Holy Cow! The Birth of Stars
All in a Day's work down at The Farm

We’re standing here in our white clinical coats; Food Doctors about to perform our first ever experimental operation down at The Farm. The patient is a ‘Cow’, and it’s soon to give birth to hundreds of little bottles of sauce made with love, affection and a little fear. Our hair is severely tied back and every strand is encased under white cloth hats, which we wear at funny bouffant angles that make us all look like little Hilda Odgens (Coronation Street circa. 1977).

The ‘Cow’ is the technical name for the oversized cooking pan that takes pride of place in this pristinely clean room. When the sauce is finally made, it’ll come pouring out of the bottom of the pan like tits being milked – sucked out through a pipe into waiting bottles. I want to get a cow print cloth to cover the pan for added effect, but it’s not allowed.

We look deep into each others eyes and know we’re all praying for it all to go without hitch today. But you can read the terror in our body language; each of us knows what rests on this day all just cooking into place. We have our first order pending and we’re dangerously close to our first deadline.

We reassure each other with knowing glances and stand ready; armed with oversized spoons, scoops, weighing scales and buckets to act as bowls.

Saucy Secrets
There’s anticipation as the secret recipe is pulled out from a nondescript blue folder with the word ‘Confidential’ etched in blue ink across the top. But it’s all in Aunty Ji’s head anyway. She’s leading and supervising us through the day’s sauce making. We’re her runners and we’ll do what ever it takes to make it happen. Carefully planned instructions are called out and we march to order. Boxes are opened, colours and flavours rise-up thick into the air as they’re scooped, spooned and poured out into more containers; all lined up waiting for their turn to step up and perform in the pan.

The Cow is being warmed up in the background. The whiring noise of the generator is all consuming and awe-inspiring. Something amazing is going to happen today.


Forbidden Tastes
Ah, the smell of white wine vinegar, fiery garlic and neatly cubed chunks of feisty onions and the heady mix of spices (a rainbow of colours). It all makes me want to stick my head in the bowel of the cow and roll it around, violating any number of sections in the various standards and hygiene codes we’re adhering to. Needless to say, we’re not allowed to lick out any bowls either. But the exhilarating mix of flavours and forbidden tastes all fresh and so rich has me on the prowl for the finished thing. I can’t wait. The intense mass of flavours being cooked with raw green chillies makes our eyes pour with water. This is a labour of love and an emotional journey for us all.

I keep my desire secret in case of inciting the wrath of my boss who is already upset at my accidental vinegar-shower incident (very wet and slightly acidic), and the ketchup spillage incident (squelch). Not that I’m a ditz in the kitchen but the day unfolds with a number mishaps along the spiced road to sauce perfection. When things go wrong we have to stop everything and twice had to start again all from scratch to make our ‘holy perfection’ in a bottle.

Colourful Destiny
One week later of this daily grind, and we are done – with the cooking at least. Green, Orange and rich Red are piled high; flavours ready to burst forth and fulfil their destiny, on shelves, in fridges, and finally on plates, in homes, up and down the country.

Hundreds of bottles now have to be hand labelled because our monster labelling machine (the one thing that is mechanised in the whole process) has broken down. A full week of squinting, aligning, and strangely back breaking sticking ensues. Then there’s still more – we make little families of six out of the bottles, and case them up – passing them through a shrink wrap machine. The bottles are finally secure, ready to be sent on to their homes where they will no doubt add a punch of pure flavour to every meal, and be the stars of your world. We wish them well, as we wave them out the Farm gates.