Chicken with tomato, olives and mozzarella
So you’ll like this. My car’s been knackered most of the week, so shopping has been a little difficult. Hence, an uninspiring bag of chicken breasts in the bottom of the fridge was all that greeted me yesterday, on a mission to prepare something yummy for Sunday lunch. More rummaging produced a ball of mozzarella, still in date, half a butternut squash and a couple of onions. Oh. Undaunted, I set to work and the result wasn’t half bad. Good enough, in fact, to share with you. Brace yourself:
Chicken with Tomato, Olives and Mozzarella
2 tbsp olive oil
1 clove garlic, finely sliced
1 large onion, cut in half then finely sliced
6 chicken breasts cut in half, or this would be lovely with big fat pork chops
1 tin plum tomatoes
Chicken stock
2 tsp sugar
Ball of buffalo mozzarella, torn into pieces
Handful basil
Couple of handfuls black olives, roughly chopped
So heat up the oil (I like a knob of butter in there too, it smells so nice) in a large, heavy-based casserole (oh, for Le Creuset’s new teal range – I love it so). Bung in your chicken breasts (or pork), season with salt and pepper and just brown on either side. Remove them from the pan and throw in your garlic and onions, frying until translucent. Put the chicken breasts back in, adding the olives and the tin of tomatoes. I quickly whizz the tomatoes with a handheld blender first, purely because #2 doesn’t like big lumps of tomato.
Quick moan here: buy a decent tin of whole plum tomatoes like Napoli or something. Don’t buy those dreadful tins of chopped tomatoes – they’re so watery and you want a nice velvety sauce with this.
Add about 1/2 pint of chicken stock (I’m certainly no stock snob, I just bung a cube into the empty tomato tin and fill up with boiling water), season again (I know, but it needs it), sprinkle over the sugar, then give it a stir, cover it and put into a moderate oven (180 degrees) for about 20 minutes (30 if you’ve got fat pork chops).
Just before serving, stir through the torn mozzarella and sprinkle over the basil. As you serve it, try not to get too cross at the big strings of mozzarella chewing gum that tangle across the plate. Slurp.
EDIT: I tried this recipe with lamb shanks tonight – increasing the cooking time to two hours and leaving out the mozzarella. It was incredibly nice.
Don’t Bug Me’s Top Ten Scary Things
Hellooooooo! Anybody home? Well, bloody hell, I come all the way over here and they have all buggered off out. Charming. Oh well, I might as well make myself at home. For those of you who have not had the pleasure, I am Don’t Bug Me!, cousin to English Mum and long suffering sister of Moon. My two furry friends here are Willow and Tess. Willow is the grey one and is well known for her uncanny ability to sink her teeth into my left ear and Tess, the black one, is a catnip addict and a little bag of crazy. I suspect both are a lot less drooly, smelly and bald compared to Bert. I also suspect that they are a lot less friendly and cuddly.
Anyhoo, while I am here, I shall share with all EM’s lovely readers ten things that scare me. My last post was about some of the not-so-sensible things that I have done in my, such as bungy jumping and sky diving. This got me thinking about what does actually scare me, since obviously fast and high up doesn’t do it. Here is what I came up with:
1). People. I am not a people person and people scare me. Meeting new people, having to start up conversations with people that I don’t know, small talk in situations that you can’t escape e.g. at the hairdresser. Large groups of people scare me, especially if I don’t know a lot of them. And if you even think of trying to get me to participate in a game of charades, well, that is just not going to happen.
2). Talking in front of people. I know, I know, I am a lecturer, how could this possibly be a problem for me? Well, it is and it scares me every time. It does help when you are the one that supposedly knows it all and it really helps when students will believe anything you say, so long as you say it with authority and a serious face. I have had a lot of fun with that one.
3). Willow. Yes, she looks all cute and furry, but trust me, she has a vicious streak a mile wide. You should hear the noises that she makes if I even get close to her with a brush, the FURminator or a pair of scissors. Did I mention that she targets ears?
4). My credit card bill. How dare it come every month.
5). Mr. DBM’s driving. He used to be fine, but since he has had to commute to work, he has become Angry Mr. DBM. He shouts, he swears, he threatens. He tailgates, speeds and swerves around all the other idiots, morons, people who bought their licences and people who shouldn’t be on the road.
6). The Yungas Road. This is supposedly the world’s most dangerous road, running from La Paz to Coroico in Bolivia. I haven’t even been there and it scares me. I saw it on National Geographic the other day. It is a single lane, dirt road with 2000ft drop offs, with no guard rails. Rain and fog can descend in seconds, dropping visibility to near zero and turning the road into a mud bath. Just watching this on TV made my bladder contract. And then my blood ran cold as realisation dawned – we will have to take this road on our trip to South America. Maybe we could fly instead?
7). Mirrors. Every time I see one, I see myself and that is not always a pretty sight.
8). Guns. I don’t care how many times people say that guns don’t kill people, people kill people, guns still scare me and they should be banned. It is a lot harder to kill someone if you don’t have a gun. Can you imagine the number of people, often innocent people, that would be alive today if there were no guns?
9). My state of health. Right now, things aren’t so bad, except for the ever enlarging not-a-baby-bump, but I do worry. My family does not have the healthiest track record. I am scared that my hips will fail and I won’t be able to hike. I am scared that my liver might actually explode one day. Most of all, I am scared that I will go blind. Right now, I am as blind as a bat with an astigmatism. What if one of my retinas detaches while I am halfway to Machu Picchu or communing with the penguins in Patagonia? That scares me.
10). Midgets. Well, they don’t exactly scare me, but they do give me the willies. I used to work with one in London. When you sat down, he would stand right next to you, really close and his head would be right at chest level. I asked him politely to respect my personal space and he called me a lesbian. When he left, someone wrote in his card “Glad to see you are leaving us, love The Bitch in Comfortable Shoes” I can’t imagine who………….
So, there you have it. Cheerio everybody. It was nice to meet you all and please feel free to drop by my blog anytime. I think perhaps I should get back there now – I fear Moon, AKA The Alien in the Basement might have been round in my absence.
Thanks for having me English Mum! (By the way, if you’re looking for EM, I believe she might have gone to visit Moon).
Conversations with Bert
Bert: *sigh*
Me: Hey Bert
Bert: Hey Mum, gissa cuddle
Me: Okay, but can you stop drooling on my jeans, please? There’s a good chap.
Bert: Scratch my ears..ooh yeah…a little higher…perfect. And I need to pee.
Me: Well, I’m just busy typing something – I’ll be done in a minute. And move your head off my lap – I can’t type properly
Bert: *sigh*
Me: Patience, Biffer – two ticks, honestly.
Bert: *sigh*
Me: Tsk
Bert: I don’t think you’re quite grasping the gravity of my situation, I really need to go.
Me: Look, I’m just finishing, I’ll be done in two seconds.
Bert: Done yet? Hmm? Can we go?
Me: Nearly. And stop licking my trousers, I’ll look like I’ve wet myself
Bert: Now I’ve really, really got to go.
Me: Jeez, Bert. Cross your legs for a minute.
Bert: It’s desperate. Can we go? Can we? Please? Huh? Can we? Huh? Huh?
Me: Almost….done… don’t lick my arm, your breath is gross
Bert: Okay, then, don’t say I didn’t warn you – I’m just popping upstairs to your bedroom…
Me: Arrghh! Okay! I’m coming now!
Bert: Heh. Works every time.
A notice to birds: with fledglings come responsibilities
Now, I always thought birds were really clever. I mean, they do all that migrating business, don’t they. Our bunch of yobbo house martins will no doubt come back to piss us all off again next year by squawking outside our window from about 3am, attacking me while I’m hanging out the washing and pooing all over the place - it’s a pretty amazing feat (the migrating I mean, not the pooing) - one which must, surely take some brain power.
Lately, though, I’ve been beginning to wonder. Take procreation, for example. I mean, a mama bird has to do some serious preparation in order to rear her chicks, does she not? There’s all that nest building, sitting on eggs, guarding against predators… and then all the feeding, etc. And then it comes to fledging, and what does she do? She lets the poor things plop out onto the boat road or the field and flap helplessly around until they’re gobbled up by a very pleased greyhound.
And I for one could do without having to keep going in there to rescue them. It’s not pleasant, I can tell you, rummaging around between the stinky jaws of death trying to fish out a wiggling bird. This afternoon I actually half trod on a fledgling which then flapped up inside my fleece from whence it was ‘rescued’ by a very enthusiastic Bert. Not only was this very tickly, but I then had to do my countryside duty, lever his jaws apart and remove the poor, startled yoke. Bert was dead disappointed, I can tell you. And I chipped my nail varnish too.
So birds: do yourself a favour and fledge your little darlings someplace a bit better thought out. This is the third time this week I’ve had to delve into Bert’s mouth and pluck out one of your babies. And after all that effort do you really want them to start out on their little journey to adulthood completely traumatised and drenched in greyhound drool? And it’s no good sitting up on the telephone pole squawking at me either, it’s not my fault you’re not taking your parenting duties seriously. Tsk.
The Friday Photo: An award? Pour moi? Shucks
When you become a blogger, you join a diverse and very widely spread family. I love it. I suppose I’m a little odd in that I currently subscribe to the feeds of about forty different blogs, but hell, I love to read and have fresh reading material at my fingertips every day! I’ve got friends all around the globe and people pop by English Towers all the time. What’s not to love? Anyhoo, this award is from Jay, who says:
“She encourages new bloggers, promotes the cause of ex-racing greyhound adoption (she is owned by the delightful Bertie) and writes in a pithy and often very funny way about a wide variety of subjects. She has also led me to some great blogs which I now read regularly”
But wait…there’s a catch: if you accept the award, you must:
- Pick five blogs that you consider deserve the award for their creativity, design, interesting material, and also for contributing to the blogging community, no matter what language.
- Each award has to have the name of the author and also a link to his or her blog to be visited by everyone.
- Each award winner has to show the award and put the name and link to the blog that has given her or him the award itself.
- The award winner and the one who has given the prize have to show the link of the Arte y Pico blog, so everyone will know the origin of this award.
So I’ve tried to go about this from a slightly different angle, in that I’ve gone for people who, in my humble opinion, write really well. Here goes, then:
For Travel Writing
My first award goes to Hails over at Coffee Helps. Originally from Northern Ireland, Hails is currently on a one-woman mission to circumnavigate the globe, and the stories of her travels are really informative and often laugh-out-loud funny. She’s relentlessly optimistic and incredibly versatile (managing not to starve to death even after being pickpocketed of all her worldly cash in Lyon). A great blog.
For Razor-Sharp Wit
Next up is lubly Baino over in Australia. Baino describes herself as ‘old enough to know better, too young to care. I am a lazy left-wing, arm chair radical with far too much time on my hands’. I love her intelligent social commentary, and, frankly, couldn’t live without the Friday Fuckwit. Enough said.
For Being Inspirational and Aspirational
Tara at DC de facto is who I’d like to be if I wasn’t me. She spends her days ’protecting one pound people’ in a special care baby unit, still finds time to give us a slice of DC life, and her photos just sparkle. Fantastic.
For Foodie Excellence
Well, I couldn’t pick five blogs without including the best foodie. Pop over to Jen over at Little Bird Eats for droolingly good recipes and great photography (I never could master taking photos of food). Small of stature, but big of appetite, The Wee One is a real foodoholic.
For Soul-Baring Excellence
Annie, over at The Little Pinch of Salt, is a true web-diarist. She really does open her heart and her writing is just beautiful. She’s also a big clever clogs in the film world and her photography is abolutely stunning. Read it and weep. Really.
Thanks, Jay! xx
Getting your goat
Can I just apologise for the length of this post? I do generally abide by the rule that after a couple of paragraphs your readers get bored and wander off, but I got well into this one. Right, so I got tagged ages ago by the lubly Grandad, and totally forgot about it. Sorry Grand-père, I’ll get right to it. I like this one because it’s a grumpy one and it kind of suits my general outlook on life at the moment (yes, I know, I know. I’m bloody trying). And, let’s face it, there’s nothing like a bit of irrational hatred to start the day with a bang.
Brace yourself, then:
- List two things that irritate you for a reason (and list the reason!), and two things that irritate you for no apparent reason whatsoever!!
- Give credit to the person who tagged you.
- Link your answers to the original blog, that’s here
- Tag four new people to participate.
Right, firstly two things that irritate me for a reason:
My O2 3G Broadband
And why? Because it HATES me. I seem to have been blessed with the narkiest, most hormonal internerd connection in christendom. It lurks about waiting for the optimum moment to conk out so that it can do as much damage as possible and REALLY piss me off. For example, Isitjustme told me on the blower last night (I know! We chat!) that she’d dedicated a little song to me. Would O2 let me log on and have a look? Would it buggery. Other times it’ll wait until I’ve just replied to loads of comments or typed a really long, complicated post and clicked ‘publish’ before deciding to go and put its feet up or pop to the shops. Leaving me staring at ‘Internet Explorer Could Not Display This Webpage’. Grrrrrr.
Yappers
Okay, so I’m probably going to alienate some of my dwarf-canine loving readership here, but I just don’t get little yappy dogs. I mean, why?! Pointless, vacuous people like Paris Hilton walk around with them in their handbags (don’t they poo in there?) and that in itself should be reason enough, but come on. Dogs, by their very nature, are Man’s Best Friend. They’re built for walking, barking, running, chasing things, fetching things (on our evening walk last night, Bert snuffled in the hedge and brought me a very cross hedgehog as a present – how thoughtful) and generally being a big, scary protector-of-humanity. I’m sorry, but something that is roughly 6″ tall that you could kill if you accidentally sat on is not going to be much help in a robbery, or if you got mugged. Okay, for truthfulness I have to say here that Bert wouldn’t be much cop at that either, but at least people are scared of him when he tries to kiss them. I give you yappers then, people: pointless furry tossers.
And now two things that annoy me for no apparent reason:
Toddlers
Nope, I don’t know why. I just wasn’t built with an ‘aw, aren’t they cute’ reaction to small children. I’m sure they’re lovely and all that, but I just wanted mine to grow up so they could answer back (oh, how I regret that one), have a chat, share a joke, take themselves to the toilet and not put marmitey toast in the DVD player. Enough said.
Television
Again, not sure why, but I just can’t sit and stare at an enormous (Hubby’s TV is the size of a small European country) black box surrounded by flashing lights and be entertained. Yes, I like the odd cookery programme, or Criminal Minds or something, but frankly, I’d rather read a book. No particular reason – although maybe a low boredom threshold could be to blame. I always find myself losing interest halfway through a film and wandering into the kitchen to make brownies.
And, because I’m a cantankerous, belligerent, throwing-out-the-rulebook kind of a rebel, I’m not going to tag four more people, because I’m far more interested in knowing what you lot find annoying instead. Come on, then. What really, really makes you seethe?
Lucky pants
So firstly, can I thank you so, so much for all your lovely emails and comments – I was feeling dead sorry for myself, then checked my blog to find all your kind words. Thank you, thank you, thank you. Seriously, I’m not worthy.
And secondly, I had a good old e-chat with my mate, Bea, who had the following wise words to say: ‘One of the things I love about you is that you really love your friends, but you need to love yourself just as much’. And do you know what, she’s right. What’s the point in wallowing and moaning and feeling sorry for myself? What exactly am I going to achieve? Nada. Would C have wanted me to mope around with a face like a smacked arse? Of course not. Would she have wanted me to get into a big spiral of being miserable because I’m miserable? Never! This was the person who could laugh even in the midst of the most dire of situations (she once told D: ‘I’m gonna f*cking haunt you’) which made everyone laugh in spite of themselves. So starting today I’m putting stuff right, saying stuff that needs to be said and then marching on.
I’m a big admirer of Winston Churchill. And the old boy once said that ‘Success is the ability to go from one failure to another, with no loss of enthusiasm’. And let’s face it, he was a pretty damned good role model (well, apart from the cigar, I suppose). So I sat down last night with a big glass of Morgan’s Spiced (yum!), and bloody well counted my blessings. Okay, I’m not a gazillion-selling author, but the commenters on my blog are the bestest gang of buddies one could ever wish for. I’m not the best Mum, but hey, we have a laugh. I’m certainly not the best wife in the world (a fact to which several people will testify), but Hubby and I get along just fine. And I’m not the cleanest person in the world but, it’s a happy household, and if you lean on a counter-top and put your arm in something sticky, well who really cares?
My good mate Isitjustme is facing a similarly torrid time at the moment and said a similar thing about her family – ‘I just keep thinking that this could all be a lot worse… We have each other and our health and you thankfully, have the same in Hubby and your gorgeous boys.’ Churchill also said ‘ a pessimist sees the difficulty in every opportunity; an optimist sees the opportunity in every difficulty’. And I’m definitely an optimist. So today I’ll be putting on my lucky pants (skull and crossbones from Top Shop) and looking to the future.
Fuck it, eh? We’ll soldier on.
This dark cloud
I’ve got this cloud. It’s a big, dark one. It hovers above my head, blocking out any feeble rays of Irish sun that might possibly shine in my direction. And it just won’t go away. It’s there in the middle of the night, when I’m wide awake listening to everyone else in the house sleep peacefully, and it’s still there in the morning, when I finally drag myself out of bed.
Honestly, it’s just not like me. I’m the eternal optimist, the ‘glass half full’ girl. Hubby re-mowed my heart into the lawn, has given me extra cuddles and watches me, I’ve noticed, out of the corner of his eye. My children, well, of course they still make me smile, but recently, well…
I lost a good friend. She doesn’t see what I see: her children growing up a little more every day, new flowers replacing the old under her special tree. These things take time, I guess. Other stuff’s happened. People disappoint me a lot, I think. Maybe it’s my fault. Maybe I build them up into something they’re really not, then I’m disappointed when they let me down.
I miss my family, my friends. I’d like a hug from my Mum, to laugh at one of my Disreputable Dad’s silly jokes (I think I’d still laugh, even with my black cloud). I’d like to walk along the shore, watch the sun go down, pick up shells. I’d like to sit and demolish a bottle of wine and tell Bea all about it, to sit in the sun with Becca and Clare, catch up on gossip, talk about shoes, whatever.
I’ve been thinking of taking a bit of time. They say it’s a great healer.
Elderflower Champagne dahling? It’s home made…
Ahhh, Hubby and I love the boat road down to the lough. This time of year it’s filled with the most beautiful sights and smells: the baby burgers and all growing up into potential rump steaks, their mamas still snorting protectively as we pass, the brook gurgles and bubbles, hidden amongst a hundred different wild flowers, butterflies flutter by (sorry) and recently a beautiful, and surprisingly large Pine Marten dashed out in front of us, a teeny baby swinging alarmingly from its mouth.
This time of year, the Elders are in full bloom too. The beautiful smell makes us both nostalgic – me for the cricket meadow back home, and Hubby for getting up to no good near some trees, probably. So I happened to mention to Hubby that I’d seen a recipe for them deep fried in a kind of tempura batter. I’d also squirreled away a recipe for Elderflower Champagne from the River Cottage website (which I obviously then fiddled with) and we resolved to gather a load the next day and give it a go.
Well, it’s not a particularly hard process, and there’s no guarantee that you’ll be left with anything remotely drinkable at the end, but if you’d got some Elderflowers blooming near you, give this a go. It’s a bit of a laugh:
Elderflower Champagne
Elderflowers (you’ll probably need 20 to 30 flower heads)
2 kg sugar
4 litres hot water plus another 2 litres cold
2 limes, juiced and zested
2 lemons, juiced and zested
2 tablespoons white wine vinegar
Dried yeast
So gather your flower heads and give them a quick rinse to get any bugs out. You’ll need something to make your champagne in – I used a new bucket from Woodies – make sure it’s very clean, obviously. Pour in the hot water and add your sugar, stirring until it dissolves, then top up to 6 litres with cold water. Stir in the lime and lemon juice and zest, the vinegar and the flowers. Now cover the top of the bucket with a clean tea towel or a baby muslin or something (not clingfilm, it needs to breathe), and peg the edges so no flies or icky things can get in. Leave it somewhere like a utility room – not too hot and stuffy and nice and airy – for a few days then add a couple of pinches of dried yeast, stirring well. Re-cover and leave for another four days, then strain well (through muslin or a clean cotton cloth) and bottle.
We used screw-top wine bottles that had been sterilised by washing in hot soapy water, rinsing, then baking in the oven. I’m not sure if this is safe, but nothing exploded so hey ho. Now you can leave your champagne anywhere from a couple of weeks to six months to mature (in the garage, in case of explosions) before chilling and cracking it open. Apparently the end result is very mildly alcoholic but makes a lovely mixer with gin too. I’ll let you know. Cheers!
