DNA

The challenge for today is to consume three different plants of varying colours. Fortunately, on Sunday’s weekly trip to the farmers’ market, I spotted red and blue potatoes. I had only seen them before in Peru. There we were presented with a vibrant array of purples, blues, reds and pinks, each pebble-shaped morsel boiled to perfection with a hint of salt. Alongside the potatoes, in the farmers’ market, there was a fantastic box of candied beetroot. Once for a dinner party, I wanted to impress my parents, so I ordered candied beetroot from a wholesaler in London. That’s when I still lived in my hometown where blue and red potatoes would be dismissed as – new-fangled ideas from those English down there – FREEDOM! As a child, I remember my grandmother also castigating the French for sending their garlic into our supermarkets.

Now – I live in London and we have a farmers’ market and we’ve signed up to take part in a health study. You pay a lot of money, and they analyse every bit of your digestive system, sending off blood and poop and monitoring your every meal through a glucose-device pinned into your arm. I hit a vein or something on the way in. A crimson fountain of red cascaded onto our rented wooden floor. I think I got the stain out. Gut microbiomes are what it’s all about. You need to tend to your gut garden – we are told.

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I was anxiously expecting my delivery from London three days before the dinner party. When it arrived, I carefully unwrapped the package and pulled out the brown paper bag containing my culinary treasure. I’d been scanning the glossy food magazines when I noticed the splendid candied beetroot for the first time. When sliced, a mesmerising deep pink and white pinwheel spiral was revealed. Perfect. At the previous dinner party, in their house, my dad amazed everyone with his apple caviar, creating precise green spherifications by carefully squeezing his concoction out of a syringe into a calcium bath. My mum had diligently followed her instructions, crafting little mice out of radishes. We were on the brink of modern cuisine, molecular gastronomy, and my dad was getting ahead of the game. I had to up the stakes.

Menu

• Roast Scallop with Artichoke Barigoule (foie gras optional black truffle optional)
• Slow cooked Beef, Rib Meat with Onion Ice Cream and – Candied Beetroot
• Chocolate and Griotiine Clafoutis

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I’m waiting to get my results, it’s a long process. Samples are analysed to discover the microbes that live in your gut. The approach used to investigate the gut microbiome is based on DNA sequencing using meta genomics. Did you know our bugs have their own DNA? The DNA is read by machines and interpreted using advance sequence analysis. The first step is extraction – separating the DNA from the cell contents. The microbial DNA is then sequenced, producing millions of little strings of genetic code genomes. This, I think the app said, is called metagenomic sequencing. Anyway, it’s all very fascinating and could save my life, I think.

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The first course, including the luxurious combination of foie gras and black truffle sourced from London Fine Foods, was paired with a chilled glass of champagne. Start with a bang. Scallops hand gathered in Scotland – preferential to Dredged Scallops – which the cookbook said , ‘was a little cruel’. The fate of the goose that provided the foie gras was left unspoken. Meanwhile, we had opened the Cabernet Sauvignon – Californian. Dad had said that a wine with a high phenol content should be given time to breathe, releasing its complex bouquet. Dad had a seemingly endless supply of stories, each of them connecting to a scientific process. Dad was a microbiologist and Professor of Genetics. In 1968, four years before I was born, he was awarded the Endeavour Prize and 100 guineas for his University thesis The Origin of Life – the Master Molecule. He suggested that the relatively recent discovery of this thing called DNA might hold the source of life, and could be considered the Master Molecule.

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Like many people, we, my husband and I, have put on that ‘lockdown stone’, and on top of everything else, he now has type 2 diabetes. One thing which helps stabilise your blood sugar levels is going for a brisk walk – after – you eat the study said. This morning, after a bowl of porridge (the one with the Scotsman in a kilt) topped with tart raspberries, sweet blueberries, and crunchy nuts and seeds (I can hear the desperation of my grandmother from the heaven’s above – A true Scot only has salt on their porridge Kathleen) we set off. We have a splendid serene space nearby, the Kyoto Garden. Every morning we now walk a loop through the Garden, breathing in the fresh dawn air. Some mornings, the Koi carp appear to be in a deep sleep, their orange scales motionless beneath the still surface of the pond. Today, through a veil of frozen, wet rain, we saw a peacock huddled up high on the bough of a tree. Its magnificent tail of azure and emerald iridescent above the cascading tiers of the waterfall. We then debated how the peacock got up there. Do peacocks fly? Sometimes, I go back and sit by the pond and contemplate the silence. Anyway, participating in the health study should help with stabilising everything, and, it says, helps to prevent buildup of plaque in the arteries that can lead to arterial sclerosis, heart disease and (even) strokes.

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The beef, that had been cooking for hours, was carefully monitored to make sure it never reached above 60 degrees, so the collagen stayed soft and the beef stayed tender. The glass bowl in the sink was steadily filling with intensified liquid as the tomatoes drip, drip, dripped through the chinos tied to the kitchen tap. The candied beetroot looked resplendent. I stirred the onion ice cream, the velvety texture and onion aroma revealing itself after the hours of effort I had put in, and I smiled, knowing my dad would appreciate it. The Chocolate and Griotiine Clafoutis would steal the show. I had remembered his nostalgia for clafoutis – and the succulent taste of cherries soaked in Kirche would be a delight. We never said I love you out loud.

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I’m finding out about fibre, good carbs, bad carbs, healthy fats, and alternative proteins. Do you know how many plant varieties you should eat each week? At least thirty! Forget your 5 a day. Variety is key to a longer life. For tonight’s dinner then, we are going to have two varieties of coloured potatoes, red and blue, baked candied beetroot and succulent salmon fillets (… Scottish). That will total seven plant varieties eaten today, not including lunch. Nuts and seeds count as one each. Seven is a good average.

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We walked into the garage from the side entrance of the hall. They had to leave that way because mum’s wheelchair wouldn’t fit through the front door. “I’m drunk in charge of a vehicle “, she laughed, flumping merrily into the seat. “Dad, c’mon now, is this operation serious or what?” He said no, and I believed him, that somehow his triple heart bypass would be more straightforward than anyone else’s. He said to come to the hospital on the Sunday when he’d be on the up and up. Besides, he said, you’ll need to be ready to help with mum – after. Our eyes caught in a lock. Just fleeting enough. I followed them out of the garage and watched them turn the corner. They would stop, turn, and wave. My mum is in her wheelchair, my dad twirling a large golf umbrella. The darkness of the night enveloped them as they left, feeling full and joyful.

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Recipe for Grief

Ingredients

• 1 large hole
• 10 oz. of pain
• 1 cup of yearning
• 700ml of despair
• 4 tbsp of guilt
• 1 Remorse
• Forgiveness – frozen
• 1 pinch of reflection

Method

1. Mix the pain, despair and half of the guilt. Slowly pour into the hole.
2. Allow the yearning to come to the boil in a saucepan. Turn the heat down and reduce by half. Set aside to cool.
3. Once melted, gently fold the forgiveness into the yearning with a metal spoon.
4. Grate the Remorse using only the outer shell. Wrap the rest in paper and place in the bin. Add the remorse to the hole and smooth over the forgiveness mixture.
5. Place the other half of the guilt in the fridge for later.
6. Sprinkle the finished dish with a pinch of reflection. Usually served cold.