A quick trip to Holland

Dissertation time has begun at last! And I’m feeling it, rushing off to archives across the country (well, Liverpool and Manchester). It’s an excellent experience but so exhausting! I feel like I’m cramming the history of the world in my head. But it’s just cotton brokers. And man, they are cool. But enough about that. I went to Amsterdam with Roger for a few days to visit our friend Lawrence, who’s teaching children how to be excellent to one another. He lives outside of the city, in a little town called s-Hertogenbosch, which was like a continental version of York! A very cute little place, with a bustling town centre market and a lovely little Cathedral.

Hungarian Smoked Cheese Gourgères.

As well as the little wooden puli dog that I ADORE, one of the things I brought back with me from Hungary was a few packets of smoked cheese called Karavan. Reka’s mum, on our arrival at the flat had laid out a magnificent spread of meats, cheeses and salads but the clear favourite was a pyramid of cheesy puffs. We went wild for them and crammed them in pretty much every minute we were awake until sadly, we scoffed them all.

Café Gerbeaud in Budapest, Hungary

With much excitement during a spare few days of Easter holiday essay hell, me and three of my MA girlies set off to Hungary, to stay in Reka’s fab little apartment in the heart of Budapest. Although I was very excited and had been looking forward to the break for a good long while, I’m sorry to say that pretty instantly homesickness set in! How annoying! Basically, the result ended in me angrily huffing and puffing my way around Budapest zoo with the others before running out of the lion enclosure to put credit on my phone so I could text my mum and Roger. Zoos and I don’t get on to begin with, so it was never a good idea. The bear made me especially sad. But I wasn’t always homesick; once I’d got that credit on my phone I was ok. As long as I have some form of link to Roger and my mum, I think I’ll survive. Even a coconut phone or frequent messages in bottles would have sorted me out.

My lazy focaccia

I call this recipe a lazy one because I feel like I’m betraying some cook’s oath by using a bread maker. It makes me embarrassed when people ask “did you make this from scratch?” because I don’t feel like I have done. Just in the same way that I feel guilty when people praise a meal I’ve made from a recipe. It’s not like I did any work, I just followed instructions. You couldn’t boast you made a table “from scratch” if you picked up a flat pack from Ikea. I don’t really think cooking is that mechanical a process, but whenever I see a chef on TV making a cake in a mixer, rather than with a spoon, I can’t help but think they’re missing the point. Anyway, the reason I use a bread maker? Borderline O.C.D. dad. If I’m seen to be kneading dough on a worktop, with flour going everywhere, my dad freaks out. So out comes my robot helper, and the only mess is a pan to wash.

Edinburgh- and Dundee Lemon Sole

I love Edinburgh, and the thought of getting on the train and chugging up there once a year is enough to keep me going when things get tough. Taking a few days off from the MA, Roger and I packed our bags for a few days of relaxation: but more importantly, food. We’re always the first to hit the Steak and Mussels place at the bottom of the Grassmarket, and had an excellent last night meal there comprising of steak for Roger and oysters, followed by cream, bacon and whisky mussels for me. Scrum-o.

Elephant Garlic

Now, according to the label, this beast is supposed to taste delicate, more like leek than garlic. And it only takes an hour to cook. Well mine didn’t, on both counts. Even I couldn’t eat this simply “spread on toast”. But never mind, I gave it another blast in the oven, which gave me some more time to think what the hell to do with it. In an ideal world, the garlic would have been great in a creamy almond and orange soup, but I don’t think my family could stomach that, particularly on the only warm weekend we had all summer. But this bulb goes to show that cooking disasters can often turn into something delicious. So here’s what I did with mine.

Isle of Wight- The Garlic Farm

Here’s the deal: the MA is extremely time consuming. I’m having to read about 12 articles per seminar a week, which doesn’t sound like much but if you actually try to take everything in and make notes and all that jazz like I’ve been doing, it’s a long process. With PhD applications in and amongst everything else, I’m posting up two articles that I wrote last summer after I graduated. Those days were so warm and sunny, it’s nice to remember a bit of sunshine...

If Julie Andrews was forced to sing a song about my favourite things, I think she’d have a hard time. Garlic, cream and olive oil don’t rhyme very well. Plus they’re a cholesterol nightmare, but who cares? The magic properties of garlic are supposed to help with that.

My friend Lawrence lives on the Isle of Wight. With University finished and an expanse of a holiday before us, not to mention Lawrence dying of boredom on the Island, a road trip was in order. Cue a four-hour train journey to the sunniest depths of Warwickshire, where Roger and I drop in on Maddie and her equally mad family.  After meeting her lovely little stroke-riddled pooch, Buddy, Maddie then gave us a tour of her collection of grumpy horses before we finally met Grace, a big-eyed tubby sheep, blissfully remaining under the delusion that she’s a dog. After stopping to say hello, she followed us around the field, prompting us to continue scratching her big curly butt with a nudge using the full force of her big, warm sheepy body.