Three fat ladies

Nigella and I were clearly separated at birth, not only from each other but also from our spiritual mother. However, I have finally found her! Just look at her! I could be her in 15 years time. She was fat, a cook, a country woman and rather mental – as am I! I´m, of course, talking about Clarissa Dickson Wright

You see, in the eight years that have passed since I last worked on this blog I have gone from atypical suburban wife in the northern parts of Stockholm to living in the deep woods outside of a tiny village in the north of Sweden. When I say tiny, I really mean tiny. Less than 300 people live here, a third of which are – shall we say – characters. It´s OK for me to say that, cause I am definitely one of them. We´re also a remarkably international bunch. Down our end of the lane there are more English spoken than Swedish. Three of the only four permanent households here are English speaking (and one is made up by a half-irish chap with his Swedish girlfriend), and three of the five holiday homes are too.

At the centre of village life is the shop. It´s one of those little village shops where you can get pretty much anything – what they haven´t got, they will get for you within a day or two. They also deliver. 

- Want bread, eggs and milk? Great! We´ll be with you in an hour.
- Want crocodile steak? It´ll take a bit longer. Say day after tomorrow?

Should you have your way around our neck of the woods (literally), do nip in, have a natter and buy something locally produced!

The shop is owned by Tommy, who knows everyone. He´s the equivalence of the landlord in a country pub – knows the business of everyone and can point you in the direction of whatever you may need. Sometimes the shop staff knows what you need before you do yourself – which is handy.

It´s easy to feel close to nature and a bit “prepperish” here. Every year we buy 20 kg of moose meat from a local hunter, we buy beef from a farmer in the next village and veg from another. At least I can pretend to be self sufficient.

We originally bought the house to use as a holiday home, but we fell in love with the area and the house so after just a year we upped sticks and moved here. In the garden we currently have red currants, rhubarb and damsons, but true to myself I am obviously planning a massive kitchen garden where we become self sufficient in fruit and veg. Last year we bought an apple tree and we´re already reaping the rewards of our caretaker´s efforts. One (1) apple is the ample crop this year.

The Art of Cooking by Proxy

My men have usually started out hard core non-cooking men and for the first part of our relationships this has been all dandy for me. I have sort of enjoyed playing The Little Housewife, ironing their shirts and cooking up three course meals, but this usually wears quite thin after as the first romantic months of the relationship passes. After that I start planning how I shall rid myself of the burden of everyday cooking (though I still enjoy throwing the odd dinner party for appreciative guests).


Over the years I have devised a cunning three step plan which is almost fool proof.

1. First major occasion with an excuse for gifting larger items, buy them a whopping big grill with all the bells and whistles to go with it.
   
   There is something about men and fires. They seem genetically programmed to be drawn to it and once the flames turns to embers they will start scouring the house for something to put on them.
   
2. Make sure the kitchen is always well stocked with the perfect food to throw on "the barbie". Since you're trying to train your man to cook, you should start out with large chunks of beef and then slowly turning him over to such delicacies as marinated aubergine and similar. If you live in a suburban area you could encourage him to join up with the other chaps for "barbie" marathons. Remind me to tell you all about the year of the Great Barbie Competition in our neighbourhood sometime!
   
   By now he should be sufficiently trained on dinners. All you need to do when the winter comes is to smile sweetly and tell him that he's such a wizz with the meat/veggies/fish - couldn't he see if he could replicate some of that masterfulness with the grill pan? Most men will rise to the occasion.
   
3. Get into the habit of having a full cooked breakfast every day. It is a well known fact that men are more likely to sort breakfast out if it is a cooked one. Alternatively, if the thought of all that grease and bacon turns your stomach, cuddle up to him like a kitten in the morning and whisper sweetly in his ear that being served breakfast in bed makes you feel like a Princess and this makes you HOT. 

This plan will work for most men, occasionally you may have to revise it - as I had to do for Husband. The way to get him into the kitchen lay more in lines of hard nosed refusal on doing certain things, on my behalf.

- No, you filthy minded person! Not That! That I do willingly, if not wantonly!

I simply refuse to cook offal, and later on to clean!

Surrendered Wife

I'm a surrendered wife. Not of the 1990's version (does anyone still remember those?) but a 2011 version. I have surrendered all housework to Husband.

See, Husband has proved to be quite a wizz with that sort of thing. He swoops around the house, picks up bits and pieces, seems down right proud of his clean kitchen floor and spotless coffee table. Me, I quite enjoy the sight, but it's not enough to give me an urge to follow his example.

Having spend more or less all of my adult life trying to become a Domestic Goddess, but always falling sadly short, I completely gave in a few months back. "Sod it!" I thought. I didn't care if the dishes weren't done (never did, really, but always felt guilty for not caring), couldn't be bothered making the bed (ditto) and decided to simply just let it be - it would sort itself out somehow. And, you know what? It did!

One morning I came home from work - one of my jobs is a night job - and the kitchen was spotless. Had Nigella moved in? Had Saint Delia suddenly appeared on our door step begging for a job as a housekeeper? Nope, Husband had had enough!

The plan couldn't have worked better had I actually planned it!

So, these days Husband takes care of all things housey, apart from cooking and baking. Though baking I am banned from after last weekend, when I left the spatulas and bowls in the sink and the flour turned to concrete. Cooking I'm still trusted with, but as my food - look wise - mainly resembles something that even Oliver Twist would turn his nose up at it's just a matter of time. The taste is fine, though, so as long as I keep the lighting dim it's edible. Thinking of that, some new surgical lights may be in order. It's the highest fashion, isn't it?