My Soul is Scottish

We’re oxtailing it today

Today’s menu is a spin on a traditional British oxtail soup. My spin is I’m turning into a stew instead.

Oxtail is one of those things that pops up in my grocery store every now and then. It’s sort of a ‘your luck on the day’ situation and when it’s there, I buy a pile of it!

The idea of oxtail soup appealed so it was off to Google to find a recipe and I came across one I fancied. The only problem is halfway through the recipe it calls for discarding the veg. That doesn’t appeal. I quite enjoy smooth soups but much prefer chunky bits so with a bit of rejigging, I’m hoping this will be a stew instead.

First off put a knob of butter into a biggish saucepan and brown off roughly 1 kg (2 lbs.) oxtail in the melted butter.

Remove from the pot and put aside. To the same saucepan, add:

2 large carrots, chopped

1 large onion, halved with 4 cloves pressed into it.

1 small turnip, roughly chopped

1 large leek, chopped

1 bay leaf (I used 2 small ones)

Salt & pepper to taste and for good measure, I tossed in a few whole peppercorns.

Sweat off the veg in the saucepan then put into a slow cooker. Top the veg with the browned oxtail pieces, add a cup of beef stock and a cup of red wine. I used a Pinot Noir but I’ll leave the choice up to you.

Toss in a few sprigs of fresh thyme for some extra flavour.

If you’re doing this on the stove top, you might need to add a bit more stock. Slow cookers tend to make more liquid as the food cooks so take care not to overdo it on the initial liquid amount.

Cook on low for 7-8 hours until the oxtail is fall-off-the-bone tender.

For the last 30 mins, remove a cup or so of the liquid from the slow cooker and mix in a tablespoon of gravy granules. Return this to the slow cooker and switch to high. This will thicken up the liquid to make gravy.

South Africans love rice so serving a stew on rice is not unusual. It turns out it’s unusual for everyone else so I sometimes opt to serve it on mashed potato because let’s be honest, thick stewy gravy on mashed potato is heaven on a plate. Tonight rice won the toss and it was GOOD!

That meat was so tender - worth waiting 8 hours for it! — That meat was so tender – worth waiting 8 hours for it!

Or you could just serve it with green veg, whatever floats your boat.

The plan tomorrow is a traditional Shepherd’s Pie with a salad. I have a friend coming over for lunch so a bit of home cooked comfort food should take the edge off the fact the weather is headed back into the freezer after 2 days of bliss.

Shortbread… because you know you want to!

Here’s a recipe for shortbread that I got from a friend in South Africa many moons ago. Her dad is Scottish so this was their go-to recipe for shortbread. Thank you Jeannie for passing this on, I’ve loved every bite over the years!

I made a batch over the weekend and have inhaled every last biscuit on that plate. No, I didn’t share. Don’t be ridiculous.

Scottish Shortbread

Ingredients:

120g (4 oz) plain flour

60g (2 oz) cornflour/cornstarch

60g (2 oz) caster sugar/baker’s sugar

120g (4 oz) salted butter (don’t use margarine, for the love of God I beg you!)

Sieve the flour, cornflour & caster sugar together.

Add the butter and mix in with your fingers to make a dough. The longer the better.

When you’ve got a smooth dough, sprinkle some cornflour onto a work surface and roll out to roughly ¼ inch (6-7mm) thick.

Shape as you please, and lay onto a lightly greased baking sheet. Don’t position them too close together as they do rise a bit.

Bake @ 350F/180C for 15 mins.

***Please note, there is a VERY fine line between done and overdone when making shortbread***

The darker brown ones are overdone (I rolled them too thinly.) You're looking for slightly darker yellow but NOT brown — The darker brown ones are overdone (I rolled them too thinly.) You’re looking for slightly darker yellow but NOT brown

It will turn a slightly deeper yellow and slightly risen when it’s done. Brown = overdone.

Start monitoring from about 10 mins onwards. Bear in mind, if you roll the dough too thinly, the cooking time will need to be reduced or the shortbread will burn. Don’t make the mistake I did of putting thinly rolled and thickly rolled biscuits on the same baking tray. That’s asking for trouble.

Allow to cool slightly before removing from the baking tray or they will break.

**As a random side note: one thing I’ve come across over the years are people who flat out refuse to share a recipe. Yes, this is a personal choice but seriously, the greatest compliment you can get is someone asking for your recipe.

Anyone who wants a recipe of mine is welcome to it. It’s makes me smile knowing I’m ‘at’ their dinner table every time they make it. Life is meant to be delicious and if someone thinks your food is worthy of repeating, then that’s saying something. Be nice.

Wherever you go, you take yourself with you.

That’s not a new concept in my life but the bathtub epiphany that went with it certainly is.

Over the past few weeks homesickness has cranked up a few levels and I’m barely classified as a functional human being. Depression; frustration; emptiness; longing. The yearning to go back to Scotland has all but wiped out my will to live.

The question is: will landing at Edinburgh airport suddenly change my life?

In some ways it will. The scenery will be completely different; the culture will be worlds apart and there will be new language challenges to conquer. However, I will be the same person. I will not magically be different. The same likes and dislikes will make the journey with me and things that get on my wick here will probably do the same there.

There’s no magic button that ejects all my bullshit at airport security leaving me to walk through the scanner as a baggage-free person.

So who exactly is this mythical being I hope to be when I go ‘home’? The bigger question is, why am I not her now?

The woman who took the trip in November took herself to breakfast and lunch and indulged in little pleasures. She wandered around solo soaking up the history and culture of new cities; (and by new, I mean older than America); she wasn’t afraid to be alone in a strange and unfamiliar place.

So why am I not able to do those things here? The architecture in Edinburgh was breathtaking but then again, Chicago is very architectural in more modern ways. The food experiences were incredible in Scotland. Chicago is equally diverse when it comes to food. There’s everything from Ukrainian to Lebanese and anything in between. The Taste of Chicago is downright delicious! I’ve eaten my way through that more than once.

Museums and art galore in Edinburgh. What about Chicago? Art Institutes and museums aplenty and a pile of experiences to cater to any taste. What’s the difference? Why did it fit there yet doesn’t fit here? Is this purely a mental block I’ve set for myself borne out of a need to be difficult?

My morning commute starts on Route 66 in downtown Chicago. I walk past iconic buildings twice a day, 5 days a week; sometimes stopping to appreciate them; mostly walking at speeds reserved for escaping a burning building, silently cursing slower moving pedestrians.

When you move to a new place, everything is exciting and beautiful but then it becomes just another castle on the corner after 6 months.

If I refuse to get out and appreciate the culture and art around me here, it’s a fair assessment that once the novelty wears off I might fall into the same slump there, pacing around my self-made prison plotting an escape again.

Don’t get me wrong, Scotland is my soul home and I’ll go back if it kills me. Before I do, there’s some internal work I need to take care of. The only way this is going to work is if I am able to live the ‘Scottish’ life I envision NOW, not save it for some future destination and time. I don’t get a new me when I clear customs so I’d best get her out of storage soon or it will all have been for naught.

Food, glorious food!

What better way to spend a bank holiday than making yummy food smells?

Today’s menu is Cauliflower and Bacon Soup. The soup is dead simple and takes less than an hour end to end.

You’ll need:

1 small cauliflower, chopped into florets.

2 medium potatoes, chopped.

1 large onion, chopped.

8 rashers bacon

2.5 cups (600 ml) vegetable stock

1 cup milk (250ml)

Salt and pepper to taste.

Extra bacon to garnish *optional*

Gently fry bacon and onion in a saucepan big enough to hold all the ingredients. The bacon fat will melt and make fat to fry the onions so no need to add oil.

Once the onion is translucent, toss in the potato, cauliflower, stock and milk and bring to the boil. Reduce heat and simmer until the cauliflower is tender.

Pop in a blender and liquidise. Season to taste. I have a heavy hand when it comes to pepper. If you use salty bacon please taste before adding more salt. It’s impossible to unsalt a dish.

Fry up a few extra rashers of bacon to sprinkle on top as a garnish and serve with hot buttered toast. Delicious!

Cauliflower and bacon soup with hot buttered toast

Depending on your concept of portion size, this recipe makes 4 generous portions of soup or 6 normal people portions.

You’re welcome.

I’ve known all along

Written ramblings have been my thing for years. Whenever life gets overwhelming or there’s just something in my head that needs sorting it inevitably comes out on paper and gets filed away with all the previous ramblings.

I stumbled across one written on 16 April 2012. Around that time I was struggling with depression and had finally grown the balls to walk away from someone who had drained a decade and some change of my life. The relationship had ended 6 years before that but we’d ‘stayed friends’, which was the dumbest thing to do because the closure never came.

The hope was moving stateside would close that chapter for the last time by being geographically inaccessible. Yeah, that didn’t work either. After finally deciding to cut all ties the depression kicked in in Technicolor and the ramblings began. This is an short extract from then:

There have been places on earth where the peace has been all encompassing and instant. It’s like my soul has returned to where it came from, like I’d reached a destination I’d been searching for since the beginning of time. Home. My soul found its home; that home is no longer where I am. A piece of myself has been ripped away and I don’t know how to get it back. It’s just gone. Having found my home, it was as if, after a million life times, I could finally just exist in a state of rest; like there was no longer any need to struggle; no need to continue searching; I was found. For a reason I cannot fathom, I’m no longer in that place. The struggle and search has begun again, the rest is over. The inner peace has passed; I’m back on the road to somewhere I can’t find. You must be wondering why I can’t just go back, I wish it were that simple.

My soul felt complete in Scotland. There’s something about that land, the desolation of the Highlands, the snow on the mountains, the open spaces, the dark waters of the Lochs, the music, the energy, it speaks to my soul like nothing ever has before or since. My soul feels as old as that land, like I was born with it a million years ago; that we came into existence at the same time; our energy is the same. In the cold beauty of the Highlands, it feels like I could walk into the mountains and never be lost. I could be nowhere and home at the same time. My soul lives in those lakes and mountains. I don’t know how, I don’t know why, I just know that I have been drawn to that place since birth. I’ve never understood, but it was like an inevitable journey that I couldn’t escape.

Against all odds and obstacles that I put in my own way, I found my way there. Home. To arrive at a place you’ve never seen, never experienced, and to feel in your core that you know every inch of it, that you’ve never been away, is something I cannot describe. Peace that cannot be put into words. For that moment, all is right with the world, nothing else makes sense.

Everyone should experience that profound belonging at least once in their lives. It’s not a grey area. Once you have felt it, you will know. It will hit you with the force of a bolt of lightning and shake your core in a way you’ve never known. That moment becomes the dividing line of what came before and what comes after.

Sometimes life requires nothing less than an empty-handed leap of faith into the void. Deep breath, close your eyes, say a prayer and step over the edge. Someone will be there to catch you.

A pic I took in 2005 on my 2nd trip to Scotland. Roses in the snow

Reading that with the benefit of 4 years worth of hindsight I realise I’ve known all along. Earlier today there was a cloud of doubt about whether moving across the Atlantic again is the right thing to do.

Yes. It is.

Happiness is not a matter of intensity but of balance, order, rhythm and harmony – Thomas Merton

The quest for order continues. After the compulsory cup of morning coffee, it was time to tackle the remaining zones of chaos in my apartment.

The kitchen and bathroom already had their turn; today it was the closet, bedroom and living room.

You have to be slightly ruthless to tackle a closet, make no mistake about that. If you’re tired of standing in front of a rack of clothing every morning with the sentence ‘I have nothing to wear.’ on your lips, then trust me, it’s time. You need to man up and get in there!

After countless mornings of staring at a pile of clothes and hating all of them, I decided to pull out everything that I don’t wear on a regular basis. By regular I mean at least once in a 2 week period at a push.

Everything that’s a tad snug or doesn’t fit quite right, it needs to be moved out of the way. I’m not talking about tossing it, I mean move it out of the way. Half my closet ended up on my bed this morning. The shirts missing a button that I can’t be arsed to sew back on; the tops that pull a bit over the boobage; the skirts that make me feel poofy; the pants that pinch in the wrong places. All of it. On the bed. In a pile.

DSCN7303

All that remained were things that I feel comfortable in; things that accentuate the bits that look good; jewelry that I wear on a consistent basis; shoes that are comfortable.

I have a small storage room outside my apartment where I store stuff like luggage and things. The stockpile of clothing went into a suitcase. There were a few items I’ll never wear again and they went into a separate pile to go to Goodwill. Don’t feel that you need to keep what doesn’t suit you. People change. Your moods change. What worked once doesn’t have to work for eternity. Allow yourself to move on from your previous fashion choices even if they were expensive at the time.

Once that was done it was time to hit the pile of magazines neatly stacked on the shelves. I went through a phase where I subscribed to everything; food, wine, travel, you name it.

If I haven’t found time to look through the stockpile of recipe books I own, what makes me think I’ll magically make time to page through the 36 magazines on the shelf? They have to go.

The decision to move has been made, although the final decision lies with a random stranger in a visa office somewhere. In the meantime it doesn’t hurt to prepare for the eventuality of it. Will I ship this stuff across the Atlantic? No. Well then, there’s the answer.

When the kitchen fell victim to my cleaning spree last week I found a pile of stuff that is barely used. They went into a box this morning. A full box of kitchen stuff packed away, leaving me some much needed space to work with.

The art supplies that have been on the counter tops have found a home on the closet shelf where all the excess clothing used to live. Seriously, 16 white pillow cases. SIXTEEN! WHY?

There’s nothing a decent cup of coffee, an iron will and a few battle anthems off YouTube can’t fix. Find a playlist compilation you can live with, put the kettle on and tackle the chaos head on. The shift in energy is palpable when order is restored.

Order is one of the ingredients for happiness according to Thomas Merton. The man made a lot of sense.

Here’s Saturday’s installment of the Rose Street saga:

The fridge is stockpiled with the ingredients of another Scottish meal so that’s the plan for tomorrow.

It also turns out the secret Cornish pasty recipe that I thought was buried with my Nana is actually stored in my mom’s head. She passed on the magic over Skype this afternoon and tomorrow I’m going to try it out. With a bit of motherly advice and some divine intervention from beyond, I reckon I have this under control.

Just a quickie

It’s definitely going to be an early night tonight; I’ve hit a wall. Does homesickness have physical symptoms? There’s very little a hot bath, a glass of wine and a nap can’t fix and I’ve taken care of the first 2 items on the list.

There are days when life feels 100 shades of grey *not the steamy version* and it’s difficult to find the colours. It seems fitting to whip out my monochrome photos with a splash of colour to remind you that the colour is out there, even when it doesn’t feel like it.

A church on Prince's Street, Edinburgh — A church on Prince’s Street, Edinburgh

A church just off the Royal Mile in Edinburgh

Flowers in the grass at the cemetery at Roslyn Chapel, Midlothian

And because it’s Friday, the next installment of the Rose Street story:

The long road home…..

Today was one of those days. You know, the ones where you question what the hell you’re doing on this planet.

The fact that I can’t just grab my passport and head to the nearest plane station left me feeling like my legs are filled with lead. Patience is not something I suffer from, let’s just be clear about that upfront.

The Midwest is in the middle of a wee winter snap so this morning’s windchill of -4F (-20C) felt like a punch in the face with an iceberg. It’s hard to find a happy place mentally when your skin feels like it’s on fire; which is ironic given there’s no heat in a 6 state radius of this tundra.

Times like these the only place to hide is in my photos. They take me somewhere else; to a place I crave like air. It’s hard to explain that feeling. Some people are fortunate and they are born where they belong and never know the emptiness of feeling adrift in foreign places with no place to anchor.

I keep telling myself ‘soon.’ Soon I’ll be in my mountains near my lakes in the one place life makes sense. I still have my Falcon’s Eye against my heart every day with the other half in the waters of Loch Ness. I like to think the stones are connected and I’m tied to the one below the water; my invisible link to home no matter how far away I may be right now.

Looking down the Royal Mile in Edinburgh. The moody clouds added to the picture

The mist rolling in over Loch Ness on Friday 13th.

The Ross Fountain looking towards Edinburgh Castle. There's now a fence around the fountain for safety reasons so glad I have a pic without it! — The Ross Fountain looking towards Edinburgh Castle. There’s now a fence around the fountain for safety reasons so glad I have a pic without it!

The second name I've chosen for myself, Margaret. This is a stained glass in St Giles Cathedral on the Royal Mile, Edinburgh — The second name I’ve chosen for myself, Margaret. This is a stained glass in St Giles Cathedral on the Royal Mile, Edinburgh

Thursday's story down Rose Street in Edinburgh. Love the detail in the metal work — Thursday’s story down Rose Street in Edinburgh. Love the detail in the metal work

“Chaos was the law of nature; Order was the dream of man.” ― Henry Adams

This is what has been missing. Order. Thinking back to a period when things flowed properly, the magic ingredients were simplicity, order and gratitude.

None of those are making a prominent appearance around here at the moment so it was time to make one of them a priority today.

Order.

Last weekend the kitchen was on the chopping block for a good clean out. Today the bathroom got thrown under the bus. How I’ve managed to cram that much non-essential junk into such a small space beggars belief.

Medications that expired 6 years ago. Perfumes… I have no explanation for some of those fragrances. How many bottles of shower gel does one human need? Hairspray? When in heaven’s name did I need hairspray?!

I shudder to think how long I’ve had some of my cosmetics, given I barely wear any. Into the garbage. Here I thought I was running out of toothpaste; nope, I’ve stocked up for the apocalypse. There’s 10,000 miles of floss too if anyone’s running low & 4 unopened toothbrushes.

2 entire baskets of travel sized hand creams, shampoos, conditioners & soaps. Bath sponges that have never been used. WHY?!

My personal favourite; a supply of contraceptives I’ll never need again and a few other shark week accessories. LATERS!

There was a sketchy jar of exfoliant so I pinged all the expired drugs from their packages and mixed it in with that. Into the garbage. *Don’t worry, I checked online and if there’s no place to dispose of medication in your area, it suggests mingling the stuff with something disgusting so it cannot be consumed. It was pretty disgusting.*

Don’t dispose of medication down the toilet or drain; it’s not recommended.

There’s space for days in my cupboards now and I’ve tracked down 3 missing pairs of tweezers. All the stuff I’ve been stockpiling because it’s pretty and shouldn’t be used it is now on the list of things to be used.

The urge to save pretty soaps and stuff is real, I know. 2 entire CRATES of them were given away when I left SA. Pretty soaps in boxes and ribboned, given away. I didn’t get to use any of them. What a waste.

Use the pretty things. They were probably given to you in the hope you would enjoy them, so enjoy them. Gathering dust is not what they were made to do. Every damn day is a special occasion so for the love of God woman, USE THE GOOD STUFF!

An added bonus is you’ll actually create space for new things when you move the old things out of the way. You cannot add anything to a glass that’s already full.

My grandmother hoarded every pretty thing for a special occasion. She died with most of it still in its original packaging, never once opened or enjoyed. I wish I could kick her arse for it. Those who inherited her things didn’t care for them the way she did so they were wasted. The next best thing is to learn from her and not make the same mistake.

Take out the good towels; use the fancy perfume and expensive hand cream. Stop using the scraps for yourself when there’s probably a treasure trove of stuff you’re saving for someone else.

YOU are the longest relationship you’ll ever have so make yourself happy.

There really is order after the chaos if you take it one chunk at a time.

Oh, I almost forgot Wednesday’s installment of the Edinburgh Rose Street story:

Winter. Yay!

Woke up to everything covered in snow this morning. There wasn’t too much of it but enough for it to temporarily look like the universe went right click, properties, monochrome, apply, OK. Poof. Bye bye colours.

With a windchill of -15C a cafe con leche was on the menu on the way to work. How do the homeless survive in this weather? HOW? It was a 6 block walk from the station to the office and I felt like Bambi for about 2 blocks of it. The bridges over the river are the worst because it’s just sheets of ice and your legs have a mind of their own.

Winter is not my favourite season here. The irony is I preferred the cooler weather when I lived in England but then I moved to the Midwest and discovered what cold actually means. Now I prefer the scorching heat with 200% humidity. My hair is huge 3 months a year.

People have asked how I plan to cope with the weather in Scotland. It’s a valid question. I’d like to think with the continent being so close and flights being as cheap as they are, it would be simple enough to get away for a long weekend every now and then in winter to find some sunshine.

Having a narrower temperature margin also makes a difference. Here the extremes vary from -25F (-31C) in winter to 100F+ (37C) in summer. It’s too drastic. The range between hot and cold in Edinburgh is a lot narrower. 3C in January to 15C in June/July. *damn that’s not really a summer, is it?*

So while summer will be a lot less of a sure thing and I’ll probably have big hair about 98% of the time because it rains, I’ll also have views to die for.

Lakes, mountains and architecture galore. Throw in a bit of history, great pubs, good scotch and Scottish breakfasts and we have the makings of a very contented ME.

As much as snow grinds my gears here because of the bitter cold and constantly digging my car out in the mornings, it somehow fits there. It makes sense in the Highlands. It adds to what makes Scotland magic.

There’s something about the Highlands that makes me feel like I’ve finally found the place I’ve searched for my whole life. This was taken a little after I passed the Welcome to the Highlands sign on November 13, 2015 on the road to Culloden to see the Clan stones.

Tell me this isn’t magic!

highlands

Oh, and because it’s Tuesday, here’s the next part of the story down Rose Street in Edinburgh:

Tuesday

Happy birthday Dad!