The House Husband

So, today we’re back to grey skies and mud. And while the temperature is hovering around the 3 mark, the icy wind makes it feel more like -10! Although, I should admit, it’s all warm and toasty in the house.

I don’t easily admit defeat when it comes to cooking but stollen has me flummoxed! Because I forgot to make my usual Christmas cake in September, I decided to try this Austrian festive delight instead.

The first time I had stollen was many years ago at Dural, of all places. Bob & Claire had an exchange student from Germany, Ina, and she prepared a stollen as per her mum’s (or grandmum’s) recipe. I was hooked! It was delicious!

For those that don’t know what it is…it is a thick, bready type cake full of currants and sultanas, almonds and marzipan with a subtle lemon icing. It can be eaten fresh or toasted like fruit loaf. A little is a lot, if you know what I mean. It is both rich and more-ish, if such a thing is possible.

I have since eaten stollen many times and it’s appeal has never diminished. So I figured it would be a good alternative to my usual Christmas cake. It was also an advantage that you made and ate it straight away, rather than let it sit and soak up alcohol for three months!

So yesterday I attempted my first stollen. My first attempt, with very old yeast, can now be used as an anchor for one of those huge container ships. I tasted it and a very small amount was enough to fill my stomach. The taste wasn’t bad but the density certainly was. It had the thickness of lead. To say I was devastated is not gilding any lily!

Today I will try again (this time with some slightly younger yeast) and see how that goes. If it doesn’t work, I may just follow Mirinda’s advice: To buy one and say it’s mine!

I should add that I didn’t feed any of the first attempt to the birds for fear they’d not be able to take off again after eating it.

Very cold this morning!  Which is not altogether a bad thing.  The muddy ground in the park was frozen so the poodles didn’t need their feet washed when we returned.  Still, for some unknown reason, they both thought it important to lick the frost off the bench near the castle.  Not sure if this is because the puddles are iced over.  Nice to see the sun is shining as well – quite rare recently.

I had a knock at the door last night.  I say night but it was probably about 5:30.  I opened it to find two lads of around 14-15 who launched into “We Wish You a Merry Christmas” with gusto.  I was instantly transported back 7 years to Haslemere.

Around this time of the year, a knock would come on our door and for a few excruciating minutes, we’d have to put up with this same song, sung with total disregard for anyone’s ears.  Now I don’t mind when it’s small children that you can coo over, swapping ‘cute’ grins with the parents standing proudly behind them.  And I don’t mind the explosion of light and sound that accompanied Santa, his sleigh and an army of volunteers collecting for Bernado’s or some such charity.  What I DID mind was the fact that these two lads were too old, couldn’t sing and were, basically singing with menaces in order to extort cash in return for some sort of protection.  Bricks through the window, scratched car, that sort of thing.

The first year, they appeared to be about 12 and they kept coming back.  Same two lads, same atmosphere of threat hanging around their shoulders.  I would have been quite happy to just pay them but this didn’t seem quite like playing the game properly.  Of course, as the years went by, they grew older.  At our last Christmas in Haslemere they were easily 17.  And you couldn’t avoid them, not like Halloween, because they never came on the same day.  And it was always during the week.  At a time, guaranteed to find people at home, just ripe for the picking.  When we moved to Farnham, the fact that we wouldn’t have to go through this silly charade ever again, was indeed a blessing.

And then, last night, it was like a visitation from the ghost of Christmas Past.  To be fair, their singing was slightly better.  And then, as the rendition finished and I reached for the change on the junior Jali by the door, they produced a charity bucket and I noticed the id badges hanging around their necks.  I also, for the first time, noticed they were quite clean cut, cheerful lads and not in the least threatening.  The sort of boys to make a mother proud.  I happily handed over my change and wished them a Merry Christmas, tinged with an unnoticed apology for thinking they were thugs.

One irritation that apparently will haunt me forever is the fact that most people get the words wrong in We Wish You a Merry Christmas!  Anyone who knows me, knows I HATE this sort of thing!

These carollers always sing “…Good tidings we bring, to you and your king…” which is just plain stupid.  I don’t have a king and I’m sure, if I did, he’d not like being lumped in with me when it came to tiding reception.  The actual lyric is “…Good tidings we bring, to you and your KIN…” which, of course, means the people listening and their families.  Kin as in relatives, not King as in monarch.  I blame the mass stupidity engendered in the lack of proper English in our schools.  I assume, the word ‘kin’ is gradually disappearing and, therefore, people don’t know what it means.  And, going for the closest thing they DO understand, they slip in a quick ‘king’.  Nonsensical!