Joe bought me a book of Indian-style recipes for Christmas. I wanted to try some tonight, but many of the more obscure spices that were suggested were beyond my kitchen’s existing remit. But we have a very good Asian food store in Hebden Bridge. Now I know what curry leaves and tamarind actually look (and smell) like. Nigella seeds proved beyond everyone, however.
Now here’s the polar opposite to Monty Python’s Cheese Shop. If you don’t get the reference, just be comforted by the enormous variety here. Time to buy some Xmas presents — and maybe squirrel a few away on my own account.
Enmeshed in the first major bout of marking of the year, today was the first day for quite a while where I never left the house, so you weren’t getting anything unusual. Dinner wasn’t eaten until 8pm, so this was a definite slow cook, but this particular recipe needs time. And plenty of herbs.
An upcoming short trip to London aside, I am not going anywhere in the near future: it will be at least February before I go anywhere radically different (meaning, outside the UK). It’s one of those periods where I need to find inspiration near to home. These plants will do for today, however. I don’t know what these actually are but to me they look like little paper chilli lanterns, hence the title of the post. All available for viewing in a window box a few doors down from my place, anyway.
It’s not just plums…. The apples are doing well this year, as are the leeks, and is that even a couple of beetroot poking up from the soil? Sure is. None of this makes a big dent in the food bill but it’s still satisfying.
In all the fuss about the plums this year, we risk forgetting that these equally scrumptious beauties have also had a very fine summer. I just wish that come November, our supermarket shelves won’t be stuffed with the identical product, but shipped over from Guatemala.
A tasty pasta dish, being prepared by the good chefs of the Eagle pub on Farringdon Road, London. She’s allowed one bit of pasta to escape, but I’ll let that pass.
Hmmm, a Saturday with no football (yes, OK, I’m aware that there was something going on in London along those lines, but you know what I mean). And the sun was shining. And there was work to do in the garden. All these things made a relaxing afternoon picnic, with wine, just the right thing to do. (Those are my feet, yes. Clare is unseen to the left — I didn’t drink the whole bottle myself, you know.)
To cake or not to cake, that is the question, at the end of not just a working week but a whole term — I’m on my Easter break. Unless the French air traffic controllers stymie the deal, the next few posts should come from a country that has not yet appeared on this blog.
How many of these peas will eventually sprout edible small green products remains to be seen: getting them started by the living room window is always the easy bit, each year. But we try.
Being 42 