Fig Tart, stamps and gateau

My morning started with me going downstairs to the kitchen and finishing off the tart I made last night. I picked up some good priced figs in Sainsbury's (where the cashierboy was amazed that someone could calculate the total price of their shopping without the aid of a calculator) and thought I would make a simple lemon and fig tart. Just slice the figs, arrange them on to the lemon cream mixture and then brush on a sweet glaze made with lemon juice and sugar. I remember making the first time I made this tart - it was my sister-in-law's 50th birthday party and I had naively agreed to cater for a party of 60 people. From my tiny, matchbox kitchen. It was frantic. I still talk about it today (she turned 60 last week), in that I-think-I-ought-to-have-therapy-for-that-experience way.

Then it was off to the house we are about to move into. Slaveboy needed help emptying what will be our bedroom and we have a friend coming over later today to pick up the cabinet unit from that room. The thing is, the cabinet unit is filled, to the brim (if it had one) with STUFF. That would have been quite ok to tackle if it weren't for the fact that the room is filled with stuff too. And also the landing. And for that matter, the WHOLE house. There must be at least 4 generations' worth of belongings packed away in dusty boxes and dreaded carrier bags. A chair was stacked upside down on top of the pile of linen and crushed boxes. I went through 5 black bin liners' worth of old, dusty, smelly, mouldy curtains, obviously stored not with the intention of being left untouched for over 40 odd years.

Slaveboy was beginning to get quite wobbly with me as I was being quite ruthless and ploughing through the stuff without a moment's hesitation. That I can understand. Afterall, there is a lot of emotional attachment to the stuff we were going through - letters written by his Nan to her husband after he died. Old, dusty photo albums containing his grandparents' baby photos. We found Clarice Cliff's plates and jugs in amongst complete utter tat, a couple of very valuable figurines which would have fetched good money if auctioned off, had it not been for the fact that they had been badly packed, completely forgotten about and then damaged when the boxes were moved from pillar to post. No one remembered the existence of these items, let alone remembered where they had been packed away to. So, I can't help but wonder about the nation's obsession of collecting things, as I sifted through boxes and boxes of stamps (some of which would have fetched good money), coins, postcards, and, wait for it, 21 nylon(!!!!) bed sheets (oh yes, even my fetishism hasn't sunk that low to appreciate nylon). I come from a family that didn't collect things. No family China, although my Mum was fond of Pyrex's Autumn Blossom or something like that. We certainly didn't squander collectibles away to be reserved for a rainy day or for future generations. And I'm not saying that one is better than the other as I am very pleased with the fine bone china jugs and plates I have received from my late mother-in-law's collection but here is a family who are having to go through items that have been stored away for some reason or another - maybe for best, or for a grandchild or with the blind faith that one day, it would be worth a lot of money, and the sad reality is, as an outsider looking inside, the biggest thing that is hitting the remaining family members is that their elders just didn't sort their shit out at all, for some reason or another.

So a carload to the tip later, Slaveboy has some floor space to work with. The wood glue has arrived for our kitchen worktops. The sash window is about to be reinstalled. We'll just have to figure out how to deal with the rotting window sill. Oh, and the dog has yet to pee in the Belfast sink that is waiting to be plumbed in. It could be a lot worse, like bypassing breakfast and lunch completely and eating what Sainsbury's labels as their Taste The Difference Chocolate Gateau.

Which I just did. Why I insist on eating packaged supermarket cack when there is a homemade fig & lemon tart in the fridge is beyond me. 

This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial 2.0 UK: England & Wales License.

I really have been busy.. honest.

Today has been a manic day. All I seemed to have done today was mop the floor, sort the laundry, do lots of baking and the endless washing up. In between these tasks, I seemed to have had around 15 visitors come through my door (and our house is TITCHY!). I have been doing some very nonchalant baking lately. Trying out variations of cupcake recipes and not necessarily sticking to any particular recipe. There were the lemon cupcakes with the lemon glaze. The chocolate ones with some lovely chocolate buttercream on top. Went manic and ended up doing a tray of Belgian buns a few nights ago, waking up slaveboy at 2 am to feed it to him with a glass of milk*. That was a crazy recipe too, it said to use 35g of yeast for what would have been for a recipe of 15 Belgian buns. I paid no attention to that and just used 7g and it turned out ok. I dread to think what 35g of yeast would have done to the dough. I also did two loaves of olive bread using some leftover goat's milk (sorry, Spiker, I dare to tarnish my body with it) for dinner yesterday as we were running a bit low on foodstuff in the house (let's just put it this way - I am actually out of plain flour - shocking, I tell you).

I had a friend turning up today with her teenage daughter who is 36 weeks pregnant. She had been going on about the brownies I once made her so I made her a batch today so she have some and take some home too. I couldn't have deprived a woman with child, could I? Oh, and I also made some intensely chocolatey brownie cookies. Spiker actually enjoyed those when she popped in today. I also had a go at another new recipe which was Salted Butter Caramel Tart. Next time I do this, I really do promise myself that I will not have a go at it whilst cooking tortellini and baking brownies. Too many details!! Too few hands and brain cells to cope!!!!

It actually turned out beautifully. I served it to slaveboy and he said he now forgives me for losing the butterscotch tart recipe. We also served the children some, and also my sister-in-law. Oh, and also my late mother-in-law's long time best friend, Auntie Joyce who lives round the corner. How random is that?? Apparently, she ate her slice in THREE mouthfuls!

Anyway, I did mean to take pictures of the process, and I promise I will next time but my camera ran out of charge and I was having to make do with my camera phone and really it would have been a bit tricky to take pictures and also stir hot bubbling caramel. I did take a couple of pictures later on though.

*Disclaimer: I realise that this makes me sound like I am a feeder. I am not. I merely woke him up and handed him the plate and glass of milk. He ate and drank on his own volition.

This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial 2.0 UK: England & Wales License.