Snoo's kitchen

Every year it’s the same date. Bit like a birthday. But it’s not like a birthday. As husbant and I were doing the shopping last night, he disappeared to get me a card and I wandered off to buy him 360g of Cadbury’s chocolate. How romantic was that? Even better, I paid for the shopping, including said card. But I still love that little moment of scurrying. And I had planned to put his card and chocolate on his desk so he would get it when he stumbled into the home/office at silly o’clock, but I haven’t; so now I have to work out how to surreptitiously leave it somewhere for him to find. Maybe on his drum kit! He asked me last week if I could work from home today – my brain didn’t make the connection straightaway – but once I had, there was a frisson of excitement as to what may unfold. I love that. With a little prodding, and given my need to know what surprises are in advance (ie, no surprises, please), he told me we were going out for dinner down the road but swore me not to check out the menu. I haven’t. But am sorely tempted.

Am a bit of a romantic. And I tell my gorgeous husbant that I love him almost every day because I do. He is so kind. He makes me laugh. He is my best friend.

But even better, he brings me a cup of tea and empties the dishwasher every morning. Now that really is love.

Birmingham. Growing up in the 1970s, Birmingham was just somewhere with a complicated road system called Spaghetti Junction, and Fort Dunlop where I thought they made green plimsols and tyres. I think we only ever drove past Birmingham once when I was a kid on the way to Wales. Driving holidays were a big part of my childhood and my mum was famously the worst navigator, and a very nervous passenger. So nervous that she pulled the handle off the door of the Wolseley as we drove over the Pyrenees, on one of our trips to Spain.

When my daughter said she was considering Birmingham university, I was so aghast that I said I wouldn’t visit her. On a par with when I told her she couldn’t do German A level. Takes a long time to understand good parenting, and I am still learning.

Am a convert. Birmingham is a great city. Although I am currently sitting on a train heading north to Stafford in order to go back south via Milton Keynes to London Euston, with a trainful of people who are equally confused on where they are going (some people thought they were going to Rugby and Coventry but a landslide somewhere has created mayhem, and the announcer has welcomed us to Crewe when clearly the sign on the platform says Stafford), I have had a great 24 hours in the UK’s second largest city.

After checking in to our hotel (The Grand – very comfy and free madeleines in the room, Penhaligon’s bathroom stuff and a lovely cocktail bar), we wandered around soaking up the local sights and smells. We headed to Digbeth, which is an arty area, housing some great studios, including Eastside Projects, but sadly nothing was open. The street art was fab and despite a lot of roadworks for HS2, we saw some beautiful buildings along the Grand Union canal which have so far withstood the test of time.

We then walked back towards the main shopping area, past a very funky library (clad in lots of ironwork) with a comfort stop at the Conference centre which had gorgeous art deco doors. The IKON gallery had just reopened after a big refit and I would recommend it. And definitely try the lift. It will make you laugh. Both up and down. The cafe served great tea and cakes, too. Win win.

Cocktails at 7pm in the Madeline bar and then a taxi to the Balti triangle. It has to be done. Couldn’t go to Birmingham and not eat the local dish. Wow. We went to Shababs – definitely go. They don’t have a license so you have to take you own booze – big thanks to Jo for stocking up on beer and wine. The food was incredible. Delicious. Generous portions. We ordered a table naan. And yes, I can safely attest that it is the size of a table. And cooked to perfection as Marcus or Greg would say. I loved it. I want to buy a balti and cook everything in it.

Next morning, after a good night’s sleep, we headed to Medicine, a lovely bakery and restaurant in a beautiful Victorian building on the main street, New Street, and was home to the Royal Society of Birmingham Artists. Although still full from the balti bonanza, the display of cinnamon rolls and pastries was enough to make us feel hungry. I ordered chilli scrambled eggs (keeping the theme of hot food) which came with kale and sourdough toast. And proper Oatly cappucino.

Everyone ordered something different and it was delicious. Definitely go!

So, we will be back. Already planning a summer trip to take advantage of the canal bars and cafes (didn’t realise Birmingham had more canals than Venice).

Back home in windy, miserable Surrey but still holding onto that sun-kissed week. Husbant delivered the best birthday ever and it was a well-kept surprise. I had convinced myself he had arranged for us to go on the Jolly Roger and even got quite miserable about it. Big discussions about accepting the excitement of not knowing – but I have had previous “surprises” which turned out to be not so good. So I do get a bit anxious. And my argument is that the excitement of a surprise can also be shared even though it diminishes the surprise. Like in COVID times – it wasn’t until you were on the plane, and in some cases had landed at your destination and received a negative COVID test, that you could start being excited about the holiday. I missed all that anticipation.

But, for the first time ever, the sun rose into a blue sky, and I went for an early morning swim in a warm ocean before breakfast on my birthday. This has to become a regular gig. We were whisked off (well, whisked might not really be accurate as we hit the rush hour in Barbados and it took us an hour to get about 10 miles) to the harbour and stepped aboard a fully crewed catamaran and given a welcome pina colada. I didn’t know I liked pina coladas until this week. Next stop was snorkelling with turtles and a few wrecks. And then a lovely sail, delicious lunch and more pina coladas. My chocolate birthday cake was delivered to by a speedboat, James Bond style. the bar has been set high for Husbant’s next birthday.

The rest of the week went far too fast but we continued to pig out every night. A trip to Bathsheba (the first episode of Series 4 of Succession was filmed at Bathsheba so I was summoning my inner Shiv) and a visit to Kemi’s restaurant was fab – best ever fish cakes for me. On the final day we went north to Animal Flower Cave. Interesting name. Just one flower in the cave and it is more of a sea worm with a fan. But you do get to swim in a cave which was pretty awesome.

So, same time, same place next year. Who’s coming?

So the crop circle book had a muted response, as expected, but a few people agreed it was beautifully written. The next book, well, don’t judge as they say.

Am sitting on the beach in Barbados listening to the waves crashing and watching some old folk bobbing up and down. Yesterday, there was a big group of old folk celebrating a 90th birthday – I think if I spent the winter in Barbados I might make it to 90 and would celebrate with some rum cake on the beach. Who wouldn’t? Husbant says these old folks are called ‘snowbirds’ as they flee the minuses in Canada and warm their bodies and souls in the Caribbean sunshine.

Quick note on the flight. There were celebrities of the driving type and acting type. The obligatory unknown salad which I never eat, and more eye-pleasing pudding which I always eat… prizes in the post for anyone who can identify the salad.

Watched a great new series called The Architect – Danish drama about, err, an architect. Try and watch it if you can. Worth a look.

Goddamn some surfers have turned up as the waves are lovely. That puts paid to my swimming. There are proper surf beaches here so not sure why they have turned up. Mind you, we were all body-boarding yesterday so maybe that annoyed some people. But, we only had one body board and so the only real disturbance was us laughing when someone got wiped out by an unexpected wave.

So to the food. I love the food here. I think the diet for most people who live here all the time isn’t so healthy. So. Much. Sugar. Husbant’s favourite drink is an extremely disgusting concoction called Plus. It’s hard to explain what it tastes like – comes in a bottle that looks like Sprite, not sure what colour it actually is as it is drunk straight from the bottle but definitely looks like it would turn your pee orange or green or blue.

Back to the food. The first night we wandered up the road and found a great restaurant called Sharkeys. Cold Banks beer and a plate of coconut shrimp and I was in heaven. I have tried not to order the shrimp each time we go out as I absolutely love it but I encourage the others to order it just so I can try it.

Bell had flying fish and mashed potato which reminded me of Close Encounters of the Third Kind. It was monumental.

We also ate at Cafe Luna which is in a lovely hotel called Little Arches near Miami beach. The food was so good and I was too eager to photo it – but I had a delicious crab crepe followed by a Bajan fish stew which was just the perfect level of spicy.

Spending the day at Miami beach, we opted for the local fried fishcakes which are just fantastic. Obviously unhealthy – more like a fish doughnut, but just perfect for a white sandy beach with turquoise sea on a blue Monday back home.

Last night, I decided to restrict myself to just one course as I wasn’t really feeling like Ursula Andress on the beach. So it was fish tacos. But I keep forgetting the portion sizes. They were delicious. I love eating food that makes you messy. And falls apart. Husbant eats everything with a knife and fork and sixteen napkins. That’s why we are a perfect couple. The second photo shows Connor eating his first barracuda and chips. Joy is everywhere.

Have to go as Husbant claims he has seen an osprey which has been blown over from Scotland and is eating all the fish in the sea in front of us. And I need a dip in the sea.

Be back soon!

You left me in a COVID delirium but with the magic of Cordyceps tea, which I brought back from Bhutan last year, some of Brother Graham’s homemade chicken soup and his handmade ginger shots, I am fully COVID free and happy to walk amongst the good people of Godalming. Check out Cordyceps if you haven’t already – it seems to be a miracle cure. I did have a cup of the tea when I got home from my travels and it tasted disgusting and I reckoned I would only ever drink it if I was Really Ill and all other options were off the table. With no tastebuds, when I got COVID, I thought I might as well given it another go. Tasted fine. As in, couldn’t taste it.

This particular tea is made from Ophiocordyceps sinesis, a caterpillar fungus that grows out of the larvae of ghost moths which fly only in the Himalayas above 3,500m. It grows out of the caterpillar’s brain – so caterpillars are a lot cleverer than you think.

Definitely go to Bhutan if you can. It’s an amazing country to visit and I fancy going back to trek further east where the mountains are more rugged. Just landing at the airport is thrilling. And remember to bring back some tea.

Have just finished the first batch of marmalade for 2024. I seem to collect jamjars all year round and then when I actually need them they are nowhere to be found. So I have an enormous kilner jar of marmalade and one normal size jar. If anyone wants some marmalade, just send me a jar and I will fill it up for you. It’s always such a hit and miss process which I sort of like because you never know exactly when it’s boiled enough to be at setting point. I get bored easily. And I put the saucer in the freezer for about a minute so that wrinkle test never really works. I do a lot of plate licking and then when I have had enough of standing around watching the bubbling cauldron, I let it cool for a bit and decant. I have been known to tip all the marmalade back into the pot the next day and boil it up again. Mad.

This year, aged 91, my mum has decided not to make her marmalade. Her’s was a true labour of love and involved muslin bags tied to cupboard handles dripping liquid gold into vessels which ended up being no rind marmalade. So more like a marmalade jelly. Delicious.

I have a great friend who said he loved kumquat marmalade. So I found some kumquats (was a few years ago and they were hard to find). Some needs clarification – I found about 300g of kumquats. At the end of the process, I made one jar of marmalade. But, he did say it was very tasty. He recently married and his wife is an amazing jam maker so my trifle this Christmas was made with her gorgeous loganberry jam. I got the balance of sherry/trifle sponge right this year (drink more than you put in), and it was a great trifle, even if I say so myself.

It’s snowing here and I need to finish my book club book. My choice this time. Not my finest at all. I thought I would find a story about people who make crop circles quite interesting. Am questioning that thought process. Am sure the rest of the book club will wish they had spent the hours more fruitfully, if they have managed to read it.

Will let you know.

In bed with COVID so not sure it’s such a happy new year. I am the last person to fall ill this Christmas/New year in the family but I have cared for all those feeling poorly with special homemade broth, hot toddies, lemon and honey, pills and TLC. Isn’t it weird how that doesn’t mean I can retire to my bed and get fed freshly made chicken broth, lemon and honey, and copious amounts of TLC when I get sick. I don’t mind really – am no good at asking and very good at saying no it’s ok when help is offered. So maybe a new year’s resolution should be made here and now. My husbant started to fall ill in that weird time between Christmas and new year when you are still stuffing your face with unnecessary chocolates. But when I did my COVID test today, and it was positive, I encouraged him to go and buy some fresh ones and for him to test. We had a large batch of tests which were too old and had no liquid left in the vials. He returned triumphant with a box of five. I removed all the equipment and explained he had to put the swab up both nostrils and twirl it around a bit. Oh the noises! It was like a wildebeest was being castrated. He then presented me with his swab and had used the wrong end. How is that ever a thing? I love him to bits but really, what? I explained the concept of the soft absorbent end and, as usual, he says he wasn’t allowed to do physics at school…

Turns out he is positive too. Explains a lot of the grumpiness on both sides this Christmas/New Year.

While I still had an ounce of energy, I started undressing the tree. There were more needles on the floor than on the tree – watering the tree is way down the list of things to do at Christmas. By the time I had removed the last decoration, it was just a stick. But I love all our decorations – each one has a story. I started to struggle with the effort of removing the tinsel the towards the end while husbant sat watching the cricket. I remembered a couple of years ago a friend had fallen and broken her leg trying to put her Christmas tree decorations in her loft. I realised it was a common problem.

Have left the rest of the deforestation in the living room to the boys – I can hear a dustpan and brush being used and with all my fingers crossed, I hope to hear the hoover soon… but I guess they might wait til the cricket is over – it’s an exciting match, apparently.

Not promising daily updates, but it’s good to talk. Will rest now and listen to the fantastic ‘This thing of darkness’ on R4.

Today is Christmas Day. Am normally already up and scurrying around sorting out the turkey and beginning to prep all the vegetables. This year is different.

My big brother died of COVID in March, 17 days after his 63rd birthday. In a cruel twist, his COVID was confirmed on his birthday. So this is our first Christmas without him. And it will be tough.

Usually, I cook Christmas dinner for family and friends. I love doing it and I love the house being full of parents, uncles, cousins, kids, ex husband or three…

Nick would arrive with a box of mince pies, some cheese and some chai tea. We would give each other a big hug and he would say “Thanks for doing this, Snoo. You are an angel.”

Pandemonium would reign for most of the morning until lunch was ready to be served. I would have one small meltdown as the lunch was coming to its final readiness (i think my kids might not agree with my use of the word small). But once everyone had a plate of food, we pulled crackers and then ate. Last year, we were 13.

It’s good to bring up memories of past Christmases. The year he brought round Bob Dylan’s Christmas CD and my mum saying “Who is this dreary fellow?”; the year when there was a particularly heated discussion about religion; the year when my oven broke and we had to decamp to Nick and Jo’s house for lunch. Many memories.

This year, it has all gone pear-shaped. I miss Nick’s counselling as the wranglings about who goes where when and how. He would look at the nonsense and find the best solution. He was my peacemaker. In his absence, my parents are alone on Christmas Day. It will be a Christmas like no other.

I miss him so much.

I bet soft-close toilets were designed by a man. Who needs a soft-closing lid? If you need to go, you generally need to go now. Not wait for the soft close. Who benefits from the soft close? Does anyone wait and watch it? Women don’t need to lift the seat up (unless it’s very splashed and the thigh muscles are feeling strong). Why bot a soft lift? That would re-balance the equation. Man busting, runs in, has to wait for the soft lift. Please, someone make a soft lift.

Second observation: in a meeting today. Everyone (but me) was wearing an Apple iphone watch (not sure I have the wording right – maybe just Apple watch). Given my watch has been sent away to its maker (weirdly, I thought the local jeweller in Godalming would be able to fix it but Husbant had grander plans – read expensive), I find it hard to gauge how interminable a meeting is. No clocks in meeting rooms. Some people left at some point…so I guessed it was over-running. Note to self: check how much longer my watch will be in another country and how much will I have to pay to get it back (it better not be more than the watch is worth, or more than the cost of an Apple watch).

Final moan. I get on and sit in a two-seater on the train next to a man who immediately grows chicken wings. Visibly expands his elbow to protrude into my space. What is wrong with these people. Why can’t I confront him with a witty remark. I immediately move over to sit on a three-seater across the aisle. Another person comes to sit down and I watch for the elbow flick. It happens but the new occupant ignores as she is busy on her phone. There is no-one in the middle of my three-seater and the train’s left. Who’s laughing now?

We left Interlaken on a misty moisty morning and drove through cloud and rain most of the day. I was advised not to knit on this section as the scenery was really pretty. So I didn’t knit, to start with. It was Sunday. And I think Sunday drivers must be a thing in Europe. We pootled along for quite some time, sometimes even when we weren’t following anything. I decided to start knitting as I really needed a distraction. I probably knitted the fastest I had all week.

The coffee stop deserves a brief mention. McCafe on the motorway. Yes. I probably would have thought a little cafe in a quaint cuckoo clock village with red and white checkered tablecloths was more my thing. But best to keep with the team. And Husband declared the croissants the second best of the tour (so far).

A highlight was the lunch stop, however. A fantastic little restaurant just before Triborg which finished serving lunch moments after we had managed to order. The main waitress was awesome. Efficiency could have been her middle name. The traditional outfits were a little unsettling but clearly in some establishments in Germany they are de rigeur. My cream of mushroom soup was a thing of beauty. Husband insisted on having a pannacotta (erm, we are in Germany?) and so the group left a few hours ahead of us on the last section of the day. I exaggerate of course but really, German pannacotta? As we were leaving, folks were arriving for tea and cake. And oh my, the cake counter was to die for. And the size of the slices! I should have just had cake but I guessed there would be cake later in the day at our hotel.

The rest of the drive seemed to pass quite slowly save for a short discussion around pulling over to let some people pass us… more knitting. We then arrived at our next hotel near Baden Baden. If I had to provide a rating it would be this: Attention to detail 4 Efficiency 0 (bit like the England Bulgaria score). It was a little like staying in a Hansel and Gretel meets Downtown Abbey (not that I watched DA but many of my friends seem to rave about it).

The Penthouse room was lovely – bit too much gold taps and floral wallpaper for me but lovely bowl of fruit (untouched), some fizzy water and chocolates on the pillows at night. The spa area was awesome – an amazing indoor/outdoor pool which was salt water. And one of those current machines that send you spinning round. A hubble bubble pool. And a confusing set of sauna and steam rooms which really tested our “textile free” knowledge. We ended up in the steam room, and then gingerly went into a sauna which seemed to be mixed. Luckily we got it right. I was accosted at the water fountain by a gentleman who spoke to me in German and I smiled politely and said, in a loud, slow voice, “i am so sorry, I don’t understand”. I think he was just chatting about the weather. Safely back in the room, we napped until dinner time. It was to be my last evening with the group. Needs must and I had to fly back a day early and miss the last mad rush back to Calais to catch the night train.

It was the best evening of the tour. If Mike Leigh had been sitting in the restaurant, he may have considered a new play/film. Or Fawlty Towers might have considered a Christmas special. The menu was very complicated. Don’t provide your guests with too many options. They don’t understand complicated menus. This is a précis of the meal – but it lasted hours. First off the drinks. My sherry came with ice in it (that should have been a sign). Another drink didn’t arrive until halfway through the meal. And someone else got poured their first glass of wine from a bottle they had bought but then had to keep topping it up themselves from the ice bucket which was quite a way from the table. Most of the starters arrived at the same time, but one of the starters was wrong so we sent it back. It reappeared twice. Really? If it was wrong the first time, it’s not going to be right the second or third time. So the scene was set for the rest of the meal. Wrong mains. Wrong sort of steak. No vegetables. Wrong pudding. Someone getting champagne with sorbet while other just got some weird soup (maybe the one we rejected at the beginning of the meal) with pomegranate seeds in it. The list was endless. We really did end up laughing too much. Four hours later, when we were finally stuffed, it was almost time for the free midnight snacks to start. But we wended our weary way to bed. All in, a superb end to a fab week.

We arrived at the Beau Rivage hotel in Interlaken following an uneventful drive through some well-travelled highways (read, same roads), although winter had miraculously appeared and the hill tops that were previously green and luscious were speckled with snow. On arrival we were given a welcome drink of prosecco and once Husband had unpacked, recovered from the lack of ironing facilities, and hung up all his clothes, we went for a swim in the spa and hung out in the steam and sauna rooms. The “textile free” zone confused us momentarily as we tried to work out how to make ourselves “textile free” without being naked in a public area. Clearly the British sense of modesty is pretty high for us. We worked out something that seemed to work and sat chilling (read sweating, although as in previous blog on Hot Yoga, I have an inability to sweat) for as long as we could. Dinner was at a great place (Benacus) although we chose the 7-course tasting menu “We Love” and, in familiar territory, started fading after course 3. We were a little confused at the beginning of the meal when the waitress put about 8 dishes down and introduced them as tapas… was this the whole meal? It seemed large enough to be a meal but I wasn’t convinced there wasn’t more to come. We managed to persuade the waitress to let us skip course 4 (or 5) and went straight to the molten chocolate cake. We were truly stuffed. It was all delicious.

Waddling back to the hotel, we window-shopped although it seemed to be mainly watch shops, chocolate shops and tat shops selling Swiss souvenirs.

Breakfast was good – the bircher muesli seems to get better and then drops down again. Here it was ok but the second morning it was very runny and not nice at all. We checked out the train that takes you to the ‘Top of Europe’ but it was almost 400 euros and took all day. We considered taking the short funicular near to the hotel but it was cloudy. So shopping it just had to be. And I do love a chocolate shop. Husband found places to sit while I browsed each and every chocolate available. It’s amazing how blind one becomes in a chocolate shop to prices – you just see slabs of gorgeousness that you know you want to eat. I spent so much in one shop that I was given loads of free pieces as a thank you.

While my weakness is chocolate, Husband’s is watches. He wanted to find a specific one. A green Rolex. He muttered something about £7000 or £16000 and I felt glad that it would be very hard to spend that much on chocolate. It seems like there are waiting lists for green watches. And they are worth more second hand than first hand. Definitely not like chocolate then.

We found a shop selling trainers which were a poor substitute for a watch, but after much deliberating (including a walk back to the hotel and a cup of tea), we went back and Husband bought some bright orange ones. He was getting a bit anxious that he hadn’t bought anything. So it was a relief all round.

England were playing Bulgaria (yes, even on holiday, there is football) and the Driving Adventures team had found the only Irish pub in Interlaken (surely, in Switzerland) was showing the game LIVE. And apparently the fish and chips were superb. So we hiked through the ‘burbs of Interlaken and found said Irish pub. I had 90 minutes to spend chatting (texting) with friends and family back home. Someone even took a photo of me (and others!) clearly disinterested in the Big Game. England won. Husband said that wasn’t a surprise. But the fish and chips were tasty (forgot to have lunch given the chocolate fest). A couple of times the locals seemed to be trying to pan-handle us out of the pub by walking through wearing enormous bells and clanging them loudly. While a fascinating distraction, no-one turned the footy off. In fact, after the footy, Celebrity Catchphrase came on. Now that’s worth a trip to Switzerland for. Quite a few of us engaged in the muted programme, shouting out weird words that didn’t really make any sense (or was that just me) until the staff realised that it was Saturday night and the locals probably didn’t appreciate the tv being on, showing a British quiz programme in mute. We left abruptly. Time to pack and get ready for our last journey through Switzerland and into Germany and the Black Forest…