Bitch on the Blog

June 6, 2018

Sardines

Early this evening I cut off seven heads. I then gutted the bodies. Butterflied them by gently pressing my hand down the back of their spine and removing same, namely their backbone. And, no, I did’t call any of them Nick by the time they were spineless. I doused them with hot smoked pepper and fried them in olive oil. Served with Padron peppers and other full in your face delicacies.

Yes, sometimes you need to bloody your hands before stuffing your face. Admittedly I only do this with fish. Possibly because, when very very very young (between the age of five and later) I went fishing with my grandfather. First we dug dewy earth and caught the early morning’s worm. Then we set out. On a rowing boat.  In the middle of the (small) lake he’d cast the line. And we’d wait. Quietly. Smiling at each other in conspiracy. I think watching my grandfather reeling in fish of some size – giving a little slack, reeling in, giving a little slack, reeling in, slack, patience and calm – is how I learned to conduct my relationships.

Back at the shore, bucket with fish unloaded, poured onto the grass, my grandfather showed me how to kill. Tool being a piece of fairly substantial wood. Essentially, a bit like Agatha Christie and the butler in the library, a wack at a precise spot just below the back of the head the most benign way to be dispatched if you are a fish. After the gutting, it was over to my grandmother to fry them into a feast. Happy memories.

Six of tonight’s fish heads looked resigned to their fate, Zen like. Number seven looked astonished (mouth wide open). Know how he felt. Whilst I tend to keep my mouth shut other than when smiling (default mode) I too am astonished at times what life has in store for you.

U

Advertisements

February 26, 2018

The Alternative Comment Box, Interval 1 – Know your onions

Filed under: Amusement,Food,Fortune,Happiness,Joy,Kitchen — bitchontheblog @ 19:15
Tags: , , , , , , ,

Whilst giving forces who think they are [forces] a chance to regroup let me shed a tear over onions.

One of these days I will calculate how many onions I have chopped over a life lived so far. What is remarkable about chopping onions: Unlike when, say, playing the guitar you grow callouses to render your fingertips without feeling (one of the reasons I don’t play the guitar), your eyes will never ever grow used to an onion’s onslaught. You cried over your first onion you’ll cry over your last onion. That’s about it. Scant comfort, unlike with many other deals in life, you know where you stand. And smell.

Secondly, short of the rather irritating, coming at you unasked,  cakes in the motherland and trifles in the fatherland, virtually any dish worth its salt will start with an onion. Onions are ritual. One of these days, when I am about one hundred and twenty and Ms Misery will have died a not so miserable death (I hope) and in order to keep me occupied in her absence, I shall ponder what would actually happen to our palate’s concern, sensibilities and sensitivities if the onion was shown the door and never grown again.

I can see it now: My first memoir and self help book, titled “Life without an onion”. If that won’t make you cry little else will.

U

May 13, 2017

Cards being dealt

Filed under: Amusement,Communication,forward,Friends,Kitchen,Observations — bitchontheblog @ 10:18
Tags:

Housekeeping is good. I like it. A bit like stock taking.

So, on a point of housekeeping: Those of you I haven’t replied to recently my apologies. Please do not think that your comments go unnoticed. They don’t. I think them over and pen many a considered reply in my head whilst getting on with other things. Yes, if only I could decant my thoughts whilst leading the rest of my life it would not only be efficient it would bury you under an avalanche. Which would be a pity. Because it’s difficult to find that special tree in a forest, or a swine among my many pearls.

Where were we? Housekeeping. My  recent and truly enchanting post on “arrogance” has gone awol (absent without leave). Which reminds me – I think it the height of, no, not arrogance but thoughtlessness how acronyms are used. A few days ago I read an article so memorable I have now forgotten what it was about. But it was interesting. Not least because the author kept going on and on and then some more with three capital letters which meant nothing to me. Nothing. Nada. Zilch. Still, it made good reading which is quite an achievement when the reader has no idea what the writer is on about. Considering his – frankly shocking – last post Nick may like to pick up the baton and hasten the end.

Over at John’s a handbag dog with a bone not able to get her teeth into but (for reasons no longer unknown to me) an axe to grind tried to “savage” me. That was so cute – if incoherent. Should you, Sonata, read this, let me remind you of John quoting his mother: “Choose your battles wisely”. Unless, of course, you are dead set on losing not only the war but the battle too.

However,  the most unlikely person has not so much come to my defense (Rachel positively doesn’t like me – though I think we could be good friends if only she’d let me) but has a sense of playing fair. Her jumping into the breach was refreshing. I smiled, and your delivery, Rachel, was a subtle backhander for me.

Other than that, and remember we are talking housekeeping and ship shape, it’s all a bit rough round my edges here at the moment. I need to get to grips with a storm I had hoped to ride out. It’s humbling (and educational) when you realize that will (oh do I adore will) and wishful thinking do not always have the power to overturn realities. So, as Jean, the mother I adopted in blogland, will point out: The only way forward is to adapt. Which is true. Still, I am not a chameleon.

Off to do some housekeeping,

U

December 18, 2016

Chemistry

Filed under: inexcusable,Kitchen,Observations — bitchontheblog @ 16:45
Tags: , , , , , , ,

Don’t think me mad. I am not. Or no madder than to be expected once you have left the relative safety of your mother’s womb.

I don’t know why, and this is why I am throwing myself at your collective shoulder, I do have a distinct horror of curdled milk. A fine cheese maker I’d have made.

In decades I haven’t curdled milk but this minute I did.  And before Looney and any scientists among you say anything, I know it’s NOT me who curdled the milk. The milk curdled all by itself.  Shows you what an awful position to be in when you are the middleman. The facilitator. The one with the pan. The milk. And the means to heat it.

Gravely and in grieving, yours,

U

November 3, 2016

The Lady of Shallot

How many years and onions does it take of cutting them (sliced, cubed) before you stop crying in the process?

U

October 1, 2016

Delirious

I do delight in simple joys. No need to climb the Kilimanjaro or do a Michelangelo for me to be happy. All it takes is to find my long lost small, nay tiny, kitchen knife. Its disappearance having been a mystery to me.

Yes, I know and you won’t remember, once upon a time I lamented my preferred potato peeler doing a runner. And other stuff.

The little knife was worse. I looked for it everywhere, asked people if they had “borrowed” it, emptied the garbage to sift through in case I’d accidentally thrown it out with the onion peel. No good. You can will certain things, but sometimes you have to acknowledge that loss means loss. What’s twenty years between you and a knife, you may ask. Well, you don’t throw loyal friends on the dung heap and forget about them in a jiffy, do you? As it were I felt awful that the knife might have thought me careless, might have felt discarded. What sort of an ending to a life is that?

Two hours ago I shifted an appliance, normally immobile and firmly anchored on the kitchen counter – and what do you know and what had slipped underneath it?  I did a double take and then clasped my old friend. That I didn’t cut myself with rapture is only due to my foresight and current lack of band aids in the house. Six months, Sweethearts, six months! Never ever give up on anything, anyone – particularly not your favourite knife.

And do search in unlikely places; behind the curtains if all fails.

U

June 19, 2016

RIP

Filed under: Animals,Dizzy,Future,Kitchen — bitchontheblog @ 18:49
Tags: , ,

I have my uses/come in useful.

Today, no shit, a neighbour (in terms of evolution she could be my daughter) knocked at my door. She was devastated. Once you get to bottom of hysteria all is well. She had no one, not even her brother or my son come to think of it, but me to turn to. How sweet is that? Thus I killed a mouse – in her kitchen. As Sundays go this one, well, let’s just say nature takes it course (or should that be “cause”). Yuk. At least it [the mouse] was small. And I didn’t hang about to relieve it of its misery.

U

May 24, 2013

Don’t open the oven

Filed under: Kitchen — bitchontheblog @ 17:18
Tags: , , , ,

Life is too sunk to attempt a souffle.

U

January 7, 2011

Dinner is served

Filed under: Kitchen — bitchontheblog @ 22:48
Tags: , , ,

The Artist at work

Don’t say I don’t do pretty. And no, I will not give step by step instructions of how to fillet  a sardine.

U

Blog at WordPress.com.