Skip to main content

In praise of my christmas present.

Because I haven't given it enough praise as yet.

When the delightful Mrs Coastaltown bought a great big meat grinder for christmas I was, indeed, delighted, but divined an ulterior moptive on her part. Mrs C doesn't eat red meat, and a big culinary sticking point in our house has been my point blank refusal to use chicken or turkey mince in anything (on the thoroughly reasonable grounds that as far as I'm concerned it's not actually food). However, with this grinder I could get prime chicken breasts and make ethically okay mince with them, yes?

Well, I suppose so, and in fact I have done so, for some frankly awesome chicken crocquettes I whacked up on New Year's day. But this still doesn't get to the heart of our disagreement, the fact that I won't make any tomatoey pasta sauces or chilli with the aforementioned white meats on account of it's JUST PLAIN WRONG.

The solution? oh my dear sweet Lord. Chilli con Carne. Made with Duck. Using my sharpest, smallest knife I managed to get enough meat of the legs (the meat being fairly rich you only want to leave a bit of fat on, to render down and cook the onion off in), through the grinder it went and presto, duck mince. After that just make chilli the same way you normally would (I may have added a little butter to emulsify the sauce, but don't tell anyone). The results were gratifying, to say the least.

So yes, the grinder, all hail.

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

A whole new world.

I appear to have moved into the pub. Now, I don't wish to give the impression that this has come as a complete surprise to me, we'be been planning to do so since shortly after I bought it, but still, it's sort of snuck up on me and now I'm waking up and thinking what happened? How come I'm here? The reason for this discombobulation is that this move was initially a temporary measure. Mrs Coastalblog had some relatives coming to stay, and it made sense to put them up in our house while we decamped to the flat. It's still a work in progress, but a mad week of cleaning and carting stuff around made it habitable. I had a suspicion that once we were in we'd be back and forth for a few weeks. As with many of my hunches, I was completely and utterly wrong. As it turned out, once we were here, we were here. Things moved at pace and, now our kitchen appliances have been installed, there's no going back, the old house is unusable. It's left me with slightly mi

Mad Dogs and Immigration Ministers

It is with no small degree of distress that I'm afraid to say I've been thinking about Robert Jenrick. I know, I know, in this beautiful world with its myriad of wonders, thetre are many other things about which I could think, the play of sunlight upon dappled water, the laughter of my children, the song thrush calling from the sycamore tree a few yards away from where I type this. Yet the shiny, faintly porcine features of the Minister for Immigration keep bubbling up into my consciousness. It's a pain in the arse, I tell you. A few years ago on here I wrote a piece entitled The cruelty is the point in which I argued that some policies are cruelty simply for the sake of it, pour decourager les autres . I was reminded of that recently when I listened to Jenrick defending his unpleasant, petty decision to order murals at a migrant children's centre to be painted over. You've probably heard the story already; deeming pictures of cartoon characters "too welcoming&

20

Huh. It turns out that this blog is, as of, well, roughly about now-ish, 20 years old. 20. I've been doing this (very intermittently) for twenty bloody years. And, I cannot help but note, still am, for some reason. I've done posts in the past, when this whole thing was comparatively blemish free and dewy-skinned looking back on its history and how it's changed down the years, there's not really a lot of point in doing that again. It's reflected what concerns me at the time, is, I think, the most charitable way of phrasing it (a  polite way of saying that it's been self-absorbed and solipsistic, but then, it's a blog, this should not come as a shock), it's interesting for me to look back over the lists of posts, but not so much for you, I imagine. Likewise, pondering how I've changed in the intervening years is also fairly pointless. It's painfully obvious that I was a very different person at 25 to 45, my experience of jobs and kids and marriage