Joyful things for joyful people

I was a little busier than I thought today - that often happens. But, I had a lot of fun. As I went about the day,  I was thinking up recipes for my holy trio of 'heavenly stars', but no sooner had I decided on something I would change my mind. The thing about Oxford is that we are spoiled for choice. I do not buy 'fresh' vegetables that have thousands of airmiles attached to them, but even so, in mid-May, the variety of delicious GB produce on offer astounds me. Everything is beautiful. In the end I was so excited about all the joyful things in front of my eyes I bought very little, but I did have a lot of fun. I kind of wonder what St. Dominic, St. Madeleine Sophie and St. Philip would have made of it all. 


I am sure they wouldn't mind me starting with something that makes me smile about this time every single year. 

 I normally make a bee line for the first sign I see. This year, I have seen it, but I haven't had time to get there yet. Asparagus - pick your own - just up at the farm next to The Perch. You can get there through Botley, or take your bike across Port Meadow. Last year I went, and finished my foraging with a half pint of cider in the sunshine. It was bliss. This year, I cheated: I bought two bundles of fresh green spears, from Oxfordshire, from the man in the Covered market.  They are super fresh. When I got home I  unwrapped them from their brown paper, boiled them in deep salted water until they would bend and their green shade had changed from vibrant to muted. I had a loaf of fresh brown bread, which I sliced as thin as I dared, and buttered as if I was plastering a wall. It was heaven. And, I have to confess to a sneaky glass of chilled white wine. It is the sort of thing I would be happy to cook up outside my tent and eat in a hedgerow, so I am guessing friar types should approve. I am not going camping till next week though, so this was just a practise run :-)

Since I am on my own for this evening, I am not about to start cooking up the rest of the feast for my merry band. The asparagus was my tea, and it brought such a smile. But, later in the week I might just get around to these two little treats: Lamb Fillet with Anchovies, Garlic and Rosemary (goes very well with Burgundy and Chianti, I'll have you know). For those that come looking for cake, Apricot, Lemon and Almond Tart might make and appearance rather soon too. It is with these little plates of happiness I will celebrate this week, sharing them with friends and family as they pass through. 

I saw a lot of other exciting and joyful things today: fresh cherries, for example - and I thought about cherry focaccia - who couldn't smile at that? And, fresh mint to make lovely tea, or to put with strawberries and cream.  Basically, I shouldn't be allowed into the Covered Market. There is always a danger I will never make it out, especially when there are feasts to celebrate. :-)

Lamb Fillet with Anchovies, Garlic and Rosemary

This is a dinner in seconds. To feed two or three people, it goes like this:

Enough Lamb Fillet to feed your number

2 - 3 anchovy fillets

a large clove of garlic, peeled and crushed

a few finely chopped Rosemary leaves

Butter

1 glass of yummy, deep and fruity red wine (far be it from me to dictate what that should be :-) )

On a clean chopping board, bash out your lamb fillet with a rolling pin. Each piece should make a small oval shaped escalope. Heat a heavy pan, and melt a large knob of butter in the pan until it is frothing. Cook the lamb, I like it rare, but to your taste. Put the escalopes somewhere warm - in a low oven covered by a plate. Tip away most of the butter from the pan, and stir in two or three finely chopped anchovy fillets, a large clove of garlic, peeled and crushed, and those few finely chopped rosemary leaves. Let them froth in the butter for a minute or two (smells divine), then pour in a glass of red wine. Once that has reached a fast bubble for a while, stir in a knob of butter and pour the sauce over the lamb to serve.

I recommend vegetables that you can use to soak up the yummy sauce. New potatoes, definitely. And perhaps, spinach or sprouting broccoli. Not carrots. St Madeleine thought they were boring, apparently. :-)

Apricot, Lemon and Almond Tart

(For 6 - who ever makes dessert for three? Tsk.)

Pastry

350g Plain Flour

225g Unsalted Butter

100g Caster Sugar

a pinch of salt

3 Large Eggs

Filling

450g fresh, ripe Apricots

300g Unsalted Butter

300g Caster Sugar

300g Finely Ground Almonds

Juice and grated peel of 1 Lemon

3 Large Eggs

Crumble the flour and butter together in a bowl, using your fingers, until the mixture resembles fine breadcrumbs. My Ma can do this in minutes. It takes me hours. Add the sugar and salt. Add the eggs yolks and whisk fast with a metal spoon, until the mixture with happily leave the side of the bowl. Form into a ball, wrap in cling film, and place into the fridge for at least an hour.

Grease a 30cm, loose bottom tin. The next bit is tricksy. Take the pastry out of the fridge, and using the largest side of a cheese grater, grate it into the bottom of the tin. Working quickly to keep the pastry cold, press it evenly into the sides of the tin. Return the pastry to the fridge for 1/2 an hour.

Pre heat the oven at 180C. Blind bake the pastry for 20 minutes, let cool completely

(I'll mention at this moment, that you can BUY sweet pastry in the supermarkets - just saying, just because I take great joy in this kind of thing, doesn't mean you have to)

For the filling, cut the apricots in half and remove the stones. Place them cut side down in the tart case. In your mixing bowl, cream the butter and sugar together until pale and light. Add the almonds, and whisk to combine. Slowly add the grated lemon and lemon juice, whisking as you go. Stir in the eggs one by one. Pour the filling over the apricots and smooth over just to surround the fruit. Bake for 40 minutes. Leave to cool.

Yum.

Oh look! Near my old house!

PS: I bought SUNFLOWERS! The first of the year! They make me very very happy indeed, and they make me laugh. I LOVE them very much :-) These days they remind of a sequence in a very cheesy film:

Alex: I hope you like sunflowers Mara: I love sunflowers. You know that. Alex: Why? Why do you love sunflowers? Mara: Because I always thought that when God was making beautiful things, He messed up with sunflowers. Alex: How? Mara: Well, 'cause they look like - I don't know. They look like crooked teeth around a mouth that's too big, kind of. Alex: Yeah. Mara: But... just when He was about to start over, He realized that's what made them beautiful. They were a brilliant mistake. 

Alex: Like you and me.

Have a heart of laughter: I want you to be happy

Next week contains not one, not two, but three important feast days. In order: Tuesday 24th May is the Translation of St Dominic - this has nothing to do with languages. Dominic, before he died in 1221, expressed a desire to be buried 'at the feet of his brothers', and so he was buried at the entrance of the Church of St. Nicholas, Bologna. However, when the community expanded and a new Church was needed to house the brethren and the faithful, Dominic's tomb was left exposed to the weather. His tomb began to be worn down by the elements, and so, on this day in 1223, the Friars made the decision to 'translate' the remains of Dominic to a tomb inside their new Church. 

Wednesday 25th May is the Feast day of St. Madeleine Sophie Barat, founder of the Society of the Sacred Heart, the RSCJ sisters. In the midst of the French Revolution, Madeleine Sophie Barat founded a community based on the profound love of God. 

Thursday 26th May is the Feast day of St. Philip Neri, founder of the Oratorians. St Philip is perhaps most famous for his cheerful nature and his most generous heart. I have stolen the title of this post from the readings for his feast: I want you to be happy (Phil 4: 4 - 9)

Now, Cloister is a bit nervous about breaking her recent silence with a post about this holy trio. You see, I live in Oxford, about 5 minutes from The Oratory, 6 minutes from the home of the RSCJ sisters and a whole 7 minutes from the Dominican Priory. I am surrounded. Not only that, it is reasonably likely that a representative of each of these groups will, at some point, read this post. All in all, I had better keep it short and talk about the food soon.

'Nobody', Blaise Pascal once wrote, 'is as happy as a real Christian'.  I think, taken to together, the message of these three is the pure joy contained within a life of grace. 


'Happiness' is the first word you think of when you watch the Dominicans work together for any length of time. Dominic's successor, St. Jordan of Saxony is famous for his exuberance and wit. There is the story, I do not know where it is recorded, of St. Jordan bringing a group of novices into night prayer. One of the group got a fit of the giggles, you know how it is, and all the rest joined in. An older friar scolded them, and signalled for them to stop, but they just laughed harder. After the prayer was over, Jordan turned to the older friar and asked, 'who made you their Master?' Then, speaking to the young friars he said, 'laugh to your heart's content. It is only right that you should laugh after breaking the devil's thraldom...Laugh on, then, and be as merry as you please.'


In the midst of 17th Century France, as St. Madeleine was doing her work, Jansenism had become profoundly rooted in the French Church. This was a heretical theology which emphasised human depravity and predestination. They were a miserable bunch, to be honest, and taught that only a few were destined to be saved, denying the role of free will in the moral life. This, as far as I can see it, turned the human race into lemming-like doomed robots incapable of ever pleasing a distant and cold hearted God. St. Madeleine rebelled hard against such bleak images of humanity and the divine. She took as her inspiration the heart of Jesus, and saw there a heart on fire with love for the world. Such love was not a cause for downheartedness, but of great rejoicing. God had a human heart, like ours: warm, full of energy, gentle, generous and vulnerable. And, further, it came to us as gift.


St Philip (1515-1595), is remembered often for his humour and vivacity: 'A joyful heart is more easily made perfect than a downcast one'. I love St. Philip because he was excellent at laughing at himself. There is a danger, particularly as a teacher of religion, of taking yourself too seriously. St. Philip lived a life that shows me how to avoid that :-) Also, sometimes, when times were tough, St. Philip's disciples would come to him with their doubts and complaints, but he would tell them, 'don't worry', be confident and trust in God. This was the source of the happiness and joy he is so famous for, and I hope it is the source of my happiness and joy too. Sometimes, when I walk through the door of The Oratory, particularly during Adoration, those words, 'don't worry', are the first I hear.


Three saints whose lives have deeply touched and formed the lives of my good friends hereabouts. Three saints who laughed. Three saints who made me laugh. Three saints who made my friends laugh. Laughing with joy changes lives, I know a few people who would testify to that. In the words of GK Chesteron, 'Solemnity flows out of men naturally; but laughter is a leap. It is easy to be heavy, hard to be light. Satan fell by force of gravity'. Go ahead, laugh, I double dare you.


Right, as is tradition, I am off to think up a little something to celebrate these three. I haven't thought of it yet, but I have a bit of time this weekend to get creative in the kitchen. I'll update this with a link to a recipe very soon. In the meantime, why not check out following: Godzdogz, All this life and heaven too and The Oratory

Ok - the food is here - hope you like it. You know, if not, just go and find your favourite thing and share it with a friend. :-) Joyful things for joyful people.

Have I told you I have dragons?

This one lives outside my window. And he has two friends. I am thinking of naming them, but they should have suitable names.

Because they live outside my window, they have to be good dragons, protectors and keepers of the peace.

I miss my cat Juniper very much, and I think these dragons could become my new pets. I wonder what they eat.

Please give them some names. There are three I can see, two face East and one West.

Happy Easter!

Warning! I have been reading. And, what I have been reading has impressed me. But, as usual, my tastes are eclectic. So, before I get into that and lose all your attention: Happy Easter!!! Celebrate in style with family and friends, enjoy the season and live life to the very fullest: love and take risks, give and be courageous, laugh and be happy.

Now, here is what I read:

I cannot conceive that the cross should remain, which was, after all, only a crossroads. It certainly should not be a brand mark. For is the situation not this: he intended simply to provide the loftier tree, on which we could ripen better. He, on the cross, is this new tree in God, and we were to be warm, happy fruit, at the top of it.

We should not always talk of what was formerly, but the afterwards should have begun. This tree, it seems to me, should have become so one with us, or we with it, and by it, that we should not need to occupy ourselves continually with it, but simply and quietly with God, for his aim was to lift us up into God more purely.

When I say: God, that is a a great conviction in me, not something learnt. It seems to me the whole creation speaks this word, without reflection, though often out of deep thoughtfulness. If Christ has helped us to say it more fully, more effectually, with a clearer voice, so much the better, but now at last leave him out of the question. Do not always force us back into the labour and sorrow that it cost him to 'redeem' us. Let us, at last, enter into this state of redemption.........

Christ pointed towards God. Instead of setting out from the place of the crossroads where this sign was high and lifted up into the night of his sacrifice, instead of proceeding onwards from this place of the cross, Christianity has settled down there and claims that it is living there in Christ. But they do not dwell in Christ, these stubborn of heart, who continually bring him back again and live from the setting up of the cross. There was no room for him in there, not even for his mother, nor for Mary Magdalene, as there is never room for anyone who points the way, who is a gesture and not a dwelling place. They have on their conscience this standing around in an overcrowded place; it is their fault that the journey does not begin to follow the direction of the arms of the cross.....What folly to direct our thoughts to a Beyond, when we are surrounded by tasks and expectations and future prospects!

.......The right use is the thing. To take a good hold of this life, with warm affection and wonder, as our sole possession in the meantime; this is what Saint Francis of Assisi thought to write down in his song to the Sun, which was more glorious to him as he lay dying than was the cross, which only stood there to point to the sun. But the song of the dying man, drowned out on all sides, was heard only by a few simple monks, and infinitely confirmed by the landscape of his lovely valley.

Rainer Maria Rilke: Rodin and other prose pieces 

 Now, I do not entirely know what I think about all this. I have abridged it here, of course. It is very long. But, it does strike me that there is a point to be made. I have just got back from the Easter Vigil. And that has got to be the beginning of something new, a departure from what went on before (on Maundy Thursday and Good Friday). One thing I would very much like to hear more on is living life to the fullest, as a redeemed creature in a new creation: living life to the full and rejoicing in it. I don't reckon we hear enough of that. Or look enough towards it, although I am pretty sure our preacher said something similar tonight. I am making an Easter resolution to look towards the sun.

Today

I love this, and felt like the chap in the box a bit today. I am not going to tell you why though. You will have extrapolate from your own experiences and see what happens.

I still love Exploding Dog.

The Donkey

When fishes flew and forests walked

    And figs grew upon thorn,

Some moment when the moon was blood

    Then surely I was born.

With monstrous head and sickening cry

    And ears like errant wings,

The devil's walking parody

    On all four-footed things.

The tattered outlaw of the earth,

    Of ancient crooked will;

Starve, scourge, deride me: I am dumb,

    I keep my secret still.

Fools! For I also had my hour;

    One far fierce hour and sweet:

There was a shout about my ears,

    And palms before my feet

GK Chesterton

Dying for love

I didn't know how much the life of Damien de Veuster had affected mine until I saw his portrait hanging above where I was stood in the underground basilica of Lourdes. I wasn't there with Damien's congregation, the SSCC, I was there with the Dominicans, but it was the SSCC that had brought me there. There is little doubt about that.

I was brought up and developed my faith amongst the SSCC, and the stories of Damien. I traveled to France, Spain, Poland and Ireland with the SSCC as a teenager and young adult. I walked around the pilgrimage sites of the North East with them; York, Newcastle and Lindisfarne. My Bible, my love and treasure, is covered in teenage stickers which commemorate these events.

It was Lourdes that brought the influence of this man home. I was excited to see his image, it had hung around my neck for so long as a teenager. Now, there he was hanging above my head in the underground basilica. For the people I was with, however, he was a stranger; I had to explain. This was the man, born with the name Joseph, who became Damien. He dedicated his life to working with the lepers of Molokai. His story is bound up with the evils of history, the slave trade and the transmission of western illnesses to other populations. Damien fought to be allowed to be a minister on the island to which lepers were sent to die; the living cemetery. Leprosy was one of many diseases which wrecked the Haiwiian Islands, the worst. To stop it spreading people were condemned to die; they were made less than human. Damien worked tirelessly to show that was unjust. The sick need care, compassion and understanding, not fear and misapprehension. Lourdes is a powerful place to learn this lesson. Explaining the life story of a witness to this truth makes this ever more powerful. I half expected one of my old friends from the SSCC to walk around the corner at any moment.

Damien went to the leper colony of Molokai, which was created out of fear and hate, to bring healing and love to those who were exiled there. The ships which brought people to the island stopped far out, requiring the passengers to swim the final distance to to the shore. They were so afraid of the lepers. Damien witnessed to the humanity of those who suffered, he tended to their wounds, built homes, schools and a church. He turned Molokai from Hell to Human, and for that he deserves his place in heaven. Damien was beatified in 1994; I was in Year 10 at school, but I remember people going from the Parish. He was made a Saint, Canonised,  in February 2009.

"Not without fear and loathing," Pope Benedict said in his homily for the day, "Father Damian made the choice to go on the island of Molokai in the service of lepers who were there, abandoned by all. So he exposed himself to the disease of which they suffered. With them he felt at home. The servant of the Word became a suffering servant, leper with the lepers, during the last four years of his life." Damien contracted leprosy and, eventually, died of the illness.

Today, Damien's symbols are a tree and a dove. In Saint Damien's role as the unofficial patron of those with HIV and AIDS, the world's only Roman Catholic memorial chapel to those who have died of this disease, at the Église Saint-Pierre-Apôtre in Montreal, Quebec, is consecrated to him. It seems to me that this is an appropriate memorial for a saint who spent his life drawing attention to a disease that no one wanted to look at and everyone wanted to blame on someone else.

Becoming aware of how people need care amidst illness is a gift and a grace. It is something I hope to grow in day by day. :)

He died on April 15th, 1885.

My wandering fool

The World is my Cloister is named after a saint for whom I bear much affection. Benedict Joseph Labre (1748 - 1783). As you can see, he only lived thirty five years. He was the eldest of fifteen children, educated at the local school, and later by his uncle, a parish priest at Erin, France. Benedict wanted, very dearly, to be a Trappist or a Cistercian, or a Carthusian or any type of monk that would allow him to live a simple and holy life in peace. However, the Trappists rejected him at 18, because of his youth; and, the Cistercians and Carthusians would also turn him away. Some biographers count eleven separate attempts to join the religious life. At 22 Benedict decided that he would let the world be his cloister (his words), and he set off to wander across Europe to various shrines and churches. He visited Compostela in Spain; Loretto, Assisi, Naples and Bari in Italy; Parav le Monial in France. He spent the last six years of his life in Rome.

Benedict's possessions were very few. He had an old coat to wrap around himself, two rosaries, a New Testament, a breviary and a copy of The Imitation of Christ. He never begged, either for money or food. And, if someone of their charity gave him more that he needed, he gave it away to the poor. He often dined on discarded rubbish, and he didn't take too much care of his personal hygiene. This attitude in life led people to avoid him, and gave him the privacy he needed for his meditations.

At 35, on Spy Wednesday, 16th April 1783, he collapsed on the steps of Santa Maria del Monte. A local butcher, passing by, picked him up and carried him to his home. He died about 8pm. Children ran through the streets shouting, 'the saint is dead'. The crowds which attended his funeral were so large, troops were sent in to maintain public order. Within a few months of his death, more than 130 miracles ascribed to the Saint had been carefully recorded. That year, G. L. Marconi, a priest who had been his confessor, published a biography. Benedict Joseph Labre was canonized by Pope Leo XIII, 8 December 1881.


So, why do I think Benedict is so great? I love him because he walks on pilgrimage, and he coined that beautiful phrase, 'the world is my cloister', turning every twist and turn of his life into a moment of prayer. I love him because of the books he had in his pocket, they are my favourites too. I love his simplicity, and the way he had TWO rosaries. Why two? And, eww, he eats garbage - that is repulsive, but I love him because of that too.

Soon some friends of mine will be setting off on the Student Cross pilgrimage to Walsingham. They will walk through Holy Week to arrive at the shrine on Good Friday. I am not going this year, and that is a GOOD thing, as I have responsibilities here. I am going to miss it though. I hope I will make up for it in future years, or by walking to Santiago in the summer, or launching a mission to Lindisfarne or some other mad adventure. Heading off into the wilds every now and then reminds me that the world is my cloister too. Whatever I dream up to cook this Saturday 16th April 2011, it will be something very simple which reminds me of this truly remarkable chap. Not garbage though. Eeww.

Guerrilla Gardening a Strawberry Patch

Out the back of my sisters' house there is a strip of land that no one takes care of. It has been wild for years. If you call Oxford University, to whom their house belongs, they say the land is not something they will a take care of, but neither is it the responsibility of the neighbours. Today we had a little guerrilla gardening party to hack back the jungle and reclaim the space. My sister hired a skip for the green waste, and wheel barrow after wheel barrow of branches, brambles and weeds were tipped into it, until it was overflowing. My twin, Gemma, made the best bird feeders, carving a rabbit, an elephant and a dinosaur from wood, and conscripting the children to paint them bright colours. Each creature had a hollow tummy, in which a hook was fixed to hang food for the birds. There were wind chime bells to hang from the trees too. I took control of a small patch, and surrounded it with big rocks. I dug out the soil in the middle, removed all the weeds, and planted a strawberry patch. It looked great and I was very proud. My sisters' husband gave the barbecue its first outing of the year and cooked up a great lunch for us all. It was a good day.

I have read a lot about many good gardeners who are taking the time to garden the land in towns and cities that no one takes responsibility for. They grow flowers and food for the local people to use. This always strikes me as an excellent use of space. Some people say this is stealing other peoples' space, that there is no such thing as land which does not belong to someone. However, guerrilla gardeners are not stealing space, they are caring for it. Anytime the owner wants to do something more useful with the space they have, it is still there for them to use. I'll nick back the strawberries first though :)

Simple supper in Lent 4 -Patatas a lo pobre

This is comfort food. Again. What can I say? I am suffering from stress currently and food like this is the culinary equivalent of a great big hug. Patatas a lo pobre is an Andalucian dish which I learnt about in Salamanca. Yes, odd I know, but it is served as tapas all over Spain, and there was a really good Andalucian tapas bar near my flat in Salamanca. I spent ages there learning Spanish, and more importantly, learning how to cook Spanish tapas from the elderly couple who ran the place with their son and his family. Anyhow, this is best eaten outside as the evening cools, with a glass of something chilled and the birds singing. It is the reward of a hard days work. Some day, you can also try adding spicy chorizo sausage and a fried egg right at the end, and you will be in a sudden 'not quite junk food' related heaven. The thing about this dinner is that, so far, every Spaniard I have met has disagreed about exact technique and ingredients. It is definitely the sort of thing that is best done my mothers everywhere, and is only really perfect when cooked like it is done 'at home'. Good luck.


Anyhow, you need (for about 4 people)


4 large potatoes, thinly sliced (you can leave these in water for about 20 minutes to get rid of the starch, and then drain before you cook)
1 green pepper, cut into thick strips
1 onion roughly chopped
Garlic (if you like?) Up to 8 cloves.
about 1/2 a litre of olive oil (I know! It sounds like loads, but trust me)
salt


In a large, deep frying pan, heat the oil. Add the sliced potatoes, chopped onion, peppers and garlic to a bowl season with salt, and mix together with your hands to ensure seasoning is even. Add this mixture to the pan and fry on a high heat for about 10 minutes, turning the potatoes over. Then, turn the heat right down. Put a lid on the pan and gently fry for about another 10 minutes. Check from time to time to make sure they are not sticking to the bottom of the pan. The odd shake does not go amiss. Check if the potatoes are cooked and add more salt if necessary. You are aiming for soft potatoes, although a little crisping adds to colour and flavour. If you think the potatoes need another few minutes or so, just pop the lid back on. It doesn't matter if the potatoes break up a little, this dish is about flavour. When done, remove the potatoes from the pan with a slotted spoon and serve.