That Old Devil

Photo © Rob Jones

For days it’s been raining …. endlessly. Really wet rain. It even felt like it was raining inside my coat.

Which ordinarily shouldn’t matter, but I had cause to have to hang around in Caernarfon for about an hour. I had exhausted the iffy warmth of the supermarket, and the coffee shop, and there was still another 30 minutes before my bus.

The Devil makes work … etc, they say.

And so it came to pass, that I was staring through the butchers window. The same butcher where I stood to watch the investiture of Prince Charles in 1969. I didn’t see much. I was too short, although I think my Mum lifted me up just in time to se the Queen Mother go by in a coach. Maybe.

Anyhow, that’s neither here not there.

The point is …. behind the flashy crowd pleasers of fancy lamb burgers with herbs and who knows what, and the kebabs, and the less adventurous cuts of meat, were two solitary kidneys. Like foreign tourists in a strange market. Not enough for a main meal or to make a Steak and Kidney Pudding (although that was my initial thought.) But certainly enough to ‘Devil.’ For one.

At home, after drying myself in front of the fire …

Cleaned and sliced the kidneys. Quartered them. Coated them in flour and fresh ground pepper.

Chopped some mushrooms to roughly the same size.

Into a pan of butter with them, a pinch of Cayenne, Mustard, some chopped Spring Onions.

Fry off a little, then add some Worcestershire Sauce, and a cup of Chicken Stock. Reduce.

A couple of spoons of yoghourt, and swoosh around.

Butter some crusty bread toast. Lay the kidneys liberally on top.

A selfish pleasure.

R.