What I'm doing right now (PM)

Northern Irish TV sounds like it rules!

I've got a bunch of baking ahead of me. It's Baby's birthday this weekend so I gotta make cake. And also biscuits because I bought a bat biscuit cutter that I guess I gotta use. I really wish I could watch Working Girl while I was doing it. I flipping love that movie. 

But I'm actually not baking right now because first I have to buy some ingredients and also stuff for Baby's party. Probably spend hundreds of bucks on that stuff and it's not even leather!

What I'm doing right now (AM)

Hi guys. Guess what I'm doing right now? I'm making hedgehog to take to the office tomozz.
Here in Belfast they have things called 'tray bakes' which are like what we would call slice. On a few occasions, people have brought them in to the office to share, only they've been those dreadful pre-packaged store bought numbers that aren't worth the margarine and corn syrup they're made from. I thought I'd make some proper hedgehog to share so i'm mixing butter and cocoa and crushing Marie biscuits as we speak.
Working Girl is on TV in the background.
I keep catching glimpses of Melanie Griffiths' hair and fur coats out of the corner of my eye and thinking that surely this movie marked the end of the 1980s.

Was anything ever as 80s as this again? I don't think it was. 

Sons and lovers (PM)

Market breakfasting

Nice story, mate, nice story. Sometimes I ask Baby for a bite of whatever he is eating. If it is some sort of sweet treat he usually breaks off a piece between the fingernails of his thumb and forefinger so as to ensure just the tiniest amount is broken off - usually the size of a large crumb. He, like ElderPaddy, wants to be a good boy and share, he just doesn't want to give up his food.

LB, Baby, Newbie and I usually go to the Queen Vic Market on a Sunday. Sometimes a Saturday. We get some breakfast, a cup of Joe, buy some fish, cheese, bread. Get to the vegetable section buy a couple of things before I get too overwhelmed by people, say "I'll come back during the week" and then buy all my fruit and veggies from the supermarket. Anyway, I love watching the other people having their breakfast at the market. There are always lots of families. Sometimes they seem local and often there are tourists. There are lots of families with young kids but I like to check out the ones with teenage kids.

I don't really remember doing things with my parents between the ages of about 14 and 20. It's possible that is because my brain was so focused on high school bullshit that anything else going on in my life failed to attract enough brain space to create memories. Certainly I got along well enough with my family over those years, perfectly well, but I just don't know that I did stuff with them. Maybe shopping with my mum from time to time. That seems like something that could have happened. Anyway, I think that's why I particularly like watching the families with teenagers, I'm intrigued. Also because teenagers get such a bad wrap, but there is something so cute about seeing them sit down with their parents for a weekend breakfast at the market. I hope I'm still going to the market with Baby and Newbie in 10-15 years. But I guess they may need new pseudonyms by then. 

Sons and lovers (AM)

I've loved being in Belfast, and I'll be quite sad to leave next weekend. It's quite lovely here. Sure, it's grey all the time. It's hard to get any work done because people literally talk constantly (and I mean literally constantly not figuratively constantly). But it has been quite great. 

  

I've spent a good amount of my time at this particular coffee shop, because it has good coffee. It's where I'm sitting right now. Sitting here day after day, watching the people come and go, it's made me notice that people seem to have their kids super young over here, and people my age seem to have three little ones by now. Biologically it's not super young, just culturally, by our standards I guess. 

I was looking at one of these young families in the coffee shop before and saw something very adorable happen. The troop consisted of a Mum, a Dad and three little boys. I'd say a five year old, a three year old and a little one in a pram, perhaps 18 months old. The older two—lets call them ElderPaddy and MidPaddy—were those good behaved types that seem to calmly observe the world around them, rather than crazily get up in the world's grill like Midbro and Elderbro used to  some other boys might. I guess they were getting rewarded for being that way,  because the parents had bought them a shortbread to share and boy were they loving that shortbread fully sick. The little guy in the pram, TinyPaddy, was looking on, something the Mum noticed, prompting her to say:

"Boys, perhaps you could give TinyPaddy a bit of your shortbread". 

Well. 

MidPaddy was on to it straight away, instantly shoving the rest of his shortbread into his mouth and shaking his head earnestly.  ElderPaddy looked panicked for a split second, then his shoulders sank, he sighed and he got up. He walked over to TinyPaddy's pram and gave him a bit of shortbread about the size of a penny while sadly gazing out the window.

The whole display was completely hilarious and also a little touching and made me miss my bros and my Mate and Baby and Newbie and Niecey and Little Nut so damned much. I guess the experience was not peculiar to Belfast, or to young families, but it's where I saw it so it makes me think of these things together. And how nice Belfast is. It's made me think about how nice Belfast is.  Come, if you get the chance. 

Disappointments (PM)

Disappointing take away is such a slap in the face, and why I haven't had take away fish and chips or pizza since I've been on this side of the world, despite craving them all the time.  They don't come much more calorie laden/nutrition free than those two, and who wants to take the risk? I don't want to take the risk. 

Fear of disappointment is also one of the reasons I don't buy a lot of the sweet treats I see and long to have with my afternoon coffee. A sweet treat with tea or coffee is one of the great joys of life, but you know, indulgent. So most of the time I don't buy them because you can't just indulge yourself whenever you want. But sometimes...not often...but sometimes, I decide I'm going to indulge myself and get a treat with my afternooner and yet when it's time to make the decision, I back away. What if the treat looks better than it tastes? What if it's dry? What if it's not sweet enough, or too sweet? What if it tastes like a treat that's been sitting on a counter all day? I do not want to deal with that BS. No sirree. 

Speaking of disappointments, I'm going to go and get my morning coffee. The coffee in Belfast is better than Cardiff, but not much. BUT. There is this one great place that has properly good coffee and I love it there and want to spend my life there. But it's half an hour out of my way, so I have to tolerate the just tolerable until the weekend when it's good times aplenty.

Ok, bye guys. 

Disappointments (AM)

Life is full of disappointments (see the Marky Mark remake of Planet of the Apes and also Snow White and the Huntsman - but only after watching the awesome trailers for each). It's expectation that does it. Without expectation there would be no disappointments, only appointments. Wait...what?

By far the greatest disappointments are food-related ones. Oh sure there are professional disappointments, like when you apply for a job, are given the impression you will get it only to be told they decided to hire from within despite their better judgement. There are romantic disappointments, like the decade of my life from the ages of 13-23. But really does anything compare to food disappointment? No matter how you look at it, it's the worst.

Say you cook something, you spend time thinking about how it will taste, preparing your taste buds, preparing the food, and then when it doesn't work out...UGH! It's the worst.

But for me the very, very worst is bad takeaway. This is worse even than the disappointment of a bad restaurant meal, because at least if you go to a restaurant you've been out, probably socialising, you are in it for the experience. If you get takeaway you have basically decided to spend a bunch of money for a meal of minimal nutrition and maximum calories. And the pay-off is that you don't have to cook and you get to eat some kind of delicious food. Maybe gross delicious, maybe delicious delicious, but whatever it is you want to enjoy it, otherwise you are basically eating an expensive, nutritionless, tasteless meal. Oh, its the worst. Moreover a person can't get takeaway all the time and if you've had a shit takeaway meal, that's it. You still have to cook and eat your own food again night after night after night after night until you feel like enough time has passed that you can get takeaway again. And then all you can do is pray your next takeaway meal is going to be more satisfying than the last. But how can you know? This week I was disappointed by a place that usually satisfies but the meal was a total dud. Is nothing sacred?! And to make things worse I watched most of The Green Hornet last night. And right now, I'm hungry! This week is not working out as well as I'd have liked. 

Notes (PM)

Strangely enough, I was awake at 3am this morning too. I wasn't feeding anyone, though I did think about getting a midnight snack. Didn't, though. Probably should have. 

Anyway, I had a look at my notes too, and sure enough they are full of the same nonsense as J's.

That one that starts with 'Does anyone else t...' goes on to ask the question 'think it should be Friday today?'.

Like I even ask that question. The answer is pretty much always yes. 

Notes (AM)

When Newbie wakes up in the middle of the night for a feed I sometimes feel really tired. So that I don't fall asleep on top of him I sometimes turn to my phone for wakespiration but the internet can be so boring with its omnipotence and infiniteness so the other night I turned to my phone notes. There are years worth of notes in there.  It's a real treasure trove of memories. Or it feels that way at 3am.  I use it for all sorts of things like writing blog posts or ideas for posts, I use it for writing shopping lists and for reminding myself of adorable things Baby has said.  Like when I realised that he thought hedgehogs were called hairchogs. I realised this because he said 'Why are they called hair and chogs? Is it because their spikes are like hair?' It is one his adorable mishearings. He calls a knife an ife and cushions pushions and I can't quite bring myself to correct these things. 

The shopping lists in there are pretty boring although I guess I could use them to give me dinner ideas. Though I have no idea what I was cooking when I wrote this list:

I guess I was making some kind of Asian noodle dish but I have no idea what I needed dachshunds for.  

There are also other notes too. Some which were obviously ideas for something and others I have no idea what they were for. 

For example: Can joy be harbinged? Why is it that you only hear about harbingers of doom?

Well I don't know what inspired that note but I know why I wrote it. Because I want I know. 

Or this one:  Blaze. Blaze. Conspiracy theory 9-11. They make some good points. 

What the fuck is this about? Autocorrect?

Or this: 1. Use word achieved 

Maybe I was trying to create a list for manifesting my destiny but I guess I didn't get very far and clearly have not achieved much. 

Maybe I'll never know what these were about or perhaps my failing memory will come good. Either way, thanks iPhone, I don't know what half my notes are about but thanks for having that nifty function, especially now the font is not so fugly.

The Welsh Cakes Post (PM)

The first time I heard about Welsh cakes was in an email from K. All she said was 'Those things are delicious. Like a pikelet and a hot cross bun fell in love and had little babies.' I asked her to send a picture and it took days for her to come up with the goods. I think that the delay further piqued my curiosity. I was telling everyone about them. I was so intrigued by them. How the eff could HCBs and pikelets have babies? What was the texture like? I could imagine the flavour. I thought. When I Googled the recipe and found that they were made from a dough rather than a batter my mind was even more boggled. Griddle pan fry a dough. What?!?!?! Also when I Googled them I came across a Welsh onion cake. Of course we all know about Welsh rarebit. I starting wondering why the Welsh felt the need to put 'Welsh' in front of all their foodstuffs. Is it lack of imagination? A desperation to claim things as their own? It really made me wonder about the Welsh psyche.

Anyway you know what happened next. I made Russeth make them for me. And they were delicious!!! As you know from reading K's post they are full of butter. Now I don't know if the one's we made were authentico, as they say in Wales, but they were kind of crumbly cakes like a super moist not-dense scone. Also they were delicious. But they were first timers, you know? I gotsta make them again. Luckily this postcard arrived from K this very day!

Hello weekend Welsh cakes!

The Welsh Cakes Post (AM)

One of the first things I did when I got to Wales was eat a Welsh Cake, then another, and another and another and another.

I then frequently  referred to Welsh Cakes on Miss Soft Crab, but only in passing, promising I would one day write a proper post giving them the attention they deserve. 

This is that post!

And this is what Welsh Cakes look like sitting atop a piece of Welsh slate:

Oh Welsh cakes. 

Never before has a cake looked so very bland and tasted so very wonderful. 

When I first saw them at my local deli I thought they looked like a thin scone or a fat pikelet and neither option was terribly interesting to me. But I with so many sweet treats that don't look terribly interesting, I was drawn to them in their blandness, just in case my first impression was wrong. And finally I have all the encouragement I need to continue trying things that don't look terribly interesting, because when it comes to Welsh Cakes, I was wrong my readers, I was completely wrong. 

Those first Welsh cakes I tasted had the spice of a hot cross bun, but a rich butteriness making them more akin to croissant than scones. I loved them straight away. Some I heated in the oven and they were delicious. Some I ate as they were, and they were delicious. When I finished the pack from the fancy deli, I bought others. From bakeries, from supermarkets, from any damn place I could get my mitts on them.   They were all delicious. Most I ate with Welsh butter and it made the already delicious even more delicious.

 It turns out that Welsh cakes are made with dough, not batter, and are traditionally cooked on a Welsh bakestone, which is a stone for baking in Wales. 

I bought a cookbook called Welsh Bake-stone cookery so I could make my very own Welsh cakes. 

I'm yet to do it, but I will readers, I will. And in case you want to get to it before me, here is Bobby Freeman's recipe for Welsh cakes. 

225 grams of self-raising flour

1/2 teaspoon of baking powder 

125 grams of butter (cut into cubes)

75 grams of sugar

75 grams of currants

1 large egg and a little milk

A good pinch of mixed spice and an extra pinch of nutmeg

Add the spice to the flour, and rub in the butter.  Add the sugar and  the currants. Beat the egg with a little milk, then add to the flour mix until it forms a stiffish paste akin to shortcrust but a little softer.

Roll out on a floured board to 1/4 inch thick, then cut into 2 1/2 inch rounds and bake on a greased, moderately hot bakestone for 3-5 minutes each side until mottled with golden brown. 

Obviously none of us have Welsh bakestones, so cook on a griddle or heavy based frypan instead. Bobby Freeman says you can also cook them in a dutch oven which produces cakes that "are firm on the outside, soft and melting within." I don't have a problem with that. 

Belfast, I'm in you (PM)

Of course I am not now, nor have I ever been in Belfast. So I don't know a lot about it either. (Anything, I don't know anything about it except: bombs!; troubles!; and that my mother didn't want me to use the name Gerald as a middle name for my sons because of Gerry Adams. Turns out his name is Gerard anyway. So there, Mum. Also, Liam Neeson! Except maybe technically he is from just outside Belfast.  Whatever, I do what I want.)

If only I could insert Liam's accent here too.

Where were we? Belfast! But not actually. I look forward to hearing more about Belfast because my idea of it is basically a sepia-drenched city with small children running down cobble stone streets in grey shorts and slightly too-small woollen jumpers. I doubt there is anything more to it, but let me know just in case, 'k  Mate?

Belfast, I'm in you (AM)

Appleheart and I landed in Belfast yesterday. I have to confess that all I know about Belfast,  I learnt from movies about 'the troubles' in the 80s and 90s, which is a narrow view to say the least. I'm sure Belfast has lots more going on than just being the site of sectarian violence borne of political struggle, but what that is I couldn't tell you, that's why "Belfast, I'm in you!" is all I could think of to say after Appleheart and I alighted at George Best airport on Saturday.
It's quite a nice position to be in, not knowing anything about a city apart from who its favourite sons are.

Yep. This guy. And also this guy, who I only know is from Belfast because the airport is named after him:  

It's soccer champion George Best! I remember the news coverage of his death included an amusing quote he made at some point, about how he'd earned piles and piles of money through soccer but had little to show for it. "Most I spent on booze and women", he said, "and the rest I wasted." Or something like that. Ha!

Anyway, Belfast. Because I know so little about it, and because several people had recommended it to us, against our better judgement we took one of those city sightseeing bus tours around the city. You know, the ones on the double decker buses. 

I really should have trusted my instincts on this one. Now I know this about Belfast: they built the Titanic here, and as far as Belfast is concerned, it was fine when it left so they've got nothing to do with what happened.  

I can also tell you where Belfast's smallest house is, where Belfast's oldest dual carriageway is and what it feels like to drive along it on top of an open double decker bus in the rain (shit), and the location of the public sculpture known as the Salmon of Knowledge. Ha!

But it's only my first day. I am sure I will come to know and love it. 

But if anyone knows of fun things to do here, please tell me. I am very very open to your suggestions, friends. 

Haiku Thursday (PM)

Haiku responses to spring in Cardiff.

(Not taken in Cardiff)

Flannel is so great. 

Something else that's also great 

Is double glazing.

I love Sunday lunch.

With a pint and then pudding.

But I miss blue sky.

Haiku Thursday (AM)

Axel Foley is so happy to see the return of Haiku Thursday

Flannel

Got you as a shirt

Got you as sheets too, flannel

Got you on my mind

Sore tooth

Think of it daily

Call. Just call. Just call you fool. 

Ice cream eating hurts

And yet, dear tooth

The dentist remains uncalled 

You, tooth, remain sore 

The Winter Question (Another day)

Hi everyone, sorry I'm late. Monday was a public holiday in Wales you see, so we went to Snowdonia again and there was no phone reception, no wifi, no nuthin. But now I'm back and can turn my attention to this topic which I think about all the time, but particularly while in the UK where my hair seems to look especially s#$thouse.

My very strong view is that it's possible to wear a winter hat and look very good wearing one. I also think you, Mate, wearing a nice hat on  top of your nice curly hair would look really great. I think the problem is that most female winter hat wearing is done by people who are making some kind of statement, such as "look at me, I'm a free spirit, I'm wearing a hat". Dickheads, if you will. The hat is a way for them to express themselves, not a single piece in an ensemble that serves a purpose while also looking quite lovely. No. Most of the time when people wear hats, they are doing so because they want it to be very clear and apparent that they are the type of person who would wear a hat, they are indeed wearing a hat and that it's very important that people notice them wearing the hat. Gosh darn it's annoying. And it means the female winter hat has become a bit of a symbol of annoying people. They're ruining hat wearing. But there are exceptions, of course, and I think you could be one of them, Mate.

But it won't be easy. You'll be up against it. But if you find the right hat, Mate. If you find the right hat I think you can do it. The question for me, now, is where the heck does one start looking for a winter hat?

The winter question (AM)

I know that every year around this time I write a post about how much I love autumn. How the light is so beautiful, the weather, when good is so damn good, and the clothes! All my favourite clothes were made for autumn. But this blog is 3 years old! I think you know all too well my love of autumn. So this year I'll spare you that post. Only problem is that while writing this paragraph I've gotten so side tracked thinking about all of autumn's awesome features I forgot what I really wanted to talk about. 

...

Hey I remembered! I think it's time to publicly revisit a question I pretty much ask myself every year at this time. That is, could I, should I, wear a winter hat. Oh I'm not talking about a beanie. I wear them. You gotta. I'm talking about some kind of more femme felt hat. 

Something like this: 

You know how I like to fashion myself after Woody Allen women of yesteryear. 

But is it possible for a normal woman to wear such a hat? I feel like this kind of hat could be a partial solution to the inevitable frizzy hair issues that abound during this wet months. You see I've reached a new positive position on my hair that I will tell you all about soon. I think that I need more positive ways to approach my hair in the wet season. Do these hats look glamourous? Or stupid?

Can they only exist in a fantasy winter wonderland, right next to ponchos? An item I fantasise about wearing (blankets outside? Yes please!) but know I never would. I feel like in reality the brimmed felt hat is an item for off-duty models only but maybe I'm being too narrow minded. Maybe it's time a gal like me embraced it. 

?

What I know and like (PM)

I don't want to come down on Australia, because, shit you guys, I love a sunburnt country, but how about how in Europe you can just get delicious cheese everywhere like it ain't no thang!? We could do with more of that here.  When I was looking for Welsh cake recipes on the internet I found one that called for 'butter (preferably Welsh)' and I was all 'yeah right'. But now I feel really sad I can't make Welsh cakes with Welsh butter. 

And why are those lambies so cute! It's true Australian lambs are cute but those little Welshies are delightful!

Look, Mate, all I ask is that in Ireland you don't go on about the chips and curry. I don't know if my saliva and jealousy glands can take it. 

What I know and like (AM)

Can you believe it's almost time for me to leave Wales? Me neither. This time next week I'll be packing my bags and getting ready to say "nos da, Cymru", which is Welsh for "goodnight Wales" which is not technically accurate because I'm flying out in the afternoon, but I don't know the Welsh for goodbye. 

I feel funny about leaving, because I feel like I haven't got to know the place in the way I thought I would, back when I was going to be here for six months. I'm leaving to do some great things, like spend six weeks in Belfast and Dublin, then a month each in Londan and Scotland and a month of summer holiday, so it's not a problem per se. But I thought I'd know Wales better, and instead I just know it a little bit, and because I like everything I know I feel like heck, I wouldn't mind knowing more. But let's focus on what's in this half full glass. One of the things  I know about Wales is that they have lots of rain, which gives them lots of green grasses, which makes the dairy food really excellent.

That's a very happy cow I encountered in North Wales last week. I don't think I ate it's dairy, but I ate some of it's cousins' dairy. The butter is the best thing since sliced bread and obviously goes beautifully with sliced bread. The cheese is off the charts, especially this cheese we found called snowdonia red dog cheese that has chilli in it and every bite has this excellent blend of heat and creaminess. The milk begs to be gulped from the carton every time one passes the fridge. 

The sheep are really cute. I know that too.

 

I know and like that sandwiches are always served with little lettuce garnish and a side of crisps. I'm going to miss that actually. But, happily I've developed a welsh ploughman's concept that will keep the trend alive. 

Oh, sheesh guys, my dinner's ready so I gotta go. I have to say, I kind of like how I am in a different timezone and get to write this at 7:30pm on Wednesday night and send it to you in the future! But that's not very Welsh, I just like it is all. 

Bye for now.