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Wild Raw Asparagus & Homemade Cheese Salad with Breadcrumbs and Lemon Dressing this recipe and more available on my blog girlinterruptedeating.wordpress.com/2010/06/09/raw-aspara...
Leave breadcrumbs. Burn bridges (to light the way/so I don't cross them again). Never look back. Always know your way home. 2011: our new adventures begin.
SX-70, expired 600 film 09/09.
This little squirrel appears to be very territorial, she almost fell off the birdfeeder chasing off a big pidgeon. The speed was formidable, and she hung on with one paw. So hilarious to watch!
Insalata di fagiolini, crostini e soia, con bresaola condita con olio e limone. Soy beans, croutons & baby beans salad with bresaola.
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You can see him here most every day around the same time. A quarter after ten, as the hands of time tick around the clock of life with inevitable precision, come rain or shine as a well practised daily routine unfolds amidst the bustling crowds and coach parties of exciteable students that spill and spew onto the London landscape from around the globe. Better to hide in plain sight than be locked away in the dark confines of one's own mind, perhaps. Ambling along the dirty grey tarmac pathway of St James' Park, the little old man with the shuffling gait and wrinkled hands that now shake with age and ailments, clutching an old Asda plastic bag that is chock full of breadcrumbs and treats for the eager pigeons and grateful squirrels who beg, much to the amusement of the assembling crowd as the feeding frenzy commences.
Inconspicuous and anonymous, expensive designer clothing that dwarfs his diminutive frame as the years claim their pound of flesh from weiry bones and scrawny hide, he holds captive the warmth with his snazzy headgear, as once he had held captive those upon whom he vented his warped actions and dispicable deeds, now memories in a forgetful mind, dark episodes from a past littered with dirty secrets. And he smiles, oh so sweetly to the excited faces, the myriad of foreign tongues who laugh and clap as the animals jostle for the old mans attentions and the lure of his tasty morsels to eat.
He'll play to the crowd, as he always does, years of well practised feeding, a knowledge of the creatures of habit vast and plentiful and a location carefully picked just off the bridge where the black and white swans and family of beautiful pelicans majestically glide and saunter across the mill pond surface of the water. His fallen mouth, sucked in like a corpse with his dentures conspicuous by their very absence, and sullen eyes that have viewed the seedy side of life that you and I could never comprehend nor wish to ponder, define the man who is and was, and will bean enigma until his natural demise. They say that secrets follow a man to the very confines of his grave, and perhaps that is for the best in the case of some folk, for him at least this would be the case. For this man harbours a past that is riddled with inglorious acts of momentous notoriety, a darkness amidst the light of reason in a world still shell shocked by the very nature of such heinous crimes that filled the local tabloid spreadsheets, made the early evening news listened to by concerned mothers on radio players through the decades long gone by and consigned to the annals of histroy itself, along with the evidence pawed over by innept hands and processed in the days when technology took a back seat to leg work and corruption.
The sixties were the days of his prime, strutting like a peacock amidst the bravado and bullshit of the London scene. Beatles in the charts, Mary Quant on every girls lips and Twiggy as a role model, he walked the lanes of Carnaby street draped in high fashion, dripping elegance and charm, catching the eyes of the young and impressionable in the days long before cell phones, plasma TV's and forensic investigations that ventured further than an alibi and some police ineptitude as depicted in the weekly episodes of 'Dixon of dock green' or 'Softly softly'.
Almost half a century later and he is barely recognisable as the sharp dressing psychopath who terrorised the streets in those heady days of his youth. The point and shoot compact cameras with their promise of a trillion mega pixel clarity and idiot proof technology are out in force as parents usher their little ones to stand by the old man, centre stage in mediocre frames that back home on the walls of Europe will be blown up to gargantuan size and immortalized in acrylic form on the walls of happy homes. A tiny tot in baby blue designer clothing feels the lure of the old mans smile,and the touch of his hand on her shoulder as he poses with her for a series of hastily snapped shots. She moves away towards the comfort and reassurance of her grinning parents, her five year old mind somewhat confused and slightly dazed by the unnerving occurrence, a feeling within that her young mind that she cannot understand nor put into words of coherency as an ice cream van grabs her attention.
Far away in a nameless town in a faceless community lies a church and it's graveyard where a body lays rotting back to the earth and fresh flowers are placed with singular regularity each first Sunday in the new month by a little old man who the locals neither know nor notice. Times change, life goes on, but a friendship and bond that was forged in life by two like minds has never been forgotten. Accomplice and lover, the brains behind the meticulous planning and detail of each and every act, admired and revered, a role model of sorts to a mind so warped and depraved. A pillar of the community who was known for his beaming smile and pleasant disposition, doffing his trilby and stepping into the road at each and every instance of a meeting with an oncoming lady on the paved streets of that little Utopia.
It's cold this morning and the old man decides that enough is enough, he has satisfied his need for a connection of the mind and flesh, as a man snaps away with his fancy Nikon, smiling as a lone squirrel braves the wrath of the legion of pigeons that vastly outnumber him and snatches some food from the wrinkled fingers of the old man who stands before him. It was different back then when the seventies arrived amidst a hail of Hendrix riffs and drug induced melancholy.
There was an innocence that has long since died, a vibe on the streets that was as intoxicating as it was dangerous, and a freedom to roam and prey on the weak and hapless with vicious impunity and callous disregard for the humanity of compassion. They were the hunting days for the predatory pair, the killing fields that have now become shopping malls and motorway extensions, rubble piled on bones that have never been discovered nor excavated, nor ever shall. He'll take his morbid secrets to the grave that is bought and paid for in the plot next to his soul mate and peer. And the tears of the families in generations that successively spawn and hope to forget the past though cannot hide from the anger and regret, still flow and always shall as rivers of remorse with no bones to bury, no closure to take comfort in.
Lost love, broken hearts, nightmares and regret as police files lie dormant and dusty in the dank confines of the cement breeze block storage rooms where the unsolved cases go to rest. And still the little old man smiles at the children who fill his heart with happiness and joy, those tiny faces glowing with enthusiasm and excitement as he throws the food into the air and the pigeons catch the bites mid air with ease and aplomb. He tries to forget, or at the very least push to the very far reaches of his subconscious those tint faces that haunt him so in every waking hour, for some secrets gnaw away at a man, tearing at his inner self until he breathes his last breath. Life now seems so very different, though the routines followed bare a striking resemblence to those hunting days of old. Like a pied piper of sorts, the little old man procures the presence and interest of the animals with the lure of food now as perhaps he and his lover once did way back with candy and promises to the eyes and minds of the innocents. He no longer waits for a knock on his door nor fears the lonliness of a prison cell as his life clock ticks ever closer to a conclusion of sorts, and he views those mementos of his former life from time to time, remembering how things used to be.
Emptying the remaining dregs of food onto the grass section on the other side of the shallow black painted fence, the little old man neatly folds the plastic band, first in half and then once more again, placing the folded piece into his pocket before turning and shuffling away against the flow of people like a car down a one way street. The hands are riddled now with arthritics that moulds and deforms his limbs, though the intent within that ageing brain still lingers like a bad smell that just will not pass.
He'll walk a well trodden pathway towards the sanctity of his quiet abode, doffing his cap to neighbours one and all who ask about his health and wish him a good day before he closes the front door and throws the locks with a metallic clunk as the drawbridge is lifted. Bedroom attire and the comfort of Marks and Spencer's slippers, a mug of cocoa and some rich tea biscuits to dunk and savour and the upstairs bedroom with the padlock and chain firmly affixed to an old English oak wardrobe in which lies a monogrammed travel case and the memento's of each victim who suffered at his hands. There is little on the Television to occupy a restless mind, so a trip down memory lane to days gone by when life was good and love filled his now black and empty heart.
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Written March 24th & 25th 2011
Photograph taken at 10:07am on March 17th 2011 in St James park, just off The Mall in central London, England.
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Nikon D700 135mm 1/80s f/6.3 iso200
Nikkor AF-S 28-300mm f/3.5-6.3G ED IF VRII. UV filter. Nikon GP-1 GPS.
Latitude: N 51d 30m 10.59s
Longitufe: W 0d 8m 5.14s
Altitude: 25m
braised leeks, beluga lentils, brown butter, juniper berry, duck fat and parsley-herb-breadcrumb finish.
The first of the wild meat courses. I absolutely love game. Sadly I find that it's not as easy to find the interesting/gamier wild options on Toronto menus (for obvious reasons)
Supple slices of meaty venison heart were fanned over a brown butter and duck fat (oh the aroma!) slicked bed of herb-breadcrumb dusted beluga lentils and silky sweet braised leeks. The heart was beautiful - slightly less chewy than flank (without the dry muscle only tug) but full of great protein rich flavours. Loved the inclusion of the pearl-like al dente legumes that helped give the course texture and slightly hearty substance; addition of sweet roasted roots that provided a clean simple foil to the comforting mix. Despite being given our own plates, JH and I just dug into the pan, mopping every last drop of the saucy liqueur with thick toasts of walnut bread. :) This is also a course that works especially well if drunk/hung over. ;P
The copy does quite well to get as far as it does before it breaks into anything as dubious as, "Although Weetabix is best known as a breakfast food, it is actually very much more..." No it's not.
The assertion in the final sentence that it can substitute for both pastry and filling implies that one might make a pie in which it fulfils both roles. Mmmm!
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Weetabix
is the whole wheat grain
malted salted and toasted
WEETABIX, Britain’s favourite
all-wheat breakfast cereal con-
tains the whole of wheat in its most
nourishing and appetizing form.
Although Weetabix is best known
as a breakfast food, it is actually very
much more—it is a meal in a
moment, in itself, for every member
of the family.
You will find Weetabix delicious
with a little milk and sugar, but
when milk is short, fruit, fruit juice,
jam, margarine or a savoury are all
equally popular. In the hands of a
good cook, Weetabix lends itself
admirably to the preparation of many
cooked dishes as a substitute for
pastry, breadcrumbs, or filling.
We bought a 2 person meal pack from James McKenzie's 'Pipe and Glass" restaurant at South Dalton this week. A huge pack of ingredients, two You Tube videos to watch for the detailed preparation and then a delicious three course meal after my wife had worked over a hot stove for ages. The results were really excellent.
Starter of Yorkshire asparagus, with a crispy Cacklebean egg, Yorkshire chorizo and lovage mayonnaise.
Our Sunday lunch in Verona. Fried sardine in breadcrumbs. Prawns. Codfish + potato ball with chili relish.
Osteria Il Bertoldo.
Last Friday we were delighted to welcome Breadcrumb Trail director Lance Bangs for a post-screening Q&A chaired by Jeremy Pritchard from Everything Everything.
Photo credit: Ana Cunha
this raven was eating something in the snow..i didn´t see any blood so hopefully it was breadcrumbs..
A clootie dumpling is a dessert pudding made from flour, breadcrumbs, sultanas, currants, suet, sugar and spice. Sometimes golden syrup is added. Ingredients are mixed into a dough and wrapped up in a floured cloth. To cook you put it in pan of boiling water and simmered for a couple of hours.
A clootie, or cloot in Scots, is a strip of cloth, a rag (but not a glad rag or hand bag of course).
It tastes alot like a Christmas pudding. Very nice.
Insalata di fagiolini, crostini e soia, con bresaola condita con olio e limone. Soy beans, croutons & baby beans salad with bresaola.
The eggs encased in lamb frying in a pan. At the bottom is the little meatball I had left over.
Total fry time was between 15 and 20 minutes.
The recipe is here and the finished product is here .
Also, I wore a hat with a brim, as suggested by Alton Brown, and it does keep the grease off the glasses.
Chicken Tetrazzini
thepioneerwoman.com/cooking/2007/06/chicken_spaghet/
Edited from pioneer woman (basically what I had on hand)
Ingredients
* 2 cups Cooked Chicken
* 1 lb spaghetti cooked
* 2 cans Cream Of Mushroom Soup
* 2 cups Grated Sharp Cheddar Cheese
* 1/2 cup mixed carrots and peas (frozen)
* 2 cups Reserved Chicken Broth From Pot
* 1 teaspoon Lawry's Seasoned Salt
* 1 tsp thyme
* Salt And Pepper, to taste
Topping
* 1 cup Additional Grated Sharp Cheddar Cheese
* 1 cup bread crumbs mixed in with the cheddar for topping
Preparation Instructions
(I never see this in recipes, but I just add frozen chicken tenders to the pasta water (before it starts boiling) and by the time the pasta is done, so are the chicken tenders)
Cook 1 cut up fryer and pick out the meat to make two cups.
Cook spaghetti in same chicken broth until al dente. Do not overcook. When spaghetti is cooked, combine with remaining ingredients except additional 1 cup sharp cheddar.
Place mixture in casserole pan and top with remaining sharp cheddar and bread crumbs.
Bake at 350 degrees for 45 minutes until bubbly.
baked Mahogany clams with togarashi, stravecchio and breadcrumbs.
Thirty Acres, located at 500 Jersey Avenue, was opened on April 6, 2012 by Kevin Pemoulie, the former Momofuku Noodle Bar chef de cuisine, and his wife Alex. The restaurant, which serves "new" New Jersey cuisine, gets its name from an 80,000-seat arena built nearby for a Jack Dempsey and Georges Carpentier championship fight in 1921.
With aged Gouda and breadcrumb topping. Leeks from our garden, potatoes from the farmers market.
How to do it:
Chop up a bunch of leeks. Thinly slice some potatoes. Chop some garlic. Layer them all in a pie plate. I did 3 layers total.
In a saucepan, melt 1 Tbsp butter over medium heat. Sprinkle in 1Tbsp flour and whisk. Add 1 cup milk and continue to whisk until sauce thickens. Add a bunch of salt, pepper, and herbs (I used fresh thyme and rosemary). Remove from heat, and stir in some grated cheese (I used aged Gouda). Pour over potatoes and leeks until covered.
Toss some bread crumbs in melted butter and sprinkle them, along with some more cheese, on top of the whole lot. Bake at 400F for 30-40 minutes, or until potatoes are cooked and top is golden brown. Yum.
Recipe from Vegan With a Vengeance.
Recipe mod:
- use 2 instead of 3 cans chickpeas
- make extra breadcrumbs
- use extra breadcrumbs (and bits of soy margarine) on top for a yummer-oo topping
I had to get out on Christmas Eve because I was feeling a bit stir crazy and I needed to feel ready for some food. :) I wanted to do something in the forest and the rain was holding off for a while so I came up with this image. I have a funny habit of making images in the middle of winter where I take my shoes off.
Salsify (logs): caper (in breadcrumbs), dill (herbed and sauce), smoked salmon
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Jen's Birthday Dinner w/ The HuffenCoopers
The Tour: 24 course menu
5 hours, 20 minutes.
Chicago, IL
There were some breadcrumbs left and the Golden Retriever just loves them.
All my photos are CC feel free to use them but if you do please link back. If you're really nice link to xn--magnusbrth-85a.se/, my blog.