Saturday, 28 January 2012
Cooking Contest
It's time we had another cooking contest. It's been so long since the last one I've forgotten who won. Oh yeah, I remember now... it was ol' Martha Murphy, who sadly died last year and took her winning recipes to the grave, poor soul. Well, at least others have a chance to win now. Good luck everyone.
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28 comments:
Never mind competitions, will someone please tell that darn cowboy how to make soup, before he poisons everyone on the porch?
I've got my hand up to be one of the judges..mmm..for the desserts preferably! :-)
Why am I not surprised by this post..... you're a rascal, Mister V. No wonder you winked at me when I mentioned food. Hmmm I might serve up a plate of fish and chips.........
Ooh Miss Diane, to my way of thinking there'll only be one judge!
You want cakes, pastries and goodies, MrV? OK then, I'll get baking.
Well, I ain`t one for cookin`! But I sure got me a receepe fur Whisky stew! If yer in`erested?
Jes one other thing Valance, I will be leavin` soon. Gotta get dried out, afor I start it. So after t`day, I am quittin` the booze! Wish me luck Son?
Woops! Ah'll try to come up with a better comment this time, the last one went all whacky to whut I really meant as I wuz jist tryin' to be funny.
Now, recipe contest? Ya ain't gittin' nuthin' outa me in that regard. The good lookin' half duz all the cookin' around hyar and she keeps her recipes under lock and key. I don't think my soup would even beat the porch soup.
Now that I have one award under my oxter here goes for another!
STEAK AND ONIONS CORK CITY STYLE
Ireland
The open fire blazed half-way up the chimney; in the corner of the kitchen the new Bush wireless with the spectacular green eye played out colourless piano music not resting on any ears.
“I’m sick of that bloody stuff on Radio Eireann”
Said my uncle.
“Whatever happened to the old opera arias they used to play ……. Operas like Maritana ……. now there’s music for ye”
His eyes brightened as he broke into song.
“Now let me a soldier fall upon some open plain”
He stopped abruptly.
“Written by a Waterford man you know …… William Wallace”.
He clutched the black poker from the grate and gave the fire a good stoking before resting his head back on the old armchair again.
“Did you know that Cork City was famous the world over for its love and knowledge of Opera”
I nodded my head.
Ordinary fellows like plumbers, labourers and dockers sang Opera arias in pubs around Cork City that time and no one batted an eyelid.
“Ah but the world has changed …….. And Cork has changed too”.
He paused for a moment and tightly closed his eyes.
By now I was hanging on every word.
My uncle Johnny - a small rotund man with a cigarette voice and a heart as big as Africa was holding centre stage in the tiny kitchen. Behind him my aunt worked feverishly – the New World gas stove rising to the occasion as the smell of steak and onions filled the kitchen and began to stalk our noses.
My nose was young – just seven. My grandfather and grandmother had very old noses.
Johnny always loved steak and onions my aunt muttered into the stove. He was back home in Cork from Birmingham having lived through the war as a bomb-damage worker.
And he was now home with us for good.
As the aromas from the noisy pan tantalised my nose even more I began to think that like my uncle I could get to like steak and onions myself. I was glad I had come to visit them today.
In the half-light on a grey November day everything was bubbling up nicely – boiling water was gently poured on to the chump steak and onions and allowed to sizzle; next a cup of bisto all brown and creamy was added to the pan followed by a fistful of fresh herbs. The sprig of thyme held a special position and was added to the pan all by itself. The whole ritual was finished off with a generous sprinkling of salt and black pepper. The dollop of Colman’s mustard completed the proceedings. All were allowed to settle down and gently simmer.
I was growing hungrier by the second but never opened my mouth to ask how long more it would take - I just sat still and hoped it would hurry along. My aunt opened the yard door just in time to hear Shandon strike out four long bells – the afternoon was nearly done.
Soon my waiting was rewarded as the spuds bursting from their overcoats were spilled onto the large blue Queen Victoria plate and placed on the table in front of the fire. Even Inker the cat was growing hungry as he shifted from his corner and stretched out into the centre of the kitchen.
“You can’t bate those spuds, said my uncle “just balls of flower”. By now the gravy was reducing and this resulted in sending even more intense aromas coasting round the kitchen and sending my senses to fever pitch heights. I pulled my seat up next to my uncle as my aunt laid out the plates before us. The fresh Simcox loaf was sent along to mop up the gravy.
Heaven – no heaven on earth is the way I remember that taste.
My grandfather and my grandmother dozing on their chairs, the fire licking the chimney, my aunt’s bib with the one string forever falling down, the sparkle in the cats eyes and my uncle home in Cork City for good …………………
And me a garsun of seven tasting steak for the very first time.
Hummmm, I didn't win late year so I have to come up with something really really different.
*Miss Housty puts on her thinking cap. Hummmm. Sees Valance.*
"Ah ha! I've got just the thing for winning that contest Cowboy!"
;-) *wink*
How 'bout I start making the soup? Can't say as I am the best cook, but I do know that I don't actually want to "see" the actual varmint, skin and all IN the soup.
Since I didn't win last years cooking contest...I'm entering to win the best 'dressed' cook in the cooking contest....
How's this out fit for ya' cowboy?
*Miss Housty makes a full spin wearing nothing but a pretty white lace apron with a pink bow around the waist. She gives Valance a sweet smile and a wink*
Darn it Miss Frances, you once chewed your way through a whole bowlful of my soup, and I don’t reckon it did you any harm. Other than making you a mite ungracious, maybe. Well, if you think you can do any better now’s your chance to prove it. Poison indeed. Why I never heard such nonsense. My soup is famous. So Miss Patsy says and if ever a woman appreciated fine cooking, it’s her.
Sorry Miss Diane, but Miss Valerie is right – there’s only one judge. That’s how it has to be if this contest is to be run fair and square. Course I might get the boys to help out with the eating, but since it’ll be me that’s handing out the prize money, it’s only right that I pick the winners. Now, what are you gonna enter? I bet you can cook a real mean steak and onions with potatoes and plenty of gravy, ain’t that so? C’mon, tell me I’m right.
Bless you Miss Patsy. You got me slobbering like dog. Cakes and pastries and goodies are fine but don’t forget the simple things like roast chicken and pork, and steak and onions with potatoes and plenty of gravy. Nobody’s cooked anything like that yet, and I reckon it’d be a crying shame if a woman of your caliber wasn’t laying down a marker and putting herself out in front with good chance winning the big prize.
Aww Miss Valerie, I know what you’re thinking but that ain’t how it is. I didn’t want to say anything but the sad and sorry truth is Miss Houston has been spending a lot of time with her folks lately, and I’m just a poor hopeless fella when the little lady ain’t around. Course I do my best, but soup gets tedious after a while and it’s hard to break out of the pan once it sets solid. Me and Nameless ain’t had a jellybean in days, but I still got my pride. The way I figure it a cooking contest gets us something to eat and gives me a chance to reward some of the wonderful women around here. And talking of wonderful women…
Don’t worry, Cheyenne. I wouldn’t touch anything you’ve had your finger in, cooking or otherwise, but you got me curious about that whiskey stew. I’ll wish you luck anytime, but where are you going? And why are you leaving? And why the blazes are you giving up booze? Ain’t been sniffing around those temperance women again, have you?
Oscar, I don’t know what the wacky whiz whuz you’re talking about, your comments always look fine to me. S’ok, I ain’t expecting you or any of the fellas to start making pastries. Just might need you to eat a few, that’s all. And that woman of yours, well, maybe she’d like to try her luck? She can keep the recipe. I’m only interested in what finishes up on the plate.
Howdy Jim. That’s quite a tale. It takes a special kind of woman to look after men folk like that, and your aunt sounds like my kind of woman. Why, if she were to step up here with a plate of steak and onions, my belly would be thinking I’d died and gone to heaven. I just wish we had a few like her around here. My ribs have been poking through for days now. Hell, I’m so hungry I keep looking at Nameless and thinking he’s a four-legged chicken. I can’t give you a prize this time Jim, but you’re welcome to some whiskey. Tell you something though – if I were giving prizes for stories that had me slobbering like a dog, you’d win one for sure.
Sure Miss April, you can make soup, if you think a bowl of hot water and a few measly vegetables is about all I’m worth. Forget that I gave you an Irresistibly Sweet blog award. Forget what it said in the small print about award winners being honor-bound to make me a plate of steak and onions. And forget that I’m a friend in need, who’s fallen upon hard times, who’ll be humble and grateful for any skinny morsel that comes his way. Me and poor Nameless will just have to survive on your soup.
Your outfit, Miss Houston? Looks fine to me, Sugar. Leastways I like the half of it you’re wearing. Give me the strength and I might just do something about it, only the way to a man’s heart ain’t through his pants, it’s through his stomach, so save the wink till later. You can have any prize you want, but right now I need feeding.
Still got me Won't Cook hat on, Cowboy, so feel free to chuck any leftovers my way!
Hang around a little longer Miss JJ, and you can pick my bones with the rest of the buzzards circling around here. Ain't one of them brought me any food. Not a single one. And you... I was looking forward to seeing you again. I was gonna tell you that I'd missed you. But seeing as you've got nothing better to do than stand there and laugh, you'd better start running, 'cause I ain't likely to miss you with a size ten boot up your considerable ass.
Well, Mr. Valance, it is too warm here to make cake (besides I see that's been taken care of a time or two over). Tell ya what I'll do, I'm bringing you some fried deer steaks, mashed potatoes, deer gravy, freshly buttered yeast rolls, homegrown cream crowder peas, and a mess of Turnip greens. I'll even bring you some sweet iced tea to wash it all down with if you want. What do you think?
Ha... I'm wibble wobbling as fast as I can, Cowboy. Not easy, but me finks I can side step then size ten whoppers of yours for a wee while longer!
I think you're an angel Miss Trinity, that's what I think. We'll skip the iced tea though. Just keep those deer steaks a'coming. Better give some to Nameless, too. They way he's looking at Miss JJ he's liable to take a bit out of her anytime.
Wobble all you like Miss JJ. I got better things to do than chase you. You want some of Miss Trinity's iced tea?
As you wish, Mr. Valance. I will bring the tea for anyone who would like some (and I made some special brew for you!). I will have a special plate, just for Nameless. Such a wonderful dog.
Special brew for me? Why thank you Miss Trinity. Hell, you're spoiling me. Nameless? Oh yeah, he's wonderful. Now how about some of that special brew?
hmmmmmm let me think! ah yes I've got it!! mince, tatties and neeps for my entry to the cooking competition....or would you prefer haggis neeps and tatties?
Ann
Howdy Miss Ann. Pleased to meet you. I ain't fussy, I'll eat just about anything. Mince and tatties and neeps and haggis with even more neeps and tatties is fine by me. Hmm, I've never shot a haggis or a neep before. What do they taste like?
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