….and it happens as I stand at the fax machine this afternoon, of all the places, musing briefly on the fact that I will be paid and there is something to show for a week seemingly again and again circling round the early morning standing at the bus-stop now festooned with autumn’s spiderwebs. That sense of a split-second time-shift. My shadow steps so briefly, backwards, out of me, and then steps back in again. I reunite, with only a brief ripple around the edges to suggest something was wrong and there’s a brief…jarring. Then the fax completes its task, an old model that like all of its time is a pale off-beige, like it came out of the factory ready-stained with cigarette tar.
– We have more beetroot.
– It’s the weekend.
– I have vodka.
– I’VE FOUND A RECIPE FOR BEETROOT HUMMUS
– My sister is 50 miles away, on holiday with her family. HUMMMUUSSS TRAAIIITTTOOORRRR!!1!*
*What would Max say?!
With the wettest April on record, the wettest June on record, a miserable July and a frankly bikini-hostile August, the garden has done very badly cropwise, presumably because my parents weren’t prescient enough to plant appropriate crops, like rice. And water lilies. And water-cress. And fish. There’s been a decent return on the string beans, garlic, cucumber and some of the cherry tomatoes seem to have begged, borrowed and stolen enough sunlight to finish ripening, but overall it’s been a poor show. The only other plant that seems to have mastered photosynthesis-whilst-underwater has been the humble beetroot, and there are several fat globes of it presiding over the fridge now with their usual “I dare you to eat me whilst wearing white clothes” vibe.
Yesterday saw a fairly thorough clean-out of my food cupboard, and there’s a decent handful of quinoa, a decent handful of bulgar wheat, and some white rice that could do with being mopped up, plus some button mushrooms, so this evening’s attempt at food-poisoning will be a variant on risotto.
My sister and I have a Saturday night ritual now where I go round her house on Saturday evening and we drink vodka, watch/laugh at Casualty* and Two Broke Girls**, and, when we are suitably smashed, make hummus with crispbreads to help soak up the alcohol. ‘Cos that’s how we roll, motherfuckers.
The recipe goes somewhat like this – feel free to get absolutely hammered to get that authentic Drunk Hummus Party vibe:
I’m reluctant to point you in the direction of http://www.101cookbooks.com/ as it’s such a beautiful vegetarian food blog that you’ll probably de-camp there permanently and I’ll be left shouting hoarsely into the aether about tinned black beans and mortal fear, whilst crickets chirp and tumbleweeds roll. However mum is particularly fond of this noodle dish, so it’s best that I reacquaint myself with it as her chemo-battered taste buds may well be demanding it later this week. The original recipe calls for pasta noodles (presumably “spaghetti” to people on this side of the Atlantic?), but I’ve used wheat/rice noodles successfully in the versions I’ve cooked here.
The original of this was a Nigel Slater recipe (I’m not worthy!). Nigel often includes recipes in his Sunday column in the Observer which are either vegetarian, or vegetarian-friendly, without getting too Look at me, catering to the hippies about it. This is an extremely flexible recipe which vegetarians and meatavarians seem to enjoy equally. The basic recipe is as follows:
……picked up this lovely lentil pate recipe from http://lachattegitane.blogspot.co.uk, and amended slightly for my own tastes, good hot or cold. I found it good hot mixed with chopped, fried Quorn bacon pieces, on a baked potato. My mother likes it as a post-chemotherapy session snack, with a mini pork-pie and cucumber (each to their own, serious illness or not!).