The Cottage Smallholder

I’ve been chatting to Smoking Methusala for a while. He cures and smokes his own bacon on a hillside in Wales. He has agreed to share his knowledge with all would be bacon smokers out there. I’ve heard of a man who smokes fish and bacon in an old wardrobe but this story takes the ticket for best smoking tale that I’ve read so far.

Smoking Methusala’s cold smoker journey. Part one.

I’m going to tell you a something about our setup here. We live in a little Welsh village, way up in the mountains in a very isolated area. No shop or Post Office, but we do have a church and two pubs. Now that must have some significant meaning in itself

The view from every window would be the envy of any city dweller and despite having lived here for 20+ years we still appreciate it. The main thing about being isolated and out in the wilds is that when friends do come and knock on the door, they haven’t come to borrow a cup of sugar.

We are not fortunate enough to have an open fireplace and handy chimney to do our smoking so we were obliged to purchase/acquire a dedicated outside smoke room.

My Son-in-Law, James, is engineering minded and I am an ex engineer so we decided to create a smoking facility. I’m sure you know that if you ask a pair of engineers to make something, you’re going to get something that will be capable of doing 500 times what you want to use it for, And be so complicated to operate that you might need a college degree to fire it up. James and I made a conscious effort to simplify our ideas from the start

Fetching the obligatory case of Budweiser we sat down to brainstorm. Oops not allowed to say that any more, to be PC we have to have a Thought Shower, as brainstorm may offend.

June brought us 2 cold Budweiser’s from the fridge and we spotted our first mistake. We would have taken 2 from the case we were sat on and they wouldn’t have been chilled! See what happens when engineers get together, basic ideas fall by the wayside LOL.

During a thought shower we’re allowed to steal other people’s ideas and modify/improve them. So we chatted about Gordon Ramsey’s smoking system which utilized an old Robin Reliant body as a smoke room. We don’t have a Robin Reliant but we do have an old wooden garden shed.

We’d mentally coated the inside of the shed with tin foil to make for cleanliness and had attached a short chimney on the roof. We decided the ill fitting door was fine as it would allow through draught to keep the smoke density down.

Right, so we had our smoke room ready. Now for the smoke generator.

We have a char-boil barbeque and decide that can be modified. Just need to cut a hole in the top, attach a length of pipe to take the smoke to the smoke room and Robert’s your fathers brother. Make it a decent size and length of pipe and you will have a cooling effect and so not take heat to the smoke room.

Great this is going really well, and the Budweiser is going well too.

Ah. Design fault 1. The smoke won’t happily go down hill so how are we going to get it to enter the low area of the smoke room?

Engineers work around: Modification 1a, put the smoke room on stilts so the smoke pipe can run horizontal from the generator.

Design fault 2. The smoke room door is now 3 feet from the ground. Modification 2a, Build a flight of steps to the door.

Looking good now and the Budweiser’s working well too. We have the setup envisaged, Now for the real test. Draw up a complete set of plans and show it to a layperson and ask them for their opinion.

The only lay person here is June who has a B.Sc and a B.A. We decided to run it past her as she will be using it too.

A rough translation of her comments was,
“You must be mad, the pair of you!! How much Budweiser have you had?”

We returned to the drawing board. Went outside with a fresh Budweiser and sat on the old fridge. Did I say OLD FRIDGE, I should have said, we sat on the NEW SMOKE ROOM!

The fridge was given a reprieve from the council tip and became the SMOKE ROOM. The smoke generator was the next item to work on. It is now a small fireplace about the size of a coffee mug made of aluminium. It has a fire grate with a chimney in its side and a tall
hopper above that slowly drops wood shavings on to a smouldering fire that fits into the palm of your hand.

Air is blown up through the fire by a small tropical fish tank pump. It smokes for about 4 hours on a single load and can be topped up with fresh shavings/sawdust at any stage during the process without interrupting the smoking process as it is attached to the outside of the smoke room.

The moral of this story is if you task a couple of engineers to design you something, give them a free crate of Budweiser to get them thinking and you may get something that works. Oh, make sure there’s a woman around.

Detailed instructions on building your old fridge smoke room and smoke generator will follow tomorrow in part two.

There’s nothing like chilling in someone else’s garden on a Bank Holiday Monday. It might be the last day of the three day weekend but a day snatched from the working week makes it extra special.

I used to work on Bank Holidays. Now I try and take the time off. My clients expect me to curl up for the day and it’s a chance to catch up, flop and appear vaguely normal.

Last Monday we enjoyed a few hours with Tessa and Colin having lunch in their garden. Their pair of ducks had produced five tiny ducklings two months ago. These diminutive specimens with ping pong ball heads made a great mini battalion. They followed their mother everywhere in a neat file. Their mum never kept still when they were babies. She must have had loads of early, unbroken nights. This was one intelligent duck.

On Monday we enjoyed a perfect meal. Cooked beside the table on a griddle. Apart from home cured duck breast (surrounded by ducks, we had to whisper) we guzzled steak and the best mushrooms that I’d ever tasted. Tessa confided that the gills had been brushed with Branston’s Hot Chilli Jalapeno Relish.

If you don’t have the sauce available this recipe gives them a similar mild zing. I’m not keen on mushrooms with steak but I liked these.

Danny’s zingy mushrooms recipe

Ingredients:

• Half a dozen mushrooms (quartered)
• 2 tbsp of butter
• half tsp of garlic granules
• half tsp of fresh lemon juice
• pinch of cayenne pepper (add more to increase spiciness)

Method:

1. Heat the butter in a small saucepan with the garlic, lemon juice and cayenne.
2. When the butter is sizzling add the mushrooms and turn them in the butter until they are coated.
3. Reduce the heat to very low and simmer for 10 minutes, stirring every now and then.

The evening that we buried Great Aunt Daisy Beatyl I went down to the Emerald Castle to check if any of Mrs Boss’ clutch had hatched. One egg containing a tiny embryo had burst the day before. I was losing heart that we’d get any hatchlings. Bantams usually hatch after 21 days and this was day 22.

I lifted Mrs Boss off the nest. As she stepped into the caste grounds there was a small thin shriek from the nest of eggs. A teeny wet chick stood upright in a half eggshell and started to cheep. Not the gentle nestling cheeps but a cry so sharp that it should have had the rest of the clutch emerging from their eggs in an instant. Mrs Boss turned to look, froze for a second and then bustled back with luxuriant clucks.

I rushed back to the cottage to tell D.

“We just have to call it Beatyl after Great Aunt DB.”

So let me introduce Beatyl Chick, the Silkie (left) and Dixie Chick, the Wyandotte that hatched the next morning (named by Pamela). Mrs Boss is still sitting on the remaining three eggs – so we might have more hatchlings.

I’ve spent quite some time watching them. They are at the stage when they want Mrs Boss to feed them. They were pecking at her beak so I rattled the feeder and Mrs Boss taught them how to feed with tremendous clucks and fuss. Beatyl cottoned on within seconds and Dixie Chick took her time, milking the audience. Her first swallow was the biggest gulp that I’ve ever seen by a day old chick. The entire body seemed to reverberate. Meanwhile Beatyl hopped inside the rim of the feeder on the thinnest bright yellow legs, tossing the feed into the air and having great fun.

There’s new life and at the bottom of the garden
“Let’s hope that they’re hens!” D said as he raised a glass to the diminutive newcomers.

I hope so too. If they are cockerels their future is casserole shaped. We can’t keep a cockerel in the garden. Apart from alerting our neighbours to the break of dawn they will answer any cockerel in the village. There are at least three living around the cottage and just one an addition would be three times three. Cockerels are territorial. They respond, add their cry to the mix and more.

It’s Danny’s birthday.
“What would you like to eat this evening?”
“Well, I don’t know really.”

“How about Diana Henry’s Spiced Chicken breasts on melting onions with preserved lemon? They’re delicious Even Bunty asked for the recipe.”
“They sound great but I don’t remember them.”

But I couldn’t find the chicken breasts in the freezer.

“How about a takeaway from Arif?”
D’s eyes lit up. This Indian restaurant is very good since they employed a new chef two years ago. We don’t do takeaways these days but a birthday is a Birthday.

I had also discovered some frozen raw king prawns.
“There’s just one more option. Gambas Pil Pil. A whole pack just for you plus half my pack?”

Resistance was futile. The prawns won.

Gambas Pil Pil are ideally a starter. Bur can be padded out for a main course. We’d recommend a good salad and loads of crusty bread. D’s brother Donagh cooked these for us on the memorable evening, just before he fell, laughing, into the pond. I still smile at his comment the next morning.
“I woke up and wondered what the green stuff was on the tiles in the shower. Then I saw my pile of clothes and the duck weed.”

I’ve posted the recipe for Gambas Pil Pil as a spaghetti sauce. But they really shine accompanied by crusty bread and a good bottle of chilled Pinot Noir. It has been said that they can make a man forget the passing of the years for the ten minutes that it takes to devour them. I can vouch for that. Could this be the culinary version of the Power of Now?

Do try Gambas al Pil Pil at home. Delicious. Dream food for that very special occasion.

Donagh’s Gambas al pil pil recipe (for 2 or for 4 as a starter)

Ingredients:

• 300g of raw king prawns unfrozen
• 2 chunky cloves of garlic (very thinly sliced and chopped)
• 1 small hot red birds eye chilli (finely chopped, seeds removed)
• 5 tbls of olive oil
• zest and Juice of one lemon (or half a large lemon)
• 1 tsp of salt
• plenty of freshly ground black pepper
• crusty French bread

Method:

1. Heat the olive oil (medium to hot until it is just smoking). Add the garlic, lemo zest and chilli. Just as the garlic is turning pale brown toss in the prawns.
2. Keep turning the prawns as you add the lemon juice.
3. When the prawns are no longer translucent (1-2 minutes). Add a sprinkle of salt and plenty of ground black pepper and serve on warm plates with crusty French bread.

Many years ago my mum was given Great Aunt Daisy Beatyl by a couple of generous Miniature Dachshund breeders. She was five years old and needed a good home.

We motored into the country to collect her. As far as I can remember it was quite a long drive and they questioned us carefully about her future. I agreed that if something happened to my mum I would look after Daisy B. As we piled into the car to leave, Gloria wiped a tear away. She had confided that she would have loved to have kept the dog but her husband had drawn the line at more than five dogs in the house.

Daisy Beatyl was a youngish dog, looking for affection and love. She got this from my mum. As well as walks, treats, hours snuggled on the sofa and the occasional wonderful distraction such as the rabbit hutch sited on the other side of her fence in the next door garden. The rabbits survived but tantalised and entertained her for months.

I had a soft spot for DB from the word go. Her beautiful eyes would have tempted the shyest suitor. And they had. She’d mothered a couple of litters before she came to live with my mum.

Over the past couple of years, Great Aunt Daisy Beatyl has gradually moved from being a stylish city dog to sedate retirement in the country cottage where she had holidayed all her life. We have a dog flap, which is ideal for an older dog that needs her own key to the garden.

As senior dog she kept the Min Pins in line and us too. Welcoming me home with the softest nuzzley, toothy reminder that it was suppertime. After this she would flit, sausage like and deft between my feet, demanding food.

Opening her mouth to take a small piece of bread at lunch time today, I noticed a large bright red blood clot in her mouth.

The young vet was kind and gentle as he explained that she had cancer. She was dying and that it would be best to put her down. He was surprised that she could stand on the examination table.

But that was Great Aunt Daisy Beatyl, stoical, trusting and a real trooper right to the end.