High Summer Heat

It's the end of July, the weather is sultry, walking through the bracken feels like hacking through forest untouched by human hands, the garden is barely under control and I'm sitting indoors fretting about my academic work and cooking a whole heap o' stuff.

Tomorrow is Drimnin's summer dance and I cook the BBQ stuff. I took over from B because, frankly, nobody in the community could tolerate her complaints any longer. Obviously I complain as well (the standing! the heat! the vegetarians!) but not quite to the same level as B. Also I hold a basic hygiene certificate, having turned up to the course in Strontian where you spend a day being told all the different ways you can kill folk with food.

In order to limit the number of people we kill (and placate the pesky vegetarians) I spend the day before the dance pre-cooking lamb shanks and sausages and roasting vegetables. I'm using this as an excuse not to get down to my academic paper and it's working so far but even I cannot avoid the need to get a synopsis off to my supervisor by the end of today.

Hey ho.

One of the (many) reasons that I'm behind with my research is that the first half of the year has been concerned with: trying and failing to get elected as a councillor and laying a new floor in the fank. They were both much more work than expected but the fank, at least, is finished and ready for eager airbnb renters.

When it comes to the garden, there's no doubt that it's getting a bit out of control and, having successfully chopped down the hated leylandi hedge, both chainsaws have stopped working. Rather than fret too much I ordered a stack of timber from our local timber-supply man (who's also the bus driver and fireman). It's a long trip for him so he tends to come along with his partner L and her grandchildren. L has a fabulous wee garden in Lochaline and keeps chickens so she always comes along with some eggs. This has provided another excuse for avoiding my paper as I've had to come up with recipes to use up the eggs. The one I'm trying out today is Blackcurrant Curd.

600g blackcurrants
juice of 1 lemon
450g sugar
125g butter
5 eggs beaten

Cook the blackcurrants and lemon juice for five minutes then pass through a mouli-legume. Stir the puree, butter and sugar in a bowl over simmering water til the butter has melted. Add the eggs and stir gently til the mixture thickens (about the consistency of soft ice-cream). Pour into sterilised jars and keep in the fridge once cooled. It should keep for about a month but I'm freezing half of mine since it can also be used - mixed half and half with whipped cream - as a quick ice-cream base.

Now I've just got 8 lamb shanks, 60 sausages, 50 peppers and one academic synopsis to prepare.

Cake & Ale

My New Year picture of sloe gin with a fruit bowl in the background inspired a friend to make banana bread (more immediate gratification than marinading sloes) so it seemed appropriate to add two of my favourite cake recipes for the New Year. Banana bread is, let's face it, a cake rather than bread and this recipe from Mary Berry admits that by adding chocolate chips. Try as I might I can't stop the chocolate sinking to the bottom of the cake but it still tastes very fine, particularly when warm. I've doubled the ingredients to make a more substantial cake and I just chuck all the ingredients in together which seems to work fine.

Banana & Chocolate Chip Loaf

2 ripe bananas
2 tbsp milk
100g soft butter
150g plain flour
150g caster sugar
1 tsp bicarbonate of soda
1 tsp baking powder
1 eggs
...... mix all together til as smooth as possible, then add
100g chocolate chopped into small pieces
....... pour into a large loaf tin lined with baking parchment and bake at 160C/gas mark 3 for 45 minutes or until browned and cooked through

New Year indulgence was tempered with the screening of Ken Loach's film, "I, Daniel Blake" which had me (and everyone else in the audience) sniffling from the start. I paused before heading home to photograph the new moon over Loch Linnhe.

Crunch

Obviously everything I cook is completely yummy but there are some dishes, such as borscht, that provoke spontaneous delight in others: who knew that virtue could taste so good. My granola works like that. It was one of the many things I discovered in Japan thanks to the excellent wholefood cooperative that catered to homesick Americans in far-flung inaka. When I got back to Britain I had sporadic attempts to make some myself but it was the blog by Orangette that kickstarted the crunchiness. It was then the lovely Japanese Kaori who requested this recipe and reminded me how good it is.

Maple & Olive Oil Granola (adapted from Orangette's adaptation of Early Bird Food's version)

300g porridge oats
250g pumpkin & sunflower seeds
50g dessicated coconut
150g flaked almonds
1tsp coarse salt
85g brown sugar
175ml maple syrup
120ml olive oil
chopped dried apricots, prunes, cherries


Stir together the oats, seeds, nuts and salt. Mix the brown sugar, maple syrup and olive oil ... add to the oats and seeds and stir to coat. Spread the mixture in a large baking tray and bake until golden brown for 45 minutes (180C, 350F, gas mark 4) checking and stirring every 15 minutes or so. When the mixture has cooled, add the dried fruit and store in an airtight container

While baking this I was making my first stab at sorting the family photographs that arrived from my dad's flat in some buckets and carrier bags. This was just the first sort of the photographs: dividing them into "Drumbuidhe", "Anywhere Else" and "Rubbish" ... if I didn't recognise the people or place then it got binned. Thankfully my mother had labelled most of the negatives but I've still got a stack to get through. As far as sorting out my dad's estate goes, this isn't one of the arduous tasks but my sister is trying to wring as much drama out of it as she can (even if that means she misses out on the gentle pleasure of revisiting my parents lives through the years). It was she who dumped all the photographs into buckets and bags so that she could A) rent out dad's flat less than a month after his death and B) sell the bureau that they were stored in. As I sorted through the photographs I came across a few where my sister has been cut out of the photograph and then, most bizarrely, the photograph has been returned. Apart from having my sister removed, the photographs have little else in common - they feature me, my mum, the Cambridge academic Pip Gaskell and my sister's Chilean friend Loretta. I don't think there's any grand meaning behind this, I think my sister was just being a bit daft ...

The deeds of dad's flat have recently been passed on to my sister (I'm inheriting my dad's 1/3 share of Drumbuidhe but that takes a wee bit longer to sort out). She was also up from Devon in Glasgow this week without telling me. I'm not upset at this (I very rarely take offence and I'm up in Drumbuidhe anyway) and I assume it's because she's selling my dad's flat and, after making such a fuss about how she was the only one who knew my dad's intentions, she doesn't want to admit that she just really needs the cash. Hey ho.

lentil life

In the classic 1980s sitcom 'The Young Ones' one of hippy Neil's main occupations was the preparation of lentils, lentils and more lentils. As a child I associated lentils with overcooked mush mixed with hated cooked carrots. I didn't like them. Then I lived with the vegetarian Lesley at college and was introduced to her lovely lentil and apple curry. Then the 1990s explosion of ingredients brought green lentils and their nutty yumminess to the UK.

Although Nigel Slater started as a food stylist, producing mouth-watering photographs for Marie Claire, my favourite book of his is the words-only 'Real Fast Food'. It has this great recipe described as "a life-saverwhen the fridge contains nothing but the cat's milk and an old packet of Japanese soya paste"

Lentils with Tomatoes
for 2
100g lentils
2 tblsp olive oil
1 chopped onion
1 chopped red chilli
1 tin tomatoes

* cook the lentils in boiling, salted water for 15 minutes 'til just tender, drain
* fry the onions in the oil for about 7 minutes, add the chilli and cook for a further minute or two
* add the lentils and tomatoes and simmer for about 10 minutes
* season and serve ... also good served cold as a salad

I'm coming to the end of a 2 week stint at losing some weight. I'm only a wee bit overweight but, with both parents suffering from metabolic issues, I want to halt the trend of increasing weight. So I'm especially thankful for spicey lentil recipes.

There was never going to be an ideal time to follow a carefully restricted diet but it turns out that I'm really, really bad at academic writing whilst half-starving. I'm not sure if I would have been brilliant if I'd been fully caloried up but the major review report I finally submitted was woefully underpowered - and late - which does not bode well for he review meeting in a couple of weeks.

Probably best not to mention (yet) to my, rather annoyed, supervisor that I've put my name down as a labour candidate for the 2017 Highland council elections.

tu veux un aperitif?

For someone who doesn't drink very much (I get a wee bit arsey when drunk and I have absurdly bad hangovers) I have a large amount of the stuff floating around. Campbell left behind a large wine collection (extensive in quantity, rather than quality ... he lost his sense of smell well before his taste for alcohol). This year's crop of berries was outstanding so, after jams and pies, I've got a couple of bottles of cherry gin and a bottle of redcurrant gin. Then there's the birch sap wine (polished off at the festival), dandelion wine and redcurrant wine. The redcurrant wine was made using export-strength gin and it's a bit too strong and the dandelion wine is a bit nondescript in flavour as well as a rather uninspiring cloudy yellow colour.

Inspired by a lovely wee radio programme on aperitifs, I decided to have a go at mixing my own vin maison. Using the key ideas of 'not too strong and not too sweet' I've come up with two rather nice wee drinks ... a dandelion + orange peel and a dandelion + redcurrant. The orange still needs a bit more gin added to stop the fermentation but it tastes lovely and the redcurrant and dandelion is a beautiful pale, rose pink.

I'm now headed down to Durham for a party and I've brought some of my vin du rose as a gift for my hosts. Weight issues mean that I've had to bring it in a plastic water bottle so we will see if the taste can transcend the packaging.

The wild cherry gin (made with Sainsbury's cheapest gin) is quite delicious and needed no further mixing. I used it to make some scrumptious chocolate truffles with some leftover butter. Well worth the tiny risk of cyanide poisoning.


gean truffles

50g unsalted butter
100g plain chocolate
2 tablespoons wild cherry gin

Melt the ingredients together in the microwave, stirring very gently to melt the last of the chocolate. Place in the fridge to set, ideally overnight. When set, scoop into rough balls and roll in cocoa. Keep in the fridge before serving

a confusion of cats

Such is the mouse problem here that every single gnawable item (bed linen, gas supply pipes, soap, sandals, chairs) has been well and truly gnawed; checking crockery for mouse poo is standard and only 2 out of my initial, 48 pea plants made it to maturity. I've been pondering the obvious answer of getting a cat and, after initial concerns about how a cat would stand up to the resident pine marten, fox, wildcat population, was starting to seriously ponder a rehoused farm cat. Events have since overtaken my gentle ponderings.

A week ago I was due to go the Tron Theatre with my friend Peter Hamilton (a dashing, dance-loving sherrif who knew my parents from student days). There was no answer when I arrived at his flat so I called the police who broke down his door and we discovered he had died in his bed. The sad drama was added to by his cat, Findlay who was left orphaned and very scared. So I have unexpectedly adopted a cat. An elderly indoor cat.

It looks like Findlay will be heading to Devon in September to satisfy my nephews' pet cravings but I still have to look after him for July and August ... whilst shuttling between Glasgow, Drumbuidhe, the Edinburgh Festival and with a jaunt to Marseille thrown in for good measure.

Up here in Drumbuidhe the fruit is bursting out all over and, having started dabbling with airbnb, I have my second lot of guests here at the minute with four more to follow. It turns out that none of them have read the description so they have missed the crucial information "boat access only". It's a steep learning curve for them but they are rewarded with one of the best views in Scotland and oodles of fresh cherries.

Midsummer

It's the longest day of the year which means I'm still getting used to going to sleep in the light and, when I wake in the morning, wondering idly whether it's 5am or 10am. I'm up at Drumbuidhe and struggling (as I have been these past 6 months) to get some constructive research work done. I've got plans of course (reading to do, a literature review paper to write, contacts to follow up on, conferences to investigate) but the lushness of summer always takes me aback. The garden is growing like topsy even if I did manage to get the potatoes mixed up. Alas the pests are also growing and the gooseberry bushes are being stripped bare by sawfly.  I picked off all the caterpillars and pupae I could see and then stripped the berries themselves (gooseberry jelly and basil & gooseberry sorbet) before I spray them with bug killer to try and make some dent in next year's sawfly population. I'm also going to give the potatoes a blast of bordeaux mixture which I found in the shed in the hope that we can stave off blight this year. Some fabulous bits of sunshine had dried the garden out so, although the current rain is a bit grey for midsummer's day, it's welcome nonetheless.

While I fail to get on with my research, N is up in the garden chopping down hedges with gay abandon. With both parents gone, I can now go about drastic remodelling of the garden with gay abandon and the much-hated leylandii hedge is the first bit to go. This may be my version of Campbell's continual urge to drill holes in things but, gosh, the garden looks better for it.

Of course cooking is my standard displacement activity and I'm already planning tonight's dinner (smoked mackerel, new potatoes and cavolo nero) followed by trfile using up the last wee bit of a fabulous cake that I made on Sunday.  The recipe is from Carol Kohll via the Guardian's recipe swap and it's moist light and tender as well as beautifully aromatic.  I made some minor changes because of stuff we had to hand (coffee grinder and olive oil).  We had it for pudding with cardamon-scented hot chocolate.



Cardamon Cake

3 eggs
300g sugar
1/2 tsp salt
1 tsp seeds from cardamon pods
1/2 tsp cinammon
zest of one orange
zest of 1/2 lemon
350g self-raising flour
180ml olive oil
1tsp vanilla extract
180ml orange juice

* put salt, spices, rind and some of the sugar into a coffee grinder and grind till fine
* whisk remaining sugar with eggs for about 8 minutes
* add everything together and mix til smooth(ish)
* pour into large (lined) cake tin
* bake at gas mark 4 for 45 minutes

The recipe warned that the cake doesn't keep very well (hence the trifle) but that's unlikely to be a problem.