Category: lockdown food

Posted on

Picklification Complete

A fellow island crofter generously responded to my plea for small cucumbers to pickle and donated a bag of them.

Salting peacefully awaiting their vinegar bath

Freshly picked from their polytunnel, small and crunchy, there was a definite frisson of excitement as I clutched the bag with barely concealed anticipation and drove home to check the vinegar situation.

There’s something addictive about pickling. Gherkins, or dill pickles, are my very favourite pickle of all time, and something I find hard to buy in the shops locally. This timely donation was therefore all the more meaningful and I was determined to do them justice.

Over the last few days I’ve tenderly washed and patted dry, salted, rinsed and patted dry again these little nuggets of joy. A newborn could not have been more cosseted.

Oh yes

I’ve sterilised jars, prepared my vinegar and crooned over the additions like an alchemist. Enough peppercorns? Too much mustard seed? A few more chilli flakes perhaps? I even picked the last of my dill flowers especially a few days ago, before the rain flattened everything, to add to the jars.

And so they are done. Behold the magnificence of these island grown pickles.

Picklification is now complete.

Posted on

The Mandrake Babies

There’s something so intriguing and otherworldly about growing beans.

Best friend in France sent me a pack of organic borlotti beans, (not from France, from a UK seed company) and I popped some into seed compost five days ago in the growing room in the caravan, not hoping for much, to be honest.

They germinated within two days, splitting the soil and unfurling huge, robust stems. It was seriously like watching a triffid grow. I could almost see them get bigger by the hour.

After four days all of them had leaves. They’re sitting there now, waving their stems about, looking a bit menacing… 😊

I think I’ve hatched mandrake babies by mistake. Someone get me some ear defenders..

Posted on

Waste not, want not

My mother used to use this phrase a lot. She was born of a generation that valued thriftiness, and it’s a mantra that I wish I’d taken up more seriously years ago.

My generation was, in contrast, one of consumption, and I shudder now as I think back to the waste I created without a second thought over the years.

I’ve always tried not to waste food, but it’s only really been in recent years that I’ve started really repurposing other things rather than just throwing them out.

Many of my seedlings are being grown on in yoghurt pots, old fruit juice cartons and mushroom trays that I would have previously discarded without a second thought.

Composting is taking care of most of our vegetable-based kitchen waste, and I’m repairing clothes now that I have time to do so rather than endlessly buying new. I feel better for it, I honestly do.

The langoustine feast left us with an enormous pile of empty shells, heads and claws. Janni, our neighbour, passed on a brilliant Icelandic recipe for langoustine bisque which she warned was smelly to cook, but quite delicious.

The stock making process was indeed stinky. I opened all the doors and windows in the caravan but the smell was still strong hours later!

The resulting bisque was gorgeous with a deep, richly intense flavour. There are no artistic Instagram swirls of cream here, I’m afraid, just bowls of soup with crusty homemade spelt sourdough bread given to us by another neighbour.

Janni made wild garlic aioli to go with hers, but I hadn’t been out harvesting yet.

As we sat eating our bisque watching another pink sunset over the mountains, I reflected that dinner tonight was largely made out of leftovers.

My mother would have been proud.

Posted on

Seafood feast

I love living on this island. The waters around it are cold and clean, and the seafood fished in its waters can’t be beaten.

Kind neighbours alerted us to the fact that we could buy rope grown mussels fresh from a small mussel farm a few villages away some weeks back. I’ve always loved shellfish, but these were a revelation. Small and sweet.

This morning we got a text from them again to say that fresh langoustine would be landed today, and would we like some? Would we ever!

They arrived as the sun was setting, with a carrier bag holding two kilos of live langoustine. For less money than a tiny bowl of these, should you even be able to get them, in London..

When we opened the bag I have to say that my heart quailed a bit. They were very alive…snapping their pincers and looking very angry. Quite rightly so. Thankfully husband is made of sterner stuff and he stepped in and cooked and prepared them for us.

Supper tonight was a feast. Simply cooked and dipped in garlic and coriander butter, they were sweet and succulent. I’ve never had fresher or tasted better.

I suspect most of these make their way abroad usually, but with Covid meaning that hotels and restaurants are closed, the local fishermen are offering them to locals.

Definitely our gain.

Posted on

Gales, rain & lentil soup

The cold, crisp winter days of the last month have been replaced by a storm front bringing with it high winds and torrential rain. I knew it couldn’t last.. 😊

Last night the wind veered to the South West from the Easterlies that had been dominating for the last few weeks, and the caravan started to flex like a boat in the wind.

As I write, curled up on the cushions in the caravan, everything is moving. The noise of the wind, which is about 55 mph at the moment, is incredible. The rain sounds like a thousand marbles being flung at the windows, rattling and crashing loudly against the glass.

I can no longer see the mountains across the Sound or the sea itself through the sheet of rain that has wrapped itself around us.

Then it clears, replaced with an incredible luminosity until the next bank of rain-heavy clouds bear down on us.

Luckily we are well strapped down, so I don’t have any real fear of being scooped up and tumbled down the hillside, although at times it feels like that!

I drink my tea and soothe our rather startled old dog who doesn’t understand why everything is moving. He’s never really understood the caravan.

I’ve made some garlic lentil soup to warm us both through later.

It won’t change the weather, but it will provide some comfort on this wild winters day.

Posted on

Snow on the croft

We awoke this morning to a white blanket of snow over everything again. The temperatures had fallen overnight and it had snowed for several hours.

Getting up and started is the hardest thing when it’s cold like this.

Breakfast was taken by the fire with both of us wrapped up in a blanket, bobble hats and fingerless gloves until the fire gradually warmed the room.

We watched as the light changed constantly around us, the skies moving from thunderous grey to bright blue and back again as the storm fronts raced across the sky.

The snow is properly deep now, and the access track to the croft is icy and compacted and probably impassable for the moment, unless it was an emergency.

This would of course happen as I was about to replenish food stores with my regular shop, but we have plenty of stores, and bread flour and yeast to make rolls. The small oven here would struggle with a big loaf but it manages rolls and smaller breads just fine.

I’ve been baking every day, and making soup, curries and stews to make sure that we stay warm.

I know that this would send some people absolutely stir crazy, but I quite like it. It’s quiet and cosy. We have the work on the house, our books, cooking and seed planning and planting to keep us busy.

Contentment.

Posted on

Snow flurries and hot, spiced apple juice

Storm Bella took hold last night. Winds of up to 70 mph, and driving hail and sleet for most of the night.

We didn’t get much sleep with the caravan rocking violently in the wind, but we awoke this morning to find the storm blown out and to a light scattering of snow on the croft.

When it’s windy the caravan is especially cold.

It’s not well insulated and the windows and doors are badly fitted and allow a gale to blow through them. We’ve done what we can with insulating tape and thermal curtains, but we can’t avoid the wind up here on the top of the hill.

After breakfast, which was taken sitting in a blanket in front of the fire, I made hot, spiced apple juice to warm us up.

Full of cinnamon, nutmeg, cranberries, juniper berries and slices of clementines, it’s definitely helping with our Vitamin C intake as well as being comforting and delicious.

We’ve run out of apple juice now until I brave the shops again so from here on in it’s going to have to be hot, spiced cider… 😊

Posted on

The Quiche Chronicles

As summer moves on and the temperature in this warm and stuffy London house rises, we throw open all the windows each day to try and get some fresh air.

The traffic levels in this city sadly seem to have returned to normal, so it’s a moot point how “fresh” it actually is. At least it’s not long to go now until we have all the fresh air that we could possibly want on the breezy Isle of Skye..😊

At this time of year we also move on to lighter foods, and I’ve unexpectedly found something that all family members will eat without exception – quiche.

Every weekend for the last three weeks I’ve made one. They have to be vegetarian, but they’re all the better for that, to be honest. It keeps me creative!

We started with an asparagus quiche shown above, then moved on last week to a courgette, pea and fresh coriander one, and finally this week to sweet potato, spinach and pine nut. Except I forgot the pine nuts.

These have reminded me how, with a bit of time and effort we can make a meal from very little – a few eggs, herbs and a couple of vegetables. One day soon I hope that I’ll be making these with our own eggs and at least some of our own produce.

As the season moves on and the tomatoes start to ripen and actually taste of something, I’ll be slow roasting a tray of them next week to make a roasted tomato tart too.

On the croft front, we’ve sourced a static which will become our home for the next nine months and are making arrangements to have it moved and hooked up in September whilst the build slowly progresses.

It’s all started moving and is becoming very real now….

Posted on

Going back to proper meat

Since lockdown began and we started experiencing problems with supermarket deliveries, I began to source alternative places to buy meat online.

It’s proved to be a revelation and I’m not going back. It may be more expensive, but I’ll balance that by buying cheaper cuts of meat and buying less often.

I found an award winning organic pork producer in Lincolnshire who makes the most delicious sausages I’ve ever eaten. Plain pork, pork and apple, smoked pork, pork and leek – they’ve all been so good that I now get a regular fortnightly order delivered. We freeze them and use them crisped to perfection in butties or baked in lentil casseroles.

An old fashioned butcher who sells the cheaper cuts of meat as well as high end ones, and who delivers? I’ve found one in South East London. We’ve been enjoying beef short ribs and steaks from old cows that have huge depth of flavour, and also oxtail, brisket, flank, skirt, and onglet yet to try.

Cuts that I remember my mother cooking many years ago, but which I’ve rarely if ever seen in supermarket fridges recently.

These cuts take longer to cook, often simmered or roasted slowly for hours in order to release their flavour and render down into tenderness, but as time isn’t an issue at the moment, I’m glad to rediscover these skills, and the results are delicious.

I think that small businesses need all the help that they can get at the moment, and I want to support companies that produce organic, great quality produce.

I am one of the many millions in the U.K. that stopped using these businesses regularly some years ago when time was at a premium, and when long business hours meant that convenience was the most important thing to us. It was too easy to click and add all that I needed for the week in a one-stop shop.

No more. I don’t want to be in a position where we no longer have the choice, which is where we were headed.

If nothing else, this awful virus has shown me that we need to live more slowly and mindfully, and that there is a better way. With better quality, better tasting food and people that care how it’s produced.

Posted on

The Seventh Week

We are about to enter our seventh week of lockdown.

I’m getting quite used to our new normality. Of course I miss restaurants, galleries and live music a little, but the truth is that we didn’t used to do these things that often.

I find myself baking and cooking much more than normal with four hungry adults in the house. We’re going to roll out of lockdown, I suspect, based on the trays of brownies, shortbreads and breads that we’ve been eating. Whether it’s comfort eating or what, we’re certainly eating a lot.

Where I’d normally do a supplementary shop each week to top up on bread and fresh vegetables, I can’t do that now, restricted to one delivery slot a week by the online supermarkets and not wanting to send anyone out on an inessential journey.

I have to plan ahead meticulously to ensure I don’t forget anything essential. It’s made me more careful and certainly more creative, substituting ingredients where I don’t have exactly what I need.

I made a malt loaf last week, my first ever, and couldn’t get black treacle for love nor money for some reason. Baking goods such as flour, yeast, eggs and sugar have all been really tough to get. So I substituted a few tablespoons of pomegranate molasses instead and it tasted delicious. The smugness at my own ingenuity was not pretty to see.

Bread baking skills have been essential, so I’ve been baking rolls, baguettes and loaves, finding some brilliant basic recipes. The offspring aren’t fans of sourdough so there’s been less of that.

In the first few weeks of lockdown I couldn’t get a supermarket shop at all, and resorted to midnight trawling of websites to see who would deliver what. As a consequence we’ve found the worlds best sausages from a farm shop in Lincolnshire (seriously good), and a South East London butcher whose beef is to die for. Small producers, both, with care for their animals at the heart of their production.

The experience has been so good that from now on that’s where my pork, beef and sausages will come from. I think that anything that we can do to help support small farms or producers at this time is a good thing. Once up in Skye we’ll source local equivalents and eat them less often to make it affordable.

It’s heartbreaking to think of how many small makers and companies will go to the wall in these tough times.

Stay safe, and I hope that you are all managing to survive this new reality, however temporary it may be.