tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-89183865933090368882024-03-13T10:22:13.565+00:00Ruminations, Rugby and RuinationTrials and tribulations from the world's most disorganised home cook.Eimearhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02957750594312648464noreply@blogger.comBlogger74125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8918386593309036888.post-54319868282544502002014-03-24T15:41:00.001+00:002014-03-24T15:41:45.480+00:00Post the Seventy-fourth (in which our heroine despairs for the future of manners)<br />
Manners, eh? If your parents were anything like mine, you had it drilled into you early and often just how important manners are. Please. Thank you. Excuse me. After you. Such small words, but with such a big impact. And, as the cliche oft-observes, they cost nothing. So why are they becoming more and more uncommon, if you'll allow me a small pun? I'm running the risk of sounding really old and cantankerous here, but I've noticed a definite decline in the level of manners I see on a daily basis in the past few years, and it really, really irks me. As I said, they cost nothing more than a nano-second of your day, so why do people treat them like a precious resource that there's only a finite amount of?<br /><br />Upbringing is clearly a large factor in how unmannerly or otherwise a person is. For years, I just assumed that everyone's parents were the same as mine and that no-one escaped the constant reminders of "Where's your manners?" that everyone in my family was subjected to. Sadly, much observation has disabused me of this notion. Sitting in my local pub yesterday afternoon, I watched as two young boys ran riot around the place - spilled plates of food, threw chips at eachother, mashed said chips into the floor and generally made life unpleasant for those around them. Not once - literally, not one single time - did their parents (or, it has to be said, any of the large group of adults with them) look over from their own table to check on their offspring, let alone have a word with them to tell them to dial it the hell down. Manners extend to more than just saying please and thank you; a concept that clearly hadn't occurred to these people.<br />
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There seems to be this idea now that manners are a strangely old-fashioned concept in today's vulgar, self-entitled "I'll behave however I damn well please" culture. I actually don't think anyone is ill-mannered on purpose (or at least I hope not). I think it's just that people have become so self-absorbed that it simply never occurs to them to consider whether and how their behaviour is affecting others. People who won't avert their eyes from their phone for the two seconds it takes to place an order with wait staff generally aren't deliberately rude, they simply haven't stopped to consider that what they're doing is rude in the first place. Same with holding doors open for people. I do it without fail. In fact, I'm probably guilty of doing it for people who are that <em>little</em> bit too far away, making it necessary for them to do that little half-run to the door cause they don't want to leave you waiting there too long. But I've lost count of the number of women (and, sadly, it's nearly always women) who've let doors slam in my face when I'm walking in directly behind them. Again, I highly doubt any of them are doing it in any kind of consciously bad-mannered way. I'd guess that if you ran after them all and asked did they realise what they'd just done, 9 out of 10 of them would be mortified, but they still do it. And I'd love to know <em>why</em>. If I realise, and you realise, and any number of readers of this blog who are currently nodding along in agreement realise that some actions, or lack thereof, are inherently rude, why do these people not? Were they never told in the first place, or have they just forgotten?<br />
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I'm not advocating a return to Emily Post levels of formality here. Nothing of the sort. But if people could be just a *leetle* more mindful of their behaviour, life would be unutterably more pleasant. No?<br />
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So don't forget to thank me for this delicious recipe, for which I, in turn, must yet again thank Paul Flynn and Lidl. We eat a <em>lot</em> of sweet potatoes in my house, but usually as an accompaniment, so I was only delirah when I spotted this recipe, which has them as the star of the show, in a main course.<br />
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<u><strong>Baked Sweet Potato with Feta - </strong>serves 2</u><br />
<u></u><br />
2 sweet potatoes, scrubbed 4 tbs olive oil<br />
20g butter 2 cloves garlic, crushed <br />
Good pinch hot chilli powder 85g pumpkin seeds<br />
200g rinsed spinach 200g feta cheese<br />
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1. Preheat your oven to 180C. Cut your sweet potatoes in half lengthways. Drizzle a baking tray with the olive oil and sprinkle with salt & pepper. Lay your sweet spuds cut-side-down on the tray and roast for about 40 minutes, maybe a bit longer if they're particularly mahoosive. Like all potatoes, they're done when you can easily slide a knife into them.<br />
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2. About ten minutes before they're done, melt the butter in a pan and add the garlic & chilli powder. Add the pumpkin seeds and toast for about 5 minutes, making sure they don't burn. Add the spinach, bung a lid on, lower the heat and allow to wilt for 2-3 minutes, tossing every so often.<br />
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3. Plate up the sweet potatoes and squeeze the insides out a bit. Divide the spinach mix evenly amongst them and crumble over the feta. Enjoy.<br />
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Depending on your appetite (and the size of the spuds, obviously), a half potato may actually be plenty even for a main course. That was certainly the case for me. The good news is, these reheat really well, so the leftovers are perfect for bringing in to work for lunch.</div>
Eimearhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02957750594312648464noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8918386593309036888.post-45581586612027751252014-02-27T12:09:00.000+00:002014-02-27T12:09:57.030+00:00Post the Seventy-third (in which our heroine wonders if her luck is changing)<br />
Your heroine has oft-wondered if she was, perhaps, born under a bad sign. To quote that great sage and philosopher, Homer Simpson, if it wasn't for bad luck, I wouldn't have no luck at all. My family stopped sharing tips on horses with me years ago, so legendary is my rotten luck. You could have Arkle in a fixed race with seven pregnant mares and a lame gelding, and if I backed him, he'd fall. I once missed out on my dream job due to a series of tiny-but-cumulative events that led to me arriving at the interview half an hour late, with an unreadable CV, to a hiring manager who thought I didn't know how to send an email. I generally don't bother entering competitions cause the last thing I won was a pink plastic money box in the shape of a bear dressed as a policeman when I was in senior infants.<br />
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I'd like to think there's a glimmer of change on the horizon, though. Last Friday, I randomly texted into a radio station I don't even normally listen to register for a competition. Within ten minutes, they'd called me asking if I wanted to play. "Sure!" says I, understandably reluctant to admit to them that I had no idea what it was I was actually going to be playing. Anyway, the upshot is, I won €140, which will make a handy dent in the Paris trip. Ok, so I could have won 5 grand if I'd known Barack Obama's middle name (it's Hussein) and which Aussie golfer won the Open last year (Adam Scott), but still, it's a start, right? Then, yesterday evening, my sisters and I won €50 on a scratchcard. We're not exactly going to be retiring on it, but it's the price of a few drinks and you wouldn't step over it if you saw it lying in the street, like.<br />
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So, I've taken these two very small windfalls as veritable proof that Good Things Are Going to Happen to Me. End of. Being an unrelenting cynic and skeptic hasn't exactly availed me of much, so I'm trying on positivity for a while. It feels a bit weird and doesn't necessarily fit very well, but I'll soldier on regardless. Might as well get myself some crow's feet to go with the frown lines I already have, eh?<br />
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Anyway, on with the food. Small windfalls notwithstanding, your heroine is still pretty much perma-broke, so the economic recipes shall continue for the foreseeable. This dish is cheap-as-chips to make and is one of those great ones that you can make a massive pot of and eat for a couple of days, as the flavour just keeps on improving. The quinoa also makes a great work lunch, with a spinach salad on the side.<br />
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<u><strong>Moroccan Chicken Stew - </strong>serves 4</u><br />
<u></u><br />
4 chicken fillets, cut into strips 2 onions, diced<br />
4 cloves garlic, crushed 1 red & 1 yellow pepper, sliced<br />
1 sweet potato, peeled & cut into 1" chunks Tin of chickpeas<br />
Tin of tomatoes 1 tbsp Ras el Hanout*<br />
Tsp each cumin, paprika & harissa paste 1/2 tsp each cinnamon & turmeric<br />
Handful of cashew nuts<br />
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1. Heat a splash of oil in a large pot and saute the garlic and onion until just beginning to colour. Add the chicken, sweet potato, peppers and all the spices except the harissa paste. Give everything agood stir and cook for five minutes.<br />
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2. Add the tomatoes and harissa, turn down the heat and allow everything to simmer away for a good hour, stirring every so often. This should be quite a thick stew, but if it looks like it's getting a bit too dry, throw in a bit of chicken stock.<br />
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3. After an hour, add the chickpeas & cashew nuts, and taste to see if it needs more of any of the spices. Simmer for another ten minutes, then season and serve with the quinoa below.<br />
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<u><strong>Chilli-lime Quinoa - </strong>serves 4</u><br />
<u></u><br />
160g quinoa 300ml chicken stock<br />
1 red chilli, finely diced 2 fat cloves garlic, crushed<br />
Zest & juice of 1 lime Knob of butter<br />
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1. Give your quinoa a really aggressive rinse in loads of cold water, then strain in a sieve.<br />
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2. Melt the butter in a large-ish pot, add the chilli, garlic, lime juice & zest. Bring to a high simmer and allow to reduce to an almost paste-like consistency.<br />
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3. Add the quinoa to the paste, stir well and toast for three minutes. Add the stock, cover and lower the heat to a bare bubble, and cook until the quinoa has absorbed all the stock. This can take anywhere between ten and twenty minutes. Don't stir the quinoa while it's cooking. When the stock has absorbed, remove from the heat but allow to rest with the lid still on for another ten minutes, then fluff with a fork, and serve.<br />
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<strong>*What the frig is Ras el Hanout?</strong><br />
It's a Moroccan spice blend that literally translates as "Top of the Shop", as different spicemongers all had their own recipes for it, and basically the more fancy ingredients there were in it, the flasher you were. You can buy it in good delis, but it's ridiculously easy to make, and it's dead handy to have in the press as it can be added to loads of dishes. You can totally make this stew without it, but it won't have quite the same depth of flavour. There are as many "recipes" for Ras el Hanout as there are spices that can go in it, but if you fancy having a bash at making your own, here's the combo I came up with:<br />
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4 tsp coriander seeds 3 tsp cumin seeds<br />
1 tsp fennel seeds 1 tsp black peppercorns<br />
1 tsp cardamom seeds 2 tsp turmeric<br />
2 tsp ground cinnamon 1 tsp paprika<br />
1 tsp cayenne pepper Pinch salt<br />
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1. Stick all the seeds and the peppercorns into a dry pan and toast over a high heat until they're just beginning to "pop". This will happen incredibly fast, so don't even attempt to leave the room or you'll burn the arse out of your pan and all your lovely spices.<br />
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2. Tip into a pestle & mortar and grind to powder. Add the powdered spices and the salt and mix well. Store in a clean glass jar in a cool, dry place, and it'll keep for a good three months before it starts to lose its potency.Eimearhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02957750594312648464noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8918386593309036888.post-69599422757075609552014-01-30T11:28:00.001+00:002014-01-30T11:28:37.751+00:00Post the Seventy-second (in which our heroine joins the "I Hate January" brigade)Possibly for the first time ever. I'm usually not a January-hater. Hell, I was born in January so it can't be all bad, right? In fact, I was usually more in the "February is evil" camp. Cause, like, everyone <em>expects</em> January to be miserable, so that's ok, but February kind of sneaks up on you and goes "Hey, guess what? January is over and you've been paid and it's officially spring, but - surprise! - I'm going to be horrible and depressing anyway! Joke's on you!" Much like Tuesdays do after you've struggled through Monday and expect the following day to be marginally better, but it never is. February is the Tuesday of months.<br />
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However, this year I am kind of feeling the anti-January vibe. There's even a newly-coined word for the utter apathy and woe-is-me-ness that it entails - Jannui. (I'd love to take the credit for that, but unfortunately I can't. Kudos to whoever did come up with it, though.) It's so apt, though. All anyone really wants to do in January is lie around the house feeling sorry for themselves and fantasising about winning the Lotto. But instead, we're all forced to feel like we should be joining the gym, or dieting, or training for a marathon or an Iron Man or a decathlon or something. Enough, I say! My mother has the right idea. She says that January is not a month for starting anything, it's a month for hibernating and curling up at home. My body agrees; all I want to do when I get home after work every evening is nest. Unfortunately, the powers-that-be in DCU don't agree with this philosophy, and have set two assignments to be completed before the 10th of February. I've one done, and am working on the other, so unfortunately evenings curled up on the couch with a good book are not in my foreseeable for a few weeks yet. Damn you, DCU!<br />
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*shakes fist*<br />
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Speaking of winning the Lotto, you'd have to feel sorry for the poor schmucks who won the "jackpot" on the 18th of January. For any of my non-Irish readers who mightn't be familiar with the story, the lottery jackpot on that date was €3.5 million and was won, by not one, not two, not even three but SIX separate winners. Wouldn't you be sick? Sitting there checking your numbers, realising you'd won and going "I'M RICH! I'M RICH BEYOND MY WILDEST DREAMS!!!", imagining all the things you were going to do with the money, only to find out that sorry, no, you're not getting 3.5 million big ones after all, you're only getting 500 grand. I don't care what anyone says, I would be RAGING. We were discussing it in the office, and you know how there's always one person who has to pretend to be magnanimous to the point of not caring. "So", this person says to me "You're saying you'd prefer nothing to 500 grand??? Tchaw."<br />
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Well, <em>obviously,</em> no, I'm not saying that. Don't be so deliberately obtuse. I'm saying I'd prefer three and a half million quid to 500 grand. Duh.<br />
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Anyway, onwards we march with the Lidl "Feed a Family for €50" series, which, until we win the lotto, will remain relevant. Today's is the penultimate recipe, and it's a good 'un.<br />
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<u><strong>Turkey Satay - </strong>serves 4</u><br />
<u></u><br />
1 pack turkey breast strips 425ml can coconut milk<br />
300g basmati rice 2 tbs crunchy peanut butter<br />
1 red onion, thinly sliced 2 cm piece ginger, peeled & grated<br />
2 cloves garlic, peeled & grated 1 tbsp soy sauce<br />
Tsp cayenne pepper Salt & pepper<br />
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1. Heat a little oil in a wok and fry the garlic, onion & ginger over a medium heat for three minutes, until just beginning to soften, but not colour.<br />
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2. Add the coconut milk, peanut butter & soy sauce and bring to a simmer, stirring to melt the PB.<br />
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3. Add the turkey, mixing well to make sure it doesn't stick together. Cover and simmer gently for approx. 10 minutes.<br />
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4. Meanwhile cook the rice according to the packet instructions. Stir the cayenne into the satay, season and taste, drain the rice, and serve on warmed plates.<br />
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<strong>Notes: </strong>Now, Paul has a bit of a blooper in his recipe, as he has an instruction to "add the spring onions" towards the end of the recipe, despite spring onions not making an appearance anywhere in the ingredients list. Anyway, I'm not a fan of warm spring onions, so I don't feel the need to add them. What I did do was increase the red onion from a half to a full one. I also chopped a red chilli and fried it off with the ginger and garlic at the start, and added a packet of sugar snaps in the last five minutes of cooking, mostly cause they were in the fridge and I wanted to get rid of them. They worked really well, though, so they'll definitely be a permanent fixture in this from now on.Eimearhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02957750594312648464noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8918386593309036888.post-51639620871312973832014-01-24T11:54:00.001+00:002014-01-24T11:54:49.140+00:00Post the Seventy-first (in which our heroine muses on a rant)So, I was having abit of a bad day there a week or so ago and posted an impromptu rant on Facebook about the things that were particularly bothering me at the time. I was expecting a bit of a backlash against it, but instead it generated mostly agreement. So I thought I'd flesh it out a bit here, mostly as an exercise to see if these things are still annoying me just as much today, on a Friday, when I'm feeling remarkably more zen about the world as a whole.<br />
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<strong>1. People who can't spell. I'm being visually assaulted from all sides of my Facebook newsfeed. Buy a fucking dictionary already</strong>.<br />
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God, this drives me mad. The internet/social media has an <em>awful</em> lot to answer for with regards to the dumbing down of an entire generation. Dis, dats, dese and dose everywhere. Wat, youse, shud of, I seen, I been - it's endless. And not only can these people not spell, they actually seem perversely proud of the fact. It boggles my mind, it really does. Have they any - <em>any -</em> idea how unutterably stupid they appear? Prbly not.<br />
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<strong>2. News outlets reporting speculation from other news outlets as actual news. Oh, so the Indo said that Sean O'Brien is on the verge of signing for Toulon? Better stick it in our next bulletin, so.</strong><br />
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Spin 1038 actually did this, in an actual news report. "The Irish Independent has reported that Sean O'Brien is likely to sign with French side Toulon later today." That's not news!!! That's just you passing on someone else's opinion. Jesus wept.<br />
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<strong>4. The Book Depository. Gimme my poxy books, now.</strong><br />
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They've all since arrived, two of them about an hour after I'd written that post, and the third the following day, so it's all good.<br />
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<strong>5. People right-onning Gabourey Sidibe. I've no time for internet trolls, but let's not kid ourselves that she's some kind of role model for positive body image.</strong><br />
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Ooh, this is a biggie for me. If you're not familiar with the background, Gabourey Sidibe, a morbidly obese actress drew a lot of flack online after the Golden Globes for her appearance. She allegedly responded "To the people commenting on my weight, I'm just going to go cry in my private jet while I fly to my next job" and the quote, predictably, was everywhere in the following days with people going "Boom!" and "You tell them haters!" and "You go girl!". Now, while I think that professional internet trolls are the lowest of the low, I really don't think anyone should be holding Sidibe up as a role model for positive body image. Glorifying either end of the weight spectrum is a bad idea. It doesn't really matter how "happy" Sidibe is, the fact of the matter is that she's staring down the barrel of some major, major health problems. Cheerleading that is downright dangerous.<br />
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<strong>6. This week.</strong><br />
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Which is now last week. But yeah, it was a bad 'un. Assignment hell, destitution, cabin fever. Actually, now that I think about it, this week isn't all that different.<br />
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<strong>7. Motor tax.</strong><br />
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My car is eight years old. It is worth approximately two grand. It is not fancy, or flash, or high-performance in any way. I taxed it for three months last week, plus a month's arrears, and it cost me €257.<br />
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My friend K's car is one month old. It's worth approximately forty-eight grand. It is extremely fancy, and flash, and gorgeous in every imaginable way, and I would date it if I could. She taxed it for the entire year last week, and it cost her €200. You can see the reason for my annoyance, I'm sure.<br />
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<strong>8. Idiots who can't park.</strong><br />
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Forget the zombie apocalypse, the major plague that seems to be spreading across the nation lately is the inability to park. It's DEFINITELY getting worse. Why that is, I don't know. A symptom of the fact that people just have absolutely zero consideration for others these days? Perhaps. But regardless, here's a tip for those of you who might find it slightly challenging: those lines on the ground provide a handy guide as to where your car should actually end up. Have a fucking look at them once in a while.<br />
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<strong>9. Whichever genius thought 700 metres was sufficient distance between two of the busiest exits on the M50.</strong><br />
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Namely the Red Cow and Ballymount. I actually find it hard to even write about this, it annoys me so much. Suffice to say that traffic queuing to get off at the Red Cow regularly backs up the full 700m to Ballymount, so that people trying to get <em>on</em> from Ballymount can't go anywhere. And nor can anyone else, because the entire rest of the mainline gets snarled up with people trying to get over into the exit lane. Slow clap to whoever came up with that design.<br />
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<strong>10. Men.</strong><br />
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Oy vey. That's a topic for a whole 'nother day. I've harshed my Friday mellow enough.<br />
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So, onwards with the budget feeding. I know I already said it, but I really am sorry that this is taking so long. What actually happened is that I had them all made and photographed and ready to go. And then I somehow managed to delete all the photos, so I had to go and cook them all again. Which is taking forever because I've been up to my mincers in college work for the past couple of weeks. The bad news is, the last two recipes are going to be even longer in coming as I won't be cooking again til Monday. Forgive me, please!<br />
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Anyway, today's recipe is a slightly more grown-up version of bangers and mash. Don't be put off by the thoughts of the apple; they're a classic combination with pork. In fact, my mother will attest that I used to regularly have a sausage with an apple for breakfast when I was younger and have a bite of each at the same time.<br />
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<u><strong>Bangers, Pudding and Mash with Caramelised Onion - </strong>serves 4</u><br />
<u></u><br />
8 jumbo sausages 1 black pudding, cut into 12 slices<br />
2 onions, finely sliced 6 medium potatoes, peeled & quartered<br />
1 tsp sugar 1 tbs mustard<br />
2 knobs butter Oil, salt & pepper<br />
1 apple, peeled, cored, quartered and finely sliced<br />
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1. Melt one kob of butter with a little olive oil in a pan and gently sweat your onions with a lid on for 15 minutes, until nice and soft.<br />
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2. In the meantime, boil the potatoes til nice and tender, then drain and leave to steam dry for 5 minutes. Stick your sausages and pudding under the grill.<br />
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3. Add the apple and sugar to the onions, toss to mix, then leave the lid off and cook on a slightly higher heat til everything is nice and golden.<br />
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4. Return the potatoes to the pot and mash with the other knob of butter, the mustard, a splash of milk and plenty of salt & pepper.<br />
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5. When your sausages & pudding are cooked on all sides, divide the mash between four plates, place two sausages and three slices of pudding on top and heap with the caramelised apples and onions.<br />
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<strong>Suggestions: </strong>As you can see, I added a pea puree to this. The colour really adds to the look of the dish, pea & pudding are a classic combo, and it's always nice to up the veg quotient in any dish. Anyway, it couldn't be easier to make. Cook 500g of frozen peas, drain (but reserve a tablespoon or so of the cooking water) and blitz in a food processor with a tablespoon of mint sauce, loosening with the cooking water if needs be.<br />
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The other great thing about this dish is that if you are cooking for fewer than four people you can just cook what you need, and keep the extra sausages and pud for a cooked brekkie at the weekend. Happy days.Eimearhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02957750594312648464noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8918386593309036888.post-43704386404756288212014-01-22T11:43:00.000+00:002014-01-24T10:59:16.850+00:00Post the Seventieth (in which our heroine goes to work sans foundation)And no-one drops dead of shock. Or asks if I'm sick. Or even seems to notice at all. See, I was standing in the bathroom on Monday morning about to put my foundation on and I <em>really</em> looked at my skin for a moment or two and went "Your skin is in great nick, why are you bothering?" So I took a giant leap and forewent the foundation. And have done so every day since. I'm rocking a bit of bronzer, mascara, lip gloss, and, of course, my eyebrows. I can't go out without my eyebrows or I look like Luann van Houten when Kirk hustled her out of the house before she was quite ready. Years of over-zealous plucking in my teens and early twenties have left me with two tiny inverted commas over my eyes. Which is ironic, really, considering I looked like Eugene Levy until I was about 13.<br />
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Anyway, the ditching of the foundation is not some kind of grand feminist gesture. Nor is it borne out of some half-formed idea that my skin needs to "breathe". I've always found it amusing the way some women (usually the ones who don't really wear make-up) think that foundation is some kind of impermeable mask that nothing can penetrate. Nope, it's half laziness and half out of a desire to save money. Obviously, not wearing foundation on a daily basis will make a bottle last that much longer. It's a sad fact, dear readers, that more than two years after the inception of this blog, I'm still perpetually broke. Obviously, this cavalier attitude to make-up will last only until I get my next whopper spot, but for the time being, I'm enjoying it.<br />
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In other news, Leinster made it out of the pool stages of the Heineken Cup, and have Toulon away in our quarter final on the weekend of April 5th. The fixture is yet to be confirmed, but given that Toulon are the reigning champions, I'd be amazed if we didn't get the plum Saturday evening slot. And even though they are the current cup-holders, I'm quietly confident that we can beat them. They're a big, heavy-hitting team whose entire game plan rests on bludgeoning their opponents into the ground and getting as many penalties as possible for Johnny Wilkinson to convert. If we can break their gainline and keep our discipline, particularly in the first half, I think our superior fitness will be the key difference in the second. Unfortunately, I won't be there. I'm going to Paris for the Six Nations in March, so unless an unexpected windfall comes my way, I won't have the money to do both. The good news is, if we win in the Mayol, we have a home semi final, so at least there's no away trip to worry about there. Cardiff I'll worry about if and when the time comes...<br />
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Jeez, make-up and rugby in the same post. I wouldn't think there's too many blogs out there mixing the two.<br />
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Anyway, apologies for the extremely drawn out nature of the "Feed Your Family for Fifty Quid" series. I've been in assignment hell since the 6th of Jan and, unfortunately, that tends to eat into my free time significantly, as I'm sure you can imagine. Today's recipe is by far my favourite of the entire collection, and I've made it loads of times since I first discovered the booklet. Just please, please, <em>please</em> don't be tempted to use chicken fillets instead of the thighs - they'll be dry and boring and just meh. Irish people are remarkably weird about using "other" parts of the chicken, I'm not sure why. Thighs are by far my favourite piece of chicken; they're about eleventy million times tastier than fillets, they never really dry out no matter how long you cook them for and they're cheap as chips. I suspect a lot of peoples' aversion to them stems from the fact that many folk (my mother being a prime example) don't like meat that actually looks like it was once an animal, so anything with skin or bones is an automatic no-go. Well, I have news for you people - if you can't hack the fact that your meat used to be a living, breathing, sentient animal, complete with a face and eyes and everything, then you've no business eating meat at all. It's as simple as that. If you're going to be a carnivore, the least you can do is accept and respect the fact that something died in order for you to eat it.<br />
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Okay, less rant, more recipe:<br />
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<u><strong>Chicken & Sweet Potato Traybake - </strong>serves 4</u><br />
<u></u><br />
8 chicken thighs 1 large sweet potato<br />
3 red onions 1 red pepper<br />
1 bulb garlic 2cm piece of ginger<br />
1 tbsp curry powder Olive oil<br />
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1. Scrub your sweet spud, but leave the skin on. Slice down the middle lengthways, then chop into 2cm chunks. Peel & quarter your onions, deseed your pepper & cut into 8, and peel your ginger and cut into matchstick-sized pieces. Separate the garlic cloves, but leave the paper on. If there's a lot of excess skin on your chicken thighs, then trim them a bit.<br />
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2. Lob everything into a large metal baking tray, drizzle over about a tablespoon of oil, then sprinkle over your curry powder (you can use a bit more than a tablespoon if you want). Season with salt & pepper, then get right into everything with your hands to make sure it's all really evenly coated, especially the chicken. Don't be tempted to add too much oil, as the chicken skins will render quite a good bit more during cooking. Make sure the chicken thighs are skin-side-down on the bottom of the tray, then pop into an oven pre-heated to 180C for 15 minutes.<br />
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3. After the 15 minutes, turn the chicken over and toss the veg around a bit, then return to the oven for another 25 minutes until everything is golden and sticky and gorgeous, and serve immediately.<br />
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This is fine served on its own, but as you can see, I love it with a massive pile of baby spinach and some crumbled feta. Also fab to drizzle over is natural yoghurt loosened with a little water and seasoned with a pinch each of cumin and cayenne pepper, and a tiny grind of salt. Just writing this post has made me very glad I'm having this for dinner again tonight!Eimearhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02957750594312648464noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8918386593309036888.post-1502017872121796022014-01-19T20:15:00.002+00:002014-01-19T20:15:58.412+00:00Post the Sixty-ninth (fnarr fnarr!)Yes, I did have a snigger at the post number. I'm of the opinion that when certain things stop being funny, you're officially old. Chief among them are farts, out-of-context rude words/terms and people falling over. It's a funny old thing, getting old. I'll be 32 this day week, but I still feel about 19. If you jumped out from behind a door and asked me when I did my Leaving Cert., I'd say about 3 years ago. It was 15 years this June. I've bought a house, been married, been made redundant, been through the breakdown of that marriage, but I still often wonder when I'll start feeling like a grown-up.<br />
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Conversely, I've known people who were old their whole lives. We all have. I look back now on the parents of certain childhood friends who were always dowdy, fussy and, y'know, <i>ancient</i>, and realise that they were actually only a few years older than I am now. How does that happen to people??? Are they just born old? My mum says it about her own mother - she always wore "old lady" clothes, she always had "set" hair, and she would never, ever chillax and have a drink with my granddad, even though they owned a pub. I can think of several neighbours of my parents off the top of my head who I'd put in the same bracket.<br />
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I know they say you're only as old as the man you feel (which would have made me 28 up until very recently), but the older I get, the more I think that age (or youth) is genuinely a state of mind. And I definitely think a lot of that is down to the attitude of your own elders. My parents are both in their sixties, and they're two of the coolest people I know. My dad in particular (as any readers who've ever met him will attest) is possibly the biggest messer I've ever come across. And his parents were the same. They died within three months of eachother when my granddad was 77 and Nana was 76 and people go "Sure that's a great age" and I go "No it <i>wasn't". </i>They had a better social life than I do now. Anyway, we're straying dangerously into maudlin territory here, which wasn't the aim of this post at all. Quite the opposite, in fact. I might be (almost) 32, I might be (in the eyes of those more mature than me) coming across as quite pathetic, but d'you know what? I don't care. I'm not advocating a Peter Pan approach to life, but there are certain things I really, really hope I never grow out of, because the day I do, I'll have grown old.<br />
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So here's to eternal youth, even if only in our minds.<br />
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*clink*<br />
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Anyway, if, like me, you still think farts are one of the funniest things on the planet, then you'll appreciate this dish. This is the leftover cod bake recipe, and as I said, I enjoyed it a lot more than the actual bake. So, if you fed four people with that the first night - sorry.<br />
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<u><b>Cod Bake Fishcakes - </b>serves 2</u><br />
<u><br /></u>
2 portions of leftover cod bake 3 eggs<br />
2 tbs flour Tin of baked beans<br />
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1. Crack one of the eggs into the leftover cod bake and mix well. Add a little leftover seasoning if you think its needed.<br />
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2. Sprinkle the flour onto a large plate. Shape the fish mix into four cakes and dredge in the flour until evenly coated.<br />
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3. Heat a good glug of oil in a pan and fry the fishcakes for five minutes, making sure they slide easily if you give the pan a shake before turning over. Cook the other side for another five minutes, then stand them on their sides for a couple of mintes each to achieve a uniform golden-brown colour.<br />
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4. While the fishcakes are cooking, heat the beans with a <i>shedload</i> of black pepper and a dash of Frank's Red Hot Sauce if you have it. At the same time, poach two eggs*.<br />
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5. Divide the beans between two warmed plates, sit the fishcakes on top, and top with the poached eggs. Marvel at how much better than last night's meal it is.<br />
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*Poached eggs seem to be up there with risotto in terms of perceived difficulty - people for some reason think they're nigh-on impossible to make, when they're really ridiculously easy. So, here's a quick Egg Poaching 101 for you.<br />
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1. Never keep your eggs in the fridge. The "shock" of putting a cold egg into hot water or oil just never ends well.<br />
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2. In a wide, shallow pan heat three inches of water with a tablespoon of vinegar and a good pinch of salt. Bring it to a <i>very</i> gentle simmer - a rollicking boil will just break up the egg when you add it.<br />
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3. Crack your egg into a ladle. Then, very gently slide it into your simmering water. And then just don't touch it for about two minutes. It will initially look like it's going fucking everywhere in the water, but it will come back together if you just ignore it.<br />
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4. When the white is just set, remove <i>extremely</i> gingerly with a slotted spoon. Drain on a folded-over kitchen towel, then gently roll onto whatever it is you're serving it on.<br />
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Yis can all thank me later...Eimearhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02957750594312648464noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8918386593309036888.post-69529560402406640992014-01-16T11:07:00.001+00:002014-01-16T11:07:25.949+00:00Post the Sixty-eighth (in which our heroine doesn't like the recipe)Sorry, Paul. But it just did nothing for me. Too much potato and not enough flavour.<br />
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The recipe in question is the cod bake from the Lidl "7 Family Meals for €50" booklet. See, the first time I made it, I veered quite substantially from the recipe. In fact, I barely followed the recipe at all. I tend to do that quite a lot. I can't remember exactly what I did, but I kept the fish separate from the potato, and instead of mashing the spuds, I parboiled and grated them to make a crispy, <span style="font-family: inherit;">rösti-style topping. And it turned out really well.</span><br />
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However, as I said at the start of this series of posts, these recipes aren't my own, so for the purposes of the blog, I'm posting them as they were created. So I made this again the other night, according the recipe, and what a disappointment it was. But if you've done the shop, you'll have the ingredients, so I'll give you the recipe regardless. And who knows, you might love it - maybe I was just having a particularly bad night in the kitchen.<br />
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<u><strong>Cod Bake with Spinach & Mint</strong> - serves 4</u><br />
<u></u><br />
2 cod fillets, cut into 2cm pieces 6 potatoes, peeled & halved<br />
3 spring onions, finely sliced 250g frozen peas<br />
Large double-handful baby spinach 50g grated mature cheddar<br />
2tbs butter 1 egg<br />
200ml chicken stock 1 tsp mint sauce<br />
1 tsp horseradish sauce Salt & pepper<br />
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1. Put the spuds on to boil. When they're cooked, drain and mash with the horseradish sauce.<br />
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2. Add the fish, spring onions, egg, salt & pepper and mix well.<br />
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3. Butter a casserole dish and spread the mix into it. Dot with half the butter, top with the cheese and bake in an oven preheated to 170C for 20-25 minutes or until the cheese is golden and bubbling.<br />
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4. In the meantime, bring your chicken stock to the boil with the remaining butter. Add the spinach, allow to wilt, then add the peas & mint sauce and cook for two minutes. Divide between warm plates, then top with a piece of the cod bake and serve immediately.<br />
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<strong>Suggestions: </strong>I'm not sure why I'm bothering, as it didn't make any difference, but if you're not a fan of horseradish (I'm not), you can substitute a tablespoon of wholegrain mustard for it in the mash.<br />
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Now, here's where we're going to diverge temporarily from the Lidl recipe book. As I've said, there's only two people living in my house, so all of these recipes have done us for two nights thus far. However, this did so little for me that I actually couldn't face the thought of eating it two nights in a row. So, on the second night, I made fishcakes out of the leftovers, and they were much better. So, the next post will be the recipe for them. Not much good to you if you eat the lot tonight, obviously, but it's still a way to get two meals out of the same ingredients for anyone who's only feeding two (or one, or three) people at a time.<br />
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Hasta luego, amigos. And if anyone has better luck with this recipe than me, be sure to say so in the comments.Eimearhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02957750594312648464noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8918386593309036888.post-36417005176705555052014-01-13T12:04:00.000+00:002014-01-13T12:04:06.411+00:00Post the Sixty-seventh (in which the Heineken Cup quickens)<br />
Possibly the last Heineken Cup, in its current form, anyway. Irish readers, even those with virtually no interest in rugby, will be well aware that PRL (Premiership Rugby Ltd., i.e. the English clubs) attempted a breakaway from the ERC this year. In a nutshell, they wanted more money from the communal kitty, believing that the Premiership is a superior competition to the Rabo Direct Pro12, and, as such, they should be entitled to more money and more qualification slots. They initially managed to get the French on board, but they abandoned ship shortly afterwards and rowed back in with the ERC. So then the Welsh regions jumped on the breakaway competition wagon, but they're such a non-entity in European rugby at the moment that winning them over must surely seem like a bit of a Pyrrhic victory for Quentin Smith et al.<br />
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Anyway, the debate about the future of European cup rugby is definitely worthy of a post in its own right. Nobody knows what form the competition will take next year, so for now, all we can do is enjoy the current showdown. Round 5 finished this weekend with Leinster grinding out an away win against Castres to see us topping our pool, with Ospreys at home on Friday to finish out the pool stages. All we need to qualify is a losing bonus point, while a bonus-point win would give us a very vague chance of getting a home quarter-final. However, as shite as Ospreys have been this year, they have ever been our bogey team in the RDS, so a losing bonus point would do me, quite frankly. Round 6 always throws up a few surprise results, but as it stands, the quarter finals look likely to shake out as follows:<br />
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Toulouse v Saracens<br />
Toulon v Ulster<br />
Clermont v Leinster<br />
Leicester v Munster<br />
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Clermont. Again. I honestly don't know which team will dread that fixture more. Travelling to the Stade Marcel Michelin is always a daunting prospect, and our back-to-back losses to Clermont put us out of the competition last year. Having said that, revenge is always a great motivator. And I don't think there's any team in the knockout stages who'd relish the prospect of hosting us. It's going to be a very interesting set of quarter-finals, that's for sure.<br />
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So, onwards to the food. Today's recipe is the third of the Lidl "7 Family Meals for €50" collection. I should point out at this juncture that I'm not posting these in the order they appear in the booklet, but rather the order I felt like cooking them in. This is the "Sunday dinner" of the booklet, probably because it's the most expensive dish of the lot. But you know me, I'm nothing if not rebellious, so we had this for dinner on Friday night instead. It might sound a *little* esoteric for the more beige-palated amongst you, but you really should give it a go, even if you think you don't like one or more of the individual ingredients, because they really do marry brilliantly together to give a whole that's a lot greater than the sum of its parts.<br />
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<u><strong>Pork Chops with Gorgonzola and Roasted Pears</strong> - serves 4</u><br />
<u></u><br />
4 pork loin chops 4 pears, cut in half & cored<br />
4 small onions, peeled & quartered 100g gorgonzola<br />
20 sage leaves 1 tsp sugar<br />
12 baby potatoes, quartered 3 tbs olive oil<br />
Knob of butter 150ml water<br />
Salt & pepper<br />
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1. Preheat oven to 180C. Put the potatoes, pears and onions into a large baking tray, drizzle over the oil, season with salt & pepper and give everything a good toss to coat. Dot with the butter, scatter over the sage leaves, add the water, then cover with foil and roast for 20 minutes.<br />
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2. Remove the foil, jack the heat up to 200C, sprinkle over the sugar and return to the oven for another 10 - 15 minutes until everything is lovely and golden.<br />
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3. Meanwhile, pan-fry or griddle the pork chops for 3 minutes on each side, finishing with it on its side to crisp up the fat. <br />
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4. Split the potato & pear mix between four warmed plates, scatter over the gorgonzola and top with a pork chop. Enjoy!<br />
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<strong>Suggestions: </strong>I spread both sides of the chops with wholegrain mustard before cooking. Also, the second time I made this, I added the gorgonzola to the baking tray for the last couple of minutes in the oven rather than waiting til it was plated up, and it made for extra-delicious oozey meltiness.</div>
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By the way, you should totally use the leftover gorgonzola to make the blue cheese butter used in the Mexican Lasagna post from last week.</div>
Eimearhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02957750594312648464noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8918386593309036888.post-70713361342017359502014-01-10T11:10:00.000+00:002014-01-10T11:10:50.908+00:00Post the Sixty-sixth (in which our heroine ponders on her decision to go back to college)<br />
As long-time readers and people who know me in real life are aware, I "went back" to college in 2011 (the quotation marks are because I don't actually physically go to lectures, it's a distance degree). That decision was motivated partly by boredom, partly by a nagging feeling that I was somehow "lesser" because I didn't have a degree, and partly by desire to prove something to myself. What that something was, I'm not quite sure. 2.5 years later, I'm still slogging along and will be halfway through my degree this May. The reason for the snail's pace of progress is that I'm only doing two modules a year, because a) I can't afford any more than that, and b) I'm doing two <em>very</em> wordy subjects, and would pretty much have to give up my job in order to do any extra modules, which would kind of defeat the purpose of doing a distance degree in the first place.<br />
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While I've never been the most diligent student, my motivation this year is at an all-time low, mostly due to the fact that I find the two modules I'm doing incredibly dull - Literatures of the 17th and 18th Centuries, and Land, Politics and Society in Ireland: 1800-1922. Never have I been as tempted to drop out as I am at the moment. I sit here marvelling at the stupidity of spending the guts of eleven grand on a poxy <em>Arts</em> degree. When I tell people I'm doing a degree they always go "Oh, what are you planning to do with it?" and I'm forced to mumble "Erm, nothing, really." Cause let's face it, there really isn't anything you *can* do with an Arts degree. On its own, anyway. So I have spent a lot of time since September wondering why the hell I'm putting myself through this, all for a big fat nothing. I could keep my sponds and use the time I'm spending studying to do something else. What else, I'm not sure, but you can be guaranteed it would be a lot more fun than slogging through Paradise Lost or trying to pinpoint the reasons for the rise of Fenianism in the 19th century.<br />
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So what's stopping me? Stubbornness. And fear. Fear that if I don't see this through, I will forever be confirmed in my mind and the minds of my family as a person who is incapable of seeing anything through. I admit that this perhaps isn't really the noblest of motivations for doing well in college, but dammit, it's all I have. My steadfast refusal to give my family the opportunity to exchange sage glances and go "I knew she wouldn't stick it" to eachother. That, and the feeling of supergalactic creamy oneness that will envelope me when I'm standing in DCU, receiving my degree, basking in the knowledge that I will never again have to lug those stupid folders around with me.<br />
<br />Anyway, enough of the academic navel-gazing. I promised you the Lidl/Paul Flynn recipes for 7 Family Meals for €50, and recipes you shall have. Today's is a perfect Friday night dinner, and should be a hit with both adults and kids. I'm not going to lie, I was really tempted to replace the baked beans with kidney beans, but for the sake of experimentation I stuck to the recipe, and dammit if the end-result wasn't fookin' delish, man. It's actually one of my two favourite recipes out of the seven.<br />
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<u><strong>Meatball & Bean Casserole</strong> - serves 4</u><br />
<u></u><br />
2x 12 packs of meatballs* Tin of baked beans<br />
Tin of tomatoes 1 onion, chopped<br />
2 cloves garlic, crushed 2 tbs olive oil<br />
1 tsp paprika Half a chicken stock cube<br />
Salt & pepper<br />
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1. Heat your oil in a large ovenproof pan or casserole, and saute the garlic and onions until just beginning to soften.<br />
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2. Add the meatballs and allow to colour, turning every so often, until everything is a lovely golden-brown. <br />
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3. Stir in the tomatoes, beans and paprika. Crumble in the stock cube, then cover and pop into an oven preheated to 160C for half an hour.<br />
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4. Remove from the oven, stir, season, then serve with potato of your choice. As you can see, I did little wedges, mostly because they could go into the oven with the casserole (hey, we are being frugal this week after all).<br />
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* As I mentioned in the shopping-list post, if you can get one pack of beef and one pack of pork meatballs, do that.</div>
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As these aren't my recipes, and the whole basis of the €50 week depends upon using the ingredients as listed, I'm not going to be making any adjustments to them in the writing. I will, however, add some suggestions for tweaks/additions you could make, if you happened to have any of the extra bits handy. But believe me, every recipe in the collection is perfectly lovely without any changes. I just can't help myself sometimes.</div>
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Anyway, a pinch each of cumin, cayenne, cinnamon and ground coriander will add even more depth to this dish.</div>
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Let me know how yis get on, and if anyone with particularly fussy kids can report back with their seal of approval, I'm sure others would appreciate it.</div>
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We shall speak anon, dear readers.</div>
Eimearhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02957750594312648464noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8918386593309036888.post-83334060799799714912014-01-08T12:01:00.000+00:002014-01-08T12:01:39.989+00:00Post the Sixty-fifth (in which our heroine lauds a laudable effort)Lauds. What a great word. If you are a regular newspaper reader, you will have noted the many articles that appeared before Christmas stating that food poverty was on the rise in Ireland. Most of these articles featured quotes from lower income families complaining that it's too expensive to eat properly, and stating that it's far cheaper to buy processed muck like frozen pizzas, chicken nuggets and chips. At the risk of sounding like a total knob, it's been my long-held opinion that this is complete and utter bollox. The only thing stopping a lot of families (not just lower income ones) eating decent, fresh food is laziness and ignorance. It's not cheaper to stick chicken nuggets and waffles into the oven, it's <em>easier</em>. That's pretty much all there is to it. Aldi do six fruit and veg and two meat special offers every week. You could plan your menu around these and eat very well for little money, but God forbid people would actually put a bit of effort into their kitchen exploits.<br />
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I'm acutely aware that all of this may be coming across as a bit of a pop at lower income families. It's not. I know plenty of people with no money worries who also eat a neverending selection of beige shite.<br />
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Anyway, food poverty and socio-economic debates aside, many of us are trying to stretch our salaries further than ever, so any way of being a bit more food-savvy is often welcome. And around September or October of last year, Lidl stepped up to the mark in this regard. They teamed up with Paul Flynn of the (fabulous) Tannery in Waterford and created a feckin' brilliant little booklet called "7 Family Meals for €50". It contained a full shopping list and recipes for seven meals which each served four people. What I absolutely loved about it was that wasn't dumbed-down or patronising - the recipes are varied, balanced and full of flavour - and I suspect that some of the tastes may have been a bit of a revelation for a lot of people who maybe weren't all that adventurous in the kitchen beforehand.<br />
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I haven't seen the booklet instore for a while, so I thought I'd share its contents here. If you're trying to broaden your culinary horizons a little, trying to make your food budget go that little bit further, or just plain curious, I really, <em>really</em> recommend giving this a go. Obviously, all the recipes serve four people, so if you're cooking for fewer than that, you can have the leftovers the following night, or bring them to work for lunch, and your fifty quid will go even farther. What's not to love?<br />
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So, first things first - the fixins'...<br />
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<strong><u>Shopping List </u></strong><br />
<strong><u></u></strong><br />
3 pack of garlic Root ginger<br />
Pot of parsley Pot of sage<br />
Large sweet potato 1 red pepper<br />
Bunch spring onions 2 bags white onions<br />
Bag red onions Bag of pears<br />
Bag of funsize apples Bag of baby spinach<br />
2x 12 packs meatballs* Pack of pork loin chops<br />
Pack fresh turkey breast Pack chicken legs (I actually use thighs)<br />
Pack of 2 fresh cod fillets 6 free-range eggs<br />
8 pack sausages 1x black pudding<br />
Gorgonzola cheese Grana padano/Parmesan cheese<br />
Mature cheddar cheese Tin of baked beans<br />
Tin of tomatoes** Pack of basmati rice<br />
Packet of spaghetti Tin of coconut milk<br />
Bag of frozen peas<br />
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*If you can get one pack of beef and one pack of pork, do it. The flavour combination really adds to the dish.<br />
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**I've said it before, but I much prefer to buy tins of whole tomatoes, and whizz them myself in the mini-chopper. They're cheaper and tend to be better quality than chopped ones.<br />
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So, that's your €50 shop. If you're really lucky, some of the fruit & veg will be on special offer the week you do your shopping. Also, the great thing about this list is that stuff like the ginger, rice, pears and apples won't be completely used in the recipes, so you'll have it either in the press or to stick in lunchboxes for the week. Of course, you may already have some of the stuff at home, in which case you won't even need to buy it. Get a bottle of wine with the savings - you deserve it.<br />
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Speaking of having stuff in the press, Paul does assume that you have some basic seasonings and condiments already, which I'll list below. Obviously, if you don't have these, you'll need to buy them, which will push up the cost of the shop a little, but the good news is that once you have them, you won't need to buy them again for ages.<br />
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<strong><u>Store Cupboard Ingredients </u></strong><br />
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Crunchy peanut butter Cayenne pepper<br />
Paprika Curry powder<br />
Soy sauce Mint sauce<br />
Horseradish sauce Mustard*<br />
Olive oil Chicken stock cubes or bouillon<br />
Milk Real butter<br />
Sugar Salt & pepper<br />
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*The recipe that uses the mustard calls for English, but I prefer wholegrain, so that's what I use. It's up to you.<br />
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So, that's the foundation laid. Go and do your shopping tonight, and we'll get stuck into the recipes in the next post.<br />
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Oh and one last thing - Lidl have an ongoing partnership with Paul Flynn, who is creating one-off recipes for them. Keep your eye out for the cards instore, cause everything I've made from them so far has been lovely.Eimearhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02957750594312648464noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8918386593309036888.post-91573766917644967962014-01-06T10:34:00.001+00:002014-01-06T10:50:34.694+00:00Post the Sixty-fourth (in which our heroine endures the post-Christmas slump)Back to work. Le sigh. I've yet to decide which is the more depressing return to work - the post-Christmas or post-holiday one. I think I'm going to plump for post-Christmas, mainly because everyone else is going through it at the same time so it becomes a kind of contagious meta-depression; a black cloud of despair hanging over every workplace in the country. And it doesn't really matter how long you have off either, does it? It'll still feel like you never left the bloody office in the first place. I've had two full weeks off. Felt like about two seconds. So of course, today I'm partaking in the age-old return to work tradition of planning my next holiday. Well, it's more fantasising about than planning, but you get the idea.<br />
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The other great January tradition in which everyone partakes is bringing your lunch to work with you. I'm actually quite good at doing this all year round, so it's extra annoying when you can't get next or near the kitchen in work for the entire month, and all the lunch amateurs keep exploding their beans in the microwave or insist on putting filled sandwiches in the toaster, which then sets off the fire alarm. They've actually taken our toaster off us in work for this very reason. No joke. Toaster access revoked indefinitely. We got a sandwich maker instead, but if anyone has a successful method for toasting a bagel in one of those, I'm all ears.<br />
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I made a giant pot of soup yesterday for lunch for the week. Unfortunately, displaying the lack of foresight that regular readers will recognise as having come to characterise this blog, I used a recipe I've already given you. So you're getting a dinner recipe instead. If, that is, you consider some melted cheese and salad a) a recipe and b) dinner. I do, ergo I give you:<br />
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<u><strong>Baked Camembert</strong> - serves 4</u><br />
<u></u><br />
1 whole camembert 1 loaf ciabatta or other crusty bread<br />
Bag of baby spinach leaves Sliced tomatoes & onions<br />
Whole cornichons 2 tbs extra-virgin olive oil or rapeseed oil<br />
1 tbs balsamic vinegar 1 tsp wholegrain mustard<br />
Salt & pepper<br />
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1. Preheat the oven to 180C. Pop your camembert into a ceramic dish and cut a cross in the top. Bake for 10 minutes, then carefully peel back the cut edges of the rind. Return to the oven for another 15 minutes.<br />
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2. While the cheese is baking, mix together the oil, vinegar and mustard. Season to taste, and whisk the bejaysis out of it to emulsify. Assemble your salad and slice your bread.<br />
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3. Lay the whole lot out on the table and allow everyone to help themselves. You could also add some parma ham or other deli meats if you're the kind of person who balks at the idea of a meatless dinner (we all know at least one).<br />
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I'll allow that this probably isn't the best meal idea if you're trying to kick-start a bit of New Year weight loss. But screw it, January is miserable enough without adding foodie self-flagellation to the mix.<br />
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As an aside, the one bright part of my return to work this morning was the arrival in the post of some vouchers from the lovely people at Glenisk, so keep your mincers peeled for some dairy-inspired recipes over the next couple of weeks.<br />
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In the meantime, hang in there, folks. Friday's coming.Eimearhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02957750594312648464noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8918386593309036888.post-35371560752786768202013-12-18T15:19:00.001+00:002013-12-18T15:19:52.463+00:00Post the Sixty-third (in which our heroine attempts to resurrect the blog)<br />
Behold, we shall have a Lazarus-style moment. This blog, which many (your correspondent included) presumed dead in January of this year, shall walk again. Having fallen victim to the fatal scourge of its author not doing enough cooking to maintain it, it is being resuscitated by virtue of the fact that I have <em>finally</em> moved out of my parents' house (two years after having moved back in) and am now back cooking on a nightly basis.<br />
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The good news is, this allows me to blog again.<br />
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The bad news is, I'm well on the way to gaining back the stone I lost when the Ex and I broke up. Le sigh.<br />
<br />Anyway, the 25-odd of you who actually bothered to follow the blog can now breathe a huge sigh of relief that the giant blog-sized hole in your life has finally been filled. Or something.<br />
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Now, normally this is the point in a blog where the author would fill you in on all the drama and happenings in their life during the eleven months they were missing. I can't do that, because virtually nothing has happened to me during that time. I continued dating (none of it went anywhere), I continued working (desk-jockeying) and I went from blonde to very dark brunette to blonde again (cause I didn't like it), and that's pretty much it. Kind of depressing, when I see it (or rather, the lack of "it") written in black and white there, actually.<br />
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Another thing that hasn't changed in the past year is my love of and addiction to chillies. So, it should come as absolutely no suprise to anyone that my first recipe back is a Mexican-inspired one. It's a lot like a lasagna, only with Mexican-style ingredients, so I call it Mexican Lasagna. Original, eh?<br />
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The filling for this, like all mince-based sauces, improves with age, so feel free to make the filling the day before. Or you could just use leftover chilli, if you ever happen to find yourself with two pounds of chilli leftover...<br />
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<u><strong>Mexican Lasagna with blue cheese bechemel</strong> - serves 6</u><br />
<u></u><br />
450g round mince 2 large onions, diced<br />
Tin tomatoes 125ml beer<br />
2 chillies, finely diced 2 - 3 large flour tortillas<br />
2 tbs oregano Juice of 1 lime<br />
Tin refried beans Salt & pepper<br />
25g blue cheese butter* 25g flour<br />
350ml milk 75g grated sharp cheddar<br />
Tsp each of cayenne, paprika, ground cumin, paprika, ground coriander, garlic granules<br />
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1. Brown the mince in a little oil, and drain off any excess grease. Add the onion, chillies and beer, and simmer til the onions have softened.<br />
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2. Stir in all the dried spices, and have a little taste to see if it needs a bit more of any in particular. Stir in the tomatoes, turn the heat down nice and low and leave to simmer for as long as possible. Keep an eye on it and if it looks like it's drying out at any stage, add a splash more beer (if you haven't already . Just before assembling the lasagna, stir in the refried beans and lime juice and season with salt & pepper to taste.<br />
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3. Melt the blue cheese butter in a saucepan and stir in the flour to make a roux. Cook for a couple of minutes, then whisk in the milk a little at a time, until you have a lovely thick, smooth bechemel. Season with salt & pepper.<br />
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4. Spread half the chilli mix on the bottom of a lasagna dish. Cover with tortilla, tearing them to fit if you need to. Add the other half of the chilli, add another layer of tortilla, then pour over the bechemel. Scatter over the grated cheese, then bung into an oven preheated to 190C for 30 - 40 minutes, until golden brown and bubbling. Allow to stand for a few minutes before cutting into six and serving with a spinach salad, and accompaniments of choice.<br />
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Being a bit of a guac fiend, and having tried many a guacamole recipe, I can safely say that Thomasina Miers' is the absolute best by far that I've come across. Do yourself a favour and make it - <a href="http://www.telegraph.co.uk/foodanddrink/recipes/7967816/Thomasina-Miers-recipe-Proper-guacamole.html">http://www.telegraph.co.uk/foodanddrink/recipes/7967816/Thomasina-Miers-recipe-Proper-guacamole.html</a><br />
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*Blue cheese butter is something that's always worth having in the fridge, because it makes for the most awesome steak sandwiches you have ever tasted in your life. Simply mash real butter and crumbled blue cheese together in a roughly 2:1 ratio. Shape into a log, wrap tightly in clingfilm and it'll keep happily in the fridge for a couple of weeks, as you just slice off what you need. Seemples.Eimearhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02957750594312648464noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8918386593309036888.post-88878849729840570462013-01-22T21:27:00.000+00:002013-01-22T21:34:26.994+00:00Post the Sixty-second (in which our heroine is on the business end of some Schadenfreude)<br />
Serves me right, really. It's not like a haven't indulged in it myself over the years. Come on, we all have. It's one of life's little pleasures. This time around, I was on the receiving end of my boss's delight in my misfortune, which came in the form of Leinster being unceremoniously dumped out of the Heineken Cup at the weekend. Only the second time ever that the reigning champions haven't made it out of the pool stages, ladies and gentlemen. And, typically, it happened the year the final was in Dublin. The bloody money I've spent going to finals the past few years, and we collapse like an over-beaten souffle the year it's on our doorstep. Le sigh.<br />
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Anyway, allow me to furnish you with a little background on your heroine's fall from grace. My boss is a very proud Ulsterman, from the wilds of Co. Down. Any rugby fans among you will remember that Leinster beat Ulster in the Heineken Cup final last year. Your correspondant may have placed a small wager with her boss at the Christmas party that Leinster would go further than Ulster in the competition again this year. Your correspondant may have also foolishly agreed when her boss suggested upping the ante in said bet from €20 to €50, and shaken on it in front of several witnesses, despite all the indications that Leinster weren't heading for a record-breaking season, even back in December. As it happened, our season effectively ended the very next day after that very party, when we allowed Clermont to beat us in the Aviva. Rule #1 of the Heineken Cup is that you <i>have</i> to win your home games. We were beaten by ASM both home and away, and come the final pool game in Exeter last week, we had done <i>almost</i> enough to qualify for the quarter-finals as the second-best runner-up, *if* one of several other results went our way. We needed Toulon to beat Montpellier or Racing Metro to beat Munster. As it happpened, neither of those teams turned up on their days, and Munster went through on try difference. Our early season had been absolutely riddled with injuries and we had just left ourselves with too much to do, too late.<br />
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And so, to the schadenfreude. I sent my boss a text on Sunday once we'd been knocked out saying I reckoned I could reasonably qualify for compassionate leave on Monday as I was in mourning for our cup dreams. His reply?<br />
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"I'll show you the same compassion you showed to me last year..."<br />
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So yes, it may have been a slight mistake to leave the Heineken Cup on his desk the week after the final with a Post-It on it saying "Enjoy; it's the closest an Ulsterman will get to it :-)" <br />
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Touché, Boss. Touché.<br />
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And so, to the food. This is one of those entries where I have absolutely no lead-in to the recipe whatsoever. You'll just have to deal with it, I'm afraid. These came about as a result of me drooling at something on Man V Food (a very regular occurrance), attempting to recreate it at home, and it actually turning out successfully (a not so regular occurrance). So, avid readers, I give you...<br />
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<u><b>Juicy Looseys - </b>makes 4 burgers </u><br />
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750g round mince 3 cream crackers, crushed<br />
1 clove garlic, crushed 1 tbs Worcestershire sauce<br />
1 tbs dried oregano 1 egg yolk<br />
200g cheese, cubed Salt & pepper<br />
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1. In a large bowl, mix all the ingredients except the cheese. Give it a good going-over, til everything is really well-combined. Divide into eight equal balls, then press out into thin, wide burgers - think McDonalds rather than GBK here...<br />
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2. Place a few cubes of cheese into the centre of four of the patties. You could slice the cheese instead if you wanted, but I find that using cubes makes it easier to be precise (did you ever think you'd hear that word in relation to my cooking?!) and makes for more even melting. Here's a pic, just in case you genuinely don't have a clue where I'm going with this...<br />
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3. Flatten the edges of the patties, stick one on top of each of the cheesy ones, and crimp the edges tightly with a fork, and then your fingers. You really don't want any leakage potential - it defeats the whole purpose of the exercise. Stick back in the fridge for half an hour to firm up.<br />
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4. Preheat your grill as hot as you can possibly get it. Bung your burgers onto the grill tray and don't touch them <i>at all</i> until you're ready to flip them. Turn them over, prick a few times with a fork or toothpick to allow the steam to escape, and brown the other side. Serve, in a bun or nekkid, with whatever condiments y'all usually like on a burger. I always have mine with sweet potato fries, but I confess myself too lazy to give you the method for them tonight, so sue me...<br />
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<br />Eimearhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02957750594312648464noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8918386593309036888.post-30829764824231092812012-11-07T22:06:00.000+00:002012-11-07T22:06:22.743+00:00Post the Sixty-first (in which the world breathes a sigh of relief)<br />
Let's admit it, we didn't all trust them to do the right thing. We all, in our deepest, darkest heart of hearts feared that they'd elect Romney and his bible-bashing, gun-toting, get-thee-into-the-kitchen-woman-thinking ilk. We despaired for female reproductive choice, gay rights and myriad other "liberal" causes (although quite frankly, I don't see what's liberal about basic human rights). But the American people came through for us. They did the right thing. Well, just over half of them did, anyway, and the joys of democracy being what they are, that was enough. The world is safe(ish) for four more years.<br />
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The "average" American (if there is such a thing) may well wonder what the hell the world's obsession with their presidential election is about. I've noticed a certain "Mind your own business, y'all" mentality in certain conservative circles. But the reason the world has a vested interest in what happened yesterday is that the foreign policy decided by POTUS has a direct knock-on effect on the rest of the globe, and pretty much nobody else in the entire rest of the world wanted a trigger-happy cowboy sitting in the Oval Office. Not to mention one who was so backward-thinking in terms of equality, women's rights and pretty much everything else that he made Dubya look like a Nobel laureate. I'm not sure where this race to the bottom in US conservative politics is stemming from, but it's very, very concerning to onlookers.<br />
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Interestingly, had this been a global election, Obama would have been returned by a landslide. Observe; Americans - the entire rest of the world can't be wrong.<br />
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When you think about it, it's rather amazing that the entire world can be more or less polarised by a contest between just two men, but that's what happens when you give a country with a population of 315-odd million a two-party political system. It's absolute madness, but not a system I can see changing any time soon.<br />
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Anyway, in honour of the fact that all anyone is going to be talking about for the next few days is the good ole U.S. of A, here's a veh veh tasty American recipe (adapted from Jamie Oliver) for you to take a stab at. It's actually native American - Navajo - cause that's just how I roll...<br />
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<u><b>Navajo Lamb Stew - </b>serves 6</u><br />
<u></u><br />
800g lamb shoulder, diced 2 onions, roughly chopped<br />
2 large carrots, peeled & chopped 2 sticks celery, trimmed & chopped<br />
2 tsps cumin seed Tin chopped tomatoes<br />
2 beef stock cubes 2 sweet potatoes, peeled & diced<br />
2 tsp chilli flakes Tin kidney beans, drained & rinsed<br />
Salt & pepper<br />
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1. Heat a little oil in a large pot or cast-iron casserole and brown your lamb all over. Add the carrots, celery, onions and 1 tsp of the cumin seed and fry for about 15 minutes, til just about coloured. Stir in the tomatoes and stock cubes, then add another two tins' worth of water.<br />
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2. Sprinkle over a teaspoon of chilli flakes, bring to the boil, then reduce the heat, cover and simmer really gently for about an hour and a half to two hours. Check on it every so often to make sure it's not drying out.<br />
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3. In the meantime, preheat your oven to 180. Toss your sweet potatoes (the dice should be quite rough and large) in a drop of oil and rub in the other teaspoons of cumin seed and chilli flakes. Pop into the oven and roast for about 20 minutes, or until they're just easily pierced with a knife. Remove and set aside.<br />
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4. After about an hour and a half, test your stew. Is the lamb falling apart? Great. Is the liquid consistency just right? Is the seasoning perfect? Great. Bung in the sweet potato and the kidney beans, heat through, check the seasoning again and serve with flatbreads.<br />
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I actually think a little sumac would be great in this, but it can be very, very hard to get in Dublin. If anyone comes across it on their travels, buy it and send it this way.<br />
Eimearhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02957750594312648464noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8918386593309036888.post-42045730681051785622012-11-04T18:12:00.000+00:002012-11-04T18:12:28.025+00:00Post the Sixtieth (in which our heroine contracts bubonic plague)<br />
Or possibly something worse than bubonic plague. Captain Trips, maybe. Or perhaps the worst affliction known to modern medicine - Manflu. I've been absolutely floored with a dose since Tuesday (it's now Sunday), something which is very unlike me. Normally three days, max, and I'm bright-eyed and bushy-tailed again. Instead, we're on day seven of this dose and I would quite happily donate myself to the glue factory, if I could only leave the house.<br />
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It seems to be strep throat on top of a chest infection. Which is great, cause it means I'm barking like a dog while barely being able to swallow. Imagine someone has implanted a fish-hook in your throat, then given you a really chesty cough. And every time you cough, they give the hook a good tug. That's kind of what it feels like. And the great news is that I get to share the wealth around the office cause I don't get paid for sick days and can't afford not to go in, yay!<br />
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So, most people are at least lucky enough to lose their appetite when they get sick. Not the case here. I could literally be at death's door and I'd still be wondering what to have for my next meal. This dates back to when I got my tonsils out when I was 11. Before that, I couldn't *look* at food when I was sick, just like any normal person. But when they took the tonsils out, they apparently indavertently <i>implanted</i> the appetite of a 17-stone, MMA-practising rugby player who's in training for a pentathlon. My dad has joked over the years that it would have been cheaper in the long run to have my tonsils put back in, cause I've been eating them out of house and home ever since. At least, I think he was joking...<br />
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Anyway, the unwritten rule about foodstuffs for sick people seems to be that soup is yer only man. I'm not entirely sure why this is, but far be it from me to fly in the face of convention. Now, soupy soups do little or nothing for me - sore throat be damned, I still like texture and something to chew on in a soup. And, come on, it wouldn't be me if I didn't lace my food with chillies... So this soup is absolutely perfect for when you're feeling a bit poorly - it's pure comfort in a bowl, and the chillies will make you forget all about your cold/cough/bubonic plague for a good ten or fifteen minutes.<br />
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<u><b>Chicken Noodle Soup - </b>serves 4-6</u><br />
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1.5 litres good quality chicken stock* 3 chicken fillets, cut into strips<br />
100g egg noodles 2 red chillies, thinly sliced 6 spring onions, sliced 1 large red pepper, julienned 2" piece of ginger, peeled 2 fat garlic cloves, very thinly sliced 4 tbs light soy sauce Bunch fresh coriander, chopped<br />
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1. Bring your chicken stock to a high simmer in a large pot. Add your chicken strips and cook for 5 minutes.<br />
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2. Prick your ginger all over with a fork, cut in half and add to the stock with the garlic. Add the noodles, chilli & pepper and simmer for another 5 minutes.<br />
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3. Add the spring onion and soy sauce and simmer for 3 minutes. Just before serving, stir in the coriander, taste and adjust the seasoning if needs be - see my note on stock below for my feelings on salting this soup.<br />
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4. Enjoy!<br />
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*<b>A Note On Stock</b><br />
I've posted before on chicken stock and how, obviously, it's best to make your own. We all know that that's not always possible, though, so I'm not going to judge anyone for buying stock. What I will say, however, is that the quality of the stock you use does make a huge difference to the end result of this soup. I was recently introduced to Pure Brazen stocks and they're pretty much the closest thing you're going to get to making your own. If you can't get your hands on PB, then spend an extra euro or so on an organic stock cube<b> </b>or bouillon.<b> </b>Going back to whether or not you should salt this soup, it really depends on what stock you've used and also how salty your soy sauce is. Obviously, if you've used a homemade stock, you'll know exactly how much salt was in it in the first place. Pure Brazen don't add any salt to their stocks, so you may well need to add a little salt (or more soy sauce) to the soup before serving. Cheapy stock cubes, on the other hand, are notoriously salty, and you may well need to actually add a little water to the soup if you've used one of them in conjunction with a very salty soy sauce. Use your cop-on, obviously, and taste, taste, taste. It's the only way you'll perfect your seasoning.<br />
Eimearhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02957750594312648464noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8918386593309036888.post-34644630652695443072012-10-22T21:48:00.002+01:002012-10-22T21:53:44.734+01:00Post the Fifty-ninth (in which everyone is rather worried about the Heineken Cup)<br />
It's a funny old game, rugby. I've written before about how everyone kind of reacts weirdly to certain results. Leinster are currently two from two in the Heineken Cup, having beaten Exeter at home and Scarlets away, but you'd swear we'd already sent the cup back to the ERC with a note on it saying "Sorry, couldn't be bothered this year," the way some people are going on. Ok, so the Exeter game didn't exactly go according to plan. They were Heineken Cup debutantes, we were three-time winners and current defending champions, playing them at home. It was expected to be a rout. Instead, the Exeter Chiefs very nearly claimed a famous scalp - we were extremely lucky to get away with a 9-6 win. It was almost "Exeter stage left", to pinch a phrase off One F, who I was chatting to after the game (and who I know reads this blog - Hi Derek!). But, a win is a win as far as I'm concerned.<br />
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Fast forward to yesterday, when we travelled to Llaneli to face the Scarlets, a team many thought could cause a potential upset this season. The cardinal rule of Heineken Cup rugby is that you have to win your home games. Apparently Simon Easterby never got that memo. Leinster were ahead 11-0 at the break, and looking comfortable. Maybe a bit too comfortable, as it turned out, because whatever Easterby Mk II put in the half-time oranges, it worked. Scarlets came out like men possessed in the second half and Leinster found themselves having to dig extremely deep to keep them at bay. However, our scrum emerged as the piece de resistance in the last quarter of the game and was just too much for the Scarlets pack. Final result was 20-14, and we had an all-important away win in the bag.<br />
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So why the long faces and the prophecies of doom all round? Two words - ASM Clermont. I posted about my dismay at being drawn in the same pool as them back when the original draw was done, and I'll reiterate why - having finally won the Bouclier de Brennus in 2010, ASM have made the Heineken Cup their focus - they won't be happy until they win it. Unfortunately for them, Leinster have thrown a spanner in their works every year since, having put them out in the quarter final in 2010, not letting them out of the pool in 2011 and beating them in the semi final this year. We're not too popular around Montferrand way, I can tell you. There Will Be Blood. They've been rampant in the pool stages so far, beating Scarlets 49-16 in round one and Exeter 46-12 this weekend. Two wins and two bonus points put them ahead of us in pool 5. And guess who we play next? Yep, ASM, back to back, away first and then at home. Break out every sporting cliche you have, because this really is going to be a clash of the titans. Unless we can put them down hard and early in both matches, Leinster's only hopes of progressing to the knock-out stages of the competition are as one of the two best runners-up. Not a prospect I relish. It's going to be a very long couple of months...<br />
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So, in one of the clumsy segues at which our heroine excels, some of you are probably aware that ASM were founded by and are still funded in a big way by Michelin tyre money. Michelin are, of course, the same people who bring us the extremely prestigious Michelin star system for restaurants and who publish the Michelin Guide, the dining bible of places to eat in a given country. This week, I attended the launch of a restaurant which has definite Michelin Guide potential - Samphire @ the Waterside. Located in the Waterside House Hotel in Donabate, Samphire was the brain-child of Executive Head Chef Tom Walsh, who saw the need for more diverse dining options in the North Dublin area. I was invited along by the lovely Jessica Collins, whose family run the hotel; so off myself and my own Mater Familias trotted on an extremely stormy Wednesday evening.<br />
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The menu we were treated to (and it really was a treat) was a ten-course tasting selection designed to showcase everything on the a la carte menu. Tom has really outdone himself here, using local, seasonal produce cooked with exquisite attention to detail to create a dining experience that is really far superior to anything you'd expect to find in a hotel restaurant. I enjoyed every morsel of:<br />
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<u><b>Seared King Scallop, Potato & Garlic Soup, Parsnip Crisp, Marsh Samphire</b></u></div>
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This was one of my two personal favourite dishes of the evening - the scallop was cooked to perfection and the soup was of the most perfect, velvety consistency. The samphire added just the right note of saltiness to the whole thing - perfect.<br />
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<u><b>Parfait of Goat's Cheese, Roasted Hazelnuts & Tarragon, Beetroot Three Ways</b></u></div>
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This was nutty, cheesy gorgeousness all whipped up into a light mousse that melted in the mouth. Perfect juxtaposed with the vinegary sweetness of the beetroot.<br />
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<u><b>House Marinated Salmon Gravalax, Caper Berry Dressing, Garden Radish</b></u></div>
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Erm, I may have forgotten to take a photo of this. It was a deliciously fresh piece of salmon, slightly thicker cut than you'd expect for lax, but I actually preferred this as I think it improves the mouth-feel. I'm not a <i>huge</i> fan of smoked salmon, mostly due to the texture, but the thicker slices made for a far more pleasing texture to me.<br />
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<u><b>Cucumber Sorbet & Compressed Melon, Yoghurt Dressing</b></u></div>
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This was the palate cleanser and it was fab, fab, fab. The sorbet was so light that it literally started melting the second you cut into it with the spoon. The watermelon was the ideal accompaniment, as, imo, they have very similar tastes anyway.<br />
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<u><b>Breast of Wood Pigeon, Garlic Puree, Crispy Salsify</b></u></div>
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I do love a gamey bird... What can I say about this other than it was perfection on a plate. I love pigeon anyway, and this was exquisite - gamey, earthy, succulent - and the salsify was absolutely gorgeous with it. More, please!<br />
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<u><b>Peppered Rare Tuna, Tomato Fondue, Basil Puree, Pepper Confit</b></u></div>
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I have to say, I absolutely LOVED the presentation of this - a perfectly seared rondelle of tuna with a little syringe of oil to inject right into the heart of the fish. I'm very happy to report that the taste more than lived up to the visual.<br />
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<u><b>Rump of Lamb, Sweet Potato Fondant, Celeriac Puree</b></u></div>
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Oh, lord, is there anything more beautiful than a perfectly cooked, rare piece of Irish lamb? Just look at it!<br />
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<u><b>Lemon Posset, Lime & Ginger Air</b></u></div>
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So this was the second highlight of a meal that had no lowlights at all - high praise indeed. The lime & ginger<u><b> </b></u>air hit the palate with a massive whack of flavour, which one was not expecting from such a light texture. The posset itself was mellow, creamy, and incredibly moreish. I'm not going to lie, I would have happily eaten about three of these...<br />
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<u><b>Carageen Pudding, Caramelised Brown Bread & Raspberry</b></u></div>
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Unfortunately, another dish I forgot to take a photo of. This was my least favourite dish of the evening. I just don't have a sweet tooth anyway and I found that the caramelised brown bread and raspberry compote were a little too sweet for me, and just didn't work with the brackish flavour of the carageen (a type of sea moss, for those of you who unfamiliar with it). Everyone else at the table polished it off, though.<br />
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So, all in all, this was an excellent meal and I really admire what Tom Walsh and the Waterside are trying to do here. They've certainly elevated the level of dining available in the North Dublin area and they deserve to do really well. If ever you find yourself in that area, or, indeed, feeling like a drive with some amazing food at the end of it, take yourself out there - they're open seven days and you won't be disappointed.</div>
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Samphire @ The Waterside</div>
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The Waterside House Hotel</div>
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Donabate on the Beach</div>
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Co. Dublin</div>
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Ph: +353 (0) 1 843 6153</div>
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www.samphire.ie</div>
Eimearhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02957750594312648464noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8918386593309036888.post-43495494768146013562012-10-16T12:02:00.000+01:002012-10-16T12:02:26.605+01:00Post the Fifty-eighth (in which our heroine is feeling rather autumnal)<br />
So, it's that time of year again. The evenings are drawing in, the mercury is dropping and, depending on whereabouts you live, the bangers are already going off, even though it's still weeks to Halloween. Yes, ladies and gentlemen, winter is nearly upon us. I've noticed a slightly crazed aspect to several of my aquaintances at the thought of facing into almost four months of rubbish weather and minimal daylight, but I have to be honest, I absolutely love winter. The crunch of fallen leaves underfoot, the smell of wood or turf fires burning, the absolute crispness of the air on a frosty morning. Plus, you get to wrap up in layers and layers of snuggly clothing and light candles at 6pm. And then there's the food. Soups, stews, casseroles, bourgignons - what's not to love?<br />
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The only issue I really have with the transition from autumn to winter is bloody Daylight Savings Time. Someone is definitely having a giant laugh at our expense there. It's already been getting darker in the mornings for weeks now; you're just getting used to the bloody fact, and then they go and put the clocks back so it's bright again when you're getting up, but <em>only</em> for about three or four weeks - just enough time to get used to bright mornings again, before winter proper hits and it's still pitch black at 8am and your circadian rhythms are officially all over the place. No wonder so many Irish people suffer from SAD, our body clocks are all going "Ah jaysis, will you just make your feckin' mind up already?"<br />
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So, before we get into the winter cooking repertoire of comfort food, here's what will more than likely be the last of my more summery dishes. Like my last recipe, this has a lot of Moroccan-inspired flavours - I was obviously feeling under a Moorish influence recently. Actually, Moroccan/North African flavours can be a great warming choice for winter - I just tend not to want to eat as many salads and the like as accompaniments once the weather turns that bit cooler.<br />
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<strong><u>Harissa Chicken Flatbreads with Coriander-Lemon CousCous</u></strong> - serves 4<br />
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4 chicken fillets 2 tbs harissa<br />
Juice & zest of 1 lemon 2 tbs olive oil<br />
400g couscous Bunch fresh coriander, chopped<br />
4 flour tortillas Salt & pepper<br />
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1. In a non-metallic bowl whisk together your harissa, lemon juice and olive oil. Butterfly your chicken fillets and add them to the marinade, tossing to coat thoroughly. Cover and pop into the fridge for at least an hour, but the longer the better. Turn them every so often to make sure they're marinating evenly.<br />
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2. Heat a heavy pan (or better again, a griddle) and cook your fillets on a high heat for 5 minutes on each side so that you get a nice, blackened crust. Turn the heat down and cook through, turning once more. Cut or shred each fillet into four or five rough pieces and rest on a warm plate.<br />
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3. While the chicken is cooking, prepare the couscous - pour boiling water over the couscous in a large bowl to cover by a depth of about an inch. Cover with clingfilm and leave aside for the water to absorb. After about 5 minutes, fluff up with a fork. If there's still a bit of water in it, recover and give it another few minutes. Once all the water is absorbed, fluff again, stir in the lemon zest and coriander and season to taste with salt and black pepper.<br />
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4. Heat your tortillas and scatter over the chicken. As you can see, I've added spinach & onions and the cottage cheese dressing from my steak recipe <a href="http://www.ruminationsrugbyruination.blogspot.ie/2011/08/blog-post.html" target="_blank">here.</a> It would also work very well with feta cheese or even just yoghurt.<br />
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5. Serve with the couscous, extra salad and maybe some extra lemon wedges for squeezing.<br />
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Eimearhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02957750594312648464noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8918386593309036888.post-38320311214857351492012-09-25T11:42:00.000+01:002012-09-26T09:04:05.966+01:00Post the Fifty-seventh (in which our heroine indulges in a bout of melancholy)<br />
You know the kind. You fetch lots of deep sighs. You find yourself thinking "Woe is me" rather more than is strictly necessary. You can kind of see the appeal of just turning your face to the wall and dying, in the style of a melodramatic Victorian heroine. You don't want to go out. You don't want to stay in. You don't want to get out of bed in the mornings, but you can't sleep at night either. The "Slow" or "Sad" playlists on your iPod are on constant rotation.<br />
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Melancholy. It happens to us all every so often. My most recent bout snuck up on me several weeks ago, while I was out with a lovely guy from my online dating site. Those two facts are unrelated, by the way, I'm just setting the scene a bit. I'm not going to lie, it kind of took me by surprise. I'd been doing really well, or so I thought. But little by little, I realised I was listening to more James Vincent McMorrow than was strictly necessary. And that I'd been looking at old photos on Facebook quite a lot. I went to bed that night and bawled my eyes out.<br />
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This, ladies and gentlemen, is the pants side of marital breakdown. (Not that there's a particularly good side to it either, but anyway.) You can be doing great for months at a time, then completely out of the blue, the pain train hits you again and you're back at what feels like square one. But it's not <em>actually</em> square one, thank Jebus. You spend a lot less time leaking from the eyes, for one thing. There's also a lot less alcohol and time off work involved ( you can decide for yourself whether or not that's a good thing). I take all this to mean that each subsequent relapse will be slightly less horrific until eventually, I will be "cured".<br />
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In the meantime, I have found that the best short-term cure for the dreaded melancholia is to play Pink's "So What" at ear-splitting volume and lep around the bedroom like a child with ADHD who's been drinking speed-laced Coke for three days. I apologise to both Sinead and Mrs. Keane next door for being subjected to this on myriad occasions over the past few weeks.<br />
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Anyway, my other go-to cure for feeling a bit down in the dumps in general is any food containing chillies. I don't care if it's a placebo effect, it works for me and that's all that matters, right? So, dear readers, I give you:<br />
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<u><strong>Moroccan-spiced Lamb Burgers with Minted Chickpeas & Harissa Yoghurt</strong> - serves 4</u><br />
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500g lamb mince 1 red onion<br />
1 red chilli 1 fat clove garlic<br />
Bunch fresh coriander 2 cream crackers<br />
Pinch each cumin & paprika Jar of harissa paste<br />
Salt & pepper Tin of chickpeas, drained & rinsed<br />
2 large white onions, sliced Tbs mint sauce<br />
250ml natural yoghurt<br />
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1. Roughly chop your red onion, chilli and garlic. Lob them into a food processor with the coriander and the cream cracker (broken up into a few pieces). Whizz til finely minced, then pop into a large bowl with the lamb, cumin, paprika and a teaspoon of the harissa. Add a little salt and pepper and mix well til everything's really well combined. Shape into four burgers, then pop on a plate and stick them in the fridge to firm up for at least half an hour.<br />
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2. While your burgers are firming (oo-er, matron!), heat a little olive oil in a large pan and sweat the white onions until soft, but not coloured. Add the chickpeas and mint sauce and warm through. Season to taste with salt & pepper, and keep warm.<br />
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3. Preheat your grill to its highest setting. Make a little indent in each burger with your thumb. Don't ask me how this works, but it does stop them swelling up in the middle as they cook. Grill until nice and golden-brown, turning over halfway through.<br />
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4. Swirl another tablespoon of the harissa into the natural yoghurt. Serve the burgers in round pitta breads with a big dollop of yoghurt and the chickpeas on the side. I also like to add a spinch & coriander salad to this.<br />
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Eimearhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02957750594312648464noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8918386593309036888.post-7753031526485979712012-07-03T12:57:00.000+01:002012-07-04T09:53:36.794+01:00Post the Fifty-sixth (in which our heroine embarks on her first online dates)So, your heroine took the plunge into the online dating world, she spent hours separating the online wheat from the online chaff, she spent quite some time scratching her head at some of the more esoteric messages she received. Like those from Naked Jogging Guy. Naked Jogging Guy (or NJG, as he shall henceforth be known) must be famous on my particular site by now. His first message to me was extremely polite - he had "specific tastes" that he was looking for someone to indulge. Being a bit of a nosy creature, I replied asking for more details. Turns out he was looking for someone to come and watch him jogging around a field in the nip. That was it - no "funny stuff" (his words) - just the naked jogging. Your correspondent regretfully declined. Then, maybe two months later, I got another very similar message. Assuming it to be the same person (no photos on the profile, funnily enough) I replied with "Is this the naked jogging guy? Sorry, I've no interest." I received a midly irate response more or less saying "Gawd no, naked jogging??? That's just weird! Nah, I'm looking for someone to watch me pleasure myself on Skype."<br />
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Oh, well in that case...<br />
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Anyway, on to the actual dates. My first one was with a guy who seemed perfectly nice and normal. We'd been messaging on the site for a few days, then moved onto emails, and when he asked me out for the following Friday, I said yes. I'm not going to lie, I was absolutely terrified, but hey, it had to be done, right? So off I toddled to a bar on Pembroke St. to meet him.<br />
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5' 11". That was the height on his profile. Now, your correspondent is about 5' 7" in her bare feet and loves her hee-highlers. Height, as shallow as it sounds, is a factor for me in choosing potential dates. But 5' 11" ? Grand. We'd be about the same height with me in heels. No problem there. So I'm standing at the bar in Matt the Threshers and in walks my company for the evening. My heart starts to sink. I'm desperately clinging to a "these cows are small, those cows are far away" maybe-it's-just-the-perspective mantra in my mind, but I know it's futile. Matt the Threshers isn't that bloody big. Up he saunters, says hello, kisses my cheek. I'm towering over him. He buys me a drink. I'm already mentally sending the "Peanuts!" message to my friend A, which is our code word for "get me the flock out of here". Not the best way to start a date. He had no-one to blame but himself, though. I mean, seriously, did he actually think I wasn't going to notice that he had blatantly lied about his height? Or did he just think I'd be so dazzled by his personality that I wouldn't notice he was approximately the same size as Michael D. Higgins? Needless to say, he didn't get a second date. And I now mentally knock at least two inches off everyone's height on my site. Which is a bit worrying when people have themselves listed at 5' 5" in the first place...<br />
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Then there are the people who use photos of themselves that are, shall we say, of the vintage variety. Apparently women are the worst cuplrits for this, but I got caught out by one of the male perpetrators on my third date from the site. I met this guy on a Sunday afternoon when I was in town anyway. He drove in specifically to meet me, and rang me when he arrived. "Where will I meet you?" says I. "Ah sure just jump in the car and we'll go for a spin," says he. "I think not, I don't know you from Adam," says I, wondering if there are actually women out there who are stupid enough to get into a car for a drive with a complete stranger. So we agree to go to the Old Stand for a drink. I arrive. My heart once again sinks. He is at least 3 stone scrawnier than his profile picture. He has a massive scar running from his left ear to his mouth that was also conspicuously absent from his said picture. He bears an uncanny resemblance to Roland the Rat. He has also, through the magic of online communication, managed to disguise the fact that he's a total knackbag. "Jaaaaaayziz, dis place is veddy fancy, wha?" was his opinion of the Old Stand. I repeat, the Old Stand. I learned two valuable lessons from this particular bloke:<br />
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1. Never trust a profile that only has one photo on it. Everyone has one photo where the planets all aligned and the fates conspired to make them look good. If you come across a profile with only one photo up, it's that one.<br />
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2. Always, always, <em>always</em> speak to your prospective date on the phone before you meet them. I could have saved myself a whole hour of my life if I'd spoken to this guy before arranging the date.<br />
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I could not get out of there fast enough. Necked my beer, checked my watch and was like "Oh, look at the time, must run, work in the morning and all that..." He insisted on walking me out, then tried to give me a lift home. I was like "Oh no it's fine, look, there's a taxi right there. Taxi? TAXI!!!???" all while he's trying to give me a goodnight kiss and I'm practically bent over backwards at the waist trying to avoid it.<br />
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He texted me later that evening saying what a great time he had. Clearly his people-reading skills are as rusty as the Stanley blade that gave him that scar. (He claimed it was an airbag in a car accident. Yeah right.) I didn't respond, thinking I'd deal with it in the morning. I was never given that chance. I was woken up the following morning by not one, not two, not three, not four but FIVE unsolicited (and extremely unwelcome) pictures of his todger. Well, I stopped opening them after the second one but seeing as they were all MMSs, it was probably a safe assumption to make. Doubleyou. Tee. Eff??? Needless to say, he went to Ignoresville after that. He did, however, message me online again about a week or so later wondering what he'd done wrong. I kid you not. So, being the kindly soul that I am, I replied and said I just didn't think we had much in common. His response? "Ah yer prolly righ'. I tink you need help though, luv. Not wanting kids? That's just weird."<br />
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Yep, ladies and gentleman. This man thinks it's acceptable to carpet-bomb a woman he's met once with willy pictures, and I'm the one who needs help.<br />
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No recipe today, this post was long enough without one!Eimearhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02957750594312648464noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8918386593309036888.post-60213273197472391962012-06-25T19:08:00.000+01:002012-07-03T12:58:57.023+01:00Post the Fifty-fifth (in which our heroine muses on the bizarre world of online dating)So, it was going to happen at some stage. Eventually your correspondent was going to want to return to the world of the opposite sex. This was ever going to be a daunting prospect, given that your correspondent had been off the market for almost 7 years, but your correspondent is a woman and women have needs, and there came a time when your correspondent decided she could do with a bit of a snog.<br />
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Not having the first clue of how to go about scoring anymore, your correspondent was pointed in the direction of online dating. "It's great!" said her friend, who shall remain unnamed. "Even if you don't end up meeting anyone, it's a great ego boost. Go for it." So for it I went, on a site that shall also remain unnamed. I will admit to having a few drinks on board when I created my profile, but seeing as I had about 14 messages before I even finished adding my photos, I decided to leave it as-is when I had another look the next day. It weeds out (some of) the idiots I'd have nothing in common with.<br />
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Anyway, online dating has been an experience, to say the least. The men who frequent my site fall into a few broad categories; there are the hook-up artists who are only after one thing. I seem to attract <i>a lot</i> of these. They don't really bother me, as long as they're up-front about it, at least I know not to waste my time. Then there are the ugly-but-needy brigade. They think being self-deprecating to an extreme will engender enough pity in you to respond to them. It doesn't. There's also the poor craytures who are hanging onto the rules they learned in "The Game" in the mistaken belief that PUA works. This lot inevitably send you a really insulting first message. Presumably the idea is that you'll write back to have a go at them, and they can suck you into a conversation that way. These also go straight into the recycle bin.<br />
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And then we have, unfortunately, what appears to be the largest contingent on my site, anyway - the time wasters. These are people who have absolutely no intention of ever actually going on a date with someone, but who will happily string you along for weeks, if not months, pretending that they're going to meet you. Online Dating ingenues will inevitably fall for at least three of these idiots, lose all faith in the process, delete their profiles in frustration, then return several weeks later, older, wiser and a lot more cynical. I know I did. One particular time-waster who was nothing if not entertaining fed me so much crap that he clearly couldn't remember at any given moment what he'd already told me. Your correspondent, on the other hand, has a nigh-on eidetic memory and took great pleasure in calling him out on stuff. At the time of going to press, this dude had lived in Kinsale, Cork, Clare and Limerick at varying stages in the process.<br />
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So, having done the online dating thing for a couple of months now, I feel well-placed to make the following observations:<br />
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1. No-one on my site drinks more than socially, smokes or does drugs.<br />
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2. Everyone is good-looking in a baseball cap/sunglasses.<br />
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3. People can hide a whole world of crazy behind a keyboard.<br />
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4. Some people have no shame.<br />
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Now, that's not to say there aren't some genuine people out there too. I've been on a good few dates at this stage and met some lovely people. But where's the fun in writing about that? Part two of my online dating odyssey continues tomorrow with the dates themselves. Until then, content yourself making this easy-peasy midweek dinner:<br />
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<u><b>Pasta with Smoked Ham & Balsamic-roasted Tomatoes - </b>serves 4</u><br />
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400g pasta shapes 250g smoked ham, cubed<br />
750g tomatoes, roughly chopped 6 tbs balsamic vinegar<br />
6 tbs olive oil 4 cloves garlic, peeled & sliced<br />
Couple sprigs fresh thyme Salt & pepper<br />
Shaved parmesan, to serve<br />
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1. Place your tomatoes, garlic, thyme, olive oil & vinegar in a large ovenproof dish and mix everything really well. Season generously and roast at 220C for about 40 minutes.<br />
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2. While the tomatoes are roasting, fry off your ham (I use the Aldi bacon offcuts - €1.99 for a kilo, they're amazing value) and cook and drain your pasta.<br />
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3. When the tomatoes are done, remove the thyme sprigs, then add the tomatoes and ham to the pasta and give everything a good toss. Check your seasoning, correct if necessary, then serve on warm plates with shaved parmesan and good crusty bread.<br />
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Apologies for the atrocious photo, by the way; I was absolutely famished and actually couldn't wait five seconds to compose the shot properly...<br />
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Anyway, this is possibly the easiest recipe on this blog. It tastes divine and you can easily leave out the ham for any vegetarians you might be catering for. Go on, give it a try.Eimearhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02957750594312648464noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8918386593309036888.post-41331623771008315902012-06-19T10:38:00.000+01:002013-12-19T14:59:57.251+00:00Post the Fifty-fourth (in which our heroine waxes lyrical about Buffalo sauce)It all started fairly innocuously. The odd chicken wing in Tribeca if I was there with a group and we ordered a basket for a starter. Little did I know I was on a slippery slope to a torrid love affair with all things Buffalo. I can trace this descent back to one defining moment - the day I found out exactly what they use in those chicken wings that makes them so dangerously addictive. It's Frank's Red Hot Sauce. I've already posted a recipe using it. If you've made it, I'm sure you'll agree with me on the crack-like addictive qualities of this wondrous stuff. Their tagline is "I Put that Sh*t On Everything" and I do. I really, really do. It truly is the king of condiments. This recipe came about as an attempt to recreate a starter I had in the Cheesecake Factory in Orlando. Truth be told, it probably bears absolutely no relation to that dish whatsoever, but it's still really, really good. Not something you'd want to be eating on too regular a basis, granted, but perfect for some hungover night in with a DVD and the need for major soakage.<br />
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<u><strong>Buffalo Blasts - </strong>makes about 8</u><br />
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500g turkey mince 1 pack filo pastry, defrosted<br />
150ml Frank's 4tbs butter or dairy spread<br />
1 tbs white wine vinegar Pinch garlic granules<br />
1 egg, beaten Good handful very sharp cheddar, grated<br />
Black pepper Oil for frying<br />
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1. Heat up your deep fat frier or if, like me, you don't have one, heat a couple of inches of oil in a wok (don't use olive, it has too low a smoke point and has far too strong a taste anyway).<br />
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2. Fry your turkey mince over a medium high heat until cooked through. You'll need to really work it well with a fork, because it clumps like a muthafucka. Add garlic granules and black pepper to taste, then set aside.<br />
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3. Combine the Frank's and butter or dairy spread (this is one of the few cases where you can genuinely use the low-fat crap without it affecting the end result) in a small pot over a low heat, stirring until it's nice and silky. Add a splash of white wine vinegar (you can use red if it's all you have) and stir in the turkey mince.<br />
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4. Cut the filo into rectangles. Place a small spoonful of filling on the bottom
left corner of the rectangle with a sprinkle of cheese and a grind of black
pepper, leaving a small border. Fold the pastry over from the right to create a
triangle shape. Continue to fold over from side to side till you have a
triangular package. Brush the end of the pastry with the beaten egg and
seal.<br />
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(Google videos on how to fold a samosa if you genuinely have no clue what I'm talking about here.)<br />
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5. Cook the blasts in the oil in batches until the pastry is golden brown. Drain on
kitchen towels and serve with blue cheese dip or sour cream.<br />
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<strong><u>Blue Cheese Dip</u></strong><br />
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120ml buttermilk 60ml sour cream<br />
115g blue cheese, crumbled Black pepper to taste<br />
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1. Very complicated this - bung the whole lot into a blender and whizz til smooth.<br />
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Erm, I didn't really think a ramekin of blue cheese dip warranted a photo, sorry!<br />
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Anyway, as I said, these are perfick Friday-night-in-with-a-DVD-and-a-few-beers fare. And, shamefully, they're just as good cold, a few hours later when you just can't help yourself wandering into the kitchen to pick. Do it in your dressing gown and pretend you're Nigella Lawson.<br />
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<br />Eimearhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02957750594312648464noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8918386593309036888.post-56817392818869946512012-06-14T13:25:00.000+01:002013-12-19T15:00:50.263+00:00Post the Fifty-third (in which our heroine is happy with the Heineken Cup draw)Ah, you have to love rugby. No sooner is the season over and you're wondering how you're going to last until September, when the ERC step in with the draw for the next year's Heineken Cup pools, keeping you going for, ooh, at least a week while you try to decide which away trip you'd like to go on and waste countless hours in work looking at flights, which you can't actually book because they haven't published the match dates yet. Leinster got a pretty nice draw this year - we're in Pool 5 with Scarlets, Exeter and Clermont. ASM are the only potential spanner in the works there, as they are <em>determined</em> to win the HEC soon, and they're quite unhappy with us at the moment, having been beaten by us in the semi final this year.<br />
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Pool 2, on the other hand, is horrible. El Grupo del Muerte. Abandon hope, all ye who enter here. Toulouse, Ospreys, Leicester Tigers and, erm, Benetton Treviso. Poor Treviso.<br />
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I'm just going to gloss over the fact that the national team are still on tour in New Zealand. I've decided to pretend we don't <em>have</em> a national team for the remainder of Declan Kidney's tenure. It's just better for my mental health.<br />
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Anyway, moving swiftly on to the grub... I'm just back from a few days in Kinsale, where I ate approximately my own bodyweight in seafood and brown bread. I also ate my entire week's salary in seafood and brown bread (and possibly also one or two sociable drinks), so it's going to be a lean couple of days <em>chez moi</em> in both senses of the word. A slightly less depressing option than beans on toast on constant rotation when your bank balance is less than rotund is homemade hummous. Tins of chickpeas are ridiculously inexpensive (about 35c in Aldi) and there's also the added bonus of them being low in fat, low GI and generally all-round good for you. And you should have practically everything else you need to make this already lying around the kitchen.<br />
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<strong><u>Chilli Hummous</u></strong><br />
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1x 400g tin chickpeas, drained & rinsed 1 red chilli, roughly chopped<br />
2 fat cloves garlic, peeled & quartered Juice of 1 lemon or lime<br />
Small bunch fresh coriander Dash of olive oil<br />
Salt & pepper to taste<br />
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1. Tip the chickpeas, chilli, garlic & coriander into a food processor and blitz til you get a crumbly mix. Add the lemon/lime juice and pulse again, scraping down the sides between goes if you need to. Then, with the motor running, drizzle in about a tablespoon of olive oil. Stop the motor (obviously), season with the salt & pepper, taste and season again if needed.<br />
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2. If the texture still isn't quite right (I like mine quite stiff), you can continue to thin the hummous out with a little extra olive oil, or even water if you're trying to undo the damage of four days in Kinsale. Just keep checking the seasoning after every addition of liquid.<br />
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This will keep for a good five days in the fridge in an airtight container, but to be honest, it rarely lives that long - it's incredibly moreish with griddled flatbreads or even (dare I say it), carrot or cucumber sticks.Eimearhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02957750594312648464noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8918386593309036888.post-45634674378928963532012-06-08T14:42:00.000+01:002013-12-19T14:59:14.446+00:00Post the Fifty-second (in which our heroine returns to the kitchen)So, your sometime correspondent returned to the kitchen last night. I genuinely can't remember the last time I cooked a meal, to my shame. There was much jubilation in the Coffey household. I even invited a special guest in the form of my friend A. (But it was really only cause I knew she'd bring Prosecco...) Your correspondent pondered muchly on just what she should cook. In the end, she plumped for Mexican, which should surprise no-one who has been a regular peruser of this blog. Ok, I lie; strictly speaking the recipe is from Arizona, or at least it's in the "Arizona" section of the Jamie Oliver cookbook from whence it came, but sue me, I'm listing it under Mexican as, quite frankly, I can't see myself having enough Arizonan (Arizonian?) recipes on this blog to make it worth my while creating a whole new set of tags. <br />
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We've discussed in depth my love of Mexican flavours previously on this blog. This recipe has pretty much all of them - chillies, lime, coriander. But it's quite different too - the addition of mint and sage give it a zing and freshness that make it really dance on your tastebuds. Plus, it's ridiculously easy to make, which is a plus in anyone's book, right? Perfick Friday night grub with a few cold beers. I'd imagine that, like most chillies, it would be even better the next day, but to be honest, I've made it twice now and on neither occasions have any leftovers made it through the night in order to test that theory.<br />
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Btw, your correspondent is also on the blocks next week in the Boards.ie Cooking Club and this is the recipe I'll be using, with the addition of Navajo Flatbreads, so if you'd like to know how to make them, have a shufti over there next Friday.<br />
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<strong>Jamie Oliver's Green Chilli - serves 4</strong><br />
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800g lean pork mince 1 tsp dried sage<br />
2 large onions, diced 2 green peppers, seeded & diced<br />
6 small green chillies, roughly chopped 4 cloves garlic, crushed<br />
4 large, ripe tomatoes, deseeded & chopped Bunch coriander, chopped<br />
Small bunch fresh mint, chopped Juice of 1 lime<br />
1 Romaine lettuce Bunch spring onions <br />
Yoghurt & tortillas to serve<br />
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1. Heat a little oil in a large pan or pot and brown your mince until no pink remains. Make sure you give it a good going over with a fork to really break it up.<br />
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2. Add your sage (use twice the amount of dried oregano if you can't get sage), onions, peppers, chillie and garlic and cook on a high heat for about 10 minutes, or until any water from the pork/veg has been driven off.<br />
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3. Stir in your tomaters and half a glass of water. Season well with plenty of salt and fresh black pepper, turn the heat down slightly and let everything simmer away nicely for another ten minutes or so - this chilli is supposed to be quite dry, so again you want to let most of the moistsure cook off.<br />
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4. When the chilli is almost ready to serve, stir in the lime juice and the chopped coriander and mint. Taste and adjust the seasoning if needed (it will likely need more salt), then turn the heat off but leave the pot on the warm ring.<br />
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5. Wash and dry your lettuce and spring onions, then roughly chop them. heat a flour tortilla per person, fold it into quarters and pop it into a bowl. Ladle over your chilli, then scatter over some chopped lettuce & spring onions. Serve with yoghurt or sour cream on the side for the wimps at the table.<br />
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<br />Eimearhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02957750594312648464noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8918386593309036888.post-2805594540080669442012-06-07T14:46:00.000+01:002012-06-07T16:13:43.597+01:00Post the Fifty-first (in which our heroine returns to the blogosphere)Well, folks, it's been a while. Six months, actually. I find that quite alarming, to be honest with you. A) because I never intended to abandon the blog for that long and B) because it feels more like six weeks. The time, how she flies, eh?<br />
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Anyway, I feel a bit of an explanation is probably required. Bear with me here; t's not going to be easy. There may be snots and tears. You may end up feeling quite uncomfortable. But I've always been an extremely low-bullshit kind of person and I feel that it would be disingenuous of me to just kind of gloss over the fact that I disappeared for six months and pretend it never happened. A lot of you know me personally and will already know the story anyway. But, for those of you who don't; my marriage ended. I'm not going to go into the nitty gritty of how and why and whatnot, but suffice it to say that it was not the most pleasant experience of my life to date. And, perhaps unsurprisingly, one of the major side effects to marital breakdown is loss of appetite. Not really conducive to a food blog, as you might imagine. So, I went to ground for a while. I moved home. I drank far too much. I stayed in far too much, and then I went out far too much. I lost a stone. I call it the "Ditched Diet". It's very effective, but I couldn't in good conscience recommend it.<br />
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And then, little by little, I started to feel a bit better. Don't get me wrong, I still have my moments where I go "How the hell did this happen?", but gradually I started to feel human again. I had counselling. I realised that I didn't want to come out of this experience a worse person than when I went in. I still have no idea where I'm going or what I'm doing long-term, but I know that blogging was something that gave me a lot of pleasure, and I've had a lot of lovely comments from people over the past six months saying that they missed the blog and hoped I'd come back to it, so here I am. And if nothing else, it'll force me to cook again, thus appeasing my family somewhat, as they've been woefully disappointed at the lack of kitchen action since I moved home, God love them.<br />
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Just as long as I don't put that stone back on...<br />
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Recipes, sarcasm and stream-of-consciousness musings will all resume from tomorrow. Thanks for reading, folks.<br />
<br />Eimearhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02957750594312648464noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8918386593309036888.post-74153852933186719722011-12-05T09:20:00.000+00:002011-12-05T09:20:19.744+00:00Post the Fiftieth (in which our heroine must take a break for a while)Fifty posts! It should be a bit of a milestone. Unfortunately, I'm going to have to take my leave of you for a time. There's some stuff going on "in real life" as it were which renders me unable to give the blog the time it deserves.<br />
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So, I must bid you all adieu temporarily. I hope not to be gone too long, and I sincerely hope you'll all still be here when I return.<br />
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EimearEimearhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02957750594312648464noreply@blogger.com2