Dorset Apple Cake


There must be so many differing recipes for this cake but a friend of mine brought her version in for her birthday cake and it was so light and full of fruit that I nagged her for the recipe.   

A very popular cake to serve instead of a pudding, which does not last very long in our house nor for that matter did it last in the staffroom on my friend’s birthday.  I am sure an airtight tin and a good hiding place might help.

Ingredients  – I will give rough measurements with this 
225 g   plain flour
1 teaspoon of cinnamon 
1 1/2 teaspoons of baking powder
110 g butter
225g of peeled, cored and finely chopped apples –  I used a bit more and they were not that finely chopped
juice of 1/2 a lemon in a bowl of water
110g unrefined granulated sugar
75g currants or raisins 
2 large eggs

I am suppose to use a loose bottom cake tin but as I don’t have one I used my Christmas square tin and greased it really well.



I like to prepare my ingredients before I start, so I chopped all my apples into chunks and left them in a bowl of water into which I had squeezed the lemon.





Mix the flour, baking powder and cinnamon together.








Add the butter and rub it in as if you were making crumble 







Stir in the sugar followed by the dried fruit then the apples








Beat the eggs really well so they give the cake the light airy feel that was so good.   







Now it is time to mix the eggs into the mixture.  With a large spoon stir the mixture well so that it now resembles a dough, clingy and thick.  Make sure you get to the very bottom of the bowl and mix all the dry ingredients in well.  







Turn the mixture into the tin and smooth the top out.     Sprinkle with more sugar before covering lightly with greaseproof paper.

Cook the cake in a low heat oven 160C (325F) for about an 1 1/4 hours if the top is not completely golden remove the greaseproof paper and finish off for about 10 mins.

Remove from the oven and leave for about 10 minutes before turning out.

Serve with a dollop of Devon Clotted Cream if you can get it or double cream goes wonderfully with this.   My boys quite like ice-cream especially if I serve it still warm.


Enjoy this and let me know what you think.

Tiggy
Find out what I am up to in my other blog  Tiggy Hayes
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Princess

So just maybe I went down to the local tattoo parlour and had the words mug or gullible tattooed across my forehead.

I know I should learn to say no but sometimes it is not so easy.

I was on my way to work when someone banged on the door of my home.  Thinking it was a delivery that we had been waiting for, for over a week I rushed to the door and flung it open.  There on the doorstep, no coats and snow fluttering all around was a friend and her children.

The last people I had expected to see following their sudden departure to a safe place.   She was nearly in tears and the children had sombre and strained faces which lit up as I pulled them in, out of sight and into the warmth.

Delighted as I was to see them, I was somewhat surprised.

They had come home briefly to say goodbye to the cat they left behind.  There was nowhere they could keep her and she was to be put down.  It was such a shame, she explained because they were only in temporary accommodation and as soon as she was settled they would be able to have her back.

The children were of course distraught.

I have to confess I am not a cat lover.  Yes I have a wonderful relationship with my friend Natty; I look after her cat when she is away and in return she looks after our rabbits but it a reciprocal arrangement that does not mean I am particularly fond of cats.   Why when you go to someone’s house does the cat always single me out to sit on my lap when I am probably the only person in the room who really does not want it.

I already knew what was coming; every argument and logical reason was running through my mind.   I work, Sexy Sporty Dad works, the boys are at school all day.  It is bad enough trying to get them to acknowledge the rabbits they begged and pleaded and promised to look after.  We don’t need any more pet commitments.

But somehow the words didn’t quite come out like that.

If we could just take the cat until the family were sorted then at least they would not need to put her down for no reason.  Her children would see their precious cat again and my boys might realise that pets are a commitment and cease their continual nagging to get one.

No, it is such a small word, but it takes such a lot of effort and determination to utter.

The next thing I know I am walking to work having left one cat “princess” locked in my utility room.  I did manage to remove the sausages I had thawing in the sink and hoped she would not chew through the coats and shoes in her distress.  It had been the parting words that struck such a chord;  “her babies are due any day now and she needs looking after”.

How was I ever going to tell Sexy Sporty Dad what I had agreed to or not.  The boys would be ok with the idea.  Staff at work brought me back down to earth.  “they need to exercise, they need the run of the house.  There at least I am adamant I do not want animals in my kitchen, upstairs, in fact inside at all; but she is an inside cat.   They need food and care and vets bills especially if she is going to have babies.   And really what was I thinking, did I really think the family would come back and get her when they were settled.  Past history told me otherwise and by then the cat would be established and probably several offspring to boot.

The best advice I was given by several people was to take the cat to the cat’s protection and let them re-home her.    Every sensible fibre of my being tells me this is what I should do. Every long term plan or that matter short term plan doesn’t involve pet sitting.    We have enough issues with the local cats using our garden and sitting watching our rabbit hutches

I am also the proud owner, albeit temporary owner I am supposed to believe, of one very smelly cat litter box which is enough for me to want to give the animal away instantly.

So my dilemma is do I keep this cat to add to our already chaotic lives with the threat of kittens appearing on the scene very soon.   What about the risk, my boys become attached to the cat and her babies, before the family settle enough to reclaim their pet.   Or do I leave the cat’s protection league to sort the cat and future offspring out and wash my hands of the whole thing.  Then I will have to face her children if and when they next appear and tell them I have given away their beloved pet.

Writing

I have written a strong piece about an old home which was well received.   Just this month I had to write a piece about finding a body which opened up all kinds of avenues to explore.  I hope I have given the reader just enough to feel mixed emotions and to leave them wondering who, how, where and when.

Time runs away so quickly month by month that I have little time to work on Memories but I do the odd bit.  I am looking for someone to read through it for accuracy in the professional sense but also someone who can comment on basic editing which no matter how many times I look at it I only read the correct intonation or tense and not what I may actually have written.  Only now do I really understand the importance of an editor.

Update on the cat saga.

I did ring the cat’s protection league and guess what?  They are unable to take her from me at this point in time but I am now on the list.   The better news was that they paid

Princess

Princess

for a visit to a vet.  We have a young year old cat with about 4 weeks till she gives birth.   She has now been de-flead and wormed courtesy of the cats protection league and I have a new best friend at the league.  But we still have the cat and the boys are now calling her Princess and the cuddles she craves are being given freely and willingly except from me.

And that was just a Monday morning!

 

Tiggy

Check out my cooking blog at Teatime Treats with Tiggy

 

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Potato and Leek Soup



Saturday lunchtime during the cold miserable winter will find me at home having made a pot of warming soup with some home made bread to complement it.  I have a huge repertoire of differing soups but we always come back to the family favourite; Potato (and leek).    With three fussy boys and an abhorrence of any kind of green vegetables the soup soon became just Potato; I get away with it as the veg is all puréed at the time of serving.

This is quick and simple to make, but like most good soups does benefit for leaving to simmer for an hour or so.  I like the ease of hardly chopping the vegetables and just throwing them in the pot.

Ingredients 
butter /oil
onion skinned and chopped roughly 
leeks (top and tailed) then roughly chopped
potatoes – lots peeled and chopped into large chunks
sherry 
stock 
cream to serve 
parsley to serve




Heat the butter or oil in a large saucepan
Turn the heat down and add the onions and leeks 
Fry gently




Add the potatoes and toss well 





Add the sherry (my secret ingredient that gives depth to the soup).  I add a good slug and mix the veg well so they are all coated.  

Let the veg cook very gently (low heat) in the sherry till it has all gone and appears almost caramalised.

Add your stock.  Use plenty and you can top up with water if you do not have enough.  (I use my own stock – ham water, chicken bones and veg boiled up – this makes the soup  already quite salty but a stock cube works just as well)

Bring the soup to the boil and turn the heat down again allowing the soup to simmer.   This can be served after the potatoes are soft enough to begin to break down, however the longer the soup is left the deeper the taste.


When you are ready to serve the soup, put it in the blender and liquidise it.  It should be thick and warming, rather than liquid.



Serve with a spiral of cream, a parsley garnish for the more discerning and home made bread still warm from the oven (Middle Son made these delicious cheese buns)


Enjoy.  Let me know your secret ingredient and what it brings to a simple bowl of soup

Tiggy 

Find out what I am up to in my other blog  https://tiggyhayes.wordpress.com/
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Team Player

Are you a team player?   I try but sometimes it is difficult to be altruistic enough to be a true team player in sport.   The ultimate aim of any game is to win, that is why we take part and there is no denying it.  Remember the old adage, quoted by parents and coaches alike “there is no I in team; it does ring true in sports that involve groups.  For many years, I too have passed on this very same message to the boys of No 1 Son’s rugby team who did not score the actual tries or the conversions; trying to convince them they all did well as a squad.

The job of the wingers in rugby is to get the ball out and over the line.   The job of the kicker is to convert the ball that is why it goes to him.  The team are there to use their wingers and get the ball to them.  In football it is exactly the same; the job of the striker is to score the goal, although anyone can score goal or try if they are in the right place.    Netball is a little more formal as the ball is passed to the goal scorer or help scorer and only they shoot for goal.

I remember many years ago trying to work out who was eligible for an end of season trophy.   A parent whose fast son had scored a lot of tries out on the wing was adamant there should be a special award for the top three scorers of which his son came third.    I on the other hand was against this new award.

As all three would get awards for other commitments to the team  it was not that they would leave the award ceremony with nothing.   I put my vote behind the solid support award that went to 8 players; who may not have been high scoring in points, but in team value played a crucial part in each game.    When they played, they were always in the right place and read the game well enough to know that if they passed to another player the team would score rather than keeping the ball.   Without these guys getting the ball to the right people the tries would never have been made and the points never won.

At the time it caused a fair bit of acrimony but on the night of the awards not only the three top scorers came away with their own glory so did eight other boys who felt special at the recognition they too had unexpectedly received.  Parents were enormously proud of their offspring who never normally got noticed because they were not playing in the glory positions.   It was the reaction of the team that delighted me most; they were particularly praising including the three top scorers who were thrilled their team mates were also valued.

Mini Son is not a rugby player.    He is very good at rugby, a very intuitive player who knows exactly where to be on the pitch and is fast enough to get the ball out and be a very high scoring winger.  His passion however is football!   His dream like many other boys is to be an international striker and play at the very top of the league and the country.   Unfortunately for him he again is very intuitive and reliable so he is usually left in defence to field the last chance post before the goalie.   A position he hates as he feels he misses so much play and the opportunity to strike time and time again.

He naturally was picked for the local area football tournament this week, trying to win the trophy for the school. Having stood on this same field for many years now; my final tournament I really hoped we could win something to show for all those years as supportive parent. For the first two games Mini Son  was in defence prohibiting any would be opposition striker the chance of success.  He ducked and weaved to claim the ball and twist it away.  He has a repertoire of succinct little touches using his feet, his head and his chest to tap the ball to safety.

Changing the team around slightly he was moved for the third game to a midfield position which if nothing else challenged his fitness levels to the maximum as he ran the length of the pitch passing and saving and winning ball to pass to his team mates.    He brought the ball into striking distance and provided several opportunities for the team to try for goal.  He moved to the other end of the pitch in time to defend and block yet more opposition chances.  He performed reverse kicks over his head to stop the ball going out of play and tackled bigger boys than himself squirreling around the melee before tapping it out to his supporting teammates.

The fourth game took place immediately following the third and with a swift change of sub the team remained the same; still in midfield he organised his team and encouraged them to be where they should be.  He was quick to spot an undefended player and get the ball out to him or to mark up where the ball was most likely to land.   The game although on a small pitch moved from end to end closely fought by both teams; a place in the final four at stake.

As this game ended we were called through for the pool results.  The top two from each group would go on to play the final games.   Sadly we were beaten by just one point into third place so would be going home.   Thanks were said to the youngsters from the top school who had put the games together refereeing them, line judging and scoring.  Thanks to the hosts and the adults who had helped.  Then the organiser surprised us by announcing she had had the youngsters out watching the games to choose 4 players for her special sportsmanship medals.  These medals were for players who did not hog the limelight, played as a team player and supported their teamates.

A hush fell over the assembled children as she called out “Mini Son” along with three other boys.  They were called up to receive their medals and returned to our team

a medal for show

a medal for show

where I just had enough battery left in the camera to take a wobbly couple of proud mummy photos.

As a mummy I know we went home with the top prize, but for the car full of miserable players I tried all the old placations “it is the taking part that counts, you came first or second in all the games you played, it was an afternoon out of school.”

Finally it was the chocolate biscuits and the promise to drive slowly back to school and miss the afterschool SATS club that seemed to ease the pain of not winning.  Each child however had a little wear of the medal giving them all a share in the pride and delight of being part of the team to win the team player medal.

So for all those years of standing on the cold, damp sidelines of primary school pitches I am as proud as any parent with a medal that encompasses all the altruistic team play and finally a win.

 

Tiggy

Check out my cooking blog at Teatime Treats with Tiggy

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Chewy Breakfast Bar



This is another of my sneaky ways of getting fruit into the children and even better I got Mini Son to help me make them.   They were very popular and just because they have cereal in them does not mean they have to be kept for breakfast.  

The sugar, butter content probably negates the fibre from the fruit but it is better than a lot of the snacks you can buy over the counter and the children love these.

Ingredients 

100g or so of dried fruit – I used a premixed supermarket pack
100g of mixed seeds (these were included in my pack)
280g of oats – i used a mix of jumbo and porridge
50g of multi-grain hoop cereal 
200g of butter
200g sugar – light muscavado 
200g golden syrup



Mix the oats, fruit, seeds and cereal together in a bowl 

Using a large heavy based pan melt the butter, add the sugar and then the golden syrup gently stirring until the sugar has completely melted.



Once melted remove from the heat and add the dry ingredients stirring well 


Pour out into the baking tray and even out.   I tend to use the  pampered chef bar pan which I still line with greaseproof paper with but this is more to lift out than prevent sticking.  If you use a standard baking tray make sure you grease it well.

Bake at a low heat 160C/gas 3 for about 20 minutes until they are golden brown then remove and leave to cool completely.   I score the bars when they come out of the oven and again when they are cool to make it easier to cut them.

In theory these could last 3 days in an airtight tin in practice I cannot get them to last more than a day.  No matter where I hide the tin it is found and all I get are a few fruit crumbs.


Enjoy these and get the children to help which will make them even more tempting.      You could coat the top in melted chocolate or dip each bar half way in once they are cool enough.  Mine don’t last that long.   I think they are very similar to flapjack but my children prefer these.

Tiggy 

Check out what I am up to in my other blog Tiggy Hayes

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Question of Balance

It is half-term and as usual we welcomed the break from school routine with friends coming round and a late night party.    The format of the night has evolved as the children grow up and have social lives and work commitments of their own.  The celebration remains just that a celebration that we have made it to the half term without too much stress and strain.  A few bottles are opened and a take away ordered.

So what does the week’s break mean for my family.  Sexy Sporty Dad still has to go to work, although he has managed to secure three days holiday with us.  He plans to paint the downstairs rooms and try to find a few hours to do a practice cycle ride.  Practising for what doesn’t really matter as long as he can get out on the road and feel the chill of the wind whipping past him as he pushes his body onwards through the pain barrier, ignoring the beads of icy sweat freezing before they have a chance to fall.   I suspect the gym will be well frequented this week  although he may use the better weather to go on a run.

No 1 Son will be bored.   He should be studying and has a stack of homework he could be doing but he will go out of his way to avoid.   He too will spend the time running, visiting the gym, playing tennis.  He will train for a rugby match that he will not play in as it is for the older colts cup but he will train.   He will turn his nose up at the meals I put in front of him because their calorific  value is too high.   He will forgo his breakfast in return for a whey product that he assures me is not banned or illegal.   He will pick at his lunch only eating the bare minimum before exercising to the point of collapse and stuffing himself with a snickers bar, a wispa bar and a packet of crisps.  Then he will return to bother his brothers; getting bolshy about their time playing x-box not through any concern for their slouchy lack of exercise but because they are hogging the machine.   Still full of chocolate and crisps he will only allow a tiny plate of food in front of him at tea time.

Middle Son who should be spending his week revising for GCSE’s will entertain his friends and Mini son’s friends on the x-box, I-pad or PS2 before cycling down to the local supermarket to stack up on his private supply of chocolate, pizza, croissants and crisps.   His allowance which is meant to help him survive the month with some independence will be blown probably in the first couple of days.  He will do some studying for his maths module which he takes soon after the holidays are finished.  The effort put in to get the studying done should guarantee an A but unfortunately the effort will be from Sexy Sporty Dad and I who will be drained by the end of the week remembering how to do factorising and line graphs.

Mini son will enjoy the holidays as his friends all live locally and he will probably go to stay over at his best friends for one day possibly stretching overnight.  He will play on the x-box but get bored quickly and want to go out and run around.  He will find himself playing rugby, football, cycling or scootering  around the estate with any children prepared to forgo the constant trigger thumb of  console battles.  He will be up early so he doesn’t miss any of the holiday.   He too will come up with elaborate plans and excuses not to do any reading or writing; despite my best efforts to get him to enter Chris Evans’ 500 words competition.

So what will I do with my week.  It may be half term week but working at a school is only one of my many jobs.   Having a school holiday will give me time to concentrate on

Weighing it all up

Weighing it all up

one of the other tasks that I try to balance.  I will write some articles and get the magazine to the printers, I will update both blogs and the magazine web site.  I will have my hair cut and coloured so that I have a few hours to read my writing magazine.  I will come out revived and determined to find time to rewrite memories, planning my time to include editing time as well as writing time for new fresh copy.  I will spend time cooking, clearing, chauffeuring, washing, shopping and being wife and mother on constant call for anyone else’s needs.  I need to pop round and see a couple of houses for my mother who is toying with the idea of moving close by if her house sells. I may, late at night steal a few moments to browse some holiday destinations;  I know we can’t afford them,  we cannot pick a suitable time to go and do the boys really want the same thing as Sexy Sporty Dad and I;  for that matter do we want the same holiday.  I can dream! Sun, sea sand and someone on hand for my every need ahhhh.   One day when my ship comes in the scales will balance until then I continue dream and keep writing.

Writing

I don’t normally double up on my blogs but inspiration comes in funny ways;  this is the piece I have sent into the magazine for March.

Following the Dream   When I was little I was subjected to the age old question; “what are you going to do when you grow up?”  It was easy I wanted to write a book,  I wanted to see my stories in print giving pleasure to generations of readers.

In those days my heroine was not J K Rowling but probably Enid Blyton whose Famous Five stories  left me thirsty for adventure. I saw criminal conundrums  or puzzling problems requiring  solving in everything I did.  My poor teachers would tear out their hair complaining that my imagination was just too vivid and could I not just do the homework devoid of embellishment and fictitious characters.

Obviously my parents were concerned about this ethereal world I frequented and over the years I was persuaded to grow up and get a job that paid money with firm foundations in the world of security and career paths.  

It didn’t go away; that niggle, that itch to put down on paper a story made up in the dim recesses of my mind that had escaped my teachers’ tyranny and my parents’ persuasion.  Recently I was rewarded by seeing a fellow blogger publish her first novel.  Hannah Evans is someone I identify with strongly and her book MOB Rule epitomises my life nearly as well as if I had written it myself.  MOB  = Mother of Boys.  She is me ten years ago except; she has taken the bull by his proverbial horns and accomplished what she set out to do rather than waffle around the issue and keeping  the desire hidden.  If ever I need a prod to kick start my flagging writing career here it is. 

I have followed Hannah Evans for a while having met a friend of hers who commented on how similar my writing and hers is.   I came away determined to find the blog the friend had shown me.   All I  could remember of her was she was a mother of boys and had a blog –  you try googling MOB.

Mob ruleFinally my birthday arrived and unsuspecting, my sister asked me to wait for my birthday present;  she would explain when she gave it to me.   A week later I received the gift.   MOB Rule  the book had been published only that week; hence the wait.   I had a copy literally hot of the press.  It was not only finding this writer that delighted me, but Sexy Sporty Dad who rarely; except under severe duress reads anything I write, was hooked.   He has not put the book down denying me any chance of reading it.  However from his comments and gales of giggling I know he is identifying closely with FOB.

Go Hannah go and yes those scales will tip towards giving me time; after all my boys are old enough to join in and be an active participant in this family of ours.  She is still coping with the young demanding 24/7 needs of tiny tots so here goes.

 

Tiggy

Check out my cooking blog at Teatime Treats with Tiggy

 

 

 

 

 

 

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Neanderthal Sport

Having lost the battle of the TV remote I was forced to watched one of the six nations games.   I have of course watched many games of rugby over the years but usually with a vested interest in one of the teams winning.  To be honest whichever side won the match didn’t matter to me; what struck me more than anything else during this particular battle was how close to Neanderthal man we still are.

Great hulks of unkempt hairy muscle closing in on the prey with grunts and groans.  They hunt in droves to win their prize and whisk it away supported by other pack beasts

Neanderthal Prop?

Neanderthal Prop?

thundering down the pitch. Diving and coveting the quarry so no-one else can take it; whilst opposing creatures maul each other in a bid to steal away the prey.    A quick span of the watching crowd reveal vividly preened and painted females cheering on the brutality taking place in front of them.  The prize, in this instance is not the chance to win the love, ownership or dominance of the female spectators but a title which will elevate their prominence and their masculinity until the next competition.

In fact all games, hockey, football, tennis have an element of raw brutality, courage and dominance about them.  The Olympic games, the world cups even inter club competitions are all about being the best, the king of the pride, the undisputed top dog.   Winners not born to this elevated position; win by strength, determination and often sacrifice.  When the time comes, and it will come they will lose to younger fitter adversaries as their vitality falters.

The highly emotive and controversial sport of hunting is another battle of prehistoric supremacy lingering on into modern sport.  A team of contemporary well turned out hunters chasing down not; an unsuspecting ball but a cunning  fox or swift stag.  Opposition protesters protecting the prey who will go to devious extremes to prevent the chase.  Protesting has  evolved now taking its place as part of this quick thinking sport, where  three sides do battle;  hunters, protesters and prey and in this case  it is not always the hunters who win, often the quick thinking cunning can outwit the brawn and magnitude of an advancing hunt.   How many protesters will go home and catch the highlights of the six nation matches later on.      Watching and cheering as the bloodied winners leave the pitch in triumph when hours before their prize as antagonists was preventing the bloodied winners catching from prey.

Of course I feel blessed that my children do not behave in this pre-historic, grunting and intimidating manner.

Although watching No 1 Son playing rugby there are some very similar stances, builds and grunts.  The thunder on the pitch as they stampede towards another try before meeting the opposition with a deafening crunch is definitely reminiscent of the charge from out of control wildebeest. Thankfully No 1 Son’s team-mates are able to revert back from their animalistic instincts following a shower and cooked meal as do the international players.

I am assured by parents and friends alike that the grunts and shoulder shrugging along with the fierce dagger looks from Middle son is perfectly normal and he will grow out of it rather than regress further into caveman mentality.   Maybe if he played more rugby he could channel his barbaric behaviour into something constructive.  His rugby coach is certainly impressed when he finds time to turn up.

Meanwhile Mini Son is still perfecting the art of defending his ball before kicking it past the goalie to score.  Being the fastest and the best at football in the whole school is the only prize he desires. Sexy Sporty Dad and I are immensely proud that he has been chosen to represent the local Area Athletics Academy; one of only 9 to have been picked from hundreds who train weekly. I am not sure how the animal adrenaline will spur him but feel without a ball in front of him his focus will not quite be as motivated.

Having sat through two brutal demonstrations of supremacy and violence I have missed the Saturday afternoon Catherine Cookson weepie on Yesterday; one of the multi channels I could have inflicted on my family had I won the remote control.   Maybe if I am cunning and think like the prey I can hide the remote before the beginning of the Sunday game.  I can then enjoy a serious weep together with my box of Kleenex and a hot water bottle.

Writing

I am quite excited that I have actually managed to do some writing.  It was not a press release or a blog it was a short story.   I was given a brief for a story between 1500 and 1700 words relating to a valentines card for a competition.  I thought I might have a go and laboriously managed to get 600 forced words down setting the scene and describing my characters, without knowing where the story was going.   For a couple of days I pondered and added a few words till at 900 I gave up.  I left the characters pondering the card sorry I could not do them more justice.

Two days later the story had mulled and churned through my daily routine, I had tarnished passers-by with the characteristic flaws and failings of my heroine and her workmates.   I re-read the story.  I cut whole chunks as I went, adding in little phrases that had been brimming over the days, to the now growing text.  I became the heroine receiving the unwanted card but why and who from.    I added in all the possible senders filling in little tit bits of information and back fill.  Suddenly I was in full flight and had to finish the story but I was still unsure of who the card came from.

Time now to reveal the sender; the words just tumbled out surprising me as much as any future reader.   I suspect the novel I am reading at the moment may have something to do with the surprise.  I didn’t even realise that I had thought that seriously about the subject except as a background to my current reading. There it was though out and on the page.

My feeble 900 words had developed and expanded into 2641.  I have pared it down now to 1720 with judicious editing but where to lose those extra 20 words.  I feel like a slimmer who has reached a plateau just before her final target weight although I wish it was that easy to slim without noticing it.    I still have a few days before the competition closes so will see what my writing group think.  I may not even send it off as I don’t ever do very well at these things.  The fact remains that I have managed to write and come up with a passable piece of fiction.   If I could only find the same inspiration to finish my re-edit of Memories, it may actually see the inside of a publisher’s office.

Tiggy

Check out my cooking blog at Teatime Treats with Tiggy

 

 

 

 

 

 

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Slow Roast Crackling Pork



Once upon a time in our household I was the only person to like crackling.  Unfortunately; but maybe better for my waistline as I grow older, the whole family now loves it.  

Ingredients 
Good joint of pork 
salt
olive oil 
onions 
cooking apples 
water 



I cut the apples in half and the onion into quarters, this will depend on how many you are using.  Place in a roasting dish as a table.


Check how the skin is scored. I find I need to cut it to the ends and more thinly than the butcher has done.     

Then smooth the skin with olive oil and salt.  Place on top of your bed of apples.

Add the water to the base of the roasting tray.   It can cover the apples and onions but should not cover the pork. 


Put it in the oven for about 40 minutes (depending on the size) on high 240C/ gas 9. The skin should turn into wonderfully crisp crackling.   Keep the dish topped with water to stop the joint drying out and the apples and onions from burning.


Cover the roasting dish and turn the heat right down to about 150C/gas 2 and leave for about 3 1/2 hours.



You don’t need to carve the joint it just falls to pieces and melts in the mouth.   Take it out at least 30 minutes before carving to let it rest.   It gives you a chance to wack the heat right up again for those deliciously crispy roasties!



Serve with all the trimmings, roast potatoes, veg and cider gravy.   

Taking out the  apple and onions from the roasting dish and transferring them to a small bowl you now have your pre-made apple sauce.  The onions should have sweetened the apples but a touch of sugar could be added if still required.

 I use the roasting tray to make the gravy, scraping up all the little bits for added flavour.  Cider goes well instead of wine in this or use a little apple juice. 

Enjoy and let me how you adapt this

Tiggy

Find out what I am up to in my other blog  Tiggy Hayes



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Déjà Vu

I would never class myself as well off in monetary terms, it is an aspiration yet to be reached.  However outside the world of filthy lucre I feel I have been richly rewarded; my ever enduring Sexy Sporty Dad, three brave and beautiful boys, five loquacious siblings and two enterprising parents not to mention a strong network of faithful friends and relatives.

Many years ago my royal marine father decided to escape the world of regimented rules to bring up his burgeoning brood; I was just four years of age.   Taking an enormous risk he mortgaged his life and bought a very run down village rectory. “Lawrence of Clyst st Lawrence” had resonance that money could not purchase. With no income coming in to speak of, he went to teacher training college and obtained a civvy qualification as numbers five and six of his children made their appearance on the world.

updated and modern but still housing the ghosts of the past

updated and modern but still housing the ghosts of the past

 

The cold, dark, haunted historic house became the most beloved childhood home anyone could wish for.  From the word go, the house had to pay its own way and so developed a long list of enterprising endeavours for my mother.  Initially taking in lodgers in one wing of the house kept us from poverty while my father trained. Later homing a small number of foreign students during the holidays led to a sustained period of the house become a locally renowned international school with pupils as young as 6 being left with us to avoid kidnap or worse at home.  It was not an unusual site to arrive home to a diplomatic limousine parked in our drive; the body guards with bulging lapels ready to shoot at any perceived threat.    My mother would receive a brown envelope with thousands of pounds in Stirling, American dollars or other untraceable cash to cover their board, lodgings and education for the year to come before a parent might spare the time to see these poor children again.

The school funded the construction of a small but well used swimming pool which led to years of fun filled frolics along with a hand painted tennis court.   Finally there was enough money in the pot to revolutionise part of the house with an antiquated central heating system.  With the numbers of growing children requiring food, sustainability became a necessity and we acquired the beautiful big eyed Susie; a jersey milking cow who provided us with milk, cream and often butter a plenty.  A series of runt piglets passed through our garden saved from an early death; brought up on rich jersey milk and copious peelings to develop a flavour uniquely ours when their time finally came.  Chickens too provided eggs and Sunday lunch and most of our summer vegetables together with the copious strawberries all came from the walled kitchen garden, bigger and better kept than most modern day allotments.

There were not many things that came into the house that did not pay their way in some form,and Tiggy was no exception.  A pedigree golden Labrador arrived; no more than a puppy saved from a dubious existence,  who became my father’s constant companion, not only did he sire two offspring which we kept he also sired 90% of the puppies born in a 10 mile radius of the house.   He also became known as a ferocious guard dog protecting the house and all children who played within, as the postman and other tradesmen found out on more than one occasion.   Now long since buried in the rose garden of the house he called home he gave me my pen name and will live on in my writing forever.

The school came to an end as less and less foreign children were requiring an education from such a young age so the house became a bed, breakfast and evening meal accommodation.   The clientele were executives wanting a particularly luxurious weekly accommodation with quality home cooked food and stimulating conversation as they were parted from their loved ones.   Regular clients became lifelong friends as they returned time and time again long after the house became a base for growing teenagers and a mother who ventured into the retail business creating one of the first co-operative craft centres with cream teas on tap in the market town of Exeter.

My parents were renowned hosts and the house was always filled with laughter and fun times. Parties were well attended and remembered long after the event.  Unfortunately times change and we grew up and my parents reluctantly sold our childhood home.  They moved several times in the intervening years prior to my father’s death.  So too has the home we all loved metamorphosed through yet another happy family home with the addition of a stable block before now becoming a luxury self-catering holiday home; Old Rectory

Birthdays come and go and every now and again we celebrate a significant one; some we look forward to but more and more now we dread.  My mother has just reached the grand age of 80.  It is difficult to find a suitable present to celebrate such a milestone.  She was never going to learn to paraglide or parachute over the Wiltshire countryside.   Sending her on a cruise or the Orient Express without my father would not have given her the pleasure we would have wanted to gift her. It turned out to be the other way round; she presented us all with an invitation some months back.

For a similar price to what my father had paid in 1967 she was able to hire our home for her birthday weekend.  Calling back her six children now with partners and children of their own the house once again rang with children laughing and playing.  The rooms housed clothes strewn about them while mattresses moved and children slept altogether in the snug that had overseen many a sleeping child in the past.   Saturday night the house rang with champagne and drinks as old friends and relatives again made the trip out for a party.   Memories flooded back as every guest savoured their own sweet reminiscence.  I suspect a few Sunday morning heads were also recalling past parties. The ghosts of the past hiding in every secret cupboard as the modern children re-created our own hiding places.

With a labour saving change to our original living conditions we used the opportunity to bring in caterers to feed us all; our contribution to the weekend’s celebration.  Kate and her lovely staff from Kennford Kitchen laid on the most wonderful meals all weekend.  She was there for a wonderful three course meal on Friday as we all arrived and she provided a fitting array of dishes for Saturday’s party.  She sent our partners and most offspring off on Sunday following a scrumptious roast dinner with sumptuous side dishes and perfect puddings to keep even the hungriest teenager full.    She arrived early each morning and breakfast was cooked and laid out before most people even woke.

It was sentimental stepping out into the driveway that I once had known so well. A turbulent turmoil of emotions collided as I walked to the door.   Slipping the latch and

unchanged over all those years

unchanged over all those years

holding the unchanged dated key in my now grown up hand catapulted a cacophony of conflicting feelings. The house now very luxurious with additional current touches had changed and modernised immensely but the presences of a previous period still pervaded each room.   Laughter lingered from a lost youth while a new generation created their own memories as happiness and hilarity radiated from the hot tub and the soft play room. Enough cousins to make a competition on the multi-games court I once began my non-existent Wimbledon career.  Watching my 17 year old son driving in and around my old haunting ground replicating my own initiation to the world of driving in the same make of car left me with a blow to the solar plexus of emotions.

We raised a large toast to missing friends and relations who had not been able to make the party; some through snow, some because of their own fragile health and some whose mortality had moved on.  Absent they may have been in physicality but omni-present among the ghosts of the past.

my father - in his rightful place

my father – in his rightful place 

Overseeing the whole affair was my father, still in pride of place in front of the fire where I remember him pontificating, presiding and saluting friends and relatives over the years as he hosted many a party.    His story of our childhood was immortalised when his book was published, copies of which are still available through Amazon or requestable at the library; Our Grass Was Greener by Peter G Lawrence.

Returning home to the present day and making my own memories for my children I continue to carry the past not only in my mind but through who I am and what I write.  One day my book Memories will be published and sit alongside my father’s on the bookshelf; maybe!  I of course wish my mother a very happy birthday and hope the memories of the past colliding headlong into the present give her the stamina and strength to embrace the future.  Who knows when we will make it back there again, her 100th?

Tiggy

Check out my cooking blog at Teatime Treats with Tiggy

 

 

 

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Braised Ginger Beef


This is not a quick simple dish.   You need to think about it at least the day before and as I made it in the slow cooker it needs all day to cook slowly and succulently.   A great dish for a Sunday dinner instead of roast or for a warming meal on Saturday evening after a day out in the cold and wet.   

After marinading overnight and then all day cooking the meat just melts in the mouth and the vegetable all fell to bits.  I served it with roasted skins,  caramelised carrots with caraway cabbage.  

Ingredients 
Braising or Stewing Steak cut to bite sized pieces
Carrots sliced
Celery sliced 
Onion  chopped
A bottle of red wine – I used a cheap one which worked very well (the experts say use the most expensive you can afford but I served that in a wine glass along side – delicious)
Thyme – good handful of sprigs
Bay leaves – one or two
Ginger peeled and cut into small bite sized chunks 
Olive oil 

Put the meat into a large basin and cover with the whole bottle of wine.

Leave overnight in the fridge.  

In the morning 

Chop the vegetables and lay them on a small slug of olive oil in a warmed slow cooker pot.




Drain the meat but reserve the juices.   Fry the meat in a separate pan to seal it.  The meat will already be deep in colour having taking in the flavour of the wine.




When browned add to the pot on top of the vegetables 



In the same pan add the remainder of the marinaded wine and and bring to the boil.   


Once boiling a scum will form so remove this and use the rest of the liquid to cover the meat mix.

Add the Thyme and Bay leaves.    Cover and leave cooking for several hours.   

At this point if I was cooking the meat in a conventional stewpot in the oven I would add a quantity of stock,  (beef, chicken or vegetable) to stop it drying out at all, it can be cooked off later but better to keep it moist whilst stewing.

I left it cooking on a low heat for 6 hours and it was heavenly, but you know your cooker best and you know your lifestyle and when you will need to eat.  You could add a few potatoes (new would work best and not mush up).  Leave them to cook in the juices so you could just come in and serve.

This went down so well and had lots of subtle rushes of flavouring.   I had planned to have it again for lunch the next day but it all disappeared that night.

Enjoy and let me know if you can come up with a variation.

For the caramelised carrots I used baby whole carrots (it is good to use whole ones anyway rather than sliced, I chose baby ones).  Place these in boiling water with a good handful of butter and sugar together with a  star anise.  Let the carrots boil away till the water has all gone and they just glaze over.  Serve them without the star anise.

The cabbage was the last minute preparation sliced then cooked in just a knob of butter with a handful of pre-roasted caraway seeds added just before serving.   

The inspiration for this meal came from the lovely Tom Kerridge at The Hand and Flowers   

.

Tiggy

Find out what I am up to in my other blog  Tiggy Hayes

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