A recipe

My housekeeping skills are, at best, pretty woeful. I dislike housework and am too easily distracted by other, more interesting, things to keep a close eye on the state of provisions in the Up Knit Creek larder. Every so often, circumstances force me into action – usually a guest coming over – and I have to step up to the mark, provide food, clean the house etc etc. It doesn’t sit easily with me, but when I put my mind to it, I am a competent, if somewhat erratic, cook. What follows is a typical example of how and why I make soup…

Vegetable soup:

  • Hunt in fridge for something delicious for breakfast
  • find nothing but cheese spread or mayonnaise.
  • Become aware of strange smell emanating from vegetable drawer
  • investigate further and discover copious amounts of vegetables in varying states of decay
  • ponder the ridiculously large amounts of parsnips
  • remember that said vegetables were part of casual resolution to try and eat better this year
  • chuck away the really mouldy stuff
  • feel good about composting
  • cut off the worst of the decay
  • peel and chop until boredom sets in or the blisters on your hands (from unfamiliar feel of knife/peeler) become too bad to continue
  • root around for largest saucepan in kitchen
  • look for three further saucepans to accommodate vast array of vaguely edible ingredients
  • sauté veg in butter
  • add veg stock to maximum capacity of saucepans and bring to boil
  • wander off and get totally absorbed in something else (typically warping up loom, searching for the last few bits of alpaca fibre that you know are somewhere)
  • become aware of burning smell
  • deal with smoke alarm
  • transfer contents of pans to large bucket
  • scrape the worst of the burnt stuff off the saucepans and scrub hard with brillo pads
  • return non-burnt “soup” to clean(er) pans and fish out as many little black bits as possible
  • blend soup with hand blender, remembering to keep electrical cord clear of blades
  • serve soup to unsuspecting family
  • when questioned about little black specks that appear to be infecting the soup, mutter something about top-secret family combination of herbs and spices, deciphered from code in great-great-grandmother’s handwritten recipe book
  • arrange to be “out of town” when health inspectors call following unusual outbreak of gastro-enteritis in neighbourhood


In the Up Knit Creek family, February is birthday month so there has been some celebrating going on.

3rd February is my mother’s birthday, 9th is my brother’s and 14th is Bethany’s. This year was a bit special as Michael (my brother) reached his half-century:

My big brother

Not bad for 50, eh?

Happy birthday to all of you!

P.S. Michael appeared to enjoy his birthday celebrations, but was rather ungracious about one of my gifts to him, in my opinion. I rooted through all the cupboards at work (the Pension Service) and found some of our best and most informative leaflets about how to cope with the problems of old age, the help available for people in their dotage etc etc, but was he grateful? Was he, heck!



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2 responses to “A recipe

  1. I spend a great deal of time wondering if we were separated at birth. My mother won’t comment so I can neither confirm or deny the possibility.

    Happy Birthday, Michael! And thank your sister for her forward thinking. How nice to have someone who cares about your welfare as she does! It’s a blessing, really. Even if we all now have to find our glasses to read the tiny print in those stupid leaflets…

  2. Pingback: Honestly… | Up Knit Creek

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