Electric shocks, Ridley Scott, the cold, and a Trigger's broom of a tart tatin
Abundance: Tuesday 3 December 2024
The sky is full of Quink, a soft croissant of cloud floating so much nearer to me than the rest. The sea is soft linen, the wind slight but cold. I squeeze one hand into a fist, then the other; the right one is playing up for the first time this winter.
2011
I have an appointment with electrical shocks for 8.30am today. The specialist - a nice man - smells of yesterday's garlic. Wires are placed around each finger of my right hand and a pad fixed that throws pulses along each nerve in my arm in turn. The sensation is a peculiar one - not painful as such, but similar to having the end of each finger hit with a heavyish hammer and being hit on the knee reflex at the same time. It makes me irritated like when I stub my toe, and I find myself looking for someone to blame. It doesn't seem appropriate that it should be the nice garlicky specialist whose hand is on the dial of the pulsing machine.
The appointment finishes with needles in my forearm and thumb muscles, a current sent down each. We talk, punctuated with my ‘Awww, you little…’ as each pulse is fired.
‘Annoying isn’t it.’
‘No kiddin…owww, shit.’
‘You probably hate me right now.’
‘Ha, no, I know you’re just…goooh, bugger.’ I hate him right now.
A couple of months ago, the doctor gave me his thoughts. Parsonage Turner Syndrome. Or brachial neuritis, as it is now more commonly known. I wanted to ask if I'd make it til the end of the Bank Holiday weekend. I had, apparently, the classic symptoms - huge, sudden, inexplicable pain in the back, followed by some loss of motor function in the arm.
Each of us has four major nerve junction boxes in our back, two high up on the shoulder blades and two lower down. My right shoulder blade junction box was the problem: it had become inflamed. This occurs seemingly randomly, although often after a virus, and is apparently sometimes caused by the immune system taking it out on the brachial plexus; the Clapham Junction for the arm. After two weeks of pretty special pain, my shoulder felt better but I noticed my hand was weak. On a wet day in London I realised how I'd been compensating for something quite serious over the previous weeks when I couldn't force my fingers into my pocket to get coins out - they were just folding up at the top of my pocket, as if plasticine.
I saw the doctor. He tried a few tests - I couldn't hold an envelope between the side of my thumb and my first finger: it just fell out. He told me there was no active cure but neither would it get worse. It would right itself in any time between a month and two years. It left me with my leading hand severely weakened, its effect weirdly selective on the muscles and nerves: I could still dig a hole but not open a packet of crisps. And I do love crisps.
I looked it up on the internet. It confirmed what he'd said, although the last sentence on the entry on wikipedia didn't cheer me much: 'recovery is occasionally complete'.
The specialist sends me on my way with promises of a report confirming - or otherwise - the diagnosis.
‘Turn left, through to the area reception, straight across, first right, second left and you’ll be at the entrance.’
I find reception and walk straight across, following his directions. This part of the hospital seems deserted. I’m not sure I’m in the right place. I walk through. I’m in a corridor that invites me to follow it. Almost everything is white. My arm is tight and still irritated in the aftermath of the shocks. The Overlook Hotel, from The Shining1, leaps into my mind: I imagine rivers of blood pouring along the corridor towards me. All doors are shut apart from one set of doubles. I’m unable to not turn my head to look, shoes squeaking on the floor breaking the silence as I walk.
I stop as if I have looked up from my phone and found a wall in front of me. A sheetless bed. A tall metal frame where fluids might hang to its side. I walk to the doors. It cannot be, and yet it is. Lost in a maze of landings and departments, I have walked along an empty corridor where only one room has open doors: it is the room where 13 years ago Dad lay slack and bruised after his first heart attack.
How many others have passed through this room since? Is there a date pencilled in for me?
I make slow fists with my right hand and step quickly along the corridor towards the sun.
Parsnip and carrot maple-miso tart tatin
I saw Angela Hartnett’s parsnip tart tatin in the paper the other day, and I fancied something almost exactly like it. I say almost: I often like parsnips’ gentle bitterness against carrots rather than solo, and I fancied it sharing the colour scheme of the beech leaves I saw this morning. I also wanted a little more savoury in the form of miso. Oh, and fennel seed2: I seem incapable of roasting a vegetable without both fennel and cumin being present.
I used a sheet of ready-made, ready-rolled puff pastry (a 280g pack) because life might - for all we know - be too short; gluten free, which often stays more frisbee than puffed, but dietaries dictated it be so. And I roasted double the amount of vegetables to provide the amo for a lunchtime soup tomorrow.
Serves 6
ready-made puff pastry
400g parsnips, peeled
400g carrots, peeled
1 tbsp olive oil
1 tsp cumin seeds
1 tsp fennel seeds
1 tsp cumin seeds
1 child’s thumb of ginger, grated
2 tbsp maple syrup
1 tbsp white miso
40g butter
sea salt
black pepper
Heat the oven to 180°C fan.
Use a 25cm heavy-based ovenproof frying pan as a template to cut a circle in the pastry - don’t worry if the pan is a little large for the pastry on two sides; roughly is fine.
Cut the parsnips and carrots in half lengthways, quartering any thicker ones. In a large roasting tin, smear the vegetables in olive oil, season generously, sprinkle with cumin seeds and fennel seeds and toss to combine. Cover with foil and roast for 25-30 minutes, until just cooked.
Put a 25cm heavy-based ovenproof frying pan over a medium heat and add the maple syrup, miso and ginger and butter. Heat until melted and combined. Add the carrots and parsnips, coating well, then arrange so they sit nice and tightly in the pan. Allow to cool.
Take the pastry sheet and crimp it by gently twisting the edge so it folds over slightly to form a lip.
Turn the pastry over and place on to the vegetables, tucking the edge around the vegetables so all fits tightly.
Use a sharp knife to make a couple of small cuts into the pastry to allow steam to escape.
Place in the centre of the oven and cook for 25-30 minutes until golden and crisp.
Allow it to rest for a few minutes before turning out on to a large plate of board; do this over the sink in case of any liquid escaping as you flip it.
Season once more and serve with bitter leaves or buttered, chilli-flakes sprouts.
One of my favourite bits of film trivia: the end of Bladerunner uses footage from the filming of The Shining
Changing so many ingredients and calling it the same is getting a touch Trigger’s broom
Lovely writing, I can see why you won this year’s GMG award for the best blogger!
Just tried the recipe without the pastry it with sausages. Very tasty thank you