Six unimportant things…
So this is a good one. I got tagged by Jane at Foodzilla over in Michigan (I know! I’m feeling all international and cosmopolitan now) to tell her six unimportant things that I love. Actually, this is more difficult than it seems as every time I thought of something it occurred to me that it really was quite important after all. Still, I managed, so here goes:
1. My doggit. Yeh, okay, so he’s just a dog. Most Irish people think we’re mental for a) having a ‘working’ dog as a pet and b) having him living in the house! But he’s the softest, silliest, and most adoring fella you could ask for. He’s immaculately clean in the house (even after a marathon 8 hour shopping trip to the north – bladder of an elephant, that one), incredibly gentle and sweet natured and he just loves us all to bits (slightly annoying having a lanky, furry lesion attached to your leg at all times but hey). Okay so retired greyhounds are ten a penny, but still, we love him.
2. My garden hearts: Hubby’s a man of few words, but he does occasionally surprise me with a nice little gesture when he’s mowing one of the lawns. I love looking out of a window and finding this:
Sometimes it’s not all about words.
3. Great ingredients. I love using real butter, free-range eggs and lovely fresh, Irish produce. There’s a great fruit & veg wholesaler local to us and I’ll often be found there picking up tons of great quality fresh stuff (they do local duck eggs too) and planning menus in my head. The great butcher at Sheelin has a little white-board up where he writes ‘this week’s lambs came from…’ and the name of the local producer. His meat is amazing. Unimportant, but it makes me happy.
4. Forward planning. I’m a bit obsessive about stuff, and nothing makes me happier than having something to look forward to. Obviously our forthcoming wedding blessing is occupying a lot of my time at the moment, and a swift search of English Towers will see me ensconsed with my notebook and a couple of magazines, daydreaming and planning about table flowers, menus, dresses… you name it.
5. My garden. I’m a novice gardener and kill as many things as I nurture, but I’m really enjoying learning all about it and our dinner yesterday featured home-grown new potatoes and baby carrots, which I served up with a certain amount of pride.
6. Our little community. It’s only when I hear people talk about ‘school runs’ and Tesco delivery that I realise quite how rural we really are. There is no school gate ‘Mommy mafia’ at the little school here, as the children that aren’t within walking distance are all picked up and dropped off by bus, such is the huge rural catchment. Tesco probably hasn’t even heard of us, let alone decided to deliver here to the arse end of nowhere, and shopping is a half-day challenge. Still, bimbling down the boat road with Bert yesterday, the scent of the honeysuckle so heavy you feel it could pick you up and float you away, and stopping and chatting to the lovely lady with the new baby, I couldn’t have been happier.
Small things, but often they mean just as much as the heavy stuff. I’m off to visit the folks for a while (and have a speedboat trip booked in London! Thanks Ma!), but while I’m gone, how about you, then? Six unimportant things that you love…
How to extract maximum bathtime annoyance from your tame racing* greyhound
1. This takes a bit of forward planning. The night before, when your retired, lazy git of a greyhound is asleep on your lap, decide that he smells a bit ‘doggy’ and resolve to bath him the next day if it’s sunny. When the next day dawns bright and warm, remove your greyhound from his sleeping place in the shade and douse liberally with the hose. Next, chase your escaped greyhound back to his hiding place, attach lead to collar and stake to ground with garden fork. Drench liberally again:
2. Ignoring all growly moaning noises, cover your soggy victim generously with Head & Shoulders and bring to a fine, foamy lather:
3. Apply the hose to the muzzle area to attempt to remove the week-old traces of stolen Muller yoghurt, the pots of which are creating a mountain of such epic proportions on his bed that the subject has taken up residence on the sofa instead.
4. When your grumpy victim has been scrubbed sufficiently, rinse again with copious amounts of water, then run away squealing as he attempts to get his revenge by shaking cold water all over you:
5. Allow victim to return to his former hiding place in the shade to sulk and begin the long process of re-doggying himself by applying a stinky layer of drool:
6. Ignore all escape attempts while taking pictures of seething greyhound and telling him how cyoooot he looks when he’s all soggy and fluffy and what a lubly clean mummy’s baby he is, yes he is, he’s momma’s baby, oh yes he is…
7. Do not, I repeat, do not attempt to laugh at any point during the procedure at furious, soggy greyhound as this will result in a greyhound death-ray glare being applied and spontaneous human combustion. You have been warned.
PS: Look Mr Lanney – he’s not fat any more is he?!
* Bit of artistic licence there – not sure that Bert ever actually picked up any speed…
Butternut squash and chickpea curry
Righto, then, following swiftly on from the butternut squash risotto, here’s another curry that is used in so many different guises here at English Towers, I’m struggling to know which photos to use. As you know, I’m a big fan of butternut squash, so here’s the basic recipe used with squash, but it’s equally good made with potatoes or cauliflower:
1 butternut squash, peeled and deseeded, cut into chunks (mine weighed about 700g)
1 red onion, finely chopped
2 tbsp oil
1/2 tsp dried chilli (or 1 tsp fresh chilli, de-seeded and finely chopped for extra zing)
1/2 tsp mustard seeds
1/2 tsp ground cumin
1/2 tsp ground coriander
1/2 tsp turmeric
1 tsp sugar
1 tsp salt
1 tsp grated ginger (I grate mine straight from the freezer)
200ml chicken stock
1 tsp garam masala (don’t put this in until the end though)
1 tin chickpeas
Fresh coriander, roughly chopped
So heat the oil in a pan until very hot. Add the onion along with all the spices (not the garam masala, this is more of a seasoning and should be added at the end). I’m a bit random with the spices – I think this is roughly what I use, but I’ll see the Cumin seeds in with the spices and think ‘ooh, I’ll bung a few of them in’. Still it always tastes okay…
When the onion starts to turn brown, add the chicken stock (or veg stock, obviously), and the chunks of squash (or potato or whatever), stir around and cover. Turn the heat down low and leave the squash to soften for around 15 minutes.
Now stir in the drained chickpeas. Leave to cook for five more minutes, then stir in the garam masala, sprinkle with the coriander and serve.
This basic spice mix is really versatile. Leave out the squash and bung in a tin of tomatoes and a couple of handfuls of baby spinach, plus a can of any old pulses, or substitute dried lentils instead of the chickpeas (add at the same time as the squash, plus 100ml more water), or any other canned beans or pulses (or just leave them out and serve as a plain vegetable curry). Here’s one I made with borlotti beans (I know, a weird Indian/Italian mixture, but hey, it tasted nice and I didn’t have any chickpeas):
There you have it. On the subject of curries, anyone else have any favourites recipes?
Wall.E on Disney Blu-Ray DVD – a review by the Mad Professor
So as you know Disney very unwisely made us Blu-Ray Ambassadors, and revelling in his title a bit too much, #1 has decided to take over today’s blog post with a little review. Jonathan Ross eat your heart out:
WALL.E is a funny and exciting film for people of all shapes and sizes. The story begins when a small, garbage cube-making robot called WALL.E, who, after hundreds of years making cubes of garbage, runs into a hi-tech and sophisticated search robot called EVE. The two of them set off on a brilliant and thrilling adventure across the universe.
I found the environmental element to the film a very well put warning to the world at the rate we are going, and it puts it in a way that children can understand. In the movie, the WALL.E robots have the task of cleaning up the mess that all of the people made. They all disappear from earth on a space ship hoping to leave behind the mess they’ve made, only becoming fat and stupid in the process.
I would say that it was a really enjoyable film all in all.
#1
Ah, my cherub eh? He sure tells it like it is. Next up: Bolt and Beverley Hills Chihuahua (derrr de de de da chihuahua! derrr de de de da chuhuahua!). Oh you know the one (especially for Towny, this bit):
Click to Play!
Random personal texts shared for your viewing pleasure
Me: Are you coming in Sept? You can stay at ours… I’ll be gutted if you can’t make it x
Mad Uncle Ali: I have every intention of coming sis but haven’t organised anything x
Me: Ok brilliant. It won’t be the same without you so I’ll keep nagging x
Mad Uncle Ali: Only cos I’ll get smashed, fall over and entertain everyone x
Me: Which is why you’re pivotal to the proceedings
Mad Uncle Ali: I’ll sleep with the dog. He likes me x
The Friday photo: Un-wabbit welated gardening update
Okay, so the rabbits haven’t eaten everything, although I’m really disappointed that they ate the tiny shoots of the plants that my Ma and I planted (what were they Ma? Dahlias and something?) as I really fancy having a few more flowers in the garden. One teeny new shoot has just peeked out again (see the little bed by the patio, left of top pic) so I’ve covered it in a cloche to see if it will reappear.
Still, the carrots are recovering well after their surprise early haircut. Here’s the raised bed, where you can see at the back that the fennel is enormous (and very cuddly – everyone stops to give it a hug) again, as are the chives and thyme, also at the back next to the remaining potatoes, and that my weird green pointy cauliflower things are doing well (netted area, far left). Next along, inside the fleecy area are some cabbages, then two rows of carrots, and to the front you can just see the two strawberry plants peeking over the fleece:
:
Here’s the middle. A bit of overlap as you can see the carrots in the fleecy bit first, but then there’s two rows of spring onions, another row of cabbages, then a fleece area containing the purple sprouting broccoli – my monster rhubarb is at the back there:
And to the right of the bed is the weird, bushy area where #2 ripped open a random bag of blue flower seeds and they went everywhere, next to some more chives and a few marigolds and red salvias planted for colour. As you can see, the remaining potatoes not stricken by the dreaded Blackleg (arrrr) are still thriving, thank goodness. Oh and that purple thing in the front is a flower with purple spikes but I can’t remember the name:
Not a bad effort eh? In fact, I might go so far as to say English Towers: 1, Rabbits: 0.
Heh.
A Curiously clever combination: butternut squash risotto and NZ wines
I love butternut squash. I love its sweetness, its softness, and its beautiful orangey colour. I love risotto too, and the combination of both of them is one of my favourite meals. I happened to mention to the lovely Matt, fellow blogger and ’Wine Evangelist’ (I love that title) at Curious Wines that I was going to knock up a butternut squash risotto and he very kindly offered to send me a couple of wines to taste with it. ‘I can’t taste wine’, was my initial reaction, but with the promise of help and tasting notes, I felt much better. Was I in? Too bloody right I was.
#1′s homecoming from bleeding his Grandparents dry in England seemed a good enough time for a little celebration, so I put the vino on ice and set about making the butternut risotto:
1 butternut squash
Olive oil
Salt and pepper
7 or 8 sage leaves, finely chopped
Butter
1 onion, finely chopped
350g risotto rice (arborio or carnaroli)
2 litres chicken stock
Parmesan, grated, and some for serving
So preheat the oven to 200/gas 6. Peel and deseed the squash and cut into cubes. Spread the pieces out on a baking tray and drizzle with a little olive oil. Season with salt and pepper and sprinkle over about half of the finely chopped sage leaves:
Roast for about 30 mins or until soft and slightly caramelised. You can do this in advance and allow the squash to cool, if you like:
For the risotto: allow the stock to come to a simmer in a saucepan, then keep warm on a low heat on the hob:
Grab a heavy based pan, put it on a low heat and melt a tablespoon of butter. Glug in some olive oil (about 2 tbsp should do it), then gently fry the onion until it’s translucent (try my trick of adding a pinch of caster sugar to stop it browning too quickly). Then add in the rice, stirring around until it’s all glossy.
Add half the squash and the finely chopped sage. Now just keep adding ladlefuls of stock, one at a time, stirring constantly and making sure all the liquid is absorbed before adding another. When all the stock is gone – this might take half an hour or so – the risotto should be nice and creamy, still with a teeny bit of bite to it.
Now add in the rest of the squash and stir in the rest of the sage (the smell is amazing). Turn the heat off, have a quick taste and season generously, then stir in another knob of butter, and a handful of grated parmesan, put the lid on and leave it to sit until you’re ready to serve. Finally, ladle the risotto into warm bowls, topping with some grated parmesan, and serve:
Now to the wine. Our first contender was the Waipara Springs Premo Dry Riesling 2006 (€12.99 from Curious Wines), and wow did this baby surprise me. I think the last time I tried Riesling it was some medium German shocker (you can read all about what Curious Wines’ Mike has to say about Riesling here), but this was amazing – so zingy it was almost fizzy on your tongue. We’re no wine buffs, but could actually taste something citrusy, (#1 had a sip and reckoned he could taste grapefruit – and do you know what? It was actually on the tasting notes – he’s far too young to be this good) and the crisp, acidity was a perfect foil for the creamy sweetness of the risotto. Yum.
Onto the next one, then. Next up was the Tussock Pinot Gris 2007 (€14.99 from Curious Wines). You can read Matt’s notes about Pinot Gris here. This was a different kettle of fish. You could see instantly that it was much darker in colour, and for those of you who might find the Waipara Springs a little too sharp, this was much softer and really, really pleasant, although still retaining a crispness that again complemented the risotto perfectly. Try as we might, though, our dodgy palettes couldn’t make out the promised pear/apple notes – but I think that was our fault rather than the wine – and there was a lingering aftertaste that I can’t describe (help, Matt!) but that was absolutely delicious. Although this was lovely with food, we could well imagine polishing this one off whilst tucked up on the sofa in front of Lie to Me.
Sadly, after finishing two bottles of wine between us, I can’t read many of my notes and lost one of the pieces of paper, but the Waipara Springs definitely came in the winner with an impressive score of 16/20. So that’s it, then, my first ever wine tasting. I’d like to thank Mike and Matt for their patience, copious notes, encouragement… and the free wine, oh and for the slightly giggly game of poker that followed. Bless you.
In which YTPV comes to tea and becomes the YTPR
So you’ll remember a while back I ranted on about our planned blessing and how I couldn’t understand why it was all so complicated. Why can’t you just have a big pretty church-like place to celebrate happy family stuff in, headed by some guy who stands at the front and who everybody listens to, without actually having to say you believe in something that you don’t, I said.
You’ll also remember that the Young Trendy Protestant Vicar (YTPV) popped in to see Hubby while I was away: Hubby made noises to the effect that he might not actually be a regular church goer, and Young Trendy Vicar made noises back to the effect that if he didn’t see us in church we could wave goodbye to a pretty little stone-churched blessing, I said.
Yes? Thought so. Anyhoo, it came to pass that the YTPV read my blog post. He emailed me, I emailed back, and we ended up having a quite decent chat about stuff. He took exception to what I’d said and thought that Hubby had got the wrong end of the stick (I did only say ‘made noises to the effect…’), that he’d never insist on anyone atttending regularly, that it was a personal thing. He also took exception to being lumped in with my rather dim view of the church (mainly, I have to say, due to our seriously unfriendly and unhelpful Catholic Priest).
Anyhoo, yesterday saw us having a rather torrid day. We had one of those lovely husbandy/wifely rows that pretty much lasts all day, interspersed with small bouts of sulking. I was upstairs reading a book sulking when the doorbell rang. #2 arrived to announce that the Vicar was at the door. It was one of those moments when you have to kind of suspend your row, like when one of the kids comes in, and pretend that you’re getting along great, whilst simultaneously shooting each other ‘I want to kill you’ glares. Fun and games.
So the Vicar, then. Actually, he pointed out that he’s a Rector, not a Vicar. I asked if I could still call him YTPV if I amended it to YTPR. He agreed with a wry smile. I remembered how much I liked him. And so we chatted. We chatted about religion, yes, but we also chatted about kids and schools and TV and marriage and commitment and blogging:
YTPR: ‘I’ve actually been inspired to start my own blog’
Me: ‘Great! Can I have the web address?’
YTPR: ‘No’
Me: ‘It’s okay, I’m wholesome, I’m sponsored by Disney and everything’
And do you know what? He listened. He listened when I said that I had trouble with the whole ‘believing in something I can’t see’ thing. He listened when I told him that church had always been a big part of my life, that I enjoyed going and that I found it comforting and familiar. He nodded when we talked about wanting our kids to grow up respecting others and living by the ideals encouraged by the church. He smiled when we talked about wanting to stand up, properly, in front of our family and friends in a traditional setting, and celebrate being married for 15 years. He listened when we said we had a silly thing about actually saying our vows to each other, as we didn’t do it first time round (the evil glares were starting to diminish now).
I told him about you, my lovely readers. How I liked the fact that you’re always honest with me. How Laurie said ‘erm, am I missing something? If you’re not religious, why do you want to get married in a church anyway?’ And how one of my most loyal and long-time commenters, Susan B, said kindly that ’of all the people I know, you and your family actually LIVE the Christian ideal of open heartedness, generosity and love, as opposed to paying it lip service every Sunday’, which really touched me. And I’d tried to explain that although I’m not ‘religious’ per se, I love the little church here – me and Bert can often be found wandering through the graves or sitting in a sunny spot – it’s peaceful and beautiful and, yes, spiritual. We also told him about the non-religious options we’d looked into, and that they weren’t quite right for us.
I know I’m at risk of this post becoming very long, which I don’t like as I think people switch off if they arrive and see a huge blog post to tackle, but we had a good chat. I won’t say I’m any nearer to sorting out my complicated feelings about my – dare I say it – ‘faith’ or ‘spirituality’, but he assured us that we were welcome at the church at any time, whether it be Easter/Christmas/Weddings/Funerals/Christenings, or just every once in a while. And that if we wanted to consider a service of some kind in the church, then he would consider talking with us further, which I think was pretty nice, considering that my views are somewhat left of centre.
Oh, and I got his web address too. He talks about me here and even has a rant, which made me laugh.
Shiver me timbers, it be the dreaded Blackleg… arrr…
Ahoy ye land lubbers. So tragic events be unfoldin’ here at Ye Olde English Towers. The potatoes they be dyin’ and there’s nowt that can be done about it. They be stricken’ with the dreaded Black Leg. Argghhhh
Okay, I can’t keep up the pirate speak. But basically my poor potato plants have started going yellow and wilting and an emergency call to the garden oracle, otherwise known as my Disreputable Dad, uncovered the tragic news that my poor tatties are suffering from Potato Blackleg, a bacterial disease that makes the potato stems rot, killing the foliage and ruining the crop:
Sadly, there’s no cure but to dig the buggers up. Apparently I bought infected seed potatoes (Damn you, Woodies!), but happily, not all have succumbed quite yet, and the ones that have died have been caught early enough to save most of the little babies beneath. Gutted. First wascally wabbits and now this. I’m just not cut out for the country life. I should have a high-rise apartment in Kensington or something, dahling.
So for the purposes of today’s post we be talkin’ like a pirate, yarrrrr. In fact, I designate today ‘English Mum’s Talk Like a Pirate Day’ (with apologies to the real Talk Like a Pirate Day, which is sometime in September), which means any comments shall be strictly of the pirate variety (and yes Moon that means you have to join in) else you’ll be walkin’ the plank, so ye will, ye lily-livered scallywags. Yarrrr.
The Saturday photo: Why have a dog and bark yourself?
So oopsy, was so busy ranting about the Evil Octopus Woman I completely forgot the Friday photo. I did have one in mind, which became even more relevant when I took a quiet wander round the English Estate this morning and discovered not only a new rabbit hole from the field into the garden, but a tunnel. A TUNNEL! In my raised vegetable bed. The cheeky furry little bastards have dug a tunnel through the potatoes (the hole is in the middle and all the yuck they threw out is covering my spade):
… and under the rhubarb:
I mean, what’s that supposed to be? They do realise it’s a raised bed and they can’t actually dig anywhere do they? Or is it just that they’re sneakily trying to reach the carrots on the other side with a covert underground access-point?
And, to add insult to injury, where – you might ask – was my rabbit-chasing, ex-coursing greyhound during all these rabbit digging shenanigans?
*sigh*
