Tag Archives: Life

Thought of the Week: Cottage (Not Shepherd’s) Pie

Don’t forget – you can claim your free copy of The Redemption of Erâth: Consolation just by emailing satiswrites@icloud.com and telling me which digital format you’d prefer (ePub, Kindle, PDF, etc.)!

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Russett-PotatoesCI had the day off today, and spent most of that time writing. I’m quite proud of myself: 6,385 words on chapter 6 of book 3. Despite that, I couldn’t think of a single thing to write for Thought of the Week tonight, so I thought instead I’d share dinner with you instead. Currently cooking away on the stove is the mixture that will end up being cottage pie.

For those uncultured Americans out there, cottage pie is not the same thing as shepherd’s pie, which is invariably made with lamb. Cottage pie, on the other hand, is usually made with beef, sometimes pieces but more often mince. Our recipe modifies this slightly as we tend to eat turkey mince instead of beef mince, but the principle is the same. Don’t let me catch you calling it shepherd’s pie again!

Anyway, this is how I make our slap-dash knock-off cottage pie.

  • sb10068684ad-001.jpg1 lb turkey mince
  • ½ onion
  • 4-5 large carrots
  • 1 cup peas
  • 1 small can diced tomatoes
  • tomato paste
  • 1 beef and 1 vegetable stock cube
  • potatoes
  • lots of sharp cheddar cheese (the more the better)

Preheat your oven to something like 400°F. Then start by sweating the onions in olive oil (I feel smart – I know what sweating onions means!). Wait until they are translucent. Then add the turkey mince and cook it, mixing it every once in a while, until it’s starting to brown. While the turkey is cooking chop the carrots into pea-sized pieces (it makes them go well with the peas, funnily enough). Sometimes at this point I add soy sauce, just to darken the turkey. Not necessary with beef. Add the carrots and the diced tomatoes and bring to a simmer. Cook for 3-4 minutes. Then add the tomato paste and the stock cubes dissolved in ½ cup boiling water. Add the peas, bring to a simmer again, and cook for another 3-4 minutes.

Ah…the pie is in the oven now!

cooking-ground-turkeyAt this point, the main mixture is done. Pour it into a casserole dish. Now at this point, purists would point out that I should have mashed the potatoes. To hell with them. I’m way too lazy to mash potatoes, so just slide them directly onto the pie mixture in the casserole dish. The thinner the better – that way they take less time to cook. Yes, that’s right – slice the potatoes raw onto the pie!

Cover with aluminum (or aluminium) foil and place in the oven. The foil will help preserve the moisture and cooks the potatoes surprisingly well. Cook for at least 20-30 minutes, or until the potatoes are soft. Finally, take the whole thing out of the oven, set the grill (broiler) to high, and cover it all with as much cheese as you have, the sharper the better. Put it back in under the grill until everything is nice and toasty brown.

Eat.

light-cottage-pie1

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Thought of the Week: Suicide from the other Side

This is a difficult post to write, for a number of reasons, but I should preface it by saying to my family and friends: I am not currently thinking of ending my life. Just to put that out there. I may be struggling with one of the worst depressions I’ve known in recent years, but suicide is not on the cards, at the moment.

rob460It was for Robin Williams, however, as I’m sure you are all aware. I don’t want or need to say much about his death; by now it’s pretty-well assumed he deliberately killed himself, unless it was an asphyxiation accident, which…well, you know. It happens.

Anyway, the point is that Robin Williams is dead, and as much is being made of the coverage of his death as is being made of the tragedy itself. Should we even be talking about it, some are asking; what if this media hype encourages others to kill themselves just like he did? There’s a ‘suicide crisis’, one galling headline read (I couldn’t even bring myself to read that one). Some newspapers are focusing on his life, others on his death, and yet others on his family, who I understand asked to be left alone.

In all the furore, one theme that seems to be standing out to me is that suicide is an evil, and one to be prevented at all costs. If only he’d taken his medications; if only she’d kept up with therapy. If only they’d’ve talked to someone, let someone in, they might still be alive today.

So I’m going to ask a dangerous question: what if they were?

Let’s say Mr. William’s attempt had not succeeded, or perhaps never happened at all. We wouldn’t be talking about him at all, except perhaps for upcoming movie roles, and he would be going about his business somewhere in southern California, smiling to all and tormented inside in ways the rest of us could not even imagine. If he wasn’t dead right now, might he not be wishing he were?

nooseI have been on the brink of suicide many times before. I know friends who have tried (none who have succeeded, as it happens). It takes a lot to put you there. Even in the absolute darkest pits of despair, the mind’s natural struggle for life is incredibly strong. Death is terrifying, it’s an unknown. It takes an almost inhuman mental strength to set in motion events that will end your own life, whether it’s pulling a trigger or tightening a noose. It’s a strength I have never had, which is the only reason I’m still here at all. (Remember that: I’m not here because I chose to live; I’m here because I was afraid to die.)

It requires a conviction that nothing, absolutely nothing ever again in the world will be worth staying alive for. An absolute certainty that death is a better option than life. Because for many thousands of people, a life of misery and torment is still better than death. It’s still life. If you’re struggling to understand this, let me throw this out to the religious among you: this certainty is as absolute as your belief in a god.

Could those people whose belief in death is absolute be wrong? Absolutely. No one can see the future. But every day we make decisions based on what we think is likely to happen over the next few minutes, days, or even years. For those who choose suicide, every path they can see leads only to more pain, for themselves and for those they love.

Because yes, suicide victims can still love those they leave behind. Sometimes that love becomes their impetus: the guilt of their own misery and the effect it has on those around them can be a powerful incentive. It’s certainly been reason enough for me to contemplate suicide in the past. I love my wife and son, and the pain I put them through on a daily basis tortures me.

What point am I driving at here? I suppose it’s this: suicide need not be a taboo. It certainly isn’t for those who try. Loss causes pain and saddens us, and it’s those left behind who are so adamant that no one else should ever kill themselves again. Maybe in the wake of a celebrity suicide, some people will be compelled to try something they wouldn’t have normally considered. But those people already were thinking about it, weren’t they? Maybe they didn’t have a clear idea of what to do or how, but they knew deep down that they wanted to end their life.

Is it right to keep those people alive? For whose sake are we doing so? Whose decision is it, who lives and who dies? And why?

Lest you misread this, I am not advocating suicide. On the contrary, I am among the selfish who want to keep the living with me. But I would have you ask these questions, of yourself and of others: who are we to decide?

Featured image from http://rap.genius.com/Riff-raff-cool-cup-lyrics#note-1756293.

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Thought of the Week: Progress

Something is happening today that I’ve been dreading for months. To be fair, I haven’t been dreading it so much as simply not thinking about it, but it’s one of those things that ultimately can’t be avoided once the plan is set in motion. I really didn’t see how I was going to cope with it, yet here I am in the middle of it, not only not cowering in a corner but actually making time to write about it.

Can’t guess? That’s okay: we’re moving house.

Mrs. Satis got a new job, and we’re moving half an hour further south to accommodate (I’ll still be keeping my existing job (that is to say, the job that isn’t writing)). For someone who finds it difficult to get out of bed on most days, this is kind of a big deal. I knew it was coming, of course, ever since she accepted her new position, but nonetheless I did my utmost to put it out of my mind, because frankly moving house is way too big of a thing for me to contemplate.

It’s a question of being overwhelmed, ultimately. Social interactions are taxing for me at best, so having to deal with four strange men in my house all day long, making pleasantries and offering them coffee and lunch and all that, is enough to make me want to run screaming. (Hence why I’m hiding upstairs writing about it, rather than actually doing anything.) The packers/movers are nice enough, of course, but just the thought of having to go downstairs and say, “This goes, this stays, this we should never have had in the first place,” fills me with dread.

Then there’s the stress of knowing that every single item in the house has to go into a box. What if they pack something we need? What if they forget something? What if they try to pack my computer while I’m typing on it (yes, these things cross my mind)? All I really want to do is crawl into bed and hide under the covers.

What if they pack me?

Yet here I am, sitting up and awake, sweating (because it’s hot), drinking coffee (because I don’t care that it’s hot) and managing, internally at least, to not completely freak out. This is disastrous; it’s upheaval, it’s everything I know torn to pieces and shoved into boxes. My home is no more! I don’t deal well with change, in case you couldn’t tell. Yet somehow I’m coping.

Is this progress? I’m still taking most of my medications, though I need to visit the psychiatrist to get a refill on some of them. I’m still seeing my therapist once/twice a week. But everything leading up to this point suggested I ought to be a blubbering mess on the floor right now. Somehow I’m not.

It isn’t strength – I certainly don’t have any of that. I think perhaps it’s just that this is an unavoidable event; the movers were going to show up today whether I stayed in bed or not. They were going to pack around me, regardless of where I was in the house. It was preordained. And like anything unavoidable (going to work, shots, itches where you can’t scratch), you pretty much just have to deal with it when it happens.

I wonder if there’s a lesson here. For all the things I just can’t do, what if there was a way to just make them happen? What if I could convince myself that the dishes every night were unavoidable? That the laundry just had to get done? That my book simply must be written?

It’s a thought to consider, and consider it I will. For now I’d better go – they’re taking away my internet!