In a moment of madness, I decided to volunteer in a flour
mill at York’s Castle Museum. Wild at the thought of working in a mill, I
underestimated how very cold it was in there and how little time I actually had
to work in the place. Plus, little gripe here: it’s a crime that museum funding
is so low that they have to rely on volunteers to run things. As a student, I’m
not ashamed to admit I really did need money. I am ashamed, however, to admit that as a result of the wallet, I had
to give up volunteering before I’d even begun! One good thing that came out of
this process was that the thought of being able to work in a “demonstration
bread kitchen” got me so excited, that I quickly whipped up some bagels to give
to people in charge to land me the job. Which would have worked, if anyone
cared. Volunteers just need to turn up, they don’t need to bring bribery
bagels, do they? I ate them myself and gave some to my neighbour, Maria.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
