French films and Farmhouse bread

I baked this Farmhouse beauty late last night, and, after letting it cool, wrapped it in foil leaving it solitary on the kitchen table.

And so to this morning...
We had a couple of thick slices....and realized that nothing beats homemade bread... The supermarket shelves can't hold a candle to it.

And so for today's treat..
Home made Irish Soda Rolls with additional poppy and sesame seeds. These will hold home made hamburgers and home made onion marmalade.
So simple yet so good.

Went out this morning and bought a few old bits:

The Magic Cottage by James Herbert. 50p
A lilac Georgette scarf. 50p
A lilac and mauve 1960's whirly psychedelic style patterned jumper with sequins dotted across the chest. £1:25
A satin cobalt blue blouse for mum. £1:25
A pair of dangly peach coloured earrings. Faux pearl. 25p
A Victoriana style cushion in shades of pale green, lemon and sage green. 75p
Three books for mum. Two Agatha Christie and one about Coronation Street. £1

And from Sainsbury's:
Hair stuff. Specialist Shampoo, conditioner and hair spray for women with silver locks who want them to remain that way.
Smoked Salmon. For mum's fish fetish.
Stockings. For me.

I'm off now to enjoy a chocolate biscuit or two whilst watching 'A Prophet' (2009) a French film with subtitles about a young Arab man who goes to prison and rises to become a top Mafia man.

Sounds fab!

Big Bread

Loved last night's Masterchef.
Or should I call it Mistresschef.
That flippiing Shaneanananananan or whatever her name is, is giving me the pip. Talk about Big Head!
Why, it's as if the 29 year old knows the outcome already. BTW 29 going on 49.
Her fake surprise at being told how marvellous and fabulous her plates are irritates me no end.
Yes, she does present a good plate of nosh but please don't seem surprised/stunned when Greg and John tell you so.
In other words no false humility please.

Meanwhile the real stars of the show, for me at least, are Eamon and Aki, you get the whole caboodle of emotions from these super amateurs. I adore Aki's face, panic and unclean clothes. My twin perhaps.....
Eamon cries. And you know how much I love real men.
I was willing Greg and John to keep him in and so they did, methinks Shannenenenenen has some competition...
The Scottish girl was toast.
Tattooed Jay is kinda cool and hot and knows his onions, he isn't my type of man though, his eyes are too sunken, but as male cooks go he's fairly awesome. The other little chap, the one who looks scared all the time, whatsisname, anyway, he delivers every week but lacks something. But what do I know?
All I ever cook is safe as houses grub, I don't pile food up and have it surrounded by pools of jus or parsnip cream.
I simply care and cough up homely dishes.

Talking of regular food, the bread, pictured above, tasted like bread should taste. Of ovens and warmth and sat on the bread plate with the unevenness and charm of all fine home made creations.

Back to Masterchef.
The bit where they cooked for farmers and jam makers in Cumbria made me truly salivate, not because the food looked so chewable but on account of FINGERS. On several occasions our chefs used their index fingers to shove lamb and venison and herring and custard onto the guest's plates.
I LOVED THAT!
I use mine a lot.
I've been known to eat with my fingers especially when entertaining, ensures a closeness, an intimacy if you will, that stainless steel does not.

Anyway I hope Aki wins. She probably won't. The glory will go to Miss Big Head. Shaleennannaaa
:)

Bye bye:)

As mum snoozed and Mr H watched a programme on the beauty of mathematics I relaxed with The Hamlyn Book Of Tea Time Baking. And others of that ilk.

Socked feet resting against Monty's warm fat back, I fingered the pages of the old book in the hope of finding the perfect roll.

Poppy Seed Knots, Kentish Huffkins, Wholemeal Breakfast Baps and Cheese and Celery Bread...All sounding divine.

The Huffkins I've made before, a long time ago, also played around with poppy seeds and sesame seeds, and did at one time, decorate a large white loaf with millions of sunflower seeds. Crunchy and dangerous.

I'm pleased to say that I'm developing a deep and doughy love affair with bread at the moment, and am enjoying fantasies way above my station.

Imagining delectable mixes. Brown and white. Wheatmeal and rye, white with dried onion.

However daunting bread making is, I think everyone with the merest scintilla of skill should have a go at bread, the very staff of life. If the top over browns so what....it can still be scoffed.

I made a lot of Irish Soda Rolls today. They didn't over brown. They emerged in a variety of shades of brown, some nutmeggy others caramelly, a few just suntanned. None though were burnt. In my dreams I have a fan oven...

Made more than usual and made them thicker than usual, so thick that, when baked, they resembled high and mighty Towers.

A few sloped, a couple split at their midriffs, not enough to look bad, or get scolded over, but just enough to look thoroughly home made.

I think that's why I make so many soups.

So I can make so many rolls.

Cooking Milipedes

3 x large loaves of bread.
12 x Chocolate Chip Fairy Cakes
1 x Strawberry and Cream Swiss Roll
12 x Sultana and Apricot Rock Cakes.

One of the loaves and all of the sweet goodies are for mum and dad. It's mum's birthday tomorrow so I thought a basket of homebaked treats would please her.

I've just caught David Milipede announcing his intention to run for Leader, and I'm still unsure as to what he is.
His mantra was one of 'out with Blairism and Brownism and in with Milipedeism.' He voice was soothing to the point of numbness, but underneath the scrubbing brush hair was a man much older than his years. Very old fashioned in a way. He didn't smile neither did he gesticulate much, there was of course the occasional hands-coming-together but all in all he was sober in his approach. He will not set the floor alight. But politics isn't always about barnstorming rhetoric, whooping and teeth it's about what politicians are elected for... delivering the goods.
This election will be thrashed out over the summer and I will love it, so what with the election, Wimbledon AND the World Cup your blogging old Glo will have her work cut out!


On a personal note just to prove that this blog isn't all about me....Mr Horsehound, bless his heart, suggested that he'd like to exhibit a selection of photographs celebrating me getting older.......
He now eats through a straw.

I will however give this artistic project some serious thought, you can be sure that if it goes ahead no Vaseline or tarting up will be used in production of these great pics.
I am nearly 54.
Every cry line, every worry line has been brought about by being a sensitive lady. I don't do bottling it up.
Be it emotions or pears.


Now a movie and one of mum's buns:)


Ta ta!