Escape!

This time last week, I escaped.

Ran out of the office, into the waiting car of a handsome man, and disappeared to the seaside. Ate fish and chips and felt the salt breeze in my hair. We stared out at the sun playing on the sea, holding hands. The only sound we could hear was bird song and the crashing of the waves.

Or, in less fanciful terms - I had a half day at work. The Husband met me outside and we drove over the Forth Bridge to Fife, and carried on till we reached the beautiful East Neuk.

We went to Anstruther, and ate fish and chips at the Anstruther Fish Bar, which has run out of room for all its awards, but is meant to be the best chippy in the UK. It was indeed pretty special - chips crisp on the outside and fluffing inside, and the freshest, crispest batter. I was amused to see a whole crew of ambulance workers ahead of us in the queue though - surely if anyone knows that fish and chips aren't the best idea, it's the people who take Scotland's heart attack victims to hospital?

The weather was beautiful - the sky was the deepest blue, and it was warm enough to leave your coat open.

We decided to follow a part of the coastal walk along to Pittenweem. Although it took us a while to find it, and even when there were signs they were a little confusing, it was worth it when we did. The walk was just a mile but I couldn't have felt further away from Edinburgh, from work, from the Husband's job hunting and the stresses of everyday life. It felt like a whole holiday in half a day.

I took lots of pictures on my phone - here are a few of them.

Shells embedded into the side of a building on the main street

Less-than-clear signage

But worth persisting. Can you believe this picture was taken in Scotland in March?



Soup of the week: cheat's pea and ham

I love pea and ham soup, but rarely bother to cook it. The version I tend to make is a time-consuming process: split peas have to be soaked overnight, and either a ham hock boiled for hours, the stock reserved and the meat carved, or I need to have left over boiling liquid from a gammon joint and leftover shreds. And that's before I even cook the peas or make the soup! The result is delicious - salty, thick, comforting, filling - frugal, and absolutely the perfect thing in deep midwinter. But to be honest, I can rarely be bothered to make soup that needs me to plan it out the day before.

So when I saw this Heston Blumenthal for Waitrose recipe, using garden peas, skipping stock and frying bacon with the onion instead, and chucking in bought ham hock at the end, I was tempted.

But then I looked more closely at the method. Um, thawing peas on a baking tray lined with kitchen paper? It gave me visions of peas everywhere but the tray. And as for the mint oil and careful sieving - for a dinner party maybe. Not for a weekday packed lunch.

So below is my heavily modified recipe.

You'll see that we start with the same ingredients, minus the faffing round for mint oil doubled up as ever to make eight portions, although I didn't double the ham hock because I didn't want to pay for two preprepared packs, and I used a 275g pack of bacon, rather than the 320g that would have come from strict doubling, because that was the size of the packet in front of me.

To make 8 portions I used:
Splash olive oil
7 shallots (the amount left in the bag in my drawer)
1.5l veg stock
275g unsmoked bacon
One 180g pack pulled ham hock
1.8kg peas

Rather than carefully defrosting the peas, I just didn't put the bag in the freezer when I got it home from the supermarket!
An hour or so later, I fried up the diced shallots and scissor-cut bacon in a splash of oil to stop things sticking before the bacon gave up its fat.
I then bunged in the stock and brought it to a rolling boil.
Then I added the peas, which were still pretty much frozen, and waited for the mix to come back to the boil, which took a while. Long enough for me to wash up everything else!
I left it boiling for a minute, mostly because it had taken so much effort to get it there I wanted to leave it for a bit.
Then I got out my trusted stick blender, and ta-da!

Yeah, I'm fully aware it looks more like I've pureed Kermit the Frog than a kilo of peas, and that not sieving it has left it distinctly rustic looking. I've made my peace with that.

I then divided up the soup into containers, and popped bits of ham hock on top.

As you'll see, there was still plenty to go round, even without doubling up - in fact, there would have been far too much for my tastes if I had.

The result was completely different from the pea and ham soup I normally make. Fresh tasting, and predominantly sweet, because of the peas and the unsmoked bacon - I think next time I might try smoked to add another flavour it. And although it had much more actual meat in it than the version I usually make, which relies on stock for flavour, it had less of a ham flavour. To be honest, I think it would be nicer - as well healthier - made with a ham stock, rather than by pureeing up all that bacon, all the bacon was a very useful short cut.

But I like the simplicity and the lurid colour that comes from using frozen garden peas rather than yellow split peas, and will try that again next winter.

I say next winter, because I think soup of the week may be about to take a bit of a break. It's getting warmer and sunnier here in Edinburgh. I've got some holiday coming up, which means I won't be needing weekday lunches for a bit. And when I come back, I think it might be times for salads, cous cous, bulgar wheat and other warm weather alternatives. I hope so! I'll blog the ones of these that feel more like recipes and less like desperately thrown-together mixtures. Although I'll share the good ones of those too.

A kitchen cupboard drama.

The Husband and I had been house hunting casually for a couple of months when we first saw the Gin Palace. A couple of weeks beforehand we'd stepped it up to serious after he proposed, because we are the sort of masochists who enjoy moving house and planning a wedding at the same time.

We'd seen several flats. And, Edinburgh's housing stock being what it is, even back in those overheated times, many of them had been lovely. I'd thought more of them lovely than The Husband did - being an architect, he's boringly practical about things like, I don't know, not having room for a wardrobe in the master bedroom and having to keep it in the second bedroom, him not being able to stand up in the bedroom because of coombed ceilings, or kitchens too small for two people to stand next to each other - even two very much in love recently engaged people. I do apologise to each and every householder we sickened.

But when we saw the Gin Palace it was different. As we walked from room to room, admiring high ceilings, huge windows, stripped floorboards and storage space, as well as walls that whispered "We want to hang your pictures, we want to store your books" we didn't dare say anything, and just gripped each other's hand tighter.

There was, however, one small hitch. The kitchen. It's small. It's not tiny by Edinburgh standards - although it was once a cupboard, it's also got a good slice taken off the second bedroom. Two people can cook in it together so long as they like each other. The morning after a dinner party, one person can cook a fry up, one wash up, and one dry up drinking tea telling stories about how baffling men are. But there's no room for a stool, let alone a breakfast bar, and a dining kitchen is still very much a far-off dream. Meals are carried the length of the flat and eaten at the dining table in the living room.

And while the décor is fine, it's not great. Blue and yellow checked tiles that owe a lot to the late 90s. Slightly battered wood-effect units that don't have nearly enough room to hold all our junk, and stop a good two feet short of the ceiling. There's no room for a freezer, just a tiny compartment in our fridge, and no microwave. The lighting is dim, as you may have noticed from my pictures

Just after Christmas, we'd decided to take advantage of interest free credit on Ikea and get it redone. We had plans for high gloss floor to ceiling units, teal splash backs to match the Le Creuset (I know, I know), and a little magic with the design to fit in a freezer. No microwave or dishwasher quite yet.

We'd made an appointment for a designer to come out and then… my husband lost his job.

Ikea, bless them, refunded us the £20 deposit for the appointment. And the plans went on hold.

Until. Last week, I acknowledged two basic facts: I am never again going to feel comfortable getting into debt for something I don’t need, and it's going to be a long, long time before I feel comfortable dropping £3000 or so, even if properly saved up for, on something I don't need. And: a lot can be done with our kitchen to make it better for a tenth of that. A lightbulb moment for which I thank this post on the Tiny Assed Appartments blog.

So I've started making plans. Plans involving specialist primer and tile paint, storage solutions and labels, LED light fittings and electrician's quotes, and a stout hammer to fix a couple of the more shoogly units.

The Husband rightly pointed out, as I was making lists with a demonic look in my eye, that starting to paint the units last weekend would have been insanity given that we were both knackered. That's on hold, probably until the Royal Wedding long weekend, because I appear to have joined the ranks of people who think an extra Bank Holiday is an excuse for DIY.

But I did drag him to Ikea. And we did fix part one: the junk on top of the units. Here are some before pictures - bear in mind that our kitchen is strangely photogenic, especially with a flash on - it's not that nice really. All the colours are more saturated.



Kitchen sink, array of pans, and shoogly cupboard



Yes, we did tidy for this. Junk on top of cabinets, part one.

Junk on top of cabinets, part two. Kitchen too small to get far enough away to get whole wall in shot!

And here it is now, with neat storage baskets. We're planning to hang old-fashioned luggage labels on them so I can distinguish the box of tuppaware from the box of baking utensils, and find the emergency tonic stash. The baskets are these ones, £13.27 from Ikea.



It's getting better, even if my baking gear does still peek out

In case you're wondering - we keep a set of small steps in the hallway, and keep things we use slightly less often up there. To be honest, it's much quicker getting things down from a box on the top of the units than out of the back of the corner cupboard.

It's a start, and it makes the kitchen feel much less cluttered. But there is more to come.

Census, roast chicken, and taking stock

Yesterday evening, while a chicken roasted in the oven, the husband and I sat down with glasses of alcoholic ginger beer (if you haven't tried it, do - it's wonderful) and pens to fill out the census.

We did it the old-fashioned way, with pen and paper, because I'd already spent the whole day at the computer doing chores, and he'd been at work. Anyway, it felt more of an occasion doing it on paper, and there was more continuity with the people who presumably did it in our flat when it was first built, ten censuses ago. Must go and find out more about them some day.

It didn't take long, as most things didn't take much thought - although we both put we understood Scots, there was some debate about whether we spoke it, which was settled when I realised anyone who heard me try would think I was taking the piss.

Two people. Living in a flat with five rooms. Married. One cat. Me working in PR, the husband "freelance", a rather elegant way of saying "doing what he can to get by, looking for a proper job." Getting by. Happy, especially when the sun shines.

It set me to thinking where I was during the last census. At uni in Oxford. Room in college, living with parents in holidays and doing work experience, desperate to get into journalism and take over the world. Single. Slightly spoilt. Thought worried about money was not being able to go shopping that week. Making friends and discovering life. Happy, although the lows at uni have been lower than any I've discovered since.

And what will the next census bring us? Two people. More, I hope. Maybe even four? (Crosses fingers, turns round three times and spits). An extra room or two would be handy if we are four. Married, barring the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune. Probably a cat. Probably a different one as Bacchus is ten. I suspect I'll still be doing something PR related, I hope the husband will be back in architecture. Getting by. Happy, I hope, especially when the sun shines.

We can't know what the future brings. There's something both hopeful and melancholy about looking forward. I'm off to cuddle the cat.

I'd love to know where you were ten years ago, and where you think you'll be next time you're filling in a census - please do leave thoughts in comments.

A thousand paper cranes and thoughts for Japan

Last week we went my best friend's wedding. It was a lovely laid-back affair. She and her husband had been together 10 years and when they decided to get married they went from newly engaged to a wedding in just three months, skipping much of the traditional stress along the way.

When they first got engaged her soon-to-be in-laws suggested making 1000 paper cranes for the wedding. Apparently it's a Japanese tradition that if you fold 1000 or are given a thousand paper cranes you'll get your heart's desire. It is also said that it brings happiness and world peace. Certainly worth a small amount of effort, and a lovely thought for a wedding.

At first no one really expected to get to 1000. It was a nice idea, but more a way to decorate the venue than anything else. The husband and I decided to join in to help out and I bought enough paper to make 175.
But the morning before the wedding my friend's soon to be mother-in-law counted up. We had 1300 paper cranes. And on the day of the wedding they brightened up every room with their different jewel-like colours, strung on garlands, perched on tables, even serving as sort of wedding favours as people took them away at the end of the night. It was a charming idea and I hope it brings them a happy marriage and world peace - it couldn't happen to a nicer couple.

The husband and I sat down to make our share of the cranes together on the sofa in front of the television the week before the wedding. When we decided to help out we never imagined that we would be sat trying our inexperienced hands at the ancient Japanese art of origami while watching pictures of parts of Japan laid waste by earthquakes, tsunami and the threat of radiation.

We clearly weren't the only ones deeply affected by the pictures, nor the only people who were reminded of the tradition and wished the people of Japan could indeed get their most heartfelt wish. Someone out there has created a website with 1000 virtual paper cranes. Anyone can create one and send messages of hope. And if you want to give more practical help there are links to donate to the Red Cross. Click here to visit it.

Tea operated? Time to get knitting.

If I'm completely honest, this blog should probably be called Tea Operated. While I do love gin - I'm writing this (in advance) with a g&t to hand - I frequently go days without having any. I don't know when I last went a day without a cup of tea. I have three types of gin in stock, and more than twenty types of tea.  I own two teapots.

You get the picture. I like tea.

But although I have two teapots, I didn't own anything to keep the tea in them warm. So the time came to get knitting.

This is the first, which I'm giving to my wee brother and his partner next time I see them, because he made the mistake of sounding enthusiastic when I offered to knit him a tea cozy.

Details of the pattern, yarn etc can be found on my Ravelry page here.


And this is the second, which I judged much too over the top to give to anyone else, but I love it.

You can see the pattern and yarn details here.

I modified both patterns slightly because I wasn't happy with the finishing - the first pattern was meant to come with a ribbon on top, the second with fewer, smaller flowers. I used the knitted version of the roses from here but only cast on 25 stitches, did 4 rows of ribbing, and 20 rows of the lines after that, to make smaller roses. I did this after knitting the central rose in the second tea cozy - I just thought it was too big for what I wanted, although it works quite well as the centre of a bouquet!

Knitting twenty roses for the two cozies, all in a row, did become tedious, and because I was putting it off, did take quite a long time. It also started to feel like a critique of modern society and crafting as a hobby - I was using a skill that had once been essential to keep people warm, a central part of life, to make decorative flowers for a tea cozy.

But when I finished the knitting and sewed them all together I stopped over thinking it and started cooing at how pretty they were.

Soup of the week: spicey red lentil with cumin and tomato

This recipe has stood me in good stead for at least three years now, and it's probably the single recipe I've pressed on people most. There have been winters when we've had it pretty much every other week because all other inspiration has departed. Now, I try to have it less often, because that way I remember how truly delicious it is and appreciate how incredibly easy and cheap it is, without getting bored with it.

But we spent last weekend at a wedding, and I have to say by the time we got back on Sunday afternoon, exhausted, hungover and smiley, I was pretty proud of myself for heading towards the kitchen at all, even if it was just to heat up a supermarket faux takeaway, knock up another batch of blondies rather than trying something new, and to make the easiest soup I know.

The thing that's galling about this recipe, though, is that I've never managed to improve on it. I must have cooked it twenty times, but I've never found an adjustment that improves on the original. Changing the spicing slightly? Meh. Making it thicker, or thinner? Not right.

The only thing I've learnt is that it tastes better using a stock other than marigold bouillon powder. It's fine with it (and nine times out of ten that's what I have in the cupboard), but with chicken stock, real or cubed, or even another veg stock cube or powder that doesn't reek quite so much of celery, it's a bit nicer.

So here are the ingredients:

Here is a link to a Hugh Fearnley-Whittingstall  recipe so good I can't improve it (I do tend to ignore the yoghurty bit though - life is short).

And here is the finished result, doubled up so it serves eight as ever.

Oh, and did I mention that, made with the right stock, not only is it veggie but it's also vegan? Man is a genius. That is all.