Late fowl

The chicken we did not, in the event, take on Christmas Day, met its fate on New Year's Day, following the evening outing noticed at reference 1.

Started the proceedings with a run around Jubilee Way. Low bright sun, southerly breeze. Town very quiet with no signs that I noticed of excess activity the night before. Few cars on the road. Few cyclists and even fewer joggers - which surprised me. I had thought New Year's Day would be a big day for exercise freaks.

Spot of 'King's Favour' Sauvignon Blanc from the famous Marisco winery (via Majestic) by way of an apéritif, taken with the latest number of the NYRB, confusingly dated 13th January. A good number as it happens, with more than usual of interest to me. I probably took a look at the article about 'Ulysses' by Anne Enright, from which I learned that this year is the centenary year, a fact confirmed by my copy from 1949, reprinted from the Bodley Head edition of 1937, the first unlimited edition published in the UK, originally sold by Thurnam's of Carlisle. About whom Bing turns up reference 2, published just about a year ago, excerpt snapped above. New Year's resolution (probably not valid for not having been timely or properly made): read the book again. To which end, I have been dipping a bit, but I somehow doubt that I will get through very much of it. Oddly enough, a lot of it seems dated for the same reason as the contemporary but rather different Aldous Huxley (another exile, of whom more, very shortly): all that ostentatious flaunting of learning and knowledge. A fair bit of which, according to Enright, is mistaken. Or careless readings of the Dublin newspapers and directories to which Joyce subscribed in order to keep up his knowledge, as it were. But there are still lots of bits which are very funny.

Having done full-on stuffing for the cold pork, we opted for fowl lite on this occasion, just draping some of the full-strength bacon over the chicken, rather than over the stuffing. Plus bread sauce lite, BH not having any cream to hand (bottom left in the first of the snaps above), which served well enough. Roast parsnips, boiled potatoes, boiled cabbage. We did almost exactly half of the chicken, rather more than usual. For once, BH passed on the parson's nose, usually a closing tit-bit.

Taken with our last bottle (for now anyway) of the Alsatian wine from the Pierre Frick which we have been taking from time to time since Terroirs went offline - permanently as far as King William Street is concerned. Bottle visible top right. Still very good. See reference 3. Maybe time to visit the online offie of Guildford South again. That is to say, reference 5.

The Christmas Pudding being by then a memory, BH went for mince meat and apple pie to follow. With hot custard, made as it should be from powder from Bird's. Did about half the pie as well.

Accompanied by some discussion about the difference between pies and tarts. I had vaguely thought that tarts were flat and pies were deep, by BH was firm that a pie was anything with a pastry top. Having a pastry bottom, or not, was irrelevant. Although to my mind, those things often served in public houses, that is to say highly flavoured meat stews microwaved in a small, deep bowl with a slab of pasty dumped on top, should be disqualified.

Followed by the last of the festive chocolate, the traditional chocolate orange, hidden in its knitted overcoat in the snap above. For once it fell apart without needing the traditional sharp blow with the ball pein hammer which did feature last year, as noticed at reference 4.

Closing the proceedings with a spot of higher grade Calvados from Majestic.

A little later, we moved onto Scrabble, which I won by a respectable margin on a low combined score.

It does not look, however, if I succeeded in placing the seven letter word snapped here, from the closing stages of the game. A coup which would, as a seven letter word, have netted me 60 or more points, even without any doubling or tripling enhancements.

And so onto the rest of 2022.

The remains of the fowl were rested on the Sunday and then mostly consumed cold on the Monday, with the traditional boiled vegetables. Chicken soup, with a little extra bacon (blanched not stirred) and featuring (for a change) turnip rather than cabbage, on the Tuesday, with the remains furnishing my lunch on the Wednesday. Fowl over.

PS: I was impressed how much the cut turnip smelt of cabbage, particularly say the stalk part of a white cabbage. Checking with Wikipedia, the source of the snap above, I find that they are indeed all related, all members of the Brassica genus. It also stuck in my mind that one can eat turnip tops; perhaps a left-over vegetable used by the poor country folk of old. According to Wikipedia again, particularly in the US of old. While our turnips were bought from the market, on the occasion noticed at reference 7.

References

Reference 1: https://psmv5.blogspot.com/2022/01/public-bar.html.

Reference 2: ‘Exceedingly Obnoxious to others in the Trade’: Carlisle Bookseller, Printer and Publisher Charles Thurnam (1796–1852) - Peter Colling - 2021.

Reference 3: https://psmv4.blogspot.com/2021/03/pfaffenheim.html.

Reference 4: https://psmv4.blogspot.com/2021/01/new-year-festivities.html.

Reference 5: http://lescaves.co.uk/lescaves-home.

Reference 6: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Turnip.

Reference 7: https://psmv5.blogspot.com/2021/12/two-pounds-of-dates.html.