Anyone remember Peter Langan?

                               

After fooling around in London's financial district, and before selling antiques in Chelsea, I in-filled by working as the manager of an Art Gallery in Marylebone's Devonshire Street. 'The Fine Art Gallery' dealt mostly in Early English Watercolours, and Early Topographical and Sporting prints.

Next door to the gallery was a bistro-style restaurant called Odin's. Odin's was owned by the infamous London restaurateur, Peter Langan (above).

Two or three times a week, my boss Miklos (Nicholas) Vilag, would treat me to a bowl of lunchtime 'French Onion Soup' at Odin's, where our neighbour, Signor Langan himself, had become quite a good friend.

This was in the days when he was still behaving himself (at lunchtimes anyway). Later when he opened his Mayfair flagship eaterie, Langan's Brasserie, he became an insufferable drunk; yet mesmerizingly popular.

In his daily drunken rampages he probably insulted more crowned heads of Europe, film stars, and just plain multi-millionaires, than he drank bottles of Champagne before bedtime.

Poor old Peter; he was burnt to death, in 1988, after 'a serious late night argument' with his wife. He may even have started the fire himself.

People come and go, and Langan certainly left an indelible mark. He could simply have been remembered for the superb cuisine and ambiance at his Stratton Street Brasserie, but in fact he's mostly remembered for his appalling drunken tirades against such notable clients as Princess Margaret.

Notoriety is achieved in bizarre ways.

N.B. Peter's French Onion Soup (at Odin's) was possibly the best in the whole damn world.

Hello, How Can I Help You!

We needed a new phone. All we wanted was to replace our present one so that it could cope with those anonymous machines in Mumbai that ask you to press (select) buttons one, two, or three. Our present phone refuses to do that.

So, rather than listen to logic, Lady M selected something that she thought looked OK, was not too expensive, and came in a nice small neat orange box.

I can't even describe how depressed I was when I opened the bloody box. Bits everywhere, loads of wires that our previous phone didn't seem to need, and an instruction leaflet written in some ancient version of Sanskrit.

The handsets themselves have so many bloody buttons, widgets, and screen instructions, that it'll be months before I'll learn how to actually use it. On top of which there are different buttons for slow wash, defrost, PrtSc SysRq, and 'I'm deaf can you effing speak up'.

Why can't we have phones that are just bloody phones?

Pick up handset, dial, check you have the right person, have meaningless conversation, put down handset; that's all I friggin want.

I shall now go and see if I can put all those wretched bits together, find 2 spare electrical sockets, and one more phone socket. Some bloody hope!

If you hear screams....

Remember This?

Remember when we used to walk about in shorts and T shirts? When the heat of the mid-day sun made us retreat to shady spots beneath the trees? When Peaches, Tomatoes, and Figs were there for the picking? When the sound of splashing and laughter in the pool was music to our ears? When butterflies landed on our arms, and wasps in the butter? And when the trees still had leaves?

Well it's only a few months away..... we just have to survive this bloody awful winter rubbish that's being thrown at us.

Our fields are squelchy wet, it's bloody cold, and the wretched tarpaulin covering the wood pile has sprung a leak.

So, for the moment we'll just have to rely on photos, memories, and our aspirations.

Patience Cro, patience!

Terrine de Porc.

This pork terrine is based on my recent Christmas Turkey stuffing. It was very good with the Turkey, so why not on its own?

It's part sage-n-onion, mostly coarse ground Pork, a handful of chopped Chestnuts, and a central core of mi-cuit Prunes (plus S & P, herbs, and some Port). The whole caboodle is wrapped in smoked bacon.

With 'George' (our wood-fired cooker) having been permanently on the go in recent days, we've been taking advantage to cook pies, bread, and such as the above.

However, the weather has now improved so we may not light up again for a few days; my next experiment will be a Bacon Soda Bread...... Stay tuned! 

Who's a pretty boy, then!

I'm not really afraid of bulls, but I've seen this guy when 'upset', and it doesn't make one over-confident.

I turned a corner, whilst walking the dogs yesterday, and came face-to-face with him; all that separated us was this flimsy length of blue tape (the electricity was OFF).

Let me tell you; he is HUGE, and this is as close as I ventured.

The dogs just ignore him, I'm sure they know they could outrun him if it became necessary. I, however, probably couldn't.

Lady Magnon once witnessed one of his 'tempers', and now won't go within 100 metres of him; in fact she'd rather be in a different country. What a wuss!

                               

Sunday Special: Made to Last.

There I was, peeling a few spuds, when I realised how long I've owned this cheap little peeler.

I know I had it when I was a student, and I probably had it before then when I lived in London. It's followed me around for more years than I care to remember, and has always served me well.

It is simple, practical, and I expect it cost no more than a few pence.

How wonderful to know that there are still things around that don't have built-in obsolescence.

Do you own an equally banal object, that's been with you for ever? (no husband or wife jokes please). 

Sometimes Frost is Essential.

Most farmers would agree that a good layer of snow, and a few days of hard frost, is good for the land in general. 

I think this picture, above, epitomises our winter. Before Christmas we had several days of frost, but since then it's been a mix of cool, sunny, occasionally drizzly, days, with wonderful sunrises and few causes for complaint. 

Unfortunately mild winters can also cause problems for us country folk; one in particular, over here, being a sudden outbreak of Processionary Caterpillar nests in the pine trees. That white fluffy thing, below, is an instantly recognisable nest.

For those who don't know, these caterpillars are poisonous, and dogs are particularly at risk. Our own Monty encountered one (he probably tried to eat it) when he was less than a year old, and is now lacking about a quarter of his tongue.

Watch out for long lines of caterpillars crossing roads or paths, and DO NOT TOUCH. Even their tiny hairs can cause respiratory problems in humans, and in strong winds these can be almost anywhere.

We need a spell of -15 C or colder to kill-off these nasty, and little-known, pests; otherwise they'll be coming down from the trees towards the end of March, so be warned! It's not often I wish for cold weather, but a couple of nights of -20 C would be very welcome; not that it'll happen.

You can read more about this annual menace here.