Picnic anxiety

So it's Friday evening and I'm feeling a bit stressed. In fact, I have anxiety about what to put in our picnic tomorrow when we will be going to Wisley to meet up with the husband's great aunt from Australia (henceforth "GAA"). She is already in England staying with another family. Tomorrow, other family (F1), the Recipe Junkie mob, plus another family (F2) are meeting up at RHS Wisley so that we can spend the day together and then we will assume responsibility for GAA.

Now the 2 other families are almost entirely unknown quantities. The wife/mother in F2 is somehow distantly related to the husband, and the wife/mother in F1 is her step (or half - I can't remember which) sister. All quite complicated. F1 includes and 18 month old and F2 includes a 9yr old and a 7 yr old.

I could handle all this except I have only met the adults from F2 once, at a funeral, and the adults of F1 not at all, and I just don't know how to approach 'the picnic'. I don't know if these other children are paragons of virtue who will only eat wholefoods and spurn chocolate in favour of fruit, or faddy fusspots. And secretly (well, not so secretly) I want to produce something that will show my family to be good. I can't guarantee their behaviour, but if I get the food right, then at the picnic at least, I can be pretty sure that for 5 minutes, all will be well, and it's the thought of those 5 minutes that I am clinging on to. So here is the dilemma - do I try and rustle up something delicious, organic and delightful (which the children will probably eat but might - might just - turn their noses up), or suppress my desire to perform as an alpha mummy (exhausting myself into the bargain) and just produce a normal picnic. For the past few days I have been considering the many suggestions for picnic food in the many Good Food magazines I have (in month order) in the study. Should I make ploughman rolls (home baked with cheese and tomato baked into them)? Should I make a fritatta or roast some chicken legs in some exotic marinade? This must, I think, be the current manifestation of my competitive streak.

However, I did nothing about the ploughmans rolls, the fritatta or the chicken legs, and given that it's already after G&T o'clock, and I am blogging you can guess that I have managed to get a grip and head for the middle ground (I should clarify that I do not yet have said G&T in hand). Ham and cheese rolls it will be (peanut butter on crackers for Pink - I would rather pander to her foibles than have her not eat enough and be foul). But I think I might manage some homemade hummus and some carrot sticks to dip, and, as I type, there is in the oven, Nigella's seed cake (from Kitchen). An odd choice, perhaps, but I know that my kids will like it, and I can't help feeling a little bit smug about taking homemade cake along. It's another really easy loaf cake, and it has ground almonds and caraway seeds in it. The smell from the kitchen is divine. And there it is again - that feeling that perhaps F1 or F2 will turn up with homemade cake AND something else (that I can't think of) that will make me feel inadequate (or, heaven forbid, they will have compared notes to come up with a super amazing picnic) . But inadequate I will just have to feel.

In the midst of all this angst, I managed to burn the kids' fishfingers for tea, but at least they'll be able to eat homemade cake tomorrow.

Things are not always as they seem...

...and so there was a perfectly good reason for me to be buying red wine and chocolate at 9.45 this morning. The woman on the till in the Co-op looked at me a bit strangely, and when I said "Honestly it's not that bad" she looked at me again, asked me for my Co-Op card, and when I said I didn't have it and scrabbled round in my pocket and handed over a tenner from among the debris (2 dog biscuits, a couple of old receipts and a furry cola bottle), she said "Are you sure? Looks quite bad to me!".

I maintained a dignified silence and left the shop.

In truth, the reason for the chocolate might seem rather weak, but I'm giving blood later today and I tend to have low iron levels which can stop the Blood service taking my pint. However, after the 8 pints that George had during his first year of chemo, I feel that this is something really important to do, so in the run up to donating, I take measures to boost my iron levels. "Dark chocolate, though" I hear you muse. "Sounds like an excuse to me". Well, there's a thing. When I was discharged from hospital 5 days after having Blue by emergency c section, with low iron levels, I was advised by the hospital not to take iron tablets or eat spinach. Oh no. The advice was very clear - red meat and dark chocolate. I had the best steak of my life that evening - huge, rare and bloody. Unfortunately, that advice also fueled an already frightening relationship with Green & Blacks which only ended when Pink was about 1 and I realised I had put on over 3 stone (to be fair, the circumstances were exceptional, and the choc wasn't the only thing to blame, but even so...). The 3 stone has gone, but I use the opportunity of giving blood to sneak in a few cheeky bars of the good stuff. This morning, it was a bar of co-op dark choc with spices and orange oil, and very delicious it was with my cup of coffee.

You see, although I know you want me to say that red wine works with dark chocolate to increase the absorption of iron, the truth is that the wine is for the chilli this evening. But as I am giving blood and then hopefully going on a rare night out to the cinema this evening, it all needs to be cooked in advance and ready to go. One of my pots of braised mince is out of the freezer ready to be transformed, once I've finished working, the it iwll be a matter of frying some onions and garlic, chucking in the mince, kidney beans and some tomatoes along with some spices and I will have a delicious meal ready for all the family to enjoy. I feel like I am living in some 50s lifestyle show about how to be a good wife and mother. Pass the gin someone.

I know I'm getting old when...

...a good evening involves pottering around, unhindered in the kitchen and making something delicious.

Blue & pink are fast asleep and the husband is off doing good community works keeping the local youth off the streets (probably burning things - but in a controlled scout-type way in woods somewhere) so I had the kitchen to myself. Sarah Raven beckoned yet again, back to page 395 of the Garden Cookbook, and those feta & chard parcels. The husband's great aunt is coming to stay at the weekend. She is an amazing woman of indeterminate age who lives in Australia and comes to Europe every couple of years for a grand tour. She might be 70, or even 80 - but she has the mind and stamina of someone much younger. Anyway, I have been troubled by the catering required for her stay and these parcels look like just the job for Sunday lunchtime.

The recipe is straightforward - fry leek in butter, add the chard leaves (you could use spinach) to wilt, then beat in some feta and parmesan and a beaten egg, and make parcels out of strips of filo pastry. I love this kind of fiddling, making a filling, cutting up the filo and then dolloping in some filling and folding and folding to make little delicious triangles. I have frozen them uncooked, so on Sunday I can take out what I need, brush with egg, roll in sesame seeds and bake till crisp. Can't wait.

I had some filo left  over, but as luck would have it, in the fridge I had some apple mush that I'd baked yesterday with a dollop of honey. I had intended to make baked apples, but I kept breaking the apples up when I was coring them, so just chopped everything up, squeezed some runny honey over the apple and baked it (the oven was on anyway). Earlier this evening, I made some blackcurrant cupcakes (recipe also in Sarah Raven - can you see a new addiction developing?) and had a few blackcurrants left over, so I mixed them in with the apple, and bingo, managed to have just enough to make apple & blackcurrant parcels out of the left over filo.

I've frozen the parcels on 2 trays. One is just the feta & chard, the other is half and half (feta & chard, apple & blackcurrant). I have laid the parcels out on greaseproof and labeled them, but I would lay bets on someone getting an apple & blackcurrant parcel on Sunday...

green soup and onion tart

Maybe it was all those rabbits but I really didn't feel like cooking meat today. Besides, the garden is full of veg, and the weather was horrible so I felt like something warming and comforting. I bought a Good Food mag the other week (October 2011 if you're interested), on the basis of having had a skim though while staying at mum's. There was a recipe for an onion tart (p 40) made in the same way as a tarte tatin, but using a scone base. There's also a similar recipe in Domestic Goddess (p.85 of my edition), so in the interests of crossing another DG recipe off the list, I got out DG too and picked out the best bits of both. I cooked the onions according to Nigella (30 mins, rather than 5-8 mins specified in GF), and did this before I went up to school to collect the kids. I also used Nigella's scone base recipe. The GF one used wholemeal flour and in the interests of getting the kids to eat it, I thought I'd go with all plain flour - the browner food is, the more suspicious they are of it, unless it's HP. However, I didn't use the cheese that Nigella specifies because my kids can be a bit funny about cheese in things, and I cooked the thyme with the onions rather than adding it afterwards which is what Nigella does.

I thought the kids would probably enjoy it, but I was really pleased by how much they liked it. They did have HP with it (Nigella endorses it as an accompaniement to this particular recipe, so it must be OK), and beans from the garden, and it all disappeared. Blue even had seconds and asked if he could take some for lunch tomorrow "but only if the onion doesn't slide off" - he does have a point! I don't think it would freeze particularly well, but I think it will taste OK cold, although as I type, it is sitting in the oven covered in foil trying to stay warm for when the husband gets home.

More in hope than expectation, I started the meal with chard and coconut soup from Sarah Raven's Garden Cookbook. I found this recipe the other night - or rather the husband did as he was recipe surfing trying to find out how best to use up his bumper celery crop (!). I was actually looking up the chard & feta parcels he'd mentioned, as they may be the answer to my food dilemma this coming weekend, and on the same page (395) is this very simple and, as it turns out, delicious soup recipe. It's basically sweated onions & garlic, add chard, veg stock and coconut milk, simmer for 10 mins and whizz up - how easy is that: and totally delicious. Now I am not an idiot - just because I like something doesn't mean the kids will, and I was definitely not expecting them to have more than a sip. I did dress it up, giving them each a little espresso cup to try, rather than a big green bowl ful, and I actually managed not to call it 'special green soup' (or similar. I wouldn't tell them what was in it - Blue was convinced from the colour that it would be pea (peas being his nemesis) - but they both tried it nevertheless, and both finished their cups up. I even managed not to try and force them to have some more, but was satsified that they'd tried it and finished what I'd given them. Probably a first for me!

I haven't had my onion tart yet, but I did have some soup with the kids becuase after all the weather today and 2 'bracing' walks (for bracing, read very wet and windy) with the rabbit catcher. I'm looking forward to proper supper when the husband gets home.

more bl***y rabbits

The dog has clearly given up on pheasants. After all - pheasants don't play fair do they? Sitting there in the fields teasing a poor simple dog, only to leap into the air like some kind of feathered and ungainly jump jet, just out of reach. What's a dog to do? I knew we had reached some kind of turning point when I managed to get him back during our walk this morning with just 2 short blasts of the whistle and one "Fred!" (rather than frantic whistle blasting and many "FRED"s in my most fierce 'bad dogs and childen' voice). And this after I had already heard the whirr of wings as the birds rose from the fields, and the dog's mad "I'm chasing birds" bark (it's more like a 'yip' than a bark actually) - which has previously been the point just after the point of no return as far as Fred's concerned. But today, he came racing back on my first attempt. I started to feel slightly suspicious.

We continued on our wet and windy walk in the kind of 'blow the leaves off the trees' weather I associate more with October, especially as the leaves haven't really started to turn yet here. All was fine until we reached Bunny Alley, at which point, he raced off up the track and refused to even acknowledge me or the whistle. The next time I saw him, my heart sank. Trotting down the hill, bunny in mouth, he was the picture of proud dog bearing presents. He arrived and sat, blinking regally, proudly displaying his prize. "Fred, good boy" I said "now drop the rabbit". No response. "Drop the Rabbit. Please". Fred carried on blinking at me. The rabbit twitched. "Drop. The. Rabbit. NOW". Nothing. The rabbit was clearly getting a bit fed up and had started to show that it was very much still alive. It raised its little bunny head and the pink rimmed eyes looked at me. "Not today" those eyes said "Not now. And not like this - it is not my time".

After a few more seconds of my pleading with the dog, the rabbit took matters into its own hands (or rather paws) summoned up some energy, gave a big twist and managed to free itself. Fred looked very surprised , but just as he was recovering himself the rabbit made for the hedgerow and disappeared, hopefully to live to meet a horrible death another day, and the husband will once again be deprived of rabbit pie.

Twisted Rabbit Catcher?

Rabbit catching, blackberries and courgette cake for tea

There was a point during this afternoon's foray out for blackberries where I looked in front of me down the lane to see the dog lolloping ahead of the husband, followed in turn by blue and pink holding hands and singing. The sun was shining, a gentle breeze whispered through the hedgerows and the birds were tweeting. A rural idyll. Or not.

Despite a long walk earlier in the day, the dog was intent on exhausting himself and us. I should have known that he would not be naturally suited to blackberry picking. He made it virtually impossible for me to pick anything while he was still on the lead, as he kept winding his lead around my legs then trying to leg it after whatever he had spied in the bushes. Once we'd got off the road and into the green lane, he was clearly in rabbit-mode (rabbit chasing mode, that is). He raced like a demon up and down by the hedgerow, stopping every now and again to shove his head deep into the thicket to the point where you would just see his tail and behind furiously wagging from side to side. After a few seconds of bum waggling, he would leap back out again, tongue hanging out, panting madly, with a deranged look in his eye and covered in ever increasing burrs, fuzz balls and other debris, only to race off again after more invisible (to us at least) wildlife. Fortunately I'd managed to let him off the lead, so he wasn't dragging me behind him...

Meanwhile, we tried to pick blackberries. Unfortunately, our chosen spot was not as prolific as previous years with most of the blackberries high up and protected by 2 feet of nettles. The husband and I are now tingling from the knees down from the stings, and the children gave up early and concentrated on eating the ones they could reach. Pink was particularly interested in the concept of gathering free food. "Is this like poor people do?" she asked. Every few minutes, I had to check for the mad dog who was thoroughly beside himself with excitement and kept disappearing.

We were turning back, having gathered a respectable tub-full (turns out we got a kilo), when Fred decided that he too wanted to contribute to the foraging. After whistling to call him from which ever undergrowth he was investigating, he appeared, looking very pleased with himself, with something in his mouth. Those of you with a nervous disposition, look away now.

"He's got a rabbit" shouted blue.

It took a couple of minutes to prise the still twitching bunny from his jaws. He trotted up and sat down clearly seeking praise, but refused to give up the prize, so I was forced to step in. The husband did the decent thing. The poor bun was 'mixi' anyway, and for that I have mixed feelings. Obviously, I feel sorry for the bunny, being dead and all, at the hands of the dog, but had it not been mixi, the title of this blog would have included rabbit pie...

 Thankfully (!) as rabbit pie wasn't on the menu, I could do some much less carnivorous baking today. What with all those courgettes, and getting a bit fed up of using them as veg, I decided to remind myself what Nigella's courgette cake tastes like. Pink is not a fan or courgette and kept asking if she would be able to taste it in the cake, but when she became involved in the cake baking process she was much happier. The cakes themselves are quite light, and are sandwiched together with lime curd (the recipe is also in Domestic Goddess) and topped with a cream cheese icing. Even though the curd is very sharp, I think topping it with the cream cheese icing makes it possibly a little too sickly, but I am sure I will have a few more slices just to make sure. Blue liked the creamcheese and the cake but not the curd, while pink hoovered he whole lot up. The dog won't get a look in - I had to spend 20 minutes (I timed them) brushing the burrs out of his ears when we got back from the walk so he is not in the good books...

Sourdough - revived

Spurred on by a friend who has been posting on Facebook about her sourdough bread, I retrieved my starter out of the freezer whence it has been languishing since Easter. After a couple of abortive attempts at sourdough (using Jamie Oliver’s instructions) a few years ago, I decided to have another go, inspired by Hugh’s instructions in River Cottage Everyday which I got at Christmas. I followed the steps meticulously and before I knew it, I had amazing and delicious bread. We decided that it was probably a bit of a faff to have every day, so normal fast acting yeast is what I continued to use for ‘day to day’ bread – the sourdough didn’t make for great sarnies because of the shape of the loaf for a start, but for the weekend, sourdough was definitely a great treat. I got into a routine for keeping the starter in the fridge during the week then ‘reactivating’ it on a Thursday or Friday to make a couple of loaves for the weekend, then putting it back to sleep. However, as the easter holiday approached, I knew that I was going to have to take that leap of faith and put the starter, that I had nurtured and cared for since Christmas, into the freezer.

Now, my freezer (or should I say freezers – I have 3) is a dangerous place to be at the best of times – you never quite know when you’re going to be attacked by an exploding back of 3 year old runner beans, or foxed by some unlabelled bag which looks like raspberries but turns out to be cubes of red wine, frozen after a particularly intensive period of Nigella addiction (I mean honestly, who really has wine left over to freeze after a dinner party – we just drink it). It is genetic – this inability to manage a freezer. Allotment Junkie once served up stewed gooseberries which she’d mistaken for soup.

Anyway, Hugh confidently assured me that my starter would be OK in the freezer, so I put it in a tub, labelled it and tucked it away. And there it has stayed, until yesterday.

I wasn’t hopeful - friend who had taken some of my original starter had tried earlier in the year, and it had died, cold and alone, in her freezer – but I decided that I owed it a chance, so I liberated it from the freezer, and thawed it out.

Once it was defrosted, I added some more flour (rye, to give it something wholesome after months in the yeast equivalent of Siberia) and a bit of warm water, gave it a mix and waited.  And it seems that I may not be disappointed. This morning, there were definite bubblings going on. I got very excited and thought about getting on with a loaf straight away, but decided to give it at least one more feed (the bit where you chuck away half, add some more flour and some warm water). After a couple of hours this morning, I am pretty confident that I am back in business – and very pleased I am too. Assuming it’s still looking happy this evening, I shall be baking sourdough again.