Friday

Rules of Engagement



Whenever I travel somewhere, all be it foreign or domestic, cold, hot or maybe just slightly tepid, I have a wee custom that I try and aspire to without fail whenever I can. I have little doubt that it is a familiar trait shared by gazillions of others across the globe. The indolent purchase of shockingly cheesy items for family members has become a treasure hunt for sarcasm gold. I have them lovingly gift wrapped, then sent to a dear aunt in Killarney. I'm not the only member of our family that plays this unsuspecting little game with her and twice a year when we all traipse across for our annual exophagy rituals, we get to secretly compare the wonderfully tacky trinkets proudly arranged in her glass sideboard in the parlour. Yes, I know it is not a particularly nice trait to poke fun at ones relatives, however she started it by knitting her very own versions of Bridget Jones jumpers as gifts at Christmas since 1977. Stop for a moment if you will, picture the angst we suffered every January entering a school playground with the entire crucifixion debacle picked out in sequins and mother of pearl upon our chests. Other kids received great seasonal gifts, such as tangerines and swirly, clanky things made out of discarded bobbins and bits of rotted wood which had fallen off the roof. One particular year she excelled at her craft and Mr Christ was depicted using actual real nails. It took forever to find the bloody things when they fell out in the washing machine. Being the broadest of my brothers, it was always a The Last Supper scene for me, in full panorama, with Mr Christ having such real lifelike flowing hair that it used to dangle into my free school milk.  And you wondered what it actually was that shook my faith in religion? Now that you are glimpsing behind the scenes of my childhood backdrop, you can see why I favour an often lumpen, if not caustic, iambic pentameter to my biblical dietary fibre.

This year the 'extra cheese' award goes to my second eldest son Liam for his remarkably well discovered miniature, illuminated figure of Mary Magdalene fighting a bull. Finished in pure 2 cwt gold diamante stud work, it promises to entertain its audience with thirty second blasts of  'Ave Maria ' in Chinese!  Honestly, poor Schubert must continue to spin in his grave. It is a remarkable coup for the Asian design studios of utter tackiness, emphasis for inspiration must surely lay with their growing resentment of the west! I was slightly disappointed to lose out with my holy holographic waterfall scene, complete with ruby red woollen catholic dolphins, interwoven with threads of metal lamé halos, it took most of my powers of acquisition to obtain it. Especially as I had to do glorious battle with a wonderful gentleman, originally from Sicily, but now living in New York. Luckily for me, he opted instead for a rather fetching version of a garish yellow submarine, complete with headlights that flash whenever you touch the conning tower. Exactly how it represents the nation of Espana I am still unsure, but he seemed very pleased with it. I may at one point have suggested that if he looked hard enough he might actually be able to pick out John Lennon, complete with bushy beard, at the controls. However, it could also have been Sean Connery, Kris Kringle or Charles Darwin for that matter.

We continued a further interesting engagement, this time in regard to our accents, when we again rubbed shoulders outside in the street. On noticing my recently purchased brummagem trinket protruding from its near cloistered wrapping, he began the conversation in his best, if somewhat irked eastern coast drawl, by asking me for directions to the nearest Starbucks.

 "Turn left onto Avenida Garcia Morato," was my reply, ...three times, until he finally grasped I also wasn't a local inhabitant.

"I like your quaint English accent", was his reply.

"Thank you, so, exactly what part of Canada are you from?" 

The words fell from my lips before I had a chance to stop them. The rules of engagement had been set, the gloves were now off.

Like two great rutting mountain stags, snorting and bumping heads in the misty morning Highlands heather, we eventually found common ground without any further need for bloodshed. To be fair, it would have been very ugly if it had turned physical. I was alone, while he had the entire cast of the Sopranos for company. One Glaswegian against so many Italians heavily stacked the odds. I would have at least had to wait patiently while they sent out for their reinforcements. Remarkably, our war of nations had taken place outside of a well known panaderia. The waft of doughy goodness soon melted any hostilities and we became further like children as we stood with our noses pressed firmly up against the glass. I should point out that him being of Roman extraction, his nose made sure that he stood further away from the glass than me. We conveniently forgot that he had commented that the United Kingdom were cowardly limey assholes in not following the infamous panjandrum, Mr O'Balmy, into yet another untenable act of war. I couldn't remember the name of the current UK Prime Minister, a dreadful fop of a man by all accounts, so I glossed over the important fact that the Scots throughout history have probably detested the English more so than the current mob of murderous Pashtuns, Tajiks, Hazaras, Uzbeks, not forgetting the other suicidal donkey enthusiasts, along with anybody else wearing a ridiculous raggedy bandage hat in Kandahar of late. By way of response he kindly glossed over my frank comment that the entire world now sees America for exactly what Hollywood wants them to be. Shooting scenes for the new Rambo DCLXVI movie. (Well done to all those who worked out the in-joke with the Roman numerals without having to use Google. A somewhat late, but still sumptuous education is money well spent, eh?)

Happily, we did agree on the fact that Mel Gibson did more harm to the Scottish/American relationship due to his dire accent and severe lack of height in the screen portrayal of William Wallace than any other actor in the history of film. I'm still to meet another fellow Scot who didn't squirm in his cinema seat when the wee runt rode out on his stunted horse, his face painted entirely with a protestant flag and then butchered the fictitious line about freedom. With those silly facial expressions he pulled every five minutes, the only way he could have portrayed Wallace any camper than he did would have been to add a smattering of buggery in between the magnificent scenes of Ballachullish countryside (actually filmed in Ireland by the way.) The fact that he is unfortunately a typical agrestic Australian with an unequivocal phobia of Jew-hating, must make for some interesting conversations around many wholesome U.S dining room tables. Apart from the director of the so-called evocative movie Braveheart explaining to his audience, quite nicely actually, how the 'fuck' word was actually derived: Fornication Under Consent of the King, it was all rather bland to anyone looking for something slightly more juicy to get their teeth into. Wee Mel can eat his own heart out should anyone kindly offer to help him down from his wee stumpy pony, because we had also agreed that the fresh loaf of cassata currently being displayed in the bollerya window was without doubt the most extremely enjoyable, aromatic, non farinaceous dessert on the planet.

There are few things as wonderfully evocative as food. Good or bad, just one taste of a dish can catapult you back in time, conjuring up the sights and sounds, even the emotions you experienced. A perfectly ripe strawberry, warmed by the sun, leads itself to reminiscing about idyllic late summer afternoons picking your own berries at a local farm in middle-England. The dry scratch of yet-to-soften bran flakes recalls the sensation of trying to choke down a hospital breakfast after a tonsillectomy when I was nine. Re-fried beans repeatedly remind me of a long weekend mistakenly spent in a drunk tank in Mexico in my youth, a place where no fingernails are too long, no queue for the shower is too short. I won't try to pretend to be the first person to have made this link; there's a whole genre of food memoirs that testify to the power food has to transport us through time and space. I had one of those moments tonight when I made French onion soup, served with the cheese toasts we call crostini when we used to have this dish back in the '80s. The sweet silkiness of the onions, buttery broth and the soup-soaked bread took me back to those Sunday evenings when my auld fella would roll up his sleeves and peel and slice scallions galore to make a huge pot of this classic soup. The house would fill with the aroma of caramelised onions, fresh thyme, bay leaves, stock and a healthy splash of brandy; the kitchen window would steam up and I would start my not-so-stealthy campaign for more crostini and less soup.

But it is from Sicily that I have chosen this particular dessert dish of cassata. Sicily, the land of fresh tomato's, chintz table cloths, great big huge melting scoops of yellow custard-based gelato flavours, including zabaione and crème caramel. And the fruit.... don't get me started on the fruit!  So when the rain-fed locusts are not dive bombing your patio garden and eating the sun drenched lizards as they land in your lap after falling asleep in your sitting room curtains, making cassata is a wonderful way to use up some of the dried fruit in your pantry that would otherwise be relegated to use in the cooler months. While this dessert is a straightforward make-ahead mixture of sweetened ricotta cheese and savoiardi (sometimes called lady finger) biscuits, it’s best eaten within 24 hours of making it because of the fragility of the cheese.
Your choice of flavourings is entirely your own. In this case I started with the summer flavours of Seville oranges, fresh honey, dried apricots and vanilla, then added grilled peaches for a perfect end note. The one ingredient you can’t substitute is dark chocolate. But of course. For the ladies, that goes without saying, eh?

You will need:

250g ricotta
½ cup pistachios (or substitute for slivered almonds)
 ½ cup dried apricots;
 50g dark chocolate, roughly chopped
 1 ½ tbsp honey
1 tbsp mixed peel
 1 or 2 drops of vanilla extract
 18 savoiardi (lady finger) biscuits;
 ½ cup of freshly squeezed orange juice
 4 nice plump ripe peaches
 2 tbsp soft brown sugar or raw sugar


Place the ricotta in a bowl and beat well then whisk until smooth and softened. Roughly chop the nuts, dried fruit and chocolate and add to the ricotta, together with the honey, mixed peel and vanilla. Mix well to combine. Before we go any further I will suggest that a slug or two of a decent brandy improves the recipe even further. Fill half a crystal tumbler and with one quick lunge ingest it without the use of ice for the sake of decency. Replace the bottle and continue to prep.
Pour the orange juice into a large ceramic bowl. For the love of all things holy, please do not use plastic during the preparation as it will in my opinion, taint the finished taste. Dip the flat side of nine savoiardi biscuit briefly into the orange juice. Lay the soaked biscuits in a layer on a serving platter or plate.
Spoon half the cheese mixture over the soaked biscuits and smooth out the surface as evenly as possible. Soak the remaining biscuits, one at a time, in the orange juice and top the cheese mixture, then finally spread the remaining cheese mixture over the top. Cover with cling wrap and refrigerate for two hours.
Slice the peaches in half (I keep the skin on as I am an unabashed heathen) and remove the stone. Sprinkle with a little sugar and place on a tray. Place under a hot grill for five minutes or until the sugar melts and caramelises the peach. Remove and allow to cool for a minute before slicing the fruit.
Top the chilled cassata with warmed peaches and serve at once with a good dry cider and at the very least a rotund Sicilian-American for company.

Buon appetito

57 comments:

  1. I shouldn't really laugh, I'm not such a big heathen as you are, but so so so funny. "actual real nails - it took an age to find the bloody things when they fell out in the washing machine"

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    1. Why should you not laugh freely Anthony? The death of intelligence is belief that an invisible being that is mighty enough to have created nature itself would be interested or concerned whether or not I covet my neighbours ass. It is far more intelligent to stand on your feet and think rather than to fall to your knees and prey.

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  2. Where is the pic of fabulous Mary and her Bull? Don't be such a big tease. Wait until poor Pew sees this post. The top of his head is going to pop off and stick to the ceiling.

    Braveheart was filmed in Ireland?! Is that true? There it is. My morning disappointment. Arriving earlier than it normally does.

    My grandfather is from Sicily. I'm only a second-generation American. I hate to admit this but I've never even seen cassata. Come to America! Be culturally deprived!

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    1. I'm sure I could arrange for a few covert photies to be taken of Mary and the Bull for you. Would you prefer full colour prints for your loft apartment in Manhattan?

      Mr Pew has already sent me a selection of comments, I shall publish the funnier ones later on. I'm sure they will keep on coming.

      Alas, yes, the location for the filum was spread between Scotland, Ireland and even a couple of places in Engerlandshire. There is even a blogger amongst us who has an amusing story about how Mr Gibson tried to bum cigarettes off of the Irish extras without much success.

      You have Sicilian blood running through your veins, yet you have never partaken of cassata? Right about now, every ageing Mafia Don is shaking their fists and heads at you in disgust. Don't be surprised my friend if tomorrow your wife finds you sleeping with the fishes. Which is better of course than your wife finding you sleeping with her sister. So not all bad news then, eh?

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  3. 2 cwt of Diamante?
    *sigh*
    That Liam has exquisite taste!
    I want one now ... along with the Last Supper sweater with flowing hair.

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    1. Hard to believe huh Scarls? 2 genuine cwts of the finest diamante that money can buy. A scarier fact is that the trinkets themselves are kept in a locked glass display cabinet within the airport kiosk beneath the security cameras. I mean, c'mon... seriously?

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  4. Ah, the vision of the Ram has been replaced with a heavenly concoction which includes dark chocolate. Apply hearty southern girl hug here. I'd do it myself, but I don't have a stool that would bring me up to your lofty heights. ;)

    Did you know that of all our senses, smell is the one which triggers our memories? Just the sight of those peaches reminded me of my Grandmother baking peach cobbler...the very same recipe I used this summer to do the same. The scent of wisteria will always make me think of southern spring while cinnamon brings to mind Christmas kitchens filled with baked goods. And burning pine always takes me back to that summer day Mom was trying to convince 4 year old me to get out of the car because it was only a rain storm and we were SO close to the door. I was ready...until lightning hit the pine tree in front of the car, sending a zig zag of bark flying, with the smell burned into my brain for all time.

    As for movies featuring the wrong actor/accent. Ironically, at the time of the Mel Gibson film fiasco known as Braveheart, I didn't know the actual end of the story. Sadly, I was so disappointed at the star's performance that, although I hate to admit it, drawing and quartering seemed proper punishment for making the world watch that performance.

    Have a great weekend....I'm off to make a list for the grocery store to try this recipe. Sorry, rambled again. I'll go to the kitchen and wash the dishes as my penance. Now where DID you put that stool?

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    1. You are quite correct dear lady, our sense of smell does trigger memories, so much in fact that if I happen to catch the merest essence of a dottle of aromatic pipe tobacco, I still look for my oul fella coming up the path with his auld pushbike and rolled newspaper tucked in his waistband. Years ago when I converted the upper area of my main home just outside of Glasgow, I installed his auld wardrobe, complete with some of his overcoats and personal belongings, including his collection of work and Sunday pipes. In the pocket of his work jacket I found a brown leather pouch still containing the same aromatic tobacco he smoked all of his life. It stopped me dead in my tracks. To this day I still put my head in that wardrobe and inhale deeply to feel his magnificent presence beside me.

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  5. Lol, I keep sticking my head in the door to re-read that line about the nails. Class.

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    1. Ah Anthony, I exists merely to bring humour to your life it would seem. Perhaps now you could stop being so busy in the kitchens you frequent for more than 5 minutes and get back to some serious blogging, of which you once excelled. I note that you are becoming tardy of late when it comes to recording your thoughts for us all to share.

      What happened to the man who was once the finest Sous Chef at the Hilton in Glasgow, yet still had time to quote Voltaire?

      "Stand upright, speak thy thoughts, declare The truth thou hast, that all may share; Be bold, proclaim it everywhere: They only live who dare."

      Although you continue to pass yourself off as a "café chef", I know better. McGowan was a genius, he followed the same road, but he can still do with an Irish ballad what you can do with an egg and a boiling pan.

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  6. Your desecration of the holy word will be your downfall. Men will turn from you, animals will run from you, water will turn to sand and your crops will perish in the fields. Sodomites will fall to their knees and beg for forgiveness and watch the Lord break down the houses of other sodomites, that were by the house of the LORD, where the women wove hangings for the grove. For this cause God gave them up unto vile affections: for even their women did change the natural use into that which is against nature: And likewise also the men, leaving the natural use of the woman, burned in their lust one toward another; men with men working that which is unseemly, and receiving in themselves that recompence of their error which was meet. Know ye not that the unrighteous shall not inherit the kingdom of God? Be not deceived: neither fornicators, nor idolaters, nor adulterers, nor effeminate, nor abusers of themselves with mankind. Knowing this, that the law is not made for a righteous man, but for the lawless and disobedient, for the ungodly and for sinners, for unholy and profane, for murderers of fathers and murderers of mothers, for manslayers, for whoremongers, for them that defile themselves with mankind, for menstealers, for liars, for perjured persons, and if there be any other thing that is contrary to sound doctrine.

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    1. Hmmm... so basically what you are saying here is that nature, not a god, will create havoc amongst wildlife and bring bad weather, drought, famine etc etc... The first part of your rhetoric sounded uncannily like an old Kenny Rogers/Dolly Parton song from the late 70s. I may have course been mistaken, what with all the caterwauling from those pesky drunken sodomites across the road and the Lords drunken demolition squad making a hell of a noise all last night.

      It's a real shame you didn't tell me about the whole water turning to sand thingy last week, it would have saved me a bloody fortune.

      Och, now you have me whistling that damn Kenny/Dolly song in my head. A pox upon you sir.

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  7. i am in los angeles and now you've made me hungrier than i should be at 10:00, so i think i'll just take super nana and BGM out for an early lunch, sweet pea! i thank you from the bottom of my very hungry tummy for this inspirational post! (i might even look for a suitable trinket for you!) xoxoxoxo

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    1. Sweet Savannah, I would be interested in a suitable LA style hamburger myself right about now. Where exactly does one go to eat in wonderful down town LA at mid-morning? Come to that, with the eclectic mix of cultures in the area I can only imagine that dining out would take me a week just to decide! Photies please...

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  8. lol, he has me humming the same damn tune as I sit here at work pretending that I am not surfing the web. Some hope now!!!

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  9. Every human being is called to receive a gift of divine sonship, to become a child of God by grace. However, to receive this gift, we must reject sin, including homosexual behavior—that is, acts intended to arouse or stimulate a sexual response regarding a person of the same sex. The Catholic Church teaches that such acts are always violations of divine and natural law.

    Homosexual desires, however, are themselves sinful. People are subject to a wide variety of sinful desires over which they have little direct control, but these do not become sinful until a person acts upon them, either by acting out the desire or by encouraging the desire and deliberately engaging in fantasies about acting it out. People tempted by homosexual desires, like people tempted by improper heterosexual desires, are not sinning until they act upon those desires in some manner.

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  10. Och, don't talk mince. A persons sexuality is a natural feeling, it is something that is born to us, it cannot be injected into our bodies (pardon the wee unintentional pun) and regarded as sinful. What is the actual definition of sin?

    What nonsense is this outburst of religious jingoism from your own mouth? Your imposition of personal beliefs on the whole pluralistic society is pure shite. Worse still, your agelast beliefs are irrational and widespread by those who spend their time indulging in bibliobibuli, just a fiction of blind conviction. Nowhere does the Bible actually oppose homosexuality.

    The Bible itself is lucid on the sin of Sodom: pride, lack of concern for the poor and needy hatred of strangers and cruelty to guests; arrogance; evildoing and injustice. But nowhere are same-sex acts named as the sin of Sodom. That intended gang rape only expressed the greater sin, condemned in the Bible from cover to cover: hatred, injustice, cruelty, lack of concern for others. Hence, Jesus says “Love your neighbour as yourself” (Matthew 19:19; Mark 12:31); and “By this will they know you are my disciples” (John 13:35).

    How inverted these Christian values have become! In the name of Jesus, evangelicals and Catholic bishops still make sex the Christian litmus test and are willing to sacrifice the social safety net in return for sycophants such as yourself to continue to lapidate those seeking what intended humans were created to do naturally.

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  11. So you advocate the prolonged act of homosexuality, therefore you too are full of sin. If you have not accepted the demons of homosexual sin into your heart there is hope for you yet. It all boils down to you resisting, therefore admitting that it is not right and that it is a sin.

    It is not what goes into the mouth that defiles a person, but it is what comes out of the mouth that defiles a man and creates sin. What comes out of the mouth proceeds from the heart, and this is what defiles. For out of the heart come evil intentions, murder, adultery, fornication, theft, false witness, slander. These are what defile a person, but to eat with unwashed hands does not defile.

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    1. How can anyone advocate the length of an act of which they may have never undertaken? What is your point here? I have never accepted that tonkatsu, kalua pig or bird spittle soup is a food that I would particularly like to try, but that doesn't make those items of food or those that enjoy them a sin or sinners.

      Sexual preference is merely a natural act, regardless of which port you moor your ship in. It does not make a person a murderer if they choose to practice buggery, beggary or booga-bloody-loo. What seems to be coming out of your mouth as well as your heart is an unwillingness to explain yourself clearly instead of spouting this endless gallimaufry. May I suggest that you call an immediate halt to your rather annoying nothosonomia and ask your parents why they instilled so many insecurities into their sons seemingly miserable life.

      Here endeth the lesson.

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  12. Guilty as charged. These days I prefer to read more and write less. As for the whole sous chef role it wasn't for me. Way too much stress and far to many sharp knives in the hands of those on low paid wages.

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    1. Less of the guilt my friend, remember... always innocent until proven Irish. Besides, the gentle and somewhat pleasant act of reading is nothing to be ashamed of. If more people took time to read the correct material, rather than the mundungus piffle found in the leather bound bollix of the person above, what a happier more peaceful place the world would be.

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  13. "It is not what goes into the mouth that defiles a person, but it is what comes out of the mouth that defiles a man and creates sin."

    So does this also apply to words spewed out using a keyboard while safely ensconced behind a monitor?

    You know, I was raised with the same Good Book which is supposedly quoted here, but no one ever beat me over the head with so many unpleasant passages. We practiced "The Golden Rule" at our house. But I guess "Judge not" and "Turn the other cheek" just aren't as fiery and confrontational. If the intent is to point out the errors of human beings in order to bring them closer to God, you're driving them away by the droves. Sad.

    Sorry Chef. It's not nice of me to clutter your space trying to reason with the unreasonable. That Golden Rule thing always pops up in time to silence me before I go too far.. ;)

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  14. Apology not required Hope, in fact I encourage not only common sense comments, but the opinions of those who find that their religious beliefs are not of the same bilious tripe that Mr Pew tends to eject from his own mouth. In fact, I do not have an issue with those who seek comfort in a belief, far from it. I welcome the chance to understand the difference between a genuine good Samaritan, such as yourself, and those who shout spite.

    Come sit with me a while hen, we will talk of current affairs, fresh picked almonds and the best way to infuse gravy with the wonderful herbs that grow on your side of the world.

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  15. I want to apologise in the same public setting that has caused the unnecessary pain that could have been avoided. Despite what some may think, it really isn’t ever my goal to hurt someone even if it makes me feel better in the process. Even if the thoughts I am having are justified, and even if I can’t find a better way to express them. It is sometimes seen as wrong. I am sometimes wrong, and I’m even sometimes sorry. I want to make sure I am clear about a couple of things just in case anything has been left at all ambiguous. I am not apologising for the feelings–positive or negative–I may have expressed throughout the course of this particular blog. I don’t say that with any conceited “I am always right” belief about myself. Trust me on that. Sometimes I am right, sometimes I’m wrong, and sometimes I’m just feeling something without an associated value. Regardless of the feeling in question, I have become comfortable enough with myself from an internal standpoint to know that apologising just wouldn’t be genuine. I feel how I feel on my beliefs, and even though I do my best to ensure that my feelings aren’t rude, I can’t always rule the possibility out. So there we are with that. What is most important to me is that the people–and you know who you are at this point, I think–who have been negative to me in public declarations of these feelings can rest assured that I know I should have acted differently, and going forward, I will try my best to do just that. We have enough real drama in the world today.

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    1. An apology is pointless if it is not sincerely meant Mr Pew. Words are merely just a jumble of letters unless they come from either the head or the heart.

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  16. It may be comforting for you to know that the majority of homophobes act out of ignorance and fear. Often it's a question of immaturity. Take heed of the fact that you're not smarter and more grown up than those of us who have to accept our children are gay and still love them regardless.

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    1. I'm assuming Susan, that ignorance, such as the type readily displayed by Mr Pewfodder has touched a nerve with you. It should be noted by others that you did not have to resort to demonstrating a certain inanition by way of response.

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  17. I meant to ask you, for the delectable recipe above, may I use my stainless bowls for the prep instead of ceramic/glass?

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  18. Yes, Scarls, stainless steel is perfectly acceptable for all food preparation, unlike plastic which can carry bacteria in the recesses of scuffs and taints the flavour. Bubonic plague began in a small restaurant kitchen in London back in 1629. The outbreak was traced to a plastic Tupperware dish containing otters lips and a badgers arsehole, of which were used to make meat pies for the royal family. The same recipe is still used today. In some parts of England, the use of plastic kitchen implements remain strictly forbidden and can carry the death penalty or a minimum of 15 years, depending on the ingredients. I myself was once thrown into a cold gaol cell for daring to use a spatula without a licence. If you look hard you can still see the prison number tattooed on my inner thigh.

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    1. Chef, if I ever happen to be gazing upon your inner thigh, I believe it will something else hard that I find.
      Numbers be damned!

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    2. It would seem that my secret is out my dear Scarlet. Alas, now the entire world will be aware that I keep an emergency ladle strapped in a very handy place. It can be a trifle cold in the winter, but a man must always be prepared.

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  19. Otters lips and a badgers arsehole. How is the little singing fella by the way?

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    1. He was fine when I left him at the airport in Dublin on Friday for his flight to Marrakech, an area of the Medina north of the Jemaa El Fna, where he is to hold a series of impromptu private concerts for the Berber farmers and their trusty camel rituals. With a fibrous network of souks beginning on the north edge, the town comprises of pish-stained alleyway upon alleyway of tiny retail cubicles of great transvestian secrecy. The further in you venture the more interesting they become. The two main routes into their heart are rue Semarine (aka Souk Semarine) and rue Mouassine; the former offers the more full-on blast of showbiz bazaar, the latter is a more sedate path leading to choice wig makers and transvestite ladies boutiques. Every section has its own speciality: carpets and textiles; shoe lifts, woollen hats, growth hormone potions, and cooked snails for curing halitosis; spices and magic supplies; cotton, clothing, silken spandex ladies under garments, kaftans and trouser socks for when it is important to promote your image on stage. And most importantly raffia bags and baskets, which he'll need to carry back his severed head should he push his luck a little too far with the bearded ladies.

      To experience Marrakech at its most medieval – and most pungent – he will also visit the raw tannery district. The tanners have been there since the city was founded and their work remains a pre-industrial process in making remarkably dazzling garments for short people. Using hundreds of vats full of foul liquids, the tanners use mainly camel dung to colour the hides, of which can only enhance his current fragrance whilst back at home. The eventual products can be seen and purchased at the short-man leather outlets near the rear gate behind the male brothel, but he may prefer to get the hell out of the quarter and purge himself in the nearest hammam as I have just cancelled his travellers cheques and reported his credit card as stolen.

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  20. Chef darling? If possible could I make a request? Your stark white font on black background is killing my vision and I see lines in front of everything once I look away from your page. Is it possible to decrease the contrast between the two a tad? You don't want this poor Canuck girl to go blind, do you?

    PS ~ Are you going to post a photo of your inner thigh? To see that tattoo, I mean...

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    1. My dearest Ponita, there has hardly been a single request from your wonderful self over the years that I have had to turn down. Admittedly, there was of course that one time with the over amorous Guatemalan travelling salesman and his array of rather unusually large imported rubber goods, but that is all water under the bridge. Well, actually a weighted sack in the water under a bridge, but lesson learned, eh? Our secret!

      At your behest, I have faded to grey. I will however advise that the lines you see are more likely to have resulted in banging ones head too often against the headboard in conjunction with the rhythmic convulsions of your Canadian method of love-making. Far better for medical reasons to return to the only other thing that can make a Canuck citizen go blind.

      As for the photie, well, let's just say that you already have graphic images of your host and that will have to suffice, especially as we are now into the Sabbath and I do not wish to turn to a pillar of salt.

      Delete
  21. Love what you've done with Pew's pic on the right.

    Much as yourself, I cannot stomach the self perpetuating means by which children are frightened into being brainwashed by the very adults who are supposed to protect them.

    Perhaps not surprising then that nowhere in the purported Big Ten C's does child abuse, rape or animal abuse even feature. But one must blindly honour thy mother and father without question.

    Bollocks. Never trust a person who only reads one book.

    Now, back to a "smattering of buggery"...................wonderful turn of phrase.

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  22. Ah Eileen, I am glad we all approve. It was eventually favoured due to the bulbous ones flap-doodle frippery in the face of common sense. My first attempt to show the image of Mr Pew nestling within his garçonnière and depict his moments of intertwingularity was somewhat overshadowed by my actual lack of interest. However, even a shibboleth such as Mr Pew must be treated fairly. He comments (all be it in a valetudinarian way) therefore he exists and must be included if I am not to be seen as bigoted.

    The brainwashing by adults to the young must be left solely in the hands of Hollywood, realtors, politicians and those who partake in scandalous infomercials involving body toning products.

    Perhaps a better slant on the 10 commandments might have been these:

    1. You are free to worship pretty much anyone, except politicians, lawyers, anyone remotely Turkish, female pop stars with no talent, and any zealous religious leaders.

    2. Do not use God’s image or any image that you have obtained from Flickr or other web site, without first asking the owner’s permission.

    3. Swearing and the Lord’s name. When the first set of commandments was written there was a lot less traffic on the road. Times change. It is sometimes beneficial to utter an occasional Holy Oath when under duress and this repetition helps to keeps the Lord’s name in popular circulation.

    4. Don’t ask your employees to work on a Sunday or if you do, then be sure to pay them at double the normal rate. Future testament editions may incorporate Bank Holiday Monday's dependant on sporting fixtures.

    5. Honour your father and mother. This should be extended in line with more modern parenting so that the child should also be honoured. Respect all round, earned through deeds not seniority. You can honour animals and trees as well although people will think you are a bit of an eejit.

    6. Thou shalt not kill unless it is essential. Collateral damage, such as terrorists killed by drones is outside the scope of this commandment. The full text of this issue runs to seventeen hundred pages and exempts the British military, politicians and the police force from any guilt in the eyes of the Lord, and indeed,the criminal judiciary system. Animals are excluded from this testament, so you can kill as many of those as you like. There is a grey area regarding goats – discuss with your religious advisor if you are concerned.

    7. Do not cheat on your partner unless they don’t understand you.

    8. Thou shalt not steal unless really hard pressed for cash, and then only from rich fat cat banks and armoured car security companies who deserve it anyway. Instead of stealing this shall be known as redistribution of wealth and should not lead to a prison sentence, instead a mention in the local paper over the course of a few evenings perhaps.

    9. Do not lie unless it is better to lie than not to lie. Sometimes a lie can save a person’s feelings or more importantly, get you out of trouble when you have been out on a 3 day bender with your best pal and spent the mortgage money.

    10. Covet not thy neighbour’s arse if either she or you are married, and your partners own a large heavy blunt instrument. If she is between the ages of sixteen to sixty and fairly fit, and not a woman prone to gossip, then you can covet freely unless she asks you to stop.

    ...as for the smattering of buggery, I'll probably pass on that as I am about to partake of my breakfast.

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    1. All that before breakfast.......dead brilliant!

      No 3 particularly apt in our neck of the woods where unlicensed heathen drivers abound.

      Delete
  23. An epidemic of stress was recently quelled in nearby Puerto Pollensa, when specially imported editions of English Victorian poetry paperbacks were handed out at the mid-week gathering of the local caqui fruit growers association. Sadly I fear, the Bronte sisters, along with Alfred Tennyson and Oscar Wilde would have been dismayed to find that their life's work was to be used as toilet paper during the frequent nature dumps taken by many incontinent field hands, still miraculously drunk on cheap Mexican beer during the rainy season, rather than to enhance their levels of peaceful bliss.

    In the immortal words of the late, great Fingal O'Flaherty himself, fecking philistines!

    Do you blog at all Eileen, are you, like some of the wonderful milquetoast's who visit here, plagued by the urge to put quill to parchment in the wee small hours? My curiosity grows as to exactly what activities a lady of S.A finds to fill her time as the candle nub sinks slowly to the saucer of early morn.

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    1. I didn't expect my late night visit would escape you. Hope I didn't wake you by stumbling about in the hallway after an extended trip along the top shelf. Left to my own devices after the rest of the party had bailed, the small portable screen wouldn't co-operate whilst attempting to navigate my way. Probably user interface related.

      Sadly, blogging seems not to be for me. Tried it once, managed an exhausting two posts in little over a year. More than enough words yet to read, rather than write.

      xxx

      Delete
    2. I know the feeling well hen. I once tried sobriety, managed an exhausting afternoon drinking coffee before realising it wasn't for me. Och well, eh?

      It wasn't your stumbling that awoke me, it was the cold of the porcelain as you forgot to put down the seat once again.

      Delete
    3. Is that what it was? I thought it was you're wee pal's halo.

      Whether to be a lady in darkest Africa is always a toss up.

      Delete
    4. My wee pal's halo has been missing ever since my dear mammy found him 'experimenting' with her Sunday frock some 25 years since. Twas a terrible shock for them both.

      Delete
  24. Apologies for my tardiness, I have been off on a jaunt of mercy in which I may or may not have passed your dear auntie's house on a few occasions. The sun was kind to us on 'The Ring' and many Euros were collected for a cause dear to our hearts.

    Pint?

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    1. Ah Maurcheen, at last. No need to muddy the waters on your recent absence. Somewhere above is the explanation (as I truly understand it) as to why you have been absent from the fold. I'll play along with your opening nugatory onomatopoeia, if it will assist your sanguine complexion. Do tell, as you passed the dear auntie's home up there on the Ring, did you happen to notice the postman's bicycle propped nonchalantly about the property at all? Only, no one else in the village has received a word of mail for a week or more, yet the auntie has been leaving mysterious messages with Siobhan about the enormous package she has received each day this week. Tis grand to hear that your own ring is not too warm, one hears so many stories about the autumn months up there in the hills, especially with those shepherds alone and with the drink in them. Take some broth from the hearth, settle and then come on back for a wee dram and a blather in front of the fire, eh?

      Delete
  25. One glass of Highland Park and I'll be back listening to my father finally, in his nineties, talking about his life.
    A sip, a dram, and another locked door was opening.

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    1. Highland Park owes its distinctive flavour to the peat used in the process. It is ranked as one of the top whiskies in the world, which makes it hard to believe that the same company are connected with the diaphanous winkle-piddle better known as Grouse.

      Delete
  26. You first had me drooling for the onion soup - the weather here is just thinking about autumn, and my thoughts turn to soup. Then, the cassata! Sweet wounded Jesus, that sounds like a plate full of heaven - although i'd find a way to work raspberries into the mix, as there is nothing tastier than dark chocolate and raspberries! Then all of that was quickly forgotten... what's this about a tattoo?

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    1. The tattoo may well be of an assemblage of ripe raspeberries hanging from a very thick stalk. Ideal to dip in your chocolate my dear daisy.

      Delete
    2. i find that juicy, ripe raspberries respond well to a brisk shaking of the stalk. the chocolate must be rich, creamy and warm enough to flow slowly, covering the berries completely. [back in five. off to smoke a cigarette.]

      Delete
  27. What a feast of words. It seems churlish to question your spelling od zabaglione but it used to be a speciality of mine in the seventies when we had dinner parties.
    I have to admit that exophagy has me stumped but I come here to learn from the Master.
    BTW I love the Canadian riposte and the pud looks as divine as it sounds.
    I agree tastes can transport you to past times but I heard a very convincing woman on the radio talking about the importance of the shape of wine glasses being vital to properly smell the wine before the taste. I tried it this week-end and the grapefruit aroma and taste added to my enjoyment. You know all this don't you?
    As far as I am concerned you can be as rude as you like about M. Gibson - by all accounts a dreadful person.

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  28. I love my collection of snow globes.... particularly the one from Jamaica featuring a waxen voodoo doll reclining beneath a Roystonea altissima. My cousins add to my collection each year, which is lovingly displayed on my kitchen dresser... Are you telling me that I could be the victim of a hideous family joke?????
    Qx

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    1. My dear Scarlet, a tremble of terror has passed within me this very moment. Could it be possible that you are in fact my auntie?

      I can only assume that your collection of snow globes that sit in a once sparkling array upon your kitchen dresser, look as though they have been terribly troubled with yet another hideous ash-cloud due to the dust that adorns their pinnacle.

      Perhaps we would both be nearer the mark if we described their 'interesting' interiors as Royston Herts, rather than Roystonea altissima?

      Delete
  29. Dear lady, your are correct to question my spelling of zabaglione, however in the above script I have plumped for the Italian pronunciation rather than the norm. So much more cosmopolitan, don't you think?

    Exophagy, one has to remember my course Irish roots before re-running the phrase back and forwards over the tongue Patricia, the little singing fella is not the only one with a background rougher than a slate layers nail bag. It all becomes clear...

    Canadian ripostes are never easy given the fact that we Celts being Ghod's truly chosen people, very rarely find a level playing field when it comes to a battle of wit. Pony-doll, being half-Viking is an excellent combatant due to her love of grandiloquent patter.

    Glass shape is extremely important to the sense of smell dear lady, have you ever wondered exactly why the most beautiful flowers are always tubular shaped?

    Sadly, M. Gibson and I are no longer on speaking terms due to my height and his unfortunate inchoate body shape. You know how difficult it is for me to bend to the incondites of this world.

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    1. Och... coarse, not 'course'. What an eejit I am!

      Delete

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