Revenge of the 'Mushy Moo'

In an attempt to improve my day, after a bout of battling with bureaucracy, I decided that I would do some cooking.

Because of to DH's intolerances to various items, we have had to go VERY simple with ingredients - avoiding anything with gluten, pepper, mustard, oats, carrots or red wine.
Eating out with DH and the KHT is reminiscent of the 1990's cookery show Can't Cook, Won't Cook, only for our family it is Can't Eat, Won't Eat. It is not a lot different at home...

Earlier in the week, we had purchased some beef, so I decided to cook this in tomato.
Then I had a brainwave, why not tone down the tomato-ness of the sauce, with part of one of the three marrows that developed on the allotment whilst we were away.

Adapting a recipe for stuffed marrow, I cut the marrow in cross sections, peeled, deseeded and then bunged the resulting rings in a bowl of hot water.

DH examined my culinary endeavours with interest.
'It's a new dish I have created. I shall call it Mushy Moo!"
To save time I made sure I cooked enough for two days.
"I hope it doesn't taste too bad, as it is tomorrow's dinner as well!" I reminded DH, just before we ate.
"It could do with some Worcester Sauce." was his verdict, and he was right. While the marrow did tone down the tomato, the resulting dish was a tad bland.
"We could always add some black pepper.." I suggested helpfully, and got a look.

DH went out for a very important meeting, so I pottered around, deadheading flowers, watering pots and sorting laundry.
I was out in the garden as dusk fell, watching the solar lights come on, and appreciating the beauty of the shadows cast by the verbena and olive tree, and enjoying the peacefulness.
I planned that tonight's blog would be all about nightfall in the garden - marking the slipping away of the end of the day, and the beauty to be seen.


There would be no strange naked, but anatomically incorrect, blue character trailing a large red blankie in my account.
The birds in the trees would not be bright pink, blue, green or purple and chirping like a carefully rehearsed and choreographed operatic society chorus. Instead, they would be muted shades of browns, greys and blacks, with subtle highlights of white yellow or blue, and squawking in dischord and outrage, not harmony.
No strange train would come trundling, through looking as if it has escaped from Aladin and no green airship, modelled on a puffer fish, would float in the airspace above MY borders.

Later DH returned from his meeting.
"I have reacted to something. I think it is the marrow! I have been suspicious about courgette for a while..."
And so the meal for tomorrow was decanted into two ziplock bags and bunged in the freezer for me to eat at a later date.
I HATE bags of food lurking in the freezer, they terrify me.
If I defrost them, what unknown horrors will they contain? Argh! However, tomorrow is a complicated day and I need something simple we can both eat.
"What about tomorrow?" enquires DH, hoping that I have a plan, as he trails his blankie of allergies right through my catering arrangements.
"We can defrost some chicken," I reply, in an Upsy Daisy sort of way, knowing that mine is the role of the optimist, but quietly drawing the line at dancing, or being chased by a bed, especially if it was a flower bed...

Later, as I am concluding this blog, I realise that the strange tinkly noises that have been invading my subconscious, is actually the sound of raindrops dripping on to the metal watering cans. The sound varying according to the part of the watering can they land on.
With its regular rhythm and simple structure of repeating notes, it sounds unnervingly like the sort of tinkly music that would feature in a programme for small children...


Now all I need is a plot and some characters and I could be on to a winner!