A NICE SURPRISE

I know I haven't been spending too much time in the kitchen lately, therefore not blogging as much as I would like, but something happened the other day which immediately made me think of sitting down at the computer to blog.

What was this great revelation? Nothing really, just a simple thing which reminded me of how cooking can be full of surprises. Some good, some not so good.

I'm sure we are all excited when something we cook turns out exactly like the photo in the book, or something tastes way better than you could have hoped for. Also the other side of the coin is when something comes out of the oven looking dreadful and even worse, tasting dreadful. We all have those ups and downs. But how wonderful is it when it's a good result as opposed to a bad result?

Well my surprise was way more simple than that. It was something I had not come across in a long time, but it brought an almost childlike smile to my face. The reason for this, quite simply a double yolked egg! I know it's not a big thing, but I cannot remember the last time I saw this. My mum always used to call for us to come and view a double yolker, and there seemed to be more of them around in those days, or maybe I'm just remembering it this way.

Then strangely enough a few days later there was an article in the paper saying it is a 1/1000 chance. Although some breeds produce more than others, and also some supermarkets sell boxes of "double yolk"eggs. I have never seen them and think it is so much better to find them unexpectedly.

So a simple story which instantly brought back a childhood memory. Proving life in the kitchen is full of surprises, irrespective of how long you've been cooking, this one much easier to take in on a Monday morning than a tale of a weekend disaster in the kitchen.

Happy double yolk hunting.

THE CURE ALL SANDWICH

As I prepared myself a tuna sandwich for lunch I started to think about how far the simple sandwich has come over the years.

As a child a sandwich was always a simple affair, perhaps egg or cold meats and maybe even a slice of tomato would be added, and of course, always made with white bread. Mother's Pride for anyone who kows what that is. It was always simple and there would be no doubt of there being anything in there which we wouldn't like. There would be no waste.

At this point I am reminded of my mum's famous salmon sandwich. Famous, not for it's culinary excellence but for it's apparent ability to cure all. Whenever there was a family crisis out would come the tin of red salmon from the back of the shelf. I never actually saw my mum buy it, but it was always there in time of need. A salmon sandwich and a cup of tea, mum's recipe for putting all ills to right. I'm sure it was just the fact that busying herself in the kitchen, putting the kettle on to boil, buttering the bread and making up the sandwiches which made her feel that she was doing something useful. Many people benefited from her kindness in the form of her tea and sandwiches, and all were grateful of her being there for them in their time of need.

Sadly, very suddenly, 3 years ago I lost my mum. A big loss for many people. As always, and still to this day, when faced with a crisis I always wonder what my mum would have done. This was no exception, and yes, over that awful time tins of salmon were opened, but better than that the sandwiches were eaten in memory of my mum. Today we still joke that a salmon sandwich and cup of tea is all that is needed in your darkest moments.

Today sandwiches are piled high with meats and pickles, cheeses and chutneys and it seems anything else that comes to hand. Most often they are way to big to enjoy and leave you with things running down your chin and up your arms. Often I am faced with something I have no idea of how I am supposed to eat it. Maybe this is peculiar to an American sandwich?

One thing I do enjoy is the diversity of a sandwich. Who doesn't love a cream cheese and smoked salmon on brown bread, a really good egg salad or even a delicious ham and cheese. Also I love a cream cheese and beetroot, yes I know that is a bit out there as is I my fondness for a toasted brie, sliced peach and prosciutto combination. Try it it's really good. Another favourite is a caramelised onion and Gruyere toasted sandwich. There are so many options and possibilities out there,the only thing preventing another delight is the limit of our imagination, or perhaps our unwillingness to try something new.

So go on look in your pantry and see what you can come up with. I'd love to hear about them. Maybe others reading this also have a family recipe which is a cure all I am sure I am not alone with this wonderful memory.

REMEMBER, REMEMBER...........

On this day in 1605 a man named Guy Fawkes was executed in Britain for attempting to blow up the Houses of Parliament. Fortunately his plot failed but to this day all over Britain, and I believe in New Zealand Guy Fawkes Day is celebrated, all in the memory, of to what in my opinion, was the first known terrorist. Bonfires are built and fireworks are set off all over the country.
I have my own Guy Fawkes story, and yes it is food related, sort of. It happened quite a few years ago, our children had already left home so in order to celebrate the day in some way we invited friends for supper, what else would you do? John and Nina arrived and we went to a local bonfire and watched in awe as the sky lit up with the fireworks. We returned home ready to be warmed by a nice dinner. As this was some years ago the exact detail of the meal escape me but the dessert is still fresh in my memory. I had made an ENGLISH TRIFLE, which I will blog next time I make one, and in the spirit of the occasion I placed sparklers on top and lit them as I proudly carried it to the table. Here is the part that stays with me. I had inadvertently bought outdoor only sparklers and soon the room was filling with smoke. Have you ever tried to extinguish hot sparklers? It wasn't happening. Soon the smoke alarm was in full swing, but worse than that, as we were living in an apartment building at the time the building alarms were also going off. All in all there was quite a noise. The building was beginning to evacuate and we knew before long the Fire Engines would start to roll in...............
We sent my husband out, he was reluctant, to explain to the people who were now leaving the building out into the cold night air. We managed to stop the Fire Engines from arriving, but some of our neighbours were not too happy with our explanation, although one, American I may say, was happy it was us as he has assumed the smokey smell clinging to his clothes from his night at the bonfire had set all this commotion in action!
My husband returned, we had by this time opened the windows and moved the party into the bedroom, the only smoke free foom in the house. I had removed the top layer of ash from the trifle and John, Nina and myself were happily sitting on our bed enjoying what was still a delicious end to the meal. Over the years we have laughed about this night and every year when this day comes around I am transported back to that night, to our friends far away.



Here is a verse which is recited around this time of year.

Remember, remember the fifth of November
Gunpowder, treason and plot.
I see no reason why gunpowder treason
Should ever be forgot.
Guy Fawkes, Guy Fawkes,
'Twas his intent
To blow up the King and the Parliament.
Three score barrels of powder below,
Poor old England to overthrow.

My lesson, Remember, remember to check my sparklers carefully before lighting. Oh well, it was certainly a night to remember for me. A fun night as always.

BOILED EGGS

Eggs, one of the most basic and most versatile foodstuffs, and when softly boiled can take me right back to early childhood. Our neighbours kept some chickens in their yard, and although I was only about three years old at the time I can clearly remember Mrs Hendry bringing me a freshly laid egg for tea. It would still be warm to the touch and I knew that soon I would be dipping my "toast soldiers" into the softly boiled egg. I remember the yolk running down the side of the egg onto my plate. I would love to able to say how delicious it was but my childhood memory is not that good. I only remember the excitement of getting the egg from the chickens. Sometimes my Mum would mash the boiled egg into a cup with some butter. What was really a simple egg salad was also a favourite of mine. To this day I still enjoy a boiled egg, not forgetting the "toast soldiers" for dipping. Occasionally I will dip in steamed asparagus stems, first adding a small knob of butter into the top of the egg, not so different from a hollandaise sauce, as eggs and butter are two of it's main components. How simple and easy can food get. 3 and 1/2 minutes in boiling water is all it takes.
The next time I was able to eat my eggs this fresh was while living in Hungary. Our neighbours kept chickens, amongst other things, and they would regularly bring me them straight from the chickens. This time I can remember the taste. It was quite different from the eggs we could buy in the supermarket, and the yolks would be a deep yellow. The chickens were fed corn, grown in the same yard, which made not only the eggs taste wonderful but the chickens too.
Today I buy organic, but they are expensive. Sometimes I do wonder if it is worth paying four times the price for organic. I'm not so sure. What I do know for sure is there is nothing to beat the pleasure of being given, a still warm egg, straight from the chicken, especially when you are three years old.
Simple pleasures in food, as in life, are often the best, to be savoured the most.

A Scottish National Dish

I'm sure everyone, no matter how into food they may be, will have at least one food which they really do not like. For me it is one of the most Scottish dishes around. A dish that everyone associates with the Scots. The name of this dish immediately conjures up pictures of rolling Scottish hillsides, purple heather and strong Scotsmen in kilts. For me, as a Scot, I am ashamed to admit the very mention of this dish sets my gag reflex in motion. What can this awful food be I hear you ask. You may be thinking of Haggis and all it's components, the heart, lungs and various other parts of a sheep's innards all packed into it's stomach, strangely enough I find this a perfectly acceptable meal. Okay then black pudding, this time involving the use of pigs blood and meal. No not this one either. I particularly enjoy black pudding served with scallops. Yes I know this may sound like a strange pairing, but do try it. Add some nice buttery mash and you will have a simple but delicious meal in about 20mins. The time it takes to cook your potatoes. Yes I can tell you are not really believing me on this one but there is only one way to know. If you are reading this from MSP/ST Paul area black pudding can be purchased form the Irish Shop on Grand in St Paul. Get up there and go for it! Back to my nemesis in the food world. Quite simply, it is porridge. There I have said it. My Scottishness must now be in question! But please allow me the chance to explain. I believe this hatred of the most Scottish of all dishes began when I was 4 years old and admitted to hospital for a tonsillectomy. Hospitals at that time hadn't quite got to grips with making a 4 year old feel happy and welcome. They were strict with rules, to be obeyed at all times, no concession for being a frightened little 4 year old. Unfortunately porridge was served every morning for breakfast and herein lies the tale. This was not a 2 day stay in a hospital ward, it was 7 days. They did not rush you out in those days, oh how I wish they had. I was okay for the first couple of days after the op but then I was presumed fit for regular food. No choices, and definitely no refusals allowed. I remember gagging and choking my way through that fist bowl and dreading every morning thereafter. I did survive, but phsycologically I think I am scarred for life. To this day nothing would posses me to try and eat a bowl of hot steaming porridge the very thought of it makes me gag. I do on occasion make it for my husband, and he says I make it very well but even the smell of it is enough to conjure up the nightmare of being forced to eat it. No amout of cream or honey or jam will ever convince me, never mind the good old fashioned way of eating it with salt. So for obvious reasons I am not including a picture of one of Scotland's National Dishes, but instead I have included my idea of "a perfect Scottish dish".

My First Culinary Disaster

I so enjoyed the dip into my first cook book I hope you will bear with me and allow me a bit of nostalgia. After posting my first blog I decided to take a really good look through the book. The first thing that surprised me was that it was written in 1972, I received it in 1974, could it really have been so long ago? As I made my way through the pages I came across a recipe for "Curried Shrimp in Half Pineapple". Memories came flooding back. This was one of the first "posh" foods I ever tried to make and if my memory serves me right it turned out not too bad. In those early days wasn't always the case. I remember my first attempt at making Mac and cheese. From scratch. This was not something my mum had ever made but my mother-in-law always made it from scratch. I so wanted to prove to my new husband that anything his mother could do.........well I guess all you married women out there know where I am going with this, and can relate! How hard could this be. There are only 3 or 4 main ingredients, I could read instructions. No problem, or so I thought. Off I went and bought what I needed, macaroni, cheese, cornstarch & milk. I was now ready to go. Pasta, not so different from rice, guessed it would swell up to twice the amount. First mistake. White sauce recipe. I would copy the one on the packet of cornstarch. Easy. Sugar? Mmm. Seemed odd but my inexperience told me there must be a reason for it, I had not yet accumulated enough knowledge to know when something is not quite right. I boiled the macaroni, and to my surprise it remained the same amount as I had started with. I had a pint of white sauce, made with sugar, and to this I added the cheese! What I now had was a pool of what I can only describe as a disgusting sweet & cheesy sauce. Not to be beaten I added the pasta to it, I still had the disgusting sauce, only this time it was covering a barely visible amount of pasta. If you took a spoonful there would be no guarantee you would even find the pasta. Now close to tears but determined this would not be a total disaster I strained off some of the sauce, put it in a new dish, a very small one, sprinkled more cheese over it and stood back and admired my handy work. It looked good but I knew in my heart of hearts this wasn't going to be the dish that would make my husband promise to love me for ever & ever. Now the dilemma. Do I serve it to him and wait for a reaction. Is he so much in love with me that he won't say anything? Can't take that chance and I decide to confess. He didn't pack up and go back to his Mum, and 34 years later he is still here. I must be doing something right and have to say fortunately I quickly learned to make mac & cheese properly, and still make it today, it is still one of his favourite comfort foods. The moral of this story always taste your food and secondly always own up to failure, makes us all human.
I have diversified away from my musings on my first cook book, but I will come back to it in my next blog.