Friday, February 20, 2009
A new way to chicken soup
Following the giant chicken on Tuesday, started to make the soup in the ordinary way. That is to say, put bones and the bits and peices in saucepan. Add onions in their skins and some celery. Simmer for a long time, mashing from time to time with a potato masher. Strain while hot. (I have the idea that straining cold leaves a lot of the goodness with the solids). Then came the brainwave. Instead of geeing up the soup with a little pork, why not use chicken instead? So I acquired a couple of chicken breasts from Cheam and diced them into 1 centimetre rhombii. Peeled some potatoes, cut into large chunks and add to stock. Bring to boil and simmer for a bit. Add the chicken and simmer for another 15 minutes. Add some finely sliced white cabbage. Add some mushrooms right at the end. Despite the potatoes being slightly overcooked, result very good. Interesting how differant - and better - freshly boiled chicken in soup tasted from recycled chicken. Wouldn't know it as the same animal as that which inhabits packets of chicken noodle soup mix.
Followed up later in the day with a second visit to Super Fish at Waterloo Road, Waterloo. Takeaway was the order of the day and I had a truly excellent peice of haddock. Large, fresh and firm. Chips good too. The only catch was that the park was shut so we had to sit on the pavement by the gate to eat them. Not done pavement chips for a while but it did not seem to disturb the flavour.
While we are in a large animal vein, readers of the DT will no doubt be pleased to hear that the DT web sites waxes very lyrical about plans to erect a very large white horse somewhere in Ebbsfleet Valley, somewhere in Kent. In rolling prose (which betrays its origins in the arty magazine called Apollo, see http://www.apollo-magazine.com/) about touching the inner core of our national being (and which manages to drag in both Hengist and Tolkein ) and connecting via the North Downs to the Epsom Derby, we also learn that someone is stumping up £2m for the thing. It seems that us southeners have an urge to compete with the montrosity of the north. I suppose we are paying the price for pumping so many people through art colleges of one sort or another. Every so often, one of these beauties is going to have what it takes to foist some large lump of junk on us. Emperor's new clothes sez I.
Turning for once to a more learned mag, the LRB, I was interested to find that the ancient Greeks made quite sophisticated civil servants. It seems that they went to a lot of bother to devise civil systems to maintain the reputation of their currency, known as the silver owl, presumably from the owls stamped on it. A lot of bother which would do credit to the bizease (to rhyme with disease) who rule our roost. The key element were people called approvers whose job it was to look at owls and detect fakes. This work was both boring and difficult which meant it was best done by slaves who could be whipped if they got it wrong. They were supported by sophisticated protocols and procedures and the upshot was, it seems, that faith in the currency was restored. Commerce could march on.
Unlike the service systems that we have to manage the movements of our nuclear deterrent. How on earth do two nuclear submarines on the same side, if from differant countries, manage to bump into each other in the middle of the Atlantic ocean? It is a rather big place and one might have thought that there was room for both of them. And then why do we have the things at all? What are we getting for all those billions of pounds? What is the threat that they are intended to deter? A few home-made missiles lobbed over from somewhere in the Middle East? Why do we want to punch above our weight? Maybe we will grow up eventually and leave these expensive toys to the big boys. On the other hand, the billions of pounds rather pale into significance when compared with the cost of baling out the banker boys. Maybe that is where the real threat lies.
Followed up later in the day with a second visit to Super Fish at Waterloo Road, Waterloo. Takeaway was the order of the day and I had a truly excellent peice of haddock. Large, fresh and firm. Chips good too. The only catch was that the park was shut so we had to sit on the pavement by the gate to eat them. Not done pavement chips for a while but it did not seem to disturb the flavour.
While we are in a large animal vein, readers of the DT will no doubt be pleased to hear that the DT web sites waxes very lyrical about plans to erect a very large white horse somewhere in Ebbsfleet Valley, somewhere in Kent. In rolling prose (which betrays its origins in the arty magazine called Apollo, see http://www.apollo-magazine.com/) about touching the inner core of our national being (and which manages to drag in both Hengist and Tolkein ) and connecting via the North Downs to the Epsom Derby, we also learn that someone is stumping up £2m for the thing. It seems that us southeners have an urge to compete with the montrosity of the north. I suppose we are paying the price for pumping so many people through art colleges of one sort or another. Every so often, one of these beauties is going to have what it takes to foist some large lump of junk on us. Emperor's new clothes sez I.
Turning for once to a more learned mag, the LRB, I was interested to find that the ancient Greeks made quite sophisticated civil servants. It seems that they went to a lot of bother to devise civil systems to maintain the reputation of their currency, known as the silver owl, presumably from the owls stamped on it. A lot of bother which would do credit to the bizease (to rhyme with disease) who rule our roost. The key element were people called approvers whose job it was to look at owls and detect fakes. This work was both boring and difficult which meant it was best done by slaves who could be whipped if they got it wrong. They were supported by sophisticated protocols and procedures and the upshot was, it seems, that faith in the currency was restored. Commerce could march on.
Unlike the service systems that we have to manage the movements of our nuclear deterrent. How on earth do two nuclear submarines on the same side, if from differant countries, manage to bump into each other in the middle of the Atlantic ocean? It is a rather big place and one might have thought that there was room for both of them. And then why do we have the things at all? What are we getting for all those billions of pounds? What is the threat that they are intended to deter? A few home-made missiles lobbed over from somewhere in the Middle East? Why do we want to punch above our weight? Maybe we will grow up eventually and leave these expensive toys to the big boys. On the other hand, the billions of pounds rather pale into significance when compared with the cost of baling out the banker boys. Maybe that is where the real threat lies.
# posted by Jim @ 1:42 AM 
