A recipe for Pulled Pork with Scud.

An essential ingredient is a visit from a family member who arrives late and hungry carrying a fish supper and a can of Scud. Scud is a slang name for Irn Bru, Irn Bru is the traditional soft drink of Scotland and is of such a violent orange colour that once spilt it will forever haunt your carpet.  Offer family member a cup of tea and see that the can of Scud is left forgotten in the fridge.
Remember that there is a shoulder of pork keeping company with the Irn Bru and allow the mind to wander back to a holiday in Boston where some very tasty Pulled Pork was eaten in the company of friends. Remember also that there are recipes for pork cooked in Coke. Wonder what would happen if the Irn Bru and the shoulder of pork were introduced to each other and left alone for many hours in the oven. Promise to buy family member another can of Scud.

Unlikely but tasty

Make a rub of salt, pepper, chilli flakes, smoked paprika, straightforward paprika and cinnamon. Remove the layer of fat from the top of the pork shoulder ( my shoulder was 2kg ) and apply the rub all over. Stick into a heavy casserole with a tight fitting lid and add some bashed up garlic cloves. I didn't skin the garlic and no-one noticed. Pour over the can of Scud and about 100 mil of vinegar. In keeping with the classy Scottish ingredients, I used the malt vinegar that normally goes on my chips. Posher folks might like to use posher vinegar. Put the lid on the casserole and leave in a low oven (about 170 degrees) for four to five hours. I checked mine now and then, added a little more liquid and shredded the pork with a fork when it gave way.  The house will smell as if you are cooking the most complicated char sui recipe and only you will know how easy it really is. Only you and the poor soul whose can of Irn Bru was sacrificed. Eat on soft white rolls with a sharp green salad and some coleslaw.

Other food we ate this week included.....

left over porridge bread.

A fish frenzy from Arbroath for my Aussie relatives

What is left after a fish frenzy with my Aussie relatives.

Creme Fraiche with nutmeg, cinnamon and apple pie moonshine. Goes down a treat with a lemony pie.

Back down to earth with a thump, from the dreaminess of creme fraiche and home made bread to the reality of my kitchen. This is what it looks like with a wider lens. A broken vase and some half-dead herbs. That's more like it.

Ten Top Tips for a Smashing Summer Trip.

 

1. Find travelling companions that you know online and have yet to meet in the real world. It helps if at least one of them is a knitter.

2.  Choose a location that you love and want to share with your new friends.

3. Pray for good weather but remember that God doesn't listen to atheists. Think positive sunny thoughts for back up.

4. Bring tasty food and make sure that the Moonshine that your companions sneaked over in their luggage is packed and ready to blow your socks off.

5. Seek local knowledge about sheep breeds and the phone number of the people who own the Hebridean flock.

6. When prayers for sun are answered, wear a hat and sunscreen and enjoy the bluest of skies.

7. Revel in the serendipity that brought you good weather and a Highland Games all in the same day.

8. Buy beautiful yarn from the local yarn artiste whilst fending off the advances of a small white dog.

9. Admire the wildlife.

10. Take a quiet moment to be grateful for the leap of faith that led you to share your holiday with such lovely people.

Jacqui teaching an Ullapool stallholder how to graft the toe of her sock.

Newly knitted handspun socks with an Assynt backdrop

Hebridean Sheep.

  

Andrew and Jacqui with the fleeces.

Stoer beach perfecting its impression of the Caribbean.

I have no idea what this sport is called - heavy handbag throwing?

Helen the yarn dyer's dog.

 

Wild kitten being cuddled by the smartest young person in Sutherland.

 

An Ullapool sunset.

In the name of Beauty.

I do a lot of my learning on the hoof.  Inspirations have a habit of falling into my head at unexpected times, a lot like the lobster claws and odd shells that appear in the garden dropped off by seagulls even though we live seven miles from the sea. It is a rather ramshackle way of gathering information but there are some wonderful detours along the way.

Mr Mark Cousins.

Let me give you an example starring my newest socks, a beautiful film and  Walt Whitman. I went to the cinema to see the premiere of  What is this film called Love made by Mark Cousins. The result of a few spare days in Mexico City,  a couple of quid and a laminated image of Sergei Eisenstein. WITFCL is a glorious wide open invitation to wander through the mind of the director, finding common ground as you go.  Everything is imbued with importance, from children playing to a fly on a ledge. Heroes and heroines, poems and imagery, are celebrated with a full on enthusiasm that made my heart happy.  Best of all, the film was a lesson in sticking to your creative guns, a note to self to believe in your own ideas.

A discussion after the film led me to look into Walt Whitman, shamefully all I knew about his poetry came from my teenage exposure to the Kids From Fame. This was not likely to be the best example of his work so I decided to get hold of a copy of Leaves of Grass. The introduction to the book was by E.M. Forster. You can read it here and I would recommend that you do. I haven't read any of Whitman's poetry yet but I've read the introduction six times and found an uncanny echo of what I had learned watching Mark Cousin's film. This is what Forster says:

" The average man needs to be just a little braver. He loses so much happiness through what might be termed "minor cowardices". Why are we so afraid of doing the "wrong thing," of wearing the "wrong clothes," of knowing the "wrong people," of pronouncing the names of artists or musicians wrongly? What in the name of Beauty does it matter? Why don't we trust ourselves more and the conventions less?"

Socks.

and the scrappy bits.

One thing I am never afraid of is wearing the wrong socks and I knitted these beauties in a fit of Fair Isle enthusiasm that I hold Mary Jane Mucklestone's book entirely responsible for. They are made from the scraps leftover from other sock endeavours and I had been struggling to find a name for them when E.M.Forster came to my rescue. During one of my many re-readings, I found this. Happiness, Forster suggests will not be with us all of the time, it would be unrealistic to hope that it could. "But" he says " we may hope for intensity of beauty; that is absolutely certain." there will be "what one may call the irreducible minimum, the inalienable dowry of humanity: Beauty in scraps."  I looked at my socks, looked back at the page and thought that's exactly what I have. Beauty in scraps.

In other news, I've been spinning.

Quick Pics

Oh heck, I meant to post days ago but I'm still thinking. Please accept these photographs in lieu of words.

First raspberries of the season.

Fennel weather forecast.

Usual post breakfast spot.

Redcurrants - already in the freezer and in my tummy.

Hiatus

When the sun shines this place is beautiful.

 I'm in a really good place right now.  Not in any new-age self-help sense,  I mean in terms of bricks and mortar. Some chums have taken themselves off on holiday and left me in charge of their home. I am also responsible for the well being of a collie with a tail like a Burlesque dancer's fan and a sweet tempered cat who has all the food removal skills of the smartest sneak thief.  My joy would be complete if the sun was shining but as the rain and mist bring with them the smell of the sea only a few minutes walk from my door,  I can hardly complain. It reminds me of growing up in another small Scottish seaside town where the bovine call of the foghorn would be heard on damp days.

Spinning challenge.

This place is peaceful in the way that only a house that is normally filled with family can be. The fridge hums, the dog clicks her way across the kitchen floor and the bird themed kitchen clock hoots like an owl at twelve. There is a strong sense of hiatus, a feeling that the house is just taking a breather and at any moment three boys will rampage through the front door to inhabit the coats and hats that hang empty in the hallway.  Their absence is everywhere, from the snooker table folded up and stored behind the sofa to the plastic lizards who keep an eye on the plant pots in the garden.  Peaceful with a hint of melancholy, perfect for reading, reflection, and staying up too late watching all the TV channels I don't have at home.

Bob - fond of a food grab.

 In other news, I have been spinning, it is the Tour de Fleece and my challenge is to spin enough to make myself a jumper. To this end I have been working through a giant ball of shetland/angora roving. There are socks too, using Mary Jane Mucklestone's book for inspiration and a ton of scraps that needed a purpose. So far I'm one and a half socks in. If the sun shines I might manage a whole pair. 

Champion darts player Jazz.

Timing.

I've been wondering if I was born in the wrong century. Today I spent half an hour darning a sock and all afternoon spinning some yarn.  And if I tell you that I intend to knit a shawl with the finished handspun then you can see why I might be feeling a little anachronistic.  Shawls have not played a big role in my wardrobe until recently when I found out how soothing it is to be wrapped in one. Like giving yourself a hug. I can see why people knit shawls to give to loved ones in need of comforting. I also like the added bonus of imagining I'm a Nineteenth Century farm girl going out to feed the hens on a frosty morning.  Tess of the d'Urbervilles but with a happy ending. Or maybe that's just my anachronisms showing.

Roving to be spun. I don't think Tess of the D's got her fibre from Colinette.

This most recent shawl is Whippoowill by Carina Spencer. Most of the knitting is very plain and simple but it is livened up by the shaping which is great fun to knit. I loved watching the waves unfurl as I knitted the more complicated rows. The grey yarn is a silk/cashmere mix that I unravelled from a second hand jumper and the red is left over four ply wool. While the silk in the grey yarn gives a tremendous drape, I think the 100% wool is needed for the lacier rows so that the stitches and the pattern stand proud.  It turned out beautifully. Even if I never wore the shawl, it would make me happy just lying on the back of a chair.

Blocking - tedious but necessary.

Whippoorwill on the line.

In other news,  we have a blackbird with a deathwish.  A week ago there was a flapping and a pounding at the glass door. The beast had caught a fledgeling blackbird and the little one was putting up a good fight.  Beast was removed and bird was placed in a box to see how it would fare. Later on, after a visit from a friend who knows about these things, I gave the bird a little bit of Rescue Remedy diluted in water and some catfood from my finger. It was a simple task, all I had to do was touch the little chap's head and his beak would open in readiness. So far so good, he was taken outside, hidden under a bush and we watched him the next day being fed by his mother.  That'll teach you to take care around cats I thought.

Magnus - not for the unwary.

A few days later while Magnus was slumbering in comfort on his chair,  I opened the front door and there he was, the unwary blackbird, sitting on the doorstep right next to the cat flap.

Quick Pictures.

I've been away on family business ( all good stuff ) and that takes a little recovery time. So in the absence of anything sensible to say, here are some pictures of what has been happening while I take things easy.

More words next time, I promise!

There have been banana muffins.

The lad took it into his head to organise our ever growing collection of technological bits.

The garden grew greener and wilder

I ate some soup made from all the things we needed to use up in the freezer and in the cupboards.

Magnus wore a feather and I didn't like to ask where it came from

This happened - I took a picture of an alkanet sprig on long exposure by mistake then auto-exposed it.
Turned out like a  watercolour.