Zenutiae

My daughter decided to make these mini curry pies for Christmas

Ingredients:

1 tablespoon olive oil
1 onion, finely diced
1 apple, diced
1 tablespoon curry powder
1 teaspoon brown sugar
500g premium beef mince
1 and 1/4 cups water
2 teaspoons cornflower (for thickening)
1 tablespoon chopped sultanas
5 sheets shortcrust pastry
1 egg (beaten)
garam masala to taste

Method:

Heat oil in saucepan, add onion and apple.
Stir over medium heat until onion is soft.
Add curry powder and sugar, stir over heat for another minute.

Add beef to saucepan and brown.
Stir in cup of water and bring to boil.
Reduce heat and simmer for 20 minutes.
Blend cornflower with remianing water and stir into mixture
Add sultanas and stir until mixture boild and thickens
Set aside to cool to room temperature

Using a 7cm round cutter cut the pastry sheets and line patty pans with half the rounds
Brush edges with egg
Spoon the cooled meat filling into the pastry cases
Cover the meat filling with the other rounds and press edges together firmly
Make a smal slit in the top of each pie to let the steam escape
Brush with egg

Bake in a moderate oven (180C or 160C in a fan forced oven) for 20 minutes or until the crust is well browned.

Serves: This recipe makes about 36 mini pies

“Those who sleep with dogs must rise with fleas”

I thought this was a Bjelke-Petersen-ism from the 1970s however I found it in a book of Scottish sayings.

If the eye never falls asleep,
all dreams cease by themselves.
If the spirit retains its unity,
all things are of one essence.
When this essence is seen,
in an instant we are free.
We return to the origin
and remain that which we are.

‘Twas midnight on the ocean,
Not a streetcar was in sight,
The sun was shining brightly
For it had rained all that night.

‘Twas a summer’s day in winter
The rain was snowing fast,
As a barefoot girl with shoes on,
Stood sitting on the grass.

‘Twas evening and the rising sun
Was setting in the west;
And all the fishes in the trees
Were cuddled in their nests.

The rain was pouring down,
The sun was shining bright,
And everything that you could see
Was hidden out of sight.

The organ peeled potatoes,
Lard was rendered by the choir;
When the sexton rang the dishrag
Someone set the church on fire.

“Holy smokes!” the teacher shouted,
As he madly tore his hair.
Now his head resembles heaven,
For there is no parting there.

“Any clod can have the facts, but having opinions is an art.”

- Charles McCabe