Memories: Mushroom and Walnut Pâté

Borough Market 2008

Some of my favourite memories of London are set in winter. When the air is so cold that at first, it almost hurts to breathe. Where you go from coffee shop to coffee shop so you have something warm to hold. Where the air is blue and cloudless, you wear a hat and scarf, coat and gloves, and it's just warm enough. When you almost forget the feeling of your husbands un-gloved hand in yours. But you can't help smiling.

My memories of Borough Market are like that. Coffee in one hand, Craig's hand in the other. Cobblestones underfoot.

Past the Tate Modern, past the Globe, past Pizza Express, past The Anchor, past the remains of Winchester Palace, past the Golden Hinde, right next to Southwark Cathedral, and we were there.



We went there on a Saturday morning. The market was always madness after 11 so we would try and get there early. Rarely did we make it before 10:30.
Sometimes we would each get a bacon and egg butty or Craig would get a roast sandwich, and I'd get the venison burger and a coffee from Monmouth (the best, consistently the best, coffee I have ever had). Sometimes we would walk and eat, sometimes we would sit in the grounds of Southwark Cathedral - depending on how strong the sun was that morning.

Always we would buy food for home as well, pies from 'Pie Minister', handmade fudge, the best brownies I've ever purchased, artisan bread, and mushroom pâté.



I miss our market routine. Even when the weather outside and the warmth of our bed got the better of my robot-husband and he stayed home. I miss that little routine more than anything. So much sometimes that it hurts. So much that I can barely bring myself to try the Wellington version - I know it won't live up to the original. But I have tried to recreate some things.

I found a recipe for a pie with olives in it, I found a recipe for even better brownies, and finally, finally, I tried making mushroom pâté.

And it was good. Not Borough Market good, but pretty damn good*.



Mushroom and Walnut Pâté

Ingredients
250g Mushrooms
1 medium white onion
1 tbsp butter
1/2 tsp dried basil or marjoram
1 clove or tsp garlic
1/4 tsp salt
1/4 tsp pepper
40g walnuts

1. Chop the onion and fry in butter until translucent.



2. Add the chopped mushrooms and cook for a few minutes.
3. Add the herbs, garlic, and seasoning.



4. Blitz the walnuts in a food processor and add to the mushroom mixture.
5. Return all the ingredients to the food processor and purée.



6. Turn into a bowl and chill. Serve with bread, toast, or crackers.



It may not be a secret family recipe like the original from Borough, but it's good enough for me.




* It was good enough that when I made it on Christmas day my mama sent me away with a bag of mushrooms and instructions to make more for Boxing Day.

I pledge allegiance to the Taoiseach

 
 I have been trying to write this entry for a week.
Every time it becomes all too much. I have too much to explain. I have kept so much from you. This is the resolution to TWO YEARS of waiting and hoping but mainly two years of trying not to hope.

I will start at the beginning.
 
My Mother grew up with an Irish grandmother. She was the Rose for whom I am named.
My Mother, wise in so many ways, did not get the Irish passport to which she was entitled until years later, 2009, years after her children were (mostly) grown. This small little slip precluded my darling sisters and I from getting Irish passports.
 
Since the mid 1990s my family have been involved in the local Irish Society. I consider the members to be my extended family. I feel connected to my heritage through the club.
In 2007 before we left the country they presented me with two charms - a shamrock and a St Christopher medallion - for luck and safe travels. Thinking about that still makes me a little soft-eyed. They are lovely people. They are a second family.
 
Ireland is a wonderful place.
In a spectactularly Irish move, they allow people to petition to become naturalised Irish citizens through "Irish by Association". You make your case that you are Irish enough to be a citizen and, if they like you enough (I'm guessing - I don't know the criteria) then you can become a naturalised citizen.
 
My darling Mother started this process for all three daughters early in 2009.
Copies of birth certificates and marriage certificates, letters explaining why we wanted to become Irish citizens, explaining the bonds we felt to our Irish heritage, three Irish citizens approved each of our applications. So many papers, each in triplicate - one for each daughter - sent away to Tipperary.
In June 2009 we heard that our applications had been received and placed in the queue. The average processing time was 24 months.
 
24 torturous months.
I knew it was only the slightest chance that we would be approved. It was our last ditch effort. We lived in the mindset that we would be New Zealand citizens and New Zealand citizens only for the rest of our lives.
 
24 months is a long time to come to terms with something.
Craig and I made other plans. To stay in New Zealand, perhaps, to move to Australia, perhaps, to move to Canada, perhaps.  Always including the little phrase "but maybe, just maybe, if the Irish thing comes through we can ..."
 
Last Friday my Mother was acting squirrelly. Insisting more than usual that she should pick me up from the station.
Of course, I was oblivious, and spoiled all her plans. Instead she broke the news thus:
 

 
I was floored. I had spent so long preparing myself for the letter saying that I had been declined that the approval caught me off guard. It took the better part of a week for my to wrap my head around the idea. The implications. Changing the plans I had worked SO hard to be okay with.
 
Ireland is part of the EEA. Citizens of countries in the EEA have the right to live and work in the UK as they please*.
 
Becoming an Irish citizen means a formalisation of the ties to my heritage but it also means that Craig and I can move back to London if we so choose.
 
Did you catch that? I know this is long and detailed and, admittedly, rather boring, so let me say it again:
 
Craig and I can move back to London
 
Now we just have to decide if we want to (and I'm pretty sure we do). But there are so many things to take into consideration.
Our jobs, family, money, the olympics (yes, seriously). The fear I have that I will no longer be in love with the city.
 
At the moment we are testing out the idea that we will move to London sometime early next year. We will begin living like paupers and saving every spare cent. Turning this pebble idea around and around in our minds to see if we like it**.
 
But mainly, lastly, most importantly, I am proud to be an (almost) Irish citizen.
 

síorgrhá
 
 
* I'm pretty certain. Only so long as you're not a drain on the state.
** I think we do.
 

The dome glows ethereal in the night, London's own rising moon ...

Dearest darling London,

Today I ache for you.
I read and reread the article A.A. Gill wrote for The Times about St Paul's Cathedral and I sigh.

St Paul's Cathedral is the solemn, eternal boss and hub of our city. We look up for it, mark our bearing by it, judge our distance from the lantern on top. It is the axis of a compass. The great dome is the calm centre of the spinning city.

A couple of nights ago, thinking in the liminal dark, I was struck by the idea for a tattoo*, a bolt of lightening from my subconscious. The idea for a tattoo which honours my love for the city more than the obtuse and multi-symbolic crown on my right arm.
The idea arrived fully formed. So clear in my mind that I wanted to run out and get it straight away. But I am too sensible for that. I must wait to see if the seed idea grows roots.

Anyway, that's all I wanted to say. I ache for you today, London.

Much love,
Sarah-Rose


* I'm done apologising to my parents for my tattoos.
They may have created my physical being but they also created who I am. And I am a person who loveloveloves my tattoos.
No Philip Larkin here. THIS be the verse: I love who they helped me become.

Dear Universe,

15 June 2008
Southwark, London

Ennui ...

(original, taken 12 December 2007)

The dome glows ethereal in the night, London's own rising moon, the beacon of calm promise.
- A.A. Gill

Two Thousand and Nine ...

A new year, a new leaf.

2008 was not the best year for my little Darling family.
It involved dreams put on hold, disappointments, far too much materialism, moving back to New Zealand, and, for me at least, a constant struggle to stay afloat.

But truly? I am blessed. Craig and I are stronger than ever. I have found a city where the daily walk to work can make me grin like a lunatic. I have goals to work for, personally and professionally. I see inspiration more clearly and I am excited for the year(s!) to come.

2009 is the year of words and photographs, tattoos and travel. Applying for visas and living with our fingers crossed. Backpacking around Europe, Christmas in London, New Years (one year from today) in Edinburgh. Perhaps trips to Tokyo or Hong Kong, Bruges, and Iceland.

In 2009 I am excited about planning for 2010.
Sitting in a cafe with Sir C and discussing our life in London. Our trips for 2009 and how to achieve our goals for 2010. Olympics and intense round-the-world travel. Celebrating a decade of S&C the relationship with a luxury trip to Hawaii, and a family reunion at Christmas-time.

The future is a wonderful thing.

BUT! Capital letters, exclamation point. 2009 will be our year, the beginning, I can feel it in the wind.



My Darling Resolutions

x Project 365 lives anew!
In 2008 I kept it up until about September (I know!) but barely ever posted the photos. In 2009 I will post My Week In Photos every Sunday evening.
x Project 52, take 2, electric boogaloo.
I will try and include a self-portrait in each Sunday-Summation.
x Hmm. Name to be decided!
Every Wednesday (or Monday, I haven't decided!) I will profile an online store or an online item that I lovelovelove but cannot purchase. This will be torture but Mummy-Darling has been wanting me to fill her in on how I can shop so much online. Through this medium I shall introduce her to the wonder of Etsy,

And finally, personally, my own little darling resolutions

x Celebrate my wedding anniversary. In 2008 it was spent in LAX which was simply depressing.
x Acquire at least two new tattoos before June 15th 2009 and hopefully 3 by December 31st 2009.
x PhotoBooks! In 2008 I did print photos, and the photo mobile in the upstairs lounge is one of my treasures but I want photo books of our travels.
x Christmas 2009 will be spent in London. WILL.
x Dress up more! I am already over-dressed for the Hutt Valley but who cares?
x Quality over quantity. 2009 will be the year where I try to curb my expenditure. If Craig and I are hoping to BOTH move back to London AND spend a month backpacking (ish) around Europe then we need to save a serious amount of money.
x (as always ...) Try to be happier.


P.s. I did take the moustaches and they were a big hit.

I got nothing today ...

The Tower of London
January 26th 2008

My Heart Belongs To ...

pin by Love from Hetty and Dave, Thames Festival, London

Thoughts Become Things

My London Adoration bracelet was re-spaced and now? from one end to the next I have:



A Double Decker Bus. The .925 is the back licence plate. Adorable.




The Houses of Parliament with an oversized Tower-which-houses-Big-Ben.




Policeman's Helmet (Bobby's Hat) which even has an ER on the Shield.




St Christopher. The Patron Saint of travellers. Can't hurt.




A Squirrel!




St Paul's Cathedral.




City of London Shield.
The centre, the focus of the bracelet.
(Focus as in central, focus as in hearth and home)




Tower Bridge.
It is open as it's supposed to be good luck.



Crown
(Keep Calm and Carry On)




Tower of London.




A (red) Telephone Booth.




Britannia




A (black) Cab.


It's hard to explain adequately how much I adore this bracelet.
In the soft silvery jingling I am reminded of the white noise traffic roar when our double glazed window was opened, Like magic. I am standing at the lights waiting to cross, watching for the lights to go yellow again before going green. I remember the smell of wet cobblestones near St Paul's and the swirl of a priest in a cassock.
I am walking past the garden in Bedford Square on my way to work, looking our for squirrels and the red Royal Mail vans.
I am waiting with Craig for our Yeoman at the gates of the Tower of London, sitting with a magazine at the Statue in front of Buckingham Palace, sitting on the steps at St Paul's waiting for Craig, Lying in sundappled shade in Hyde Park with my head on his hip. Walking hand in hand, glove in glove, along the Thames on a Saturday morning.
Roast chestnuts at the entrance to Tottenham Court Road tube, caramelised nuts near the Millennium bridge, churros and curry at the Thames festival, the wet organic scent of the back roads of Borough Market. The hush of a church or gallery, the silent roar of a cathedral, echoing, warbling sopranos, the muffled rustling of tourists, the err-err-err of wheelie bags on the ridges of the Millennium bridge. It is a sea of french, italian, of cockney, eton, greek, indian, of myriad accents.

My London was seen on foot and remembered in sounds and smells.

And all that from 13 little charms, on one little bracelet, on one little wrist.


P.s. My fav-fav-favourite charm? St Paul's.



Because? Well, firstly because I adore St Paul's. It is my moon, my London anchor.




But also! because it opens!




Eep!




I think it might be Jesus. Or just a cross. Or Jesus. Or a cross. Or Jesus. Who knows?

Somewhere in my youth, or childhood, I must have done something, something ...

I seem to have the worst luck with London. I'm choosing to not see this as a sign.

Firstly, I only found out about the HSMP (5 year visa) after I was no longer eligible on my pre-London New Zealand salary.

Secondly, just as I was settling into the idea that Craig would really be sponsored to stay in London, the company pulled out.

Thirdly, they changed the HSMP to Tier 1 (still a 5 year visa) which increased the amount of money-earned required to apply.

Fourthly, finally, and just THIS MORNING they announced changes to the Working HolidayMakers Visa/Tier 5 which makes it two years working instead of one year. The one year that Craig has worked and was why we had to come back to New Zealand. And it is changing on the 27th November. If it does happen to change our visas at all, it still means that we would get back to London in early December and have to leave again 6 scant months later as our visas completely, entirely, forever-and-ever expire on the 9th of June 2009. Oh and you can't apply for WH/Tier 5 more than once in a lifetime.

This news is killing me. It is the epitome of the straw that is breaking my back.

.

In actuality, it just means that we just have to keep calm and carry on. I work and work and work and work and next year we apply for Tier 1 visas.
The uncertainty is hardest. I wish I knew that we would get back to London. I wish I knew that we would get the visas. I wish I knew that all this work and stress and planning was going to result in something other than a stomach ulcer.
I wish I wish I wish.

12th October 2008

Today Craig and I have been married for 1000 days.



ONE THOUSAND DAYS

Craig thinks it's strange that I know this. He doesn't believe me that I haven't been keeping count and that I accidentally came across a counter on the internet. Admittedly, it's a counter I set up on facebook, but I hadn't ever really checked it.
It must have been fate that I checked it 4 days ago and noted the 996 days married box. Fate apparently wants my husband to think I'm even crazier and obsessive than he already does.

Thanks fate. Thanks a lot.