Mutant turkey

The scene in the top compost heap, late morning. The occasion being emptying the compost dustbin for the protection of the patio from afternoon stinks.

This because, following the turkey leg noticed at reference 1, we thought we would go the whole hog with four of them. Massively cheaper than the once cheap cut called shoulder of lamb. 

Proceedings had started the day before with going to town to source the accompanying gravy. Did the shopping, including some very cheap, out of date chicken wings from M&S, from their long life chicken range for extra flavour, and then carried on around the Screwfix circuit.

Taking in some fine convolvulus on the way.

And the Screwfix whitebeam.

Home to present BH with her own copy of Simenon's 'The Cat'. I had bought my copy from France, in January, prompted, I think, by a glowing review of a new translation, and got around to reading it eventually. Not sure if that is what this tasteful copy from Penguin is, but BH got through it fast enough. We have yet to compare notes, but I have got my copy out so that I can give it another go.

I thought it pretty good the first time around, if a bit depressing. What a way to end up! Much too close for comfort!

After lunch, I put half the chicken wings into the stock pot, along with the vegetables to hand, to boil up for a bit and then off on the second circuit to inspect the Thames Water traffic test on West Hill. All test and no hole in the road. I don't think there ever was a hole in the road.

Home to take the rest of the chicken wings tray roasted as a snack; not something I think we have done before. They did rather well.

And then onto the gravy. More or less the same drill as that noticed at reference 2. Stock left, porridge right, debris front. Much easier to separate the meat from the bones than it had been with the legs, rather to my surprise.

Four legs given a good turn in the oven, covered by foil most of the time. One does not want them underdone and tough.

In parallel, the full gravy performance, using a good part of the porridge. White bread - an expensive boule from Waitrose - did very well for the dipping. I thought that the gravy was really good, but my chief taster was not prepared to go that far: good but not great was her best offer.

On the plate. Taken with a couple of Argentine reds from Waitrose. Very good they were too, even though I had chickened out of carrying them home and summoned BH to fetch me: the first time I recall doing such a thing. Maybe it was a warm afternoon.

Baby maize from Kenya. Jersey Royals from somewhere, a lot better than the ones that we had had a few days previous: sometimes they earn their premium price, even if they are not much like the ones one pulls out of one's own ground.

All very satisfactory, but somehow fell short of a proper roast. I wonder if what was missing was the sense of conspicuous consumption, perhaps as necessary an ingredient as the food and drink itself on an occasion of this sort. I had spent a bit on the wine, but that was inconspicuous.

I associate this morning to the new-money people in Trollope stories who always managed to tell their guests, in the course of an evening, how much they had spent on the wine and how much of it they had stashed away in their cellar. Much talk about 'my wine merchant'. A fine line, if you are into foodie talk, between telling you guests about what they are getting and boasting about it.

And then there are the people who manage to drag 'my broker' into the conversation. Their money is sufficiently new that they are still in make mode, rather than spend mode. Not so many of them about these days, with computers having in some large part squeezed out these expensive middle men.

For dessert a steamed jam sponge - to which end the jam spread noticed at reference 3 served very well. A dish I am rather fond of. Strawberries with the usual trimmings for those who liked that sort of thing with sponge cake - and for those who didn't like sponge cake.

Not sure myself about the clash of raspberry with strawberry flavour. Maybe if covered by sugar and cream?

Dinner bell visible top left. The dinner trumpet with which it is paired for greater effect seems to have gone missing; but it was present.

I think we did the sponge in the one shift.

After a suitable interval we moved onto dancing water outside (remember the dustbin).

I had not done very well in my warm-up session in the morning, and we took a while to get going in the afternoon. But we got there, and by close of play we had had some good dancing, 66% if not 100%. The bowl had not been used for a while, and even though we were using tepid water, I wonder if the bowl needed a while in the sun to warm up.

It was also a good time to give my own trolley an outing. Just as well to take it out from time to time, one never knows when I might need it again. Bought just about two years ago, as can be seen from reference 6.

Something in the way of cold turkey sandwiches on white that evening, and very good they were too. Cold turkey with all the trimmings the following day. Gravy and porridge morphed into soup the day after that. All good. Plus a bit of grazing on the side.

References

Reference 1: https://psmv6.blogspot.com/2026/06/fake-200.html.

Reference 2: https://psmv6.blogspot.com/2026/05/chicken-dinners.html.

Reference 3: https://psmv6.blogspot.com/2026/05/the-third-day.html.

Reference 4: Le chat - Georges Simenon - 1967. Presses de la Cité. Have I got a first edition? How does one tell? From the outside, mine looks just like the one turned up by Google above.

Reference 5: https://pumpkinstrokemarrow.blogspot.com/2010/11/pending.html. A previous outing for the dancing water bowl. Been at it now, off and on, for some years.

Reference 6: https://psmv5.blogspot.com/2024/07/trolleys.html. Seems a long time ago now that I was taking the thing to the Wigmore Hall.

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