A moment of reflection

Last night I watched one of the most moving - and pride-inducing - things I have seen this year. The sight of literally thousands and thousands of people, from babies to war veterans lining the route at the repatriation ceremony in Wootton Bassett was both heartbreaking and wonderful. Those 8 boys - for boys they were with not one of them over 30 - deserved their heroes' homecoming. Their names were William Aldridge (18), James Backhouse (18), Joseph Murphy (18), Daniel Simpson (20), Daniel Hume (22), Jonathan Horne (28), Lee Scott (26) and John Brackpool (27). All died within 24 hours of each other. As India Knight commented on Sunday, we thought the age of cannon-fodder had passed; it seems not. We should remember them and think perhaps the youth today is not quite as bad as we like to make out.

Glorious Technicolour

You must excuse the self-indulgence of this particular post, but I simply had to show off our sudden brilliant corner of wildflowers.

For much of the year so far our garden has been a determined, thriving, but rather steadfast and dull green. There was a burst of lilac from the clematis and the fuchsia contributed perfect teardrops of white and pink, but for the main, it was green. We scattered - more in hope than expectation - a corner with wildflower seeds, as much for the butterflies and bees as for us and a way to break up the verdant monotony. Nothing happened. For months all we had were more green weeds. We had no way of knowing if they were even the wildflowers or whether we should get on top of this sudden weedy outbreak. Then, last week, a few daisies started to come through, and from then on there's no stopping them. There are poppies and cornflowers, daisies and some rather nice yellowy ones, all next to a sudden sunburst of nasturtiums - and now there's more colour than quite seems seemly. Even the miniature hydrangea is blossoming pink and perky. So this is my indulgence. A positively Jackson Pollock-esque splotch of colour - just from weeds.

Wings and other things

It's been a while since my last post and Summer seems to be sadly settling down into something more normal. But we soldier on - and I have to admit the garden is loving the rain - next post I promise some pictures of our curiously sudden Wildflower Corner with a plethora of brightest orange nasturtiums - suddenly, suddenly we have colour in the garden and it's ultimately cheering.

Anyway, back to what's been going on... The garden is springing along, with the second crop of rocket and spinach coming along. We're now digging up potatoes, cropping cavolo nero and picking green beans. The kale looks almost ready too. The pak choi sits there dispiritedly wondering if we're ever going to release it from its bed of pain. Sad, but we still can't get to it. Ooh and we have lots of orange tomatoes, which will stay thus and so could adorn a bacon sandwich on Sunday morning.

So, I'm still not buying any veg but I have made a discovery of a Farmers market in Penge just down the road from the Sibling (new character everyone - brace yourselves...). And whatever you can't get there, there is a really excellent butchers just round the corner. I bought some truly good chicken liver pate from Tom's Chickens as well as the most enormous wings you have ever seen - almost pterodactyl in size, but meatier and obviously less leathery... 8 to a pack and barely a couple of quid.

So what did I do with them? Well, for a start we could only manage 3 each but I heartily recommend them for lunch the next day so cook as many as you can fit in a tin. Cover with hearty amounts of olive oil, salt and paprika and roast for 40-45 mins at about 200C. Meanwhile, make a dressing of handful of parsley and sprig of rosemary, finely chopped with garlic. Stir in juice of a lemon, a drizzle of sherry (dry please) and enough olive oil to make it pourable. Chopped chilli, (about a tsp, but as much as you like, bearing in mind the paprika), salt and pepper and leave to sit. When the wings are golden and sticky, spoon over the dressing and leave for 5-10 minutes to cool. (I say this in retrospect - I have no fear of molten food but MCD squeals like a girl if anything is above room temperature, so burnt fingers were a minor issue last night).

With it: runner beans cut into aesthetically pleasing diamond shapes, lightly cooked, then turned in a dressing of finely chopped shallots, red wine vinegar and olive oil, all piled on top of shredded sorrel.

Reasons to be grateful...

It is summer. Yes it's hot but if it wasn't, we would be living somewhat more north than here. It would be much colder and we wouldn't have roses, bbqs, daisies, broad beans or a childish love for a paddling pool, be it in inflatable form or a mere bucket.

Yes it's sweaty and goodness, how can one sleep at night, but at least we're not shivering under a double duvet and 2 blankets rubbing our chilblains and dreading the morning stumble around in the pitch darkness of a gloomy chilly morning with a trenchant, icy swirl of wind and rain to look forward to.

We can:
1. Get up earlier and have so much more day.
2. Leave the house in roughly what we're wearing.
3. Eat outside, enjoying the greedy wheezes of the baby blackbirds while sipping a cool drink and eating something fabulously crisp and refreshing.
4. Enjoy salad - my preference is for a Thai dressing. Cooling in the extreme.
5. Sleep naked - so much sexier than having to devolve oneself of cumbersome pyjamas, socks and diving into bed, teeth chattering before getting warm.
6. Have seemingly endless evenings - how far the possibilities stretch when there's a golden sunset.
7. Drink rosé without scrunching up your face or feeling out of kilter.
8. Every weekend feels like a mini-break - no matter what you're doing, it's better with sunshine and even better horizontal in a chair with a bikini on.
9. Not worry about BO because everyone has it. Unless they're botoxed - and what is wrong with a good musky sweat up (this from the girl with no sense of smell...)
10. The colours, people, the colours. The sky is so endlessly blue, you could be anywhere in the world, but you're here, it's Wimbledon and could it be any better?

Let's be grateful we've got a summer. Now if they'd just cancel Glastonbury, we might get rid of torrential monsoons as well.

More notes on this cheese-making malarkey

So, let's start with the edifying and good: Last night I made 2 tiny simple supper dishes just for me - broad beans with bacon and cream, and the first tiny courgettes avec flowers, sliced, fried briefly in garlic, tipped onto toasted sourdough, drizzled with yoghurt and gaily scattered with basil and mint. Delicious. A triumph, my dear.

All of which is a delaying tactic, you may think. Well, you're right. Where were we? Oh yes, watching the goats cheese drain its life blood away over 2 days and 2 nights. So drained was it, that the end result was a mere 100g of cheese. Delicate, delicious, fresh, not very goaty-y, but definitely on the side of paucity. Now I am at a loss to explain this, following the instructions as exactly as I did. I even took a quick survey of the temperature of my finger to see if I was too unstable to estimate body temperature, but no, I'm reasonably normal. I went back to the ingredients, and lo - the rennet's expiry date is July 2009. Now my instinct is to say it's a bit like dried yeast, which gets panicky at least a month before its expiry date and so our baking cupboard is littered with half-finished packs of fainthearted yeast. It's the only thing I can think of, so I am going to email old Hugh and see if they think this could be the reason....

Anyway, back to the story. This somewhat surprising result left me 650g of cheese to the worse. Consequently, it had to be bought, which - let me add - ain't cheap, so if you're making this recipe with bought goats cheese, think carefully, cos it came to about £15 in the cheese shop (not a famous one). It was salted, but not too much and fresh and tangy in a way/whey (ha) that would hopefully enliven my pallid contribution.

Mixed the goats cheeses, 2 whisked eggs, 75g sugar (no semolina or oatmeal - who wants a sandy cheesecake?) and baked it (without base) in the oven for about 25 mins at I think 170C. And the result was good. It was a little dense, but that was to be expected and quite tangy, but cooking does bring out the goat taste, to the extent that MCD - who is an ardent goat fan on many levels - felt it a bit OTT and didn't really come back for seconds.

I will be posting a photo of the finished result. Feelings on this particular experiment - far too much hassle for a cheesecake, but for making your own cheese, it's low-effort and easy. Just watch your rennet.

More notes... An update

We may have a success on our hands... The cheese has dripped for 2 days now and I am left with a handful of curd. There was a lot of whey. I have thrown that out, for a lack of pigs to throw it at. I haven't tasted the cheese yet, but my sister assures me it smells goat-y. I take this as a good sign.

Tomorrow I can make the cake.

Notes from an amateur cheesemaker

I've found this short series of River Cottage a bit more engaging than they have been of late, although I wish I could get my hands on Hugh's scripts - good grief... Anyway, last week I was completely inspired by his goats cheese making and turning said cheese into a baked cheescake.
I downloaded the recipe from the site and it's so simple - goats milk and rennet. That's it.

So, ingredients purchased, I got cheese-ifying. I heated the milk to a body-temperature 37C, removed it from the heat and added the rennet according to the instructions - 10 drops per pint, therefore roughly 35 drops. I gave it a quick stir and went off to read in the garden for the recommended 15 minutes while the curd and whey separated.

20 minutes later, the whole is still decidedly liquid. I checked the instructions, made a phone call to my colleague, who's done this kind of thing before, whose advice was 'give it a bit longer and add some lemon juice' and left it for another 20 minutes. I tried slicing a knife through it and the knife scored remained - looking more hopeful. I tested a bit by adding a spoonful to a sieve (on the premise that if it doesn't slip through the sieve, we're good to go with the muslin...). It held. So, dear reader (I can feel the hot breath of your anticipation on the back of my neck... go away), I lined a sieve with muslin and spooned it in. I wasn't hopeful - like really loose blancmange. I'm not entirely sure Hugh's estimate is spot-on - Christ knows what he put in his, although I wouldn't blame the cheese for getting a move on if it thought it was on TV.

I let it drip through for a good half-hour before taking it upstairs and hanging it from an elaborate contraption involving a bamboo cane, a stepladder, the bed and a large bowl - it's still there this morning. There is a lot of whey, people, a lot of whey.... And not much bloody cheese in the muslin, so my doubts about the rennet remain and now my fear is I shall have to sully my virginal goats cheese with shop-bought...

I'm making the cake itself on Saturday for a BBQ. At this stage, it may just be a small mound of goats cheese and some poached gooseberries for pudding, but you never know. I may be able to do a Marie Antoinette and let there be cake.