Wednesday, March 25, 2009
Trite but true
Being an example of how simple things are often the best. That is to say, returned from the TB the other day after moderate intake and anecdotes concerning the yacht of one Kashnoggi (from someone who claimed to have been on it), to an untouched small bloomer from Cheam. One of their better days, light and fluffy while remaining slightly damp and very slightly sticky. Taken with slices of cold pork left over from the day before. Spiffing gear, without any need for input from television or other gastropundits.
Followed this up with roast chicken the following day. Preceeded by a visit to Waitrose to buy fresh sage to put in the stuffing (which in our case, we cook outside the chicken rather than inside, topped with happy bacon from Cheam (the pigs from which it came having been certified to have had satisfactory and fulfilling lives) and dripping). Good that one can buy fresh herbs in this way, but the sage was, nevertheless, a bit limp. Had the appearance of something forced up in a polytunnel; not quite the same as a proper bush of the stuff over wintering out in the open. Smell during chopping operations not nearly so strong and final product not so sagey. Another example, I suppose, of how mass production pulls down quality while maintaining appearances. These last, to be fair, being 96% of the the battle.
Confection of stuffing was followed by the attempted confection of blackcurrent jam to top the steamed jam sponge with, the blackcurrents being the last knockings of the late lamented allotments. Sadly, a little overcooked, they turned into a very solid, sticky black mess rather than black jam. Took me rather a long time and a lot of hot water this morning to get the stuff out of the two jam jars to which it had been consigned for safe keeping. Might have been more energy friendly to have left the stuff in the jam jars and dumped them in the general waste compartment of our waste transfer station. But would certainly have been fatal to fillings, crowns and other dental plumbing. Otherwise excellent sponge was consumed with jam of a more pallid disposition.
Waitrose also supplied 67% of the pale liquid refreshments. Started off with a 2007 Pouilly-fume containing sulphites. Moved onto a 2007 Bourgogne (being the 33% which came from Mr S.). This we did not finish as we wanted to leave room for the peice de resistance, a 2005 Jurancon, also containing sulphites. Thinking of all those wine labels which go on about touch of kipper finished off with just a note of blackberry, for what I think is the first time in my wine drinking life, moved to talk of notes of mango. The stuff was very good, just the thing for steamed jam sponge, but definately had the sweet, cloying taste of ripe mango. That is to say, the thing which is nearly all nut and not very much flesh.
In the course of all this we learn that Franklin was not named for the explorer who got lost with his silver service in what can only be presumed to be rather distressing circumstances in the wastes of the frozen north of Baffin Island, but for the president, domiciled somewhat to the south. So his full name is actually Franklin Delano Pussycat.
Followed this up with roast chicken the following day. Preceeded by a visit to Waitrose to buy fresh sage to put in the stuffing (which in our case, we cook outside the chicken rather than inside, topped with happy bacon from Cheam (the pigs from which it came having been certified to have had satisfactory and fulfilling lives) and dripping). Good that one can buy fresh herbs in this way, but the sage was, nevertheless, a bit limp. Had the appearance of something forced up in a polytunnel; not quite the same as a proper bush of the stuff over wintering out in the open. Smell during chopping operations not nearly so strong and final product not so sagey. Another example, I suppose, of how mass production pulls down quality while maintaining appearances. These last, to be fair, being 96% of the the battle.
Confection of stuffing was followed by the attempted confection of blackcurrent jam to top the steamed jam sponge with, the blackcurrents being the last knockings of the late lamented allotments. Sadly, a little overcooked, they turned into a very solid, sticky black mess rather than black jam. Took me rather a long time and a lot of hot water this morning to get the stuff out of the two jam jars to which it had been consigned for safe keeping. Might have been more energy friendly to have left the stuff in the jam jars and dumped them in the general waste compartment of our waste transfer station. But would certainly have been fatal to fillings, crowns and other dental plumbing. Otherwise excellent sponge was consumed with jam of a more pallid disposition.
Waitrose also supplied 67% of the pale liquid refreshments. Started off with a 2007 Pouilly-fume containing sulphites. Moved onto a 2007 Bourgogne (being the 33% which came from Mr S.). This we did not finish as we wanted to leave room for the peice de resistance, a 2005 Jurancon, also containing sulphites. Thinking of all those wine labels which go on about touch of kipper finished off with just a note of blackberry, for what I think is the first time in my wine drinking life, moved to talk of notes of mango. The stuff was very good, just the thing for steamed jam sponge, but definately had the sweet, cloying taste of ripe mango. That is to say, the thing which is nearly all nut and not very much flesh.
In the course of all this we learn that Franklin was not named for the explorer who got lost with his silver service in what can only be presumed to be rather distressing circumstances in the wastes of the frozen north of Baffin Island, but for the president, domiciled somewhat to the south. So his full name is actually Franklin Delano Pussycat.
# posted by Jim @ 5:16 AM 
