Queueing in Cambridge

We're fortunate where we live to be surrounded by farm fields on all sides save one which is a nice little city airport.  So, our views on any day can be like the one Haggis shared below.  We also have the option of cycling into the city centre of Cambridge, which is a pleasant 30 minute-ish ride that takes us via cycle paths and pedestrian bridges into the market and university areas of the city, where all sorts of cosmopolitan opportunities abound, i.e., shopping, cinema, museums, gardens and restaurants.  We can even go farther afield into London on a nice 45-minute journey by train.  Life sounds pretty good, eh?  But, then there are those other days when life in Cambridge is reduced to huge sighs, a few expletives and mobile texts explaining why you're late to your appointment.  (I know that's irresponsible but hey, look, I'm not going anywhere... and I took a photo to prove it.) 

It begins...

Yesterday saw the kick off of dementiaCOMPASS, a project I've been working on for about 18 months.  For a while, I thought I was never going to get there, but then I realized that its time would come and 'not now' didn't mean 'not ever'.  This has been a lesson I've been exploring for about 15 years and has been gratefully shoved down my throat since I moved to Britain.  You see, things happen slowly here.  There is little of the instant gratification I would have expected from my life back home.  In fact, I don't even expect gratification, i.e., happiness, all of the time, it surely is nice but isn't necessary from every aspect of my life.  This seems to make life a little more enjoyable, strangely even gratifying.

So, when people say to me that I should have done something else to get a better, faster, more improved result, I hear their words differently.  I don't hear 'you did that wrong' as much anymore, instead I hear that given what they know about the situation, they would have played things differently.  Fair enough.  Meanwhile, I'll consider yesterday a success knowing all that I know about the day and all that came from it.

Let's hope I can keep that perspective as dementiaCOMPASS develops and grows.  The next few months will be interesting and I'll keep you posted.  There will actually be a website link soon, but not now and that certainly doesn't mean not ever.

Foreign food from local places

Yes, yes, I'm back with lots to share...

First off, dinner!  Foreign foods made with local ingredients.  Tonight we dined on chile rellenos con queso and a corn and tomato salad.  All the ingredients were local, with the most miles on the Monterey Jack cheese from an English dairy and the Spanish beer.

During an outing last week with work, I stumbled upon a farmer's market stall selling salsa and chutneys made primarily from peppers.  These didn't really stand out but behind them was a bushel of Anaheim peppers, looking absolutely gorgeous and begging to go home with me.  The vendor was a little stunned when I proceeded to stuff a bag full of them, ten total. 

The recipe was made from scratch and all went well, even the frying which always seems to make me cringe a bit.  The tomato sauce was made with our own tomatoes from the greenhouse.  Our corn isn't quite ready yet, but this morning's local farmer's market had one lone ear that served us well.  

The corn and tomato salad was inspired by a recent post from Chez Pim.  It's definitely a salad that will come up again for us once our corn comes due.

It's been a while since I last wrote... it's not for lack of trying there are a heaps of 'drafts' within CasaHaggis that just weren't up to snuff.

I wonder if it's the weather that makes blogging possible for me. The lack of longing grey puts a much clearer spin on the muddle in my head... plus things have been busy.

The weather broke Easter weekend, an official four-day holiday with Friday and Monday "bank holidays" for all, I've learned, except those in care professions... like me. So I worked on Friday which was fine for me because I have things to do and a holiday will only get in the way. The rest of the weekend turned out to be quite delightful with our first snow of ... winter. Yes whilst everyone else is thawing out we got a good weekend of white stuff, enough for children to scatter large snowpeople throughout the city.


Meanwhile, Alastair and I indulged in a good American-style brunch hosted by a Brit with a Malaysian story. The menu was influenced by recent travels to Seattle and included good huevos rancheros, homemade granola, British hot cross buns, lots of tea and coffee, followed by several newspapers to read. And, yes, people! British people actually rose out of their beds for the occasion and brought their smiles, well, mostly. So, a great weekend, and the social connections, led on to some baking and an impromptu dinner with lost friends.

In between snow storms, Alastair and I snuck out to peak at our rhubarb plants which have been glistening with potential for some weeks now, like rubies against the darkness of their cloches. We managed to harvest sixteen ounces of rosy-ness, and thanks to Epicurious, we turned it into the best compote we've ever tasted. This paired with a polenta cake traveled with us to dinner where it was welcomed with open arms and mouths. I think Alastair's even planning more rhubarb plants for our future so we don't loose any sunny, ruby goodness.

It's good to be back. Hope you missed me!

Wary of Wellies...

Since I first arrived in the UK, I've fought the Wellies movement with the hope it would .... well, move on. The cascade of polka dots, flowers and stripes have been a little too much to bear... as evidenced at last year's folk festival when a little rain brought out everyone's short shorts and rubber.

There is another personality that ascribes to the Wellington boot, i.e., the country walker. Usually in our village that means the dog walker, but occasionally we see others sporting them. Alastair and I do own pairs of wanna-be wellies, but they are stashed in the attic since I found them a bit complicated when worn around mud and very hard on the knees. I just couldn't get the hang of them around the riverbottom mud that assumes the surface position after a good rain here. It's like cake icing.

A couple of weekends ago, Alastair and I joined friends for a walk in Essex. It had rained the day before but was clear Saturday. After an interesting lunch at The Cricketeers in Clavering, which some of you would appreciate knowing is where the Naked Chef got his start, we wandered about the fields, enjoying the clear skies and a small hill. Up a hill means down a hill, right ... which is where we came upon a little ravine with the announcement, "It's a little slippery down here." That was a classic British euphemism for a 100 yard bobsledding track. With much holding of breath, children and our trousers, we finally got skidded down it. As you can tell from the photo, I finally gave in and walked right through it. Further afield, we passed a dogwalker, well dressed with a clean dog. He took one look at me and shook his head... he was wearing wellies.

I can't say how I would have managed in wellies on that walk. I was grateful for the waterproof quality of my Blundstones ... but perhaps a little rubber would have made the clean-up easier.

At last... Sun!

Blue skies seem to be few and far between this winter. Mom's average for sunny days during her visit was pretty sad.... something near 6 out of 18 days. Fortunately, we managed to take advantage of almost every one of them without hurting ourselves running for the front door.

Our last day of sun was spent doing girl-y things in Cambridge's city centre, aka downtown. Wandering through the Sunday craft market, shopping for hemp clothing to take home to the States, buying matching boots and cardigans (not hemp but prettier), drinking seasonal coffees at Starbucks and browsing the few galleries that were open, at the while trying to stand in the sunny spots.

Here's hoping my mom comes in the summer next time.

2008!

Thick with colds, the best way to bring in the new year ...

games of Scrabble
chocolate fondue
Shooglenifty
and a whisky.

Hope your celebrations were just as good or better.

And, if you're inspired by the idea of chocolate fondue, here are a few dippers to consider:

biscotti
coconut macaroons
ladyfingers
blackberries
marshmallows
crystallized ginger
salted pretzels and
clementines.

Happy New Year!

Downsizing...

Last June, you know, in the summertime and six months after my introduction into gingerbread engineering, I volunteered to make gingerbread house kits for our annual church Christmas fundraiser in December. It's a good cause; it could be a good moneymaker... and, it would be good to revisit gingerbread and see if I had learned anything at all.

So, with lots of notice, I planned and shopped and organized ... and with Alastair's help and a healthy sugar high, I actually finished with time to spare. So, thanks to Martha, twenty kits found good homes, which was a huge relief because I can't imagine what I would have done with them otherwise.

Something for everyone?

Post Office, St. John's Street, Cambridge

Best Laid Plans of ...

Camping, Fowlmere

Well, our vacation plans were foiled by trains, illness and weather. After postponing our vacation because Squeak was sick, Alastair brought home a cold from Belgium... ooh, how exotic!... gave it to me ...I would have preferred chocolates!... and it showed itself on what would have been the first day of our trip. The colds shouldn't have posed a problem except that our vacation was meant to be a 100-mile cycling journey along the Norfolk coast which commenced and ended with train rides from and to Cambridge (100 miles each way) but neither train was running that week and bicycles were not allowed on the alternate bus option, on top of that Autumn/Winter reared its head offering a week-long weather forecast of wind from the North (brrrrr) and rain. Not keen to tour 300 miles in five days under those circumstances and call it a 'holiday', we scrubbed our original plans, saving the mid-week reservation we had at Morston Hall, more on that in a later post.

Above are photos (if you click on the photo, it will open up a small photo album) from our mini-camping/cycling adventure. Since everything was packed and loaded AND Alastair and I have never camped together ever. On principal, we mounted our bicycles for an overnight in a village not far from home. We cycled a mild and pleasant 10 miles to Fowlmere where I experienced my British camping site. Camping in England is a bit like staying at a KOA. Our tent was nestled between two caravans (trailers) on an old apple orchard. There was hot water to wash dishes and showers for a 50 pence piece. Alastair called it our Shakedown Tour. We almagamated our camping equipment, discovered that we're still cold even in our three-season equipment. But the important things worked: tea and coffee. Dinner and breakfast were enjoyable although arrangements will be necessary in order to eat off the wet grass and outside the tent... there wasn't a rock to spare.

Harvest Time: El Tiempo de la Cosecha

At long last, it's time to cook! Since we've returned from our mini-camping trip, we've been feasting on tomatillo treats: chilaquiles, stewed fish burritos, and just plain salsa. It's been worth the wait.

The best part is that world domination is imminent. The seedlings I passed along to my nutritionist friend, Marie-Ann, are now producing their own yield and she is loving the recipes shared thus far. Exponentially speaking, the world is not my oyster but my tomatillo.

More to come, promise.

So, these last few weeks have been filled with good news, sad news and waiting for a certain someone to make her debut. It's been bittersweet. All the while, the garden continues to grow, with Alastair and I dining on zucchini these last three nights and that's all from one plant. (I thought we'd learned from two plants last year, grin.) The tomatillos are madly producing their lovely little lanterns, the corn is doing its very best to mature two cobs per stalk and there are four pumpkins working hard to make this Halloween our very best. Soon, we'll be canning.

Wild Orchid

This morning, I was surprised by the telephone in the early hour of seven. Gill, a friend from the library, was wandering over to our local reserve to view the Bee Orchids and did I want to come. I've never seen a native wild orchid, only those tropical orchids gifted or purchased. So, early morning wander and new discovery? I think so!

We cycled to the center of the reserve near the big oak tree, ambled passed it and into a marshy field that I often pass when I take the neighbor's dogs for a walk. It was a grey morning, threatening rain, which was actually really good at allowing all the colors to show through. I think I would have walked right by them, had it been sunny.

Actually, I might have walked by them all together because they are so small. None of the flowers grew above my knee and I spend most of the morning on my hands and knees, soaking clear through my jeans with the marsh moist. The bee orchid was so small, almost a micro-miniature of the similar lady's slipper orchid one can often find at the florist or in client-based offices where the reception area is meant to entertain you whilst you wait. I had to really look for the bee orchid because it often wasn't higher than the grass that surrounded it. And, I must confess, it paled to the common spotted orchid that grows near it. This orchid, seen above, was complex with patterned leaves as well as delicate detailed ink trails on its petals. It surrounded me in every shade of its mauve purple. Nearby, was another orchid I have yet to identify, a yellow petals stalk with long fangs it seemed. And, beyond that a small fern known as an adder's tongue for its snake like blossom. It's not bigger than a finger, as illustrated in the photos I've linked to below.

The sun showed itself just enough to illuminate a few photos which I have assembled the best of in a slide show just for you. At the end of the slide show is a 20-second long film of a bee orchid, which has a tiny drop of pollen dangling in its center. I hope you enjoy it all.

Untitled

What do you call a blog entry that goes like this...

For our birthdays this year, Alastair and I bought cycling shoes and clips for our bicycles. The cycling shoes are the kind that look like normal shoes and the clips are like a metal paperclip in the toe of the shoe that springs free from the pedal with a twist of the ankle. I've never used them before, and we went out for a practice run last Saturday. As we left Alastair said he'd like to take a longer route through two more villages, and I realized that I would want warmer clothes, so about twenty feet from the house, I made a U-turn, too close for comfort and BAM! fell down. I can't say that I even fell off the bike because I was still clipped in, I probably looked like the wind just blew me over.

I have some strange memory of getting a bicycle for my birthday a number of years ago. Anyone want to bet that I fell off that bicycle too?

Tuna Rice Bowls

On Friday, we were treated to dinner at Satnam and Susan's. I have only dined with them a few times, but knew up front that I was following in the footsteps of a global audience. I am one of hundreds from around the world who have graced their dinner table. This particular evening was highlighted by Satnam's mother joining us. Good timing, I think.

Friday evening's menu started with strawberry and orange smoothies, then carrot, cilantro and honey soup, followed by Tuna Rice Bowls. Satnam used a recipe from the Herb Farm's cookbook, which he obtained on one of his jaunts across the pond. Lucky us. Even luckier, we ate from a beautiful piece of tuna thanks to Susan's savvy and negotiations at our local Waitrose fish counter. Yes, I noted the necessary skills for me to use next time.

Jumping right in at the rice bowls, Satnam sat down to chop and slice all the necessary vegetables at the dinner table so we could talk and salivate as a group. Avocados, cucumbers, mint, coriander and nori sheets were all waved in front of our noses. Then, Satnam unwrapped the tuna, something I haven't seen in a while... a wedge of tuna that makes me imagine exactly where it came from on the fish. After sharpening his knife and cutting the tuna, Satnam seared it in an almost smoking pan. A quick assembly and voila! a fantastic, filling salad. Yes, salad!

We finished the meal off with pineapple and mango dressed with sugar-tossed basil. It's a tough way to start a weekend as nothing I ate the rest of the weekend held a candle to Friday night's food.

Temporary Exhibit: Children of the Second World War

Back in February, I took advantage of the former church centre premises and held an exhibit of some work done by the local primary school in partnership with our village nursing home. I had done some mask work with both communities last year and was invited to a small party showing of the work at the nursing home. Apparently, this year's school curricula are examining the Second World War and with some funding from the national Heritage Lottery fund, the local city government, and the Cambridge Film Consortium, a local dramatic group got together a group of students to interview home residents who were children of the WWII. The results were shown at the party. The results were so evocative that I asked if I could show it in the then vacant space on the main street in town. Working with the local history society and the coordinators of the project, we came up with a strong exhibit of resident quotes and student interpretations, along with some visual aids in the form of artefacts such as rations cards, gas masks, flags, and music.

For the following five days, I hosted the public exhibit, which means that I know every word of the ten minute loop of film footage including songs, classroom exercises and interviews. I think I dreamt about eating a potato sandwich one night, which was Elsie's 14 year old memory: 'You've never lived until you've eaten a potato sandwich'. And, poor Alastair's grew quite tired of hearing me hum a tune sung by a very special home resident who's 102 this August. (By the way, did you know that every British citizen who lives to 100 receives a telegram from the Queen herself?)

I think we have all heard the memories of our parents or grandparents as they experienced blackouts and food shortages in the States. I certainly remember my grandmother talking about them. What I didn't know until moving here was that Britain suffered severe shortages due for primarily to its geography. It's deeply woven into the nation's memory. Frugality, which can be the bane of my existence at times, has reared its head on a number of occasions be it with food, books, even broken things. I wonder how much of that is a reflex of muscle memory born in survival, just like the reflex to avoid flame.

As an island, Britain had fewer land resources to rely upon than we did in the States. This was complicated even more by the supply ships not making it through to British ports. As a result of the depression and these shortages, health was poor and the Ministry of Food issued
daily milk ration to children in schools and heavily purported the benefits of cod liver oil, rosehip syrup and concentrated orange juice, which by the way isn't available in the stores here like it is in the States today. Several of the visitors to the exhibit shared memories of collecting rose hips here in East Anglia to sell to the government as a way to help their family's income and support of the nation's war efforts

Other memories were from the children who were evacuated from London to protect them from bombings. These children were sent by train or bus to rural areas where they were housed until it was safe to return, sometimes being evacuated twice. One woman told of six children to a bed, three at the top and three at the bottom.

Women were tasked not only to work in factories but to work on the farm, as the men who weren't fighting in the war were volunteering for Local Defence Volunteer Corps (Dad's army), the women house evacuated children, and made do with the weekly rations and creative exchanges of clothing, preserves, and any foodstuffs grown or raised.

A adult weekly ration consisted of something like:

Butter: 2oz (50g)
Bacon and ham: 4 oz (100g)
Margarine: 4 oz (100g)
Sugar: 8oz (225g)
Meat: To the value of one shilling and sixpence (1s.2d) per week, approx. 15 cents today)
Milk: 3 pints (1800 ml), occasionally dropping to 2 pints (1200ml)
Eggs: 1 fresh egg a week
Dried egg: 1 packet every four weeks
Cheese: 2 oz (50g)
Tea 2 o (50g)
Jam: 1 pound every two months (450g)
Sweets: 12 oz (350g) every four weeks

But, there were no guarantees that the stores had all this available at once. At some point, it was encouraged to return stale bread to the butcher so pigs could eat it. Clothing was also rationed and a motto of 'Make do and mend.' is well known. The clothing factories and employees were employed for munitions.

Meanwhile, something mentioned often was that there was a sense of hope that this would pass. This rang true for me as I put two and two together: On V Day, now known as VE Day (Victory in Europe) to distinguish it from VJ (...Japan) Day, street parties brought everyone out to share whatever might have been stashed away for a celebration, for example tins of fruit. If people didn't think they were going to make it, why save something special for the future?

One of the most moving parts of the exhibit was a point brought to my attention by a woman who was an infant in the war. She had no real memories of the war only the years following. She noted that the generation who were children or teenagers in the war will soon be unable to remind us of this time, that it will be lost to the history books and that this would be a great loss for Britain and the world.

Love Green!

Growing up in southern California, I have a romantic relationship with fruit smoothies. I grew up with them: they were often breakfast, and even sometimes lunch and they fortified many a long distance swim. One of the few things I can say that I've possessed all of my adult life is a blender for this very reason. This tradition continued in the UK, where much to Alastair's dismay I purchased a blender, which he could only attribute to margaritas. Tsk, tsk.

Now, can you imagine what happens when a SoCal girl and a Scottish boy share breakfast? Yes, it's very interesting. I live in a land where the quintessential breakfast consists of savoury (salted) porridge and on Sundays, a Fry-Up which consists of fried eggs, bacon, sausage, blood pudding, fried bread and for those of you wondering where the heck the vegetables are... fried mushrooms and a tomato. If you've traveled in the UK, then you understand.

Fortunately, Alastair only inhales a fry-up when we're staying in B&Bs, and even then we try to avoid it. Instead, I married a man who's default breakfast is porridge with orange marmalade as the closest thing to fruit which might accompany it.

So, what has happened? A meeting of the minds: porridge with smoothie accompaniment, usually it's blueberries, banana and apple juice.

This time, I indulged an attraction to green smoothies and followed those fruits that are most available around here, thanks to imports from Israel and Spain: pineapple and avocado. And, the smoothie was great: smooth and just sweet enough.

Here's the recipe:

1/3 pineapple, cut in chunks
1 avocado, peeled, pitted and cut into chunks
1 banana
2-3 ounces apple juice

Adjust to taste. Serves 2.

Cambridge Snow

Well, not really. .. but that's what I thought.

Last Friday, I went into the city centre (center of Cambridge) to take my citizenship test. On my way, I passed this college garden covered in spent blossoms. Unusual enough to come back afterwards I couldn't resist taking a photograph.

And, yes, I passed the test, now begins the paperwork for the application. Party probably scheduled for, umm, 2008.

Click on photo to magnify

Today, this is Cambridge. Fields and fields of rapeseed (aka canola). You're probably familiar with it as a vegetable oil, but it's also used for animal feed and as a biodiesel fuel. It's left to seed in the field, so subsequently we have 'wild' rape growing in our irrigation canals and along the roadsides.

Everywhere I look this seems to be the view, and my hayfever loves it. It'll be a couple of months before life returns to normal... or wait, maybe this is normal, I forget.

Spring in Cambridge