![]() ![]() ![]() Telling me of life and death, dark and light and their relationship with the seasons. ![]() My mind goes back to the first my grandfather bought for me as a small girl, telling me the legend of Persephone and Hades, and Demeter’s search for her daughter. I smile sweetly and look around for possible ingredients. “I thought this was some tried and tested thing?” I was right. “Are you sure that’s what it says in the recipe, Mum?” Several large glugs hit the pan along with a handful of fresh herbs from the garden. He has wine… I taste it and cringe… a sweet dessert red. A good dash of blackcurrant cordial just felt like the right thing to do… “Did I just see what I thought I saw?” There is, possibly, just a trace of panic in my son’s voice. Goujons of venison now brown gently in a pan with garlic and onions, the mushrooms softening in the juices and olive oil. ![]() I collect some tiny mushrooms en route, on the general principle that I am probably going to need them. I just have to cook it when I get there… hoping, of course, the right ingredients are in the house. Of course, it could be a nice lean fillet or a whole ruddy haunch for all I know. So says my son, temporarily Faith-less while she is away on a sculpture course.Īny idea how he would like it cooked? Hmm, didn’t think so. ![]()
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