Did you know today was Stir-Up Sunday?
I did. It's when all good Christians get the whole family together to stir their Christmas puddings. I volunteered my services to the Eldorado clan but they weren't interested. Even disgusted. Apparently Christmas puddings break their No Raisins rule.
Another one for the list.

Pity - I had hoped to rope them into stirring up a rather special batch of old-fashioned mincemeat. Once upon a time mincemeat used to be made with real minced meat. And for a year now I've fancied having a go at recreating this tradition. Full of good intentions, I had already bought myself some lean venison mince from my favourite butcher (imagine how much easier that would have been with my own mincer/sausage machine? Eh family? Eh?) in anticipation of getting it on, but without the spur of sweet domestic kinship I couldn't be bothered to start what I realised was going to be quite a lengthy process given that I planned on candying my own peel too.
Ah tradition. Without you we are weak!

So I picked through my venison stripping out as much fat as I could, covered it with 1½ cups of cognac, and stuck it in the fridge to wait for me to get my arse in gear. Which eventually started on Tuesday, when I boiled up my candied fruit peel and finally used up all the egg whites left over from making ice cream to bake an oven-load of meringues just in time for Flora's scheduled Toastie Evening.

I suppose I ought to explain - Flora has a new Toastie machine, and has been wanting to show it off, so she brought it round along with half the contents of her parents' fridge and we loaded it up until we couldn't eat any more.
So we had two rounds of toasties:
Chicken Supreme and Goats Cheese and Proscuttio The chicken supreme toasties were far too dry (though they were improved by a dash of Worcestershire sauce) but the goats cheese filling was rather tasty


And then we had Eton Mess. Or maybe Citrus Fruit Mess. Since I had a load of leftover citrus fruits - what with making all that candied peel. I just cut up the fruit into bite-sized pieces (already handily peeled), sugared them, whipped some double cream until it was thickening (but not stiff), and stirred it through the fruit and broken bits of meringue.

The dessert was reasonably acceptable, but I'd still go for strawberries, indeed I will shortly.
Flora really liked the candied peel and took a bunch home. Which was fine since I seem to have made about a pound of the stuff, despite needing only 1½ oz!

Come Thursday when I started preparing for a visit to Doctor Jenny the candied peels had dried out nicely so I went ahead and made up my real mincemeat (finally!) poured in an extra fl oz of cognac, covered it with cling film and left it in a tupperware container in the fridge.

So more Stir-Up Thursday really.

Last Christmas Mum got me the delightfully plush Black Pudding & Foie Gras cookbook. I've fancied trying out its eponymous dish for a while now, and finally got around to it this weekend.

As well as a couple of staple guests, I also had a full set of Alexes:
Ex-Jenny Alex is an old friend and lives just round the corner, which makes it all the more embarrassing that I rarely see him. Work-and-play-mate Alex is someone I visit regularly but have felt guilty for some time about not returning the favour and inviting him over.
So a great opportunity to make some amends.

Foie Gras being roundly despised these days and illegal to produce in Britain (though personally I think that unlike Lance Corporal Jones' Dervishes those saucy French Geese just love it up 'em), it's a bit hard to get hold of. But it's my second favourite food so it's worth making the effort. Fortunately George Bower came through with the goods. A snip too at a mere £30. Oooh. Taste the suffering.

So, what to serve it with?
Well I have a giant pumpkin left over from Hallowe'en, so that's the soup sorted. Thanks Chef Bocuse!

I made a loaf of bread machine red onion, thyme and rosemary bread, and a bowl of Earl Grey flavoured pumpkin seeds to prevent Flora from passing away before the meal arrived.
I baked some potatoes to make plain mash, braised a Savoy cabbage, and in keeping with the autumnal theme I decided to experiment with a pumpkin ice cream for dessert too. But as per usual all the supermarket pumpkins had turned into golden coaches or something at the stroke of Hallowe'en and driven off.
So I used butternut squash instead.
Which was probably better to be honest.

Despite being able to get the soup, baked potatoes, braised cabbage and dessert organised well in advance as planned, serving up the main course was still a bit hectic. It takes a some time to assemble each plate of goodies, and it doesn't help having lots of things which need frying just before serving. Typical shoddy planning on my part - though it is somewhat the nature of the dish. Fortunately the black pudding and the caramelised apple slices keep warm quite well, and with a bit of help from ex-Jenny Alex peeling the puddings unlike the real and original (Lancashire!) intestinal black pudding, Scottish versions are bizarrely shrink-wrapped in plastic  and mashing the baked potatoes whilst work-and-play Alex documented the proceedings in 3D! we managed to get things out in a reasonable time frame. Maybe work-and-play Alex will post his videos for our entertainment at some point?
It probably helped that everyone was already stuffed with cheesy cream soup.

After throwing the croutons into the waiting soup and ladling it up, I had time to reheat the cabbage then stick it in the oven to stay warm, boil up a little milk to reheat the mashed spuds, and should have taken the opportunity to stick the scrumpy reduction and apple chutney in the oven too to keep them at the ideal temperature. As it was, the chutney was a bit too cold, and the reduction a bit too hot (and consequently runny).
After that it was just frying, frying, frying.

Work-and-play Alex has published some of his 3D party pictures!
I reproduce a couple here - if you squint really hard at the pairs of pictures until the dots in the middle merge they will literally jump out of the page and smack you in the face.
Or at least, that's why I assume I now have this massive headache!

•	•

It's my Birthday and I'd cry if I wanted to!
But instead I had a Smoothie Party with my cute landlady and a few of our friends. It seemed like a healthy alternative to drinking. Since I'm on the dry :(

Aline suggested it, and even bought me a smoothy cookbook for inspiration! I also sneaked a few ideas from the menu of a local bar at the recommendation of my fellow guests at Stasczi and Andrew's wedding over the weekend. Yep she's hooked another one. You go girl!

It might have been easier if I had a juicer (I'll add one to my gadget wish list), but the shopping was still unusually straightforward I have to say, mainly requiring the gathering of some attractive-looking fruit, random herbs, a few cartons of fruit juice, ice cream and some doughnuts.

Once upon a time most of my friends lived in The Haunted House; a fine Georgian town house in Newington, one of Edinburgh's earliest suburban villa developments.
The house had massive, oddly-shaped rooms packed with mysterious faux-egyptian furniture and furnished with huge onyx fireplaces. It featured servant's quarters, hidden staircases and hosted many atmospheric parties. It was at one such party that I (OK, maybe with a little help from my friends) invented the doughnut smoothie, which I decided would also be a feature of this smoothie party.
Hence the doughnuts.

As it turned out, the hardest things to buy were carrot juice you really need a wholefood shop, a reasonably ripe pineapple though most good supermarkets do carry an abundance of pineapples seemingly made from styrofoam. and a decent vanilla ice cream.
Just in case the evening wasn't going to be liquid enough, and also because as usual for this time of year I have a couple of enormous pumpkin to use up, I made a big pot of good old-fashioned lactose-gluten-meat-fish-free pumpkin soup, and discovered crispy fried rice ball dumplings. Which I definitely plan on making again.

What with the not drinking and the not turning into a bacchanalian orgy my birthday party was a very family-friendly affair: Julia brought her 18-month-old monkey and Anuschka brought her spawn of the devil. At least - it's the only explanation I have for his evil red-eye in every single photo. To give the devil his due though, he really liked my doughnut smoothies.

That young devil can come again!

You would think, wouldn't you, that all that finely ground fruit would be fantastically good for you? And that you would would wake up the next day bursting with health and enthusiasm? Explain then, if you can, how I came to be so massively unwell next morning that I had to take the day off work and spend it sleeping. Finally waking up at 3 p.m. with a sore throat and a terrible pain in all the diodes down my left side.
What a waste of a holiday - I must have been ill!

Nothing for it but more liquid - and Aline kindly made me up a cup-full of her family's traditional flu remedy though she added extra cayenne as she felt I had probably built up more resistance to it than most.
I have to report that her remedy has quite a kick to it, and if you can manage to overcome your gag reflex and force it all down it feels like it might be doing some good. It certainly brought me out in a cold sweat.
As if not sweating enough had been my problem all along.

My Mum's visit left me with a fridge full of leftover cheese, some of it barely edible, that needed using up. So I invited Flora over for a cheesy dinner.
She brought her new footwear to show me.
Furry Boots?
On Flora's legs!

Apart from my staple Wyke Farm award-winning cheddar from Asda their most cheese-flavoured cheese, I couldn't resist some of Dobbies (not the house Elf - the one owned by fucking Tesco) 70% off specials on Old Amsterdam a fine mature Gouda Blacksticks Blue, Shropshire Blue and a rather nice Cave Aged Gruyère (I wonder if they have to take it to a special cave, or if cave is corporate Swiss for shed?)

Then Mum and I even added to the collection with a couple of smoked cheeses from our usual visit to Edinburgh's Farmers Market. You know, I keep buying stuff from the Farmers' Market - and I keep being enormously disappointed. This time was no exception. I bought some red onions that were half rotted, and some East Pier Smokehouse cheeses.
Well they might have been cheeses. They were cheese shaped anyway.
The Smokehouse advertises that it smokes the best Scottish produce and makes it better! which seems a terrible slur on Scottish produce. Our packages claim their contents to have once been Morangie Brie (from Ruraidh Stone at Highland Fine Cheeses) and a St. Andrews Anster.
Imagine if you took some smoke, and furiously pumped it into cheese-shaped moulds until it became solid. You'd have something like these cheeses. More or less inedible - they could just as well have been smoked foam rubber - but you can use them as flavouring if you like.
Smoke flavouring. If you don't happen to have any actual smoke.
Flora says it's time I checked out Stockbridge's new Farmers' market!

Edinburgh's Farmers Market notable exceptions, of course, are coffees from the Police Box Coffee Bars (which morphed suspiciously seamlessly from the now liquidated California Coffee Company ) and hog roast rolls from Oink.

It just goes to show that Farmers' Markets are all very well - but you can't beat the real thing: local shops regularly buying local products from local producers. You know, the kind of thing our high streets were full off before that fucking Tesco* arrived.

* [Insert favourite fucking supermarket here]

Mum came for a visit this weekend. Hurrah!
She took me to a show too - which I suppose is the kind of thing Mothers are supposed to do for their offspring.
In P. G. Wodehouse novels.

Fortunately Slava's Snow Show is brilliant. A fantastically deranged modern take on circus clowning; these clowns have evolved a long way beyond hilariously tiny cars and squirty buttonholes (though there may still be squirting).
See it if you can, and take the kids. The younger the better. They'll be traumatised for life!

Mum's visits usually follow a simple formula: some mild exercise visiting local Scottish sites of interest, drinking (to excess), and eating (to excess).

For this visit (like the last one incidentally) we took our token exercise in the picturesque Royal Burgh of Culross, making sure we arrived in time to sample Bessie's Tearoom's Haggis Creggans, about which we had heard good things on our last visit (you see; even during our exercise we find the opportunity for eating), and also time for a fairly thorough examination of the Palace.
The Palace is well worth a visit - both for its surprisingly authentic, dingy interior and the pleasant gardens to the rear; which offer both excellent views across the forth to the magnificence that is Grangemouth, and an extensive collection of very reasonably-priced garden vegetables that are for sale at the exit.

The hilltop Abbey is also well worth a visit, and we spent some time scratching our midge bites in its ancient graveyard where you will find gravestones sporting some very interesting tradesman's symbols from the 18th century, many of which we have been unable to interpret.
A third visit may be in order.

But enough of this drivel - what, you ask, is Haggis Creggans?

The version offered at Bessie's Tearoom is basically haggis stew, moistened with whisky and cream and topped with melted cheddar. It's nice enough, but I wouldn't travel all the way to Culross to taste it. I haven't been able to discover other references to exactly this dish, but have found Graham Harvey's A creamy Velouté soup of Haggis laced with Glenfarclas 15 year old [whisky] at Craggan Mill Restaurant at Grantown-on-Spey, so perhaps that's the origin of the dish?

Mum and I got a little more exercise on a Forth-side walk to Cramond, and I got rather more than I had bargained for having to lug car batteries around. The problems started when I came to start the car for the short drive down to the river, only to be greeted by a dismal churning noise, and no engine action. We got the car push-started by enlisting the help of a couple of game young ladies who happened to be passing - Thanks Girls! (Thank God too that the car was pointing downhill) I decided to immediately splash £80 on a new battery at Halfords (conveniently open on a Sunday) on the assumption that it was the most likely culprit given that I hadn't left any lights on overnight, the clock had reset itself to 1997 suggesting complete power loss, and the starter motor did appear to be turning. Just very slowly.
Good call as it happens - I had to use the battery and a pair of jump leads to get us back from Cramond, and just had time to swap in the new battery before (succesfully) driving to dinner.
When Mum comes I usually try and book a meal somewhere a bit posh (it's nice to have an excuse) and this trip we went for our second visit to Ondine.
Our first visit was so disappointing that I couldn't believe we hadn't just caught them on an off day, and all the raving reviews I read convinced me to give them a second chance.
Which just goes to show that other reviewers are complete idiots.

In pursuit of further fine dining I had a second, and much more satisfying, bash at making Eggs Benedict for Sunday brunch (or Eggs Hemingway for my smoked-salmon-munching Mother).
From muffins to... er... something indicating the end of a meal that starts with m? Massively stuffed? Munched out? But I digress...
A truly awesome meal - I have finally cracked the perfect Eggs Benedict. Cracked! And it only takes about 3 hours. Now let us forever go out for brunch and never make this again!

So that and a long-overdue return to the Kalpna covered the excessive eating (oh, me guts!).

Unfortunately, since I'm on the dry until Christmas the excessive drinking will just have to wait. For another 2 months, 2 days 7 hours and 37 minutes. To be precise. Sigh!
Yep, I'm having my annual abstinence in a desperate attempt to lose some gut before the onslaught of festivities.
So far so pointless.
Next up - dieting?

Another successful sailing trip on Erin to Holy Island (Lindisfarne) down there in foreign England. Successful in the sense that we actually made it to the island - there have been several earlier expeditions when we have been beaten back by the wind, the waves or the adverse tide of our own nausea.

It was a fairly windy weekend, all in all, but quite dry and even a bit sunny so the sailing was good.
We pretty much whipped around, and since we'd taken four days off we had plenty of time to cover the ground - berthing over in Eyemouth twice and hitting Pittenweem for a fish supper.
We like Pittenweem we do. We must do. We keep going back there.
Really, it is a nice little town, and the harbour is very comfortable even if, as it says in Reed's Almanac, it does not encourage yachts. Though to be fair, they've always been quite welcoming to us - it is a pretty busy working harbour and God knows there aren't that many of those left in Scotland.

Jude joined up with us in Eyemouth for a night of drinking relaxation, but otherwise it was just myself, John, Aidan, Ken and young Maggie. Young Maggie is still in training - she's getting on well with the drinking to embarrassing excess, and she has the vomiting nailed, but hasn't yet learned to take her sausages like a man.

Since Aidan did the drink shopping we ran out of Whisky and Gin (thank God for Cava eh?) and since John did the food shopping we were left with a herd of pork loins.
Which I gave a good home.
We also had a huge packet of stir-fry left over which joined the pork. But honestly - packets of stir-fry. What a gastronomic horror show! A motley collection of spare vegetable parts which quickly develop the smell of old mattress and all of which take different lengths of time to overcook.
Plus how many boats have you been on which possess a wok?
I rest my case.

I didn't actually produce any memorable meals this trip, but Ken was mightily impressed by my bacon sandwich.
And he was right to be - they are the best damn bacon sandwiches in the world.
So specially for you, Ken, here they are.
Enjoy.

Oh and on another topic - apparently there was a curry-eating contest at a restaurant here in Edinburgh last Saturday. Why wasn't I told?

Finally - a long promised Sushi And Tempura evening with the Eldorardoes has arrived!

Sophie has been angling for another sushi evening (Angling. Sushi. Raw Fish. Geddit?) ever since our family lives went their separate ways.
Or theirs did. Mine's right here down the back of the couch where I left it.
Anyhoo, much as I love having the girlies over, like everything else it's been hard to find just the right time between my diary and theirs. But today is the day.

So the plan is that since Rachel is at work they'll get the bus over themselves and Rachel will come over later when she gets off.
Of course this rapidly descends into an organisational nightmare since the girlies can't remember from one day to the next where I live, or where they left the bit of paper with my address on it, how to phone people up to let them know they're on the way or how to get off the bus at my house before it sweeps them on to the glitzy wonders of Ocean Terminal's shopping centre.
They are soooo cute!

Fully cognisant (and frequently reminded) of Georgina's disliking for fish I also stocked up on pastrami, ham and nice blue cheese so that she would have some fishy-free alternatives to make sushi-type rolls from. (Despite her assurances that she would give the sushi a go she managed nothing more than a tiny lick at some pickled mackerel - perhaps not the best choice)

I stocked up good and early in the week on my vegetables, hams and cheeses and started trawling fishmongers and oriental supermarkets for the more exotic ingredients. Fresh fish, scallops, prawns not a problem: I have Clark Bros - a solid fishmonger near my office in Musselburgh, and Welch's just down the road in Newhaven.

I was disappointed not to find anywhere in Edinburgh that could provide me with any kind of fish eggs other than sturgeon caviar or cheap lumpfish imitation caviar. I wanted to get some Salmon eggs (fat jewelled orange Ikura for topping a gunboat sushi), flying-fish roe (tiny crunchy red Tobiko for decorating inside-out sushi) or Capelin (Smelt) roe (orange Masago for the dynamite) but was completely stymied.
I tried all the decent fishmongers - including Eddy's Seafood Market the reputable Bruntsfield upstart, all the fancy delicatessens (Valvona And Crolla, Marks and Spencers, Harvey Nicks) and all the Oriental supermarkets including the enormous Matthew's Foods.
But no joy.
Nor could I find any dried Shiitake mushrooms.
C'mon Edinburgh. Get your Japanese shit together!

I was, however, astonished and delighted to randomly find Sea Urchins (uni) at Clark Bros, and since they were only eighty pence each (EIGHTY PENCE EACH!) I bought four of them anticipating that one of them would be bad, and that I'd completely screw up opening one of them; this being my first time.
I just love sea urchins. To my mind their flavour is the very essence of the sea.
Though you do have to get over your natural squeamishness at the state of their insides to fully enjoy them when you prepare your own.

In the morning I took advantage of the peace and quiet in my flat to gut, clean and fillet the fishies (sea bass and mackerel) make up a vast (as I thought - though it soon ran out!) bowl of sushi rice, and to pickle the mackerel fillets.
Just time for a quick cleanup before the madness begins...

Welch have just expanded into a new retail shop-front which is very clean and attractively designed, plus they have a lobster tank. So as soon as the Eldorado girlies arrived (late) on the number 10 bus we headed on down to the fishmonger where the girls had great fun choosing a lobster of our own, settling on a youngster we named Larry. (The fishmonger told us that the lady lobsters have a sort of feathery net curtain effect around their back ends - something to do with catching their eggs. But I have yet to find any confirmation of that)
We also picked up a final few fresh fishy goodies that the girlies fancied - a slab of tuna (slightly dark and moist to be honest - which is a shame because they had some beautiful looking tuna earlier in the week) and a handful of enormous prawns.

Georgina seemed to form a particularly strong relationship with Larry the Lobster introducing him to our checkout lady at Asda and playing schoolyard games with him in the kitchen, so I was a little concerned how she would react to his slaughter.
We had a full and frank discussion about the best ways of dispatching Larry, in which I proposed putting him gently to sleep in the freezer for a couple of hours, but the girls all seemed happiest with the idea of just splitting his head open with a massive knife. Sadists.
They weren't so relaxed about it when it actually happened though - first there was the massive gush of clear liquid (I told them it was just seawater, but take it to have been lobster blood) which caused Sophie to run vomiting to the bathroom, and then there was all that embarrassing thrashing. Which went on. And on. And on. In fact the damn lobster just didn't seem to want to die, and continued twitching even after several minutes of swimming around in a giant pot of boiling water with his head split in two.
I since discovered from wikipedia that lobsters' brains operate from distributed ganglia, and that disabling only the frontal ganglia doesn't usually kill the lobster.
Now they tell me.
So - the things I have learned about killing lobsters?

1. Chill the lobster for a while in the freezer, or overnight in the fridge and then just chuck him into a big pot of boiling water and slap the lid on. Don't look! You could, of course, just freeze him completely - but then you've got a frozen lobster to defrost.
2. If you do decide to cut his head in half, hold him firmly belly-side down in a thick towel and use a big knife to cut down through the cross-shaped markings on the back of his head in one firm thrust. Then hold on tight.

Once everyone had gotten over the trauma of Larry's demise, and he was happily bubbling away in the pot for the necessary 5-6 minutes per pound, The girlies got on with making their choice of the perfect dessert for an oriental dinner - Astoundingly Good Chewy Chocolate Chip Cookies.
Fortunately I also had some (novelty) Green Tea Ice Cream that I'd made earlier!

The cookies didn't turn out quite as well as the last time we made them, but then Rachel's oven is of a more professional standard than my own. I figure the cooking temperature is a bit critical. And possibly the mixture was a bit runnier than the last time.
But the ice cream was a definite hit.

Finally on to preparing the dinner:

• cracking out Larry's flesh which Georgina undertook with evident relish
• slicing up the vegetables
• skinning, de-boning and cutting the fish
• making the tempura batter
• whipping up the tempura dipping sauce
• making up the dynamite sauce
• rolling up the sushis

you know - all that stuff that gets a bit tedious for young girlies: slaving away in plain sight of seductive platefuls of luscious fresh hot chewy cookies that are strictly out of bounds (eventually I hid the plates).
I kept up the nagging though and we got quite a lot done, but some of the sushi ideas I'd had in mind ran out of steam: we didn't really get around to making the California Rolls, or organising the components for a do-it-yourself session.
Ah well, all the more leftovers for me!

So the meal plan:

• a clear light fish soup to start abandoned due to lack of energy
• pressed pickled mackerel log roll sushi check
• assorted rolled sushi check
• assorted gunboat sushi check
• inside-out California rolls featuring Larry The Lobster fail
• assorted tempura with dipping sauce check
• baked dynamite scallops check
• an exciting smorgasboard of do-it-yourself components from which guests will assemble their own sushies fail
• desserts double check!

For the tempura I decided to attempt a blending of some of Heston Blumenthal's mad batter ideas and my own tempura batter experiments and not only so that I got to try out my latest gadget - a soda syphon.
OK, well mostly.
I added vodka to my batter number 7 and used Sapporo instead of soda water, filling up the soda syphon and refrigerating it about an hour before making the tempura.
To be honest I thought the result was a slight regression, and the batter came out a bit runny (you need to be able to pour the damn stuff into the syphon in the first place after all) and was probably not as crispy as it might have been after being made up for such a long time. But it did make a pretty good talking point, was a lot of fun when it ran out and farted batter everywhere, and was actually quite a handy way of dispensing the batter.
I look forward to trying it out for regular fish 'n' chip batter.

Rachel, Chic and Nicky turned up in short order and the feeding commenced, with a round of sushi followed by an endless stream of tempura.
Except for Sophie, who after all my nagging felt too ill to eat with us and had to go for a little lie down in a darkened room. Poor old Sophie - the whole thing was her idea too. Fortunate indeed, then, that she was not too weak to pass the time watching YouTube videos and facebooking all her friends.
Nicky very kindly brought along a dessert of her own - knowing my fetish she baked me a ducky cake and a flock of fondant ducklings. So that's:

• desserts - triple check

I think everyone went home satisfied.

As is becoming something of a habit now, I had another dinner party for Aidan, Flora and Jenny featuring another endless stream of tempura with the leftovers from this meal - remembering to include the clear fish soup - and still went on to make up a massive stockpot of leftover soup with the remains from that one.
As of two weeks later I'm still eating that soup, and I've got three more containers of it in the freezer!

Tonight Flora felt the need for muffins. The need.
She's a girl and you know how they get these uncontrollable urges. Not like boys. Boys can easily contain their urges. We just choose not to.

Anyway, Flora came round to make muffins, and left the decision of what to have for dinner open-ended, so we spent an extraordinary amount of time examining my local Chinese takeaway menu for dishes which might satisfy Flora's further need for mushrooms and bamboo shoots, and planning our trip to Asda to take in ordering the dishes on the way out and collecting them on the way back. The trip to Asda being necessary due to the quite astonishing fact that I appear not to possess a bun tin!

Unfortunately, despite all our meticulous planning, we were disappointed to find that the takeaway is shut on Tuesdays and now, Mondays.
Today is Monday and it is shut.
So we decided to fall back on our own resources and make a chow mein stir-fry with some tinned bamboo shoots and mushrooms from Asda, only to be hugely disappointed to find that Asda did not have a tin of bamboo shoots. How is that possible? I thought it was some kind of law that every supermarket was required to have a tin of bamboo shoots hidden amongst the bottles of Kikkoman soy sauce in their ersatz ethnic food section?
But then, just after we had abandoned our stir-fry plans, and Flora had started hinting about how much she liked coconut rice, we came across a cellophane pack of stir-fry ingredients that, lo and behold, contained some bamboo shoots. So I was just about ready to throw away all my cooking principles and buy a pre-prepared pack of stir-fry garbage, when I was saved by the fact that Asda had completely sold out of fresh egg noodles. Hurrah!

So we returned to the theme of coconut rice and I persuaded Flora that I could turn out a simple Thai-style stew in a reasonable amount of time (whilst going easy on the chillies). Which simple recipe I reproduce below.

Whilst looking for the bamboo shoots Flora was distracted by a tin of lychees, so we took that along too - I used some of the juice in both my coconut rice and and the Thai curry - then threw the rest of it away.
OK, not really. They aren't half bad with a dollop of yoghurt as dessert.
And the muffins weren't half bad either. Though Flora might have gone slightly mental on the flavourings, electing for both chocolate chips and blueberries.
Lots of blueberries.
And not much stirring.
Which meant that occasionally you would get a mouthful of blueberries so intense that it was like biting into a lemon, and some of the muffins seemed to be entirely muff.
But we like to live dangerously!

Today I passed my Yachtmaster exam. Yay for me!

I'm especially glad about it because I would not want to do that again. It was extremely gruelling since there were three of us taking the exam, and the examiner insisted on making sure each of us performed every single possible exercise. Sometimes several times.

The whole thing took from 11 o'clock Thursday morning to 2 o'clock Friday afternoon, with a generous 3 hours of sleep between 5 and 8 a.m.
The weather was mostly pretty mild, which was a bonus, but there was still enough wind to allow one of us, who shall remain nameless, to ram the boat at speed into the end of a pontoon whilst undertaking an extremely tricky manoeuvre to come alongside under sail and in the dark, putting an enormous gouge into the hull.

We decided to simplify our evening meal during the exam by making up a huge pot of stew beforehand ready to reheat. I made my apple-supplemented stovies, and invented an interesting variation on the theme of glazed carrots. (There was no honey on board, see, but plenty of marmalade.) They seemed to go down well, though there were complaints that no one could taste the apple in the stovies. Which, I explained, was the general idea. A subtle enhancement, I explained. Also, being Scottish, they complained that they weren't authentic Stovies since they had corned beef in.
Everyone's a critic.

Poor old Flora - here she comes for dinner with a mouth full of ulcers. Stress apparently. Definitely nothing to do with trouble, you know, down there. Definitely not.

So I concocted a soft and gentle meal, nothing too spiky, nothing too spicy, nothing too acid, all creams and purée: A nice (if unauthentic) pork stroganoff, puréed potatoes, mixed veg and to follow; a soothing homemade vanilla ice cream.

Mostly wasted effort, though, as the ungrateful guest started her visit by helping herself to some distinctly ulcer-unfriendly pickled gherkin slices, and then spent the evening complaining that what she really fancied was take-away food like what they're always eating in The Big Bang Theory.
Pah.

Not a bad meal on the whole, though I think it could have done with some kind of crispy, crunchy greens (cabbage or kale?) on the side.

I'm ashamed to say that the the mixed veg were just out of a frozen packet that I heated in a small pot with a generous knob of butter. But the pork stroganoff is real enough.