Wine & Cemeteries

The Banjos came over on Saturday night. Mrs Banjo brought her first ever wine for racking. It was a raspberry made from Asda's finest frozen fruit. To be honest I wasn't expecting much from it but it is coming along very nicely. A good ruby red colour, clear, tasty and alcoholic. Of course we judged this on the merest sip during the racking process but I will be looking for the recipe. I might need to use frozen fruit as we replaced our raspberry canes this year, and thanks to the very wet Spring they were late in getting into the ground.

Tonight I racked one of my elderflowers and a rhubarb. The elderflower was made from fresh flowers. I'd previously used dried flowers. The flavour is good but it is rather too sweet for my liking. I'll try it again this year but will go easy on the sugar.

Rhubarb. What can I say? It never disappoints me but looking back at my notes I see I was very adventurous with this one. I started it in February 2013 and used a pint of pineapple wine as a starter. Then, racking it in October I seem to have lashed a bit of birch sap and rhubarb into it. It didn't clear that well but is strong. Not one for entering in the County Show.

And now, back to Paris. This is an illustration from Ludwig Bemelmans' Madeline's Rescue. It features the Père Lachaise Cemetery which we visited on our last day in Paris. As Bemelmans did not see fit to include the last resting place of Marcel Proust here is my photograph.

I quite liked Bemelmans' depiction of Oscar Wilde's grave. There was no point trying to take a picture of the tomb as it was mobbed by school parties and middle-aged women in lipstick kissing the plastic barrier.

Interestingly, as London Sister and I were wandering around a handsome Frenchman approached us and enquired, “Proust?” We were so pleased that we had not been taken for Jim Morrison acolytes.

The Incident on the Champs-Élysées

Eating breakfast in Paris was a real pleasure. On the Rue des Abbesses we found a popular wee place where we got a breakfast based on croissants, fresh orange juice and café au latte. The best part was that it took ages to eat. The French really enjoy their food but they don't eat huge portions and are rarely overweight.

There was a police presence on the street. A van had reversed into some scaffolding creating a potential health & safety hazard. There were two officers gesturing that pedestrians should walk on the other side of the street. There was no officiousness, just Gallic shrugs as if to say, 'this idiot, what can one do?' I can assure you, the PSNI or the Met would have been a sight more straight-faced.

After le petit déjeuner we took the Metro to the Place de la Concorde and proceeded towards the Champs-Elysées. Such a gorgeous walk especially the part where gardens and beautiful buildings abounded. When we finally got to the shops I was slightly less impressed. Fancy stores are fancy stores no matter where one is. The closer we got to the Arc de Triomphe the thicker the crowd became. It was interesting to be there but I am not that keen on jostling crowds. At one point I was knocked slightly sideways and a young woman who I took to have bumped into me looked over her shoulder and smiled a disarming apology. I thought no more of it. A moment afterwards I stopped to take this picture.

We wandered on towards the Arc de Triomphe and decided we had seen enough. As we descended into the Metro I reached inside my bag for my wallet. It wasn't there. I realised straight away that the bump from the smiling girl must have been the exact moment I was robbed. My wallet, the last birthday gift my mother gave me, had contained more than €200, my bank card and my three-day metro ticket. I'd been wearing my bag over my shoulder and it was hanging in front of my body.

This is how I was wearing my bag

There must have been two of them - the woman who bumped into me and an accomplice. I suspect I had been noted and followed as a promising looking mark. The way I was wearing my bag had lulled me into a false sense of security and I was relaxed and very engaged with my surroundings. Typical tourist.

After the shock came the shame. I felt bad that I had let this happen to me and because it put a shadow on our trip. I have to say that London Sister was brilliant. She remained calm and practical and that helped me to keep my head as well. I made a quick decision. I was not going to let this incident put a damper on things. Despite it we were going to continue to enjoy our break.

The theft was reported to the police and my bank card was cancelled. I wasn't the only one making a report either. There were at least two other incidents being reported while we were in station. Afterwards I found that I kept reproaching myself about the incident for I'd made a lot of silly mistakes. Firstly, I had more cash on me than I needed. Secondly, I had too many valuables in one place and biggest mistake of all, my bag didn't zip closed. But I had to put it behind me. We were going to keep on having a good time!

We maybe lost an hour of that beautiful afternoon in the police station but, as LS pointed out, if it had been my passport that had been stolen our carefree break would have been over from that point. Thankful for small mercies. I still had a passport and the theft occurred without me noticing. Imagine if I’d been mugged. I'd be shaking!

After The Incident.

Jef Aerosol street art close to the Centre Pompidou

 Participants in a loud and exciting drum parade

 Paris is full of pet dogs. LS noticed that there were very few Jack Russell terriers. After she made this observation we saw lots of Jacks. This one didn't like the noise of the drums. Poor pet!

 Centre Pompidou

Street scene in the Marais district

 We had dinner here. Le Basilic on rue Lepic, Montmartre

Interesting piece of street art in Montmartre

And so to bed. Another full day. Just before dropping off I permitted myself to experience a little sadness about having been relieved of my cash and Matty's last gift. Then I put it into perspective. I was in Paris, not as rich as I had been but still in Paris and still having a good time. And tomorrow still to come.

Paris For Real: Weddings and Pigeons

When London Sister first suggested Paris as a possible destination for our weekend break I was ever so slightly underwhelmed despite never having set foot in France in my entire life - not even to Lourdes or Calais. I'm not sure why this was but perhaps it might have been that I had seen so much of the city in films that I was under the impression I'd already been there. But that turned out to be the most exciting thing. For, like London and (I suspect) New York, Paris seems terribly familiar and yet, like London, it is even more exciting to see it for real. And now that I've been there and come home again I cannot wait to return.

On the Saturday we bought 3-day Metro tickets and headed to the Place de la Concorde and the Jardin des Tuileries. The weather was delightful, sunny, balmy, Spring at least three weeks ahead of Ireland. We checked out the Louvre but it was far too lovely a day to hang about in queues and then be indoors. The Louvre isn't going away. Another time.

Just wandering around, taking in the sights, walking by the Seine, enjoying Spring. That was enough for me. In the afternoon we went to La promenade plantée, which is an elevated planted area follows an old  railway line. We walked its entire length for LS and I are both very keen on gardens and plants. Over 30,000 steps we walked that day. Tired and happy. That evening we dined well in the Quartier Pigalle and later that night we were asleep before our heads touched our pillows. A great day indeed.

Everywhere there were brides having their photographs taken, on the Seine, by the Seine, by churches beside the Seine. 

Next: A very unfortunate incident on the Avenue des Champs-Élysées.

An Evening In Paris

This time last week when I was packing for my weekend in Paris, Miss Martha said,

Maybe you'll see Madeline.

She was referring to the central character in the children's book Madeline's Rescue by Ludwig Bemelmans. This was a very lucky find in Bellaghy's one and only charity shop. The girls love it and I've read it to them over and over again.

The trip to Paris was a birthday gift from London Sister who arranged both flights and accommodation. She flew from London, I flew from Belfast. Very convenient for us both. Of course I had pre-conceived ideas about one of the most visited city on earth. For a start I expected the plane to contain vast numbers of philosophers, poets and lovers. I had forgotten about Disneyland Paris. The plane actually contained vast numbers of over-excited children and their equally over-excited parents and grandparents. The little girl sitting behind me spent most of the journey exuberantly kicking the back of my seat which I bore with great fortitude.

I met LS at the airport and we continued on to Montmartre. Getting off at the Gare du Nord did not give the best impression of Paris for it is a rather seedy area. Rather that take the metro a few stops to the station nearest our hotel we decided to walk. It did not seem that far on the map. And it wasn't. We knew it was close to the Sacré-Cœur Basilica so we kept heading up and before long we were within sight of  the church.

We then took around 40 minutes to locate the hotel although I'd guess we were never any further than 5 minutes away from it. But those little places and streets are confusing. So, by the time we were checked in, it was near midnight. No matter, for this was Paris and a Friday night. We found a lively bar where we wined and dined and had a great amount of fun. I do love bar staff who look like they are having every bit as good a time as the patrons and who ululate to North African music and do, right in our faces, the thing that is now described as 'twerking'. This rarely happens in Ballymena where bar staff neither twerk, ululate or enjoy themselves. 

Next: We nearly visit the Louvre

Iffiest Joy

Happy Birthday Joe!

Back and Away Again

I got back from Hanna's Close on Monday. The previous two times we stayed we were in George's Cottage. This time we were in Johnny's Cottage and I thought it was much nicer. George's has two bedrooms and was a bit claustrophobic for four adults and two children. Johnny's had an extra bedroom and it made all the difference. Johnny's also has its own garden with a steep slope leading down to the river. That was wonderful too. Martha and Evie bowled hoops down it and so did Granny!

Johnny's is built on a slope and is entered down steep stone steps. Did I mention the half door at the kitchen?

The girls playing with the hoops that kind Granny bought in Asda in Kilkeel.

My little room. No wriggling, snuffling little bodies to disturb my peace. At least, not until 7am when they jumped in beside me, cold as frogs, for huggles and snuggles.

It was a good weekend.

Tomorrow I go to Paris.

Away

Going to Hanna's Close for the weekend. Back on Monday.

Video by Dave.

NellyMoser's photostream

NellyMoser's photostream on Flickr.

Carrot & Apple Wine

	Started	Bottled	NOTES
Carrot	28/10/11	19/05/12	still very sweet on 3rd racking/ bottled – sweet & clear, good colour, cork popped Sept, 12/1/13 drank 1 bottle, very fizzy, sweet but pleasant
Carrot & Orange	10/05/13		2nd R -heavy sediment/3rd R: Heavy albumin bloom decanted out topped with cider & water
Carrot & Raisin 1	28/11/12	04/05/13	Added nutmeg, cinnamon and pinch clove, needed a lot of topping up (water) when going into demijohn, 2nd R: dry, great flavor, Bert loves it
Carrot & Raisin 2	28/02/13	24/02/14	some parsnips in mix, used demerara sugar 2lbs, nutmeg and cinnamon. Bottled 5. Yummy.
Carrot & Raisin 3	03/12/13
Carrot & Sultana	13/12/12	06/11/13	using plastic container, 2nd r decanted into glass – light flavour 3rd R: dry, clear topped with nettle
Carrot, Parsnip & Sultana	24/10/13	02/03/14	made with Tam veg. Topped with young rhub at 2nd rack

That's a little section of my wine-making spreadsheet and it's all about The Carrot. As can be seen I've made wine from carrots 7 times. Two are still on the go and 5 have been bottled. Bert and I shared a bottle of carrot and raisin (2) last night and it was rather tasty.

The first time I used carrot I stuck closely to a recipe. There must have been a lot of sugar because it was almost too sweet. It was also fizzy which means it carried on fermenting after bottling. Not a good idea! Carrot and raisin (or sultana) and less sugar produced a far more drinkable wine. I also started using pinches of nutmeg and other spices which added flavour. By the time I was on my third carrot & raisin I had stopped using recipes.

Carrot (and parsnip) wines are made with the liquor from the chopped and boiled roots. The actual vegetable is discarded. Some recipes suggest they can then be used in cooking but as I don't like my vegetables with the life boiled out of them, I give them to the pigs. Using dried fruit means that chemical nutrients aren't needed. I rarely use additives now. Just bananas or raisins for added nutrients, lemon juice where acid is required and strong tea where tannin is recommended.

Rough Recipe for Carrot & Apple & Raisin & Date Wine

Roots are easy to prepare for wine but chopping the raisins is a bit of a fiddly chore. And that is where my new Veto slow juicer comes in. I found a recipe for carrot and apple wine on-line and adapted it. I boiled the 4 lb of carrots as always then made a litre of juice using apples, carrots, all the raisins I had in my baking cupboard and a few dates for good measure. I put a bag of sugar in my sterilised bucket and added the pulp from the carrots, apples and dried fruit. Then 2 litres of boiling water and stirred it into a thick sludgy brown syrup. Time for the carrot liquor which had cooled down quite a bit. By the time I added my litre of juice and topped it up to a gallon it was exactly the right temperature for the yeast. Quick stir, lid on and that was that. Did I mention that it looked like liquid manure? Smelt better though.

So there you are. Another rough enough recipe from Nelly.  I'm sure I must be annoying somebody out there by alternating between imperial and metric measures. If anyone wants me to make it more exact I will. But perhaps better wait a few months to see how it turns out.

The Parlour Revisited

A post from September 2009. Still relevant.

The other day I asked the household where some kitchen gadget had got to. Bert says,

The last place I saw it was on the sill in the parlour.

Parlour? Where’s the bloody parlour?

I never said parlour. I said…you know…that room out there.

You mean the room with the washing machine in it?

Yeah. That room, the – you know?

The scullery. Or utility room if you like. Where did parlour come from?

I never said parlour.

You bloody did.

It’s a big problem for me this shifting of place names. The outside is a nightmare. The sheds are referred to something like this -

• The Woodshed

• The Milk House

• The Byre

• The Cattle Shed

• The Workshop

• The Hen House

• The Pig House

• The Calf Shed

• The Back Shed

• The Potato Shed

• The Turf Shed

• The Silo

• The Tractor Shed

• The Tool Shed

• Ian’s Shed

Of course we don’t have fifteen sheds. We have about six shed-type buildings and each one has at least three names depending on which decade Bert’s mind is settled on that particular day. For instance, if Bert refers to the Turf Shed, will he be speaking of the shed which currently contains turf (unlikely) or does he mean a shed that was used for turf storage twenty, or even forty years ago. This is not much use to me as I don’t know where they kept the turf during the Swinging Sixties.

It was no better in our last place where we only had a garage and three poly tunnels.

Where are my orange handled secateurs?

In the tunnels.

Which one?

The one with the clematis.

They all have clematis.

The montanas.

Big ones or liners?

Och you know. The one with Denise’s potting bench.

She has two bloody potting benches! Here they are! Why couldn’t you just have said the middle tunnel?

I blame his mother.

When this was her house there were three rooms referred to as The Scullery and two known as The Pantry and two called The Good Room and two more called The Front Room. Upstairs was The Room, Bert’s Room, Lizzie’s Room, Uncle Andy’s Room, Our Room, My Room, The Good Room, The Room With The New Window, The Room With The Broken Floor, The Cupboard, The Back Room, The Room With The Good Bed, The Front Room, The Big Room, The Wee Room, The Best Room and the Attic. As far as I know, The Toilet and The Bathroom were never called anything else but I could be wrong.

There was none of that nonsense in our house. Upstairs we had 4 bedrooms which were named according to the persons who slept in them, downstairs was The Kitchen, The Scullery, The Room, The Bathroom and The Room Before The Bathroom. It never changed downstairs. Outside sheds were named and stayed named. You knew where you were in Tannaghmore.

And don’t get me started on fields.

Strange Days

Yesterday I went to St George's Market where I met up with Leitrim Sister and Dmitri. We then went on to the Ulster Museum where the artist Liz Cullinane was holding an open afternoon. I never seem to be out of the Ulster Museum these days. I fear I am actually becoming a museum piece as I was accused of being Leitrim Sister's mother! I'm but a mere ten years older than my sister. Galling.

Bert was in Donegal so Jazzer came over to help with Pearlie and the farming. We did such a good job of it that we naturally rewarded ourselves with a few glasses of red. This morning I got up early and decided to catch up with the recycling as I'd let it mount up in the scullery. There were a few, quite a few, wine bottles. One of Pearlie's pass-remarkable carers asked if I'd been having a party. I told her that Jazzer was an alcoholic. She didn't believe me.

It's been a very funny week. Lots of family concerns. Then a funeral on Friday. Somebody I'd never met but I know her daughter. Then, that night, news of another death, a young woman, somebody I do know. Her funeral was today. I didn't go.

Martha and Nelly's Day Out

Miss Martha and Granny are going today

To Belfast on the train

Miss Martha is fervently hoping

That Granny won't be a pain

Martha and I had our eagerly anticipated day out in Belfast on Saturday. That was three days ago and I'm only just beginning to recover. You see, I thought because Martha was a big sensible four-year-old that we could make a longer day of it. What I didn't take into consideration was how exhausted I would get. People of Martha's age have an inexhaustible supply of energy. People my age - not as much.

The Charity Shops

Martha's main aim was to replenish the dressing up box. She wanted a cocktail dress or a wedding dress and insisted that I measure these articles against her. It was difficult to persuade her that a dress meant for a tall and buxom bride was not going to do for her. And even size 6 party dresses were going to swamp a little girl. If the sparkly, sequinned dresses had only been a few pounds I might have let her have one but they were in the £6-10 range and far too expensive for dressing up. I explained that it would not be fair for Martha to take these for dressing up when there were big girls who needed them for parties. She understood.

The Ulster Museum

We went to see the Curious Beasts exhibition which is on loan from the British Museum. Martha found it a little disconcerting. Or was that me? I'm not sure.

Notions of Forever

This suited us better. Notions of Forever is a special exhibition, part of the Belfast Children's Festival. Its theme was how people's imaginations change as they move from childhood to old age. Martha and I didn't really understand it fully at the time but I think we both found it intriguing and I definitely found it moving and heartfelt.

Martha with the artist, Liz Cullinane

Botanic Gardens

A run round the big flower bed outside the Palm House.
A sniff at the beautiful flowers inside the Palm House.
A discussion about dead fish in the Tropical Ravine.
A terrifying incident when young adults dressed up as Foxes and Other Curious Beasts had a mock sword fight at the bandstand.

The Play Park

Lots of racing around and swinging and climbing and round-abouting whilst Granny had a wee rest on a bench.

The Train Home

Because we were both very good we rewarded ourselves with magazines for the train journey home. I had the Guardian and Martha had a My Little Pony magazine chosen for the quality of the gift sellotaped to its front. It was a plastic toy pink and purple mobile phone with a carrying case and a sheet of stickers. I got to read a bit of the paper while Martha chatted on her new phone. She was talking to 'a man'. The gist of the conversation was that the man's wife was in hospital having a baby and that he wanted to take photographs as it was 'coming out' and then he wanted to make a calendar featuring the photographs. He was negotiating with Martha about stickers to decorate the calendar and wanted 'baby' stickers but she told him she only had 'unicorn' stickers and he apparently agreed to this. Or so she told me. Needless to say I found all this much more entertaining than the Guardian.

On the train home wearing new tiara found in a charity shop

Becoming Like Matty.

All women become like their mothers.  That is their tragedy.  No man does.  That’s his.

So goes Algernon's memorable line from Oscar Wilde's 'The Importance Of Being Earnest'. Although Wilde was not writing of a physical resemblance, that is what I took from it when I first heard the lines, and I heard the quote long before I heard the play.

I'd been told for years that I looked like my mother and in my extreme youth this did not please me. After all, I was as lovely as the bright new morn and she was a wrinkled hag.  She would have been in her early forties then.

As I grew older I learned to appreciate the compliment for Matty was winsome enough as a lass and I had no doubt I was being compared to the younger version. But as I grew older, and ever so slightly wiser, I realised we did look alike. It showed in age. The first time we were taken as sisters was devastating. She was 28 bloody years older than I was!

This coming April Matty will be gone three years. And Daddy is nine years gone in June. I feel different now, far more aware of my own mortality and the ageing process. I look at my darling grandchildren and know that I'll never see them begin to age unless I become a centenarian. Perhaps I'll live long enough to become a great-grandmother. That would be a wonderful bonus.

My mother was a generous, caring and kind woman and it showed on her face. People liked her, she liked people. Children really liked her. She really liked children.             

Now when I look in the mirror and I see her face and it unnerves me. But you know what I'm going to do? I'm going to try and be a kinder person and I'm going to accept the ageing process and every time I feel like I'm becoming a wrinkled old hag I'll grin from ear to ear because that makes the wrinkles all friendly and jolly and kind instead of miserable and grim. Sure I might as well!

 Matty

Nelly

The Merger

Just over a year ago I started another blog about wine making. I intended it to be a fairly light hearted take on one of my favourite hobbies and it started off well. But, sadly, I've been too busy making wine, drinking wine, hanging out with my grandchildren, writing this blog, going on free train rides and looking after Pearlie and the pigs to give Nelly's Rough Enough Guide to Making Wine my fullest attention. I mean, 23 posts in 13 months? How bad is that? And it is pitiful to have to begin posts with phrases such as. "I'm afraid I have been rather neglectful.." and "Yet again, I have been remiss..." There will be no more apologies. I am merging  the Rough Enough Guide with the Garden. So, every now and again there will be wine making and wine drinking updates on this blog. I will then copy them to the other blog. It's not lazy! It's clever. I promise that the content will not be dull and it might even encourage some of you to actually join me in this wine making adventure.

Jazzer And Nelly Drinking It Young

Recently I've been clearing the freezer of all last season's fruit to make way for this season's harvest.

There were a lot of blackcurrants in there. Since I last updated the Rough Enough Guide I have started 11 gallons of wine and six of them have been blackcurranty.. Two plain old blackcurrant and the remaining four blackcurrants mixed with,

1. blackberries
2. damsons
3. apple
4. strawberries.

Way back in August 2011 the first wine I made was blackcurrant and it disappointed me. Dry, dry as a bone. I think that was why it took me two years to attempt blackcurrant again.

Then Jazzer presented me with the entire crop from her solitary blackcurrant bush and we had another go. We started it together and I continued the racking process myself. We used less sugar and Young's Super Wine Yeast Compound. It finished really quickly and, needing something bottled and Jazzer very keen to see it in bottles, we went ahead. We bottled five and polished off the last bottle from the flagon. It was surprisingly delicious considering it was only 6 months old. Jazzer wanted to get stuck into another one but I explained to her that it would not really be properly ready until next August.

Can I take it home with me?

You can take your two bottles if you think it's wise.

Two bottles? But...

Her face fell.

Did you think it would be all yours? The deal is, and I do this for anyone who provides me with ingredients, if there are six bottles I keep three. For I do all the sterilising and racking.

She saw my point and she got her two bottles.

You know you should really keep them six months.

I'll drink one and keep one.

She drank them both and now she has the wine making bug, rang me tonight looking for a bit of advice on her first batch which she is making using frozen blackberries and raspberries from Tescos. Interesting. If she keeps this up she'll be in rehab before long.

I'll try to keep my three bottles of the Jazzer Blackcurrant until August but it is rather good. No doubt, next time she's here we will fall to it with gusto.