From London to Chicago

The end of December 2006

In Nottingham, England, I packed up the possessions in my house into boxes and bags, giving away or selling things that I would not be able to take with me. I was abandoning my university studies after a year and a half, and altogether too much of my own hard earned money. I had not managed to find someone else to rent my attic room so that I could break the contract, the person I had lined up let me down at the last minute. I left anyway, leaving behind posters on the walls and furniture scattered around the room, perhaps the free furniture could be an apology to the people who I shared the house with. They would have to find someone new to take my room.

With friends in our favourite places, a red letterbox and the local bum.

My parents picked me up and took me and the remainder of my belongings, mostly books and clothes, back to their house where I spent my last Christmas with my family. I packed up my single suitcase with clothes and important small keepsakes. I had to leave behind my books because they were too many.

My parents drove down to London where we stayed overnight in a hotel to be ready for my early flight the next day. The line in the airport was ridiculously long and it seemed like we were waiting forever. My parents left and I went through security, everything went fine and I got on a plane headed to Ireland where I was to change planes and head to Chicago. Ireland was where the trouble started.

For some reason, U.S. immigration was in Ireland instead of the U.S. In hindsight I'm thankful for that because of what followed. I get a grumpy man at the immigration desk, I didn't have the correct visa. I was sent to one of the scary little rooms to be interrogated, there was an Irish American family in front of me, the wife having problems with re entering the U.S. on her Green Card. "This always happens," she gave me an exasperated smile.

The immigration officials decided that I was trying to enter the U.S. with the intention to work illegally. I explained that I could easily get paid more by just staying in England, he wasn't particularly impressed (my mouth gets me in trouble sometimes). My luggage was taken off the plane and I was led out of a secret door back to the main airport, along with a very scared looking asian family. There I was left, the immigration official told me that I was very lucky that he wasn't going to file the paperwork to have me barred from entering the U.S. for 3 years. That I could try again tomorrow.

I was stranded in Ireland with no Euros and a cellphone that was about to run out of battery. I went outside and tried to hold back tears while I lit a cigarette. I called my (future) husband and he answered sleepily. I tried to explain what was going on. I called my parents and tried to decide what to do.

I had no money or transport to get a hotel room for the night and then pay for another ticket to the U.S. the next day. Trying to figure out my options, I wandered around the airport talking to different employees. "Hey, you're the girl who didn't make it to Chicago?!" I became known among the airport staff for that day at least. Even the man who helped me with my bags knew who I was. What a 15 minutes of fame.

After much deliberation, I exchanged my ticket for one going back to London. I called my parents who came to meet me when I arrived, my dad having paid for a second ticket for the following day.

The flight the next day went as planned. I arrived at immigration in Minneapolis, I was so nervous the immigration official must have seen it. He seemed suspicious of me, but luckily my failed attempt from the previous day hadn't been recorded in my passport information. He let me through and I just about kissed him and cartwheeled with joy through the airport. I managed to refrain myself lest he change his mind.

I called my future husband from the airport in Minneapolis to tell him the good news before boarding the plane to Chicago. The rest is history, my husband met me at the baggage claim in O'Hare with one of his friends. We drove out to his cousins place and hung out. We got a hotel that night, went to a New Years party at an apartment belonging to one of his old band mates on the next night and were married three days later (which is another story in itself).

It's been three years, so much has changed and so little.

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British Mulled Wine and Mince Pies

Posted at Foodie Friday

Mulled wine is often drunk around Christmas time in Northern Europe. It's a hot, spiced wine, in France it is known as vin chaud, in Italy as vin brûlé. Germans drink Glühwein. The Swedish name for it is glögg.

Here in Heidelberg, you can buy Glühwein from the Weinachtsmarkt and you get a special Christmas mug to keep. We have 2 from last year and 1 from this year, I've put them up as part of our Christmas decorations.

Here is how you can make it yourself at home and it's real easy. I am going to be making some next week.

Ingredients

Red wine -- 1 (750-ml) bottle
Sugar or honey -- 3 to 5 tablespoons
Cinnamon sticks -- 2 to 4
Cloves -- 4 to 6
Cardamom pods -- 3 to 4
Orange peel -- from 1 orange

1. Place all ingredients in a pot and slowly bring to a simmer over a low flame. Do not boil. Cover and let steep on a very low flame for about 15 minutes.
2. Strain, ladle into mugs and serve

See, easy. You can adjust the seasoning and sugar to your own taste and also add a few shots of cognac or brandy if you like. It is delicious, I love the stuff.

I was going to put a recipe for mince pies, which are traditional British fare for Christmas. However upon looking at my recipe I realised that the mincemeat (which is not meat) has to be made two weeks in advance. The Brits are lazy and we normally just buy a jar of mincemeat from a local supermarket, I brought some back with me from England this year. Instead I'll give you a link to the recipe, perhaps you can use it next year? Also a link to the history of mince pies because it's quite historically interesting, they date right back to medieval times.

A food post with no photos? I know, I'm a horrible person.

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Oh, Hello Winter! pt.2

 Taken using my dad's Canon 350D and 60mm Canon Macro lens. Models - Mikey and my sister.

Top Photo, Wellies from Asda, UK (i think)

Second, hat from Mothercare, UK

Third, glittens from Accessorize, UK

Fourth, Cup and Saucer belonging to my mum, by Carole Guyot, France

Mikey and I are sitting by the open fire in my parents living room eating satsumas. I'm looking forward to putting the Christmas decorations up when we go home.

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Oh, Hello Winter! pt.1

Ok, so not so sure why there's a rosebud out at the moment. Crazy winter.


All photos taken on Canon 350D with 60mm Canon Macro Lens. Click Image for Larger View.

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Gunpowder Treason and Plot

 Image Source

I wont bore you with history this time, that's what the wikipedia article and British Government Website is for.

I will say that if I were "home" in England tonight, I would be out in the freezing cold in some field somewhere with a large group of people. Burning my tongue on a baked potato wrapped in foil and freezing my fingers because you can't eat baked potato while wearing gloves. I would be watching as an effigy of Guy Fawkes, made from old clothes belonging to someone's dad and stuffed with straw, is burned on the top of a huge bonfire, making sure not to stand too close to it as I wouldn't want to singe my eyebrows. Finally I would be watching a fireworks display out in the back of the field. On the way home I would be able to see fireworks going off in neighbours backyards. Everyone's dogs would be locked up indoors with the radio playing, so that they don't go crazy at the whooshes and bangs from the fireworks.

The next day (as a child) I would be wrapped up in a warm coat, scarf and gloves, hunting around in the fields for the fireworks burned the night before and collecting them in a pile on the wet grass.

Funny how when you're away from your home country and have been for so long (nearly 3 years now), that you miss traditions that you never particularly cared for when you lived there.

On an unrelated note, Mikey is sick. He has a temperature of 101 and woke three times before finally refusing to go back to sleep on his own at midnight. We spent the rest of the night on the couch watching Pocoyo and drinking lots of tea. I am exhausted.

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Past, Present and Future

This is in place of today's Learning Journal.


I suppose that before becoming a mother I used to do quite a lot. While I went to university in Nottingham, I also worked two jobs to pay for university... at Habitat (leading UK furniture and housewares designers since 1960) during the day as a part time bedroom department consultant and at a liquor store during the evenings and night. My elusive days or nights off were spent drinking far too much coffee while writing bad poetry, attending poetry readings, going to clubs and parties, taking photographs, exploring abandoned buildings, traveling to wherever, etc etc.

With a small child, you find yourself busier in some respects. In other areas you are forced to slow down.

Of course a part of me misses the things I can't do anymore. It's not like I can drag Mikey around asbestos filled, dirty needle ridden abandoned hospitals and military bases, climb 6ft walls and squeeze through broken windows with him and run from the "residents" of the buildings. It's not like I can scale 5 storey high scaffolding with a toddler strapped to my back. Or run around at night in questionable locations with friends. (Where this film was shot, you should watch it.)

Photographs by Adrian Hudson

I can't just randomly pick up and go places. It's not like I can take him to parties (at least not the sort I used to attend!) Traveling is a little more difficult. Although before the age of 2 Mikey has already driven from Texas to Chicago (16 hours, 8 months old) been on a 10 hour flight (11 months old) and been on numerous short flights. He loves going on adventures, we just have to tone it down and fit it into his schedule somehow.

I still remember when climbing up the steps to the Cupola di San Pietro within St Peter's Basilica, The Vatican, Rome there was a lady carrying her small child up the stairs. She got to a window near the top and showed her baby the view. She had tears in her eyes and said "I can't believe we made it up here." I didn't think much of it at the time, but it obviously stuck with me. I want to experience amazing things with my family, I don't want to do it all alone anymore. That part of my life is over and done with, I've taken what I can from it and moved on. Of course in hindsight the good things tend to stand out more than the bad. There are plenty of bad things that I can say that I am glad in some way to have experienced, but I absolutely never ever want to go there again. Just because I have no regrets, doesn't mean I want to go back.

I don't think this means that I have to spend my days lamenting the loss of my "youth". It's just a different stage in life, change is a wonderful thing. So what if I've switched parties for cooking dinner and watching cartoons? Or arguing with and removing drunks from the premises (little, quiet ol' me? Hard to believe sometimes) with wrangling a toddler. Or abandoned buildings for the zoo? So what if we spend half of our time dancing to indie music in the house instead of in clubs?


Our life experiences are only what we make of them. We fully intend to make the best of ours now as a family, whatever they may be.

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Shepherd's Pie/Cottage Pie

Yes, you can buy this stove.

Linked at Foodie Friday

The first known written mention of Shepherd's Pie as a meal in it's own right was from 1885, although the dish itself is undoubtedly much older. Potatoes are a new world food, arriving in England in around the 1600's, so the recipe is not older than that but similar dishes made without potato have been around for much longer.

For to Make Mutton Pies
Mince your mutton and your white together. When it is minced season it with pepper, cinnamon, ginger, cloves, mace, prunes, currants, dates and raisins, and hard eggs, boiled and chopped very small, and throw them on top."
---The Good Housewife's Jewel, Thomas Dawson, 1595 edition With an introduction by Maggie Black [Southover Press:East Sussex] 1996 (p. 68)

 The dish is thought to have been originally called Cottage Pie, however more recently Cottage Pie has come to be known as being made with beef and Shepherd's Pie made with lamb or mutton.

The recipe was most likely cooked on a Monday to use up the leftovers from a traditional British Sunday Roast. It can however be made with raw ground meat if you don't have leftover. Like most traditional foods, every family has their own way of making it. Here's mine. I use ground beef, as lamb is difficult to come by and expensive here.

None of the ingredients are quantity sensitive, you can pretty much put in as much as you want of each thing. I've put quantities here as a guide but I don't actually measure anything when making it.

Ingredients
5 medium potatoes
1lb raw ground beef or cooked leftovers.

1 1/2 cups Frozen mixed Vegetables (peas, carrots etc)
1 medium onion, roughly chopped

1 cup button mushrooms, quartered.

Worcestershire Sauce
Butter
Milk

Preheat the oven to 375F.

Peel and boil the potatoes in salted water, cook until soft enough to make a mash. Normally around 25 - 45 minutes. Drain and put the potatoes back in the pan to dry off for about a minute. Mash with butter and milk, you can add some cheese if you like.

Meanwhile cook the vegetables, onion and mushrooms in a pan, after a few minutes add the meat and a big splash of Worcestershire sauce. Simmer until the meat is cooked through, about 20 - 30 minutes. Less time if using leftover meat.

When the meat is cooked, pour it evenly into the bottom of a casserole dish and top with the mashed potato. You can sprinkle some cheese on top if you like. Cook in the oven for around 20 minutes or until the top begins to brown.

Serve with Green Vegetables.

Here are some links to other ways of making Cottage Pie/Shepherd's Pie -


Jamie Oliver's Shepherd's Pie
Antony Worrall Thompson's Shepherd's Pie

By looking at the links you can see that the only really essential ingredients are Potato and Meat. You can play around with absolutely everything else to suit your own tastes.



No picture for the recipe yet as I'm making it for dinner tonight. I'll update when it's made.

In case you wanted to know, Worcestershire Sauce is pronounced Wooster-Sheer sauce in England.

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English Tea

Posted at Foodie Friday

Would you believe me if I told you that I have a qualification in Tea? (I also have one in Coffee and one in Chocolate) When I lived in England I worked for Whittard of Chelsea for about a year. Part of our training was to work towards certificates in the various products that we sold. This involved a lot of taste testing, studying and then an exam. I think that perhaps the chocolate taste testing was my favourite!

Anyway I don't have a "real" recipe for you today. I've been busy in the house, the husband was away for half the week and I really didn't have time to throw together anything interesting.

However, as the weather is starting to get colder and more rainy it's a good time to bring out the Brit Food! Over the next few weeks I'll be posting good ol' traditional British recipes on Friday's.

Today I'm going to start with how to make a proper cup of English Tea, as outlined by my rigorous training on the matter (LOL). Of course in the real world I rarely make tea this way, I normally throw in a teabag, pour some boiling water on top, stick some sugar in, remove the bag and throw in some milk. I am forced to use P.G. Tips teabags or Twinnings, as that is the only decent British Tea that the commissary sells.

Yes this stove is actually available to buy.

English Tea

You will need –
A kettle, preferably stove top but it doesn’t matter too much. Electric would be fine. No microwaves you crazy Americans!
A teapot
A teacup
A tea strainer
A teaspoon
Loose leaf Assam tea
Milk
White sugar

• To begin, fill a clean kettle with more than enough fresh water for the amount of tea you would like to make. Tap water is best, do not use water that has already been previously boiled. Put the kettle on the stove to boil.
• Gently heat the teapot by running it under hot water.
  
• Put the tea leaves into the teapot, you should only need one teaspoon of tea leaves per person and an extra teaspoon if you are making tea for more than 2 people.
• When the kettle has boiled pour into the teapot. Leave to brew for 2 minutes, no longer or the tea may become astringent.
• While the tea is brewing pour the milk into the cup. Milk with a lower fat content is best and it must also be cold straight from the refrigerator. You will probably only need to pour an amount of milk that is the width of your thumb. Some people like less milk and others like more.
• Hold the strainer over the cup, or place it onto the cup depending on what kind of strainer you have, and pour the tea through it into the cup.
• Add white sugar to taste.
• Drink it while it is hot!

Notes:

• Assam tea is my personal favourite, although you could substitute it with another kind of strong black tea. George Orwell, English author and journalist, in his essay titled A Nice Cup of Tea claims that “First of all, one should use Indian or Ceylonese tea. China tea has virtues which are not to be despised nowadays — it is economical, and one can drink it without milk — but there is not much stimulation in it. One does not feel wiser, braver or more optimistic after drinking it. Anyone who has used that comforting phrase ‘a nice cup of tea’ invariably means Indian tea.”
• Boiling water absolutely must be used when brewing black tea, however it can ruin the taste of delicate green tea.
• According to the Royal Society of Chemistry (RSC) “At high temperatures, milk proteins – which are normally all curled up foetus-like – begin to unfold and link together in clumps. This is what happens in UHT [ultra heat-treated] milk, and is why it doesn’t taste as good a fresh milk,” which is why the RSC recommend having the chilled milk massed at the bottom of the cup, awaiting the stream of hot tea. Because this allows the milk to cool the tea, rather than allowing the tea to ruinously raise the temperature of the milk.

Further British Tea education – http://www.tea.co.uk/

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Names Have Been Changed to Protect the Innocent

I'm toying with this idea. I felt the desire to write something for the first time in a long long time. I only have a rough idea and the four bare beginning first-draft paragraphs. It's still the skeleton of an idea at this point, the skeleton being the truth and the story being the fictional flesh I intend to build around it. I'm not sure if the memory is still too raw to process, it has been years gone. But write what you know, you know?

Here goes -

I pressed the bare skin of my legs against the cool concrete of the rooftop garden as I laid down, shading my eyes and looking toward the ledge. There was no one else up here with me, but Alex would be arriving home from his fathers sometime within the next few minutes. I closed my eyes briefly before moving my gaze upward to the blue tarpaulin above my head, my eyes readjusting to the shade.

The rooftop garden wasn't a garden as such, at least it hadn't been originally intended that way. On afternoons like this the makeshift tarpaulin shade was the only refuge from the heat, the huge glass windows of my apartment along with the plastic siding only served to let in as much heat as possible during the summer. The apartment building had been aptly named, not without a sense of irony. I can only hope that the architect had never intended for The Glasshouse to be, well, like an actual glasshouse when hit with the full force of a British summer sun. It was an ugly building and stood out against the old paper factory that was alongside it. But the rent was cheap and it was close to the bustle of the city centre, that is why I lived there. I couldn't speak for Alex, he had no need to be so near to the city as he rarely left the apartment, save for his bi-monthly visit to his father. He didn't go out for groceries, preferring instead to get his food and alcohol delivered to his door, the latter of the two being more important to him. Even his dealer stopped by at his apartment every week or so. Alex had never been short on money either, so the rent for the place couldn't have been a particularly important deciding factor.

The rooftop garden had been a late discovery. One summer night last year, Alex and I had been drinking in his apartment with the windows wide open to let in the cool night air. We had fought, as we so often did, and I had climbed out of the window onto the balcony. He followed, so I had used the window ledge and balcony rail as footing and, precariously balanced for a split second, somehow propelled myself onto the roof (As time went on and I went up there more often, it became much easier to climb). He hadn't followed me that far, instead cursing and throwing the glass that held his vodka and coke over the side of the balcony. I heard it smash onto the concrete 5 floors below us followed by a slam as he angrily climbed back through the window and shut it behind him, still cursing to himself.

There hadn't been much up there that first time, a few lonely flower pots half filled with dried up soil and long dead plants, there was also the blue tarpaulin and a lot of bird shit. I remember at the time being particularly struck by how bright the city lights had been that night, an intoxicated haze had perhaps settled over my eyes by then and intensified it, but I remember how beautiful it was. I had crawled under the old tarpaulin and fallen asleep, to be woken early the next morning by Alex calling my name, his voice strained with worry and slurred slightly. He obviously hadn't slept and was probably still drunk. He was always like that, back and forth. I was sure that he hated me when he was drunk or high, but he also needed me. After all, nobody likes to really know that they're alone.

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Bluebells at Wistow Wood

Today my sister, Mikey and I spent the afternoon at Wistow Wood. The weather has been wonderful all week, it was absolutely beautiful at the wood today. It looks like something out of a fairy tale. Here are some photographs that my sister took of Mikey and I in the bluebells.

Me being a goof


Some of me and Mikey

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Monday Sun

It's been dreary most of the days so far here in England, with a smattering of sunshine here and there and a strong, cold wind. I've been trying to get out and take photographs while the sun shines, but the wind makes it difficult to do macros of flowers. They get blown around and it's hard to get a sharp image.

Today though there has been little to no wind, fantastic! Mikey and I headed right outside for photographs.


Although the boy got bored quickly.



He was getting cranky and ready for a nap, so I took him inside and put him to bed. I went back out for more photographs once he was sleeping soundly.

Model: Canon EOS 350D DIGITAL
Shutter Speed: 1/250 second
F Number: F/8.0
Focal Length: 60 mm
ISO Speed: 200

Tomorrow Mikey's Great Grandma is coming to visit for a week. The house is going to be packed, there haven't been this many people here for a long time.

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Car boot Sale

This morning we went to a car boot sale. It was early in the morning and absolutely freezing cold, but worth braving. Our spoils were great, I think Mikey lucked out the most. He got a load of toys and a couple of books. The books were five pence each and the toys ranged from 30 pence to a couple of pounds each. He played with one of the toys, a sort of wooden alphabet abacus shaped type thing, for the whole morning after we got home and washed it. He also got a toy train with animals, a little bench to hit shapes through with a hammer and some wooden matching game.

I managed to acquire two more antique cameras. They were 5 pounds each. I missed out on a third because a man got there before me. Shame, the third one looked really nice too.

Mamiya 4B/Rank Mamiya, 1963
Bencini Comet S, 1950
They're not in as good condition as the ones in the photographs. The man said they worked, but obviously we'll have to wait and see. The Mamiya takes 35mm film and the Comet takes 127 film, the latter I am not sure where to buy but I'll find something I'm sure. Here's a flickr set I found of photos taken by a Bencini Comet S, I'm excited about getting to use it.

While looking around I also found the Flickr Camera Museum. Some nice cameras, worth a look.

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Yay!

And he walks!

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April is the cruellest month,

APRIL is the cruellest month, breeding
Lilacs out of the dead land, mixing
Memory and desire, stirring
Dull roots with spring rain.
Winter kept us warm, covering
Earth in forgetful snow, feeding
A little life with dried tubers.
Summer surprised us, coming over the Starnbergersee
With a shower of rain; we stopped in the colonnade,
And went on in sunlight, into the Hofgarten,
And drank coffee, and talked for an hour.
Bin gar keine Russin, stamm' aus Litauen, echt deutsch.
And when we were children, staying at the archduke's,
My cousin's, he took me out on a sled,
And I was frightened. He said, Marie,
Marie, hold on tight. And down we went.
In the mountains, there you feel free.
I read, much of the night, and go south in the winter. Excerpt from The Wasteland, T.S. Elliot

This month is National Poetry Month. To celebrate, The New York Review of Books has chosen 30 poems from the archives and will be posting one daily. I am in love with today's.

Sunday Papers

By Charles Simic

The butchery of the innocent
Never stops. That's about all
We can be ever sure of, love,
Even more sure than the roast
You are bringing out the oven.

It's Sunday. The congregation
Files slowly out of the church
Across the street. A good many
Carry Bibles in their hands.
It's the vague desire for truth
And the mighty fear of it
That makes them turn up
Despite the glorious spring weather.

In the hallway, the old mutt
Just now had the honesty
To growl at his own image in the mirror,
Before lumbering to the kitchen
Where the lamb roast sat
In your outstretched hands
Smelling of garlic and rosemary.

Yep.
I have another flower picture for you.

And some awesome tadpoles that are in my dad's pond. The big black bit in the first one, if you can't see it properly, is all tadpoles... loads of them.

And Dad's Beehives. There were lots of Bees flying around, but you can't really see on the picture.

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Spring Flowers

What can I say. Mikey napped and it was sunny. Used my dad's Canon 350D and 60mm Macro.

Oh and the night before last Mikey slept from 9pm until 6am. Some kind of miracle or something. I dunno.

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baked beans for lunch

OhEmGee.

I hadn't realised quite how much I'd missed Heinz baked beans. On toast. With Cheese.




Yum.

That aside. Here's a small photo tour of the village where my parents live.

The Church. I went to Sunday school here. Well in a little shed behind it anyway. They had youth club there too.

My Primary School (age 6 to 12). It looks so small now, I bet i couldn't even get my bum into the chairs anymore. Only about 70 kids went to it when I was there.


The House Next Door. Just because it is so old and cool.


And finally. One of the few places in England that actually has an old red telephone box left as they seem to be getting rid of them.



P.S. The sky isn't over exposed. That's what England looks like most of the time, hahahaha.

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