Giant Leeks
(Nota Bene: There's a gorgeous poster for sale over at Ephemera, the proceeds of which go to DontAmend.com; thanks to JadedJu for the link.)
Tomorrow our new stove is to arrive. We're pumped. No bells, no whistles. I'm a cook. I don't need no stinking convection oven. I want a good-sized oven; I want a broiler that works; I want all four burners to actually burn; I want to have a Vague Idea what temperature my oven is.
So it's coming in tomorrow, as I say; courtesy of "Consumer Reports," I was able to figure out that what we want is a Hotpoint. Cheap. Reliable. Yes.
But naturally I can't plan to come home and cook on it tomorrow, cause you never know what might happen. Plumbers might find weird things, stove might get lost on way to house, oven delivery guys might discover that they need a Missing Part which must be ordered from Chicago. By pony express. But it's St. David's day tomorrow! Must eat leeks! Leeks must be cooked!
I'm using the slowcooker instead, to make Cawl Mamgu, a Welsh leek soup, only with ham instead of mutton, cause that's what we've got in the freezer. Pigs were sacred to the Celts, anyway -- I figure that ham'll be Just Fine in Welsh soup.
Here's what I have never been able to figure out:
I understand why we honor a Welsh saint with leeks -- once we were able, in a battle with the English -- one of many, I might add, for those of you unclear on Welsh history -- to tell ourselves apart from the English by wearing leeks. Fine. So tomorrow we're supposed to be wearing leeks.
Somebody please explain to me how the hell we wear these leeks? Cause if they're those big things sold over at the Giant Eagle, I do not understand how we attach them to our clothing, especially not our hats. We're going to need pretty large pins, and then when we try to stand up we're going to fall over.
Anyway. Around here we celebrate by EATING the leeks, which we know very well how to do, and we love them, for they are the food of our people, and we're looking forward to that. But we are NOT putting them on our heads, for we know not how to pull that off.
Tomorrow our new stove is to arrive. We're pumped. No bells, no whistles. I'm a cook. I don't need no stinking convection oven. I want a good-sized oven; I want a broiler that works; I want all four burners to actually burn; I want to have a Vague Idea what temperature my oven is.
So it's coming in tomorrow, as I say; courtesy of "Consumer Reports," I was able to figure out that what we want is a Hotpoint. Cheap. Reliable. Yes.
But naturally I can't plan to come home and cook on it tomorrow, cause you never know what might happen. Plumbers might find weird things, stove might get lost on way to house, oven delivery guys might discover that they need a Missing Part which must be ordered from Chicago. By pony express. But it's St. David's day tomorrow! Must eat leeks! Leeks must be cooked!
I'm using the slowcooker instead, to make Cawl Mamgu, a Welsh leek soup, only with ham instead of mutton, cause that's what we've got in the freezer. Pigs were sacred to the Celts, anyway -- I figure that ham'll be Just Fine in Welsh soup.
Here's what I have never been able to figure out:
I understand why we honor a Welsh saint with leeks -- once we were able, in a battle with the English -- one of many, I might add, for those of you unclear on Welsh history -- to tell ourselves apart from the English by wearing leeks. Fine. So tomorrow we're supposed to be wearing leeks.
Somebody please explain to me how the hell we wear these leeks? Cause if they're those big things sold over at the Giant Eagle, I do not understand how we attach them to our clothing, especially not our hats. We're going to need pretty large pins, and then when we try to stand up we're going to fall over.
Anyway. Around here we celebrate by EATING the leeks, which we know very well how to do, and we love them, for they are the food of our people, and we're looking forward to that. But we are NOT putting them on our heads, for we know not how to pull that off.
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