Post 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.

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, ancient, 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.

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 wasn't".  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.

So here's to eternal youth, even if only in our minds.

*clink*

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.

Cod Bake Fishcakes - serves 2

2 portions of leftover cod bake                        3 eggs
2 tbs flour                                                        Tin of baked beans

1. Crack one of the eggs into the leftover cod bake and mix well.  Add a little leftover seasoning if you think its needed.

2. Sprinkle the flour onto a large plate.  Shape the fish mix into four cakes and dredge in the flour until evenly coated.

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.

4. While the fishcakes are cooking, heat the beans with a shedload of black pepper and a dash of Frank's Red Hot Sauce if you have it.  At the same time, poach two eggs*.

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.

*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.

1. Never keep your eggs in the fridge.  The "shock" of putting a cold egg into hot water or oil just never ends well.

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 very gentle simmer - a rollicking boil will just break up the egg when you add it.

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.

4. When the white is just set, remove extremely gingerly with a slotted spoon.  Drain on a folded-over kitchen towel, then gently roll onto whatever it is you're serving it on.

Yis can all thank me later...

Post the Sixty-sixth (in which our heroine ponders on her decision to go back to college)

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 very 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.

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 Arts 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.

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.

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.

Meatball & Bean Casserole - serves 4

2x 12 packs of meatballs*                                    Tin of baked beans
Tin of tomatoes                                                     1 onion, chopped
2 cloves garlic, crushed                                         2 tbs olive oil
1 tsp paprika                                                          Half a chicken stock cube
Salt & pepper

1. Heat your oil in a large ovenproof pan or casserole, and saute the garlic and onions until just beginning to soften.

2. Add the meatballs and allow to colour, turning every so often, until everything is a lovely golden-brown. 

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.

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).

 

 

* As I mentioned in the shopping-list post, if you can get one pack of beef and one pack of pork meatballs, do that.

 

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.

 

Anyway, a pinch each of cumin, cayenne, cinnamon and ground coriander will add even more depth to this dish.

 

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.

 

We shall speak anon, dear readers.

Post the Thirty-ninth (in which our heroine gets some very good news)

I'm going to be a paid blogger!  You may recall me posting that I was entering the Groupon.ie food blogging competition a while back.  Well, shock-horror and joy of joys, I won!  I will now be writing a food blog for Groupon.ie and getting paid for it, can you friggin believe it?  I'm still kind of in shock, to be honest.  I'm still waiting to be told the finer details, but fear not - you'll be the first to know when my first entry is published!

So, I'm going out for dinner with my sisters this evening to celebrate.  We'll also be taking advantage of the fact that Dine in Dublin is back - we're going to Bijou in Rathgar, which is offering three courses for the low-low price of €30.  You can't really argue with that.  If you fancy partaking, all the participating restaurants and their menus are listed on www.dineindublin.ie

If you don't have the good fortune to be located in (or within driving distance of) Dublin, don't despair - I'm about to give you a gorgeous recipe that's just as good as going out to a restaurant*

White chili is a staple in our house, but it's not a concept people are at all familiar with.  It's not rocket science, though - you simply replace the beef, tomato sauce, kidney beans and other red ingredients of "normal" chili with white ones - turkey mince, chicken stock and cannellini beans.  As you can see from the photo, the end result can run anywhere between beige and pink.  This batch turned out very dark, thanks to a particularly red tin of refried beans.  Next time I make this, I'm going to make my own refried beans using cannellini beans - I reckon that'll make for a truly pale chili.

Btw, I always get my turkey mince in Aldi.  You can sometimes get it in Tesco, but the Aldi version is much leaner - I reckon Tesco mince the skin and everything, because theirs is much fattier.

*May not actually be true.

White Chili - serves 6

450g turkey mince                             1 large onion, diced
2 green or organge chilies, diced        4 fat cloves garlic, crushed
1 tbs cumin seed                                250ml chicken stock
1 tsb ground cumin                             2 tbs dried oregano
1 tsp ground coriander                       1 tsp cayenne pepper
Half tsp ground ginger                        1 can refried beans                           
1 can cannellini beans                         Juice of half a lemon

1) In a large pot or wok, heat a small splash of oil, then add your turkey mince and cook til no pink remains.  You'll need to really work this with a fork as it cooks, otherwise you'll be left with one big slab of mince, which isn't cool.

2) Add the onion, garlic, chilies & cumin seed and cook until the onion is soft, but not coloured.  Add the chicken stock and the rest of the spices.  Give everything a good stir and allow to simmer until the stock has reduced by about a quarter.

3) Stir in the refried beans, making sure they're well incorporated.  Add the drained & rinsed cannellini beans and the lemon juice.  Check the seasoning, correct it if needs be, then allow to simmer for another 15 minutes.  Serve in deep bowls with a swirl of natural yoghurt.

Like all chilies, this one improves with age, so feel free to make it early in the day, or the day before, and reheat it when you're ready to eat.  If you find it's dried out a bit, just add a bit more chicken stock to loosen it up again.

I mentioned before that I always serve my chili with tortilla chips that I bake at home myself.  By doing this, you'll save yourself roughly a kajillion calories on the store-bought kind.  They're dead easy too, so it's a win-win situation.

I use the Aldi garlic & herb tortillas, and three of them makes enough chips for Emmet and I.  Simply cut the tortillas into halves, then quarters, then eighths, giving you nice, even "slices" of tortilla.  To make the chips, layer a few slices on top of eachother.  Cut the bottom piece off to give you a triangle.  Cut the remaining piece into three more triangles - good spatial ability comes in handy here.  Repeat till all the tortillas are used up.  Spread them on a metal baking tray in a single layer - you may need to use two sheets or do them in two batches.  Bake in an oven preheated to 220C until just turning nice and golden.  They burn incredibly easily, so keep your mincers on them.  Serve in a warmed dish.

Post the Thirty-eighth (in which our heroine has Blogger's Block)

It's awful.  I can't think of anything to write about.  I was going to blog about Halloween and why I'm not joining in the festivities this year, but I only got about 30 words into that.  Then I was going to have a moan about how long my textbooks are taking to arrive from the Book Depository, but I wasn't really quite annoyed enough to get a whole post out of it.  I considered and discarded other moan topics in quick succession.  X Factor? Don't care enough.  The APA referencing guidelines we were initially told to use in our History assignment?  Didn't even want to think about that.  The weather?  Been there, done that.  I'm just feeling terribly apathetic altogether.  Methinks a ridiculously spicy dinner is in order this evening; it might shake me up a bit.

Anyway, continuing my love affair with all things Mexican, today's recipe is for three bean enchiladas.  The more eagle-eyed among you will notice that this is a vegetarian recipe.  You may also notice that there have been a few such recipes scattered over the blog.  The reason for this is that I have some kind of half-formed notion that it's good to go meat-free once a week.  Don't ask me whether this is for health, ethical or financial reasons, cause I really haven't thought about it that much, but the upshot is that you will find the odd vegetarian recipe popping up.  All of these recipes have (so far) been given the Hungry Man Seal of Approval (i.e. Emmet eats them), so why not give one a go?

Three-Bean Enchiladas - makes 5*

1 litre passata                             Tin each of chickpeas, kidney beans & cannelini beans
1 large onion, diced                    1 large chili, finely diced
3 cloves garlic, crushed              1 tbsp paprika
2 tsp ground cumin                     1 tsp cayenne pepper
Half tsp ground ginger                Half tsp ground coriander
150g grated cheddar                  Bunch fresh coriander, chopped
5 large soft tortillas                    Salt, pepper & a pinch of sugar

1. Heat the passata in a large pot.  Add the paprika, a teaspoon of the cumin, the cayenne, ginger, ground coriander & sugar.  Give everything a good stir and allow to simmer very gently for 10 minutes.  Season with salt and pepper, then remove and reserve half of it.

2. Meanwhile, heat a little oil in a separate pan and cook the onion, chili and garlic until nice and soft.  Add the other teaspoon of cumin and mix well.  Add the onion mix to the pot with the passata in it and stir in the three tins of beans (drained & rinsed, obviously).  Check the seasoning and correct if necessary.

3. Oil an ovenproof dish that's big enough to take all your enchiladas in a single layer.  Take one tortilla at a time (heating them for 10 or 15 seconds first makes them more pliable, btw) and spread about two dessertspoons of the bean mix along the middle of it.  Roll up exactly as you would a fajita and place in the dish.  Repeat with all five tortillas - they should be nice and snug in the dish.  Pour your reserved passata over the top, spreading to make sure everything is evenly covered, then scatter with the grated cheese and bake at 210C for about 20 minutes, or until the cheese is golden and bubbling.  Serve with a big green salad and plenty of sour cream or yoghurt.

*  Five enchiladas?  What kind of crazy-ass quantity is that?

So sue me, but five is exactly what fits in my dish and it works out perfectly for us - one for me and two for Emmet for dinner, then one each for lunch the next day.  Deal with it.

Post the Thirty-seventh (in which our heroine has a rant about the traffic)

Recession?  What recession?  Last year the AA were banging on about how the downturn was having a positive effect on traffic levels because A) loads of people had lost their jobs and B) those who still had them were car-pooling/cycling/generally leaving their cars at home because no-one can afford petrol any more.  Me arse.  As far as I can see, the traffic has been getting steadily worse over the past two years.  It doesn't help that I have the misfortune to live on one of the worst commuter routes in the country.  Ladies and gennelmen, I give you - the N7.  A road that is populated with quite possibly the most idiotic drivers in Ireland.  They tailgate.  They don't switch on their headlights when it's raining/foggy/snowing/dark.  They consistently manage to crash into eachother, even though they're all travelling in the same direction.  They slow down to look at people changing flat tyres in the hard shoulder.  Yesterday, it took me a record 22 minutes to travel from the ball at Naas (my Irish readers will know what I'm talking about) to the M7/M9 split.  A distance of approximately 12km.  And the reason for this massive tailback?  Was there a pile-up blocking one or both lanes?  Were the police stopping people to check tax and insurance?  Had a truck jack-knifed and shed its load?  No, no and thrice no.  The reason, dear readers was a malfunctioning traffic information sign.  You know, the ones that normally just say "Belt Up" or "Arrive Alive" and all that happy crappy?  Well, this one was lit up entirely in orange, with tiny writing in the middle that stated "This programme cannot display the".  And that was enough to cause people to slow down so much to read it that a 12km tailback was formed.

N7 drivers, I hate you.  This is the same group of people who seem to be consistently surprised that the sun rises in the east every morning and slam on the brakes every time the road curves into it, so you can see the kind of intellect we're dealing with.  Here's a novel idea - KEEP A PAIR OF FRIGGIN SUNGLASSES IN THE CAR!

*hyperventilates*

So, we have established that brain donors in cars give me the rage.  But do you know what gives me the happiness?  This soup.  You may remember me having it down in the Tannery a few weeks ago.  Well, the recipe is (kind of) on the Cook With Avonmore website, so I decided to have a stab at recreating it on Wednesday night.  I say "kind of", as Paul Flynn doesn't give any quantities for any of the ingredients, so I had to judge it by eye, but it turned out really, really well.  This stuff is buttery, creamy awesomeness in a bowl.  It's also extremely indulgent, so I wouldn't really recommend anything particularly heavy as a main course after it.  We actually just had a huge bowl each with some crusty bread for dinner.  Friends, Romans, Countrymen, I give you...

Bacon & Butterbean Chowdah* - serves 4

2 medium onions, finely diced                   150g bacon bits
550ml chicken stock                                 250ml cream
1 tbs flour                                                 1 tbs English or Dijon mustard
1 tin butterbeans, drained                          Small bunch flat parsley, finely chopped
Good knob of butter                                 Lots of black pepper

1) Melt the butter over a low heat, add the onions and sweat for about 10 minutes with the lid on - you'll know they're done when they go kind of translucent.

2) Turn the heat up and add the bacon.  Give everything a good stir and cook for 5 - 7 minutes.  Don't bother waiting for the bacon to brown - it won't happen because of the moisture from the onions.

3) Sprinkle over the flour, stir and cook for about 2 minutes, just to get the raw taste off the flour.  Add the stock and bring to the boil.

4)  Stir in the mustard, then add the cream and the butterbeans.  Lower the heat and allow to simmer for a few minutes, until it thickens slightly.  I mean slightly, now, it should still be quite loose!  Stir in the parsley and season with plenty of black pepper (no salt, the bacon & stock will take care of that).  Ladle into deep bowls and serve immediately with lots of crusty bread for dipping.

*It's chowdah, chowdaaah!  Say it, Frenchy!