Tamping - Forget the Coffee, Get the Teapot

 

I’ve just been trying to read an article about what happens if I tamp expresso too hard. I quickly lost interest and gave up. On the occasion that I might have a cup of coffee, presently once a day, it is from a jar of instant Nescafe Gold. It will do for me. Visitors to my house can have the same, or choose between regular Nescafe or decaf. At the moment, there are still a few sachets of instant latte lurking in the beverage cupboard, left over from when we thought them a good idea. Nescafe, of course, but unwanted, not liked, still in date. I’m baffled by coffee menus in Costa, Starbucks and similar. On reading the first sentence of that article, I'd satisfied  myself I’m not missing out on anything. I don’t need a coffee maker or a tamping mat, though the mat could possibly have other uses.

Morecambe promenade, circa 1960. Sunday morning with my visiting grandparents always involved going to church – Sunday School for me – then a stroll along the front to what I think must have been Nanna Hetty’s favourite café. We had cups of coffee, even me at age five or six. It was either to warm me up on a cold day, or the huge glasses of squash were considered too much. I enjoyed these excursions and remember feeling quite grown up having coffee and popping two light-brown sugar cubes into the cup. I don’t think there was any fuss about choice. Coffee was coffee and in our house and Nanna Hetty’s house, it was in a small, round tin, in powder form. A few years later, when I was old enough to go to the shop by myself, I sometimes bought an individual sachet of instant Nescafe for a few pence. This was old money, pre-decimal. It was just the coffee, not the ones with added milk powder that are available today. I wonder then, when did all these types of coffee and the use of tamping mats come about?

Italian brothers, Sergio and Bruno Costa started their coffee bean roastery in London around 1971 and opened their first coffee bar in 1981. In Seattle USA, the Starbuck team of business partners Jerry Baldwin, Gordon Bowker and Zev Siegl were doing the same thing around the same time. Fifty-plus years later, they are both globally established, offering a long list of different coffees, keeping their baristas busy with their tamping mats. My daughter doesn’t generally like coffee, maybe a caramel latte, but on a short holiday in London when she was about fourteen, she carried a takeaway Costa cup everywhere as it seemed to be the thing to do. And she didn’t walk with us, she was either a little in front, or a couple of paces behind. Funny that.

Well, those of you with tamping mats, coffee makers, even percolators or coffee bean grinders, you know what you like, so enjoy. I'll have a pot of strong tea. A good builder's brew.

My Haiku,

Who wants a latte?
What’s ordinary coffee?
Is it a flat white?

The Barista’s job,
What is tamping all about?
What is expresso?

Why a tiny cup?
I’ll have English Breakfast Tea,
Yes, tea. Very strong.

Thanks for reading, Pam x

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Knitting - In, Round, Through, Off

 

 Filling the bird feeders is my first job of the morning. Three fat-ball holders and two seed holders hanging on branches of the surrounding fir trees provide a feast and it only takes a minute for the birds to descend and squabble over perching rights.  I watch from the window, sipping strong tea and half leaning on the radiator.  Sunshine and a cloudless blue sky promises a beautiful autumn morning.  Earlier, I had seen the cows by the gate at the end of the meadow. They had wandered back up the hill now. I’m happy to stand for a while and drink it all in, never tiring of what I see and enjoying the changing each season brings.

I’m not at home. This is Dumfries and Galloway. My perfect place for some much needed rest and relaxation, and my birthday in a couple of days.  I am trying to make myself unwind, determined to make the most of this longer than usual stay, but I’m aware that just below the surface of my calm exterior, stress is bubbling.  There’s always family stuff and I’m not quite well but not bad enough to be ill.  I need to chill, so I’m thankful to have my knitting to occupy me later on and help me to relax.

Knitting has been and continues to be a lifetime occupation.  I might be repeating myself here if I’ve previously mentioned about being taught to knit by my mother and grandmother.  It was when my mother was expecting my baby sister.  Of course, the gender wasn’t known before birth in those days.  Both ladies were constantly knitting and I was taking an interest.  , One of them started me off with a few stitches on their spare needles and talked me through it in simple terms of ‘in, round, through, off’ until I got the hang of it.  I tried hard, dropped stitches, added stitches from somewhere and made a mess, probably more than once, but with their saintly patience and my determination, I’ve learnt a wealth of knitting and crochet skills that I’m constantly putting into practice.  From baby clothes to Aran sweaters, plain knits to complicated, I’ve done it all.  It is Christmas jumper time again, which is what I’m working on at the moment, for my grandchildren.  By the way, the photograph is from last year, in case you’re thinking I’m super-fast at churning them out.

 I found this poem,  Mrs Moon by Roger McGough,

Mrs Moon

Sitting up in the sky

Little old lady

Rock-a-bye

With a ball of fading light

And silvery needles

Knitting the night.

 

Thanks for reading, Pam x

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Everyone Say Cheese

Say ‘cheese’. No, it’s not a continuation of my Selfie blog from last week, though this started at around the same time. It was the typical chat between me and a colleague during one of the rare moments that we had chance to pass the time of day.

“What’s for tea tonight, then?” She asked me.

She took a phone call as I thought about what to do with the left-overs from our Sunday roast.

“Cold meat and boxty, with some cabbage and leeks, I think.” I replied, starting to feel hungry and looking forward to some sauce or pickle to go with it. I remembered the rhyme, but kept it to myself – Boxty on the griddle, boxty in the pan, if you can’t make boxty, you’ll never get a man. – It made me smile.

“I’m doing homemade cheese and onion pie. Not done it for ages.” She was typing frantically and didn’t look up straight away.

“Oh, now you’ve done it. I’ll crave that all week.”

I love my own cheese and onion pie and I hadn’t made one for a long time, either. Served with jacket potato and baked beans, it’s a favourite family meal I have grown up with. I would make it on Saturday. It was only Monday but we would be out for three evenings and Friday was ‘chippy tea’ and not to be missed. If I made a large pie, there would be enough to enjoy cold for lunch the next day.

Cheese and tomato sandwiches are a favourite lunch. If the cheddar is just the right flavour, it takes me back to my childhood and the pub we had up in the hills near Glossop. I attended the local village school that was very close by, and for the only time in my school days I came home for lunch. It would be there, waiting for me on the kitchen table. Fresh white bread filled with grated cheddar cheese and thinly sliced tomato. It might have been an odd choice for an eight year old, but I loved it, even more than chicken paste or potted meat. How lovely it is for something so simple to transport me back to a time full of fond memories.

Saturday couldn’t come soon enough and the afternoon found me elbow deep in plain flour and grated cheese with eyes watering from finely chopped onion. The end result was delicious, with the longed for jacket potatoes and baked beans. Comfort food at its best. The next day, I was delighted to see my toddler grandson devouring strips of the cold pie and dipping it in a tiny spoonful of pickle. Can’t beat Nanna’s homemade snacks.

“Did you make your pie at weekend, then?” My colleague asked, during a lull in the Monday morning mayhem.

“Yes, it was perfection. Can’t you tell?” I pointed out my increasing girth, which of course, isn’t the result one cheese and onion pie.

I found this poem.

 

A Parable

The cheese-mites asked how the cheese got there,

And warmly debated the matter,

The Orthodox said that it came from the air,

And the Heretics said from the platter.

They argued it long and they argued it strong,

And I hear they are arguing now;

But of all the choice spirits who lived in the cheese,

Not one of them thought of a cow.

  
                                                                                                   by Arthur Conan Doyle

 Thanks for reading, Pam x

 

 

 

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Leaving Timmy down the well

Something Refreshing

Sitting sassy, make mine a lassi
Pass it fast, let it splash
Alabaster flash
Cat laps, getting fat
She's a terrible waitress



Inspired by Abdul's storytelling rhymes, I thought I'd write a little ditty and take the week's theme ever so literally.  It's all square windows from here on in (with grubby fingerprints on the glass). 

This week I have been taking my drinks cold, particularly tea.  As it hots up, I distract myself at work by finding new ways to quency my thirst.  So green tea, peppermint tea and licorice tea have all been made with a very small amount of hot water then topped up with ice cold water from the dispenser.  I think I find them more palatable that way.  The flavour seems more delicate when the tea is cold.

Yesterday, I inadvertently discovered lassi.  While ordering online from the takeaway, I clicked on the lassi to find out what it was.  I know I'm a lassi but didn't realise there was an edible version of the gentler (the greatest misnomer ever coined) sex.  Lassi is, I discovered, yoghurt and milk mixed together with optional flavouring.  So it's a smoothie.  Sort of.  I know this because I ordered it by accident while trying to find out what it was.  I found it delicious, Raven said it was disgusting, and I bought yoghurt today with the intention of drinking more of the stuff.  I expect to gain about 2 stone per month. 

This makes me realise that I had always focused on the 'fresh' part of 'refreshment' - as if refreshments were something light and airy, like dew or a gentle breeze.  Refreshment does, in fact include everything from caramel latte to deep fried Mars Bars. 

To recap:

Fresh: something new, different or recently created
Refresh: to reinvigorate, to renew or update
Refreshment: a light snack or drink, or to give fresh energy

I assume everyone else has these muddled definitions in their heads and it's not a(nother) sign of senility.  Someone tell me it's an integral part of poetics and not early onset Alzheimer's.  No, really.  I've drunk a lot of lassi.  And I'm not sure whether to call the RSPCA. 

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