It’s been a funny week here in the Expatrimummy household, and by funny I mostly mean looong. The littlest Expatrimummy had his tonsils removed last Saturday and there has been much fetching and making and worrying. He’s fine, though still a way off from a full recovery and is looking forward to the day when he can talk without worrying that “my throat is going to die” from pain.
Adding to the funny-ness of the week is that great culinary delight known to Americans as jello. It’s been a popular food item here this week, along with ice cream, and in the nation itself.
Jelly—as they call it here—with ice cream is a popular dessert for children’s parties, and I decided to mix up a batch of jello, er, jelly, for my youngest. I’ve never made it here before but at least knew to expect that jelly comes as a cube, not a powder, like in America. (Envision my teenager shrieking, “It’s wrong! That’s not jello! Jello is meant to be a powder not a cube!”)
This, my American friends, is the start of English jello. Jelly. (Not to be confused with the American jam/jelly that you spread on your toast.) Look at this massive cube of gelatinous, um, gelatin, and you will understand why Brits think a peanut butter and jelly sandwich sounds disgusting. You can actually eat this cube on its own, but if you want to make jello, you get a whole little pack of cubes, about 12 in all, that you break up and pour hot water over, then stir to dissolve. Top it up with cold water, stick it in the fridge, and, ta-da! Jello. Jelly. Whatever.
In other oddities, how about this:
Yep, that’s a bit of ivy that has grown up the outer wall of the house, into the roof, and through a crack between the roughly 350-year-old oak beam that supports our ceiling and our living room wall. Now, if we could just get some holly growing indoors too, the Christmas decorating would be finished.