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.

Caught red handed

Awake at the crack of dawn – quite literally – this beautiful Saturday morning I am already planning today’s great adventures. Since I fell asleep before 10 pm last night I was up at 5 am and, as I have promised the Long Suffering Husband to do the cooking today, I am starting to prepare one of the few dishes I actually have mastered – a classic Russian Borscht.

The plan is to prepare all the veggies and the bacon and stock in the fabulous old Invicta pot I got from Mother, pop it all in the oven and let it slow cook whilst we go up the woods in search of some delightful mushrooms. It all sounds like the perfect weekend treat for a perfect suburban family. What could possibly go wrong? Perhaps tomorrow we'll put a roast in the oven before walking to the village church for Sunday service as well! Anyway, today a trip up the woods together with friends are in the cards.

I'm actually quite the mushroom picker! Usually I stick to Boletes, as there are no poisonous ones in this neck of the woods (pun intended). Destroying Angel I am also very proficient in finding, but those we are saving for an extra special treat.

In the afternoon I will harvest the Elderberry bush and make some lovely jam.

There is only one draw back with today's plans – the grating of beetroot for the soup stains your hands something silly! Makes you look like you've been through a blood bath for days. I have yet to come up with a solution for this. I tried making LSH grate the beetroot, but the sight of his stained hands are just as sickening as seeing my own. Grating wearing Marigolds isn't really an option since I definitely prefer not to get little pieces of latex in my soup, and the food processor broke a long time ago.

The perils of a Suburban Wife are many!