Caramel Corn

Tea at Furlongs

Eric Ravilious

Inside or Outside? It is the dilemma of all summer entertaining in England.

It's not enough to listen to the weather report, or even to scan the early morning sky, for the weather is nothing if not changeable.

Barbeques and picnics can be glorious, but only if weather conditions are just right. In my mind -- and frankly, that's the only place this idyllic scene has taken place -- children play croquet under a crisp, cloudless sky while parents sip champagne and eat strawberries under a bower of roses. In reality, I've planned many a picnic which ended up with too many people huddled around my kitchen table. We've also toughed out many an evening barbeque -- with all of the guests begging for jackets and jumpers.

Last Friday, my youngest daughter had six friends over for a sleepover party. Unlike me, who cares only for the food when it comes to party planning, she fretted over the food and the entertainment. After considerable cogitation, she drew up two plans: one for inside, and one for outside. If the weather was warm and dry, we would have a barbeque. If the weather was cold and wet, we would make homemade pizza.

Only one detail remained consistent: no matter what the weather, we would have homemade caramel corn.

When I got married, my mother made me a cookbook of family recipes. Under the Miscellaneous section, there are kid-pleasing recipes for pancakes, hot fudge sauce, coffee can ice cream, Chex party mix and pull later taffy. There is also a recipe for microwave caramel corn: a bit of late 1970s history, from the days when microwaves were a great novelty. I only remember to make it every few years, but when I do, I'm always delighted because it is DELICIOUS and easy and fun to make with children.

As summer winds down, and everyone gears up for the rush rush rush of the school year routine, it is a worthy afternoon project . . . and will, at least, lend some novelty to another afternoon spent watching DVDs. If you do let children have a go, make sure that you reserve a bag of this good stuff for yourself. It makes a lot, but a small gathering of children can snarf it down before the hapless adult has managed to clean up the kitchen.

Caramel Corn

Special Equipment: You will need a large paper bag and a microwave for this recipe.

Ingredients:
Two batches of popcorn

8 ounces packed light brown sugar
4 ounces butter
2 ounces honey or white Karo syrup or Lyle’s Golden Syrup
1 teaspoon vanilla
½ teaspoon baking soda
¼ teaspoon salt

Method:

First, a few words about popcorn: don’t even think of using microwave popcorn. It is nasty and full of chemicals. You need to make popcorn the old-fashioned way, which is really very easy. You will need a large pot with a lid and handles on the side (so you can hold it to shake it). I use my spaghetti/soup pot, but when I was a child we had a special seasoned pot just for popcorn. On medium to medium-high heat, heat 2-3 tablespoons of a light vegetable oil (like sunflower, canola, etc). Then add your popcorn – I think that 2/3s of a cup is about right. Make sure to shake your pan back and forth, so you don’t burn the popcorn, and take it off the heat when it has almost stopped popping. Don’t forget to have a large bowl at the ready!

After you have made two batches of popcorn, using this method and quantity, pour all of your popcorn in a paper bag.

Next, you will make the caramel.
Place the brown sugar, butter and syrup in a large glass measuring cup or bowl. (Check picture for size. A 16 oz measuring cup is not big enough.) Microwave this mixture for approximately 1 ½ minutes – or until butter has completely melted. Then, stir until smooth, with all of the ingredients fully incorporated.

Here is the fun science experiment part: Add the vanilla, baking soda and salt and microwave on high for 2 more minutes. The baking soda will activate and the mixture will foam up.

Pour the syrup over the popcorn, and stir well with a long wooden spoon. Then, fold the bag down tightly. The last step is to heat the popcorn in the microwave for 2 to 3 minutes. (The recipe says 3, but I thought that 2 was plenty! You don’t want to burn it.)

Remove to a large bowl. The popcorn will be hot and sticky at first, but when it cools it will become crisp. If the weather is humid, store the popcorn in Ziploc bags as soon as it cools.

This is delicious, addictive stuff! Make sure to have some when it is warm – although don’t be too hasty and burn your tongue.



As for the party, we decided to play it conservatively and go with the "Inside" plan: pizza, dancing and movies. (As luck would have it, the day ended up being warm and dry.) The girls ended up playing in the creek, which hadn't been part of any plan . . . but that's just how parties go.


It's just as well that I had a lot of "tester" bites when I was making the caramel corn, because there weren't any leftovers . . . not even for the vacuum cleaner.


So now, it's almost Friday again and I'm planning for six more friends who are coming to visit. And I'm wondering: Will we be eating inside or outside? (And should I make more caramel corn? Because it's a really good snack for people who spend a lot of their time at computers.)

Contrasts of Catalunya

A slice of Mediterranean Sea on the Costa Brava

Our biking holiday was described as “Contrasts of Catalunya,” and I suppose it was meant to refer to that combination of mountain and Mediterranean Sea that you can find on Spain’s Costa Brava. The intense blue of sea and sky contrasted with green pine forests and palm avenues and a palette of yellow, which varied from brilliant sunflowers to the dull gold of haystacks and scorched grass.

Our accommodation was various, too. Nearly every day, the Headwater representative conveyed our luggage to a new dwelling, and after hours of biking we would discover that evening’s surprise lodging: a hotel set into the hillside, and so vast and winding that my daughter named it “Pan’s Labyrinth;” a beachside hotel whose décor hadn’t been touched since the early 1960s; a traditional farmhouse; and best of all, a converted castle as stylish as anything you might found in Northern California.

A bicycle still-life

We cycled through holiday trailer parks, a nature reserve, the occasional crowded highway, lots of farm land, orchards, modern cities and medieval hilltop villages. The views did change, but the smell of Catalonia was disturbingly consistent. Although there were brief whiffs of salty air and fresh pine, you could never really get away from the fact that the pork industry is central to Catalonia’s economy. We never actually saw any pigs, but we saw the signs of them everywhere. It must be said plainly: the smell of pig shite was, at times, overpowering.

I didn’t find biking to be very conducive to photography. Frankly, my biking skills weren’t really up to the no-hands approach and it was a bit much to ask eight other people to stop riding every time I spied something scenic. I wanted, so much, to take a picture of our long and colorful single-file of bikes . . . but I had to be contented with the posed line-up here.

The cycling (and occasionally singing) von Trapps

Indeed, I’m sure that I missed lots of gorgeous scenery altogether – as my eyes tended to point downwards, always inspecting the terra-not-so-firma for rocks and potholes. (Despite my vigilance, I got two flat tires – one of them conveniently near a pizza restaurant, but the other on a busy highway.)

Most of my best (and worst) memories didn’t get recorded on film, and already their intensity is starting to fade. I wonder what, after a few years, will remain in my memory file of Catalonia? So many of my favorite memories have to do with appeasing my appetite: eating the most delicious chocolate cake for breakfast; discovering that I like fresh sardines; smearing rustic bread with crushed tomato, olive oil and salt, in the Catalan way; sharing a seafood paella at a beachside restaurant; slugging down cup after cup of café con leche.

It always seems like mealtimes are erratic on holidays, either feast or famine. We ate three-course dinners late at night, and massive breakfasts early in the morning, before we wanted them . . . but we never seemed to get to lunch before a ravening hunger took hold. One afternoon, after a long, hot morning walking through Barcelona and playing tourist at Sagrada Familia, we stumbled upon a stylish tapas bar. I’m sure the food would have been delicious no matter what, but with the keen edge of hunger, the combination of meltingly hot seafood croquettes and chilled rosé wine was absolutely memorable.

My worst memories were physical, too – not so much about the belly, but more about the aching legs, back and neck. We were staying at a farmhouse the night before our longest bike ride, and I spent a sleepless night tossing and turning under an oppressive blanket of heat and raucous birdsong from the open windows. The next day, I was full of anxiety about 44 kilometres of “undulating landscape.” Undulating turned out to be a rather euphemistic word for hilly . . . and the scary thrill of hurtling down hills really, really was not worth the shuddering effort of forcing my bike up them. I took the following picture whilst taking a breather from climbing that very hill. I’m sure that the scenery was beautiful that day, but I spent most of my energy trying not to cry.

The undulating Catalonian landscape

Occasionally, we had such steep climbs that it was necessary to shift down to the dreaded 1:1 on our bike gears. We dubbed this the “Coco the Clown” gear, as it felt as silly and ineffective as a clown on a tricycle. You could push your bike by foot just as quickly, as I proved on more than one occasion.

A rather piercing memory is of biking slowly, ever so slowly, up a long hill which passed by a primary school. Some young boys hung on the wire fence and jeered at us. My friend, who speaks good Spanish, said that they were calling us donkeys. It haunts me still. Was that just a generic insult, or did it have something to do with our awkward, plodding progress? Perhaps I misunderstood their tone and they meant to be kind. Perhaps they were suggesting that we would be better off with donkeys, as did my dear friend Fantastic Forrest.

In this picture, my friend Bon Bon and I are smiling because her gung-ho husband had run over a patch of stickers. It’s not that we enjoyed his misfortune, but we were rather pleased to get an extended break as he patched his tire.

Bon Bon and me:

a rare sighting,

as we were usually on the other side of the lens

The mothers laughed the most; whined the most, too.

The children were quite stoical and mostly enjoyed the biking, I think. They were topped up with ice cream as often as possible.

Our gung-ho male companion – fearless leader, map-reader and general chivvier of lazy lasses – was philosophical about the ups and downs of hilly landscapes. Apparently, he subscribes to the idea that you have to take the rough with the smooth. I think that it says a lot about my character that I would just prefer to stay on the flat all the time. I’m obviously a Dutch biker by temperament.

Despite this claim, I did opt to climb to the top of the observation tower in the nature reserve. Anyone who has voluntarily agreed to wear padded lycra shorts might as well be a good sport.

Sigmund and me: looking all-pro

A Bit More Fruit Cake

The last few days have been a flurry of activity -- with an engagement party, a Christmas Fayre, a Ralph Vaughan Williams concert, and a visit to a potential boarding school all being mixed into my usual round of activities. The children are having exams and late play practices, and I seem to be forever driving down dark lanes at night. In addition to the usual round, there is now the "seasonal" round, and I'm already starting to feel swamped. There are "present piles" (ie, unwrapped presents stuffed in plastic bags) everywhere; the calendar is getting increasingly complicated and double-booked; and the thought of my Christmas card picture is starting to nag at me. In short, November feels like it is on the wane . . . and we all know what that means.

The season of excess is upon us.

Are you a last-minute Christmas person, or a plan-ahead Christmas person? Frankly, I'm a bit of both. As I told a friend at my daughter's Christmas Fayre on Saturday, I tend to take a Kamikaze approach to Christmas preparation. I fling myself headlong into certain aspects, but my overall battle-plan is lacking. I have no sense of the whole; I can't see the endgame; I lack strategy.

I have been buying presents for a while now, but I'm proceeding without a list . . . and I'm pretty sure that I'm losing my way. My best friend in Houston seems to have three gifts, while certain family members (not my children, obviously) seem to have none.

I had the vague idea of making lots of Christmas Cakes and chutneys this year -- to keep and to give away -- but instead of carefully figuring out the quantities of the necessary ingredients, I just bought what seemed like "plenty" and has turned out to be "a lot" and probably "too much." In other words, I have a glut of dried fruit. Motivated by the combination of this glut and the fascinating comments I've received on my Black Cake experiment, I decided to try a fruitcake recipe of an entirely different kind. As several blog-friends admitted to nonalcoholic fruitcake as preference, I wanted a fruitcake for "tea" as opposed to a rich and rummy seasonal confection.

My fondness for nostalgia is such that I can get quite sentimental about a past that I didn't even experience or share in any way. My imagination is wonderfully active in that way. Therefore, when I discovered a recipe for Castleton Vicarage Cake -- with the accompanying note that its author wrote the Little Grey Rabbit books -- I was immediately plunged into some pastel, vaguely Beatrix Potterish fantasy in which red squirrels and rabbits come to tea. I was also beguiled by the thought of lots of greedy vicars gobbling up the fruity goodness!

Castleton Vicarage Cake

Preheat oven to 170C/350F. Grease two loaf tins (or one enormous round cake tin) -- and line with parchment paper.

1 pound self-raising flour (or the same of plain flour plus 1 teaspoon of baking soda)
12 ounces of demerara sugar
1 pound mixed fruit (generally raisins and currants, but I put in about 3 oz of apricots)
4 ounces of candied peel
12 ounces of butter
1/2 pint milk (this is an English pint, so you will probably need at least 10 ounces)

Mix all the dried ingredients together in a large bowl. Add butter that has been cut into walnut size lumps and stir these through. Then, pour HOT milk over the whole. Stir thoroughly with a wooden spoon, and then scoop the thick batter into your tins.

Baking time is approximate. I baked two loaf tins of fruitcake, and they took roughly 80 minutes. Obviously, if you make one large cake tin it might take longer. Start checking on it after an hour. The finished fruitcake won't "spring back" or pull away from the sides like a sponge cake, but the top should be golden and firm to the touch when it is done.

Unlike the Black Cake, this fruitcake is remarkably uncomplicated to make. It is also astonishingly delicious! My teenage daughter, who generally turns up her nose at dried fruit, has eaten slice after crumbly slice this afternoon. Her mood, which was rather foul immediately post-school, has noticeably sweetened. Therefore, this fruitcake seems to be a prescription against low blood sugar, early dark evenings, and the general stress of the season.

And one more thing: My youngest daughter is getting Cherry Cake and Ginger Beer for one of her Christmas presents. It is a self-described "golden treasury of classic treats" -- a cookbook/trip-down-memory-lane for children (or adults) who gorged themselves on Enid Blyton stories and other English favorites. (Aren't the food descriptions in children's books always the best?) I've had a little peek, and there are TWO recipes for fruitcake in the book. I don't know if they can beat the Castleton Vicarage Cake, but no doubt I shall be trying them out in January!

Novemberish

Apparently November is almost always the rainiest month of the year in England.

I read that in The Guardian a couple of days ago, and it would seem that the weather gods are right on schedule. Today the wind has blown, the rain has come down, and all sensible creatures have stayed indoors.

I've mostly stayed indoors -- and certainly would have been entirely sensible if I were a more organized person. Since I'm not very organized, though, I had to make the windswept trek to Sainsbury's to buy the Big Meat which is de rigueur for English Sunday lunch. Usually, I feed my family "girl" food -- pasta, salad, soup and cookies. It is not unknown for the girls and I to eat popcorn and apples for dinner. However, because it was Remembrance Day, and dark and wet to boot, I felt that red meat was somehow called for.

Our house is a converted barn, and the long, low roof means that the light is dim on dark days. The huge oak beams are mostly salvaged from the old timbers of ships. When the wind blows mightily, the timbers creak and one feels strange, swirling drafts. There are times when our house seems to rock ever so slightly, and I have a whimsical notion that this tempered wood holds memories of the wild, tossing sea. Inevitably, these same drafts remind Sigmund to nag me about getting in someone to plug the many cracks between wood and plaster.

An iron ring, for tying up cattle one assumes, still hangs off the beam above my kitchen sink. Like the dumb cow, I often feel tethered to the kitchen on bad weather weekends. On the positive side, when the oven is baking hot and I've got at least two of the burners aflame and crackling with gas, the kitchen is the warmest room in the house. It's also nice to have the Sunday papers handy when everything is simmering.

I'm certainly grateful that I didn't have to keep running outdoors for wood, because I kept my stove going for the better part of the day. I made biscuits, and wheat bread, and a slow-cooking casserole, and an apple and walnut cake. I also made red pepper soup for "starters," so my family had the most unusual experience of having a three course meal at home. It was a lot of up-front effort, but tomorrow the menu is all about left-overs.

I'm really more "reader" than chef, but elaborating on the coq au vin I made Friday night, I braised some lamb shanks with many of the same good things: mushrooms, shallots, bacon and lots of red wine. Served over mashed potatoes, it was warming, comforting and filling. This dish made me wish for a big dog, though, because there were such nice meaty bones left on the plates. (Can you give chickens lamb shanks?)

Speaking of chickens, one of the downsides of being a chicken owner is that they want to eat, too -- even on horrid days. Unfortunately, it was also change-the-straw day . . . and my youngest daughter drew the short stick. I wish that I had charged up my brand-new camera (!), because the sight of my daughter kitted out for her outdoors chores really deserved a visual. Believe me, none of Shackleton's men were better prepared -- although West Berkshire is hardly the South Pole, even on the most Novemberish day. In addition to the usual jean, jacket and wellies combo, she added a fake fur ski cap, a scarf, mittens and goggles! Even if I had had the camera at the ready, her anonymity would have been easily preserved.

The wind is still howling, but I've got clean sheets, a new book, and a human-sized water bottle to cuddle up with. I'm reading A London Child of the 1870s right now, and the cozy reminiscences suit my mood perfectly. I suppose it's because I associate the era with dark fog, but Victorian novels always seem right for Novemberish days.

Food for the living

Note: I began this post on a Monday, but didn't finish it until November 2 -- the official Day of the Dead.

Not long ago, Just a Plane Ride Away and I were talking (on blog and off) about the Day of the Dead. Now I like holiday-themed food as much as anyone, and perhaps even more than most, but I've always been slightly creeped out by the thought of pan de muerto. Although I've happily consumed several gingerbread bats and pumpkins this weekend, something about a skull just puts me off.

As the natural world decays around us, (at least in the northern hemisphere), it seems appropriate to participate in all of those night-time festivals (Halloween, All Soul's Day, Guy Fawkes Night) which feature skeletons and ghosts and rubbish-burning. Of course, they are trivialized by the mass consumption of candy, not to mention plastic costumes, but there is still a spooky hush, a trace of darkness, about these ceremonies. Dancing around with the idea of death is preferable to confronting it in any real way. There's nothing like a controlled, fake encounter to keep something scary at a remove. Afterwards, you get to come back inside -- to light and warmth -- and eat a baked potato, or count your sweets.

One of the reasons that I am discomfited by the Day of the Dead is that it happens in daylight. Honoring the dead is one thing, but inviting them to a picnic is quite another. Perhaps it is rather too revealing of my own religious beliefs, but I believe that food is for the living. I don't think that the dead need tequila, but living souls might.

During the first week of our half-term holiday, a friend's father died. Even though he had been ill for a while, it was -- as it always is --a shock. There was a sleepless night; a frantic day of making decisions and arrangements; and an inability to tend to everyday matters. As bad luck and late October would have it, the weather was correspondingly grim: dark, wet, windy and cold. After offering my vague assistance, as you do, I decided to focus on something practical: providing dinner. I put together the most comforting, warming menu I could think of: meatball stew, homemade bread and butterscotch brownies. Eat it now; heat it up later; freeze it until needed.

I don't ascribe supernatural powers to food, but I do believe that it is an offering of love, of caring, of healing. I couldn't help but notice, when reading The Believers, that Audrey -- the monstrous mother -- had a withholding nature when it came to food and love both. The last conscious transaction Audrey has with her husband involves a bialy: he has asked her to get him one, but she has neglected to do so. In another scene, her daughter Karla describes a legendary meal in which Audrey takes some canned spaghetti, slices it up, and serves it cold. (The gruesomeness of this meal will probably stick in my mind long after other details from the novel have faded.) A friend brings Audrey some homemade chicken soup, but she leaves it to spoil on the stove. Audrey doesn't know how to give comfort; she has trouble receiving it, too.

Now I know that you don't need to make a casserole to show caring, but somehow it just seems to help. No one wants to think about cooking when they are tired and heartbroken, but the living body still needs to eat. It's nice to have some chicken spaghetti, beloved dish of Texas mourners, handy.

My mother and I like to talk about what we've been cooking lately, and when I mentioned my menu for grieving friends she wanted to know if it was typical for English people to bring food following a death. I realized that I didn't know. So far, I've been lucky enough to escape close contact with death. However, you do get to a point in life where death becomes a more or less constant feature . . . and I think that I'm nearing that point.

I know it is sheer denial to repress thoughts of death, and perhaps Day of the Dead mourners have the right attitude -- even if I don't care for the skeleton and marigold aesthetics. But if the practice ever comes to England, I think it would be best to bring a flask of something hot. November graves are cold places, and even if the dead can't appreciate a nice cup of tea or some warming soup, the living will.

Meatball Stew

This is a recipe that has been in my family for ages. My mother included it in a cookbook that she made for me when I got married. I often make it for Halloween, but it is good for any occasion which requires warming and nourishing loved ones. It can be made ahead, and like most stews, is actually better the next day.

Make small (3/4 inch) meatballs out of the following:
1 1/2 lb ground chuck (or good mince)
1/2 teaspoon salt
1/2 teaspoon pepper
3/4 cups seasoned bread crumbs

Or, if you live in England, just buy the Organic meatballs from Waitrose -- they are ideal.

Saute one clove of garlic in a small amount of olive oil. Remove garlic and brown the meatballs in the flavored oil.
Place the meatballs in a casserole dish with a lid (I use my Le Creuset) that is burner/oven proof.

Add the following:
16 oz tomato sauce/passata
32 oz water
1 teaspoon salt
1 teaspoon thyme
1 bay leaf
1-2 beef boullion cubes, or a couple of teaspoons of Marmite

Cover and cook on top of low heat for 30 minutes. Then place in an oven at 325 for 30 minutes. After this two-part process, you can add the following vegetables:

1 1/2 cup cubed potatoes
1 1/2 cups sliced carrots
1 cup sliced celery
1 cup chopped onions

Cook in oven until vegetables are tender. Approximately 45 minutes should do it.
Serve with french bread or corn bread.


Butterscotch Brownies

From the New York Cookbook; slightly modified by me. These are deliciously chewy and moreish. After I made some for my friends, my children complained until I made another batch. I gave one to a man who was cutting some trees for us that day, and he actually asked for the recipe!

Ingredients:
3 oz, or a heaping half-cup, of all-purpose ("plain") flour
1 teaspoon baking powder
1/2 teaspoon salt
2 oz butter (or vegetable shortening, which the original recipe calls for)
1 cup packed light brown sugar
1 large egg
1/2 teaspoon vanilla
1/2 cup chopped walnuts
1/2 cup chocolate chips

Butter and lightly flour an 8 inch square pan. Preheat the oven to 350F/175C.

Combine the flour, baking powder and salt and set aside.
Melt the butter in a saucepan over a medium-low heat, and then add the brown sugar. Mix thoroughly, and then remove from the heat and let cool for 5 minutes.
Quickly stir in the egg, until glossy, and then add the flour mixture, followed by the vanilla, nuts and chocolate chips. When everything has been incorporated, press the mixture into the prepared pan.
Bake for approximately 25-30 minutes. A toothpick should come out clean, but the brownies will be soft until they cool. After cooling, they will still be chewy.

Use your loaf!

Last night I made a quick detour to the grocery store to pick up some flour and yeast. I've had a full-blown obsession with baking bread for the last couple of weeks and I managed to run low on the vital supplies. Although statistics show that people hardly cook or bake anymore, the shelves of Waitrose told a different story: they were fresh out of yeast!

Apparently, it's not just me. I don't know if it is an autumnal rite, nesting instinct, or soothing ritual, but a lot of people seem to be baking. Even if everything is definitely not "all right" with the world, the exquisitely yeasty smell of a fresh-baked loaf can help you feel that it is.

My family aren't big bread eaters under normal circumstances. We hardly ever eat sandwiches, and we tend to favor oatmeal over toast. When I buy sliced bread, it will invariably grow moldy or stale (ie, chicken food) before we manage to finish it. But freshly baked bread! It has a siren's lure. If I leave a warm loaf on the counter on a weekend morning, it will disappear by afternoon -- slice by surreptitious slice. And if I strategically position the peanut butter (for the girls) and Marmite (for my husband), I can manage to get out of making lunch -- and crack on with the "fun" stuff, like washing all of the p.e. kit and school uniforms.

In the past couple of weeks I've made banana muffins, gingerbread, apple pie, butterscotch cookies, english muffins and Homesick Texan's splendid oatmeal bread -- and they've all done an admirable job of perfuming my kitchen and pleasing my family. However, the recipe I keep returning to has the seductive title (and method) of The Easiest 100% Whole Wheat Bread Ever. It is nutritious, adaptable and easy; and for bread, it's pretty quick, too. It doesn't have to be kneaded, or punched down, or proofed, so there's no need to be wary of it -- even if you are short on time and/or baking skills.

The Easiest 100% Whole Wheat Bread Ever
(from the King Arthur Whole Grain Baking book)

Combine the following ingredients in a large mixing bowl.
(If you have a standing mixer, use that bowl.)

1 1/4 cup (10 oz) lukewarm water
1/4 cup (2 oz) orange juice
3 tablespoons (2 1/4 oz) molasses (I use treacle, or honey)
3 cups (12 oz) traditional whole wheat flour (I use "strong" bread flour)
1/4 cup (1 oz) nonfat dry milk
1 1/4 teaspoons salt
2 teaspoons instant yeast

At a medium-high speed, beat the mixture for about three minutes. (If you have a KitchenAid, use your paddle attachment. )

Spoon the batter (it will be sticky!) into a greased bread tin. The recipe calls for something that is 8 1/2 x 4 1/2 inches, but I just used my biggest tin and that was perfect. Cover the pan with greased plastic wrap and let the dough rise for an hour. By the way, I use Crisco (vegetable shortening) for the business of greasing.

Preheat your oven to 350 F/175 C while the bread is rising. The bread will need approximately 45 minutes to cook, and you should tent if with foil after the first 20 minutes. Remove it from the oven and let it cool on a rack (in the tin) for about 5 minutes. Then you can run a table knife around the edges and ease it out of the pan. King Arthur recommends cooling for 30 minutes before you attempt to eat it . . . but you're on your own with this advice, because I won't even pretend to be so abstemious. It should be golden brown when finished.

King Arthur describes this bread as "a coarse-grained, moist, easy-to-slice loaf." If you make it with molasses, it will definitely have a texture and flavor that brings Boston Baked Bread to mind. (My daughters prefer it made with honey, but I like both versions.) It is sturdy, and it toasts quite obediently. It has a satisfying chew to it, and it tastes nourishing -- but without being the slightest bit reminiscent of sawdust or birdseed.

I was fortunate to have a bread-baking mother, and her kitchen was (and still is) always warmed by the smell of good things. In addition to my KitchenAid mixer, almost any decent pan or knife I own, and a dozen favorite cookbooks, my mom gifted me with this awesome book. Thanks, Mom!

English trivia: "Use your loaf" is Cockney rhyming slang for "be smart." It works like this: "use your head," and head rhymes with bread, and bread is synonymous with loaf. Get it?

Seasonal Food

Apple Harvest (for a lazy person)

Last weekend was apple weather: crisp, sunny and cool. As you can see, nature's bounty was laid out, blanket-like, for us -- and all we had to do was scoop it up. The girls and I gathered up great bowls of apples, which became numerous jars of applesauce, bags of sliced apples for the freezer, and a delicious apple and blackberry pie. If the blackberry foraging was slightly more difficult than the apple picking, only because of the arm-grazing bramble, it was equally unearned. Eating "seasonally" is certainly easier in some seasons than others.

Whilst a turnip has to be planted, and then dug up, and then somehow made palatable, an apple drops (literally, and literarily) into one's hand. How apt that it symbolizes temptation . . . or should I say knowledge. If only other bits of learning were so easily picked up and passed hand to hand.

The truth is, while I know a bit about cooking food, I am more or less ignorant when it comes to procuring food at its source. I can negotiate my way around a grocery store, sure, but give me a bit of earth and I'm scratching my head in pure befuddlement. For many years I've been content in my cluelessness, but just lately it has started to bother me. I'm sure it is partly due to a growing environmental awareness, which often borders on anxiety; and it may also be attributed to my specific English environment, in which it is common to trade plant cuttings and recipes for elderflower cordial. For many years now, I've been increasingly curious about the source of my food, and really this new urge to grow things is the natural extension -- or conclusion -- to that concern with origins. Growing your own food is a matter of simplicity versus complexity, and independence versus dependence. Who knows what will happen with pensions and Social Security? Just in case the all-you-can-eat buffets are gone for good, it may be best to have some real-life growing skills.

I'm not the only who thinks so, either. Foraging was the lead story in the Sunday Telegraph's Food section, and I've read in more than one place that keeping chickens is the nation's new favorite hobby. Colin, my gardener, reports that all of his "clients" are expanding their interests beyond herbaceous borders. One woman is putting in an orchard, with enough trees to supply the fruit needs of all of her family. Another man is buying up some wooded acres to graze poultry and pigs. As Colin and I reviewed the successes and failures of my family's first attempt at a vegetable patch, and made plans for next year's new and improved patch, I realized that I had made some mental switch: from frivolous experiment to rather more earnest project.

A wigwam of runner beans

Although I have only one growing season under my belt, I did indeed learn a few things. For instance, the runner bean is a most prolific plant. It is marvellous to watch it grow so quickly, and it has quite an attractive orange flower, but unless you are a great lover of the runner bean (which has a surprisingly coarse and "hairy" surface) two wigwams of them should suffice. We planted four wigwams, and that was at least two too many. Another thing that I learned from hard experience is that a slim and tasty courgette (zucchini to the Americans and Italians) will quickly turn into a bloated and watery marrow if neglected for a few days. I actually had no idea that courgettes and marrow were different versions of the same plant . . . or is that "fruit" of the plant? I'm not entirely sure that any Americans know this. I have a theory that the thrifty English "invented" the idea of the marrow -- and then came up with the idea to stuff it and call it deliberate. Americans persist in thinking that it is just an overgrown zucchini, and better fed to the hogs. On the subject of courgettes, I can also report that there will invariably be a correlation between the vegetable your children least like and the one that produces the most offspring.

The runner beans and the courgettes were our biggest successes -- although, as I have suggested, this was a mixed blessing. As for the rest, they were mostly failures. We had a few nice strawberries, but we weren't vigilant enough about picking them before they were taste-tested by creatures. The corn looked good, but we were pipped to the post by some marauding muntjac. The broccoli and cauliflower were devoured by caterpillars. The tomatoes and peppers never ripened. I'm not sure what happened to the broad beans. The carrots were a mixed success -- although they would have probably thrived if we had thinned them out properly. Unfortunately, we left them all bunched up -- and they never managed to attain their rightful length. Still, they were edible. The lettuce was a great success -- but we should have planted less, and staggered the plantings more. We had way too much of the stuff, and then it went all coarse and leggy. I'm not sure what happened to the cucumbers. We have two beautiful artichokes, still on their stalks, but only two. Although I carefully labelled each row of seeds, we had so much rain that I think we lost a few crops -- both in the ground and in my memory. Did we plant onions? I can't remember.

The blueberry vines didn't produce any fruit, but they are still alive -- so better luck next year? Speaking of next year: I think that I will focus first on what we really like to eat. Instead of all of these annual plants, which just have to be ripped out at the end of the season, I'm going for some of my favorite perennials: rhubarb and raspberries. I think that it would also help if we start planting earlier than May, and if we didn't go away for the better part of July and August. That last bit is crucial. There really isn't much point in growing your own food if you aren't there to eat it!

I've just finished reading Barbara Kingsolver's inspiring book on a year of seasonal eating -- titled Animal, Vegetable, Miracle -- and it was truly illuminating on a wide variety of food subjects. Although I was hardly a grower on Kingsolver's scale, it did make me realize that serious vegetable growers don't leave their patch during the summer months! Part cultural critique, part memoir, and part field guide, Kingsolver's chronicle of the family farm made me a believer -- but it also made me a realist. I need a much bigger freezer, more equipment, more energy, and a more cooperative partner if I'm going to expand the family's agricultural holdings. Although I think that eating seasonally is a really sensible idea, I might (personally, you know) be better off with an organic veg box scheme. But even if we are starting small, I think we will persist in trying to grow things -- and then eat the things we grow.

Perhaps there is something atavistic about my sudden urge to grow edible things . . . after all, my paternal grandfather was a farm boy. Even later in life, when he lived in Fort Worth, he always kept an extensive garden in his back yard. I can remember him carefully tending his rows, and bringing in handfuls of vegetables for my grandmother to do something with. I can also remember him dripping with sweat from the hot Texas summer, and perhaps this explains why I didn't pick up any of his gardening skills. I was perfectly content to stay in the cool darkened rooms, either reading books or watching old Shirley Temple movies. It never occurred to me that I might learn something useful from that patch of dirt.

Now I regret that I was such an indolent, air-conditioning loving creature. Colin must think that I'm the most ignorant greenhorn that ever lived on this lane. One of the points that Kingsolver makes is that the knowledge about growing and preserving food has largely been lost in just two generations. Except for farming families, and they continue to shrink in number, many of us haven't got a clue. As I read the Little House on the Prairie books with my daughter, I am constantly struck by the fact that Ma and Pa are almost entirely self-sufficient. They buy coffee, cornmeal, flour and Christmas candy -- and that's about it. I'm having to play catch-up on all sorts of basic things that I should have already known, but hopefully my youngest daughter will grow up taking for granted the mysteries of growing vegetables and fruit.

While I'd never want to give up Waitrose, and yoke myself to the land, I hate to think that I would be the least useful person to have around if we all run out of petrol. And I can vouch for the fact that homemade applesauce tastes a lot better that the stuff that comes in the plastic pot.

Eating my way through New England

Last night, when I couldn't sleep, my mind happily occupied itself with the business of remembrance: the remembrance of things repast.

As I have put myself on a strict diet, (and if you continue reading this, you will certainly understand why), my stomach was grumbling a bit. Since a late-night snack was out of the question, I decided to distract myself with the pleasurable task of remembering and ranking some of the many delicious meals I enjoyed on my recent vacation.

Although I am perfectly content to eat a bowl of left-over chicken soup for dinner when I am home, I want something a little more special -- a little more memorable -- when I am in holiday-mode. I tend to think of food more as "fun" than just "fuel," and I don't like to waste even one eating opportunity. Frankly, there is nothing I hate more wandering around a new place looking for a restaurant, reading menu after menu, getting hungrier and tetchier by the minute, and then ending up with a disappointing meal. In that spirit, and should you be travelling to New England, I offer up the following public service: five fabulous eating spots, tried and tested by Bee truly.

Red Arrow Diner
Manchester, New Hampshire
Number one in my top five was the first restaurant we actually ate at during our trip.

We had flown into Manchester, New Hampshire at around 9 pm, after approximately 19 hours of travel. At that point, we didn't want anything but a soft pillow, but when we woke up the next morning we were plenty ready to break our long fast. As we were leaving the hotel, I hit upon the brilliant idea of asking one of the desk clerks if she could recommend a place. Let's just say that she had the look of someone who appreciated a good meal . . . and my goodness, she really steered us to a winner.

Just to put this place into context, I need to mention that one of the main foodie things that I really miss about America is the kind of 24 hour place where you can get breakfast any time you want it -- not to mention a bottomless cup of coffee. I've waitressed at several of these kinds of places during the years, and I've always thought becoming "Flo" was a viable career option for me. Whether on or off the time clock, I've enjoyed wiling away the hours in the following diners: Earl Abel's, Jim's, Kerbey Lane Cafe, 59 Diner and the House of Pies .

If you, too, are a fan of the diner genre you MUST visit this fantastic spot. It looks just like a diner should, and if you check out the website, you can imagine me and my five-girl crew sitting on those round, red bar seats and stuffing ourselves with eggs, bacon, hash browns and pancakes. Although any moderate person would have been satisfied by a full American breakfast, I'm afraid that a terrible greed descended upon me and I kept ordering wildly. Despite the fact that it wasn't quite noon, I didn't want to be done out of the dessert course -- always my favorite. I just had to try a whoopie pie, a dinah finger (homemade "twinkie"), and an eclair . . . and I still regret not ordering any coconut cream pie. (In case my Mom is reading this, in horrified dismay, I will confess that I didn't actually eat all of these things -- but I did taste two of them!) Then, in true American style, I was able to complete the dining experience by ordering merchandise. We left the diner full and happy, with a to-go box, two frisbees and two "Moe" mugs.


Hattie's Restaurant
Saratoga Springs, New York
My friend Laurita and I have a long history of eating fried chicken together, and at Hattie's, I think we may have reached the pinnacle of fried chicken achievement. Blog evidence to the contrary, it's not something I eat very often . . . but it's something I love. Plain ole chicken is an everyday thing, a cooking standby -- but fried chicken is something else! It is a holiday food, a celebratory food. For me, it is also a deeply nostalgic food. When I lived in Houston, Laurita and I had a tradition of eating fried chicken, mashed potatoes, black eyed peas and spiced pecans at the Daily Review Cafe during our mutual birthday week in January. While I still consider the Daily Review version to be the height of comfort food, I was deeply impressed by Hattie's chicken. It was golden brown and juicy, with a delicate, crispy skin. It is deeply flavorful, without any particular flavor (pepper, for instance) calling attention to itself. You can choose your side dishes, and we felt that "sugar corn" (the sweetest I've ever tasted; it didn't need butter or salt) and cucumber salad was just right for summer eating. Here's a tip: Being a Hattie's veteran, Laurita suggested that we share a chicken plate -- which comes with four pieces of chicken! Believe me, two pieces are plenty . . . and we still couldn't even look at the dessert menu.

Hattie's is steeped in Saratoga history. The Hattie, a Southern cook who worked for a wealthy horse-racing family, opened the place in 1938, and from what I gather, it's being going strong ever since. The website gives you a great sense of what it looks and feels like. It is as homespun and authentic as your grandmother's best quilt -- the very antithesis of "chain" food. You also might get a kick out of knowing that the current chef, Jasper Alexander, beat Bobby Flay in the fried chicken throw-down. I didn't get to taste Flay's version, but it's difficult to imagine anyone bettering the chicken that I ate that warm July night.


PJ's Bar-B-Q
Saratoga Springs, New York
I know that I've already waxed lyrical about PJ's, but I just can't leave it off this list. It is pure American nostalgia -- and it is also great food. They have a large menu of typically American fare: burgers, milkshakes, sloppy joes, hot dogs, and various kinds of barbequed meat, but I'm really not tempted to try any of that. Do yourself a favor and stick with the ribs. Ribs, corn, and fried green beans: messy, but perfect. If you are lucky enough to eat this food on a warm junebug night, with some great Stax classics playing in the background, you will have a deep and true sense of some of the best of what America brings to the cultural table.


The Red Lion Inn
Stockbridge, Massachusetts
One of the little things that makes me forever Texan is my internal map. Texas is so big, that if you look at a map and measure off a couple of visual inches, you know that you will be involving yourself in several hours of driving. Conversely, the same distance on an English map takes about 20 minutes! I've just never been able to get used to that. Driving around New England fills me with a even greater sense of wonder because you can get from one state to the next so quickly! The same hour and a half that will take you from one end of Houston to the next, (if you are lucky with the traffic), can take you from Saratoga Springs, NY to Stockbridge, MA.

Laurita suggested this little side trip, and I was so grateful that she did. Without a doubt, there is an America littered with strip shopping centers, fast food outlets and billboards . . . but you won't see any of that America in Stockbridge. Instead, you will find the Norman Rockwell Museum, Tanglewood, green hills, white picket fences, well-tended gardens and this historic tavern. The Red Lion Inn has a deep, shaded front porch crowded with wicker furniture, and you can sip your iced tea (or other, stronger libation) and watch the world go down Main Street. Both of the Roosevelts have stayed there, Teddy and FDR, and such literary giants as Hawthorne, Longfellow and Thornton Wilder. It truly has the sedate, gracious pace of a bygone era.

Because we had an early dinner reservation, we were fortunate enough to catch the 5 pm sideboard of nibbles that the Inn puts out for its guests. The famous "cheese log," accompanied by fat berries, carmelized walnuts, and buttery crackers, was so delicious that I could barely restrain myself from making that my meal. Indeed, it was so scrumptious that I ended up ordering a "Flight of Cheese" for my dinner. All of the cheeses were local, and they had poetic names like Twig Farm Tomme (a goat's cheese) and Bayley Hazen Blue. With a glass of red wine, it was a deeply satisfying meal.

Friendly Toast
Portsmouth, New Hampshire
I couldn't find an official website for Friendly Toast, surprisingly enough, but the linked food guide of HollyEats.com is entertaining . . . and it gives a whole list of great food finds in New England, thus continuing what I've started here.

Friendly Toast is exactly the kind of place that makes me want to be a college student again. If I were a college student in Portsmouth, I would hang out there all of the time. It has deep, inviting booths and an eccentric, witty decor. It is the sort of place that you can happily visit on your own, and there is so much memorabilia dotted all over the place that you can easily amuse yourself for hours -- just by looking. (The waiters and clientele are pretty interesting, too.) Friendly Toast has an extensive, quirky menu which ranges from vegan options to Almond Joy pancakes (I really wanted to try those) to cheese fries served with a strawberry habanero sauce. My friend Monique ordered the cheese fries, and that sauce -- which sounds really strange -- actually did "work." I had a bizarre, but tasty, grilled cheese sandwich on oatmeal bread, with a side of Guinness battered onion rings. Again, we were too full to sample the dessert offerings -- a great pity, and an oversight which will be corrected as soon as I can get myself back to Portsmouth.

I got a great t-shirt at Friendly Toast which has a Humpty Dumpty looking egg character on both the front and the back. The front says, with accompanying sad egg expression, "We make a lot of eggs cry . . .," while the back says, "to make you happy."

When I was packing to go home, I realized that I had also bought a Hattie's t-shirt with a line drawing of a chicken on the front. Not only does this confirm that chickens seem to be an ongoing theme in my life, but it also answers that age-old question: What came first? The chicken or the egg? At least in my case, it's the chicken.

Postcard from Saratoga Springs

I always think about food, but never more than when I'm on vacation.  

When I'm traveling, life is all about my next meal -- and sometimes the activity between just seems like the needs-must required to work up an appetite.   I have three more days in Saratoga Springs -- famous spa and horse racing town -- and this morning I realized that my dearest friend Laurita and I were planning the next few days of eating with all of the seriousness and precision of a military campaign!  Saratoga is such a great food town, and part of the problem is that I want to re-eat at all of the places we've already eaten at . . . not to mention the hot spots we haven't yet managed to visit!  There just aren't enough meals in a day.

Yesterday we managed to fit in most of Laurita's  sentimental favorites:  cider doughnuts at Sutton's, ice cream at Martha's, and ribs at PJ's.   (Laura is a harpist, and she has been visiting Saratoga for the last twenty years to "gig" at the Lake George Opera Festival.)  We also managed to visit The Sagamore -- a beautiful old hotel on Lake George that makes you feel like you are one of the privileged few from the gilded age.  We wanted to have lobster rolls on the deck, or tea on the terrace, or cocktails on the lawn . . . but we were too stuffed to take in anything but the breathtaking view of boats bobbing in the blue, blue water.

Everything in this Adirondack region feels slightly retro -- and even the tacky tourist bits are cute kitsch.  It is like the best of Americana, preserved in the aspic of fresh air and pristine piney woods.   

Last night I wanted to swoon with happiness.  We were sitting outside, and the air was balmy.  The moon was nearly full, and I swear it was the color of a tangerine.  We were eating yummy, messy ribs, corn on the cob, and fried green beans.  PJ was spinning old 50s tunes from the Everly Brothers and Elvis Presley.   (Apparently you can find him on 880 AM radio, but Laurita swears that you lose WBBQ as soon as you leave the parking lot.)  I felt as bubbly as Gidget -- minus the surfboard and Moondoggie.  I could have stayed there forever, or at least a lot longer, but the junebugs started divebombing us and the kiddiewinkles started complaining.  

I want to go again tonight, but we are supposed to be eating fried chicken at The Rock.  Like I said, too much great food . . . not enough time.

Some of Various Things

Janey, over at Whittering On, invited me to play along with the Various Things Meme which has been doing the rounds in the blogosphere. It didn't take much to persuade me . . . as it is easy enough to relate what I did today (not much), and who doesn't enjoy the opportunity to improve the world with a billion dollars of hypothetical money?


However, since I can't prepare any recipe without making alterations, I am allowing myself the liberty of editing this meme to suit myself. (If you want to see the original format, plus read some good stuff, you will have to visit Janey.)


First, the prosaic part-- also known as "my life:"
(and since the day is almost over, I've included some commentary on if and how I accomplished these mighty tasks.)

What are six things on your to-do list for today (not in any particular order):

1. Walk. I did walk 6 miles today -- a rather minor walk for me now that I'm "training." I walked with someone new, and that was fun because I could quiz her on her life story -- which was part "Hideous Kinky" (without the illustrious father), and part "Alice Doesn't Live Here Anymore," only set in an economically depressed part of Wales.


2. Order roses. I spent about an hour on the David Austin website, only to discover upon email receipt that my roses aren't going to be delivered until NOVEMBER! Being the impatient sort, I was pretty much expecting them on Thursday -- so this is quite a blow. I am now in a quandary -- and wondering if I should run around finding bits and pieces of what I want, drive to the David Austin nursery in Wolverhampton (also the ancestral home of the great Nigel Slater, and not exactly close to us), or just settle in and wait until the next growing season.


3. Have lunch with a friend. I enjoyed a delightful lunch (goat cheese, tomato and rocket baguette) at this pub. Topics included 40th birthday parties, ex-husbands and new husbands, educational dilemmas, the trials of living with adolescent girls, and our daughters' upcoming trip to Spain -- the ostensible purpose for the lunch.


4. Tutor JC. The mother left JC's spelling homework for "us" to complete -- the accomplishment of which led me to conclude that my assistance is well-worth every pound she pays me. We finished up with two stories and a little bit of digging in the garden -- activities much better suited to JC's interests and talents.


5. Design invitation for upcoming charity fundraiser. This has been put off -- again -- for tomorrow.


6. Make quiche lorraine and a pavlova. As our shelves are beginning to runneth over with the bounty from our chickens, my youngest daughter proposed an egg-rich dinner menu. Both recipes came from Tamasin Day-Lewis's Kitchen Bible -- a cookbook I heartily recommend to anyone who wants dependable recipes for the English classics.

And now for the unlikely scenario called: What would you do if you were a billionaire?

Janey mentioned that this particular fantasy is something of a mental preoccupation with her, but I've given little to no thought to it. If I'm honest, I think that I don't fantasize about having more money because I've already reached my level of comfort with tolerable ratio of guilt -- which means not having to worry about paying my bills. My husband would groan if he read this, as he is the person who worries about the bills . . . but without being totally obnoxious, what I mean is that I really don't aspire to anything (bigger house, fancier car, designer handbags) that would require a bigger infusion of money. I feel very lucky and blessed to have a nice house AND a savings account. I'm good.

I actually think that having too much money tends to ruin people, so I suppose that I would tend to aim for "security," rather than luxury, when it came to bequests for family and friends. I would like to give my children enough money to pay for college, buy a first (modest) car, and put a down-payment on a home . . . but not enough to live an idle, dissipated lifestyle!

Have you noticed how a billion dollars can go awfully far when you think of spending it on your family, particularly if you have no taste for private planes or yachts, but doesn't seem like much when applied to huge international needs?

Not long ago, I read an article about the culture of giving in the UK. Apparently, charities which help animals or raise funds for cancer research/support do really well, but other sorts of charities really struggle for a piece of the public's interest. I remember, in particular, that shelters for domestic abuse have a difficult time raising funds. It just stuck in my mind, as sometimes things do, that retired donkeys are a more popular cause than battered women.

Therefore, if I fall into a billion dollar honeypot I would like to set up some shelters for women . . . and include a scholarship component to train and/or educate women to be able to take care of themselves. I know that there are many reasons why women don't/can't break away from abusive relationships, but those financial fetters (not to mention illiteracy) are still such a major barrier to independence.

Speaking of female empowerment issues, I just read a horrifying account of life in Yemen titled Is this the worst place on earth to be a woman? (Observer Woman, May 2008). Apparently, female illiteracy rates are around 71 per cent in Yemen -- and women are denied almost all citizenship rights. Crippling poverty and a lack of access to healthcare complete the ugly picture. In one of those interesting coincidences, Lionel Shriver also cited Yemen in her recent article on the population explosion in the third world. Despite the fact that it is "one of the least developed countries in the world," (Cooke, OW, p. 48) Yemen's population is booming. Hmmmm . . . see the connection? So despite the fact that there are very high maternal mortality rates, complicated by the fact that very young girls are made to wed, the babies just keep coming.

Not to be a goody-goody or anything, but it would make me feel guilty to be wishing for more, more, more. Everything about my day provides ironic contrast to all of the women who have so little, and I realize that. I know that it doesn't do much good to wear a hair shirt, but we needn't be so greedy, either.

I'm So Jammy*

*Jammy: Brit slang lucky: jammy so-and-sos!
Collins Essential English Dictionary 2nd Edition 2006


I've always believed that good things come to people who frequent bookstores.


A couple of weeks ago, I was at my local Border's and I noticed a flyer for a "Meet the Author" series at a local hotel. The author in question happened to be Jay Rayner, the Observer's restaurant critic, and a writer who I read on a weekly basis. Rayner has a new book out -- The Man Who Ate The World -- and I had just read a really entertaining excerpt from this very book in a recent edition of the paper. I remembered his description of dining alone in a restaurant for the first time (at 11) and ordering escargots, and also some anecdotes about the important role of food in his family life. His writing has a lot of humour and mockery in it (self-deprecating and otherwise), and these are qualities that I always appreciate! A funny foodie: who could be better company?


Rayner's mother is Claire Rayner -- a well-known journalist and "agony aunt" who has been a kind of "Jewish mother" to the English reading public for many years. In the first chapter of his book, titled "I Want Proper Dinner," he orients the reader to the family table.


"I always said that culturally I was only a Jew by food, and it's true that there was no room at the Rayner house for ritual or faith. The Jewish God was far too picky an eater to be given space at our table. Forego sausages and bacon? Reject shellfish and cheeseburgers, all in the name of mumbo-jumbo? Don't be ridiculous.


Yet there was, I think, something fundamentally Jewish about our way with food: the noisiness of the dinner table, the stomach-aching generosity, the deep comfort we sought from it. Food was what we did." (Rayner, p. 8)


The flyer made the special "evening" sound irresistible: key words included "champagne," "delicious three-course dinner" and the real clincher -- "a copy of The Man Who Ate the World to take away with you." I figured that even if the dinner and entertainment were a bust, I would still have the BOOK! Plus, I had vowed only recently to avail myself of the local cultural scene -- when and where I could find it. For insurance purposes, we invited two close friends who we rarely get to see because of distance and scheduling difficulties. Sometimes strangers at the table make good company . . . but sometimes they don't.

So here comes the jammy bit: out of a crowd of say, 100, we somehow lucked into being sat at the equivalent of the "head table." On my right was the manager of the hotel -- a charming, kind man whose presence ensured that our wine glasses were constantly being topped up. On the other side of him was Jay Rayner -- the man of the evening. On Rayner's right was an older woman -- all grandma on the top half, but with noticeably sexy parrot-green shoes. She turned out to be a food writer and editor with much wisdom and experience -- and lots of interesting things to say. Her husband had a delightfully sharp tongue, and I particularly remember him tut-tutting Rayner when he named The Fat Duck as his favorite UK restaurant. (Don't you know that restaurant critics always get this question?) Thus ensued a lively table debate on the merits of the Heston Blumenthal style of cooking. On Sigmund's left was a youngish man with distinctive curly hair. He looked strangely familiar, and halfway through the dinner we discovered that he was James Nathan, the 2008 winner of the Masterchef competition. As this is a wildly popular program in the UK, this charming man had the rather ego-denting honour of sitting next to practically the only person in the country who had NO IDEA who he was. Interestingly enough, Nathan had started out his professional life as a barrister (the English word for lawyer) and Sigmund ended up quizzing him on this topic before the rest of the table fell upon him with curiousity and delight.


Well, as Sigmund said, I was "in my element." Never shy about coming forward, my tongue was further loosened by the really excellent wines: a really ambrosial Riesling and something rich and spicy and red (my favorite!). Question for the wine buffs amongst us: what sort of red, of my description, might have been served with lamb? I particularly remember the moment in which I held forth at the table and described, in great detail, my newfound infatuation with cashew cookies. I was mostly speaking to Nathan, and in my memory at least, he was enthralled by this recipe -- which I could remember perfectly, as I have made it twice in the same number of days.

Funnily enough, for a foodie evening, the food was nice enough -- but hardly five-star memorable. No "menu" was provided, as is usually de rigueur at these occasions, so I am just going to have to wing it on the description. We started with a foie gras, that everyone else raved over, but that I didn't even finish because I was too busy talking to Rayner about Texas food. (He has a scene in one of his novels, The Apologist, in which the character has to quickly assemble a feast in Texas -- with the aid of several Apache helicopters with which to procure the ingredients. Rayner could only remember that one went to the Central Market in Houston, and another was dispatched to New Orleans to pick up the wine.) The main course was lamb, on a bed of vegetables (I know there were carrots and broad beans) and some mashed potatoes that have not stuck in my mind at all. At this point, it should be noted that I was fairly well-lubricated and therefore my palate was a bit numb. Dessert was a creamy molded thing that was probably a panna cotta. It came with an impressive chocolate garnish, rather like a marbled sail. I can't remember if I ate this, or just toyed with it. There were also petit fours, including some toothsome tiny strawberries dipped in dark chocolate.

In between courses, Rayner would stand up and read bits of various of his books to us. He also talked about the job of the restaurant critic -- the point of which, he claims, is chiefly to sell newspapers. Whilst a good meal is obviously nicer to eat, it is the "bad" dining experience which makes for better copy. Not only does the bad meal provide more scope for creative writing, but apparently it is also appreciated more by the readers. A negative review, it seems, is enjoyed by everyone but the restaurant owner.

Although Rayner claims that being a restaurant critic has pretty much no downside, (and didn't we foodies always suspect this?), his latest book came about because he thought that maybe he needed a bigger goal: a foodie "Everest" to climb. As the Michelin system expanded its reaches to take in New York City and other top food towns, Rayner considered that he was the proper person to "search for the perfect dinner" . . . which is the subtitle to The Man Who Ate the World. As Ella Fitzgerald sang, "Nice work if you can get it." So far I have only been able to skim the book, what with my Booker Challenge nagging at me, but as a "taster" I can tell you that Rayner eventually visited Las Vegas, Moscow, Dubai, Tokyo, New York, London and Paris -- all in the letter and spirit of gruelling research. He read (and talked) about some bits of eating that took place in Tokyo -- and it sounded like just the sort of fascinating stuff that makes me realize just how little I've really experienced in the gustatory world.

When Rayner inscribed my copy of his book with the exhortation to "Eat Well," it felt like an honor, a goal, and a challenge.

Tagged!

K, my new fun friend from Kansas City tagged me today.

My assignment? To share things about myself in groups of 4's.

4 jobs I've had:

Waitress -- all through the higher education years I waitressed. I've worked in some memorable restaurants, too. 410 Diner in San Antonio. Kerbey Lane Cafe in Austin. Star Pizza in Houston. I loved being a waitress -- because I really like to have lots of cash in hand! (I went to a wacky astrological therapist once and she said that all Capricorns are like this!) Seriously, I love talking to people and I especially liked working the all-night Saturday shift at Kerbey Lane. All of the musicians used to come in between 2 and 4 am. Once, a hippie stoner left me a $140 tip for a cup of coffee! My coolest customer ever was Lyle Lovett at the 410 Diner.

Editorial Assistant -- I actually can't remember my exact "title" for this job, but it was the most boring job on the planet. It was my first 40 hour a week job out of college, and by the end of the year I had decided to apply to graduate school. Basically, I wrote and proofread sentences for those ghastly standardized tests that young school children are tortured with every year. (At least when I was a kid it was every other year -- which left more time to make bluebonnets out of tissue paper.) We used to spend hours making sure that no names were repeated; that we varied animals, colors, sports, etc. The only good thing about it was the people. We worked in a huge basement at long tables -- just like drones. We had to be quiet, so we acted just like children -- making jokes and trying to get each other to laugh out loud. I was always getting told off for talking, and I quit before I could get fired. The first thing I did was road-trip down to New Orleans with my boyfriend to see the Heritage Jazz and Blues Festival. I still remember the sweetness of the freedom.

Graduate Advisor -- this was a really fun job. When I was getting my second Master's degree I worked in the Education office. As my "title" suggests, I got to "advise" people -- which was right up my alley. I didn't skimp on the advice, either -- I gave really good value. I loved the secretaries in the office; they were a hoot! That job was all about coffee, doughnuts, and gossip -- three of my favorite things in the world.

Teacher -- I worked at the International School in Port of Spain for a year -- and then I got pregnant, and that was the end of that for awhile. Anyway, I made a lifelong friend at this school, and I loved my students, too. They were a really diverse bunch and some of them had been through a lot in their short lives. I'm pretty sure that I learned more that year than they did.

4 favorite movies:

2 Days in Paris -- this is my most recent rental, and I really liked everything about it. The beautiful French actress Julie Delpy wrote, starred, and directed -- and did a fine job in all areas. It is very "talky," full of hilarious characters, and has an interesting ending. And it takes place in Paris. What more do you want?

Cousins -- I really pulled this one out of my hat. I haven't thought about it in ages, but I've seen it three or four times. It is based on a French movie, and probably influenced "Four Weddings and a Funeral" in its turn. Set in Vancouver -- spectacular scenery and that gorgeous transporting kind of cinematography. There is a large, interesting cast -- but the leads are played by Isabella Rossellini and Ted Danson. It takes everything that is funny about families and weddings and then wraps a sweet little love story around it.

Harold and Maude -- I love quirky romances, and what could be quirkier than this pairing? Everything about this movie is unexpected and original. And I adore Ruth Gordon; I want to be Ruth Gordon when I grow up.

Raising Arizona -- with apologies to Monique, this is an extremely funny movie. Nic Cage and Holly Hunter were perfect in their roles. My first taste of the Coen brother sensibility. I definitely want them on my dream dinner party guest list -- Frances McDormand, too. (Perhaps they would explain the ending of No Country for Old Men?) I need to see this again; it's been too long.

4 places I've been:

Napa Valley, California -- Sigmund and I went here the first year we were dating. How could I resist him? I want to go back now that I know little more about wine. For some reason, what I really remember were all of the delicious artichokes that I ate.

New York City -- the most exciting place in the world for me. Food; theater; movies; shopping; Central Park; people watching. All my favorite things.

Prague -- beautiful city that I visited, unfortunately, in January. I want to see it again in the spring or fall. I am fascinated by Milan Kundera.

Barbados -- we were fortunate enough to live in the Caribbean, and I've been here a couple of times. Bliss on earth is eating at The Cliff, overlooking the ocean.

4 places I've lived:

Landstuhl, Germany -- I was born here. A not-well-known fact about me.

San Antonio, Texas -- I picked my university, Trinity, largely because it was in this great city. My family has a lot of associations with San Antonio: my parents actually met there. I love San Antonio for its weather (excepting the summer months, when the asphalt has been known to melt), its food, and its wonderful fiesta spirit. There are so many great places to sit outside and have a good burger and a margarita -- and something about that exemplifies the city for me. I've been going to Mi Tierra -- open 24 hours a day; year-round -- all my life.

Port of Spain, Trinidad -- I was hugely lucky to live here. It is a really unique, stunningly diverse and multicultural place. Also fun, fun, fun. Some of the best, most memorable years so far; and every good friend I had from this era is still an important part of my life.

London, England -- when I first came to London, at age 15, I remember thinking: This is the place for me! I spent the most exciting year of my life here; I haven't been able to top it yet. I try to go up to "Town" at least once a month -- and it always gives me a charge. I would live here if property prices weren't prohibitive.

4 favorite TV shows:

Gilmore Girls -- I discovered this one in its fifth season -- we were in Cape Cod for the summer and I randomly turned on the TV while I was making lunch. I was hooked in the first five minutes. Funnily enough, I never contributed to their ratings: I have never seen it "live" -- only on DVD. It is my mother/daughter show that I see with the girls. We labor under the delusion that Rory and Lorelai are our close personal friends, and we have never totally accepted that they are fictional characters and that Star's Hollow is just a cardboard set on a lot in California. I love every character on this show -- even Taylor Doose.

Northern Exposure -- I am already detecting a pattern here. Large cast of quirky characters living in a quirky town. If Cicely, Alaska had been a real town I probably would have moved there -- even though I hate the cold. Again, I love the characters; with a special mention for Chris, Ed and Marilyn. I thought the writing for this show was genius: it had so much wit and whimsy, and I loved the literary influences. This show was the highlight of my week the first year I was in grad school.

The Royle Family -- this is a UK show about a family of four that sit around watching TV and drinking "brews." Despite the fact that it depicts a Northern, working-class family -- of which I know nothing -- it is somehow universal, which has to be the mark of great writing. The characters do very little, but it is dead funny. This show plays to my inner slacker, I guess.

BBC Historical Costume Dramas -- any and all.

4 favorite radio programs:

Fresh Air with Terry Gross (NPR) -- I love Terry Gross's voice and calm, interviewing style. I have been introduced to all sorts of good things from exposure to this show.

The Writer's Almanac (NPR) every day, at 8:35, the five or so minute program comes on NPR. First, Garrison Keillor reads a poem -- and then he talks about interesting writers/other historical personage who were born on that day.

Desert Island Discs (BBC) -- famous (and/or interesting) person tells their life story through the structure of 7 favorite pieces of music. It's been running for decades, and I've been listening to it for at least one of those decades. It is fascinating stuff if you are fascinated by people.

Women's Hour (BBC) -- another long-running program; reminds me of the days of early motherhood. Always something interesting -- books; health; politics; human interest stories -- anything that affects women, really. The presenter is intelligent and calm, and you feel like the world is a better, safer place when you listen to her soothing voice.

4 favorite foods:

Popcorn -- made in a seasoned pot at home; has to be Orville's; lightly salted. My ultimate comfort food.

Baked potatoes -- my second ultimate comfort food. I ate one, with cheese and mushrooms, every single day when I was a sophomore in college.

Steak -- medium rare; from my dad's grill or any good restaurant.

Chips and Guacamole and Queso and Salsa -- the quickest way to go from starving to way too full. I cannot resist these.

4 places I'd rather be:

London
New York City
Sydney
Austin

4 people I want to tag:

Brave Sir Robin
Anne
Bakerina
The Accidental Housewife