#like ok its not my fault you pasty and have light light brown hair | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

the-coconut-asado · 3 years

Text

Food Wars in Wrigglesbrook

First they took our longhauls. Then they came for the short hops. But even in the slapped backside that has been 2020, they will never take our inalienable right to go somewhere, eat something and smugly share the ‘gram.

So while Vietnam in May and Galway in July are memories we are yet to make, booking a 19th century Romany caravan on the Welsh borders in September became the one we did.

In a normal year we wouldn’t have noticed you could stay in a Romany caravan near Wales or anywhere else for that matter, but once you start googling you can find all sorts of ways to spend your refunds from BA: sleep with horses in Yorkshire - £250 a night for an aluminium frame bunk bed, the smell of manure and night terrors from Red Rum licking your face; or a yurt in Somerset - I’ve seen too many disgruntled Four in a Bed contestants to think this is a good idea. But the idea of cosying up in an olde worlde caravan next to an open fire and a babbling brook? You have my attention.

The open fire and cooking pot were especially attractive as we weren’t expecting to have any memorable dining out experiences. For one thing, you never knew when the next lockdown was coming, so that Rule of Six could very quickly become a takeaway pasty on the A414; and on the other, we had yet to have a pub grub meal anywhere in the UK that gave us that irresistible string of emoji drools. We expected ‘ok’ but not OMG - so we started planning a trip for the local farm shop once we arrived and felt more Chevy Chase than the opening of National Lampoon’s vacation.

Then we did arrive, ravenous, and resumed our Trip Advisor habit with a vengeance.

At this point I should mention that this is a true story but names have been changed to protect the innocent.

We knew that there was a pub within walking distance, but here’s the thing about Trip Advisor: you have to read between the lines. Too many effusive yet vague 5 stars and you start to suspect critical faculties are low; people complaining about a mardy waiter but grudgingly acknowledging the silky gnocchi may be worth closer inspection. Measured against these criteria we were intrigued by the reviews for our local. It seemed like the food really was delicious (the degree of description, particularly of the game pie, was forensic), but that we may have a Basil and Sybil Fawlty on our hands. People talked of fights breaking out - between Basil and Sybil, Basil and customers, Sybil and customers - just name your combination. 2 star reviews were routinely met with a response that could cut you off at the knees with its sarcasm. Our dinner was decided.

It felt easy at first. Seated away from other punters and not so near the open door as to catch a cold rather than Covid, and were served our drinks on the double. And then things got ‘interesting’. 20 or so minutes in I politely enquired if we could order. Sybil, hair bun askew, frostily told us she was run off her feet and would deal with us when ready. We looked around - there were three covers in the restaurant and a further 3 outside. Still, we were on holiday so we took a deep breath and carried on drinking.

Shortly after Basil himself bowled up, pad and pen in hand. ‘ Do you have the game pie tonight?’ Adam asked. With a face that said ‘thanks for reminding me (sarcastic version)’ Basil launched into the sorry tale of his put-upon weekend, churning out over 100 of them. ‘ Not enough pigeons so I had to have words with our supplier, but that’s Brexit for you (eye roll).’

We ordered game pie and when it arrived it was sensational. I had rarely eaten a pie with such depth of flavour and warm, autumnal embrace. When Basil came to take our plates, I asked him what was in it to give it such complexity. “ A secret!’ he snapped. “Just one ingredient then’ I coaxed. I tried to pull off a boozy conspiratorial smile, but just looked like I was having a stroke. He drew a deep breath: “ Teal, pigeon, venison, partridge, wild boar. That’s all I’ll say”. I took a mental note.

A few minutes later he slammed a glass of something in front of me. I jumped as he said: ’ Tell me what that is then. Go on! I’ll tell you something - it’s’ not cooking sherry!”

I took a sip. “ Madeira?”

His mood changed slightly. “Exactly so. No one else round here uses madeira, just cheap supermarket alcohol. And now..” he said with a grand sweep of his hand as Sybil approached muleishly to take our dessert order: ‘ My darling wife will tell you what we have for afters’.

“ What’s the dessert of the day?.”

“ I’d have to check” said Sybil. The frost wasn’t thawing.

“ Why don’t you know? ‘ Basil demanded . ‘ There’s going to be words about this tomorrow”

‘Who says I’ll come in tomorrow?’ she snarled.

‘I don’t care if you come in tomorrow!’

‘I’ll have the rhubarb crumble!’ I interjected quickly.

Sybil was an inch away from ‘You know where you can stick your rhubarb crumble!’ so I felt I was doing my bit for the war effort. That and I did really want some rhubarb crumble and sod dessert of the day. But Sybil was aggressively set on checking it out and turned on her heel with consummate dramatic timing. She returned. It was sticky toffee pudding. “No thanks” from Adam at this stage would have been churlish.

With no knife left on our table with which to cut a slice of atmosphere, but satisfied that I now had most of the ingredients for Basil’s secret game pie, we tucked into our puddings. They were both molten and packed with flavour. Maybe what we had witnessed was not a slanging match but their creative process.

The next morning our host at the Caravan B&B served up the best English breakfast, with a demeanour more Biden than the Trumps of the previous evening. Homemade toasted bread, local black pudding and slabs of bacon with crispy fat - he and his wife clearly knew about food.

We decided to take one of his recommendations and try the next nearest pub that evening - a short drive away with equally complimentary reviews about the food but no apparent turf war between the owners. Here we dined on roast pork belly with crispy pig cheeks, a steak and ale pie (flaky delicious pastry, but without the sucker punch hit of Basil’s Game), and wondered why this part of the country had such a concentration of good pub food. And then we dined out at a third pub on our last night and our run of good luck came to an end. Partly my fault for ordering a curry because I have never yet had a good curry in a pub, but not my fault that the apple crumble had no sugar in it whatsoever.

Anyway, here we are back at home, it’s December, the cold has set in and the first vaccines are coming over the horizon. So you might like to try my take on Basil’s Game Pie for the ultimate winter warmer, followed by my Torta di Ricotta flavoured with the sweetest Miyagawa tangerines of the season - Dessert of the Day in my fantasy restaurant. Start your dinner with the quickest and yummiest dressed Burrata (not so much a recipe as an assembly, learnt from Jock Zonfrillo on this year’s Australian Masterchef) and I promise you will find no reason to argue with anyone.

Just don’t mention the war.

Game and Marsala Pie with Potato Pastry

I have used a mix of venison, partridge and pheasant here, but take your pick from whatever is in season - proportion one animal to two birds (so wild boar could supplement venison for example). I found that Marsala gives that same depth of flavour as madeira and is cheaper. You can make either normal shortcrust, or my delicious (if super short and un-photogenic) potato pastry. Serves 4-6.

Ingredients

For the game filling:

3 tbsps extra virgin olive oil

250g piece of pancetta, diced

1 large onion, chopped

2 cloves garlic, grated

1 large carrot, chopped

500g venison, cubed

250 ml game stock (made with pheasant carcass) or beef stock

Meat from 2 x pheasants, cubed

6 partridge breasts, cubed

250 ml marsala

250g chopped chestnut mushrooms

Tablespoon redcurrant jelly

Handful of fresh rosemary, chopped

Handful of chopped fresh thyme

1 tsp salt

6 juniper berries

For the potato pastry:

175g self-raising flour

125g unsalted butter, cut into small cubes

175g cold mashed potato

1 egg, beaten.

How to Make

Heat 2 tbsp. of the olive oil in a casserole add the pancetta and fry until golden brown. Add the chopped onions, and stir to coat in the oil and pancetta fat. Continue for a couple of minutes until the onions soften, then add the garlic and the chopped carrot and continue to stir. Add the venison and continue to saute until brown, then add the game stock, marsala, herbs and juniper berries, along with the salt and a grind of black pepper. Cover and simmer for 45 minutes.

While the venison is simmering, add the remaining tbsp olive oil to a frying pan. When hot, add the diced pheasant and partridge followed by the mushrooms. Saute for about 5 minutes until the edges of the game are brown and slightly caramelised.

After 45 minutes, add the game birds and mushrooms to the venison, and stir in the redcurrant jelly. Cover again and continue to cook for a further 15 minutes. Take off the heat and cool.

To make the pastry, rub the cold, cubed butter into the flour in a large bowl until it resembles breadcrumbs, then add the mashed potato to bind it all together. Roll into a ball then flatten slightly, wrap in clingfilm and chill for 30 minutes.

Heat the oven to 200C. Put the game filling into a large, deep pie dish. Roll out the pastry carefully between two sheets of greasproof paper (this pastry is very crumbly and won’t behave as well as shortcrust). Lift carefully and place on top of the pie dish to form a crust, and patch ad pinch where the pastry tears. Trim any overhang and pinch the edges to seal (you can make leaves and roses from the spare pastry to decorate the top of the pie). Brush the whole surface with the beaten egg, then bake in the oven for 20 -25 minutes. Serve warm with some buttered cabbage.

Miyagawa Torta di Ricotta

I make many different versions of this light and velvety italian version of cheesecake-in-a tart, but this one has a delicious citrus hit. Serves 6-8.

Ingredients

For the filling:

250g ricotta cheese

100g caster sugar

2 large eggs, beaten

100ml double cream

Zest and juice of 2 miyagawas (or you can use clementines)

1 tsp. Vanilla paste

For the pastry (this makes twice as much as you need, so use half and freeze the rest)

500g plain flour

250g unsalted butter, chilled ad cut into small cubes

175g icing sugar

2 eggs

For the syrup:

Juice of 2 miyagawas

100g caster sugar\½ tsp. Ground cardamom

50 ml water

How to make

First make the pastry. Put the flour and butter into a food processor and blitz until the consistency of breadcrumbs. Add the icing sugar and pulse for a minute, then, with the motor running, add the two beaten eggs and pulse until it just comes together (don’t overwork).

Turn out onto a floured surface, divide in two, pat one half into a flatish circle, wrap in clingfilm and chill for an hour. Cut one third of the second ball and put to one side. Wrap the rest in clingfilm and freeze).

Heat the oven to 180C. Roll out the pastry to fit a 23 cm tart tin. Trim the edges (save these for later) , prick the base all over with a fork then line with baking parchment and bake blind (using baking beans or any dried beans) for 20 minutes. Remove the baking parchment and beans, brush the base of the pastry with beaten egg, then return to the oven for a further 15 mins. Remove from the oven and cool while you make the filling.

To make the filling: mix all the ingredients together until smooth. Pour into the cooled tart shell.

Working with your remaining pastry, roll out again and cut strips, then lattice these strips across the top of the tart.

Bake in the oven for 25-30 minutes or until the filling is firm but still a bit wobbly. Remove from the oven and cool.

Make the syrup: Put all the ingredients into a small saucepan and heat gently until the sugar is dissolved. Bring to the boil and then boil for 5 minutes until thickened slightly. Turn off the heat and cool - as it cools, the syrup will thicken more. When cool, brush the syrup over the surface of the tart. Leave for an hour and then serve. This tart will keep well under a cover for another couple of days.

Dressed Burrata

So luscious with an unexpected hit of chilli. From first thought to table in 2 minutes.

Serves 2.

Take one burrata, at room temperature, and pop it into a small bowl. Snip a generous cross in the top of the cheese with scissors, enough to let it ooze. Drizzle on some top quality extra virgin olive oil, two turns of a black pepper mill, a generous pinch of sea salt, a chopped red thai chilli and a squeeze of lemon juice.

Eat straight away with slices of toasted sourdough or, as in this picture, some of my toasted beer and buttermilk soda bread.

0 notes

koshkalatte-blog · 7 years

Text

Ten Years Ago...I'd Forgotten I Wrote This

The Girl who Cried Wolf So, I guess I owe my life to Nicky and Cat.

I'm still not overly enthused by it...I mean, it quasi-hit me when high that it was true, I had almost died.

I remember a touch of fear, of panic when I asked the doctor, "Am I going to be ok." And she replied, "We don't know yet."

I was still pretty drugged up when I left the hospital the next morning. The only thing the morning doctor really had to say to me was a chastisment, and a "You're a very lucky lady that your heart didn't stop."

What happened? Something small...it's always something small with me. Triggers abound...they make me panic...make me angry, make me sad...remind me that I'm worthless...It wasn't that Cat was mad...I just can't handle people being mad at me...at least people that matter...and it wasn't that she was mad, it was that she was right to be mad...that I had been a lazy inconsiderate douche...that I never do anything right...that I should have done that, but I didn't...that she had done it for me...that I was bad...that I was useless...that I was lazy...I was worthless.

And then my mother comes to mind...and all the stress associated with that...my mother's failing health, partially my fault...my mother using BPD to validate all her inferiority complexes about being my mother...my mother's mortality, and the fact she told me she will die a failure because all she wanted in life was to have a relationship with her daughters...that she will die steadfastly believing I NEVER loved her.

So I go and cut...Worthless, disgusting, useless, bad. And I cry. I'm in the dark in my room. I sent Nicky away. I hear laughter upstairs, jovial laughter. And I go back to being sent to my room, being ignored by my family for days on end, sitting in my room at home crying, hearing them laughing and having family times that I have never been allowed to have... Worthless, alone.

Time to die. I can't slit my wrists...I've tried to many times...I can't hang myself properely. I look at my bedside table, and I see all my seroquil...and I know what must be done. I dump them out on the bed, and cry...I count each one...is there enough to kill me? I need to think this through. I go outside for a smoke...I don't bother to think...just enjoy the cancer at it twists and coils its way down my throat. I go back inside. I'm watching from the backseat of my mind. I am in the zone...completely lost in the realms of my disease, of my sadness, of my self hate. Nicky is in the kitchen...she doesn't say anything...not a word...I don't make eye contact with her. I take a cup from the cupboard...I fill it with brita water...I go downstairs.

I sit on my bed, and look at my neatly counted pile. If you do this...it's serious you know...there's no turning back...There's no fall back plan...this is death. Ok...what do I have to live for. Mom - no...she'd be better off if I were dead. Dad - no...there'd be less people for him to take care of and stress for... Julia - we have an unspoken agreement to no longer talk or associate with each other...she never welcomed me into the family since the day I was born. Nicky - she'll pee on me...she'll get over it. Cat - she'll have Nicky as a support. Friends - they don't visit, they don't call, they don't invite us out...they wouldn't even notice I was gone. Pets - there's my parents, and possibly Jordan for that. Boyfriend - I don't think he'd notice...I don't think he'd care...he's not a factor in this. Future - nothing...I am a failure...I will be alone...I can't handle school...I am a loser, LOSER, LOSER. So..there's nothing then. I take all the pills. I scrib out a note which simply says, "I AM WORTHLESS - K" Not even worth signing my whole name to. I lay about, I feel the drugs start to take hold. I wonder how long this will take. Am I going to die? I'm not a coward now. I want one last smoke. I go upstairs. I am really fucked. Maybe I should go to the hospital. Nicky says, "Don't worry little buddy no one's mad." They will be. "I'm going to the hospital.." An argument about me taking the bus. Nicky pushing and shoving me to put me in the van. The waiting room...the lights are blurring. Things are breathing a bit...kind of like acid. Nicky yelling at me to stay awake. Argument with Nicky...belief she wants me dead. Threaten to leave if she doesn't leave me alone...make a huge scene in the entry way to the emergency room...too fucked up to even notice this at the time. Sitting on a gurney in the burn ward...Nurse asking me questions. Being moved to another room. Heart monitors being put on...IV being put in...blood work...blood work. Do you know what day it is? Do you know where you are? What's your name? Spell it. What's your birth date? Drink charcoal. Two bottles. Nicky and Cat in the room. Nicky and my dad. Just Dad. Asking me why. Saying I have no money, I have no ambition for a job, I'm a failure...there's nothing for me. Him saying I have so much to offer. Me being grumpy. Doctor coming in and talking. Asking me questions. My father crying. Blank. My father still there. Doctor accusing me of using other drugs that showed up in my blood work. Blank. My father still there. Blank. Father gone. Blank. More blood work. A long haired man standing by my bed. His face is dark. Blank. A nurse taking more blood. Blank. A nurse changing the IV, asking me what day it is, what my name is, to spell it. blank. A nurse shaking me...saying my blood pressure is low...what's your name, spell it. Do you know where you are? Blank. A nurse shaking me, telling me to roll over, my blood pressure is seriously low. Blank. A nurse shaking me, asking me if I know where I am. Blank. Someone walking through the hall. Blank. Someone standing by my bed. Blank. Wake up, everything is cloudy, notice a strange noise, realize its my breathing. Blank. Another nurse, the same barrage of questions. Blank. Another nurse telling me to roll over, my blood pressure is low. Blank. It's 5 am. A kindly nurse with brown hair... I need to go to the bathroom. We need blood... Can I go home. If your blood work comes back ok. She helps me out of bed, I saunter to the bathroom. "She's finally awake" a nurse behind the counter of the station says. I lay back down. It's 7 am now...the blood work should be back. I hear the nurses discussing the fact it's been lost. Another nurse comes in and takes more. At 9 am, a doctor comes in, I can get dressed and leave. I pull on my clothes, gargle the charcoal out of my mouth, and leave the ward quietly... I go out and the sun is shining. Should I go to Rivendale. No...i want smokes and chocolate and sleep. I catch the bus home...My hair is dishevelled, I'm pasty, I'm still kind of out of it. Home is a sweet sight for sore eyes.

I am waiting for it to completely hit me. I am waiting to feel rejuvenated.

I don't really know how I feel about all of it right now.

0 notes