One Year On...

Well I’m still here. I actually had the idea to start off with the line “I’m still standing!” but ever since a friend’s Dad once commented that he thought I looked like Elton John it’s soured my relationship with the Pinball Wizard. To be honest I’m not sure who should be more offended Elton or me?!

Anyway it’s almost a year since I was diagnosed with depression, which progressed into a major depressive episode. I suppose the diagnosis was just a way of dotting the i’s and crossing the t’s. It does however put a date on it for my own documenting purposes.

Being still here may not sound much but it makes me happy and please believe me there were times when I didn’t want to be here and never thought I’d be happy again.

A year, it’s a long bloody time but if someone was to ask me what I’ve done this year I wouldn’t be able to say. I know there’s been a lot of rumination and self-loathing. There’s been a fair amount of drinking, although if my doctor asks it’s in moderation. Plus miles of dog walking and more than enough crying for a lifetime.  I’d not worked until recently so on a day-to-day basis the time would drift away into nothingness, it wasn’t laziness more a stagnation.

A constant throughout the year has been the love and support from family and friends. I’ve not always accepted it but it has been very much appreciated.

So I’m back working, Vino’s Kitchen is on hold, it’s been more a case of getting back into a routine and ‘functioning’ (urghh, horrid fucking word) again in society. And No this isn’t part of some ‘Care in the Community’ scheme before any of you ask.

My work history has been chequered to say the least. Let’s just say work and me haven’t always seen eye to eye. The main problem being actually having to do it.

I’m not lazy, though certain ex bosses may argue to the contrary. It’s more a case of not seeing the point of working, especially not everyday anyway.

I always remember at the end of the school year some kids would receive a certificate for 100% attendance, I really couldn’t see the point. I mean going everyday? What for? Why the fuck would you?

I think the problem lies in the fact I always found school and exams easy, whether it was GCSEs, A-Levels or even my degree at University, it was all relatively straight forward. I wrote my final dissertation the night before it was due in and got a 2.1. Not that I’m proud of this, it’s just the way it was and in no way prepared me for the reality of work life.

So actually having to go to work on a daily basis coupled with hating pretty much every job I’ve ever had hasn’t really helped things. It’s not that I’ve grown to hate the jobs I’ve had, I’ve hated them before starting.

I’ve loathed my bosses and in the main the people that I’ve worked with.  Although if you’re reading this and you’re a current or previous colleague I don’t mean you, you’re alright. I’d like to say that it’s not arrogance or an air of superiority over my bosses but it really is. I struggled not to look at them and think they weren’t complete fucktards, most were.

I guess it all harks back to not knowing what I want to do, I still don’t but I know what I won’t do again.  

If you’re interested in knowing what I am actually doing read on.

I work in a school kitchen a couple of hours a day over dinnertime. I’m a kitchen porter so there’s minimal cooking, lots of washing up and I get to serve the kids. It’s the school where N and M go, this in itself has had a varied response from them. M is pleased to see me everyday and N refuses to acknowledge my existence. Thus M gets a large pudding and N gets extra vegetables. Not that I’m childish you understand.

I enjoy working at the school, it feels like I’m doing something quite worthwhile.  The current school cook has been there for 20 years and is looking to retire so I’ve made it clear that I’d like to take over. Plus the cook feeds me a school dinner and does my washing for me. If she wasn’t in her sixties I’d contemplate a little dalliance, she looks after me better than the current Mrs.L (joke!!).

Of course there are a couple of issues, the main being the uniform. I have to wear chef whites, I want to wear a tabard. I reckon I could totally rock a tabard. And contrary to what my friends say, I don’t need to wear a beard net, I think it’s character building for a 5 year old to find a grey curly beard hair in their custard.

Although there is a girl who without fail bursts into tears every time she sees me armed with a jug of gravy. I haven’t worked out if it’s me or the gravy that scares her the most?

I’m also working in a real ale bar in the evenings, I’m the oldest barman in town. This point was proved to me when I was chatting to a colleague.

Now I like to think I’m down with the kids as they say, I know a bit about popular culture, YOLO and all that shite. However after instigating a conversation about music I was left feeling like a proper old fart, I didn’t know a single band she named. Obviously I’m putting it down to her poor taste rather than my advanced years.

To some these jobs may not seem a lot and I’ve been guilty of doing the me thing, thinking I should be doing more but you know what it’s a starting point and I’m ok with that.

The thing is I’m probably the happiest I’ve been for a long time and that’s ok, I’m not worried about being happy I don’t think there’s some payoff to come because things are good at the moment.

So thanks to all those who’ve supported me over this year, whether it’s a text, a call, an email, just reading this old rubbish. It means a lot.

I’m going to finish by doing something I’ve not done in a while and that’s a recipe, it’s where the writing first started and feels appropriate to do it again.

Sticky Toffee Pudding

Until this weekend I’d never made this classic pudding before, I’d eaten plenty but never had a go myself and I have to say it’s really easy. The recipe comes from The Guardian, it’s one of their ‘perfect’ recipes where they test variations and amalgamate to find the best version. Their recipe contains walnuts, mine doesn’t, and I don’t see the point.

Ingredients

Pudding

175g dates, stoned and roughly chopped


1 tsp. bicarbonate of soda


300ml boiling water


50g unsalted butter, softened


80g golden caster sugar


80g dark muscovado sugar


2 eggs, beaten
175g flour

1 tsp. baking powder


Pinch of ground cloves


Sauce

115g unsalted butter


75g golden caster sugar


40g dark muscovado sugar


140ml double cream

1. Pre-heat the oven to 180C. Butter a baking dish approximately 24cm x 24cm.

2. Make the sauce by putting all the ingredients into a pan with a pinch of salt and heating slowly until the butter has melted, then turn up the heat and bring to the boil. Boil for about 4 minutes, until the sauce has thickened enough to coat the back of a spoon. (I stirred it constantly, not wanting to ruin another pan by burning it.)

3. Pour half the sauce into the base of the dish and then put it in the freezer while you make the rest of the pudding.

4. Put the dates and bicarbonate of soda in a heatproof dish and cover with the boiling water. Leave to soften while you make the rest of the pudding.

5. Beat together the butter and sugar until fluffy, and then beat in the eggs, a little at a time. Stir in the flour, baking powder, cloves and a pinch of salt until well combined, and then add the dates and their soaking water and mix well.

6. Take the dish out of the freezer and pour the batter on top of the toffee sauce. Put into the oven for 30 minutes, until firm on top.

6. Heat the grill to medium, and poke a few small holes evenly over the surface with a skewer or fork, and then pour over the rest of the sauce. Put briefly under the grill, this almost gives a crunch to the top. It’s personal preference to do this or not, I wouldn’t. Take your eye off it for a minute to see what the screaming from the other room is about and you’ve fucked up a perfectly good pudding by burning it to a crisp. Best thing to do is pour the sauce over and stick it back in the oven.

Serve with cream, ice-cream, custard or whatever floats your boat, I’d stay away from yoghurt or crème fraiche, I mean if you’re making a sticky toffee pudding you’ve already surrendered to the calorific content, in for a penny and all that.

Enjoy

Ax

Not Quite Four Weddings & A Funeral

So it’s been a while since I last rambled, moaned, whined, ranted or whatever you want to call it. Most of you were probably glad to see the back of the ‘here’s this week's blog – read it if you want’ tweets. Well sorry to disappoint.

I was the never the most prolific blogger, ten posts and bang I was gone. To be honest prolific has never been a word associated with me, thinking back there was that one season for Wigton Moor Under 9’s where I scored about 30 goals. But as they say even a blind squirrel finds a nut occasionally.

Why the hiatus then? Three months and no expletives fired in the direction of TV chefs or councils? It’s not like there hasn’t been plenty of ammunition. Listening to my favourite baking lothario make yummy noises in the direction of a dough-eyed philosophy student can surely only be one more muffin tasting away from landing him in trouble of the Yewtree kind. (See what I did with dough, clever hey?!)

No not even that, which in the past would have given me weeks worth of material, could stir me from my inactivity.

Here goes then.

My last attempt at this blogging lark saw me waiting for the council to make a decision as to whether or not I deserved a place in their market. Well after about four months of little or no contact they finally told me I’d been successful. Not quite the 4-6 week timescale but then did we really believe local government would work to a deadline?

By this time I’d decided to look elsewhere for premises not actually thinking I’d get the place in the market.

The paperwork was signed and my tenure as premier pie maker in Leeds was to begin on 26^th July 2013. Here’s where things took a slight turn for the worse.

This next part of the story isn’t a 'woe is me' cry for attention nor is it some macabre marketing ploy.

Slight turn for the worse may be an understatement, as my Dad died on July 23^rd 2013.

There we have it 3 days before I was due to open the business and on Mrs.L and my 13^th Wedding Anniversary.

Not that these events have any bearing on anything, I mean stating the bleeding obvious but there’s really never a good time to lose a parent.

Though the timing of the wedding anniversary did lead me to wonder if it was the final comment on me marrying a non Jewish girl, I’m joking of course. My parents have always liked Mrs.L far more than they like their miserable grumpy son.

At the point of his death and until very recently everything pretty much stopped, for the first time in a very long time I ran out of words. Nothing seemed very funny anymore.

I don’t do emotion, I’m not very good at it but this did kick me right in the nuts.

It led to a period of reflection and I guess made me question my own mortality.

Leading to two answers :-

Firstly I am getting old, something which has been reiterated to me today when my barber suggested he ‘tidy up’ my eyebrows, a service I thought reserved for the more senior patrons.

Secondly I don’t believe in God, not that I’m getting into this one it’s a personal (non) belief and I don’t hold anything against anyone that does. That’s not strictly true but calling all believers fools seems a bit harsh and I wouldn’t want to offend. I would but won’t.

I did find that it’s probably harder not to believe than it is to believe especially at a time like that.

As I said this isn’t a "My Dad Died So Buy A Pie" marketing ploy, no that comes later.

A month later I managed to open. 

Feedback has been good, if you discount the guy who tweeted to say his pie contained dog excrement and onion. I resisted the urge to say it was the special of the week. I try to keep a modicum of professionalism on my business twitter feed.

Things were going well until the Scarlet Fever hit, sounds like something out of a 19^th Century novel doesn’t it? Sadly not. I actually managed to contract Scarlet Fever, fuck knows how or where from. Head to toe in a rash and laid up with a course of Penicillin for 10 days. I felt sorry for myself, while many people asked whether Rickets, TB or Small Pox would be next?

So there you have it the story of my blogging absence, apologies that this isn’t funny, although many may argue that there’s no change there then.

I’m back open now, the adage what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger seems to hold some truth. Death and disease haven’t stopped me and fingers crossed there won’t be any famine.

Here comes the gratuitous plug in the form of our catchphrase, “Eat Pie So My Kids Don’t Have To!” The poor buggers get the leftovers each week it’s got to the stage where they’d rather go hungry than see another Chicken, Ham & Leek.

A recipe for this blog has been a tough call, should it be pie related or something for my old man? Obviously the latter won. (Pie related doesn’t sound quite right, what could possibly be pie related apart from pie? – good to see I still know how to waffle.)

In fact bollocks to it, there’s no recipe this week. 

Go and buy Fish and Chips from your favourite Chippy, cover them in salt, vinegar and ketchup. Serve with white bread and butter and drink a cup of tea. Afterwards go and smoke a cigarette. 

It’s what my dad would have done and it never did him any harm. Oh, on second thoughts, don’t smoke and eat fish and chips in moderation.

A

x

Me & Dad the late 70's

Pie Dreams & Cake

Lemon Butter Cake

Well you could say it’s been an odd couple of weeks but odd doesn’t really do it justice.

No I haven’t encountered extra large babies again leaving me speechless or attended parties at soft play centres which would no doubt have had me turning the air blue.

N’s School Sports day did provide some light relief. It’s a small village school and parents are encouraged to attend and give moral support.

N did well managing to finish in the top 3 in all events. This may have been down in no small part to the fact that there are only 3 girls in her class but who am I to piss on anyone’s bonfire? Don’t answer that.

She did however win the egg and spoon race, so all the hours of training we’d put in weren’t in vain.

In her age race my younger daughter M sprinted to a 30 yard victory over the other nursery children, she’s pretty much a year older and double the size of the rest and as she went on the G of Go the others stood on the start line either crying or filling their nappies.

I looked on proudly, trying not to be one of ‘those’ dads who takes the sporting endeavour of their child a little too seriously, I failed. Apparently booing the other kids and then unfurling the union flag and doing a lap of honour around the cricket pitch with your 4 year old in celebration isn’t the done thing, who knew?

Unfortunately I was cajoled into taking part in the Dad’s race and as I took my place alongside the others, all young skinny bastards, I heard the little voice saying – Don’t fuck up, don’t embarrass your daughters, don’t pull a hamstring, don’t slip another disc. Ok I may be a hypochondriac but it comes with my heritage.

Needless to say riddled with these self-doubts I didn’t win although I did avoid the ignominy of last place beating someone’s grandad. I think a ‘short head’ is the sporting phrase used to describe my margin of ‘victory’ over him. In your face old man!

No my odd couple of weeks actually involves something a little more important.

I’ve resigned from work and am now officially jobless.

Please don’t worry this isn’t some thinly veiled cry for help or a begging blog for you to send money so the family Vino don’t go hungry. It’s safe to read on.

Do people really believe and respond to those emails you receive? You know the ones informing you of inherited cash or asking for help and that the person will pay you back as soon as they’re back on their feet? One hit my inbox a few months ago telling me I’d been left £120k to help me continue my wonderful Evangelical Christian work. I mean I may be a lot of things but a preacher of the good book definitely isn’t one of them.

That said I am quite happy to attach my bank details to the bottom of this blog and if you feel that you’d like to spare a few quid I’m not too proud to accept.

No this was an actual conscious decision to leave a steady job with a good income but that said, a job that left me thoroughly miserable and if I’m being honest it would probably have been easier to live with Saddam in his bunker than me for the past few months.

So on a level of keeping my sanity it was an easy decision to make however on the level of not knowing if I’m going to have to sell the girls to Madonna to pay the mortgage leaves me a little petrified if the truth be told. The main problem with this is I’m not sure the girls are ethnic enough for Madge.

I haven’t quit without a plan for the future. That would be completely bat shit crazy.

No…

I have a dream. Now I’d like to say this is as grand as Martin Luther King Jnr’s dream of a racial equality for all. It’s not.

No mine is the lesser known I have a dream speech, given to various friends and relatives over the last few months, one where I tell people my dream of making Pies and Cakes for a living.

I’d also like to say it was initially as well received as MLK’s speech. It wasn’t.

I am however happy to report that Mrs. Vino is fully behind the venture, it was hard for her to see the job I was doing making me ill. Though I think really she likes the idea of being married to Little Ribston’s very own Alan Sugar, either that or she really loves to eat pie and a lot of it.

So the last few weeks have seen product development in full swing. Pies and cakes are being baked on a daily basis and waistlines are expanding. I’ve also been distributing them to anyone with a mouth that wants it filling for free and funnily enough there are plenty of those around.

I should be able to give you further information and news once the Council fulfills its commitment to process my food application in the timeframe they set. Although if having a very close friend working for the Council is anything to go by I’m not filled with confidence that this will happen and I’m not holding my breath. Not that I’m bashing the Council in any way I’m sure they’re very productive on the days that they do some work.

The sign that will hopefully one day hang over the door

In honour of my prospective venture here’s a lemon butter cake recipe that may adorn my menu in the near future.

It’s from Dan Lepard, yes I know I go on about him a little too much which obviously has nothing to do with him responding to me on twitter but trust me his recipes are really very good.

Lemon Butter Cake

Ingredients

2 Medium Eggs – Separated

150g Caster Sugar

100g Unsalted Butter – Melted

125g Condensed Milk

100ml Lemon Juice

Grated Zest of 2 Large Lemons

275g Plain Flour

2 Tsp Baking Powder

Icing

Grated Zest of 1 Large Lemon

100g Icing Sugar

25ml Lemon Juice

Method

Set the oven to 180c

Line a Loaf tin – preferably 19cm long, I used what I had and it was perfectly fine.

Beat the separated egg whites with an electric mixter until they’re frothy and then gradually add 25g of Caster Sugar and whisk to a soft meringue consistency.

In a different bowl beat the egg yolks, remaining caster sugar, melted butter, condensed milk, lemon zest and juice.

I didn’t grate the zest if I’m honest I just I zester and had short strips of the zest – it made no difference.

Sift the flour and baking powder into the mixture and beat until smooth.

Fold the egg whites in to this carefully and quickly as not to lose the air from the mixture.

Spoon into your tin then smooth the mixture out.

Bake for 40 – 50 minutes or until a skewer comes out with only a few crumbs. Mine took just under 40 minutes but then again my oven enjoys cremating things.

Let your cake cool and then ice it.

To make the icing beat the zest, icing sugar and lemon juice in a bowl until smooth and cover the top of the cake. If you don’t let it cool the icing becomes runnier and will come down the sides of the cake as well. I know this from experience.

Enjoy

Ax

Follow me on twitter @Vino_73