Butter Making

There is  of course more than a hint of smugness implied by dropping the line “I make my own butter” into conversation. But I just can’t help it and am delighting in reactions. 

To be honest it’s actually very easy to make and in the time it takes to nip down to the shop for a pound you can whip up a bit of your own. All you do is pour cream into bowl. Whip and then keep on whipping past the point you would normally go to for dessert. Just keep going and eventually the butter milk and butter will split into liquid and solid. Pour out buttermilk and keep for baking with.

The butter will then need to be washed. To do this you will need ice cold water. Throw a few cubes of ice into a jug of tap water. Then work the water through the butter, use a spatula for this and not your hands as they will bring the temperature up. You will need to do this several times until the water comes clean. 

Keep your eyes peeled in flea markets etc for those lovely old butter paddles because they make beautiful work of bringing the butter together into a loaf.

Add salt if you like salted butter and I have added wild marjoram for extra flavour. 

A half litre of cream yields about a half pound of butter.

Go on join me in smugness.

Tailtu Dinner, 31st October Oiche Shamhain

A slow dinner inspired by foraging expeditions to little patches of urban wilderness  and a nostalgic nod to a vintage cookbook, Maura Lavertys “Full and Plenty”. 

Drinks are served at 7:30 and dinner in and around 8, meandering towards the witching hour. 

Ghost Stories and other Halloween appropriate conversations will be encouraged.

Space is limited. All enquiries to takingaleaf@gmail.com.

Sloes

I set off today with rose-hips in mind. I imagined a nice big bag of them and in my mind had them already lightly smashed and added to apple cider vinegar. I knew exactly where to go as I had spotted masses of them from the just over a wall on what looked like  a pretty accessible spot, the other day while I was out for a cycle. Accessible spot proved completely inaccessible and I could spy the rose-hips tantalisingly  ahead through thick bushes and brambles.

But just as I was about to give up and head off my eyes focused in on some little black yeasty beauties, the fruits of the blackthorn our native plum. Still deliciously bitter with a hint of sweet they will remain so until frost gets hold and  releases some sugar. They can be hard to see on the bush but once you notice one cluster others miraculously appear and I soon had a half bag full. Delighted with myself.

August

I have made several attempts over this month to sit down and write some observations about the month of August and now it’s the very last day. Better late than never. 

Lughnasa as this month of year was called in ancient times was one of the most important festivals of the year. A time of gathering together and celebrating the hard work of the summer and the start of the harvest season. Mountains were climbed in veneration of the god Lu who lends his name to the festival. Dancing merriment and feasting were also associated as well as stories and legends. 

There is a stillness in August a rest after the peak growing time reached in July. It’s a quieter time, a time to observe the beginning of the autumn cycle. A crispness in the morning and a gradual change in the colour palate from green to yellow gold red and brown. Summer can stretch out and meander here but always with the promise of woollen jumpers and warm fires not far ahead. It’s a time to plan and think about preserving pickling and jam making. Jars and bottles collected over the past few months will soon be put to good use and shelves and presses will be filled with fortification for the darker months.