in the writing of this, I've crossed posts with Charlie, so forgive me, but we are doubling up a bit.
so, we've bunkered down in the hut. The bedroom huts roof has been re-secured, the dunnies roof wired down, the bikes secured down and covered, the front window patched with orange plastic and so on. We have firewood, food and booze, all in pretty decent amounts. There is not much to it but to settle in and get comfortable.
This is again a later photo but it gives the feel. It's cold wet and windy out there.
For me, in these instances particularly, I love cooking. I believe the first night we got to the farm, somewhat frozen, sore and crazed, between drinking way too much scotch, and probably some other things, we also devoured another excellent steak and potatoes. That's right, I just got the vision of it. A nice big juicy Rib Eye, picked up in a country town earlier in the day.
The next day, a tad hungover, I made a bit of a vegetarian curry type thing, quite simple. Just for a little while at least, we were trying to 'keep mum happy'. Surprisingly to me we both quite enjoyed it, especially the still crunchy broccoli, and this was probably helped by having survived on steak and potatoes and 'road food' for a couple of days.
Anyway, the vege curry was gap-fill. There was something else brewing. A nice big hunk of pork rubbed with all sorts of herbs and spices and was now starting its 24 hour slow smokey cook over the fire.
meat is top right,
life at the hut was settling in to a nice routine. Coffees in the morning for me, all day and night for Charlie, Charlies excellent porridge or pancakes for breakfast, or the full egss mushies and bacon episode, lots of reading, and when 'we were good' some little nips of single malt and then rations from the cheaper bottle- and boy, were we good! The nights were filled with the drifting and wandering search for AM radio stations and alerts about extreme weather.
The view continued.
after 24 hours slow roasting in the heat and smoke, with many changes of position as the fire evolved and devolved, and a final blast with some high heat to get the crackling just right, the meat was judged ready.
and one action shot borrowed from Charlies album
The meat was good. Firm yet still juicy. The crackling was crackled. Hut life continued.
I would usually finish these meals with a deep sigh and rub on the belly with a 'wow, I really needed that.' Every meal. I really needed it. Really.
Being always 'very good' the shot glasses would be filled, another half dozen trunk-like logs chucked on the fire, the chocolate ration (surgically isolated from the slab with its own wrapper by charlie and a sharp knife) would be dolled out, and then, quite often, seeing as though some bastard had drunk our shot glasses while we weren't looking, and seeing as though we had been after all, so good, we would fill up another.
It was a tough life.
The pork had a round two within a fire toasted cheesy sandwich the next day, and ended up having a round three and four within what can only be described as 'the week of the bean stew'. The bean stew, (chickpeas actually as I couldn't find dried red kidneys at the supermarket) despite its size and longevity didn't seem to get photographed by me. It will be a story for next time anyway.
At some point, the worst of the wind had blown itself out, and though it and the rain would return in violent reinforcements, on occasion, we started to get some nice days.
we even went for a few walks.
