Slow Cooking ... Quick Blog

Trying a slow cooked recipe today.  I saw it on Better Homes and Gardens, Fast Ed section.  I don't know why I never thought of this before.  He made a traditional bolognaise sauce in a slow cooker.  I love this sauce, but only when its cooked the old way, hours and hours of cooking.  I had this in a little restaurant in Roma, I think there were 3 or 4 tables in the whole restaurant, and I asked the waiter what herbs they used in the sauce.  He bought out his Nonna .. this old Italian woman who grinned at me as he asked her again what she put in her sauce.  She spoke no English and I certainly did not speak Italian.  But with her hands and face she conveyed to me, with a great deal of pride and love, how she makes it.  I picked up basilico , carota, ragazza .. and by her gestures she told me about a long time cooking.  I got very excited talking to this lovely woman, the language of food bridging our differences.  I asked about pesto and how she made tiramasu. 

So, as I have to go to work today, and can't be in my beloved kitchen all day, I have put all the ingredients onto low in my slow cooker and tonight when I get home, I can judge the outcome.

I don't know why, but leaving the food to do its thing in an electric cooker just seems to lose its magic for me.  It becomes a perfunctory necessity to eat, not an experience to savor.

Verdict tonight.

Home, and after 9 hours cooking .. the taste test.

Well, it sure smelt good when we got home, but the flavour was not as good as when I cook this in my heavy Staub pot.  Husband and son agreed.  But having said that, it sure was nice to have dinner cooked barr a pot of boiled water with pasta tipped in. 

7/10

Mondays .. do I like them?

Well today's the day.

It's the day of the week that is least liked. 

Monday must have a real complex. It must feel like Cinderella while Saturday and Sunday are the Ugly Sisters who get to go to the ball while it has to stay home and do all the dirty work.  Wednesday gets it's own name - Hump Day- and is celebrated for being the halfway mark, Friday is known as Casual ;-) .  Tuesday and Thursday are left alone to do their own thing .. but poor ole Monday gets a song about how much it's hated.

But why exactly?

Well here is an example of this Monday for me.  I was woken at 7am by a great lumbering, sooky border collie whining at my window.  He does this when he wants attention, no better than a bored toddler or a husband with a cold.  I rolled over and tried to ignore him, but then my CD alarm went off at 7.10am.  I had chosen a fun, upbeat song to wake up to and its sunny, happy beat was enough for me to smash the snooze button.  I laid there, trying to wake slowly, it was like I hadn’t slept at all and there was no way my eyes could even flutter, let alone open.  I tried to force them open, looked at the time ... yep 7.15am - it was definitely time to get up.  I managed to keep my eyes open for a second, but then the lure of a feather pillow and more sleep was too much.  Ah, yes, back to the land of softness and sweet slumber....

7.20am... back with the happy, clappy music, damn those snooze buttons.  This time I really had to wake up. 

Then, with a seeping dread through my body, I remembered.  It was Monday.  My body had known this before me and was rebelling already.  For a moment I became rebellious too and said stuff it, I will take a sicky today, go back to sleep and stay in bed until noon.  That sounded so nice and I almost convinced myself that I could pull this off.  The mature part of me chastised my lazy self, besides, I am one of the boss's - what example does this show the young'uns?

Coffee.  That would get me going.  Up and out and down the hallway.  Great, the cat has been sick on the tiles, too tired to deal with it now, papertowel thrown over it until I have had coffee.  The dogs see I am up which means breakfast .. RIGHT NOW.  Kettle on, oh fabulous, the powerpoint has tripped off again.  Must remind Mr Kirsa to call Eric the Electrician.  Can't get the lid off the dog food, almost cut my hand on the plastic.  Feed dogs, kettle has finally boiled.  Get cup from dishwasher, there is white residue in it, machine didn't wash properly again. Wash cup by hand.  Go to get milk, bugger, we used the last of it last night.  Check calendar on pantry door.  Big circle on today’s date "Dentist 2pm" ...

Sigh ... yep this is Monday and I don’t like it at all...

Chicken Tante Celestine

This is my recipe for Tante (french for Aunt) Celestine's Chicken. I have adapted it from Margaret Fulton's Superb Restaurant Dishes published in 1982, and she was given this recipe from M Jean Delaunay, the demonstration chef of Marnier-Lapostolle of Paris.  Grand Marnier, an orange flavoured cognac, is the star ingredient here and the original liqueur was created in 1880 by Louis-Alexandre Marnier Lapostolle. A delicate blend of fine cognacs and distilled essence of tropical oranges with Marnier-Lapostolle's secret touch. Bitter orange flavours are enhanced by the cognac with nuances of orange marmalade and hazelnuts. The finish is long and harmonious... lovely tasting notes but I am not drinking it yet.. not until I have cooked with it.

This recipe was my tried and tested and well loved dinner party favorite. This was back in the 80's when dinner parties and perms were all the rage. I hadn't cooked it since then, and re-discovered the cookbook recently, nostalgia propelling me to make it again.

It's not a very PC recipe.  The first ingredient calls for chicken pieces with skin on.  Do you know how hard it is to find this?  I tried about 5 different places that sell chicken - everyone of them said that they don't sell chicken with skin on.  A few said, "oh yeah we get asked that all the time".  But I guess the fat police are monitoring them.  Maybe I need to find the black market of chicken that is not destined for the catwalk!  So, without the first ingredient, I had to improvise and get naked breasts .. free range of course.  I use breast meat as I like the whiteness of it and I can cook it very little and keep it moist.

I have to forewarn guests about this dish, just in case they have a heart condition.  I start with the prelude that it is a real french dish.  They nod knowingly that they understand and pop one of their angina pills in anticipation. It has a whole stick of butter, a few cups of cream and of course lots of alcohol.  But I do cheer up their heart surgeon and say its got fruit (apple) and nuts (almonds).  Apart from a little chicken stock, that's the total of the ingredients. 

I don't think it was a French peasant dish, or at least not an everyday peasant dish. I am yet to find the origins of this, maybe it was indeed a recipe devised by the makers of Grand Marnier after all?  A quick search of the net shows me that it is a known recipe, but not very well known.  It has been said that its a perfect date night meal - there is no onion or garlic. 

For my bachelor friend, who sampled this last night and said it would be a good dish to impress a girl, here is the recipe and my notes ..

6 chicken breasts (skin on if you have contacts with the black market)
Flour seasoned with freshly ground black pepper and sea salt
100g of unsalted good butter
6 tablespoons of Grand Marnier
6 tablespoons of chicken stock
2 cups cream

Cut each breast into 3 even pieces.  Put into a bag with the flour and salt and pepper and shake until well coated.

Melt the butter in a heavy based (french if you have it) pan
In batches, fry the chicken pieces until they are browned.  Don't over crowd the pan as they will stew.

When all browned, put all pieces back into the pan and spoon over the Grand Marnier.  It will sizzle in the remaining butter and smell delicious.  I get a little carried away at this stage and often add a few more glugs.  Then do the same with the chicken stock, but leave out the extras.

Turn down to very low, cover tightly and simmer for 25 minutes or until tender.  Remove the chicken to a serving dish and keep warm.

Turn up the heat, add the cream and scrape up all the bits on the pan, stir and simmer until reduced.  Taste for seasoning.  Pour over chicken. 

Garnish with apples and almonds .. see below..

Apple and Almond Garnish - prepare this before you start.

6 granny smith apples
2 tablespoons of Grand Marnier
50 g butter
60g flaked almonds

Peal and core apples.  Cut into bite size pieces and put into a shallow baking dish in one layer.  Melt butter and pour over the apples.  Toss to coat evenly.  Bake in a preheated oven 180c for 15 minutes.  Keep warm.
Toast almonds in a hot dry pan.  Set aside.

Must be eaten with real French wine, however bad.  I serve this with boiled baby potatoes, green beans and steamed carrots.  Its very rich, so serve the vegies very plain. Unless you want an 80's nostalgic moment - serve the carrots with honey, butter and sesame seeds, the beans fried with bacon and onions and potatoes dauphinoise.

Serves 6 .. or 3 greedy people with leftovers the next day.  Also good the next day, heated, for a hangover lunch after all the bad French wine.

I want the serving dish in the picture, copper and very expensive.  Maybe I will charge every person I serve this dish to $20 and I can put this towards buying a copper dish.

A love song

For anyone who knows me well, I am not at all a romantic.  I don't know why, my wonderful dad is an incurable romantic and he and I have talked about why I am more like my mother and shun romance.  I grew up watching my dad do lovely romantics gestures.  He listened to romantic songs.  Maybe the words of my then boyfriend, now husband of 26 years still ring in my ears 'I don't do romance, it makes me uncomfortable'.  Maybe, at the age of 17 when I met him, I knew that romance was dead.  But, no even before then I knew.  That's why when all my friends were swooning over Leif Garret and his love songs, I was being a realist and listening to the lyrics of KISS.

I cringe at cheesy love songs, Hollywood love stories make me puke, scoff at men who arrange elaborate stunts to propose to their girlfriends.  I get more excited about a wheelbarrow of compost than I do about a dozen red roses.  Give me a pair of secateurs rather than a diamond ring.  Take me out into the red dirt and big open skies with a snagger on the campfire rather than a candlelit dinner at some posh restaurant.  Play me Guns n Roses rather than Marvin Gaye.  Chris Isaak sums up love for me better than Frank Sinatra.

But there is one song that moves me.  That makes me think of what true love really is.  That ignites a tiny spark of romanticism.  It is sung by a man with a lovely voice, backed by the unique riffs of a signature electric guitar.  But if you listen carefully, there is also cello and a big beautiful double bass holding the background of a very passionate arrangement.  I don't know if its the words sung, or the stringed instruments, or the electric guitar that get to me. I do get a thrill when I hear the dulcet tones of that bass.  Its like a safe, sure caress.  I love that my son plays this instrument as its truly my favorite.


Here is one of the song writers, also the guitarist who plays the signature solo at the crescendo.  His name is Slash (there's a romantic name right there!)..

Then here is Adam Levine (Maroon 5),  the co-song writer and singer (see tats can be romantic!)

The words ....
I've been saving
these last words for
one last miracle
but now I'm not sure

and I cant save you
if you don't let me
you just get me,
like Ive never been gotten before.  

GOTTEN

Isn't that a beautiful word?  To be gotten?  Isn't that what we all want?  To be gotten?  To be understood and heard.  I think if more people were gotten the world would be a far better place.  To be gotten means our needs and desires are being understood.  It means the other person sees the real you.  They 'get' you.  Isn't that just beautiful on so many levels? 

Go have a listen and see if I am right!

Gotten

And here are a few more of my favorite non-romantic songs...

Babe I'm gonna leave you by Led Zepplin.

Dont you want me by Human League

Cum feel the noise by Slade

Youre so vain by Carly Simon

Estranged by GNR

and of course the very apt Cold Gin by KISS

It's Saturday

It's Saturday and I should be doing many other things other than sitting at my computer reading and writing blogs.  But I am not!

Saturday is sheet washing day.  I love the end result of this chore, love the first feel of crisp white, sweet smelling sheets.  For the first few days, getting into bed makes me smile when I remember I have clean sheets.  Such a simple thing that brings joy!  But the process of getting this joy is sometimes a pain. 

I normally get up and strip the bed before I do anything else.  Before I even have put the kettle on.  But this morning, my bed partner, a little white spoilt dog, did not want to get out of bed when I did and I didn't have the heart to rush her.  She is old and sweet and I followed the saying to leave sleeping dogs lie!

Now its mid morning, two cups of coffee and toast and marmalade have slowed me down.  I know I have something smelly in the washing machine to deal with first.  I threw all the cleaning cloths and dog towels in the machine last Sunday night and went to put it on.  We have been having trouble with the circuit breaker that the washing machine is on, and it had tripped out again this night.  It didn't come back on all week, until Eric the Electrician came yesterday to fix it.  Thanks Eric!



So now, I need to go wash smelly rags in a hot and bleach filled machine.  Then I will run the machine again to clean it.  Then I can do my sheets.  Then I can wash the floors, clean the loos, vacuum the lounge...

But you know what?  I think I will just have Saturday off and do all this tomorrow. 

When a husband collects

When girls have a collection, its pretty and nice and decorative.

 When boys have a collection its ugly and messy and not at all decorative.

Mr Kirsa has been collecting military helmets for a few years now, but in the last few months this obsession has reached a peak.  He is on evilbay daily, finding new and exciting items that tickle his fancy.  Finding a new item to bid on propels him out of his chair to show me the pictures, all little boy excitement at this latest discovery.  Yesterday it was an old soldiers travel trunk.  It looked like it had been bombed in the blitz, left in a muddy trench, then dragged home to sit in a shed for the next 50 years. 

It was in Melbourne and the cost of shipping it to us was more than he could buy it for.  But the excitement of purchasing a WW2 relic, with the soldiers army number on it was too much for him to pass up.  I believe his poor Aunt, who lives in Melbourne, now has it sitting in her shed.  I don't know how he thinks we will get it back to Perth, but for now he is happy with the fact he owns it.

Our lounge room is being overrun by helmets, guns, bayonets, bags and badges.  He has procured one of MY collections to help display his.  My 'blue bottles' aka empty Bombay Sapphire gin bottles that I have been diligently collecting .... hey ... don't laugh, I am NOT a Gin Lush.  The blue bottles are for a window in my walled kitchen garden that I will one day build.  Really they are!  I even get my friends to help me collect them.  My friends are ever so willing to help, truly generous they are.

So his helmets sit propped up on my bottles, proudly displayed like a military museum.  In my IKEA cabinet that was destined to shelve other, prettier things.  I have told him that we will turn the old office into a library with a very masculine theme and he can have his precious displays in there.

I secretly like his collection, but ssshhhh... I don't want to encourage him anymore.

Poached Egg for Breakfast

Felt like something savory this morning, not the usual jam/marmalade on toast or muesli and yogurt.  Cheese on toast seemed a little indulgent for a weekday, and eggs on my own, Mr Kirsa doesnt do breakfast on a weekday, was a lot of effort for one person.

But I thought, what the hell, poached egg for one does sound good.  On went the pan, water and vinegar (only had good white wine vinegar but it did the job) and in the time that it took the water to boil I had emptied the dishwasher.  In went the egg, freerange of course, but alas not farm fresh, but a lovely yellow yolk just the same.  Sourdough bread sliced and in the toaster and will be ready in chorus with the egg.

It was perfect.  White just cooked, yolk cooked but still runny.  Black pepper and sea salt.  Just a simple thing, but it did make me smile.  Still wishing for chooks of my own, but thats will have to wait until all the planets align.

In the meantime, here are a few pictures of my daydreams.  Some are practical, some are possibilities (Hi Dad!!) and some are just so over the top that no self respecting Aussie Chook would be caught dead in them.

And of course here is a potential tenant

And this is a weeks rent

It's grumpy Tuesday .. on a Wednesday!

I call it Grumpy Tuesday.  It's my way of separating the person I have to become to be effective and the real me.  I only let it last one day, then I go back to my old self.  Its too hard to do it for more than a day and anyway why spoil all the days of the week when you can limit it to just one.

Why is it called Grumpy Tuesday?  Because its the day that I call my overdue debtors and ask them when they think they will pay me the money they owe.  I do it on Tuesday as doing it Monday would be just adding another reason why I dont like Mondays.  From Wednesday onwards I feel good as the weekend is approaching and I dont want to spoil that feeling.  And I get Grumpy as I get the same old tired excuses as to why they cant pay me this week. 

Its the business version of the dog ate my homework.

• We dont have any record of that invoice.
• Oh, really?  It was posted to your correct address AND a copy emailed to both accounts and the person who placed the order AND I have sent you statement asking you to check you have all the invoices.  But my bad .. I will send it to you AGAIN.

• The Accounts lady only comes in once a week/month
• Well could you ask her to please do her job when she arrives and pay the bills?

• The boss is away overseas and cant sign the cheques
• Oh, and how did you get paid this week?  And who 'signs' cheques anymore?

• The invoice doesnt have a purchase order number on it
• Well next time we wont sell you the product unless you produce a PO.  Like the last time, when you had an emergency and we said we wouldnt do anything until the accounts person could produce a PO  .. yeah right.

• The IT department still have that on their desk for approval
• Well off you go then and get it! 

• We only pay our creditors on 45 days after receipt of invoice
• Gee, thats nice.  I will only pay my staff after 45 days of them working, maybe your boss should do the same to you?

• Our payment run is this Friday
• Thats what you said last week.  Oh.. you mean a Friday too far away?  A Friday in the next month?  A fantasy Friday?

• The cheque was posted last week.  You havent received it?  I will check and call you back.
• I will sit by the phone and grow a big long white beard while I wait for your call.

• We dont have the money/waiting for a cheque to arrive/clear.
• So why did you use our service or buy our products when you dont have any money?  Do I look like I own a bank?

• Oh Jodes ...
• They think using my nicname that only my best friend uses will make me all soft and gooey inside and tell them they can pay whenever they feel like it.  Oh wait, they do that anyway.

I was in far too good a mood yesterday to do it ... so it will have to be done today .. sigh.  Hopefully someone will come up with a good excuse today and give me a laugh!

Do small things with great love

So said Mother Teresa.  And she is spot on.  Maybe its being older and wiser, but I wish I had lived this when I was younger.  It's the privilege of the young to dream big, to have the luxury of time stretching out in front of them that they can have big, expansive ideals.

This saying first resonated with me in my gardens.  I used to plan Sissinghurst style gardens in my mind. A Rose Garden leading into The White Garden and down into The Lime Walk.  An avenue of Silver Birch, a pond with water lillies and surrounded by iris.  A Dovecote and a Nuttery.  Of course living on 870sqm in suburbia with most of the block taken up by a modern house that looks nothing like a castle, never entered my mind or dampened my desires.

Starting off with a white theme soon was diluted with a pink climbing rose that I fell in love with and having limited space meant there was only one place to plant this beauty.  So the white garden became a pink, blue and white narrow garden bed along a fence line.  Very limited space, and therefore dirt, facilitated the use of pots - and lots and lots of them.  Potted citrus, olives, palms, a bay tree jostle for light and sun and water.  Raised troughs of herbs hug the side fence, its all of 1.5m wide. They need to be raised up to stop the boy dog from lifting his leg on them and adding his own flavour. 

Each visit to Bunnings, a nursery, or into the pages of gardening magazines brings an inspiration and subsequent purchase.  I can't count how many bags of potting mix I have dragged back here.  It would be tonnes at a guess.  I have never counted the number of pots, but I there are terracotta ones, ceramic, plastic, tin and baskets. 

Mr Kirsa laments and reminds me that "we will be moving soon, stop buying more pots".  But this is my way of ensuring that he moves all that earth and heaven to get me to my beloved Wattle Grove, the longer he takes, the more pots he has to move!!

One day I will have my Sissinghurst, but in the meantime there are still spaces to fill and new plants to discover.

And all the while I am practising the creed ...

...to do small things with great love. 

Welcome

Hello to my dearest and closest and most cherished people.  Today I sent you an invite to my blog and its a little exciting and scary all at the same time.

I hope you get a little enjoyment from reading here, and perhaps a little more insight into what really goes on in this head of mine!!

I have been a little slack in writing lately, but I often have subjects going round in my mind that I would like to write about. 

Anyway, this is just a little welcome to you all!

xx Jo