Mushy pea fishcakes

It’s absolutely Baltic in Sydney tonight.
I should know, I’ve just spent a little over an hour standing on a footy field in a bracing wind.
It hasn’t done anything to dislodge the sprogget.
I had acupuncture today and got a good run a early labour pains for about an hour, but it’s died down.
Take-away tonight as the after school run included a keyboard concert and Auskick training.

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Minty mushy pea fishcakes

Silvana Franco from the UK TV Series, the BEST

So these are the fishcakes made by Silvana on the original (and best) version of the TV cooking show, The Best. When I made them the other day they were a bit wet, but I put that down to my own tardiness. I think next time I’ll add a bit more mint jelly, some fresh mint, use a thicker fillet of fish and not mash the potatoes to much – I just felt that their texture was a bit same same.

  • 700g potatoes, peeled and diced
  • 400g haddock fillet (in Australia the equivalent is blue eye, but I reckon a thick filleted fish, like Ling would work really well)
  • 300ml milk
  • 1 tblsp mint jelly (I’d double this)
  • 300g can of mushy peas
  • 2 tblsp plain flour, seasoned
  • 1 egg, beaten
  • 8-10 tbsp dried breadcrumbs
  1. Preheat the oven to 220C.
  2. cook the potatoes for 12-15 minutes or until tender.
  3. put the fish in a saute pan and pour over the milk. Cover and bring to the boil. Remove from the heat and set aside for five minutes or until cooked through.
  4. drain the potatoes and return to the saucepan. Add the mint jelly, some salt and pepper and mash roughly.
  5. drain the fish from the milk well, discard the milk and flake the fish into the potatoes.
  6. add the mushy peas and stir it all together (don’t over mix. I think that was what I did so it all became a bit baby food consistency).
  7. shape the mixture into firm even-sized cakes. (Silvana did four fish cakes, which makes VERY big fishcakes. I did smaller ones and made 8-9.)
  8. dust in the flour, dip in the egg, dredge in the breadcrumbs
  9. heat a little oil in a frying pan and gently cook the fishcakes for 2 minutes on each side until crisp and golden. Drain on kitchen paper

Serve with chips or a green salad and some mayonnaise that has a squeeze of lemon juice through it. (I served it with the most amazing roast potatoes to die for.)

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But meanwhile, I’m absolutely gagging for some vanilla biscuits, but the idea of having to roll out a dough and cut out shapes and ice is just too hard tonight.
Maybe tomorrow.

40+3

Today I woke from the best sleep I’ve had in about a month.
The house is warm and (relatively) quiet.
The sky is blue, flecked with orangey-pink clouds.
And I can’t help wondering, maybe today?

It’s official

the necessity (cleaning) has shifted to nesting. Tonight I dusted. Wet dusted even. The sideboard and the top of the piano and all the photo frames. All of them. They’re all back up, after I collapsed them all down into piles in the darkness of my last depression and the crap and dust and disorganisation was too much. That and I vacuumed, slightly rearranged the living room and have done three loads of washing.
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You should see my cankles today!
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What to do when it’s raining and cold? Make and bake.

Passionfruit butter
4 egg yolks
200g caster sugar
200g butter
grated rind of one lemon
juice from 10 passionfruit
pulp and juice from 1 passionfruit
– put the pulp of the 10 passionfruit into a sieve and push out the juice (I used a muddling stick and it worked a treat)
– melt the butter in a double saucepan
– mix the yolks, sugar, rind and juice together
– pour into the butter, add the last passionfruit (seeds and all) stir constantly for about 20 minutes or until thickened
– makes about 500ml.

Damper
3 cups SR flour
pinch of salt
90g butter
1 cup milk
– rub the butter through the flour
– fold in the milk with a palate knife
– tip onto the kitchen bench and knead lightly and quickly for it to come together
– pat out to a 15cm disc
– back in a hot oven for 10 minutes, turn heat down to moderate and bake for a further 15-2o minutes
– serve with passionfruit butter or lashings of butter and golden syrup.
(that’s the passionfruit butter in the background)
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Today I was over at Blackbird’s place and my curiosity finally got the better of me re the Rooster and Cockroll picture/link so I ended up at Schmutzie’s, which then lead me to Sweet | Salty and my heart has been breaking ever since.
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Scenes from today

Out the kitchen window
The boy? Decided today was a day to eat. As opposed to most days when a couple of dry cruskits and bottles of milk cut it.
Granted, in this photo he doesn’t look that impressed with his raisins, but really, he ate. For dinner? T.h.r.e.e. serves of lasagne.

The passionfruit were exquisite:
It was just me and this glorious little ray of destructive sunshine today:

OK, it’s not from today, but this photo? this photo was taken on Saturday and I just love it:

40+2

While the boy name stands as in my previous post, the girls name has had a last minute change.

She will be Matilda Sage, or indeed Sage Matilda, depending on what she tells us when she comes out. This is quite momentous considering the girls name has been Matilda Elizabeth since we were pregnant with Oscar a whopping 10 years ago.

But seriously people, I wish I’d run a book on whether it’s a boy or a girl as I reckon there was a substantial amount of money to be made.

It’s raining to day, my favourite weather of all time. I’m at home with Jasper just hanging out. I feel like I want to go out but as my previous post alludes to, and Major Bedhead’s comment confirms, I know once I’m out I’ll be yearning to be home. Once I’m walking around I’ll be desperate to lie down and so on and so forth.

I might do some baking instead.

40+1

As many of you are aware, my official due date was yesterday. Y.e.s.t.e.r.d.a.y.
I thought it was kinda starting on Saturday and stupidly got myself a little psyched that one out of four – and the last at that – would arrive on their official due date.
Of course, everytime I farted or went to the toilet, the symptoms subsided.
This morning I dozed from 2 to 5am with impressive braxton hicks and thought that might result in something.
But no.
Kirsti (my midwife) even did an internal to see if that could get things going, but the head is so high up in my cervix she didn’t really pursue it. Thank GOD. It was not comfortable to say the least.
Anyway, after that we headed into Chatswood, the arse-end of Sydney’s North Shore in that it is just shopping mall on shopping mall.
Chef was all, what do you want to do, whatever you want to do, wherever you want to go, it’s all about you. Bless him.
I just felt like being out. In society. Which I will totally contradict below, but I’m nothing at the moment if not contradictory.
So we wandered through David Jones. Looking at saucepans. And other homewares type things.
We glimpsed the TV section but eugh. Too much choice and such rampant consumerism was doing nothing for my equally rampant heartburn.
We went to the sensational Chinese BBQ Kitchen for lunch where I vacuumed down some duck, rice, bbq pork and one of the divine gow-gees in Chef’s soup.
Then I just needed to be at home.
My carpal tunnel has actually got worse, something I didn’t think possible, in that I now can not grip anything with my left hand and it’s a struggle with my right. It’s actually quite a bizarre sensation and reality in that changing nappies, preparing meals, lifting the kettle and so on and so forth are nearly impossible. Nice.
My sciatica is impressive and there are patches on my thighs which feel cold and numb.
The ligament pain is still not a patch on what I endured in my previous three pregnancies, which is a phenomena I’m finding quite weird. Maybe those three months of gym work I did after Jasper actually did something? Who knows.

But apart from all that, I’m not actually ‘over it’ or wishing the baby was out and all of that. I originally started this post as an absolute tirade – a beautiful case study in pregnant crank – but now am just tired and feeling quite withdrawn. Insular. Introverted.

But on the other hand, I’m craving contact and communication – I guess it takes my mind off the inevitable and also gives me some level of normalcy to act as a base point. Or something.

But I am growing increasingly intolerant of people ringing asking how I am, is that baby still on the inside… hohoho, to call them the minute something starts happening, telling me which day is good for them blah blah blah.

I know they all mean well. I know they are just trying to lighten the moment. I know I should be so grateful that there are so many people who love me. I know. I KNOW.

But truthfully? I just want to tell them all to fuck off and pull their collective heads in. That they will all have a lifetime to get to know this little person. That while they’re all dying for that first cuddle, I’m facing the reality of bleeding bits, sore tits, no sleep and a MASSIVE adjustment for me as a person and helping that same adjustment happen as smoothly as possible for every single member of our family and I’m just a little FREAKED OUT about that at the moment and so maybe just giving me some SPACE and quitting with the “call me straight away”s and the rest would be nice. Oh and that IF.THEY.ARE.FUCKING.RELATED.TO.ME as IF I’m not going to call them when labour starts. Little do they know the more they FUCKING ASK the later into the labour they’ll be getting the call. Yes, I am a cold-hearted, ungrateful, selfish witch.

(and low, it came to pass that the pregnant crank escaped and yet again relied heavily on gratuitous swearing.)

You see, while I’m quite willing to spill my guts to you all and talk about my bits and everything else I should probably keep to myself, when it comes to having a baby, surprisingly I don’t need a cast of thousands in attendance.

I am feeling this very keenly this time around. Part of me just wants to withdraw from the world and just soak in the juices that is my world of Chef and the boys. To just ‘be’ with them. This baby is so going to be our last and I want, no, I NEED it to be a private, calm and intimate time with Chef and my children.

And yet I’m sitting here wondering why I find it so easy to write yet so difficult to say.

And next week, when I write a post wailing about how no-one came to see me in hospital, how no-one is ringing me and how no-one cares and I’m all alone, just direct me back to this.

And just so you all know…
it’s Grover George if it’s a boy
it’s Matilda Elizabeth if it’s a girl.

For everyone in the “but Grover’s a muppet” camp. Yes. Yes he is. And a mighty cool muppet at that.

It seems a lifetime ago that we saw our first glimpse:
We can’t wait to meet you little one.
xxxMumma.