Old Smokey

This is what happens when you have a husband who's a bit of a mad inventor in his spare time. Occasionally you come down to the kitchen first thing in the morning to find something like this on the notepad...

Then he has a lightbulb moment and tells you he's thought of a use for his old air compressor.

He starts bringing bits and bobs made of steel home from the tip. Pretty soon he's got a collection of rusting old relics lying about in a formation that suggests he has secret plans for them.






Soon the sound of angle grinding pierces the afternoon air and great plumes of sparks shoot from the open roller doors of the workshop. You hear him rooting around in the garage and catch him leaving the house clutching his redundant steel tool box with a purposeful stride and a pleased look on his face.

So you follow him across to the bush block and find he's made this. 

 And he's been making smokey bacon, the taste of his childhood.

And a ham.

We won't be selling any of this. I'm quite sure the contraption shown wouldn't be at all compliant with the Australian Food Code, or pass muster with the local Health Inspectors. 
But weekend breakfasts at Langdale Farm are a smokily fragrant affair. 

When Oliver was out today I was left in charge of Smokey, feeding him with little logs every couple of hours, and replacing the wood shavings on the upper shelf. It was lovely out there, crouched in front of the warm little stove, surrounded by the tang of wood smoke and the first chill of autumn, cooking in this age old way - primitive, and with the taste of hills and history and your Granny's cooking.

I'm looking forward to the next scribbled blueprint I find on the notepad in the kitchen.