Yay! Also, Oops.

I've done it; I've started Kingfisher Cakes. The website will be online shortly. (I hope.)

I'm extremely excited about this. I began this with the view that it would just be a little cottage industry, something to help me earn a little pin money. But looking at the way the website is shaping up (I'm making it in MS Publisher), it looks ruddy professional. Now I'm thinking, the sky's the limit. Who knows how far this could go? How far do I want to take it? I don't even know, but I'm open to much bigger possibilities that I was a few months ago.

I've also just realized that in telling y'all the name of the business you'll be able to go to my website and find the real me. Now all you cyber-crazies can find me in meat-space. Oops. Oh well. I'll have to take my chances. It never occured to me when I began discussing this with you that I was crossing over my real and virtual personalities. Now you know. Too late.

And for your edification and delight, here are some photos of cakes I have made recently:

First up is a double-chocolate, 10-inch square layer cake with chocolate buttercream frosting, decorated in a solar-system theme with hand-piped buttercream.

Next is this awesome R2-D2 cake. Fully 18" across, the sponge is chocolate, covered with white buttercram frosting and decorated with hand-piped buttercream and silver sugar balls (which you can't really see in the photo but looked great in person).

Lastly is my own wedding cake. Two tiers of lemon drizzle layer cake, 2 tiers of carrot layer cake, all covered with cream cheese frosting and decorated with real pansies and rose petals which had been crystallized by hand by yours truly, and all of which were completely edible.

So whadda ya think? Would you pay money for one of my cakes? (Oh, and I have learned how to do marzipan and sugarpaste, so if that's the look you're going for, I can does that, too.)

Dances with Worms

I saw the most amazing thing yesterday. It was a seagull.

No, that in itself is not amazing. I moved away from Bristol to escape the fucking seagulls. (Don't tell Pirate; I'm just using him for his low-seagull lifestyle.)

The amazing bit is what the seagull was doing. It was dancing.



Pirate explained that it was creating vibrations in the ground which the worms perceive as rain, which inspires them to come to the surface. (You wouldn't think this would be necessary in a country where it rains every fucking day anyway, but there you go.)

I love this. I love this on several levels.
1. It's cute. No doubt about it. Seagulls suck. Dancing seagulls are cute.
2. It's seagulls doing what seagulls were meant to do, ie, act like birds. In nature. Not tear apart my garbage bags and squawk and shit all over me.
3. It's industrious. They're earning their lunch. I'm down with that.

But mostly, I love it because I love the idea of a universe where you can do a little dance and you lunch magically appears at your feet. How brilliant is that!!! I want to live in that universe! I want to, whenever I'm hungry, do a little dance, and look down, and *poof!* LUNCH!

*sings* Do a little dance... Make a little worm... Get lunch tonight! Get lunch tonight!

Now every night when I fix dinner I make Pirate stand in front of the serving hatch and do a little dance. Then I give him his dinner.

If I knew you were coming...

Who could have imagined that a blog with photos of cake-decorating travesties would be so fucking hilarious!

*wipes eyes*

15 minutes ago I was still a bit nervous about baking my own wedding cake.

No longer.

The next time you're making squash soup

or pumpkin soup or soup of that ilk, lob a generous splash of scotch in it, along with a dash of either ginger or cinnamon. Something about the smokiness of the scotch and the sweetness of the squash just works. Oh man does it work! Bubble it for a few minutes until the alcohol cooks off, and serve it with a squirt of cream.

Do it. Do it now.

Detailed instructions:

Ingredients:

1 large butternut squash/sugar pumpkin/other orange cucurbita
4 Tbs olive oil
cracked pepper
2-3 cups chicken stock or 2 oxo chicken bullion cubes
1/2 tsp cinnamon OR 1/2 tsp ginger (if you want to use both, make a fucking pumpkin pie)
1/4 cup good scotch (if you wouldn't drink it, don't cook with it you Philistine)*
single cream or half-and-half to taste

What to do:

• Cut the cucurbita in half, scoop out the seeds, cover cut side with oil, sprinkle with cracked pepper, and put face down on a foil-lined baking sheet. Bake at 350 F (175 C) until the skin is brown, shiny, and bubbling off the flesh.
• Remove from oven, allow to cool, and scoop out flesh. Discard skin.
• Whiz flesh through a blender with the chicken stock (this will probably take you 2 batches, depending on the corpulence of your chosen cucurbita). The texture should be nice and smooth, but a little thicker than you would want your soup to be. You still have the whisky and cream to add, remember.
• Pour in saucepan, add spice and whiskey. Bubble for a few minutes until alcohol is cooked off. Or not.
• Ladel out a bowl, add a splash of cream,** swirl it with your spoon so it looks like a photo in a cookbook, and eat it. You will like it. It is good.

If you really want to show off to your friends at a dinner party, toast the pumpkin seeds after you've removed them and save them for garish, sprinkling them on the surface of the soup right before you serve it. Your friends will hate you.




*my feeble attempt at imitating First Nation's delightful abusive cooking instruction

** Don't add the cream until you are ready to serve it. Leftovers keep much better in the fridge or freezer if you haven't added the cream yet.

Kick me when I'm down

They ate my Oreos, the cunting fucking cunts!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I don't have words to express my outrage. It was bad enough deciding to race a boat that they knew I couldn't participate in, and in doing so effectively kicked me out of the boat club and cut me off from racing in what would have been my last competitive season. That was bad enough. That was heart-breaking.

I left training camp early and came back to Bristol, but I left behind in Reading the cooking equipment that I'd brought along. We were staying in University of Reading dorms, which are self-catered (ie you cook your own food rather than eat in caffeterias), but we had to bring our own pots and pans. I brought the biggest pots and pans. I brought the only pot that was big enough to cook pasta for 8 people, and the only pan that was wide enough to saute enough ground beef for spaghetti sauce for pasta for 8 people. So as a favor, as a fucking favor to the fucking cunts who kicked me off the team, I left my giant pots, pans, strainers, mixing bowls and wooden utensils behind for them to use for the remainder of the week. I also left behind some food that I'd bought but wouldn't be eating and couldn't be arsed to carry back to Bristol.

And then there were the Oreos.

I love Oreos, and they're one of the foods that (as you know) I've whinged that I can't get in the UK. At least not in any of the stores around here.

While in Reading we shopped at a gigantic 24-hour Tesco, and while walking down the cookie isle looking for caramel digestives and jaffa cakes, I saw them. Their gleaming blue, black and white packaging containing the promise of bitter, crumbly, fake-chocolate cookies sandwiching tasteless filling of lard and sugar within. Heaven. The kind of heaven that soaks up cold milk like Jeebus-krispie soaks up gay-hate rhetoric from the foaming mouth of Pat Robertson and turns into a slimy, mushy, fake-cocoa and fatty, sugary pile of slop on your tongue and leaves little black crumbs in the bottom of the milk. That kind of heaven. I bought a bag. (Obv.)

I made a big deal out of how I happy I was that I had found Oreos. Everyone knew of my Oreo obsession. When I left I made it extremely clear to everyone exactly which food I was leaving behind that was to be designated "communal." I even wrote down exactly what was mine and what they were entitled to. That was in one area of the kitchen. In another area, in a different cupboard, I forgot my beloved Oreos. It was a frantic, emotional morning, out of sight out of mind and all that. And I'm notorious for forgetting shit, just ask my 10th grade art teacher.

Before I'd left, but after it was too late to go back for the Oreos, I smacked my forehead and realized my error. I was really pissed off at myself, both for general stupidity and because I was looking forward to getting home, having a serious cry, and tucking in to a bag of the least nutritious, best-tasting comfort food that Ceiling Cat ever put on the face of the Earth, and now through my own idiocy I was depriving myself of one of the only comforts I had to look forward to.

I made a big wail over the whole thing and begged my Captain L and Coach O to bring my Oreos back to Bristol on the weekend with the rest of my cookware. This was not a case of accidental misunderstanding. They promised.

AND THEN THE FUCKING CUNTS ATE MY OREOS AND THEY CAN ALL DIE AND ROT IN HELL THE GODDAMN FUCKING ASSHOLES.

I know it's just a bag of cookies, but talk about adding insult to injury. First they gave me the broken heart of a lifetime when they told me they were racing a boat that I couldn't row and were thereby depriving me of the triumphal comeback that had been my sole motivation to keep training since I wrecked my back,
and then, in my moment of despair, they took away my one stupid comfort, a taste of home that I hadn't had in years. A simple, simple joy; a taste of home. The cunts ate my Oreos.



How could they?

Tasty snack (and so simple even Ziggy could do it)

5 ingredients (6 if you count the oil as an ingredient, which i never do):

2 Tbs olive oil
2 cloves garlic, smashed
1/2 can chopped tomatoes
dozen or so fresh basil leaves, coarsely chopped
2 big handfuls baby spinach
1 egg

• Heat oil in shallow pan
• Add garlic, sizzle 1 minute
• Add tomatoes, basil, simmer on med-high until tomatoes are thick and much water is gone (about 5 mins)
• Add spinach, stir until all spinach is wilted.
• Dump into serving bowl
• Add 1 more Tbs oil to pan, heat, and add egg.
• Fry egg (I like my yolks runny.)
• Slide egg on to spinach/tomato stuff in bowl.
• Eat (remember to blow first, it's hot.)

So there I was thinking, If eggs and spinach go well together, and eggs and tomato go well together, and spinach and tomato go well together, how bad can this be???

Answer: not at all. In fact, it's awesome. The vitamin C in the tomato helps your body to get the most out of the egg, the egg is full of protein and vitamin E, the spinach is full of iron, and the oil and garlic are both good for your heart. This is the most nutritious thing you will ever eat! And if you want to make it a full meal, dump it over some pasta and *boom* Robert's your father's brother.

You're welcome.

Fine Dining

Chef's special: Breast of pheasant, pan-seared with forest mushrooms, bell peppers, garlic, and fresh thyme, and served with homemade cranberry sauce and a watercress, tomato, and red pepper salad.

And guess who the chef was? You got it!

Fuck i love me.




(Pirate's cousin is head gamekeeper on a super posh estate oop north where Chaz and Da Boyz go shooting. He (the cousin, not Chaz) showed up at Christmas with a trunk FULL of pheasants and ducks. I still had some breats in the freezer that needed to be eaten, on account of the freezer seriously needs to be defrosted. Ditto the frozen cranberries that i'd been hoarding since december. et voila!)

American food that I miss in the UK

Miracle Whip. I've learned to tolerate mayo, but it just doesn't have that tangy zip, ya know?

Root beer. Good root beer. Real root beer. This root beer.

And Vernor's, naturally.

And as long as we're on the subject of pop, Faygo. Espeically Redpop. Yes, ''red" is a flavor.

And distilled white vinegar. Despite being made by Heinz, and despite Heinz food products being all over the UK like tattoos on sailors, they don't sell their distilled white vinegar here. (I know because I asked them.) I can't describe to you what it tastes like, but it's not wine vinegar and it's not cider vinegar, or malt vinegar. It's unlike anything else, and in most cases you can't substitute anything else. I may never eat coleslaw again ('specially since the second ingred in the dressing is Miracle Whip! Double screwed!).

And why do Campbell's use different recipes for their UK soups???? I know it's nasty canned soup, but damnit I grew up eating tomato soup, and if it's good enough for Andy Warhol...
(it's also the base for the sauce for my grandmother's gallumpki recipe, another old family favorite I may never be able to make again, and it kills me that my kids won't grow up eating them for Christmas dinner every year. :o(

Oreos. Enough said.

And graham crackers. Digestive biscuits are similar, but they really aren't the same.

Grape-flavored anything. Everything here that's purple is blackcurrent flavored, even the skittles! How wrong is that!
Especially grape jelly. On a grilled bagel. With cream cheese. Oh my god you have no idea. And on PB&J. Grape is always the best on PB&J.

And speaking of bagels, good bagels would be lovely, if they could be had here. You don't have bagels in England, you have round bread. It's different. Trust me. If Einstein Bros. were to open a shop in London they'd make a killing.

And speaking of bagels, why do you not have pumpernickel??? ANYTHING???? You're closer to Germany than America is, so why is there no pumpernickel bread here???

And you'd think that in a country with enough Polish immigrants for the BNP to whinge about them at every fucking opportunity I could get a decent loaf of rye bread. You would think that, but you'd be wrong.

Speaking of Polish food, you people wouldn't know a decent dill pickle if it walked up and raped you.

Bacon. Even what you call "streaky bacon" isn't the same. It's got to be something in the curing process, because when I cook English bacon the fat turns all hard and white and rubbery. It doesn't melt away at all. Gross! How am I supposed to get bacon drippings for recipes??? (Once I was in a shop where the girl at the check-out was German, and we spent 10 minutes bitching with each other about how crap the bread and bacon in England are. At least I'm not alone. *sigh*)

Proper pizza. Real, sloppy pizza with a soft crust (as opposed to the matzah bread that passes for pizza crust in this godforsaken land), globs of spicey tomato sauce oozing all over (NOT the ketchup you people use. One word: OREGANO), and heaps of mozarella cheeze (now hear this: CHEDDAR CHEESE DOES NOT BELONG ON PIZZA!)

Getting back to the peanut butter issue, there is a decided paucity of peanut butter in the UK. Jars of it, sure no problem. But could I lay hands on a Reeses peanut butter cup if my life depended on it? Doubtful. Ditto Reeses Pieces. Ditto peanut butter Twixt.

And that's just the processed, packaged food. Let's move on to produce, shall we?

Basically during the month of August I go nuts for want to of decent produce. I grew up in an agricultural state, eating (despite what you may think based on the above diatribe) a lot of fresh fruit and veggies. Come summer time we'd go to the farm market in town, about a mile and half walk, and buy all sorts of yummy, fresh stuff that had been picked that morning by, *gasp!* the same people that grew it!!

These are some of things I miss the most...

First of all, my esteemed British readers should be aware of something: Corn on the cob should NEVER, EVER, EVER, UNDER ANY CIRCUMSTANCES, be sold pre-shucked and packaged in shrink wrap on foam trays. This is wrong. This is evil. This is the devil's work. If you can't buy sweetcorn that looks like this, you should not buy it at all. Period.

Ripe tomatoes. It just doesn't get hot enough here for good tomatoes, even in the greenhouses.

Ditto the peaches.

Blueberries. They're available, but at about 15 times the cost of back home. A blueberry pie here sets me back about $20 or more. Wrong wrong wrong wrong wrong wrong.

And finally, apples! The English are very proud of their apples, but the varieties available here are really, really limited. And they're all very sweet. The stores carry braeburn, gala, and cox varieties, and that's about it. You can get granny smiths (which I like for cooking) and bramelys (which the English like for cooking), but you can't get any tart red varieties. Come fall i'd cut my ear off for half a peck of northern spys or ida reds or jonathans or cortlands. mmmm, cortlands...
(Pirate has already agreed that we will be growing our own apples from older, more antique varieties, before they hybridized them for maximum fucking sugar content and they really did keep the doctor away. Maybe they still do, but brace yourself for a trip to the dentist instead! Blech.)

And lastly, while we're on the subject of apples, I MISS CIDER!!! You can get fabulous hard cider over here, and that's great. But you can't get fresh cider. It doesn't exist. I want fresh, unpasteurized, oxidized cider. In gallon jugs.
Fortunately, Pirate has agreed that once our trees are producing, we can invest in a small, one-man cider press. Whee!

Boozeberry Muffins!

I am a GYNIUS!

Last July the Pirate and I picked a bunch of loganberries, some of which we ate, and some of which i dropped into bottles of gin, the better for drinking.

This week I extracted the berries from the gin, which is now such a deep red it looks blacker than red wine and it totaly opaque, and holy SHIT does it taste good!

The berries i strained in a cheesecloth, but it seemed senseless to waste the pulp (for it was nothing but pale pink, gin-soaked pulp at that point), so what did I do?

I put the berries in muffins -- boozeberry muffins! Fucking GENIUS, me.

Cheesy Veggie Chowdah

UPDATE: i just noticed that i said to simmer the chowder for 3-5 minutes. that should be 35 minutes!!! if you've already copied the recipe down, make that change!

I didn't make this recipe up, and I don't remember where I copied it from (probably my mom's 101 things to do with cheese cookbook from 1974). So if whoever invented this recipe is reading this, I'm not taking credit, and I'd cite you but I don't know who you are.

Ingreds:

3 Tbs butter
1 large onion, finely chopped so your boyfriend doesn't know it's in there
1 large leek, chopped
4 cloves garlic, smashed
2 Tbs flour
6 cups vetable or fish broth or water, hot
3 carrots, sliced
2 celery stalks, sliced
1 fennel bulb, diced
1 large potato, peeled and diced
several sprigs fresh thyme
5-6 bay leaves
1 2/2 cups light cream (single cream to you brits)
2 1/2 cups really sharp cheddar cheese, grated

To make:

• Melt butter on med-low heat in a very large pot
• Add onion, leek, garlic. cook gently for 5 mins until translucent. do not brown.
• Add flour, mix well with butter until all flour is incorporated and covers onion and leek like sticky paste
• Increase heat under pot to high
• Add a little of the hot broth and boil, stirring constantly. continue adding the broth in small increments, making sure the soup boils in between and all the previous addition is completely incorporated before adding more. (This is to ensure that the chowder is thick at the end process and the butter doesn't separate out.)
• Add all the remaining ingredients except the cream and cheese.
• Reduce heat back to med-low, cover, and simmer for 35 mins, stirring occassionally.
• Remove thyme sprigs and bay leaves.
• Stir in cream. Simmer very low for 5 mins. Do not boil.

At this point you have 2 options. If you are serving the whole lot straight away (serves 6 generously) you can slowly add the grated cheese and incorporate it into the soup. If you are only serving a portion of it and want to keep the rest in the fridge for leftovers, ladel out the portion you are serving and sprinkle the cheese on top, in the individual bowls. This is becuase once you add the cheese the chowder doesn't keep well. It makes the texture all gross. So only add cheese to the quantity that will be eaten right away.

Serve this chowder hot with a crust of good, solid bread and glass of malty beer.

Tips: becuase this is such a simple recipe (really, it is. You only need one pot and the whole thing takes less than an hour start to finish), the outcome depends largely upon the quality of the ingredients. It is well worth it to go to a good organic grocery store and buy a block of organic cheddar that still has veins of mould through it. That is how cheese should be, and it will make a huge difference to your finished product. It is also well worth keeping a small pot of fresh tyme on your windowsill. Dried thyme doesn't have nearly the flavor, and you can't remove it after because it's in powder form, so it destroys the nice pure, creamy appearance of the chowder. And if you eat this chowder with stay-fresher-longer extra-sodiumbenzoate bread I will personally come and bludgeon you with a turnip.

Enjoy.

Today for lunch

Today's soup is homemade cheese and vegetable chowder -- a thick, creamy, buttery chowder loaded with carrots, potatoes, leeks, onions, green beans, and fennel, seasoned with thyme and bay leaves, and covered with melted extra-sharp, mature, organic cheddar. Served with a chunky slice of organic, malty-rye bread.
Recommended beverage: Williams Red ruby malt ale.


Veg and cheese for soup: 6 pounds
Loaf of organic malted rye bread: 2.89
Bottle of Williams Red: 2.19
Eating better in your own kitchen than any restaurant in town: priceless!