Wild Garlic Pesto

Recipe for: WILD GARLIC PESTO 

Ingredients: 

·        50 – 100g fresh wild garlic leaves, washed & roughly chopped

·        50g fresh parsley or coriander leaves (optional)

·        50g parmesan, grated

·        50g pine  nuts (or you can use sunflower seeds or toasted hazelnuts)

·        100 – 150ml olive oil

·        Freshly ground salt & pepper

·        Juice of ½ fresh lemon

 

Method: 

1.      Put all the ingredients, except the oil, into a blender

2.      Add about 30-40ml of the oil

3.      Blitz/ blend to a green paste

4.      Add the remainder of the oil, stirring to mix well

5.      Decant into clean glass jar(s) & allow to settle

6.      Make sure that there is a layer of oil across the top of the jar to preserve the pesto

 

What else you need to know: 

1.      Will keep in the fridge for a week or so

2.      You can freeze the stuff in ice-cube trays, cracking out as & when needed in recipes

White-out

White-out

I wakened to whiteness -

Oh, not to carpets of snow

That cover and soften every surface

Hiding all the details -

But to the thickest, hardest frost

That some winter wizard had painted

Or sprayed like icy caster sugar

Dusting delicately every single twig

And every blade of grass

 

Absolute stillness

Not a creature moving

In this monochrome silent world

The leafless branches of trees

Jutting dark sticks, dry and brittle

Frozen silhouettes

Crystalline shapes

Rimed in frost

Their features sharp and jagged

By the coldest hardness

And the clear glassiness of ice

 

The faintest moisture in the air

Floating silken gossamer strands

Vague and misty

Thin clouds of a snowman’s breath

Exhaled upon the scene

The distant hazy sky

Almost white itself

Blending with the earth

A dissolved horizon

An under-exposed frame

The under-developed picture

Of a colourless vista

 Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2022

Fleeting Madness

Fleeting Madness

“Amor brevis furore est” 

That day I thought my heart would burst

The blood boiling in my veins

A sickness at my stomach

Butterflies within

Every time I looked at you

Your eyelids flickering in the dazzling sun

Your lips parted in a gentle smile

Of mockery

And perhaps some pleasure

 

Reckless in my words

Hot and hasty, unthinking

Desperate to please, to promise anything

Urgent pleadings, passionate

Almost painful

Burning and breathless

Frightened lest you should turn away

 

I see it now

As a fleeting illness

Lasting but a little time

From which the fever passed its crisis

Symptoms resolved over many seasons

The heat now long dissipated

Calmer feelings restored

Cooler emotions to the fore

That messy madness gone

Replaced by a fine and clear indifference

 Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2022

Daughters

Daughters

When did it start to happen?

Was it as soon as you were born

or was it even earlier

as you floated warm in 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 desiring dollies

and petting puppies and kittens

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 delicate issues

involved in the 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

within the sisterhood

 

And a new respect

for a mother long-ignored

and who once had little time for men

the masculine, muscled males

with their crude loudness

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

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 2022

Drivel From Devizes - Dateline Sunday 27th March 2022

Drivel From Devizes: Dateline – Sunday 27^th March 2022

 

Here is our weekly round-up of events from D-Town:                                              

1.      The borough is just settling down again after the whirlwind excitement of last week’s official civic tour by the nice young couple from The Big House up on Long Street, unofficially dubbed as a royal tour.  After visiting a number of outlying districts in their air-conditioned black Range Rovers, the couple made a number of scripted speeches, patronised the local residents and collected a wide range of local artefacts as souvenirs of their visit – a Moonrakers’ tea-towel, a slice of lardy cake, and a framed photo of the Caen Hill locks at sunrise. 

2.      But there is also much new excitement brewing at the prospect of tonight’s big ceremony at The Palace Cinema, where the annual DOSSERs (D-Town & Outlying Silver Screen Excitement Rewards) will be handed out.  Favourites for Best Picture are The Power Of The Frog – a western tale of the difficult relationship between two amphibians on the Crammer, Mune – a sci-fi blockbuster featuring Moonrakers who can’t spell properly, and Bell-Fast – a gripping tale based on real-life incidents when the main bell at St Mary’s got caught by its own bell-rope. 

Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2022

 

Bedtime

Bedtime

A careful journey through the house

Starts with the regular routine

The easy things at end of day

Of switchings-off, and shuttings-down

Of locks and bolts and doors

And the silences that quickly fall

Within the lounge and in the kitchen

 

Then heading for the staircase

And the reluctant nightly climb

Towards the empty, darkened corridor

That harbours brooding shadows

And perhaps conceals an unseen something

Now trying to hold back a creeping fear

And the mounting tension

Engendered by an empty house

And too many nights of loneliness

 

Fumbling round the corner of the wall

With a trembling, groping hand

Seeking out the elusive switch

That will illuminate the feeble bulb

And banish darkness

From the space along the landing

And the hurried steps

Echoing against the plaster walls

Towards the master bedroom

Past the other door, her door

The one that never opens now

And diving quickly into the empty bed

To banish this unwanted fear

This irrational paranoia

And to try to fall sleep

Yet again alone

 Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2022

Looking Up

Looking Up

We waited for you to come and join us on the lawn

The tea cooling in the pot

And David said he thought he’d seen you

Climbing the back stair-case

Not long before we had come out

 

And mother made some remark about the wayward rambling roses

Casting gloomy shadows over the dining-room windows

Pattering against the glass, making it seem so much darker

They needed severely cutting back

And she would speak to Jenson

When next she saw him

 

Then David said suddenly that he could see you at last

And we turned around to look

The chairs creaking gently

And spotted you high above the gallery, walking towards the round tower

Patterned by its cloaking ivy-tendrils climbing

And the white signals of your dress

Flashed between the crenellations of sandy-coloured stone

And so we called out to you and waved hello

 

The house was looking at its best

Hazel-growth softening the harsher edges

And we admired the summer blooms

The grass yielding springy under our feet

And we called out to you again

While David talked about the wedding

Busy with arrangements

His face shining with happiness

 

We must have looked so small to you

Dolls or puppets on the lawn acting out some domestic scene

Within the grand setting

As you regarded us below

From your parapet-high vantage-point

Staring down at us from above

 

And the breeze caught your hair, made it float serene

Your eyes calm and steady as if taking in the view

Your face cool-composed, your arms held high aloft

A mumbled prayer perhaps at the very moment

When we all looked up once more

And watched you step out

Into thin air

 Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2022

Peppered Monkfish with Red Pepper Sauce

Recipe for: Peppered MONKFISH with Red Pepper Sauce 

Ingredients: 

• 500-900g monkfish, off the bone, deveined, cut into large chunks/ rounds
• 2 tablespoons mixed whole peppercorns, ground roughly in a mortar
• 4 tblsps olive oil
• 2 tblsps plain flour, seasoned with salt
• For the red-pepper sauce:
• 1 tblsp olive oil
• 2 medium red peppers, de-seeded & cut into strips
• 2 medium tomatoes, skinned & chopped, (or use two from a tin)
• 1 clove garlic, peeled & minced
• 3 anchovy fillets, chopped
• Salt & freshly-milled black pepper
• 3 tblsps balsamic vinegar 

Method: 

1. make the sauce first by heating the oil in a medium-sized saucepan, adding the strips of red pepper & tossing them around constantly in the hot all, till they start to catch
2. add the tomatoes, garlic & anchovies, stirring to mix
3. lower the heat right down, cover & let the mixture stew very slowly for about 25 minutes, or until the peppers are completely soft.  You may need to stir a couple of times.
4. pour the mixture into blender & whizz to a coarse puree
5. taste & add salt & fresh-ground pepper, then the balsamic vinegar
6. set aside – you can serve the sauce cold, or warm it through to serve hot
7. now cook the fish.  Heat the oil in a large heavy frying pan big enough to take the fish pieces
8. roll the pieces of fish in the seasoned flour, then in the rough-ground pepper, pressing the bits into all sides
9. fry the fish in one or two batches for about two minutes each side, until tinged with brown
10. to serve, put a puddle of the red pepper sauce onto each plate, then carefully place the cooked fish pieces into the puddle 

What else you need to know: 

1. it looks complicated, but it’s very easy
2. the dish has quite a zing to it & looks impressive

 

Sunday Dinner

Sunday Dinner

Hands washed, all at table

Before Mam brings it in

From the steaming kitchen

The still-smoking old roasting tin

Piled high with Yorkshires

Tall and brown and crisp

Dished out quick enough

Served onto cooling plates

With a lake of Oxo gravy

Thickened as we like it

And finished up in minutes

In case there’s another going

Simple batter puddings

To fill a grumbling stomach

 

Then the cindered joint of beef

(Chicken being a luxury)

Cooked to the usual formula

Gas mark eight for two hours

And when it’s brown, it’s done

But when it’s black, it’s buggered

Lifted straight out of a roaring oven

And asking Dad to do the usual

And carve the burnt offering

As if anyone else would ever be allowed

 

The small, careful, wafer-thin slices

Spread out to look like more

Watched like a hawk by Mam

And quickly passed around till all are served

The grey meat livened up with Colman’s English mustard

And then the roasties can be handed round

The shining fat still dripping down

With plain carrots or peas

Nothing fancy, plain as always

And what used to look like sprouts

Boiled to within an inch of their lives

Waterlogged and dangerous to know

Pushed to the side of the plate

And only eaten when threatened with no pudding

 

The scraping of knives and forks

On chipped and mismatched plates

Hides the murmurs of approval

But no time for chatting

Amongst the rapid eaters

And first to finish asks if there’s any seconds

But there hardly ever is

For nothing’s ever cooked that might be wasted

Except the remnants of the joint

That will make our Shepherd’s Pie

Or rissoles on Monday

Same as every other week

 

Then the siding away of dirty plates

And the clattering of the cooking dishes

Piled up in the sink to soak

Amidst hot, soapy water

And the inquests on any leftovers

Before the pudding bowls and spoons

Put in their appearance

A fruit and pastry pie

And lashings of thick Bird’s custard

Topped with a skin that nobody seems to want

 

Feeling full-to-busting, FTB

Heavy stomachs and shining eyes

Everybody had enough?

Before tackling the washing-up

Arguing over who’s washing

And who’s wiping

And who shall put the pots away

Mam now tired and fretful

After slaving over a hot stove all the morning

Driven by the need to prove her metal

Haunted by recent memories

Of war-time restrictions

Of rationing and shortages

Making do and mend

Keeping calm and carrying on

 

And Gran asleep beside the fire

Leaving Dad to read his paper

And listen to the wireless

Where Family Favourites

And The Clitheroe Kid

Keep us all amused

And Mam can put her feet up for a bit

Before it’s time for Sunday tea

 Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2022

Kindling

Kindling

Many years ago

I saw your blackened face

As it shone by firelight

With beads of sweat

Streaking whitened paths

Through the sooty grime

As it dripped into your beard

 

You stood above the flames

Your features darkened

By shadows flickering

Tending to your bonfire

Watching the orange fingers

Leafing through the pages

As they turned them over, one by one

And burned them fiercely

Within the conflagration

 

The blasphemous words

Dangerous thoughts

And heretical teachings

Within those banished books

Made easy fuel for flames

Mere card and paper

Covers and bindings

Consumed within the smoke

Rendered down to ash

So that none might read them any more

 

But now your brow seems furrowed

As you wonder what to do

With all this glass and plastic

Metal and electronica

Casings and batteries

Of phones and iPads

And other hand-held gadgets

That will not catch alight

Nor burn with any purpose

 

This digital economy

Its airwaves alive with anarchy

Downloaded through the ether

A seditious cyberspace

That cannot be controlled

A communications spectrum

That provides its own oxygen

Requiring nothing else to Kindle

 Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2022

Turning Into My Own Father

Turning Into My Own Father

It’s of little use

I can see it all now

The mirror does not lie

I find myself looking at a man

That I do not recognise

Yet is alike, and who looks vaguely familiar

 

Although I cannot quite place him

I’m sure he is not a stranger

The fullness of his face

The receding hairline

Ebbing back above his brow

A distinctive pattern

That I know from photographs

In the sepia tones of generations

 

Dark and hooded eyes

Look back towards me

Posing unanswerable questions

Full, fleshy uneven lips

Thickening jowls

Jaw-line set heavy

And the slackness of muscles

Etch long, deep lines within sagging skin

And tell a story of their own

 

Unblinking he returns my stare

His face unreadable

Implacable and calm

But tired, deadly tired

As if this may be the last time

That he will stand so still

Allowing himself to be inspected

His features so exposed

Under the unforgiving bathroom light

 

And at last I am forced to look away

No longer able to hold his gaze

Nor to make the excuse

That I am too busy

To spend more time

On this sad reflection

And I am left to wonder

If his eyes will continue to follow me

Around the room

Long after I have moved away

 Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2022

Drivel From Devizes - Dateline Sunday 20th March 2022

Drivel From Devizes: Dateline – Sunday 20^th March 2022 

Here is our weekly round-up of events from D-Town:                                              

1.      Workers in D-Town were shocked this week when they were summoned to a meeting in the Market Place, only to be informed by the town crier using a megaphone, that they had been sacked on the spot.  Drivers were wrestled from buses by a firm of security oiks, and milkmen were relieved of their floats.  Replacement workers from other villages were brought in to begin the arduous tasks of cleaning the streets and guarding both Greggs and Wetherspoons. 

2.      However, spirits were lifted with the news on Thursday that Narwan Nose-Hername had been released from house arrest in Trowvegas, where she had been held captive for over five years over an unpaid milk bill.  After tense and detailed negotiations involving senior figures from several wholesalers, the bill was finally paid in a way that avoided breaking the long—standing economic sanctions regime. 

Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2022

 

 

Cat's Cry

Cat’s Cry

How your crying disturbs me

Makes me sit up and take notice

And listen to your distress

To your prowling round the room

Snuffling among the shifting shadows

Along the edges and into deep corners

Seeking something that is not there

And that you will never find

 

The pitiful, lonely sound

That mewling tone

Of existential angst

That smacks of fear and desperation

And catches at my pity

Snags on something

That makes me want to comfort you

To tell you that it’s alright

That I’m always here for you

 

But you do not understand me

When I try to soothe you

My words of comfort carry no sense

In your feral feline world

And soon the frenzy passes

Back into forgetfulness

And you resume your normal cool indifference

As you suddenly cease to enquire

Into the meaning of your existence

 Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2022

Fifty Shades of Gravy

Fifty Shades of Gravy (a modern romance)

How long have I loved thee my dearest? – Probably since I was but a mere child,

But the merest thought of devouring you is sure to be driving me wild!

 

‘Cause this is a very ticklish subject, and I don’t like to seem naughty or coarse,

For we’re talking about that sticky stuff, which posh people refer to as “sauce”.

 

I hate it when things are too watery - to have it like that is surely a sin -

It needs to have some kind of substance - it serves no purpose if it’s too thin.

 

It just slips off all over the place, and everything starts sliding around,

It doesn’t keep the right things together - you need something thicker, I’ve found.

 

You see it has to have the right texture, and about this I know I’m quite picky,

But if it doesn’t have enough body, it’ll never stand up and be sticky.

 

Without it, things just won’t move along, and you’ll be left wondering why,

And if it’s not adequately lubricious, you’ll find everything tends to be dry.

 

Such lack of lubrication’s a problem, and can render you exceedingly grumpy,

‘Cos what you don’t expect, when you get down to it, is for it all to feel terribly lumpy.

 

And if the flavour’s not tasty enough, it can leave you feeling quite queasy,

For the last thing you want, at this juncture, is something that’s oily or greasy.

 

It’s got to be configured just right, for the appetite it needs to induce,

To bring forth great oral pleasure, you must have plenty of juice!

 

No, you can’t have it too firm or too runny - such liquid upon you I just wouldn’t foist,

But something for the meat and two veggies - it’s best to have everything flowing and moist.

 

Yes, the moisture derives from the meat, it’s what you need, if you’re to have dripping,

The jus and the fat come together, and it’s like on nectar you’re sipping.

 

Of course, I speak not of jelly, but of gravy, made with Oxo, Bisto or browning,

Where on your plate there’s an ocean or lake, and the roast spuds are waving, not drowning.

 

So, I appeal to you ladies out there, if you want something that’ll cut the mustard,

Make sure you’ve got plenty of gravy, and avoid shark-infested custard!

 Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2022

Leek, Cheese & Bacon Muffins

Recipe for: LEEK, CHEESE & BACON MUFFINS 

Ingredients: 

·        1 leek, washed, trimmed & very finely sliced

·        100g butter, melted

·        4 rashers bacon, chopped (or lardons)

·        300g self-raising flour

·        1 tsp baking powder

·        ½ tsp mustard powder

·        ¼ tsp cayenne pepper

·        2 large eggs

·        175ml semi-skimmed milk

·        150g extra mature cheddar, grated

 

Method: 

1.      Preheat oven to 180C/ fan 160C/ gas 6

2.      Lightly grease 12 holes of muffin tin

3.      Cook the finely chopped leek in 1 tblsp of the butter over a low heat for 5 mins or until soft

4.      Set cooked leeks aside in a dish

5.      Reheat the pan, add bacon & cook until fat starts to crisp. Drain and add to leeks

6.      In a large mixing bowl, mix sifted flour with baking powder, mustard, cayenne & a pinch of salt

7.      In another bowl, lightly beat the eggs, milk and rest of melted butter together.

8.      Into that, add the cooked leeks & bacon, then the cheese, then the flour mixture

9.      Stir until evenly mixed, but don’t over-do it, or the muffins will be tough

10.   Divide mixture between 12 muffin holes & bake for 25-30 minutes until golden. 

What else you need to know: 

1.      Serve for brunch snack, or with soup

 

A Taxing Problem

A Taxing Problem

Times is tough and money is short;

It’s hard to know what to do;

The creditors keep asking for payment,

Especially the Inland Revenue.

 

But now there’s something that’s bothering me,

It’s difficult to know where to start,

‘Cause some people have hired accountants,

And made tax-avoidance into an art.

 

It’s all done through complex company structures,

Where they shift all their profits off-shore,

Paying far less than they really oughter,

And making out that, really, they’re poor!

 

The Yanks seem to be especially cute,

Hiding their earnings in crannies and nooks.

I’m talking about Google and Amazon,

And especially about Starbucks.

 

But they’re not the only ones in the game,

Who seek for their taxes to minimise,

By shifting their trading operations,

And their sales figures to disguise.

 

It might all be technically legal,

But morally, ethically, it’s not right.

It’s time that we did something about it,

It’s time for us all to put up a fight!

 

These corporations can afford to pay tax,

If they want to trade here in our market.

It’s time they made the right contribution –

Otherwise, we should tell them where they can park it!

 

They’re earning millions and billions,

Selling us books, DVDs and coffee.

The Government seem powerless to act,

And can’t spot the loopholes for toffee.

 

So let us consumers lead a fight-back,

Let’s see how much spending power we’ve got;

Time to vote with our purchasing choices,

And hit them with the tactics of boycott.

 

I’m fed up with being taken to the cleaners,

I’m almost at the end of my tether,

And I swear I’ll belt any Conservative,

Who tells us again that “we’re all in it together”!

 Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2022

Night-time Navigation

Night-time Navigation

I hope you won’t mind me telling you this, but there’s something I have to confess:

I’ve got this disembodied voice that I hear, but where it’s coming from - I simply can’t guess.

 

Sometimes, whilst I’m sleeping and dreaming, (that is to say, this happens during the night),

Being of a certain age, you see, I often find that my bladder is tight.

 

I find I have to get up for relief, and I desperately need to get to the loo:

I’ve got to find the bathroom quite quickly, in order to do what it is that I’ve got to do.

 

But as I disentangle the covers, I cannot but observe it’s pitch black,

And if I were to wake up the old lady, she’d surely give me a smack.

 

I’m half asleep, and I can’t really see: in fact, there’s no sort of landmark,

So I have to find my way to the toilet, without the aid of a lamp, in the dark.

 

That’s where my automatic pilot comes in: as I quietly slip out from the bed,

Through many years of custom and practice, I can hear the voice speaking inside my head.

 

“Go forward four paces, then turn to the left, carry on - right to the end of the wall,

Exit carefully into the next room, and be careful that you don’t fall!”

 

“Proceed three steps, and the toilet you’ll find: you are located before the loo station,

Now stop! and switch off your engine - you have arrived at your destination!”

 

It’s curious I can do this whilst asleep, I think it’s just a gift that I have.

I’m thinking of selling on the idea – perhaps Tom Tom could market it as “Sat Lav”?

 Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2022

Leopard

Leopard

A shout and then a frantic scramble

Engines revving, jeeps reversing

A finger points toward the tree

There, there! - up on the shaded branch

Binoculars focusing, cameras snapping

Jostling for position

To get the clearest sighting

 

There, there! – reclining, relaxed and lazy

Dozing through the day

Lithe and muscular

His deceptive power concealed

Hidden in his restful pose

A paw casually hanging down

Towards the ground

Awesome in his beauty

 

Calm and camouflaged

Sandy ground, black-spotted

Among the shadowed, shimmering leaves

Noon-time elusiveness

This shy, retiring cat yawns wide

Revealing razor teeth

Blinking yellow, slitted eyes

Which gaze, bored, at his admirers

Conserving energy till drowsy dusk

And night-time hunting

A fearsome predator in the dark

Stalking killer, silent assassin

Striking without warning

 

And as the low-sinking sun

Burns itself into the horizon

Throwing long shadows

The nervous herdsmen move their lowing cattle

Inside their flimsy compound

Away from night-time danger

And stare after the retreating jeeps

As they roll away, back to camp

Amid rising clouds of dust

 Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2022

Drivel From Devizes - Dateline Sunday 13th March 2022

Drivel From Devizes: Dateline – Sunday 13^th March 2022 

Here is our weekly round-up of events from D-Town:                                              

1.      D-Town has announced its latest humanitarian visa scheme for people fleeing the war in the Eastern state of Trowvegas.  Applicants will need to complete a mere eighteen forms online, upload at least four recent photographs of a Great Bustard, and provide details of a sponsor who is willing to have them stay in a shed at the foot of their gardens.  Instructions will be in Tagalog, a southern hemisphere language, because….well  the software was really cheap.  Biometrics, in the form of two stool samples, will be taken on Days 3 and 4 after arrival, when the benefits of a poor West Wiltshire diet can be seen most effectively. 

2.      And sanctions against Trowvegas and its supporters are now beginning to really bite.  The billionaires Ollie Gark, Milly Onair and Rich Bastard have all had their arses frozen, and their assets impounded.  Milk deliveries to the Trowvegas sink estates have been curdled and curtailed.  The 49 bus route has been diverted to make it serve stops that are even more inconvenient than usual.  

Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2022

Fungus

Fungus

A slow progress through the countryside

Breeze-carried through the air

Whispering, a gentle breath

Infection, invisible and insidious

Creeping, hidden, unseen movement

Bringing disease and certain death

 

A tiny fungus, just a spoor

Microscopic, beyond perception

Multiplying, growing quickly

Inside the branches and the leaves

Spreading, covering its victims

A landscape dying, wheezing, sickly

 

Trees ailing, falling, humbled

By the contagion in the country

Cut back, thrown upon the fire

A forest with holes in, open to the sky

The ashes slowly die back

And burn fierce upon the pyre

 Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2022

Classic Pea & Ham Soup

Recipe for: SOUP –CLASSIC PEA & HAM 

Ingredients: 

·        500g green split peas

·        1 small ham hock

·        1 onion, unpeeled, cut in half

·        4 cloves

·        1 stick celery, cut in large pieces

·        1 carrot, unpeeled, cut in large pieces

·        1 bay leaf

·        2 sprigs thyme

·        2 tblsp butter

·        1 onion, peeled and diced

·        1 carrot, peeled and diced

 

Method: 

1.      Cover the peas in cold water and leave to soak whilst you prepare the ham

2.      In a large pan put the ham hock, the unpeeled onion studded with cloves, the celery and the unpeeled carrot

3.      Add the herbs

4.      Cover with cold water and bring to the boil, skimming off any scum

5.      Simmer very gently for 2-3 hours until the hock is very tender

6.      Allow to cool in the liquid

7.      When cold, drain the ham, reserving the liquid, but discarding the vegetables

8.      In a clean pan, heat the butter and saute the onion gently for five minutes

9.      Add the diced carrot and cook for another five minutes

10.   Drain the split peas and add to the pan

11.   Add one litre of the reserved ham stock

12.   Bring to the boil, then turn the heat down and simmer until split peas are breaking down (30-60 minutes)

13.   Meanwhile, strip the ham-bone (with your fingers) and shred the meat

14.   Use the remaining ham stock to thin the soup to your desired consistency

15.   Stir the shredded ham into the soup and season to taste 

 

What else you need to know: 

1.      The soup should be fairly thick