![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
Bacon and eggs
Jan. 16th, 2015 04:08 pmCharcuterie: it is a panacea, or cure-all. (Heh: d'you see what I did there?)
Yesterday I put up seven pounds of bacon in a dry cure, and a whole ham in brine. Also, because we are all about proof-of-concept*, I tested out my new method of hard-boiling eggs: put the eggs in a pan with an inch of water more than you need to cover them. Bring to a rolling boil, then clap a lid on and turn the heat off. Twelve minutes later? Hard-boiled eggs.
Today, I have broken down lamb offal for the freezer, in preparation for Burns Night to come.
First, pluck your sheep(s):
Then disconnect all parts, together with concommitant "I wonder what exactly that is?" and "Well, if that's one lung, I suppose this must be the other; I wonder why they seem so different?" and "D'you suppose there's any good at all to be had from all this, ah, extraneous matter...?"
Then invent a joke:
Q: What's red and plucky?
A: A sheep's pluck!
*We're hosting a baby shower for thirty-some people on Sunday. My instructions are English tea sandwiches: to whit, egg salad, cucumbers with cream cheese, and turkey-and-cheese. Only a cad would challenge the Englishness on display here. I was working on a sandwich loaf, but then we realised how many we'd need, and that we're up in the city all day tomorrow. Tomorrow morning I go prospecting to see if there are any local candidates that bake acceptable bread. It is hard to express how I feel about this: wait, what? People are coming to our house and I will be serving them shop-bought bread? Filled with deli turkey? This is so very, very far from what I do. But hey: it's good to poke at your discomfort zones, right? Right...?
Yesterday I put up seven pounds of bacon in a dry cure, and a whole ham in brine. Also, because we are all about proof-of-concept*, I tested out my new method of hard-boiling eggs: put the eggs in a pan with an inch of water more than you need to cover them. Bring to a rolling boil, then clap a lid on and turn the heat off. Twelve minutes later? Hard-boiled eggs.
Today, I have broken down lamb offal for the freezer, in preparation for Burns Night to come.
First, pluck your sheep(s):
Then disconnect all parts, together with concommitant "I wonder what exactly that is?" and "Well, if that's one lung, I suppose this must be the other; I wonder why they seem so different?" and "D'you suppose there's any good at all to be had from all this, ah, extraneous matter...?"
Then invent a joke:
Q: What's red and plucky?
A: A sheep's pluck!
*We're hosting a baby shower for thirty-some people on Sunday. My instructions are English tea sandwiches: to whit, egg salad, cucumbers with cream cheese, and turkey-and-cheese. Only a cad would challenge the Englishness on display here. I was working on a sandwich loaf, but then we realised how many we'd need, and that we're up in the city all day tomorrow. Tomorrow morning I go prospecting to see if there are any local candidates that bake acceptable bread. It is hard to express how I feel about this: wait, what? People are coming to our house and I will be serving them shop-bought bread? Filled with deli turkey? This is so very, very far from what I do. But hey: it's good to poke at your discomfort zones, right? Right...?