A sing a long recipe sums up St. Patrick’s day as sign reads in the Guinness factory in Dublin, ” every one is Irish on the 17th of March ?
An exquisitely tender cheese that doffs a cap to our lactose intolerant and diabetic chums and becomes a soft curd that is perfect in both sweet and savoury dishes. By colour it has a Geisher meets polished plaster with alabaster undertones. A little taster for our friends who are unaware that you might smile too.:-
My Great Grandparents and much adored Mothers Mother came from Midleton, Co Cork, Ireland. The red hair (and in her case matching Maureen O’Hara temper) followed through the family line. Endless wit and dry humour, diminutive in stature, feisty by nature. Her riot of flaming red locks were tamed to a ‘roaring 20’s’ semi shingle bob as she shocked all and sundry with her style. Drop waist flapper styled dresses and cloche hats were her cutesy look in the day. A historian who became a groovy Grandma who knew all the risqué words to Paddy McGinty’s Goat, by heart, and used to lark about and rule break with her only Grand daughter.
My litre of goat milk boiled over so it’s definitely pasteurized! To my chagrin 25° belted to boil within a nano second. Some irresponsible idiot must have turned the gas up instead of down when her phone rang.
An hour later it had returned to 25°, the required temperature so a table-spoon of rennet and the same of fresh lemon juice went to work immediately.
I made the most of the hour that one would normally leave it to do its thing, utilising the time to find the whereabouts of a new pack of muslin. I eventually used the old, surely the new one will only come to light once I don’t need it?
Time for the mercurial dripping apparatus. Utility room sink, tap, string, ribbon, muslin, colander, kitten err no not kitten. Just a rubber-band in honesty.
Lengthy conversation with Kitten.
“Yes I know it smells nice. Out of here please.”
“Yes, I know kittens think it belongs to them. Out now please?”
“No, it’s not an adventure playground in your en suite! Come along out you go.”
Much paw stomping and mewing later.
Thinks: If you think this is bad, just wait until you meet Uncle Vet in a few weeks young fellow me kitten, then there will be something to mew about. After that you can go outside and meet Delores the Main Coon variety cat. She is reminiscent of an 1940’s actress with a tired fur coat and well-worn, elbow length, velvet gloves. She visits and they end up chatting via a glass door.
“No, I’ve no idea why Delores has such knotted undies, I’m just glad I don’t have to sort her situation.”
Kitten returns to ‘our’ office and types:
Young British blue seeks mature female Main Coon for Mrs Robinson experience, ladder available.
“No, you can’t put an advert in the post office window?”