About this time of year six years ago, when I still lived in Bristol and train travel was still fairly reliable, I was awaiting a much looked forward to visit from my sister. Since moving to furthest west Wales visits from people by train are much trickier, mostly because we don’t have a station. The station that was had been built around 1886 in order to carry goods (exports included herring and salmon, slate, bark for tanning, corn and ale. So says wikipedia, and yes I do send money to them because I use it all the time and I think it is very a good resource) originally carried by sea into the port, as was, just below our house. The advent of the railway station hastened the decline of the port, which was also hampered by a large sandbar. So no more ships into Cardigan.
In 1962, prior to Beeching’s sweeping closures of most rural train stations, Cardigan station closed to passengers. Total and final closure came in 1965. So more trains into Cardigan.
Our nearest station is about 20 miles away. A journey to London should be about four and half hours from there, but of course there are usually delays or cancellations and bus replacement services, which as Felix Arbenz so succinctly puts it adds “a real indignity to rail transport nowadays”, with added “fruity notes of urine”.
If I miss one thing about Bristol it’s its accessibility via public transport (not, I hasten to add, the city transport which is diabolical) to places like London. Well, actually, to London, and also Edinburgh. Travelling to Brighton by train is another kind of jigsaw puzzle, so there we have it - the state of public transport in this country is appalling and I can’t see this new shambles of a government doing anything about it any time soon.
Which bring me back to my sister’s visit from Brighton all those years ago which I remembered as I was making some hummus. Brighton is a long way away, or it was in the time of yore when a cart journey would take the best part of three years. Times were simpler then. We only had to worry about Farmer Hessian’s harvest and whether the grain would be good for the bread for the annual feast. We didn’t worry about America then, or what mad man was in charge. The King was in charge and he might be mad, but he’s the King, and that was a good/bad depending on your place in the pecking order. Pecking orders were clear, boundaries strong and we knew our place in it all. It was great. I wasn’t there obviously, but I bet it was great – the linen smocks the farmers wore were lovely and such good quality.
My sister was due in after supper time but as we all know travel of any kind throws meal times into disarray, whether by cart or train, so I decided to make a substantial snack for her to have, with sturdy glass of wine, just in case. That snack was hummus.
HUMMUS
I am fairly sure anyone reading this knows how to make hummus, but it doesn’t hurt to be reminded how easy it is and how much more delicious and satisfying than the supermarket stuff, and no plastic to throw away after.
1 can/carton cooked chickpeas, drained (if you have forethought to soak and cook chickpeas then you need 230g cooked chickpeas).
2 dessert spoons of light tahini
2 cloves garlic (or more or less to taste)
juice of one lemon
small handful chopped coriander or basil
pinch salt
Put all the ingredients in a food processor. If you still live in the cart and horse era use a moulin – now they really were great, and still are), adding a small slosh of water to loosen it all if need be, or mash it with a masher. Whizz to a consistency that you like. Bob’s yer hummus.
You can add olive oil as well if you like, but you may find that it’s not really necessary – add some when you serve it instead. A little sprinkle of pepper and paprika is nice too. Try not to eat it before your sister arrives.
These days I like to add things to my hummus because I get bored easily and like messing around with my food. Try finely chopped pickled/preserved lemon and fresh coriander, or mashed up roast red peppers with some harrisa.