A grape lot of bother

Sometimes the urge to do something I know I shouldn't is so strong. Like stepping off the tube platform, or dropping my phone down a drain, or posting some dog poo through a letter box.

I texted Louis this and he said replied DO IT. 

Well, well, well, he's not so encouraging usually. Usually he makes me stick to the letter. If he asks me what we're making for dinner so he can buy ingredients, and I approximate and say we just need one thing as I'm sure we can find the rest in the cupboard, he insists on seeing the recipe so he can halt me substituting coriander for parsley, peppers for aubergine, tinned anchovies for smoked salmon. 

Happily he wasn't around when I was making Ottolenghi's grape,cheddar and parsley roasted cauliflower salad. As I was telling him about it later on the phone I said, oh but I didn't have grapes, or cheddar, and I forgot to put the parsley in. 

Apparently the rule is if the ingredient is in the title you have to put it in! 

Clean Cooking

I've got really into tidying recently via Marie Kondo the Japanese folding expert. I've sushi rolled all of my socks, Louis' socks, ro's socks, joey's, mum's, and basically anyone who lets me in their sock drawer. It's very space saving. 


I was at the glass display cabinets in Oliver Bonas with Ro, helping her choose some jewellery. "Which necklace do you think I should get?"
I sighed. "Sorry it's just really hard for me to agree with ANY of this cabinet now. We just don't really do clutter anymore. I'd just sushi roll this whole cabinet into the charity shop."

Louis felt I was making this up entirely. He may have been basing this on my cluttered cooking recently. Why use one ingredient where six would do?

A good example is the Buddha bowl I made for mum when she visited.



It had kale and chilli and ginger and coriander and avocado and peppers and cucumber and grated carrot and chickpeas and brown rice.

It was packed tighter than most of my bags of Louis' old tee shirts i'm planning to throw away.

Concrete Jungle

I sometimes get annoyed by Bear Grylls as he seems a bit of an archaic sexist pig and I'm sure I could do a better job of adventuring than him. It's just that not many opportunities come up. There was the day I had to physically climb two floors to move desk at work. And it was quite good when the shower blocked and I went to the corner shop to buy a plunger and then used it. But nothing where I get to use my full mental and physical capabilities to get out of a sticky sitch.

Then the other day I was walking to a work training session just off Tottenham Court Road and I went to take my ID card out my purse ready. Ever prepared see.  But just then the wind whipped up and plucked out my £100 yoga pass. It flew over high wrought iron railings and down down two mansion block stories below street level.




I was so worried. I couldn't afford to lose that card. And I couldn't possibly climb up over the railings and down.
I rang the door bells of the flats but it was 3pm and no one in.

I think everyone (Bear Grylls I only mean you) should take a minute now to think what they would have done. Let it really sink in how impenetrable the high spiked railings and then two story drop. And how little I cried.

Cool as a cuc I went to my training but didn't take in a word as I was forming a plan. I clearly needed some sort of fishing line. Hmm, there's sometimes men fishing on the canal but not on Tott court road. There's only homewear shops and stationary emporiums. Somehow I didn't think Dwell was going to cut it.

To Cards Galore I went!

Back on the street, ignoring the glances and snickers my expedition was attracting, I unpacked my kit. Sellotape to double side coat the bottom of my lunch box with stickyness. Silver parcel ribbon to lower the bait down.

Cast off! Twenty minutes later I rolled the silver birthday present ribbon back up over the railings with the yoga card stuck to the sellotape covered bottom of my lunch box.


Phew


I had missed Monday's Yin session with Amanda but I had my card.

Currying favour

Living with an expat Australian I've been touched by how generous they are with social offers when new Australians arrive off the boat and don't know anyone yet. I've always been a mingler but I thought this was taking it to new heights.

We had a few newbies round on Friday night for a friend date. Seeing as "what's one more between friends" we decided to invite all the curries as well. We made daal, and saag paneer, and chettiar aubergine curry, and a sweet potato one, rice, and chapaatis. Half an hour into cooking, with them all jostling for attention on the stove, we wondered aloud if we were doing one too many. Hmm. What's the ratio of main courses per guest though? 1:1 right? So we carried on.

I think it was really nice for our guests as it was so hot and steamy in the room that it probably was quite reminiscent of home. They didn't have to make any awkward chit chat with their hosts as we were too busy cooking to talk to them. And it's the Australians that don't eat supper until 9.30pm right?

Mini nightmare

Whilst Mum was away recently I took it upon myself to spring clean her stuff. First load out was a boot full of mugs that make me feel dirty inside when I drink from them. Even worse an offender than the "Mums are special" and the plain white one probably from the village hall,  was the "Cadbury's Mini egg" one. You know exactly the one I mean. Your dentist has one, your workplace has three, even the artisan cafe on Columbia road with the freshly roasted coffee which should know better has one actually hanging on the wall in full sight.

Eurghh. I hesitated at the counter of the charity shop. "Are these any good?" I asked tentatively. Oh yes, yes please we desperately need stock. I wrinkled my nose. "Are you sure you want them though?"

Success.

When I came back a few weeks later I found the mini egg mug back on the kitchen shelf. "What is this I see before me? This vile sight?"  Ro suggested Mum had bought it thinking she could now have a set, but I think I might just have accidentally left it in the boot of the car, my hands were so full of all the other bits and pieces I was confiscating.

Something that really couldn't have the eggs left out of it is a lovely broccoli and stilton quiche like the one I made this week for Louis and I. I made the pastry, then popped broccolli, grated courgette and cheese in, then poured a mix of three eggs and milk on top, topped by more cheese. We had it with sweet potato mash and posh baked beans to give it some wet.


Now THAT is taste!

Feeding the Fran-thousand

Walking to the tube at Easter I glimpsed a spindly procession of people winding through the park, singing, led by a berobed Priest holding a sceptre. Two followers were weighed down by the crucifix. It was raining and I felt a bit sorry for their meagre attendance in this confusing modern world in which all people I know definitely don't think it's a good idea to walk around in the rain believing a story in a scroll.

I thought maybe I should join them to cheer them up. Louis tells me he's glad we're together so he doesn't have to eat pizza alone each evening. Maybe they'd be equally buoyed by my presence.

But my new union wasn't to last as long as the one with my beloved (yes, two years, I know right). They and their huge cross congregated in front of the tube as I needed to enter it, thus cutting short my path into Catholicism as they lengthened my journey to Euston. EXCUSE ME!

I reflected on my day as I tucked into my fish pie at Mum's later and concluded that when there's mash and cheese sauce involved  it's much nicer to be alone. Or just have a Mum who's a slow eater.

Crowing at my triumph

The other day I saw a sign from God.

"You, like the crow, me incarnate, should also eat more leftovers". It seemed to be saying.
Obs God! Of course I eat leftovers. I'm a pre Mum. What else can I do?

Well, it seemed to be saying, "Make the best of the desert of your fridge and only eat what is in there for forty days". Oh I see. As long as I don't have to eat Granny's leftovers out the wheelbarrow.

On Tuesday night Louis made fajitas for S coming back home. We really enjoyed it. Our stomachs were certainly not heaving unlike the plates! The next day Chazzy came for lunch on her last day off school and I cut some lettuce to add to it and we scouped up the fajita mix with some pittas I had lying around.

For supper Louis and I had the same fajita mix again apart from with a jazzed up guacamole called "goddess dressing". Ahem, a bit blasphemous don't you think Thomasina Myers? Now, I've REALLY been touched by the spirit.

I was still sticking to my meagre fare by Thursday. Leftovers Meal 4. I finished the fajita wraps and fillings ready for Louis and I to go out for dinner with my Aunty. They wanted to tempt me way from my four day walk in the fajita desert but I said get thee hence satan, and steered us into the arms of Chilango in Angel.

Friday I was really pleased to find one last wrap in the fridge and cleared it off with some smoked salmon and lettuce.

I should have just used that last wrap to wear as a halo!