This is a very popular use of cauliflower around the world. Frying cauliflower gives it a more interesting and much tastier crunch and bite which the boiled and cheesed varieties seemingly lack. Specifically this is very popular in Israeli and diaspora Jewish cuisine, and is a good meal to do when you’re both on a budget and or interested in a more vegetarian diet. Serves 4.

Ingredients

1 cauliflower (1/4 per person)

1-2 chilli (or more, depends on how spicy you want it, of course!)

Coriander (spice)

Cumin

Turmeric

Water and vegetable stock

Olive oil, salt and pepper

Mix up a small cup’s worth of vegetable stock. Chop the cauliflower into its florets, which break apart naturally as you handle the vegetable. Drain the florets, removing as much stem as possible, since it is hard and difficult to cook. Chop the garlic and chilli and add to oil; fry the chilli and garlic along with the spices, salt and pepper until the pan is very hot. Put in the cauliflower, coat it in the spices and add the stock. Once all the water had evaporated, there are two possibilities. Either the cauliflower will not be soft enough to eat nicely and you must add a drop more water, or the cauliflower will begin crisping by itself and will begin to smell of light burning, like chesnuts roasting on an open fire. Do not worry, this is what you want. After a few minutes of alternately leaving the cauliflower to crisp and preventing it from burning, the cauliflower should take on a texture like chips. Once it is crisped all the way around, it’s ready. Enjoy! 

We have only been in Yangon three hours, yet it is already apparent that despite the briefness of the flight, we are a world away from Chiang Mai and the comparatively cosmopolitan city experience Thailand has to offer.

Wandering down the streets in search of something to eat, I am reminded so much of India – a reminiscence (and nostalgia) I had not expected. As in India, most of the men are in ‘longyi’ – large pieces of fabric wrapped around to form a long skirt, fastened by folding over the top, rather than by tying a knot. My friend is unfamiliar with this and finds it odd, but I am comforted by the recollection of them.  You can see that they are comfortable in their traditional dress – and cool, something you can’t take for granted here, especially in the humidity of the summer when the monsoon rains drench the city on a daily basis.

The women too are not dressed anything like those in Thailand, where western fashion has pervaded the cities. They are not even dressed like the people of the hill tribes in Northern Thailand, so close to the Myanmar border. Gone are the woven tunics and brightly coloured hats. The Burmese women are wearing long silk skirts and beautiful matching tops, more on a par with the saris and lehengas of India.

Although sweet and seemingly kind, the Burmese people do stare. A lot. But this is unsurprising considering that unlike in Bangkok and Chiang Mai where western travellers are almost more prevalent on the streets than Thai people, here you come across only a handful of other travellers. They are not as elusive as say in Bangalore – when I stayed there for two months I must have seen no more than five or ten westerners in all that time.

But once you get past the invasive staring and strike up a conversation, or buy some food from a street vendor, they are not aggressive but humble. Kindly in their manner, asking where we are from and wishing us well.

We did however upset one lady. She was selling some kind of meal and a local saw us looking on, somewhat bewildered (and tired and hungry), and said ‘very good’, nodding her head firmly. So we sat down and asked for ‘two’. Two of whatever she was cooking, it was difficult to tell. She produced some grubby plastic plates and began cutting up a clump of slightly crispy noodles with a large whole prawn on top. Everything went in, then she began mixing and mushing it together with her hands. I am wary about street food, and while we avoided any stomach dramas in Thailand, the similarity of the streets and stalls with India reminded me I had not been so lucky there. So we stood up, shook our heads apologetically and left. She looked crestfallen, insulted and perhaps a little angry, too. I felt horribly guilty, but I’m fairly certain I saved myself from a bout of Yangon-belly, or worse.

But alas, there was food to be found. And much more appetising, although unidentifiable.  We bought some fried rings of some kind of flour or potato mixture – whatever it was, it was beautifully herbed and spiced. The mangoes too are small and sweet, boasting a darker and far more fragrant flesh than any mango you will find in an English shop.

As for our plans for the next three weeks in Myanmar, we are as yet undecided. There are the temples of Bagan, which will certainly grace our eyes, and a hike from Kalaw to Inle Lake during which we stay with local families in their villages. Mandalay also seems to have more to offer than just our flight out of there.

But whatever we do, we can certainly say adieu to the cocktail buckets of Chiang Mai and the ping pong shows in Bangkok.

Following perhaps my most enjoyable term at Oxford, I’ve set out on a journey 6,000 miles away on what has so far been the most enlightening trip I’ve ever had. I’ve been asked on multiple occasions why on earth did I decide to go to China when I don’t speak Chinese and do a German degree? Dear reader, I asked myself that same question when I was being corralled through customs at Pudong Airport after a twelve-hour flight from Paris, following a sign that bared the rather un-PC name ‘foreigners’.

I’m visiting Shanghai, the largest city on earth (depending how you measure it), for eight weeks on an internship at a non-for-profit organisation supporting British businesses and their development. In the two weeks I’ve been here, my time has been highly enjoyable, from the enlightening, the amusing, to the downright bizarre.

My working day consists of me getting out of bed at the insane hour of 7am in weather so humid I feel like I’m in a swimming pool all day, before climbing aboard the whirlwind of death that is the Shanghai Metro. It’s a most un-British experience. Politeness and orderliness go to shreds when you’re squeezing your way onto a subway carriage where people are so amazed to see a blonde-haired person that they take photos of you on the morning commute. I then wander outside into the stifling heat, past the red flags, and into work. To be fair, you really don’t notice that China’s not a democracy except in glimpses like how Facebook and Twitter are officially blocked, although as OUSU’s ex-Returning Officer, the lack of elections is alarming.

My workplace is a British company, conveniently located above four floors of Marks and Spencer on the longest shopping street in the world (Nanjing Road). But it remains a culture shock when you step outside at lunchtime, struggling by through pointing, hand actions and saying ‘zhege’ (this one) and ‘xiexie’ (thank you) when ordering dumplings or noodles. Luckily, the cuisine is excellent, although I’ve eaten some unusual things like turtle.

Of course, it’s not all work and no play, as I’ve discovered from exploring Shanghai from a more tourist-y perspective on the weekend. First things first, I meet up with other interns and do what many students do best: get plastered. Only here, it’s a far cry from Wahoo or Plush. We start in taxi from Pudong (I admit the name is funny) passing the skyscrapers of Lujiazui, paying only about a quid each (taxis and food are dirt cheap here) to reach a rather claustrophobic dance floor. Occasionally, I find myself getting street food after (think Hussein’s or Hassan’s, only more noodles and fewer kebabs) out on the Bund, which is modelled on Liverpool’s waterfront, at 5am in the morning.

As it’s the biggest city in the world, there’s obviously plenty to see, from the quaint and green People’s Park to the department stores on Nanjing Road, which you wander past on your way to the Bund, being offered countless “massages” on the way there. Shanghai is a very westernised place by Chinese standards so there’s very little in the way of ‘traditional’ China here, although there are glimpses of it. During rush hour when I had a half hour to spare, I walked around the Jing’an Temple, a stone’s throw from my office, where the sound of people throwing coins into wells and the smell of burning incense drowned out the morning traffic and the occasional onslaught of pollution. There’s also the Yuyuan Gardens and the Old Town, where I hear there’s a market selling crickets and other insects.

It feels extraordinary to be in such an unusual, albeit exciting country, where the cultural contrast can be daunting but if taken light-heartedly, is astounding or at least hilarious. The dreaming spires of Oxford seems so far away, as does my Yorkshire home, although my memories of the latter certainly come out in the markets here where you barter for what you want, so the strategy and stinginess come to the fore.

Indeed, I might never truly understand what actually brought me here besides my own curiosity and dreams of experiencing the world, which I’ve chased all this way. Maybe I’m sounding a little too fascinated because when all’s said and done, it’s not like I’ve discovered another planet. Yet as someone who has only been out of Europe once, I’ve never experienced anything quite like this.

However, I’ve always held that you’ve got to experience what hasn’t been experienced, which is certainly what I’m trying to do here and am doing so successfully. I’ve made plans to visit the countryside beyond Shanghai and see the city from the top of one of those skyscrapers. But for now I’m playing out the dream I set out to live on my year abroad away from Oxford, a city I already miss so much. But so far, I’m astounded by what I’ve seen.