In-keeping with the theme of using things you’d normally throw away (like the chick-pea water and apple vinegar for the mayo), I thought that instead of using cabbage for the main bulk of the coleslaw, I’d use cauliflower leaves.
This was exactly as easy as you’d expect. I shredded the leaves, grated two small carrots and an apple, then mixed the lot in some mayo. I added some chopped parsley and lovage as I served it – because we have some – but normally I might use fennel seeds or coriander/cilantro.
I didn’t tell any family members that I was using a different type of leaf, or a different type of mayo, but no one noticed and when I told them after we’d finished, they confirmed that they hadn’t noticed. So I’d call that a win!
How do you use your cauliflower leaves? Until now, I’ve just roasted them in oil and chili flakes whenever the oven has been on, and eaten them as a snack, but I’m always keen to try new things!
I’ve got to confess, I was more than a little skeptical when someone first mentioned vegan mayo to me.
I had a go though – and it worked the first time! – but subsequent attempts were always runny. I hadn’t really lost anything but some oil for trying to make it, but with the price of sunflower oil skyrocketing in the UK right now, I put my experiements on hold.
I’ve translated it below, but because it’s not my recipe, I’d really appreciate you clicking the link above if you do try it. Credit where it’s due, and the original author definitely deserves the clicks. There’s even a handy video, so when you’ve got the quantities from down below, you could just head over and watch the instructions there? 🙂
Micadeli’s Vegan Mayo!
200 mls of neutral oil (e.g. sunflower/grapeseed/vegetable oil) 50 mls chickpea water 1 tsp vinegar 1 tsp mustard (I use Dijon) 1 pinch of salt
Put all of the ingredients in a jar with a neck big enough for a stick-blender to fit in (or another type of container). Blend with the stick-blender at the bottom of the jar. Done!
The recipe above is really forgiving. You can use it with oil from jars of sundried tomatoes, for example (make sure it’s 100% oil that they’re in), or use a garlic or a chilli oil instead. We use raw, homemade cider vinegar for this, so depending on what food waste you’ve got – oil and chick-pea water – you only need to get mustard and salt to make this work!
I would love to hear how you get on if you try making this, and I’d love to hear about any variations you decide to use!
For years, I’d been buying expensive cider vinegar, but you can make it from nothing more than apple scraps, water, and a tablespoon of sugar!
All you need to do is fill a jar with scraps – peelings, or cores are perfect, but if you’ve got windfall apples, they’re great too! – then cover with a solution of sugar and water. You need about a tablespoon of sugar per 500mls/1 pint of water.
You might find that the apples float a little here, but you can’t let them get away with that sort of nonsense – that’s how mould happens. I fill a small carrier bag with water to use as a weight and this gets right up to the edges of the jar. In the past, I’ve tried to do this without plastic, but I’ve never been successful. This way has always worked though.
Below is a very bad picture – not of cider vinegar, but of sauerkraut. It should give you an idea of what I’m on about with the bag though (I hope!)
And that’s all there is to it! You just sort of… leave it there for about six weeks. Or longer if you forget. Then filter it through a coffee filter, or a cheesecloth, or… something. And that’s all there is to it!
Have you tried making apple cider vinegar before? If you have, how do you weigh your apples down?
This is a book I read a while ago now, and to be honest, I don’t remember a huge amount about it.
I really liked the concept when I first picked this up, but I remember that I felt the execution was a little lacking. What I really wanted to read, was something similar to Factfulness by Hans Rosling, but about the environment. But what I got was largely a self-help book with a slight eco focus.
I think I’m a fairly logical, ‘citations please’ sort of person, so what I’d actually have found comforting was seeing areas in which humanity had managed to make progress, coupled with an analysis of how we did that. Fact gives me hope. Deep breathing makes me feel helpless – it’s what you do when there’s little/nothing else left.
And I don’t want to believe we’re there yet.
If you do want to read something heartening, that did actually improve how I see the world, then the above-mentioned Factfulness is a much better idea. I think the subtitle is something like ‘why you’re wrong and the world is better than you think’, and honestly, that was just what I needed.
I think we have this misconception that we need to be right in order to be happy, but that just isn’t true. I think we need to be honest so that we can make progress and be happy.
This book is definitely worth a nosey if you see it in the library, and even worth a few pounds if you happen upon it in a charity shop, but it just wasn’t what I was looking for.
What do you do in order to stay optimistic about the state of the world? Have you got any books you look to for advice?
Last week, Husband, Dog, and I, walked the 62+ miles of St Cuthbert’s way. Spanning the border lands between England and Scotland, the route begins in Melrose and ends on the Holy Island of Lindisfarne.
The trip was meant to be a balloon-birthday present for Husband, but it actually fitted in with an assignment that I had for uni, so I had more than a vested interest too. Which is for the good, really, because it totally wiped out my savings, despite trying to do things on the cheap.
We used an app called YourParkingSpace, and left the car in Galashiels ASDA for the week, paying £12 for six days of parking. We could have parked for free in one of the council car parks at Melrose, according to the St Cuthbert’s Way guide book, but given the length of time we were away, I didn’t want anyone to think the car had been abandoned, and the CCTV at the ASDA was actually really helpful for my peace of mind. I think next time (because of course ‘next time’! Wait until you see the pictures!) I’ll get the train down, but as we had children to deliver to my parents first, it made sense to take the car.
We took our usual water bottles, used our every-day walking shoes*, and carried otherwise abandoned backpacks – one my dad had bought in the 70s and one from Freecycle. We made our own instant porridge (rolled oats, powdered milk, cinamon, sugar, and cranberries), and our own couscous sachets (plain couscous, bouillon powder, spices, dried fruit and cashews) to try and keep breakfast and lunch costs low. That said, it did keep our pack weight high!
We could have actually done the trip for a far lower price if we’d been able to utilise the YHA accommodation, but the dog made this an impossibility. If you can avoid taking your furry walking partner, I would definitely recommend doing so – sad as that is. The dog was an amazing companion to us while walking, but literally doubled the accommodation costs. Also, much of the walk is through livestock enclosures, or grouse-filled moors. We’re lucky that our dog will walk happily on a lead (hooked around the belt of our packs so we could keep our hands free), but if you’ve got a dog that pulls or with a strong prey drive, it’s going to be an exhausting trip.
But on to what we’re here for – pictures!
So why post about a holiday on a blog that’s primarily environmentalism based? I hadn’t planned to talk about this here when we set off, but after the first few days, I knew I had to.
For me, at least, it feels increasingly as though the UK is slipping backwards in time – through decades of hardship and regressive philosophy. The ‘lazy poor’ myth is rife, despite the fact that so many people living in poverty are actually working. I feel ashamed every time the UK’s prime minister speaks on the world stage. Or any stage. Or at all. It’s easy to forget that our land is more than our leader, our politics, or our failings.
Underneath all that, so often ignored, is the beautiful, forgiving earth. This island – for all of its human failings – is a home to be proud of. I can feel a sense of worth in the hills which challenge me, the crops which nurture me, and the wildlife which amazes me.
From adders, to hares, to newts… we saw them all on our walk. And I saw them through the eyes of the new American friends we made on our travels – with a sense of reverence and wonder. If this nation is to recover from its current toxic political state we’re going to need to find something to believe in, to be proud of. We need to find the great leveller – our literal roots – which can unite us all.
It’s all so very clear, out in the open, that we’re all on the same side. In line with the promise I made myself at the turn of the year, I’m going to do my best to stop arguing my point, but to try and educate. I’m not sure how best to do that yet, but hopefully, I’ll find a way. None of this is going to be easy. We need to improve access to the outdoors for as many people as we can (as discussed by Anita Sethi). To paraphrase Tony Benn – if we can find money to fund lockdown parties, we can find money to provide people with access to nature (and food, and healthcare while we’re at it).
*Both of us wear hiking boots as standard, though next time I buy, I’ll opt for the size up to make them more comfortable for swollen feet on long walks.
As energy, food, and petrol costs across the UK rise, it’s natural to want to look at ways in which to save money. Many environmentalists are taking this as an opportunity to talk about energy-saving and anti-food-waste strategies that they’ve employed. And that’s got its place, don’t get me wrong – as someone who wants to reduce waste, I’m all for more information on how to do so.
However… Environmentalists need to be careful not to co-opt poverty narratives.
Firstly, if someone is living below the poverty line and talking about it on social media, don’t start telling them to use a slow cooker and it’ll all be ok. That’s a bit like telling people that if they breath, they’ll keep living. People living on an increasingly-squeezed low income know all – literally all – of the superficial ways to cut energy bills.
Secondly, and more importantly, it’s vital that environmentalists don’t compare their own experiences with those of people living in poverty. You might both be darning socks, or meal planning, but the process of doing these things will be worlds apart. Choosing to make a pair of trainers last, safe in the knowledge that you can replace them if needs be, is worlds apart from trying to repair them in a freezing house, wondering if the power is going to go off as you’re doing it and knowing that whatever alterations you’re making have to work. Yes, the things that environmentalists do will save money – but that isn’t the primary motivation.
So please, if you’re an eco-blogger, don’t start telling poor people that ‘you understand what they’re going through’ because you too have ‘had’ to repair something. You didn’t have to. You chose to. It takes a lot to open up about poverty in a society where so much shame is attached to not having enough, and even historic poverty leaves scars. Someone talking about their experience of growing up without heating in the 1970s has probably impacted the rest of that person’s life – it’s not the same as choosing the turn down the thermostat.
There’s a lot I could say here – about how in-work poverty or being chronically ill impacts how you can shop and what you can cook. If you’re working, for example, there isn’t time to traipse round twenty charity shops in the hopes of finding the right object. If you’re disabled, access is potentially an issue – particularly with unpredictable conditions characterised by sometimes sudden fatigue/brain fog, such as ME and Long Covid. There’s also rural poverty to consider – how people living outwith city centres – where public transport is incredibly limited – don’t necessarily have access to discount supermarkets, second-hand items, or sometimes even cash/post offices for trading unwanted goods. And I haven’t even touched on how woman – particularly mothers – and people of colour are disproportionately impacted.
I write my blog as someone in a position of privilege – at the moment, I can afford to make choices based on ethics and ideals. I started this blog because I felt like more people would make an effort to act in environmentally positive ways if it was also immediately financially rewarding for them – no judgement btw, because that’s absolutely what led me to where I am. But I will say this: If you’re someone living below the poverty line, you are using fewer resources than those of us above it.
I spoke last time about resolutions as we ease into the new year. I touched on how positive simply resolving to enjoy a TV show had been for me, over the last 12 months.
And don’t get me wrong, I’m going to continue working my way through ‘Murder, She Wrote’, but I’m also going to try and form some connections.
The ongoing poop-show of the pandemic in the UK means that there are still many people I can’t see – getting to/from friends and family in Europe has been close to impossible. I’m also a creature of habit, and my current habit is isolation – this doesn’t help.
More personally, I’m not an especially sociable soul. I do tend to to find myself in unhealthy peaks and valleys of interaction, and these cycles still baffle me somewhat. I find balance difficult when it comes to people and find that I either wear myself out hopping from friend to friend for months at a time, or conversely, hiding – actively eschewing contact. The pandemic forced the later on me, and I find myself at a point where I’m hungry to see everyone. But now that I’m aware of how easily I can let myself get carried away, I’m going to approach my desire for connection to other people mindfully.
I’m still discovering what this means, but hopefully I can find the time to discuss it in the coming months.
In addition to a connection with people, I’m looking to connect with the world again. Travel was a huge part of our life before Covid hit – not necessarily international travel (though for obvious reasons, we spent a lot of time in mainland Europe), but even just trips to the coast, or the forest, or the mountains round about us. As our world shrunk, I found myself feeling more and more like I’d been cut loose – that I was disembodied somehow, an untethered balloon.
In response to this, I’ve decided to make the effort to live more seasonally. I already do this in regards to food (not least because it’s the cheapest way to eat), but I want to feel the seasons a little more – to celebrate them.
During the worst of the pandemic, I got into candles. As with so many things, I inherited some from my inlaws, but lockdown’s less frequent trips to the shops necessitated cupboard space for storing food, so I began to burn through them. To do so, I placed a pretty plate in the middle of my coffee table and over the months which followed, this became something of a little altar to the changes outside – stone eggs in the spring, pinecones and stunted pumpkins in autumn, and sweet-peas in the summer.
In the picture above, you might be able to see my charity shop bargain – The Country Diary of An Edwardian Lady by Edith Holden. I’ve marked the dates on which she wrote observations in 1906, and aim to read them aloud – here in 2022. That way, I can directly contrast what I’m seeing in the natural world (and build connection there) but I can also connect to the past – to the nature-lovers who came before me.
Finally, I not only aim to connect with the physical, literal land of this country, but also, the nation state. The UK has felt increasingly hostile to my semi-migrant family since the 2016 referendum, and I know that if I want to change that, I need to stop distancing myself. For all that Britain has shown its ugly side for most of this past decade, it’s also shown that the vast majority of people want a positive change. First-past-the-post voting is broken, and I so often take heart from the ‘Proportional Commons‘ Twitter feed. What’s happening right now is far, far from ‘the will of the people’. And if that’s the case, perhaps the world isn’t as bleak as I’d thought and it’s ok for me to go out into it.
To focus on the good things, I’m using the Emma Press book, ‘Second Place Rosette’ . Divided into months, it offers what the introduction calls a ‘grass roots’ look at the country. So far, there have been verses about taking down the Christmas tree, and a comparison of Yorkshire puddings to lighthouses. It’s a glorious way to look again at an island I’d fallen out of love with.
University continues into Semester Two and I find myself on campus more. The young people I met during the first few months were inspiring – so different from my disinterested past-self that it was amazing to think they’re as young as they are. At 18, I was so burnt out from school that university seemed like the final hurdle – the last slog in a long line of exhausting exams – but that weariness doesn’t seem to infect the current batch of students.
Or perhaps that’s just archaeologists. Regardless, I feel that I’ve found myself in good company. I hope – most of all – to connect to the optimism present on my course.
As ever, I will try and update as often as I can, but the quantity of work ahead of me remains to be seen.
Last year, I made a point of not making any resolutions as 2021 ticked around.
But interestingly, not making any resolutions was a resolution I didn’t stick to. Asked again and again by people trying to make polite conversation, I finally blurted – after a particularly self important speech about self-improvement from the person asking me – that I was going to watch ‘Murder, She Wrote’.
Yes, that one.
Yes, the much-memed 1980s crime show starring Angela Lansbury.
And actually, it was so much better for me than all the years I’ve tried to do something to better myself that I thought I’d mention it here.
As with the person who seeded the idea, there’s this fallacy that a new year requires a ‘new me’ – as if the person we’ve been for the last twelve months is a skin we can shed. But we can’t – we take our experiences with us, and if we’re serious about improving, then we learn from them.
Both the good and the bad.
I chose a TV show to watch because it’s something I almost never do. I’ve got nothing against television, for the record – I just don’t ever feel like I can commit to epic seven-season stories, with 20+ hour-long episodes per season. I honestly barely feel able to commit to a film. That each episode of ‘Murder, She Wrote’ is entirely self contained made it feel less onerous.
I also wanted something old, familiar, and friendly. I know, I know – murder does not equal friendly. But my memories of the show are sick-days from school, curled up on brown velour sofas, stuffing my puffy face with Heinz tomato soup. Associatively, it felt safe.
Mostly, I wanted something I knew I would enjoy. It’s so easy to get swept up in the duty of improvement, in the work we do on ourselves, that we neglect the fact that pleasure can make us better people too.
Let me repeat that: Doing something that feels good can help us to do good.
This is the permission, if you need it, to put aside all the things you feel that you ‘have’ to do – whether that’s getting into shape, eating better, or decluttering – in favour of doing something you want but never allocate yourself time for.
Because I have learnt at least as much from watching a TV show about an old woman ignoring authority, misogyny, and agism, as I have from reading countless tomes on feminism.
So though my own ambition this year is slightly different – and I’ll discuss that soon – I would like to invite you to join me in doing something over the next twelve monthsbecause you want to, and because it feels good.
Pleasure in what’s already there is one of the biggest acts of rebellion against this consumerist society of ‘not-enough’ that we have.
I meant to read this for a really long time, but completely failed to get round to it until a few months ago.
I wish I’d read it sooner.
Working-Class Environmentalism by Karen Bell is one of the first books I would recommend anyone read if they’re new to the sustainability movement. Yes, in places is reads like a dissertation, but it deals with so much more than the usual ‘mason-jar low-physical-waste’ side we so often see.
At this point, I’ve read a lot of books about sustainability, but all of them seem very much pitched at a certain income. Even How To Save The World for Free felt as though there was an earning threshold that was a prerequisite to being environmentally sound. In the UK, where the divide between rich and poor is growing ever more pronounced, more and more people fall below this mark.
I could write a whole book about the ways in which the sustainability movement is only superficially set up for those on a lower income but thankfully, I don’t have to because Karen Bell did.
This book isn’t a work about the things that those in low income households can do to save the environment. It’s about the ways in which people who earn less are already doing more for the planet than their better-off counterparts. It’s about the disproportionate impact of poor environmental strategies on those who live in deprived areas. It’s about the myriad ways that conventional environmentalism is causing a bigger class divide – like how it’s easy to blame those who need plastic-drenched ready meals because they’re working three jobs. Or how we demonise those who rely on fast fashion prices to clothe their families because trawling charity shops or second hand sites takes more time then they have free/have internet access for. There are so many ways in which the mason jar aesthetic of the zero waste movement disadvantages all of us, but this is so seldom spoken about and almost never in conjunction with money – if it is discussed, it’s in regards to mental health and the unachievable expectations we place on ourselves in a capitalist culture.
I also feel that it’s worth mentioning – just from a ‘growing as a human being’ standpoint – that the definition of ‘British working class’ is no longer someone from a northern mining town. It’s call centre workers, care workers, and beauty technicians. It’s Deliveroo drivers, and Uber drivers. In-work poverty is rising. And poverty disproportionately impacts people of colour, traveller culture, and immigrants.
It got me thinking more about the ways in which the zero waste movement encourages a minimalist aesthetic, and how this contradicts the poverty-driven desire to hold onto things ‘just in case’. I remember listening to a podcast by Jen Gale (of Sustainable-ish fame) in which she encouraged people to stop hoarding baby clothes and school uniforms, as passing them on would prevent the need for more to be made/sold. But what if you can’t afford to replace them after you give them up? I know that saving and repairing my eldest’s uniforms has been of huge financial benefit to me – especially now that the pandemic requires that uniform is changed daily. If I needed to buy 3-5 shirts, 3-5 sweatshirts, and 3-5 pairs of trousers per child per year, that would cost well over the £100 mark – and that’s factoring in second hand, off-brand bottoms. That’s a monumental amount of money when you’re in receipt of Universal Credit. *
For me, one of the most important factors in this book was the message that if you’re living on a low income, you’re probably already living in a more ecologically sound way, than those earning more and buying ‘green’ things.
In short – if you’re only going to read one book about the planet this year, let it be this one.
*If you’re in the market for off-brand school uniform, or for logo-sweaters from around Glasgow, then Apparel Exchange are a great social enterprise offering donated goods for low prices – including wellies, hallowe’en costumes, and waterproofs.
Their landing page also specifies that : “families can […] receive free clothing from us when times are challenging.”
If you have clothes to donate, you can make contact with the team here.
I’m not affiliated with Apparel Exchange at all, just for full disclosure.
When I read The Salt Path by Raynor Winn, I went on a bit of a hunt for more lyrical books about ‘walking to find your place in the world’. Ever since visiting Holy Island, I’ve had a hankering to walk St Cuthbert’s way – it’s like an itch that won’t pass – but until my children are either big enough to join me or big enough to move out, I have to content myself with enjoying such trails vicariously.
I Belong Here by Anita Sethi is one of the books which have helped assuage that urge.
The book is – at its core – about a walk along the Pennine Way. This trek across the ‘Backbone of Britain’ is not just as a hike, however, but also medicine for the soul.
Sethi suffered a racist attack prior to undertaking the walk and skillfully uses the path as a metaphor for discussing our sense of origin, self, and home. She speaks about the dangers of being a woman, walking alone – particularly the additional dangers which occur when you’re not a white person in a predominantly white country. She discusses the difficulties faced by single parent families and those on low incomes when it comes to access to nature.
It was a timely reminder for me, as I struggle to reach civilisation using public transport, just how lucky I am to live swathed in the green of the countryside. I know that I’d rather be having issues getting into town than getting out of it. The health benefits – both physical and mental – of living in the midst of nature are touched upon in Sethi’s work, as are the ways in which those with money act as gatekeepers to the natural world for those without. Sethi makes many references to the way that walking and nature helped her to combat her anxiety – the book is a wonderful piece of activism, championing the fact that the countryside is for everyone.
There are so many excellent points about identity, and how the countryside of a nation can define us as much as the culture of it can. Again, it’s not something I’d given much thought to, but of course we’re shaped by our physical environment. The book made me feel, more than ever, that I belong in my little corner of the North East – the summer chanterelles, winter kale, and autumn apples of my immediate area have built my bones. The earth here has fed me, and I, in turn, will feed the earth. The land and I belong to each other, and Sethi’s book was an incredible reminder of this.
I could say so much more about this book, but in short, the best thing about this book was the way that it made me reflect on my place in the world. And the conditions which allow me to feel that yes, I Belong Here.
This is a definite ‘must read’.
Have you come across Anita Sethi’s work before? If so, I would love to hear what you think.