pumpkinstrokemarrow

Very alive to the affairs of sardines at the moment, my intake having surged following pressure from the BH to do something about my omega 3s. Luckily she passed over omega 1 and 2. So, having had occasion to be reminded about the affairs of Narnia, amused to learn that sardines were the subject of infantile drooling during the second world war. One infers that the diet was pretty dull. Can't imagine many infants drooling over sardines now, at least, not in the affluent southeast. But I do recall some sardine drooling in Svejk, when, during the first war on the wrong (ie losing) side, they were presumably even poorer than we were in the second war.

And then there was something of a first on the bread pudding front. Which I was eating cold, not having been around when it was hot (when I like it best), and thought I could detect carraway seeds. Adding a delicate something to the flavour. I approved, but a bit of a puzzle as carraway seeds are not something that the BH is very keen on, her younger taste for Sunday seed cake having been dealt a fatal blow by her first pregnancy. But, on enquiry, found out that it was indeed carraway seed. Not wanted to waste a dog end of rye bread with carraway seed from Cheam, said dog end found its way into the bread pudding and there we are. Today being Friday I dare say I shall get another; for some reason they are only available fresh on Friday and the left overs bagged on Saturday.

Yesterday was a day for sirloin steak, the first for a while. Had it cut about an inch thick, a little thicker than usual, and heated the (electric) grill for rather longer before starting grilling operations. A better result than usual: dark brown on the outside while being light brown, damp and succulent on the inside. Not having too much practise, all to easy to dry the things out, especially when they are cut a bit thinner. Served with mushrooms, a good whack of brussells sprouts and white bread.

Have finally broken my taboo on the Tate Modern and went to a paying exhibition there. Not quite the first visit as we did go to inspect the pretensious crack which was free, and didn't actually pay as the Independant did instead. (Which also paid for quite respectable amount of alcohol au nibbles). As it turned out, rather impressed both by the constructivists and by the amount of space available to hang them in. So perhaps there is some point in converted power stations after all. Constructivists a very rum bunch, but interesting. I really liked some of their stuff - which ought to reproduce well - and some of it was just silly. Not really a surprise to learn that they were rolled over by the forces of socialist realism.