Waste

"Potatoes make up the largest proportion by far of fresh veg that get wasted."

Or so says the introductory blurb to today's recipe, a vegetable curry, based around potato. I can not believe that's the case in our household. Yes there is waste in the sense of potato peelings & any bad bits, but that's it. Surely I'm not the only one who cooks the amount of potato that we are going to eat so there is no waste. I even serve them on the plate so we each have a fair amount, a healthy amount. The only exception tends to be when we have visitors when I will get out separate serving dishes. Even then there is rarely any left. I may do more than one variety of potato or other veg but I do it on the same size portion per person as I do normally. It just means guests have a choice. (There's even less these days when we don't entertain at home any longer.) Needless to say I shall have to cook some spuds especially for the meal tonight.

No, the largest proportion of waste veg in our household comes from a different source. There are some veg which, while we appreciate a little for the extra flavour/texture they bring, we do not like them sufficiently to want to eat a lot. Celery comes into this category. While I regard it as invaluable in casseroles for example, it's not a veg we particularly like as a veg. And there are a lot of sticks in a head. So often a couple of sticks are used in cooking. I might nibble the odd stick. But so often the rest turns slimy before I've gotten around to using it up.

The other category of veg waste is the result of the huge bags supermarkets insist on selling so many veg. This week it has been cheaper to buy 5 limes in one bag than two loose ones. Two I will use up, but the other three?.... I'm not so sure. How often I have bought 5 peppers rather than two to have three go soft & slimy before I can get around to finishing them. As for chillies they seem to be impossible to buy less than five at a time, yet I do not want chilli every day. Bird's eye chillies are even worse. Those packets come nearer twenty a time. Why can't they come loose? Why can't veg be sold individually at the same price as those sold in bulk? It must put the price of shopping up considerably for people living on their own, as well as increasing their waste pile. Not everybody caters for large numbers.

Shopping

Not long after two in the afternoon, the phone goes.

"Are you coming out to play?" It's PD, wanting a lift to the Pub, followed by a little supporting company whilst there.

Normally we're prepared to put ourselves out, especially if he sounds in a bad way as a result of his depression. For once he doesn't sound too bad, so I can reply with an easy conscience, "We're out, but we're going shopping."

Of late I've been finding, by the time I've done the big shop, I'm so exhausted I'm hard-pushed to cope with eating, let alone cooking, a meal afterwards. I manage better if I have time for a sit-down to recover from the shop before turning my attention to the food. The time has come to accept that the big shop can not be done after a trip to the Pub. A top-up shop I will still consider doing after the Pub, but this is a big shop.

So off we go to the supermarket. We get back about 4.30. It takes half an hour or so to unpack & put things away. By then neither of us feels like cooking. The only thing I've prepared is peeling some potatoes, so we decide to go down to our village pub & eat there for once.

We both decide to have the gammon. Until recently they always did large gammon steaks. We're still recovering from some gammon steaks we had years ago at the Greyhound in Shap. There the steaks were over a pound in weight per person. We were just overwhelmed. It's left us nervous ever since. These steaks turned out a nice size, beautifully tender & not too salty. We were pleasantly surprised by the accompaniment. Apart from the fried egg, there was "pineapple chutney". I'm not sure it's what I'd call chutney. It was more a case of pineapple pieces in sweet chilli dipping sauce. Whatever you call it, the sweet spiciness was delicious with the gammon.

Today we're off to the Farmers' Market. No Pub again. The market is only on until 2pm. We usually go off to the local pub for some lunch - a tuna & mayo jacket potato more often than not - followed by an afternoon nap in time for dinner. And today the dinner will be pork pasties with the Fox's mustard mash. I'm using up those 50g of minced pork I mentioned the other day. The pasties are already made so will just need re-heating later. Nice & easy.

Meaning in life

Suddenly, as dinner to comes to an end, the Fox asks, "Do our lives have any meaning?"

A difficult one to answer, I thought. Does anyone's life have meaning? I'm not even sure what could give meaning to life. Is it achieving great things? Bringing up a happy family? Surely none of these give meaning to life. As far as I can see we exist, and in as much as we exist, our job is to live our life as well as we can. But that is about how to live that life, not whether it has meaning.

I'm forced to reply that I'm not sure about meaning but I think our lives have value. No, we haven't shaken the world in any way. The Fox didn't become the great writer he aspired to be. We didn't have the children we would have loved to have. But we do endeavour to live our lives according to a set of values, in my case essentially Christian ones. I think we have achieved some things in our working lives. I feel we have done some good in the world if only in little ways, as we have tried to support friends & family through the passage of their life. I certainly don't think we've done anything to cause serious pain or anguish to others. At the end of the day I suspect that's the best anyone can do.

3oz of cooked guinea fowl

The talk has been much on food. I suppose it started when a couple of clues in the crossword were "Large white radish" & "Japanese mushroom" - the latter stumped us, shiitake being the only Japanese mushrooms we know. Then Mr P, the music teacher, came in, still finessing his meal for Thursday. His mains are a choice of braised pheasant with red cabbage, beetroot & apple cooked in port or steak & kidney pudding, steamed for 6 hours, served with roasted seasonal vegetables. As that topic seemed to be waning, I suddenly piped up with my dilemma.

"I've got three ounces of cooked guinea fowl to use up tomorrow. Any ideas of what I could do?"

Apart from the usual, ie that's not enough to feed a mouse let alone two grown adults, our friends turned their minds to the concept. PD was keen to suggest a risotto - plenty of rice, some mushrooms... At this point I had to interrupt & point out I didn't have any mushrooms in & the whole idea was to avoid doing any shopping just yet.

Heads were scratched once more.

"How about a stir fry?" was PD's next suggestion.

Now this had more appeal. We have a recipe which we usually do just before we go on holiday as it's such a good user up of vegetables. For two people it basically requires 12oz of vegetables & 2-4oz of prawns, plus a few basics like rice or noodles, oil etc. I have tried it successfully using cooked chicken instead of prawns. Why not try it with cooked guinea fowl? So that is what the Fox is doing in his trust wok for dinner tonight.

This means I have nothing much to prepare for dinner today. Later on I will just decide what veg to add, then take the meat & any supplementary frozen veg out of the freezer to thaw. I will also get some cheese out of the freezer to get to room temperature in time to have as dessert. Nice & simple.

I wonder what they will come up with if I tell them that tomorrow we'll be using up 2oz of minced pork.

Trying to catch the pieces

I see the Fox has already written about our latest mishap - problems with the central heating. I got up this morning, in the lukewarm, to find a note saying he'd had problems. He hadn't been able to switch it off all night, even when he'd switched it to the off setting. Yet, when I got up, there was no heating on. It didn't make sense, but, until I've had chance to discuss the matter with him, I can't see the point in contacting the installers of the new system. Instead I feel he was maybe lucky. With the gas fire not working, & a night well below freezing (even now it's only just got up to -8C in a very white world), at least he was kept warm.

Meanwhile, this morning, I'm waiting for our plumber, who usually services the gas fire, to come to have another look at the fire, before I get back yet again to the manufacturers of that. They seem to keep finding things that should have been done in the service, without which the guarantee has no validity. If changing the bit they say has to be changed annually, & which Norman, our man, says is an expensive waste of time when the present one will last for years the amount of times we use the fire & which anyhow isn't the cause of the problem he's sure, then I propose to put Norman himself on the phone. I've had anough of being given the run-around. It's time the fire was working before winter really sets in.

Then, in the afternoon we're off to Curry's with the radio. Let's see if that can get done.

I feel I'm just trying to permanently catch the pieces. The only thing is, each time I catch some a further shower comes cascading down. I should be enthusing about the prettiness of a frosty morning on a bright sunny day, or the lamb casserole plopping away in the oven, not fretting about things breaking down.

Phone call dilemma

I've just been on the phone to Jean, Dick Gobble's wife. She was recently diagnosed with cancer, ovarian which has now extended to her stomach. I've not spoken to her since her diagnosis, feeling awkward about maybe intruding in her pain & grief, yet at the same time being aware she might find it reassuring to have someone to talk to who has been through some of the trauma of cancer themselves.

Yesterday, her husband, Dick, came in the Pub. Naturally we asked about Jean. I mentioned my dilemma. He said to ring. She seems to be getting great strength from discovering how many people really do care for, & love, her. So I did.

I'm glad I did. She seemed relieved to have someone to talk her worries over with. I think I'm the first person she's talked to who has ever experienced cancer themselves. Unfortunately her prognosis doesn't sound as hopeful as mine - my tumour was fully removed & is unlikely to return. But I do still remember the shock of being told, the fears for those you love who may be left on your own, the anxiety about what might happen ahead.

It puts my own feelings of disgruntlement over my limitations, expressed in yesterday's blog, in perspective. Poor Jean has been told she probably has about 2 years to live, depending upon how well she reacts to the chemotherapy, which starts on Monday.

She fears as to how Dick will manage. She's always done everything for him in the home. He only knows how to cook one meal, shepherd's pie, & won't touch ready meals. He has now idea of laundering clothes & general housekeeping. I try to reassure her she has got some time to teach him, & she may live much longer than suggested especially if she responds well. I'm sure all his, & her, friends will rally around to make sure Dick manages in the future, will give him, & her, as much support as they can.

She is turning her mind to practical things like getting their affairs organised, just in case. I've also suggested she should contact the local CancerCare place. They provide a lot of practical advice, as well as emotional support, for both patient & carer. They would also probably help her sort out benefits. As time goes on, she will probably need help with costs of care, travel to Preston where she is to be treated, just simple things like a Blue Badge so she can still go out a bit.

I hope the call was helpful. She certainly seemed pleased to get some of her anxieties off her chest. I do hope all goes well for her on Monday.

Tints of autumn

Big Robert, owner of the Pub, & Mr P, the music teacher, are deep in conversation. Food is clearly on their minds. We hear the odd words of pheasant, watercress soup, pumpkin soup. We try to politely turn our attention to our crossword, whilst feeling a certain amount of curiosity as to what's up.

Suddenly Mr P turns round & says, pointing at us, "Well, there's some for a start. They'll come."

What were we being volunteered for now? we wondered.

It turns out, that Mr P is taking over the Pub's kitchen for one evening & preparing a special autumnal menu for the night - three courses for £20 a head. Mr P has recently put in for early retirement from teaching & is intending to set up as an outside caterer. He's already done a couple of weddings & BBQs. This is to launch himself more widely. The meal is to be next week, during half term, while he has a bit more time to concentrate on food rather than school.

Our first thought is that it isn't possible. The dining areas of the Pub are no longer accessible to me, too many steps. Robert & Mr P pooh-pooh that idea. A few strong men should be able to manhandle me, in my chair, up & down the stairs. I agree to a trial run while the Pub is quiet. The Fox gets the wheelchair. Sure enough Mr P & the Fox manage to get me down & up again, though there's no way they could get me through the narrow doorway to the loo. Mr P did contemplate just taking the door off the hinges - it's never closed anyhow - but the screws lie under inches of years of paint. Still, at least it proved I could get to the dining room, so let's hope the Ladies is not required.

The menu is further discussed. There's no denying it does sound delectable - a special steak & kidney pudding which has been steamed for 5 hours.... Our mouths water, our enthusiasm mounts. We've nothing fixed for next Thursday beyond going to the Farmers' Market at lunchtime.

"So is at a set time?" we ask.

"Yes. That will be better."

A further discussion ensues. "We'll make it 7.30 for 8," is the conclusion, "That gives us chance to get through most of the people who are ordering a meal from the ordinary menu that evening."

That saddens me a bit. It's rather late for us. Occasionally we do eat that late but it's a spur of the moment meal rather than a planned time to eat. I try to tell myself I should have chance for a long nap in the afternoon & we usually have a spot of lunch after the Farmers' Market so we should be able to keep our appetites going until then. We agree to go.

Over dinner we are forced to conclude that this is overoptimistic. By 7 I'm dragging my way through the meal, exhausted. I have a quick cup of tea after then to bed. It's only 8pm. I wouldn't even have started to eat Mr P's meal. I'm sorry but this afternoon we're going have to disappoint Mr P & back out of our commitment. It just isn't on, much as we would love to go.

I find myself rather dispirited. It's partially tiredness, partially having to accept my limitations & having to inflict them on the Fox. I'm bouncing back a bit this morning, after over 12 hours' in bed, most of it asleep. I'm still a bit subdued. It would have been nice, but that's the price of disability.