Lunch and a little light shopping

On Saturday afternoon the Husband decided, entirely spontaneously*, that it was time take me out for lunch.

We went to Le Mouton Noir in Bruntsfield. This is the point where I have to admit I'm a bad blogger, because I'll confess I paid a lot more attention to the Husband than the lunch, so the following will have to be sparse on details and photos.

That's not to say the food wasn't fantastic. They've launched a lunch menu offering two course for £10, which is amazing value for the quality and atmosphere. We both had the same -  salmon tartar, with beetroot, and pernod soaked carrots with a lime crème fraiche to start, and pan roasted chicken supreme in mushroom, cream and tarragon sauce with roasted garlic mash. All even better than it sounds. And then a duo of crème brule - one lavender, one vanilla. Delicious!

Afterwards we headed back up the hill and called in to Morningside Makers Market. Despite the fact that it happens just a stone's throw from our flat every month, and I've so often seen the bunting and signs and longed to call in, I've always been too busy when it's on. There was a lovely range of stalls - although about half the exhibitors were selling jewellery - and plenty I'd have taken home with me if I'd been feeling flush or Christmas was coming.

But the stall that caught me - and the very first one I saw after coming through the door - was The Yarn Yard - and all my good intentions of just going for a look went out the door. The whole stall was piled with skeins of yarn in such vibrant colours, I must have picked up and petted a dozen skeins before I made my decision. I was quite proud of myself for only buying one skein of yarn. But it's a beauty - with tiny sparkly bits that the camera hasn't picked up. The second I saw it I could think of half a dozen people who would love a lace shawl made out of it. But right now, I can't imagine parting with it.

*Nothing to do with my perfectly observed impression of a screaming banshee the other day before. Of course not.

Omens

When The Husband and I first moved in together, many moons ago (well, three and a half years ago), my Aunt bought us a stephanotis as a house warming present. It had the prettiest white flowers and, as she gave it to us, she said it symbolised marital happiness.

Which meant that over the past few months, as it has been conveying its extreme displeasure and generally giving up on life, I've been a bit nervy.

This report has also been giving me cause for concern. Widely reported over the past few days, it states that the happiest couples are young, married and childless - all good so far - and have been together for less than five years. The Husband and I have been together for four years and eight months. Suddenly I've started hearing the Countdown clock in the background!

So when the stephanotis finally turned up its toes and died the other day, I decided to take action. I've binned it (or sent The Husband out to bin it - what that says about marital happiness is a whole different post) and replaced it with something with, as far as I'm aware, no symbolism attached.

In M&S I fell in love with this pretty plant in its vintage-style jug. I know if would have been far smarter of me to buy a vintage jug and a plant separately, but this wasn't planned shopping, it was M&S impulse buying while popping in for milk (um. Poppadums, actually. Oops). It's labelled a Campanula, with nothing on what type of variety it is. I can't find anything on the internet because there are so many different types - known as harebells in England and bluebells in Scotland apparently - and all have different lifespans.

But in many ways the lack of information is a good thing. I'll enjoy it while it lasts, and because I have no idea how long that's supposed to be, I won't feel guilty when it turns up its toes and dies. And at least I can reuse the jug.

Which is not a metaphor for marriage.

"Champagne" cocktails

 

I am writing this post on Thursday night, and scheduling it for Friday lunchtime, a good time to think about cocktails. I've just cleaned the flat from top to bottom and sprayed enough Pledge in the air so The Husband can't fail to notice how clean everything is the second he walks in through the front door, and I'm waiting for my dinner (an unbloggable, but nice, leftover pasta bake) to heat up.

I'm at the level of tiredness where absolutely everything aches, and I am longing for a gin and tonic. But even more, I'm longing for a champagne cocktail. Cold, crisp, strong with a hint of sweetness at the end. Just one this evening would first render me happy, giggly, dancing and gregarious - and then send me straight to sleep.

Sure, champagne cocktails are fabulous when you're celebrating. But to be honest, they're even better when you're not. Just as champagne never tastes better than when drunk on a Saturday morning in bed for no reason, champagne cocktails are perfect for turning a slightly ordinary occasion into a perfect one. Made with angostura bitters, brandy, a sugar lump, and cheap-ish cava (I have champagne rarely enough that I wouldn't adulterate it with brandy), once you've got the store cupboard items in, they're actually quite a frugal way to add a bit of sparkle.

We had them last Saturday night. Our upstairs neighbours had sweetly given us a bottle of cava to say thank you for arranging some repairs. So we cracked it open, got out the champagne saucers that Blonde and her Best Mate got us as a wedding present, and made the following. Delicious. And, if you're reading this on Friday, may I suggest them as the perfect way to kick off your weekend?

Champagne Cocktails

(per glass)

Glass cava or other sparkling white wine

Splash Brandy

2-3 drops Angostura bitters

Sugar cube

Drip the bitters onto the sugar cube, place in glass, add a splash of brandy and top up with fizz. 

Tea and cake

My brother-in-law gave me a mini Hummingbird Bakery cookbook for Christmas, as well as the prettiest pink cupcake cases.

I loved the look of the book instantly. Although I've made a lot of cupcakes in my time, I'd never got on to any flavourings more exotic than rosewater, and I'd made up my own techniques, using a classic sponge recipe which is perfect for a fairy cake but slightly too heavy for a cupcake. The book has ginger cupcakes and lavender cupcakes and the technique for capturing the more unusual flavours (soaking the ginger or lavender in a little milk for hours and cooking with the milk) looks transferrable. It also has some lovely looking savoury muffins I'll try later in the year when it's too warm for boiled eggs and soldiers for breakfast.

But I only got a chance to cook from the book this weekend.

This was baking on impulse, with ingredients from the store cupboard and the local supermarket, so I decided to go for the lemon cupcakes for ease. The Husband also asked for a baking lesson at the same time, so we baked together, in our tiny kitchen.

The process wasn't without hitches - without thinking I added the lemon zest that was meant to go in the icing to the cake mix and so substituted lemon juice for the milk in the icing, which worked nicely, but perhaps gave a sharper flavour. The book said to fill the cases two thirds full - but there wasn't enough cake mix for this, so I only filled eight cases. But then the cakes rose so much they were a little too high, so actually, the recipe would have been enough for 12, rather than eight.

And as it was The Husband's first time with food colouring, the cakes looked rather like someone had stuck a canary in a blender, rather than a nice subtle pastel yellow.

But the hitches weren't the book's fault - and the cakes were delicious with a cup of tea and the Sunday papers. So delicious, they're now all gone. Oops.

Yes, more soup.

Mmm.

Ok, ok... it does taste a lot better than it looks

Anyone who's stuck with me through various interruptions will have gathered one thing: I cook a lot of soup. It's really all about practicality - there isn't really a nicer, easier way to have a warm, healthy, cheap and delicious lunch at work, especially in the Edinburgh winters and the deceptively cold Edinburgh springs.

Now we've given up on the veg box, though, I'm not faced with a once-a-fortnight recipe challenge involving a pile of unappetising, knobbly-looking veg and a stock cube. This means I can have more variety - look, no beetroot! - but also means I've been running out of ideas.

So when I read this recipe for Black Bean soup in Saturday's Guardian I had to give it a go. It's a Hugh Fearnley-Whittingstall recipe, with tomatoes, beans, chilli and spices. I doubled up the quantities and there was enough for eight medium portions. I didn't bother blending any of it - he said to blend just half, but life's just too short for blending that can't be done easily with a stick blender in the cooking pot. I was out of ground coriander so substituted garam masala. I'm adding a dollop of sour cream and a couple of coriander leaves to each in the morning before taking it to work.

It's absolutely delicious. I was worried it would be too hot, but actually it just has the smallest kick - I might throw an extra chilli in next time. But it's both rich and fresh tasting. I can't wait to finish it all up.

Tempted by Jansson

Doesn't look like the beginnings of a luxurious dinner, does it?

We have had a jar of nice anchovies opened in the fridge for a few days now. The jar was part of Christmas present from my parents to The Husband - lots of nice foody bits and bobs from Carluccio's. I'd opened it and used a couple of anchovies to add depth to a pasta sauce last week, and knew I had to use them up but wasn't quite sure what to do with them.

The problem is, I'm not mad on anchovies. I love them as a secret ingredient, chopped up and melted into a sauce, but when I have them on a pizza, I end up peeling off all but one or two, and eating just the tiniest bit with every mouthful - I can't eat a whole one, they're too strong.

So when I read Hugh Fearnley-Whittingstall in Saturday's Guardian talking about canned ingredients and giving a recipe for an alternative version of Jansson's Temptation using sardines, but mentioning that the original version had anchovies, I was intrigued.

I googled, and found this recipe on Waitrose's website. I loved the story they gave - that the dish tempted a religious fanatic named Jansson who had renounced earthly pleasures. And I loved the frugality and simplicity - and the fact that the anchovies were chopped up finely!

Still not overly promising

So I made it for dinner last night, frying the onions in the anchovy oil - a thrifty touch I loved - before adding matchsticked potatoes, and finally the cream and finely chopped anchovies and putting it in the oven to bake.



Yum



It was the most delicious meal imaginable. It uses a tiny amount of cream, and yet was so rich. The flavour of the anchovies blended with the onions and potatoes to create a beautiful scented savoury taste, with little spikes of sweetness. It cost about tuppance h'apenny and took (thanks to the food processor) 10 minutes of work plus baking to make.

I'd recommend this one. Even if you don't like anchovies!

Springtime

Newhaven Harbour

Looking across to Fife

This weekend it felt like we'd turned a corner.

The sun shone all weekend. The sky was a deep, clear blue and the sun's rays coming through the windows made the flat sparkle and danced on the cat's whiskers.

The bulbs we planted back in November, days before the snow came, have finally started poking through. We'll have snowdrops, daffodils and tulips soon.

We went out for fish and chips at Newhaven and took a walk along the front, and out to the lighthouse, where I took these pictures looking across to Fife and back to Newhaven.

The darkness is lifting. It felt like a weekend of new beginnings, and of old things coming back to life.