Snoo's kitchen

I left you in the departure lounge at Gatwick airport heading for my flight to Dublin. After all the excitement of sitting through three hours of computer-based training and indulgent airport retail therapy, I was asleep just after the safety demo. I have to be really tired to fall asleep on planes. So it was slightly annoying to be woken up by the pilot announcing that we were beginning our descent into Dublin and should be landing in 35 minutes. Huh? The whole flight is just 55 minutes. But, on the positive side, an (in)famous woman has been known to ‘power nap’ for 15 minutes and wake up ready to run the country. I woke up ready to drink some Guinness…

Walking through the exit doors I couldn’t see any shrieking girlies that I recognised but on instruction I walked towards a man who was standing where advised with certain features. Luckily he said “you must be Snoo” and leaned forward to kiss me on the cheek. In a bit of panic, I tried to say yes and kiss him on the other cheek which just ended up in a clash of glasses and embarrassment on my part. Soon united with the girlies who had started drinking many hours before, we ate, drank and reminisced our socks off. Clearly none of us had changed with life dealing us great hands. 

The rest of the weekend was a slight blur but there were some fab moments that have remained (and given the inability of my brain to withhold what I had for lunch yesterday, these clearly will have a lasting memory). We stayed in Howth, which is a lovely fishing harbour about 30 minutes from the centre of Dublin, in a great B&B run by a fab lady called Joan (King Sitric). The breakfast was very good and was the inspiration to write this blog. Choosing the full Irish, knowing that I had a full day of sightseeing and the Guinness factory to get through, I was presented with a very large plate of deliciousness. For those who don’t like food to touch, they would have been in heaven. The best thing on the plate by far was the homemade white pudding. I sometimes think if I was a food critic (how I wish) like, for instance, Jay Rayner or William Sitwell, what would be the positives and negatives. I think they would wax lyrical about the white pudding. With so much in the press about the benefits of black pudding and its elevated position of a superfood, let’s hear it for white pudding. I had to take some home. Thankfully, I was able to pick up some award-winning white pudding at the airport (Kanturk pudding). I urge you to try it, if you can find it.

Other notables include a walk to the Baily lighthouse – the shipping forecast is a favourite show, now enhanced by a visit to one of the names – got me thinking of a potential tour of all the lighthouses in the shipping forecast with a visit to the nearest cafe/restaurant but maybe that’s more like Extreme Gastrotourism aka Extreme Ironing. We had lovely fish tapas at The Brass Monkey and just before I headed back to the airport, Michele took me to the best fish shop I have been to in the UK. I was like a kid in a sweetshop, Dorans on the pier. If you go to Dublin, take the DART to Howth and visit this fish shop. I only wished I lived next door. Two final mentions, the Guinness, which neatly marries white with black so could be a super Superfood, and the Chester Beatty Library, which had an incredible collection of ancient manuscripts like the bible and Egyptian papyrus texts, and it’s free!

So big thanks to the girls and for Michele for showing us a great time. We have planned the next one at my house  – not sure I can match a lighthouse, Guinness factory, white pudding and freshest fish shop, but Hydon’s Ball looks pretty in most seasons….bring your wellies, girls!

   
 

Having bought a Toblerone, a food and travel mag, two airport exclusives, a bottle of overpriced water, a pop-out map of Budapest and the obligatory bottle of gin, I now have some time to kill before my gate is announced. The ‘duty free’ shops are giving out 22% vouchers off and even WH Smiths gave me a 20% voucher. Apparently, February is the airport retailers worst month so having spent loads on stuff you don’t really want or need, they are all desperate for you to spend more on stuff you don’t want or need. 

Looking at books is one of my favourite pastimes – and I feel quite pleased that I have only got two in my bag. I could have bought a lot more. A lot lot more. I was very happy that one of my airport buys a couple of months ago was picked by my friend Ally as the next book club read. Maybe it’s the old premise Like Minds Think Alike rather than Fools Never Differ which makes me feel good when my book choice is matched by a mate. I am secretly planning which of the two books I will choose for book club nex time. No spoilers here, though!

So off to Dublin for a reunion. Four 18/19 year olds flung together in a flat in Ricky Road, Newcastle upon Tyne. 35 years later I am thinking it might not matter that life has sent us in different directions and that we remain, at heart, still up for a good time and a glass or two of Guinness. I spent my uni years drinking cider and smoking roll-ups. One of the girls taught me how to roll my own – but she was left-handed so I learnt how to roll left handed. A skill which has never left me but that is no longer used.

Am looking forward to the laughter. The gate is up now, so I better get going before my name is broadcast over the tannoy as an errant traveller. 

Be seeing you! 

I am not someone who can keep to any particular regime – eg, exercise or diet – but if I go swimming or do anything which raises my stubbornly low heart rate, I feel very virtuous. However, my trip to the swimming pool tonight meant I missed a very curious happening at home. When I walked back in the house, Husband handed me a slip of paper which was from Surrey Police. While I was out, he was visited by a policeman who asked if “Sarah Jane Powell” lived here and when Husband answered to the affirmative, he asked to come in. He was delivering some sad news. He said a relative of mine had passed away in Mexico and I was listed as the next of kin. On the slip of paper was the name of the FCO agent dealing with the case and two phone numbers for me to call. 

I know I am getting old and forgetful. Some of you will know that I have part of my genetic family that is quite misty. But I definitely don’t know anyone who lives/lived in Mexico and the name given to me was nowhere to be found in my memory banks. 

I had to find out. I had to know who this was and how I was related to them. So I called the FCO and was put through to the agent on duty. He was very charming (I always thought I would like to work at the FCO – seemed quite glamourous and lots of travel) and after I explained why I was phoning his first comment was that he was sorry for my loss. I told him I didn’t have any memory of the deceased and while it could be a distant relative, I was a little puzzled. With a few clicks and a couple of questions, he explained that two people who were listed as relatives of the deceased person had listed Sarah Jane as the next of kin, the wife of Henry Powell. It was at this point I realised this was definitely a case of mistaken identity. 

Despite two marriages, I have remained Sarah Jane Powell my whole life. Changing my name never seemed like a very good idea.  It has caused a lot of complications. Bell was given two surnames, Bert was given about 6 names but only one surname which wasn’t my surname. So whenever we went on holiday we appeared to be three unrelated people, and when a fourth and separate name also entered the hat, it was difficult for the airlines and hotels to cope.  I did set up one savings account in a married name but I had to keep producing my marriage certificate whenever I wanted to use it. Parents’ evenings were interesting – particularly when the teachers didn’t even seem to know which child was which, and I got used to answering to any Mrs xxxx that was directed at me.  

There have also been a few scary scrapes including a day trip to China on a train from Kowloon with my brother, leaving Bell with her dad although she was listed on my passport. Leaving was fine but coming back into Hong Kong on my own confused the border control. They kept asking where my daughter was – I couldn’t really understand why they thought I would leave my daughter behind in China – but an hour or so later, I was allowed through, and met by Bell and her dad. 

So, the kind man from the FCO apologised for the mistake. I had to reveal I have googled my name before and I believe there are quite a few of SJPs out there. He said they would go back to the drawing board.

It’s 6.30am but feels more like lunchtime. That’s because I am in New York. The city (and some of its visitors) that never sleeps. We are here to celebrate the boy Bert’s 21st. 

The first time I came to the Big Apple was in 1992. It was also the first time I got on a plane and turned left and up some stairs. I felt like a movie star although was a minion who had joined an American investment bank which was just building up its European business. Heady days of the early 1990s when Loadsamoney summed up the excesses pretty well. I had never been greeted on a plane by name before, never been asked if someone could take my coat and then offered a hot towel and glass of champagne. My first business trip ever! I wasn’t really sure what, why, how or where. A few mistakes were bound to happen. This included ordering a poached egg for breakfast in my room the first morning for 7.30am. I woke at 5.30am, experiencing jet lag for the first time, and got up, showered, dried my hair, and dressed and it was still only 6am. I then had to wait an hour and a half for my breakfast to arrive. Luckily I had a ‘suite’ in the Carlyle Hotel – so was able to wander around a bit. By the time the doorbell went, I was tired and hungry and ready to get back into bed. The waiter pushed in an enormous trolley with a silver dome on the top. I thought maybe they had got the order wrong or the room number wrong. When he asked where I would like breakfast, I looked anxiously around the room and pointed at the bedside table. He looked as confused as I was and suggested I might be more comfortable in the chair. Happy to oblige I sat down whereupon he wheeled the trolley over to me and with a dramatic flourish lifted the silver dome. Underneath sat a very small poached egg on toast in the middle of an enormous plate. I couldn’t believe how ridiculous it looked. I then realised I had to tip the waiter so had to move the trolley so I could get out and fumble in my wallet for some money. By the time I got to sit down my egg, it was slightly warm and the toast was cold. But it felt like lunchtime and I was starving.

This trip has been one of the best. Being a party of six, we had to work hard on a plan and I am grateful to Bell for her sensible suggestions which kept everything running smoothly. We have created lots of great memories. 

I was keen to try a Cronut – had heard about these croissant/doughnuts which were very sought after. We forgot to pre-order two weeks before we wanted them (pre-Christmas is always a blur) so Gary and I woke early enough (not difficult) to join the orderly queue. The temperature has dropped about 15 degrees and we waited in that line for 2 hours. I was happy to suffer the pain although did question it a few times when my logical brain kicked in but Gary really suffered although this was alleviated by a white Porsche being parked outside the restaurant for most of the queuing time. Once inside the bakery, I clearly went mad from being hungry, tired, confronted by a lot of options patisserie-wide and wanting to make the most of the two- hour wait. I didn’t dare think about the amount of sugar involved. Four Cronuts, four cookies, 10 madeleines, a croissant, two cappuccinos and one frozen s’more (made to order with a 5-10 minute wait time), we waddled back out into the cold passed the now diminished queue. Timing could have been better….

   
  

We are off to the diner which is featured in Seinfeld – more later .. 

I love Christmas. There’s something lovely about all of it. Despite the kids not being around in the all-important 4 weeks running up to the Big Day (I only want Christmas in December – I don’t understand tinsel and twinkling lights before then), I continue to try and engage them in the more important traditions. Last year I Skyped them while making the pudding so they could make a wish remotely while I stirred. This year, having missed Stir Up Sunday (this should have been recognised as an omen), I just snapchatted (is that a word, even?) a picture of the pudding being stirred and wrote on the picture “Make a Wish”. Husband doesn’t really get the whole build-up thing – it’s my belief he must have been traumatised one Christmas when he was a kid and has never really recovered. But he had a stir and made a wish. I completely forgot to make a wish so busy was I trying to make sure everyone else was wishing. This could have been the second omen, in hindsight. Having left the pud to marinate overnight on Saturday, I realised yesterday that I had just a three-inch strip of greaseproof paper left so I had to go and buy some more. Having heard from two friends that Costco do really good Christmas trees (£30 for a 6ft Norwegian – sounds a bit odd if taken out of context), I suggested to Husband that we go and get our tree and some greaseproof paper from Costco. He was happy to come and kept repeating “tree and greaseproof paper” on the journey over and as we headed into the store. There were two trees left. One that had clearly been pulled, prodded and poked by nearly everyone who had been to the shop and a really sad small one that reminded me of the Christmas tree in The Simpsons episode when Homer goes out to buy a tree and comes back with just a twig. So not much choice really. For the first time ever, I bought a tree without checking it had the right layout, proper shape and generally fitted my requirements. Knowing it was the second-to-last best tree helped.  We then went in pushing our large trolley – husband didn’t see the need for the trolley if we were only getting greaseproof paper, but I reckon you can’t walk around trolley-less in that shop…

A few pounds lighter, we went to pick up the tree – not before we saw another person poking it and smelling the needles. Despite being only half-wrapped in that annoying plastic stuff, we got it in the car along with 5 years’ supply of greaseproof paper and some unnecessary items. When we got home, it then took the usual hour or so to locate the stand, locate the saw, saw off the branches so it can fit in the stand, realise the tree won’t fit in the stand however many branches you saw off, find an alternative stand and then wedge the tree in, and both agree to sort it out the next day so it’s less likely to keel over…

And, in case you were wondering – it’s a lovely tree – great shape, proper branch distribution and a good long single stem for the dove of peace to sit atop.

So, back to the Christmas pud. Having lost a bit of prep time mucking about with the tree, it was 6pm before the greaseproof and foil wrapped pud was put in the oven. The recipe calls for an initial steam of 8 hours. I thought I wouldn’t get up at 2am just to take the pud out but would remember to take it out just before going to bed – and tell Husband to remind me.

The alarm woke me at 7am and I stole 6 minutes before actually getting up. Washed, dressed and went down to grab some Weetabix and a cup of tea. As I was filling the kettle, I remembered the pudding. A good 13 hours in the bottom of the Aga. Hmmmmm – it looks ok and quite moist. And I don’t want anyone’s wishes to be thrown away. I think it will just need a few extra spoonfuls of rum…and by the time pud comes round everyone is usually in a cheery mood!

Sad news, reader. Monday nights aren’t looking as great…

Husband received the email he had hoped would never come informing him of the slow demise and imminent closure of Monday Night Football. The old blokes are getting older, falling apart and there’s not enough fit, younger guys coming through the ranks to make up two reasonably-sized teams. This is very sad news.

Monday nights are my TV quizzy nights. I sit staring at the TV trying to answer one or two questions in University Challenge and marvelling at the way some people’s minds work in Only Connect. I can usually get a quick cooking programme in as well. 

I spent some time trying to find him another Monday night football team to join-looks like there is something at the local Sports Park playing with the Masters… Maybe they should set up a Facebook group – there must be loads of middle-aged men in the local area who like kicking a ball about once a week. Hell, I would do it if there was nothing better on the TV!

Plus! This week it’s the new Nigella show. So I have to have control of the remote. We’ve already had the discussion about what time my programmes start so I think the battle is won this week. But I really hope the football gets sorted as I don’t think I will be able to win every week. 

Fellow Monday Night footballers’ wives – how can we fix this?

Apparently so! On Saturday night we ventured out to a Michelin starred restaurant in Bilbao. It was an interesting evening – mainly due to the 9-course tasting menu which took us to places in our palates that we didn’t know existed. And not always in a good way. We were welcomed by a trainee chef who explained a little about the history of the restaurant. We had a couple of pre-tasting tasters, one of which was a quail’s egg that had been deep fried in batter – a sort of tempura egg. It was delicious. We were led to our table, which seemed to be the best in the room. It was a white walled room, with white table linen, and a white single stem flower in a vase. Nothing else on the table.  No cutlery, no side plate, no napkin. At first, it seemed like they were maybe in the middle of refurbishing the place…Then a brown leather gloved hand appeared and put two pieces of bread on a linen square in front of each of us. The bread was nice, but we didn’t really get the brown leather glove…

First course with first wine appeared which was tomatoes done four ways – big shame for Ally who really doesn’t like tomatoes. Second course was a lovely paper thin sliver of avocado with some green leaves, green emulsion and parmesan shavings (later on this received our second highest votes). Third course and second wine was anchovies on mashed potato (voted our favourite dish). Fourth course and third wine was foie gras in a sauce – a little too underdone for me (if that’s possible). Then the fifth course –  the waiter had been explaining very carefully what we were eating but this time, once the plates had been placed on the table, he said the immortal words, “This is the chin of the cod”. I really started to doubt that we were being served something that really existed. However, we all nodded and said “great” before tucking in. It seemed we all had the same thought at the same time – ‘chin of cod’ got us scratching, well, our chins. We tried hard to picture where a chin would be on a cod. Then we started laughing and couldn’t stop. It was one of those moments when I realised I was laughing hysterically in a restaurant where laughing might not be part of the ambience. Clearly when you shouldn’t be laughing, it just makes things worse. Course six, seven, eight and nine with fourth and fifth wine (you get the gist), ended up being a blur which included grey foam, grey ice-cream, white and cream emulsion with some hard pieces of fruit. We  also started playing a game after each course: “Can we remember what we have eaten!” Sadly, we got muddled but maybe it was the wines (all white wines and, one time, when I looked at Ally’s glasses all lined up, I did think they looked like something that might be handed in for tests at a hospital). At one point, the plates had been cleared and none of us could name anything that we had just eaten.  So, for the fabulous company, I would award my fellow diners at least five stars.

I must also mention that in the loos, they provided a toothbrush and toothpaste. We weren’t sure why, unless we were meant to clean our teeth after each course…. any other suggestions would be welcome! See one of the pudding courses below – quinoa ice-cream, carrot and chocolate chip cookie…I think the chocolate chip cookie must have been eaten by the waiter before it got to the table…..

So the bike tour was fab – we cycled a little, looked a little and drunk and ate a lot. No wonder Husband fell off – no bones broken, slight grazing and huge embarrassment (his words). By the time we arrived at our last stop, I was in a bad way. The early start and early beer before a few large glasses of various tasty wines and pintxos caught up with me and I stopped talking. Back to the hotel by 9pm and I was in bed asleep by 9.02pm. 

Woke naturally at 8.53am – very refreshed. Had to dress Husband, whose knee had swollen up. Didn’t realise how regimented his dressing was – left leg first, left shoe first…a portent of grim things to come! 

Had a great day mooching about eating and drinking. The Mercado de la Ribera was amazing – every part of all animals available to buy so would avoid if vegetarian, and some of the freshest fish I have seen. Paul and Gary were beering up but I decided to pace myself – Ally joined me in a freshly squeezed orange juice (from Valencia). 

As we were walking in the old town, two buskers were playing the same piece of music that Ally walked ‘down the aisle’ to marry Paul – happy coincidence! Then in a book shop, they were playing a track by The Rifles – a band that Ally and Paul are going to see later in the year. Another happy coincidence!

Husband and I have just been to the hotel’s hammam. Within 10 seconds, he was awash with sweat. After 5 minutes, I was still dry as a bone. Clearly we are perfectly matched – although he insists on a cold shower straight after – and for me, that’s never going to happen.

So chilling until it’s time to go and eat and drink again. Pictures of pintxos we’ve had today…

   
 

Waking up 2 hours before you need to get up at 5am and not being able to get back to sleep is unkind. However, it’s now 1.30pm and I have had a beer and some pintxos in a local bar in Bilbao so the horrid o’clock feels like it was last week. Husband has nicked all the hangers for his now well-creased wardrobe. There has also been one costume change as we are set to meet up with Elke, our guide, who will show us Bilbao by bike, with numerous stops in more bars to eat more pintxos and gaze at the amazing buildings that look out at you all around town. The pintxos so far have been great – tortilla, little hamburgers with eggs, tuna and anchovy rolls, and some delicious cake. More photos to come! 

  

A little beep reminded me that the chimney sweep was coming today at 1pm. I rushed around cleaning out the log burner and grate which were overflowing with ash from last winter. 

He turned up bang on time and I went out to greet him (our front door bell doesn’t work so sometimes people come and go without me noticing). He didn’t get out of his van straightaway so I hovered a bit and then heard him talking to someone on his phone. Not quite knowing whether to wait till he had finished or pretend I wasn’t really there, I decided to pick up a few chestnuts from the drive and walk back into the house. For the next 5 minutes I was just hanging around between the front door and the back door, waiting for the knock, and I even popped upstairs to look out the window to see if he was still there.

Finally, I heard the van door slam and then he walked to the back door, which I had left open. I welcomed him in warmly and he apologised for being on the phone for so long – I guess he had seen me shifting around uneasily…
He said it had been a while since he’d been here – I couldn’t deny that as I had no memory of him ever being in my house. But I offered him a tea or a coffee and he said he’d have whatever I was having. 

So, he attached a Hoover type machine to the log burner flue while I busied myself making him a coffee. We had a bit more chitchat about how long I had lived here, if I worked, just general stuff. He then started on the chimney in the dining room. After a few minutes,  he said “Would you like to see Basil?”

Now, I am quite a broad minded person and hearing this question I was completely dumbstruck. Weird images starting appearing in my brain, confusion on what he was talking about and the beginning of panic – had I been over-friendly offering him a coffee? Was he taking advantage of an old(er) lady home alone? So there was probably a pregnant pause that for me lasted hours. 

“You know Basil! The brush! He’s popped his head out the top. It’s good luck to have a look!”

Understanding and relief flooded in as I realised what he meant. Probably far too eagerly, I rushed out in my bare feet (chestnuts are very spiky) to look at the sweep’s brush poking out of the top of my chimney – I even rushed back inside to take a photo…

As he was tidying up, I followed him out to his van. And again, quite out of the blue, he said “do you like small dogs?” while unlocking his van with his remote key. Mild panic crept back as I tried to work out why he would randomly ask me such a question. Innocently, he wanted me to meet his cocker spaniel who was sitting quietly in the front of the van…

As he left, I shook his hand (I thought this was what brought you luck). Clearly my mind was in overdrive today…but not as much as Husband’s!

Husband has ironed his entire wardrobe and keeps muttering “Friday night, Saturday night” while staring at the aforementioned ironed clothes. He keeps checking and re-checking the weather for Bilbao for the next few days and then disappears upstairs to bring down yet more clothes.  There’s a row of assorted footwear too… Me? I packed in five minutes with whatever was clean and comfy. 
Meet Basil!