Square Sparrow Flies to the Land of Piaf

Following in the footsteps of the daughterly duo

What a difference a week makes... Last Saturday evening, DD1, DD2 and I were dining in style on cheese fondue and fondue bourguignon in a bijou Parisian restaurant called “La Grange”. Tonight I dined chez Sparrow with HunterGatherer on pasta tubes served with leftover spinach (albeit homegrown spinach from our polytunnel!). Back to reality with a bump.

Fondue feast fit for a king at La Grange restaurant

My long weekend with les deux filles was a welcome treat from SuperGran, and we three "girls" certainly made the most of every moment. We strolled around Montmartre and Le Marais (Yours Truly walking the mandatory two paces behind the demoiselles, bien sûr); we stared out over the magnificent Seine from the Pont des Arts; we squished like a trio of sardines into one bed and nattered into the wee sma’ hours.

Hot chocolate and key lime pie at Soul Kitchen, Montmartre

After completing her ERASMUS year of study at the Sorbonne, DD1 is now psyching herself for her final year back at St Something’s in Oxford. Before October, however, she has a mountainous reading list of around 100 literary titles to climb, one of those works being Molière’s “L’école des femmes”. And by sheer chance, the said play just so happened to be on at the Salle Richelieu theatre on the Sunday night of my visit, so she felt it was too good an opportunity to miss...

Having recently been immaculately refurbished, the interior of the renowned Salle Richelieu was utterly breathtaking. Better still, the resident  cast featured several well-known French thespians among their number – a fact imparted to us by an excited French lady aux toilettes before the curtain went up.

Unsurprisingly, for DD1, fresh from her year in France, the ensuing two hours of French (or to be more accurate, the Gallic equivalent of Shakespearean language...) were a cinch. DD2, on the other hand, has not done any French for the past year. That’s why she had elected to work in Paris for the month of June in an attempt to “se perfectionner” in the local lingo before spending the 3^rd year of her music degree as an ERASMUS student in the South of France.

And as for Yours Truly, suffice to say, it’s precisely three decades (yep, that’s 30 long years) since I spent any meaningful time in a French-speaking country...  Consequently, I have to confess that DD2 and I were rather grateful that DD1 had briefed us on the plot prior to the play. I am now resolved to practise what I preach to my Higher English tutees and discipline myself to learn a selection of new vocabulary every day (French vocabulary, in this case!).

The Italianiate auditorium of the Salle Richelieu 

During the weekend, we devoured as many French goodies as decency would allow. Actually that’s a lie...  Without even a semblance of shame, I freely admit that there was nothing remotely decent about our raids on the boulangeries of Paris.  Pains au chocolat and apple pastries for breakfast, the ubiquitous baguettes for lunch and the most exquisite pâtisseries for dessert. Aaah, sweet memories...

Paris is no place to even contemplate a diet

A trio of treats for a trio of gourmandes...

N-ice one! The local ice cream parlour...

French "slow" ravioli - you have to break up into squares by hand!

Maison du chocolat: sailing away to a chocolate paradise

For cocoa bean worshipers - Notre Dame in chocolate

As the above photos will testify, it’s nothing short of a miracle that the plane back to Edinburgh from Beauvais airport on the Monday afternoon actually managed to get off the ground, given my gastronomic excesses of the weekend.  Never mind, I still have a whole five weeks to lose weight before my 50^th birthday. On second thoughts, who am I kidding?!

A quick photomontage of other French "stuff" we saw and did...

DD1's Parisian apartment (bottom 2 windows)

The view from DD1's bedroom

The flat's postage stamp garden

The club frequented by Picasso

"When you ring, I shall sing" - this stone caught my eye

As did this pretty "Pink House" restaurant

Vines and flowers growing in Montmartre

Street sweeper "human" statue

Le Pont des Arts - where couples attach initialled padlocks to the railings

The iconic Arc de Triomphe by night

En route back from the theatre, we espied l'Opéra

A weekend of food, glorious food in Fife's East Neuk

Producer Jane Stewart with her tempting selection of Anster cheese

Catching up with old friends is a very pleasant way to pass the time, and last weekend I was able to do precisely that, twice over, during a highly enjoyable visit to the much-acclaimed annual Crail Food Festival. I was accompanied on this "foodie road trip" by a friend, L, whom I'd not spoken to for many months (perhaps even a year!). We duly set off in excellent spirits around 10 a.m. on Saturday, and before we blinked, the miles between Kinross and Crail had disappeared in a good old blether and we were drawing up outside Crail Community Hall.

A queue had formed down the steps of the hall, so we waited patiently in line to pay our £2 entry fee and be unleashed into the traditional building, which had been transformed into a gastronomic Aladdin's cave for the day. And certainly there were edible treasures aplenty to be discovered once we entered the hall - our only problem was which of the tantalising stalls to visit first. It was at this point that I set eyes on an old school friend, Jane Stewart, who was manning her Anster cheese stall. Fellow cheese-lover L. and I needed no further excuse to hotfoot it over to the St Andrews Farmhouse Cheese Company table and sample snippets of several of Jane's delicious crumbly cheeses. We each purchased a pack of mature cheddar plus some cheese oatcakes (you can never have enough cheese, I find!) to take home for consumption later.

Where next? We paused to consider, and I immediately espied yet another familier face at the stall next-door - it was Sophie from The Pittenweem Chocolate Company, who had organised the fabulous chocolate workshop I attended last Easter Monday. On this occasion, in addition to her multifarious chocolate concoctions, Sophie was selling giant waffles. Of course, having exchanged pleasantries with Sophie, it would have seemed slightly impolite not to buy her wares, so L. and I decided to split one of the icing sugar drenched delicacies between us. Perhaps unsurprisingly, given Sophie's Belgian roots, it was quite simply the best waffle either of us had ever tasted, possessing the perfect consistency. 

Aaah, we could have waffled on for ages about how wonderful that waffle was, but there were other stalls awaiting our attention, with artisanal products to peruse ranging from raspberry jam to raspberry gin. Being teetotal, I had to rely on companion L for feedback on her snifter of the latter, and the verdict was that it was good - so good, in fact, that L later invested in a bottle (plus a bottle of elderflower gin, too, just for good measure). Meanwhile, I tucked into a freebie spare rib, coated in a delicious glaze, from the Balgove Farmshop stall, before both L and I sampled a selection of the prolific assortment of pickles and vinegars for sale. 

Foodies flocked to Crail Community Hall

One stall that seemed to be doing a rip-roaring trade was that of G H Barnett, the local bread makers. Loaves were flying off the table and into brown paper bags faster than you could say "salt dough" - and talking of salt dough, L purchased a portion of said product, which she later reported to be heavenly. Indeed, her only regret was that she didn't buy two portions!

G H Barnett & Sons had an irresistible array of fresh bread

Bread wasn't the only goodie on offer from G H Barnett...

Having completed our inspection of the indoor stalls, we two intrepid food warriors ventured out onto the sun-kissed streets of Crail to embark on the trail of local eateries.  Each of these establishments was offering a "special" of the day to visitors, and we identified the mackerel and beetroot pâté at Julia's cafe as sounding rather appealing. It certainly did not disappoint from the perspective of flavour or colour (have you ever seen pâté this purple?!).  We congratulated ourselves on our choice then promptly paid and headed down to the beach, hoping a leisurely stroll would create room for pudding later.

Mackerel and beetroot pâté - don't mind if I do!

Down at the beach, conditions were nigh on perfect for a summer's day: the sea was sparkling, the sky overhead was cornflower blue, and the air was balmy and pleasantly warm. We chatted about everything and nothing, and just enjoyed being out of doors in the rare Scottish sunshine. Simple pleasures...

Beach buoys...

Sun, sea and sand - Crail beach

Crail harbour Gallery and Tearoom was our next port of call, and here L and I each partook of a slice of very sweet and tasty lemon drizzle cake. The only slight bone of contention was that Yours Truly asked for a glass of tap water and, when offered hot water with a slice of lemon instead, accepted gratefully. Little did I suspect that I would be charge £1.30 for the said hot water! Refreshing though it was, I  felt the charge should have been made clear by the waitress when she offered it as an alternative. However, I'm really splitting hairs here: the hot water experience was a relatively minor blip during an otherwise lovely visit, and the yummy lemon cake more than compensated.

 Nichola Fletcher was "game" for a cookery demo

To complete our "foodie heaven" experience, we returned to the Community Hall and attended a game cookery demonstration by cookery author Nichola Fletcher. Having previously interviewed Nichola for a feature in a farming magazine several years ago, I'd been keen to see her "in action" at some point, and it proved well worth the wait. During her one-hour slot, she managed to demonstrate four different game dishes - each working out at less than £2 per portion, in deference to the recent credit crunch and its impact on people's food budgets. On the menu were duck risotto (finished with Anster cheese), ham'n haddie served with vegetable 'seaweed' (a veggie stir fry), pigeon breasts pan-fried to perfection, and game meatballs served with salad and a spicy sauce for dipping. It was an spectacular feat (and feast!) of oven time management and hob ergonomics - and particularly impressive to someone such as myself, who struggles to get potatoes ready at the same time as the mince!

Sadly, as Nichola drew her entertaining demo to a conclusion, so our day of gastronomic self-indulgence also came to an end. All that remained was for L. and myself to clamber back into the car and wend our way homewards to share our purchases with our families. To keep our respective spouses happy, we had purchased them each a bottle of the St Andrews Brewing Company's award-winning Crail Ale - which seemed somehow fitting.

Spotted: the "not so secret" Secret Bunker en route to Crail

Flora, fungi and friends - three fabulous "F" words

The daffodils are fading but still so pretty in the evening sun

It’s the yellow time of year again – I wish I was referring to that glorious golden sphere that occasionally deigns to grace the skies above, but I’m actually referring to the local flora. For just as the daffodils are finally fading, an army of dandelion plants and gorse bushes have sprung into action along the verges and hedgerows of rural central Scotland. And soon, no doubt, the fields of oilseed rape (think Summer Harvest Oils!) will be bursting into flower, too – adding yet more yellow to the scenery. If all this were not sufficient, we even have a yellow house next door to us (which happens to be for sale at the moment, if anyone fancies a move to this lovely part of the world – the neighbours are, it goes without saying, exceptionally nice...).

On dull days, the dandelions add a welcome splash of light

Yet more yellow: the gorse in full bloom

Even the neighbouring house is yellow!

In other news, eager to boost the extremely modest weight loss achieved to date by following the 5:2 diet, Yours Truly has been going swimming (not a favourite pastime, but desperation is a hard taskmaster!) and even out for the odd (very odd if you saw my running action...) jog. One benefit of such sorties is the chance to admire, at close quarters, the stunning area in which we live – as you’ll see from the photos below, not all of it is yellow!

Scenery like this almost makes jogging worthwhile

Jog past this tree regularly and find the fungi fascinating!

Further opportunities to admire the scenery have taken the form of “revision” walks, during which I have been accompanied by Son+Heir on his skateboard. It being exam time and said student’s ADD meaning that he finds it easier to study while moving, this is about the only way any meaningful revision can be achieved. So the neighbours have become familiar with the sight of grumpy mum clutching revision guide and simmering son practising “skateboard skills” while trying to recall quotes and themes from various Scottish contemporary plays. During this dramatic process, Yours Truly is not allowed to put even the faintest hint of “expression” into her cues (heaven forfend), yet if they are read too monotonously, that is not acceptable either... The skies of Kinross-shire have certainly been blue on a few evenings of late (metaphorically, if not literally).

A welcome escape from stresses on the filial front came in the form of an invitation to have supper at a good friend’s house along with a mutual friend of ours who is just back from three years in the Far East. There was, of course, a serious amount of catching up to be done, but I don’t think any of us had appreciated just quite how much... Suffice to say, the three of us began talking at 7.30p.m. on the Wednesday and only stopped when I received a text on my phone – it was from Son+Heir enquiring “are you OK”?  Only then did we realise that it was 3.30a.m. on Thursday. We had talked for almost eight hours non-stop, and by the time I reached home the dawn was just beginning to break. But oh, the irony of having a teenager check up on our well-being. It proved to us beyond doubt that there’s life in us middle-aged mums yet!

Instead of flowers, I took the hostess a bunch of rhubarb!

And made some crumble back at the Sparrowholding...

Our supper hostess's new hen coop - when she saw it online,
she assumed it would be big enough to hide the shed
 behind - her measurements were only slightly out...

Words and woollies

Recycling - alternative uses for an old ice cream tub!

At long last, after many months of anticipation, the SQA Higher English exam has come and gone. The past week was characterised by myriad manic messages from tense tutees, eager for last words of wisdom (or at least comfort) via Skype, text and email about how to tame the monster that is critical essay writing or to spot rhetorical triads at fifty paces. The evenings will be strangely empty now that Yours Truly is no longer spouting forth on the different sorts of love to be found in Romeo and Juliet or extolling the imagery in innumerable Carol Ann Duffy poems.  

This year’s group of students have been a particularly intriguing mix – indeed a couple of them have astounded me with their dedication to the cause. One analysed the results of each close reading paper he completed and then calculated (in percentage terms – as only a scientist would), precisely which type of questions he was losing most marks on and thus needed to focus on when studying.  I was seriously impressed. Son+Heir may possibly have been less impressed, so for reasons of personal safety I didn’t suggest he adopt a similarly scholarly approach...

Another tutee had pinned handwritten, meticulous timetables on the back of the dining-room door, charting how every hour of study was to be allocated over the period of the exams. Even those who found English a metaphorical thorn in their side battled stoically on – one of them buoying my humour immensely at the end of a long evening by responding to my question “Now what is a benefit?” with the immortal words: “It’s a type of make-up.” But, joking apart, without exception, they’ve worked their socks off, and I feel genuinely privileged to have accompanied them all on the arduous linguistic and literary journey that ended yesterday at precisely 12.35 p.m. All we can do now is wait and see if their hard graft has resulted in the grades they deserve. Roll on the 8^th August...

Of course, with the evening job having come to an abrupt end, Yours Truly will immediately have to focus on the “day job”.  And the first pressing commission is a self-imposed one: to re-write my own website. The current one was put up hastily 10 years ago when freelancing constituted but a tiny fragment of my working week. However, now that I’m writing website and marketing copy for other companies almost full time, it seems rather neglectful not to spend some hours polishing my own site. This is, therefore, to be priority no.1 for the month of June. And while I am slaving over the compelling copy, local web company Interphase Design will be doing what designers do best i.e. giving the words somewhere attractive to hang out!

Giant lamb Tufty just keeps on growing

Her mum "Auld Yin" is partial to a slice of bread

One benefit (not a blusher in sight...) of working from home during the post-lambing weeks is that I’ve been around to deal with miscreant escapee lambs – of which there have been plenty. Shetland lambs may be officially ovine on paper, but their apparent ability to collapse their skeletons and squeeze through the tiniest gaps in any fence/barricade/netting is akin to that of mice.  There are sixteen lambs in the paddock (or at least supposed to be in the paddock...), including four sets of twins. Sometimes both twins dive in to “mama’s milk bar” for a quick top-up at the same moment, and their eagerness for sustenance often results in the hindquarters of their long-suffering mums being literally lifted up into the air.

Brownie tells it as it is: raising babies is hard work!

As a mother myself, I have to confess I’ve been feeling distinctly sorry for the poor flustered ewes whose job it is to keep track of the wee dears. Yesterday I paused from typing, mid-sentence, when I saw one poor ewe squatting and attempting to relieve her bladder, but having to stop mid-stream several times because her beloved lamb thought that her lowered rear end was an invitation to jump on mum’s back. It took me right back to those Halcyon (or perhaps not!) days when, with three children under four and a husband working on the land virtually 24/7, I could barely get to go to the loo in peace.  And it reminded me there are definitely some advantages of having grown-up kids!

Talking of said grown-up kids, DD1 managed to escape from studies/work in Paris for a few days to celebrate her birthday en famille. As her culinary talents are vastly superior to her mother’s, she elected to bake her own birthday cake, and indeed her birthday meal: succulent gammon steaks accompanied by baked sweet potatoes (which I’d heartily recommend if you’ve not tried them before). Birthday girl's cake creation was a summery strawberry sponge with lemon curd cream, and it arrived at the table bedecked with pretty flowers and sprinkles of pink fairy dust, just as you’d expect from any self-respecting 22-year-old. To add to the birthday feast, there was a tub of Mackie's of Scotland's luxury ice cream which DD1 had been lucky enough to win in an online competition.

DD1's strawberry cream cake was so good...

...it didn't last long!

A lucky win - a  free tub of Mackie's of Scotland ice cream

I have to say that it was a real treat to have all five of us round the table at one time, as such occasions are less and less frequent these days. Ironically, I suspect that the ewes out in the field might just envy me a little ...

And in other news from The Sparrowholding... sheep and plants are on the move!

Visiting sheepdog Speed gets some practice in

HunterGatherer with tup Coco - heading for pastures new

Poor Spot got in the way of Coco's horns, so out came the Sudocrem!

In the polytunnel, everything is growing - including the weeds...

One strawberry does not a summer make...

Birthday bumps, mumps and lambs wot jumps!

The annual lamb races have begun...

The second half of April passed in the usual frenetic flurry of ups and downs here at the Sparrowholding.  On St George’s day, Son+Heir celebrated his 18^th birthday by sipping copious cocktails with a group of friends in our sitting-room. Meanwhile, through in the kitchen, HunterGatherer and I were also busy celebrating – celebrating the fact that we’re no longer technically responsible for him!

Baking not being one of my talents, I ordered the birthday boy’s cake from Celebration Cake Station in Perth – and, as ever (they did DD1's and DD2’s cakes, too), they excelled themselves.  All Yours Truly had to do was email them an action photo, plus a close-up shot of his red astroturf boots and favourite stick so they could ensure the finer details of their masterpiece were correct.  Then I simply pitched up in Perth on the appointed day and collected the creation: piece of...er... cake.

An on-the-pitch moment recreated in icing

Birthdays have also been occurring in abundance out in the paddocks this past couple of weeks, with a host of tiny cloven hooves now trotting merrily across the grass, which has luckily – at long last – begun to turn 50 shades of green. There are four sets of twins plus half a dozen single lambs hopping and skipping from dawn till dusk, and some very hoarse mums trying to keep their wee woolly jumpers under control. On the rare occasions when they’re not yelling at their we’ens too loudly, one can usually hear the mewing of a buzzard overhead or the call of a distant curlew: a veritable wildlife symphony, complete with a bleating ground bass.

Tufty - aka Houdini!

Double trouble..

No that's not what troughs are for!

Keep up!

Talking of bleating, Son+Heir and his team mates in the Scotland U18 men’s hockey team underwent a painful yet remunerative procedure last weekend when they all had their legs waxed to raise money for their forthcoming trip to the European Championships in Vienna.  If anyone is sadistic enough to want to watch it, there’s even a vocal video of the hockey heroes being waxed, taken by the team manager.

And on the subject of creative endeavours, Yours Truly had a rare cultural outing to the opening night of an art exhibition in Dundee, courtesy of DD1’s artist friend Titi Finlay. A visit to New Orleans had inspired Titi to paint a series of works featuring musicians and people she saw on the street. As someone who was politely asked to leave the art class at the age of 14, having scored a mighty 52% in my exam, I am in awe of folk who can paint and draw well, and Titi is no exception. During the opening I snapped a couple of photos of her paintings, in between wolfing posh crisps, sumptuous sandwiches plus the mandatory orange juice.

Mardi Gras: one of the participants in the parade painted by Titi Finlay

Several of the New Orleans collection in Dundee

Meanwhile in the depths of the polytunnel, the weeds have been sprouting merrily under the special plant fleece that HunterGatherer considerately placed over his newly seeded parsnips and leeks. He also draped it over Nellie the nectarine bush and Vinnie the Vine, both of whom have benefited from their snugly fleece cover during the recent cold spell (aka the past six months!).  This week we harvested our first fresh asparagus of the season, plus a couple of herbs. Now that FatCat has been effectively barred from the polytunnel by means of chicken wire at either end, the newly seeded plots are safely protected from his pesky paws.

The chicken wire has also proved useful when we let some of the ewes and lambs into the garden recently. It somehow seemed criminal that they were keenly awaiting the arrival of the spring grass in the paddock while we had plenty of the aforementioned forage growing on our lawn! If ovine lawnmowers have been deemed good enough for the community lawns in Paris, then we reckoned they are good enough for our garden, too!

Fresh asparagus from the polytunnel

Homegrown parsley and mint leaves

To round the month off in style, we’d an unexpected visit from student DD2 last week, the poor soul having been pole-axed by a vindictive dose of mumps, perfectly timed – as was her glandular fever three years ago – to coincide with important summer exams. Yours Truly had forgotten just how debilitating mumps can be – not to mention the ‘mutant hamster lookalike’ effect that it has on the poor sufferer...  

Daughter Dear was indeed a sorry sight, yet she and her grotesquely swollen glands had to crawl back through to Edinburgh Uni to attempt her summer exams, which apparently you must not miss unless you have a certificate in triplicate from the undertaker. Ironically the first paper was the listening component, which was far from ideal when the swelling below this particular music student’s ears meant her hearing was distinctly muffled. And having breathed in her grotty mumpy germs for several days, I’m currently keeping my fingers and toes firmly crossed that my own childhood dose of mumps means I’m immune – otherwise I may not be a very happy bunny (or even hamster) in two weeks’ time...