Duck Raman

I adapted this recipe from the book Wagamama: Feed Your Soul, which is a recipe sourcebook of the famous Japanese restaurant chain. The original recipe calls for cod, but I substituted this with duck and it worked perfectly fine. There are a number of raman variations in the book, which also includes a host of fresh favourites, plant-based creations, rice & noodle dishes, sides, sauces and marinades. One of the advantages of this particular recipe is that it required pak choi, and I had a fresh batch from the garden.  

Ingredients:

4 duck fillets
3 tablespoons vegetable oil
200g soba noodles
200g pak or bok choi
500ml Vegetable Stock (or use a good-quality stock cube)
2 teaspoons light soy sauce
1 teaspoon oyster sauce
1 tablespoon fish sauce
1 tablespoon white miso paste
2 teaspoons mirin 1 tablespoon soy sauce
2.5cm piece of ginger, peeled and grated
1 tablespoon sesame oil garnish
2 spring onions, finely sliced
12 pieces menma
1 tablespoon chilli oil, to taste

Method:

• Place the marinade ingredients in a wide, shallow bowl and stir to combine.
• Add the duck fillets and coat well, then cover and leave to marinate in the fridge for at least 30 minutes.
• Heat 2 tablespoons of the oil in a frying pan or wok over a medium heat until hot and place the duck fillets, skin-side down, into the pan
• Pan-fry the duck for 2–3 minutes until the skin is golden brown, then turn and cook for a further 2–3 minutes on the other side.
• Transfer the duck to a plate and set aside.
• Bring a pan of salted water to the boil and cook the noodles according to the packet instructions, then set aside.
• Add the remaining oil to the wok and stir-fry the pak or bok choi until it starts to wilt.
• Add the vegetable stock to the wok with the soy, oyster and fish sauces and stir to heat through.
• Divide the noodles between 2 serving bowls and add the broth.
• Top with the pak choi and cod and garnish with the spring onions, menma and a drizzle of chilli oil, to taste.

From the book: Wagamama Feed Your Soul: Fresh & Simple Recipes from the Wagamama Kitchen (pp. 137-138). Octopus. Wagamama Limited. 

Malham Cove

Been wanting to do this walk for a while. Real bucket list stuff. I had the pleasure of taking my nephew and introducing him to the art of perambulation. The journey from Lincolnshire was quite long, and we agreed that he would play rap on the way there, and I would play hippy boho retro space raga faery fluff on the way back. It kinda worked out. He was grooving to Mellow Candle and Caravan by the end, so thats a win. 

The map below is pretty much exactly the walk we did, although we started from a field to the south of Malham, which had been temporarily turned into a car park. We walked to Janet's Foss where there were a number of people taking the fresh waters of the falls, then walked up to Gordale Scar although we didn't proceed further that way. It was more of a reccie to see what was involved with the rock climbing/ scrambling. It doesn't look too daunting, although I have read differing estimates of its difficulty level online. One for the future maybe. Anyway we returned the way we came then turned right to walk over the tops, via the limestone pavement, then descended to the amphitheatre of Malham Cove. from there the return was very easy along Malham Beck and through the village back to the car. 

There are options for future walks. Gordale Scar obviously, but also Malham Tarn, to the north of that taking in the Pennine Way, and several other circular walk permutations. We successfully avoided the rain all day and even though it was the school holidays, there weren't too many people around. A tolerable number I would say. The whole valley was alive with the concert of blossoming limestone flowers, joyous acrobatic birdsong, and the certain knowledge that the apex of an English summer had arrived.

Lughnasadh (Lammas)

At Lughnasadh the first fruits of the harvest were cut down and offered to the gods. Celebration circular dances were performed in which the chiefs of the tribes wore horned headpiecesnin honour of hunting and physical prowess, and corncakes were baked in the shape of the corn king, Bel, who was treated as a sacrificial god and eaten. The autumn festival was one of plenty and prosperity, of celebration of the fruits of the earth and its bounty. It was also a time when alliances were arranged and marriages contracted. There was also a Celtic system in which a trial marriage could be entered into at Lughnasadh, and if the union proved unhappy, the contract could be dissolved at Beltain.

From: The Celtic Book of Seasonal Meditations, by Claire Hamilton, 2002. 

Almond, moong and adzuki beans.

Moong dahl with homemade besan (chickpea flour) chapati.

Fresh fenugreek and chickweed salad greens. 

Home harvested kale, kohlrabi, and rainbow chard.

A Lincolnshire harvest.

Peace restored. 

Upper Derwent & Howden Reservoirs

Did an 11-miler yesterday anticlockwise around Upper Derwent Reservoir, having done it clockwise many years earlier. Owing to an horrific motorway closure on the M18 I arrived nearly 2-hours late and my poor walking buddy understandably cried off. But I had a glorious solitary walk which was wonderfully healing in the Hippocratic tradition: walking is the best medicine. Having walked up to the Slippery Stones Pack Horse bridge for my lunch, and in the heat of the day, I took my walking socks off and bathed my feet in the cool running waters of a secluded spot by Bull Clough, which was incredibly refreshing. 

Herbalizing

Here are a few herbal medicine projects I have been carrying out during lockdown: 

This is a respiratory syrup I made up called Family Protector.

It contains Elecampane Root, White Horehound Leaf, tinctures of 

Echinacea, Ginger and Thyme, plus a few drops of Anise essential oil.  

Microgreens planted out, including broccoli, pea, beetroot, red cabbage, radishes, etc. 

Microgreens ready to munch. 

Herbs harvested & drying: Cleavers and Herb Robert.

Herbs harvested & drying: Hemp Agrimony and St. John's Wort.

Drying herbs: Marigold flowers,  Hyssop, Rosemary, plus a spray of Pansies. 

Blackbird Fledgling

To my amazement, in late April I discovered a female blackbird had started building a nest in the shallow honeysuckle hedge in my garden which laid against a trellis. I had only put this structure in place the previous year. Before long there was a clutch of four hatchlings, which whittled down to one, with some unfortunate losses by expulsion from the nest. The final remaining fellow was a lively one, and I saw it jump from the nest much to the alarm of its mother who squawked vociferously. Between them, they hopped about in the ground cover plants in my veg plot and borders for about a week, and after that I didn't see them. I'm assuming the fledgling learnt to fly because I didn't find any dead fledglings around the garden, which is the patrolling cat's usual modus operandi. Below is a good summary of blackbird nest building and rearing from the RSPB:

The normal clutch size is 3-5. Larger clutches are laid in woodland than in gardens. The female incubates alone, and the chicks hatch 13-14 days later. Only the female broods the chicks, but both parents feed them. Chicks in gardens are fed on earthworms when they are available; woodland chicks are fed mainly on caterpillars.

The chicks are ready to fledge at 13-14 days, but if the nest is disturbed, they can leave and survive as early as nine days old. This ability to fledge early is an important anti-predator adaptation. The young birds creep and flutter from the nest, and remain in nearby cover for the following few days.

They are flightless at first, but within a week will have learned to fly. By this time, they begin to experiment with foods, learning by trial and error what is edible. As their skills and confidence grow, they begin to explore their parents' territory and range more widely. The young become independent three weeks after leaving the nest, and leave the natal area shortly after. They are not driven away by the male.

Fledged young are often left in the care of the male, while the female prepares for the next nesting attempt. The last brood of the season is usually divided between the parents, with each adult taking sole care of some of the young.

There are considerable losses at the egg and chick stage, with at best 30-40 per cent of nests producing fledged young. Despite smaller clutch sizes, birds in towns fledge more chicks per nest than birds in the countryside.

From Blackbird Nesting, by the RSPB.

Mint Moth

Been growing some Labiatae (peppermint, spearmint, sage, hyssop, oregano, motherwort) and noticed these charming visitors attracted to them. 

Latin name: Pyrausta aurata
Wingspan: 15-18mm
Conservation status: Common
When to see: Adults fly in two generations - one from Apr to Jun, a second from Jul to Sept.

The mint moth is a day-flying moth, which can be seen on sunny days between April and September (though is sometimes recorded in March and October). As the name suggests, caterpillars of the mint moth feed on plants in the mint family, including spearmint, catmint, marjoram and thyme. Mint moths are a common sight in gardens where these herbs have been planted, as well as in grasslands and wetlands where the foodplants are found.

Info from: 

https://www.suffolkwildlifetrust.org/wildlife-explorer/invertebrates/moths/mint-moth 

Cherry Tree

The cherry trees bend over and are shedding,

On the old road where all that passed are dead,

Their petals strewing the grass as for a wedding,

This early May morn where there is none to wed.

Edward Thomas

In her gnarled sleep it begins

though she seems

as unmoving as the statue

of a running man: her

branches caught in a 

writhing, her trunk

leaning as if in mid-fall.

When the wind moves

against her grave body

only the youngest twigs

scutter amongst themselves.

But there's something going on

in those twisted brown limbs,

it starts as a need

and it takes over, a need

to push

push outward

from the center, to

bring what is not

from what is, pushing

till at the tips of the push

something comes about

and then

pulling it from outside

until yes she has them started

tiny bumps

appear at the end of twigs.

Then at one they're all here,

she wears them like a coat

a coat of babies,

I almost think that she

preens herself, jubilant at

the thick dazzle of bloom,

that the caught writhing has become

a sinuous wriggle of joy

beneath her fleece.

But she is working still

to feed her children,

there's a lot more yet,

bringing up all she can

a lot of goodness from roots

while the petals drop.

The fleece is gone

as suddenly as it came

and hundreds of babies are left

almost too small to be seen

But they fatten, fatten, get pink

and shine among her leaves.

Now she can repose a bit

they are so fat, She cares less

birds get them, men

pick them, human children wear them

in pairs over their ears

she loses them all.

That's why she made them,

to lose them into the world, she

returns to herself,

she rests, she doesn't care.

She leans into the wind

her trunk shines black

with rain, she sleeps

as black and hard as lava.

She knows nothing about babies.

Thom Gunn. 

Both poems from Trees Be Company: An Anthology of Poetry.

Edited by Angela King and Susan Clifford for Common Ground. 

The Green Man

The Green Man is a wondrous and mysterious being who wears many disguises - vegetative, animal, human and superhuman. For the pre-literate world, he embodied the unfolding cycle of greenness and growth, the realm of fields, forests and hedgerows upon which all life depended and without which there could be no food for man or beast. For the civilised world he took other forms; that of a mythological archetype representing the spiritual intelligence of nature; of a character from folklore. personifying the eternal round of the agricultural year; of a mythic hero who transcends death to bring s the wisdom of the Otherworld; of a mysterious challenger who demands that we look again at our connection with the world around us. More recently he has reappeared as a potent symbol of ecological concern.  

The Green Man gives us an opportunity to reawaken to the spirit and intelligence of nature - the nature both within us and around us. But this can happen only if we allow it to, only if we overcome the negative aspects of ourselves that have separated us from the natural world - greed, materialism, too great a veneration of science, and a belief that the earth os ours to abuse however and whenever we wish. It takes courage to face our depredations and sacrileges. It is no longer enough to simply say: I deplore the ruination. Rather we must each take responsibility in recovering a real sense of the sacredness of the earth. 

From: The Quest for the Green Man, by John Matthews. Godsfield Press, 2001. 

Edvard Grieg: The Death of Åse (1875)

Peer before the King of the Trolls.

1936 illustration by Arthur Rackham (1867-1939).

Those who are immersed in deep thoughts stumble easily. So says Ibsen in Peer Gynt. Pity the wistful philosopher. Pity more the unwitting victim of rumination; those drawn into their deepest candlelit and solitary chamber by accident of fortune or artifice. It is for such souls that Grieg’s Åses død was made.

The Death of Åse is a strings lament which rakes at the soul like tortuous winds. It suppurates with melancholy and menace. To allow it in, is to “war with trolls in heart and soul” and go hand in hand with the funereal into oblivion.

“So unspeakably poor can a soul then return

to nothingness in the misty gray.

You lovely earth, do not be angry

that I trampled your grass to no avail.

You lovely sun, you have squandered

your shining sprinkles in an empty cabin.”

~ Peer Gynt: Henrik Ibsen ~

It was in this unwitting state I attended the Bridgewater Hall, Manchester on 2nd December 2021. Emerging bleary-eyed from the isolation of pandemic, and complying with bag checks, mask-wearing and social distancing, we cringed at every stray cough amplified in the auditorium. The evening was entitled Finlandia, a celebration of Scandinavia at the threshold of the winter solstice. The rainswept darkness of the evening was beautiful and totally enveloping.

Edvard Grieg: The Death of Åse (1875)

Finlandia, a selection of Scandinavian repertoire was meticulously performed by students of the Royal Northern College of Music, and included:

Sibelius - Finlandia
Grieg - Piano Concerto
Alfvén - Swedish Rhapsody No.1, ‘Midsummer Vigil’
Sibelius - Valse triste
Christine Hals - Calling the Aurora (Northern Lights Kulning)
Grieg - Peer Gynt Suite: selection

To quote the Bridgewater Hall:

Perfect for winter, this concert celebrates the mystery and beauty of the far North. Two of the most famous pieces by Norwegian Edvard Grieg feature: his musical tableaux for Peer Gynt and his stunning Piano Concerto, with its beautiful central Adagio, which will be performed by BBC New Generation Artist and Terence Judd-Hallé Award recipient, pianist Elisabeth Brauß. Film composer and vocalist Christine Hals, known for her Scandinavian herding call in Disney’s Frozen, brings the unique sound to her ‘Calling the Aurora’. Hugo Alfvén contributes his light-hearted Midsummer Vigil, a symphonic rhapsody that gets right to the heart of his homeland’s folk music, whilst Sibelius is represented by his haunting and melancholy Valse triste and his stirring tribute to his homeland, Finlandia.

Haunting indeed.

Hortus Plantae: Autumnus

A late-season collection of photos by my own hand, to celebrate the autumnal equinox.

Bleaklow Hill & Higher Shelf Stones

Ideal day for a walk up Bleaklow Hill in the Peak District to see the site of the remains of the USAF Boeing RB-29A Super Fortress plane which crashed into a grough just below the summit of Higher Shelf Stones in 1948, leaving all 14 crew dead. The wreckage is strewn over the hillside, loose and available to anyone who is capable of carrying it away. Many of the families find this unacceptable, although there is a memorial and a tasteful plaque. The fact that such an horrific tragedy lies open to time and the elements in this way, gives the site a further desolate beauty, as if it needed it.

In spring, with the larks singing high in a brilliantly clear sky above the subtle reds, browns, purples and yellows of the moor, or in winter under a covering of snow, the peat iron hard beneath ones feet and long blue shadows cast by the low sun, Bleaklow is magnificent. Even when after weeks of rain one ploughs knee deep through clinging black ooze with little to see but the grey mist, there is still satisfaction in the wilderness and the wet, but love it or loathe it, Bleaklow cannot be ignored. 

Between the flanking cities of Manchester and Sheffield, Bleaklow is within an hours drive for several million people, yet this wild upland moor is well named, a wilderness of black peat, bog, and weirdly eroded gritstone. To the north is the trough of the A628, the Woodhead pass, with its chain of five reservoirs supplying Manchester. When built in the mid nineteenth century, this was the largest stretch of man-made water in the world and the two railway tunnels constructed about the same time were the longest anywhere. Southwards the plateau is incised by the lovely Alport Dale and the Derwent Valley whose waters are impounded in Sheffield's reservoirs of Derwent and Ladybower. From the foot of Ladybower, the A57 climbs to the Snake Pass, the first road to be blocked every year by snow heralding the onset of winter. The Snake Pass takes its name from the Snake Inn which was built in 1821. Originally called Lady Clough House, the name was soon changed as a compliment to the Duke of Devonshire, whose coat of arms features a snake.

The walk back to Glossop is down Doctor's Gate which was named after Dr. John Talbot a rector of Glossop, who lived from 1494-1550. The illegitimate son of the Earl of Shrewsbury, he probably used this road to visit his father who had a castle in Sheffield. The gate or way, which was used by packhorses until the new turnpike was built in 1821, followed the line of the old Roman Road which linked the front of Navio at Hope with Melandra at Glossop. The upper section with its intersection with the Pennine Way is the best preserved with upright paving slabs set between kerbstones, though the paving was probably done by seventeenth century quarrymen rather than being of Roman origin.

From: John and Anne Nuttall, 2003. The Mountains of England and Wales. Volume 2: England (2nd Edition). Cicerone. (Walk 13.1 Bleaklow).