I asked for a new dressing gown for Christmas this year. But because I am a picky little snowflake, my family wisely chose less controversial gifts like gin and an Aeropress. So I made one.
A bowl of quick pickled vegetables, made into a salad with rice noodles, and used to cut through the rich oiliness of grilled mackerel with its crispy skin. I will eat pretty much anything if you stick it in an Asian-spiced pickle marinade.
Very pleasant to wake up feeling vaguely human and find the sun was out. Seemed like a good day to survey the post-Christmas disaster that is the garden.
I didn’t go on last week’s Women’s March but I’m proud that two of my crochet pussyhats did. I hope there’ll be even more hats next time, so here’s my very easy crochet pattern.
I thought I’d got the effort in breadmaking down to the bare minimum, then my friend Michele told me about this method which takes even less effort. It’s not quite fresh bread for breakfast, but it could be fresh bread for brunch.
Fried rice was our to-go easy dinner when I was a kid – we probably ate it once a week at least. Without a doubt it is my top comfort food, as it probably is for most people with some SE Asian heritage. It’s also quick, delicious, and a fine repository for any old leftovers bunging up the fridge.
This is a good standby lunch for me as I’ve usually got all the ingredients lurking around, but it’s also nice enough for visitors. In true Lazybones style, it’s pretty much throw-it-together using what you have.
I don’t know how old I was when I started reading. I do know that once I did get going, I devoured books like a steam train furnace eats coke. “Feed me! Feed me!” I growled, ratcheting through a book a day.
Today I gave in to the looming chilliness and picked the last of the green tomatoes. And now I have 3.7kg of green tomatoes to deal with…
Courgettes. They’re a problem. I realise this isn’t the case for most people who can pick them up in the supermarket, pause, and then think no, not this week. But the veg gardeners will understand my pain.
There’s a look on people’s faces when you say you’re going to holiday a stone’s throw from a nuclear power station, and it doesn’t usually say, “Wish it was me.” But I have a few friends who get it, and those that do “totally get it”.
I was dropping my four-year-old granddaughter off with her mother after an evening of respite care when she threw her arms round me and said, “I think I love you a bit too much, Nanna.” And I thought, ahhh, that’s how I feel about bread…