Cooking with Nigel and Root Poetry

I haven't mentioned baking so far in this blog!
It's not that I don't bake ...it's just that it often tastes better than it looks and is eaten fast.
One of these days I will touch on the subject.

Today however I have to mention Nigel Slater.
I happened upon his cookery programme by chance and while needle clicking.
Had to drop the knitting, grab a notebook and take down the recipes.
His obvious delight in cooking is infectious and I found myself wandering into hitherto unchartered aisles
Lemongrass, juniper berries, smoked haddock et al,.. Stuff I'd never ventured to use.

Here's a recipe for Carrot and Coriander fritters which I have tried a few times and am always pleased with the result.

Put grated carrot, chopped coriander, chopped scallions in bowl.
Add beaten egg, grated Parmesan,flour and seasoning
Shape as fritters
Fry in oiled hot pan until golden brown
Top with chopped coriander.
And his tip ; don't fiddle with the fritters while they are cooking.

Back to poetry

I read a lovely volume Polishing the Evidence by Cecilia McGovern, available to buy from
Salmon Press.
http://salmonpoetry.com/
Cecilia has won several prizes and is a must read especially if you are from Mayo.
Her childhood days and experiences enthralled me and set me thinking of my townie background.
In Ireland most of us have close roots to a rural way of life but we lose a lot in a generational shift to urban fields.

So in response  here is  Town Graft

Town Graft

I wipe glandular silk spittle off a row of books

relegated to a mausoleum radial web of neglect.

Prise out one, retire to the sun and read poems

from a Mayo childhood. And feel regret 

that I recall nothing like this from my halcyon days.

A towny whose parents were supplanted from fields,

where clabar and poirins and gap-toothed hayrakes

and crop cycles may have meant something

To a council estate on a reclaimed swamp at the edge

of a market town ,where our fields were sweet shops:

Beatties, Mooneys, McKees and the Scrawggy sisters,

whose terraced front room windows sported cardboard cutouts

of Cadbury’s Milktray and Kellogg’s cornflakes and PG Tips.

Our roots became tarmacadamed and we lived in our heads,

Tuned to airwaves and commercials and pirate radio stations.

Copyright with Cathy Leonard 2016