Tamarind Paste

          Until recently, the only thing I knew about tamarinds was that they feature in a schoolboy joke (Question: can you name three fruits that begin with the letter “t”? Answer: tangerines, tamarinds and… tinned peaches.) but the time has come to take this fruit more seriously. My growing preference for a plant-based lifestyle, which encompasses not only cleaning products but also dinners, has led me to re-visit the lentil and vegetable-based cuisine of my semi-hippie youth, albeit with the stimulus of some contemporary recipes, one of which requires a teaspoon of tamarind paste. No problem, I thought, given that there are two oriental supermarkets on our street, which is in Chinatown. However, the stuff is only available in a rather large lump of not so much a paste as a sticky, compressed pulp, which, after some messy experimentation, I discovered to be soluble in hot water and thereby manageable. I am still not sure what taste it added to the dish but am left with a large quantity of it. (War babies do not throw away leftover food.)

          It may have occurred to some of you – as it has to me – that living in Chinatown increases the likelihood of contracting covid19 but, this is not scientifically asserted. Moreover, because I don’t frequent the restaurants and I don’t have any Chinese mates, I don’t feel particularly at risk. Certainly, the neighbourhood is less busy of late and not just because there are fewer visitors. The fishmonger, who drives here from the coast every Sunday to set up his stall in our street, is feeling the pain. Whereas he normally sells out by early afternoon, his numerous and enthusiastic Chinese customers have been staying away. I spoke to him last week as he sat in his van, sipping coffee and staring disconsolately ahead. “It’s been like this for three weeks.” He said. “Maybe you could diversify,” I said. “What about setting up shop in one of the fish-less suburbs?” “By the time I’ve got a licence to trade there, it could all be over,” he replied. “I’ll stick it out and see what happens.” I don’t know how deep his pockets are, but I do know he’s not alone in his predicament.

          As of now, prevention of the spread of covid19 is top of the agenda in most countries and it is questionable to what extent our various governments will succeed in their efforts to contain it. The People’s Republic of China, as an authoritarian one-party state, appears to have an advantage in this respect: it can enforce drastic, unilateral measures as it sees fit. Normally, I would deplore the type of government that allows no dissent but, in this instance, my criticism is muted – though I do take a grim pleasure in the fact that its latest Big Brother project, face recognition by means of AI, is likely to be stymied by the sanctioned wearing of surgical face-masks. But let’s not gloat: the CCP has shown signs of mending its secretive and isolationist ways, if only, perhaps, as it has come in this phase of its existence to accept that its economic prosperity relies on an acceptable interface with other powerful nation states.

          Meanwhile, I count my good fortune in being able to carry on almost as normal. I go to the cinema during the day, when it is empty. (This week, I saw Portrait of a Woman on Fire, a love story portrayed in a very stylised setting, and The True History of the Kelly Gang, a tale of desperation told from the losers’ point of view.) And I cook at home, pushing the lentil boundary and experimenting with things like tamarind paste on toast, a dish I cannot recommend. Apparently, however, it’s good for polishing metal.