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What A Fella Will Do For A Good Irish Stew! . . . A house burglar in South London ignored a video recorder, mobile phones and other valuables – but stole a pan of Irish stew.  Clare Wilson, from Mitcham, made the dish for the next day's dinner, then left it on her oven and went to bed.  The next morning it had vanished, but nothing else had been taken.  Ms. Wilson, a mum of four, told The Sun: "I know my cooking is good but this is ridiculous.  It's unbelievable someone would just take a stew when all that stuff was lying about the place.  I'm considering putting out reward posters asking people if they've seen my stew pot.  I've been making stew for over 20 years in that pot, and I'm a bit annoyed.  I've got several others, but it was my favourite.  It's just the right size for all the family.  The thief must have tasted the food first because I found dollops of it around the top of the stove."  Ms. Wilson's sons, Brian, 20, and Scott, 19, swear they did not eat the stew after getting in from the pub – they had a kebab on the way home.  The back door had been forced open, so Ms. Wilson reported the crime to Mitcham police.  She said: "The thief should have just knocked on the door.  I'd have invited them along for dinner.  There would have been enough for everyone."


Boil Then Simmer by derrymacash
(To the tune of that oul' tub-thumper, "The Broad Black Brimmer")

There's a pot of stew that's bubbling
Beyond in the back-room
A pot of stew so simple in its style
It's got no flash ingredients
No rocket, no tofu
But this recipe's sustained us all the while
One night me ma was lying down
All peaceful in her bed
The stew was stolen by a dirty thief
There is no consoling her
No whisht ma, turn it down
Sure her heart is only tortured with the grief

It's got to boil then simmer
For four-and-twenty hours
To make sure that the mutton's tenderised
Thickened up
With a big cup of cornflour
And the spuds boiled till they're nearly atomised
A pinch of salt
And some parsley near the end
(A great big handful, not a leaf or two!)
When it's the nosebag that you're needing
You won't get better feeding
Than a great big bowl of mother's Irish stew

This recipe was eaten by
Me father years ago
A little bit unsteady from the pub
'Ah Jesus, that was lovely
I'll have another, so
It's hard to bate a plate of home-made grub'
And when he kicked the bucket
And laid out at his wake
It was on me mother's stew the mourners dined
'Mrs Wilson that was lovely!
It fair beats tay and cake.
It's a shame that he can't die another time!'

It's got to boil then simmer
For four-and-twenty hours
To make sure that the mutton's tenderised
Thickened up
With a big cup of cornflour
And the spuds boiled till they're nearly atomised
A pinch of salt
And some parsley near the end
(A great big handful, not a leaf or two!)
When it's the nosebag that you're needing
You won't get better feeding
Than a great big bowl of mother's Irish stew

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