Winter looms, and the soup season is soon to be upon us, though the more perceptive among you might have noticed that, here at least, it’s never entirely gone away.
I’m quite partial to leek and potato soup, not least because of its simplicity – leeks, spuds, stock, herbs, seasoning – what’s not to like?
But because the arthritis in my hands has recently gone from inconvenient to WTF???!, peeling ice-cold spuds straight from the fridge is something best avoided, so I wondered – how would it be using Smash instead?
The reason for the molasses sugar is that – to me, at least – date purée isn’t all that sweet, despite the fact that eating dates can be like munching on sugar. And, of course, it adds flavour. As will a hit of cinnamon (or whatever spice you prefer).
For the purée, roughly chop about 2 dozen pitted dates, put into a small pan with half a cup – about 150ml – of water, bring to the boil, put on a lid, remove from the heat and leave until soft.
Those of you who read that post will know that I explained to my GP why I needed the following drugs:-
Nebivolol (beta-blocker) as the dose suggested by the cardiologist (half my normal dose), drove up my BP to what I consider to be a dangerous level. Yesterday’s BP was 115/59, for example. For the two days for which I took the reduced dose, and of which my GP was notified, my BP was 145/75 and 147/79. Both unacceptable. I reverted to my normal dose of 2.5mg b.d.
I have an email from you, the subject line of which says “Ron: Your opinion matters”.
Actually, it doesn’t. You don’t care about my opinion, or anyone else’s.
Earth at risk after cuts close comet-spotting program, scientists warn shrieks the Guardian, getting its knickers in a right old twist over nothing. So here’s a tip, guys – stop trying to out-bollocks the Mail!
The following letter is going to my GP this morning. Over the weekend I discovered that my previous letter hadn’t been sent – fax transmission had been cancelled – by me. I have no idea why, nor do I have any memory of that, which is deeply worrying.
Names have been redacted as consultants tend to get a tad shirty if their names are mentioned and, while I clearly have no confidence in the cardio guy, doctors do tend to side with each other – a fact that is at the heart, I believe, of many of the problems I’m having.
So, this is the letter:-
I have, on my chopping board in the kitchen, what purports to be 900g of diced venison. Highland Game brand, from Sainsbury’s – deeply unimpressed and I posted an unfavourable review. Be interesting to see if it’s published.
I say purports because it’s sure as hell not diced, just randomly hacked up – I’ve seen better-presented roadkill. And some of it is mush, as if it’s been dragged off the hill behind a Land Rover (rather than farmed, which is what is actually is). I spent an unseemly amount of time surgically removing skin and connective tissue and generally making it eatable. Why the hell people with absolutely no knife skills are employed to prep meat I shall never know. Well, OK, there are, doubtless, more people without the requisite skills than with, so, here’s a thought – train the buggers if you have to. And that applies to all supermarkets, not just Highland Game.
About this time two years ago I bought a small (70cm square), table, on the assumption that it would enable me to carry out a substantial amount of kitchen prep while seated (no room for even a perching stool in my kitchen).
Like most things affordable these days, it was self-assembly. It was also heavy which, as I was in the process of starving almost to death at the time, meant I couldn’t even lift the buggerdly thing, never mind assemble it. And if I had been able to, it turned out I had no room for it.
Today, I have room, and I’ve been able to assemble it. Still can’t lift it but I was able to drag it into the living room and put it together.
This is it:-