Sunday

Saying Goodbye





For breakfast this morning I found myself still seated at the bar next to my long time foreman and right-hand man, Panto. The handle is short for Pantomime horse, an unfortunate moniker given to him by me due to his long nose, pricked ears, plus a constantly bemused and vacant expression. He has had this unfortunate name since we first met digging holes back in the early 80s, not once has he ever taken offence. In Glasgow, every man has a name, ugly or not, for his closest friends. Panto is a man of few words. He lives voluntarily in the old world where chivalry towards women starts with your ma and shirtless waiters never hold out for tips when they fetch you your hat after a hearty meal in a greasy spoon diner.

Somehow, a mildly spoken man in his sixties might appear incongruous mixing with stronger spoken, younger men of a different generation, but his juxtaposition at my side over the last thirty years or more has taught me that a man of few words can be Kryptonite to those who, to coin a phrase from my youngest son, "chat shite".  His loyalty has known no parameters throughout our friendship, life will be slightly uneven without being able to gaze upon his charismatic face.

Panto, never one to show any emotion other than a full fifteen minutes of relief after the great Guinness shortage was rescinded back in 2003, has never questioned my intentions to hand over the business reins during my forthcoming sabbatical, to my sons. Where most men would ask the age old question, 'what's in it for me?' Panto merely nodded his satisfaction after being confirmed that he will have a job in Glasgow for life.

Our last Friday night pint thinned out to just the two of us after the back of 3am, but still unable to express more than a few words on the subject of 'cheerio', he pulled out a crumpled piece of paper and quoted to me the following words by James Orr.

The savage loves his native shore,
Though rude the soil and chill the air;
Well then may Erin's sons adore
Their isle, which nature formed so fair!
What flood reflects a shore so sweet,
As Shannon great, or past'ral Bann?
Or who a friend or foe can meet,
As generous as an Irishman.

A simple, honest and loyal companion, he evoked more from me with these 53 words than most men spit out in a lifetime. It's been a pleasure to have had him about me. This recipe is one that I have prepared for him on and off over the last decade. He would take himself off to a quiet corner and unwrap his wee treat from its greaseproof hiding place and munch them with his big oul green plastic mug of tea. He still firmly believes that it is Siobhan that stands behind the apron, especially as in Panto's world, men will always dig holes while women stay home and cook.

To the Panto's of this world, to my many gracious fellow bloggers across the globe, my loyal pals too numerous to list in Ireland, Germany, Canada, Australia and the grand oul shores of Amerikay. To the wee Glasgow girl fae Hercus Loan who melted my heart and then disappeared up the Thames on her very clever banana boat, the classy, delightful, wonderful Patricia herself, in the west of England who with her enigmatic smile constantly held back my opinion of the auld enemy, the English. The ever loyal little singing fella (who isn't actually little after all) who made me humble with his honesty and down to earth nature that I have treasured over the years and will never forget. A better friend will never be found. To all the genuinely smashing ladies and gents who have been pure dead brilliant, even the religiously misguided fools who have suffered my drunken ramblings, poor punctuation and pish-poor grammar over the years, I say thank you and cheerio for now.

Keep the faith. - JB


Almond Oatcakes

2 builders size handfuls of crushed and rolled almonds straight from the tree of Hope.                                           
1/2 cup rice flour
1/2 cup rolled Scottish oats                                                  
1 cup brown sugar or substitute                                                  
30 ml baking powder                      
1 pinch salt
1 teaspoon of natural honey , straight fae the hive if you have the pluck.
1/2 teaspoon vanilla extract                                                  
2 free range eggs, for the love of all things holy do not use the fodder produced by those poor wee wretches they keep in cages.  Leave them well alone, as they are destined to end up in a bucket wrapped in the ominous letters of KFC.                                        
300 ml milk, full fat, you only live once, eh? 
1 single measure of Whyte & Mackay whisky. You may have to sample a wee swally or two during the preparation of course. Daisyfae will back this theory up by way of a tried and tested method of staying ever intoxicated on life. If you cannae find this brand of whisky then the dessert will be good, but not as good as it should be. Move to Scotland or sweet talk your local whisky supplier. If it should come to light that a Jack Daniels substitute has been used, then the divil himself will surely rise fae hell and punish you for your wickedness.                                                  
100 ml good vegetable oil / rapeseed oil. 
Blueberries / strawberries  / raspberries (for garnish)                                             


Mix together dry ingredients. Beat eggs. Add milk, honey, whisky and vanilla extract. Mix into dry ingredients. Bake in a preheated oven at 160 Celsius for 20-25 minutes until golden brown. Add fruit of choice, dust with icing sugar and add fresh cream and a raspberry compote. Add a sprig of mint to show off to your monster-in-law. Serve with iced tea, strong coffee or even a tall glass of cider.

Remember to bus your own plates when done, as this kitchen is now closed while I come to terms with a life that has been cruel and heart breakingly grief stricken at times. Humour, strength, good pals and the odd bottle of whisky has seen me through the hard times. I leave the rest to you. This one is on the house.


50 comments:

  1. Will ye no come back again?
    God speed to your dear self and Siobhan.

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Och hen, we both know the answer to that one, eh?

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  2. Thank you, JB. Wishing you comfort, peace, endless laughter and drink as you set sail! You've got my coordinates, big fella, and if you were to show up on my doorstep (real or virtual) i promise to show you a grand time, while helping myself to one of my own...

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. You doll, are a constant quench to my often bouts of salacious thirst.

      Delete
  3. Nope. No goodbye. Until we meet again sounds better. Otherwise I'd starve, emotionally and not be able to continue to partake of food that doesn't make me gain weight. :)

    I swept up the kitchen, but Map will have to clean the counter tops because I can't reach them. I'm sure you left us a stool for this purpose.

    Have fun and don't forget to yell, "Come and Get It!" when the kitchen re-opens.

    x

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. I cannot pass an automatic door or smell a walnut without thinking of my wee delicious Hope.

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  4. Farewell for now our Jimmy, I will miss you. It has been an honour to be part of your journey thus far and to have you as a companion on mine. I have learned so much from being your 'little' friend, not least of all the true meaning of the Claddagh ring. I will always look up to you my younger, bigger brother. Love, Loyalty and Friendship to you and Siobhán, may happiness be in your hearts for all your days.

    Máirtín.

    'Now I'm sitting here before the fire
    The empty room, the forest choir
    The flames that could not get any higher
    They've withered now they've gone
    But I'm steady thinking my way is clear
    And I know what I will do tomorrow
    When the hands are shaken and the kisses flow
    Then I will disappear...'

    :¬)

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Blood is thicker than water big man... you know that more than most.

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  5. You've left us before, and returned, so I will keep the faith this time as well.

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Always keep the faith hen, it's what we do best.

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  6. Always sad to see you go. You've brightened this particular corner of the blogosphere. Cheers and be well, big man.

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. My cap is off in friendship to you sir. May the bacon and bourbon commence.

      Delete
  7. Be safe ....
    Be well ....
    Be happy ....
    Be loved.

    I will miss you sweet JB!
    xoxoxoxoxoxoxo

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Noted my pretty, parting is such sweet sorrow.

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  8. You will be sorely missed, Sir.

    Do come back when your time is right.

    From your biggest fan in the deep South of Africa

    xxx

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. My dear Eileen, the time once more seems to be right. Lunch on the mountain top for just you and I one day perhaps?

      Delete
  9. I'm sorry not to be reading your blog in the future...keep well.

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Never be sorry hen, always be confident and bring a bottle.

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  10. This first Friday with the vacant stool beside me......

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. The landlord at Jinty's put a stuffed monkey on a box aside the bar. You were only missed when it failed to fall over around 9pm.

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  11. Be well good chef...

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Be well yourself Owen, I am a long standing fan of your work.

      Delete
  12. Oh fuck you ya bastid, I miss you SO much already!

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Already the memories make me wince...

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  13. Off again? That's okay. I mind, but it's okay. I hope you surface again one day in whatever form. In the meantime, I'll keep an eye on aul Golden Throat.

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Your watch is at an end UB, I will take it from here. Anyone have a cold Fanta spare for the wee man?

      Delete
  14. Oh Mr Chef--what a disappointment it is to see you go. I wish now I could find the post in which I was going to say that yourself and 63mago were my Finds of 2012.

    (Foolishly I didn't save it as a separate entry, just commented it out "to use later", so now I can't find it in the mess that is the backoffice of my blog).

    I've throughly enjoyed reading you. The conceit of starting with breakfast every day would in a lesser writer, become stale and cliched within days. But your morning goods are always fresh.

    I also greatly enjoyed your strong sense of heritage and place, especially as I work in Glasgow so have slightly scratched the surface of the Dear Green Place (and it is very dear to me--the only place apart from Lancaster where I would consider living). The way you locate yourself firmly in a culture and a history is a joy, now that we live such anywhere lives.

    Thank you very much for it all.

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Ahh Looby, an Englishman that I could willingly accept as one of our own. Do walk the streets in my absence, but also do keep a wee eye for me around the Gallowgate.

      Delete
  15. You don't have to answer this but what do you think of fibre glass for a leaky garage roof?Miss you.

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Much better and cheaper, not to mention healthier to use corrugated rubber. Miss you too hen.

      Delete
  16. I hope you'se are still reading the comments, Ma is out of the hospital and feeling much better. I just called to see her with a wee bottle I picked up in Arrecife airport. Hope all is as good as you want it to be.

    Máirtín.

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Tell your ma I was asking for her, also to save me a wee swally fae that bottle, eh?

      Delete
  17. I will miss you sorely yet again, dear Chef... Will you make your presence known once in a while with a well placed witty comment now and then? If in another guise, will you hint at your true identity? Does this have to be end end? I can understand closing the kitchen because of your sabbatical, but denying us your words, your mind, your heart... please say it isn't so. Wishing you all the best, and offering a huge warm hug from me to you and Siobhan.

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. I ahould have married you after we slept together on our first date all those years ago Pony-doll. Come see me in the kitchen hen, I have a recipe for sausage you may just like.

      Delete
  18. Just checkin' in, I don't mind saying I miss ya.

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Yeah, yeah, what about returning my lawnmower, eh?

      Delete
  19. Once again, you're leaving me? (sigh) Jimmy, I'd hug you for good luck if you were close. Let us know where you land, I'll come back. For now, I'm going to try that dessert up there. It looks delish, and I'll be happy to put on a few pounds to enjoy it.

    Take care,
    xoxo
    Kimber, The Fragrant Liar

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. To put a few pounds on that perfect figure would be to put a beard on the Mona Lisa. Enough crime in the world my sweet American beauty, stay exactly as you are and never change a thing.

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  20. Yes, I come back every day, like a wee puppy! :)

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Aye, so it would seem. Where did I put that rolled up newspaper for feck sake?

      Delete
  21. Minty, Pragno, Tam, Nogger and the laldy brigade. Ring any bells about who was filling me in in the Domino in Corby big man?

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. At a guess I would say Minty, Tam, Nogger and the toothless wan behind the bar. Corby eh? Many happy times spent at the bar in the Rock with the man Kevin Byrne (Shanty) himself.

      Delete
  22. HA!!! Yer still me best pal!

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Aye, I promised your ma I would take care of yis when you grow up. I'm still waiting, eh?

      Delete
  23. are you back, sweetpea? xoxoxox

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Yes princess, and still reading your delightful stuff.

      Delete
  24. Still mindin' yer stool so I am! :¬)

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. For the love of Jaysus, is it yerself that's lost a bit of weight in the oul face? I love what yis have done to yer coupon son.

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Thank you, the chef is currently preparing an answer for you in the kitchen. Do help yourself to more bread.