The Lamb Was Sure To Go

Thursday, 9 September 2010
....the lamb was sure to go
This is a standby I use a lot ….

[ingredients - lamb, thyme, garlic, white wine, bla, bla, bla]

[method - rub with oil, lemon, soften, add, mix, taste, pour, leave, cook, serve, eat, yada yada yada]

Serve it straight at the table. Slice lamb and dole out vegetables as you go. If I'm serving it for supper I put a crusty loaf on the table. If it's for Sunday lunch there will be a bowl of crisp mixed salad leaves.
Posted by maggie at 13:47
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6 comments:

musters said...

Thank you for this mouth watering recipe. I plan to try it this weekend as I have a young friend visiting from Redcar. I wondered, do you think the lamb would perform well with the addition of some green tomato chukney that I have in my ladder?

Regards,

Dolores Musters, Miss.
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15 September 2010 05:22
maggie said...

Hello Dolores

Thank you.

I think the green tomato chutney would be lovely served alongside the lamb. Very colourful too.

m
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15 September 2010 08:47
musters said...

Thanks you ever so much Maggie. The chukney is indeed still green although perhaps less so than the green tomatoes themselves but I suppose that's to be expected. It also has raisins in it which I feel the lamb will respond favourably to. I hope you don't mind. Finally since this will be a Sunday lunch I will follow your recommendation of serving with crisps and salad. Could you recommend a salad dressing or would you serve undressed?
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16 September 2010 01:35
maggie said...

Hi - your chutney sounds delicious. I would dress the salad leaves very simply with some good oil - olive or nut oil. Have a lovely lunch.

m
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17 September 2010 01:48
musters said...

My chutney (sic), I believe, is very delicious indeed. Perhaps you or some of your viewers would like to try it? I flatter myself by providing the recipe:

Musters Green Tomato Chukney
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-ingredients-
48 green tomatoes, 1/8" diced
15 cascabel chilli apples (green) washed, peeled, cored and diced
1/2 mug silver raisins, quartered
1 mug dark brown sugar,
1 tea bag
4 tb diced rabbit (or hare)
1 very large lima bean
1 mug French shallot, crystallized , grated
50 long red chilli peppers, sun-blushed, de-seeded
26* retained seeds from (above) long red chilli peppers

-methodé-
Put all ingredients in wide saucepan, bring to
boil quickly, adjust heat, and boil about 300 minutes or until as thick as some jam. Stir occasionally, to prevent sticking. Spoon into hot, un-sterilized half-pint glasses; seal. Let stand at least 6 months.

*If you want a less spicy chukney, remove 6 of the seeds in the chillies.
17 September 2010 04:16
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maggie said...

Very droll. Now go away and get yourself a life.
17 September 2010 05:54
END OF CORRESPONDENCE

Country Goes To War

International yodelling high-wire entrepreneur Garth Brooks has sensationally ditched all five of his planned Croke Park performances, after Dublin City Council (DCC) refused to license two of them.

“It’s five or none”, insisted Brooks before comparing the situation to child neglect.

“To choose which shows to do and which shows not to do, would be like asking to choose one child over another. I love all the children of Ireland. So I choose none of them”.

Brooks, who showed up in boots, said he had “Faith that his God (Episcopal) would furnish the DCC (Planning and Licensing Sub-Committee) with the strength to make the best decision for the people of Ireland” before admitting, “A show like mine takes at least five nights to get right”.

The council’s decision was made in the wake of complaints and threatened legal action by Croke Park residents who are country music fans.

Sean O’Murphy, chairman of the Croke Park Streets Committee, described the prospect of five consecutive nights of Brooks’ facile, up-tempo, big-hat, ham-Country as “totally toxic to the community”.

“As much as I love country music, the prospect of being stuck at home for five consecutive nights listening to Willie Nelson and Johnny Cash at full volume is excessive”, he added.

Why I Quit Facebook

I quit Facebook recently for the third time. The previous two attempts failed dismally. The first one after around 4 months, the second after just a couple of days. This time though, I’m off that “life-giving and life-taking elixir” (as Irvine Welsh described heroin in Trainspotting) for good. The comparison, I believe, is apt. Facebook (as a shorthand for social media generally) has replaced religion as the “opiate of the masses”.

One lunchtime, with no malice aforethought, I simply de-activated my account. In reality, deactivation is little more than logging out. I’m only a username and password away from re-activation. But I’ve disappeared to the Facebook world. “Where’s the fella gone, he was here a minute ago”, my friends will cry. “He does the same in pubs”, they might add.

But why did I do it? I’ll try and explain in more detail, but basically it came down to this. For me, Facebook was more negative than positive. That’s the most important point and I want to remember it clearly in case I weaken, as I surely will, and decide to return to the fold.

I almost did just that within 24 hours. During the football, Martin Tyler described Chelsea’s David Luiz as “the bushy-haired Brazilian”. I thought of a great comment (you can probably guess it) which might have garnered any number of “likes”. I came very close to re-activating but manly fought off the impulse settling instead to simply share the comment (verbally, like they used to do in the olden-times) with my wife who laughed tolerantly. It wasn’t a “like” though and I felt cheated.

When you deactivate, Facebook asks you for a reason. It presents you with a list including:

My account was hacked.

I don’t feel safe on Facebook.

This is temporary, I’ll be back.

Other.

I selected Other and left the Please Explain Further box empty, considering it to be insolence of the first water. But then when I confirmed, it demurred:

Please select a reason for deactivating. If you choose "Other", please explain your reason.

So polite enough (two pleases if you please!) but firm with it. Unless you choose one of our reasons you must – MUST – extrapolate on your own. I was in no mood for extrapolation (I wanted out while my nerve held firm) so I unclicked Other and selected I spend too much time on Facebook. This is probably true, although “too much” is clearly subjective. I was spending around an hour a day. I also could also have happily stood over any of the following:

I don’t find Facebook useful.
I don’t understand how to use Facebook.
Facebook is boring.

The latter option, sadly (like the idiotic Carlos Tevez – who is off to Disneyland for the summer, rather than the World Cup in Brazil), being unavailable for selection.

Now I’m back in real life. The offline world you might say. And I’ve been listening to the new Eels album lots (twice). I think it’s fabulous, a thing of great beauty. I recommend it to you. So it occurred to me to share this insight. Ah but no Facebook! I can’t share my news about the new Eels album being a thing of great and fabulous beauty. And if I can’t share it, is it really beautifully fabulous?

It’s like the philosophical thought experiment:

If a tree falls in a forest and no one is around to hear it, does it make a sound? 

A Facebook version of this might be:

If I cook a plate of “Linguine a la Vongole” and I don’t post a picture of it on Facebook, does it taste good?

Yes of course it does, it tastes brilliant (assuming I cooked it) but, given the number of pictures of plates of food shared on Facebook, you might think otherwise, or at least that sharing the picture was as important as actually cooking and eating the food. And some pictures are so good (airbrushed to within an inch of their life godammit!) you wonder if the meal has gone stone cold before the diner has deigned to eat it. Of course the picture could have been uploaded post-prandially, as it were, but I’ll bet it wasn’t.  Uploading that foody image is, by some distance, top of the Facebook user’s to-do list and if it didn’t get done now, well, it might not get done at all and then what? A bloody good meal wasted that’s what.

I believe this mind-set, this need to share almost as a validation of life’s everyday events, is common to many Facebook users and is, not to put too fine a point on it, a modern curse. Nothing can simply be enjoyed in the present. Not only must it be shared, it must be shared via an excellent photograph, with effects and borders and a jocose bon mot to accompany it. The good news is, as someone who successfully quit Facebook for 4 whole months, I can confirm that the mood passes. If you can stay clean for a couple of weeks, you lose this unhealthy compulsion and start to breathe easy again.

At base, Facebook, if it’s about anything at all, is about mild boasting. Most people don’t do this in an overt “Look at me, isn’t my life great” kind of way. But, of course, everyone likes to paint a positive picture of themselves, and Facebook provides a perfect platform for this without letting pesky light in on the magic. Hey, I might be a 45 year-old functioning alcoholic with a dead-end job but I still listen to cool music like The Eels and, look, I made this lamb tagine. From scratch!

So is Facebook boring? I believe yes. At least 95% so. I have, or rather had, around 300 Facebook friends. In real-life, at a push, 15. If I’d shared my insight into the new Eels album, perhaps those 15 would have found it interesting. Some may even have “liked” my post and my heart would have swelled with pride.  Vindication and glory would be mine. The new Eels album would have been confirmed, beyond any reasonable doubt, as fabulously beautiful. However, around 95% of my friends would have found it boring and ignored it. What’s this got to do with dinner or babies or Candy Crush (whatever that is) they might have thought. If they thought anything at all.

All of this is obviously my own opinion and reflects my personal experience. I’m sure plenty people don’t find Facebook in the least boring. Or only a bit boring, say, 25%. More likely they haven’t measured how boring their Facebook is or even thought about it. And that leads into why:

I don’t understand how to use Facebook.

It’s true, if I’d clicked that box it would be at as genuine the one I did pick. You see, I don’t think all this stuff I said earlier about “excellent photograph, with effects and borders and a jocose tagline” really comes into play for many people. They’ll post any old rubbish and wouldn’t dream of spending half an hour crafting the perfect comment. And maybe that’s how Facebook should be used, put it out there, I’m sharing something with you, the quality is irrelevant, this is my experience, I’m telling you about. You can like it (pun intended), or lump it.

The other reason I suspect I don’t really understand how to use Facebook is that I’m sometimes a tad controversial. Hopefully not in an offensive way but I wouldn’t shy away from posting something about divisive issues such as religion, sexuality or the former Glasgow Rangers football club (not to be confused with the current club by that name). Woops, I’ve just been controversial there.

This is probably an attempt to pep up my daily toil and, in some ways, an effort, now that I rarely get out to the pub, to have a cyber-pub conversation where, at least amongst men, being cheeky and irreverent is a la mode. Trust me friends, 

FACEBOOK IS NOT FOR THIS PURPOSE. 

This kind of cheek and nonsense rarely goes down well.  Facebook is about being positive and nice all the time. “If you can’t say something nice don’t say nothing at all” as Thumper’s Mum reproved in Bambi. This is why there’s no “dislike” button.

Let me paint a picture. It’s Friday night, pizza night. My wife and I are having, as is our wont, gin and tonics. The kids are happy pottering about or watching daft programs about performing arts schools in LA on the tablet. Music is blasting from the stereo. It’s the new Eels album. Lovely pizza smells are drifting from the even. It’s blue cheese and red onion. All is well with the world. But is all really well unless Facebook knows about how well it is? As we (or at least I) concluded above there is a piece of the jigsaw missing. We must have validation. I grab my phone and what’s on my mind, Facebook, is the following:

Pizza in the oven, the slightest dribble of tonic in the gin, the new Eels on the stereogram (a thing of great beauty). I love Fridays.

I click “POST”.

Now we have closure. The evening may proceed as before.

Except it can’t, can it? Because now fifteen minutes have passed, the album is over, the glass is half-empty (literally) and...

NOBODY HAS “LIKED” MY POST.

A melancholy sets in. Here I am surrounded by my beautiful family, it’s Friday night, I’m pleasantly tipsy and have pizza and a couple of episodes of “True Detective” ahead of me. But I’m at least 5% depressed because 100% of my Facebook friends, 95% of whom I barely know, have ignored me. It’s now 30 minutes since I posted and still radio silence is maintained. I wouldn’t say I was exactly disgruntled, but I’m far from being gruntled. If it’s dramatic effect you’re after (and I get the distinct impression it is)...

THE NIGHT IS RUINED UTTERLY.

Perhaps Facebook isn’t like this for you.  I certainly hope not. The above scenario only partially reflects any reality for me. I’ve exaggerated for effect. I’m not that sad (honestly). What’s true about it is that, for me, posting on Facebook, both the before and after, is on balance a negative experience. That’s why I packed it in three times, hopefully this time for good. I want a quieter, more pastoral existence.  One where I can head down to the pub with the paper and simply enjoy a pint and a bag of nuts without worrying about whether a photo of a pint and a bag of nuts would look better with a soft or subtle effect or what kind of chemical burn would enhance the shot.

And whether the comment Dinner would garner a few blessed “likes”?

An Italian Tragedy (or A Restaurant Review)

The fat man left his hotel and went to the restaurant across the road. He was on business in Milan.

The restaurant was like the proverbial curate’s egg meaning it was good in parts. It was very good in the parts it was good in, and it was very bad in the parts it was bad in. The fat man considered that the good outweighed the bad but that was only his personal opinion. You might beg to differ.

On the good side, the fat man was made to feel very welcome. The people working in the restaurant were extremely affable. The food in the restaurant was “molto buona” in the fat man’s opinion. He started with a plate of cold meats and cheese. He ate the meats together with some olives and garlic and held most of the cheese back to finish the wine. The “vino della casa” was more than decent for the price.

Next the fat man had pappardelle with a wild boar ragu which he took this picture of.

He enjoyed this immensely and congratulated the chef personally offering an enthusiastic "molto molto buona". The cost of the meal, including a healthy tip, was €35 and the fat man considered this excellent value.

On the bad side, the restaurant’s lighting was far too bright. The fat man abhorred bright lights. He preferred strategic lighting. The décor was modern and shiny and the fat man considered it to be tacky. And worst of all the music in the restaurant was all eighties hits which Sky Music happened to be shitting out that night.

On balance the fat man believed the restaurant was very much like life. Good in parts, bad in parts but overall good. That was his personal opinion.

Many years later as the fat man (who was no longer fat but cancer-thin) was on the very edge of his final sleep, he happened to think of that "Pappardelle al Ragu Di Cinghiale" and considered it one of the great meals of his life. He died with this thought sountracked, for all eternity, by Midge Ure singing “Vienna”.