Dulse a leche

"Mmm thanks I love a plate of brown food", I said as Louis presented me with curried baked beans and toast. His eyes brightened: "What it really needs is some brown sauce. " 

 

I baulked. 

"Do you not like brown sauce?"  "I've never had it. I don't know what it tastes like." 

He offered me some. I closed my eyes shaking my head, "Eurgh no I'm scared". 

"Fran, you were eating raw seaweed straight off the rocks from the beach yesterday".

Good point. I dabbed a little on my fork and grimaced... Not so bad. It just tasted vinegary. Raw seaweed off the rocks tasted better. 

Later, I collected some more seaweed and looked up how to actually cook it. I cut the ends of the wrack one off (the one with bladders) and pan fried them with red onions as a kind of caper to use with spaghetti. The green strandy stuff is apparently nice fried and crispy but my cooking is more enthusiasm than accuracy and I went for a mush style instead. We had the whole lot as a carbonara. 

Battered

It was really wet on the day of some Germany v Italy match and instead of leaving the holiday cottage Louis had been sneezing on the sofa for the last 8 hours.

I came into the cosy fire lit sitting room after washing up the dinner i'd cooked us. 

"Shall we watch the match?" Louis asked smiling. 

"Hmm that does sound like something I want to do. I'm glad that we can spend our last evening on holiday like this. "

After a quick sulk and tears and make up kiss we settled down to watch the match happily. 

The match was ending on penalties. Louis was very tense and wincing. He said breathlessly, "Oooh Aren't penalties just your favourite part of the game??"

"Hmm I'm not sure. I've never watched a match the whole way through to find out what I think of the other bits."

"Don't you find it tense?" 

"I'm just worried for them. They must be so fed up."

"Do you reckon that's the emotion they're experiencing?"

"Yeah. They just want to go and have their post match bath."


A moment later one of the teams missed a penalty and the other won and I presume the poor player was in really hot water! 


They must have felt as battered about as the elderflower I'd picked early and fried in tempura. I liked them so much I had them for two courses- starter and dessert. 


Battered elderflower heads


250 ml fizzy water, 50 g plain flour- mix and sit off the bench for half an hour. Add whisked egg white in. Then dip the heads in, and holding the stalk carefully fry a head one by one in boiling oil in a pan. 


For pudding I added a shake of caster sugar to the batter and did the same. The pudding version was the best. 




Don't clove to others

We were in Fort William stocking up on food and camping gear before descending on the West Highland coast and we stopped at a cafe for a sandwich. 

As I waited for the sandwiches to be prepared two people sitting on stools at the shop's glass front started talking about Louis and Greyson whom they could see on the bench outside. 

"I only like dogs bred for function". 

I whipped round from the queue. 

"Yeah big dogs. Labradors or collies." 

"I don't mind cats too. But not a dog that's essentially a cat". 

Well missy, I don't mind embarrassing myself to embarrass others! On collecting my sandwich, I went to get napkins from the pile by their elbows giving them a hard nudge and stare in the process, then I swept out to ostentatiously pet Louis and Greyson in full view whilst loudly recounting the story. 
Greyson HAS a function: being adorable. 


One thing the man in Go Outdoors advised to keep mosquitos like them away was garlic. We bought a few bulbs and as Louis chopped some for our sweet potato curry cooked on our new camping stove I smeared raw cloves all over my face and neck. 

Hmm not sure if it'll keep rude people away or encourage more insults.

Biar-ritzy!

Recently, Mum, Louis, Ro and I walked some of the Camino de Santiago. It's a route pilgrims used to walk across Spain all the way to the Cathedral in Santiago.


We entered in France, and before boarding the train in Biarritz we hauled in a picnic of apricot tarte, flans and pain au raisin with a bottle of cidre and paper cups. The train stopped frequently at alpine villages with no platforms punctuating our views of endless green slopes and snowy tips.


The guesthouse was run by a pencil thin pencil lipped henna bobbed French woman In a jade shirt suit, her terrier Elan, and her absolutely normal for 2016 smiling daughter. Glass domes of marshmallows on the counter.


The problem I have is that I seem to be the only true pilgrim on this trail. We are walking everyday but I think it should go further than that with a spartan spread to greet us each evening. The others went totally lux tonight ordering cod omelette and goats cheese salad and any pudding they liked. I meanwhile grovelled to the €12 pilgrim set menu- cod LESS omelette, goats cheese LESS salad. I might as well have worn my set menu apple crumble round my head like thorns whilst they deliberated over creme brûlée or chocolate mousse. As I say, choice is the devil's dessert.


I luckily don't get much choice on this holiday, sartorially at least, as I only brought one outfit and underwear set for five days. I'm two days down now... I'll let you know in a few days whether I've cooked up my own cod omelette.