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Post by meganl on May 5, 2018 6:15:42 GMT
Rags this is similar to the recipe I grew up with
Rowan berries appear in late summer and early fall. The stunning red berries are packed with vitamin A and C. The berries are from the mountain ash tree (Sorbus aucuparia) and although some believe the berries are poisonous, cooked ones are not. In fact, they are delicious and have been made into jellies and marmalades for centuries.
What You'll Need
4 pounds/1.8 kg rowan berries (washed and stems removed)
3 pounds/1.4 kg apples (for cooking, peeled, cored and quartered)
1 pound/450 g white sugar (for every 2 cups/ 600 ml juice)
How to Make It
Put rowan berries and apples into a large pan or stockpot (there should be room for the berries to reach a good rolling boil and not be crammed in). Barely cover the fruit with water. Bring to a boil, reduce the heat and simmer for 20 minutes or until the fruit is soft. Allow to drip through a jelly bag overnight. It is very important not to squeeze the jelly bag to extract more juice as this will make the finished jelly cloudy. The jelly will still be delicious but not look as pretty. Measure the juice and weigh out the correct amount of sugar as directed above. Add the juice and sugar to a clean large pan or stockpot and simmer over low heat for 10 minutes until the sugar has dissolved. Increase the heat and cook at a full rolling boil for 5 minutes, then test for a set. When the jelly has reached the setting point, pour into hot, sterilized jars, seal and label. The jelly will keep unopened for a year. Once opened, though, keep in the refrigerator.
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maeve
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Post by maeve on May 6, 2018 12:36:28 GMT
Thank you, Megan- delightful writing with many familiar elements! Rags- Rowan/Mountain Ash berries have a slight bitterness, especially when tasted fresh. Frost helps some, as does cooking. Here's a link that may help: foragerchef.com/rowanberries/
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ragdall
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Post by ragdall on May 7, 2018 22:41:06 GMT
Thank you for the recipe, Megan, and thank you, Maeve, for the additional information.
The Waxwings and Pine Grosbeaks eat all my Mountain Ash berries. According to internet research, although several varieties of Mountain Ash grow wild here, the tall trees I had grow from a European variety that is cultivated for sale.
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Post by meganl on Jul 20, 2018 7:05:56 GMT
The date Food plays a part in almost everything in island life, weddings to funerals and all events in between. Names have been changed to save the not so innocent The big date, whether it be the first or the one where the question is popped is always fraught with difficulties, but for an farm loon it was a pathway to disaster whatever happened. There's nae way ahm going tae say his real name cause he kens me fine and kens whaur a bide so ah'll call him Geordie. He wis usually to be found in his boiler suit working aboot the farm or tinkering wie the beat up old car he and his pals raced around the field. A wee while ago however he started tae notice Jeanie who had recently joined the young farmers group, she was a bonny lass and young Geordie was weel besotted. His poor mother was fair tired of him sighing over her bonny blue een or how weel she handled the sheepdog. Eventually fair scunnered wie her son lookin like a moon struck kye his mither telt him tae tak the lassie oot fur a proper meal. She was not impressed when he asked if he could no jist tak her tae the ploughing match and booked a table at a local hotel. The night of the date arrived and Geordie was under strict instructions to be hame from work early and hae a bath. Mother had pressed his suit ( once they got to a certain age many Orkney men found their suit lasted them the rest of their lives since it was only used for the kirk or to attend weddings or funerals) and bought him a crisp new white shirt and tie, not that she wanted to get him married of but the house was getting ower small for two men. Geordie headed to the tub with the loofa his mother handed him with the admonition to "Mak sure ye clean roon yer neck nae lass likes tae see an ebb tide" At last he emerged into the kitchen squirming in the suit that probably wouldn't see the growing laddie through another year, the tie might well have been a noose as he tugged and fidgeted with it. His father as eager for his son to fly the nest as his mother even handed him the keys to his car which was old but in better condition than Geordies usual transport an old bike that had probably been new when his father was coortin. I think Jeanie's mother must have been as anxious as Geordies for as they entered the hotel Dauvit and I noticed sh was sporting a dress that had graced the drapers window in town just that morning. Geordie glanced around anxiously hoping none of his mates were having a drink at the bar before the parish cup match. His neck glowed like a boiled lobster and the tight tie was not being favourable to his complexion which was between the tie and his nervousness rapidly turning a lovely shade of pillarbox red. Thankfully Jeanie was sitting with her back to us so Dauvit caught his eye and slowly slackened of his own tie and loosened the button under it , Geordie sighed in relief and copied what he had seen Dauvit do. The one thing I would say Is on an important date consider your choices on the menu carefully Partan taes and spaghetti bolognaise was not perhaps the wisest of choices. Apart from the awkwardness of trying to eat the partan taes with a knife and fork and the shirt not being quite so pristine and white after a tussle with the spaghetti the date must have gone well for the young couple were wed the following year after the county show of course for farm folk are far to busy for weddings in the run up to the show.
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Post by sandrainsydney on Jul 20, 2018 15:51:52 GMT
I can see it!
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maeve
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Post by maeve on Jul 24, 2018 21:33:39 GMT
Hi Megan and Sandra,
I too was following the story with pictures in my head!
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Post by meganl on Jul 25, 2018 7:12:32 GMT
It is so strange to think they have been married 26 years this September
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maeve
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Post by maeve on Jul 25, 2018 11:36:39 GMT
Strange and wonderful!
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Post by meganl on Jul 28, 2018 13:30:29 GMT
wasn't sure where to put this
Cold callers
You came to my door and knocked. Slowly I made my painful way and answered it, you handed me a tract and began to preach. You did not ask me how I was. You did not ask if you could help. You showed no interest in me. You did not ask if I had a faith. This was about YOU YOUR faith being seen YOUR goodness being noticed YOUR religiousness being made manifest.
You came to my door and knocked. Slowly I made my painful way and answered it, you handed me a leaflet and began to talk. You did not ask me how I was. You did not ask if you could help. You showed no interest in me. You did not ask if I followed your party This was about YOU YOUR politics YOUR opinions YOUR status in the party
You came to our doors and knocked YOU did not care about our lives We were only a means to an end. YOU spoke so much you never listened. We are people with the right to be heard. We are the young mother stuck in the house by poverty We are the disabled, the elderly the anxious. We are the lonely, the frightened, the sick. YOU came to our door and knocked. Unless you come to help, to comfort, to listen DO NOT come to our door.
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Post by sandrainsydney on Jul 28, 2018 14:02:40 GMT
so true, thanks for posting it, megan
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maeve
Member
Posts: 1,157
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Post by maeve on Jul 28, 2018 16:15:55 GMT
Megan, this is a perfect home
for your true and beautiful poem.
Thank you!
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Post by meganl on Jul 30, 2018 15:16:27 GMT
People sometimes seem surprised when different areas of the country have the same food with different names. It is not really so surprising since poor folk were very good at using what they had so anywhere women had a grain o flour some fat a wee drop sugar they would bake something to fill up the family.
Fattie cutties
1lb flour 4 tablespoons sugar dash of mixed spice 1 egg ½ lb margarine or butter or if desperate lard pinch of salt 4 oz mixed fruit milk to mix
Rub the fat into the flour and add the dry ingredients mix to a fairly stiff dough with the milk and egg Roll out and cut cooked on a greased girdle or hot plate makes 40. that is the name in Orkney, in Wales they are Welsh cakes and in Newcastle they were called singing hinnies (Hinnies being the Geordie word for girls)
Another on varies little from place to place is Orkney Cheescakes
Make or buy shortcrust pastry make a basic sponge mix get a pot of Jam(Jelly) use the pastry to line a 12 cup bun tin put a half teaspoon of jam in the base then add a heaped teaspoon of sponge mix on top Bake at 350°C/180°F/160°C Fan/Gas 4. for 18-20 minutes As you will notice not a sign of cheese. The Welsh have the good sense to just change the place name so we find Welsh cheesecakes. England was rather more prosaic calling them raspberry and pastry buns. Mind you if you and a few drops of almond essence to the top you have bakewells. my mum used to say "we're aw Jock Tamson's bairns" guess in a country with limited culinary options back then it was at least true of our cooking
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ragdall
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Post by ragdall on Aug 1, 2018 10:55:41 GMT
Megan, The courting story was wonderful.! Your poem, so true and sad.
The recipes look interesting but I'm having difficulty understanding some parts. Are Fattie cutties pancakes or biscuits or something else? I don't know what shortcrust pastry is called in my experience, or what a basic sponge mix is.
I think there may be a little mix up in the C and F temperatures? 350°C/180°F should be 350°F/180°C? I don't understand how the 160C fits in when there is already a C temperature? Perhaps it relates to a type of stove/cooker that I'm not familiar with? Thanks
Maeve and Sandra, it's good to see both of you.
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Post by meganl on Aug 1, 2018 18:03:36 GMT
Fattie cutties are a about ¼ inch or a little more thick I don't know if you have ever had a garibaldi biscuit if not the best I can describe it is a cross between a very dense scone and a pastry they are easy to make and quite filling which I suppose was the purpose.
Short crust pastry could go under a few other names the French is Pate brisee or you may call it pie crust or pie dough
Ingredients 125g/4oz plain flour pinch of salt 55g/2oz butter, cubed 30-45ml/2-3 tbsp cold water
Method Put the flour and salt in a large bowl and add the cubes of butter. Use your fingertips to rub the butter into the flour until you have a mixture that resembles coarse breadcrumbs with no large lumps of butter remaining. Try to work quickly so that it does not become greasy. Using a knife, stir in just enough of the cold water to bind the dough together. Wrap the dough in clingfilm and chill for 10-15 minutes before using. Alternatively using a food processor, put the flour, butter and salt in the food processor and pulse until the fat is rubbed into the flour. With the motor running, gradually add the water through the funnel until the dough comes together. Only add enough water to bind it and then stop. Wrap the dough in clingfilm as before and chill for 10-15 minutes before using.
A basic sponge mix is Ingredients Serves: 8 225g (8 oz) self-raising flour. 225g (8 oz) butter, at room temperature. 225g (8 oz) caster sugar. 4 eggs. 1 teaspoon baking powder.
You are right I copied the recipe from someone elses writing, I don't think my oven goes that high just checked it in another recipe uk 190C/170C Fan/Gas 5. so that would be between 370 -375° F
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Post by meganl on Aug 8, 2018 16:39:19 GMT
The auld ways
I remember when almost as soon as you were in the door if you visited someone you were offered a cup of tea. The television was turned of and we spoke and listened to each other.
A time when we played music together, when we recited poetry and told stories on dark winters nights.
A time when if we did not see our neighbour on the street we would go to their door, not to gather gossip about them but see if they needed help, a help we would willingly give without figuring out what we could get out of the deal.
I remember wummin up closes wie a barrel load o weans, yet they always found a bite for an extra mouth or two.
I remember when neither a funeral or a wedding were held in a fancy restaurant. The barn or shed was cleaned out and neighbours dragged in trestles and planks of wood were laid on then for tables. Everyone around brought their wedding tablecloth and china and helped cook food or brew ale to help the young couple celebrate or see a deceased neighbour on their way.
Those days weren't perfect no time is . There was hunger and poverty, rickets and smallpox, so many diseases that are now rarely fatal yet claimed so many lives. Working conditions were harsh, dangerous and with little safety or job protection with folk working in the morning and laid of by tea.
There are things that have improved, but I wonder if we have as people forgotten the art of hospitality and community.
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