Let me eat cake

 

Last week, I felt a sudden craving for some Bara Brith - which, being Welsh, is somewhat difficult to find in East Yorkshire. 

I reluctantly conceded that I would have to make it myself.  This required shopping; since I cook so infrequently, I have very few ingredients in stock.  So off I went to Lidl.

 

Now, I quite like a browse in Lidl (other supermarkets are also available).  But this time I had specific items in mind, which proved a bit of a challenge.  Obviously I already had tea and, surprisingly, eggs; flour was easy enough to find.  They had a good range of sugar which, I must admit, flustered me a little, since I hadn't written down exactly which kind the recipe wanted.  I knew I didn't want much, but all the packets were 1 kg, so that was no help.  After a bit of dithering, and moving my trolley twice to accommodate other shoppers, I settled for soft dark brown, on the basis that I knew the cake was intended to be dark brown.  Now, however (spoiler alert!) I am left with nearly a kilo of sugar that I don't know what to do with, apart from shove it in the back of the cupboard until it goes hard.  Rather like the previous pack that I found when I tried to make room for it.

 

 The real challenge, however, was mixed fruit.  I was disappointed to discover that the only choice available was between a small pack of luxury, brandy-infused exotic stuff, and 500g of standard mixed fruit with candied peel.  I like candied peel very much, but not in Bara Brith.  However, I only needed 400g of fruit and, after peering at the label for a few minutes I discovered that the peel only comprised 15% of the contents.  That's... a bit less than 100g, so I decided to spend a sticky half an hour picking it all out.  Now I have a bowl of candied peel, which I could: a) snarf up while watching TV; b) cover with melted chocolate, and then snarf up while watching TV; c) bake a lemon cake while I'm on a roll, and put it in that; d) shove it in the back of the cupboard and forget about it.  So far I have just left it on the kitchen counter, since there is no room in the cupboard.

 

Anyway, on with the baking!  I have to say that it's the easiest cake I've ever made, even if the mixture was worryingly stiff.  But it appeared to cook ok, and looked alright when I turned it out to cool.  But then I re-read the recipe (goodness knows why) and saw that I had to leave it wrapped up for 2 days before eating!  I managed 24 hours before having a slice, and it was lovely, but I have to say it has continued to improve on a daily basis.  I had wanted lemon curd to put on it, and was sad to find that the closest Lidl had was apricot spread -  although that's actually very nice.

 

  

So all in all it was a successful outcome, but did take some time:

Finding a recipe: 15 minutes

Shopping: one hour

Picking out the peel: half an hour

Mixing: 15 minutes

Baking: one hour

Cooling: two hours

 

 

That's five hours.  I could have driven to Wales in that time, stayed overnight and then driven back with a shop-bought Bara Brith (or two) before my own was ready to eat.  And I probably could have found some lemon curd as well.

Gone but not forgotten

 

Has anyone had a bedsheet turn up unexpectedly today?  Bit of a longshot I know but, frankly, I've exhausted all other lines of enquiry.

 

We were back at my Beloved's house last night after an interval of a few weeks, and it can be a bit like sleeping on top of the San Andreas Fault in his bed.   

 

 

{No idea why - he has exactly the same mattress/topper/protector arrangement as I do, yet my bed remains as flat as Norfolk.}

So after breakfast this morning I decided to strip the bed and re-make it.  Duvet in a cover - check.  Four pillows, properly encased - check.  Mattress protector..... hang on a minute, where's the bottom sheet?

 

Now, I am a somewhat picky, visual learner with a touch of OCD.  I notice things.  I know, with 100% certainty, that there was a bottom sheet when we went to bed last night, and when we got up this morning.  I would certainly have noticed if I'd been sleeping on just a mattress protector.  In fact, I couldn't have slept on it; I'd have had to get up and find a sheet there and then.

 

So I looked underneath everything, and checked the bathroom and spare bedroom, but there was no trace of our bottom sheet.  {I know, what was I thinking?  Did I really imagine that the Sheet Goblin had hidden it?}  I conducted extensive, in-depth enquiries, {viz. "Have you moved the bottom sheet?"}  but the response {"Of course not, what are you on about?"} was, on reflection, more polite and reasonable than I had a right to expect.  But still not helpful.  So I re-made the bed with a clean sheet from the airing cupboard, and then had another look round.  Definitely a lack of linen, a shortage of sheeting.

 

My Beloved maintains that it wasn't on the bed in the first place but, if that were the case {irrespective of "Well why not?"} then where is it now?  I have looked under the bed and turned out the airing cupboard, but there is only one white sheet on the premises, when there should be two.  So, have you got it?

 

Imagine there's no bedding; it's easy if you try.

No sheet below us, above us duvet lies.

Imagine all the linen, leaving, every piece.

Ohh-ohh, oh-oh-oh

You may say I'm a dreamer, but I'm sure I can't be wrong.

I hope some day I'll find it,

And my sheet will not be gone.

Lockdown libations

Now that it looks like we won't be able to go to France this summer, our rapidly reducing stock of wine is starting to be a bit of a concern.  Obviously we can buy wine in Britain, but it's so much more expensive!  When you're used to paying only €2 a bottle for very nice wine, £5 or £6 for the same stuff is a bit harsh.  So, in the interests of economy, I have been conducting a rigorous study of currently available beverages.

All of the wines tested were delivered to my door with our essential groceries, from a major supermarket chain; un-named, but well-known for rolling back prices.

The cheapest (apart from Lambrini, which I will drink if all else fails) was 'Crisp Fresh White' at £3.49 a bottle.

Not unpleasant, but completely tasteless.  Fine with lemonade, but overall far too easy to drink quickly, without noticing what you're doing.  Handy screw-top bottle, as were all 3 wines tested, although, since it goes down so fast, you probably won't need to close the bottle.

Next was the 'Zesty & Vibrant' at £3.69.

Definitely worth the extra 20p, could actually taste it.  Sadly, there was a slightly bitter underlying flavour, but this mellowed after being open for 24 hours.  Not bad, would drink it again.

Moving into the big league, we have 'Sauvignon Blanc' (oh my goodness, a named grape!) at £3.89.

This was actually rather good.  Perhaps only when compared with the previous two wines, but I have ordered more of this one, and would buy it again even after the current difficulties.  To be fair, I've ordered more of the 'Zesty & Vibrant' as well, since we're currently restricted to only 3 of anything, and you have to get up at 2am to book a delivery slot. Which, after conducting this research, I feel unable to do.

Drying tonight

This coat has been in my family for more than 20 years; I wear it every winter and I still love it.  But, rather like me, it's a bit tired and grubby now.  Yes, of course I've had it dry-cleaned - many times - but that doesn't seem to be as effective lately as it used to be.  I really don't want to part with it, so I thought, as a last resort, I'd give it a wash.  What have I got to lose?

I've been reading about fabric stripping, which apparently removes the dirt of ages from your garments, and involves very little actual effort.  Sounds good to me.  So, what you do is fill a bath with hot water, add washing powder, bicarbonate of soda and white vinegar, and soak the clothes in it for a few hours.  There were some very encouraging pictures online of people's dirty water and clean clothes, but no instructions about how much of each substance is needed.  So I just poured in what I had and gave it a good stir with a wooden spoon.  {Must remember to wash the spoon later, or I'll end up with lavender and vinegar flavoured self-raising porridge in the morning.}
 

It worked!....well, the water was filthy, so I suppose the coat must be cleaner than it was, but as it's still wet it's hard to tell.  It was at this point that I realised that I'd have to get it dry somehow.

Obviously I didn't want to wring it out, as that would get it all creased and I'd have to iron it.  {I do irony, not ironing.  If clothes need ironing, I don't buy them in the first place.}  It's not a large coat, but it was saturated with water and very heavy.  My first thought was to put it on a hanger and let it drip-dry, but I realised {thankfully before trying it} that the shower curtain rail probably wouldn't be strong enough to take the weight.  I don't have a tumble drier, and I reasoned that putting my beloved coat in the spin drier might not do it a lot of good - and I'd probably still need to iron it.  Also, I'd have to carry it downstairs dripping wet, and that didn't seem like a good idea either.  I do have a large clothes horse that I could have draped it on, but the bars on it tend to leave creases on things, and the floor would get all wet.


"THEY" do say you should dry woollen garments flat.  What on, for goodness' sake??  And where?  I have many woollen garments, even after conquering the Great Knitwear Mountain of 2018.

Now, I wash my jumpers after 2 or 3 wearings, so on average, in the colder months {which, let's face it, is most of the year} I'm washing maybe 4 or 5 of them every week.  More, if I wear two at a time.  I've never dried any of them flat - The only flat surface in my house that's large enough to lay clothes on, apart from the floor, is my kitchen table - and that's covered with important scraps of paper that I can't move.  Wait a minute, though.... I'm sure I've seen something else I could use......

 

 

Sometimes I just amaze myself with my genius.  I knew the ironing board would come in useful one day.

Up the wall and round the bend

I’ve given a lot of thought to how I want to celebrate my 60^th birthday.  I know that sounds like it’s some distant, future event, but I have to confess that it was earlier this year.  True to form, I haven’t really done anything about it yet – apart from think about it with varying degrees of mild depression and strong disbelief.

I don’t like parties. {The only reason to go to a party is in order to get off with someone new – and since I have no need or desire to do that, the whole, getting dressed up, putting on shoes and talking to people thing seems a bit pointless, and nothing like a celebration.}  I do enjoy a nice meal or even just a drink {quiet or otherwise!} at home with my family and friends, but we do that fairly often anyway; on this occasion I want something a bit different.

I really want to do something significant, memorable and a little bit mad.  But, despite the fact that my nearest and dearest have been listening for years to me rambling on about wanting to walk the entire length of Hadrian’s Wall, it took me a while to realise that I now have the ideal opportunity, and no excuse to put it off any longer.  It’s all booked, and I’m going in a few weeks’ time.  Walking for six days, reflecting on the last sixty years.

 Picture: Hadrian's Wall Sunset  © Paul McGreevy. (Text added by Val Ross)

Licenced for re-use under this Creative Commons licence.

The obvious {and conventional} thing would be to do it as a sponsored walk.  But I need to know that if for some reason I can’t complete it, I won’t be letting anyone down.  Also, I’m not very keen on the whole idea of asking people to give money to charity just because I’m doing something that I enjoy – after all, you wouldn’t pay out for me to sit in a nice warm bubble bath, eating buns, would you?  Not unless photos were involved, anyway. {And possibly not even then.}  If you feel inspired to give to a charity that I support, then I’d suggest you take your pick from Refuge, RNLI or Northumberland National Park Mountain Rescue.  Which, if you take a philosophical viewpoint, all do more or less the same thing.

I’d love to say that I’ll post daily updates of my walk on Facebook, but I’ll probably just be lying in the bath, weakly nibbling buns.

 

{Yes, I know it's a muffin.  But I can't draw buns that look in the least bit appetizing.}

Cheese and whine

In 1170, Henry II bought 10240 lbs of Cheddar cheese.

(Source: http://www.cheddargorgecheeseco.co.uk/acatalog/about-cheddar-gorge.html )

What in the name of all that’s yellow was he thinking of?  Actually, I can imagine….

Maybe he was passing through the Cheddar Gorge on a bit of a progress and chanced upon a couple of dairy maids - well, knowing Henry, he’d have insisted on escorting them home and they, being perhaps of a hospitable nature, invited him to stay for breakfast.

As he’s riding away in the morning, Henry remarks to his loyal knights, “Ooh, that was a lovely feast last night! Go back and buy me some of that cheese for my personal consumption.”

Unfortunately, Henry’s loyal knights are a bit hard of hearing; they think he said, “Buy me the sum of that cheese”, so they negotiate a deal for the entire year’s production of all the local dairies.  The whole nine yards.  Yep, a wall of cheese 9 yards long, a foot wide and over five and a half feet tall.  {One cubic foot of Cheddar cheese weighs 65.44 pounds.  Source: www.aqua-calc.com  So 10240 lbs of cheese is 156.48 cubic feet.}

So anyway, the cheese gets home before Henry {he being delayed by more hospitable ladies} and Queen Eleanor has to decide what to do with it.  As it’s labelled “For the King”, she can’t just send it to the kitchen where anyone can get at it.  To be honest, she’s a bit put out that it’s taking Henry so long to return, so she has a bright idea…

When Henry does eventually turn up several months later, he finds he can’t unpack because the few garments he left at the palace are strewn across his bedroom floor, and all three of his wardrobes are full of cheese.  {Assume a wardrobe four feet wide, two feet deep and six feet tall, i.e. having a capacity of 48 cubic feet} There’s also a substantial block of cheese on his bedside table but, as Henry’s feeling a bit peckish after all the progressing he’s been doing, that soon disappears.  In fact, as he offers Eleanor a bit, she forgives him for neglecting her and lets him have a mouthful of her Golden Delicious to go with it.

 
 What to do with the rest of it, though?  Cheddar cheese does keep for quite a long time in the right conditions, but Henry hates living out of a suitcase, and he wants his wardrobes back.  He decides to have a cheese and wine party but, as neither pineapples nor grapefruit have been invented yet, his cheesy hedgehogs don’t look quite as exotic as he’d hoped.

Also, his loyal knights point out that the cheese was, by his own command, for the king’s personal consumption and so, if they can’t have any cheese, it’s only fair that they get to drink all the wine.

Now, Henry does, as we all know, have a bit of a temper, and not getting any wine irks him somewhat.  “They’re not doing that at my next party!” he rages.  “What can I do?”

Eleanor, being of a French persuasion, (and devious nature, as we’ve already seen) suggests a delicacy from her homeland - fondue.  “Ha! Yes!” Henry agrees.  “I’ll mix all the wine in with the cheese, and have it all myself!  Those knights can just have the little bits of stale bread.”  This was, he realised later, a bit of a mistake.  When you’ve got the worst cheesey hangover in history you could really do with a bit of stale bread.

Christmas was fast approaching now and, with two and a half wardrobes still full of cheese and nowhere to hang his new jumpers, Henry toys with the idea of sending some of the Cheddar as seasonal gifts to his fellow monarchs in Europe.  “It’s labelled, ‘For the King’, but it doesn’t say which king,” he points out.

“Unfortunately, your Majesty,” the Lord Chamberlain informs him, “under French regulations it can’t be classed as ‘cheese’ because it’s the wrong colour and it’s far too hard.  They won’t even let it pass through their country, I’m afraid.”

This is just the last straw for Henry.  {He had tried cheese straws, but the crumbs got everywhere and Eleanor had come out in a rash from when he’d been eating them in bed.}

“Will no-one rid me of this troublesome cheese?” he demands.  Sadly, as we know, his loyal knights are somewhat deaf and they miss-hear him again.  Which leads to the unfortunate events in Canterbury on 29th December that year.

Hot house blues

My house was lovely and warm when I came home last night - which was a little worrying, as I hadn't put the heating on.  Maybe I'd actually had it on all summer, but it hasn't been cold enough for the thermostat to kick in? {Or maybe the heating had been on, and I'd only thought it was a nice summer.}  No, the dial on the control box was definitely in the 'off' position... but the display was flashing madly, and telling me the time was 12.15, which it wasn't.  Perhaps we'd had a power cut?  "Perhaps it just needs new batteries," my Beloved suggested.

What did he mean, batteries?  Surely the control box is connected to the electricity, otherwise how does it turn the boiler on?  Oh yeah, wi-fi.  And, on reflection, I did remember being told when they installed the boiler that I could have the control box anywhere.  But in my defence, it is next to a light switch, and I wasn't there when they set it up, so for all I knew they could have connected it to the mains and just replastered the wall very well.

Anyway, I decided to check the instruction booklet.  Yes, I do keep instruction booklets.  I selected the appropriate one, and discovered that the unit did need new batteries.   But not just any old batteries.  "Only good quality alkaline batteries should be used",  it informed me in bold type.  "DO NOT use rechargeable batteries".  Why ever not?  All I have are rechargeable batteries, and they work perfectly well in everything else.  I have them in my kitchen clock, and that's got physical moving parts - surely clock hands take more effort to move than sending an electrical impulse to a switch?  I mean, there's air resistance trying to stop the clock hands moving, to say nothing of their weight.

I should perhaps admit that I only have CSE Grade 2 in physics, and I only have that because we had to do a science.  Chemistry seemed interesting, but I was too scared to light the Bunsen-burner.  I couldn't face the idea of cutting up frogs and eyeballs, so biology was out, and domestic science didn't count. {But since that also involved lighting flames and cutting up dead animals, I couldn't do that either.}

Reading on in the instruction booklet, I discovered that the boiler was now intending to operate continuously until it got new batteries of acceptable quality.  How ridiculous is that!  What if I'd been on holiday?  My smoke detector beeps when the battery is running out, and then just stops working.  I have a combi-boiler, which spends most of its time not doing anything, so why is the fail-safe mode to suddenly start doing something it wasn't doing before?  And without even a beep to warn you!

Anyway, I bought some batteries today, and prepared myself to change them within the 30 seconds allowed before all my settings were lost.  Despite managing to drop one of the new batteries and the unit cover down the back of the bookcase, I thought I'd managed it in time.... but the display is still flashing.