Goodwood videos, James Martin and a new Ferrari 599 GTO
So here’s one for all you petrol heads. English Dad was at Goodwood yesterday. He was supposed to be working, but judging by this, there wasn’t much working occurring… (check out the smile – makes me laugh every time I watch it):
Just check out that noise!
They were at Goodwood for a track day so that Matt could have a play with his new toys: a beautiful white Ferrari 599 GTO (‘ £300,000 give or take a few lira’, says the hubster, breezily):
… and a new Ferrari 599 F1 California convertible (a snip at £170,000 – sadly only one pic of this):
And Hubby’s new mission seems to be to get everyone to say hello to me. Here’s Matt, one of the Hubster’s helicopter students and the owner of this beautiful machine:
…and then just as they were loading the cars back onto the transporter at the end, a brand new Aston Martin Virage (convertible) turned up, James Martin got out, and stood and had a chat with them all.
Did he get a photo of James Martin? Did he hell.
Sacked, I tell you. Sacked.
Congratulations William and Catherine!
Check out my Union Jack biscuits on Ready for Ten
Dinner with Dhruv and giveaway copies of the new Masterchef at Home book!
Did you watch Masterchef last night? I’m a bit of an addict – I really wanted Tom to win, but very pleased for the lovely Tim.
To celebrate Tim’s win, and also because I’m just a big bloody lump of loveliness, I’ve got 5 copies of the new Masterchef at Home book to give away!
Dorling Kindersley are also giving away an amazing prize of dinner for 4, cooked by the Masterchef 2010 winner, Dhruv Baker IN YOUR HOME! All you have to do is visit dk.com/masterchef to enter.
I’ve got five copies of the new Dorling Kindersley Masterchef at Home book to give away. Just leave a comment and tell me something interesting.
Oh and don’t forget that my buddy Nick Coffer will have the brand new Masterchef Winner, Tim Anderson, on his show this weekend – 12 noon on BBC Three Counties Radio. Don’t miss it!
********************This comp is now closed, but don’t forget you can still enter the Dhruv Baker competition! The winners of the Masterchef at Home books, chosen at random by volunteer Twitterer @Tinky_Pink are: Matt, Lisa, Terry, Shelly and Katie. Congratulations all! ********************************************************
In which the Mad Professor turns 16
I am the mother of a 16 year old. There, I said it. I know, I feel really old.
Of course with 16 year olds, you get the hormones… the moodiness… the constant demands for money… the vast tranches of time when they’re lolling about making the place look untidy, or just unconscious…
But you also get moments like this:
I watched him on Saturday, playing with little Sweeney (Mad Uncle Ali’s girlfriend’s little fella) in the sunshine at the cricket club. He bowled, fielded and batted for hours… he played football, he spent quite a lot of time making out shapes in the clouds:
… and still more retrieving the cricket ball from under the fence. Later, little Sweeney stayed the night here. The Prof was out with friends. The little chap just couldn’t go to sleep… ‘is Sam back? Is Sam back?…) He has endless patience. A gentle spirit that he certainly didn’t inherit from me (or his Dad)…
He’s not complained too much about being away from COD Black Ops for a whole two weeks… it helped that he spent the whole of Sunday getting sweaty at paintball with his mate Steve – they came back filthy, bruised and knackered. But still smiling.
He’s hugely different from his brother, but their differences make them who they are, and we love them both. We’re so proud. Happy birthday, Sam xx
Knackered Mother’s Wine Guide to Easter
Now that Spring has definitely sprung and Easter Sunday is in sight, there’s been a shift in what I look forward to in my glass at the end of the day. There are a few more aromatic, ‘floral’ whites such as Sauvignon Blanc or Riesling rather than the winter-warming oaked Chardonnays and higher-than-average-alcohol Viogniers making it into the fridge. The deep, intense Shiraz and Cabernet Sauvignon- dominated red wines are moving over for lighter, fruitier Gamay, Sangiovese or Pinot Noir style wines. Given the unpredictability of our weather I’ll keep some of those winter warmers in the wine rack, just in case. But, with fingers firmly crossed, here are some wines that should put a spring in your step and just happen to go a dream with traditional Easter fodder:
Fizz-tastic!
The shops are chock-full of sparkling wine deals at Easter time so you really can take your pick of the bargains. Of course, you can go for a cheaper Prosecco but it really is worth spending a bit more on something that gets its bubbles from being fermented in the bottle a second time. If you like a lean, elegant style of Champagne – think Kate Moss pre-Pete Doherty– go for a Blanc de Blancs. That means it is only made from Chardonnay grapes. If you like your Champagne with more flesh and curves on show – think Elizabeth Hurley in THAT dress – go for a Blanc de Noirs. This means it is only made from the permitted red grapes, Pinot Noir and/or Pinot Meunier. If you can’t choose between the two, go for a blend of all three grapes but make it a Premier Cru (meaning made from grapes grown in slightly higher-rated vineyards than your average Champers): Tesco do a brilliant one in their Finest range.
Red Wines ♥ Lamb
Assuming you’ve got a huge leg of lamb stuffed full of garlic and rosemary in the oven, you’ll need a red to go with it. You can try a white, but the fat (from the lamb) and the acidity (from the white) will fight and both will taste the worse for it. However, give the lamb a juicy red with some lovely supple tannins and everything will taste as it should. Both Cabernet Sauvignon and the lovely, if slightly slutty, Tempranillo grape from Spain – what Rioja is made of – are great matches for lamb. If you are doing a lighter take on lamb, going easy on the garlic & herbs, then a New World Pinot Noir will also make a great match. Try one from New Zealand or Chile (the latter being slightly cheaper).
Wine & Chocolate
I know lots of people who swear by red wine and chocolate being a heavenly match. I’m not one of them. Years ago, when working as a wine buyer for a big supermarket I developed a range of wines to go with particular foods. One of the wines on the list had to go with chocolate so, hard as it was, I tasted about 50 different wines with a variety of puddings including chocolate. Almost none of the combinations worked. Tannins, found in red wines, are not bessie mates with chocolate. The best match is either a light Moscato-style fizz or a lovely thick sweet wine like Banyuls from France.
Happy Easter x
Give me paella! A bimble around Portobello Market
Oh we’re having such a fun time at English Grandma’s. I’m slightly worried, though, because I’ve done nothing but eat so far – they might have to roll me into the cargo section of the aircraft to get me home…
On Saturday, while the newly-hatched teenager was trying to mangle himself at Bay Sixty6, we decided to head off into the local area and walk around a bit (four hours watching your child trying to snap off their limbs is not an enticing prospect, believe me). Having absolutely no knowledge of London, we were just going to bimble around and people-watch (the houses in that area are amazing – the one I liked in the Estate Agent’s window was a snip at 1.3 mil).
Happily, though, our bimbling led us straight into Portobello Road, and the market, which was in full swing:
I couldn’t believe it and hopped around like a lunatic while English Dad sort of looked like he wasn’t really with me. ’It’s like Notting Hill!’ I said.
‘It is bloody Notting Hill’, the embarrassed one muttered.
I meant the movie, but anyhoo, we set off to check out the stalls, with me grinning like a loon and English Dad looking a bit perplexed. On a Saturday, the market is over a mile long, with bits spreading out under the Westway and in all directions – we marvelled at the fabulous fresh fruit and veg stalls:
…the piles of gorgeously fragrant freshly-baked bread:
…and all manner of really entrepreneurial stalls – I especially liked the lovely lady that makes and sells cute little knickers and tops (I wasn’t allowed to linger there, hence the lack of photo) and these fabulous wooden spoons and things:
Oh and the fooood! We’d had breakfast, which was a mistake, as everything looked so delicious… the jerk chicken stands, the huge pans of paella bubbling away:
Oh and we saw the Hummingbird Bakery! (wasn’t allowed in there either) and on Saturdays there’s an amazing antiques market, where I tried really hard not to buy any fabulous old enamel ware or ancient silver fish slices, for fear of busting my Ryanair allowance on the way back.
It’s such a fab place, though. Highly recommended.
Now how does that song go? ‘Roll me on home…’
Review: Cakes by Pam Corbin (River Cottage Handbook no 8)
I knew I was going to love this book from the moment I was offered a review copy. I stalked our poor postie, Bernard, mercilessly every day until he was beginning to look a little uncomfortable, I was so looking forward to reading it.
Happily (for me and Bernard, it appeared. And I wasn’t wrong. I bloody love it. Cakes (River Cottage Handbook) is probably one of those books that could render half my cookery book collection redundant, it’s that useful.
And yes, I’m a sucker for a bit of pink, so the cover alone is enough to make me want to carry it around in my handbag, but the contents more than compete in the gorgeousness stakes, believe me.
I’m a page turner-over (I know, kill me now) and this book now has so many corners turned over I can barely shut it. Pam’s recipes for retro favourites are on my must-cook list (jammy dodgers!), and so is her fabulous chocolate fudge icing recipe. I also spied a really gorgeous gluten-free lime and coconut cake that I want to pass on to a Coeliac friend.
There are some really great old-fashioned favourites here, like cherry cake and proper fruit cake, but also some really surprising new ones to try, my faves being a really interesting looking potato and apple cake, plus a twist on the wonderful Battenburg, made with chocolate and hazelnuts.
I love a cookery book that is more than just a collection of recipes. I want something I can take to bed (or on a plane) and read, and really get a sense of the person writing the book, and the stories behind the recipes. This book more than delivers.
Don’t be put off thinking this is just another book about cakes. It’s an absolute must-have for seasoned cakeophiles and beginners alike. Grab it while it’s hot.
The River Cottage Cakes Handbook is published by Bloomsbury and available now on Amazon, priced £7.68.
The birthday Death Wish Dude goes to London
So it’s the Death Wish Child’s birthday. Actually, I might now have to change his name, seeing as he is now officially a teenager.
Yes, I am the mother of two teenagers. Kill me now.
The dude’s most fervent birthday wish was for a pair of hideously expensive Remz OS4 skates. Now, for 99 percent of you, these words will mean very little, but for most of the teenagey skatery-type chaps reading this, there’ll be all sorts of drooling and hyperventilating at the very thought. Here they are in all their glory:
After some pretty terrible lying (mostly by his father), we managed to dupe him into thinking that there was ‘a man’ at the skate park who sold skates, and that we would purchase them on his birthday trip. Happily, he’s a gullible sod and was completely surprised when we whipped out the aforementioned skates with a flourish on his birthday. Remz. Oh yes. With blue trim. Exactly what he wanted.
The dude has been feverishly googling Bay Sixty6 in London for several weeks now. It’s a massive skate park under the Westway flyover and we promised him and his buddy Olly a birthday trip while we were over here visiting the folks. Today was the day, and we set off – the new skates nestled securely on the DWC’s lap.
When we got there, he put on his news skates, headed to the highest ramp, and promptly fell over. English Dad and I decided that we couldn’t watch and headed to Portobello Road market instead (more of this later). Happily, when we checked back, he was still alive and had all his limbs roughly in the right place, which is a bloody miracle, given he did stuff like this:
Yup. And you wondered why I couldn’t watch.
He also did a bit of this:
…and quite a bit of this:
Happily 4pm came with no broken bones, dislocated joints, smashed teeth or any of the other things I’d been trying not to think about, and we whisked him home, wondering how we could get out of EVER taking him there again.
Bah, who am I kidding? He’ll be pestering me about every ten seconds from now on…
Happy birthday, Chipper. Welcome to teenagerhood. xx
Freeze ahead brown sugar cookies
I made a batch of these the other day (the plain ones – these ones in the pic have actually got a dollop of salted caramel in their centre), and the Death Wish Child, somewhat of a cookie connoisseur, declared them to be the best cookie that I make.
‘What, these old things?’, I asked, surprised.
DWC: ‘Yup’
Me: ‘Not the double chocolate chip cookies?’
DWC: ‘Nope.’
Me: ‘Just these plain, boring fridge cookie things?’
DWC: ‘Yup.’
Me: ‘Not the home-made bourbons that we print ‘ARSE’ into?’
DWC: ‘Nope, these.’
And so, in that short conversation (he’s a man of few words, my youngest), it dawned on me. In the whole of my blogging career, a whole THOUSAND blog posts, I have omitted to publish one of the easiest, yummiest recipes in my repertoire. Shame on me.
These are the best cookies in the world, not only because they’re ridiculously easy, but because you can make double and keep the dough in the fridge, where it will happily last a good few days, but also because you can freeze these little suckers, to whip them out and bake them when unexpected guests appear, making yourself out to be breezily, carelessly efficient in the kitchen (even when the truth is, sadly, that the fluff underneath your sofa comes from a dog you no longer own *cough*).
Brown Sugar Cookies
125g butter, softened
150g dark brown sugar
1 egg, beaten
1 tsp vanilla extract
150g plain flour
50g oats
So, just cream the butter, then add the sugar and beat together until it’s light and fluffy. Add the egg, then beat again until creamy, then the vanilla. Finally, stir in the flour, then the oats and stir until it’s all combined.
Dollop the mixture in tablespoonfuls onto a baking sheet.
To freeze ahead: at this stage, you can pop the whole tray into the freezer until they’re solid, then bag them up and keep them in the freezer for the efficient bit at a later date. If you want to be really posh you can roll the dough up in a cling film sausage, chill, then slice before open-freezing:
To bake, they’ll need about 10-12 minutes at 180 degrees/gas 4, a couple of minutes more from frozen.
Go to it, then troops. Remember, we’re going for breezily, carelessly efficient, with absolutely no first degree burns.
From the sublime to the ridiculous…
So last week, then, after publishing my ‘woe is me’ blog post, feeling sorry for myself, hating everyone (not YOU obviously) and wanting desperately to curl back under the covers, I decided that a walk down the boat road was in order. Fresh air, I decided, would blow the cobwebs away.
The two, brand new baby calves were right by the gate. Obviously, as is my luck at the moment, this was the day I’d decided to come out without my camera. In fact, as I discovered when I patted my pockets for a second time… something else was missing too.
My keys.
Shiiiiit.
As I walked back up to the house, I wished, hoped and prayed (sorry, Mother) that I’d left the back door open, but even as I tried the handle, I knew what I would discover.
Locked.
I knocked next door and lovely Miss D and I sat and had a cup of tea as we decided what to do, and also agreed that maybe not keeping spare keys to each other’s houses wasn’t our most epic idea. As luck would have it, D chose this particular moment to walk back into the house, home early from work.
‘I’m sure one of these is yours’, he muttered as he grabbed a big handful of keys off his key/peggy/hanger thing – what ARE they called? And we walked back to English Towers, feeling optimistic. Our optimism soon started to fail after every key had been tried in every door about three times. We did, however, notice that the bathroom window was slightly open. The upstairs bathroom window. The really high bathroom window, upstairs.
D grabbed the ladder from the garage (it’s not my ladder, but Poppy’s Dad helpfully left it behind last time he mended my gutter) and he stood at the bottom, averting his gaze from my fetching baggy tracky bottomed-bottom as I teetered up the ladder, emitting small, worried squeaks as I climbed higher…
‘You are holding the ladder tight, aren’t you?’
‘*sigh* yeeeessss.’
The small window, happily, was open. It was just a case of posting myself through this 1′ x 3′ hole with as much dignity as I could muster. Well, I mustered none. I posted my upper body through the hole, squealing a bit louder as my bra strap caught through my shirt on the catch of the window. I was then half-way through, teetering as my waist caught on the window and my legs flailed in the air.
‘Pull yourself through!’, called D helpfully
‘I’m trying! But I can’t grab onto anything’, I wailed…
By this time, my hands were flat on the toilet seat and the window frame was painfully embedding itself into my upper thighs. All the blood was rushing to my head. It’s years since I did a handstand.
‘OWWWWW! That bloody hurts!’, I yelled…
‘Go in backwards!’, was the helpful response.
Fighting the temptation to tell my helpful neighbour what I thought of his coaching, whilst simultaneously sweeping the entire contents of my bathroom windowsill onto the floor with my arse, I changed orientation so that I was now facing the ceiling, and was hanging from the window by the backs of my knees.
D seemed to be having a bit of a coughing fit now and was no help at all so I let my back move slowly down the cystern and rested my neck and shoulders onto the toilet seat, then did a rather awkward backward roll into the room. D’s cough was getting worse, so by the time I got downstairs and opened the back door, he was bent double, face red and looking like he was going to expire. I inspected him for signs of hilarity, and finding none, thanked him for rescuing a damsel in distress, bestowing upon him the spare key so this can NEVER EVER happen again.
I’m a bit of a big poof at the best of times and I bruise like a peach. This morning I am black and blue. The fronts of my thighs are a fetching purple and the backs of my knees are red and sore. Seriously, I even have bruises on my ankles.
Oh the embarrassment. Still, I’m sure I can trust him not to tell anyone… especially the bit when my bottom was stuck out of the window and my legs were waving jauntily in the air…
As he went off down the drive, though I swear his shoulders were shaking a bit.
