A recipe for a low-fat tasty soup that cooks itself whilst you walk the dog.
Chop an onion and 1 clove of garlic and grate a 'thumb' of ginger. Sweat in a pan with some fry-light (spray oil) adding a few drops of water if it gets too dry. Add the following spices (or just use curry powder if you're feeling lazy): 1/2 tsp cinnamon, 1/2 tsp turmeric, 1 tsp ground coriander, 1/2 tsp group cumin, 1/2 tsp chilli powder, pinch ground cloves. 1 bay leaf or curry leaf. Cook for a couple of minutes, adding a little more water if sticking to the bottom. Add 1 cup red lentils, 3 chopped carrots (no need to peel), 3 chopped potatoes, 1 chopped apple, 1 tin chopped tomatoes, 1 pint water and 1 veg stock cube (or Marigold stock powder). Bring to the boil, put in the oven at 160c and walk the dog for an hour. If you're planning a longer walk, cook it at a lower heat!
Blend it if you like (or leave it if you prefer chunky) and serve with a dollop of low fat yogurt and chopped fresh coriander.
Monday, 21 May 2012
Monday, 16 April 2012
Episode 4: Frilly Frolics
Over the Christmas period we did a week of night shifts - my first ever experience of working at night. Many children had gone home for Christmas and no routine surgery was planned so the ward was quiet. We had little to do expect fold drawsheets and deep-clean the ward. The staff room had been stocked with party food (sausage rolls, crisps and mince pies - all the wrong stuff for an overweight student nurse) and there were copious bottles of wine, presents from grateful families that had been locked in sister's office during the year to be shared at Christmas. Before our midnight dinner-break the staff nurse gave us a 1.5 litre bottle of wine and sent us off with instructions not to come back until it was finished! Looking back I shudder to think of the blood alcohol levels amongst NHS staff over the festive season with drinking on duty at Christmas not only accepted but positively encouraged. I had never been a big drinker and poured my wine down the toilet so that I could show the staff nurse the empty bottle, keen to be seen to be playing the game and fitting in.
Junior student nurses generally had responsibility for the 10 bedded lower-risk bay at the end of the ward, many of whom were long-stay patients with more common conditions such as broken bones. Previous experience with my young cousins and a brief period as a nanny came in useful when dealing with recalcitrant pre-schoolers on traction and fussy eaters after surgery. Parents were not encouraged to stay in hospital with their children so student nurses took over the parenting role. There were serveral sick babies in side wards and we had responsbility for feeding them every three hours. In between times they were just left to lie in their cots - this seems so cruel now, but it was how things were 'back in the day'. I cuddled the babies and spent time with them whenever I could but risked the wrath of the staff nurses if caught doing so!
A few weeks into my placement I developed chicken pox, never having had the disease in childhood. I became extremely unwell and had 5 weeks away from my placement, recuperating back at home in Kent. I returned to the ward for one final week during which the ward sister completed my practical assessment. To my intense shame I failed. She made sure I knew that I was a huge disappointment to the ward, to my set and to the profession and that I would have to repeat the placement at the end of my course. She shared with me her firm opinion that I did not have what it took to be a nurse and would not be surprised if I didn't make it. My protestations about having been absent for the majority of my placement fell on deaf ears - her mind was made up. I left the placement with my confidence in tatters and dreaded the thought of returning to the ward for most of the next 3 years. Happily, my fears were unfounded and I passed the placement second time around, enjoying many of the challenges put before me. The same sister was so impressed with my improvement that she recommended I pursue a career as a paediatric nurse (more about this in a future installement!)
Although the experience of failure was dreadful, I have been able to draw on those memories time and again when working as a midwifery lecturer, assuring students that I do indeed know what it is to fail a placement and to have one's confidence blown apart. However, it also taught me not to quit and to face my fears, trusting that right and good will prevail in the end!
Tuesday, 7 February 2012
Episode 3: Waking the dead
After gynaecology came my first placement at Dulwich Hospital on Barry, a Male Medical ward on the second floor. It specialised in skin and respiratory diseases and was run by an excellent 'old fashioned' sister of whom everyone was terrified. She was a great teacher though, and wonderful with the patients - does anyone remember her name? I saw the agonies of eczema and psoriasis in young men who returned time and again for daily dressings and ultra-violet light treatment. I became adept at the application of Texas catheters and bathing dirty old men without getting groped! I also had my first experience of laying out the dead, juddering with shock as the deceased elderly patient let out a groan from his lungs as we turned him over. It was a privilege to perform the age-old rituals of death, offering a last wash and a shave and preparing a body before the porters were called to escort it to the mortuary. However busy the ward, this task was never rushed and curtains were drawn around all the other beds as the body was removed to avoid distress.
We had not yet had our lectures about death and dying but thankfully I had mentors to guide and support me as I learned the ropes. However, one of my fellow students learned the hard way. The ward sister left her alone with a dead patient to 'make him comfortable' whilst she phoned the old man's relatives and attended to other duties. Some time later the sister returned, escorting in the family of the deceased to pay their last respects. Imagine everyone's horror to find Grandad, not lying in the bed wearing a shroud and covered in a sheet, but sitting up in his arm chair, fully dressed with his glasses on, reading the paper. The student had thought this semblance of normality would be reassuring for the relatives!
We had not yet had our lectures about death and dying but thankfully I had mentors to guide and support me as I learned the ropes. However, one of my fellow students learned the hard way. The ward sister left her alone with a dead patient to 'make him comfortable' whilst she phoned the old man's relatives and attended to other duties. Some time later the sister returned, escorting in the family of the deceased to pay their last respects. Imagine everyone's horror to find Grandad, not lying in the bed wearing a shroud and covered in a sheet, but sitting up in his arm chair, fully dressed with his glasses on, reading the paper. The student had thought this semblance of normality would be reassuring for the relatives!
Thursday, 2 February 2012
Episode 2
Being a student nurse in the 1980s wasn't easy. Others' memoirs from earlier times (such as Jennifer Worth's 'Call the Midwife') chronicle nursing as a way of life rather than a job with little pay, no time off, rigid hierarchies, rationing of 'late passes' and strict rules - an almost monastic existence. However there was also a solid support structure with matrons, sister tutors, home sisters and communal meals. Kings College Hospital in the 1980s thought itself progressive and, though traditional uniforms and hierarchies were still very much in evidence on on the wards, student nurses were free to come and go as they pleased with swipe cards to enter the Nurses' Home out of hours. The staff canteen served food at meal times but there was no expectation of communal eating - and thus little sense of community. It could be a lonely place at times for a girl like me from a sheltered background with little experience of city life.
I had never really been one for parties. A life-long struggle with my weight gave me little confidence in such situations and I felt more at home cooking a meal for friends or in small groups of those known to me than out at the student Union Bar (can anyone remember its name?) or trawling London's nightclubs. Whilst loving the career I had chosen I battled homesickness for a while and often went home to Kent on days off, or to my aunt's house in London where there were 4 young cousins to play with. I was also exhausted for much of the time. We worked long hours with huge amounts of responsibilty placed upon us and were the lowest of the low in the pecking order. I underwent a host of medical investigations into my exhaustion for which no cause was found. I now know that I am dyslexic and that adjusting to new situations can cause extreme tiredness for those with dyslexia (learning new routines and procedures requires and huge amount of effort and a drain on working memory). The benefit of hindsight!
Two members of our 'set' came from Guernesy (Julie Brouard and Tracy - can anyone remember her surname?) and were Salvation Army members. They had chosen Kings for its proximity to the William Booth Salvation Army College and Citadel at Denmark Hill. They swapped their nursing uniforms for 'The Army's' navy and maroon outfits on their days off. For me, joining a local church and becoming involved with the Hospital's Christian Union (CU) made a huge difference. These provided the sense of community that I found lacking elsewhere and introduced me to other student nurses, physios, medical and dental students who would become lifelong friends. On Sundays off we often congregated for lunch at 'Auntie Bren's' - a single lady in the church who opened her home to students and other singles - and went for walks in Dulwich Park to work off our extra calories! The church also provided me with an outlet for musical expression and I became a regular member of the Herne Hill Baptist Church worship band, playing piano and flute and singing my heart out. Some time later, after we had moved out to private accomodation, my flatmate and I joined one of the church's homegroups - and enjoyed evenings in the home of a retired local surgeon who was a member of the House of Lords! The CU weekends away to youth centres and campsites cemented the group and my place in it as resident caterer and musician and my homesickness soon resolved as I developed a sense of belonging. My faith also helped to make sense of some of the sadness I saw on a daily basis at work.
Meanwhile, life on the wards continued. Eight weeks of introductory school - where we learned the basics of nursing care and had increasing contact with clinical areas - was soon finished and I started my first 8 week placement on Ferguson, a Gynaecology ward. The sisters at Kings wore bottle green uniforms with starched collars and cuffs and Ferguson's glamourous sister (can anyone remember her name?) complemented the green dress with her silver bob and scarlet lipstick! There were three sorts of patients - women having regular gynae operations such as hysterectomies and repairs of their prolapses, those with gynaecological cancers undergoing radiotherapy in a closed room, and young girls coming in and out for terminations of pregnancy in a six-bedded side ward. The student nurses were mostly allocated to the main ward and we were judged on how quickly we picked up the medical abbreviations in common use during the nursing handover such as 'The women in bed 12a [never bed 13 for superstition's sake] has had a TAH, BSO and HI' (Total Abdominal Hysterectomy, Bilateral Salpingoophrectomy and Hormone Implants!)
Every patient having gynae surgery was admitted the night before their operation and had a pubic shave and 2 glycerine suppositories as soon as they walked through the door. Late shifts were very busy, admitting several new patients and undertaking their pre-operative care whilst simultaneously putting the longer stay patients to bed where required, doing any evening dressings and providing for their toilet and hygeine needs. Working on Ferguson I soon became proficient at giving intramuscular injections. Every patient had pre-op medication of 'Om and Scop' - Omnopon and Scopolamine - given intramuscularly into the upper outer quandrant of the buttock! I also learned the basics of nursing from working with fellow students. One evening I learned how to show love and compassion to my patients by watching another student - not much more senior to me - dress a lonely elderly woman's pressure sore then provide a bedpan, give her a wash and change her into a clean nightee, smooth her pillows and tuck her in with a hug and a kiss. The student's name was Emma - thank you Emma, wherever you are.
On one such busy late shift we had 7 or 8 new admissions for surgery the following day. The staff nurse was frazzled - not enough staff and too many patients - and dispensed the newest student nurse (me) to give 2 suppositories to a new patient in preparation for her surgery the following day. The present NMC rules for administration of medicine had not been invented yet. I had seen suppositories being administered before, but mostly under the sheet and I had not looked too closely at the precise location for penetration. I was also gloriously naive about my own anatomy, never having examined it at close quarters. Armed with the suppositories, a plastic glove and some KY jelly I squared my shoulders and walked towards the patient with an air of confidence that belied my inner anxieties. It couldn't be too difficult could it? 'Well Mrs. Jones, I have two suppositories for you here that the doctor has ordered. Please remove your underwear and lie down in the bed on your side'. Mrs. Jones duly did as asked, though she appeared surprised at such a request - the hierarchy of hospitals in the 80s was such that patients did not question the doctor's orders. Donning my glove, with a squeeze of jelly and a swift removal of the sheet, I lifted the patient's buttock and popped the suppository in the nearest hole. 'There Mrs. Jones, all done'.
The shift finished at 9.15 pm and I returned for the early shift at 7.15 the following morning. The staff nurse approached me with an angry face and questioned why I had not administered the suppository last night as she had requested. My protestations fell on deaf ears and the surgeon was most disgruntled that his patient had not undergone the necessary bowel preparation. Meanwhile, whilst I was making the beds Mrs. Jones drew me to one side. She told me she was a nurse and she did not think the suppositories had been meant for her - and that I had put them up the wrong hole.
To be continued!
I had never really been one for parties. A life-long struggle with my weight gave me little confidence in such situations and I felt more at home cooking a meal for friends or in small groups of those known to me than out at the student Union Bar (can anyone remember its name?) or trawling London's nightclubs. Whilst loving the career I had chosen I battled homesickness for a while and often went home to Kent on days off, or to my aunt's house in London where there were 4 young cousins to play with. I was also exhausted for much of the time. We worked long hours with huge amounts of responsibilty placed upon us and were the lowest of the low in the pecking order. I underwent a host of medical investigations into my exhaustion for which no cause was found. I now know that I am dyslexic and that adjusting to new situations can cause extreme tiredness for those with dyslexia (learning new routines and procedures requires and huge amount of effort and a drain on working memory). The benefit of hindsight!
Two members of our 'set' came from Guernesy (Julie Brouard and Tracy - can anyone remember her surname?) and were Salvation Army members. They had chosen Kings for its proximity to the William Booth Salvation Army College and Citadel at Denmark Hill. They swapped their nursing uniforms for 'The Army's' navy and maroon outfits on their days off. For me, joining a local church and becoming involved with the Hospital's Christian Union (CU) made a huge difference. These provided the sense of community that I found lacking elsewhere and introduced me to other student nurses, physios, medical and dental students who would become lifelong friends. On Sundays off we often congregated for lunch at 'Auntie Bren's' - a single lady in the church who opened her home to students and other singles - and went for walks in Dulwich Park to work off our extra calories! The church also provided me with an outlet for musical expression and I became a regular member of the Herne Hill Baptist Church worship band, playing piano and flute and singing my heart out. Some time later, after we had moved out to private accomodation, my flatmate and I joined one of the church's homegroups - and enjoyed evenings in the home of a retired local surgeon who was a member of the House of Lords! The CU weekends away to youth centres and campsites cemented the group and my place in it as resident caterer and musician and my homesickness soon resolved as I developed a sense of belonging. My faith also helped to make sense of some of the sadness I saw on a daily basis at work.
Meanwhile, life on the wards continued. Eight weeks of introductory school - where we learned the basics of nursing care and had increasing contact with clinical areas - was soon finished and I started my first 8 week placement on Ferguson, a Gynaecology ward. The sisters at Kings wore bottle green uniforms with starched collars and cuffs and Ferguson's glamourous sister (can anyone remember her name?) complemented the green dress with her silver bob and scarlet lipstick! There were three sorts of patients - women having regular gynae operations such as hysterectomies and repairs of their prolapses, those with gynaecological cancers undergoing radiotherapy in a closed room, and young girls coming in and out for terminations of pregnancy in a six-bedded side ward. The student nurses were mostly allocated to the main ward and we were judged on how quickly we picked up the medical abbreviations in common use during the nursing handover such as 'The women in bed 12a [never bed 13 for superstition's sake] has had a TAH, BSO and HI' (Total Abdominal Hysterectomy, Bilateral Salpingoophrectomy and Hormone Implants!)
Every patient having gynae surgery was admitted the night before their operation and had a pubic shave and 2 glycerine suppositories as soon as they walked through the door. Late shifts were very busy, admitting several new patients and undertaking their pre-operative care whilst simultaneously putting the longer stay patients to bed where required, doing any evening dressings and providing for their toilet and hygeine needs. Working on Ferguson I soon became proficient at giving intramuscular injections. Every patient had pre-op medication of 'Om and Scop' - Omnopon and Scopolamine - given intramuscularly into the upper outer quandrant of the buttock! I also learned the basics of nursing from working with fellow students. One evening I learned how to show love and compassion to my patients by watching another student - not much more senior to me - dress a lonely elderly woman's pressure sore then provide a bedpan, give her a wash and change her into a clean nightee, smooth her pillows and tuck her in with a hug and a kiss. The student's name was Emma - thank you Emma, wherever you are.
On one such busy late shift we had 7 or 8 new admissions for surgery the following day. The staff nurse was frazzled - not enough staff and too many patients - and dispensed the newest student nurse (me) to give 2 suppositories to a new patient in preparation for her surgery the following day. The present NMC rules for administration of medicine had not been invented yet. I had seen suppositories being administered before, but mostly under the sheet and I had not looked too closely at the precise location for penetration. I was also gloriously naive about my own anatomy, never having examined it at close quarters. Armed with the suppositories, a plastic glove and some KY jelly I squared my shoulders and walked towards the patient with an air of confidence that belied my inner anxieties. It couldn't be too difficult could it? 'Well Mrs. Jones, I have two suppositories for you here that the doctor has ordered. Please remove your underwear and lie down in the bed on your side'. Mrs. Jones duly did as asked, though she appeared surprised at such a request - the hierarchy of hospitals in the 80s was such that patients did not question the doctor's orders. Donning my glove, with a squeeze of jelly and a swift removal of the sheet, I lifted the patient's buttock and popped the suppository in the nearest hole. 'There Mrs. Jones, all done'.
The shift finished at 9.15 pm and I returned for the early shift at 7.15 the following morning. The staff nurse approached me with an angry face and questioned why I had not administered the suppository last night as she had requested. My protestations fell on deaf ears and the surgeon was most disgruntled that his patient had not undergone the necessary bowel preparation. Meanwhile, whilst I was making the beds Mrs. Jones drew me to one side. She told me she was a nurse and she did not think the suppositories had been meant for her - and that I had put them up the wrong hole.
To be continued!
Tuesday, 31 January 2012
Starting my memoirs!
As well as thoroughly enjoying the recent BBC series 'Call the Midwife' and having read all of Jennifer Worth's books I have recently been reading other auto-biographical tales from nurses and midwives. This genre appears to be fast gaining popularity in the UK and, as midwifery history is one of my favourite subjects, I am somewhat of an addict to such books. Some stories ring true to my own experiences whilst others are very different but they have all caused me to reflect on my career and determine to chronicle the highlights before I am too old to remember them. Maybe one day they will form a book of their own!
I had wanted to be a nurse as far back as I can remember. There is a family tradition of caring - nurses, midwives, doctors and occupational therapists span three generations. We had grandparents living with us for most of my childhood and caring for them was part and parcel of life. Though a Grammar School girl, my strengths pointed to a practical career and so I found myself arriving at the gates of Kings College Hospital London in May 1984 and placing Floppy, my large cuddly teddy, on my bed in the Nurses' Home.
I tentatively explored my new 'home'. Long corridors of single rooms with 4 shared toilets and baths for one floor. The open drain from one bathroom ran into the next, so you could watch your neighbour's bath water (and a few half-drowned cockroaches) drain away whilst you lay soaking. There were no communal areas except a small kitchen with several pints of milk or tins of beans all labelled 'Don't Steal'! However, there was a Nurses' Sitting Room with a grand piano some distance away above the main door of the hospital and I loved my stolen moments of solitude with Handel and Brahms. I had studied music at A level and missed the hours spent on the piano each day.
Not yet knowing my fellow students I retired early to bed, to be woken at 5am with the fire alarm. A sleepless home-sick student had burnt the toast. Pulling on a old cardigan and a pair of worn espadrilles I followed the crowd down the stairs. A dressing gown and slippers had been on the kit list but I had not anticipated such an immediate need for these! At the assembly point I tried to blend into the wallpaper as the other 53 new student nurses modelled the entire range of Marks and Spencer's nightwear. A few minutes later, as 4 fire engines arrived and handsome firemen flooded the stairwells, a line of nervous young men in suits filed past. I found out later these were the boyfriends of the pupil nurses who had started their training a few weeks before us - and had already learnt to circumnavigate the rules concerning overnight visitors!
We had been allocated bedrooms in alphabetical order - so Nurses Cooke (me), Challoner, Drewett, Evans, Forshaw and Franklin soon became acquainted. During our eight weeks of introductory school we were allowed on to the wards at Kings to practice our new-found skills, firstly bed making then, in the second week, bed bathing. Kate and I arrived on the male surgical ward and were assigned to a middle-aged man who had undergone abdominal surgery 10 days ago. He was well enough to wash himself but had nobly volunteered to have a full bed bath by the student nurses. We collected our equipment - a bowl of warm water, towels and flannels. Carefully copying the method we had learned in the classrooom we worked our way down from his face to his arms, body and legs, soaking, soaping, rinsing and drying. The time arrived to approach his nether regions. Kate soaped the flannel and handed it to me. I rinsed the flannel and handed it back to Kate. The patient watched us with amusement. Finally Kate picked up the sheet and, looking straight ahead at the wall, gave 'it' a firm scrub. The patient nearly exploded with alarm and we hurriedly escaped through the curtains with our dignities intact!
Next time.... giving my first suppository to the wrong patient and putting it up the wrong hole. To be continued!
I had wanted to be a nurse as far back as I can remember. There is a family tradition of caring - nurses, midwives, doctors and occupational therapists span three generations. We had grandparents living with us for most of my childhood and caring for them was part and parcel of life. Though a Grammar School girl, my strengths pointed to a practical career and so I found myself arriving at the gates of Kings College Hospital London in May 1984 and placing Floppy, my large cuddly teddy, on my bed in the Nurses' Home.
I tentatively explored my new 'home'. Long corridors of single rooms with 4 shared toilets and baths for one floor. The open drain from one bathroom ran into the next, so you could watch your neighbour's bath water (and a few half-drowned cockroaches) drain away whilst you lay soaking. There were no communal areas except a small kitchen with several pints of milk or tins of beans all labelled 'Don't Steal'! However, there was a Nurses' Sitting Room with a grand piano some distance away above the main door of the hospital and I loved my stolen moments of solitude with Handel and Brahms. I had studied music at A level and missed the hours spent on the piano each day.
Not yet knowing my fellow students I retired early to bed, to be woken at 5am with the fire alarm. A sleepless home-sick student had burnt the toast. Pulling on a old cardigan and a pair of worn espadrilles I followed the crowd down the stairs. A dressing gown and slippers had been on the kit list but I had not anticipated such an immediate need for these! At the assembly point I tried to blend into the wallpaper as the other 53 new student nurses modelled the entire range of Marks and Spencer's nightwear. A few minutes later, as 4 fire engines arrived and handsome firemen flooded the stairwells, a line of nervous young men in suits filed past. I found out later these were the boyfriends of the pupil nurses who had started their training a few weeks before us - and had already learnt to circumnavigate the rules concerning overnight visitors!
We had been allocated bedrooms in alphabetical order - so Nurses Cooke (me), Challoner, Drewett, Evans, Forshaw and Franklin soon became acquainted. During our eight weeks of introductory school we were allowed on to the wards at Kings to practice our new-found skills, firstly bed making then, in the second week, bed bathing. Kate and I arrived on the male surgical ward and were assigned to a middle-aged man who had undergone abdominal surgery 10 days ago. He was well enough to wash himself but had nobly volunteered to have a full bed bath by the student nurses. We collected our equipment - a bowl of warm water, towels and flannels. Carefully copying the method we had learned in the classrooom we worked our way down from his face to his arms, body and legs, soaking, soaping, rinsing and drying. The time arrived to approach his nether regions. Kate soaped the flannel and handed it to me. I rinsed the flannel and handed it back to Kate. The patient watched us with amusement. Finally Kate picked up the sheet and, looking straight ahead at the wall, gave 'it' a firm scrub. The patient nearly exploded with alarm and we hurriedly escaped through the curtains with our dignities intact!
Next time.... giving my first suppository to the wrong patient and putting it up the wrong hole. To be continued!
Thursday, 29 December 2011
Granny's Marmalade
Granny lived most of her adult life in Dundee and was famous for her Dundee Marmalade. She was making marmalade on the day that she died - the fruit and the sugar were all weighed out and the jars were ready. The following day my Mum finished the marmalade in her honour and family members all received a jar at the funeral. I have a copy of Granny's recipe in her handwriting and I use her old preserving pan. Seville Oranges have a fairly short season so I adapted this recipe and substituted clementines for Christmas which worked just as well.
GRANNY DUNCAN'S DUNDEE MARMALADE
Preparation Time: 35m Cooking Time 35 m (These were Granny's times, I think it takes longer!)
3lb seville oranges
3 lemons
3 sweet oranges
6 pints of water
6lb preserving sugar (but granulated sugar is fine)
Wash the fruit, put in a large preserving pan with the water and cover with a lid. Bring to the boil and cook over a low heat for 1 1/2 hours or until the fruit presses easily.
Weigh the sugar and put it in a low oven to warm, together with your jars (minus lids - the heat will melt the rubber seal). Boil the lids then leave them to cool separately. Make sure they are completely dry or the marmalade will go mouldy.
Lift out the fruit and leave to cool. Reserve the liquid. Scrape out the fruit from their rinds and separate any pips, putting the fruit (chopped if necessary) into the liquid and the pips into a muslin bag. Add the muslin bag to the liquid and boil rapidly for 15 minutes. Meanwhile, finely shred the orange and lemon rinds with a sharp knife (you can do this in a food processor but it won't look so pretty). Remove the bag, leave it to cool and then squeeze it into the marmalade.
Add the rinds and the warmed sugar and slowly bring back to boiling point (sugar should always be dissolved slowly or it will crystallise). Boil the marmalade until setting point is reached - about 30-35 minutes.
What is setting point? Officially it's 104c with a sugar thermometer. However, my experience is that thermometers are not always accurate and the pan you use makes a difference. I use my Mum's easy method - ie the marmalade should turn more syrupy - dip a wooden spoon in the marmalade and hold it high above the pan. If it runs straight off like water it's not ready yet. If it forms a slow, sticky drip it's there. Alternatively see http://www.bakingmad.com/tips/marmalade-making/setting-point
Put into heated, sterlised jars and cover whilst warm. Pretty labels and lid covers optional!
GRANNY DUNCAN'S DUNDEE MARMALADE
Preparation Time: 35m Cooking Time 35 m (These were Granny's times, I think it takes longer!)
3lb seville oranges
3 lemons
3 sweet oranges
6 pints of water
6lb preserving sugar (but granulated sugar is fine)
Wash the fruit, put in a large preserving pan with the water and cover with a lid. Bring to the boil and cook over a low heat for 1 1/2 hours or until the fruit presses easily.
Weigh the sugar and put it in a low oven to warm, together with your jars (minus lids - the heat will melt the rubber seal). Boil the lids then leave them to cool separately. Make sure they are completely dry or the marmalade will go mouldy.
Lift out the fruit and leave to cool. Reserve the liquid. Scrape out the fruit from their rinds and separate any pips, putting the fruit (chopped if necessary) into the liquid and the pips into a muslin bag. Add the muslin bag to the liquid and boil rapidly for 15 minutes. Meanwhile, finely shred the orange and lemon rinds with a sharp knife (you can do this in a food processor but it won't look so pretty). Remove the bag, leave it to cool and then squeeze it into the marmalade.
Add the rinds and the warmed sugar and slowly bring back to boiling point (sugar should always be dissolved slowly or it will crystallise). Boil the marmalade until setting point is reached - about 30-35 minutes.
What is setting point? Officially it's 104c with a sugar thermometer. However, my experience is that thermometers are not always accurate and the pan you use makes a difference. I use my Mum's easy method - ie the marmalade should turn more syrupy - dip a wooden spoon in the marmalade and hold it high above the pan. If it runs straight off like water it's not ready yet. If it forms a slow, sticky drip it's there. Alternatively see http://www.bakingmad.com/tips/marmalade-making/setting-point
Put into heated, sterlised jars and cover whilst warm. Pretty labels and lid covers optional!
Friday, 4 November 2011
Granny's Girdle comes into its own
My grandmother was a wonderful woman. A midwife, a Dundee doctor's wife (and his dispenser), a powerhouse of energy and a model housewife who could clean something to within an inch of its life and remove any stain from anything. She (Sadie) was one of 10 siblings and had sisters called Beldie, Katie, Maisie, Ovie and Flora. Most of them lived well into their 90s (and Ovie is still going strong at 90+). Katie was 102 when she finally popped out to the Chemist and popped her clogs.
I an proud to have a few of my Granny's things but two I treasure above the others - her preserving pan and her Girdle. North of the border this is not a complicated item of underwear but the perfect receptacle for a batch of pancakes. The Girdle comes out on lazy Saturday mornings or days when we find ourselves with a little more time and the chance of a leisurely breakfast.
If you cook up a batch of these, spare a thought for Mrs. Sadie Duncan and the inspiration and love she brought to our lives.
Gluten and Diary Free Breakfast Scotch Pancakes (Drop Scones)
Heat and lightly grease Granny's girdle or a large non-stick frying pan. Place a large plate and a clean tea towel in a very low oven to keep the pancakes warm as you make them.
Place the following ingredients in a large bowl or jug:
175g gluten-free self-raising flour (Doves Farm and Asdas are both good)
1 tsp gluten-free baking powder
45g caster sugar
1 egg
200 mls soya milk (or a mixture of soya milk, plain soya yogurt and water)
20g melted sunflower (or other dairy free) margarine
Whisk until there are no lumps but don't over-mix.
Place large tablespoons of pancake mixture onto the girdle, about 4 at a time or however many you have room for. Turn when the tops are all bubbly and no longer wet (usually about a minute). Remove to the plate when both sides and golden and keep warm in the clean tea towel.
Serve spread lightly with sunflower margerine and maple syrup (or melt some golden syrup in the microwave so it pours).
Great with a plate of fresh fruit, soya yogurts and fresh coffee :) Good with bacon and egg too.
For ordinary pancakes just use regular SR flour, dairy milk and butter.
If you cook up a batch of these, spare a thought for Mrs. Sadie Duncan and the inspiration and love she brought to our lives.
Gluten and Diary Free Breakfast Scotch Pancakes (Drop Scones)
Heat and lightly grease Granny's girdle or a large non-stick frying pan. Place a large plate and a clean tea towel in a very low oven to keep the pancakes warm as you make them.
Place the following ingredients in a large bowl or jug:
175g gluten-free self-raising flour (Doves Farm and Asdas are both good)
1 tsp gluten-free baking powder
45g caster sugar
1 egg
200 mls soya milk (or a mixture of soya milk, plain soya yogurt and water)
20g melted sunflower (or other dairy free) margarine
Whisk until there are no lumps but don't over-mix.
Place large tablespoons of pancake mixture onto the girdle, about 4 at a time or however many you have room for. Turn when the tops are all bubbly and no longer wet (usually about a minute). Remove to the plate when both sides and golden and keep warm in the clean tea towel.
Serve spread lightly with sunflower margerine and maple syrup (or melt some golden syrup in the microwave so it pours).
Great with a plate of fresh fruit, soya yogurts and fresh coffee :) Good with bacon and egg too.
You can make a really big one like Hannah, if you wish!
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