I'm dreaming of a quiet Christmas

This is a posed and cheesy picture of husband and I, last Christmas, our first Christmas as a married couple. The lead up to Christmas was fantastic, I planned a meal for my friends, I decorated the house, I was making the hampers and spending a fortune. The day itself, well it is never as good as the anticipation. Husband was only around for the morning, after dinner he left, I had Eastenders to keep me occupied and depressed and it soon felt like a normal day.

Christmas as a child is a magical experience. The excruciating waiting and waiting, the threats of Father Christmas not coming to try and make us behave actually having some effect, the writing of present lists (receiving, not giving!), the post box at school where you posted your cards, teachers being nice, the carols and then on Christmas morning, when you kicked the end of your bed and felt the weight of your stocking, feeling wide awake despite it being 5am, the excitement almost exploding in your chest.

Years later, family fractures soon made Christmas something to dread rather than enjoy. Arguments in those early years of separation over who was spending Christmas where, and resentments coming to head destroyed any festive spirit I had. Me and Christmas fell out. Big Time.

Years later, things have settled now but there is always that moment where you have to tell one parent you're not spending Christmas with them. I thought getting married would put a halt to that but with husband away this year, I am having to choose once again. I am getting some pressure from one party (you know who you are!) and it's making those old feelings of guilt resurface.

I was a Scrooge for a long time but I suppose it was my husband that reignited my joie de vie for the festive season. I am not really into that materialistic crap that is forced down our throats as early as September, instead I find the old magic of Christmas in moments, tastes and smells.

Smells: Mulled wine, Mince Pies, the bird roasting packed with sage and sausage meat.
Sights: Oxford Covered Market, very Dickensian, steam billowing from the roasted chestnut stand as cold Christmas shoppers, looking exhausted pass by. The bright pinks, blues and golds of the Quality Street wrappers as you open the tin for the first time.
Sounds: The popping of Champagne corks and the clinking of glasses, the snap of a wish-bone, the jingle of bells and the groan of someone refusing another turkey sandwich.

Christmas is all of those things and more. I am disgusted by the amount of money that is thrown away when people have completely lost the meaning of Christmas. I am not religious so Christmas, to me, should be about seeing friends and family and either having a good piss-up and eating a feast, or just enjoying their company that you miss the rest of the year. So honestly, when I say, do not buy me a Christmas present, I mean it. Instead, open a bottle of something, preferably with bubbles, we'll pull a few crackers, and in our cheap paper hats I will do the magic trick and you can tell my fortune with that perceptive red fish.

Oh and for the record, I like sprouts.

Ring-ting-ting-a-ling-ting

It's Christmas time.

Oh yes people, in the culinary world, this time is spent making mincemeat, Christmas cake and Christmas puddings. Basically all good domestic goddesses are buying dried fruit and mixed peel by the truck load. The people with any good sense just buy the lot from Marks and Sparks but I like to get a little festive in the kitchen. The Christmas Food magazines have already been scooped up from my doormat.

Have I mentioned that I HATED my Home Ec teacher (don't worry, the feeling was mutual)? Well, the ONLY good thing we ever did in our class was making a Christmas cake. It was warm and cosy and the old bitch even put on a tape of Christmas songs. We made it months in advance and kept feeding it alcohol every so often and then we got to design the cake decorations. I think there was some competition. I made an igloo out of icing and had father Christmas' legs coming out of the little entrance tunnel. I loved it.



Last Christmas ( *I gave you my heart* Ahem) I decided it would be fun to make some hampers. I made chutney, Christmas cakes, cranberry and white chocolate cookies etc. All to save money and make the presents personal. Well, it actually ended up costing a fortune, was pretty stressful and I still have jars of bloody chutney in my cupboards. This year I have decided to focus on one project (and give people gifts they actually want) and this year, I am making a Christmas cake. A big square one.

First of all, I had to decide on the recipe. My recipe books are full of Crimbo recipes, as are all the magazines I have bought over the years and keep coming through my letterbox every month. Every book I opened was different, they varied A LOT. This one used almonds, that one used rum, this one used dried cranberries and this one used figs. It was so confusing. I started to feel like Dumbo when he gets drunk but instead of pink elephants I was seeing marching mince pies and talking fruit cakes. I eventually resolved that there were three ladies I could trust. Do I go with the traditional (some would say original) DG Mrs Beeton or do I want a sexy Christmas cake and opt for DG Nigella? Or do I go to the mother of all DG's, Delia. It had to be Delia didn't it? So, I went to Sainsbury's with her recipe in my paw, picked out the finest dried fruit I could finD and set to soaking it over night. Here is where I totally diverted from the recipe. I'm sure she wouldn't encourage it (Nigella probably wouldn't of minded) but instead of Rum I went with Cherry Brandy. It was all I had. And cooking is all about having the confidence to stray and find your own way. So there we go.

The next day I was meant to finish the cake but I was busy so the fruit got a longer soaking. It just meant they were plump with alcohol, no worries there! The cake did eventually get made and the house was filled with the smell of nutmeg, cinnamon and sugar. The scent of those Christmas spices are so magical. It could be the height of summer, and I smell cinnamon and nutmeg and I am instantly Christmas shopping, bags full, nose and cheeks red with cold, Canterbury Cathedral lit up and the steamed up windows of Casey's pub as I walk by, the drinkers inside warming themselves and having a good time.

I will keep you updated on the cake. I am still not used to taking pictures of my culinary endeavours but I will make a concerted effort to include some during the decorating process.

Stop *&^%I$£& Swearing!!!

Jamie's Ministry of Food. Or should I say Fucking Jamie's Fucking Ministry of Fucking Food. And apparently I'm not the only one that has picked up on it, the Sunday papers were all over the story, after 100's of viewers complained. And yes, faithful readers, I was one of them. Look, I've already been called Mary Whitehouse, so I don't need to be told I'm middle-aged, complaining about nasty words, but I did it because I'm a massive fan of the fat-tongued idiot. I support his campaign, I really do but when I tuned in it was really off-putting because in every segment it was fuck this and fuck that, whether he was talking to health officials or little old ladies. Pretty poor, especially as what he has got to say, once you strip back the obscenities, makes sense. It's important that the issues he is highlighting in the program are dealt with but are the people that matter going to listen to him if everything he says is littered with Fuck/Shit/Bollocks? No! That's the point people! It's frustrating to watch because he's shooting himself in the foot. And those that know me, know I'm not a prude, I can make a sailor (or army officer) blush. It is just as the saying goes, there is a time and place.

Anyway, the reply I got back is that Jamie is passionate and he gets caught up in the moment, it is after the watershed etc Fine. I am not disputing that. I think they just missed the point of what I was saying, which sadly is what will happen with Jamie. Fucking idiots.

When the husband's away...

I am starting to look like this...

The Restaurant

Having missed the first series of this culinary equivalent of The Apprentice, I am hooked on series 2 of The Restuarant currently showing on BBC2. Raymond Blanc, seen here, takes Alan Sugar's role as Big Cheese, and will open a restaurant with the winning couple. The couples,who have been given some very challenging tasks, including cooking dinner for some Oxford Colleges and running an outlet in a motorway service station, have been truly awful and most of the series so far as provided cringe worthy Gervais-esque comedy.

Alistair and James, how they are in the final three is beyond me. This Fawlty/Brent combo, (I think Ali has the hots for business partner, James, lots of homosexual undercurrents going on) bumble through each challenge, making shocking errors of judgement which have you laughing and screaming at the TV. In last night's episode, it was highly amusing to watch this passionate, successful French man talk about heart and passion, (concerning their cookbooks), becoming very animated and well, very French. The stiff, English lady replies, 'oh, I thought it was rather nice'. She later commented that she made an 'excellent number 2', the irony not being lost in translation for Raymond, or the viewer. Needless to say, she did get the boot in the end. The great thing about this programme, as well as with The Apprentice, you have no idea who is going to win. Personally, I have no favourites, they're all pretty weak!

And talking of weak businesses, put the word out that 8 Kings Road in Southsea, Portsmouth is crap. I haven't had a reply to my complaint, and I've since heard a number of times that people have had similar experiences. 8 Kings Road=Rubbish

Choux Gal

Here as promised is the recipe for Choux Pastry. It makes about 70-80 profiteroles, obviously I was dealing in commercial quantities! You can easily halve this but you can also freeze them for a couple of months.

Choux Pastry

1/2 litre of water (1 pint)

250g strong flour

200g marg

8 eggs

pinch of salt

pinch of sugar.

1. Bring the water, sugar and marg to the boil in a saucepan

2.Remove from heat

3. Add the sieved flour and salt and mix quickly with a wooden spoon

4.Return to a moderate heat and stir continously until the mixture leaves the sides of the pan (Panada)

5. Remove from heat and leave to cool.

6. Gradually add the beaten eggs, mixing well

7. When the mixture is of dropping consistency, put into a piping bag. Pipe onto greased and floured baking trays, put into a pre-heated hot oven for 15-20 minutes, until golden and crisp.

8. Cool on a wire rack. Pipe cream into the bottom of the profiteroles (drilling a hole with a knife or if you're like me, your thumb) and serve with your favourite choccy sauce: I like melted milk chocolate, but you can have dark, mixed with cream and golden syrup. Heaven. Or devilish, whatever way you want to look at it.

Yikes

Cheffing is HARD work. I am absolutely knackered and have a new found respect for anyone that is a full time chef. I have completed two full days of college and have the scars to prove it (burn on wrist-ouch). My first restaurant service went well, in fact, it was a lot better than expected, although I can't deny there were moments I thought it was going to fall apart. (or me, or more likely, the souffles)

I was on the pastry section; the menu had profiteroles, cold lemon souffle and chocolate meringues (choux pastry recipe coming soon). I have to say, me and Caroline (the only other woman in the group) worked so hard and it showed in the results. There was choux drama when I realised head chef's calculations for the profiteroles was so not near the quantity we needed, I had to whip up some more-quickly, I am now an expert in panada!

Today I lost my fish virginity as I filleted not one, but two plaice! I really felt at ease with the task, I think I was a fishmonger in a previous existence (it would explain my natural affinity with cats). We cut the fillets into goujons, floured, egged and breaded them (with Panko, a Japanese breadcrumb) and deep fried them. With the bigger fillets, we rolled them into a delice (basically, a posh, french, cheffy was of saying folded over) and then poached in the fish stock we made from the bones of the plaice, wine, lemon juice and dill.

I have loved it all this week and feel like my self-esteem is rocketing through the roof. That is what life is all about, learning something new, doing something out of your comfort zone. I was in an emotional black-hole for so long that I forgot what a rush it is to be doing something, and I am in the lucky position of doing something I LOVE. Not many people can say that. I am taking this opportunity with both hands, (and saying Thank You to husband for being so supportive while I found my way here) And despite being so utterly tired and exhausted I am sleeping with a smile.

Spiritualized 14/10/08

I can't remember the last gig I went to, shame on me. A few years ago I used to work just to buy tickets to gigs, amongst others I've seen the legendary James Brown, The Cinematic Orchestra, Biffy Clyro, Beastie Boys, Roisin Murphy, Jamie Cullum, Coldcut, Kid Koala, Blackalicious, Boom Bip etc etc You know what, I used to be pretty cool. My life was all about seeing live music, getting pretty wasted and having an amazing time. Those days seem like a far off distant memory but luckily I have a brother that has his finger on the pulse and he has bought me and him tickets to see Spiritualized in the Wedgewood Rooms on Tuesday. I really need a good night out, although i'll leave getting wasted to the Portsmouth Uni students on their fresher week. I have no clue what to wear and I'm sure I'll stand out amongst the crowd of skinny jean-wearing-sticks (hail the new Flare phase, skinnies are just not my friend, I have curves, like real women should). I'm just listening to their A&E album, it is amazing ( or AMMAAAAAZING, as said by all teenage girls), I recommend you all download the song Soul on Fire now. Do it. xxx

A Post of Two Halves

I write this post with a heavy heart, those closest to me will know the reasons why and for those that don't, higher powers prevent me from talking openly, hence the self censorship.



I will just say that what may have seemed Romantic to me years ago, now just seems so terribly tragic and utterly heart-breaking. I am trying to apply a positive attitude using the metaphor of being stuck in the forest. You would aim for the spaces not the trees to find your way out, it is the same in life, why would I focus on the obstacles? I am embracing the good points I have scrabbled together and occupying myself with goals, organising get togethers and ploughing my energy into the things that will produce positive outcomes.



Last week I felt incredibly supported and will use my blog to publicly thank them-you know who you are. Unfortunately, personal dramas caused by people stuck in their own bubble, one of confusion and spite ,meant some of our precious time was stolen from us. However, it resulted in feelings of pure vindication; it wasn't me after all and I feel I can finally put the whole drama to bed. I had reached out and at some point that friendship could have been saved, but it has been totally broken now. A strong relationship destroyed by so called feelings of 'perception', manipulation and pure dishonesty. I just hope they can build the confidence to form their own opinions and become less impressionable; it's a dangerous vulnerability to have.

On to brighter things: I have a friend over tomorrow night, I have some crap girlie films to watch (Russell Brand in St.Trinians, yes please) and Ben and Jerry's on stand-by. Me and Aimee are sharing a similar experience and if I have learnt one thing recently, it is that it's good to talk, to share feelings and basically connect with people. Otherwise you can feel very isolated and create false situations. There are friendly people everywhere, you just have to be open to them.

Anyway, I know I promised you a recipe for profiteroles but this chef is tired and must rest her weary head. Manana, manana. xxx

Desert Island Dishes

A play on Desert Island Discs, here are my Desert Island Top 5:

1. Caesar Salad

Hold the chicken, I could eat this salad everyday for the rest of my life. I can make the dressing and do sometimes but there are plenty of good makes at the supermarket, so why bother? I buy Cardini's-I schush it up with freshly grated Parmesan and lemon juice. I also believe that quality smoked bacon is at the heart of any good Caesar.

2. Oysters

I love all seafood but I LOVE oysters. For a long time they didn't appeal as I was terrified of my gag reflex being triggered in some posh restaurant but I finally got the courage and experienced a little bit of heaven. My husband instantly regretted encouraging me to broaden my tastes - I already had expensive tastes, this was going to cost him. You can't get a closer taste of the sea, I love mine with just a squeeze of fresh lemon but I wouldn't say no to a good shallot vinaigrette either.

3. Beef Wellington

I was going to say Roast Beef because it seemed wrong not to include it but actually, a good Welly takes it a step further-Meat wrapped in pastry-yeah baby. I love this old-school classic with a Madeira jus, roast parsnips and glazed carrots and peas.

4. Sushi

I could eat this every single day, unfortunately Portsmouth and the surrounding areas are devoid of decent sushi bars, in fact there are none. Whenever I go to the US, I make sure to eat as much sushi as I can, because one, the bars are great and two, it is so much cheaper with an amazing range of fish. My husband and I, before we were married went to Memphis, famous for BBQ, Blues and The King. We turned our backs to the sticky ribs, monster-sized burgers and smokey, pulled pork and had sushi instead. We drank way too much sake, leaving us to crawl back to our hotel and missing the blues down in Beale Street. But the sushi was amazing. From what I can remember.

5. Lemon Tart

I don't have a sweet tooth really but I had to squeeze a dessert on here somewhere. It was a toss up between chocolate mousse and this one. The pastry has got to be home-made and if there is a slight wobble on the filling, then all the better.

I am salivating as I think of all those dishes! Here are the dishes I'd leave at home:

1. Fois Gras

Not an ethical stand, I just really hate the taste, surprising because I am a massive fan of offal.

2. Spaghetti Bolgnese

Every man I have ever met reckons he can make the best Spag Bol. They can't. To me, this dish brings back very bad memories, as a child there were a lot of meals based around mince, a cheap meat-this was a weekly staple. We had that fake Parmesan cheese that looked and smelt like the hard skin grated from someone's foot. It was also the one dish my parents always choose to throw during an argument, the messiest dish to clean up. But to be fair to them, we had it so often the odds were stacked against them.

3. Bird's Trifle

The most disgusting concoction on the planet, I don't even know if they still make this but my heart sank whenever I saw my mum soaking those concrete cubes of sponge, with a similar texture to florists foam, in the unset jelly liquid. Everything about that trifle was wrong.

I tried my hardest to think of other foods but I couldn't, I guess I'm just too greedy.

I put my hands up

I was wrong.

First impressions can count for a lot but there comes a time when you need to let go and live in the present. I let my first encounter with someone cloud my judgement on that person for the last couple of years. It was a huge mistake, I could have developed my relationship with them, instead I was the arsehole, not willing to move on. I have been stubborn and short-sighted, two traits I critcise others for. I can only apologise and vow to make an effort to make up for lost time.

Notice anything different?

The Runcible Spoon is no more! I'm quite sad to see it go but at the same time very excited at the re-naming of my blog to TwentyFour Blackbirds. If you are wondering, it a reference to the nursery rhyme: Sing a Song of Sixpence, in which four and twenty blackbirds were baked in a pie. So now you know.

Fringe Benefits

I need to talk to you about Ringo. He currently works for Toni and Guy in Canterbury and I worship his hairdressing skills. The thing I worried about most when I moved away? Finding a decent hairdresser. Did I find one? No. Did I have to experience haircuts that had me in tears for days after? Yes. Did I actually cry in the hairdressers chair, while Mark from Toni and Guy in Chichester cut my hair? Yes. The title of my epic journey to find a half-decent hairdresser in Hampshire and West Sussex is going to be called The Cow-Lick Chronicles: One woman's journey through split-ends hell and back.

One round trip from Portsmouth to Canterbury later (yes, my husband does love me) and I am in hair-do heaven. Ringo actually looks like the fifth Beatle from their Ravi Shankar days but he has done wonders with my waves. Boy, I had missed him. Next it is off to the college for some colour, any suggestions?

8 Kings Road

Yesterday my generous and I must say, rather gorgeous husband, surprised me by taking me to a restaurant I had expressed an interest in a few months ago- brownie points to him for listening and taking note. So we spent a morning in our nest (IE our bed with hundreds of pillows and an extra blanket) reading the Sunday papers (him The Times, me the News of the World, just for the outrageous reporting and puns) eating toast and drinking the essential tea and coffee (him, white, one sugar, me mint tea). We then lazily got ready and drove down to Southsea to eat over-priced roast beef and drink flat champagne. I am definitely getting old because this morning, still feeling disgruntled, I wrote them a letter. Wanna read it?



Dear Mr Simon


I am writing to inform you of my dissatisfaction of the food and drink at your restaurant on Sunday 5th October, 1pm.

My Husband surprised me by booking a table at your restaurant after reading such good reviews on your website; he is working abroad for 6 months so we are making the most of our precious time together. We decided to make lunch special by ordering two glasses of champagne as an aperitif. Unfortunately the wine we ordered was not cold enough and was lacking in fizz, we thought that maybe it was opened during the previous nights service. This did not bode well for the meal ahead, and we were very disappointed.

We were also thinking that the Sunday lunch menu was good value for money so we were a little surprised to see there supplements on some of the dishes; I ordered the scallops and would like to ask, why there was such a large supplement? The scallops were tiny; the large portions of black pudding overwhelmed the delicate flavour of the seafood, and as they were not hand-dived (or certainly not advertised as such) I felt rather ripped off. We both followed with the roast beef (again, with a supplement) and I regret to say that the plates were not warm and the food cooled very quickly, not helped by having to wait too long for the side of vegetables. Needless to say, we skipped dessert.

I would also like to draw your attention to another problem. We loved the idea of the jazz piano, however, the heavy-footed waiters running up and down the stairs beside us drowned out the music for us. I would appreciate if you look into this matter so other people, hoping to enjoy a relaxed, romantic lunch, do not have to experience the same noise we did.

When the bill came, we both had to admit that we felt over-charged for a dining experience that just did not excite us. A lunch that was meant to be special for us fell short at the final hurdle. We will tell our friends that the surroundings are beautiful (just ask not to be seated next to the stairs), the staff are excellent but the food is unworthy of the hefty bill: no value for money, a factor more important now than ever.

Thank you for reading my letter, I will look forward to a response.

Yours Sincerely,


Adele Jackson

I know, I sound about 50 right? Well, as you all know by now I am passionate about food and I am passionate about eating out. I am not crazy about restaurants parading as fine dining, charging you the price for fine dining, and then receiving something on par with a chain restaurant. The mark up in restaurants is astonishing, I'd tell you all about it but you may not want to eat out again, I don't mind handing over the money as long as what you are getting is decent and justified. Paying £60+ for a meal that would cost less elsewhere and be just as good, if not better, leaves a very nasty taste in my mouth. People in all over the world wouldn't put up with this so why do we Brits? Maybe it's my ancestral Mediterranean blood that is boiling or maybe I'm just sick and tired of second rate food. Either way it is time to say no to crap food. Will I get a response from 8 Kings Road? I will keep you posted.

Family Affair

I've seen a quite alot of this motley crew recently; I'm a big bundle of love for all of them: Dad(come visit me soon), Nan and Mole who are as entertaining as ever, the sandwiches and wine were much appreciated, Michele and Chris (hope you liked the cakes!) My sister Bridie and her lovely boyfriend Chris ( just let him join the army, think of all of the parties you'll go to!), I got to speak to my Maltese cousin James on the phone and I was wishing Adam luck for the Great North Run last weekend. And I've been thinking of the ones who aren't around, especially Nan Finch who is probably up there right now gossiping about the going-ons from cloud 12. From Andy's side we have seen them all, Sonia, Pip, Lillian, Terry and Sam (remember that Gap Year, Sam, the 'real world' can wait), Martin and Maureen, (thank you again for your hospitality) and for the first time in ever such a long while, Tim, Siobhan and their very beautiful and hilarious children, my niece and nephew, Hugo and Amelia.

I know more than anyone that families can be a pain in the arse; my family (and other animals) are particulary good at letting you know if their unhappy but over the years, I've come to love their quirky ways, that were oh so embarrsing in those tender, formative years. I love that fact we can scream and shout and then make up, all water under the bridge, and laugh at the stupid things we said. We've known divorce, betrayal, adultry, death, addictions and depression (Shakespeare has nothing on us, seriously, Hamlet is a light-hearted jaunt in the park to my clan) BUT we all do really love each other and come together when we really need to. We talk about things, we try to be honest with each other, because really, when it all hits the fan, you need someone who's got your back-these people HAVE to love you, you're related! :)

And then there is extended family. The ones you choose to let in and become part of your tapestry. I miss her loads but seeing Jem last week really perked me up, it is a friendship that you can pick up however many years along the line and it'll be business as usual. I love her so much and it's great to see her so happy with Jay. The Kings who have just welcomed newbie Riley James Orson into their brood. He is so tiny! Very happy for you guys, but seeing the tiredness has curbed my broodiness for a while! Amy and Jamie (nice ring to it eh?) who are miles and miles away in distance but never in my thoughts. Phil- One of the best, he has seen me through the tough times and is still pretty much the funniest guy (not including the man I married) I know with the best taste in music. Happy Birthday Amanda for Sunday!! Thanks for the love, you are too kind, I hope the wedding planning is going well, you have someone here who was shopping for invites until 2am some mornings, so if you need any help, I'm here. Lisa-My best friend from school, praise Facebook. We need to meet up sometime this year and get properly pissed! Aimee Todd- We need to stick together, sisters are doing it for themselves, lol!.

Sorry to anyone that feels left out, these people are just at the fore front of my mind and felt they deserved a special mention. I still love you!

Adele xxx