All quiet on the Western Front

Cold subsided, trains running, rain finally stopped, waistline expanding.  Exactly as things should be in early February.

With no major plans afoot other than some dogsitting this weekend, there is not much to report other that what I’ve eaten for my tea.  See below for my magical winter warming caraway and cumin spiced parsnip soup and chunky beefy curry with caraway rice (I love caraway seeds).  I have also attached pictures of other random things that have made me smile this week, including my dozy cat, our local pub dog enjoying the stove and the first sunset I have seen in ages.

Culinary cure for colds

I appear to have developed man flu.  I have been working on a cure…

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First of all, the most delicious wine ever.  Honestly, this stuff is fruity juicy loveliness in a glass.  It’s normally about £9 a bottle but currently on offer in Morrison’s at about half that.  Stock up now!  Next stop, a steaming mountain of rich and heavenly smoked haddock and mustard cream bean stew with spinach.  My lovely husband channelled our food God, Nigel Slater, to create this dish and it was amazing.  It’s tastiness was off the scale.  Despite it’s cold curing abilities (although, this is probably the reason it was so effective), it’s fat and calorie content is through the roof.  I consumed the lot before I realised how I may have just reduced my life expectancy by a day or two.  It should come with a public health warning.  Having already done the damage, I thought there was really no point in stopping there so I reclined on the sofa with a toasty, boozy and creamy Gaelic coffee to help complete the healing process. Ahhhh.  This worked wonders.  Finally, feeling slightly closer to human, I had a cheeky wee Cuba Libre as a digestif.  Havana Club with four fat wedges of lime squished over ice and topped with full fat cola.

Today I am functioning at about 90%.  A definite improvement.  Magic.

Roastit Bubbly Sunday- A Sunday roast in Glasgow’s West End

Scotland is cold.  Scotland in January is even colder, therefore, forget salads, pitta pockets, couscous and flans, wraps, fruit salads and quiche.  A Sunday roast is an essential dietary requirement for survival through the winter months.  Happy am I that Roastit Bubbly Jocks on Dumbarton Road, in deepest darkest Partick does the mother of all Sunday roasts.  It’s a wee bit out the way, but so worth the journey.  And, you don’t even need your stab vest!  Not now Partick and Hyndland are practically the same place.

First we had a canape as a belly warm up.  A crostini with slow braised shin of venison topped with Apricot chutney.  Holy cow that was good…or should I say deer?  Followed by broccoli and butternut squash soup.  Sounds questionable, but it was delicious. For the main event there was a choice of beef, lamb or pork.  There was also a salmon in shellfish cream sauce option.  I have no idea about the veggie option, but who cares!  I was there to eat meat and load of it!  This I did having gone for the lamb and it was soooo good.  It arrived doing the back stroke in a pool of rich gravy accompanied by a lilo of mashed potato and a mini yorkshire pudding life ring.  Obviously it’s not a pool party till all you friends are in there with you, so before I new it my plate was also full of roasted beetroot, turnip, carrots, broccoli and roast tatties.  Heaven!  Unbelievably I finished every last bite, which I did regret having signed myself up for a third course- The mighty fruit crumble with custard.  Despite it’s deliciousness, I had to throw the towel in halfway through- I’m just a little lady and this was a monster of a Sunday Roast. Anyway, following a coffee to make sure I didn’t get the post feast doze on the drive home, I rolled back to the car and headed home where I spent the rest of the afternoon in front of a roaring fire, watching movies, rubbing my poor belly and swearing I would become a salad eater as of Monday.

The hangover

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I must be about 8.2 on the Teucheter-scale today.  I would have been about 8.9 on friday night but I’ve managed to bring it down a notch or two to a less catastrophic state.

Celtic Connection festivities lived up to expectations.  After checking into our 12th floor, ahem, “penthouse” room the evening got underway with that most traditional of Scottish beverages, and one of my all time favourites-  The Daiquiri.  Well, washed down with a side of chilli and parmesan chips and it’s a definite Celt-Cuban classic!  This was followed by…another Daiquiri but this one was in the grand surroundings of the Blythswood Hotel- not a deep fried tatty in sight. After a bit of eavesdropping on some lovies who swore blind they new best friend was the manager of the Black Eyed Peas (really?…but really though?) we moved on to line our stomaches before doing some serious damage.  Anyway, we weren’t friends with anyones manager so clearly were not going to fit in.  Not with the kind of night we had in mind.