TMA into non-volatile, odourless, and water–soluble amine salts (McGee 2004, Stoker 2016). 🍋 🐟 Acidity also helps break down muddy–smelling geosmin that farmed freshwater fish (e.g. catfish, carp, tilapia) sometimes accumulate from blue–green algae (McGee 2004).

Conversion of trimethylamine oxide (TMAO) into trimethylamine (TMA) in fishes

Formation of an amine salt from trimethylamine (TMA)

Structural formula of geosmin

Nothing much to say tonight. I'll just have a quick dinner then off to bed soon as we start our second week of classes at 8:00 AM tomorrow. Bonne nuit! 🌛 😴

bream

mullet

pink snapper

cobia

herring

flathead (top); whiting (bottom)

skipjack tuna

barramundi

Our chef instructor teaching us how to fillet 🔪 🐟 😊

Filleting a mullet by myself 🔪 🐟 😣

Successfully filleted and skinned—I did it! 🔪 🐟 😊

Fish fillets that we cooked (battered and deep–fried, grilled, and pan–fried) and tasted at the end of our lesson 🍋 🐟 😋