Did I Really Do That?

I am not a chef, but I can cook, perhaps down to the fact that I am meticulous, organised and read what it says on the packet. I do a mean salmon on pasta with prawn sauce, which varies according to what is available in the kitchen. I try to balance salt and sweet, garlic and any other ingredient.

We sometimes buy fresh chilis, which invariably dry after a while, but we keep them like that. A few times I have used dried chilis in my prawn sauce to add some kick to it, which Mrs S in particular likes very much. I did that yesterday as well.

I am a keen washer-upper, even during cooking, which is particularly good when you handle both onion, garlic and, in this case, chili. I always clean any board straight after use; I am funny like that. I also wash my hands regularly during the process, which is extra prudent handling the chilis.

Yesterday I did the usual, used my fingers to remove the seeds and tear the chilis into small pieces. Then I washed my hands thoroughly, several times, with washing-up liquid.

I managed to get the meal ready for the important European football game between Liverpool and Real Madrid and sat down to enjoy a sporty meal. My favourite team, Liverpool, outplayed Real from the start and I felt I was in for a memorable European evening, which would turn out later to be true, but in a different way to what I had anticipated.

After a thoroughly thrilling first half and a lovely salmon dish (if I may say so myself) I realised I had been staring at the TV screen without blinking perhaps for too long, so my eyes were a little itchy. Then I did it. To an observer it might have looked like I could not believe my eyes. My team had been outstanding and outclassed a formidable opponent after all.

I took off my glasses and RUBBED MY EYES! Need I say more? I had washed my hands a thousand times in warm water with soapy stuff; the chilis were dry, etc.. etc..

I thought my eyes would burn to slushy mush, melt, disintegrate, explode, run dry or .....  I honestly thought my hands were without any trace of the hot chilis, but some oil or microscopic particles must have lingered on my fingers to set my eyes on fire.

It took all of the half time interval to rinse my eyes in water, first under the tap, then using the eye cup Mrs S rushed upstairs to get from the medicine cupboard. Perhaps I should have taken a photo of my eyes then, but that might have scared some squeamish readers. The fact is that I said to Mrs S, "It's crazy, I am standing here thinking I have to blog about this", and laughed about it.

How sad is that, inflicting pain on yourself in order to have some blogging material? I would certainly never do this again. Next time I will be using my trusted rubber gloves or something.

My eyes still feel a bit swollen today, but what the heck, Liverpool progressed to the quarter finals of the European Cup.

My Sikh Friend

An envelope turned up in the post and I immediately reacted to the ominous timing. Why do I get mail from him now? I thought. It looked like his handwriting, but could it be his widow writing? I'll explain.

Six years ago when I had to spend a month in hospital, I had a bed neighbour whom I got to know quite well. He was an elderly gentleman waiting for some procedure which would take place sooner if he stayed in hospital rather than going home to wait there. It was a bit like standing in the queue in a supermarket, then remembering an item you've forgotten to put in your trolley. Would you go and get it, risking having to start all over again? So this old chap was in the priority queue so to speak, being pretty bored just waiting.

He and his family had been chased out of Uganda by Idi Amin together with thousands of others, moved to the UK and set up a business there. His family who came to visit always had a chat with me (and Mrs S if she was there), and they often brought him home-made food which looked very appetizing. Once I had got my appetite back I found the hospital food rather uninspiring, to say the least. So guess what, I was offered some of their tasty food to compliment the hospital Halal alternative, which I found more interesting than the standard food there. So there we were, a Swedish Englishman and an African-Indian Sikh sometimes having a Muslim meal or an Indian home-cooked dish. Sadly I could not offer any Swedish meatballs in return, but Mrs S offered my friend not only Tesco's yummiest fruit yogurts sometimes, but she also regularly took care of his lottery ticket at the newsagent's.

Since that hospital friendship we have always sent each other Christmas cards, despite the fact that I am not a believer and my friend is not of the Christian faith. He will be in his eighties by now, so I feared the worst when we had this letter, which turned out to be a card, our first Christmas card this year. My old friend Devi certainly knows how to meet a deadline, early! (Sorry, no pun intended!)

Parasol Mushrooms

On Friday we went for a walk in the late afternoon. It was damp, grey and a little cold, so there were not many people out, not even dog walkers or joggers. I was thinking of how I had seen some gigantic mushrooms the previous week but not dared picking them because I was not sure what they were, edible or poisonous. After that I had spoken to my mother who suggested they were Parasol Mushrooms (Riesenschirmling in German, Stolt Fjällskivling in Swedish). I then looked them up on the net and found they were more than edible; they were in fact very desirable, and had a nutty flavour. Since they are normally not sold in shops, the only way of getting some is to pick them yourself.

When we came to the field where I had seen these mushrooms, which obviously had been picked by somebody with a greater fungi knowledge than yours truly, I kept my eyes open for more of these massive mushrooms. Only a visually impaired person could have missed them; there was a group of new delicious ones waiting to be picked, and despite the fact that we had just set out on our walk, I promptly picked five of them and held them like a bouquet in my hand for the rest of the hour-long exercise. I did not want to miss out on them yet again.

When we got back I did another search on the net to establish the identity of the fungi five and was in the end happy they were not poisonous. I first used them as a starter, just frying them with some salt and pepper, and then to make the sauce for the main course as well. They were absolutely gorgeous! Next time we go for a walk, I think I will carry a basket or a bag because my hand was completely rigid from holding those mushrooms for an hour. I have been smitten with mushroom mania!

I Am a Cheat

I am cheating with my Panasonic Breadmaker, or is it not cheating? Anyway, when you wake up in the morning to the aroma of newly-baked bread coming up from the kitchen, you know you are in for a good day. I have heard of estate agents recommending vendors put on the coffee machine before a viewing because of its alluring powers, but I say it would work equally well with a breadmaker, nice ‘n easy. Aaahh!

When I was younger (sounds sad doesn’t it?) there was a period when I used to bake all my bread completely manually. My son loved it and the bread did not last very long, which was the best compliment. However it was time consuming and in the end became too much, so I gradually started buying bread again. Then a few years ago I bought this wonderful machine, a Panasonic Breadmaker, which I found, after some research, was regarded the best on the market. And boy does it bake some lovely loaves! Perfect result every time. I have tried some German bread mixes as well but they were not always reliable, not consistent in output quality. When I stick to the Panasonic booklet’s recipes I always get fantastic results. Does it not look mouth-watering? Can you smell it?