Tuesday 28 February 2012

Vampire Repellant

Wild Garlic

I've already written a bit about wild garlic, as it is my first and hence most exciting forage of the year, and January includes last year's recipe for wild garlic butter.  However, it's well and truly up again, and, as mentioned, several months earlier than last year.  In fact, it came up before our mini-winter.  It was going great guns, pushing its head bravely above the surface and stretching out its leaves, when suddenly, much, no doubt, to its surprise, it got snowed on:  



The sub-zero temperatures and considerably thicker covering of snow than illustrated above didn't appear to do it any harm, however.  The ransomes seemed to just regard it as some large-scale cosmic game of grandmother's footsteps, and just kept VERY still for a week or so before resuming charging ahead with gay abandon as usual.  Needless to say, they are now just begging to be picked and eaten. 

Home made wild garlic butter is never going to be unwelcome in this house, but I thought I'd try something different, so decided to have a bash at some wild garlic pesto.  Here's the recipe - I'm sure you all know how to make pesto, so feel free to mess around with the quantities and ingredients to your hearts' contents, but this is what I did, this time.  Next time, it will be entirely different.  Probably.

Pick a good handful of garlic leaves.  Place in a food processor - mine's a manual one, which I love, as it feels like I've got better control over how finely processed things end up.  Sometimes when you blitz mixtures, you can end up with more of a, hmm,  sludge than you intended.


Add a good glug of olive oil and a decent sized pinch of Malden sea salt.  I don't particularly add the salt for the flavour, and do please feel free to leave it out - I just superstitiously feel that it helps grind down the mixture.  I'm quite sure this is utter nonsense, now that I've written it down, but I do it anyway.  


I always add lemon juice to pesto, unless it's a basil pesto, in which case I think it completely buggers up the warmth of the basillyness.  In this particular instance, it was the juice of a whole lemon.  

I'd usually add some parsley (as it's very good for counteracting the - ahem - breathiness of the garlic) but a) this year's parsley's not come up yet, b) there was none in the fridge and c) I don't really care about breathiness.  However, I did have a bunch of mint looking a little unloved in the fridge, so I shoved a couple of sprigs in to freshen it up a bit.  

If you're feeling virtuous, by the way, you can replace a fair bit (but not all, please) of the oil with water.  Or you can just stick to the oil and jump up and down a bit, which would be my approach.  

If I'd had some blandish nuts of any description in the house, I'd have added half a handful at this point - pine nuts of course being traditional, but macadamias, unroasted hazelnuts, brazils - any of those would have done.  I didn't have any so had to resort to a handful of cooked brown rice (VERY hippyish, m'loves) which I happened to have lying around. 

 Wham wham wham with the manual food processor, and Bob's yer uncle - a nice bit of wild garlic pesto.


Here it is stirred into some wheat-free pretend-pasta.  If I can figure out how to forage for wheat-free pretend-pasta, I'll be a happy bunny.  Meanwhile, a trip up the veg patch for a spot of potato harvesting, followed by mash with a dollop of this pesto chappie on the top is sounding rather appealing, next time I'm hungry....

Thursday 23 February 2012

Signs of Spring

Sorry the blog has been somewhat thin on the ground of late.  Since my last entry, amongst things too numerous to enumerate, I have been to Belgium and back, got a year older, built and moved a LOT of furniture (to the detriment of my hamstring, and a lovely new injury - the elbow!  Will I never learn?), and tonight I will be leading the intrepid men of Cliddesden and the surrounding area in an all-male Zumba class for charity (about which I am not a little nervous - no - about which I am officially bricking it!  So think of me this evening!).  So what with one thing and another, it's been busy times, m'loves.

However, back in the real world, after our very brief but undeniably nippy Winter the other week, Spring, it would appear, has begun springing!  Snowdrops have been out for yonks and are very old news now, darling, and crocuses (alright, I know it's croci, but it looks a bit poncey) are terribly last month, but there are two undeniable signs, in my garden this morning, that the darling buds of May are on their way WELL early this year.  (By the way, did you know that the darling buds in question don't refer to May-the-month, but to May-the-plant?  We live and learn, my ansums).

Sign one:


The primroses are jussssst beginning to bloom, bless their little yellow heads.  I always feel rather sorry for them being called primula vulgaris, when they really are the very prettiest of the primulae (aha, now I'm not caring about the ponceyness on that one).  We have a profusion of primroses in the back garden, which have naturalised themselves right through the lawn, and which spread out further yearly.  No doubt this would be an absolute picture of HELL for a serious, formal gardener.  For the happy, wilderness-loving dabbler such as myself, however, it's an absolute joy to behold, and a bloody good reason not to mow the lawn for a couple of weeks (hence an equal joy to himself, too).  

The other sign, much to my delight, is evidence that the garden amphibians are already "at it" in the various ponds in the garden.  Under The Bridge is traditionally the home of the Shy Newts.  Mr and Mrs Newt and all the Little Newts have lived there for many years, and are studied intently by the children (and myself, given half a chance) by the scientific method of lying on the bridge and removing the loose slat, then keeping very still until you catch a glimpse of orange belly flashing past.  Once spotted, you can watch them for ages - lovely little things.  However, no action is usually expected on the newt, toad or frog front until about April, so as I trampled noisily over the bridge this morning, on my way up to the greenhouse, I was surprised to the extent that I stopped in my tracks, by the unmistakeable "plopping" of frogs, toads or newts going "heads down, lads, it's a human" and disappearing underwater.  Removing the loose board, and lying on the (wet and muddy) bridge (to the unsurprising detriment of My Outfit) revealed nothing at all - but then, if it WAS the newts, they are, as advertised, Very Shy.  Further investigation was required, so I jumped across the stream and cut across, sneakily and on tiptoe, to the top pond, not advertising my lumbering approach this time.  Worth the caution.  Frogs there are, and "at it" they are!  I've lost the camera's USB cable, somewhere between here and Belgium, so am having to take vastly inferior photos on my phone, but if you look carefully in the shadow cast by my hand, you can see a frog "giving another frog a piggy back":


This is two months early, so please keep your fingers crossed for no further plunges in the temperature.  By the time the frogs have indulged in their two week orgy, they have no further energy for sexual congress for the whole rest of the year, so if the frogspawn gets frosted, that's it.  Curtains for the tadpoles.  This happened with the late frost last year (or was it the year before?), and the year before that 'Worth-Lewis (our late, lamented, Duck) ate each and every last tadpole.  Our own kids and all the surrounding ones are as fascinated by the frogs, the irresistably tactile gelatinous spawn, the development of the tadpoles (the day you spot the first legs is always a doozie), as I am - but they are marginally less capable to resist the urge to poke things with fingers and sticks than I am.  Yet still the frogs seem to survive, thrive, and come back year after year to play bouncy castles in our top pond.  Maybe they know how welcome they are? 

Final exciting garden news (to me, anyway) is that the greenhouse gave me a lovely birthday present.  I was beginning to wonder, in a relaxed kind of a way, whether there had been any point whatsoever in planting the seeds which I planted back in January, following the Dig On For Victory book's instructions.  I suspected that the seeds would come up no earlier than they usually would if I planted them over Easter, as is my wont, and that they may actually rot in the intervening period and not come up at all.  But, as it was my birthday and coincidentally a month to the day since I had planted the seeds, I thought I'd have a quick look.  You guessed it - there was a seedling!  A single pea, but nonetheless!  Naturally, I recorded this great event on my camera, but, as explained, the USB is MIA, so I can't download the photo.  A second photo taken on my 'phone today, however, shows that this little pea shoot has now been joined by no less than three broad beans!  My cup, my darlings, truly o'erfloweth.

From l to r - two rows of broad beans, two of peas, and the rest are toms.

Thursday 9 February 2012

The Joy of Felt

I love making stuff.  I always have.  It's the sheer satisfaction of having something at the end of the day which did not exist at the beginning of the day.  Creation.  Production.  Marvellous.  My hands down favourite ever job was working at Cordwainer's College, as a closing and making technician in the footwear department.  I had to help the students (I'd only just graduated from the college, myself) to get their designs off paper, make them work three dimensionally, and still be functional as a piece of footwear.  It was immensely challenging, took a lot of skill (oops, was that my own trumpet I just blew, there?), and was not a little stressful - invariably, if I they'd ask me to do something for them, it was because it was incredibly difficult (or at any rate, beyond them), or they were worried about wrecking the work they'd already put into their extremely precious piece.  Hugely rewarding, though - many many things existing at the end of the day which had been mere ideas days, weeks or months before.  And I got to spend a lot of time making my own stuff, too.  Hang on - none of that is about felt.

Right.  FELT!  These days, I don't have access to a shoe factory, and shoes which are entirely home-made don't really do it for me - I like my shoes more Hermes than Homespun.  So I need to get my creative kicks elsewhere.  Really, more or less anything will do.  Cooking's always a good start, and extremely relaxing, assuming I don't get the "what's THAT" treatment from the little sods - sorry, I mean the children.  Luckily that is (relatively) rare.  A spot of light drawing is nice.  Doing Things With Shells, or just thinking about Things To Do With Shells that won't end up looking like "A Souvenir From The Seaside" (oh, those shell-encrusted crinoline ladies - shudder), has been known to fill a happy few hours.  Growing veg, making pots for growing veg in, writing recipe books, embroidering stuff and making dresses for the children will also do, along with all sorts of random crafts along the way.  Currently, though, I can't get enough of making felt.

There's the wet-felting method, involving towels, bamboo mats, net curtains, soap, water, soapy water, boiling hot water, freezing cold water, and lots of elbow grease.  And there's the needle-felting method, involving a book sized bit of foam (sponge-type foam, not soapy-bubble-type foam), a sofa (ideally, anyway - this sofa stuff is really growing on me), and a needle.  I love both in equal measure.

It's incredibly satisfying to run your fingers through a bag of different coloured merino wool tops, select some, tease them out, put them together as you like, and end up with something solid, which can carry stuff, or keep you warm, or just be beautiful.  It's magical, the way that the wispy, lighter-than-air wool tops felt together to form a solid, beautiful and practical fabric, just by rubbing them with a bit of soap, or stabbing them repeatedly with a needle.  And the colours are intense!

It's also unbelievably easy to do.  I really recommend it.  Go on, have a go, you know you want to!  It's really very cheap to get set up.

For wet-felting, you can use old beach mats (those woven grass ones) or cut down blinds made of thin wooden slivers - like those barbecue skewers, but longer - and old net curtains, or you can buy proper mats and kits online.  For needle-felting, any off-cut of furnishing foam will do for your felting mat, so long as it's thicker than the length of your needle or you will find yourself repeatedly stabbing yourself in the thigh.  Needles are available on eBay, and instructions are easily googled.

I would recommend this site, however:  http://www.gilliangladrag.co.uk/

It's a very beautiful website, for a start, but she also supplies everything you would need to get started, including full kits to make specific finished products, and day courses in all manner of fluffy things.  I did her slipper course in 2009.  What a lovely day, that was - 10 very happy crafty (in the nice sense) women around a table, surrounded by more felt than you could shake a (felt, natch) hat at, and we all went home proudly and joyfully clutching a brand new pair of hand made slippers (I know I said I didn't like homespun shoes, but the same definitely does NOT go for slippers).  Immensely practical in this weather, I have to say.  If you really can't wait to get started, I spotted some Gillian Gladrag kits in Hobbycraft the other day, but the website carries a lot more stuff.  Her first book is an excellent guide to getting started.  Her new book is proving very hard to resist....  In fact, it might just be worth getting up off the sofa to get my credit card.  Ah well, I need lunch, anyway....

A few felty creations
Bag with black and white stripes and Christmas Tree Fairy both from Gillian Gladrag kits.

Wednesday 8 February 2012

A Guide To Spending A Day Doing Bugger-All.

Okay, I could get used to this....

As you may (or may not) have inferred, I have been intending to pop in the occasional post loosely based around the seven deadly sins, although you may (or may not) have noticed that my first post on that subject was actually entitled Original Sin - which is something else entirely.  Still, I never claimed to be much of a theologian.  Rampant heathen, yes.  Atheist? Yes.  On my less bolshy days, a bit of an agnostic.  But having not had to do RE at school because my mum successfully campaigned to have the school's curriculum changed when she heard I was going to have to choose between "Learning Catholic" and "Learning Protestant" aged 6, my knowledge of things religious is somewhat shaky in places.  So apologies for that.

Meanwhile, however, it has come to my attention that all three posts (including this one) which could fall under the title of the deadly sins have been on the subject of Sloth.  For someone whose bum barely touches a cushion during daylight hours, this is a little shocking.  I had better get working on some others, I think.  I bet I can give gluttony a run for its money...

ANYWAY.  As I am now on my third day this year of spending some time sitting on my backside on my sofa, I am beginning to feel a degree of expertise.  All right, so the first one - fish murder day - was only an hour or so, but still...  I know, a little knowledge is a dangerous thing (as is a day on the sofa, if you are a fish - ooh, for many reasons, come to thing about it - but I digress), however I do feel it would be helpful if I were to impart this small knowledge, and enable us all to share the danger equally.  After all, you, too, may some day be forced to spend a morning, an afternoon, or a full day doing bugger all, and, like me, you may not know where to start.

So here is my guide to A Successful Day On The Sofa.

It is intensely irritating, once you have decided to spend a day on the sofa, to have to get up from the sofa at any point.  These relaxation-interruptions can not always be helped - the postie may arrive with another delivery of Zumbawear, for example, or you may have to answer a call of nature.  However, with a little foresight and planning, these irritations can be minimised.

First, it is necessary to consider the length of time for which you plan to remain sofa-bound.  An hour requires relatively little planning - you may require nothing more than a remote control and a light blanket.  The full marathon, however, will take a lot more commitment.

While I accept that some of my personal sofa day essentials may not suit you, and may indeed be positively surplus to your requirements, there are some things which are essential to any good sofa day.  I will begin with these.

  1. Sofa.  Don't let me lose you at point one, in fear of being patronised.  This may seem obvious.  Indeed, it IS obvious.  But while most of us HAVE a sofa (or futon or other comfy chair/bench/window seat/sun lounger), sometimes a whole potential sofa day can be frittered away standing up in the kitchen avoiding tidying up.  You may mock, but be warned - it can happen.  So if you are planning a sofa day, make sure you Sit On Your Sofa, or you will get to late afternoon and look back with regret on those wasted hours.  The kitchen will still be there and messy half an hour before you really need to do something or go somewhere, but if you confine it to that half hour, you will get it tidy in no time, rather than allowing it to impinge on your valuable sofa time.
  2. Blanket.  Warmth.  'Nuff said.
  3. Remote controls.  Yes.  Telly is an important part of a sofa day, if only to remind you (unless you are lucky enough to stumble across reruns of Quantum Leap or Dallas - Sofa Day gold!) how crap daytime telly is and how blessed you are not to have to watch it 360 days or so of the year.  You may have the television on as background, or it may be your main focus.  You may even just have it on quietly to mask the sound of the outside world and allow you to sleep - in which case I highly recommend channel 671 - Create & Craft.  The sound level stays nice and calm and even, there's no shouting, they don't suddenly switch to loud adverts or noisy kids' TV, there's little risk that it will engage your attention sufficiently to keep you awake and you really won't miss anything if you fall asleep.  It's perfect.  Whether your TV is on all the time, or you don't plan to switch it on at all, you NEED not to have to get up to find the remote in case of emergency TV requirements, so have it close at hand.  
  4. Drink.  It is very easy to become dehydrated when snuggled under a duvet in a centrally heated room, and you must look after your health.  I recommend a pint glass of iced water.  While keeping hydrated is important, you don't want to accidentally down a full pint of water in one, and find yourself having to keep hopping up to go to the loo, so a fair bit of ice in there will slow you down and keep filling the glass for you, as the ice melts in your nice warm room.
  5. Companions.  Preferably not humans, as they may want to talk, watch shouty telly, or just not do exactly what you want to do at the precise moment that you want to do it.  A very relaxed dog is ideal - see fig 1 - or a cat, but it must be a cat who is happy to sit on you - and this is important - IF YOU WANT IT TO, and equally happy to go away and not bother you.  
  6. Phone.  Essential in case it rings or in case you think of something fatuous you simply must text to your best friend immediately.
  7. Laptop.  This is potentially a grey area.  For me, I neeeeed contact with the outside world.  I may need to check urgent facebook stati, or inform the world that I have just coughed.  There may be an urgent requirement to Look Something Up - this can be very important.  I may have thought of half a quote and need the rest of it, or need to know who said it.  I may need to see whether it is still possible to buy vintage hat blocks.  Or check wither the new Zumbawear line is out (okay, look, it's an affliction and an addiction - I'm working on it).  Often, I will have just thought of a potential dish, and need to look up a recipe (or six) either to see how other people make it, or to see whether anyone has ever done it before.  And of course I may have the urge to post a little blogette or type up a new recipe.  * A side note on this one - while it is essential to have your laptop within easy reach, it is desirable NOT to have your purse and/or credit card handy.  While spending a Day On The Sofa, you may find that you become extremely relaxed.  This can lead to reduced defences leading to leaving the safety catch off your wallet, and the resultant purchase of all sorts of crap you really didn't need - this is a side-effect of having Create & Craft on the telly, so be warned that this channel should only be approached as suggested in point 2 - as a background for sleeping.  Under no circumstances should you attempt to watch it and stay awake, with credit card within easy reach.  You could end up with, for example, a full quilting kit complete with electric rotary cutter and free bobbin sidewinder for a mere £500, or 5000 glass topped straight pins for £16.95.  No, this hasn't happened to me, but it's been a damned close run thing a couple of times.  As a guide, if you can't be arsed to leave your sofa to get your credit card, you don't need the object you are currently desirous of.  Ooh, I said the laptop was a grey area.  If your workplace are likely to try to contact you via your laptop, or you are likely to get involved in some form of work which you do not enjoy, you may want to leave your laptop, at the very least, jusssst out of reach.
  8. Slippers.  Required.  End of.

 
Fig 1 - relaxed dog.
    Now we get into my more specific necessities, some of which you may find useful.  Some of which you may find pointless, irritating or stupid.  It's a risk I'm prepared to take for the advancement of the pleasurable sofa day.  This is what I have to hand today:

    Fig 2 - feet
    1. Camera.  In case you need to take photos of your Sofa Companions, feet (see fig 2), general surroundings, or you suddenly remember that you need to download photos and send them to everyone you know, post them on facebook, play with them in photoshop or just plain blog the beggars.  So don't forget item:
    2. Camera's USB cable.  Without which you can't download any photos which you can't resist taking.
    3. Ice-pack.  For injured thigh.  You probably won't be spending a day on the sofa because you've torn your hamstring, but the principle is sound.  There is probably a good reason for your sofa day.  If you have a cold, you will require whatever medicine and potions you're relying on.  If you've ricked your neck, make sure your nice warm wheat-filled neck-thang is ready.  If you're keeping a sick child company - forget it, you'll be up and down like a whore's drawers anyway.  It's surprisingly easy to forget the very remedy for the reason for which you're spending a day on the sofa in the first place, and have all sorts of entertainments at hand but not your one essential thing.  Of course, you may just be indulging yourself in a lazy day - in which case, fair play to ye.
    4. Workbox/Sewing basket.  Mine is an art deco oak freestanding thing at perfect sofa height, which is handy, as I don't need to lean over to rummage in it.  I bought it from a junk shop in 1996, assuming it was rubbish but thinking it might be rather useful.  At the time, it was covered with white gloss paint and lined with extremely threadbare padded green silk satin. After much stripping and an inordinate amount of swearing (no children in those days, luckily for their little vocabularies), plus re-padding and lining, it is now 'ansom and an essential part of my sofa day, if just for rummaging and reminiscing.
    5. Craft materials.  Currently I am surrounded by about seven big bags of combed merino wool tops for needle-felting, plus needle-felting mat and needles, offcuts of hand-made wet felted felt, machine felt and some odds of acrylic fleece, as I'm going to see whether you can needle-felt onto fleece.  I figure that's enough craft stuff to keep me going for today.
    6. Very pretty notebook and pen.  Why have an ugly notebook and pen when you can have a pretty one?  As that interiors boffin William Morris said, have nothing in your house that you do not know to be useful, or believe to be beautiful.  As that idiot me said, if it's both, all the better.  I may not actually use the notebook and pen, but it's relaxing to have it nearby.
    7. Sketchbook and pencils, in case the Sofa Companions get themselves into a sketchable position, or anything else suddenly needs drawing.
    8. Book.  I can't go anywhere or do anything without a book.  The idea of being on a train without a book fills me with a nameless dread and makes my blood run cold.  Usually it would be a novel, but today it's The Three Hungry Boys, an excellent new cookbook subtitled "How to catch, trap, forage and generally blag your way to survival in the wild."  Good, eh?!  Recommended.
    9. Script, ruler and highlighter.  There's a readthrough of the village summer play tonight, so a bit of girly swotting may be required.
    Felt offcuts

    Other stuff

    So there it is - my guide to a perfect day on the sofa, should the opportunity arise and the desire hit you at the same time.

    Damn.  I forgot to pack myself a picnic.  I'm going to have to get up and make myself some lunch.

    Sigh.


    Tuesday 7 February 2012

    Seven Deadly Sins - (Enforced) Sloth, vol 2

    Well, what a sorry state of affairs.  I've torn a little (alright, a big) muscle - hamstring - and my physio-geezer tells me I must apply ice - twenty minutes on, twenty minutes off - and rest for 72 hours.  Rest?  REST?!  Oh yes, I've heard of that....

    So I have repaired to the sofa, with laptop, ice-pack, remote controls, dog and a spot of needle-felting.

    My Nest

    I'm having to put my suspicions that the sofa is the root of all evil during daylight hours on a back burner, for the time being, what with this being doctor's orders, and all.  Speaking of The Sofa of Evil - small update on the fish:  Total piscine death toll was 6 out of a possible 60-odd.  Interestingly, all of the neon tetras bought the farm (should that be "tank", in the case of fish?  Or maybe something a leetle more aspirational, dahling - oasis?), plus my dear loach (called Ken, of course).  Sob!  Only one guppy popped his clogs, and that was clearly a case of gluttony, although I must take full blame.  Guppies are obviously hardiest.  I shall remember this when adopting future fish.

    Anyway - let's hope that this current bout of sofa-lounging doesn't result in anyone's death.  Although I caught The Gitten with a very sleepy frog this morning, but I don't think it can be blamed on my anticipated slothfulness, as the Universe didn't know at the time that I was going to spend the day with my feet up.  Or did it...?  Heh heh - course it didn't, just kidding.


    Fortunately, Hairy and The Gitten seem prepared to run the risk of The Sofa of Evil, so I have companions in my perilous journey.  Or lack of journey, come to think of it.  And it's back to the physio on Thursday for a good telling off for teaching Zumba tomorrow night.  Yeah, I know it hasn't happened yet, so I could avoid a scolding, but let's face it.  It's inevitable.

    Anyway, I can sit here a-blogging all day - I have to be getting on with doing nothing, thank-you-very-much.  And I need to finish the other side of my bag - here's side one:


    Old-fangled tweeting, innit?

    Monday 6 February 2012

    Slow Cooked Ox Cheeks in Red Wine - recipe


    I first tried ox-cheeks at a Heston Blumenthal restaurant.  To be precise, the Little Chef in Popham.  They were braised, sous-vide, in red-wine sauce, and were delicious.  Sous-vide cooking can give great results, but most of us can’t justify the space for a vacuum packing machine and a large waterbath.  Straightforward slow cooking is a very acceptable alternative in the average kitchen.  Having a gas hob and electric oven, I prefer to slow cook in the oven, as once it’s up to temperature, so long as you don’t keep opening the door, it doesn’t take a lot of energy to keep the oven hot.  If you have an actual slow cooker, all the better.  A great advantage of slow cooking is that it enables you to use very cheap cuts of meat.  Personally, I’m a big fan of cheap cuts.  They are generally full of flavor.  And cheap!  I source all my meat from an excellent butcher, and I’m happy to pay a lot more for very good meat and eat it less often.  Using a cheaper cut is a very good way of doing this.  The meat for this dish cost under a fiver and feeds four, very easily.  It’s cheap enough to do for a kitchen supper, but, luckily, fabulous and fashionable enough to cook for a dinner party.  You can buy a whole chicken for about the same amount, from a supermarket.  But don’t.

    You will need to spend a little time cutting away any sinew in the meat, as this will not cook down no matter how long and slow you cook it – it will only get tougher.  Use a sharp knife without too much depth.  A filleting knife is ideal, but a slim chef’s knife will do just as well.  Allow the knife to find its way, and to slide along the grain of the sinew, taking care not to trim off too much of the meat as you go along.  Don’t expect to be brilliant at this first time, but you’ll get better – it’s not difficult, just fiddly, and there’s a bit of a knack to it.  It is worth the effort, though, so have a go.

    You’ll notice that the vinegar used in this recipe is Chinese Black Rice Vinegar.  I am having a bit of a love affair with this at the moment.  It’s not terribly difficult to get hold of – a good supermarket will stock it, as, of course, will any Oriental supermarket.  If you can’t get hold of it, though, you can substitute balsamic vinegar and a splash of Worcestershire sauce.

    750g ox cheeks
    Olive oil
    6 carrots
    2 onions
    A couple of leeks
    A stick of celery
    A sprig of rosemary, leaves removed and finely chopped
    A bottle of red wine – a middle of the road Cotes du Rhone will do nicely
    3 tablespoons of tomato puree
    A good splash of Chinese black rice vinegar – about a couple of tablespoons
    Salt & Pepper

    Trim ox cheeks as above.  Cut into chunks larger than a mouthful – if you cut them too small, they will disintegrate in the cooking.

    Heat the olive oil in a heavy pan and brown off the meat.

    Remove the meat to whatever you intend to cook the dish in.  I use a deep covered stoneware baker, as I cook the dish in the oven.  A casserole will do, so long as you have a well-fitting lid for it.  Or place in your slow cooker.

    Roughly chop veg.  I like to chop it into different sized chunks.  If cooking quickly, you need to ensure that your ingredients are cut to the same size so that they cook evenly, but with slow cooking it is great to add some variety of texture by varying the sizes.  Lightly sautee in the meaty olive oil, incorporating any sticky fond which has formed on the bottom of the pan.



    Add the vegetable to the meat in the dish/pan/slow-cooker, along with the chopped rosemary leaves and pour over the bottle of wine. 

    A quick note on cooking with wine – some chefs assert that you should cook with the wine which you intend to eat with the meal.  Well, I wouldn’t advise that.  I am very happy to drink a £30 bottle of Aloxe Corton, but I’m not tipping it in my dinner.  If it’s just a splash, fair enough, but in this case, don’t go crazy with the expensive wine.  Don’t cook with something you wouldn’t or couldn’t drink, but there really is no need to spend a fortune.

    Add the tomato puree.  When your sauce is pretty much entirely red wine, you really must add tomato puree, as without it elements of the dish can take on an unattractive bluish tone.  Splash in the vinegar (or vinegar and Worcester sauce) and season with salt and pepper.

    Place in a low oven (130c), over a VERY low heat, or in a slow cooker for seven or eight hours, checking the meat for tenderness a couple of times in the last couple of hours.

    Serve with mash.  Niiiice!

    Meeces

    A couple of years back, there would be whole months when mornings would reveal the path outside the kitchen window littered with rodent corpses, courtesy of our late young cat, Lulu.  As the kitchen windows are floor to ceiling, this was hard to ignore, and I have been known to refer to it, much to my own amusement if nobody else's, as a mouse-oleum.  At least the dead mice, shrews and voles were usually to be found intact, and with the aid of kitchen roll, a plastic bag and a strong stomach, relatively easily despatched.  Thanks to our small replacement cat, known as The Gitten, for reasons which may become obvious, it is now more like a Texas Chainsaw Mouse-acre out there.  Bits of mouse everywhere.  The other morning I stepped out of the front door, looked down, and was greeted by the severed head of a mouse, looking up at me.  I still haven't found the body.

    Mindful of this, when the snow started to come down on Saturday night, I anxiously scanned the path to make sure there were no bits of rodent, lying in wait in order to exact their revenge on my household by getting trodden on and becoming welded to the path, leaving me to lever them off after the thaw with a utensil which would then be consigned to the dustbin - ugh.  There were none.  This morning, the snow has all but melted to reveal three squished, flattened mouse (?/vole?/shrew?/ukr (unidentifiable knackered rodent)) torsos (possibly one of which was once the owner of last week's unclaimed head).  Where did they come from?  And when did they get there?  It only snowed on Saturday night, for goodness' sake.  I foresaw all of this - their ghosts, hovering and rubbing their paws together in glee, awaiting a sufficient covering of snow in order that an unsuspecting foot should deliver the final flattening blow, and yet it happened anyway.

    The best laid plans of mice, it appears, gang less often agley than those of (wo)men.