ENGLISH MUM

English Mum in the Irish Times

Many thanks to lovely commenter Charli for pointing out that Englishmum.com was in the news yesterday.  Marie-Claire Digby in the Taste section of the Irish Times  had the following (rather flattering) stuff to say, and even Bert got a mention!:

Web Watch

www.englishmum.com

Family-friendly recipes, funny stories, and a scene-stealing greyhound called Bert, are the reasons to read this entertaining blog written by a mother-of-two, now living in “English Towers” in Co Cavan.
A recent recipe for easy tandoori chicken with cheaty flatbreads is so simple and delicious that once you’ve cooked it, you’ll be tempted to throw away those takeaway menus.

Isn’t that nice?  Thank you Marie-Claire – the cheque’s in the post!!

I’d like to thank winner of the 3.55 at Fairyhouse…

So yesterday saw both me and Jen setting out on epic cross-Ireland journeys to meet somewhere in the middle (bad planning moving so far away from each other) at a hotel where we sat, gossiped, giggled – no, hang on, there was something else – oh yes, and rolled 85 Order of Service sheets into scrolls and tied them with 85 little bows of ‘To have and to hold’ ribbon from the luscious Cox & Cox.

Before I left, Jen produced a heeowge box (she’s only teeny and it was nearly as big as her) which she said was our wedding present and I was strictly instructed to open it as soon as I got home.  Apparently, she said, it wasn’t exactly perfect and she was a bit disappointed, but still, it was a nice present anyway.  Even after pointing out that we weren’t strictly getting married (‘okay, call it an anniversary present then’), I was deeply suspicious as Madame J was somewhat squeaky and excited about this present.  I actually suspected it might be a chicken.  A heavy chicken, granted… maybe a chicken and a couple of bricks.

Well, dearest reader, the journey home seemed to take the longest time and finally I pulled back up at English Towers where I was greeted by two small boys (and one large one) who totally ignored me and made a beeline for the pressie.  ‘What is it?!  Open it!  Open it!’  So with the chicken thing still in my mind I made them open it in the kitchen and I think I’m quite within my rights here to write OMG.  A KitchenAid!  A bloody KitchenAid!!!

Apparently this incredibly generous present was somewhat attributable to the racing prowess of two horses that Jen’s other half C bet on.  So thanks go not only to Jen and the lovely, adorable C (who chose the colour – I love it!) but to Mark Anthony and Swift View for coming in first.  I love you guys horses.

‘So hang on’, says #1, ‘last week on your blog you said that you wished somebody would give you a KitchenAid and here you are unwrapping one’.  ‘Erm…yes, I suppose you could say that’, says I.  ‘Right then’, says #1, ‘I want you to put on your blog that I want a 50″ wide screen TV, online gaming and the new Call of Duty 6′. 

‘Done’, says I, ‘but don’t hold your breath’.

Spicy (or not spicy) lentil dhal

So the ongoing battle here at English Towers is between the chilli lovers and the not-so-chilli lovers.  Hubby and #1 would have us eating amounts of chilli that, frankly, would have normal people running madly around in circles, flapping their arms and making choo choo noises with steam coming out of their ears, whereas me and the small, accident-prone version can only handle a gentle amount of spice.  Pizza making is always contentious with the chilli monsters wanting whole slices of red chilli on theirs, and curries, frankly are a minefield.  This dhal, then, has had several incarnations – starting from the 2 tsp crushed chilli version that was truly, ridiculously, spasm-inducingly hot, to this version which is gently warming with a nice hit at the back of the throat.  But hey, if you’re a chilli thug, whop in the whole 2 tsp and warn the family to take a step back – it’s got a kick like a very cross mule:

1 tsp mustard seeds

1 tsp cumin seeds

1 tsp coriander seeds

1 scant tsp dried chilli (or 2 heaped tsp if you’re a chilli monster)

2 tbsp oil

1 red onion, thinly sliced

1 tsp salt

1 tsp turmeric

1 tsp sugar

1 tsp grated ginger (I keep mine in the freezer and grate it from frozen)

750ml chicken stock

200g red split lentils

1 tsp garam masala

So firstly, take a dry frying pan, put it on a low heat and put in the mustard seeds, cumin seeds, coriander seeds and the dried chilli.  Let it toast very gently, stirring constantly, just until you see the very first bit of popping and your nose is filled with lovely toasty spicy smells.  Watch it carefully as it burns easily (oh and feel free to go ‘ooh’ and ‘ahhh’ at my immaculately clean hob – I’d just spent half an hour removing the remnants of the rice which boiled over just to piss me off): 

Bung the toasted spices into the pestle and mortar and grind them into a powder.  If you can’t be arsed with this bit (which makes an excellent dinner party showing off display), just use the mustard seeds as they are and use ground cumin, coriander and chilli instead.  It tastes just as nice (shhh).

Now, take a heavy-based pan and pour in the 2 tbsp oil.  Bung in the sliced onion, sprinkle with the salt and fry gently until softened.  Now add in the spice blend along with the turmeric, sugar and grated ginger, stirring well until it’s all pasty and combined.

Pour in the chicken stock and add in the red lentils.  Bung a lid on and leave to cook for about 20 minutes by which stage the lentils will be soft and fragrant.  Stir in the garam masala and taste for seasoning.

Serve with some easy cheaty flatbreads, or for a more substantial meal you can add the tandoori chicken and some basmati rice too.  Some nice raita made with plain yoghurt, grated cucumber and a handful of chopped fresh mint wouldn’t go amiss either.

This is another healthy recipe (blimey, that’s two in a row) and the veg quota can be easily oomphed up with, say, a couple of handfuls of spinach (I buy those bags of baby spinach and bung them straight in the freezer) or some chopped tomato.  I did it the other day with some roasted butternut squash and it was very nice indeed.  Just go steady with the chilli if you don’t want your guests doing the locomotion around the garden (whoop whoop!).

Wedding planning for duffers

So in a couple of short weeks I shall be tripping up the aisle (not literally, fingers crossed) in our pretty little church to renew the vows I made fifteen years ago to love, honour and erm…look after my long-suffering Hubby.  We’ve had our ups and downs – neither of us have been angels, but we’ve survived fifteen years without killing each other (it’s been close on occasions), produced two lovely sons and, as the eminently sensible Revd Craig pointed out, that’s got to be worth celebrating. 

When he asked me this time last year if I’d consider doing him the honour (‘properly, this time – church… dress… party – the whole nine yards’) who knew that half the fun would be in the planning.  I heartily recommend getting married (or remarried or blessed – don’t let the fact that you already have the ring stop you) quite a few years down the line in a relationship.  Okay, so the downside is you have to pay for it yourself, and I’ll never make a wedding planner (‘what do you mean the Rally of Ireland is on the same day as the wedding and we can’t use the carpark as it’ll be stuffed full of rally cars?’) but the advantages are enormous.  In fact, here are my top ten reasons for planning a wedding once you’re mature enough to make all the decisions:

1  The dress.  Every girl knows it’s all about the dress.  I had a bit of a false start here, purchasing a sensible, grown up cocktail dress from Monsoon then lying awake at night wishing I’d bought the wedding dress of my dreams.  After all, you only get to walk down the aisle once, okay twice.  And hey, if I want to do it wearing acres of pink tulle, looking like a cross between Katie Price and the Bride of Frankenstein, then it’s my shout.  I don’t, but I reserve the right to.

2  The guest list.  Don’t want to invite that maiden aunt with the moustache who frightens the children?  Cross her off the list.  Let’s face it, by the time you get to your forties (6 months to go before the big 4-0!) you know who your friends are and who they aren’t.  We’re delighted that we’ll be spending the day surrounded by the people that we love, and who love us back, and not with the people we felt we had to invite. 

3  The service.  Now it helps here to have a good relationship with your clergyman.  We, happily, are onto a winner.  Want a relaxed, child-friendly, happy, intimate service with lots of music and fun?  No problem.  Craig’s suggestions and ideas have added so much to the ceremony that we just can’t wait.  And the locals secretly can’t wait to get a shufty inside the C of I church either.

4  The details.  ‘I want the church full of flowers!’, I said to the florist, presenting her with my lovingly-made collage cut from several hundred wedding magazines.  ‘I’d love the scent of beautiful lilies, freesias and roses to hit the congregation as they walk in… and I want my bouquet to be huuuuge and smell gorgeous and be full of bright colours: pink and orange and lime green…’ [cue sound of needle screeching across record.]  Okay, so my original remit for the florist might have been a little extravagant.  Flowers are slightly expensive and the sound of Hubby’s sharp intake of breath when presented with the quotation was enough to send me scuttling back with a slightly amended version of my original flamboyant request.  These things cost money, y’know.  The advantage is that you know exactly what you want.  Even if you can’t actually afford it.

5  The cake.  Don’t like fruit cake?  Bit of a fan of Ace of Cakes?  Happen to have an incredibly talented friend who just happens to make the most fantastic cakes in the world?  You’re onto a winner.  Jen and I have spent many a happy hour discussing the merits of white chocolate sponge with raspberry filling versus dark chocolate sponge with a lime-scented ganache.  In the end we decided we’d have a layer of each one we liked.  See, when you’re grown up you can make those kind of decisions.

6  The music.  The fantastic night we spent at JD’s wedding convinced us that their band was the only one we wanted.  It didn’t matter that they’re based in Waterford, and that there’s six of them plus a ton of equipment to find room for.  We had to have them, so we took budget money away from other stuff and juggled the sums until we could afford them.  You can do that when it’s your money.

7  The poncy bits.  Don’t want buttonholes (‘why would I want a flower on my suit?’)?  Don’t have ‘em.  Ditto all the awkward, expensive and largely pointless bits that nobody cares about like favours.  I mean, who actually eats those sugared almonds in a bit of netting tied with ribbon anyway?  Cross ‘em off.  Equally, if you want every  car to be decorated with bright pink ribbon, for example, or have a friend mental enough to agree to sit with you and tie 85 bows of ribbon around 85 order of service scrolls then go for it.  The poncy bits are all yours.

8  The grub.  You get to pick the food you like.  We’re lucky because the chef at the hotel didn’t run away screaming when he saw me enter our meeting with a clipboard and a list of requirements twenty feet long.  Even better, he suggested fantastic local produce that we could incorporate into our wedding feast: beautiful fresh crab from Annagassan on the coast of County Louth… fresh local wild salmon and sides of beef sourced locally from the wonderful beef farmers of County Cavan (a couple of whom will be there with their families, which reminds me of my favourite conversation so far: ‘thanks for the invitation…you do know that I have five kids don’t you?’  Me: ‘Yup and we want you to bring them all along – don’t worry, we’ll reserve you a pew!’).

9  The chiselers.  You get to enjoy it all with your kids.  The boys’ friends will all be there and they’ve had enormous fun planning the day with us.  They’ve picked out their suits and selected a couple of lucky local girls to share their ‘first dance’ with.  The lovely Revd Craig suggested including them in the actual blessing ceremony and they’re breathless with excitement.  What better way to teach them about the importance of family than to get them involved?

10  The fun.  Oh we have some tremendous fun stuff planned.  Some really bonkers off-the-wall stuff that will have our guests astounded and amused.  Again, a flexible, forward-thinking vicar is de rigeur in this situation.  But, I mean, blimey, it IS supposed to be fun, isn’t it?

Oh, but it’s not all romance and roses.  We’ve had our fair share of doubts too.  Are we mental?  Does anyone really give a shit if the crab’s local?  Is it wise that 35 of our 85 guests are children?  Why have we spent all this money when we could have had two weeks on a tropical beach and renewed our vows barefoot on the sand with the boys in hawaiian shirts? 

I collar the Hubby while he’s watching the grand prix.  ‘Are we mad?’, I ask him.  ’Would you have preferred the beach?’. 

‘I don’t know’, he says, ‘I’ll tell you the day after the blessing’. 

Oh.

Easy tandoori chicken with cheaty flatbreads

We had this for lunch today and I realised I’ve never posted this little beauty before.  I’m almost embarrassed to pass on the chicken recipe to you as it’s barely more than mixing a few ingredients together, but it’s soooo good and makes the house smell so delicious that I think you deserve it.  Here goes, then:

For the tandoori chicken:

4 heaped tbsp plain yoghurt

1 tbsp tandoori curry paste or powder (Tesco do a really nice Tandoori Curry Powder)

Pinch salt

Juice of ½ lemon

2 chicken breasts, cubed

1 red onion, cut into chunks

Basically, then, just dollop your yoghurt into a non-metallic bowl and stir in the curry paste or powder.  Add in a pinch of salt and a big squeeze of lemon.  Now just cut the chicken breasts into cubes and the red onion into big chunks and stir them both into the yoghurt.  Set aside to marinate for a few minutes. 

If you’re making this in advance, cover with clingfilm and bung it in the fridge.  When you’re ready, just spread the whole lot onto a baking sheet (or thread onto skewers – great for the BBQ) and bake at 180 degrees/gas 4 for about 20 minutes or until the chicken is cooked through and the edges are just starting to catch.

Now for the flatbreads.  These are a bit of a mishmash between chapatis, naan breads and those nice Italian flatbreads you get, but they take seconds and taste yum, so you’ll forgive me if I’m not exactly sure of their country of origin:

450g strong white bread flour

1 tsp salt

2 tsp baking powder

Pinch bicarbonate of soda

1 tsp cumin seeds (or crushed dried chilli or whatever you fancy)

250ml cold water

3 tbsp olive oil

Sieve the flour, salt, baking powder and bicarb together into a bowl, then stir in whatever herbs or spices you fancy (if you’re having these with Italian food you could add a bit of garlic and some oregano, for instance):

Add in the water and olive oil.  Mix with a knife until it comes together, then tip onto a floured work surface and knead very briefly into a smooth dough.  Split the dough into 6 or 8 pieces, then roll out very thinly.

Drizzle a little olive oil into a frying pan and wait until the oil is really hot.   Slap in your flatbreads (this was Hubby’s one so it had extra chilli flakes on it):

 and keep an eye out as they won’t take long to brown and puff up slightly.  Flip over and cook the other side:

Serve the flatbreads with the chicken, plus a little salad and some wedges of lemon for an easy lunch, or cut into wedges with a nice bowl of lentil dhal.  Ooh, and I thought I might try them with some coriander, served with a nice Thai green curry.  Yumbly. 

Fun with freebies: blogger perks

Never let it be said that this blogging lark isn’t without its perks.  I mean quite apart from the trip to Walt Disney World and the Blu Ray Player and all that, I’ve had some really lovely stuff recently and thought it was only fair to give the lubly folks a shout out (and share the love with you guys, obviously).  I think it’s really nice that decent brand names like these are talking to little ol’ bloggers like me.  Now I know there’s been a bit of a hoo-haa about PR companies and whether they ‘use’ bloggers and all that stuff, but I seem to be quite lucky in that I generally tend to get contact from really nice people wanting to send me really nice stuff, and not really asking anything in return, in fact all this lot didn’t even care if I didn’t mention them, which is nice.

First up, then, I got an exclusive trial of  a new Haliborange product – Kids Multivitamin Fruit Softies – they’re little strawberry shaped chewy fruit with a rather delicious strawberry fruit flavour.  We’ve all been fighting over them (what, they’re for adults too).

Haliborange Fruit Softies

Then I got a big parcel of stuff from Johnson’s, which, ‘cos I’m a nice neighbour, I passed onto the lovely lady I often bump into down the boat road who’s just had an adorable baby girl (hello Deirdre!).   The new Johnson’s Baby Soft Range is in shops now and includes a rich body moisturiser and a moisturising shower cream in the same yumbly Johnson’s baby scent.  Gorgeous (and not just for babies, natch).

Johnson's New Baby Soft Range

Nivea Sun Kids

And then, I got an invitation to a special media day at the new Tesco Taste Northern Ireland Show in September.  Me and the Hubby are definitely going to try and get up to Belfast, especially after reading about the Celebrity Cookery Theatre.  I wonder if Matt Tebbutt will be there (he’s my celebrity crush – sorry Hubster).  Entrance is free and it starts 11 September at Belfast’s Custom House Square.

So there we are, then, a nice little round-up.  Thanks so much to everyone who kindly sends me stuff.  I’m really grateful.  Now if only KitchenAid’s PR company would get in touch.  I could always offer to try out a product for them….

Ah, nothing like a bit of child labour…

Get a move on there, slacker...

… to get a job done quicker.  And yes, the new lilac/grey/blue/pearly kitchen coming on rather swimmingly, thanks.

The Friday photo: The fallout from Marmitegate

"What? I'm just catching up on 'You and Your Wedding'"

So I won’t lie to you. I’m not loving Bert at the moment I think it all started with him eating the house while we were away. I have this theory that because he did all that damage and nobody was there to tell him off (well, I could hardly expect poor D and Little Lou to read him the riot act, could I – although I expect they felt like killing him) he now feels a sense of invicibility which means he can do what the hell he likes and get away with it.

First up was the incident now referred to at English Towers as Marmitegate.  At the beginning of the week we planned a shopping trip up North.  This takes a while so we leave quite early in the morning.  Someone left the marmite out on the kitchen table (although obviously nobody will admit to it) and Bert decided he’d like some.  His cunning ten-step plan went something like this:

1.  Sniff tasty substance in brown jar on kitchen table

2. Get paws up on kitchen table and sniff top of brown jar. 

3.  Discover that substance inside brown jar smells quite nice.

4.  Lick top of brown jar and discover it tastes quite nice and is worthy of closer inspection.

5.  Knock brown jar onto floor, smashing glass and squelching contents over floor.

6.  Step in squelchy brown contents then decide to have a rest and pop upstairs for a nap, taking a piece of brown jar (with squelchy contents) along for later snackage, trailing sticky brown footprints throughout entire house.

7. Decide that maybe the brown stuff isn’t as nice as you thought when imbibed in vast quantities and vomit it up on the door mat.

8.  Look surprised when Mum comes home and goes all red and screechy.

9.  Get shouted at.  A lot.

10.  Get sent to bed.

The next night, he aced this one by tipping all the bin out and distributing the contents throughout the entire house once again (including the jar of smashed Marmite and accompanying disgusting squelchy bits of Marmite-covered kitchen towel).

But I think I need to devise another punishment.  Getting sent to bed doesn’t seem to affect him all that much…

'I could do with another pillow though...'

Olive

99 out of 100 Larrys interviewed liked lilac

So the time finally came, then, when I marched Hubby into the paint shop with his arm up behind his back visited the paint shop with Hubby with a view to a little ‘freshening’ treatment of my beloved kitchen.

Now, as you know, this kitchen is the kitchen of my dreams.  I love it with a passion that is, admittedly, slightly unhealthy.  The one thing that dampened my affection a teeny amount was the colour, because, dearest reader, I think a little bit of plaster dust had permeated the brains of the builders and they painted it an eye-wateringly, disgustingly loud orangey yellow (modelled here by #1, the day we made bramble jelly – note the close similarity between the colour of Homer and the colour of the wall):

I wanted pink.  More exactly, I wanted Farrow and Ball’s Calamine.  Trouble is, there’s three fellas in the house here (plus Bert, obviously, but he doesn’t have a colour preference really) and I was seriously outgunned.  The conversation went a little like this:

Hubby: I”m not having a bloody pink kitchen’

#1: ‘No way.  Pink is gay.’

Hubby/Me: ‘Language!’

#2: ‘What about blue?’

Hubby/Me/#1: ‘No.’

Me: ‘Excuse me, who spends all their time in the kitchen?  You only set foot in here to stuff your faces and moan about stacking the dishwasher…’

#2: ‘What about purple?’

Hubby/Me/#1: ‘NO!’ 

#1: ‘I can’t have my mates coming round and seeing that we’ve got a pink kitchen’

Me: ‘I want something girly, though.  It’s where I spend all my time.  I feel like I’m swimming in custard with all this yellow…’

Hubby: ‘Okay, let’s go to the paint shop and have a look.  But we’re not having bloody pink.’

Me: ‘Bugger.’

Long story short, then, we settled on this colour, attractively modelled by my lovely assistant, Larry the Lobster from St Lucia (right pain in the arse he was in my hand luggage too).  It’s kind of a pearly, lilac/grey and very nice it looks too.  I think it picks up the slightly greyish bits on the tiles and looks lovely against the black slate floor too. When my slave has finished the rest of the kitchen, I might give you a shufty.  No promises now.

Fruity breakfast muffins: blueberry and raspberry

So breakfast muffins, then. 

You know me, I’m a big fan of largesse.  Indulgence is my middle name (okay, actually it’s Susan, but you get the picture).  Somehow, though, in a breakfast muffin you need lightness and fruitiness and that kind of ‘I’m starting the day in a healthy way’ feeling, even though you’re obviously still eating a cake. 

So with this one, I’ve cut down the sugar and butter to the absolute minimum.  Any more and my children would be revolting  (too late ahaha).  You can also use a healthy oil rather than melted butter if you prefer.  Here we are, then, a healthy(ish) way to start your engines:

Breakfast muffins

120g butter, melted

175ml milk

2 eggs

200g plain flour

2 tsp baking powder

125 g caster sugar

150 – 200g berries – raspberries, blueberries, strawberries or a frozen berry mix

Handful porridge oats

So preheat the oven to 180C/Gas mark 4 and pop some paper cases into a 12-hole muffin tin.

Weigh out the butter and pop it into a pyrex jug  or something microwaveable.  Melt it in the microwave, then add in the milk and eggs.  Whisk well.  Meanwhile sift the flour and baking powder together, then stir in the sugar. 

Make a well in the centre of the floury mixture and stir in the liquid mixture.  Remember the GMR (Golden Muffin Rule), which is to only just combine the ingredients – it doesn’t matter if you can still see the odd bit of flour, just don’t overmix it.  Lastly, fold in the berries and the handful of oats and spoon the batter into the muffin cases:

Bake for 25 minutes or until risen and firm to the touch.  Cool slightly on a wire rack, but honestly these are really best served warm and eaten the same day.

NOTE: I’ve only given a rough weight for the fruit as punnet weights differ.  200g is an awful lot of blueberries, so if you prefer your muffins less fruity, cut it down to 150g.  I used a 170g punnet of raspeberries this morning and it was the perfect amount.