persistance, munching, oxtail

Hanging on.

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Underfoot, as a slow thaw begins, the snow makes munching, rather than the crunching noises of a few days ago, as you walk on it in The Grove, where it still lies thick.

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The smell of oxtail braising, a slow, slow cook with herbs and vegetables. We shall eat it tomorrow with the braising vegetables removed and a fresh brunoise added,with the original stock from which the fat has been skimmed. When preparing the vegetables I realize that we are out of celery, but the new farm shop in The High Street has come celeriac. I am about to inspect the stew and will now add some of the celeriac, which I have just brought home, finely chopped .