Friday, November 04, 2011
Bistecca alla Fiorentina
Or rather not. They don't cut the fore rib in quite the same way in Epsom as they do in Florence, plus I don't know how they cook it. I did ask the chap at Camber Sands how he did his Dexters and I think the answer was hot oven but I don't rightly recall. And nor does the Blogger search function. Reduced to searching my email archive (from the same shop) which reveals the relevant post on May 29th this year. More searching angst.
That being as it may, we have 5lbs 8oz of cow chop, a single bone but cut on the slant to maximise the take at the butcher. Wedge shaped affair with a good blanket of fat for once, maybe a quarter of an inch. 1.75 hours at 190C, 0.25 hours resting. Oven opened once to bast. Very nice it was too, served with a late season pointy cabbage and mashed white potatoes. One day hot, one day cold and one day through the Spong No. 10 mincer and now simmering - while I wonder how much such a mincer would cost now, assuming that one can still buy such a thing. The sort of kitchen which could justify having it would probably prefer something with an engine. But the more important point being that mincing cooked beef gives a quite different result from mincing raw. Although, as it happens, we have a Spong No. 10 precisely because it can mince raw whereas my mother's No. 3 or whatever could only manage cooked.
Wound down with some news items from the DT, the free Guardian and word of mouth, in no particular order.
It seems that some people want to make a law which will punish doctors with up to five years' imprisonment for inappropriate chemical coshing of demented residents of nursing homes. Or perhaps even demented people in the care of their loved ones at home. Do these people forget that the bucket into which we put the criminally insane is commonly labelled schizophrenia, the name for which used to be early onset dementia, or dementia praecox. My suggestion is that such people should be made to do 12 months care assistanting in an underfunded care home for the demented before they get too stroppy about the use of chemical coshes. Let them try the straight jackets and padded cells for size.
And then there is the lady who minds children in her home and is getting excited about a walnut tree which overlooks her garden. She is very worried that some of her children, some of whom might have nut allergies, might get to see a walnut. She is angry because the council say that it is a heritage tree which may not be chopped down or otherwise tampered with. I am worried because if all the walnut trees are listed how am I going to be able to buy a proper shotgun, with a proper English walnut stock if all the walnut trees score as heritage? Like cows, you can only consume walnut trees which have been killed. Wouldn't touch one which has pegged out of natural causes.
Nearer home still, we have the case of the former girls' grammar school which, it is alleged, allows their girls to have and to hold mobile phones in the classroom. Which seems a bit odd. How on earth are you going to teach anything if half the class are away with the fairies on their little screens? And then we got to wondering about examinations. How are you going to stop the same girls taking mobiles into examinations and getting some of the answers with them? Are you going to have to search the girls on entry? How many searchers and people invigilating the searching are you going to have to have to deter the human rights lawyers? Maybe you can buy some machine from one of those dodgy shops in Tottenham Court Road which blocks all known mobile phone signals. Or better still, which makes them emit some ear painful but inaudible signal if you put the thing to your ear.
Time for breakfast.
Monday, January 25, 2010
Erratum
A bit further into 'The Way We Live Now', Trollope does retrieve the situation a bit. He does allow that the swindler is a man with b***s, which is more than can be said for the blueish blooded cad who wanted to marry his daughter. And he does allow that the banker, while maybe fat and vulgar, does behave very properly, if not very romantically, to the skint sloane who had thought to marry him for his dosh. He also alludes to the scaling of crowning heights and assimilation generally which was going on apace at the time. All of which goes a little way to undo the unfortunate impression of yesterday.
I also got around to taking a look at the introduction, being interested in a book which had exactly 100 chapters. It seems that it was intended from the outset to come in two volumes of 10 sections each, each section to contain 5 chapters. I imagine that sections were supposed to be of more or less uniform length. The first volume was to end hanging of a cliff (metaphorically speaking of course). Trollope prided himself on being able to write his novels within this kind of framework. Which, the introduction tells me, was more or less obsolete by the time this book was written, but Trollope and his publisher were entranced by the success of Middlemarch, which had recently been published in this sort of way.
Not sure that Trollope did himself any favours with his loyal readers by exposing some of the grubby workings of the literary world. When you are writing a novel, including privileged material about the production and promotion of the novel itself is a little self indulgent. One should stick to knocking everybody else rather than oneself, or those near one. In any event, his star started to wane about this point and the fixed price contracts he liked with his publishers started to involve fewer naughts.
Today a double stick outing to Epsom. That is to say that FIL and I tapped our way down with near identical walking sticks, although the stick of which his was made had a green tinge to it and mine is an inch or so longer so we should not get into too much of a muddle. I also notice that my rubber ferrule wears most on the rear inside corner. Clearly something odd about the way I crock along.
Then further along the way to Epsom, passed a flock of thrush like birds feeding on Clayhill Green. FIL thought that they were redwings in consequence of their being a in a flock, something that regular thrushes do not do. Plus redwings are winter visitors. Seemed fair enough, but I could not make out the distinctive yellow flashes I thought that redwings had over and under the eyes. Must take bins down next time. But why do neither these nor any other sorts of thrushes ever seem to appear on the bit of green between Hookfield and Wheelers Lane or on Court Rec.? One might have thought that they were very much the same sort of green. And why do Google maps fail to label both Clayhill Green and the bit of green between Hookfield etc? The latter used to be moderately important as the site of an occasional fair. Perhaps there are customary rights in such matters. And, as it happens, the site was left in a dreadful mess after the last such fair, maybe ten or fifteen years ago. The fair ground people involved seemed to be completely without common decency when it came to making mess or to clearing it up.
Today was also the third day for the Tavistock top rib. The second day had been cold with my version of Dauphinoise potatoes and crinkly cabbage. The potatoes were boiled for 10 minutes, then coarsely sliced and arranged with some finely sliced onions in a baking dish. Pour blood and fat from the top rib over. Bake for an hour. A bit greasy but good gear. The third day we minced most of the balance, using our fine No. 10 Spong Mincer, a heavy cast steel contraption I do not suppose one could buy new these days. Very fond of the sort of mince you get by mincing cold roast meat; a quite different thing from the raw mince you get from the butcher. Add a bit of minced carrot, minced onion, a little water, a little browning, a handful of red lentils and simmer for 90 minutes. Serve with crinkly cabbage and mashed potatoes.
The crinkly cabbage from Waitrose at 89p a pop, with most of the outer green leaves missing. Not such a good buy as the crinkly cabbage from the market, late Saturday afternoon, at 75p a pop or £1 for two. Sadly BH had drifted off at that point, having given me the 75p, so I was unable to indulge myself in two of the things, well wrapped in outer green leaves, as they should be. Perhaps Waitrose customers are deemed to be older folk with challenged dentition who do not care for the more chewy outer leaves.
Wednesday, January 17, 2007
Trace bovine
Passed what was left of the beef stock and the vegetables in it through the food mixer to obtain around 4 litres of quite thick yellow soup. The texture of the soups that come in things like milk cartons and say covent garden or organic all over them. The colour a testimony to the quantity of carrot and swede involved. That did two meals.
Passed what was left of the beef after the second meal through the giant Spong grinder, along with some carrots and onions. Turned most of it into a cottage pie. Interesting variant on the potato topping in that having no milk to soften it I used butter and water. This resulted in a rather pleasing finish on the finished article. Still worry about the potato icebergs floating uneasily in a sea of mince. Maybe there is a market for a gadget which extrudes planks of the stuff, maybe 5cm by 1. Rather like a pasta maker or a large nozzle on an icing bag. Must talk to Nigella next time I see her.
Sea of mince rather less sea-like by leaving behind much of the fluid by the elementary device of transferring the mince from pot to pie using a spoon with holes in it. A spoon, as it happens, which was bought as part of a set before we were married, some years ago now. What is left behind will do on bread for today's lunch. Maybe add the elderly parsnips lurking at the back of the vegetable box.
Not deterred by more rain from getting the bread part of lunch - although far to wet for other outdoor games. Underbridge at Cheam about a foot deep in water - not surprising given the amount of Autumnal junk in the drains and the fact that these underbridges must be among the lowest points in the borough. The one at Epsom took several engineering projects to fix it - which it has been, to be fair, for some years now.
I notice another compensation extravaganza. The Telegraph - not a particularly careful paper - alleges that BP have set aside £800m to compensate victims of the big refinery explosion in Texas a year or so ago - with 15 dead and some 170 injured. This is more than £2m a head and presumably the vast majority of the injuries were minor. Never mind, the price of petrol in the UK can carry the can. I also wonder whether the fact that BP is a British company gave the US health and safety gang a wonderful opportunity to have a go at refinery safety. No-one there is going to fuss about them having a go at a Limey company - but Haliburton now, that would be a differant story.
Nearer home, the Blair crew need to be reminded that Stalin style central direction is no longer in fashion. The education department - another Telegraph allegation - appear to be micro managing the way in which headteachers handle crimes against school uniform. Particularly odd given that the B-crew are very keen on all things uniform and faith (leaving aside a slight awkwardness about the M word). At least we don't still have a savage who hangs onto superstitions about virgin birth in charge of the department in question. You would think she would know better having had several children herself.
Incidentally, I am advised that some lower animals do indeed indulge in virgin birth. But a catch for us higher animals would be that any such offspring would have to be ladies given the way our chromosomes are organised. Something for the feminists perhaps.
Passed what was left of the beef after the second meal through the giant Spong grinder, along with some carrots and onions. Turned most of it into a cottage pie. Interesting variant on the potato topping in that having no milk to soften it I used butter and water. This resulted in a rather pleasing finish on the finished article. Still worry about the potato icebergs floating uneasily in a sea of mince. Maybe there is a market for a gadget which extrudes planks of the stuff, maybe 5cm by 1. Rather like a pasta maker or a large nozzle on an icing bag. Must talk to Nigella next time I see her.
Sea of mince rather less sea-like by leaving behind much of the fluid by the elementary device of transferring the mince from pot to pie using a spoon with holes in it. A spoon, as it happens, which was bought as part of a set before we were married, some years ago now. What is left behind will do on bread for today's lunch. Maybe add the elderly parsnips lurking at the back of the vegetable box.
Not deterred by more rain from getting the bread part of lunch - although far to wet for other outdoor games. Underbridge at Cheam about a foot deep in water - not surprising given the amount of Autumnal junk in the drains and the fact that these underbridges must be among the lowest points in the borough. The one at Epsom took several engineering projects to fix it - which it has been, to be fair, for some years now.
I notice another compensation extravaganza. The Telegraph - not a particularly careful paper - alleges that BP have set aside £800m to compensate victims of the big refinery explosion in Texas a year or so ago - with 15 dead and some 170 injured. This is more than £2m a head and presumably the vast majority of the injuries were minor. Never mind, the price of petrol in the UK can carry the can. I also wonder whether the fact that BP is a British company gave the US health and safety gang a wonderful opportunity to have a go at refinery safety. No-one there is going to fuss about them having a go at a Limey company - but Haliburton now, that would be a differant story.
Nearer home, the Blair crew need to be reminded that Stalin style central direction is no longer in fashion. The education department - another Telegraph allegation - appear to be micro managing the way in which headteachers handle crimes against school uniform. Particularly odd given that the B-crew are very keen on all things uniform and faith (leaving aside a slight awkwardness about the M word). At least we don't still have a savage who hangs onto superstitions about virgin birth in charge of the department in question. You would think she would know better having had several children herself.
Incidentally, I am advised that some lower animals do indeed indulge in virgin birth. But a catch for us higher animals would be that any such offspring would have to be ladies given the way our chromosomes are organised. Something for the feminists perhaps.
Friday, November 07, 2008
Old mince for new
After two days of Devon slaughtered lamb cold with hot vegetables - a dish from childhood which seems to be coming back into our vogue as we head into our second childhood - decided that enough was enough and minced the balance. Added minced carrot and onion, simmered gently for a while. Added minced cold cooked carrot and swede. And, for a change, added minced uncooked runner beans. The bean part that is, from beans that were too long in the tooth to contemplate eating. Went down very well; a reminder that minced cold meat is quite differant from the minced raw meat one buys at a butcher. I guess that part of the differance is the differant quality of the meat; roasting meat rather than the scraps and srags that go into butchers' mince. (Not that there is anything wrong with this last. Plenty of nourishment there). And part is the differant texture you get from mincing cold rather than mincing raw. As a food texture buff, a differance I am very alive to.
We also learnt, the the Spong people whom I had thought only made mincers - we have a large example in my desk in our front room - also make, or at least used to make, cutlery. They were responsible for the Exminster bread knife.
And back in Epsom, have topped up the lentil levels with half a gallon of lentil soup of which I have done maybe a third for breakfast. There not being any carrots I had to use white cabbage in their place. Seemed to work OK. And the bacon was dry cured from Devon. A bit salty - and I think I prefer the smoked streaky from Cheam. Let's hope he has some today.
Spent the first part of this morning lifting a thirty year old carpet, most of the backing of which had turned into a black powder. Luckily a fairly heavy powder which did not seem to get everywhere - but maybe the BH will take a differant view on that point. Whoever put the carpet down read the Daily Mail and the Observer - an odd combination - former being for the middle classes and the latter for the middle classes with pretensions. Sufficiently long ago for the Daily Mail to be advertising jobs for print workers - I think that it used to be the paper for those trades, rather as the Evening News used to be the paper for the building trades, and for the Observer to look posh.
Second part of the morning converting a chest of drawers back into its natal flat pack format. Wonderful things wrecking bars once you get going. A smart crack on the interior of a drawer and it flies apart. A smart crack on the knob and it flies off. From the wreckage have recovered maybe a dozen 1.5 inch chipboard screws with a wide thread. Must be made of very hard steel because when whacked with the wrecking bar they simply smashed out of the chipboard rather than bending.
Day before yesterday afternoon to Dawlish Warren. Remains a wonderful place, even if a third of it is a golf course and another third is in the hands of the RSPB. Tide well out; occasional bird calls drifting about in the late afternoon air. A small dead dogfish washed up on the beach which did not appear to be attracting the attention of the gulls. We wondered why not. They don't seem too fussy most of the time.
Most of the breakwaters were put in about 40 years ago, but there is a remnant of the series before that. Perhaps 80 years old? The uprights were six inch diameter round post in good condition, but with interesting wear on their tops - which looked rather like the serrated teeth of a herbivore like a cow - only circular rather than rectangular. One then wondered whether cold salt water was a preservative: brine does for meat so why not for posts? Wouldn't do in the tropics though, where even salt water is infested with all kinds of wood eating livestock.
Back to the pub at the head of the Warren for tea - which was very good value at £1.35 for a pot for two. We forgave them the lack of saucer for one of the cups. Pub rather like a Wetherspoons in style and the only place open, tricked out with a seaside decor. One interesting old-looking board on the wall claimed to be a sign from a Dawlish pilchard merchant who had been established in 1590. Rather a clever fake; diverting and easy to do once you get the knack.
We also learnt, the the Spong people whom I had thought only made mincers - we have a large example in my desk in our front room - also make, or at least used to make, cutlery. They were responsible for the Exminster bread knife.
And back in Epsom, have topped up the lentil levels with half a gallon of lentil soup of which I have done maybe a third for breakfast. There not being any carrots I had to use white cabbage in their place. Seemed to work OK. And the bacon was dry cured from Devon. A bit salty - and I think I prefer the smoked streaky from Cheam. Let's hope he has some today.
Spent the first part of this morning lifting a thirty year old carpet, most of the backing of which had turned into a black powder. Luckily a fairly heavy powder which did not seem to get everywhere - but maybe the BH will take a differant view on that point. Whoever put the carpet down read the Daily Mail and the Observer - an odd combination - former being for the middle classes and the latter for the middle classes with pretensions. Sufficiently long ago for the Daily Mail to be advertising jobs for print workers - I think that it used to be the paper for those trades, rather as the Evening News used to be the paper for the building trades, and for the Observer to look posh.
Second part of the morning converting a chest of drawers back into its natal flat pack format. Wonderful things wrecking bars once you get going. A smart crack on the interior of a drawer and it flies apart. A smart crack on the knob and it flies off. From the wreckage have recovered maybe a dozen 1.5 inch chipboard screws with a wide thread. Must be made of very hard steel because when whacked with the wrecking bar they simply smashed out of the chipboard rather than bending.
Day before yesterday afternoon to Dawlish Warren. Remains a wonderful place, even if a third of it is a golf course and another third is in the hands of the RSPB. Tide well out; occasional bird calls drifting about in the late afternoon air. A small dead dogfish washed up on the beach which did not appear to be attracting the attention of the gulls. We wondered why not. They don't seem too fussy most of the time.
Most of the breakwaters were put in about 40 years ago, but there is a remnant of the series before that. Perhaps 80 years old? The uprights were six inch diameter round post in good condition, but with interesting wear on their tops - which looked rather like the serrated teeth of a herbivore like a cow - only circular rather than rectangular. One then wondered whether cold salt water was a preservative: brine does for meat so why not for posts? Wouldn't do in the tropics though, where even salt water is infested with all kinds of wood eating livestock.
Back to the pub at the head of the Warren for tea - which was very good value at £1.35 for a pot for two. We forgave them the lack of saucer for one of the cups. Pub rather like a Wetherspoons in style and the only place open, tricked out with a seaside decor. One interesting old-looking board on the wall claimed to be a sign from a Dawlish pilchard merchant who had been established in 1590. Rather a clever fake; diverting and easy to do once you get the knack.
