I always pretend like I don't care, I barely even lift my head from reading about my latest obsession (Nigel Slater) when R casually mentions he's going to London for the weekend. In reality my widened eyes are boring down into the pages of my newest purchase and my brain feels like its tearing itself apart, with R away on a Saturday night what actually am I going to do?
I realise I'm sounding like some insecure, frightened-to-be-on-her-own-loser, but this is the first selfish thought that comes into my head. You see, it's not like I'm not use to being on my own, I'm pretty much without human contact most of my days, it's just that Saturday nights represent the end of the week for me, normally consisting of either staying in and cooking, going out to a restaurant or relaxing in the company of some of my dearest (but crazy) friends. Maybe I'm a sad, repetitive creature of habit but that's how I like it.
There were times when R seemed a little unsettled by my state of relaxed-ness, it was as if he thought I was up to something or I already had something planned but I knew if I said what I really thought ("YOU SELFISH B*****D, HOW CAN YOU GO AWAY FOR THE WEEKEND WITHOUT ME????") he would not go and the weekend would turn out to be forty eight hours of spiteful comments from both our parts.
As it turned out after five minutes of my self-induced secret panic attack I had already concocted a detailed itinerary that would take up most of Saturday night and Sunday morning. No, I wasn't going to go out and drink myself into a drunken stupor that would see me slumber in a drink-induced coma until just before dinner time on Sunday - I'm not that good at going out, anyone who knows me knows that I would be nodding my head onto my chest after one glass of red at around 10:00 pm.
No, what I was going to do would be much more constructive than that. If you have read my last post you will know that I had already spent the best part of the working week hunting down enchanting recipes, ones that lured me in and enticed me with romantically written forwards and their appealing ingredients, this weekend I would actually be able to create them without R's ever changing appetite getting in the way.
I had no big meals as such planned (which suited me fine) just two types of pate - one being smoked mackerel and the other being broad bean, a black olive and sesame seed bread and individual summer puddings. I also thought this random free spare time would be just right to try and perfect my Victoria sponge recipe, in practice for our local town show in a couple of weeks (more details on this subject in a later post).
I realise that my recipe choices my seem rather obscure but it's just what catches my eye. It's like a force of nature grabs me by the wrists and drags me off my backside into the kitchen or a demon possesses me, unwilling to be exorcised until I have completed the dishes.
I also realise that it sounds like quite a hefty feast for one women to put away herself, but my sister and her boyf were due over Sunday night and R was sure to return home with the world's biggest hangover (from one which he has just recovered) and would be more than ready to eat his entire body weight in food before collapsing on the bed.
It was actually extremely pleasant not to rush around the Saturday markets of our neighbouring town, finding time to examine the local fruit and veg produce and pick my favorites instead of quickly grabbing the bruised gala apples or the brown stained mushrooms constantly feeling like I was on a time scale. I even managed to find excuses to casually wonder the aisels of three different supermarkets (although perhaps not advisable on a Saturday when some undesirables like to frequent the shops and enjoy screaming at their children from one end of the supermarket to the other).
After finishing off a few jobs at work the late afternoon was well underway and I'd hardly noticed R wasn't there, time had charmingly swept beneath me and before I knew it 6:00 pm was on the clock and it was closing in on a time in which I like to call "Late Night Waitrose Sweep".
Well before I lived with R, this was a tradition that had been installed into me from a young age, usually after M (Mum) picked me up after flogging myself at the local stables (coincidentally where I met), we would take to frequenting the local supermarket around half an hour before closing to see what food-related bargains we could pick up. This habit continued well into my early twenties and is still one that is close to my heart. Having exhausted three supermarkets already that day it would have been a shame not to round the day off nicely with a fourth (and the one where the best late night reductions are to be had).
I picked up M, my partner in crime and we headed off excitedly to roam the deserted rows of Waitrose only to be joined by a small handful of people meandering around looking for something for their tea or people gabbing a bottle of something alcoholic before on their way to a late night party.
I found perfectly ripened raspberries and black berries reduced along with a steal of a price for a couple of loaves of bread - ideal for my summer puddings (and any extra would go to our ever-starving chickens) and the tomato and mozzarella salad, grilled artichokes and two 14p sweet potato falafels marked down from the deli would make an easy and refreshing snack as I burrowed down to some late night cooking.
R would not tolerate this kind of behaviour, especially I as easily repeated the chilled section at least three times, he would be in the car by this time trying not to get cross by playing Angry Birds on his phone. Fortunately for me M shares my strange passion and if it wasn't for the hinting staff gradually dimming the lights we could have easily browsed for at least another couple of hours.
After dropping my shopping buddy off, I returned home to embark on a few hours of selfish cooking indulgence only to be stopped by the fact that my one glass of wine may of turned into two and my cooking judgement was becoming clouded.
In fear of sounding old before my time I woke at seven in the morning, switched Radio 2 on (I can't believe I've actually admitted to that) and carried on kneading, mixing, whisking, soaking and baking along to the sounds of Love Songs With Steve Wright and occasionally seeing my frequently visiting pair of woodpeckers pushing their oak-hard beaks through the bird feeder as all the other smaller blue tits and sparrows waited patiantley underneath peaking up bits of broken peanuts the fast moving woodpeckers had dropped.
What I was worried about I have no idea, it;s not that I hadn't missed R, I had just made my self busy by distacting myself with my love of cooking. I had the most selfishly peaceful and wondrous time which was only to be slightly dampened when I was greeted with a picture of my husband on Facebook swigging the contents of a two litre bottle of vodka posted at around 4:00 am Sunday morning. Obviously I was not the only one who had had a good time.
I realise I'm sounding like some insecure, frightened-to-be-on-her-own-loser, but this is the first selfish thought that comes into my head. You see, it's not like I'm not use to being on my own, I'm pretty much without human contact most of my days, it's just that Saturday nights represent the end of the week for me, normally consisting of either staying in and cooking, going out to a restaurant or relaxing in the company of some of my dearest (but crazy) friends. Maybe I'm a sad, repetitive creature of habit but that's how I like it.
There were times when R seemed a little unsettled by my state of relaxed-ness, it was as if he thought I was up to something or I already had something planned but I knew if I said what I really thought ("YOU SELFISH B*****D, HOW CAN YOU GO AWAY FOR THE WEEKEND WITHOUT ME????") he would not go and the weekend would turn out to be forty eight hours of spiteful comments from both our parts.
As it turned out after five minutes of my self-induced secret panic attack I had already concocted a detailed itinerary that would take up most of Saturday night and Sunday morning. No, I wasn't going to go out and drink myself into a drunken stupor that would see me slumber in a drink-induced coma until just before dinner time on Sunday - I'm not that good at going out, anyone who knows me knows that I would be nodding my head onto my chest after one glass of red at around 10:00 pm.
No, what I was going to do would be much more constructive than that. If you have read my last post you will know that I had already spent the best part of the working week hunting down enchanting recipes, ones that lured me in and enticed me with romantically written forwards and their appealing ingredients, this weekend I would actually be able to create them without R's ever changing appetite getting in the way.
I had no big meals as such planned (which suited me fine) just two types of pate - one being smoked mackerel and the other being broad bean, a black olive and sesame seed bread and individual summer puddings. I also thought this random free spare time would be just right to try and perfect my Victoria sponge recipe, in practice for our local town show in a couple of weeks (more details on this subject in a later post).
I realise that my recipe choices my seem rather obscure but it's just what catches my eye. It's like a force of nature grabs me by the wrists and drags me off my backside into the kitchen or a demon possesses me, unwilling to be exorcised until I have completed the dishes.
I also realise that it sounds like quite a hefty feast for one women to put away herself, but my sister and her boyf were due over Sunday night and R was sure to return home with the world's biggest hangover (from one which he has just recovered) and would be more than ready to eat his entire body weight in food before collapsing on the bed.
It was actually extremely pleasant not to rush around the Saturday markets of our neighbouring town, finding time to examine the local fruit and veg produce and pick my favorites instead of quickly grabbing the bruised gala apples or the brown stained mushrooms constantly feeling like I was on a time scale. I even managed to find excuses to casually wonder the aisels of three different supermarkets (although perhaps not advisable on a Saturday when some undesirables like to frequent the shops and enjoy screaming at their children from one end of the supermarket to the other).
After finishing off a few jobs at work the late afternoon was well underway and I'd hardly noticed R wasn't there, time had charmingly swept beneath me and before I knew it 6:00 pm was on the clock and it was closing in on a time in which I like to call "Late Night Waitrose Sweep".
Well before I lived with R, this was a tradition that had been installed into me from a young age, usually after M (Mum) picked me up after flogging myself at the local stables (coincidentally where I met), we would take to frequenting the local supermarket around half an hour before closing to see what food-related bargains we could pick up. This habit continued well into my early twenties and is still one that is close to my heart. Having exhausted three supermarkets already that day it would have been a shame not to round the day off nicely with a fourth (and the one where the best late night reductions are to be had).
I picked up M, my partner in crime and we headed off excitedly to roam the deserted rows of Waitrose only to be joined by a small handful of people meandering around looking for something for their tea or people gabbing a bottle of something alcoholic before on their way to a late night party.
I found perfectly ripened raspberries and black berries reduced along with a steal of a price for a couple of loaves of bread - ideal for my summer puddings (and any extra would go to our ever-starving chickens) and the tomato and mozzarella salad, grilled artichokes and two 14p sweet potato falafels marked down from the deli would make an easy and refreshing snack as I burrowed down to some late night cooking.
R would not tolerate this kind of behaviour, especially I as easily repeated the chilled section at least three times, he would be in the car by this time trying not to get cross by playing Angry Birds on his phone. Fortunately for me M shares my strange passion and if it wasn't for the hinting staff gradually dimming the lights we could have easily browsed for at least another couple of hours.
After dropping my shopping buddy off, I returned home to embark on a few hours of selfish cooking indulgence only to be stopped by the fact that my one glass of wine may of turned into two and my cooking judgement was becoming clouded.
In fear of sounding old before my time I woke at seven in the morning, switched Radio 2 on (I can't believe I've actually admitted to that) and carried on kneading, mixing, whisking, soaking and baking along to the sounds of Love Songs With Steve Wright and occasionally seeing my frequently visiting pair of woodpeckers pushing their oak-hard beaks through the bird feeder as all the other smaller blue tits and sparrows waited patiantley underneath peaking up bits of broken peanuts the fast moving woodpeckers had dropped.
What I was worried about I have no idea, it;s not that I hadn't missed R, I had just made my self busy by distacting myself with my love of cooking. I had the most selfishly peaceful and wondrous time which was only to be slightly dampened when I was greeted with a picture of my husband on Facebook swigging the contents of a two litre bottle of vodka posted at around 4:00 am Sunday morning. Obviously I was not the only one who had had a good time.
Black Olive and Sesame Bread served with Broad Bean Pate
and Smoked Mackerel Pate
Oh, and I made roast pork to feed the extremely hungover.
Summer Pudding
I really don't like to mess about with bread recipes as I think I'm still on the huge learning curve that is bread and due to my over-enthusiastic addiction to Dan Lepards Recpies at the moment, here's the link to this recipe - make sure you follow it exactly
I've not really had the best start to life with broad beans, my now father-in-law used to have excess supplies of them in his freezer that his father had grown. When time was short in the hay-making season and the cupboards were bare, out would come the pale sickly looking bean, boiled slowly with some potatoes and with some bacon thrown over at the end. They seemed to represent a drought ridden shriveled up green grape with about as much taste as a cardboard box. With the recent reprisal of these beans I decided to give them another go and after realising that you take off their wrinkled coat you are left with a fresh pea green-coloured soft legume that tastes nothing like the dry and lack-lustre bean I have been served in the past.
Broad Bean Pate
I'm afraid I don't know the conversion from pre-podded broad beans to actually beans but i had a small carrier bag full of pods and ended up with about two large handfuls of beans.
One tbls of ricotta cheese.
Small handful of basil or mint leaves, chopped.
Salt and pepper.
Parmesan cheese.
After podding your beans place them in boiling water for around five minutes.
Drain, then once cooled slightly remove all of the outer skins of the beans (painstaking, but worth it).
Add the ricotta, herb leaves of your choice, a few gratings of parmesan and salt and pepper to taste.
Mash all the ingredients together either by hand or in a food processor.
Serve either warm or cold.
Smoked Makerel Pate
A pack of smoked mackerel ( around 300g ) skin and any bones removed.
Juice and zest of one lemon.
Two tbls of Greek yoghurt/crème fraiche.
Handful of chopped parsley.
A sprig of dill.
One spring onion.
Salt and pepper to taste.
Blitz all the ingredients together in a food processor, add more lemon, yoghurt, herbs, salt and pepper to your specific tastes. Chill before serving.
Individual Summer Puddings
One loaf of day-old white bread.
A mixture of raspberries, blackberries, strawberries or any other type of summer berry to make up around 1 kg of fruit.
Three tbls of caster sugar.
Five tbls of water.
Six dairole moulds.
Line the moulds with cling film, leaving enough over the sides to wrap back over on itself,
Place the fruits into a saucepan with the sugar and the water and slowly bring to a simmer leaving for around three minutes until the fruits have softened slightly.
Remove the the fruits from the liquid and allow to cool for a few minutes.
Cut the the crusts off and cut the bread into six rings to fit into the bottom of the moulds and six rings to fit over the top of the puddings and cut the rest of the bread up into triangles.
Starting with the smaller rings of bread dip them into the fruit liquid for a couple of seconds then place into the base of your moulds, repeat with the triangles of bread and carefully line the moulds overlapping the bread slightly as you go.
Place enough fruit mixture into your moulds to fil to the top of your bread then soak the remainging larger discs of bread and place on top encasing the fruit mixture into your pudding.
Wrap the edges of the cling film over your puddings and place in the fridge with a plate or some kind of weight on top.
Leave for around six hours or, if you can wait longer, overnight.
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