I sit amidst the chaos of the 'Crisis' like a modern-day Madame Defarge, not knitting whilst guarding the steps of the guillotine and seeing off the aristos, but baking and doing interesting things with lentils in an effort to protect the remaining few sous from escaping the confines of the purse. We could all be 'sans coulottes' within a twelvemonth.........
However, being more Bree van de Kamp than Defarge in a physical sense (less whiskers, this being a 'good day'), I've been experimenting with a new loaf. This area suffers really badly from a lack of proper bakeries - there's one at Upper Snobton and a Maison Blanc at West Snobton, but really, £3.00 for a small rye? Otherwise, it's pain industriel from Pesko, Leadle or Morry's Sons - instant indigestion, anyone? Mmmm. Chorleywood process. The work of the very devil.
In an effort to replicate some of the deliciousness that I found over the last year living Abroad, I'm working on some bread recipes. Today's blends one third organic malted multigrain flour with a third organic wholemeal and a third organic rye. 2lbs of flour in all, 2oz butter rubbed in, 2 teaspoons salt. 2 teaspoons sugar, 2 tablespoons active yeast and 220ml warm water left to sponge, then topped up to 450ml with semi-skimmed milk. Made dough, left to rise for an hour, knocked back, slashed decoratively, dusted with maize flour for a bit of a crunchy crust, rose for another hour and a quarter, baked for 40 minutes at Gas 6. Robert's your mother's brother. The proof of gorgeousnes will be in the eating, but it looks fantastically golden and crusty and smells quite extraordinarily good.
It's a pity that the bready smell is somewhat overlaid by the aroma of burnt rhubarby sugar. The juice escaped from the dish. Arse. The rhubarb came from the market this morning - Bugville has a twice weekly market, normally shite, selling crap plastic goods and dreadful clothes to the tourists who flock here to the Holiday Camp. Lion print towel, large fragranced ball on curly string (Legend: Sniff my smelly ball - how we laugh every time we pass there....) or engraved crystal paperweight, anyone? Today, however, there was a nod to healthy living amongst the crap - a very nice fruit and veg stall - seasonal rhubarb, English asparagus, purple sprouting broc and Jerseys in between the imported Spanish strawberries, the rock-hard plums and the fragranceless pineapples. I may look in again.............
Bad news from Little Sissy. Redundancy. Good thing though,that she won't cry on the way back from work several times a week like she's been doing for the past year or so, nor get stressed about actually having to go into the office every Monday to work with a bunch of people who have no idea about business whatsoever. Bloody Flower Fairies. Bad thing if she can't immediately get another job. Sure she will, though.
And finally. I read today that the BBC are making a third series of Robin Hood, but minus Jonas Armstrong in the title role, which will be taken over by the bloke from Eastenders who played the one who married the dumpy blonde sister of the woman who owns the nightclub, but ran away when he found out the baby wasn't his. Now. Forgive me, but how are they going to write the change into the story? Robin goes off and comes back with new face and about a foot more height. I can only think -mediaeval plastic surgery following a bit of a ruck in the forest perhaps? OR, how's this? Robin's long-lost brother/cousin comes back from the Holy Wars with a message for him from Richard the Absent - present for anti-Muslim duties at his Maj's right hand, immediately. Robin goes off, llb/c takes his place as champion of poor/irritator of sheriff/pisser-off of Gisbourne. I can't get my head round it at all.
Tuesday 28 April 2009
Monday 27 April 2009
I don't know if I've done this right, but.....
I've been writing a blog that wasn't a blog for the past fourteen months, whilst studying abroad. The BTWAB came about because I had no internet access at the house and because I was too mean and stingy to go to the internet cafe and pay for the privilege, so I used to type a diary every day onto the laptop then, once a week, load it onto a lollystick and send it home here to Bugville where my friend Mr Bursar would disseminate it to interested parties. By the time I finally came back to Bugville (three weeks ago), it amounted to some 140,000 words, I'd become addicted to the actual process of 'getting something down' every day and my readership had become addicted to reading it.
Here we are then.
It's a cold, wet old day in Bugville in deep contrast to yesterday when The Boy and I spent the day in the garden, readying it for the glorious summer we're (perhaps) going to have. We borrowed Little B and Mr Bursar's power washer and wooshed three years of mould off the verandah which doesn't sound too exciting, but when we'd finished and it was back to woody not mossy and we sat there drinking wine in a self-congratulatory way, we were quite excited. Such is the stuff of life for the Pinnywearer.
The Boy has filled the greenhouse with teeny little trays of salading seedlings, the peas are planted out, the back raised border is dug over and ready for brassicas and beans, the tom plants are coming on apace, the little raised beds are full of green shoots and the spuds are earthed up. There's a new cucumber house, the butternuts have sprouted and the courgette plants are perky and healthy, as we will be when we've chewed our way through that lot later int he year.
The Boy has added a new recipe to his repertoire. He is a fine cook, in the Jamie mould, having had to hone his skills or starve to death whilst I was away, but he tends to stick to the same things. No sin in that, says I, but ragout, risotto, slow roasted meats and sausage, mash and onion gravy get a little dull after a while. Yesterday we introduced him to the fine art of the salade tiede, comprising frisee from the garden, eggs poached from scratch without the aid of a plastic egg poacher, a fine vinaigrette flavoured with fresh tarragon from the herb patch and crispy bacon lardons. As this dish requires skills and timing to get it right (don't dress the salad too early, don't overdo the eggs and remember to dry and trim them whilst still keeping them hot, keep the bacon warm and get them and the warm dressing onto the egg p.d.q), it was a pretty startlingly good first attempt. We ate it with rye bread and followed it with a Coq au vin blanc, leeks from the garden and steamed spuds with parsley butter.
Today, I've been watching the rain sheet down, doing the ironing and getting the expenses plugged into the spreadsheet as the VAT is due at the end of the week. Darling giveth and he taketh away..............
Here we are then.
It's a cold, wet old day in Bugville in deep contrast to yesterday when The Boy and I spent the day in the garden, readying it for the glorious summer we're (perhaps) going to have. We borrowed Little B and Mr Bursar's power washer and wooshed three years of mould off the verandah which doesn't sound too exciting, but when we'd finished and it was back to woody not mossy and we sat there drinking wine in a self-congratulatory way, we were quite excited. Such is the stuff of life for the Pinnywearer.
The Boy has filled the greenhouse with teeny little trays of salading seedlings, the peas are planted out, the back raised border is dug over and ready for brassicas and beans, the tom plants are coming on apace, the little raised beds are full of green shoots and the spuds are earthed up. There's a new cucumber house, the butternuts have sprouted and the courgette plants are perky and healthy, as we will be when we've chewed our way through that lot later int he year.
The Boy has added a new recipe to his repertoire. He is a fine cook, in the Jamie mould, having had to hone his skills or starve to death whilst I was away, but he tends to stick to the same things. No sin in that, says I, but ragout, risotto, slow roasted meats and sausage, mash and onion gravy get a little dull after a while. Yesterday we introduced him to the fine art of the salade tiede, comprising frisee from the garden, eggs poached from scratch without the aid of a plastic egg poacher, a fine vinaigrette flavoured with fresh tarragon from the herb patch and crispy bacon lardons. As this dish requires skills and timing to get it right (don't dress the salad too early, don't overdo the eggs and remember to dry and trim them whilst still keeping them hot, keep the bacon warm and get them and the warm dressing onto the egg p.d.q), it was a pretty startlingly good first attempt. We ate it with rye bread and followed it with a Coq au vin blanc, leeks from the garden and steamed spuds with parsley butter.
Today, I've been watching the rain sheet down, doing the ironing and getting the expenses plugged into the spreadsheet as the VAT is due at the end of the week. Darling giveth and he taketh away..............
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