A dull day in every sense. Also the last day of life for this chilli plant, which as you can see has put all of its efforts into this single great fruit, and spent itself like the one-hit-wonder pop group. The chilli went today into a very nice curry; and the plant, with our thanks, was put out of its misery.
And so it has come to this after eight weeks of lockdown — abstract shapes in the washing-up bowl. And on a Friday evening too. But they are pleasing shapes, at least to me.
During the Great Hebden Bridge Flour Famine of early April 2020 I panic-bought some organic rye flour, at a ridiculous price, when it seemed to be the only bag of flour available in the town. Subsequently, I have tried making pizza with it, and then batter, and both were dismal failures. Then today, Clare suggested the entirely logical approach of making rye bread with it. At this it — and she — was a roaring success. There will be more of this.
As this blog extends ever onward — day 2,700 today — and I remain committed to not repeating myself, the semi-mythical, but still plausible, Day When There Will Be Nothing To Photograph draws ever closer. And when that Day arrives, it’ll be one like today — spent entirely in the house marking, with only greyness outside so not even the full-quality house view to distract.
It did cross my mind though, as I made lunch, that, “Hmmm: I have never before tried photographing the gas element on the grill as it is working”. So here you are. As well as my typically elaborate cheese-on-toast arrangement.
But that’s it. I’ve now done the grill. What will happen next time there is a day like this? It could be as early as Thursday…
Sometimes I have to work on Sundays, though always at home. Today, a sudden desire for soft-boiled eggs was one unexpected consequence.
Joe is the person who has appeared on this blog the most often, but the last time was three months ago, in Guernsey, so let’s have him return with an action shot from one of his rehearsals for his upcoming Food Technology exam (or whatever it is they call it these days). The egg whites are whipped up successfully to the soft peak stage, and the chocolate (72% cocoa solid…) is about to go into be melted. And it all turned out very well.
Don’t worry, I have not become Scarface. Not yet, anyway. But I was making blackberry jam this afternoon, and quite successfully too as it turned out.
You want plums? Trust me, we have some. But seeing as we don’t have a transglobal shipping service to hand, our ability to export this year’s handsome plum crop is limited to putting them in plastic bags and giving them away for free down at the pub, or cooking them up into what preserves we can. Hence, plum ketchup. If you want the recipe it’s towards the end of Delia Smith’s Complete Cookery Course and I followed it religiously, as one should always do with Delia’s guidance.
Off school thanks to the continuing dreadful weather, Joe recreates his cancelled Food Tech class for our dinner tonight. Clare helps by holding the pan but otherwise the meal was his.
I like this pic: I like the various minuscule little details about our kitchen that you guys normally never see. The penguin calendar. The levitating compost bin. The mysterious letter ‘S’.
First day of the academic conference that has brought me to the east coast. I could picture the intellectual efforts, but let’s go with the evening’s alcohol consumption instead. These guys (from the Hedge Hoggers company) not only served us samples of their product but engaged us in its manufacture as well, hence the barrel of apples captured in the background. I don’t even like cider particularly, and I’m not saying I was converted, but it was a damn good effort.
