I have nothing against the Spanish. How could I hold a grudge against the nation that gave us the joys of bull fighting, Torremolinos holidays and jugs of sangria? No, my gripe is with weasel words and how some use them to fool the unwary.
We had a good night on Saturday at the Blog Awards Ireland 2013. For me, it was more than just a chicken dinner. It was the culmination of a year of slaving over a hot stove, slaving over a hot camera and slaving over a hot computer. I was nominated for the Best Food Blog (after a subtle campaign) and I entered one of my recipes for the Glenisk competition. Given that I haven’t won anything since accepting a carton of 200 Benson and Hedges in a rugby club raffle over 30 years ago, I was not anticipating a lot.
I entered the Irish Blog Awards, as most of you darling people know by now. While perusing the Blog Awards Ireland site and dreaming of the personal gratification and glory that could (might, may, may not, probably won’t, no chance sucker…) be bestowed on my humble blog, I noticed a Glenisk competition. Those who have read my rant on the subject of blog sponsorships / advertising might be forgiven for assuming (ass of u and me) that I did not approve of such things. Let’s get the record straight….
I like a nice bit of leg. Lamb leg that is. Not that I don’t admire a nicely turned ankle. But, this is not the place to discuss such things. And, as a small aside, I had my own pins described recently as “I’ve seen better legs on a snooker table”. I will save you the need to pass comment here on all matters leg related except for the spring lamb.
Seven years ago, I made a wrong decision. I set my relationship with the Wife back. So often, one does these things and the marriage never recovers. I take responsibility for my actions back then. I feel it’s time to make it up now. She deserves having things put right. My children deserve my putting the record straight. I deserve a future with a clearer conscience.
My recent fish pie with waves post has inadvertently reignited an old controversy. Not the lamb v beef cottage / shepherds pie polemic but something I had not foreseen. It started pretty innocuously. At work, Matt started out being quite complementary about my wavy topped fish pie. This led to a discussion about the right toppings for different pies. The conversation moved around the office but agreement was not reached. I now need to make a stand and draw up the definitive set of rules.
During the week, I got a call in the office from the Wicklow Hunter. He enjoys winding people up and one never knows the real truth behind many of his activities. I forgive him a lot as he does his thing with good humour and a twinkle in his eye.
WH: Are you in?
Me: I am, sure did you not just ring?
WH: I did. I have some lamb for you.
Me: Lamb? You don’t keep sheep, do you?
WH: No, this is the best tasting lamb there is. Trespass Lamb.
Got Ya! My fashion headline did the trick and has roped you into the first paragraph. We had family over recently and I decided to barbecue. The forecast was for rain. This meant that it probably wouldn’t. In Ireland, the weather likes to do its own thing. Like the weather, I like to do my own thing too. Back in the day when I was a youth and interested in my appearance, I did some pretty funky fashion stuff, believing myself to be the coolest thing on the catwalk.
I have carried the weight of this around for more than a decade and now I have to clear my conscience. We had been holidaying in the Poitou‑Charentes region of France. We had made the short trip into Saintes for the weekly market. I was feeling ambitious and wanted to prepare a butterflied leg of lamb. I circled the market and located the lamb butcher, having previously tried to buy beef from a boucherie chevaline (horse butcher), causing much mirth for the butcher and embarrassment for me. In my dire French, I conveyed that I wanted the joint boned. With much smiling and what I thought was comprehension, the master craftsman set to work.
