#guest edited

[grandmaster-anne]

To the lighthouse

Country Life | Published 29 July 2020

Guest-Edited by HRH The Princess Royal

The Princess says: ‘This garden is slightly off the beaten track! The photographer picked a very good day to capture it. This is Northern Lighthouse Board territory—I’ve been there three times now and sailed past it on a number of occasions. The garden is looked after astonishingly well.’

THERE are two ways to reach the lighthouse at Rubh’A’Mhail, or Ruvaal, on the north-east point of Islay: by boat or by walking for more than two hours across The Hill, a windswept wilderness of cotton-grass bogs and heather moorland riddled with gullies, waterfalls and burns. Those that make the journey to Howard and Suzanne Cobb’s one-acre garden, where salt-laden storms can sometimes topple a grown man, will be amazed at what has been coaxed into growing in this barren landscape of exposed rock and topsoil that is, in places, only 1in deep. They will be even more surprised that this horticultural miracle is the work of a slender, 5ft 1in-tall, 75-year-old woman—yet the indomitable Mrs Cobb, who made and maintains this garden pretty much singlehandedly, is a gale force to be reckoned with.

Rugosa roses cock a snook at the wind and mounds of improbably delicateRosa Alba Semiplena and soft-pinkR . Celeste have braved the odds to become 5ft-plus-high bushes. In the shelter created by the shrubs and trees, bistort and buddleia, astrantias, nepeta and hardy geranium are a few that have made this rugged ground their home.

Tucked into precious pockets of soil are masses of small bulbs that light up the garden in spring. On the upside, the Gulf Stream holds off all but a couple of frosts a year and old-fashioned favourites, such as lupins, sweet williams and pinks, generally thrive in this fully organic garden. Everything is generously enriched with homemade compost —enhanced by the secret ingredient of seaweed that’s washed up on to the beach by the winter storms, gathered into rich trailer loads and transported home behind a quad bike.

Due to the secluded and modest nature of the garden at Ruvaal, Mrs Cobb was astonished when she learned The Princess Royal had singled it out as one of her favourites. ‘Princess Anne must go to so many wonderful places and yet she’s picked my humble garden,’ exclaimed Mrs Cobb, before explaining that The Princess first visited 25 years ago, as part of her role as patron of the Northern Lighthouse Board (NLB). ‘The garden was still in its infancy then, although she did admire my cabbages. When she next came, she noted how everything had grown and the third time, she seemed quite impressed—I think because it’s in such an exposed and unlikely location. Or perhaps it was the chocolate cake I served on that occasion!’

Even the insect life is undeterred by the remoteness. Butterflies adore this garden. Last year, Mrs Cobb counted 57 painted ladies on one privet. Regulars include the marsh and dark green fritillaries, small copper, small blue, peacock, small tortoiseshell and red admiral. The hummingbird hawk-moth feeds on the red valerian and bumblebees love the cotoneasters, which do well here.

Birdlife proliferates. Golden eagles soar above and sea eagles fly past, with smaller birds—yellowhammers, meadow pipits, reed buntings, dunnocks, redpolls, whitethroats, stonechats and goldfinches—congregating in the shadow of the lighthouse, too. There are also resident blackbirds, a nesting song thrush and swallows that nest in the porch. However, the most unusual visitor is the cuckoo: one year, Mrs Cobb counted three.

‘I had wanted to live on the west coast of Scotland ever since I was 11 years old and came here with my parents,’ admits Mrs Cobb who, until 26 years ago, resided in Buckinghamshire. When her husband’s work began to involve regular travelling, which meant that there were no longer restrictions on where they lived, the couple decided to look for somewhere fairly remote with a bit of land close to the sea. One day, Mrs Cobb spotted an advert for a former lighthouse keeper’s cottage on Islay, which had views of Colonsay, Mull and Jura, and they felt they ought to take a look.

The cottage (originally two, knocked into one) stood in the curtilage of the 112ft lighthouse, which had been completed in 1859 and was fully automated in 1983. There were few windows, which made the rooms terribly dark, and the water supply was described as ‘spasmodic’. Indeed, it was so poor that the Cobbs would not have been able to run a washing machine. The garden consisted of nothing but one redcurrant bush and some rogue potatoes in the former vegetable patch. Nonetheless, despite the inaccessibility of the site and the fact there were only two small co-op shops on the island (there are, happily, plenty of distilleries) the Cobbs were smitten, and have never looked back.

‘Howard was away quite a lot at the beginning, so I had to learn how to handle a boat pretty quickly,’ Mrs Cobb recalls. She soon had the measure of a 19ft Orkney Fastliner, in which she ferried the workmen back and forth, negotiating the Atlantic swell at the jetty. Eventually, when she was ready to move in, Mrs Cobb and her black retriever-cross Tara brought the last of their belongings to the island in the Fastliner, using her wheelbarrow to make the many journeys up and down the hill from the beach to the house.

On board were some cuttings from her garden in Buckinghamshire, a classic village garden with cottagey plants and winding paths. These weren’t nearly enough to fill the barren acre, but there was much generosity and goodwill from the islanders. A forester gave her a heap of rugosa roses, declaring they should grow well. He also gave her some pines and firs.

Not wanting her to be disappointed, a kind old seafarer who saw her load the roses into the boat said: ‘Ye’ll nae grow roses out there, lassie.’ One day, when Mrs Cobb was setting off home from Port Askaig, an old boy threw a sack of montbretia corms into the bottom of the Fastliner. ‘They’ll spread and protect other things,’ he told her.

The obvious first move would have been to plant a shelterbelt, but, with the garden open to the sea on three sides, complete protection would have spoiled the views—on a clear day, as well as the islands, it’s possible to see the mountains of Glencoe 65 miles north on the mainland. Instead, Mrs Cobb planted the evergreens on the land side and put in rowans and birches that grew into multi-stemmed bushes. After a slow start, the evergreens took hold and stand a good 20ft high today. The rugosa roses have spread, filling the garden with scent, and both Rosa Alba Semiplena, perhaps Mrs Cobb’s favourite, and Celeste have proved tolerant of the salt.

The NLB’s boatman offered some cuttings from his escallonia hedge—which have now blossomed into 6ft- to 7ft-high bushes. Hebe cuttings gathered from a shrub outside a former police station 30 miles away have also thrived, despite an early loss: one exceptionally strong gale uprooted a small hebe, sending it bowling across the garden and away over the wall, never to be seen again.

Fuchsia magellanica grows well here, too —both the deep-pink variety and a white that was given to Ruvaal by a friend who was digging out some of hers.

Incredibly, some plants, such as foxgloves, arrive of their own accord, with Mrs Cobb counting 63 digitalis in one bed alone. Other wildflowers—such as celandine, common orchids, scabious and thousands of bluebells —proliferate on The Hill.

For many years, she enjoyed her cedar-wood greenhouse, starting seeds off there and using it to grow tomatoes and cucumbers. Eventually, however, after suffering more than 20 years of Force 10 and 11 gales, it blew down, forcing Mrs Cobb to overwinter her scented-leaf pelargoniums in the lee of the house. Most sweet peas are grown under glass, as, after September, it becomes too windy outdoors for a wigwam. These are now in pots on the table outside the back door where they trail instead.

The original NLB vegetable patch is in full use, despite the predations of two pheasants, which appeared from goodness knows where and have caused such a nuisance that workmen had to make a wire cage to protect the brassicas. Of course, the wily birds soon got around that. ‘I grew kale last year and the wretched pheasant just sat on top of the cage pecking at what grew through the wire,’ laments Mrs Cobb, who, this year, decided to grow a dwarf variety instead.

When the couple first moved in, Mrs Cobb was warned that she would never grow apple trees, but, typically determined, she did and, as have the blackcurrants, these have been a huge success. Mice and voles do help themselves to some French beans (it’s too windy for runners), yet not enough to be a massive problem. Luckily, the deer and rabbits are kept out by the stone wall. ‘The red deer stand there gazing enviously through the gate,’ observes Mrs Cobb, without a great deal of sympathy.

[morningstarwrites]

(🔊 on) sums up the newest chapter for Of Saints and Sinners LOL

[nymphofnovels]

An Ace Attorney reference in my Locked Tomb short story??? It’s more likely than you’d think.

[sprolden]

SAHAR: Imogen got a boyfriend last year and then stopped texting me. IMOGEN: ...Er, no! You stopped texting me!

[moominmammaonheroin]

Who wants to see my Magnus Archives animation that I know will flop and probably delete it out of embarrassment

[murderandcoffee]

thank you mr. pellington for giving us the snake version of jane prentiss

[hawkbutt]

Edmundo “Eddie” Diaz 🏒 Hockey AU 🏒

[doghearted-canine]

AA GUEST 666 GRAPHS I JUST MADE ^_^

two color variants...:3

f2u w credit + reblog!!

[undertalethingems]

Unexpected Guests Chapter Ten, Act Two: Page 1

First / Previous / Next

After so much conflict and Gaster's persistence, it seems like a miracle that Frisk and their friends have made it to the skeleton brothers' house unscathed. But there's still much to do, and they don't know how long it will take for the scientist to catch up...

That's right this is another chapter with acts! But I only decided that just now, and it'll probably only be the two, lol. now that we've arrived at the brother's house, things can only keep moving forward...

Apologies for the shorter update--but I hope you'll look forward to the next one, coming September 7th!

[grandmaster-anne]

PRINCESS ANNE’S FAVOURITE RECIPE: The Ritz’s executive chef cooks devilled pheasant

Country Life | Published 29 July 2020

The Princess says: ‘Most people think you just roast pheasant, but there are lots of other things you can do  with game and it’s worth eating!’ 

THE pheasant may not be worth the expense of rearing from the sportsman’s point of view,’ thunders P. Morton Shand inA Book of Food. ‘But it is worth almost any sacrifice from that of an epicure.’ Shand published his trenchant tome (‘This is frankly a book of prejudices, for all food is a question of likes and dislikes’) nearly a century ago, but how times have changed.

Because, although the keen shot, standing deep in some Devon or Yorkshire valley, may marvel at birds soaring stratospherically overhead, they’re rather less thrilled by the eating. A dowdy dowager aunt, if you like, to the more glamorous grouse, teal or woodcock. Too lean, they say, too dry and—unless you favour the Victorian method of hanging the bird until the flesh decays and the maggots plop heavily to the floor—a touch too dull.

Sure, we’re happy to shoot them by the hundred. And take a brace at the end of the day. If we don’t eat the game we bring down, there’s simply no justification for the sport. Too often, however, the pheasant has been condemned to chest-freezer Siberia, lonely, lost and unloved. I’m guilty of this myself. A brace of partridge barely makes it to the fridge before being transformed into some fragrant Indian curry. A young grouse is always swiftly roasted. But the pheasant? In culinary terms, this is a bird more sinned against than sinning.

‘The correct cooking of pheasant is of paramount importance,’ declares John Williams, the quietly brilliant executive chef of The Ritz in London. ‘It’s a lean bird and you have to get it just right.’ Under normal circumstances, I’d be at his side, in those vast and gleaming kitchens that stretch out beneath Piccadilly. Today—for obvious reasons—we’re talking by telephone about The Princess Royal’s favourite recipe, devilled pheasant (see box, page 136).

‘It’s a very simple recipe,’ he continues in his soft Geordie burr. ‘Basically, a couple of whole pheasants are poached, then taken off the bone, shredded and kept warm in the poaching juices. You just add freshly whipped cream, left in the fridge for an hour to stiffen, mixed with a good amount of Green Label mango chutney. Ithas to be Sharwood’s Green Label, nothing else. I went out and found that specially.’ Mr Williams may be one of our country’s great chefs, yet it would be a brave man indeed who decided to ‘reinterpret’ a recipe from The Princess Royal. ‘Add in a little Worcestershire sauce, remove the pheasant from its juice, cover with the cream mixture and put it in the oven for 10 minutes to heat through. That’s it, very, very simple, but it tastes great.’

So this is not exactly ‘devilled’ in the traditional sense. I was expecting a sprinkle of English mustard powder, a flurry of cayenne. At the very least, a decent jig of Tabasco. However, having ventured deep into those wilder reaches of my freezer, retrieved a pheasant, defrosted it and cooked the recipe myself, I have to agree with my teacher. It’s a damned fine dish, splendidly succulent and robust in flavour. And one that has now been firmly etched onto my (admittedly short) list of pheasant classics.

Devilled pheasant

Method

Put the pheasants in a casserole with carrot, onion, garlic, parsley and herbs. Cover the birds with water and then cover the casserole. Bring to the boil and simmer gently until tender.

Remove the meat from the bones and pour back the juices in which the birds were cooked. Heat the meat very slowly in the juices, so it does not become dry. Meanwhile, whip the double cream into a stiff consistency. Leave it in the refrigerator for about an hour until it becomes quite hard, then beat the mango chutney and Worcestershire sauce into it. Keep it cool in the fridge until ready to be used. Place the flaked meat, thoroughly drained of cooking juices, into the dish in which it is to be served, cover it with the cream mixture and put it in the oven for 10 minutes to heat through.

Hint: the birds can be cooked in the morning and the rest of the preparation done about 1½ hours before dinner, but remember to keep the stock in which the birds were first cooked for reheating.

Ingredients

Mr Williams loves game ‘in every sense’. However, as we discuss the relative unpopularity of the pheasant, he does wonder why it doesn’t enjoy the adulation that other game birds enjoy. ‘Perhaps the modern, reared pheasant has lost a bit of its flavour,’ he muses. ‘I’d love to try a truly wild one. Still, I use them every now and again. If I roast one, I always bard the bird with bacon or lardo fat, cover it totally. I brown it first in the pan with lots of butter and cook it at 200˚C for 15 minutes, then rest it for another 15 minutes before carving.’

2 pheasants

1 large carrot

1 large onion

1 clove garlic

1 sprig parsley

1 sprig thyme

2 bay leaves

250ml (½ pint) double cream

1 large jar Green Label mango chutney

4tbspn Worcestershire sauce

He pauses, lost in gamey reverie. ‘Oh, and when you make the gravy, add a good lump ofbeurre noisette [‘hazelnut’ or browned butter] to the hot pan. It makes all the difference.’ He serves it with sauerkraut or cabbage studded with crisp bacon lardons.

Are there any other recipes he loves? ‘My favourite dish is when you stuff truffle andfoie gras under the pheasant’s skin.’ Now we’re talking. ‘Then flambé it with Cognac, Madeira and more truffle. Then add a truffle sauce, seal it in a dough cocotte and cook for 15 minutes, no more.’ It’s not exactly the most simple of kitchen supper dishes. Or the cheapest. But this is the sort of feast that would make most serious eaters (Shand included) weep tears of greedy glee.

My children will happily devour the breasts, battered thin and breaded like a schnitzel, although I do have to admit I pass it off as chicken. In this case, ignorance (and an empty plate) is bliss. Thighs and breast make a decent curry, too, and I’ve finely chopped the meat to use in a fiery Northern Thailarb , although it does need a handful of minced pork for extra fat. A classic Frenchsalmi is another reliable standby, albeit one that requires a little work.

My friend and fellow food writer Matthew Fort has adapted a classic Michel Guérard duck-ham recipe, using pheasant breasts instead. Simply bury in salt—spiced with coriander seeds, allspice, juniper berries, black pepper and star anise, crushed in the pestle and mortar—for 36 hours. Rinse off the salt and slice thinly. They’re a revelation. The rest of the carcass is used for stock.

If cooking seems too much of a chore, worry not. I was lately dazzled by a pheasant sausage roll from Wild & Game (www.wildandgame. co.uk), the pastry burnished, the filling rich and gently gamey. Their pheasant and venison sausages are pretty fine, too. It’s time to give these cheap, lean and sadly under-rated birds a second chance. Come shooting season, there’s an awful lot of pheasant about. The very least we can do is enjoy them.

[fanofspooky]

Scream King - Dan Stevens

[wrathevil]

five head in the last frame

[t-hirstreview]

[michaeltrevino]

DAN STEVENS as DAVID COLLINS The Guest (2014) | Dir. Adam Wingard

[justdavronthings]

whoops my finger slipped

[ierofrnkk]

Just ONE CHANCE please !!! I can’t take this anymore!!!!