3stan has issued me with a kick up the backside and requested that I write some more bloggage. Its been a while since my last post, but I have a valid excuse in that I’ve been poking around the lake district looking at Sellafield among other things.
I stayed at the youth hostel in Waterhead, with a fantastic view across the northern rim of lake Windermere. Its been a while since I last set foot in a youth hostel and I was pleasantly surprised by quality of the accommodation and the catering (yes, they do catering). Meals were hearty and wholesome, and ingredients were fresh and fairly local. The only fault lay with the catering staff, who seemed to be antipodean backpacker types with that attitude that is peculiar to them (and presumably to British back packers down under).
Lunch at Sellafield consisted of the usual cold buffet affair, bizarrely accompanied by a huge plate of chips. Apparently the chocolate cake was nice, but I was sick with a sense of foreboding. Sellafield is a creepy place, there are no birds like in concentration camps… a radioactive purgatory processing our nuclear sins.
Post-lakes I made my way down to Dorset for a weekend of unwinding with friends in a massive converted barn near Lyme Regis. For some reason the kitchen smelled like Sundays when I was a boy, when my mother made scones when Dad was at sea…
Anyhow, the highlight of the weekend was the opportunity to cook on an AGA. A marvellous experience for a weekend, but I’m not sure I’d want to maintain one full-time. The Saturday night feast was roast beef for 11, and I think everything went to plan. The roast potatoes were among the best I’ve done without flour and mustard powder.
Mrs Jiffler had the barn to ourselves for a couple of days and treated ourselves to various bits and pieces of Dorset seafood that we’d picked up in Lyme Regis. Our bag of (diver-caught) scallops smelled sweet like the seaside and I was almost tempted to slice a bit off raw for a nibble. I showed Mrs Jiffler how to cook them in simply in butter its safe to say that she is now a scallop convert, and I’m worried for the bank balance that these little alabaster muscles will find their way into the shopping bag on an all too regular basis.
Lovely prawns in garlic and white wine go down well with sticky fingers and bubble and squeak on the side. We should have bought half a dozen more and too hell with the cost. I also had opportunity to revisit the crab linguine, this time with a slosh of white wine for added moisture – just the trick, although I was a bit heavy handed with the cream this time.
Oh yeah, back in Manchester, just finished my tea. Roast Poussin (Spring Chicken) with spuds and a weird gravy made out of balsamic vinegar. There is Poussin stock in the fridge now, ready for a quick Tom Yam Gai to see me through this weekend’s essay action.
I stayed at the youth hostel in Waterhead, with a fantastic view across the northern rim of lake Windermere. Its been a while since I last set foot in a youth hostel and I was pleasantly surprised by quality of the accommodation and the catering (yes, they do catering). Meals were hearty and wholesome, and ingredients were fresh and fairly local. The only fault lay with the catering staff, who seemed to be antipodean backpacker types with that attitude that is peculiar to them (and presumably to British back packers down under).
Lunch at Sellafield consisted of the usual cold buffet affair, bizarrely accompanied by a huge plate of chips. Apparently the chocolate cake was nice, but I was sick with a sense of foreboding. Sellafield is a creepy place, there are no birds like in concentration camps… a radioactive purgatory processing our nuclear sins.
Post-lakes I made my way down to Dorset for a weekend of unwinding with friends in a massive converted barn near Lyme Regis. For some reason the kitchen smelled like Sundays when I was a boy, when my mother made scones when Dad was at sea…
Anyhow, the highlight of the weekend was the opportunity to cook on an AGA. A marvellous experience for a weekend, but I’m not sure I’d want to maintain one full-time. The Saturday night feast was roast beef for 11, and I think everything went to plan. The roast potatoes were among the best I’ve done without flour and mustard powder.
Mrs Jiffler had the barn to ourselves for a couple of days and treated ourselves to various bits and pieces of Dorset seafood that we’d picked up in Lyme Regis. Our bag of (diver-caught) scallops smelled sweet like the seaside and I was almost tempted to slice a bit off raw for a nibble. I showed Mrs Jiffler how to cook them in simply in butter its safe to say that she is now a scallop convert, and I’m worried for the bank balance that these little alabaster muscles will find their way into the shopping bag on an all too regular basis.
Lovely prawns in garlic and white wine go down well with sticky fingers and bubble and squeak on the side. We should have bought half a dozen more and too hell with the cost. I also had opportunity to revisit the crab linguine, this time with a slosh of white wine for added moisture – just the trick, although I was a bit heavy handed with the cream this time.
Oh yeah, back in Manchester, just finished my tea. Roast Poussin (Spring Chicken) with spuds and a weird gravy made out of balsamic vinegar. There is Poussin stock in the fridge now, ready for a quick Tom Yam Gai to see me through this weekend’s essay action.
Thats all for now. The pressure is on a bit with essays and stuff at the moment. I've got some time off in a week or so there will be some serious kitchen action then I guess. I still haven't got around to the ready steady cook challenge, and I've got an octopus in the freezer that needs sorting out.
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