Mayan Over Matter

For breakfast this morning we munched on wheat toast spread thickly with raw honey straight from the hive. Tiny pools of Scottish butter bubbled to the surface as I passed a hot flame across the honey glaze. Black coffee, bitter and dark as only real coffee can be, complimented the definitive flavours that tangoed upon our tongues. Together, as a family, we devoured the morning papers for more news of the impending doom that awaits us next week. Just like all rational people living in the 21st century, my own personal religion stems from an interpretation of a single set of tablets discovered in the 1960s at the archaeological site of Tortuguero in the Mexican state of Tabasco. I would be foolish to ignore the warnings by leading Epigraphists who say the prophecy foretells the beginning of a new era, The world as we know it... is doomed. Before the cock has crowed three times we shall join the rag-tag brigade of intelligent human beings scurrying to the uppermost peak of  Pic de Bugarach where we will be greeted by Bono, Sarah Palin and no doubt Elvis Presley, as we await salvation by way of an alien space craft. I hope they serve lunch.

I might not go. I still have a side door to hang on the garage, not to mention the bottles of red wine vinegar that I am supposed to be preparing on Friday for Missus O'Flaherty at number 63. She doesn't get out much, not with her varicose veins and this cold weather an all. Besides, who would feed the llamas, collect the eggs from my chickens and milk the goats in my absence? Not bloody Bono, that's for sure. Perhaps I'll just give this decades doomsday prediction a miss. Maybe join the bandwagon on the next one. Isn't the next worlds end due in a phone box somewhere in California at the hand of Colin Farrell and a plague of sniper trained locusts or something? It might be my tired oul eyes, but I could swear that the new postman is Samuel L Jackson and in his sack he is delivering hundreds of snakes. I'm starting to lose track, too much Fox News and egg nog seems to have scrambled my memory. I must also give the more stronger of Gorgonzola cheese a miss at bedtime, the dreams are becoming more lucid with every bite of the cracker.

Just in case the Mayans do get it right and after receiving a synchronising ray coming from the epicentre of the galaxy, a ray that will originate a gigantic radiant flaming that will bring the destruction of the planet through cataclysm to a fiery burning end, I have to get this secret off my chest. I am responsible for the disappearance of Jimmy Hoffa, his body is entombed within the concrete column at Giants Stadium. I also shot JR, but that was just for fun. I also kidnapped Shergar, he lives on in my barn, we ride him every Sunday, the grand weans love him. I also have a secret wee twin brother who goes by the name of Map. We were separated at birth after my da threw him in the river tied up in a sack (obvious reasons) and sure enough, a movie was based on our life story. The actors of course being Danny De Vito and Arnold Muscledlump. I am sure you can figure out exactly who played who! However, for those of you not planning on making the trip to Bugarach next week, I thought I might occupy your time with a winter warmer to put a smile back on your face. Enjoy.

Apocalypse Pie

675g (1 1/2 lb) diced braising steak

sea salt and freshly ground pepper

2 heaped teaspoons of plain flour

olive oil (good stuff please)

1 red onion, peeled and diced

1 carrot, peeled and diced

4 sticks of celery, diced

1 small handful of fresh herbs (rosemary, thyme, bay leaf)

1 (500ml) bottle of Guinness

4 chopped tomatoes

1 (500g) packet of puff pastry (if you are a heathen or just plain lazy)

1 free range egg, beaten

 

 

Season your beef well with the salt and pepper to taste, sprinkle with flour and toss around until coated. I use a plastic bag, it works better than anything else.

Heat 2 to 3 glugs of olive oil in a large casserole type pot and fry your meat until well browned.

Add the onion and fry for one more minute, then add celery, carrots and herbs. Cook for a further 5 minutes then pour in your Guinness.

Add the tomatoes; bring to the boil. Stir well, then simmer for 2 hours or until the meat is tender.

The sauce should be nice and thick with an intensely tasty flavour. If not, why not? Season with salt and pepper.

To make the pie, preheat the oven to 190 degrees/gas mark 5.

Put the meat filling into a large baking dish.

Roll out the pastry and place over your baking dish, making sure it is slightly bigger than the circumference of the dish.

Brush the rims of your dish with beaten egg, then place the pastry on top of the dish, squashing the extra pastry on the outside of the dish to secure. Lightly score the top of the pastry in a criss-cross fashion and brush with more egg. If you're in the mood you can add fancy oak leaves or a lattice.

Place on a baking tray (to catch the drips of pure goodness) and bake in the middle of the preheated oven for 45 minutes until golden and bubbling.

 

Serve with thick gravy, mashed tatties and mint peas. Do serve a good bottle of red wine with the meal to be sure of reaching food heaven. Don't forget... the last slice is for me.

 

See you in the new world on Thursday, or maybe not....