nest

I'll get straight to the point

We're out of vegemite. And, yes, that's a small jar because it's our back up jar. The main jar was left in London so the back up was called on FAR TOO SOON. Tom is sure to starve. And those freshly baked baguettes just scream for lashings of butter and a smear of veg. I've had to keep the jar to show Tom that I'm telling the truth- NO MORE VEGEMITE. No, there is none at the supermarket. I don't know why they don't make it over here. Yes, I think they're crazy too.

Rod and I have been living on cheese platters. Like this one...

Crackers? NEVER! Just break up a baguette, oui, oui. It is so true, EVERYONE walks around with a 'french bread stick'. Everyone. And, Rod thinks I'm being very un-PC when I say this, but all old French dudes look the same. Short, overweight, berret, cigarette, baguette. I'll get a photo for a future post.

All that cheese and pate, etc is adding a few kilos onto my frame, admittedly. The silver lining? I don't need to iron, as the stretching my clothes have to do immediately eliminates wrinkles. Which is particularly handy as the first day we were here Jules knocked the iron off the board and broke it. Thankyou, fat rolls, you've saved me again.

Another thing about rural France which pleases me no end is the sign posting for the towns. As you already know, I'm a list writer and get great satisfaction in crossing off completed items, so you won't be surprised to know that when I see this driving into a town...

...and this driving out...

...I get an overwhelming feeling of accomplishment. That's DONE! Cross it off. I love it.

Castles? Yep, seen a few of those. And for those of you who can't make it to my slide show dinner party when we get home, here's some photos...

Juliet had just descended these steps, her crying echoing through the tower, 'I want to see a princess! Why have they all died?! I want to see a REAL one, moving and talking.' The recreated scenes with wigged mannequins just didn't cut it, obviously. 
 
 

Offline in Madrid

There’s been wifi problems in the Farrell house. Hence, no blog posts or facebook updates, not that I’ve really had the time here in Madrid.

We’re staying with a great friend of mine and her family here in Madrid. They have lived here for a couple of years and are going back to London in July so our visit is well timed. It’s half way through our holiday and we’re enjoying some down time in this comfortable, spacious home... full of children. Between us we have 6 kids between the ages of 9 and 2. Energetic, imaginative, interesting children (did I mention loud?). We’re having a fabulous time and the kids are in their element.

It’s a major logistical operation to get us all up, breakfasted, out the door and down the street.

 
We’ve dragged these kids through busy plazas, on and off metro trains and buses. We’ve had highs and lows during the course of these outings for each and every child. BUT WE PUSH ON!

A high for the grownups was a visit to a sardine bar...

... fresh sardines simply cooked on a hotplate and served with chunks of salt.

 

Delicious. They’re eaten with fingers and washed down with beer...

Then the heads and bones are THROWN ON THE FLOOR! IT’S FABULOUS!!!!

Yum.

The kids didn’t get into the experience though (that's all 6 kids) and spent most of the time sitting on the step at the door. ‘Awww, it smells!’ and ‘I’m hot!’ and ‘I don’t like it here!’ and ‘When can we have our ice cream?’ and ‘Muuuummmmm!’. The latter yelled for the 15^th time as I was ignoring all complaints and soaking up the ambience that was the fabulous smelly sardine bar. ‘Another beer! Gracias!’

And I’ve been taking photos of food again.

Finely sliced, amazingly tasty ham off teh bone, sliced to order....

 

Anchovies!! with olives...

 

Deep fried, melt in your mouth calamari...

 
... which is a little out of focus due to all the excitement.

The Farrells’ have been amazingly wonderful hosts and we’ve loved staying here but our itinerary moves us on tomorrow to Paris. Rod knows a bit of French from when he lived in Montreal. He knows how to say ‘I cannot speak French’ in French. And that’s it.

This is the extent of my French (spoken in a very broad Aussie accent):

Bonjour

Merci

We (yes, I know, 'Oui')

Non

Sil vous plait

Resturant

Fillet mignon

Pepe le pew

Jacques Cousteau

...um... I should be right with that...

I hear the French are very forgiving and patient with non French speakers... we’ll be fine...

 

A Look Back Into Last Week

 
Last week was a long time ago. Well, it certainly feels that way. This time last week I was baking and delivering fruit cake cup cakes to the school for the mothers day stall...

...it maybe wasn't the most effective way to use my time...

...but heaven forbid anyone think I don't contribute!

I probably could have chosen to do something a bit less time consuming... with a few less steps in the process...

I was pleased with how they came out, even though I only produced half the amount I had intended due to the fact that I RAN OUT OF TIME.

As well as doing this baking I was also preparing to hand over the organising of a stall at the school fete in 6 weeks time. How did I think I could manage this and go away for 5 weeks before the fete?

Another job on my to do list was packing our bags for the afore mentioned 5 weeks away. A HUGE job.

This was ONE of my lists that was operating during last week...

...you may notice there's one item not marked off...

Ahh, minor detail! We've hired a car, worse comes to worse we can sleep there! No problem. I think.

ALSO, Tom and I were working on a presentation board for his last show and tell session at school explaining where we are going... PERSONALLY I would have arranged the pictures differently. They aren't really in order of itinerary items and dates, really, they're not, and I was at risk of taking over in a very uncharacteristic *cough* control freakish way. I had to STEP AWAY FROM THE GLUE STICK!!!

It ended up looking great.

And that magpie? We'll be taking him with us and photographing him in front of iconic European places to email back to the class. Hopefully that will last the whole trip... it's quite a commitment.

SO we're here. I'm writing from London. The 26 HOUR plane trip was quite simply horrible even though the kids were great and amazingly well behaved. It's a long way from Australia to London. A. Long. Way. We're not looking forward to our trip back, but that's not for over a month. We here, and it's fantastic. We have wonderful hosts and we're enjoying every minute.

 
 
 

Playgroup

I've been attending the same playgroup since we first moved here. Tom was one and I was newly pregnant with Jules. About a year after I joined the group I became the coordinator and have kept that job until today. I had my last day at playgroup today.

 

When I had a baby and a toddler I NEEDED playgroup. It was one of my only outings and I'd look forward to it all week, planning my outfit days in advance. Playgroup saved me from depression, loneliness and a feeling of utter incompetency in this parenting caper.

  

No matter how bad my week, I knew, that on a friday I had friends to listen and understand, I could have a cry and a laugh and I would come home a bit saner than I had left. What was even better was when I found that others had had a much crazier week than I had. It helped me realise that the antics in my home were normal for a family coping with an energetic toddler, a new baby and a sleep deprived mother. The tears were NORMAL (mostly mine). Allowing a two year old to watch TV all day was NORMAL (I just needed a break!). Vegemite sandwiches for tea was NORMAL (he's happy, he's healthy). While my parenting skills developed and the kids grew, I used my survival skills.

There was a large group of us a few years ago all with babies and toddlers which has now disbanded. Routines have changed, families have moved away, the toddlers have now grown and started school. Times have changed, our kids are growing up. I don't need playgroup any more.

There's a new group of mums now with babies and toddlers. It's their group, their outlet, their support network.

 

It was sad to say goodbye but a part of me was very grateful that I've left those days behind. The baby bit is over and the school bit has begun. I'm excited about that.

I'll miss going to playgroup on a friday and I'll miss the families who I've met... I'll also miss this view...

and the classically CWA style tea cups....

I'll leave these things behind but the friends I've made are friends for life, I'll take them with me.

 

Food Memories

Last night on Masterchef there was a challenge to recreate a childhood food memory. Which got me thinking, what would I do? And without hesitation the first thing that came to mind was Shepherds Pie. The comfort food we were given by Mum as kids... and even now. It's a cuddle on a plate.

Here's the Masterchef episode if you missed it...

Sunday week 2 2010 masterchef.
 

When I was much younger we always had Shepherds Pie the night after we had a roast lamb where the left over meat was ground in a hand mincer like this one...

 
Funny that that image came from a museum website. But I think the one Mum used was Great Grandfather's...

Then she'd make a gravy for the meat, place sliced tomato on the top and mashed potato over that then bake it until there was crunchy bits on the mash. But for the last... million years... she's been using beef mince. And this is about the only time she ever uses tomato sauce (or ketchup) for anything. A mixture of tomato sauce and Worcestershire sauce is added to flavour the beef mince and gives that savory-sweetish pat on the back that only true comfort food can give. Mum calls it a 'Mummy-loves-you' meal. She'd serve it with a crunchy green salad, often with sliced orange in it, and a garlicy lemon based dressing, on the side. You'd drizzle (POUR) the dressing over the salad and over the meat oozing out of your serve of pie. The dressing is always served in the jam jar (or similar) that was used to combine the dressing ingredients by vigorous shaking.

The round, pine table. The embroidered table cloth. Ten legs under the table.

It's my birthday today.

I'm making Shepherds Pie.

So I bought a small half leg of lamb and baked it this morning with garlic shoved in on a bed of sliced onion.

And I cooked it on about 160 deg C for an hour then covered it for another hour then added some water and uncovered it for a bit longer.

Or whatever.

Then I took it out and it looked like this...

Oh the aroma.

When it was cool I chopped it with my new sharp-as knife (as I don't have a mincer).

I also chopped that divinely sweet onion and added it to a saucepan with Australian olive oil and finely chopped garlic... and cooked it. I then added the liquid from the baking dish... and cooked it. Then in went the lamb...

Gosh it's hard to get a good photo of inside a pot.

Some dried mixed herbs went in too, and some tomato sauce and worcestershire. Just a bit of each, and some dijon mustard.

Then I mashed some spuds with a couple of garlic cloves in the water and mashed through.

And sliced some tomato. 

Then assembled...

Dobs (?) of butter on top.

Then in an oven at 180 deg C until the insides are hot and the top has brown, crunchy bits on the peaks of buttery mash.

Yum.

That was a birthday treat from my childhood. A cuddle on a plate.