Assiduous GG readers will remember that a while ago, when Glutton Boy was working endless late shifts and so I was cooking every night for what seemed like a million years, I felt that the effort of putting a meal on the table every night was just too arduous. The last six weeks or so has seen a reversal of fortune in the -putting-dinner-on-the-table stakes.
A combination of colleague holiday and back to back pitches has meant that GluttonGirl has had to put in a serious amout of hours in the office lately and dinner (for me at least) has become peanut butter on toast schloffed down at 8pm in the office, while poor old GB has reacquainted himself with the joys of the fray bentos.
Lo and behold, the truth is that I have missed cooking like mad. On Friday, with the worst behind me, I made a sort of Spanish-y risotto with prawns, chorizo, roasted red peppers and my favourite ingredient of all, sweet smoked paprika. The satisfaction I got from putting a meal on the table was unparalled.
Darling GB cooking on Saturday - mac and cheese with bacon bits and roasted cherry toms. Delicious and eatable with a spoon - my main dinner criteria.
Sunday saw tapas and sherry with the girls, then weirdly, I felt like I had a cheese baby right under my ribs and had to go to bed early. And today, the last day of the bank holiday, I'm whipping up a quick puttanesca.
There it is. For me, cooking is just what I have to do, it's what I like to do. I like to make a lovely meal for husband/friends. I like to take a gorgeous cake out of the oven. I am a Glutton.
Lots of love
GG
Monday, May 31, 2010
Sunday, May 16, 2010
In which GG states the bleedin' obvious
Now I know this probably isn't news, but this week I've been thinking about how much circumstance dictates what we want to eat. I order my shopping weekly online, as I can't bear the thought of shopping every day when I've been slaving away all day down the PR mines, but this does mean that sometimes I get it very wrong, dinner-wise. I try to think about my work week, whether I'll leave in good time or be wanting a quick meal having stayed late, if I'm likely to be stressed, what the weather is likely to be etc. Add in doing it on a budget, trying to be relatively low-fat, and it does make things complicated. So sometimes, I get it very wrong. A hot weather day, a work crisis which keeps me chained to the keyboard, an impromptu gin and tonic which goes on too long... all mean that plans go awry.
And as much as I try to eat well at lunch, sometimes the lure of a cheese and pickle baguette is just too much to resist (especially when Pret has just opened in the wasteland of Vauxhall and a cheese and tomato pickle on artisan baguette is MY FAVOURITE SANDWICH EVER). This is also true when we're in pitch mode, when the stress is building, deadlines are looming, clients are being juggled, I've been in the office for 8 hours with a few still to go and my stomach is rumbling. I can rip through a 'sharing bag' of peanut m and ms in seconds, followed by some crisps. Sometimes, only a tub of M&S chocolate miniroll bites will do.
Tomorrow is Norway Independence Day. I love Norway, and not just because two of my dearest friends are Norskis. I love the lifestyle, the landscape, the socialism, emphasis on doing things well. Most of all, I loved the baking. My Norwegian friend Ingrid is an incredible baker and has always made, amongst other things, School Buns. In Norway, these are the only buns you can take to school - talk about socialist principles in microcosm (no one has a better or worse bun than anyone else). A standard bun dough is a very lightly spiced and sweet dough, which you can then add raisins to, or make into cinnamon buns, or make into school buns with the addition of a well of custard. When baked, they are encircled with icing and dessicated coconut. After my father died earlier this year I went to Ingrid and Harvey's for a few days of sanctuary, to sit on their veranda on a clear, cold day and look out into the fjord, watching the big boats come past. We also made loads of buns. And today, just a few days after what would have been Dad's birthday and the day before Norway Day, I made a batch of buns to Ingrid's recipe. The taste of them was hugely evocative - instantly reminded me of long walks through the forest, rural Norway, cold fjord water.
When I make GB welsh cakes, they remind him of his late mum and his Welsh aunties - its like going to a 'happy place'. I guess eating anything that you loved as a child does the same thing. So what's the moral of this tale? Listen to your stomach and your mind - and eat to soothe your soul as well as your hunger.
Lots of love
GG
And as much as I try to eat well at lunch, sometimes the lure of a cheese and pickle baguette is just too much to resist (especially when Pret has just opened in the wasteland of Vauxhall and a cheese and tomato pickle on artisan baguette is MY FAVOURITE SANDWICH EVER). This is also true when we're in pitch mode, when the stress is building, deadlines are looming, clients are being juggled, I've been in the office for 8 hours with a few still to go and my stomach is rumbling. I can rip through a 'sharing bag' of peanut m and ms in seconds, followed by some crisps. Sometimes, only a tub of M&S chocolate miniroll bites will do.
Tomorrow is Norway Independence Day. I love Norway, and not just because two of my dearest friends are Norskis. I love the lifestyle, the landscape, the socialism, emphasis on doing things well. Most of all, I loved the baking. My Norwegian friend Ingrid is an incredible baker and has always made, amongst other things, School Buns. In Norway, these are the only buns you can take to school - talk about socialist principles in microcosm (no one has a better or worse bun than anyone else). A standard bun dough is a very lightly spiced and sweet dough, which you can then add raisins to, or make into cinnamon buns, or make into school buns with the addition of a well of custard. When baked, they are encircled with icing and dessicated coconut. After my father died earlier this year I went to Ingrid and Harvey's for a few days of sanctuary, to sit on their veranda on a clear, cold day and look out into the fjord, watching the big boats come past. We also made loads of buns. And today, just a few days after what would have been Dad's birthday and the day before Norway Day, I made a batch of buns to Ingrid's recipe. The taste of them was hugely evocative - instantly reminded me of long walks through the forest, rural Norway, cold fjord water.
When I make GB welsh cakes, they remind him of his late mum and his Welsh aunties - its like going to a 'happy place'. I guess eating anything that you loved as a child does the same thing. So what's the moral of this tale? Listen to your stomach and your mind - and eat to soothe your soul as well as your hunger.
Lots of love
GG
Saturday, May 1, 2010
Back to your roots
This week, I visited my mum for a couple of days, as she's about to go on hols. Regular readers will know I lost my darling dad in January, so I'm trying to see more of my mum now, partly to keep her company but partly as I only now have one parent, so want to look after the one I've got. My mum is a mad quilter/patchworker, inspired by GluttonBoy's late mother who made the most beautiful log cabin quilts. Before we got married, my MiL to be spoke to my mum to ask her to contribute to a wedding quilt for us. Sadly, she died soon after, and nothing came of it, except my mum was bitten by the quilting bug, which she has also passed on to me.
I went with her to her quilting group this week - and a lovely lady called Jenny talked to us about whole piece quilts and her collection of antique quilts, which were exquisite. Whole piece is where it is one piece of fabric (rather than patchwork) and incredibly intricate patterns are sewn into it, to make it quilted. She talked about the traditions of different regions and countries, and how, if you had a daughter, you made 12 quilts, with the 13th being a wedding quilt and the most beautiful. What has this to do with cooking? Ask almost anyone what their favourite meal is, and invariably the answer will be something their mother makes - 'my mum's roast lamb', 'my mum's chicken pie' etc etc.
Food has a way of tying us to our roots like almost nothing else. Why else do people with heritage come back endlessly to the dishes of another country? Why else is it so important to keep food heritage alive? And food, particularly dishes or recipes that remind you indelibly of a place or a person, have a life of their own that has more longevity than we do. Handwritten recipe books passed down the generations are a more potent reminder of a person or a time than any amount of diaries are.
And this is what I love about food. I love that the sponge biscuits and the honey cake I make are the ones my nana made. The welsh cake recipe I use was given to me by my mother in law and is the recipe Glutton Boy's auntie gladys and auntie bhopah used. And in each case, every bite reminds us of people we've lost but that we still carry with us. After my mother in law died, we found a batch of welshcakes in the freezer - thinking about her making them and putting them away to be enjoyed at a later date made us feel she hadn't quite gone.
And not to be too overly sentimental, a handmade quilt is the same - tying us to a place and a person who might be long gone and enveloping us in feelings that they wanted to pass on. I have some quilts my mum has made, and hope to inherit a quilt from my mother in law, and if I have children in the future, I will make sure they know where those quilts came from and who made them. Just like I'll make sponge biscuits and talk about my nana and her baking, like my dad's love of a baked cheesecake and auntie bhopah's legendary welshcakes.
Lots of love
GG
I went with her to her quilting group this week - and a lovely lady called Jenny talked to us about whole piece quilts and her collection of antique quilts, which were exquisite. Whole piece is where it is one piece of fabric (rather than patchwork) and incredibly intricate patterns are sewn into it, to make it quilted. She talked about the traditions of different regions and countries, and how, if you had a daughter, you made 12 quilts, with the 13th being a wedding quilt and the most beautiful. What has this to do with cooking? Ask almost anyone what their favourite meal is, and invariably the answer will be something their mother makes - 'my mum's roast lamb', 'my mum's chicken pie' etc etc.
Food has a way of tying us to our roots like almost nothing else. Why else do people with heritage come back endlessly to the dishes of another country? Why else is it so important to keep food heritage alive? And food, particularly dishes or recipes that remind you indelibly of a place or a person, have a life of their own that has more longevity than we do. Handwritten recipe books passed down the generations are a more potent reminder of a person or a time than any amount of diaries are.
And this is what I love about food. I love that the sponge biscuits and the honey cake I make are the ones my nana made. The welsh cake recipe I use was given to me by my mother in law and is the recipe Glutton Boy's auntie gladys and auntie bhopah used. And in each case, every bite reminds us of people we've lost but that we still carry with us. After my mother in law died, we found a batch of welshcakes in the freezer - thinking about her making them and putting them away to be enjoyed at a later date made us feel she hadn't quite gone.
And not to be too overly sentimental, a handmade quilt is the same - tying us to a place and a person who might be long gone and enveloping us in feelings that they wanted to pass on. I have some quilts my mum has made, and hope to inherit a quilt from my mother in law, and if I have children in the future, I will make sure they know where those quilts came from and who made them. Just like I'll make sponge biscuits and talk about my nana and her baking, like my dad's love of a baked cheesecake and auntie bhopah's legendary welshcakes.
Lots of love
GG
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