Day Twenty-Seven: Sunday Roast Newtons

Today is a difficult blog because it's the third in a row of foodie blog posts, and the very concept of blogging about each and every one of these little daily "challenges" is hard enough without there being a string of similar exploits for three days in a row. So we'll see how we go; sorry if it's boring. 

Another Tom choice - have a roast. Last year we got into the habit of having this most quintessential British dish every Sunday. Not only does a roast taste good, but it's also a lovely way of spending your Sunday afternoon/evening - because that's how much time you need to set aside to do a roast properly. We have none of this 'oh it's chicken so we can't have Yorkshire puddings' nonsense; no indeed. So Tom would start the making of the batter in the early afternoon so as to leave it ample resting time in the fridge before use. Also then there's all the preparation of the meat - rubbing it with various flavourings and herbs and spices, resting it at room temperature etc etc. The potatoes - oh the roast potatoes. One of life's true pleasures (but only if done correctly. If done incorrectly, then one of life's true disappointments. I do them correctly). The peeling, the par-boiling, the heating of the oil to extreme temperatures, and then finally the roasting, with several turnings and seasonings throughout. So yeh, a roast takes some time (and I haven't even mentioned all the other trimmings - veg, stuffing, gravy, sauces of various kinds). But we enjoyed spending our Sunday afternoons preparing this feast, our early evenings devouring it, and our late evenings trying to digest it whilst ignoring the huge pile of washing up left festering in the kitchen. (A roast dinner provides an excellent argument in Tom's pro-dishwasher campaign.)

In addition, however, we found that a roast dinner was also a very thrifty and budget-friendly option. We could buy a chicken for, say, £5, or a piece of beef brisket for around £8, and it would do us for a Sunday roast, and then provide us with enough leftovers for two or three additional meals. I am more than happy for you to adopt this revolutionary new budget busting technique yourselves, as long as you always graciously credit me with its conception. 

Over the summer, obviously, you don't crave a roast dinner quite as much, and so it wasn't until yesterday that we planned our first one of the new autumn season. This was also our first post-Reuben-moving-in roast dinner. The experience was very different. 

Let me tell you, chopping up a leek and washing it, sautéing it in a little butter and then finishing it off in a white sauce is usually an easy and straightforward task. Doing this with a grumpy one year old hanging off your leg is another matter. Although being time-consuming, carving a chicken is not a difficult task, until there is a one year old moaning on the floor at your feet and trying to pull raw potatoes off the veg rack and nibble at them due to his extreme hunger. 

Plating up was the hardest bit. We're in a rush to get it done and on the table so that Reuben can be placated with food and a bit of attention at long last, and so there's pots and pans flying everywhere, the boiling hot oven door is wide open, the gravy's splashing on the floor and the leeks are threatening to burn in their saucepan. Not exactly conducive to familial bliss. Ah well. 

Finally we sat down and enjoyed a beautiful, yummy roast chicken dinner with all the trimmings (apart from Yorkshire puddings, despite what I mentioned above; I was as disappointed as I'm sure you are). Here it is: 

Three minutes later and it was gone, because, a fact of which we are now well aware, we can't sit and enjoy a delicious meal anymore. Instead we scoff our food down as though eating were an Olympic sport and we have a gold medal in sight. The ensuing indigestion is worth it though, compared to the dulcet tones of a Reuben who's been kept in his high chair for too long. 

So there we have it - the new Newton family roast experience: completely different but still yummy and I'm sure will remain a weekly fixture over the winter months. Who knew I could write so much about the humble roast. 

Day Twenty-Six: Just call me Lady Newton

Sometimes something happens in your life and you just have a moment of realisation - this is who I am, and this is what I was made for. This happened to me today, during today's challenge. After my evening at the spa last night, today we went out for Afternoon Tea, at a very prestigious venue, and I realised through both activities that my eyes had been opened to a new way of life from which I would never be able to turn away. 

The Afternoon Tea experience at Betty's in York is, I'm sure, very pleasant, but I wouldn't know because we weren't in the normal Betty's room at York. We were UPSTAIRS. That's right, upstairs. We walked right past the riff-raff lining up in their queue (ha ha - as if you queue to get in places), right past the downstairs cafe room with the triangle sandwiches (ha ha - as if you eat triangle sandwiches), and swanned up the stairs into the vast and exquisite dining room of the exclusive upstairs room, where a pianist welcomed us with her light, melodic twinkling of the ivories, and the bowtied staff greeted us with the respect we expected from our inferiors. 

The food itself was delectable - light, creamy chocolate mousse encased in red icing-dust, the subtle flavours of coronation chicken given a new, fresh twist for a delicious sandwich - and all served with the right degree of pomp and ceremony. We could choose from three pages of tea blends, which were all served in beautifully dainty and ornate tea cups accompanied with silver milk jugs. 

I would not, however, recommend this experience to you, oh humble reader. I'm not sure that you would appreciate the fine dining experience, or that you would feel comfortable in such lovely surroundings. By all means try out the downstairs Betty's Afternoon Tea, but I think that's probably where your sights should settle. Leave the upstairs to me, and my new, higher class contemporaries. 

Day Twenty-Five: I don't have a problem with fish, or eggs, but....

For our challenge today we had very little time as I was off out with my lovely friend for a spa night (I know, posh!!), and so we needed something speedy and easy. We therefore decided to do something we'd been putting off for two weeks - we decided to try a new food we've never eaten before. 

I don't have a problem with the concept of eating anything edible, as I've written about in another post, but there are some things that take my fancy more than others. For example, I would try eating something like sheep intestines, but more just for the experience and the story than for any pleasure I expect to get from tasting such things. However, the idea of trying a new tropical fruit or an interesting meat like crocodile or something is infinitely more appealing. And so why, faced with the entire of Tesco from which to make a selection, did I pick up a £3.48 jar of Black Lumpfish Caviar?!

I don't have a problem with getting cheaper, budget versions of more expensive foods; in fact, I search them out most of the time - a shopping technique I call 'not-being-a-sucker-and-buying-expensive-brands-just-for-the-name-when-they-taste-exactly-the-same-and-are-probably-in-fact-the-same-product.' Catchy. And a very popular technique, I assume. But another assumption is that there are many people, myself included, who, despite abiding by the aforementioned technique, have certain exceptions to the rule. Personal examples include toilet roll, baked beans and pate (for, I would hope, obvious reasons.) I should have perused this mental list in my mind before buying the caviar, because caviar is most certainly on said list. Who buys budget caviar? (Yes okay okay) Why oh why does it even exist? It's a luxury item, commanding a ridiculously high price tag (I've just found an online fine food retailer selling 30g of beluga caviar for £122.50), and as such should not even have a budget version. 

I don't have a problem with the concept of eating fish eggs, as I alluded to above. I am a fish friend, not a fish fiend. In fact I used to have a Saturday job working on a fish counter (maybe this means I'm a fish fiend then, actually - would a fish friend spend their Saturdays slicing open and gutting poor, dead salmon and mackerels?) And so my logic was, I like fish, I like eggs, I'll probably like fish eggs. My logic, it turns out, was wrong. I may like fish, and I may like eggs, but I do not like fish eggs. Well, to be more accurate, I do not like £3.48 Black Lumpfish fish eggs. I mean, Lumpfish?! Lumpfish?? It even sounds revolting. 

I don't have a problem with small food items which pop in my mouth, which may sound like an irrelevant comment but my good friend Jamie does suffer with such an affliction - peas are a no-go, for example. So the idea of tiny, popping eggs was not too repulsive, but I just found that they were too small, too poppy, too black and too fishy. Both of us tried the most minuscule sample of the caviar, just on its own, and were quite repelled by the fishiness and the poppy nature of the eggs. 

I like to think that were I to ever try proper, expensive, baluga caviar, such as I've mentioned above, I would like it. I'm sure it's bigger, tastier, and less like the flavour of the cheap fish paste my mum used to use to make sandwiches for our packed lunches. I mean, it must command such a high price tag for a reason, surely? Or is it just the case that anyone with that much money to spend on fish eggs has lost their better sense of judgement and therefore buys caviar, despite it being disgusting, because that's what rich people do. Maybe one day I'll have tons of money, and not much sense left, and I'll spend silly amounts on posh caviar, and then I can find out. I'll let you know!

Day Twenty Four: Write a short story

For this challenge we used my book 'I Like to Write,' which is basically a child's book but I love it. It's got lots of different little writing projects in it, such as a peculiar picture with the task of writing a related story, or a set of speech bubbles to write an interesting conversation. We had to write a story that included the following things: walk, computer, cat, armoire, and temple. We were limited to nine lines. Here it is:

Silas stared suspiciously across the street. His whiskers twitched as an incredible scene unfolded before his eyes. Into the imposing facade of Lord Westonfield's Emporium disappeared a diminutive figure dressed in a cloak so long it trailed on the floor. Through the vast windows, Silas saw a flash of light, reflected in an antique armoire, which appeared to be emanating from a small Tibetan temple carried protectively under the arm of the be-cloaked man. The stunned shopkeeper barely had time to look up from his computer before everything around him turned to diamond-dust. The man in the cloak walked away, leaving a stunned silence behind him, but little did he know that Silas had witnessed the whole thing. 

As a teacher, I would level this writing as a high Level 4, which is about average for Year 6. Well done us. Good use of ambitious vocabulary, correct use of commas and dashes, interesting sentence openers and good connectives. Next steps: write a little more and don't be so weird. 

Day Twenty Three: Learn a memory verse

Back to Sunday School today! The Bible is full of encouraging, amazing, baffling, awe-inspiring joy-inducing truths, and so the idea of trying to learn some of it off by heart so that you can think about something nice whenever you so please is quite a good one. 

Here's what we learnt:

Cast your cares on the Lord and he will sustain you. He will never let the righteous be shaken. 

Psalm 55:22

I will try to remember that when I have cares or worries, when I need sustaining or helping out, when I feel like I'm being shaken or troubled - several times every day then!

Day Twenty Two: Eat a chunk of meat

You can guess who planned this activity, and why they chose to do it on this day - September 22nd - which happens to be his birthday. So last night we ate steak with a lovely smoked garlic and parsley sauce, with rosemary potatoes and green beans. 

I feel, though, that we may have missed a trick with this one. The challenge - eat a chunk of meat - is a very wide and vague title, and therefore opens itself up to a plethora of foodie options - we could have chosen tasty gammon steaks, or big juicy pork chops, or a rack of lamb, or something seasonal like pheasant or venison. I am feeling, this morning, that sense of regret you get when you've missed out. Don't get me wrong, the steak was nice, but to think I could now be blogging about my first foray into cooking rabbit or the experience of roasting a big, fatty duck leg makes me feel a little deflated. 

But never mind. We had steak, and it was okay - not the best, but okay. 

Now, cooking steak scares me. I never seem to get it perfect; usually it's over done. Still tastes yummy, but with every mouthful you can also taste a hint of bitter disappointment, that it could be so much more, so much juicer and tender. Despite this, Tom always says that I am the steak cooking guru (which isn't true); I think it's because he loves me. Which is nice. 

There isn't really much more to say about this escapade, apart from that it is 9am in the morning and I'm now craving steak.......

Day Twenty One: Spend an evening reading

Here are some silly things I would like to say about books:

Books are my friends. They make me laugh, cry, think, wonder, question, learn. Sometimes, they make me do all of these things and more; books like Small Island, and I Capture the Castle.

Books help me make friends. When you read a book, you share an experience with hundreds of other people who have read the same book. But the beauty of a book is that, while sharing the experience, you still have your own, completely personal experience of the book at the same time. Like looking through your own lens, you see things that no-one has seen, or find something laugh-out-loud funny which no-one else even notices. And then you can talk about it, or disagree about it, or laugh about it, or argue about it, or discuss it, with other readers.

Books smell great. There is nothing like the smell of a new book, or the smell of an old book. We have two huge bookshelves in our Dining Room, and they perfume the whole room with that papery, musty smell that, to me, means comfort, relaxation, happiness. I wonder if anyone has ever tried to bottle it.

Books are the cornerstone of a civilised society. I don't think there's much that can't be learnt from extensive reading (Mr Darcy would agree). There's a lot of terrible books out there, but I believe if a new civilisation set itself up somewhere, it could be well shaped and well informed by having a stack of decent books to consult, learn from, imitate, aspire to (books such as Emma, Far from the Madding Crowd, The Bible, The Kite Runner, and Anne of Green Gables).

To spend an evening reading is bliss. I need to make time for this more often.