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Ginger and Turmeric Drink

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turmeric and ginger drink

Yes, it was my birthday last week, thank you very much for you birthday wishes, you know who you are….

I was off work for 12 days so I was really looking forward to chill, relax and catch up on things I never have time to do. But it was my birthday, so it had to suck a bit traditionally. As it happens, I wasn’t well all the time (and I am still not). Not psychologically, that’s settled ages ago and it’s not going anywhere.

I got some kind of a flew or cold and some organs of my body stopped functioning properly. It’s like my body knows I am busy so it has to function, as soon as I am on my ‘me’ time, every cell knows and thinks now it’s the the time to mess around a bit.

Normally I would self medicate myself with wine, but seriously, I wasn’t even able to do it.

So I started making a drink which was like an elixir. Maybe it’s all placebo effect, but I think it actually helped me. After all the ingredients I put into it have anti inflammatory properties. So there.

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Turmeric and Ginger Drink:

2 cm fresh ginger, peeled and sliced

2 cm fresh turmeric, peeled and sliced

2 cups water

2 tbsp honey

juice of 1 lemon

  1. Put ginger, turmeric and water in a pot. I own a very fancy copper pot I got from my sister, not that I am bragging, so I use it for this. Looks cool, works perfectly and I feel very hip doing it. If you are not in a possession of a stylish sister or a fancy pot, sorry…And you are excused to use ordinary, ugly one.
  2. Heat it on the stove, lower the temperature when it starts boiling and simmer for 5 minutes.
  3. Add lemon juice and honey and enjoy.

I have to add, it wasn’t all misery and dread. I went to 2 concerts – one of Boyfriend’s former band reuniting for one night only – it was fantastic. I wrote all about them in a post with Pasta Aglio Olio e Peperoncino recipe, so go on, do your homework people, because I am not repeating myself.

The second was Fun Loving Criminals, and Huey Morgan followed me and Boyfriend on Twitter, so it was a great night.

I also had dinner with the French family we are friends with, and we talked aesthetics and films, so it was great.

So it wasn’t all chest pain, headache and ‘I am not gonna get out of bed today’.

The good thing about not feeling well is the excuse to watch rubbish TV, and I found a huge comfort in that.

 

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About potatofaces

People who cook always go on about precious memories of childhood food one of their family members cooked, how daddy or nanny taught them the importance of cooking and eating together, and they still remember the comfort food they produced, amazing dishes whipped up by brilliant but humble cooks in their family. Well, let me tell you, it was totally different in my family. My mother’s family – totally useless as cooks, who could survive on bread and butter, cooked once a week a terrible, terrible meal, usually some kind of meat piece with lots of brown sauce. Also, they were never bothered about eating together. That’s maybe why most of them were depressed and suicidal. My mother followed that path and couldn’t really cook, and because I never wanted to eat meat, was warning me that ‘one day I will regret it’. Probably because my mother wasn’t into cooking my sister at the age of 12 took over and started producing amazing dinners and cakes. Well, luckily for me and her we weren’t that genetically doomed because apparently my father’s family were gifted in that compartment. I can only presume it was genes, as my father divorced my mother when my sis and me were little and he strongly believed that he also divorced us. So, we were growing up never having any contact with him and as a result, couldn’t learn how to cook from him. That’s why I believe the love of cooking ( and the ability) was just passed to us genetically. My father, short time before he died, unexpectedly felt an urge to contact us. First he gave my sister a mandolin (that’s another thing I know about him- he played a few instruments). My sister refused to talk to him, he then decided to contact me and wanted to spend some time with me. I didn’t want to, as he was a stranger to me (I was 11 or 12 at the time) but as I was promised I could leave whenever I wanted to, I went to the village he lived in. There I tried his mother’s cooking everyone was raving about. It was simple and amazing, I wish they were as family dedicated as they were at baking, cooking, making pastries, wine, tinctures, you name it. But I ate, drunk, and got bored of strangers who were my family and demanded to be let to go home. One of the last things my father said to me was that I should start learning English because I might need it one day, which I ignored for another 16 years… Because my sister was such a domestic goddess I wasn’t really bothered about cooking. I got hooked properly after my son was born and I wanted him to eat healthy and get everything he needed, especially that it wasn’t his choice to be a vegetarian (yet). And that is how the story begins…

2 responses »

  1. Happy belated birthday! x 🙂

    Reply

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