White Onion Soup

Recipe for: WHITE ONION SOUP 

Ingredients: 

• 50g butter
• 900g white onions, peeled & very finely sliced
• Fresh thyme – 2 sprigs
• 100ml dry white wine
• 600ml chicken stock
• 100ml double cream

Method: 

1. melt the butter over a gentle heat, then add the onions, thyme & a pinch of salt
2. cover the pan & sweat the onions for 30 minutes, stirring occasionally, until the onions are very soft, but not coloured
3. add the wine and turn the heat up a little.  Bubble for 5 minutes, then add the stock & simmer gently for 20 minutes
4. blitz the soup with a stick blender, then check the seasoning
5. stir in the cream & gently re-heat without boiling

What else you need to know: 

1. the soup should be very velvety and have a good depth of flavour

Tesco Issues An Apology

Tesco Issues An Apology

It has recently come to our attention,

In fact we’ve just had a complaint,

That our burgers are more than they should be,

And the meat has a slight equine taint. 

 

And then, you see, in our new branch in Aintree,

It was a real pain, to find traces of mane,

We had to warn shoppers at the Banbury Cross branch,

That Shergar may have entered the food chain. 

So we’ve sent in our quality cavalry,

We thought that was the thing to be done,

For we’re as keen to know as you are,

Exactly what’s inside your seeded bun. 

 

We know you like to feed your families well,

Particularly fussy kids and young whelps,

And tho’ we don’t like to get on our high horse,

We know that every little helps. 

 

We’d like to apologise unreservedly:

You expect the best from us, of course.

When you’re shopping for meals in a hurry,

And you’re hungry enough to eat a horse. 

 

Whilst Waitrose sell their “Ascot winner’s fillet”,

And Lidl peddle old nag forced into a mould,

Our burgers are race-horse, responsibly sourced,

And never knowingly under-sold. 

 

Anyway our under-paid elves, are clearing the shelves,

So that you’re not tempted to buy, or to scoff,

And when you ask “where are the burgers?”

We can honestly tell you: “they’re off”. 

 

They’ll all be withdrawn from sale,

You know we’ll do whatever it takes,

To ensure that your tots, don’t get the trots,

Or develop galloping stomach aches. 

 

Only the right quadruped, should be fed,

It’s very hard for us to even deny it,

So we’re appalled, that anything piebald,

Should become part of your stable diet. 

 

But “Neigh, neigh” we can hear you say,

“These ingredients really won’t do.

We’d all get a shock, if we found fetlock,

Bobbin’ around, like Dobbin, in our stew”. 

 

We feel sadly, we’ve let you down badly,

And our sorrow will never diminish.

We don’t want you to chew, on components of glue,

We’re racing towards a photo finish. 

 

We’ll be at great pains, to gather the reins,

To dressage up the evidence and then,

Through our public relations machine,

Ensure that you never find out again. 

 

We wish to assure our customers,

That we’ll talk to every supplier by name,

And be unstinting in our efforts,

To prove that we’re not the ones to blame.

 

Though we arrived late, at the starting gate,

Your opinions we don’t want to force,

Cause if we can’t get you to swallow this,

We’ll have been flogging a dead horse.

Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2013

Fifty Sheds Of Grey

Fifty Sheds Of Grey

A man has to have some hobbies in life,

Something  to make him leap out of bed,

And when he arrives at a certain age,

That something tends to be a grey shed. 

It’s funny - it never appeals in anyone’s youth,

When things tend to happen all in a deluge,

But once you’ve been married for a few years,

A shed can become a man’s haven, or refuge. 

It doesn’t take much – a shed can be quite modest,

A roof, a window, and four wooden walls:

Just somewhere homely to escape to,

Whenever some unwelcome chore calls. 

It’s a manly or masculine thing,

Just to get yourself behind a closed door,

To rummage around in the darkness,

Or to spread your things out on the floor. 

For in this exclusive men-only club,

You need never ask anyone’s pardon,

Just to disappear down the primrose path,

To your shed, at the end of the garden. 

Yes, a shed can be a man’s very own kingdom,

The realm where what he says is what goes:

A place to play with his bits and pieces,

And what he does inside – nobody knows. 

And he can make the place quite homely,

Then spread out as much as he dare,

By getting a radio, perhaps, and some carpet,

And, if there’s room, a comfortable chair. 

A bottle or two and a few glasses,

And an optic can easily form up a bar.

Then you can get all your mates round,

And be the gardeners’ idea of a star. 

You see it becomes more than a shelter -

It’s not just for keeping out of the rain -

It’s a sanctuary that’s out of the house,

A place that might keep you sane. 

So, don’t denigrate such constructions,

And pay heed to what I’ve just said,

For a man’s the king of his castle,

When he’s finally alone, in his shed.

 

Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2013

Salmon Fishfingers

Recipe for: SALMON FISHFINGERS

Ingredients:

• 150g cornmeal or polenta
• 1 tsp paprika
• 400g salmon fillet, skinned & cut into 12 chunky fingers
• 1 egg, beaten
• Sunflower oil for frying

Method:

1. mix polenta or cornmeal with paprika, salt & pepper on a plate
2. heat enough sunflower oil in a heavy frying-pan to well cover the base
3. dip each salmon finger in the beaten egg, then in the seasoned polenta until evenly coated
4. when the oil is hot fry six of the salmon fingers until golden brown – about 3 minutes each side
5. drain on kitchen paper & keep warm until you cook the second batch

What else you need to know:

 

1. serve with chips or roasted potato wedges and a crisp green salad

News From Bromham - Dateline Sunday 27th January 2013

Bulletin From Bromham: Dateline – 27^th January 2013

Here is our weekly round-up of events from Bromham:

·       Leader of the Field Land-Owners’ Party (FLOP) Dave Wentwrong, made his long-awaited and much delayed speech on Bromham’s future in Wiltshire.  He spoke at length of the benefits of being In, the disadvantages of being Out, and even had a short passage concerned with Shaking It All About.  Wiltshire leaders in the rotten borough of Trowbridge branded the speech an “Okey Cokey” approach to Wiltshire Union.  One spokesman added “and that’s what it’s all about.”

·       People across the village struggled to cope this week with large amounts of weather.  After the unexpected weather on Tuesday, more weather set in on Tuesday and Wednesday.  Farmers were left scratching their hands about how best to cope with the weather.  “I’ve never seen so much weather, especially in January,” confided one local land-owner.  “It’s all down to Global Warming, isn’t it? So much weather – it’s not natural.”

·       For details of these and all other Bromham stories, don’t forget to listen to local radio station Carrot FM.

Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2013

Daughters

Daughters

When did it start to happen?

Was it as soon as you were born?

Or was it even earlier

As you floated in the amniotic fluid?

Or even at the moment of conception

In a complex interplay

Of genes and chromosomes

That the differences began? 

The females of my species

Developed along a very different path

From the ways that I had known

And had their own concerns

That yearned for pink in everything

(When I know full well

That such a colour

Never crossed our minds)

And took to wanting dollies

And kittens and puppies

From a very early age 

And then grew up all too quickly

Soon giggling in barricaded bedrooms

Confused by active hormones

Pre-occupied with latest hairstyles

And clothing in the fashion magazines

Or brands of make-up and shampoo

And the sensitive removal of body hair

Or the base behaviour

Of the latest boyfriends

And who fancied who at school 

Then the greater changes

Of maturing mind and body

Ripening into an all-at-once adulthood

With its sudden sensibilities

Of the female and the feminine

And the ferocious gender-bonding

Among the sisterhood

And a new respect

For a mother long-ignored

And who had little time for men

The masculine, muscled males

With their loudness and crudeness

Their football and sporting obsessions

And testosterone-driven lives 

When did you girls grow into women?

Was it something subtle that I missed?

How did you grow so far apart from me

And became so very different?

And how many years has it taken now

For us to hardly know each other once again?

Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2013

Eve's Pudding

Recipe for: EVE’S PUDDING

Ingredients: 

• For the fruit:
• 2-3 apples, peeled, cored & chopped
• 1 tblsp caster sugar
• For the sponge:
• 4 tblsp softened butter
• 4 tblsp caster sugar
• 75g self-raising flour
• 1 egg, beaten
• 2 tblsp milk

Method: 

1. pre-heat the oven to 180C/ 170C fan
2. place the apples, 1 tblsp caster sugar + 1 tblsp water in a 2-pint buttered oven-proof dish
3. make the sponge: mix all the sponge ingredients together until smooth, light & fluffy
4. spoon the sponge mixture over the top of the apples & smooth the surface
5. bake for 45-50 minutes, or until the top s browned & springy to the touch.  A skewer should come out clean
6. remove from the oven & allow to cool for a few minutes.  Slide a knife or spatula around the edge, then place a warm plate over the top of the dish
7. turn the whole lot over, then ease off the dish to leave the apples now on top of the sponge

What else you need to know: 

1. you can just leave the pudding in the dish & scoop it out with a large spoon if the turning over thing seems too risky!

 

Le Tour de Yorkshire

Le Tour De Yorkshire (the first stages of the 2014 Tour de France are to be in God’s Own Country)

Welcome, you fine lads and lasses,

I’m sure you’ve heard the wonderful news,

Yorkshire’s to host Tour de France at t’kick-off,

For a better place’d be impossible to choose. 

You see we’ve the most wonderful scenery,

Hills, dales and rivers, all in great bounty.

You’ll never find any finer spot,

As you know - this is God’s Own County. 

But there’s long been an association,

Between Yorkshire and France that’s little known,

And several examples can be given,

To illustrate how this has all grown. 

Leeds was where Emile Zola learned about whippets,

And Rimbaud found his taste for Fish and Chips.

Whilst they were always fans, of smoking Gitanes,

‘T’were a pint of Tetleys always came to their lips. 

Bradford is the crème de la crème;

If a great night out you’re wanting to wangle;

That’s where Inspector Maigret came to terms,

With the mysteries of The Rhubarb Triangle. 

And Castleford’s industrial landscape,

Should not bring to your mind any fatigue:

For it’s where Simone de Beauvoir,

Learned all she ever knew about Rugby League. 

Any road, it’s more than a year off yet,

So you’ve plenty of time to wet your lips,

And, just for you keen cycling types,
I’ve got the chance to give you some tips. 

For this place is different from what you’d expect,

You’ll find that your team, needs a special regime,

Of training, of fitness and of diet,

If winning an early stage is part of your dream. 

For a start, there’s plenty of hills,

The climbs are dotted with plenty of pubs -

Even Lance Armstrong’d need more than drugs,

To get to the top of The Buttertubs! 

Then, as Le Tour, goes over The Moor,

A route that’ll make le peloton weep,

There’s nothing as far as the eye can see,

Only occasionally dotted with sheep. 

They won’t be so jaunty, when they reach Bronte country,

As through the Swale they’re forced to paddle,

It won’t be sedate, riding through Harrogate,

They’ll need liniment to rub in the saddle. 

When at Betty’s café they’re taking their teas,

They’ll feel themselves go weak at the knees

As the treacle tarts harden their arteries,

To say nowt of the pies with mushy peas. 

And when they’re full right up,

And just want to tend to their bunions,

It’ll be time for t’second course –

A nice big plate of tripe and onions! 

With their gold medals, and pairs of pedals,

Even Wiggins and Cavendish on their bikes,

Will take a beating; they won’t be cheating,

As they struggle to master the Tykes! 

The stars, followed by cars, riding the handle-bars,

Won’t hear the crowds shout “Thank-you!”

But “Come on, you great bunch of jessies!”

Or it’s “bonsoir et merci beaucoup!” 

For cycling can seem like a daft sport,

With blokes in the heather, riding hell for leather

Going all way up t’hills, only to come back down,

Just to enjoy Yorkshire’s famous sunny weather. 

I don’t know what I’ll do, when they all whizz through,

When the flash of the riders is rapid and furzy,

I hope it entails, that a man from the Dales,

Finally pulls on that yellow jersey. 

And when we have to wave good-bye to the Tour,

When we’ve knackered ‘em after the first week,

We’ll be glad that the garcons, have finally gone,

But had the sense to make a choix sympathetique. 

I hope we’ll have led them a merry dance,

Those sturdy Belgian and Gallic chaps -

I’m not sure how they’re getting back over to France,

Cycling round the decks of the ferry perhaps?

 

Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2013

After Snowfall

After Snowfall

Stepping through icy piles of snow

Cracked and broken tracks

Worn by many careful feet

That once picked their way

Crunching through virgin snow

Now hard-packed into holes

Thawed a while by a thin sun

Then frozen and re-fractured

Pressed and polished in places

To a glittering sheen

Of slippery treachery 

The slush and sludge

Across the tattered landscape

Black and grey lines showing through white

Scarring and spoiling

The once-perfect shroud

That fell and cloaked the world

So many days ago

Its beauty faded and forgotten

The picture postcard image spoiled

And but a distant memory 

The dirty, muddy edges

Of heaps of filthy snow

Thrown aside by cars

Broken, crumbling residues

Of smiling snow-men

That fall into formless shapes

And drip into icy puddles

Which drain slowly, bleakly

Into untidy, swirling pools

Ruts gashed into the ground

A smashed mess of frozen water

The dark, ugly secret of winter

 

Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2013

In Every Dream-home.......

.....a heartache.

Living

Everything is here

That could possibly be needed

For a comfortable, easy life

All that can be measured in clothes and cars

Every modern convenience

Every appliance, every gadget

Sheet glass and steel that shine

Polished by the daily help

Every room a showcase

Of angles and the cleanest lines

Witness the good, the better things

That come from a lifetime’s striving

And long-houred, hard working

The very trappings of success  

Nothing is missing

And there is a sense of completeness

Here there are no loose ends

Nor material wants and needs

That are not, or cannot, be satisfied

At a moment’s notice

And we can live life to the full

Going anywhere, at any time

To fulfil the slightest whim

Or the merest craving

Of our heart’s desire 

And yet

 and yet

 and yet

Within this Prozac dream-home

Of shining achievement

Whilst we sleep in King-sized splendour

A spirit creeps about in the night

And breathes hoarsely

And whispers insistently

Of an un-nameable something

And will not be silenced

And in the morning

When we awake, un-refreshed

There remains an ache inside

An empty feeling of nothing 

 

Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2013

Like They Are Important......

Just a comment on the Algerian hostage crisis.  Leaving aside the operational situation unfolding in the real world in the desert, which has clearly been dangerous and, for some, fatal, I can't help but wonder at our politicians.

Poshboy Cameron and Puffing Billy Hague seemed genuinely bemused that the Algerians ignored their offers of UK Government "help", "advice", "guidance" and "technical assistance". I think this might have been because the Algerians probably know a lot more about how to deal with large bunches of heavily-armed, crazed jihadist killers than UKG people do.  Also they probably don't like being patronised by two Western politicians who wouldn't know one end of a gun from another.

Next up, The Gruesome Twosome were outraged that the Algerians had had the sheer nerve to go ahead with their clean-up operation "without consultation".  Bearing in mind that this was happening in Algeria, and involved (principally) Algerian attackers & defenders, why would the Algerians consult? If this was happening in the UK, would Cameron expect to get some sort of green light from the head of state of every nationality involved, before giving the orders to attack?  And also bearing in mind that a whole rainbow of nations' citizens were (potentially) involved, how long did Cameron think they should hold off for these "consultations" to take place?

That the jihadists were seeking to escape, the Algerians didn't have a lot of time or a lot of choice. They had to act quickly, or it could have got a lot worse.

BTW - I expect the Algerian "Mission Statement" had something to do with "killing terrorists".  The paragraph about rescuing hostages safely was probably quite a long way down in the small print.

It's not that I agree with what the Algerians did, particularly. It's just that they had the situation on their patch, and they had to deal with it as they saw fit.  Cameron & Hague just don't seem to get it.  They behave as if their position, their view, their approach was somehow better or more important than the Algerians.  They need to get over themselves.

News From Bromham - Dateline Sunday 20th January 2013

Bulletin From Bromham: Dateline – 20^th January 2013

Here is our weekly round-up of events from Bromham:

·       Tim Piglet’s Retail Complex & Emporium (aka the village shop) has withdrawn from sale all its packs of horsemeat burgers (both Gristle Specials, and the ever-popular budget-range of String’n’Sinew specials), when it was discovered last week that some packs actually contained faint traces of beef DNA and tiny amounts of nutrition.  In a random scientific test, conducted in the local tithe-barn, during the annual goat-nadgering session, several people who ate the cooked burgers, complained of them tasting “a bit funny”, and were unable to fart properly for the rest of the day.  Mr John Piglet, proprietor of Knuckle & Gristle (Butchers To The Barmy), was not available for comment.

·       All operators of Bromham’s long-awaited new 787 Field Device, the so-called DreamTractor, have been warned to stop using their new equipment after a range of technical problems were discovered last week.  One tractor failed its standard noise-emission tests when it failed to wake several neighbours at 6.30am on Sunday morning.  Another failed to rip proper deep gouges in the front lawn-strips of several houses in the lane.  And a third was unable to cover its rear lights and registration-plate in liquid cow-shit within the statutory twenty minutes.  Engineers are working 24x7 to isolate and fix the problems.

·       Villagers are still coming to terms with the devastating news that the prestigious “Tour de Kyrgystan” sheep-droving competition will not be staging its opening drive through this part of Wiltshire in 2014.  Bromham had faced stiff competition from rival bids from Trowbridge, East Grinstead and the East Birmingham Industrial Trading Estate.

·       For details of these and all other Bromham stories, don’t forget to listen to local radio station Carrot FM.

Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2013

Enough!

Enough

How long can this go on?

You came, unbidden, two weeks ago

Without welcome

And stayed to torment me

Day after miserable day

Always making out

That you were ready to go

At any moment

To let me breathe again

And give me back my energy

And let things be

The way they were before 

And yet you’re still here!

Can’t you see I’m sick of you?

You’re bringing me down

And choking me

Can’t eat, can’t sleep

Whilst you hang around

My head is thick and throbbing

And my chest wheezes

Every limb aching

As my body uses every cell

To fight back

And requests you, firmly, to leave 

The medicine cabinet’s empty

Since I rifled the cures and the drugs

Seeking for any relief

From your unpleasant effects

Now I can’t think straight

And everything’s too hard

To manage any more

Enough is enough!

Be gone foul visitor

Your departure’s overdue

Go find someone else to impose on

And leave me to crawl back to bed

Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2013

Woss Happenin'?

Woss Happenin? 

Everything’s falling to bits,

Nothing’s the same any more:

Helicopters don’t stay in the sky –

They hit cranes and fall to the floor. 

Things aren’t what they might seem:

You can’t trust what they tell you -

The Dreamliners have nightmares

And technical problems too. 

The Internet is eating the world,

There’s no shops left on the High Street:

Not only Jessops and HMV,

But now Blockbuster’s admitted defeat. 

And Rio Tinto walks into a wall,

Which is as bad as it gets.

The CEO’s taken his long walk,

For under-valuing their assets. 

I think I’m going to go back in my shell,

I think I’m admitting defeat.

Can’t even do comfort eating,

Cos my burgers are full of horse-meat.

Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2013

Horse-free Halloumi Burgers

If you've been put off by reports in the press today about what may. or may not, be lurking in your burgers from the supermarket, why not simply make your own meat-free versions.  I'm not a veggie myself, but I really love these.

Recipe for: HALLOUMI & SWEET POTATO BURGERS (V)

Ingredients: 

• 450g sweet potatoes, peeled & cut into chunks
• 175g broccoli florets (optional)
• 2-3 garlic cloves, crushed
• 1 red onion, finely chopped
• 1-2 red chillies, deseeded, finely chopped
• 175g halloumi cheese, grated
• 2 tblsp wholemeal flour
• 2-3 tblsp sunflower oil
• 450g onions, sliced
• 1 tblsp chopped fresh coriander

Method: 

1. cook the sweet potatoes in lightly salted water for 15 minutes or until tender.  Drain & mash, placing into a large bowl
2. cook the broccoli, if using, for 3 minutes.  Drain & refresh in cold water (to retain colour & texture).  Drain & add to the sweet potatoes
3. stir in the garlic, red onion, chillies, halloumi, salt & pepper.  Mix well & shape into 6-8 patties or burgers.
4. coat in flour then put in the fridge to chill for an hour or two
5. when ready to serve, heat half the oil in heavy frying-pan.  Add the sliced onions & sweat gently for 15 minutes or so, without browning.  Stir in the coriander.  Set aside.
6. add the remaining oil to another pan.  Fry the burgers over a medium heat for 5-6 minutes each side
7. when almost ready, add the onions/ coriander to the pan.  Warm through & serve.

What else you need to know: 

1. these make a delicious vegetarian meal accompanied by a sweet chillie dipping sauce and a green salad
2. they do not contain any horse

 

Don't Ask Me

Don’t Ask Me

I’m happy to give of my opinion,

If you want to hear what I think.

That is, when I’m down at the pub,

With my mates, just having a drink. 

But at home, it’s a different story,

And one that causes me strife.

For there we have the fount of all knowledge,

And it’s not me, it’s the wife! 

For she’s got strong views on every topic:

There’s no subject on which she hasn’t a take.

She’s an expert in every field you can name,

No interest in which she hasn’t a stake. 

Tho’ she is my love and my darling,

My dearest, my treasure, my dear,

She’s got a fearsome way of talking,

That inspires a goodly portion of fear. 

Across the marmalade at breakfast,

I’m on The Guardian, but she reads the Express.

She chokes on her toast and she fulminates,

And the crumbs she exhales make quite a mess. 

You see she’s got a very firm stance,

On any social policy or decision,

Religion, the Royal Family,

And even on female circumcision. 

I can’t get a word in edgeways sometimes,

As she dispels any kind of confusion.

She’s got the answer to everything,

And for every problem, a solution. 

Professors, doctors and researchers,

Who’ve spent a life-time studying ideas,

Stand for nothing in her onslaught,

As she contradicts them with jeers. 

Economics, world hunger and AIDS,

She can hold forth without pause,

So it’s pointless you asking me,

You’d best check with ‘er indoors. 

Immigration, emigration, benefit cheats,

Foreign policy, football or cricket,

It’s best to listen, not interrupt,

Or she’ll tell you where you can stick it. 

Decoration? Fashion? Or trends?

She’s the one who knows where it’s at.

Northern Ireland? Palestine? Or Syria?

She says what she thinks, and that’s that! 

Homophobia, xenophobia,

And prejudice of every kind,

Could be banished within a few minutes,

If she gave you a piece of her mind! 

She knows what’s wrong with everything,

She’s clear how things ought to be done,

There’s little she can’t address herself to,

And for her, there’s nothing new under the sun. 

If only people would listen to her,

The world could be a much better place,

There’d be no fighting, or wars or disease,

And evil would be gone without trace. 

Politics is her specialist subject,

And don’t get her started about the tax-man.

Her polemical style is worse than Jon Humphrys,

And on a bad day gets worse than Paxman. 

Now, I know what you’re probably thinking,

That she’s incredibly well meant,

That she should perhaps become an MP,

And see how she gets on in Parliament. 

But it’s far too late for that I’m afraid,

There’s already been a roll of the dice:

For Conservative Central Office,

Already ring daily just to ask her advice. 

No, there’s no situation she can’t handle,

There’s not a dogma she won’t fight:

If you’re looking for a policy statement,

She’s the one who’ll provide a sound-bite. 

She’s never ready to settle for nonsense,

And she can’t abide the status quo.

She doesn’t know the meaning of silence,

But, for God’s sake, don’t tell her I said so! 

 

Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2013