Là na Cailliche sona dhuibh!

So the Cailleach has thrown down her wand (or mallet) in disgust and spring is now officially here...

Dh’ fhag e mhan mi, dh’ fhag e ‘n ard mi Dh’ fhag e eadar mo dha lamh mi, Dh’ fhag e bial mi, dh’ fhag e cul mi, Dh’ fha e eadar mo dha shul mi. Dh’ fhag e shios mi, dh’ fhag e shuas mi, Dh’ fhag e eadar mo dha chluas mi, Dh’ fhag e thall mi, dh’ fhag e bhos mi, Dh’ fhag e eadar mo dha chos mi. Thilg mi ‘n slacan druidh donai, Am bun preis crin cruaidh conuis. Far nach fas fionn no foinnidh, Ach fracan froinnidh feurach.’

It escaped me below, it escaped me above.   It escaped me between my two hands,   It escaped me before, it escaped me behind,   It escaped me between my two eyes.   It escaped me down, it escaped me up,   It escaped me between my two ears,   It escaped me thither, it escaped me hither,   It escaped me between my two feet.   I threw my druidic evil wand.   Into the base of a withered hard whin bush,   Where shall not grow ‘ fionn ‘ nor ‘ fionnidh’,   But fragments of grassy ‘froinnidh.’

E.C. Watson

Là Fhèill Brìghde was cold and bright, and the weather ever since has been completely the opposite - warm, wet and cloudy - up until around the equinox last week. Now we have glorious sunshine, hazy views across the sea, and the garden is getting into its full swing. Yesterday, on Là na Cailliche, we all piled into the car and headed over to the fair that's in a neighbouring town - one of the last hangovers from the traditional trade fairs that would take place twice a year around the equinoxes, where people would go to find themselves gainful employment. Now it's just an opportunity to have fun and eat too many sweeties, and, if you're six and nearly five, it's time to have a go on as many rides or bouncy things as possible:

And go 'fishing' for Winnie the Pooh, prize guaranteed. Rosie chose bubbles:

(I would like to point out that I had nothing to do with putting that outfit together).

Back home, with the warm and dry weather it was time to give the veg a watering and see how they're all getting on. It's taken a while but the first lot of onions I put in are starting to sprout:

As are the peas. As yet the sprouts, leeks, carrots and second set of onions and peas are still thinking about it (I'm a bit worried that the seeds I've used for the leeks and some of the carrots may be out of date now, so they won't do anything, but oh well. There may be a few late harvests this year). I've lost a raspberry bush in the storms at the beginning of the year, but I still have the golden raspberry I planted last year and it seems to be settling in nicely, as is the blackcurrant. The rhubarb is looking a little sad and forlorn, but the rowan is proudly unfurling its leaves and some blossom buds:

Last year was the first time the tree blossomed and I left the berries to the birds to give them their due. This year I might harvest some for drying, depending how well the berries do.

The cowslip is going strong:

And a primrose I grew from seed last year survived! Just:

It's not all yellow in the garden, though:

But spring is well under way already. If this year is anything like last year, the late spring will be glorious and sunny and the summer itself will be a washout, so we're making the most of it right now.

It's my daughter's fifth birthday this coming weekend, then we have most of my family coming to visit for Easter, so things are very busy round here. There has been a lot of spring cleaning to get the house back in shape - I have been pretty incapacitated for the most of the year so far, but it seems that with a change in weather (and medications) things have improved a little. I'm a little more mobile now, so that's one thing, and after a winter of not being up to much the house needs some TLC - a few repairs need to be done, a few finishing touches that need to finally get seen to and so on. The patio has been pressure cleaned to remove the algae that had turned the concrete slabs green, the carpets have been cleaned, the spare room has been de-furred and claimed back from the dogs, and all the bedding has been washed. And the cupboard under the stairs has been bravely tackled. The cobwebs have been well and truly dusted away.

It's a glamorous life, I'm sure you'll agree...

Boxty (fail)

Continuing with an appropriately Irish theme, last week I decided to try my hand at making boxty pancakes. I'm not sure if the "pancakes" is a necessary identifier to that, but the recipe I used for it (from a book I have called Irish Food and Folklore) is different to the ones I've seen online, so maybe there's a difference between the usual boxty and the kind I made. Or maybe the recipe I have is duff, because...things did not work out well.

The recipe for it is simple:

1 lb potatoes
2 tbsp flour
1 tsp baking powder
salt and pepper
150ml milk
oil, for frying

But differs from other recipes for boxty (also known as stamp) in that they usually use mashed potato as well as grated potato. All you have to do for this one is grate the potatoes, mix it with the other ingredients, and dollop spoonfuls into a hot pan. In theory it should take around 5 minutes frying on each side. In theory. And then you have some lovely golden-brown boxty pancakes, good served with bacon or jam and butter. In theory.

What I actually ended doing was a) burning a lot of grated potato onto the bottom of the pan, and b) eventually taking the remainder of the pancakes out of the pan, still somewhat soggy in the middle, and leaving them to cool for a while before returning to the pan. This must've allowed them to dry out a little or something, because they cooked a lot better after that.

This is what I ended up with:

Before I gave up. Still somewhat soggy in the middle, but quite tasty nonetheless. Next time I think I'll stick with the internet recipes, there was far too much liquid in this version. As for the folklore part of the recipe book, there's a wee rhyme associated with it:

Boxty on the griddle,
Boxty in the pan,
If you can’t make boxty,
You’ll never get a man.


Boxty on the griddle,
Boxty in the pan,
The wee one in the middle,
That’s the one for Mary Anne.

I'm just glad I'm already married...

I hope you have a good "St Patrick's Day," however you celebrate (or not).

Well. Quite

Source

The inevitable Paddy post

It's that time of year again where the internet is buzzing with the legend of Saint Patrick and his driving of all the snakes from Ireland. Not that there ever were any snakes in Ireland. So, you know, obviously that means it was code for druids...

This time last year I remember a big fuss being made about "All Snakes Day" in various places, being promoted as an alternative to St Patrick's Day. I have to admit it really did get my goat a little. So far this year, all I've seen (aside from a few off-hand comments referencing the idea in passing) is how the whole thing is based on faulty history; the snakes weren't the druids, they were snakes. And the story itself was lifted from a different saint's life. And so on. So all in all, holding an alternative day of mourning for the demise of the druids, based on a story that was never about the druids...It seems a bit pointless to me. It's nice to see that so many agree, otherwise I'd feel even more curmudgeonly than I already do.

Then again, one could argue that faulty interpretations of history (and culture) are what St Patrick's Day is all about now. Some years ago, Ben and Jerry's ice cream released a special edition flavour to "celebrate Irish culture." They had the brilliant idea of calling it "Black and Tan," which oh no, couldn't possibly be offensive at all - it's a drink, right?

Umm. No. Not just a drink, anyway.

After the outcry, they pulled the ice cream and apologised profusely. So it's quite perplexing that Nike have now decided to "celebrate" in a similar way with their Guinness and Black and Tan trainers. Awww. Bless 'em. I like how "celebrating" is unashamedly synonymous with "cashing in on" and "being totally unaware of history."

Speaking of which, the controversial parade in New York excels itself in not really grasping the current political situation (or correct and appropriate terminology) as well. I give you exhibit A:

The only banners allowed are ones identifying the unit or "England Get Out of Ireland". Only one banner for each unit. NO EXCEPTIONS!!

Source

Gorm has had a good vent over on his blog about all this and I agree wholeheartedly with his views there. We can harp on about bad history or just get on with it and observe - if we so wish - the day as a celebration of culture and heritage. Not the shamrocks and the weird green beer (seriously folks, what's that about?), not the stereotypes of leprechauns and obligatory drunkenness...how about good food, good music, and some good stories instead?

Anyway, I thought I'd leave you with an irreverent view of St Patrick and some of the lore associated with him from some funny and slightly hapless Irish guys. It's well worth a watch, but be aware that there is some language so it probably won't be safe for work (or small children who don't need their vocabulary expanding). And there's also mild inebriation involved:

Flapjacks

Food is a very important thing, culturally-speaking. Different cultures have different kinds of treats, for one, and as far as celebrating things are concerned, sweet treats can form a very special part of it. At Christmas, in Scotland, it's traditional to have a black bun (something I've yet to try my hand at) or a Selkirk bannock. Gingerbread is always good at Hallowe'en, while cranachan is the must have tastiness at the harvest...

And then there are the kind of treats that aren't really associated with particular times of year, but more to do with the kind of ingredients that tend to lurk in cupboards. Indian treats tend to be very coconutty, for example, whereas in Scotland they generally consist of fat, sugar, various flavourings (often spices like caraway or ginger, and/or dried fruits), and oats or flour of some of form or another. Shortbread? Clootie dumpling? Parlies? Pitcaithly bannock? Yetholm bannock?

It was this reason that led me to one very shocking and important discovery (according to Wikipedia, so it must be true), since I had some porridge oats that needed using:

The US and Canada don't have flapjacks.

Not like we do on this side of the Pond, anyway. Apparently a flapjack is a kind of pancake in north America, while here they are made of oaty, buttery, sugary and syrupy deliciousness:

The reason I discovered this is because I was going to post the fruits of my labours and a recipe, and it occurred to me that golden syrup isn't really a thing in the US. So I wondered what kind of alternatives were used instead, and apparently the answer is: None, really. Corn syrup would be the obvious choice, but it seems that most folks hold out for golden syrup when they decide to make "English flapjacks" (as they seem to be called, but they're not just an English thing, honest) as some sort of exotic tastiness...It seems odd to think of something so fundamental to my own childhood and existence as not being a thing somewhere. That it's seen as something different.

So anyway, if you fancy clogging up your arteries and speeding up your Type 2 diabetes, why not try some? The following recipe is for the usual homemade flapjack, that goes quite hard and kind of crunchy-but-chewy once they. If you want a softer flapjack, either: Eat before they've cooled down, or add a little bit more golden syrup, a tablespoon of flour or so, and bake a little thicker. The recipe I used calls for an 11'' x 7'' pan, but I prefer using a slightly smaller one so they're thicker so I get a bit of chewiness in the middle.


Ingredients

8oz porridge oats (or rolled/jumbo oats)
4oz butter
3oz sugar
2tbsp golden syrup

Method

1. Put the butter, sugar and syrup into a pan and heat until golden melted goodness is achieved.

2. Stir in the oats until well mixed and whack into a baking tray.

3. Bake in the oven at 350F/180C/Gas Mark 4 for about 20 minutes or until a nice golden-brown on top.

4. Remove from the oven and cut the flapjacks into fingers. Leave to cool before removing.

5. Eat. Try not to fall into a diabetic coma.