Twighlight Zone

Today, we have nearly two feet of snow here on the farm and it’s still falling. Normally I adore the snow and although it’s chocolate-box-pretty outside, I’m not loving it quite as much as usual because some of my family are trying to get home for Christmas and travelling conditions are treacherous.

As the snow tumbled down yesterday, I couldn’t help but feel guilty that the farmer and I were inside with the fire on watching fantastical festive film Inkheart while my poor sister- and brother-in-law were stuck at Gatwick Airport with our 18 month-old niece for the second day running...

Thankfully, they eventually got a flight into Edinburgh, but last night I was still unsettled. I found myself familiarly frustrated by our afternoon viewing of Inkheart, wondering why I hadn’t come up with such an enchanting tale of myth and magic myself! I always feel this way after watching a captivating fantasy film – clearly I’m young at heart! - as this is the kind of book I would love to write.

Take the Twighlight series by Stephanie Meyer. I first heard of Meyer on a flight from Geneva to Heathrow earlier this year. I was suffering a terrible bout of travel sickness (Farmer in Shining Armour) and had my head in a paper bag for most of the journey, but miraculously still managed to lug into the conversation the two women in my row were having. They had discovered a mutual love of the author of a book one of them was reading.

‘I’ve just finished the second one, it was fantastic,’ the woman next to me enthused. ‘This one’s even better, she’s such an amazing writer,’ agreed the woman next to the window. Before another wave of nausea struck, I swivelled my head a fraction to find out what this amazing book was. I observed a striking matt black cover emblazoned with the word Eclipse in scarlet and made a mental note to look it up on Amazon when I got home.

When I did, I was slightly taken aback. Like me, these women were in their early 30s and I was bemused to learn that they were fans of teen fantasy novels about vampires; until, that is, I watched the movie adaptation of first book Twighlight a fortnight ago. It was fabulous! And tonight – weather permitting – I'm off to see New Moon, the second in the series. Then I shall start Eclipse, book 3.

Twighlight reminds me of a modern day version of 80s classic The Lost Boys, while my friend Morn compares it to Romeo and Juliette. Either way, Meyer’s clearly hit on a winning formula – love, high school angst, blood sucking vampires. If only I'd thought of it first...

Crazy about Kitzbuhel

For anyone who noticed I was away, I’m back! Last week, I was in Austria, visiting the beguiling Tyrolean City of Kitzbuhel. I was sent there for work – it’s a hard life – to experience the enchanting medieval old town with its spectacular architecture, hearty mountain cuisine and most of all, its stunning natural landscape and invigorating alpine activities.

Yes, you read that correctly, I was sent to experience invigorating alpine activities (Fitness Drive), though not skiing (we arrived ahead of the snow), but rather Kitzbuhel’s extensive hiking trails. Happily, the farmer was able to take a few days off to join me on my trip, which was just as well; at least one of us was able to make it up the mountain...

On the first day, we met with our effervescent walking guide, Engelbert, who looked at my washing-machine-white trainers briefly before shrugging his shoulders. He announced cheerily that we were going snow shoeing, and to be frank, my inappropriate footwear was the least of my worries. The news that we were about to embark upon a 1000m ascent with a group of 8 seasoned walkers had started to give me mild heart palpatations.

It was either the adrenalin or more likely the fear of losing face in front of our significantly older and considerably fitter walking companions, but I made it to the hut 7/8 of the way up the mountain. However, my delight at having made it this far was somewhat diminished by the prospect of the horrifyingly steep last 1/8 – the summit.

Luckily, the decision as to whether or not I should continue was taken out of my hands when Engelbert took my pulse and told me to rest at the hut! Not wanting to second guess our expert, I sat on a bench in the sun, taking in the endless blue skies and panoramic vista, while the others went to the top.

Not long after, a few of the group returned, the ascent clearly too challenging for them (lightweights!), proclaiming that my husband was practically running to the top – ‘he’s like a mountain goat!’ the estate agent from Munich announced (ironically, the chamois, or young mountain goat, is Kitzbuhel’s logo). Sure enough, less than 40 minutes later the farmer was back down – Engelbert had said it would take them an hour!

After a late lunch of local speciality ‘Grostl’ – diced potatoes, bacon and onions pan-fried with cumin and topped with a deliciously gooey fried egg – and several songs from the restaurant’s legendary proprietor, Rosi, we finally returned to Kitzbuhel’s magical fairy lit old town and our accommodation, the historic and utterly charming Hotel Zur Tenne.

The rest of our whirlwind Tyrolean trip involved a 4 hour valley hike, an open air concert by the Five Tenors at the top of the world famous Hahnenkamm, a visit to the region’s latest 5 star resort complete with golf course, amazing Aveda spa and private Fondue Room (sadly, we were only being shown around), and a guided tour of the city.

Fresh air, fairytale setting, first class hotels, fabulous hospitality, unforgettable hiking (!) and very firm massages; Kitzbuhel, me and my mountain goat will definitely be back.

Chilli up North...

In between my many trips to Elgin over the past seven days (Cashmere Queen), I have actually managed to get ahead with my Christmas cooking. And by this I mean stocking up the deep freeze and making a few edible gifts, not, as you might expect, that I’m preparing for Christmas Dinner – so far I have successfully avoided hosting Christmas for my enormous family, although if Mum’s not-so-subtle hints are anything to go by, my time is nearly up...

Inspired by the festive frost up North on Monday and feeling guilty about the glut of root veggies from last week’s box, I set about making soup – punchnep (creamed turnip and potato), parsnip and apple, and a vegetable broth – as well as a batch of Nigella’s sweetcorn relish and two batches of chilli jam. I also received an unexpected delivery of Auntie Ruth’s homemade mincemeat, so am endeavouring to make my very first mincemeat pies to add to my bounty.

‘Nigella of the North’ – aka my friend Jill – introduced me to chilli jam last year and I was quickly converted. Despite my difficulties with preserving, this fiery sweet concoction made with jam sugar is virtually foolproof and fantastically versatile. As well as a condiment to cold cuts or cheese, I use it in stir fries, Bolognese or any tomato-based dish in need of a tangy kick, and it’s great smeared on a joint of pork near the end of roasting to produce sticky chilli crackling! This love affair with chilli jam is why I decided to make double quantity this year.

Nigella's Christmas open on the counter, I deseeded and chopped the regular red peppers, throwing them in the processor, then set to work on the 20 or so hot red chillies. I contemplated putting on rubber gloves, before deciding it was probably unnecessary – I didn’t need them last year.

However, as I waited for my second batch to come to Nigella’s recommended ‘rollicking boil’, I noticed a definite stinging in the pads of my left thumb and forefinger. I washed my hands but found myself wincing at the hot water. Drying them off, my thumb and finger started to burn. I ran them under the cold tap for a minute or two – still burning.

It was irritating but I carried on potting and labelling my scarlet flecked jam, pleased with my productivity. But the second I stopped, I was aware of the unbearable burning again. I may as well have pressed my digits straight onto the hot plate they were stinging so much.

So with my work done for the day, I spent the rest of the evening alternating between pinching a bag of frozen rump steaks between a very tender thumb and forefinger, and slathering them with aloe vera gel... Merry Christmas!