Not Forgotten

Some might say that I have forgotten the saints these days; that recently my blog has not linked the laughs I have, the food I cook, the life I lead with the lives of those that have gone before me.

I have not forgotten.

I started looking into the lives of the saints, and celebrating the lives they led through the food I prepare and eat when I was at a turning point in my own life. I did not know where to turn, what to do, or what work would come around the corner next. I was unemployed for 4 months, then took work as a seamstress, vegetable picker, domestic servant, sales assistant and office worker before my first temporary teaching post came along in January 2011, 7 months after I left my DPhil study and moved home.

By the grace of God, and the generous hospitality of the RSCJ Sisters in Oxford, I found myself back in the arms of an educational career, and for this reason I wrote the post about inspirational educators. After that temporary post had finished I left the hospitality of the sisters, although I kept them in my heart, and found a flat in the centre of Oxford and a new post in a non-Catholic Comprehensive school in Oxford. There were challenges there, too many to mention, but by the June I had secured my current teaching position in a place where the prayer of the Office seeped through the the seams, and the saints of the calendar lived in the corridors and on the walls. I started in September 2011.

Since then the lives of the saints have been part of my everyday. Who’s this? What did they do? I am sorry they don’t make more of an  appearance on the pages of my blog, with matching food to rejoice in their faith, but I am not sorry their prayers have brought me where I am. Unemployed I used the lives of the saints to occupy my mind, I read about them, thought about them, cooked for them, enjoyed their lives with friends and family through food, wine and time. Employed as a Head of RE I call upon their lives as inspiration for my classroom, anecdotes, examples, and yes, sometimes food. I still rely on their prayers. I have not forgotten the saints, I just have less time to cook for them. I am sure they do not mind. I hope you do not either.

A cure for cold filled pagans (reprise) http://theworldiscloister.tumblr.com/post/61952709053

A cure for cold filled pagans (reprise)

via Tumblr http://theworldiscloister.tumblr.com/post/61952709053

A little bit of what you fancy does you good

 A little bit of what you fancy does you good. That's what my Ma says. This phrase is used especially when you are feeling under the weather. I have been terribly under the weather this week. All I have had is the common cold, but it feels like a disaster. I get frightened of the return of the throat-chest infection that plagues me each winter, and even once this summer (cheeky bugger of a thing). 

Still, I know how to treat myself. My Ma taught me well. Mid week, after a long, cold filled, headachy day at school, I knew what I fancied: I wanted something sweet with custard. Only one problem, there was nothing sweet in the house. I had little energy and could not be tempted from the sofa without the thought that something could be achieved within minutes.

Enter the fruit flapjack, served warm with custard. I did not look for, and did not have a recipe, but it has all worked out very well. I used those American measuring cups and made things up as I went along. There was no exact science, so if you are making this, go with your instinct: if it looks right, it probably is.

4 cups Irish Porridge Oats (the Irish was important to me - a reminder of family, home, strength and vitality)

As many sultanas as you can find. I think I found almost 4 Cups!

2 Cups self raising flour

1 cup soft brown sugar (I admit to pouring this in with no regard for a measure)

Mix all the dry ingredients together. I added a little almond essence for fun. Then in a saucepan I melted:

250g (that’s a whole pack) Kerrygold butter (see the Irish Cure coming in again)

A massive squeeze of Honey (I have one of those squeezy bottles of honey, I must have put a little more than a quarter of it in the butter)

I added the melted butter and honey to the dry ingredients and mixed them up thoroughly. I then spread the mixture onto a buttered baking tray, evenly and thickly. I put the flapjack in the oven to back on 180 - 200 for 15 - 20 minutes, until golden brown.

When I took it out of the oven the flapjack was golden, soft and squishy. Whilst it cooled in the tray I made some Bird’s Custard up. Then I sliced the flapjack up and served myself some flapjack and custard. It was delicious. The rest of the flapjack I cut into neat little slices the next day, and popped them into the biscuit box for storage. They’ll last for ages in a air tight container, and as long as I’m ‘recovering’ I’m allowed steal a slice every time I fancy.

Zemmy ‘Brittle Pieces’ - Telegraph live session (by...

Zemmy ‘Brittle Pieces’ - Telegraph live session (by Zemmy Momoh)

Just played on Radio 4 and was beautiful. I loved her voice, the lyrics, simplicity.

via Tumblr http://theworldiscloister.tumblr.com/post/61223088813

A Grateful Grace

It has been the most beautiful summer. I am not sure that I can ever remember one as bright, light, warm, gentle and happy. From the outside I am sure that my summer has been fairly uneventful: I looked after my parents’ cat, I was ill, I moved house, my parent’s celebrated their 50th wedding anniversary, I walked the Chiltern Hill’s, basked in the sunshine, baked cakes, cooked meals, revelled in the love and companionship of my friends and family. In reality everything happened this summer, and I began to see light shining on the future.

Last year I wrote a post about a formal grace that had been traveling around my head: The eyes of all people look to you. It was a grace that made me happy, it was a grace that made me laugh. I knew the words and had applied them to my life. It was all about rooting around the fields and hedgerows, butchers, fishmongers and greengrocers. The beautiful harvest brought home to make home.

This year I am grateful for an informal grace, a grace said by a friend. It was a prayer for blessing, for love and friendship, for happiness and health. I am always envious of people who have the courage to pray freely, the courage to leave the script and say what is real, true and ‘on the mind’. Such is the nature of real prayer. Such is the nature of truly living in faith. I aspire to have this courage.

The summer holidays are a time for carefully prepared meals with those we love, heartily consumed dinners that follow long walks in the open air, up hill and down dale. This year I have enjoyed cooking beautiful meals and snacks for beautiful people. To be sure, I messed a few up: mea culpa. But, for the most part, I did my best, often working with those with whom I would eat, cooking together our sustenance, food gratefully received following days of work and pleasure.The end of August and the beginning of September, despite the return to school, remains my favourite time of year. I keep my habit of lighting candles at meal times, offering a quite prayer for those who help to prepare food, the farmers, packagers, growers; and those loved ones with whom I share the meal.

The tree in the pictures above is rather special. It grows at Chenies Manor, Buckinghamshire, where King Henry VIII and his daughter, Elizabeth I, sat under it during their tumultuous reigns. They probably thought it a very fine tree, for it was 500 years old then. Elizabeth lost a jewel under it - it has never been found. That’s right, this tree is over 1000 years old. It predates 1066 and the Battle of Hastings. It is a Saxon Tree. How much that venerable Oak will have seen, how many conversations it will have heard, how many picnics it will have looked upon. History sometimes baffles me. I cannot imagine such expanses of time. It awes me. Time for us is always either too long, or too short. We are never content....except in those last weeks of the summer holidays, when the body and mind has relaxed and recovered enough to help one feel at ease with the present. That 'feeling at ease with the present' is a gift, and one I long to hold on to and treasure as the term speeds along. I am quite sure the tree at Chenies was always happy to be in the moment, and always longed to just be where it was and grow with time, never regretting the past, never wishing its time away. I would like to be the same.

This year, on a quiet day, I made the best of all finger food one night: chicken wings. There was plenty, and the leftovers made for a beautiful picnic on a long walk in the hills the following day. This little delicacy was a last taste of summer, a shared happiness. It was warm and sticky, salty and full of pepper and spice. No need for a knife and fork. I am, as usual, indebted to Nigel Slater.

Chicken Wings - 12 Large

a large juicy lemon

bay leaves - 5

Black peppercorns - I heaped tablespoon

olive oil

sea salt flakes

Set the oven at 200C. Put the wings into a roasting dish, halve the lemon and squeeze it over them, then cut up the lemon shells and tuck them, together with the bay leaves, between the chicken pieces.

Put the peppercorns in a mortar and bash them so that they crack into small pieces. Of course, I do not have a mortar, so I wrapped them in tinfoil and hit them with a rolling pin. They should be knubbly, like small pieces of grit, rather than finely ground.

Mix the peppercorns with the olive oil and toss them with the chicken pieces. Scatter with salt flakes. Roast for 40 - 45 minutes, turning once. The chicken should be golden and sticky, the edges blackened here are and there - they should be nearly stuck to the roasting tin.

PS: You might be wondering about the Red Kite and the Boar. They are just creatures I have met hereabouts recently and I liked them. xx

Trees, woods and stones

   

Believe me, you will find more lessons in the woods than in books. Trees and stones will teach you what you cannot learn from the masters. - Bernard of Clairvaux

I wanted to learn about where I live today. I found out many things, see above.

Apples and blackberries are amongst the wild treasures of this place. I learnt a High Wycombe Cake, my first.

125g butter, softened, plus extra for the tin
125g caster sugar
3 large eggs, beaten
50g ground almonds
100g self raising flour
3 apples
100g blackberries

For the topping:
1 pinch cinnamon
2 tbsp Demerara sugar
25g butter in slices
25g peeled and toasted hazelnuts
Icing sugar for dusting

Heat the oven to 160c. Butter a 22cm round, loose bottom, cake tin.

Beat the butter and caster sugar together until light and fluffy. Slowly add the eggs ensuring the mixture does not curdle. Sieve the flour onto the top of the mixture, add the almonds on top. Gradually fold in, keeping the mixture light.

Peel and slice the apples, add them to a dry pan with a little sugar and a splash of water. Soften ever do slightly. Allow to cool. Add two thirds of the apples and the blackberries to the mixture. Turn the mixture into the tin. Arrange the remaining apples on top.

For the topping sprinkle cinnamon and sugar over the surface of the mixture. Add small slices of butter.

Bake for 55 mins, of until a sharp knife comes out clean.

Gently toast your hazelnuts in a dry pan. Allow to cool. Add hazelnuts to the top of the cake. When all is cool, dust with icing sugar.

For peace comes dropping slow...

I will arise and go now, and go to Innisfree,

And a small cabin build there, of clay and wattles made:

Nine bean-rows will I have there, a hive for the honey-bee;

And live alone in the bee-loud glade. 

And I shall have some peace there,

for peace comes dropping slow,

Dropping from the veils of the morning to where the cricket sings;

There midnight's all a glimmer, and noon a purple glow,

And evening full of the linnet's wings. 

I will arise and go now, for always night and day

I hear lake water lapping with low sounds by the shore;

While I stand on the roadway, or on the pavements grey,

I hear it in the deep heart's core.  - WB Yeats

'And I shall have some peace there, for peace comes dropping slow'. With these words the best verse of my favourite poem begins. 

It is the beginning of the holidays, and peace does indeed come dropping slow. I lay worries and concerns aside, one by one. 

I went on holiday to the Aran Islands off the West Coast of Ireland. Twice. On the first occasion I went with my older sister and twin. The second time just with my twin. We walked the length and breadth of the island, that was all there was to do. That and look at the horizon, the cliffs and the sea, our legs dangling over the edges of drops measured in miles. I loved it there. Gemma and I staying in a tent with the cows, we listened to their lowing and chewing of the cud; there were crickets. One day we came across a clutch of kittens sleeping in the heather, they were beautiful. We imitated them and slept for hours each day, curled up the the heather under the sunny clouds. Aran remains to this day the most peaceful place I have ever been.

Soon I am going to move house, leave Oxford, the scene of many life changing adventures these past few years, and move on to territories new. And, whilst I dream of the house where I will have nine bean rows and a hive for the honey bee, a coup for the chickens, a cosy corner for the cat, a hearth rug for the dog and a view of the horizon for the children running free, my life has not reached that dream just yet. So in my new home, 'while I stand on roadway, or on the pavements grey', I will continue to hear peace, dropping slow, in the deep heart's core.

I am deeply grateful for the friendships I have made in Oxford, and the good times I have had in this beautiful city. I am happy to be moving on and accepting the unknown path that lays ahead. I am looking forward to new horizons, new adventures, a continued pilgrimage.

Preparing a meal

I go to the kitchen!

......

Loving Lord,

May You who nourishes and sustains all things, bless me as I prepare this meal.

Bless the ingredients I call to hand, and bless the hands of those who brought such gifts to me.

Grant to my soul Your peace and Your joy, and help me to feel the importance of my task.

May this meal be a reflection of Your love, and may it bring peace and joy to our table.

May it nourish, comfort and restore. 

Through it, may those I serve be blessed in body, mind and spirit.

Thank you.

Amen.

As part of my work I am often asked for prayers to suit different occasions. Today I was asked for a prayer for our school cooks. I couldn't find one, so this transpired. Perhaps some of you know prayers suited to those preparing meals. I was surprised one did not come immediately to hand. Do share if you know one. I'd love a little collection.

Education and Happiness

The Holy Trio

 It is that time of year again: the feast days of three saints that occupy pivotal importance to the lives of good friends of mine occur this week. Friends who have freely given their lives for what they believe in.

So, what do St. Dominic, St Madeleine Sophie and St. Philip have in common? The congregations they  have founded and inspired have markedly different and beautiful charisms. Born in the 12th, 16th and 18th Centuries, they are spread across history. What strikes me is that each of them are born, live and die with symbols of fire surrounding them.

The earliest sources recording St Dominic's arrival into the world are from Jordan of Saxony. His parents are not named, but his mother made pilgrimage to Silos in Spain and dreamt that a dog with a flaming torch in his mouth leapt from her womb and 'seemed to set the world on fire'. That is exactly what he went on to do with his life, example and preaching.

Madeleine Sophie is born on the night of the 12th December 1779 in the midst of a raging fire in Joigny, France. The terror of the blaze sent her mother into labour. She founded a congregation that battled for love in the midst of a France caught up in the hateful fires of the revolution.

St Philip Neri was born in Florence, but he died in Rome having experienced a Pentecost of his own. In 1544 he had a vision in which he saw globe of fire descend from heaven and penetrate his heart. He continued to live out his priestly life sensing the burning love of God within his heart. An examination after is death revealed that his heart was indeed abnormally large, so much so that it had forced two of his ribs apart to accommodate it.

Three saints, three visions and experiences of fire, three feasts after Pentecost. Perhaps the message here is passion. Each of these saints lived passionately, uncompromisingly dedicated to love. They were not afraid and we should not be afraid either. 

This weekend I am not sure what the weather will do, but I know what I will do. I am going to cook, walk, chat and be with those I love. And, for those I love I cannot be with, I am going to hold them in my heart. I am going to use my rest time from school to think about how to live in love through my work. I adore teaching and there are exciting syllabus developments ahead. This week my adorable Sixth Form bought me chocolates, champagne, flowers and a framed quote from Aristotle as they bid adieu before their examination leave. I shall be thinking of them, and their journey towards examinations and the future beyond. I will be praying that whatever they do in the future they will choose to do something they have a fiery passion for, and that they will do it with all the love they have. So far as I know that is the only way to spread the Gospel.

This might seem odd, but I am going to make a different take on burgers.....

Pork Burgers with Thyme and Mozzarella

Serves 3 - 4

4 Spring Onions (Scallions) 

2 Cloves Garlic

25g Butter

50g Cubed Pancetta

A good handful of Thyme

750g Minced Pork

The grated zest of a Lemon

One ball of Mozzarella

Finely chop the spring onions and cloves of garlic and fry them gently in the butter, allowing them to colour slightly. Add the pancetta. Strip the thyme leaves from their stalks, finely chop them and add them to the pan, letting the mixture cook a little. Leave the pan off the heat and cool for a while.

Mix the pork into the onions, add the grated lemon zest and season it generously with black pepper and a little salt. Cut the mozzarella into small cubes and stir these through the mixture. Shape into pork burgers about the size of a digestive biscuit and leave to settle for half an hour. Fry in a non-stick pan, browning on each side, and cooking through for 8 - 10 minutes.

Serve with fresh swiss chard, spinach or asparagus, sauteed new potatoes and your favourite mustard concoction. 

I am planning something beautiful for dessert. I think it might be based around lemon, but my flatmate might cook something beautiful with apricots. Oh, of course, I'll be testing the champagne and the chocolates!