It was Midsummer this weekend in Finland. Well, it was everywhere in the world but in other places it doesn't have the same deep emotional meaning as in the North. It always makes me a bit sad and nostalgic to miss it. On Friday night (Midsummer's Eve - the big night of celebrations and bonfires) I was hugging myself on the sofa and crying a little. Or at least feeling left out reading the Facebook updates of my friends who all seemed to be wearing flower wreaths on their blond heads and sporting a glass of bubbly standing in their flowing summer dresses by a lake or the sea at their sickeningly idyllic summer houses that have belonged to their families for centuries.
And I thought of happy summer music, our little island that has belonged to my family for centuries, a bonfire by the beautiful blue lake, fresh birch branches in the sauna, swans majestically gliding across the still waters in the white night, smell of fish smoking next to an open fire, dancing on the beach at 3 am when the sun is all the way up already.
It happened once. Once in my life it was like that. Usually it's more like this: The weather is like January in Manchester, you're obviously on an island so there is no escape. Or if you're not on an island you have accidentally locked the keyes in the car and have to wait until the local police come and break into your car for you. Did I mention it's raining. It's also so windy you can't have a conversation outdoors, because you can't hear what anyone is saying. But you can see their breath, if that helps. The gas fridge doesn't work so all the food is going off and drinks are warm, although as the lake is about 6 degrees it works perfectly as a fridge for your beer cans in a plastic bag, at this point you don't really care about the food any more. You end up drinking too much, lose one of your contact lenses, start an argument with one of your siblings, fall over painfully a couple of times on your way to the outhouse and end up being sick behind the sauna together with the sibling you had the argument with.
And I thought of happy summer music, our little island that has belonged to my family for centuries, a bonfire by the beautiful blue lake, fresh birch branches in the sauna, swans majestically gliding across the still waters in the white night, smell of fish smoking next to an open fire, dancing on the beach at 3 am when the sun is all the way up already.
It happened once. Once in my life it was like that. Usually it's more like this: The weather is like January in Manchester, you're obviously on an island so there is no escape. Or if you're not on an island you have accidentally locked the keyes in the car and have to wait until the local police come and break into your car for you. Did I mention it's raining. It's also so windy you can't have a conversation outdoors, because you can't hear what anyone is saying. But you can see their breath, if that helps. The gas fridge doesn't work so all the food is going off and drinks are warm, although as the lake is about 6 degrees it works perfectly as a fridge for your beer cans in a plastic bag, at this point you don't really care about the food any more. You end up drinking too much, lose one of your contact lenses, start an argument with one of your siblings, fall over painfully a couple of times on your way to the outhouse and end up being sick behind the sauna together with the sibling you had the argument with.
So it's not all bad.
What made my pain this year worse is the fact that they are having beautiful weather. It's always easier if it's hail and shit over there. My brother was staying on my parents' beautiful island with her current girlfriend. "She seemed sensible and wasn't wearing too much make up" was Dad's inspiring verdict. I am yet to meet her. Dad doesn't like too much make up on a lady, says it makes them look like "Cocottes" - a word the use of which has been in deep decline since 1920s. But yes, the new lady didn't look like a cocotte which was good to hear.
I often cook something Finnish to celebrate Midsummer - like new potatoes and fish, maybe even go to the trouble of finding some pickled herring from a Polish shop or IKEA. Then eat two pieces and throw the jar in the bin in August. But it actually makes me feel more home sick and pathetic, so this year I decided to be a man about it and barbecued a massive bone-in ribeye steak Texas style which husband warmly approved of.
Texas style bone-in ribeye steak
One large bone-in ribeye steak (mine was 900g and about 4 cm thick)
Spices, amounts according to size of beef and taste:
Salt
Black pepper
Garlic powder
Onion powder
Ancho chilli powder
Smoked paprika
Ground coriander
Dried thyme
You could mix the ingredients into a rub but I just sprinkled the steak on all sides generously with the spices and rubbed them in and finished with rubbing on a little oil. I was a bit careful with the chilli, although ancho is not very hot. If you like a bit of a kick feel free to add some cayenne. Also paprika can get quite overpowering, with the other spices you can be quite generous.
Leave to marinade in the fridge overnight or even 48 hours. If you don't have time leave as long as you can, and at least for the last hour in room temperature.
If you are marinating overnight make sure you take the steak out at least an hour before cooking so that it has time to come to room temperature.
When your barbecue is nice and hot rub some vegetable oil on the steak and oil the grid. I grilled the steak for about 5 minutes on both sides and made sure I had some colour all around the steak. I then finished it in the oven at 190C for about 20 minutes for medium. I would like mine slightly rarer, but husband likes his meet done.
Use a thermometer if you like, I just did it by feel and got it about right. Take out when it's still a bit less done than you'd like. It will continue to cook while resting. Rest for minimum 10 minutes.
