Domesticali

Popcorn tea (genmaicha)

So, let's talk tea. I am a diehard fan of hot drinks, but fickle in my preferences. My morning cup of builder's tea is a given, but at work, I drink coffee. Apart from at teatime, when it's tea, or after about seven in the evening, when it's got to be herbal or I turn into the energizer bunny and am totally unable to sleep.

You can imagine what our beverage cupboard looks like, can't you? But there's always space for one more. And this one arrived as a christmas pressie from my sister-in-law (who understands and shares my fickle choices).

I hadn't come across teapigs before, but as soon as I peeked inside the box, I was smitten by the gorgeous little silken pyramids the tea comes swathed in. They call them 'tea temples' - I was already partly won over. But it was when I put the temple in the cup and poured on the water that I really fell in love.

See, the tea Tess had chosen for me was Popcorn Tea, or Genmaicha. And as soon as I smelt it, I was back in Japan. In the little traditional restaurant round the corner from my office where I would eat about 3 times a week. And drink their wonderful tea.

Genmaicha is green tea, mixed with toasted brown rice, which gives it a nutty smell and undertone. It's nickname, popcorn tea, comes about because during the toasting process, some of the rice grains pop and resemble popcorn. And like many good things, Genmaicha has a back story. 

The legend goes that the tea was invented by accident when the servant of a samurai dropped rice into his master's tea. Infuriated by the contamination, the samurai killed the servant but drank the tea anyway, and was delighted by the unusual flavor. He honoured the servant by giving the tea his name, Genmai.

Nice story, but I have my doubts. Mostly because genmai also means brown rice, but hey, it's churlish to doubt a good story isn't it? The tea probably has its origins in frugal Japanese housewives, who added toasted rice to their tea supplies to stretch them, as rice is much cheaper than green tea.

And frugality is a factor, because the Genmaicha from Teapigs costs the earth. So I've been on the lookout for an alternative. I tried  Dr Stuarts Genmaicha, but it's not made with tea leaves (more tea dust) and tastes too muddy. I was disappointed, because I love their Tranquility as my evening herbal tea.

And then I was at Daylesford with Monica and saw this.

But I can't tell you about the comparative taste yet, because I am finishing off the other stuff first. It looks promising though. And it'd look even better if I had one of those glass teapots I've been coveting.

Because tea-time really ought to be a bit of an occasion, neh? What's your tea ritual?

Sparkly

Rebecca is totally right. Citrus fruit is a great antidote to winter blues. I had a lot of clementines and a burning desire to make cake - Nigella's clementine cake.  And then it seemed like fun to poke a sparkler in it. Just for extra joy.

Does that not make the winter blues seem far away? There is such childish pleasure to be had from sparklers. I am a big fan.

Though I do have a slightly chequered sparkler past to confess to. Way back in the dawn of the new Millennium (in the era before children) we were planning a party for New Year's Eve. It needed some kind of special centrepiece. Something to mark the occasion. As a nation, the Milennium Dome was deemed the appropriate choice.

Good enough for the nation? It must be good enough for us. So we recreated it in the living room, in the form of a Baked Alaska (we were so damn classy in those days). And for those big yellow struts? You guessed it,  whacking great sparklers. To be lit on the first stroke of midnight on the dawn of a new century.

Which is how we came to spend the first half hour of 2000 on the front lawn of the house, with all the doors and windows open, trying to get rid of the noxious smoke that had filled the whole of downstairs. Crying with champagne fueled laughter. Who knew you weren't meant to use outdoor sparklers inside?

Thankfully, the new millennium has brought with it the advent of the indoor sparkler.

So much more civilized. And in the dinkiest box, to boot. So there is no excuse not to spread a little sparkly joy.

10 things that make me happy

1. The feeling of liberation that hits me right after school drop off on a Monday morning.
2. Finally getting round to a long anticipated treat.
3. Driving alone through the countryside.
4. Being early enough to stop at an independent bookshop I have been meaning to visit for a long time.
5. Small country towns with free parking!
6. Coming to the crest of a hill, knowing that the rain is stopping and the sun about to peek out.
7. Salads with sprouting seeds in them.
8. Heaps of citrus fruit with the leaves still on.
9. Friends, with whom time spent is somehow always magical.
10. Seeing the spoils of the day on the kitchen table and knowing you've had a grand day out.

Thank you to Monica, for the day out, to  Pink Cat for the tag and an open invitation to anyone who cares to play along with it.

Beginning to bite

Winter - it's beginning to bite. And I don't mean the cold. More the relentless dark days and far too many hours for my liking spent indoors. Feeling irritable with myself and everything around me.

I wish I could find a way to reassure myself that spring is just around the corner. That a month from now, the daffodils will be blooming and the whole world will seem much brighter. And I will be full of energy and enthusiasm again.

At least everyone taking part in the 7 days of specialness project has something to look forward to in the very near future. I've made a flickr group, for sneek peeks or full reveals - please join up and post your photos. Don't forget, your parcels should be ready for posting a week on Monday (Feb 1st). See, now I put it that way, spring really doesn't seem far at all.

Choosing colours

Often, at this time of year, I find myself wanting to change things up a little bit in the house. Perhaps it's a by-product of having spent so much time at home recently. But I am ignoring the necessary, but dull and expensive jobs (like getting someone with huge ladders to come and paint the hallway and stairwell which runs the whole height of the house) in favour of tinkering.

Tinkering is so much more fun. Like painting the chimney breast a different colour. Small, manageable, maximum impact for minimum effort type of tinkering. But I am not the best at selecting colours. So though I think I'd like a charcoal kind of colour, we evidently need to test drive some options.

I think I'm favouring the top one (less battleship looking), though in this picture, it has a greenish tinge - perhaps it's just the monitor.

I found an ancient shot of the whole room (though the dining table isn't there any more), but at least it shows the curtains. It's a very long and narrow room, and I thought painting the chimney breast might break it up a bit.

Of course, I could stop faffing on and just do it, but procrastination seems to be the order of the day here.

And the winner is..

Well, if truth be told, the winner is me really. It was amazing, thanks to the Lisa Leonard giveaway, to see so many old faces from the comment box joined by throngs of you that I haven't had the pleasure of meeting before.

Lurkers. It's not a terribly warm descriptor is it? I'm not much of a lurker myself - if I am going to take the time to read a blog, then I want to feel I have some kind of relationship with the person writing it, and that for me means a two way dialogue. I guess I'll lurk places like Apartment Therapy or Whip Up, which have more of a multi-author, magazine style feel to them. And I am probably guilty of commenting less in places that regularly get huge numbers of comments. But I wonder if I comment, because I blog and therefore appreciate the preciousness of comments as a form of reward for sitting in front of a screen pouring your thoughts out into the ether.

I had no idea how large a proportion of the folks who read here do not blog. And perhaps if you do not, then your feelings about leaving a comment once in a while are different. Comments are a blogger currency of sorts, after all. I comment on your blog, you comment on mine. Everyone is a winner. But how do you feel if you have no blog? It's all very fascinating - I'd love to hear your take on it.

But anyway, on to business. I got Johnny to draw the winner for me. Though Reggie the cat was keen to get in on the act.

And the lucky person is:

Gemma! I am so pleased for her -  she didn't have the greatest of years last year, so hopefully this will be just one of many signs that this year is looking up. I will pass your details on to Lisa, Gemma - now get thee to her website and start picking! 

Reggie thought he would do some picking (and chewing) of his own.

So Petit Filoux, though I sadly do not have another Lisa Leonard piece of gorgeousness for you, count yourself a winner of sorts, at least in the eyes of my cat.  If you will let me have your details, Reggie  would like to send something to you. He promises it will be better than a furball.

Choices and a giveaway

How swiftly is it possible to say 'yes' without appearing indecently keen? Such is the dilemma which confronted me when Lisa proposed a trade recently. Well, that and which one of her wonderful pieces of jewellery to select.

Falling in love with the open circle necklace happened pretty fast too. But then all speedy decision making ability left me. What did I want it to say?

The thought of being able to have something personalized and unique is wonderful, but the pressure to get the words right was weighing heavy. What was truly important and meaningful to me? But not too cheesy, or heavy, or mushy. Something joyful. Many options were discussed and discarded.

For a while, I thought it might say "the little things", as a reference to noticing and appreciating life's small pleasures. But hubby told me I shouldn't put myself down - it took a while to dawn on me what he was getting at.  Men.

So back to the drawing board. And eventually, after much thought, this is how it turned out. And it just makes me  smile.

I never thought, way back in 2006 when I began, that blogging was going to be something so important to me. It's a part of my life now and a space which I have come to value hugely. Although possibly less than my mother. She likes to call me up and harass me when I haven't posted regularly. I have suggested she just speak to me, but she says it's not the same.  So much so, that when I suggested I was a bit overstretched a while back and perhaps I should put domesticali on the back burner for a bit, she told me she would rather I gave up work and just blogged instead.

It's a funny world.  Thank you so much for stopping by here and sharing it with me. And by way of thanks, I have something to share with you too.

Would you like to have a $75 gift certificate to spend in Lisa's shop? Because that's what she is giving to one of you. Although please, please do not ask me to help you decide what to say if you choose something personalized.

Just leave me a comment to enter the draw, and then nip off over to Lisa Leonard Designs and start deciding which one you'd pick. Just a word of warning, it may take some time.... but like blogging, probably time well spent.

 

Reflections

It's Coffee Lady's fault. She wrote the perfect post about middle aged dressing - perfect in that it was funny,  but contained a kernel of truth. As evidenced by the confessional contents of her comment box.

She got me thinking about her project of taking a picture of what she's wearing every day. Well, more than thinking, if truth be told. She made me leap for my camera and rush to my slightly mucky mirror.

I was going to keep my little investigation private, but then I trust you not to be mean and laugh at me don't I?  So before you look I need to make a number of things clear.

1. This isn't one of those exercises where some cute girlie shows off how gorgeous they look in their adorable outfits. It's more an effort to show myself how hideous I can look when I pay no attention to how I am dressed. As evidenced by the first two outfits which came from the style camp of 'pile on as many of the half-dirty clothes from the bedroom chair as you can manage, while still retain ing the ability to move your arms and legs'.
2. It has been extremely cold and snowy this week (necessitating a great many layers)
3. I do own more footwear than a single pair of Crocs. But I don't wear shoes in the house and I use my Crocs as slippers.
4. I do also own more than one pair of trousers. But these are warm, allow me to wear leggings underneath when needed and are narrow enough to be tucked into my wellies.

I'm interested to see where this takes me. But I can't face the confessional nature of doing it in public here.

I've got a little private part of Flickr all sectioned off. Unless of course, you're feeling all reflective and confessional too...

Jubilation

A text arrived late this afternoon. One that made me do a little happy dance round the kitchen. School is opening tomorrow, albeit for a slightly shorter day, but I'll take it. I may have gone a bit overboard on the cheering though. It brought the boys running to see what the jubilation was all about. And when I told them, one of them cried.

Don't think I am an evil and horrible mother, but there's only so much snow fun in the bosom of one's family that it is possible to take. I have a serious case of cabin fever and I think we will all benefit from a little time apart.

I just have to dig the car out first. But it's a small price to pay.

Snuggly buggly

The porridge poncho - it's done! All blocked, seamed, woven in and ready to go.

I am smitten with the baby cables. And the warm cosy fuzz of it. The colour? Well, I am still not sold. It washes me out, if truth be told (hence the headless photos).

But I've finished something! Hooray.

 

Getting bigger

It takes more than packing them off to school, to reconcile oneself to the fact of no longer being the mother of small children. When I answer '9 and 5' to the inevitable 'How old are yours?' question that social gatherings are full of,  I can scarcely believe my own words.

But today, I may be a touch closer to accepting the truth. Because it hit me in  a physical way. See, we went ice skating at one of those fabulous pop up open air rinks that are beginning to be more common here in the UK. It's a wonderful setting - a barn dating from 1750, with a pretty courtyard area for the rink, fairy lights, comfy skates and real ice.

And though I was still more than happy to propel Mr 5 about the ice,  being fallen on by the 9 year old, who now reaches my shoulder was a sobering moment.  I am the mother of relatively large children and the owner of one very sore back.