Frosty Mornings

Mo and I were setting off for the morning walk, when I found myself sidetracked into looking at the effects of the overnight frosts. She is used to delays, it happens a lot, for one reason or another, and here she is standing pointedly by the gate, waiting patiently.

 Often it's feeding the chickens, or breaking the ice on the pond, or some little job that presents itself on the way from the back door to the gate.

This frost edged rose looked so pretty

and this verbena bonariensis 

Of course, what I really should be doing (apart from walking the dog) is setting out my winter bedding plants in the pots by the back door.

I should have had this job finished by now, but I find it hard to make time for garden duties at this time of the year, apart from the approach of Christmas, it's pretty damp and chilly all the time, and although I know I will really appreciate a few pots of colourful violas during the winter, I find it a real effort to go out and do it.  But I'm pleased to say James and I made a start yesterday and I intend to finish off later on today. So well done me.

Just a couple more Jack Frost pictures, and then I really will walk the dog. 



The Scotch Egg Society

Every Friday morning, the Ancient Order of Scotch Eggers meets at a secret venue near Bristol,  to celebrate the ancient and apparently secret art of the Scotch Egg. It must be secret because it's almost impossible to buy an edible version of this lovely old fashioned food item, under normal circumstances. Dry, mass produced, and all but inedible to anyone but a starving trucker, the Scotch Egg lines up in the petrol station chill shelf alongside the Cornish Pasty in the roll call of Abused Foods of Britain.  If Scotch Eggs could use a phone they'd be ringing a helpline. But  more cheeringly, the home made Scotch Egg can be a truly delicious and portable delight, and like many other simple foods it's down to the quality and freshness of the ingredients. So once again you have to either do it yourself or know where to go. And if you're a member of the Ancient Order you'll know that the bakers in Westbury-on-Trym who make their own Scotch Eggs will be just putting them out on the counter fresh from the pan at precisely o nine hundred hours and Our Man in Westbury will be dispatched to obtain this week's Friday morning supplies.

 

Scotch Eggs

If you don't live in Westbury-on-Trym you may have to make your own. I know you're thinking, boiled eggs, breadcrumbs, deep frying, takes too long, too much faff for me. But I urge you to have a go. The ones I made took no more than half an hour start to finish. And if you followed my advice last week about  not chucking out your stale crusts of bread, and blitzing them in the processor, you will have a jar of dried crumbs ready to hand anyway.

Fresh medium size free range eggs

2- 3 best quality sausages for each egg

1 egg beaten

Dried breadcrumbs

First put your eggs on to boil, and while they are boiling take your sausages, slit the skins with a sharp knife and remove them.

Press them into a rough ball and flatten out onto a floured surface.

Don't boil the eggs to death, a good five minutes or so should do it, then run them under the cold tap and remove the shells.

Place egg onto sausagemeat and mould around to encase the egg to make a cricket ball sized sphere.

Now dip the ball into beaten egg and coat in breadcrumbs, and deep fry for about five minutes.

And now I suspect you're thinking "but Kathy, I don't have a deep fat fryer, I'm far too health conscious " well neither do I - I just use a small sturdy saucepan with about an inch of oil in the bottom. This means I have to go to the trouble of turning the Scotch Eggs over when one side is done, but I calculate the calories expended in this effort completely offset those incurred by the deep fat frying, so problem solved.

This simple recipe makes an excellent family supper served with salad, leftovers ideal packed lunch. If you want to gild the lily you can use dinky little quail's eggs to make cocktail sized scotch eggs for a party.

Of course, Our Man is also an active member of the British Pickle and  Chutney Appreciation Society, an important sub section of the Ancient Order, who always maintain a selection of appropriate pickle type accompaniments, provided, it's rumoured, by the  chairman's mother. If he should read this he might want to advertise the name of the baker's shop, which eludes me.

Poppy Day

Today is Remembrance Sunday in the UK, or Poppy Day, when red poppies are worn in commemmoration of Armistice Day when peace was declared at the end the First World War, the war to end all wars. I found this touching footage of the Battle of The Somme.





I have no fear nor shrinking. I have seen death so often that it is not strange or fearful to me. I thank God for this ten weeks' quiet. Life has always been hurried and full of difficulty. This time of rest has been a great mercy. They have all been very kind to me here. But this I would say, standing in view of God and eternity, I realise that patriotism is not enough. I must have no hatred or bitterness towards anyone.

Last words of Nurse Edith Cavell, shot before a firing squad,  October 1915

Doing Something Useful

I've noticed that I have a tendency to write about useful things you can do with this, that or the other. But sometimes you just don't feel like doing anything very much, so here's a post about not doing anything much. When we went to Surry last week, and collected the acorns I told you about, we also collected these

lovely sweet chestnuts. My husband hails from Surrey and has fond memories of collecting chestnuts as a child. I was quite amazed at how prolific they were - I don't know about other areas of the country, certainly a sweet chestnut in this part of Wiltshire is uncommon, but Surrey is heavily wooded and seems to support the growth of this lovely tree and its equally lovely fruit.  Naturally the nuts you pick in the wild are not so big as the ones in the shops, most of which are imported, in fact I think they are all imported. If you want English ones you have to go and get them. French chestnuts are delicious though. I'm starting to see that the further south you go the better the chestnuts seem to get. Anyway, don't despise the humble english offering, it's fresh, wild and free.

We collected quite a lot in the space of half an hour, and I had intended to do something useful and clever with them. But on Saturday night, it was cold, we lit a fire, David roasted the chestnuts, and we just ate them, What could be nicer than a roaring fire, the Guardian supplement, a glass of something, and a plate of roasted chestnuts.

PS Should you wish to do something more imaginative with chestnuts I can highly recommend Hugh Slightly- Annoying's chocolate chestnut truffle cake recipe

Fashion Extra

An item by Rachel Johnson in Saturday's Guardian about the  latest fashion for city types to dress in "country clothes" made me smile - "It's only the City types who dress up like the royal family at an Edwardian era shooting party" she says.

And my recent encounter with a country estate agent confirms that this is not only a city trait, as I watched him bounce around a nice old Cotswold house in his Barbour and Hunters pointing out the dual aspect fenestration.

Proper country types, says Johnson wear "Dunlop boots lined with acrylic fluff, ancient fleeces, and their grandfather's tweed trousers with a huge rip in the crotch".

So good to know that I'm still the height of sartorial elegance.

How To Never Throw Bread Away (Hardly)

A good housewife/person will never throw away bread, it's just not done. There's so much you can do with stale bread. The Italians make a lovely salad with it, but you need a decent sour dough type of bread for that. Here in England we tend to make breadcrumbs out of our stale bread and use it for either savoury stuffings, or best of all Treacle Tart. Of course, sometimes the bread gets away. You open the bread bin and there's a big green hairy monster trying to get out. There's nothing to do with mouldy bread but compost.

But most times, you don't have to be Superwife to notice that although  the bread's too stale to make a sandwich  you can still whizz it up into crumbs and store in the freezer in plastic bags ready for use. And with Christmas only seven weeks away, you'll be needing plenty for all that lovely stuffing you'll be making for the turkey.

My freezer tends to be full of plastic bags containing all manner of odd looking things. I don't have many bought items in there, so it looks to the innocent browser like a large collection of Bits in Bags.  Which is what it is.

This is not because I am Superwife, it's because I think my food is better than Tesco's (not saying much) and I find that having a supply of basics in the freezer makes it much easier to produce good things than if you have to start from absolute scratch, making breadcrumbs, and then making the pastry, you tend not to bother, whereas if you already have the pastry case in the freezer and a bag of breadcrumbs, the Treacle Tart, for example very nearly makes itself. So I never throw away pastry either, but use what's left from what I'm making to line a tart tin and stash in the freezer for another day.

Treacle Tart adapted from Rosemary Moon's recipe
1 8 inch/20cm flan tin lined with shortcrust  pastry

3 oz/75gr white breadcrumbs, fresh or frozen. You need reasonably soft breadcrumbs for this, save the dry ones for stuffings

12oz/350gr golden syrup

2oz/50gr ground almonds

grated zest and juice of half a lemon

quarter pint/150ml double cream

1 egg beaten

If you use a solid metal flan tin you don't need to pre bake. But you can if you prefer. Mix the filling ingredients together and pour into the case. Bake in a medium oven for about 30 minutes, covering with foil if it starts to get too brown.

Serve just warm, with clotted cream.

I always used to make treacle tart with just golden syrup, breadcrumbs, and lemon in the traditional way until I discovered Rosemary Moon's more exuberant version, since when I, and my bathroom scales, have never looked back...

From Tiny Acorns..

We were walking in leafy Surrey last week and found ourselves ankle deep in acorns, so, having read recently on Kate's blog that acorns make good chicken feed, I thought I would gather some and bring them home. It seemed a shame to leave them all to the squirrels. So I taking the plastic bag from my pocket, - being a responsible dog owner I find all my coat pockets are stuffed with plastic bags these days, -we gathered quite a few handfuls, including leaves and other detritus, tied up the bag and brought them home. As we also gathered some chestnuts, food for people took precedence over food for chickens when we got back and the acorns languished in their plastic bag on the countertop for several days. When I opened the bag this morning, I was amazed to see this

virtually all of the acorns had germinated, some with shoots three or four inches long.Now it comes as no surprise to me that, as all small children know, from tiny acorns, great oaks will grow, but I didn't realize that they would do so quite this readily. So I took them out to the greenhouse and put them in a tray of compost, and will wait to see if they grow into little seedling oak trees next year, I could have my own forest  Obviously this rate of germination can't happen with all the acorns that fall from the tree, since if this were the case oak trees would be crowding out stockbrokers and bankers in Surrey. And what a shame that would be. 

I started to wonder if there's some way that they"know" when they're in a new environment, and can germinate away happily, so I looked it up, and rather more prosaically,  apparently they tend to dry out when they just fall to the ground, and only germinate when a squirrel carries them off somewhere and buries them in damp ground, or when he ties them up in a plastic bag and leaves them on his countertop for a few days.I prefer to think they just know..

Chateau Rita

My past efforts at producing a drinkable alcoholic beverage have not been amongst the greatest of my acheivements. I've many a time produced an excellent and eco friendly drain cleaner, and very occasionally something that you could put into a casserole if you were really pushed, so it was with some trepidation that I promised my friend Rita that I would call round to pick up the two carrier bag fulls of red grapes she had picked from her garden and kept for me, and that I would try to make them into something drinkable. Rita said that she had categorically no other possible use for them, so it was either me or the compost heap, and that being the case, I thought I might as well give it a go. Again.

They have produced almost a gallon of juice, rather sharp and acid, and so I topped it up with some of my pressed apple juice, which is quite sweet. It's certainly fermenting away like the clappers, so let's hope that the end product is something drinkable. I've already got the cleanest drains in the area.

Autumn colour

Victoria plum and Stella cherry trees in veg garden

It really has been a corker of an autumn this year. I don't know what the weather conditions are that make it so, but this year every field and hedgerow is ablaze with wonderful reds, and golds. Westonbirt, the National Arboretum, is only a few miles from here, and I often visit at this time of year to see their amazing display of autumn colours, which is predominantly provided by the collection of Acers. You can see some of them from the road as you drive by, even without going in, and lovely as they are I have to confess that this year, the display along the A419 as I was driving from Swindon to Cirencester the other day seemed almost as good! And all our own wonderful native plants. Unfortunately the local police take a dim view of people trying to take photos whilst driving by, not to mention the blur factor, so I can't show it to you, but I have every reason to believe that many other parts of the UK has had similar displays. Even my wisteria looks a picture with its leaves turning a greeny gold.

Enjoy it while it lasts though, as a couple of days of gusty autumn winds will sweep it all away in a big russetty carpet.

 

Bed Of Roses

My lovely son, the Professional Gardener, brought me home an armful of roses that he had taken from the last of the summer's display, and I've been enjoying them in a jug on the kitchen table for several days. You simply can't beat garden roses - nothing you get in a florist will ever approach the naturalness and sweet scent of garden roses. And they are all the more enjoyed now, being the last armfuls we are likely to get, - many roses continue with sporadic flowerings during the early winter, but this is the last month for really generous bunches.

As I was drinking my coffee this morning a clump of petals fell off onto the table with a soft thud, and it struck me how they are still lovely, even after they have fallen, and in fact it put me in mind of a line from Shelley "Rose leaves, when the rose is dead, Are heap'd for the beloved's bed".

Let's hope old Percy was thinking rose petals, not "leaves" in the sense that we know them, as the leathery and rather prickly leaves of the rose would make a considerably less attractive proposition as a bed. I expect it's poetic licence or something, what do I know. What I do know though, whilst we're on the romantic theme,  is that you can make your own wedding confetti from dried rose petals very easily. I did it for my own wedding quite successfully. Just gather the petals as they fall and put them in a single layer in a warm place to dry for a few days, if it's a shotgun wedding and you're in a hurry you can dry them on a paper towel in the microwave, but be careful not to overcook and brown them. And if you're not thinking of getting married, they make good pot pourri too.

The Shelley poem I mentioned is a well known favourite about the impermanence of physical things and yet how such things live on in the memory. Funnily enough I know it more as a song than a poem as I used to sing a setting of it in the school choir. Here's the full text

Music, when soft voices die,

Vibrates in the memory,

Odours, when sweet violets sicken,

Live within the sense they quicken.

Rose leaves, when the rose is dead,

Are heap'd for the beloved's bed;

And so thy thoughts, when thou art gone,

Love itself shall slumber on.

Percy Byshhe Shelley

Best Cream Tea Ever

I'm a bit of a Cream Tea Connoisseur.  When my children were small and we ran a pub we used our precious Sunday afternoons off trying out the local teas in South Devon, and we all became quite expert, even marking the establishments out of ten. And then we got even more obsessive about it, and marked the scones, the jam and the cream separately, and eventually even the loos!

In recent times the best cream tea I knew of was to be had at the Corn Dolly  in South Molton in Devon. We went there last week during our week away in Cornwall, and very good it was. But I'm afraid it has had to be demoted to number two in my list, as we also found this lovely place, entirely by accident as we disembarked from  King Harry's Ferry on the Fal Estuary.

The Tea House at Tolverne is a pretty thatched cottage, where you can enjoy your tea overlooking the estuary, or on summer days, outside on the many tables in the gardens. From the number of tables I'd guess they must be pretty busy in the summer season, but when we visited it was a quiet October day so there were just a handful of customers. 

It was a bit chilly to sit outdoors, so we sat by the window and enjoyed the lovely view

The scones were fresh and warm, tea was loose leaf in a proper china tea pot, - no tea bags here - and the jam was as close to home made as I have found anywhere. It tasted like damson to me and when I asked the waitress she told me it was "Key plum" or maybe that was "Quay plum", I don't know, as she airily waived her arm in the general direction of an old plum orchard that "they are renovating and we get the plums". So, good for "them" whoever they are, and well done the jam maker, delicious.  We had to ask for more cream, and they were happy to bring us some, but that's probably because the scones were big, and we are greedy.

As we waddled off down the garden afterwards, to look at the beach and get a breath of fresh air,

I spotted this plaque commemmorating the departure of thousands of American soldiers from this beach for the D Day landings in 1944. And indeed, as you drive away, you can still see among the trees, numerous remains of places used by the American troops during the war. An interesting historical and poignant footnote to our visit.