The domestic jinx strikes again!

WE’RE GOING through one of our domestic appliances hiccup sessions, when not one, not two, not even three things go wrong, but four!

First it’s our Sony micro hi-fi system which packs up – still under warranty I’m glad to say, but I just hope Curry’s don’t give me any grief over it – their customer service, I know from experience, has much need of improvement.

Next, it’s our flame effect gas fire that’s packed up – just about a month after its annual service. The fire’s got one of these “lifetime” guarantees, but with enough small print and exclusions attached to it that I wonder if it’s actually worth anything. We shall see.

Not to be outdone, our new central heating boiler is behaving a little oddly, too. I’ve set the timer to some hours convenient for us, only to find it’s coming on outside those hours! It’s as if the thing has got a mind and will of its own. I won’t call anybody in yet, for this – I’ll play around with the timer for a bit and see if it’s some error in programming on my part, but I’m beginning to feel a little frayed.

Last, but not necessarily the least, a light bulb blows in one of our table lamps – the globe part of it literally pops out of it’s mount, and the screw fitting gets wedged in so tightly it takes me nearly an our to prise it out…

I’m convinced there’s a domestic jinx haunting us…

Vinous bit of business

“WOULD anyone want to buy five bottles of Riesling for twenty pounds?” asks Big Robert, the manager/chef at the Pub.

Five bottles for twenty pounds? Sounds tempting. Depending what sort of Riesling it is, of course.

“What sort is it?” I ask.

“I don’t know,” says Robert. “I found it at the back of our wine store. I’ve had it on special offer for ages, but no one is buying. So, for today only, five bottles, twenty quid. I’m losing money, but what the hell!”

I tell him I’m interested, but I need to know what it is. “I’m not buying some Austrian tractor fuel,” I say.

Rob waddles off – he waddles rather than walks, so big a man is he – and comes back with two different labels, both German. One of them he opens, and pops it into an ice bucket.

“Birthday present for PD!” he announces, dropping it on our table, along with three glasses. “Cheers!” he says, waddling off.

We sup the wine – and it’s excellent. We can’t decipher the label, unfortunately – our knowledge of German wines is somewhat limited – but our interest is definitely awakened.

I glance at My Good Lady and she gives me the nod.

“Okay, I’ll buy!” I say.

And so, we bring home our spoils. We open a bottle this evening – a Valckenberg Riesling 2005. Well-chilled, it quite sup-able, although we find it’s a little tired as white wines go.

Still for the price we’ve paid… As I say to Rob: “Nice doing business with you!”

Of wasp stings and TV shows

THE GERIATRIC’S Corner is fuller than it has been of late – one or two of the Pub’s Friday crowd have reappeared.

Mr P, the music teacher, comes over to tell us he had to go to A & E at the local hospital this morning. “A wasp flew into my mouth and stung me on the inner lip!”

The result was a dramatic allergic reaction – first the side of his face swelled up, then his neck and part of his shoulder!

A colleague of his at school took a photo of him: PD remarks, “My God! You look just like the Botox man!”

“It felt like it,” says Mr P. “They rushed me straight through A & E and gave me an injection to counter the effects of the wasp sting. It was a close call, though. I could have died!”

On a more positive note, though, Mr P is off to buy a bottle of Baileys Irish Cream for Sunday evening, and I can guess the reason – the new season of Desperate Housewives is due to begin on C4 on Sunday.

This is a little ritual with Mr P and his wife – they sup Baileys while watching their favourite TV show.

Mr P cannot praise the programme highly enough: “I have all the first six seasons on DVD – I’ve only seen half of them yet. But it’s really wonderful,” he insists, “you ought to try it!”

Maybe we will, although without the Baileys.

Some of the others pooh-pooh any American import, though – they just won’t give anything from across the Atlantic a chance. “It’s all rubbish!” says Aircraft Steve dismissively. “All those shows are full of Yanks in their glossy lifestyles.”

I have to take issue with him there; “Did you never watch M*A*S*H?” I ask.

Steve admits he did, and we spend a happy few moments reminiscing over some of the wonderful characters of this truly ground-breaking TV series, by turns comic and dark in its portrayal of the realities of serving in a Mobile Army Surgical Hospital during the Korean war. Hawkeye, BJ, Radar, Colonel Potter, Hot Lips, Clinger… we still remember these people with genuine affection.

“Yeah, you’re right,” admits Steve finally, “maybe it isn’t all rubbish."

A special place for Christmas

YOU CAN tell Christmas is on its way by the slew of leaflets and posters advertising festive meals that are appearing in pubs and restaurants all over the place.

We’ve got our own little collection, in preparation for our Christmas Day lunch out.

No question about it, you have to book early for the big day – the better places get filled up months in advance, leaving only the more dubious or indifferent available.

We’re determined to try and find something a little better than last year’s venue.

I’m not a difficult man to please, generally; roast turkey with the trimmings does me very nicely.

Not exactly rocket science, you would think, yet it amazes me how many so-called professional cooks can’t get it right.

Which reminds me, have you been watching Masterchef: the Professionals (BBC 2) this week?

Amazing how many can’t even get basic culinary skills right.

All right maybe you don’t expect the standards of Michel Roux Jr., one of the judges, from these contenders, but some level of competence at least is surely required.

I watch these professionals open-mouthed with disbelief.

Errors in the preparation of simple vegetables, serious faults in the making of such basic sources that even a first year student ought to know how to do, and presentations that end up looking more like car crashes than elegantly served dishes…

I hope never to dine in one of their establishments.

All the more reason to find that special place for Xmas early!

Wok triumphant

IT’S ANOTHER stir-fry day. And of course, as champion stirrer, it falls to me to sweat over the wok.

I do us Ken Hom’s recipe for egg fried rice – oddly, something I’ve never tried before.

My Good Lady has already boiled up some long-grain white rice and we’ve allowed it to go cold.

I beat an egg into some sesame oil, then stir-fry some roughly chopped onions in smoking-hot groundnut oil. I toss in the egg mixture, and then tip in the rice and stir the whole lot vigorously for about 3 minutes.

Finally, I add some diced cucumber, peeled and seeded, a good spoonful of sweetcorn and a splash of chilli oil.

Five minutes later, I’m serving up, to accompany a ready-meal of tomato marinated chicken which MGL has warmed up the microwave.

Not at all bad: we both attack it with gusto!

Another triumph for my trusty old wok!

Harvest time

WITH THE vegetable harvest safely gathered in – indeed, most of it now safely consumed – I take the opportunity of a dry day to go out and uproot our tomato plants.

I’ve still got some purple sprouting broccoli in my patio containers – but they shall be out for the winter, ready for harvesting next spring.

I feared I might end up with a glut of tomatoes, but except for a few late-ripening ones, most of them have gone, with my Black Russians definitely being top of the tomato pops.

I’ve still got a few green Moneymakers, wrapped up in bags with rotting bananas – the bananas, as I understand, give off a gas which helps the toms to ripen.

Anyhow, it’s my experimental cook session later, and I do us one of my stir-fries, a beef Penang, using up some spare rump steak and some left-over coconut milk, all cooked quickly with Thai red curry paste, fish sauce and brown sugar.

Most enjoyable.

This evening, My Good Lady suggests opening a bottle of Riesling, a small consolation for winning nothing on the National Lottery again!

Ah, well…

Enjoyable evening

THE FOUR of us are enjoying a Cantonese meal at Ricky’s.

It’s Lyn’s birthday treat, and PD invited us to come and help celebrate the evening with them.

The food, as usual, is excellent: My Good Lady and I both select a chicken and mushroom dish along with some plain boiled rice.

Our technique with the chop sticks is much admired; “If I tried to use them,” says PD, “I’d still be here at midnight!”

And he goes on to tell of how our friend, Dick Gobble, insists on using sticks, with the result that the front of his white shirts end up covered with food by the end of the evening.

After the meal, the restaurant brings out a surprise birthday cake – a tiny chocolate one, topped with six candles – one for each decade.

The waiters then join us is a spirited rendition of “happy birthday to you” – and we make sure that Lyn is well and truly embarrassed!

An enjoyable evening for one and all.