tapas#1

The best recipe for Patatas Bravas, also found here

900g firm flesh potato ((i used Wilja)

5 tablespoon olive oil

1 tablespoon tomato puree

2 large garlic cloves

1 teaspoon paprika

1/2 teaspoon cayenne pepper

salt

• Preheat the oven to 180ºC
• Steam potatoes over boiling water for 5 minutes until barely tender.
• Drain and spread out to dry on a clean tea towel for a few moments, then put into a large bowl.

• Combine the remaining ingredients, pour over the potatoes and toss gently to coat.
• Put the potato cubes in a roasting tin, spreading them out in a single layer (you don't want them to steam).
• Roast in the preheated oven, tossing now and then, for 25 minutes until slightly blackened around the edges. 

Meanwhile, i am rediscovering the joy of anticipation (nothing to do with food, of course).

scorch

It is a crumble, the best crust for a dish of cooked bramleys and blackberries, and doesn't seem to care that i used gluten-free flour.

100g flour
75g butter
50g sugar

Whizz in a food processor for a few seconds to make a crumb. Scatter over your choice of fruit and bake in a medium hot oven until crisp, about 25 minutes.

I prefer mine served warm, with hot custard.

I'm not worrying about the boy situation. The children ask for him, he asks after them, no-one seems overly upset so i shan't fret.

stumped

This seems like the latest and most impossible hurdle.

We spent 2 days together as a family; a trip out with a picnic, lunch at his house, an evening at home then a day here with the paraphernalia of toy comforts, including a tremendous Belly Pork Roast.

I sliced the fat with a sharp blade, rubbed salt pepper and lemon thyme into the creases. 30 minutes at 230ºC, then an hour or so at 180º. It didn't need an extra blast at the heat, the crackling was done to perfection.

The problem? One child is as happy as ever, the other has tantrum after tantrum. He sulks, he is rude, he shouts and baits his brother. At the best he is uncooperative, at worst he is unapproachable, with stretches of hyped enthusiasm when the attention is on him.

This evening we sat together in the bathroom, he relaxing full length in hot water, me soaking my blackberry-stained toes. He is back to his funny self. I gently quiz him; him seems delighted with the activities, unperturbed by the sleepover, and in denial of any of the anger i felt scorch me.

You can tell me it is to be expected, inevitable, understandable.

I feel very tired and utterly sad.

complimentary shopping

I am at the supermarket with too little time, a trolley full of necessities, tingle lubricant at half price and an excessive amount of chocolate.

He is at the till, rapidly scanning my choices and ready for a chat.

"How are you today?"

"oh, ok" i say, not feeling very positive.

He leans forward, conspiratorially.

"you're more than a little ok" he grins.

He is the other side of 70 years old, with three teeth and two missing fingertips, and is utterly charming. We chat about chess and India, ignoring the queue building.

"You've made my day" i say.

"I bet he says that to you every day" my cheerful cashier says.



If only.

i am surprised,

but delighted to find that i am enjoying the exchange of roles.

He is rigid beneath me, the tension solid in his thighs and in the lines of his belly. One more squeeze like the other, that particular pressure with the edge of my tongue, and i could let him come. Or perhaps i might wait until later.

comfort

We were too busy to eat the silverside pot roast that i had put in the oven, so, the next day i made it into a cottage pie, gravy and all. So, so good.

*

It is three years (i can hardly believe how the time has flown) since i was last pregnant, but he can still draw milk from my breast. Always from the left one, he points out, as he shows me the shimmering creamy droplet that quivers on rosy crinkles. He holds his tongue out an inch from the nipple and my flesh hardens and uplifts in anticipation of his mouth.

ticking my box

We stop to read a poster stapled to a tree trunk and he stands behind me, puts a finger at the base of my back and runs his nail slowly and firmly up and down my spine. I want to stretch like a cat in the sun, turn my bare belly towards him and purr.



It is the Bramley season. I like mine stewed slowly with a little sugar and a generous amount of raisins (the apple with shrink, the raisins multiply while it cooks). I lubricate the pan with a glug of green ginger wine and add two large knobs of fresh ginger (unpeeled) for flavour. Remove the raw ginger before serving warm, with cream.

something separate

He is a man who likes to hit naked women, and i'm a women who likes to feel vulnerable without clothes on. I don't have to understand it to enjoy it.

inch by inch

We tried on hand cuffs and leg shackles, fondled an ebony truncheon, a birch switch and a particularly hefty brass instrument with sticky-out bits. There is a degree of eyebrow wriggling and innuendo, but i still haven't been explicit about how i like to be hit, or the contents of my play bag.

wayward

Tomorrow we are visiting a dungeon, and he has promised to hold my hand in the dark.

I am packing snacks.

The children are taking their torches.

timeless

If i've spent a rare, free morning ironing bed linen then there must surely be a Very Good Reason.

pot roast

Not great photos, but it was such a success i wanted to remind myself of the happy accident between an abandoned bottle of merlot and an outplaced piece of silverside.

Having reorganised my freezer, i had no more room, so left the meat to defrost with no particular plan.

Briskly brown the joint in a snug pan, then remove to one side. Cook 2 small, sliced onions and a handful of small carrots until soft and well-coloured, stirring well at the meat crust on the pan sides. Return the meat to the pan, pour in whatever wine is to hand (about half a bottle) and cover tightly with first a foil hat, then the lid, then cook in a low oven for about 3 hours.

The meat was tender, the gravy rich and well flavoured. Sturdy fare for when the afternoons are beginning to chill.

a man's stomach

A new pan.

It is a good solid item, 6.5 litres capacity, with 2 stubby handles, and a glass lid. It goes in the oven, or on my hob. I could feed a family of 10.

My husband bought it for me, to replace the two pans he has taken; for sentimental reasons, he explains. He has never taken his clothes from the wardrobe, or his pictures from the walls, but he has taken 2 pans.

sex stewed my brain

Driving home from his place for the first time, too sodden on affection to be fully alert, i miss all the useful junctions and end up driving into Warwickshire. By the time i have found a way off the motorway, and an urgently needed fuel stop, i am an hour and half late home.

now

Come to me at 6, he texts, bring your walking shoes.

It makes a change from being reminded to bring my sex toys, or to wear my stockings.

I'll take them too, just in case.

an old friend

The scent of bitter-sharp, sugared lemon almost overcame me.

best use of a courgette #2

Yes, this is more banana than courgette, but it must be the healthiest cake ever betwixt my lips. Gluten free, fat free. I used tight little currants instead of the suggested nuts. Very light to eat, excellent not-to-sweet fuel for breakfast, and keeps well too.

Cinnamon Banana Bread, by Harry Eastwood (recipe also found here)



A week ago my bag was packed for foreign travel, i was awaiting 5 days without children and my date wasn't yet my lover*.

Now? Do i call him my boyfriend? Does it matter?

I know i worry about the 'package', as i call it. I can't (won't) separate my love life from my family life, it is all intermingled and i want my children to be included in my free time but it must, surely, be a huge factor in a progressing relationship.

He says not to fuss, fixes my Wii and sends me a text to check whether my eldest has finished his homework yet.



* not necessarily related circumstances