September 1st, 2009

This IS me (by schwitters)Default

Bank Holiday Gastronomy

I had a much clearer idea of what I was going to eat over the Bank Holiday weekend than of what I was going to do.

mockduck has been raving for several weeks about blueberry pancakes, so I decided to give them a go. The recipe worked just as well as promised, and there was enough batter for Saturday, Sunday and Monday breakfasts.

I also dared to make the intriguing blueberry risotto from my big Italian cookbook. I wish I'd photographed it; it was purple. And tasty.

(Blueberries, by the way, are currently 79p a punnet in Lidl.)

Another experiment was the Little Raspberry Soufflés from Nigel Slater's Real Fast Puddings. I had enough raspberries for two; my first attempt stayed in the oven too long and collapsed while I was still waiting for it to go 'puffy and a little cracked' as per instructions, the second was perfect. Looks aside, they were both adequately edible once they'd cooled down enough.

Other yummy things I made included a potato salad and a pizza with olives, jalapenos, Mattessons sausage and yellow peppers (check out the opening movie on the Mattessons website - phallic, much?).

I worry, sometimes, about my disproportionate interest in and enjoyment of food, and whether it's compensating for some lack elsewhere in my life. But then I think: No! My life is full! I just really really like food!
  • Current Mood
    hungry hungry

The Spider Made Me Do It

"Fuck," I said to myself as I came home to find a four-inch spider in the bath.

I know that spiders are our darling eight-legged chums and mean us no harm, and I should probably have kept it around to deal with the current moth infestation. Unfortunately, they scare and squick me above all God's creatures.

My arachnophile flatmate is away until Sunday and I needed a shower now, having just got in from karate. Aware that the more I hesitated and thought about it the worse it would get, I grabbed an envelope and the largest plastic pot I could find, had a couple of practice goes, then marched back into the bathroom.

The spider was remarkably cooperative about getting onto the envelope without any leg-trapping, but crikey it scuttled fast. Ugh. I transferred everything to the open window, shook my hands convulsively, did an inventory to check I hadn't been left holding a spider, and realised that in my haste and horror I had thrown an unopened letter marked PRIVATE & CONFIDENTIAL somewhere into the darkened garden below.

That's when I decided the situation called for not just 'a drink' as I had promised myself, but the 49% vol. French gin.
  • Current Mood
    scared scared