Yesterday, Jennifer, Gia, and I picked blackberries from the fence lines on our way to and from the mail drop box. Mail is apparently delivered to the box in the front gate but only picked up at the box on the main road, about a 10 minute walk away. I love the habit of the Irish to grow plants to reinforce their fences, especially plants with edible fruit. At this point, I recognize blackberries and elderberries. Stinging nettles are edible and frequently found along fences as well, but I hardly think that is intentional.
So this afternoon, just before lunch, Gia and Jennifer made about 20 blackberry muffins. Yes, they were fabulous. Since Gia is leaving soon, and Jennifer and I had both promised to teach her how to cook a dish we ate at home. Jennifer taught Gia how to cook a pork Indonesian dish a few nights ago. Tonight it was my turn. I taught Gia how to make meatloaf, the way my mother makes it, which is never the same twice. Gia taught me how to make mashed potatoes, without a potato masher since it turns out our host doesn't have one. Our assorted cooking attempts have thus far been mostly successful (a few burnt muffins and lumpy mashed potatoes).
A fair amount of this time in the kitchen has happened mostly because the past few days have been extremely wet. One of my favorite lines from the first season of Dr. Who calls England a 'damp little island'. I love the line, but whoever wrote it must never have visited Ireland. Even after more than a week of wind and sunshine, there were multiple wet and muddy spots around the farm. Now, with a few days of torrential downpours, we have had to move where some of the horses are kept until the water level drops and some of the paddocks are no longer hock deep in mud. Hopefully, next time I write we will have more sunshine.
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