The Friday scoop! Disney’s Newest Baby: Alice
So the lovely chaps at Disney have released information about their newest film and I have to say it looks amazing. I asked if I was allowed to post about it because you’re my lovely readers and you deserve a scoop, and got an answer in the affirmative, so have a look at this: Disney’s Alice (thank you muchly to the wonderful Sarah (I love you, Mary Poppins) and the techy guys at Disney for the code – I am living proof that a blogging nerd can still have absolutely NO clue about HTML):
Jay over at The Depp Effect will be delighted that The Mad Hatter is none other than Johnny himself:
And my boys were whooping when they saw the fantabulous Matt Lucas:
Alice also stars Anne Hathaway, Helena Bonham Carter and Crispin Glover, with Mia Wasikowska as Alice (not heard that name before). There’s also some fab people voicing animated characters, including my fave Stephen Fry, Alan Rickman, Paul Whitehouse and the wonderful Barbara Windsor.
I can’t wait for this – it’s directed by Tim Burton and I LOVED Edward Scissorhands and Charlie and the Chocolate factory – that slightly creepy ‘unreal’ feeling he gives his movies is just so unique.
Anyhoo, plenty of time as it’s not out until March 5 2010, in glorious Disney Digital 3D™. Oh, and can I also point out I’m writing this ‘cos I’m excited, not ‘cos Disney have given me any free stuff, ‘cos they haven’t, not this time anyway. So there.
1970s ginger cake – the newer, stickier, betterer…er version
So ginger cake, then. Regular, eagle-eyed viewers amongst you will remember that I found my original, childishly scrawled version of this little beauty tucked inside one of my Ma’s old cookery books a while back and recreated it with some success. Since then, though, I’ve been feverishly working on it after being stung by a comment of Hubby’s that it wasn’t ‘sticky enough’. Several hundred attempts later, then, plus a quick lull where we were all bloody sick of the stuff - I was even taking them round to Mrs Lovely’s house and it’s unheard of for anything baked to leave the house normally – and here’s my new, extra sticky version:
75g butter
75g brown sugar
1/4 pint of milk
2 teaspoons ground ginger (make sure it’s in-date though – ginger tends to fester, unused in the cupboard and tastes like ground cardboard)
2 tablespoons treacle
1 tablespoon golden syrup
1/2 tsp bicarbonate of soda
225g self raising flour (sifted)
So preheat your oven to 180/gas 4, then butter a small loaf tin or use a non-stick one, and set it aside. Measure out the butter, sugar, milk, ginger, treacle and golden syrup and melt them all together over a low heat in a saucepan.
When it’s all melted together, turn off the heat and stir in the bicarbonate of soda. Stir it while it goes all weird and fizzy, then add in the flour, continuing to go ‘ooh’ and ‘aah’ as it bubbles and burbles. Carry on mixing it until it’s magically transforms into a lovely smooth batter.
Bung it in the loaf tin, cover loosely with foil to avoid crustiness (we’re after sticky here, people) and bake for about 45 minutes. Tip out onto a wire tray to cool, or, in my case, marvel at the fact that Mr Lovely seems to be able to smell it from his house which is at least five minutes’ walk away and turns up just as it comes out of the oven, slice and serve with hot tea and lots of chat with good friends.
Weirdly, this is an excellent standby recipe, as it’s one of few cakes that don’t need any eggs (I’m always running out of eggs – yup, even now I’ve got chickens). Just thought I’d mention it.
Some say he isn’t machine washable: all we know is, he’s The Stig
So happily, some semblance of peace has been restored this weekend in the garden here at English Towers. I have to take most of the credit for this (well, me and several small children) as, finally, the coop has a run. Oh yes, don’t say I’m not handy with a hammer… well, a couple of electric fence poles (not live, natch), some chicken wire and a few cable ties anyway (one upside of living in a rural farming community – the Co-Op has everything you can possibly imagine and incredibly cheap too – 10m of chicken wire for €8 for instance). Laydees and gennlespoons, I give you… the run:
And yes, alright, before anyone’s sarcastic (Moon), I appreciate it’s not exactly chicken Central park, but it’s relatively sturdy, easily moveable (when they wreck that bit of lawn, it’s onwards and upwards) and fine for a little tootling, rootling, pecking and clucking before one retires to the coop to lay fabulous eggs (not Stig, natch) and bed down for the night, securely double-locked away from nosey foxes (or should that be foxy noses).
Happily, now they’ve all got a bit of room, the girls have decided that they do quite like The Stig after all and have decided he can stay. Now they’ve stopped pecking him, he’s stopped bleeding everywhere and everyone seems a lot calmer. Bless him, we’ve worked out he’s actually about eleven weeks old – I can’t send him back, I haven’t the heart. Plus, he makes lovely little chirrupy tweeting noises at me when I’m hanging out the washing, and picks all the peas and sweetcorn out of our leftover veggie rice in the most adorable manner. Plus, as I was debating with my cousin Bugs over in Canada, when he grows up, he might turn out to be a very fun way to annoy D next door, should the mood take me. Cockadoodledoo!
Minnie and Chilli, for their part, are making like veritable egg machines and churning out their golden-yolked wonders at a rate of one each a day, although Patrick, the nice man that we got them from, said that due to the trauma of being moved this could stop at any time for any number of weeks. Dread the thought. We’d stop being able to have lovely scrambled eggs with home-grown spring onions, little red spikes of chilli and a sprinkle of parsley out of the garden for breakfast:
Get me eh? I’m practically a farmer. Ooarr.
The Friday photo: clucking chickens, fresh bread, golden yolks…
I suppose I’m a bit odd (well if you’re a regular reader you’ll know that already) in that most of the best moments in my life seem inextricably linked to food. My very happy childhood full of roast dinners, Christmas Snowballs, rice pudding and jammy dodgers, warm strawberries straight off my Grandad’s garden and plums off the tree (‘oy gerrof them you kids!’). Then it was puréed baby food (#2 liked banana and courgette – he won’t believe it now), making cupcakes with the boys as toddlers, a pea and prawn risotto when Hubby and I got a rare New Year’s Eve together while Grandma babysat… holiday food… Christmas food… family food… every lovely memory seems to be accompanied by the warm scent of baking, the zing of lemon or the fizz of champagne bubbles up the nose.
The other day was no different. We met fellow blogger Maxi Cane and his other half, the adorable Jelly Monster to arrange collection of Maxi’s Ma’s unwanted chicken coop, which he’d kindly agreed to give us. A friend was picking it up, but I needed to meet them anyways, just to say hi and to make payment in the form of chocolate brownies, carrots and spring onions, all freshly picked. Now if you know Maxi’s blog you’ll know he’s a bit naughty, but in real life he was sweet and funny, and the lovely Jelly – wow. You know those people who are just so sexy they practically crackle with it? She’s curvy and gorgeous with the prettiest face – not a single man walked past without sneaking a look, I swear.
Anyhoo, so we got the coop and later on, David, our garden chappy, dropped off its occupants (in a sack! Only in Ireland). The first disappointment (well, the second – the first was the sack) was that the coop was condemned as unsatisfactory – no separate nesting box, no perch and too small, so much to Hubby’s disgust, we had to go out and buy a new one.
€180 lighter (it’s a hell of a pad, it’s got an upstairs with removable poo trays, a perch, a separate nestbox…you name it), but very excited nontheless, we got to check out our new arrivals:
We got a bossy little ginger madam who was quickly adopted by #2 and given the name Minnie Dean (named after a serial killer - don’t ask) and a taller, darker red one – adopted by #1 and called Chilli – bit feisty this one – she gave #1 the slip as she was being transferred and sparked a ridiculous 15 minute family chicken chase round the garden (cue the Benny Hill music) where we all hurled ourselves at her, unsuccessfully, shouted at each other, got zapped by the electric fence (#1) and basically made fools of ourselves until she was rugby tackled by Hubby and taken, squawking loudly in protest, to join the others. Here’s Chilli (top) and Minnie in their new pad (that hangy thing is an apple, by the way):
And as a freebie, we got a cute little black and white cockerel, who got nicknamed The Stig.
Trouble is, Minnie and Chilli don’t like Stig and keep attacking him, so there’s a possibility that if they don’t settle, Stig will have to go back. The chicken man is coming over later to check on stuff.
Anyhoo, they’re obviously settling in well, because the next morning we got – an egg! And then this morning another one! Well, there was nothing for it, this called for fresh brown bread and a perfectly fried egg. And so, our first ever chickens will be inextricably linked in my mind to the smell of freshly baked brown bread dipped in a golden, runny yolk:
I am a happy, happy chicken owner and no mistake.
Cocktails, baby!
So the other night, we were talking about cocktails. Well, that’s a lie actually, I was regaling Hubby with tales of Disney – how me and my fellow Disneyers spent many a happy evening in the bar, downing mojitos, being loud and taking the piss out of the lady behind the bar who looked disturbingly like Matt Lucas (I luv you more than…lollipops!).
Anyhoo, digressing. I happened to remember that I had one of those packs of frozen mango chunks from Tesco in the freezer, so we cracked out the disturbingly expensive blender and had a bash at a few cocktails. First up, then, came these little beauties:
Frozen Mango Daiquiri
You will need:
Frozen mango chunks
1/2 lime, juiced
1 measure Bacardi
Slug Cointreau (that’s not Cointreau made of slugs, BTW)
Apple juice or Club soda
Chuck a couple of handfuls of frozen mango chunks into the blender jug, then add the juice of half a fresh lime, 1 measure of Bacardi (I use a shot glass as 1 measure, which is probably a bit much but then I’m an alcoholic), a big slug of Cointreau and whiz until slushy. You might need an extra splosh of something if your blender gets clogged up (apple juice, or more alcohol if you’re feeling all carefree and what-the-hell, which you certainly will be after a couple of these little babies). Pile into posh glasses. By the way, if you use pineapple instead of Mango and Malibu instead of Bacardi, you get a really nice tropical taste. A little unethical maybe – I’d never make it as a Mixologist – but by jove I throw a good party.
Next up, then was the classic Mojito:
Handful mint leaves
1 lime, cut into wedges
2 tsp sugar
2 measures Bacardi
Club soda
For this one, you need to bung the mint leaves, lime wedges and sugar into a tall glass and bash them with the handle of a wooden spoon (this is called ‘muddling’, which suddenly becomes hilariously funny after a few of these). Next bung loads of ice cubes into the glass, splosh in the rum and top up with the club soda. Or, if you use golden rum and apple juice, you can make an Apple-soaked Mojito, which is rather yum as well.
Lastly, I’m a big fan of the White Lady – this one has a kick like a mule and is best reserved for delicate sipping whilst preparing a delicious dinner for your guests.
White Lady
1 measure Gin (Tanqueray makes it extra spesh)
1 measure Cointreau
1 measure lemon juice
Pour the lot into your shaker with loads of ice – strain into posh glasses, decorating with a little lemon twist if you like, and sip in a genteel manner. Start knocking this one back and the next morning your head will feel like it’s been used as the match ball at Anfield of a Saturday. Trust me, I’m a mixologist
And talking of cocktails, I happen to know (‘cos I’m chums with the lovely Diana) that the gang at AllRecipes are running a cocktail competition… And you can win a blender and cocktail set of your very own. And if you win, remember your friends, eh?
How long do you get for attempted dog murder anyway?
I think I almost killed the dog.
Not on purpose, obviously. No, I’d forgiven him for the whole eating the house thing ages ago. This was a complete accident. It’s a bit of a long story, but our road is more of a lane, although it still has quite a lot of traffic - even though as far as I can tell it doesn’t really lead anywhere – and its surface is kind of like that of the moon: large craters and lots of loose, shingly stuff. Every 6 months or so, this enormous bright yellow machine comes along filled with old men in fluorescent jackets called ‘The Patcher’ and squirts a mixture of wet tar and more shingle into the largest of the craters. Obviously, this ‘patching’ lasts about five minutes as most of it is evenly distributed along the wheels and undercarriages of the next five tractors to drive through the wet, tarry crater. Trouble is, I wasn’t really watching as I was texting, and Bert always walks really far behind me like he’s embarrassed of me or something so I didn’t notice that he’d stepped in the black goo. As he walked, he picked up more and more shingle and his feet got bigger and bigger and then he got all confused and started to shake his feet, which did nothing except confuse him further and make him fall over a lot.
Well, by the time we got home, he looked like he had a pair of enormous black wellington boots on, and I decided I’d better get the stuff off before it dried. Picking it did nothing, and neither did washing his feet, so I took him into the garage and got the white spirit out, which worked very well at dissolving the black goo, but obviously started to sting, as Bert started hopping about , squeaking and howling. This worried me a little, so I decided I’d probably better stop and wash off the remnants. When I came back with a bucket of soapy water, he charged at the door, pushed past me and took off at full pelt across the garden where he did some very weird greyhound-breakdancing type thing to try and remove the burny stuff from his feet, then flung himself on the ground, legs in the air, and started rubbing his nose upside-down on the grass, as if trying to remove the top of his head. Curiouser and curiouser. I started to wonder if I’d poisoned him or something. I mean, I know he’s always mental but he’s usually quietly mental, not, well, mental mental.
I rushed back in, grabbed the kids as reinforcements and - when they’d stopped laughing – between us we managed to trap him in the top corner of the garden, pin him down (children are useful for sitting on wiggly greyhounds) and wash the remaining stuff off his feet. Trouble is, by then I suppose, he’d absorbed so much white spirit through his feet, that he was probably about 70% proof and he’d gone completely mental. He was all wild-eyed and crazy and when we let him back in the house, he started to run laps around the ground floor, skidding round the corners and drooling like a mad thing, panting, rushing up and down the stairs and basically being bonkers.
So, dear reader, I did whatever any good greyhound-owner would do in such circumstances – I went out. Well, we’d booked Harry Potter tickets, see? So we had to go.
Anyhoo, by the time we came back he was fast asleep on the sofa and seemed absolutely fine, maybe with a touch of hangover. Moral of the story? Don’t walk and text. It’s why he trod in the bloody stuff in the first place, because I wasn’t watching, just doing my normal trick of dragging him along as he dawdled at the end of the extending lead, 5m behind me.
He’s fine now. He even enjoyed a little sleepover over the weekend:
Except he went and let himself down with his poor personal hygiene:
Happy days.
Fetch the defibrillator! Double chocolate cookie dough brownies
So my lovely friend, fellow Disney 7 adventurer and blogger, Laura, kind of acts like my chocolate pimp – any sign of any chocolate action anywhere on the web and she’s all over it – it’s gatherered up and sent to me before I can blink. I like this. Which is why Laura is my friend.
Here, then, is Laura’s latest discovery – sniffed bloodhound-like from the bowels of the interweb and delivered to me ready to be fiddled with and muddled with and twiddled with and delivered to you, sparkly, new and fattening. Aren’t you lucky? Many thanks to the incredibly clever lady at One Ordinary Day for sharing this one.
Double Chocolate Cookie Dough Brownies
First, then, you need to make some brownies, for which you need my double, triple, quadruple, tested brownie recipe:
200g bar dark chocolate
170g butter
3 eggs
225g caster sugar
110g plain flour
110g nuts if you want, or chocolate chips, or nothing – see if I care…
So melt the butter and chocolat in a bain-marie (bowl over saucepan of just simmering water – not letting bottom of bowl come into contact with water – you know the drill). Turn the water off when it’s just bubbling and stir the mixture gently until it’s combined. Take it off the heat and allow it to cool to blood temperature (one doesn’t want extra scrambled eggy bits in one’s brownie, trust me).
Meanwhile, whisk the eggs and sugar together. I don’t put raising agent in my brownie as I guess they’re supposed to be quite fudgy and heavy, but I whisk the eggs and sugar to add a few bubbles. Don’t if you don’t want to – it’s just me being picky.
Now, pour in your chocky/butter mixture, stir until combined then bung in the flour and the whatever else you’re using: cherries/chocolate chips/nuts, etc. Or nothing.
Line a lasagne tin or baking tin with greaseproof (or have bits of bake-o-glide cleverly cut into the right shape, if you’re really anal about it *cough*), pour in the mixture and bake for about 35 minutes at 180/gas 4 until the top is shiny and cracked but the middle is still dense and squidgy. Leave to cool.
Now, for the cookie dough mixture:
130g butter, softened
130g muscovado sugar
100g caster sugar
4 tbsp milk
1 tsp vanilla extract
100g dark chocolate, chopped (or chocolate chips)
200g plain flour
So whizz up the butter and sugars with the electric whisk, add in the milk and vanilla and whizz some more. Stir in the flour (it seems a lot, but it all goes in eventually). Finally, stir in the chocolate chips. Spread over the top of your cooled brownie and refrigerate.
Finally, to make sure your guests really suffer a coronary, melt another 100g of chocolate and drizzle it all over the top. Chill to finish. Serve in very small pieces as this is very, very rich indeed. Oops, sorry, I just drooled a little on the keyboard, let me get that…
Giving out some big Friday love
Big Friday love, this week, needs to be sent from wherever in the world you are (telepathically, if you can manage it please) to poor ol’ Mad Uncle Ali.
Not satisfied with nearly taking his hand off, he then rather stubbornly decided that instead of getting help, he’d pass out a couple of times and just quietly bleed to death, until survival instinct finally caught hold and he managed to attract some attention in the form of – who else – a young lady working in the nearby nursery.
Anyhoo, he’s in hospital now and has just come round after what appears to be the first of many operations. Needless to say he’s more worried about missing the rest of the cricket season than he is about the prospect of losing various fingers ’although wiping my bum’s proving a bit difficult, Sis’. Philosophical as ever (and putting a slightly brave face on) he sent me a text saying ‘at least I could register disabled and get loads of free shit’, but don’t believe that for a minute. Oh, and who’s even going to hazard a guess at how many nurse’s phone numbers he manages to get?
There you are, then. Bulk, happy healing thoughts are in order, please. I know you’ll step up to the mark for me. And Mad Uncle Alg.
Sticky, gooey, plumptious, scrumptious, soft iced buns
So poor little #2 came home from his GAA tournament yesterday feeling all under the weather. He was cold and clammy, his head ached, his tummy hurt and he felt all ‘kind of wobbly’. Of course, there’s only one cure for this particular group of symptoms, which is a snuggle on the sofa with the dog, the fluffy blanket, a hot chocolate and a fistful of sticky bun. Trust me, I’m a doctor:
450g strong white bread flour
1 tsp salt
75g sugar
1 x 7g sachet dried yeast
150ml milk
150ml water
50g butter
4 or 5 tbsp icing sugar
½ tsp liquid glucose
Sieve the flour into a large bowl, then stir in the salt, sugar, and dried yeast. In a small saucepan, warm the milk, water, and butter over a low heat until the butter has just melted, then turn off the heat. The liquid should be at no more than blood temperature when it’s added to the dry ingredients. You can do this in the microwave, but remove it as soon as the butter starts to melt and stir gently until it’s all combined, otherwise you’ll be waiting for ages for it to be cool enough.
Pour most of the milky mixture into the dry ingredients and stir it around with a knife until you get a light dough. Leave it as sticky as you can bear as you want your dough plumptiously, pillow-soft. You can always add a bit of flour. Now start kneading: with the heel of one hand, press and splurge the dough away from you, (imagine you’re smearing it across the work surface) then bring it back, squish it into a ball again, turn it over and then splurge it again. As it’s quite a wet dough this is a bit messy, but that all adds to the fun. Again, if you’re getting really covered, you can always add a bit of extra flour. As you knead it, it will become more elastic and springy and less squelchy.
Apologies for the lack of photos here. I was enjoying myself so much (I love my kitchen – a week away is about all I can bear) that I forgot I was supposed to photograph it for you. Anyhoo, when you’ve kneaded for about 5 minutes and your dough is springy and pillowy-soft and looks bizarrely like a nice, round bottom-cheek (it really does, I’m sorry – maybe that’s just my filthy mind), cover it with clingfilm and leave it in the airing cupboard or somewhere else warm until it’s doubled in size. Then, just knock it back with your fist and form it into 8 balls. Either place them on a baking tray or arrange them inside a springform cake tin like I did, then cover and rise again until they’re puffed up.
Bake for about 15-20 minutes at 180/gas 6 until they sound hollow when tapped on the bottom. Now while they’re baking make your icing by adding a couple of teeny drops of boiling water to the icing sugar and liquid glucose (optional but it keeps the icing from setting) until you get a thick, gloopy icing.
As soon as they’re out of the oven…
drizzle the icing all over them so it runs down the sides…
…then stuff into face before your family appears to steal them hand to little chap snuggled on sofa and watch as he feels better instantly.
Of course, #2 likes these completely plain, but there are a myriad different additions I could suggest – how about a hint of spice? Or some orange zest and a few dried cranberries? Or some nice, juicy sultanas? Or after the first rise, roll the dough out, spread it generously with butter, brown sugar and sultanas, maybe a little sprinkle of cinnamon, roll into a sausage and cut into rounds, arrange them flat onto a baking tray, allow to rise and then bake and, Bob’s your Auntie – you’ve produced Chelsea Buns, you kitchen legend, you.
The Friday photo/speedboat video and all about our holliers to London
Righty ho, so. Moving on, then, after the Dog-gate debacle (insurers were very sympathetic: ‘your dog ate your woodwork madam? (suppressed chuckle) oh dear, we can’t have that, can we?’) I have loads and buckets and tons of holiday reminiscing to get through. Fasten your seatbelts, then.
First up, then, on Friday night we went out with the Disreputable One to a very nice Chinese restaurant, where we seriously stuffed our faces and made inappropriate jokes about Hubby wearing a mankini to the blessing (hope you’re not reading this bit, Rev’d Craig!). Great time was had by all and the food was fabulosi.
Saturday saw us generally sodding about and ended with a scared me and a rather enthusiastic Hubby out ‘on the lash’ with Mad Uncle Alg and a few of his mates. We got to the bar, got our drinks, found a table, got introduced to everyone (‘you know Jav and Wrighty don’t you? This is Tucker, and this tosser is my Aussie lodger…’ ) and I’d taken the first sip out of my pear cider only to discover that the rest of them had already drunk up and we were off to the next pub. Sheesh. I won’t go into the gory details but needless to say I was telephoned the next day by my brother:
Ali: ‘You’re not a boozing legend, Sis’
Me: ‘No, I certainly am not. I couldn’t keep up with you’
Ali: ‘Poor effort, Sis, poor effort’
Me: ‘At least I didn’t get drunk and show everyone my butt crack’:
Alg: ‘Ah, but I am a boozing legend…’
Me: ‘You certainly are’
Sunday saw us off to the beautiful pad of my older brother, Uncle I, the Lycheeni Legend, and his lovely wife L, along with my nephew, budding chef Jackson who often tries out my recipes for me (‘I made a pavlova!’):
…and my niece, the beautiful Madame Turtle (‘I made it sparkly!’):
Along with their ancient and adorable German Shorthaired Pointer, Lottie:
and their mad collection of animals, including several bonkers chickens and these, their second generation of tortoises:
Ah, good times. On Monday we went Wedding Blessing Shopping (oh yes, suits…dress..the works – and we bumped into my lovely Auntie [Moon's Mum] and cousin in a shopping centre – how spooky is that?) and I finally got my longed-for evening out with my lovely girlfriends Tums and Bex – we had a fantastic meal (antipasti, a gorgeous Halloumi and spinach salad with a lovely pear chutney, and a panna cotta with rhubarb….slurrrp) and a bottle of wine and caught up on all the goss (I miss you guys already – see you in September! xxx).
Tuesday saw us off to London for a spectacular ’flight’ on the London Eye:
… and a fantastic ‘Ultimate James Bond London Adventure trip on the Thames, which saw us hurtling up and down the Thames at breakneck speed. It rained at one point and the sensation was akin to being sandblasted, but still, it was amazing and the kids LOVED it. Brace yourself, this video’s a bit noisy:
On the way back we slowed down and did a bit of history stuff – our hosts were friendly and funny (‘if anyone feels sick, just put your hand up in the air. Don’t feel ashamed - you’re letting yourself down and ruining the trip for everyone else – but put your hand up anyway’).
The lovely chaps at London RIB Voyages gave me three 20% off vouchers too, so if anyone is planning a trip to London and wants them, drop me an email and I’ll send them to you.
After all that excitement, and looking somewhat like Animal from the Muppets (note to self, schedule speedboat at the end of the day), we headed to Covent Garden where we obviously had to go and have lunch at the legendary Porters:
… then pop into Patisserie Valerie for a little dessert. Hmmm, decisions, decisions…:
Caught up with my lovely friend Jules on Wednesday (there just isn’t enough time to catch up with everyone) and Hubby and I managed to go out for a curry too (first one in TWO years – it was awesome) and before we could blink, Thursday saw us waving a tearful goodbye to my Ma (who must have thought a whirlwind had whipped through her house and left a trail of destruction in its wake) and whizzing back up to Holyhead and the doggy decimation that was English Towers. Still, nice to be home…
