French Onion Soup

Recipe for: French ONION Soup 

Ingredients: 

• 100g butter
• 1.5 kg large onions, sliced
• 2 tsp caster sugar
• 100ml dry vermouth
• 1.5 litres good beef stock
• 2 bay leaves

Method: 

1. melt the butter in a large pan & stir in the onions
2. cover & leave to cook gently on a low light, for about 30 minutes, until the onions are very tender, stirring occasionally
3. remove the lid, stir in the sugar, raise the heat
4. stirring now & then, continue simmering the onions until the liquid has almost gone
5. keep cooking & stirring to stop the onions catching on the base of the pan, until the onions are a deep golden brown
6. add the vermouth & boil it off – just a few minutes
7. pour in the stock & add the bay leaves, salt & pepper
8. simmer , partly covered, for another 20-30 minutes

What else you need to know: 

1. serve in deep bowls, covered with a slice of baguette or crusty bread, sprinkled with grated Gruyere cheese – put the bowls under a hot grill to melt the cheese
2. you need to be patient with cooking down the onions slowly, and getting a brown, caramelised effect before adding the other ingredients

 

Inappropriate

Inappropriate

How can it come about?

How can it happen yet again?

These allegations and accusations

Made recently against you?

For are you not supposed to be a shepherd

Set in Holy Roman authority

Over the sheep within your flock?

Are you not supposed to lead them

On the paths of righteousness

Rather than into temptation

Created by the weaknesses

Of your personal failings? 

Are you not a consecrated priest?

Entrusted with the sacraments

And the care of willing souls?

A reverend cardinal indeed?

Not fiddling with the altar-boys

Or inappropriate touching

But a role-model for all believers?

A ministry of care for others

Lived in unnatural celibacy

In a position of respect

Where others dare not challenge you? 

And is it not bad enough

That you ask of others

What you cannot do yourself?

That you should abuse such trust

By your dubious behaviour

Without you making victims into liars?

And compound your unclean crimes

By pretending that you are pure

And hiding behind your church

Which conceals your crimes

And helps to cover up the scandal?

 

Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2013

Hasselback Potatoes

Recipe for: HASSELBACK POTATOES

Ingredients:

• 1 – 2 kg large floury potatoes, peeled & cut in half
• Olive oil (plain or flavoured with garlic or rosemary)
• Sea salt

Method: 

1.       heat the oven to 180C/ fan 170C, placing a roasting dish with a layer of oil on the top shelf to heat up

2.       the potatoes need to be large pieces – preferably half of a very large potato

3.       put the flat side down on the work surface, with the round side pointing up

4.       using a sharp knife, cut down into the potato, making very thin slices, but stop short of cutting all the way through to the base.  The potato should remain in one piece, but with a hedgehog back of sliced pieces.  Do this to each potato piece

5.       place the potatoes into fresh water & bring to the boil

6.       simmer the potatoes for 8 minutes, until the outsides are beginning to soften, but the insides remain firm

7.       drain the water into another pan or a jug & use it to make gravy or vegetable stock

8.       let the potatoes sit in the pan for a minute or so to steam themselves dry

9.       gently take the potatoes out of the pan with a slotted spoon & place into the roasting dish with the very hot olive oil, ensuring the whole sides go on the bottom, with the “slices” pointing upwards

10.    spoon the oil over the potatoes until they are thoroughly covered

11.    grind some sea salt on to the top of each potato piece, then return the dish to the oven

12.    bake the potatoes for 50-60 minutes, depending on size

13.    half way through the cooking time, baste the potatoes with the hot oil in the dish

14.    the potatoes are done when the outsides are golden brown & crispy.  The insides should be soft & fluffy.  The “slices” should spread themselves slightly, allowing the oil & salt to penetrate

15.    remove the potatoes into a warmed serving , keeping them slice-side upwards & scatter with another grinding of sea salt

 

Welsh Swans Bully Yorkshire Bantams

There were only two things that really spoilt my day yesterday, when I was watching Swansea (of the Premier League) beat Bradford City (of "Football League Division Two" aka The Fourth Division).  One was, obviously, the 5-0 scoreline.  The other was the almost never-ending stream of patronising comments from the Sky commentary team. 

Bradford were described as "plucky" and "brave" and "a credit to the lower leagues" amongst other things.  It went on throughout, and helped to make a (in footballing terms) a miserable day into a worse one.  Talking about Bradfordians having "their once-in-a-lifetime say out at Wembley" was really not on.  Apart from the fact that they appeared there a few years ago to win a promotion play-off final, and apart from the fact that the team could well be back there at the arse-end of this season if they make the Div 2 play-offs, to say nothing of what might happen in the next few years (as they march up the Divisions, and win the FA Cup, conquering all before them), why could yesterday ever be described as "once-in-a-lifetime"?

Let's get this straight and be honest.  City were there on footballing merit, and nothing else.  On the way to the Final tie, they beat Notts County, Watford, Wigan, Arsenal and Aston Villa - all teams (well) above them in the League, some games away from home.  They had a good cup run, like all teams hope for, and did extremely well.  They were neither lucky nor plucky. OK - they were (rightly) regarded as under-dogs (something that always seems to happen to one of the teams in the final), but on the day they were well beaten by a superior-skilled side who played much better.  Swansea deserved their win - no more & no less.  They were worthy winners.

City played their part, but played relatively poorly on the day, and would not have deserved to win.  It broke my heart to watch them lose, and by five goals, but that's football.  They'll pick up lots of money as a reward for getting all the way to Wembley, and they really need it.  They'll now (hopefully) spend it wisely, and get on with the serious business of gaining promotion and re-building the infrastructure of the club.

So - let's move on & get over it.  Dagenham on Wednesday at Valley Parade, and away at York on Saturday - back to the realities of the football world.  Come on you Bantams!!

News From Bromham - Dateline Sunday 24th February 2013

Bulletin From Bromham: Dateline – 24^th February 2013

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

·       The trial of local farmer Christopher Piglet on goat-bothering charges was halted on Thursday at Bromham Crown Court when the jury of eight village idiots and four parish paupers were unable to reach even a majority verdict.  The judge dismissed them, saying that they were “ a complete shower” who were “too stupid to tie their own shoelaces”.  A spokesman for the Union of Village Idiots, however, pointed out his members did not fasten their shoes with shoe-laces, but with strips of baler-twine.

·       And in another sensational case at the Court, a second local farmer, Oscar Piglet was granted bail after a tearful four-day hearing.  Piglet, who lost both of his arms in a scything accident many years ago, and has since been fitted with robotically-controlled prosthetic limbs, is now known as Oscar Scissor-Arms, is accused of shooting to death his girl-friend of four years.  He is reported to have got off his tractor, driven five miles, crossed four fields on foot, broken into his girl-friend’s house, and shot her twenty-seven times with a sawn-off shot-gun.  He then dismembered the body and set fire to it.  Finally he blew up the house.  In his defence, Piglet reportedly said that he “thought she might have been a burglar”.  Piglet’s uncle, Michael Piglet, described his nephew as “mostly armless.”.

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

Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2013

The Ringers

The Ringers

Tramping one by one

Along the church-yard path

Which bends and turns

Between the weathered headstones

Of long-neglected graves

Testament to forgotten souls

That trod this path before 

Then around the nave and chancel

To the almost-hidden staircase

Harbouring narrow steps

Which twist and wind, well-trodden

Spiralling upward into the tower

To the musty ringing floor

Where ropes and sallies hang

Through the wooden ceiling

Concealed behind the clock 

And now the heavy bells

Are rung slowly down

The tenor and the treble

And prepared for ringing

That practice may begin

Of methods and rounds

The changes and the hunting

The Bob and Grandsire Doubles

And the Quarter Peal 

Aching arms

And brows of concentration

To get the timing right

And be ready for every occasion

Of morning service every Sunday

Or joyful summer Saturday weddings

Or the simple sombre tolling

Of a single funeral bell

That may happen on any day

Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2013

A Man No Longer Walking

A Man No Longer Walking

Always there, come rain or shine

Rambling in all weathers

Part of the weekly group

And known to all

Sometimes at the front

Foraging through the footpaths

Sometimes at the rear

Making heavy work

Of climbing over stiles

Or pulling up the final hill

But doing very well

For a man of advanced years

And a long list of medical problems 

Appearing hale and hearty

Yet the oldest in the group

Ready to lead or to follow

Boots cleaned anew every time

Gnarled stick in hand

Water bottle in the rucksack

He has no need of maps

Having lived here all his life

And knowing all the pathways

Like the back of his veiny hand 

Suddenly a change

And he’s no longer here

Missing at short notice

And a space develops

Between the conversations

Taken away at midnight

A man no longer walking

Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2013

Borscht - Beetroot Soup

Recipe for: BORSCHT - BEETROOT SOUP

Ingredients: 

• 1 tblsp sunflower oil
• 1 onion, peeled & chopped
• 2 celery stalks, washed, trimmed & sliced
• 300g potatoes, peeled & diced
• 600g fresh beetroot, peeled & grated
• 1.5 litres vegetable stock
• 1 tblsp fresh dill, chopped
• Freshly ground salt & pepper

Method: 

1. heat the oil in a large, heavy pan
2. gently fry the onions, celery, potatoes & beetroot for 5 minutes, stirring constantly
3. add the stock, bring to the boil, then simmer for 35 minutes, or until the vegetables are completely soft & tender
4. remove from the heat & liquidise
5. stir in the dill, salt & pepper to taste & warm through

What else you need to know: 

1. serve with a swirl of soured cream & a sprig of dill
2. beware – beetroot juice stains everything it touches!

Hare

Hare

Trudging through muddy fields

The abandoned corn-stalks swishing

And scratching the boots of many walkers

An advancing army of legs

That threaten a heavy trampling

Of the shallow cover where he lies hidden

Hoping still to evade detection

When, at the very last second

His nerve gives way to fear

And in a sudden scrambling and scrabbling

A scurry of noise and commotion

A blur of rushing, dashing action

And flashes of brown and grey and white

A ball of exploding energy

He darts away in unheeding panic

Springing, leaping, bounding from his cover

Escaping into the wide-open spaces

And the freedom of the field’s-length

At full speed, ears pinned back

And in seconds is a furlong far away

Where he can stop to pant

And rest his bursting lungs

Turning to regard us

From the safety

Of his distant vantage point

Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2013

The Shit-Shoveller's Lament

The Shit-Shoveller’s Lament

It’s all right being a gardener,

In fact it’s one of life’s pleasures,

But it takes a real lot of hard work -

You can’t afford to be a man of leisure. 

Take today, just for an instance,

It turned all sort of spring-like, to be sure,

Which could mean only one thing –

It was time to go get the manure. 

For a garden needs nutrients,

If it’s to grow veggies and be dynamic,

And you can’t be using chemicals,

If you want your produce to be organic. 

So you’ve got to have something natural

To dig in with your fork and your trowel,

Which means – and there’s no escaping this –

You need stuff that fell out of an animal’s bowel. 

Now some swear by cow, and some by sheep:

It doesn’t really matter whichever you do,

But I have my personal preference,

And that happens to be horse-poo. 

So I went on down to my local farm,

To inspect a steaming pile that I’d spotted,

And to dig out several hundredweight,

Of that dark-looking substance, well-rotted. 

I took my fork and my shiny new spade,

And I slid that compost into many a sack.

I shovelled that shit for all I was worth,

Until it felt like I was breaking my back. 

I weighed the car down, till it sat on its springs:

I couldn’t get more of it in if I’d tried,

But if I thought the stuff had an aroma of the field,

You can’t imagine how bad it stunk there inside! 

That brown sticky stuff just gets everywhere:

On your gloves, and your hands, and your wellies,

On your legs, your hat and your jacket,

Till, finally, every single part of you’s smelly. 

But there’s one thing I had to remember,

And I hope that it’s obvious to see:

Even though I’ve been shovelling shit,

At least I was getting all of it free.

Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2013

God Throws In The Towel

We've recently lost the top man in the C of E, and in the Roman Catholic church.  If this carries on, where's it all going to end?

God Throws In The Towel

Come and listen to me, you sinners,

And I’ll tell you this for beginners -

Here’s a situation without any winners.

You lot never listen, so here’s a prod -

I’m getting fed-up of sitting here on me tod,

So I’ve decided to jack it all in as Lord God.

It’s a big vacancy that I’ll be freeing,

Cause it’s ever so tiring being all-seeing,

To say nothing of acting the Supreme Being. 

I was a Creator once, at a previous stage,

But now I’m approaching an advanced age,

And it’s unrewarding, never receiving a wage. 

For all eternity I’ve been celibate:

It’s been lonely up here with no mate,

Apart from that slip-up with Mary on our last date. 

The Devil’s buggered off, now Ratzinger’s gone:

There’s no interest in what I get up to – none!

So just what’s the point of carrying on? 

You might think it’s a doddle being divine,

But it’s boring, and not everything’s fine,

And that’s why I’ve decided to resign. 

I’m leaving Heaven, I’m deserting that town,

So there’s no use wearing that frown:

From the end of next month I’m stepping down. 

Creation all started off so well, I guess,

Then it all went badly downhill, I confess,

Now look at it all – what a bloody mess! 

It’s all falling apart – the centre cannot hold:

It needs someone younger, a divinity more bold,

Or maybe I’m just getting too old? 

I’m the Ancient Of Days, and I’m tired,

And, though I know I can never be fired,

I think a new guy should be interviewed and hired. 

Anyway, I think it would be for the best,

Cos by now you’ve probably guessed,

Frankly – I’ve completely lost interest! 

So it’s all over, and enough is enough.

Finding a new Father might be quite rough,

But that’s your bloody problem now – tough! 

I hate to be leaving you all in the lurch,

But I’m totally hacked off with the Church,

So for a successor you’ll need to get on with the search. 

Just one piece of advice, I say with a great howl:

I know that I’m the one throwing in the towel,

But for My sake, please don’t get Simon Cowell!

Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2013

News From Bromham - Dateline Sunday 17th February 2013

Bulletin From Bromham: Dateline – 17^th February 2013

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

·       It has been confirmed by scientists, following DNA testing, that the bones found under the High Street car park are those of former Lord of Bromham Manor, Richard Piglet III.  The bones are to be preserved and re-interred in Bromham Cathedral with full aristocratic honours, including the doffing of caps and the tugging of forelocks.

·       It has also been confirmed by scientists, following some slightly different DNA tests, that traces of toadstool have been found in a packet of vegetarian burgers.  The whole fungus-chain has now been brought under the microscope, and investigations are continuing.  In a piece of late news, police have raided a mushroom-processing plant on the edge of the parish.  The owner, Vaclav Piglet, claimed that he was doing nothing illegal.  Neighbours described Piglet as a “fungi”.

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

Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2013

Doodah, Doodah Day

Pass Me The Doodah

My other half’s got me under the thumb -

She told me the sink I had to go and un-gum

Even though I think DIY’s a total pain in the bum. 

I tried using every one of the tools that I’d got,

And soon I was covered in debris and grot,

Not only that – I was in a very tight spot. 

I was getting all bothered and hot,

My temper snapped, my patience was shot.

“What I need,” I thought, “is a long whatnot”. 

My brow with cold sweat became beaded,

And I’d no idea what it was that I needed,

But at last to my cries she finally heeded. 

I was in the narrowest space I could fit,

But if I could just turn that doodah one little bit,

So I shouted to her,  “pass me the wotsit!” 

“The thingummy, the oojah, the one with the knob,

That effort, the dingle-dongle,” I cried with a sob,

“You know, that big thingamabob!” 

She passed me a gubbins that looked quite tricky,

And I said, “I don’t mean to be too picky,

But that’s not it at all, that’s not the doohickey!” 

“The whatchamacallit, the one that’s quite big,

The wossit, the gizmo that looks like a pig,

Oh come on! Just gimme the thingamajig!” 

“This widget’s no midget, it’s making me mad,

It’s gnarled, and it’s snarled, it’s really quite bad,

The only thing that’ll shift it is that doodad!” 

Well, she got in a big huff, started passing me stuff,

But it were wrong for the job, it just weren’t enough,

And I started getting narky and all of a huff. 

“If you’d just give me what I need, you great divvy,

I could stop behaving like a snivelling skivvy.

What this job needs is a deedum, or an oojah-capivvy!” 

My fingers on the dingus was doing no good,

And the water were spurting, turning to mud:

My ineptitude had created a black flood. 

An unknown tool, whatever handle I picks,

Just something from there in the mix,

Just a thingy, or a doozy, would get me out of this fix. 

So if anyone knows the name that is right,

Pass on over here, as quick as you might,

Or else be stuck here for the rest of the night!

 

Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2013

 

 

Transit of Venus

Transit of Venus

He waits and watches carefully

Afraid to gaze directly

At what he wishes most to see

For a time that passes in hours

But which lasts only moments

For the smallest crescent of black

To flood and resolve itself

Into the small complete spot

The dot of a whole distant planet

At the very edge of vision

Moving slowly left to right

Following a steady path

Traversing the fiercely-blazing background

The massive blinding solar orb

Pulsing light and energy

A hot star that burns persistent

At astronomic distance

From his naked eye

It is only for these few brief moments

Through a particular conjunction

Of elliptical trajectories

And particular circumstances

That she arrives where she does

At these exact co-ordinates

So that he might have the chance

To stare at her distant body

Across the cold expanse

Of dark empty sky

Although his act of observation

Means nothing to her

And is of no consequence 

And as he bends towards the eyepiece

Of the solar-focused telescope

To follow the heavenly path

And marvel at the beauty

Of her namesake

His earth-bound Venus

Walks behind and slowly past him

Hidden in the darkness

Of sun-cast shadows

Making a transit of her own, unseen

Across the space that divides them

Her movement attracting no attention

And within seconds

The moment is over

And she is gone again

Her tiny body lost to sight

Pursuing an orbit of her own

Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2013

My Funny Valentine

My Funny Valentine (being a much-needed antidote to all that hearts & flowers rubbish)

I have to say it’s been a bit slow lately,

In the “bedroom department” you know,

So I thought I’d tempt my dear beloved,

And try to bring back the old glow. 

February four-teenth looked a good bet,

For that, as you know, is Valentine.

I thought that if I put in some effort,

Once again, our hearts could entwine. 

I went and bought her some fine roses,

The best ones I could see in the shop.

It cost me an absolute fortune,

My funds had already started to drop. 

Undeterred, I continued my bounty,

And I added a selection of chocs:

Nothing cheap, I really must emphasise,

Not a small one, but a very large box. 

I wrote her poem, declaring my love,

And put it into her Valentine card.

It’s not easy writing poetry, you know,

It fact, I’d say it’s quite hard. 

And finally I worked at the cook-book,

To present her with a very fine dinner.

I felt sure that this would win her heart,

I’d even say I was on to a winner. 

I made our dining arrangements,

And over the details I took some pain.

There was soft, gentle lighting,

Mood music, and some pinkish champagne. 

I hoped that she’d be impressed,

As she swooned over the effects,

And hopefully, when she’d eaten her meal,

There’d be kissing, and cuddling and sex. 

But the best-laid plans of mice and of men,

Are often reputed to go far astray.

The course of true love rarely runs smooth:

I was in for a disappointment that day. 

She was allergic to the chocolates I’d bought,

And she burnt her mouth on the soup.

The meal I’d cooked was truly awful,

And the sauce just tasted like gloop. 

She thought my poem was real corny,

She scratched her arm on the roses’ thorn,

She got drunk on the champagne,

Which left my hopes all forlorn.

She went off to bed with a headache,

As can be a fair creature’s fashion.

I had to do all the washing-up,

And that was the end to all of my passion. 

I was left on my own,

To sigh and to moan.

I’d wined her,

I’d dined her.

I’d thought that we two,

Would bill & would coo,

But it’s easy to see,

It just wasn’t to be. 

So what lesson can we draw from this tale?

What should we take as love’s sign?

Well - if you think pink,

It’ll drive you to drink.

You know in your head,

That it won’t lead to bed.

So he’s got a lot to answer for, that Valentine!

Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2013

Well, if the Pope is stepping down.....

Application for the post of Pontiff

Dear Sirs,

                                I read with interest your advertisement in The Catholic Herald for the post of next Pontiff, and I would like to apply for the role, which I understand is based in Rome. 

On this point, I wonder if there would be any possibility to work from home for a few days a week?  Alternatively I could pop in to Westminster Cathedral to pick up mail, attend meetings and so on.  I can be quite flexible on this issue. 

I realise the facts that, being a younger man, not being a Cardinal and, indeed, not being an actual Roman Catholic may at first glance appear to disbar me from your consideration, but I would beg you all to consider my skills and aptitudes for this demanding role, as set out in my CV below. 

1.       Age and Health – being only in my fifties, I have excellent health, so I’d be able to carry out the no doubt onerous duties of papal oversight.  I do not need a cane or a Zimmer frame, and can walk unaided for long distances.  Getting up and down stairs in the Vatican would be no problem.  I also understand that the role requires a lot of kneeling and some hand gestures, and I would find both of these things easy.

2.       High Church Office – I have previously applied for the post of Archbishop of Canterbury.  Although I was unsuccessful on that occasion, I have reason to believe that the Synod of the Church of England were frankly amazed at the quality of my application.  They did not say as much, but I’m sure that was the case.  I realize the Anglicans and your lot fell out a few hundred years ago, but I think it’s time to let bygones be bygones, don’t you?

3.       Working With Children – I have been CRB checked within the last twelve months.  And that business in the orphanage a few years ago was never proved.

4.       Celibacy – although I was married and, indeed, have four children, I am now divorced and single.  Although not through my own choice, I have been celibate for the past couple of years, and I reckon I could keep it up for a few more years, if that aspect is deemed to be particularly important.

5.       Religious Knowledge – I’ve read the Bible of course, although I do think it’s a bit over-rated.  It’s rather repetitious and contradictory in places, but I’ve got some ideas about that.  If appointed to The Holy See, I would get some copy-writers to go right through it and do a proper editing job.  I’m sure it could be shortened quite considerably.  Think of the costs we could save on printing & distribution!

6.       Papal Bull – I know that the last few post-holders were full of this, and I think I can confidently say that I would be too.

7.       Latin – I did this to O-level in school and got a “C” grade.  I’m sure I could brush it up a little, although I do remember some key phrases that could be useful during papal audiences, such as:

·         NIL CARBORUNDUM DESPERANDUM – or “don’t let the bastards grind you down” and

·         IN LOCO PARENTIS – or “my father is an engine-driver”

8.       Travel – I understand that a great deal of world-wide travel is involved.  This would be no problem as I already have a frequent-flyer card and an airport-lounge pass.  I assume that Alitalia run a similar loyalty scheme for regular customers?

9.       Company Car – I have a full clean UK Driver’s Licence, which I assume would be OK in Italy, and probably not needed at all around the streets of Vatican City?  Anyway, we could make further savings here, as you would not need to employ a separate driver – I could drive the pope-Mobile myself.  I assume that there is a free petrol allowance each month?  Please advise. 

To summarise then: as you can see, not only do I have all of the skills that you would need for a Keeper Of The Keys Of St Peter, but I’m full of really good ideas too. 

PAX VOBISCUM…………….Andy Fawthrop

 

Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2013

Paneer & Herb Fritters

Recipe for: PANEER & HERB FRITTERS

Ingredients: 

• 1 tsp cumin seeds
• 227g paneer, coarsely grated
• Handful coriander, leaves, sprigs, stems, finely chopped
• Handful mint leaves, finely chopped
• 1 spring onion finely chopped
• 9g fresh ginger, peeled & grated
• 2 garlic cloves, finely grated or crushed
• 2 eggs, beaten
• 2 tblsp plain flour
• Sunflower oil for frying

Method: 

1. toast the cumin seeds in a dry pan for about 1 minute.  Remove from heat & place in a bowl
2. add everything else to the bowl, except the oil, and mix well
3. using wet hands, take walnut-sized handfuls of the mixture, then press into little flat cakes
4. these can now be cooked, or chilled in the fridge till ready
5. heat the oil in a heavy frying-pan.  Fry batches of the fritters until golden brown underneath, then turn over & cook the other side
6. drain on kitchen paper & keep warm, whilst you cook more batches

What else you need to know: 

1. delicious as a snack or starter, served with lemon wedges and sweet chilli dipping sauce