I believe it was about 3 months into our marriage that the utopian vision of married life that we had created inside our comfortable cottage home started to show its first few hairline fractures. I didn't love my newly wedded husband any less nor did i see any reason to condemn our recently made vows, life and its conventional mundane ways just seemed to weigh heavily down upon our shoulders ( not helped by my enduring obsession to start work at an ungodly manor).
One particular run of the mill plainly ordinary night we were constantly bickering back and forth like the first few repetitious rounds of a tennis tournament due to the most trivial of reoccurring irritations. I quite clearly remember R constantly not using his self competence regarding tidying up after himself whereas i vaguely recollect being constantly reminded how i messed up his sleeping with the enemy style food cupboards, alphabetically destroying them and rearranging the labels the wrong way round ( god help me when i did ).
Tensions seething i reacted to one ( sarcastic, as i saw it, polite as R defends ) request by thrusting down into the heavily litter laden, rotten stench smelling gutter that lies almost always dormant inside of me and pulled out the most abominable and despicable words possible then proceeded to scream them at the top of my lungs from the cowering surroundings of my kitchen to the living room where R lay unaware of my verbal explosion.
As soon as the vile and unrepeatable words had forced themselves out of my usually quiet and restrained mouth there was a knock to the right of me at the kitchen door, i answered to see our local vicar looking a little more wide eyed and aghast than he had done when he read us our vows 3 months previous,
' O Richard , Richard darling , the VICARS here '.
Talk about split personalities, he had to of heard me, surely the decibels of my violent tirade rung through our thinning windows and into his Holy ears, even if he happened to be a little deaf the protrusion of my anger pulsing veins on my neck or my physically embedded nails into the palms of my hands were sure to be a dead give away that all is not well.
I offered him to come in but he frantically refused spinning on his softly worn parish shoes and thrusting a sheet of paper into my hand before sprinting out of our gate and speeding off in his clapped out ford, not bad moves for a man who is rarely seen without his pipe and walks no quicker than a polite stroll.
R had been requested to read a lesson at our local Christmas carol service, being an upstanding member of the community and all, although i had a feeling that could be about to change after my little outburst.
That was 3 years ago, and although the service went without a hitch ( minus some very suspicious looks in my direction), up unto last week we haven't seen, spotted of even heard the smallest biblical whimper from our neighbourhood representative of God until R had to make a phone call to him regarding some local information. Whilst in conversation the vicar chose this moment to ask R to represent his birthplace once more by reading another lesson at the carol service, obviously he was taking advantage of not having to once again endure knocking at the door of the house of the satanic women.
Feeling like the sheer epitome of Christmas itself the carol service fills you with an unadulterated christmassy feeling that really sets you up for the big day and will now always be a staple habit in our yearly diary ( along with merrily tipsy midnight mass - another story in which I'm only helping to build up the case for me to be ousted out of the village ). During the last verse of Away In A Manger, the Churches most loyal parishioners handed round shortbread based home made mince pies with a slightly stale brandy butter and small sherry glasses of mulled wine ( which i think in my case may of been laced with holy water).
Black pudding and Quail Egg Scotch Eggs
More of an experiment than an intended recipe, these meaty game - tasting baubles of crispness made the perfect devilish snack prior to our saintly night out.
6 Quail eggs - boiled for just under two minutes, I'm warning you now peeling them is not a job for those of you who lack patience
A couple of handfuls of breadcrumbs - white and wholemeal mixed
250g quality pork mince
2 rounds of Bury Black Pudding ( other black puddings are available )
Small handful of sage leaves - chopped
2 free range eggs
3 tbls plain flour
Salt and pepper
Vegetable oil - for deep fat frying
Mix together the pork mince, black pudding and the sage leaves until you have a hearty meaty mixture.Season with salt and pepper.
Take a golf ball sized amount of mixture, flatten it out in the palm of your hand and encase your peeled quails eggs until you have a smooth ball of meat.
Once all the eggs are wrapped in the meat mixture, put you flour, egg and breadcrumbs onto separate plates then roll your meaty balls first in the flour then dip in the egg then generously coat in the breadcrumbs.
Heat enough oil ( about 3/4 of a pan ) to around 180 oc or until a breadcrumb dropped in turns brown and sizzles to the top.
Once ready very carefully drop your meaty morsels in 3 at a time for around 4 mins then remove with a slotted spoon and allow to dry on some kitchen paper.
Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year!
One particular run of the mill plainly ordinary night we were constantly bickering back and forth like the first few repetitious rounds of a tennis tournament due to the most trivial of reoccurring irritations. I quite clearly remember R constantly not using his self competence regarding tidying up after himself whereas i vaguely recollect being constantly reminded how i messed up his sleeping with the enemy style food cupboards, alphabetically destroying them and rearranging the labels the wrong way round ( god help me when i did ).
Tensions seething i reacted to one ( sarcastic, as i saw it, polite as R defends ) request by thrusting down into the heavily litter laden, rotten stench smelling gutter that lies almost always dormant inside of me and pulled out the most abominable and despicable words possible then proceeded to scream them at the top of my lungs from the cowering surroundings of my kitchen to the living room where R lay unaware of my verbal explosion.
As soon as the vile and unrepeatable words had forced themselves out of my usually quiet and restrained mouth there was a knock to the right of me at the kitchen door, i answered to see our local vicar looking a little more wide eyed and aghast than he had done when he read us our vows 3 months previous,
' O Richard , Richard darling , the VICARS here '.
Talk about split personalities, he had to of heard me, surely the decibels of my violent tirade rung through our thinning windows and into his Holy ears, even if he happened to be a little deaf the protrusion of my anger pulsing veins on my neck or my physically embedded nails into the palms of my hands were sure to be a dead give away that all is not well.
I offered him to come in but he frantically refused spinning on his softly worn parish shoes and thrusting a sheet of paper into my hand before sprinting out of our gate and speeding off in his clapped out ford, not bad moves for a man who is rarely seen without his pipe and walks no quicker than a polite stroll.
R had been requested to read a lesson at our local Christmas carol service, being an upstanding member of the community and all, although i had a feeling that could be about to change after my little outburst.
That was 3 years ago, and although the service went without a hitch ( minus some very suspicious looks in my direction), up unto last week we haven't seen, spotted of even heard the smallest biblical whimper from our neighbourhood representative of God until R had to make a phone call to him regarding some local information. Whilst in conversation the vicar chose this moment to ask R to represent his birthplace once more by reading another lesson at the carol service, obviously he was taking advantage of not having to once again endure knocking at the door of the house of the satanic women.
Feeling like the sheer epitome of Christmas itself the carol service fills you with an unadulterated christmassy feeling that really sets you up for the big day and will now always be a staple habit in our yearly diary ( along with merrily tipsy midnight mass - another story in which I'm only helping to build up the case for me to be ousted out of the village ). During the last verse of Away In A Manger, the Churches most loyal parishioners handed round shortbread based home made mince pies with a slightly stale brandy butter and small sherry glasses of mulled wine ( which i think in my case may of been laced with holy water).
More of an experiment than an intended recipe, these meaty game - tasting baubles of crispness made the perfect devilish snack prior to our saintly night out.
6 Quail eggs - boiled for just under two minutes, I'm warning you now peeling them is not a job for those of you who lack patience
A couple of handfuls of breadcrumbs - white and wholemeal mixed
250g quality pork mince
2 rounds of Bury Black Pudding ( other black puddings are available )
Small handful of sage leaves - chopped
2 free range eggs
3 tbls plain flour
Salt and pepper
Vegetable oil - for deep fat frying
Mix together the pork mince, black pudding and the sage leaves until you have a hearty meaty mixture.Season with salt and pepper.
Take a golf ball sized amount of mixture, flatten it out in the palm of your hand and encase your peeled quails eggs until you have a smooth ball of meat.
Once all the eggs are wrapped in the meat mixture, put you flour, egg and breadcrumbs onto separate plates then roll your meaty balls first in the flour then dip in the egg then generously coat in the breadcrumbs.
Heat enough oil ( about 3/4 of a pan ) to around 180 oc or until a breadcrumb dropped in turns brown and sizzles to the top.
Once ready very carefully drop your meaty morsels in 3 at a time for around 4 mins then remove with a slotted spoon and allow to dry on some kitchen paper.
Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year!
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