Nigella’s Parmesan Shortbread

The idea was to empty the compost bin. It is full to bursting and a few gaps have now appeared in the borders where any bounty can be piled. Yesterday was the kind of day when those kind of plans are made. Sunny, crisp, invigorating, all descriptors of the perfect autumn, on the cusp of winter, day. Today is the the kind of day that plans are shelved. Damp and dreary, oppressively gloomy, the reality of life.

I’ve got a busy week ahead, I argued with myself, stay in the warm and prepare. I didn’t take much persuading. Reading the Sunday papers, as part of my mental preparation, a Nigella Lawson recipe caught my eye – parmesan shortbreads. It sounded simple enough. There were just four ingredients, all of which I already had, which made a pleasant change. I would think of it as research, if they were delicious and easy I could make some for Christmas.

As always, the real recipe (an approximation) is in standard type, my version in italics.

Parmesan Shortbreads

Mix all the ingredients together until a golden dough begins to form a clump.
Lift out all contents of the cupboard to get mixer at the very back (a reflection on how often I use it) and replace all the contents once more. Then notice that you don’t need to use a mixer, you can use a bowl and wooden spoon instead. Feeling noble, I decide to forgo technology and use the time honoured hands on approach. Take all the contents of the cupboard out again, replace mixer and return the contents once more. Realise the butter should be soft, so weigh out 100g and put it in a saucer on the radiator. Weigh out 150g of flour and grate 75g parmesan. One of my most hated jobs in the kitchen is grating cheese. I am brave. Put them both in a bowl with an egg yolk, wonder what to do with the egg white. “Make a meringue” flashed into my mind, I threw my head back and laughed manically and poured it into the food waste. Then I felt a bit guilty. Butter is still rock hard. Time for another coffee and a rest.

Time passes, butter is softish but I can’t wait any longer. Mix it all together with the wooden spoon which doesn’t seem to be working too well so decide to go rogue and use my hands.

Turn out onto a surface and knead for 30 seconds and divide into two.
I am not hopeful that this is going to be kneadable, but it appears that I should have more faith in Nigella.

Using your hands, roll both sections into cylinders about 3cm in diameter, clingfilm them and refrigerate for 45 minutes.
There was quite a lot of squishing and squashing and wondering just how big 3cm. I was tempted to find a ruler but my Nan wouldn’t have bothered with any measuring nonsense and she wouldn’t have known nor cared what a centimeter was. So I channeled my dear Jesse and guessed. I put the little Christmas crackers into the fridge to firm up, set Grumpy Cat to 45minutes and made some lunch.

Preheat the oven to 160C fan and line baking sheet with parchment paper.
Grumpy Cat dinged and I hadn’t put the oven on or lined the baking sheet. Yet again I am puzzled why I own parchment paper, but I do and I am very pleased of that fact. Oven won’t take long to heat up.

Cut dough rolls into 1cm thickness and place on sheet. Should make 35-40.
35-40?!!! I think not. Cut into approximately 1cm pieces, or what I imagine 1cm should look like and place on tray. A bit of a squeeze, what if they spread a bit? Line another tray, adjust boiling hot shelves in oven, getting steam facial at the same time. Distribute evenly between the two trays. Still only 20 biscuits. Maybe my 1cm is not the same as Nigellas.

Bake for 15-20 minutes until just beginning to turn pale gold at the edges.
Set Grumpy Cat for 15 minutes, shout at the Bargain Hunt contestants. GC dings. Check in oven, is that pale gold? I think so. I hope so.

And the result? Delicious! And yes, Peggy, I am hoping to bring some for you to try. And yes JK, I am hoping there will be a couple for you as well. But they are extremely moreish ……. Thanks Nigella, you didn’t let me down, I didn’t doubt you for a moment!

Eye of the Storm

Further to what I would have you believe, it hasn’t been all dank and deluge this last week. Wednesday was beautiful. The sun shone, the breeze was light.

This fabulous day was to be spent working at The Fit Family’s lovely country garden where I have recently created a new bed. This new border, sunny and sheltered, has been planted full of exotic lovelies such as Hedychium greenii, Wachendorfia thyrsiflora and a variegated beschorneria. However, the ground is poor, little more than clayey, rocky subsoil, so improvement was imperative. Unfortunately, synchronicity was not on my side and the spent mushroom compost did not come in time for planting. Not ideal, but it could be added later, getting the plants into the ground was the priority. The soil improver was due to arrive before my next visit.

And so it had. A pallet of the lovely stuff had been delivered, along with a builder’s bag of woodchip mulch. The only problem was that it was 4 wide steps and several tens of meters away from its intended place. It was also pouring with rain. Not to worry, I thought, I’m sure Mr Fit will be out in just a minute to help me.

Luckily, after my sojourn at Cliffe, I have advanced level barrowing skills, albeit a little rusty, and gamely I began. The bags were much heavier than the last load I’d distributed and I couldn’t even lift one into the wheelbarrow let alone get it up the steps. Not the best start. What now? Jedi advice from an ex-boss echoed in my ears, (who was actually more Gimli than Yoda, with a temperament to match) “Old age and cunning, Gill, use old age and cunning”. Inspired, somehow I managed to hoik one into place, cut it open, empty half into the barrow, hoik the half full bag out. Then backwards I inched up the steps and across the lawn to the bed. And repeat. Twenty-two times. In the rain.

Unfortunately, Mr Fit had a pressing appointment (non-specific) elsewhere (or was it an allergy to rain?) and wasn’t available to assist.

I can’t think why I’ve got a bad back.

This week all that was left to be done was to apply a woodchip mulch, which would finish the bed off nicely. As I was driving to work, the sun shining in a rather disturbing manner, I was hoping that the fairies might have helped in the fortnight I had been away. But no, no supernatural help had manifested itself. There, looming proud, was the full bag of chippings next to the nine remaining compost bags. Mr Fairweather Fit, as he shall be known from this day onwards, appeared eager to help by shifting the compost. “Blimey, these are much heavier than last time!” he said as he lugged them up the steps, puffing and panting, then barrowed them to a more convenient corner. Another pressing appointment beckoned.

I spent the next few hours shoveling chippings into the wheelbarrow, hoiking them up ……… you get the picture.

Can’t imagine why ….. you get the picture.

Six on Saturday – Blessings

Another challenging week, weather-wise. Another challenging week, work-wise. There has been an awful lot of bulb planting and a seriously daunting amount are lurking on the horizon. My back has been playing up and ibuprofen, Voltarol and a heated pad have been my constant companions. Still, it’s nearly spring, so I really mustn’t complain. Yes, I know I have just been moaning on, but apart from incessant rain it has been a fine week. Things have been achieved, delicious banana and chocolate muffins have been eaten and the leaking boiler fixed with relative ease. Blessings must be counted. I will do my best to deliver an upbeat and positive Six on Saturday. Visit Jim over at Garden Ruminations and I am sure the other SoSers will lift any spirits still floundering in the mush. Shall we get on with the task at hand?

First we have Malva trimestris ex Ruby Regis. I was a little disappointed when I found out this mallow is an annual. I have been proven wrong, it has flowered and flowered and flowered. Not only that, it has produced lots of seed for next year. Win, win!

Fuchsia macrophylla was knocked back so hard last winter I feared it wouldn’t get back up again. Rummaging in the back of the border, looking for photo opportunities, I found it has risen from near death. Of course I really should have looked before now and taken precautionary cuttings, but it is too late now and I must hope for the best.

In the five minutes of sunshine between putting the washing out and the rain starting again, I noticed next door’s fence steaming in the warmth. It’s both art and science.

I was always led to believe that blue centred osteospermum are the hardy type, namely Osteospermum jucundum. Hopefully, this is true as there is no room in the greenhouse for this lovely little, admittedly blurry, daisy.

I just can’t resist a seed head. All that promise.

Finally, Dahlia ‘Labyrinth’, a little ragged but still having a go. A lesson to us all.

That is your six for this week. I hope all chins are up. Have fun!

Six on Saturday – Home Sweet Home

It has been a couple of weeks since I joined in with the Six on Saturday shenanigans; general apathy and specific holiday being the reasons. The sunny spells yesterday inspired me to pull myself together and venture forth into the mellay. The ground is sodden and the garden is looking rather unkempt; apathy and holiday also being the reasons. Another reason, which conveniently rhymes, is the season. Autumn. A time of natural decay, of hunkering down, of slowing. I know it is a favourite time for many, but not for me. For me it is the promise of damp and cold days. I don’t want damp and cold anymore. Perhaps I will come and visit one, or more, of my antipodean SoS colleagues. If you wish to hear more tales of murk or sun from across the world, pop over to Jim’s site, our venerable leader, and all will be revealed. Shall we shake a leg?

First we have Nerine bowdenii ‘Bicolor’ which has done me the great honour of flowering. Unlike my others which are steadfastly under-performing. Perhaps they will be shamed into making a move.

The glorious thug Diascia personata has been kept slightly less rampant than last year, but still there are unfortunates that lie beneath. She met her match with a couple of ipomoea and they have had a wonderful tussle over the last few months.

The sunflowers have been magnificent this year, now the skeltons grace the garden. I was wondering if the seed have fallen to the ground or been eaten by the squabbling sparrows. Maybe a little of both.

The Salvia uliginosa has collapsed onto the large dark-leaved, winter surviving dahlia. The sky blue flowers are looking beautiful against the chocolate foliage of its supporter.

Next Salvia leucantha, either Midnight or Purple Velvet, I’m not quite sure. I’m glad it eventually turned up to the party.

As we were heading off on holiday we commented on how the autumn colour of the acers was particularly good this year. Storm Ciarán sorted that one out.

That is another week done, I hope it finds you well and warm.

Six on Saturday – Disintegrating

I was resigned to a no-SoS week. It was my first week back to work after the Dreaded and a rest was in order, the car was having some work done in the garage and the rain was falling. A day of Murder She Wrote, catching up with friends and reading last weekend’s papers was in order. During a digital conflab with the wonderful Torrington Tina she said “I’m looking forward to your Six on Saturday”. Darn it. Or perhaps “Thank you for the kick up the posterior”. And here we are. A slightly blurry insight into a rapidly disintegrating garden. Sometimes we need a little encouragement and I thank you TT, that’s what friends are for. Shall we get on?

I am slightly ashamed that I have only come to the zinnia party in the last couple of years. Now I won’t hear a bad word about them. At present they are fighting their corner like good ‘uns, battling for space and definitely holding their own. They could almost oust cosmos from No. 1 position in Gilly’s Top Ten of Annuals.

Fuchsia ‘Lady Boothby’ was a rescue from my sponsor. The plant looked doomed after last winter’s onslaught, but once we started digging it up it seemed all was not lost. We had already removed one piece. “Don’t chuck that bit of root, I’ll have it!”. The happy end to the story was that my piece has thrived and so has the remaining plant. Phew!

Plectranthus zuluensis (probably) has eventually found a space to poke its head out into the world. I must treat this plant better, today (probably) it will be dug up and prepared for a life of luxury in the greenhouse until spring.

Seed collecting has finished, anything left is too soggy to worry about. Now I have to post it off to those I’m promised. You know who you are.

Pelargonium echinatum ‘Album’ was moved to the greenhouse before we went away. It has rewarded me by flowering again.

Finally, Geranium ‘Ann Folkard’, creeping through the delicious foliage of Hydrangea aspera ‘Hot Chocolate’. Doubly good.

That is your lot, another six, another Saturday. Now, what was I not doing ……?

Six on Saturday – Peace

The inevitable happened and I have succumbed to the evil Covid. A day or two of feeling rotten and now just boredom and positive tests. In the scheme of things, in the scheme of this misguided world, it is inconsequential. Pop over to Himself to find out what the other SoSers are up to. Let’s get on.

First we have Begonia ‘Claret Jug’ which is neither claret or jug-like. To be fair to this lovely specimen, the underside of the leaves are a deep deep red but I forgot to take a shot for you. Perhaps next week.

I tried to take a photo to illustrate just how tall the Jack and the Beanstalk tithonia is. With just one flower at the very top, it is most peculiar, although others are threatening at the auxiliaries. I asked OH how tall he thought it was after “is that thing in the corner actually going to do anything useful?”. He guessed 10ft.

Rudbeckia ‘Irish Eyes’ is a favourite of mine. It is one of those “short lived perennial, often grown as annual” kinda guy. Easy from seed though, I must remember to save some.

We went on holiday. Our backs were turned. The molluscs tucked in. Farewell pak choi.

I grew this Canna indica from seed earlier in the year. I didn’t expect a flower just yet. Happy days.

Finally, Rosa ‘Peace’ and don’t we need her at the moment. My heart weeps for those suffering from the horrors of war, this and every week. To paraphrase the late, great Edwin Starr, “Peace, what is it good for? Absolutely everything.”

That is all, you have your six. Stay safe.

Fortitude

Enforced leisure has given me the perfect opportunity to undertake the many tasks that have been waiting patiently for the promised “when I can fit you in”. Have I done any of these tasks? Of course not. I probably had no intention of ever doing them when they were added to the virtual list. Still, when you are not feeling tip top, and subsequently descend into the mire of boredom, it is difficult to rouse even a smidgeon of oomph. I am oomphless. Not an oomph to be found.

One of the “pending” items was to write something. It is not as if I haven’t tried, or made an attempt even. Sitting down at my computer earlier in the week, I somehow found myself diverted to deleting emails from 2013 for an undisclosed and rather embarrassing length of time. Exhausted by this mind-numbing exercise, I then flopped in front of the TV and watched pap. This will not do. I gave myself a stern talking to and for once I listened. “Just get on and do it” I said. “OK” I replied. It wasn’t a long conversation, it was patently clear what I was getting at.

Shall we talk about holidays? That would be a pleasant diversion. Whilst in The Netherlands recently we visited Fort Sabina, built by Napoleon in 1810/11 as defense against the dastardly Brits. We love a bit of culture and love it even more if it has a good cafe with splendid cake, which it does. We were ably driven to this stronghold by my niece, who has recently passed her driving test, the journey soundtracked by a full running commentary from her father. As we approached the car park we noticed it was surprisingly almost full. On close inspection it seemed to be very full with classic cars. Our first job, of course, was to tour the site and to pick our favourite. The Maserati’s and Lamborghinis left me cold, but this Mercedes convertible sang a sweet song to me. It is the one I bagsied and we all know that bagsy is the law.

After refreshments we wandering around the moated circumference, dotted with trees and wildflowers, side-stepping oblivious grazing sheep, peering into curious artillery shelters and examining remnants of gun placements. Later we took a short walk up to the water and watched enormous container barges pass and one lone yacht, dwarfed by its commercial kin.

It was a lovely day; some learning, a gentle stroll and natter in the sunshine and the purchase of the biggest bottle of beer in the whole wide world*. The only thing missing was my nephew who unfortunately had been forced to stay up all night partying and was therefore unable to accompany us. Strangely, my invitation to this event seemed have been lost in the post. Still, next time Daan, I’ll bring my golden boots.

*to be verified by the Guinness Book of Records

Six on Saturday – Keep it in the Family

We have been away on a little jaunt. We caught the Eurostar to Rotterdam and onwards to visit my Cloggie brother and his family. It was wonderful. There were castles and forts, frantic bars and peaceful patios, culture and indulgence. One of the many things that gave me joy during our visit was exploring their lovely garden, which is why I decided to take umpteen photos and share them for this week’s six. As rule breaking goes, this is a mere petty crime. Admittedly, the pictures are not of my garden or taken today or even yesterday. An extra header shot of Psycho Pouf with ripening tomatoes is not even worth mentioning. Our leader, Jim the Beneficent, I am quite convinced, will not care a jot. Shall we shake a leg?

Let’s start with a stonker. Sunflower and bee. Never gets boring. These particular plants had fallen in a storm, when The Cloggies were visiting us earlier in the year. Clever that they are, the sunflowers had begun to grow upwards from their prone position. Now, the stem hoisted to the vertical, the blooms are bent towards the admirer and not high in the sky. Perfect.

Sempervivums can get lost in the cut and thrust of a garden. If you elevate and contain, their true beauty can be appreciated. These are looking quite happy in their metal bowl.

This pampus grass, smaller than the usual, held the light in its plumes like a flame.

This tradescantia is apparently a bit of a weed in the garden, popping up all over at its whim. I have couch grass that does the same. Surely this is not fair?

This Japanese anemone caught my eye, verging on double, the perfect blue/pink.

Finally, a dragon. This was a gift from us to them, many years ago, as the lichen clothes tell. We have a similar one in our garden, but not so well dressed as this.

A fabulous holiday. We came home with full hearts, Van Gogh postcards, salt liquorice and Covid. Just OH infected at the moment, but the inevitable looms. It’s all about balance.

Graveyard Shift

Many moons ago, when I was but a seedling, my fascination with graveyards began. My parents ran a post office and stores in a small village in East Sussex. To get to school we had to catch the local bus to the nearby, slightly larger, village of Ticehurst. I was four years old, my elder brother a mature five. Even in those ancient times, this was deemed too young to travel alone, so a “big” boy named Gavin was employed to ensure that we arrived at school safely and conversely returned home again. For this he was paid 2/6 a week. He was seven years old.

I don’t remember our guardian being particularly attendant in his security duties, in fact there are glimmers of neglect. I do remember that each day we short-cutted through the graveyard, both to and from the bus-stop. And I also remember that our minder told us that if you peered into the large crack on top of one of the tombs you could see a green slimy man inside. I didn’t risk it.

A couple of weeks ago, on a restless leg day, I went for a saunter. After nosing over a few garden hedges and chatting to a couple of dog walkers I found myself once again in the local graveyard. Since moving here we have wandered the plots many times but, although much door rattling has occurred, never once managed access to the church. Of course if we had really wanted to see inside, I hear you shouting, we could have visited on a Sunday when it would certainly be open to visitors. Perhaps at Christmas, I do love a good singsong.

However, on this particular day the porch door was irresistibly open. Pushing onto the inner door, I was thrilled that it was also open and I stepped inside. Here I met a wonderful woman called Enid, which she pointed out was pronounced the Welsh Enn-id as opposed to English Een-id. As I asked about architectural features and pressed for historical facts she smiled sweetly and told me, repeatedly, “Fred would have been able to tell you all that”. Unfortunately, Fred died earlier this year. I am hoping he passed on all his knowledge before that sad day. Still, I enjoyed my visit and chat to Enid. Not knowing relevant dates and either perpendicular or gothic is hardly going to change the course of anyone’s’ history.

Whenever we visit new places we invariably seek out churches, chapels and cathedrals. In the case of the smaller, this has become increasingly difficult, as they are often locked against criminals. Instead we investigate their cemeteries, trying to interpret tombstones, wondering at fine sculpture, interpreting symbolism, identifying local traits.

Of course, if ever I spot a tomb with a large cracked stone atop, I am tempted to have a peep. I haven’t done yet, I’m never quite brave enough. Perhaps you will have a look for me?

Six on Saturday – Underestimation

I wasn’t going to do a six this week, it has been so miserable lately I was sure there would be only misery to share. Then a diamond title popped into my head and I changed my mind. After the persistent gales and torrential rain of the last week I thought The Mighty Fallen would be a perfect moniker. Wandering around the garden taking photos I realised that, to be fair, most things have just bounced back, weeble style. Not such a great idea anymore. I should not have underestimated the power of the packed-in border. Should we get on with the task at hand? If you would like to know more about Six on Saturday and visit (virtually) gardens across the universe, then pop over to Maestro Jim’s site and all will be revealed.

First we have Heliotropium arborescens, the heliotrope, a big name for a rather pathetic specimen. This is the sole survivor of my sowing efforts. Shall we blame the bizarre year or the inept gardener? Take your pick.

Earlier in the year I bought a trio of rooted fuchsia cuttings, they were small and needy and some failed. One, a gift to The Prof, thrived. Which is a tale for another day. This is Fuchia ‘Gottingen’ which has toddled along quite nicely.

Fuchsia boliviana is winter-surviving miracle. This particular plant has never flowered but at present I am happy enough with its beautiful foliage and surprising resilience.

In the greenhouse I am growing a couple of varieties of pepper, including this curious rams horn variety. They are quite sweet and I have been pickling them. Yes, Peter Piper would be proud of my peck of pickled peppers.

Who knew quite how vigorous Salvia uliginosa is when happy? However, the ethereal blue of its lofty blooms is enough to forgive it a multitude of sins.

Peggy has done well this year, in every way. Her dahlia namesake has been similar.

There we have it, six weebles from my garden. More storms for us tomorrow, it might be quite a different story next week.