I'm not sure what's in the air; whether it's my impending wedding, cabin fever from having time off and commitments slimmed down, or if I'm just becoming old. But I have become increasingly 'domestic' over the past month. 'Domestic Goddess' is a wild exaggeration and the thought of Proverbs 31 is enough to bring me out in cold sweats, but I'm giving it a good go. I have picked strawberries and made jam; I've baked cakes for birthdays and just because someone was coming round; I've made stock from old chicken bones.
On Tuesday my brother came to stay, so with all of these conquests in mind, I decided to try something new for dinner. Chicken pie sounded nice and easy, and in one of Jamie Oliver's 'everyone can cook' books, there's a recipe for a quick and simple recipe. Great. Monday night I caught Morrisons just before closing time (and had to run home for my purse, but that's another story) and bought a kilo of chicken leg & thigh, various veg and some pastry. I was up early in the morning ready to go.
The meat needed to be skinned and de-boned, so somewhat hesitantly I set about trying to separate the component parts. I have yet to meet anyone who enjoys dealing with raw chicken, but this was a task apart. Ten minutes and a couple of morsels wrestled off, it was too much. Into a boiling pot it went, and soon the cooked (and very hot) meet was being gingerly picked apart as I burned the nerve endings off my fingertips. Asbestos fingers don't just happen: you have to work on them! Suffice to say the pie mix wasn't ready before I left for play scheme that morning.