Confessions of an errant housewife

I’m in a spot of bother…
When we moved to our corner of Wiltshire we always seemed to be away for the village show and failed to appreciate what an important part of the social calendar it is. However there came a year when we were able to attend. We were amazed at the size, intricacy, variation and popularity of the things to see, but the bit that got me going was the exhibits in the marquee.
The range and beauty of the Horticultural entries was astonishing. The talent of the competitors in the Industrial section was terrific. Wandering around admiring the items on display and chatting to other viewers it became clear that the competition is fierce, and the rivalry in some areas apparently famous. I was hooked: next year I’d join in! Each year I encourage my family to join me.
Each year they decide they’ve nothing suitable or good enough. In vain do I state that it’s the taking part – no I don’t really believe that either. I am quite certain I’m not the only person who thinks at some point “How did that win?” or “I could do better than that”. We are competitive by nature!
Anyway, my point was that this year Husband too would enter some of his veg. There was talk of potatoes, runner beans, onions, courgettes and tomatoes. As we got nearer to the day of entering there were doubts about the tomatoes as there was little chance of ripening before Saturday, but the rest were duly written on the entry form.
As I baked brownies the morning before the Big Day there was some muttering about how to display onions and what they were supposed to look like. I suggested the internet, fountain of all knowledge, with the view that there was bound to be some film footage of how to wrap string around stems. Later the onions were beautifully strung and there were a pair of courgettes that would be suitable. The potatoes were apparently underweight and a bit marked, not perfect white, and whether they would be entered was touch and go, but the nub of my story is those beans.
Produce from the allotment comes home in old supermarket bags, ice-cream cartons and trugs and is generally left as an offering on the kitchen table. Midweek, with a little time to spare and a glut of runners, I set to stringing and blanching for the freezer, and this, Loyal Reader, is where I came undone. The beans had been sorted, some were for eating, but some were for consideration in finding the best, straightest, uniform set for entry in the Show. They are all now frozen.

Next year we will have an advance plan of organisation – the internet advice went further than advising on display… it said we should be growing things specially: nurturing and protecting the special produce. Clearly we haven’t yet taken the whole thing seriously enough.



Footnote: I am much relieved to report that those onions won first prize!

Easter break

The chair is restored to its fifties beginnings.


We are visiting the in-laws for lunch tomorrow and I have baked a Simnel cake to take with us for tea. And we’re next door for curry tonight so my culinary duties are not required ‘til Monday, when I shall make Nigella’s Chocolate Egg Cake – we can’t have Easter without one!

The sun is shining between snow flurries so I am off to play in the garden. Spring may not have arrived but the garden is awake and in need of work.

Happy Easter, whatever you're doing!

Lemon Drizzle Cake

I’m meant to be having a fete meeting, I’ve made the cake, but only four of us could come so we’ve called it off. Youngest will be pleased, she likes Lemon Drizzle Cake.

It’s quite a useful recipe:
A 5 fluid ounce carton of yoghurt – the measure
1 of vegetable oil
2 of white sugar
3 of self raising flour
3 eggs
The zest of a lemon
Put all the above in a food processor and blitz. Pour into a base lined 10” springform tin and bake for 1 hour and 15 minutes at 140°C.
When it comes out of the oven prick the surface all over with a fork or a cocktail stick and sprinkle over the juice of your lemon and a satisfying amount of caster sugar. Leave to cool then remove the tin and serve.
(I expect there’s a litre equivalent, but it’s the method that counts!)

And the chair is on the mend:

Hugh’s Honey Wholemeal Cake

A recipe from Hugh Fearnley-Whittingstall which I highly recommend.
300g softened butter
250g caster sugar
4 eggs
150g wholemeal self raising flour
150g ground almonds
1 tsp baking powder
50g flaked almonds
4 tbsp runny honey
Grease and base line a 23cm springform cake tin. Place on a baking sheet because it will seep butter during cooking.
Cream the butter and sugar. Beat in the eggs, flour, baking powder and almonds. (I do this in my freestanding mixer because you do need to get a really fluffy creamy mixture to meet the cooking time and reduce the sinking - though it tastes jolly good even if it’s slightly overdone on top and like a honey lake in the middle as it was the first time I cooked this!)
Scrape into the tin, smooth the top and scatter the flaked almonds over the surface.
Bake at 170ºC for 45 minutes until a skewer inserted in the centre comes out clean.
Remove to a wire rack and, while it’s still hot, trickle the honey over the top. Leave to cool a little before turning out.
This can be eaten as a pudding while warm or as cake for tea. As you can see from my photograph there were considerable inroads made into it yesterday evening, after all a growing girl needs two slices for tea, and a Husband needs it for tea and pudding… Youngest is planning to eat it for breakfast too, though by the time she gets up you could argue it will be time for Elevenses!

Clanger

Mother and I have discussed the possibility that nowadays she would have been visited by worried social workers: Babybrother ate little but Edam cheese, and drank nothing but Ribena. He was little (my other 'little' brother overtook me in size and weight when he was 18 months and I was three and a half) and has stayed so - 5ft 7 with size 7 feet.
We celebrated his 50th birthday at a brasserie at Bluewater having queued along the M25 and driven around the whole site looking for a parking spot on the first day of The Sales. Luckily lunch was very good and he paid!
Seventeen of us then removed to my parents' home to drink tea. I had provided Ribena and Creme de Casis (to go in the champagne) and an 'Edam' cake. What I can't believe is that I didn't photograph the Clanger that Mother had knitted for her little boy and for which I had made armour and sewed features.
It was a nostalgic day!

Where was I?

Where did the last ten days go?

Youngest’s birthday party and her annual god/grandparents’ birthday lunch.

The One Show featured Malmesbury but made a ridiculous meal of it and the school carol service was excellent despite a delayed start so the choir could sing for 2 seconds on the aforementioned show.

A Strictly Final supper party back to back with an evening drinks party - both thrown by friends in the village - were a treat.

Family lunch for thirteen with presents and tea, back to back with a drinks party with neighbours, was hectic but fun (yule log and gingerbread house courtesy of Eldest).

Christmas Eve brought final preparations while hosting in-laws, then the day itself:  a packed church, champagne with more neighbours, lunch cooked by Husband (except bread sauce, cranberry sauce, Christmas pudding and brandy butter which I made in advance) and  Dr. Who  (in-laws took time out as they hadn't liked it last time they were here for Christmas) and lastly an evening of girly TV (Strictly, Call the Midwife and Downton in case you were in doubt).

Today there is a lull before we drive to London to see my parents and join another family lunch party, this time to celebrate Babybrother’s fiftieth birthday, and a trip to The Hobbit.

After all that I plan a very quiet new year.

Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year to you and thank-you for reading!

She will go to the ball!

There are eight teenagers, including Youngest, eating pizza and making a noise as I type. When invited, there was apparently a chorus of "Is there going to be a Barbie cake this year?" But of course! Luckily Eldest volunteered to ice it this year so I could enjoy cleaning....

Wash day blues

I have failed in my motherly duties!

Eldest bakes like a professional most of the time although she rarely cooks savoury food; but she can follow a recipe: she’ll be fine. And it’s catered accommodation anyway. She’ll not starve.
Last week we purchased a collapsing laundry bin. She is going to accumulate her own washing from now and have a go at sorting and laundering for herself. Apparently this will be “more fun” than doing the families laundry… I feel guilty that she doesn’t know the first thing about sorting, choosing the right programme, pegging out on the line or programming the tumble dryer; but more so that she thinks this might be fun.
I am a passionate sorter and a user of all the varied programmes on my washing machine. I get an immense satisfaction from smoothing and folding clean clothes. (Regular readers may remember that I do not iron.) But: fun?
We’ll see.

The photo is of Eldest's 18th birthday cake, by special request because "It's not fair, I never had a pink castle."

Can't stop: visitors

You see: it was worth coming to the fete meeting... Still, the fact of there only being five of us, and one of them able to resist a slice of chocolateness, means that there was cake for tea with our visitors without the need for further effort.

Mincemeat Muffins

This post is for Fran at Being Me as she asked what they were.
Mincemeat Muffins have become a bit of a staple in our house: they taste of Christmas but involve none of the bother of making mince pies. The recipe came from a Sainsbury's Magazine. (And we've eaten them all so no photo!)



295g plain flour
75g dark brown sugar
1 ½ tsp ground cinnamon
1 ½ tsp baking powder
1 ½ tsp bicarbonate of soda
284ml buttermilk
4 ½ tbsp vegetable oil
75ml whole milk
1 large egg
250g mincemeat

Preheat oven to Gas 6, 200°C
Sift together the dry ingredients and stir to mix evenly.
Mix wet ingredients (except mincemeat) together.
Add the liquid mix to the dry and mix lightly.
Add the mincemeat and stir. Don’t aim for a smooth blend, it should be blobby!
Line a muffin tin with muffin papers – it will make 12-15 muffins
Fill the muffin papers ¾ full.
Bake for 20-25 minutes.
Leave to cool in the tin for a few minutes before turning out onto a wire rack to cool completely.

These are best eaten on the day you make them, and we like them warm - but you can gently reheat them which cheers them up - I give them a few seconds in my microwave.

A Tale of Two Cakes

Last weekend Youngest was spoilt lovingly by her grand and godparents. Today she’s being indulged by us and, once she’s been to school and taken a Physics test (“How unfair is that?”) , we will have a giggle of teenage girls to pizza and a movie at our house. She is 15 today.


Sunday’s cake was a large version of Delia’s Lemon Curd cake: melting, lemony and tasteful.

Tonight’s is Barbie dressed in a coffee flavoured confection and dripping in Smarties. I haven’t made a Barbie cake since they were small, and never before for Youngest – a fact which she clearly felt I should put right! She’s not seen it yet. Barbie is hiding in the (cold) spare room. I think she will go down well - despite Eldest helpfully remarking that "She looks like a pineapple".

Burning the candles at both ends

Husband was away this weekend. He went to Dorset with two of his brothers to do maintenance tasks.
Since we didn’t need to watch the rugby, we girls spent Saturday afternoon and early evening in front of the TV. We watched An American in Paris and the dancing was sublime. Rather less so in Strictly: we cringed and cheered. And we relished Dr. Who’s ‘season finale’; we’ve got to wait until Christmas for more! According to Youngest watching TV together counts as quality time and she didn’t think I should do the gardening instead.
Eldest went to an 18th birthday party that night (she took this cake*, which she made, to school to give to her friend on Friday), and Youngest went to The Big Gig, a Guide event, at Wembley Arena early Sunday morning. Despite the need to wake early (for a Sunday) I said I’d collect Eldest, and she didn’t demur so I think she was pleased not offended.
Did you see how I breezed over Eldest’s evening entertainment? Aren’t I the cool calm mother taking her Eldest’s trip to a party in a friend’s car so lightly even if I did chicken out of letting her come home the same way?

I went to boarding school. When I was at home I rarely went to anything that didn’t involve the whole family. At school I am afraid I was just as unlikely to be invited anywhere. But my first teenage party happened when I was 16. (As far as I know it was the only occasion on which I was offered drugs, but I was so dim I thought they were cigarettes and I was far too good to smoke!) I moved from my all girls’ school to do sixth form at a co-ed, and there we had regular school discos. So, at Eldest’s age I may not have been cool, but I had managed a bit of partying and a boyfriend or two (OK, one boyfriend). Not so my big girl. Since she stopped being of an age to have a children’s party, she has refused to hold her own parties and she has ceased to be invited anywhere.
I’m sure you will understand that this is a mixed blessing. As a general rule I do not need to worry about what she and her friends might be getting up to, nor have to plan and host suitable parties that won’t let her down. On the other hand: what’s wrong with her?! She’s pretty enough, dresses well, has a wonderfully cynical sense of humour… aah! And is clever! Does she put the boys off asking? Or maybe she really is just not bothered? She once said it was more interesting sorting out other people’s love lives than getting involved herself. I do hope she really believes that – this unkissed 16 year old was mortified!


“I’ve been to a proper big girl’s party, Mummy!” she said in very pleased tones.




*I don't know why the photo won't be the right way up and I've got bored with trying to sort it out - sorry!

Lucky me

My week started as usual with Pilates and helping in school. My boy has been reading during the holidays for the first time and as a result has not forgotten everything he learnt last year. We have been able to whiz through his reading and spelling and then share a chapter of Horrid Henry (which he loves, so I tolerate). My girl has not apparently done any 'work' at home so, as ever, we seem to be back at square one and she doesn’t really want to spend time with me. Persuading her to stay on task is fraught.
At upholstery I have now managed to get three more dining chairs redone; only two more to complete the set and I can play with something more interesting. I’ve got several pieces needing work...

I’ve been for a soul walk (rather than a dog walk you understand) around the village this morning, but not along the permissive footpath as the route was padlocked and the field full of horses doing trials. I don’t know anything about horses - or trials - but as we have new horsier neighbours at the farm I guess we’ll see more of this.
One night (Husband did the ballet run) I went to a Jamie (Oliver) at Home party in the village - in the olden days it would have been Tupperware. I went with Coffeeneighbour and we were the oldest people present, something we demonstrated by being the first to leave (and by knowing about Tupperware I expect). There was wine and beautiful nibbles, a DVD of Jamie welcoming us and thanking our lovely hostess, a quiz about Jamie and food (in which I did badly), and lots of chat. It was all very jolly. (I am a little cynical about this enterprise, but Jamie, like Delia and Nigella is, of course, a saint.)
I've also been to a Coffee Morning hosted by Gardeningneighbour. They are a circulating, weekly event which started life as a mothers' and toddlers' group, but is now firmly retired ladies of a certain age: there, I am young! It is not a club, you do not have to go, but it is a chatty, supportive forum. I was taken by Gardeningneighbour on only my third day in the village – the alternative, on a dark January day, was cleaning my cold, and, as yet unfurnished house. The ladies were extremely welcoming and full of useful information about the area. I met Brown Owl, the Gardening Club Chair, and the leader of the WI, found out whom to ask for an allotment, and what they thought about all matters village. It is not competitive coffee, the hostess supplies bought biscuits and instant coffee and we all contribute to a fund. This week however we were raising money for Macmillan so there was an exchange of cake. (Obviously I only ate some to show my support.)
Both outings were social occasions: with one group I am about 10 years too old, with the other 10 years too young… I suspect this means I should be doing something else at my stage of life, but, do you know, I like it just as it is!

Too much of a good thing

It is harvest time. Yes, I know it’s traditional and lovely, but why is it that when the allotment delivers it does it all at once? No, no! I’m not complaining: I’m remembering how lucky I am as I wash yet another 3 lettuces and wonder when exactly we’re going to eat them. Youngest, of course, doesn’t eat vegetables and Eldest seems to have decided that home grown items aren’t up to supermarket cleanliness… I’ve tried explaining about washing in chemicals or washing the stuff herself, but she prefers to go without.

The potatoes are mud caked, but will probably wait to be cleaned when we want to eat them, and store reasonably in the garage. The issue is with the ones now living in a trug in the kitchen ‘because they need eating soon’… this because more than one something has had a go at eating them already…
Then there’s the courgettes arriving at roughly two a day. Three of us eat those, but I can’t keep up as we won’t eat them daily. We’ve had them steamed, marinated, roasted, chopped into casseroles, mince and quiches, at the moment we have a chocolate courgette cake sandwiched with raspberries and cream – two harvested foods in one!
The raspberries come at a rate of a 2L ice-cream tub every day or so. I love them, and they freeze really well, so we don’t have to eat them after every meal.
We can’t anyway because we’re getting an equal quantity of blackberries (they freeze: yay!) and the apples are beginning to mount up… I am pleased to report that I’ve already picked the Conference pears which are in the fridge. Eldest eats most of those as she takes them to school to eat for lunch.
Luckily Sadly there are no beans this year as Husband had no luck with them. They did germinate – twice – but were then eaten by something, rabbits or deer he thinks. They would have provided a welcome change and there’ll be no green bean chutney… Still, there’s chard to offer variety; I’m becoming adept at substituting it whenever the recipe calls for spinach, and it does disappear to a pleasingly small helping even when you’ve picked a huge quantity.
The onions are lifted and drying all over the house because the forecast is for more rain. Again there is a box of ‘dodgy’ ones that ‘need eating’ in the kitchen.
I'm planning to try beetroot muffins next: there's only so much purple lovliness two of us can eat, particularly when they're the size of a football. There are only four ice-cream tubs of roasted beetroot in the freezer so far so I'm sure there's room for more, and I've found a recipe for beetroot chutney that needs apples!



I have ordered vinegar and sugar and Sainsburys will deliver them tomorrow. If you need me I might be making jam or chutney…

Show time

It is holiday time and we’re off to Dorset in stages (Eldest goes with friends tomorrow, Youngest returns to the UK on Friday and we go Sunday), but before that I wanted to show you Eldest’s cake for her father’s birthday:

3, not 53, clearly

And my entries for the village show:

A dressed doll or bear: (the poor girl is over 40 but seemed pleased with her new outfit) dressed for a British summer!
Possibly a little over the top?



A crocheted item: a little devil who's a little underwhelming?



And two entries for the liqueur class: Sloe Gin and Apple Vodka…

Happy holidays!