Cooking The Prompts

You’re at the beach, lounging on your towel, when a glistening object at the water’s edge catches your eye. It’s a bottle — and yes, it contains a message. What does it say?

Drink Me.  Oh, wait…you’re not Alice.  Damn rabbit!

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Tell us about something you’ve tried to quit.

Blogging.

Did you go cold turkey, or for gradual change?

Cold turkey.  It was Christmas.

Did it stick?

What do you think?

What’s the one item in your kitchen you can’t possibly cook without? A spice, your grandma’s measuring cup, instant ramen — what’s your magic ingredient, and why?

The Hub.  If he’s not there, cheering me on and hugging me through my failures, I go to pieces.  I once incinerated a pack of chippolata sausages because he was in another country instead of my kitchen.  I have to burn food so I know when it’s cooked (I was one of the few people to take notice of all those safety adverts as a child).  I need the Hub there to tell me when ‘burnt to a cinder’ is too much.

What’s instant ramen?

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You’ve been granted magical engineering skills, but you can only use them to build one gadget or machine. What do you build?

Star Trek TNG‘s food replicator.  

But then I wouldn’t need the Hub…what to do, what to do?

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What’s the household task you most dislike doing? Why do you think that is — is it the task itself, or something more?

Previous answers refer.

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Write a post that includes dialogue between two people — other than you. 

A True Story, almost

The Hub: Where’s your Mum?

Tory Boy: In bed.

The Hub: Where are the boiled eggs?

Tory Boy: On the ceiling.

The Hub: She cooked?

What’s the most important lesson you’ve learned from the person you’re the closest to?

To leave the cooking to him.

Actually, not any more; his M.E. means that he can’t cook these days.

So I guess the lesson is, marry someone rich enough to afford takeaways.

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It’s January 26. Write a post in which the number 26 plays a role.

Hello?  I’d like to order a Number 26, two 14s and a 32, please.

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Tell us about the nicest thing you’ve ever done.

Stopped cooking for my family.

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If you could fast forward to a specific date in the future, when would it be?

The day the replicator is finally invented.

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Joke 970

Foto de Larry (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Two bachelors went out for dinner.

The conversation drifted from the office to sports to politics and then to cooking.

“I got a cook book once” said Larry. “But I couldn’t do anything with it.”

“Too much fancy stuff in it, huh?” asked Frank.

“You said it, Larry replied, nodding. “Every one of those recipes began the same way: “Take a clean plate…” 

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From ajokeaday.com

How We Do Christmas Oop North

 

 

Beginning t’look a lot like Christmas

The apple, rhubarb and meat pies are baked and sitting snug in the fridge and freezer; the turkey is in the oven; the gammon will follow; fairy cakes still to be made but sausage rolls are done; veg, roasties, mash and Yorkshire puds will be cooked fresh tomorrow, along with the gravy; roasties will be cooked in turkey and gammon fat; gravy will be made from the stock. 

I finally realised: I can cook

The cupboards are bursting with goodies; the tree is listing slightly under the number of presents waiting to be unwrapped tomorrow morning; all gifts not for us have been sent out; first-born son and lovely nephew will be here by eight, at the latest; Dr Who set to record, just in case.  Ironing is up-to-date; washing washed and drying, ready to be put away; the house is clean.

One or two things to do

• Change the beds – we must get into freshly made beds on Christmas Eve; I don’t know why.  It’s the law. 
• Visit Dad at the cemetery.  He hates being left out.
• Go to the Christingle at four. 
• Open a bottle of wine.
• Relax!

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If you don’t celebrate this particular festival, I wish you a happy and relaxing holiday period; but to those who do,

Wishing you all a Merry Christmas!

Today’s Six Word Saturday was brought to you by the number ’24’ and the letter ‘wine’.

Joke 206

I wouldn’t say I was a bad cook but when my son goes outside to make mud pies, the rest of the family grab forks and follow him.

I’ve Been Re-possessed

As regular reader knows, from time to time I vacate The Laughing Housewife premises to let a real writer talk about their new book.  Today it is the turn of…

…Musician, Nemo James:

Born and based in England, Nemo James worked as a professional musician and singer/songwriter for more than 30 years. He now lives in Croatia with his wife Federika and their cat Jutko, who is becoming intolerable following his rise to fame on Youtube.

The book: Just A Few Seconds.

The story of one man’s experience in the music business. It is an amusing and true story of a successful freelance musician whose gigs ranged from private parties, to the rich and famous, to the roughest London pubs, where playing the wrong song at the wrong time meant the difference between life and death. He takes more twists, turns and knocks than a mouse trapped in a pinball machine.  The ending shows how the road to success can lead us down the strangest and most desolate of paths.

If you are looking for the usual rock star memoirs full of sex, drugs and rock and roll, then this book is not for you; if you are interested in a unique insight into the music business that reads like a thriller, then this book won’t disappoint.

Cooking Tips from Nemo James

Since the publication of my book Just A Few Seconds, several people have emailed me to ask whether my cooking has improved since the chapter entitled A Recipe For Shoestrings. In it, I wrote how during a very difficult time in my life, I was living on a budget of £1 a day for food. Some people are able to do wonders with £1 spent wisely on ingredients but I am definitely not one of them. I was not only on a shoestring budget, my meals actually tasted like shoestrings.

Then I met and married Federika who, apart from being amazing and gorgeous, is also a fantastic cook specialising in dishes from all corners of the globe, but particularly from Peru, where she grew up. I am never going to win any awards for my cooking but she has taught me a lot and in particular shared that secret that all you crafty cooks have been keeping to yourselves all these years: The Kitchen Timer. 

Until I discovered the kitchen timer I used to use a smoke alarm to tell me when my food was cooked. In a terraced house in the UK it was not a problem as I would always put the smoke alarm within easy reach so I could turn it off quickly. But one day, while I was living in Los Angeles, I was heating up a lovely chocolate muffin for my breakfast when the phone rang with a call from a prospective agent. I completely forgot about the muffin until the smoke alarm went off but, being accustomed to this event, I continued talking to the agent whilst removing the muffin from the oven and jumping up and down on a chair, trying to blow cold air onto the alarm. As most of the buildings in L.A. are made of wood everyone is paranoid about fire so just as I thought I had everything under control and had the agent interested the building manager started banging on my door and screaming at me to let him in. I never realised cooking could be so difficult.

Here are a few more tips that I have discovered that I would like to pass on:

• Using an apron means that cooking doesn’t always require a change of clothes.
• The oil you use for cooking is different to the type you use in your car.
• Oven gloves save a lot of pain.
• Keeping the kitchen floor clean from grease means you don’t have to wear a crash helmet while you cook.
• When breaking an egg it is better to use the edge of a knife than a hammer.
• A baguette is not a small shopping bag.
• You don’t get black eyed beans by punching normal beans.
• You can’t make white sugar go brown by leaving it in the sun all day.
• Crab apple is not a seafood.
• Hitting a halibut with a hammer doesn’t make it a flatfish.
• You can’t scald pasta by telling it off.
• Molasses are not moles’ bottoms.
• Strong currants in Muesli are not dangerous.
• There is no such thing as Semolina poisoning.
• If you are running short of Tofu for that special dinner party, try adding half a litre of water to a roll of toilet paper and blend in with one large packet of wallpaper paste. No one will ever know the difference.

If you have a cooking tip you would like to share with others please leave them in the comments.

For reviews and other information visit Pump Up Your Book.

Nemo James’ website and blog.

Nemo James’  You Tube videos.

Related articles

• Working Smoke Alarms Save Lives – Install, Inspect, Protect (kannapolis.wordpress.com)

The Best Meal I Ever Cooked

Image via Wikipedia

‘Best’ is a relative term, of course: I’ve told you before that the Hub says things like ‘If I can’t smell burning, we’re having salad.’  You may think he’s cruel but he and I both know the truth.  If he can’t smell burning then we are having salad.

I could tell you about my many mediocre meals and cooking cock-ups, but you’ve heard it all before.  Instead, I will tell you about the best compliment I ever received about my food.

My sister-in-law and her husband were over here in the UK from South Africa.  The exchange rate that way to this is horrendous and they had to be careful with their money.  They weren’t thrilled then, when, on a grand tour of the relatives, every family they visited insisted on going out for a meal and letting them pay for their own.

By the time they got to us, they had as little money as we do.  I crossed my fingers and cooked up a feast fit for an average day at t’mill.  I can’t remember what was in it but I can guarantee meat, potatoes and three veg, minimum (potatoes don’t count as veg any more, according to the government, who don’t include it in the recommended five-a-day).

My brother-in-law ate his portion.  And seconds; and thirds.  Then he sat back in his chair and said, ‘That’s the best meal I’ve had in England.’

Six years on, I’m still glowing.  Rather like the Geiger counter in my kitchen.

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For Viewfromtheside’s prompt.

Joke 162

I wouldn’t say I was a bad cook but my children were suspended from school for trying to smuggle toxic waste in their lunch bags.

Whoops!

Image via Wikipedia

It was a day of mistakes yesterday:

I was not Freshly Pressed

Sorry if I gave the impression that I was.  Thanks for all your positive comments.  If wishing made it so….

I made a roast dinner on the hottest day of August so far

The Hub bought a huge gammon at a small gammon price and, rather than freeze it, I decided to make my first roast, with all the trimmings, in months.  Unfortunately, so did the weather.  I’m not ungrateful for the heat – it warms our webbed feet, after all – but why did it choose to be hot yesterday?  I almost passed out when I opened the oven door.

I baked some fairy cakes

Always a mistake.  Especially when I forget to add one of the main ingredients.

The weird thing is, they tasted fine.

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I was not the only person to make a mistake yesterday.  From – where else? – The Stockport Express:

An opportunist thief stole a van off a driveway as a senior police officer moved house.

Superintendent Vanessa Jardine was moving items from her home on Lower Fold, Marple Bridge, Stockport, when the rented vehicle was suddenly driven away.

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Proving that it really can happen to anyone. 

I know: I’ll make her a cake.

Related articles

• Top police officer’s van stolen as she moves house (menmedia.co.uk)

Joke 144

I wouldn’t say I was a bad cook but my family automatically heads for the table every time they hear a fire alarm.

Joke 135

I wouldn’t say I was a bad cook, but my family’s favorite drink is Alka-Seltzer.

Baking Crazy

I acted out of character yesterday.  I had the urge to bake.  Not any old urge, like the urge to go to the toilet or to eat a Malteser, or to go to the toilet while eating a Malteser; but an urge like my guts will burst if I don’t get to the bathroom on time; like I must empty that box of Maltesers right now before someone comes in and wants one.  It was quite frightening.

I don’t bake.  I barely cook.  I muddle along as best I can and hope not to poison anyone.  Sometimes, I don’t.  So what brought this new and terrifying desire upon me?  Grocery shopping.

Life is only worth living if we have the occasional treat; by which I mean that we must have snacky things to eat in the house at all times, or the family will at last realise they are running on empty.  We haven’t done a great deal of shopping lately and I needed to stock up on staples.  Once I’d bought all the staples, however, there was nothing left for cakes.  You could misquote Marie Antoinette and say, ‘Let them eat bread!’ but I’m trying to cut back on stodgy food – cakes aren’t ‘food’ but ‘snacks’, so it’s not cheating.

Thus, I decided to make my own.  The itch had been there for a while, if I’m honest; ever since Viv told me her secret: weigh the eggs; make the dry ingredients the same weight; add the flour last and stop mixing.  Viv is a genius.  Usually, my cakes look like this, if I’m lucky: _ _ _ _ _ .

But not with Viv on the case: dear old Viv, wonderful Viv, knows how to bake Viv, glad I listened to her Viv, I love Viv Viv, genius Viv:

You should be looking at the ones at the back; the ones at the front are yet to go in the oven. 

I hung on to Tory Boy’s school recipe booklets, you see, and yesterday I went through them, selecting several recipes to try.  I didn’t just bake one thing: I baked for hours and hours and hours.  At one point the Hub walked into the kitchen and asked me who I was.  It was that phenomenon where you meet someone in the street and you know you know them but it’s not where you usually meet them and you can’t place them until you picture them with a milk float or a lollipop and yellow coat or a sack full of post.

Here’s the next batch:

I didn’t follow Viv’s instructions for the cakes at the front, and it shows.  I have an excuse, however: the recipe said ‘buns’ not ‘cakes’.  I didn’t know they were the same thing.  I suppose I should have guessed when the ingredients were exactly the same, but I was high on the excitement of my first batch. 

The glass dish at the back holds the leftover mixture from Viv’s cakes.  I bunged in some tinned peaches and made a peach cake.  How cool am I?

Then I was left with half a tin of peaches – no problem!  I had a recipe for apple crunchy top so I could halve the topping and make two puddings.  One snag: not enough topping.  No problem!  I made up another batch.  How double cool am I?

While they were baking I made up a variation cake mix from TB’s booklets, still not making the connection that I needed to about the egg weighing thing.  I was too high on my double cool new baking skills to do any thinking.

Then I thought, ‘I’m good enough to bake scones.  Yes I am.  I know I am.’  Turns out I’m not.  They were as flat as all the other cakes that didn’t obey Viv.  But you know what?  Who cares?  I baked.  And, what’s crazy: I enjoyed it.

Back Row: peach cake/apple crunchy top/peach crunchy top/variation cake mix, or flatasapancake for short.

Front Row: Viv’s stupendous cakes/all in one buns/what’s laughingly known as ‘scones’.

The scone downstage left is the one made from all the mushed up left over mix.  Perhaps I’ll make them all from mushed up left over mix next time.

Yes, there will be a next time.

Where’s my lollipop?

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Joke 130

I wouldn’t say I was a bad cook but my kids got even with the class bully by inviting him for dinner.

Joke 121

I wouldn’t say I was a bad cook but my husband refers to the smoke detector as the oven timer.

Come Dine With Me In Stockport

If you think that’s an invitation from me, hunger must have made you hallucinate.  Unless you like hysterical harridans serving inedible plates of unidentifiable mush?

I don’t really do dinner invites.  Visit me any time, yes, and welcome.  Sandwiches, a buffet, Christmas Dinner: no probs.  But an evening meal?  With all the food ready at the same time?  I have been married twenty-six years and I still panic if the eggs go in the pan before the bacon is burnt.  I once prepared chippolata sausages at my brother’s house and had a meltdown because the Hub wasn’t there to tell me when to stop cooking them.  At least I learned where charcoal comes from.

My favourite meal is leftovers and chips, because the food that has survived me well enough to end up in the fridge only needs warming in the microwave.  I get through microwaves like I get through deep fat fryers.

No, dear reader, your stomach is safe; and safer still if you don’t live in Stockport or the surrounding areas.  The television show Come Dine With Me is to film in Stockport in August, and they want you to provide the meal and the entertainment for the viewing public, with the possibility of a thousand pound prize at the end of it.  Ain’t that grand?

Here’s the blurb (they asked me to post it up in my window but the grease blocks the view):

Come Dine With Me

follows FIVE strangers, all budding chefs, as they take it in turns to try and prepare the best meal, be the best host and hold the best all-round dinner party for the others. The best host at the end of the competition wins £1,000 cash!

We’re looking for anyone over 18 years old, from any walk of life, who feels they have what it takes to throw a great dinner party!  So if you are passionate about cooking and you’d like to find out more, or if you know someone who could be a perfect candidate for our show, then please get in touch with us as soon as possible and leave your contact details on:

0871 244 4142

(Callers from a BT landline will be charged a set up fee of 10p per call plus 10p perminute. Calls from other networks may be higher and from mobiles will cost considerably more.)

Or email: cdwm@itv.com

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So, if you fancy being on telly while eating, as opposed to being in front of the telly while eating, give them a call.    My commission is only £10 and a taste.

Disclaimer: This has got nothing to do with me (that’s life).  I am the blogging equivalent of the lamppost that holds the poster advertising your lost cat.

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101/1001 (12)

Try out three new recipes (1/3)

I tried out a new recipe this week, which was somewhat accidental.

Hub: What’s for dinner?

Me: Mince and boiled potatoes [low food stores and a cook devoid of imagination]

Hub: Eurgh.  [Thinks]  I’ll supervise.

The Hub loves to cook and is a genius at throwing stuff together to make a mouth holiday.  I miss his cooking.  Mostly because it means I have to do it.

He sat in the kitchen and directed operations.  Where that would mean, in my case, that dinner looks like a surgeon’s office; in his it means that I chopped and peeled and diced and layered and the result was a mouth trip to Alton Towers: fun to try once, but you wouldn’t want a week of it.

With some tweaking, however, we’re pretty sure that our crusty mince bake will be perfect:

Blog 1111 times (239/111)

I’ve been a little slack this week: only eighteen posts.  Sorry about that.

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Don’t forget to see how the other 101ers are getting on.  Their links are on the right.

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