The Village

and a recipe for Lardy Squashed Fly Biscuits

Happy Birthday, Hobby! ONE MONTH TODAY!

Thank you to everyone who read and reached out regarding The Birth of Hobby post. It was therapeutic for me to write and equally so to reread, and some of you got in contact with your own similar experiences or just grateful to hear some rawness and honesty around birth and postpartum. There is a baby bubble but it’s not always entirely snuggles and kisses. It can be engorged boobs, endless crying, bleeding, sleep deprivation, anxiety, night terrors and night sweats. All of course in the melting pot with the snuggles and kisses!

Fortunately for me the hard part of my postpartum experience was short-lived in its peak intensity and I found myself over the hump and navigating more familiar ground after a few weeks. The reassuring comfort of tasks I had previously labeled as mundane, such as doing the dishes and cleaning the kitchen felt like a soothing balm to a “new me” that was also a stranger. I knew how to scrub out the charred remains of yesterday’s porridge, or whip up a nourishing meal in 30 minutes with only the forgotten contents of my veg drawer, I could do that! A bendy carrot makes the most excellent soup! Each little familiar chore I busied myself with between nursing, comforting and changing nappies connected my recent past to my eternal future in a very healing way.

It got me thinking about the concept of the first 40 days which is spoken so widely about in “crunchy mum” circles here in the West but also practiced widely among traditional cultures worldwide. It’s the idea that the postpartum period is the fourth trimester, and is a time of immense growth and healing, of which I cannot argue. It’s encouraged that mum spend the first week of postpartum in bed, the second moving gently on the bed, the third week around the bed and finally the fourth week beginning to integrate herself into the home again. I went into pregnancy intending to spend my postpartum days like this, but the reality of my fourth trimester was that I needed to reintegrate, albeit gently, into a familiar domestic normalcy much sooner than 4 weeks. Within a week or so I was yearning to be back on the boat, sweeping my floor, changing the sheets on the bed and cursing at jet skiers who insist of doing donuts around the boat. It felt like reintegration would be the golden thread to bind my new life with my old, and it was.

Before I move onto my regularly scheduled cookery content I wanted to talk about The Village; the friends and family, birth workers and aquaintences that showed up for us after Hobby was born. I will never forget how supported and taken care of we were in those early days. I had 2 dear girlfriends engaged in a near constant text thread about sleeping, latching and nursing, and our midwife on the other line whom I am certain I bombarded with a constant barrage of questions, although that whole period feels like a fever dream to be honest.

In the hours following home birth you are, hopefully, surrounded by professional birth workers, doulas and some friends or family that you chose to walk into motherhood with you. You are in such a bewildering baby bubble that you heavily rely on these angels to feed you, help you pee, moniter you and the baby and clean up the birth aftermath. But before long you are left to navigate parenthood as a new family, suddenly all reborn and now strangers to each other and it can feel very daunting. There is no guide book for this! I remember realising this once everyone had left. I didn’t think I knew anything! How do I know if Hobby is getting enough food? How many times a day do I nurse him? When does my milk come in? How do I change a nappy? Google became my best friend, but then quickly my worst enemy as I lost touch with the ancient mother in me and assumed the AI bots would be able to guide my burning nipples into my bairns hungry mouth.

In the days and weeks following Hobby’s birth we were visited by those who are the most nearest and dearest to us, minus my own family who live so very far away. We were hosted by Trevor’s mum who did laundry for us, bought groceries and watched over Hobby while we took hot showers or heavenly naps. Our friend Mary gifted us the encapsulation of my placenta which was potent postpartum medicine for me. She also brewed up herbal sitz baths to sooth my soreness, and had regular communication with Trevor to make sure all of our needs were met. We had dinners brought to us over the following week which nourished not only our weary bodies but warmed the cockles of our hearts. Food made with love tastes exponentially more delicious than anything from a packet.

It turns out The Village is mostly not the well-meaning folks that just want to hold your baby while you make them a cup of coffee, but it’s the villagers who show up and do your dishes, take out the funky bathroom rubbish, ask if you need anything from the store (and the answer is yes; butter), blend your dried placenta in your kitchen while you look on in awe and wonder how lucky you got. It’s the friends that pick you up in their dinghy because your body feels like it’s been spatchcocked, and it basically has. It’s your pals that cry with you when you present your baby like they’re a prize-winning turnip at a country fair. It’s the ladies you text at 2 in the morning with a question about your nipples who respond like they were waiting to help at any ungodly hour. It’s all of these people that carry us over the threshold and make the magnificent load of parenthood a little bit lighter on us. We love you.

---

The Lardy Squashed Fly Biscuit

Makes at least 12

All of this breastfeeding has got me feeling snacky, and I’m so tired of dates and nut butter. I’ve been craving a little biscuit, something to dip into my tea and soothe me as I awaken after a long night of interrupted sleep, and it got me thinking… Why can’t I take the concept of the Garibaldi biscuit, or the squashed fly biscuit as it’s known by every British child and marry it with the lardy decadence of Lardy cake?

So let me introduce the Lardy Squashed Fly Biscuit! Tender, short and lightly sweetened dough sandwiching warmly spiced raisins, endearingly known as squashed flies. Perfect for dunking into a decent brew and teleporting you to a grandmother’s kitchen table at tea time, the scent of her rosy perfume heady alongside the comforting smell of freshly baked biscuits. Yet another tender tonic for my tender heart.

You will need:

• 2 cups organic flour, plus more for dusting

• 1/3 cup sugar, plus more for sprinkling

• 2 tsp baking powder

• Pinch of salt

• 1/4 cup cold salted butter

• 1/4 cup cold rendered lard

• 3 tbsp milk

• 2 cups raisins

• 3/4 cup boiling water

• Zest half an orange

• 1 egg, beaten

How to:

Preheat oven to 350 degrees f.

Add the raisins, orange zest and boiling water to a bowl and let soak while you prepare the dough.

In a food processor or large bowl add flour, sugar, baking powder and salt. Combine, and add cold cubed butter and *lard.

* The texture of rendered lard varies and it may be hard or soft out of the fridge. Do your best to break it up a little before combining with the flour.

Whiz (or use hands) until the texture is reminiscent of fine breadcrumbs. Add the milk, adding a splash more if needed until your dough comes together into a rollable dough. You don’t want the dough to be too soft or crumbly and dry. 3 tbsp of milk is the perfect amount for me considering the wet texture of the lard I was using.

Roll out the dough onto a heavily floured surface to the size of a piece of paper (8.5” x 11”). Don’t be afraid to use more flour to dust the surface and rolling pin, it can get quite sticky.

Turn your dough landscape orientation with the longest side at the top. Drain the water from the raisins and use a paper towel to squeeze any extra moisture from them. Sprinkle the raisins evenly onto half of the dough, dust with spices and fold the other half over it, as if you were folding a homemade birthday card! Dust again with flour if needed and use your rolling pin to gently roll the biscuit flatter until the raisins just, but only just, start popping their little heads through the top layer of dough.

Use a sharp knife to square off the ends/edges and then cut the biscuits into neat little rectangles. Arrange on a baking sheet as close as you like as they do not spread. Brush with the beaten egg and sprinkle lightly with sugar. Bake for approximately 20 minutes or until the undersides begin to turn golden brown. They will stay quite light in colour and soft in texture but will harden as they cool.