Monday, July 24, 2006

Death and destruction

Word Count: 121,059

I’ve spent the last few days researching some final statistics for my Ways to Die and Suffer Nasty Injuries blog, which forms part of the new book. Not on the face of it the most edifying experience, but actually as this preoccupation with surveys is part of my heroine’s awakening, it’s very important to get it right. From the number of injuries caused by trainers and socks, to fire deaths in Estonia, and Super-Volcanoes, it’s all going to be there.

Latest organic box arrived on doorstep at 7am containing broccoli, avocado, courgettes, plums, nectarines, bananas and carrots. This is actually the Organic Baby Box (try scrolling down) as I have been finding this seems to contain more of the things I like that any of the others. What this says about my palate I shudder to think, but then most of the men who run Britain were probably raised on nursery food at public school, so I am in good company.

Any suggestions on what I should do with all this (other than puree it and turn it into baby gloop of course, which is an option)? Organic stuff I have eaten over the last few days includes: mango (which had gone lovely and runny and I mixed up with Greek yoghurt and raspberries), new potatoes (scrubbed and boiled and then served with mint and butter, eaten on the side of some stuffed peppers), and those broad beans, which I shelled and served with olive oil and chives – very succulent but a lot of effort compared to the frozen ones. Tonight we had piperade, ie French scrambled eggs with courgette, onion AND basil and the first chilli pepper from the garden (my numb lips are proof that a London garden can produce chillis as hot as ones from...well, Chile).

There’s a big stick of celery left at the bottom of the fridge, because I hate celery, and though I was vaguely tempted to try the Baghdad Eggs from Jake Tilson’s book, A Tale of 12 Kitchens, I was worried it might be too disgusting for words, so that might go on the compost heap.

In other tales from the not entirely self sufficient suburbs, we finished planting the shrubs at the weekend, and boyf went to buy bark mulch from Homebase, duly spreading it around in the correct fashion.

It STINKS to high heaven. Truly revolting, like someone’s eaten chemicals and then vomited it all over the garden. The bluebottles like it, though. We’ve given it 24 hours but it’s all going back in the bags and being chucked, which probably undermines all the environmentally friendly work I've been doing on food miles, blah blah. Presumably it went stinky after sweating in plastic bags at the garden centre - well, wouldn't you? - but even so. Not happy with Homebase.

Oh, and my carbon footprint? Slightly higher than average, because of flights. Mind you, it’d be monstrous if we went on the number of hols boyf wants us to. Lucky I’m scared of flying, eh?

Lovely Link of the Day:
Everything you want to know about the end of the world, at Armageddon Online.


Anonymous Jacqui Lofthouse said...

Hello Kate,

Can't have all that celery going to waste! Remind me to give you my Jason Vale 'green juice' recipe. That's if you have a juicer. Taste of 'good for you' celery vanishes beneath fresh pineapple and apple juice and other goodies, including whizzed up avocados. Yummy. The mulch smell sounds horrid. Definitely complain. Mine smelt of fresh pine. Your recipes continue to inspire me ...

What is it about suburban London in the sun that we are all thinking about food and gardens (when not writing novels of course) x

11:23 pm  

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