Lemon No-Bake Cheesecake

After seriously considering Mr K’s suggestion to get a new OH after the incident last weekend, I have decided to give the old one another chance.  At this very moment he is constructing a new diddy plastic greenhouse and dismantling the vandalised one.  Off he skipped with a smile on his face and a hammer in his hand.

To reward him for his efforts I thought I would make my signature pudding, ie my only pudding, a cheesecake.  It is from the wonderful The Hungry Student Vegetarian Cookbook by Charlotte Pike.  We are neither students nor vegetarians, but we are often hungry and this recipe always works out well.  You could call it foolproof.  It is also easy to make and delicious.  Perfect.   You can customise to taste,  add other flavourings, arrange fruit artfully on the top or even throughout, as is your wont.  It is unlikely that any of these creative adaptions will happen in this house, but stranger things have happened.  As usual an approximation of Ms Pike’s instructions are in normal font, my interpretations are in italic.

Lemon No-Bake Cheesecake

Lightly grease a 20cm springform cake tin

I rummaged in the “cooking ephemeral that seldom gets used” cupboard and found that I did indeed have a 20cm springform cake tin.  A Christmas miracle in itself.  It was a bit cobwebby, so I gave it a good wash.  I then attempted to put it back together.  The bottom kept falling out.  I must be doing something wrong.  Time passes.  It must be broken.  OH walks past with a sledgehammer ” the tin ring is upside down”.  Doh!  Grease the tin.  Add butter to shopping list.

Place twelve digestives in plastic bag and smash to crumbs with a rolling-pin and transfer into a bowl.

As thirteen is our lucky number and we like a nice thick base I chucked in another one for good luck.  You can’t be mean with cheesecake.  Check whether Stealth Postie has been yet.  OH asks if I know where the pile driver is.

Melt 80g of butter, add to crumb and mix, pour into cake tin and flatten down evenly.

To take into account the extra biscuit I weighed out 87g, perhaps a little bit too much …..  Mixed it all together and began to flatten with spoon but decided fingers might be better.  Should have put an apron on before I started.  Had a little hoppy dance to Earth Wind and Fire on the radio, perhaps it was more of an enthusiastic sway.  OH bangs on kitchen door gesturing to greenhouse cover he left inside.  He says I am his assistant.  The word “lovely” was never mentioned.

In a large bowl mix 400g of sweetened condensed milk and 225g full fat cream cheese.

The cream cheese comes in pots of 280g and as space in the fridge is at a premium at the moment I bunged the lot in, mixing it with a tin of disgustingly sweetened condensed milk.  I never said this was a healthy recipe.  OH taps on window with his face pressed against a wire shelf.  *sigh*  Another dash to see if postie is on the way, as we have box of Lindor for her.

In another bowl whisk 300ml of double cream until thick and it can be lifted into peaks.

When I gave OH the shopping list I asked him to get 300g of cream.  This is a mistake I have made before.  Many years ago I had a holiday job in a grocers shop and I served someone cream in grams rather than millilitres.  She returned later and complained.  Unfortunately, for her, the person she grumbled at was my mum, who worked in the same shop.  Out of interest I have just investigated and 300ml of cream weighs 292g.   Obviously a catastrophic mistake.  It is highly likely that in the future I will make the same error again.  It is always best to know the enemy.  OH, a little bewildered by this anomaly, bought 600ml just to be sure.  It is unlikely to go to waste.

I whipped the cream, with a little extra for luck, until it was thick and could be lifted into peaks.   I can obey the rules sometimes.  Almost.  Definitely should have worn an apron.

Add the cream to the cheese/milk mix and stir in gently.

Gentle, that’s my second name.  OH pops in, grabs the whiskey bottle, takes several large gulps and head back outside without a word.  Seems like its going well.

Stir in zest and juice of two unwaxed lemons.

I’m not entirely sure that the lemons are unwaxed, although the chances are that they are, and they are looking a little past the first flush of youth.  Attempt a little zesting then give up.  Juice the frazzled fruit and top up with some extra from a bottle.  A few pips escape me, but manage to fish them all out, probably.  Otherwise it can become a new tradition, whoever finds the pip gets to do the washing up or an extra brussel sprout.  Also a great opportunity for a little festive Heimlich manoeuvre.  More stirring.  Still no postie.

Carefully spoon the mixture over the crumb base and refrigerate for at least 4 hours or preferably over night.

More carefulness, I am surpassing myself today.  The mixture, possibly as I added a little bit more of both cream and cheese, reaches right to the top of the tin.   I covered it with foil and carefully placed it in the fridge.  Then I began my patient wait.  Or as patiently as I can muster.  Don’t be tempted to look too soon.  This had been confirmed by my good friend Betsy.  Her big cheesecake reveal turned out to be a big lemony cheesy flood.   Then to cooks perks.  Licked out the bowl.  It tastes wonderful.  Now I wonder how is OH getting on? There is a mountain of washing up to be done ……

ps  Postie didn’t turn up, greenhouse did.

 

 

Six on Saturday – If you think I am going out in that you’ve got another thing coming

Afternoon all, it has been a challenging day on the Six on Saturday front.  In fact I am finding it tricky to comply with any of the criteria, including the most basic “six” and “Saturday” aspects. It is tipping down outside, the wind is howling and I am still indisposed in the foot department.  Am I going out to take photos? No way José! Never mind, as it is nearly Christmas  I am sure that our very own purveyor of comfort and joy, The Prop, will be lenient.

I haven’t been in the garden proper for a while, so I can’t report first hand what is happening out there.  There have been rumours and I have imaginings.  The builders traipsed back and forth through the Bed of Anarchy to repair the tiles that the scaffolders broke.  The wind has been so strong and spiky that many of my sensitive souls stored in pots in the top garden, yet to return to the warmth of the courtyard, are no doubt distressed.  All these things will have to wait until I brave the steps and investigate.  Possibly best not to know at the moment.  Let us head off down the road and see where we find ourselves.

First we have a lone lobelia flower, this photo was taken yesterday and I can say without fear of contradiction that it is probably looking even more sorry for itself now.  I am very fond of lobelia, they are tougher than they look, need little maintenance and come in some wonderful colours.  Their only downside, and this is being picky, is that they are a bit of a faff to grow from seed.

Allium aflatuense 'Purple Sensation'

Next we have a packet of Allium aflatunense ‘Purple Sensation’, who with its twin is yet to be planted.  I thought they would bring some early colour and later structure to the garden.  I was waiting until the BoA died down a little so I could push these in between the other perennials.  Things don’t always work out the way you planned it. They were very cheap, so no great financial disaster if they don’t get in the ground.  As soon as I can I will shove them in somewhere, where there is life there is hope.

primulas

Now another job not done.  I bought these primulas a few weeks ago, to brighten one of the planters in the front of the house when the resident annuals had given up the ghost.  Perhaps in the next week I might manage it.  It won’t take long and I need to keep my hand in.

Allan Jenkins

This morning OH greeted with “I’ve cut the door off your plastic greenhouse, it was flapping about all over the place.”  I will leave that with you.

The postie bought me a parcel today and inside was a book, a present from Phlomis Phlo.   Not a Christmas pressie, a pass it on gift from a thoughtful someone to another body who might have a little extra time for reading at the moment.   I have heard about this book, and am looking forward to discovering its treasures.

gazania

Shall we finish on this plucky gazania?  Bedraggled but not beaten.

We did it.   Some days it is more difficult than others, that is true, but all the more fun for it.  Pop on over to Prop’s site to find out what is going on in the rest of the world, and yes, I mean The Whole Wide World.  You never know what you might find.

 

On the Up

I needed a photo that said “there is light at the end of the tunnel, let’s get moving its nearly Christmas and there is sausage, mash and gravy for tea”.   One of Nancy Nightingale’s funky dunky dahlias fitted the description perfectly.

It has been a good day.   There were a few firsts after my disastrous stuntwoman interview a couple of weeks ago.  It was my first full day without the stormtrooper boot.  It was my first day with two shoes on and my first visit to the physiotherapist.  All went well.  Very well.

I don’t want to disco dance before I can walk but things are definitely on an upward trajectory.

Even better, when we got home from the hospital Father Christmas had visited.  OH didn’t mind shimmying up the scaffolding to retrieving the parcel.  I’m not that much better yet!

 

Learnt

poppyUp until today I have felt quite ambivalent about my injury.  Injury makes it sound like I did something noble to aquire such damage, I should really call it a stupid self-inflicted accident.  Much more accurate, but not helpful on the glum monitor.  The rain has helped.  Work would have been challenging and uncomfortable, so a lucky escape in that department.  Today however it became an annoyance, a sadness.  Or was that yesterday.  When I tried to get through a door whilst inexpertly driving my crutches, or when my coat was dragging in the rain or when I had to ask for help to carry the coffees to the table whilst my friend was parking the car.  A lesson.  Learnt.

Earlier today I heard on the radio a representative from a homeless charity saying that celebrities sleeping out for one night in their designer sleeping bags was patronising to the true homeless.  I thought him harsh.

Now I realise that, god willing, in a few weeks I will be back on my feet and dancing YMCA with the best of them.  How to negotiate steps and doors and all manner of public places will be a problem of the past.  Some will not have this luxury.

Records

I take photos for two reasons and these are taken into account when I am culling them.  The first reason is I am attempting to produce pictures that I can share with you and use to illustrate a point without having to apologise for the quality.  I also take them for scientific records.  Even if a photo is blurry and uninspiring I hold on to it to show which dahlia was flowering on a certain day or, in this case, exactly when the crocuses were showing their fresh green shoots on Lord and Lady Mantle’s estate.   This means I can compare year on year.  If I wanted to.  Which as yet I have not felt the need to.  I’m a pretty pathetic scientist.

Reminisces

My yearly trawl through reams of digital photos, deleting and labelling as I go, has begun early.   Not only does this attempt to impose some kind of order into my life give the illusion that I am in control, it also gives me an opportunity to share some of these snaps and the reminisces they invoke.  And I don’t have to go outside.

This picture of brace of crab apples was taken on a December meander around the gardens of Chambercombe Manor, not far from where we live.  I do love a crab apple and often recommend them when asked for advice on a small tree for the garden.  Beautiful blossom, abundant fruit, good autumn colour, wildlife friendly with few pests or diseases to ruin the party.  Near perfect.

Six on Saturday – Immobile

There have been happenings this week.  Those who have missed out on recent events can find all the juicy details in my post A Different Boot.  Ok, it’s not terribly juicy, but I was trying to entice you in.   Will this accident keep me from my Six on Saturday obligations?  I think not.  I am made of much sterner stuff.  It would take something far more catastrophic to stop me contributing to The Propagator’s  worthy meme.  Oh, and Saint Propesa of Caversham told me to pull myself together, stop whingeing and get SoSing or feel the brunt of his wrath.  So I have. There may however be some bending/deviating from the rules which I generally adhere to like gorilla glue. In the circumstances I think I should be allowed a little leeway.  If you are in the slightest bit interested in how this all works, and quite frankly who wouldn’t be, check out this caring soul’s site for details of how to join in and who else is trapped in his evil grasp involved.

First we have a view from my front window, looking out, which I expect you had gathered.  The scaffolding is still in place and yesterday we had even more put up, an extension out over next door’s roof so the builders can render the chimney in safety.  I suggested holding the renderer by the heels whilst it worked but it was vetoed.  Something about health and safety.  Wimps.  We asked to keep the cracked chimneys when they were removed during Phase 876 of the work.  The plan is to use them in an imaginative and innovative way in the garden.  Yes, we will stick some pots in the top.

Next we have a view from the rear door, the scaffolding has gone, horrah!  It is all looking rather empty, but that won’t last.  A short stride up the steps into the main micro-garden and there are at least a million pots that need to come back down to the relative warmth of this little courtyard for the winter.  Looking for volunteers…..

jacaranda

Now we have my beautiful jacaranda tree.  The Borrowers would definitely recognise this as a tree, however most normal sized humanoids would view it as a nondescript plantlet.  It is all relative. This is my number one specimen, Big Daddy, which is why it has been brought into the house for the winter.  Anther one, which I affectionately call “squirt”,  will have to tough it out in the big bad world.  No room at the inn.

From a tree (yes it is) that lives in the house, to a house plant that lives outside.   Not this actual plant, but another, less lush looking one.  We have a lot of aspidistras in the house.  Too many.  They belong to my OH, dragged around with him from house to house for the last forty years.   At all too regular intervals he splits them to make more and they magicaly appear in new places around the house.  We also force other people to take them.  “Sorry no biscuits, but please take an aspidistra with your cup of tea?”  They are like tribbles.  In amongst the herd are a couple of variegated specimens.  Whether  this is a sport or there more than one variety, I have no idea.  I won’t bother asking.  Up until very recently I didn’t realise this variegation was a good thing.  I may be warming.

Enforced immobility has opened  the door to other more gentle activities.  I have mentioned before my surfeit of garden related books.  It is also true that I am an avid reader.  However I rarely read horticultural books.  Sometimes but not often.  As it happens I am reading two at the moment.  An upstairs book, Alys Fowler’s Hidden Nature, and this one, my downstairs book. This  has sat in my pile for a while.  Partly because I want to give it the careful attention it deserves.  Now I have the time.  I have read several of Richard Mabey’s books and enjoyed them immensely.  Having dipped my toe (one from the good foot) in yesterday, I have no doubt that I am going to love it just as much as the others.

yellow rose

And now a warning:  I am about to get serious.  Perhaps even a little sloppy, maybe sentimental.  Number six is a get well soon bouquet from my next door neighbour.   Not only neighbour but friend, the wonderful Michelle helped me and OH in our hour of need.  I am sure she won’t mind but I going to share this perfect yellow rose with everyone who has sent me good wishes and bad jokes.  For the friends near and far, real or virtual, who took the time to comment and sympathise.  All hail the positive power of the internet.  It is also for the NHS staff at North Devon District Hospital, who did their jobs with efficiency and kindness in equal measures and smiled while they performed them.  Superheroes, every one of them.

An eventful week, but certainly not all negative.  Stay safe everyone.

 

 

A Different Boot

Wouldn’t it have been grand if it had happened whilst snatching a kitten from the path of a speeding train, or maybe free-climbing the Shard for a worthy charity, perhaps tackling some fiend who had just stolen a dear old ladies handbag and had sprinted of into the distance, or even during some extreme gardening?  But I didn’t.  I fractured my foot because I was under the impression there was only one step to go at the bottom of the stairs and there were two.  Counting was never my strong point.

Apart from the obvious, “foot heading in a direction that quite frankly is not natural” another unfortunate issue was that I was wearing what I like to call my “lounge wear”.  Others might call them (perhaps more accurately) “tatty old mismatching pyjamas”.  Yes I am quite aware that it was 2.00pm, and at this time of day only true slovens and nightworkers are still so casually dressed.  However it was a rain-stopped-play day and I had earlier, at an almost respectable time, changed out of my genuine PJ’s into my LW.   Not certain though if I had brushed my hair.

I will save you the gory and dull details, I am sure your imagination will fill any gaps.  Just in case you are struggling here are a few key words to help you along the way.   Agony, attempting to get into car without passing out,  leaning against a wall outside A&E like a one-legged sobbing stork whilst OH tried to find a wheelchair, being taken pity on by an ambulance driver who managed find a wheelchair and kindly took me to reception, waiting, triage, waiting, doctor, waiting, x-ray, waiting, prognosis, waiting, groovy boot and crutches allocation.  Out with the golden, in with the storm trooper.

If like myself you are rather a curious creature, you will be wondering who else was in the waiting room.  Luckily (yes irony) I had plenty of time to study them.   There was a teenager wearing sports shorts and a blazer with a rugby induced ankle injury (far cooler than me obviously), a young woman with a broken finger who could still text at the speed of light, a workman with a broken arm and a moody wife, a farmer who had broken his wrist last month and hadn’t noticed, and a man in combats with a badly cut chin.   My favourite fellow waitee however was a charming little girl who had stuffed toilet paper up her nose and couldn’t get it out again.  Her reasoning was very sensible I thought, she had a stinky cold and was fed up with having to wipe it all the time. Almost two minutes of arrival she began to ask of everybody and anybody “why have we got to wait so long?” and was still doing so when I was wheeled off to the equipment cupboard.  Hopefully, for the sake of all, she was soon whisked off to the nose vacuuming department.

Onto the actual damage, I have an avulsion fracture to the talus and navicular bone, possibly more problematical is that some of the tendons are also damaged.   It appears that my injuries are very similar to those of our very own Torrington Tina, although she got there 5 weeks before I did.  We have been comparing notes.   I am not sure “great minds think alike” is applicable in this case.   There will be no gardening for me until next year and then I must take it easy, “avoid uneven surfaces” might be a tricky one.

One last point, you will be very pleased to hear that I gave my business card to the doctor in the fracture clinic, seems like he needs a gardener.   He knows of course that he will have to wait for a few weeks, but I told him it would be worth it!

 

Retreat

Last year I was captivated by a short series on television called Retreat: Meditations from a Monastery.  It consisted of three hour long programmes about the day to day life of three Benedictine monasteries in the UK.  The commentary was minimal, the effect mesmeric.   I then read a fascinating book about Julian of Norwich, a 14th century anchoress, written by the wonderful  Janina Ramirez.   I know, who would have thought it?  I can read!  Since then I have had a compulsion to  get away for a couple of days, on my own, for a peaceful and perhaps reflective time.   I didn’t want it to be structured or themed.  I certainly didn’t want to be bricked up in a cell for the rest of my life.  I wanted to make the rules and break them if I felt the need.   Chocolate was to be involved.   The thought of a little self-enforced solitude (and hopefully be able to get stuck into some serious writing) sounded idyllic.  To suit myself; eat when I was hungry, sleep when I was tired, have a little company when needed.

And that is just what I have done this weekend.  I didn’t wear a watch all weekend, when I went for a walk I didn’t take a camera, there was no social media.  And it was wonderful.

Thanks Mr and Mrs Bun, it was just perfect.