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In the previous post the Courgette muffins can be served on a pool of sieved tomato sauce or coulis.

Here it is–better late than never!

Adapted from the first River Café Cook Book, this is very useful for

spreading on grilled aubergines or to accompany tuna, mackerel or salmon.

Or as a purée to serve the courgette muffins on.

3 cloves of garlic – peeled and finely sliced

4 tbsp olive oil

2 x 800 g/28 oz tins tomatoes – drained of their juice

salt and pepper

  • Fry the garlic gently in 2 tablespoons of olive oil in a large pan but do not let it brown.
  • Add the broken up tomatoes and the salt and pepper.
  • Cook on a high heat, stirring frequently to prevent it burning, and watch out for splattering.
  • Use the biggest wooden spoon you have.
  • This will take about 20 minutes.
  • When little red pock marks appear, making it look as though the surface of the moon has turned red, you know it is almost there.
  • It will have reduced considerably to a thick sauce with very little liquid left.
  • Add the last two tablespoons of olive oil, taste and check the seasoning.
  • To turn this into a coulis (puréed sauce), let it cool a little, then work it through a sieve–this takes a little time.
  • Then reheat it.
  • A tablespoonful on a plate looks like a deep red setting sun.

Two months to go!

(from Delicious Dishes for Diabetics–published August 4th in the UK and November 1st in the USA)

Courgette muffins

as a starter...

Our friend Fronza Woods, who is vegetarian and cooks delicious delicacies, introduced us to these little numbers. They serve as a vegetable or as a starter with a tomato coulis.

Today we had them for lunch with a green salad.

Serves 6 as a starter and 4 for lunch

2 courgettes or 1 large– left unpeeled and grated

2 tablespoons Emmental cheese – grated

4 tablespoons of onion – grated

1 tablespoon fine breadcrumbs – wholewheat or rye

salt and pepper

2 eggs

Heat the oven at 200°C/400°F/Gas Mark 6.

  •  Combine the first four ingredients, season well and mix thoroughly.
  • Check the seasoning and fold in the eggs.
  • Oil the muffin cups. This amount is enough to fill one of those rubber trays of twelve.
  • Fill each cup with the mixture and carefully transfer to the middle of the oven.
  • Bake for 30 minutes–checking after 20 minutes for doneness. They should be springy and nicely brown.
  • Serve on a tablespoon of tomato coulis.

...or lunch.

Lyn and Ernie's cherries

….neighbourlyness too!

Our cherry tree upped and suddenly died a month ago.

The poor thing had not been well for a couple of years–it was attacked by an interior blight, leaving an open wound.

It still came up with the goods, yielding a good harvest of ruby red cherries each year.

There were always more than we could deal with, though the birds helped out–there’s a limit to how many clafoutis* you can eat!

Remarkably it flowered this year in the early spring and we were hopeful for another year. It was not to be.

This morning our neighbour Lyn arrived with a large bag of cherries from their tree.

(*Clafoutis–a baked dessert of cherries arranged in a buttered dish and covered with a thick flan-like batter. Not ideal for diabetics!)

Liquid Gold…

Bottled gold--aka--olive oil

Our friends Helen and Keith just left–heading back to the Tuscan hills where they make world class green-gold nectar from the olives on their farm.

They have a thousand trees high above the valley of the Arno, south east of Florence.

Last November we went to “help” with the harvest.

Our job was to sort the leaves and branches from the purple green fruit–

–while trying not to crush the newly fallen olives underfoot, and get in the way of the real workers.

These were five and it took them three weeks–(rain stopped play every other day when we were there, which

gave our backs a chance to recover.)

They brush the trees with long poles in downward strokes, teasing the olives onto the nets laid out below.


Fitted to the ends of the poles are what look like pairs of hands, which “clap” pneumatically.

“Well done, olives–but time to go to the press!”

Every two days Keith loads up the van and heads to the frantoio where the olives make the journey from fruit to oil.

Stone pressing is a thing of the past; now the olives are processed by centrifugation–a horrible word but a cleaner method that produces better quality oil.

The unromantic centrifuge

The liquid gold emerging.

A proud moment–for a beginner!

Proud parvenu!

Keith says he gets about a litre of oil per tree.

Last November’s harvest was his all-time second best–that pleased us!

A single poppy spotted under the cemetery wall on a hot day this week.

It is Memorial Day weekend in the States.

On the last Monday of May, America honors those service members killed in war–a custom dating back to the Civil War.

Meredith carries the Stars and Stripes at memorial ceremonies here each May and November–much appreciated by the local veteran associations.

Tomorrow in a little mountain village  called Le Rialet, a half hour’s drive from Castres, two members of an American OSS Commando unit–killed in action just outside the village in August 1944–will be remembered with their Resistance comrades, in a ceremony held each year.

The dwindling band of proud French fighters–about ten remain, all in their late eighties–will stand and bear witness. It never fails to move.

The poppy quickly became a symbol of the fallen in the UK after the first World War.  They grew profusely in the torn up ground of northern France and they fade so soon.

We wear them in November–for  remembrance.

In Flanders Fields by John McCrae

It’s thought he wrote the poem on 3 May 1915 , after he witnessed the death of his friend, Lieutenant Alexis Helmer, 22 years old, the day before.

In Flanders fields the poppies blow
Between the crosses, row on row,
That mark our place; and in the sky
The larks, still bravely singing, fly
Scarce heard amid the guns below.

We are the Dead. Short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
Loved and were loved, and now we lie,
In Flanders fields.

Take up our quarrel with the foe:
To you from failing hands we throw
The torch; be yours to hold it high.
If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
In Flanders fields.

Poppies grow wild in disturbed earth.

The farmers round us create the perfect environment for them to flourish.

Colonies spring up overnight it seems–splashes of brilliant crimson which could, if you were so minded, recall spilt blood.

Battlefields and cemeteries (where war casualties were buried) too, welcome these poignant flowers.

Asparagus Soup

A simple soup for a jet-lagged cook to prepare for guests who are arriving tonight.

Soup is a good option when people may have had asparagus just once too often–towards the end of the season.

You can add the parmesan to the soup and heat it through before serving or–as suggested–leave to the guests to add to their bowls.

for 4

450gms/1lb asparagus–woody stalk ends and tips removed

1/2 a small onion–chopped

1 clove of garlic–chopped

1 tablespoon olive oil

1 oz butter

450ml/1 pint stock–I use organic vegetable stock cubes

225ml/1/2 pint asparagus “water”–that in which you have simmered the woody stalk ends and the tips

salt

100gms/4 oz prosciutto–diced and sautéed to crisp

100gms/4 oz  parmesan cheese–grated

  • Simmer the stalk ends in 225ml /1/2 pint of water, covered, for 20 minutes.
  • Discard the stalks and–
  • –using the same  water, simmer the tips, covered, until tender–about 5 minutes– keep the water and reserve the tips to serve with the soup.
  • Sweat the onion and the garlic gently, covered, in the oil and butter for 5 minutes.
  • Add the asparagus and a little salt (remembering that the stock cubes will have salt in them) and sweat, covered, for a further 5 minutes.
  • Add the drained asparagus water and the stock, cover and cook gently for 20 minutes.
  • Liquidise the soup to a smooth finish.
  • Serve–hot–with the tips, the cheese and the prosciutto on the side, for guests to add as they please.

In the middle of filming the second series of Poldark, Angharad and I went on a PBS (Public Broadcasting Service)  promotional tour of the States. The first series had just started to play there. It was late spring 1977.

Boston, New York, Washington, and Dallas.

Five days–four cities; crazy, glamorous and fun.

At nine o’clock, the morning after arriving in Washington, we were given a private tour of Jimmy Carter’s White House–including the Oval Office.

Bleary-eyed and jet-lagged at the time, I recall very little.

Did  “Ross Poldark”–veteran of the losing side in the War of Independence–back in enemy territory, cheekily sit–momentarily–in the seat of power behind the desk?

I sincerely hope not!

Fast forward forty two and half years and I was in Washington again–with Meredith this time, to witness the inauguration of Barack Obama as President.

It was a bitter cold day with a brilliant blue sky and in the streets a solid mass of people were proceeding slowly towards the Mall to hear the new President speak.

There was a palpable feeling of hope and expectation in the air–of healing and renewal.

Meredith was elated–she had a ticket for the enclosure in front of the Capitol.

When I dropped her off at the subway at six a.m., she was clutching her purple ticket in her hand.

Four hours later she called me on the cell phone–in tears–to say there was a problem at the purple gate and it wasn’t looking good.

In the end 10,000 people failed to get through the purple gate!

Poor Meredith joined us at our friend’s club close by, to watch it all on television.

She calls it an inexplicable “snafu”–nobody ever found out exactly what went wrong.

Snafu!

A couple of glasses of champagne and the sight of history being made helped to restore her spirits.

A little over two hundred years after Captain Ross Poldark limped home to Cornwall and  General George Washington became the first President of the then thirteen United States of America, an African American was entering the White House as President–which black slaves had helped to build.

It was a momentous day.

Fast forward againWashington to London yesterday–Stansted to Carcassonne this morning and whoosh–we’re home!

President Obama and the First Lady– forced to curtail their Irish visit by the ash cloud–flew into Stansted last night on their first State visit to the UK.

This morning they met with the present incumbent of “Buck House”, with whom–we’re told–they have very friendly relations.

Buckingham Palace

(George III bought Buckingham House in 1761 for his wife Queen Charlotte–before going on to lose “the Colonies”.)

The world goes around…!

“Good afternoon Ladies and Gentlemen, this is train 127 to Waahshington–train 127 to Waahshington”

En route to Washington from NYC by Amtrak–a three hour journey.

We find the “Quiet Coach” (no loud voices–no cell phone use)–perfect.

Meredith starts to read the in-house magazine, which has a photo of Michelle Obama on the cover looking in radiant health. Her mission is to stem the rise in juvenile obesity.

The theme this month is Health and Wellness–no escape.

Inside Meredith finds a short article written by Dr. Francis Collins, the director of the NIH–the National Institutes of Health–entitled: “Change your life style and save your life”–no escape.

These days you can’t even take a trip in the “quiet coach”  without being exhorted to examine your lifestyle!

Dr.  Collins  writes that shortly before taking up his post, he took advantage of one of the programmes funded  by the NIH and had a DNA scan designed to look at the hereditory risks of disease.

To his surprise the scan revealed he had a risk of Type 2 diabetes.

“The strategy that caught my eye,” he writes, “was an NIH funded Diabetes Prevention Program which found the the combination of increased physical activity and modest weight loss is a highly effective way to lower the risk of Type 2 Diabetes. When trial participants–all with elevated levels of glucose–exercised 2.5 hours a week and lost 7% of their weight on avereage, many were protected from developing diabetes, with preventive benefits lasting at least a decade.”

He decided to act and started working out. In the first six months of his new routine he lost 25 pounds.

“I’ve never felt fitter, ” he says.

“Taking charge of your health by choosing the right foods and the right exercise programme is among the most important investments you can make in your future”–no escape!!

“Ladies and Gentlemen–15 minutes to New Carrolt’n– New Carrolt’n 15 minutes. Twenty-five minutes to Waahshington, 25 minutes to Waahshington–New Carrolt’n, Maryland is next”.

Briefly in NYC…

…passing through, on our way to a family celebration in Washington.

Cait–who was the seven-year-old bridesmaid at our wedding–(oh my, how time passes!)–will graduate as a doctor on Sunday from Georgetown.

As we’d approached Newark Airport along the Hudson River, the New York skyline was visible from the plane–never fails to impress.

The Empire State lit up red white and blue–for a Brit, I modestly supposed–and looking slight by comparison but oh-so-elegant–the Chrysler Building, tucked in behind it.

Our friends, John and Helen, met us at the airport–a wonderful luxury–and we drove through the Holland Tunnel into lower Manhattan.

New York’s talent for constant renewal was immediately evident.

As we turned a corner to head up the West Side, John pointed out the light on the fast-growing new building at Ground Zero–“a Phoenix rising from the ashes”– One World Trade Centre.

We passed the Frank Gehry building–all frosted glass–on the West Side Highway, and a spectacular walk of parks along the “mighty Hudson”.

A vast aircraft carrier–the Intrepid–is  permanently “parked” near where the old Queens, Mary and Elizabeth, used to dock to disembark well-heeled passengers–a stone’s throw from their grand mid-town hotels.

That’s another thing about New York, or at least Manhattan–everything seems like a “stone’s throw” away.

I just popped out of the building onto Broadway, for some low-fat yogurt–but I could have bought a pair of shoes or gone to the movies–if I’d had a mind to!

lamb chopper

We had these the night before last. Meredith had a yen and Monsieur Fraisse, the butcher, had the chops–there were four of them waiting on display in Lautrec. I said they had our names on them–he looked puzzled!

(The photos are from a previous meal)

Serves 2

The timing for cooking depends on the thickness of the chops.

4 lamb chops

4 tbsp olive oil

Bay leaves/rosemary/thyme – any one or all three

A couple of cloves of garlic – finely sliced

2 lemons

salt and pepper

  • Leave the chops to bathe in the oil, herbs, garlic and the juice of one of the lemons for a couple of hours.
  • Heat a grill to hot.
  • Place the chops on it and leave for 3 minutes without moving.
  • Turn over and salt and pepper the uncooked side.
  • Cook for a further 3 minutes. For a pinkish finish, the chop should spring back after you press it gently with your finger.
  • Quarter the second lemon and offer the pieces for squeezing over the succulent chops