life on the hill (VII)

The joys of living in a small village – the local council send you birthday greetings. Charming.

life on the hill – illusion v. harsh reality

The Fool’s usual garb for working on the Hill is a disgrace – torn jeans (work-torn, not surgically cut and frayed in some high-fashion shop), ancient baggy (and permanently dirty) T-shirts, a polyester mechanic’s smock in a vile green shade, work boots from the general store.

I don’t care.

Indeed, between you and me, in my more delirious moments I even entertain illusions of affecting a certain floppy-chic sexiness.

That is, I used to. But then I overheard a conversation (its tone carefully pitched, I am certain, to be accidentally overheard) between the Princess and her Grandmother – “I see Father as a perfectly lovely gentleman, like Grandfather was, always smelling of lavender, in a tweed jacket and a smart tie. There’s nothing sadder than those old men trying to look young in T-shirts …”

So much for sexiness, then. I only wonder if the hint was meant to be acted upon as of now, or if she will allow me another year or two of sweet illusion.

the soundtrack of the stranded sailor

No foreign pair of dark sunglasses will ever shield you from 

the light that pierces your eyelids, the screaming of the gulls

Feeding off the bodies of the fish, thrashing up the bay till it was red,

turning the sky a cold dark colour as they circled overhead.

He swam out to the edge of the reef, there were cuts across his skin,

saltwater on his eyes and arms, but he could not feel the sting

There was no one left to hold him back, no one to call out his name,

dress him, feed him, drive him home, say "Little boy it doesn't have to end this way".

He announced their trial separation, and spent the night in a Park Beach Motel bed,

a total stranger lying next to him, rain hitting the roof hard over his head

She said "What's the matter now lover boy, has the cat run off with your tongue?

Are you drinking to get maudlin, or drinking to get numb?"

He called out to the seabirds "Take me now, I'm no longer afraid to die",

they pretended not to hear him, just watched him with their hard and bright black eyes

They could pick the eye from any dying thing that lay within their reach,

but they would not touch the solitary figure lying tossed up on the beach.

So, where were you? Where were you? Where were you?

The Seabirds, The Triffids

So much for the myth of a woman in every port

the soundtrack of Jack Aubrey and Stephen Maturin

Though wary of being branded an enthusiast, in the Johnsonian sense – or an anorak – I often feel a case could be made for these being the best historical novels there have ever been.

However, an argument could equally be put forward for their exclusion from that canon, on the simple grounds that they require at least a modicum of nautical knowledge and sailing instincts to be fully enjoyed – thus preventing large parts of the world’s population from understanding their depths, and subtleties, and gentle humour.

Certainly I never recommend them to landlubber friends. No disrespect, but we all have our literary limitations – my own particular bugaboo, for instance (I'm sure I have many others), is a complete inability to get to grips with The Magic Mountain, “Thomas Mann’s opus about curiously symbolic people in a curiously symbolic sanatorium in the curiously symbolic Alps” (Russell Baker dixit). And I have long since stopped being ashamed or feeling guilty about it. Fuck Thomas Mann.

So, landlubbers, enjoy the Locatelli (mentioned right at the beginning of the first novel, though the specific piece mentioned seems to be inexistent – a slip by the author not caught by the editor. The one above serves to get the mood). 

But forget O'Brian. Read The Magic Mountain, instead. I am told it's a marvellous book.  

culinary life

One has a House, one has cousins – they are bound to meet. In other words a day is bound to come in which one will have to feed the brutes.

Problem is – even if you keep the invitations to first cousins on your father's side, and only about half of them can come on any given day –, there's lots. In the end, a round dozen answered the call (like the Apostles, only with 3 women in the mix for a slightly less misogynous, more modern balance), plus wives/husbands (and a couple of girls and babies from a different generation who sneaked in, and whom I affected not to see – and since we can sit 28 comfortably to dinner, the sum total of 26 was still all right).

In these belt-tightening times a substancial rice dish was the best value for money the House could come up with as a main course. Apperos, cheeses, salads, drinks and desserts would be brought by the guests, according to a detailed table worked up by Mano Velho (in PowerPoint no less).

So, rice. The first thing you have to do, of course, is to get yourself an electric rice cooker – and no, reader, it's not at all like a Bimby. Rice cookers merely ensure the rice will end up properly cooked and loose, comme il se doit, without one having to be watching it all the time. The cooking proper of the other ingredients is done in pots and pans in the traditional way. (So keep any booing and accusations of lazy cooking to your dear selves, please).


To the recipe, then (I should write "receipt", as the late great Jennifer Patterson would have it, but I fear the larger readership would think it an error, so I'd better keep to the lowest common denominator …):


For 25 adults
About 5 or 6 cups of uncooked long grain rice 
About 2 kilos (4 or 5 lbs) of fresh sausages
About 2 medium bowls of mixed seeds and nuts (I used shelled pumpkin seeds and slivered almonds)
2 large carrots, diced
Red bell pepper, cut into strips (2 large handfuls)
2 large portions of uncooked fresh button mushrooms, sliced
2 handfuls of shredded cabbage leaves (any crisp kind of cabbage)
Garlic to taste

With a 2-litre cooker one needs to do this in two separate batches. The instructions below are for one batch.

• Fry the sausages in a large nonstick frying pan (no need to add fat), pricking them with a sharp knife as they bloat in the heat, to let the fat out, turning occasionally, until they are well browned (with the skin partly charred). Take off the heat, and cut the sausages on a board with a sharp knife into 1 cm (half-inch) pieces. Reserve (and reserve the fat in the pan).
• In another frying pan dry-fry the mushrooms until they become chewy and have shed almost all the liquid. Season lightly, drain (discard the liquid), and reserve.
• Turn on the rice cooker and cover the bottom in a generous quantity of extra virgin olive oil, and about half the sausage fat. Sauté some garlic in the cooker, then add half the pepper strips and half the seeds and nuts, and sauté some more. Finally, add 2 1/2 cups of rice and mix thoroughly, until the rice is well coated and slightly translucent. Add half the cut sausages, half the mushrooms, and 2 1/2 cups of water. Season, mix well, and cover. 
• The electric cooker can now be left to do its own thing unattended. Only be aware that it's very quick – the rice will be cooked in less than 10 minutes – and that perhaps 5 or 6 minutes into the process you need to add 1 of the diced carrots into the mixture. Cover again and let the cooker finish the job (a switch will trip, and the cooker will go from cooking to heating mode). Uncover, add half the shredded cabbage, and cover again. Leave on heating mode for another 10 to 15 minutes before turning off the cooker. This way, both the carrot and the cabbage will be only just tender enough, but still very crisp. Mix the cabbage into the rice before serving.

Repeat with the other half of the ingredients.

You can prepare this a day in advance (indeed there are those who say you should, and certainly rice dishes tend to become better overnight). Turn each batch into a large oven dish, cover in cling film and store in the fridge. About an hour before serving, put the dishes in the oven at 100ºC, covered in foil. Serve hot. 

For an old editor of cookery books, I realise there are lots of "abouts", and "handfuls", and "large portions", and "generous portions" of ingredients, and precious few precise measurements. But that's the joy of the occasional cook, not bound by editorial rules or the dictatorship of the printed page. Besides, one can change the quantities of ingredients (and even the ingredients themselves) to taste (except the ratio of rice-to-water, which is strictly 1/1 and don't let anyone tell you otherwise). The amount of rice is proportionately less than one might imagine for so many people – indeed I made a third batch to be on the safe side, but two proved enough (though bear in mind that there were lots of cheeses, bread, nuts, side salads – and gallons of drink –, to be had beforehand, so that will have taken some of the edge off the cousins' hunger before they actually sat down to eat).

Enjoy.