Late ...

... but better than never ... Right?
The Brown Mouse festive feast of goose, good wine, and a pretty decedent trifle.

The goose was rubbed, inside and out, with some salt, pepper and thyme. Then we stuffed as many oranges we could fit up it's bum and held the poor thing shut with spikes & string (at least it had a good life beforehand).
The stuffing in the pumpkin was an excellent idea, not well executed. Underneath that moist delicious looking top was ... dry sawdusty stuffing. Looks like the instructions on the packet should have read, mix with water or sausage or SOMEBLOODYTHING, before stuffing. Oh well, we live and learn. Pumpkin tasted pretty good I must say.
The spuds, simply cooked beneath the goose, it's drippings bathing the spuds beautifully. Then, blasted with crisping heat while the poor goose rested from it's ordeal.
That Trifle, wonderful, and all those berries, nom, nommity, nom, nom, nom.
Wine, a rare treat of sparkling black Shiraz from Rockford and an elderly (in a good way) Hunter Valley Shiraz from Saddler's Creek.
And the next day Mum presented me with a jar labeled "Goose Grease". We shall be having those potatoes again .... and again.

Today is the 24th ...

... We should be singing traditional folk tunes by the sea.
We should be feasting on seasonally festive goose.
We should be sleeping the sleep of the fat and just in the biggest bed in the Shire.
We will do that, except the singing, tomorrow.
Today we go here, to eat a dinner of ... well just look and see.I'm wearing a new green frock to compensate.

Today I made shortbread ...

... lemon shortbread.
Go check my Twitter stream for the pictures I'm too lazy to move over thisaway!

Snack ?

..... Me: "Snack?"
He: "Ooo, what's this?"
Crunch, crunch, crunch."Chocolate covered rat poo."
Crunch, crunch, crunch.
"No, really, what are they?""Chocolate covered rat feces. Really."
"Bollocks."
Crunch, crunch, crunch.
"What are they?""Brain of rodent, lightly covered in rich, dark chocolate!"Crunch, crunch, crunch.
"No, no they're not .... Really?"I'll never tell!

Day 5 ...

... Today I went shopping. From that little lot I will be whomping up a nice Coq au vin so that Mr Brown can say "Coq" several times and chuckle. He's such a boy!
Last night we went out for dinner after the "boys" came back from unpacking, repairing and sailing their boats. They got back very late and so we ate very late (actually Mr Brown & I ate at our typical munching time but some of the others were a little freaked by the 'European' dining hour).
As we sat outside, by the lake the wind got a little wild, waves started thrashing themselves up against the shore and the dock and sheet lightening lit up the sky. And it cooled down, o thank goodness it cooled down.We headed home just as the rain started, which meant the gelato shops were all CLOSED! Which meant I could not have yet another scoop of my new favourite, a sort of slightly sour cherry syrup swirlled in vanilla, Amarena! Mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm #nom

Birthday fun ...

... and some truly terrible food photos!
The festival that is the month of June really got going yesterday.Despite the fact I went to work. Work was made bearable by a wonderful morning tea, complete with home-made chocolate brownie cake and an extra long lunch.
Dinner, at our second-choice, Aria, was wonderful. You'll have to excuse the quality of the photographs, they were taken using Mr Brown's blackberry in wonderful dining conditions but terrible picture conditions.
First up we had amuse-bouche, a two-toned soup. Then came the pretties.
I had the Marron special with teeny wee gnocchi, dainty cubes of vegetable and, of course, foam.

Mr Brown had the Scallops, spiced and roasted with glazed witlof, pistachios and dried apricots.

Mr Brown won that round.
Then I had the Venison, with savoy cabbage, poached quince and blood sausage, which I ate. Yes, I ate blood sausage, I find it hard to believe and to admit. It was delish.

Mr Brown had the lamb which came with potato gratin, Chinese artichokes, wild mushrooms and asparagus. He was very kind and let me eat two of his mushrooms. They were fresh Morels, they were amazing. Despite the mushrooms, I won that round.
Because we are piggie wigs, we had two side dishes the truffled mash and the beetroot, grape, goat cheese and caper salad. We finished them all.
Dessert, well, I had a passionfruit soufflé with white chocolate ripple ice cream. When placing the dessert in front of my our charming waiter said "careful, that's very hot". So I touched the handle, of course I did. He was right. It was VERY hot.
Here's another shot, so you can see my lovely new posh frock. I'm very much in love with this posh frock, it may well become my favourite.True to form, Mr Brown had the chocolate dessert. Valrhona tempered Manjari chocolate with salted peanuts, golden raisins and a caramelised banana ice cream. There was a pretty twist of toffee on a piece of banana too, I was allowed a nibble because it was my birthday.And then there was MORE dessert, petits fours.Fuller than butchers' pups we wandered ouside to see the delight that is the festival of lights put on in celebration of my birthday by the City of Sydney.
I sat in the light chair in my once-a-year coat.I stood next to a giant condom.And then we watched the light show at customs house., which Mr Brown kindly arranged for my benefit.
Sunday sees my parents popping down for a visit and a nice lunch of Cotechino with lentils and roasted winter vegetables.
Monday we have off for the Mouse Birthday Public Holiday. No need to thank me, you're welcome.

The harvest ...

... the pomegranate harvest.
Persephone only managed to bring one fruit to full ripeness this season.Only one, but she's only young, and it's lovely. Full of sweet-tart and crunchy seeds, just like it should be. My hopes are, as she matures, the seeds will become a deeper, ruby red. And fuller, inside was mostly medulla (pith).Still, not a bad first effort Persephone, not bad at all.

The Brown Mice are not into Valentine's Day ...

... we are not particularly keen on PDAs.
We are not what is known as a 'romantic couple'.
So, we don't send one another flowers or chocolates and we certainly don't go out for dinner on what is actually the worst day of the year to eat out (all those fixed-price set menus, all those restaurants pushing you out the door at 9:30 so they can squeeze in a second sitting,ugg).
Still, it's become a bit of a tradition that I make something for dessert.
The same thing, the Anti-Valentine's Day Strawberry Shortcake.Quick, simple, it can be made on a work night. And SO 1970s, the recipe is from one of my mum's Women's Weekly Cookbooks. She made me a photocopy of the recipe when I left home.I guess she knew I'd need it some day.

New pots ...

... I didn't do the xmas sales again this year.
The crowds, the pressing humanity, the desperation, I hate it so.
So, I popped online to one of my favourite kitchen accoutrement emporia and bought myself a couple of pots.
Now, the danger of on-line shopping is you can't actually see or feel the thing before you buy it. You may have seen the item in real life and thought to yourself, "yes, that's exactly what I need". Ah, memory, you are a notoriously unreliable bitch.So, while my 2 new pots are beautiful, they are ... fucking HUGE ... and I've nowhere to put them.We need a new kitchen is what we need, stat!Seriously, if you smashed them a bit you could fit 2 whole chookies in that green one!

I forgot to pack Rupert ...

... so I've no photos to show you of our seasonal festive feast.
You'll just have to believe me when I tell you the duck crisped and crackled up a treat. The pieces looked lovely on their beds of tiny lentils with just a ball or 2 of the pickled pear (which was declared piquant and delicious).
Mr Brown was given a blood pressure self testing machine (backstory, my dad has one and the first thing Mr Brown does upon walking in the door of my parents' place is say hello, then he pulls out the machine and tests his blood pressure, then he brags about his fabulous blood pressure). I think he must have used it 16 times in 10 minutes, we made him wear it and self test throughout his consumption of the lion's share of the tiramisu. There's a photo of that on mum's dainty wee camera, don't forget to email it Ma!
We went to the Maianbar carols again for some traditional seasonal folk tunes, we ate too much, several times over. We exchanged a few, well chosen gifts, but did not go overboard in a disgusting display of over-consumerism. Except for the uncomfortable (read fucking painful) trip there and back it was all most wonderful indeed.
Mr Brown and I exchanged boxes - mine will keep pens in it and his will keep his cufflinks safe from thieving, velvet grey paws.
My dad dug out his old fountain pen, a Parker 51 Aerometric, and gave it to me. Apparently when his was a "flash young man" some 50 or so years ago, he liked to sign with a fountain pen.
That's been my little task for the last day or so, flushing crusted, 50-year-old, peacock blue ink out of the pen's bladder. THAT I have pictures of!
I've also got pictures of Tigger playing with the toy her grandparents gave her and Ping. Ping's not so keen but Tigger thinks it's the bees knees. Pictures of that too! It is, afterall, time to return to my more traditional mad-cat-lady blogging.

Tonight I made ...

... the traditional seasonal festive pesto ... and ... Spiced Pickled Pears, to go with the duck confit.
Pesto is a lovely light dinner for after a couple of days of heavy, protein-based meals.
The pickled pears are a new treat. A tweety friend pinged me a review of duck confit from some local dining den and that place served their confit with pickled pears. A quick google and I thought I'd give it a go, since we had all the necessary in the cupboards (I used a 'mashup' of the deliaonline, cooks.com and BBC Good Food recipes - because I'm hip to where it's at dudes!).
Well, except for pears. So I popped down to DJ's food hall at lunchtime because it's closest (though my sister has been known to tell folk I do all my shopping there, it's just not true!). I could see no pears, so I asked the lady behind the exotic fruits, "do you have any pears?". She asked how many I required and popped out the back to see what she could find.
A seasonal miracle then occurred, because the pears were "ugly" she gave them to me! It's the nicest thing that's happened in a shop this horrible festive season.
I'll tell you one thing about pickling pears, it sure gives the sinuses a good clearing out!
There will be no pictures, I'm tired and my back aches.
Tomorrow I make lasagna for our dinner with the neighbours and then I'm not cooking again for the rest of the year!

First buy your duck fat ...

... because honestly, who among us is really the sort of frugal French housewife who has this sort of thing lying around?
Mr Brown picked these up, last weekend, when I had a broken back. I write very specific instructions on the shopping lists when Mr Brown does the food forage solo. For the duck fat the list was particularly explicit, "2 JARS duck fat, French, NOT Luv-a-Duck, no no no".Then rinse and dry your duck, leg & thigh pieces. Salt them well. Smash up some garlic and thyme with some salt and spread over the duck.Cover well, weigh down and pop in the fridge for at least 12 hours.The next day, clean off the pieces of the salt and herbs. Dry well. At this stage in proceedings cats want to be your BEST FRIEND!Pop a little sliced garlic, thyme and some bay leaves in the bottom of your baking tray.Place the duck on top, in a single layer.Realise that although it's December, it's actually cold today and the duck fat is solid. Gently heat in a small pot. Use a pot you've used and trusted for at least 20 years, otherwise it may explode, kill the oven and totally fuck up your weekend. I know of what I speak.Pour over the liquid fat, it should totally cover the duck. It's a lot of fat, it's frightening how much fat it is and how, well, fatty the fat is. Slick is the word that comes to mind. Slick and silky.Cover the pan with tin foil and carefully, very, very carefully pop it in the oven. O, yes the oven, have that pre-heated to about 150c. Try not to trip over your cats, they are likely to be circling like furry sharks.
Then, 2 to 3 hours later, pull out the duck. Again, very, very carefully. If the meat is coming away from the bone, it is done. Then take your mid-19C antique French Confit Crock ... or your 1990s, Springmount Pottery Soup Tureen ... ... and start placing the duck inside.Layer carefully with the bones pointing up, it makes getting them out, when the time comes, much easier. Now, the tricky bit. You need to ladel over the duck fat from the pan, but without any of the delishious cooking juices in it. I spoon out until it the juice starts creeping onto the spoon. Then pour the rest into a jug and pop it in the fridge for a bit. The fat goes right to the top and hardens so you can just scrape it off. The juices set to jelly and can be used for soup or risotto later.
Cover carefully and pop into the fridge until needed.
It is said the duck can be preserved this way, safe for eating, for months. We never keep it around long enough to find out.
To be continued ....

On Friday night I killed our stove ...

... I was going through the motions of making Spinach Rice Gratin, to go with our lovely bits of salmon for dinner. I popped a small pot of water on the stove to bring to the boil and stepped outside to pick spinach & sliverbeet.
Having been outside for only a moment, certainly not long enough for the water to even have begun bubbling, I heard a BANG. Then I heard Mr Brown say a very rude word. Then he called me inside and showed me this.A fault in the pot created a hot spot which burned right through. The water leaked out into the stove element, flooded it and BANG. Sparks flew and the stove died.Twittering helped calm my frazzles, laughing about shit like this helps ease the pain. I was, however, actually quite distressed, as I'd planned to make duck confit on Saturday, for the annual seasonal feast with my parents.Nothing worked and nothing seemed to fix it. At first glance it appeared it wasn't the fuse and I had pictures of violently-expensive-weekend-emergency electrician visits and/or stove shopping the week before xmas! I do not like the shops at this time of year.I did not sleep well that night.Still, tomorrow is always another day and closer inspection led Mr Brown to believe the 16-million-year-old fuse may actually be the problem after all. A call though to my dad and a visit to the evil that is Bunnings, and HUZZAH, the stove lives to cook another day.The moral to this story? Marry a chap who's good with his hands *wink*