Leek, potato and stilton soup

I was making leek and potato soup, and I just thought: 'You know what? This is far too healthy.'

2 large leeks

2 large potatoes, peeled and chopped small.
100-150g stilton (less if stilton is stronger).
1 and a half pints of vegetable stock (or enough to comfortably cover the leeks and potatoes in the pan)
4 large cloves of garlic, crushed then chopped.
2 large handfuls of fresh parsley, chopped finely.
Salt and pepper to taste.

Bring the stock to the boil and add the potatoes and leeks. Boil for 30 minutes until tender and then throw in the garlic and blend. Crumble in the stilton, add the parsley, leaving a few leaves for garnishing, and blend once more. Reheat the soup until lovely and steaming hot (but simmer it, don't boil again), sprinkle the remaining parsley leaves on top and serve with crusty bread.

This is a really hearty soup. Swimming for about an hour, or running around a bit, should help you feel better about your arteries after you've consumed this.

Magpies and bottles.

I spent a very odd Sunday exploring the Alton Bottle Fair. I think, ultimately, that weird events like this couldn't be held anywhere else other than Britain. I've never heard of bottle digging and collecting taking place in any other part of the world.

Lauren Monaco, illustrated Kerouac haikus.

Sometimes when you get off the sites you spend most on, and just do some random browing, you find really cool stuff. Like this series of illustrations based on Jack Kerouac's haikus. They're one of the best sets of illustrations I've seen in a while. You can follow the artist here on twitter, and she also has an etsy shop. 

Fire and cake

I have long maintained that the North does a lot of things far better than the South. Two of these things are undoubtedly fire and cake: fire is always more welcome when you're freezing cold to begin with; cake involves stodge and fat, two Northern staples.

It is for this reason that I decided to spend Guy Fawkes' Night in the North. Standing near a bonfire in nearly-always-sweltering, always-orange-skyed London didn't seem that much fun, and so I headed up alongside some friends to a private bonfire we regularly used to politely gate-crash as teenagers.

My friend Lyndsey (her flickr stream is here) took some funky pictures:

 

My Dad, who has long refused to associate himself with anything with a hyperlink, made some parkin. I have never seen parkin in the south, and my Hampshireian boyfriend still has trouble pronouncing it's name or beleiving it exists. Parkin is basically an edible bonfire. It should be sweet, deep orange, spicy and stodgy. You should eat it outside in the freezing cold whilst you try and peer through the inevitable Northern drizzle at the fireworks. Basically it's the consolation for the bits of the bonfire where you're wholly wet and uncomfortable and not drunk yet. 

The recipe my Dad started with is here. He then doubled everything and, from what I can discern, poured in any left over treacle.

The stuff to the left is far too neat looking to be proper Parkin. It shouldn't be spongy, it should be so dense that when you swallow you can feel large blocks thumping into the bottom of your stomach. Consume with lots of very alcholic ginger beer.