tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-65598622060546736772024-02-28T08:49:26.237+00:00'Feasts and Festivals'Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09045660787350825648noreply@blogger.comBlogger225125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6559862206054673677.post-17795300442479054102021-04-07T10:00:00.000+01:002021-04-07T10:03:33.469+01:00Liz Woodshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15703559295916462282noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6559862206054673677.post-43633369713836015712020-04-09T11:32:00.004+01:002021-04-07T10:04:49.612+01:00The Easter Hare<div class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; caret-color: rgb(102, 102, 102); color: #666666; font-family: "Trebuchet MS", Trebuchet, Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 15px;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; caret-color: rgb(102, 102, 102); color: #666666; font-family: "Trebuchet MS", Trebuchet, Verdana, sans-serif;">
<b><i><br /></i></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; caret-color: rgb(102, 102, 102); color: #666666; font-family: "Trebuchet MS", Trebuchet, Verdana, sans-serif;">
<b><i><br /></i></b></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; caret-color: rgb(102, 102, 102); color: #666666; font-family: "Trebuchet MS", Trebuchet, Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; margin: 0px;">
<span lang="EN-US"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbc7VX2AtDQLIgqrb-AhLNfkWxXiGyBiV1Z7T9C3mOV-5h2znvYui3TsqcF1-QLuqwpyQ7XiO0TwD-1SdKofNDWAwVz0DvjA560fHdu1RNdVK-GCnMWPxnDFfYK4usMcVw-yFwJ_RjdX8/s1600/3212A51E-5693-4915-8758-550FE7060DFF.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="240" data-original-width="320" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbc7VX2AtDQLIgqrb-AhLNfkWxXiGyBiV1Z7T9C3mOV-5h2znvYui3TsqcF1-QLuqwpyQ7XiO0TwD-1SdKofNDWAwVz0DvjA560fHdu1RNdVK-GCnMWPxnDFfYK4usMcVw-yFwJ_RjdX8/s400/3212A51E-5693-4915-8758-550FE7060DFF.jpeg" width="400" /> </a></span></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; caret-color: rgb(102, 102, 102); color: #666666; font-family: "Trebuchet MS", Trebuchet, Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; margin: 0px;">
<span lang="EN-US"><i><br /></i></span></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; caret-color: rgb(102, 102, 102); color: #666666; font-family: "Trebuchet MS", Trebuchet, Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; margin: 0px;">
<span lang="EN-US"><i><br /></i></span></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; caret-color: rgb(102, 102, 102); color: #666666; font-family: "Trebuchet MS", Trebuchet, Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; margin: 0px;">
<span lang="EN-US"><i>The hare, call him scotart,</i></span></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; caret-color: rgb(102, 102, 102); color: #666666; font-family: "Trebuchet MS", Trebuchet, Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; margin: 0px;">
<span lang="EN-US"><i>big-fellow, bouchart,</i></span></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; caret-color: rgb(102, 102, 102); color: #666666; font-family: "Trebuchet MS", Trebuchet, Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; margin: 0px;">
<span lang="EN-US"><i>the O'Hare, the jumper,</i></span></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; caret-color: rgb(102, 102, 102); color: #666666; font-family: "Trebuchet MS", Trebuchet, Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; margin: 0px;">
<span lang="EN-US"><i>the rascal, the racer....'</i></span></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; caret-color: rgb(102, 102, 102); color: #666666; font-family: "Trebuchet MS", Trebuchet, Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; margin: 0px;">
<span lang="EN-US"><br /></span></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; caret-color: rgb(102, 102, 102); color: #666666; font-family: "Trebuchet MS", Trebuchet, Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; margin: 0px;">
<span lang="EN-US"><b> From 'The Names of the Hare' Anonymous Middle English poem (trans Seamus Heaney)</b></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; caret-color: rgb(102, 102, 102); color: #666666; font-family: "Trebuchet MS", Trebuchet, Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 15px;">
<b><br /></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; caret-color: rgb(102, 102, 102); color: #666666; font-family: "Trebuchet MS", Trebuchet, Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 15px;">
During the month of April, probably at the full moon, the Germanic tribes who settled in Britain in the fifth century celebrated the feast of the goddess they called ‘Eostre’. Writing about three hundred years later the monk Bede related how this spring goddess gave her name to the <span lang="EN-US">month of ‘Ēosturmōnaþ’ – ‘Eostre’s month’. We know very little about her, but this is what Bede says:</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; caret-color: rgb(102, 102, 102); color: #666666; font-family: "Trebuchet MS", Trebuchet, Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 15px;">
<span lang="EN-US"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; caret-color: rgb(102, 102, 102); color: #666666; font-family: "Trebuchet MS", Trebuchet, Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 15px;">
<i><span lang="EN-US">‘Ēosturmōnaþ’ has a name which is now translated ‘Paschal month’, and which was once called after a goddess of theirs named Eostre, in whose honour feasts were celebrated in that month. Now they designate that Paschal season by her name, calling the joys of the new rite by the time-honoured name of the old observance.’</span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; caret-color: rgb(102, 102, 102); color: #666666; font-family: "Trebuchet MS", Trebuchet, Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 15px;">
<i><span lang="EN-US"><br /></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; caret-color: rgb(102, 102, 102); color: #666666; font-family: "Trebuchet MS", Trebuchet, Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 15px;">
<span lang="EN-US">German sources refer to the goddess as ‘Ostara’ and associate her with both the spring and the dawn. It all seems very likely to me; the goddess of the dawn is celebrated at the beginning of the growing season, the sun is higher in the sky, birds are pairing up and the world is waking up after the dark months of winter. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; caret-color: rgb(102, 102, 102); color: #666666; font-family: "Trebuchet MS", Trebuchet, Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 15px;">
<span lang="EN-US"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; caret-color: rgb(102, 102, 102); color: #666666; font-family: "Trebuchet MS", Trebuchet, Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 15px;">
<span lang="EN-US">The attendant spirit of Eostre was the hare and I just love hares. I’m ashamed to say that I also used to cook them, but I haven’t done so for years and now I’m not sure I could. Julius Caesar says that Celtic people had a taboo on eating hares and even now many country people won’t use them for food.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; caret-color: rgb(102, 102, 102); color: #666666; font-family: "Trebuchet MS", Trebuchet, Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 15px;">
<span lang="EN-US"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; caret-color: rgb(102, 102, 102); color: #666666; font-family: "Trebuchet MS", Trebuchet, Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 15px;">
<span lang="EN-US">I’ve been reading a book by George Ewart Evans and David Thomson called ‘The Leaping Hare’. It contains everything you ever needed to know about hares - their peculiar March dancing and boxing habits, the way they chase aeroplanes, their association with fire, the clever ways they protect their young. What struck me very forcibly though, is that Evans and Thomson tell us that hares have been with us since the dawn of time and that hare myths exist in almost every culture from Buddhism to Hottentot.</span><br /><span lang="EN-US"><br /></span><br /><span lang="EN-US"> I took the photo of this leaping hare with chasing hound in the Roman baths in Bath.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; caret-color: rgb(102, 102, 102); color: #666666; font-family: "Trebuchet MS", Trebuchet, Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 15px;">
<span lang="EN-US"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; caret-color: rgb(102, 102, 102); clear: both; color: #666666; font-family: "Trebuchet MS", Trebuchet, Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEvbCq0h1hxwLWWVFfV8KpMpo2RWgHRIZoCgRk2BFzd2sBbUijbN4r7OfeAQpLZPlmM5tnne9ARo36x_xmWIckoMJbVLhtNaZaTDtqOPAiZqGFQHFjRyu6itsIlbIhKtK4pXJbJiIDzuY/s1600/IMG_7663.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="color: #888888; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-decoration: none;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEvbCq0h1hxwLWWVFfV8KpMpo2RWgHRIZoCgRk2BFzd2sBbUijbN4r7OfeAQpLZPlmM5tnne9ARo36x_xmWIckoMJbVLhtNaZaTDtqOPAiZqGFQHFjRyu6itsIlbIhKtK4pXJbJiIDzuY/s640/IMG_7663.JPG" style="-webkit-box-shadow: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.0980392) 1px 1px 5px; background-color: white; border: 1px solid rgb(238, 238, 238); box-shadow: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.0980392) 1px 1px 5px; padding: 5px; position: relative;" width="640" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; caret-color: rgb(102, 102, 102); color: #666666; font-family: "Trebuchet MS", Trebuchet, Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 15px;">
<span lang="EN-US"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; caret-color: rgb(102, 102, 102); color: #666666; font-family: "Trebuchet MS", Trebuchet, Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 15px;">
<span lang="EN-US">Hares appear in the art of ancient Egypt and the hieroglyph for ‘to exist’ shows a seated hare over a ripple of water. They are a symbol of fecundity and sexiness, so if you ever see one in the corner of a painting it’s trying to tell you something, and they are associated strongly with the moon - the Saxon moon god had hare’s ears. In the several of the ancient churches on Dartmoor are mysterious mediaeval carvings showing three hares chasing each other in a circle and this symbol has been traced back in time to the Dark Ages and right through Europe to the Silk Road and China. Hares are everywhere and always have been.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; caret-color: rgb(102, 102, 102); color: #666666; font-family: "Trebuchet MS", Trebuchet, Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 15px;">
<span lang="EN-US"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; caret-color: rgb(102, 102, 102); color: #666666; font-family: "Trebuchet MS", Trebuchet, Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 15px;">
<span lang="EN-US">People used to think hares laid eggs because they often bear their young in the same fields as lapwings' nests and in Germany it is the Easter hare that lays the Easter eggs. T</span>o celebrate the Easter season Germans hang decorated hens eggs from the bushes in their gardens, like this:<br /><span lang="EN-US"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; caret-color: rgb(102, 102, 102); clear: both; color: #666666; font-family: "Trebuchet MS", Trebuchet, Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcEufL3MOuiEAQnocODRP7A2QjaFbMPKfYiK7IUD5r6T1o1leUk-77a5ylLikvKb2PrdWE_oDr0oF1kLRw3FDVeEuhkYg1pJ1RxCsUD3eS_swBqE4BnBeaC4Coq_zdUy5lce_SGfdILw8/s1600/IMG_5106.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="color: #888888; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-decoration: none;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcEufL3MOuiEAQnocODRP7A2QjaFbMPKfYiK7IUD5r6T1o1leUk-77a5ylLikvKb2PrdWE_oDr0oF1kLRw3FDVeEuhkYg1pJ1RxCsUD3eS_swBqE4BnBeaC4Coq_zdUy5lce_SGfdILw8/s640/IMG_5106.jpg" style="-webkit-box-shadow: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.0980392) 1px 1px 5px; background-color: white; border: 1px solid rgb(238, 238, 238); box-shadow: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.0980392) 1px 1px 5px; padding: 5px; position: relative;" width="480" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; caret-color: rgb(102, 102, 102); color: #666666; font-family: "Trebuchet MS", Trebuchet, Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 15px;">
<span lang="EN-US"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; caret-color: rgb(102, 102, 102); color: #666666; font-family: "Trebuchet MS", Trebuchet, Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 15px;">
<span lang="EN-US">At some point the beautiful, sexy, wild and fleet footed hare was cruelly transmuted into the fluffy, dull but safe Easter bunny, and the myth that hares laid eggs gave rise to the chocolate delight that is the Easter Egg.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; caret-color: rgb(102, 102, 102); color: #666666; font-family: "Trebuchet MS", Trebuchet, Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 15px;">
<span lang="EN-US"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; caret-color: rgb(102, 102, 102); color: #666666; font-family: "Trebuchet MS", Trebuchet, Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 15px;">
<span lang="EN-US">Here's a delicious cake for Easter Day tea.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; caret-color: rgb(102, 102, 102); color: #666666; font-family: "Trebuchet MS", Trebuchet, Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 15px;">
<span lang="EN-US"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; caret-color: rgb(102, 102, 102); color: #666666; font-family: "Trebuchet MS", Trebuchet, Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 15px;">
<span lang="EN-US"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; caret-color: rgb(102, 102, 102); color: #666666; font-family: "Trebuchet MS", Trebuchet, Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 15px;">
<span lang="EN-US">First make the stencil. I used a hare shaped biscuit cutter and the back of a cereal packet. You can also download free stencils from the internet. Cut the card the same diameter as the cake. Place your shapes centrally on the card and cut out carefully.</span><br /><span lang="EN-US"><br /></span><br /><b>Eostre's Chocolate Cake</b><br /><b><br /></b><br />225g each of softened butter, sugar and SR flour<br />4 eggs<br />2 tablespoons cocoa and a teaspoon instant coffee<br />5 tablespoons boiling water<br />2 teaspoons baking powder<br /><br />Icing sugar and sugar coated chocolate eggs.<br /><br />Oven 180c. Two sandwich cake tins.<br /><br />Grease the tins and line the bottoms with baking parchment<br /><br />In a mixer or with an electric beater beat the sugar and butter together until white and fluffy. Mix the cocoa, coffee and hot water together. Beat the eggs. Add the eggs, flour, BP and cocoa paste to the mixture all at once and mix well. Pout the batter into your two tins and bake for 20 minutes. Check they are springy on the top and remove. Do not over cook.<br /><br />When the cakes are cool turn one cake over so the flat bottom becomes the top and sandwich the cakes together with chocolate butter icing or ganache.<br /><br />Dust the top with cocoa and hold the stencil over the cake. Do not let it touch the cocoa. Hold steady and then sprinkle icing sugar over the shape like they do in coffee shops with your cappuchino. Place the eggs on the cake.<br /><br />Only one other note - I considered using small chocolate eggs without sugar coating. Do not do this, otherwise it looks like something the hare might have produced that is not an egg.<br /><br />'<i>The timid hares throw daylight fears away</i><br /><i>On the lanes road to dust and dance and play</i><br /><i>The dabble in the grain by nought deterred</i><br /><i>To lick the dewfall from the barley's beard...'</i><br /><i><br /></i><br /><b>From 'Hares at Play' by John Clare</b><br /><b><br /></b><br /><b><i>PS. After I originally wrote this I was telling my sister about it and she told me about a moonlit night when she was driving home across the Yorkshire Wolds. Her lights caught the eyes of hares in a field and she stopped the car. Very quietly she approached and the field was full of hares, she thinks about a hundred all told, they were dancing and boxing and having a wonderful time. The sort of thing one dreams of seeing and only a few of us ever have the privilege.</i></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; caret-color: rgb(102, 102, 102); color: #666666; font-family: "Trebuchet MS", Trebuchet, Verdana, sans-serif;">
<br /></div>
Liz Woodshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15703559295916462282noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6559862206054673677.post-67489816876939631182020-04-08T14:35:00.000+01:002020-04-08T14:35:53.957+01:00The Wednesday of Holy Week - Spy Wednesday<h2>
<br /></h2>
<h2>
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></h2>
<div class="Default" style="margin-top: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="background: #F4F4F4; color: #323232; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14.0pt;">'<i>Yet each man kills the
thing he loves</i></span><i><span lang="EN-US" style="background: #F4F4F4; color: #323232; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: Arial;"><o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="Default" style="margin-top: 0cm;">
<i><span lang="EN-US" style="background: #F4F4F4; color: #323232; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>By each let this be heard,</span></i><i><span lang="EN-US" style="background: #F4F4F4; color: #323232; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: Arial;"><o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="Default" style="margin-top: 0cm;">
<i><span lang="EN-US" style="background: #F4F4F4; color: #323232; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14.0pt;">Some do it with a
bitter look,</span></i><i><span lang="EN-US" style="background: #F4F4F4; color: #323232; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: Arial;"><o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="Default" style="margin-top: 0cm;">
<i><span lang="EN-US" style="background: #F4F4F4; color: #323232; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Some with a flattering word,</span></i><i><span lang="EN-US" style="background: #F4F4F4; color: #323232; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: Arial;"><o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="Default" style="margin-top: 0cm;">
<i><span lang="EN-US" style="background: #F4F4F4; color: #323232; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14.0pt;">The coward does it
with a kiss,</span></i><i><span lang="EN-US" style="background: #F4F4F4; color: #323232; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: Arial;"><o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="Default" style="margin-top: 0cm;">
<i><span lang="EN-US" style="background: #F4F4F4; color: #323232; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The brave man with a sword!'</span></i><i><span lang="EN-US" style="background: #F4F4F4; color: #323232; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: Arial;"><o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="Default" style="margin-top: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="Default" style="margin-top: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="background: #F4F4F4; color: #323232; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>'The Ballad of Reading Gaol' Oscar Wilde (1854-1900)</span><span lang="EN-US" style="background: #F4F4F4; color: #323232; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: Arial;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Default" style="margin-top: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="background: #F4F4F4; color: #323232; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="Default" style="margin-top: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="background: #F4F4F4; color: #323232; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaqLo1l0LFv80kOjSi2m0PqZATE_yrg6usoeMYN-3NBF0Z7PEF38i3JcBG6zlQnkgXaRrZdalyHavsQS55MBrxxJXAbL7nt3UCR8WhJRA3BIRheaN-rpFYV-6wngw738hFrXHGOtY1prU/s1600/IMG_3995.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="240" data-original-width="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaqLo1l0LFv80kOjSi2m0PqZATE_yrg6usoeMYN-3NBF0Z7PEF38i3JcBG6zlQnkgXaRrZdalyHavsQS55MBrxxJXAbL7nt3UCR8WhJRA3BIRheaN-rpFYV-6wngw738hFrXHGOtY1prU/s1600/IMG_3995.jpg" /></a></div>
<div class="Default" style="margin-top: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="background: #F4F4F4; color: #323232; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="Default" style="margin-top: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="Default" style="margin-top: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="background: #F4F4F4; color: #323232; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14.0pt;">Well here I am again and
like so many of the rest of us I’m in lock down. So why not revisit the blog I
thought? Why not indeed. I’m lucky to live in a beautiful part of the world and
have my garden and my books for company - not to mention my husband who seems
to have taken up residence in the garage for the duration. He emerges for meals
and to watch the news but that’s about it. I remind myself that he is just
trying to get through - the same as the rest of us. As spring marches
inexorably forwards, the days are blending into one, so maybe it’s time for the
occasional new blog post as a way of marking time until life returns to
normality. </span><span lang="EN-US" style="background: #F4F4F4; color: #323232; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: Arial;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Default" style="margin-top: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="Default" style="margin-top: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="background: #F4F4F4; color: #323232; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14.0pt;">Idle curiosity led me to
look for the significance of today and I discovered that the Wednesday of
Easter week is 'Spy Wednesday' - which is not a celebration of duplicity but a
remembrance of the day that Jesus was betrayed by Judas. </span><span lang="EN-US" style="background: #F4F4F4; color: #323232; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: Arial;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Default" style="margin-top: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="Default" style="margin-top: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="background: #F4F4F4; color: #323232; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14.0pt;">I knew a spy once - someone
who during the Cold War had spied for the Soviets in exchange for money to
sustain a lifestyle that soon betrayed him. I met him some years after he was
released from prison and I liked him. He was intelligent and witty. The sort of
person who is good value at a dinner party - perfect spy material.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Just morally bankrupt. </span><span lang="EN-US" style="background: #F4F4F4; color: #323232; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: Arial;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Default" style="margin-top: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="Default" style="margin-top: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="background: #F4F4F4; color: #323232; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14.0pt;">The story of the betrayal
of Jesus doesn't need repeating here, but reminding myself of it I looked up
spikenard. The betrayal was prompted by Judas's indignation that the woman
called Mary had used expensive oil of spikenard to bathe Jesus's feet. There
are various translations of the original and the oil might have been spikenard
which is an Ayurvedic plant from the Far East, or it might have been simply
have been lavender. We don’t know. </span><span lang="EN-US" style="background: #F4F4F4; color: #323232; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: Arial;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Default" style="margin-top: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="Default" style="margin-top: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="background: #F4F4F4; color: #323232; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14.0pt;">What I have in plenty at
the moment is fresh nettles and sorrel. So I’ve made soup. Nettles for the
sting of betrayal, sorrel for the bitterness of regret. </span><span lang="EN-US" style="background: #F4F4F4; color: #323232; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: Arial;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Default" style="margin-top: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkGdJKvKhwcNbd-OBwnNmqL_GSzRU0d2LpKtwglbw7LQDca-jVwwjNbFVlCuSRk-q3CL8uSspp7n_2XYWYpLpI3vR7pO2KpvXSMHdqbgrCy6gDBazdA4OLAO4Pz0gWM6LCicUntxR-010/s1600/IMG_4705.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="240" data-original-width="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkGdJKvKhwcNbd-OBwnNmqL_GSzRU0d2LpKtwglbw7LQDca-jVwwjNbFVlCuSRk-q3CL8uSspp7n_2XYWYpLpI3vR7pO2KpvXSMHdqbgrCy6gDBazdA4OLAO4Pz0gWM6LCicUntxR-010/s1600/IMG_4705.jpg" /></a></div>
<br />
<h2>
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt;">Nettle and Sorrel<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Soup</span></h2>
<div class="Default" style="margin-top: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="background: #F4F4F4; color: #323232; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14.0pt;">1 leek, carrot and largish
potato</span><span lang="EN-US" style="background: #F4F4F4; color: #323232; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: Arial;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Default" style="margin-top: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="background: #F4F4F4; color: #323232; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14.0pt;">I litre vegetable or chicken
stock - I used Marigold Bouillon</span><span lang="EN-US" style="background: #F4F4F4; color: #323232; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: Arial;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Default" style="margin-top: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="background: #F4F4F4; color: #323232; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14.0pt;">Several handfuls of greens.
I used a mixture of sorrel and nettles. Spinach would be fine.</span><span lang="EN-US" style="background: #F4F4F4; color: #323232; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: Arial;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Default" style="margin-top: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="background: #F4F4F4; color: #323232; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14.0pt;">Butter </span><span lang="EN-US" style="background: #F4F4F4; color: #323232; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: Arial;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Default" style="margin-top: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="background: #F4F4F4; color: #323232; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14.0pt;">Cream - optional</span><span lang="EN-US" style="background: #F4F4F4; color: #323232; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: Arial;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Default" style="margin-top: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="Default" style="margin-top: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="background: #F4F4F4; color: #323232; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14.0pt;">I blitzed the leek carrot
and potato in my food processor and then softened them gently in the butter for
a few minutes. I added the greens and wilted them down, then poured in the hot
stock and simmered for about twenty minutes. Then I blitzed it again with my
stick blender. Taste it and adjust the seasoning and if you wish, add the
cream. </span><span lang="EN-US" style="background: #F4F4F4; color: #323232; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: Arial;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Default" style="margin-top: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="Body">
<i><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt;">"What are the
roots that clutch, what branches grow<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="Body">
<i><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt;">Out of this stony
rubbish? Son of man,<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="Body">
<i><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt;">You cannot say, or
guess, for you know only<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="Body">
<i><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt;">A heap of broken
images, where the sun beats,<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="Body">
<i><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt;">And the dead tree
gives no shelter, the cricket no relief,<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="Body">
<i><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt;">And the dry stone no
sound of water. Only<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="Body">
<i><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt;">There is shadow
under this red rock,<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="Body">
<i><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt;">(Come in under the
shadow of this red rock),<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="Body">
<i><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt;">And I will show you
something different from either<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="Body">
<i><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt;">Your shadow at
morning striding behind you<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="Body">
<i><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt;">Or your shadow at
evening rising to meet you;<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="Body">
<i><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt;">I will show you fear
in a handful of dust."<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="Body">
<br /></div>
<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
<o:DocumentProperties>
<o:Template>Normal.dotm</o:Template>
<o:Revision>0</o:Revision>
<o:TotalTime>0</o:TotalTime>
<o:Pages>1</o:Pages>
<o:Words>480</o:Words>
<o:Characters>2740</o:Characters>
<o:Company>XYZ Co</o:Company>
<o:Lines>22</o:Lines>
<o:Paragraphs>5</o:Paragraphs>
<o:CharactersWithSpaces>3364</o:CharactersWithSpaces>
<o:Version>12.0</o:Version>
</o:DocumentProperties>
<o:OfficeDocumentSettings>
<o:AllowPNG/>
</o:OfficeDocumentSettings>
</xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
<w:WordDocument>
<w:Zoom>0</w:Zoom>
<w:TrackMoves>false</w:TrackMoves>
<w:TrackFormatting/>
<w:PunctuationKerning/>
<w:DrawingGridHorizontalSpacing>18 pt</w:DrawingGridHorizontalSpacing>
<w:DrawingGridVerticalSpacing>18 pt</w:DrawingGridVerticalSpacing>
<w:DisplayHorizontalDrawingGridEvery>0</w:DisplayHorizontalDrawingGridEvery>
<w:DisplayVerticalDrawingGridEvery>0</w:DisplayVerticalDrawingGridEvery>
<w:ValidateAgainstSchemas/>
<w:SaveIfXMLInvalid>false</w:SaveIfXMLInvalid>
<w:IgnoreMixedContent>false</w:IgnoreMixedContent>
<w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText>false</w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText>
<w:Compatibility>
<w:BreakWrappedTables/>
<w:DontGrowAutofit/>
<w:DontAutofitConstrainedTables/>
<w:DontVertAlignInTxbx/>
</w:Compatibility>
</w:WordDocument>
</xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
<w:LatentStyles DefLockedState="false" LatentStyleCount="276">
</w:LatentStyles>
</xml><![endif]-->
<!--[if gte mso 10]>
<style>
/* Style Definitions */
table.MsoNormalTable
{mso-style-name:"Table Normal";
mso-tstyle-rowband-size:0;
mso-tstyle-colband-size:0;
mso-style-noshow:yes;
mso-style-parent:"";
mso-padding-alt:0cm 5.4pt 0cm 5.4pt;
mso-para-margin:0cm;
mso-para-margin-bottom:.0001pt;
mso-pagination:widow-orphan;
font-size:12.0pt;
font-family:"Times New Roman";
mso-ascii-font-family:"Helvetica Neue";
mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin;
mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman";
mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-fareast;
mso-hansi-font-family:"Helvetica Neue";
mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin;
mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman";
mso-bidi-theme-font:minor-bidi;}
</style>
<![endif]-->
<!--StartFragment-->
<!--EndFragment--><br />
<div class="Body">
<i><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt;">From 'The Waste
Land' by T.S. Eliot (1888-1965)</span></i></div>
Liz Woodshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15703559295916462282noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6559862206054673677.post-80829224996443870972016-10-02T08:48:00.000+01:002016-10-02T08:50:19.193+01:00A New BlogHi!<br />
<br />
It's been a while but 'Feasts and Festivals' is still here for you to enjoy and refer to and I hope you find what you are looking for. However, life moves on and I have a new blog on Wordpress. It's called 'The Lane of Evening Lingerings'.<br />
<br />
Here's where you can find it.<br />
<br />
<a href="https://thelaneofeveninglingerings.com/" target="_blank">https://thelaneofeveninglingerings.com</a><br />
<br />
Similar philosophy, different type of content....<br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhq7nG9rfBS2ynU4kn3jEnD6VZHL7-yyhb3aJOix0vxOGwpACyLnrqeitTJEc35LoCvaFEBIDFRPZybajfx_c-vLtgu1F6AnD4miajBu5w52xsGHX2WgE0MTYO72N2ugzLCHgcvY1NSwG8/s320/P5140027.jpg" width="240" /></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09045660787350825648noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6559862206054673677.post-31570852612147085182014-02-15T13:26:00.004+00:002014-02-15T13:26:50.528+00:00A Little Holiday<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizvSt3ZoSxPy5Q-xAXWD7co8XWRidz3Ffx2IV6AyZhoEIKLUMhIn-ICouDXViUqsp1qgEW-41GV7GxiIUisRhBob5PfFHm2DrefhVuBduX_1cdvaovWKpmDH_Rn_RlCaiM2S4WyGlBfXU/s1600/IMG_0354.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizvSt3ZoSxPy5Q-xAXWD7co8XWRidz3Ffx2IV6AyZhoEIKLUMhIn-ICouDXViUqsp1qgEW-41GV7GxiIUisRhBob5PfFHm2DrefhVuBduX_1cdvaovWKpmDH_Rn_RlCaiM2S4WyGlBfXU/s1600/IMG_0354.jpg" height="366" width="400" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<br />
Dear Friends<br />
<br />
I'm going to take a little blog holiday. We're moving house and my Mum needs a bit more care than she used to. Rather than be intermittent with my posts and it all turning into something of a chore. I'm going to lay the blog aside for a few weeks.<br />
<br />
I will return! In the meantime - all the old posts are still here for your enjoyment. <br />
<br />
Love and Peace<br />
<br />
Liz.<br />
<br />
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09045660787350825648noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6559862206054673677.post-11004192242745649322014-02-02T08:44:00.002+00:002014-02-02T08:44:53.276+00:002nd February: Candlemas and Groundhog Day<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2WVrT7ROX_gRfKwoybd6U3bRz_xuA_YczyhOSXynBmj7h5IUiF3QhbWTr0aa6uAhgEpksDhjXhy3RJadsOwJvGkitgNrgHo1s8hqCnNyYVQ8HNWAG1_16dkk80hvfFILfZ3NNe1bprIc/s1600/IMG_1323.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2WVrT7ROX_gRfKwoybd6U3bRz_xuA_YczyhOSXynBmj7h5IUiF3QhbWTr0aa6uAhgEpksDhjXhy3RJadsOwJvGkitgNrgHo1s8hqCnNyYVQ8HNWAG1_16dkk80hvfFILfZ3NNe1bprIc/s1600/IMG_1323.JPG" height="480" width="640" /></a></div>
<br />
'<i>Where, woman, is thine offering-</i><br />
<i>The debt of law and love?'</i><br />
<i>'My Babe a tender nestling is,</i><br />
<i>And I the mother-dove.' </i><br />
<br />
<b>'A Pair Of Turtle-Doves: The Purification' by John Bannister Tabb (1845-1909)</b><br />
<br />
What I remember of Candlemas as a child is my Dad telling me that today was the day hibernating animals came out and checked the temperature. Depending on whether the day was fair or not, the weather for the next few weeks was determined. That was before either of us had ever heard of Groundhog Day and Punxsutawney Phil. The tradition is a Northern European one and specifically German, which in England probably means it has Anglo-Saxon origins.<br />
<br />
Of course there are no groundhogs in Europe, so the American legend must have started with another animal, another sort of hog - a hedgehog. There are so many wonderful folk names for the prickly beast of the hedge bottom. We called them 'Pricky Hodgsons' in my family, but hedgehogs are also called hedgepigs, or urchins and of course Mrs Tiggywinkle.<br />
<br />
The first official 'Ground Hog Day' was celebrated on the 2nd February, 1886 in Punxsutawney, Pennsylvania. The German migrants to Pennsylvania brought their tradition with them. The day was decreed a holiday by the local paper - 'The Punxsutawney Spirit'. The editor wrote, "Today is Groundhog Day and up to the time of going to press, the beast has not seen its shadow." The following year, the first Groundhog Day celebration took place at Gobbler's Knob, and the crowd that gathered there named themselves "The Punxsutawney Groundhog Club." When a groundhog miraculously appeared, the club named him 'Phil, the Punxsutawney Groundhog'.<br />
<br />
There are a number of calendar points in the year when it is traditionally supposed that the weather for the next few weeks can be forecast. St Swithun is the most famous, but Candlemas is another. Here's the rhyme.<br />
<br />
<i>If Candlemas be fair and bright,</i><br />
<i>Come, Winter, have another flight;</i><br />
<i>If Candlemas brings clouds and rain,</i><br />
<i>Go Winter, and come not again.</i><br />
<br />
In an agricultural community it's not surprising that farmers tried every method they could to predict the weather. Ploughing, planting and harvest depended on it. But there is probably a reason that Candlemas was chosen as a predictive day. It marks the beginning of the second half of winter because is half way between the winter solstice and the spring equinox. That's why it was a pre-Christian festival, because it was already a special day for those earlier people whose religion was determined by the skies. Before the Reformation all churches celebrated the Feast of the Purification, - as Candlemas is properly called. They marked it by candlelit processions, the practice itself echoing the earlier Roman practices of purification which were commonly held in February.<br />
<br />
The day celebrates the presentation in the Temple of Mary the Mother of Jesus and it was not uncommon for women in the Anglican tradition to be 'churched' right up until the 1960s. My Grandmother insisted my Mother was churched after I was born, in case the fairies got her - or me. I found this beautiful painting whist researching this post. Isn't she wonderful?<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEik6j6c7HbxEj6X0MMBqb0VR6Z5i-ukA3L0jYCmoExcH2He0mJbn79nfJQ2w3rxqIIv5P9qQVb9XRoRUFjujKKvkcfvfsKnkqtuMu3PoEw6MtLULaob-qYySqbATKQlf3sRCYKlnb-ilKE/s1600/Marianne_Stokes_Candlemas_Day_.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEik6j6c7HbxEj6X0MMBqb0VR6Z5i-ukA3L0jYCmoExcH2He0mJbn79nfJQ2w3rxqIIv5P9qQVb9XRoRUFjujKKvkcfvfsKnkqtuMu3PoEw6MtLULaob-qYySqbATKQlf3sRCYKlnb-ilKE/s1600/Marianne_Stokes_Candlemas_Day_.jpg" height="400" width="335" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
<b>'Candlemas Day' by Marianne Stokes (1855-1927)</b><br />
<br />
Anyway the second half of winter begins today, but spring is evident in the shops and in the gardens. I saw my first snowdrop yesterday and my local green grocer has both blood oranges and the first tender forced rhubarb. I put them together.<br />
<br />
<b>Rhubarb and Blood Orange Compôte</b><br />
<br />
This is not even a recipe. Chop some forced rhubarb into lengths and put it in a shallow roasting tin with the juice and rind of a blood orange. Add a couple of tablespoons of sugar and roast in a hot oven until the rhubarb is soft. Serve warm. You could have this with creme fraiche or cream, but actually the juice was so wonderful l preferred it as it came. It was wonderfully fragrant and aromatic.<br />
<br />
<i>The days of the future stand in front of us</i><br />
<i>Like a line of candles all alight -</i><br />
<i>Golden and warm and lively little candles.</i><br />
<i>The days that are past are left behind,</i><br />
<i>A mournful row of candles that are out...</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<b>From 'Candles' by C.P. Cavafy (1863-1933)</b><br />
<b><br /></b>
There are lots of traditions associated with February 2nd such as St. Brigid, Imbolc and Candlemas and I've written about all those before.<br />
<br />
Here's the link<br />
<br />
<a href="http://feastsandfestivals.blogspot.co.uk/2012/02/2-february-candlemas-revisited.html" target="_blank">Candlemas</a>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09045660787350825648noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6559862206054673677.post-73377705609151862862014-01-26T09:23:00.001+00:002014-01-26T09:23:16.690+00:0030th January: Chinese New Year's Eve<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8K_mrg7xT2hiIg_fqRqm9DRYTaRif2TL4opM0oPP05d8lrCmNRVm5aRG_2OfoZjKQFPWjtRemfZGMJspA8IH_rAuCnq4qVzPZHOTVzH0D4I6yXOW46i7YvlD5pAnKOBj_QDVva8UWf7s/s1600/IMG_1286.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8K_mrg7xT2hiIg_fqRqm9DRYTaRif2TL4opM0oPP05d8lrCmNRVm5aRG_2OfoZjKQFPWjtRemfZGMJspA8IH_rAuCnq4qVzPZHOTVzH0D4I6yXOW46i7YvlD5pAnKOBj_QDVva8UWf7s/s1600/IMG_1286.JPG" height="480" width="640" /></a></div>
<br />
<span style="font-family: LucidaGrande;"><span style="font-size: 14px;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: LucidaGrande;"><span style="font-size: 14px;"><i>O fan of white silk,</i></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: LucidaGrande;"><span style="font-size: 14px;"><i>clear as frost on the grass-blade,</i></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: LucidaGrande;"><span style="font-size: 14px;"><i><br /></i></span></span>
<span style="font-family: LucidaGrande;"><span style="font-size: 14px;"><i>You also are laid aside. </i></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: LucidaGrande;"><span style="font-size: 14px;"><b><br /></b></span></span>
<br />
<b><span style="font-family: LucidaGrande; font-size: 14px;">'Fan-Piece, For Her Imperial Lord' by </span><span style="font-family: LucidaGrande;"><span style="font-size: 14px;">Ezra Pound (1885-1972)</span></span></b><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: LucidaGrande; font-size: 14px;">I was born on Chinese New Year's Day and so narrowly missed being a dragon - very auspicious, and am actually a snake - good wife material (about which I am not qualified to comment). Anyway I always note Chinese New Year, which in 2014 is a couple of weeks earlier than it was the year I slithered into the world.</span><br />
<br style="font-family: LucidaGrande; font-size: 14px;" />
<span style="font-family: LucidaGrande;"><span style="font-size: 14px;">Like the New Year festivities of other calendars around the world, the Chinese New Year lasts several days and there are many similarities between it and New Year festivals in other cultures. You clean your house, pay your debts, get the family together, play games, make resolutions, eat too much...drink too much. We're all the same under the skin and we all like a party now and again.</span></span><br />
<br style="font-family: LucidaGrande; font-size: 14px;" />
<span style="font-family: LucidaGrande; font-size: 14px;">But do you know the Chinese New Year legend of the Kitchen God? I didn't. Here it is, and here he is.</span><br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgT__0e_AnjaSqkw-lcqWM3RjHH31DDPJ2dEH48yJsAG0iGy_IuBkBruF7eRHrYL7cKBT7V4D_3TLHZlfS_Wis_H8PILCjhqWKouB9h2IO1w_zD-WYlWK6_mxY_Tg-KUe_JnUhrsYwG7Ss/s1600/kitchen-god_68.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgT__0e_AnjaSqkw-lcqWM3RjHH31DDPJ2dEH48yJsAG0iGy_IuBkBruF7eRHrYL7cKBT7V4D_3TLHZlfS_Wis_H8PILCjhqWKouB9h2IO1w_zD-WYlWK6_mxY_Tg-KUe_JnUhrsYwG7Ss/s1600/kitchen-god_68.jpg" height="400" width="266" /></a></div>
<br style="font-family: LucidaGrande; font-size: 14px;" />
<br style="font-family: LucidaGrande; font-size: 14px;" />
<span style="font-family: LucidaGrande; font-size: 14px;">There was once a rich farmer married to an exemplary wife called Guo. She was a wonderful cook, thrifty, a good housekeeper and everything that any mortal man might desire in his life companion. The farmer's land was fertile and with the help of the good wife, his riches and his luck increased year on year. But Guo's husband was not the faithful kind and not satisfied with what the gods had granted him. Despite his wife's many virtues he strayed and he left her for a younger model, the pretty Lady Li.</span><br />
<br style="font-family: LucidaGrande; font-size: 14px;" />
<span style="font-family: LucidaGrande; font-size: 14px;">Time passed and the farmer lost touch with his good wife Guo, who moved far away. But after two years of extravagance and dissipation by him and his new girlfriend there was nothing left and of course the pretty Lady Li deserted her lover for another.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: LucidaGrande; font-size: 14px;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: LucidaGrande; font-size: 14px;">Serves the bad husband right you might think. </span><span style="font-family: LucidaGrande; font-size: 14px;">The legend dates from the second century BC - but it's an eternal story.</span><br />
<br style="font-family: LucidaGrande; font-size: 14px;" />
<span style="font-family: LucidaGrande; font-size: 14px;">Anyway the bad husband was left a beggar and he became a tramp, getting his meals where he could and roaming the countryside in rags. He begged at kitchen doors for mouldy grain and scraps. One day, fainting with hunger and sickness he found himself in a warm kitchen where delicious smells of cooking from the bright stove filled the air. He thought he had died and gone to heaven, but the kitchen maid assured him that her mistress always brought in beggars that they might have a good meal and dry clothes. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: LucidaGrande; font-size: 14px;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: LucidaGrande; font-size: 14px;">"I must thank your mistress" said the man.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: LucidaGrande; font-size: 14px;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: LucidaGrande; font-size: 14px;">"You can - because here she comes now" answered the maid.</span><br />
<br style="font-family: LucidaGrande; font-size: 14px;" />
<span style="font-family: LucidaGrande;"><span style="font-size: 14px;">The bad husband looked up and saw his former wife coming down the path to the house! He leapt up and looked for somewhere to hide, because he was so ashamed of how his unfaithfulness had reduced him. Just as Guo came into the room, her husband leapt into the stove. Guo was distraught. She tried to save him, but it was too late. He was turned to smoke and ashes.</span></span><br />
<br style="font-family: LucidaGrande; font-size: 14px;" />
<span style="font-family: LucidaGrande; font-size: 14px;">But that is not the end of the story. When the bad husband arrived in heaven, the Jade Emperor looked at him as he trembled with fear before the throne of the Almighty. </span><br />
<br style="font-family: LucidaGrande; font-size: 14px;" />
<span style="font-family: LucidaGrande; font-size: 14px;">"You know you did wrong" said the Jade Emperor, "and because of that, I will give you the position of Kitchen God" </span><br />
<span style="font-family: LucidaGrande; font-size: 14px;"><br /></span>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJ1YTwHfEliXfUhlTyojL8ySC7Na0OslRUThBOiYKNb5p8Z3mjJIvSqo7IKeDdbIrGVF3OO93Y-U1yqQfPygPvrQ22hTuswNbY4q5rDLDRbHBw3GmnSkj_TudqbECZJghLcpHeuGBL7bs/s1600/001ec94a26ba0ace9bd841.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJ1YTwHfEliXfUhlTyojL8ySC7Na0OslRUThBOiYKNb5p8Z3mjJIvSqo7IKeDdbIrGVF3OO93Y-U1yqQfPygPvrQ22hTuswNbY4q5rDLDRbHBw3GmnSkj_TudqbECZJghLcpHeuGBL7bs/s1600/001ec94a26ba0ace9bd841.jpg" height="400" width="317" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: LucidaGrande; font-size: 14px;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: LucidaGrande; font-size: 14px;">And now, every New Year, one week before the turn of the year, the Kitchen God (whose earthly name was Zhang), reports to the Jade Emperor on the behaviour of everyone in the house. And every house keeps a little shrine for the Kitchen God to live in, that he might be warm and cosy whilst he keeps an eye out. </span><br />
<br style="font-family: LucidaGrande; font-size: 14px;" />
<span style="font-family: LucidaGrande; font-size: 14px;">So there you go. You never know who is watching you.</span><br />
<br style="font-family: LucidaGrande; font-size: 14px;" />
<span style="font-family: LucidaGrande; font-size: 14px;">There are many customs associated with Chinese New Year. Eating a whole fish symbolises completeness and red is for luck. We have both.</span><br />
<b><br style="font-family: LucidaGrande; font-size: 14px;" /><span style="font-family: LucidaGrande; font-size: 14px;">Baked Red Mullet with Chinese flavours.</span></b><br />
<br style="font-family: LucidaGrande; font-size: 14px;" />
<span style="font-family: LucidaGrande; font-size: 14px;">I red mullet per person, gutted and scaled but left whole.</span><br />
<br style="font-family: LucidaGrande; font-size: 14px;" />
<span style="font-family: LucidaGrande; font-size: 14px;">Carrot, celery, spring onions, garlic, red chilli and fresh ginger all finely diced or shredded. A small handful for each fish.</span><br />
<br style="font-family: LucidaGrande; font-size: 14px;" />
<span style="font-family: LucidaGrande; font-size: 14px;">White sesame seeds - a couple of teaspoons and a few slices of lemon or lime.</span><br />
<br style="font-family: LucidaGrande; font-size: 14px;" />
<span style="font-family: LucidaGrande; font-size: 14px;">Make a marinade of 2 tablespoons soy sauce, 1 tsp sesame oil, 2 tbs white wine, and a tablespoon of light flavoured vegetable oil. </span><br />
<br style="font-family: LucidaGrande; font-size: 14px;" />
<span style="font-family: LucidaGrande; font-size: 14px;">Put the fish on a foil covered tray, sprinkle with the vegetables and pour over the marinade. Wrap tightly and leave for an hour or so. Bake at 190c for about 20 minutes.</span><br />
<br style="font-family: LucidaGrande; font-size: 14px;" />
<span style="font-family: LucidaGrande; font-size: 14px;">Unwrap and smell those aromas! Sprinkle with a little fresh coriander if you wish. I didn't.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: LucidaGrande;"><span style="font-size: 14px;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: LucidaGrande;"><span style="font-size: 14px;"><i>Before my bed</i></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: LucidaGrande;"><span style="font-size: 14px;"><i>there is bright moonlight</i></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: LucidaGrande;"><span style="font-size: 14px;"><i>So that it seems</i></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: LucidaGrande;"><span style="font-size: 14px;"><i>Like frost on the ground.</i></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: LucidaGrande;"><span style="font-size: 14px;"><i><br /></i></span></span>
<span style="font-family: LucidaGrande;"><span style="font-size: 14px;"><i>Lifting my head</i></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: LucidaGrande;"><span style="font-size: 14px;"><i>I watch the bright moon,</i></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: LucidaGrande;"><span style="font-size: 14px;"><i>Lowering my head</i></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: LucidaGrande;"><span style="font-size: 14px;"><i>I dream that I am home. </i></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: LucidaGrande;"><span style="font-size: 14px;"><br /></span></span>
<b><span style="font-family: LucidaGrande; font-size: 14px;">'Quiet Night Thoughts' by </span><span style="font-family: LucidaGrande; font-size: 14px;">Li Po (701-762AD)</span></b>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09045660787350825648noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6559862206054673677.post-5138544708691025952014-01-19T10:00:00.000+00:002014-01-19T10:00:03.127+00:0025th January: Holly Holy Day<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEprJrUFa8mI1yZBjEVbbg2ToGKsoCppZ_A5AAYfzYkLdfKxmjoWzFu1vcOMc-xQygYLBhul_spj09liNemr0hLik2l-eC5NEXDyhnwxKAg7wbq0JQnDgzKUDrFV-AQgvk0dStUIsxEqQ/s1600/IMG_1272.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEprJrUFa8mI1yZBjEVbbg2ToGKsoCppZ_A5AAYfzYkLdfKxmjoWzFu1vcOMc-xQygYLBhul_spj09liNemr0hLik2l-eC5NEXDyhnwxKAg7wbq0JQnDgzKUDrFV-AQgvk0dStUIsxEqQ/s1600/IMG_1272.JPG" height="480" width="640" /></a></div>
<br />
<i>Unhappy! shall we never more </i><br />
<i>That sweet militia restore, </i><br />
<i>When gardens only had their towers, </i><br />
<i>And all the garrisons were flowers; </i><br />
<i>When roses only arms might bear, </i><br />
<i>And men did rosy garlands wear?</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<b>'A Garden, Written after the Civil Wars' by Andrew Marvell (1621-1678)</b><br />
<br />
Once upon a time here must have been hundreds of local festivals when people commemorated a saint or event that had a particular meaning for their village or town. Some of these festivals remain or have been revived and Holly Holy Day is one such.<br />
<br />
We're in Nantwich in Cheshire. The 'wich' suffix means that there is a salty connection - it's an Old English word for brine, so salt plays an important part in the dish I've chosen to make below. The festival however isn't a salty one, it harks back to the dark days of the English Civil War.<br />
<br />
Nantwich, or 'Namptwiche' as it was at the time, holds a strategic position on the route west from the Midlands to Chester where Royalist military reinforcements were waiting to disembark from Ireland. Like my own home city of Hull, Nantwich was a Parliamentary town and in late 1643 the King's army had held it under siege for over six weeks. 5,000 Parliamentary forces under Sir Thomas Fairfax marched across from Hull and engaged 3,500 Royalists in battle. They fought in the fields west of Nantwich for no more than two hours on the afternoon of the 25th January 1644. A number of Royalist commanders were captured and the siege was lifted. The people of Namptwiche wore sprigs of holly in their hats to celebrate their liberation and they have continued to do so every 25th January for the last 370 years.<br />
<br />
I've been wondering why they chose holly? My best guess is that during the siege they couldn't leave the town to collect holly and mistletoe as they would have done for their Christmas festivities, so once the siege was lifted they made haste out to the countryside and gathered sprigs to wear instead. Well...maybe. <br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5C8j_UxU5U8jkNF2uq7mug9RzeDogy8_Z56N4CEkVZscRiyiEC_XN3Tb1UXYAz5aTQXuM51YmER7cAD8DtZceaeMFXg7-I832tSHhOYXnOtNKldh63lpN2-SI6-FC1nagJ0SF-Ba5gek/s1600/HHD003_604_453_80.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5C8j_UxU5U8jkNF2uq7mug9RzeDogy8_Z56N4CEkVZscRiyiEC_XN3Tb1UXYAz5aTQXuM51YmER7cAD8DtZceaeMFXg7-I832tSHhOYXnOtNKldh63lpN2-SI6-FC1nagJ0SF-Ba5gek/s1600/HHD003_604_453_80.jpg" height="480" width="640" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
These days Holly Holy Day is marked by the laying of wreaths to those who died and then the enthusiasts of the Sealed Knot carry out a huge re-enactment of the Battle of Namptwiche. Everyone in the town turns out to see the mock battle, the street stalls and entertainers and it is a very jolly affair. Here they are lifting the siege outside WH Smith and Sons.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjM5pkeUZnNT_VD6H3LqJgExvjG3yFRsEuGdB-MEN3X63TBaxh__z4EU9HzzMkXQszWVji-0Zfz8Hc1dGpRi4H-0Ivgss5vdSSwBQuHwuyGJZlXKRRJm4IuZWaEUDnQJaciCvA67oB48Ps/s1600/holly-holy-day.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjM5pkeUZnNT_VD6H3LqJgExvjG3yFRsEuGdB-MEN3X63TBaxh__z4EU9HzzMkXQszWVji-0Zfz8Hc1dGpRi4H-0Ivgss5vdSSwBQuHwuyGJZlXKRRJm4IuZWaEUDnQJaciCvA67oB48Ps/s1600/holly-holy-day.jpg" height="419" width="640" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
Cheshire of course is famous for salt, which has been mined there for centuries. So I've made a dish with salt as an integral part. It's Seville orange time, so this colourful fish dish incorporates both piquant ingredients. The sauce is actually of Peruvian origin, but I did tinker a bit. There were beautiful gurnard in my lovely little fish shop this week, but you could use other fish. The sauce would be a good match for other strongly flavoured fish such as mackerel or pollack or even coley.<br />
<br />
<b>Red Gurnard Picante.</b><br />
<br />
For 2<br />
<br />
One gurnard each.<br />
50g chorizo - I used the hard sort you buy in the supermarket - it's really handy for perking up lots of dishes<br />
2 cloves garlic<br />
2 red peppers, grilled and skinned (I keep a jar ready in the fridge)<br />
2 tomatoes<br />
Juice of one Seville orange - or of a half sweet orange and half a lemon<br />
Olive oil<br />
Parsley if you have it<br />
Coarse salt<br />
Parsley<br />
<br />
<br />
Fillet the gurnards and remove any stray bones. I bought a pair of fish tweezers last year. They are the best thing ever. Having them has transformed our fish eating - no more bones!<br />
<br />
Lay the fillets in a dish and sprinkle with salt, leave for an hour.<br />
<br />
To make the picante sauce, chop the chorizo and fry it lightly in a little oil, until its own oil start to run out. Add the garlic to the pan and fry gently. Now add the sliced peppers, the chopped tomatoes and the citrus juice. Heat together for about five minutes until the juices have started to reduce. You can do this well ahead of time.<br />
<br />
Rinse the salt off the fish and pat dry. Lay the fillets on top of the sauce and cover the pan with a lid or foil. Cook over a medium heat for about 4-5 minutes. Sprinkle with parsley and serve with crusty bread.<br />
<br />
It was really, really tasty.<br />
<br />
<br />
<i>...In its caves</i><br />
<i>the salt moans, mountain</i><br />
<i>of buried light,</i><br />
<i>translucent cathedral,</i><br />
<i>crystal of the sea, oblivion</i><br />
<i>of the waves.</i><br />
<i>And then on every table</i><br />
<i>in the world,</i><br />
<i>salt,</i><br />
<i>we see your piquant</i><br />
<i>powder</i><br />
<i>sprinkling</i><br />
<i>vital light</i><br />
<i>upon</i><br />
<i>our food....</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<b>From 'Ode to Salt' by Pablo Neruda (1904-1973)</b><br />
<br />
<div>
<br /></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09045660787350825648noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6559862206054673677.post-27401539077075144312014-01-12T09:16:00.000+00:002014-01-12T09:16:36.431+00:00Frost Fairs on the Thames<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLYHsjfv61tTh2YNBpPeBbSGJEVrB06UxFq0juKE2q5QNfixF96dwDmOizIAJzdhz3_gtusnkeKWMSaqHKTByI77EAMvK9pZC5DfZWjGNAG_wXgr1eEafMJvOaBX5dh_Aw3jyqPnNspeQ/s1600/IMG_1248.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLYHsjfv61tTh2YNBpPeBbSGJEVrB06UxFq0juKE2q5QNfixF96dwDmOizIAJzdhz3_gtusnkeKWMSaqHKTByI77EAMvK9pZC5DfZWjGNAG_wXgr1eEafMJvOaBX5dh_Aw3jyqPnNspeQ/s1600/IMG_1248.JPG" height="480" width="640" /></a></div>
<br />
<i>Behold the Liquid Thames frozen o’re,</i><br />
<i>That lately Ships of mighty Burthen bore</i><br />
<i>The Watermen for want of Rowing Boats</i><br />
<i>Make use of Booths to get their Pence & Groats</i><br />
<i>Here you may see beef roasted on the spit</i><br />
<i>And for your money you may taste a bit</i><br />
<i>There you may print your name, tho cannot write</i><br />
<i>Cause num'd with cold: tis done with great delight</i><br />
<i>And lay it by that ages yet to come</i><br />
<i>May see what things upon the ice were done.</i><br />
<br />
<b>Modern inscription carved under Southwark Bridge (Based on eighteenth century handbills)</b><br />
<br />
We’re having some pretty shocking weather here. The Atlantic storms are sweeping in one after the other, bringing torrential rain and high winds. On the other side of the pond however there is a great freeze. So that got me thinking about the things people do to amuse themselves when bad weather disrupts everyday life.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAX10YAeJgpMq18ZPPpb7lkcpYYEVSGH30HerLNjodY9nZItc6B_Rku166pCNW_BQzVba8jXCgr2G_HLEXrqJ_krRZv2Fuv3FvXF4McLk1tCdO8yig3ecXWOZoRkMVm77SG0GHeqMCkxM/s1600/article-2524252-1A206EF600000578-460_964x595.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAX10YAeJgpMq18ZPPpb7lkcpYYEVSGH30HerLNjodY9nZItc6B_Rku166pCNW_BQzVba8jXCgr2G_HLEXrqJ_krRZv2Fuv3FvXF4McLk1tCdO8yig3ecXWOZoRkMVm77SG0GHeqMCkxM/s1600/article-2524252-1A206EF600000578-460_964x595.jpg" height="394" width="640" /></a></div>
<br />
From the Middle Ages right through to the early nineteenth century, the River Thames in London would sometimes freeze over – twenty four occasions are recorded in six hundred years – about once in a generation. Without the Embankment the river was more sluggish than it is today and the nineteen piers of old London Bridge also slowed up the flow. The boatmen who made their living by ferrying people and goods across the river were temporarily out of pocket so they often set up booths and stalls on the ice selling all manner of goods, street food and souvenirs. These were often printed leaflets and ballads. Little presses were set up and in the days before photographs people could buy something to show they were there.<br />
<br />
<i>You that walk here, and do desyn to tell</i><br />
<i>Your children's children what this year befell</i><br />
<i>Go print your names and take a dram within</i><br />
<i>For such a year as this, has seldom been seen. </i><br />
<i><br /></i>
(1814)<br />
<br />
These were strictly unofficial fairs – a proper fair need a charter, but the Frost Fairs were immensely popular. The unlicensed fun included skittle alleys, gambling booths and closed off tents for the sort of frolics better conducted under downy covers.<br />
<br />
John Evelyn the diarist described the Frost Fair of 1608:<br />
<br />
<i>'Coaches plied from Westminster to the Temple, and from several other stairs too and fro, as in the streets; sleds, sliding with skeetes,(skates) a bull-baiting, horse and coach races, puppet plays and interludes, cooks, tipling and other lewd places, so that it seemed to be a bacchanalian triumph, or carnival on the water.'</i><br />
<br />
That sounds like a lot of fun. <br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYDTxUoJw1cGF405bBIA-JQogXF9T50B6wWwJucCzR6H4jsxn5ElHVG03fku7ctXQYT5MG5pj_YYXNUsHOVVByxUvEdq5ZzA3o1J7d4uZyHnIZNW6_qcDKAK3k152ZPL0inXF7MD7340k/s1600/article-2524252-1A206F0800000578-275_964x676.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYDTxUoJw1cGF405bBIA-JQogXF9T50B6wWwJucCzR6H4jsxn5ElHVG03fku7ctXQYT5MG5pj_YYXNUsHOVVByxUvEdq5ZzA3o1J7d4uZyHnIZNW6_qcDKAK3k152ZPL0inXF7MD7340k/s1600/article-2524252-1A206F0800000578-275_964x676.jpg" height="448" width="640" /></a></div>
<br />
London like most cities was full of street hawkers and traders, the fairs meant that suddenly there was a captive market of excited people with a few pennies in their pockets, so buying street food was an important part of the fun. We know some of the things that were sold would be moulded gingerbread and spiced buns – traditional British fairground treats. Then there would no doubt be London specialties like jellied eels and in the nineteenth century pies and mash. When the frost was particularly prolonged, sooner or later there would be a huge roasting spit set up. An ox, sheep or pig would be roasted whole. ‘Lapland Lamb’ was popular!<br />
<br />
There was of course drink and it wasn’t all alcohol. The nearby coffee houses set up outposts selling hot chocolate and coffee and there would be mulled wine, cider and ale. On at least one occasion the ale froze and had to be sold by weight in chunks!<br />
<br />
<i> ‘...folk do tipple without fear to sink </i><br />
<i>More liquor than the fish beneath do drink' </i><br />
<br />
Iron skates were introduced from the Netherlands in the late seventeenth century but even before that boys tied specially shaved animal bones to the bottom of their boots in order to propel themselves across the ice at great speed.<br />
<br />
Of course there were often disasters.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixb2m28ofXSGnwue4yz6eEl8ZktHsxcRRqvHOmVeRCphYc7QiOAOikV9XiIZCjOVVRuMWeUqX80tDjMpS35-YtdZfc8zMhMKCG-Q_pct-O3zWZ5y4itilTSMcZsk2yX9Q_1nGeFxM0Lj4/s1600/article-2524252-1A206EEC00000578-843_964x569.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixb2m28ofXSGnwue4yz6eEl8ZktHsxcRRqvHOmVeRCphYc7QiOAOikV9XiIZCjOVVRuMWeUqX80tDjMpS35-YtdZfc8zMhMKCG-Q_pct-O3zWZ5y4itilTSMcZsk2yX9Q_1nGeFxM0Lj4/s1600/article-2524252-1A206EEC00000578-843_964x569.jpg" height="376" width="640" /></a></div>
<br />
In January 1789, melting ice dragged at a ship anchored to a riverside inn, pulling the building down and crushing five people to death. There are many records of coaches being submerged and even the whole fair disappearing overnight.<br />
<br />
This winter marks the hundredth anniversary of the very last Frost Fair. The 1814 Frost Fair commemorated above, was the last to be held after alterations to the river bank and bridges made the river flow more quickly. This was much to the delight of the warehouse and ship owners around the Upper Pool of London who were besieged by the ice when the river froze over and so couldn’t unload their goods. The building of additional bridges meant the demise of the ferry trade and as we have seen before, Victorian morality meant that fairs in general were definitely to be suppressed.<br />
<br />
So all we have are some wonderful images and a few souvenirs – and we can still make the food!<br />
<br />
There were about 600 pie sellers in London in the seventeenth century. The men sold meat pies and jellied eels and women tended to sell fruit pies, dumplings and in the summer, fresh strawberries.<br />
<br />
I've made two apple dumplings.<br />
<br />
2 medium sized dessert apples<br />
2 teaspoons soft butter<br />
1 tsp ground cinnamon<br />
4 heaped tsp soft brown sugar.<br />
10 oz approx shortcrust pastry<br />
1 egg.<br />
<br />
Make a paste of the butter, sugar and spices. Roll out the pastry. Peel and core the apples.<br />
Dab the spice paste over the apples and in the hole made by removing the core. Wrap each apple in pastry and trim off the excess. Make leaves for decoration and brush the pastry with beaten egg.<br />
<br />
Bake for about an hour until golden brown. Serve warm with cream.<br />
<br />
Delicious.<br />
<br />
<i>Blow, blow, thou winter wind </i><br />
<i>Thou art not so unkind </i><br />
<i>As man's ingratitude; </i><br />
<i>Thy tooth is not so keen, </i><br />
<i>Because thou art not seen, </i><br />
<i>Although thy breath be rude. </i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>Heigh-ho! sing, heigh-ho! unto the green holly: </i><br />
<i>Most friendship if feigning, most loving mere folly: </i><br />
<i>Then heigh-ho, the holly! </i><br />
<i>This life is most jolly</i>.<br />
<br />
<b>Extract from 'Blow, Blow, Thou Winter Wind' in 'As You Like It' (2.vii) by William Shakespeare (1564-1616) </b><br />
<br />
It's also the Feast of St Hilary this week and there's an earlier post about that with a warming soup.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://feastsandfestivals.blogspot.co.uk/2010/01/13-january-coldest-day-feast-of-st.html" target="_blank">St Hilary and a warming soup</a><br />
<br />
Stay cosy. X<br />
<br />
<br />
<div>
<br /></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09045660787350825648noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6559862206054673677.post-34216418891989901722014-01-05T08:01:00.001+00:002014-01-05T09:44:30.136+00:006 January: The Baddeley Twelfth Day Cake <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYprffoiVC-QMsCOjCGXUYotw4TLidB5ckSG_LBKjUNEHdh1lWhgqCqiQB3p-jE0eARNctd_Rbi-wMiidWe4LF0LLJLfnxt1BEgDgns17T6F6NO1y0rpTO4Ly3Jxl9iJGsw1IbNTi6UNs/s1600/photo.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="478" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYprffoiVC-QMsCOjCGXUYotw4TLidB5ckSG_LBKjUNEHdh1lWhgqCqiQB3p-jE0eARNctd_Rbi-wMiidWe4LF0LLJLfnxt1BEgDgns17T6F6NO1y0rpTO4Ly3Jxl9iJGsw1IbNTi6UNs/s640/photo.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
<i><br /></i>
<i><br /></i>
<i>This greeting o'er, the ancient rule obey'd</i><br />
<i>The Drama's homage by her herald paid,</i><br />
<i>Receive our welcome too, whose every tone</i><br />
<i>Springs from our hearts, and fair would win your own.</i><br />
<i>The curtain rises--may our stage unfold</i><br />
<i>Scenes not unworthy Drury's days of old!</i><br />
<i>Britons our judges, Nature for our guide,</i><br />
<i>Still may we please--long, long may you preside. </i><br />
<div>
<br /></div>
<b>From: 'Address, Spoken At The Opening Of Drury-Lane Theatre. Saturday, October 10, 1812' by George Gordon Lord Byron (1788-1824)</b><br />
<b><br /></b>
It's Epiphany - 'Feasts and Festivals' fourth birthday! Golly. I've written about Epiphnay before of course and it's a lovely reason for one last blow out - before the austerity of January and the return to work on Plough Monday. Here's the link to the previous Epiphany posts.<br />
<b><br /></b>
<b><a href="http://feastsandfestivals.blogspot.co.uk/2010/01/epiphany-or-twelfth-night.html" target="_blank">Twelfth Night</a></b><br />
<br />
<a href="http://feastsandfestivals.blogspot.co.uk/2011/01/january-6th-womens-little-christmas.html" target="_blank">Women's Little Christmas</a><br />
<br />
and Plough Monday, which this year is the same day - or should it be next week?<br />
<br />
<a href="http://feastsandfestivals.blogspot.co.uk/2010/01/11-january-plough-monday-plough-monday.html" target="_blank">Plough Monday</a><br />
<div>
<br /></div>
It’s fascinating how many customs still exist even though the original cause is lost or long forgotten. Almost above all, the theatre world has hung onto many of its traditions into the 21st century. So tonight at the Drury Lane Theatre in London, the cast of ‘Charlie and the Chocolate Factory’ will cut the ‘Baddeley Cake’ as previous theatrical companies have done since 1795. I do hope it’s a chocolate cake!<br />
<br />
Drury Lane Theatre is the fourth theatre on the same site - one of the earlier ones was designed by Sir Christopher Wren for David Garrick – I would love to have seen that, but it was demolished in 1791. I’ve known the story of Sheridan watching his theatre burn for years but I didn’t know until writing this that it was the rebuilt Drury Lane Theatre. The story goes that in 1809 an acquaintance of Sheridan sees the great man calmly sitting in a coffee house drinking his latte (or some such) whilst across the road his theatre is in flames. ‘Good God man!’ says the friend ‘How can you sit there when your livelihood is being ruined?’ Sheridan takes a sip of coffee and says ‘The world has come to a pretty pass my good friend when a man can’t sit down by his own fireside…’<br />
<br />
(Wikipedia says Sheridan was drinking wine…I must have been told the teetotal version).<br />
<br />
The quote above is Byron at the opening of the replacement of Sheridan's theatre. I have to say it feels as though Byron was being paid by the couplet. Definitely not one of his best!<br />
<br />
The Baddeley Cake ceremony comes about through the generosity of an actor called Richard Baddeley. In his Will of 23rd April 1792 he stated:<br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>"I HEREBY DIRECT that the sum of One hundred pounds Stock in three per cent Consolidated Bank Annuities may be purchased immediately after my decease... to produce as nearly as possible the Annual Sum of Three Pounds which... I DIRECT shall be applied and expended in the purchase of a Twelfth Cake or Cakes and Wine and Punch or both of them which... it is my request the Ladies and Gentlemen performers of Drury lane Theatre... will do me the favour to accept on Twelfth Night in every year in the Green Room..."</i><br />
<br />
Baddeley was a jobbing actor in Garrick’s and Sheridan’s company and he is much more remembered dead than alive. Here he is playing the character of Moses in Sheridan’s ‘School for Scandal’. He was playing Moses the night he died – virtually on the stage of the theatre. He looks very jolly - as if he would like a good cake.<br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3h8cSl6nrnz93bt8dG9JgYdH9WpSn-ucu4PVzqWKbHSa5OQX1n7Q0exTdiUso_SDXJkWVFLWS2K8LlEZTXZIFPxBKmdsXSI4ba5DGfLQzzypVomvFdGgqeaqq0LvU7hLuy2oj5MteF98/s1600/rb_as_moses.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3h8cSl6nrnz93bt8dG9JgYdH9WpSn-ucu4PVzqWKbHSa5OQX1n7Q0exTdiUso_SDXJkWVFLWS2K8LlEZTXZIFPxBKmdsXSI4ba5DGfLQzzypVomvFdGgqeaqq0LvU7hLuy2oj5MteF98/s400/rb_as_moses.jpg" width="313" /></a></div>
<br />
Incidentally Drury Lane is the most haunted of theatres. The most famous ghost is the 'Man in Grey', who appears dressed as a nobleman of the late 18th century. He is apparently the ghost of a man whose remains were found walled up in the theatre in 1848. He had been stabbed. I"m surprised Baddeley isn't one of the Drury Lane ghosts. Anyway tonight he will be there in spirit to see the cast eat his cake and toast his generosity. For the last forty years or so the Baddeleley cake has been designed to tie in with the production. Here is the one that was made when 'Oliver' was showing.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPvoF_CKFma5FcU-1TzX_WeNRLBtbsqYr9g_EguIp8-bwAYEkvgyrFu_P2TvOGJHbZj7qo1kAh73pRKUsG13laYQKJFcxqzlVcb7ZcZq1jVPjE1EHWhTJp6Ais_LoQ79MZafb9isnVN1o/s1600/oliver_2010.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="317" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPvoF_CKFma5FcU-1TzX_WeNRLBtbsqYr9g_EguIp8-bwAYEkvgyrFu_P2TvOGJHbZj7qo1kAh73pRKUsG13laYQKJFcxqzlVcb7ZcZq1jVPjE1EHWhTJp6Ais_LoQ79MZafb9isnVN1o/s400/oliver_2010.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<span style="font-size: xx-small;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: xx-small;">(Photos from the Drury Lane theatre website) </span><br />
<br />
I don’t think my decorating skills are up to that, but I have made a chocolate cake, which was really a pudding rather than a delicate afternoon tea confection.<br />
<br />
This looked so impressive but was actually really easy! I made it at my Mum's with my niece Millie doing the decorations.<br />
<br />
Make a chocolate cake in an 8" cake tin. I used 6 eggs, 12 ounces of everything else - soft butter, sugar and SR flour. I took out 2 oz of the flour and replaced it with cocoa powder and added ½tsp baking powder and tsp instant coffee which I dissolved in the eggs before adding them. Do not over mix. Bake for an hour at 170c.<br />
<br />
Cool and cover with ganache - 200ml of double cream and 200g dark chocolate, melted together, whisked until thick and then cooled. Cover the cake; thinly on the top and thickly on the sides.<br />
<br />
Buy the best profiteroles you can and mound them up on the top. Mr Marks and Mrs Spencer do a ready made pyramid, so that's what I used. Add a few more decoration, stars, glitter and silver balls.<br />
<br />
Process onto the dining room amid loud oohs and aahs! Serve with cream.<br />
<br />
I couldn't resist giving you the whole of this poem. Nothing changes does it!!<br />
<br />
<i>If a daughter you have, she's the plague of your life,</i><br />
<i>No peace shall you know, tho' you've buried your wife,</i><br />
<i>At twenty she mocks at the duty you taught her,</i><br />
<i>O, what a plague is an obstinate daughter.</i><br />
<i>Sighing and whining,</i><br />
<i>Dying and pining,</i><br />
<i>O, what a plague is an obstinate daughter!</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>When scarce in their teens, they have wit to perplex us,</i><br />
<i>With letters and lovers for ever they vex us,</i><br />
<i>While each still rejects the fair suitor you've brought her,</i><br />
<i>O, what a plague is an obstinate daughter.</i><br />
<i>Wrangling and jangling,</i><br />
<i>Flouting and pouting,</i><br />
<i>O, what a plague is an obstinate daughter! </i><br />
<br />
<br />
<b>'If a Daughter You Have' by Richard Brinsley Sheridan (1751-1816)</b><br />
<div>
<br /></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09045660787350825648noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6559862206054673677.post-61380387954185108112013-12-27T15:21:00.000+00:002013-12-29T09:09:30.816+00:00 Holy Innocents Day or 'Childermas'<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQ313XmdgqpDvgdZ2bH18lOdVM5st6RmrbDABhbDXyI_2802v5L_NmM3TMIDy7Y3iV94YOXdSF1JI2BQrB3ghmyvKpmU12GA-KX3Eko6gbk0ggrtDFz1XpFS2rf4cGKySFBUc8iQLZnQY/s1600/IMG_1146.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQ313XmdgqpDvgdZ2bH18lOdVM5st6RmrbDABhbDXyI_2802v5L_NmM3TMIDy7Y3iV94YOXdSF1JI2BQrB3ghmyvKpmU12GA-KX3Eko6gbk0ggrtDFz1XpFS2rf4cGKySFBUc8iQLZnQY/s400/IMG_1146.jpg" width="300" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Cambria; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Lully, lullay, Thou little tiny Child,<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Cambria; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Bye, bye, lully, lullay.<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Cambria; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Lullay, thou little tiny Child,<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Cambria; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Bye, bye, lully, lullay.<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Cambria; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">O sisters too, how may we do,<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Cambria; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">For to preserve this day<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Cambria; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">This poor youngling for whom we do sing<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Cambria; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Bye, bye, lully, lullay.<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Cambria; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Words from ‘The Coventry Carol’. Part of the women’s chorus from
the 14th Century Coventry Mystery Play.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Cambria; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">I'm sure you don't need me to
tell you how hard the life of a mediaeval peasant was. The festivals of the
church must have been a welcome relief from grinding toil, even if it meant
spending a lot of time on your knees in prayer. The Twelve Days of Christmas
were the longest period in the year when work was reduced in favour of worship
and it’s no coincidence that they coincide with a low time in the agricultural
calendar. The clergy however were still working hard. The vicars, deacons,
choir boys, servers and vergers worked through the Holy Offices, every day of
the Christmas season and eventually they too were entitled to a little time to
let their hair down. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Cambria; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">On the days immediately following
Christmas Day the clergy held their own private feasts. These culminated on
Holy Innocents’ Day or ‘Childermas’, which is when the boys and men of the
church choir traditionally ate their festive meal. The date of Childermas
depends on which Christian Tradition you follow, but it can be the 27th 28th or
29th December and in the cathedrals of the western tradition it was sometimes marked
by the appointment of a Boy Bishop. The Feast of the Circumcision on 1 January was
a similarly celebrated with a Feast of Fools. It’s all part of the topsy turvey
nature of the time of year. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As we
have seen before the Church adopted pre-Christian practices and gave them a
religious aspect in order to sanitise them. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Cambria; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><o:p><br /></o:p></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsfl6eWJAnOSVu2awS5H5UzxbCCxj44DodTArZGStRHjifbC8EgNlHdc5p-ybKgWJEUM5-rcU7iK2WofI5zhKvVikWr5-GjHJ949QHiyX5eoh9nT_SSQf64I7NG5jv1lcBBPvLhjYsnis/s1600/20090710_pieter_brueghel.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="456" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsfl6eWJAnOSVu2awS5H5UzxbCCxj44DodTArZGStRHjifbC8EgNlHdc5p-ybKgWJEUM5-rcU7iK2WofI5zhKvVikWr5-GjHJ949QHiyX5eoh9nT_SSQf64I7NG5jv1lcBBPvLhjYsnis/s640/20090710_pieter_brueghel.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Cambria; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><o:p><br /></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Cambria; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">(The Massacre of the Innocents by Peter Breughel the Younger) </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Cambria; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Cambria; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">The election of the Boy Bishop
varied from cathedral to cathedral. In some, the boys themselves elected their
bishop but in others, especially as time went on, the bishop was elected by the
clergy. A boy from the choir would be dressed in cope and mitre and carrying a
bishop's crook he would be ‘ordained’ in a mock ceremony.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Cambria; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5r1f8NIseeX7fPzM59D98AO2a-4vMl7LF0R09a-J5UIETmLesr9KW0_OytGuxDG2bYqDgYXktYsoErLw0L-mmjTTidmgxvn5Al6IH_FuNGG8-Mx09oU_YSnP0tN2XueYp2PoJZn1EE60/s1600/Salisbury+Cathedral+Boy+Bishop+C13+or+Richard+Poore+Bishop+1228+small+374.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="264" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5r1f8NIseeX7fPzM59D98AO2a-4vMl7LF0R09a-J5UIETmLesr9KW0_OytGuxDG2bYqDgYXktYsoErLw0L-mmjTTidmgxvn5Al6IH_FuNGG8-Mx09oU_YSnP0tN2XueYp2PoJZn1EE60/s640/Salisbury+Cathedral+Boy+Bishop+C13+or+Richard+Poore+Bishop+1228+small+374.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Cambria; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Cambria; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><o:p><span style="font-size: x-small;"> (13th century tomb of a Boy Bishop in Salisbury Cathedral.)</span></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Cambria; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><o:p><br /></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Cambria; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">The ceremonies attracted the
peasantry to church so they might glimpse the boys but also to see the clergy who
were displaced and required to sit in the back pews. After the service the choir
boys would have their Christmas feast.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Cambria; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">At York the Boy Bishop and his
fellow choirboys toured the diocese, visiting monasteries and houses of the
nobility where they were given money and presents. In most cathedrals the Boy
Bishop preached a sermon and three of these sermons survive, including one
preached at Gloucester. The theme of this sermon was how wicked boys were, even
the boys in the choir school. The ‘Bishop’s’ conclusion was that parents and schoolmasters
were to blame!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Cambria; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Cambria;">The tradition of the Boy Bishop lasted in Britain until the late 1500s and rather longer on the continent. It is still revived from time to time.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Cambria; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">I’ve made a ginger syllabub. It felt
right. The recipe comes from an old copy of ‘Homes and Garden’s but other than
that I can’t attribute it.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Cambria; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Ginger Syllabub<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Cambria; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">284 carton double cream<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Cambria; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">100ml ginger wine<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Cambria; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">60g golden caster sugar<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Cambria; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">2 pieces stem (crystallized)
ginger finely chopped + 2 tbs syrup from the jar<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Cambria; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">100g gingernut biscuits<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Cambria; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Whip the cream with the sugar and
wine until stiff then stir in the ginger syrup.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Cambria; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Put the biscuits in a plastic bag
and crush until they are coarse crumbs. (A food processor risks making them too
fine for my taste)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Cambria; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Layer the cream and crumbs in
four glasses and decorate with the chopped ginger. Chill for a couple of hours
before serving. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Cambria; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Herod, the king, in his raging,<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Cambria; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Charged he hath this day<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Cambria; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">His men of might, in his owne sight,<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Cambria; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">All young children to slay.<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Cambria; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">That woe is me, poor Child for Thee!<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Cambria; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">And ever mourn and sigh,<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Cambria; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">For thy parting neither say nor sing,<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Cambria; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Bye, bye, lully, lullay.<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Cambria; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Ibid<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
<o:DocumentProperties>
<o:Template>Normal.dotm</o:Template>
<o:Revision>0</o:Revision>
<o:TotalTime>0</o:TotalTime>
<o:Pages>1</o:Pages>
<o:Words>537</o:Words>
<o:Characters>3061</o:Characters>
<o:Company>XYZ Co</o:Company>
<o:Lines>25</o:Lines>
<o:Paragraphs>6</o:Paragraphs>
<o:CharactersWithSpaces>3759</o:CharactersWithSpaces>
<o:Version>12.0</o:Version>
</o:DocumentProperties>
<o:OfficeDocumentSettings>
<o:AllowPNG/>
</o:OfficeDocumentSettings>
</xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
<w:WordDocument>
<w:Zoom>0</w:Zoom>
<w:TrackMoves>false</w:TrackMoves>
<w:TrackFormatting/>
<w:PunctuationKerning/>
<w:DrawingGridHorizontalSpacing>18 pt</w:DrawingGridHorizontalSpacing>
<w:DrawingGridVerticalSpacing>18 pt</w:DrawingGridVerticalSpacing>
<w:DisplayHorizontalDrawingGridEvery>0</w:DisplayHorizontalDrawingGridEvery>
<w:DisplayVerticalDrawingGridEvery>0</w:DisplayVerticalDrawingGridEvery>
<w:ValidateAgainstSchemas/>
<w:SaveIfXMLInvalid>false</w:SaveIfXMLInvalid>
<w:IgnoreMixedContent>false</w:IgnoreMixedContent>
<w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText>false</w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText>
<w:Compatibility>
<w:BreakWrappedTables/>
<w:DontGrowAutofit/>
<w:DontAutofitConstrainedTables/>
<w:DontVertAlignInTxbx/>
</w:Compatibility>
</w:WordDocument>
</xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
<w:LatentStyles DefLockedState="false" LatentStyleCount="276">
</w:LatentStyles>
</xml><![endif]-->
<!--[if gte mso 10]>
<style>
/* Style Definitions */
table.MsoNormalTable
{mso-style-name:"Table Normal";
mso-tstyle-rowband-size:0;
mso-tstyle-colband-size:0;
mso-style-noshow:yes;
mso-style-parent:"";
mso-padding-alt:0cm 5.4pt 0cm 5.4pt;
mso-para-margin:0cm;
mso-para-margin-bottom:.0001pt;
mso-pagination:widow-orphan;
font-size:12.0pt;
font-family:"Times New Roman";
mso-ascii-font-family:Cambria;
mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin;
mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman";
mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-fareast;
mso-hansi-font-family:Cambria;
mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin;
mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman";
mso-bidi-theme-font:minor-bidi;}
</style>
<![endif]-->
<!--StartFragment-->
<!--EndFragment--><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09045660787350825648noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6559862206054673677.post-27204145883561746502013-12-22T12:46:00.001+00:002013-12-22T12:54:54.998+00:00The Twelve Days of Christmas<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhc24PvMzxn1uPURdtZUPu2V0zE6fnabPMwE2ckX1CJVXuy5fW19nOYs7bVzYbD9_6jv2mG-3qCXHe5jVTM_DT4wYEg7l6x9Qk9uGeu1z0GGBqaNuU3H1fDuBGKIEKMEkgQU3Qh4Y3pYck/s1600/11229658286_ec1e59bae4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="346" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhc24PvMzxn1uPURdtZUPu2V0zE6fnabPMwE2ckX1CJVXuy5fW19nOYs7bVzYbD9_6jv2mG-3qCXHe5jVTM_DT4wYEg7l6x9Qk9uGeu1z0GGBqaNuU3H1fDuBGKIEKMEkgQU3Qh4Y3pYck/s640/11229658286_ec1e59bae4.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
<i><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px;"><br /></span></i>
<i><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px;"><br /></span></i>
<i><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px;">'One Christmas was so much like another, in those years around the sea-town corner now and out of all sound except the distant speaking of the voices I sometimes hear a moment before sleep, that I can never remember whether it snowed for six days and six nights when I was twelve or whether it snowed for twelve days and twelve nights when I was six.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px;">All the Christmases roll down toward the two-tongued sea, like a cold and headlong moon bundling down the sky that was our street; and they stop at the rim of the ice-edged fish-freezing waves, and I plunge my hands in the snow and bring out whatever I can find. In goes my hand into that wool-white bell-tongued ball of holidays resting at the rim of the carol-singing sea, and out come Mrs. Prothero and the firemen.'</span></i><br />
<br />
<br />
<b>From: A Child's Christmas in Wales' by Dylan Thomas (1914-1953)</b><br />
<br />
I thought I'd make a list of seasonal posts from the blog archive. Here they are for you to choose from.<br />
<br />
A very Happy Christmas to all.<br />
<br />
Normal service will be resumed next Sunday.<br />
<br />
You might like to know that 'Cornish Feasts and Festivals' has just won the Best Local Cuisine book for the UK in the Gourmand World Cookbook Awards 2013. They are the Oscars of food and drink books!<br />
<br />
Well I never.<br />
<br />
xxLiz<br />
<br />
<br />
<a href="http://feastsandfestivals.blogspot.co.uk/2012/12/december-23-tom-bawcocks-eve.html" target="_blank">23 December: Tom Bawcock's Eve</a><br />
<br />
<a href="http://feastsandfestivals.blogspot.co.uk/2012/12/25-december-yule.html" target="_blank">25 December: Yule</a><br />
<br />
<a href="http://feastsandfestivals.blogspot.co.uk/2010/12/december-31-wassail.html" target="_blank">31 December: Wassail!</a><br />
<br />
<a href="http://feastsandfestivals.blogspot.co.uk/2010/12/good-old-home-christmas.html" target="_blank">A Good Old Home Christmas</a><br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<i>'Always on Christmas night there was music. An uncle played the fiddle, a cousin sang "Cherry Ripe," and another uncle sang "Drake's Drum." It was very warm in the little house. Auntie Hannah, who had got on to the parsnip wine, sang a song about Bleeding Hearts and Death, and then another in which she said her heart was like a Bird's Nest; and then everybody laughed again; and then I went to bed. </i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>Looking through my bedroom window, out into the moonlight and the unending smoke-colored snow, I could see the lights in the windows of all the other houses on our hill and hear the music rising from them up the long, steady falling night. I turned the gas down, I got into bed. I said some words to the close and holy darkness, and then I slept.' </i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<b>ibid</b><br />
<div>
<br /></div>
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09045660787350825648noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6559862206054673677.post-72303088649984455882013-12-15T09:06:00.001+00:002013-12-15T09:07:55.013+00:0021 December: The Winter Solstice<div class="MsoNormal">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9iD6aiqkbg26AvuBWpAn6CoK5c0y-NXIaOGxnmjyOIIE4lTNgkejlFb7JlTTB5nquZQJel5Lxr2MenT4ZY0zQnnzBwRzyMIhhO4OyntKZfQpLaYNAL2aFDfi_NsdrjEsQozQkzrywI1Q/s1600/IMG_1102.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="572" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9iD6aiqkbg26AvuBWpAn6CoK5c0y-NXIaOGxnmjyOIIE4lTNgkejlFb7JlTTB5nquZQJel5Lxr2MenT4ZY0zQnnzBwRzyMIhhO4OyntKZfQpLaYNAL2aFDfi_NsdrjEsQozQkzrywI1Q/s640/IMG_1102.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
<i>Winter solitude--</i><br />
<i>in a world of one colour</i><br />
<i>the sound of wind.</i><br />
<br />
<b>'Winter Solitude' by Matsuo Basho (1644-1694)</b><br />
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">It’s the winter
solstice. We are on the upward curve again and the light strengthens. What a
relief that must have been to our ancestors. It’s hard to imagine now a world
where the only artificial light was a tiny floating wick in a little dish of
oil.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>All activity would have to be
crammed into the few short hours of daylight and the nights would be very, very
long. Time to tell stories, play games, sleep and make love.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Maybe too, time to come together to
feast and celebrate.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><br /></span><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">The winter solstice means 'Montol' in Penzance, so I'll be masked up and following the river of fire up to the iron age fort on the edge of town. On top there will be a huge lit brazier and we'll all watch as the guizers dance and the sparks light up the night sky. Here's the earlier post about it.</span><br />
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><br /></span>
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><a href="http://feastsandfestivals.blogspot.co.uk/2012/12/21-december-montol.html" target="_blank">http://feastsandfestivals.blogspot.co.uk/2012/12/21-december-montol.html</a></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Years ago I went to
New Grange in Ireland – properly called </span><span lang="EN-US" style="color: #262626; mso-bidi-font-family: "Lucida Sans"; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;">Brú na Bóinne</span><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s an amazing construction, a low,
stone mound, full of ancient passages and chambers, older than Stonehenge,
older even than the pyramids. The main entrance faces the midwinter solstice.
For a few days around the solstice, the rising sun shines through an open box
above the door and a ray of sunlight penetrates deep into the mound. It’s hard
to escape the symbolism of light into dark, sky into earth and day into night.
It’s about rebirth, renewal and the sun keeping its promise that summer will
come again.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3HHapY5EVAzoV7q58kHg3aQdMgi3-xtN3t8dcdd18voxIQVC9uuokpfQoc41KVvoqct6KaoCiFYh8EPYpuoI7NLp-Djb0x29tJKKIin4zR6g_f9wXwipODGYu9_iqyjt1wsaAM2G-ww4/s1600/Media,33742,en.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="326" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3HHapY5EVAzoV7q58kHg3aQdMgi3-xtN3t8dcdd18voxIQVC9uuokpfQoc41KVvoqct6KaoCiFYh8EPYpuoI7NLp-Djb0x29tJKKIin4zR6g_f9wXwipODGYu9_iqyjt1wsaAM2G-ww4/s640/Media,33742,en.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
<br />
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Solstice means ‘sun
standing still’ and in fact without modern calculators it is impossible to
know the exact moment the sun hits its low point. The builders of </span><span lang="EN-US" style="color: #262626; mso-bidi-font-family: "Lucida Sans"; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;">Brú na Bóinne</span><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"> angled their
entrance so that the sun hit the light box for several days either side of the
solstice. Just as an aside, it's only by the 25th December that you can tell the sun is rising again. Uncanny that.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">We know that the
building was used for burials and the internment of previously cremated
remains, but what happened there at midwinter we don’t know and it’s tempting
to see it with modern eyes. You can imagine the scene – an ancient druid prepares
to sacrifice some poor maiden on the altar, a dashing hero comes along and
rescues her, consternation amongst the people watching, thunderclaps and a
miraculous escape. All very ‘B movie’.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">But people must have gathered
there to see the miracle of the penetrating sun, otherwise why design the mound
so? We know that bodies or bones were interred inside, so surely there must
have been a ceremonial element. And when people come together at a time of year
when there isn’t much work to be done – what do they do? They feast. It’s
important to remember too, that these were people like us, indeed they were us,
not some other species and certainly not primitive. They were as intelligent as
we are, although they knew and believed different things. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-nnF79DNuCAnFE7dDK4NvydUevD2i2FbcubPbtvY4DVBsAy0sx7deS6FZXsdG75nsdMpXN_ZYpNkpW5PM9LbVf5gSOjg2ezZZiRBKZB22sefCqPkuYwrx2IZIxBr3B35gKQUy97pgvj0/s1600/'Indian_Woman_in_a_Winter_Landscape',_oil_paintings_by_Cornelius_Krieghoff.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-nnF79DNuCAnFE7dDK4NvydUevD2i2FbcubPbtvY4DVBsAy0sx7deS6FZXsdG75nsdMpXN_ZYpNkpW5PM9LbVf5gSOjg2ezZZiRBKZB22sefCqPkuYwrx2IZIxBr3B35gKQUy97pgvj0/s400/'Indian_Woman_in_a_Winter_Landscape',_oil_paintings_by_Cornelius_Krieghoff.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><br /></span>
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">This is Cornelius Krieghoff's nineteenth century painting of an Indian woman. I think it's lovely and it gives us some idea of what it must be like to live in the winter landscape as opposed to just looking at it.</span><br />
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">We couldn’t survive if
a time machine catapulted us back to 3000BC. The people of </span><span lang="EN-US" style="color: #262626; mso-bidi-font-family: "Lucida Sans"; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;">Brú na Bóinne</span><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"> and
Stonehenge and Maeshowe could and did survive, otherwise we wouldn’t be here.
Somehow I always feel their presence over my shoulder at the solstice. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><b>A Venison and Chestnut Casserole</b><o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><br /></span>
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">I can't often get venison, so it makes sense to stretch it as far as possible when I can. You can add a chunked and roasted aubergine to this (I did) if you want it to go even further. Best make this on the day before you want to eat it.</span><br />
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><br /></span>
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">500g shoulder of venison</span><br />
1 largish onion<br />
oil or dripping<br />
2 cloves garlic<br />
1 tsp dried thyme<br />
1 bay leaf<br />
1 strip orange peel<br />
About 600ml of liquid, I used a mixture of beer and beef consommé. You might need a bit more.<br />
200g vacuum packed cooked chestnuts.<br />
S and P<br />
Flour.<br />
<br />
Finely slice the onion and cook it on a low heat until it is really soft and golden. Add the crushed garlic after about 10 minutes.<br />
<br />
Remove the onion from the pan and set aside. Dredge the venison in flour and fry in batches on a high heat until golden brown on the outside. You'll need more oil, but don't worry for your arteries, the venison is very lean.<br />
<br />
Remove the meat and deglaze the pan with the beer, or wine or just the stock. Return the meat and onions to the pan, add the flavouring ingredients and enough liquid to cover. Cook for 2 hours at 140c. Taste and check the seasoning. The next day heat the casserole to a steady simmer and give it another hour at the same temp.<br />
<br />
I made little chiffonade of baby chard leaves. They added a bright acidic note.<br />
<br />
We had this with tatties and neeps. (My autospeller rendered that as tattoos and jeeps!)<br />
<br />
Very sustaining.<br />
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>Wind high and cold, the sun low, short in its course, the sea running high.</i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>Deep red the bracken, its shape is lost; the wild goose has raised its accustomed cry.</i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>Cold has seized the wings of the birds, season of ice. </i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>This is my news.</i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>Anonymous. Irish. 9th Century.</b></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
<o:DocumentProperties>
<o:Template>Normal.dotm</o:Template>
<o:Revision>0</o:Revision>
<o:TotalTime>0</o:TotalTime>
<o:Pages>1</o:Pages>
<o:Words>404</o:Words>
<o:Characters>2304</o:Characters>
<o:Company>XYZ Co</o:Company>
<o:Lines>19</o:Lines>
<o:Paragraphs>4</o:Paragraphs>
<o:CharactersWithSpaces>2829</o:CharactersWithSpaces>
<o:Version>12.0</o:Version>
</o:DocumentProperties>
<o:OfficeDocumentSettings>
<o:AllowPNG/>
</o:OfficeDocumentSettings>
</xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
<w:WordDocument>
<w:Zoom>0</w:Zoom>
<w:TrackMoves>false</w:TrackMoves>
<w:TrackFormatting/>
<w:PunctuationKerning/>
<w:DrawingGridHorizontalSpacing>18 pt</w:DrawingGridHorizontalSpacing>
<w:DrawingGridVerticalSpacing>18 pt</w:DrawingGridVerticalSpacing>
<w:DisplayHorizontalDrawingGridEvery>0</w:DisplayHorizontalDrawingGridEvery>
<w:DisplayVerticalDrawingGridEvery>0</w:DisplayVerticalDrawingGridEvery>
<w:ValidateAgainstSchemas/>
<w:SaveIfXMLInvalid>false</w:SaveIfXMLInvalid>
<w:IgnoreMixedContent>false</w:IgnoreMixedContent>
<w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText>false</w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText>
<w:Compatibility>
<w:BreakWrappedTables/>
<w:DontGrowAutofit/>
<w:DontAutofitConstrainedTables/>
<w:DontVertAlignInTxbx/>
</w:Compatibility>
</w:WordDocument>
</xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
<w:LatentStyles DefLockedState="false" LatentStyleCount="276">
</w:LatentStyles>
</xml><![endif]-->
<!--[if gte mso 10]>
<style>
/* Style Definitions */
table.MsoNormalTable
{mso-style-name:"Table Normal";
mso-tstyle-rowband-size:0;
mso-tstyle-colband-size:0;
mso-style-noshow:yes;
mso-style-parent:"";
mso-padding-alt:0cm 5.4pt 0cm 5.4pt;
mso-para-margin-top:0cm;
mso-para-margin-right:0cm;
mso-para-margin-bottom:10.0pt;
mso-para-margin-left:0cm;
mso-pagination:widow-orphan;
font-size:12.0pt;
font-family:"Times New Roman";
mso-ascii-font-family:Cambria;
mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin;
mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman";
mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-fareast;
mso-hansi-font-family:Cambria;
mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin;}
</style>
<![endif]-->
<!--StartFragment-->
<!--EndFragment--><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09045660787350825648noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6559862206054673677.post-6831476924204585672013-12-08T10:10:00.001+00:002013-12-08T10:10:04.793+00:0013 December: St Lucy<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9PNM0MRfXEkBfjc-nQKGJ0YmyRCqioGOhYK2PY0IssQmuszrOMTwpoYDd7erS_gKfLcmGNnBOs6yvhBlNyOPZsBN-K5XCPavaQD6a4CqfQJmaTF93EjqIfQfwavzUQweLqf_pxNME72I/s1600/IMG_1070.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9PNM0MRfXEkBfjc-nQKGJ0YmyRCqioGOhYK2PY0IssQmuszrOMTwpoYDd7erS_gKfLcmGNnBOs6yvhBlNyOPZsBN-K5XCPavaQD6a4CqfQJmaTF93EjqIfQfwavzUQweLqf_pxNME72I/s640/IMG_1070.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
<br />
<i>Sul mare luccica l'astro d'argento.</i><br />
<i>Placida e l'onda, prospero il vento.</i><br />
<i>Venite all'agile barchetta mia!</i><br />
<i>Santa Lucia! Santa Lucia!</i><br />
<br />
<b>(Traditional Neapolitan Song)</b><br />
<br />
<br />
It's St Lucy's day this week and I've celebrated her before. You can see that post here:<br />
<br />
<a href="http://feastsandfestivals.blogspot.co.uk/2010/12/13-december-sankta-lucia-and-saffron.html" target="_blank">http://feastsandfestivals.blogspot.co.uk/2010/12/13-december-sankta-lucia-and-saffron.html</a><br />
<br />
But l thought l'd give St Lucy another outing. Partly because l've always wanted to have a go at making the Scandinavian type dough which sometimes appears as Danish pastries and sometimes as other delicious tea breads and rings. Also I'm a bit of a cardamon freak. It's interesting isn't it how since the middle ages when spices travelled the world to flavour our food, different regions have taken particular spices to their heart and made them a significant part of their cuisine?<br />
<br />
I don't want to make too much of this, but you get cardamon in Scandinavia in the same way as you get nutmeg in Britain or ginger in Germany. Cardamon is the most subtle and grown up of spices. I also in a very weird way, (humour me for a moment) think spices have a personality and a gender. Cardamon is definitely female, a slightly weary, mature and beautiful woman. Like the Marshallin in Die Rosenkavalier, or someone played by Vanessa Redgrave. Cinnamon, which I love, is a young and male, delicious but overpowering - add your own image. And ginger? Ginger is George Clooney.<br />
<br />
Right! Enough of that.<br />
<br />
St Lucy, Lux, Luca, Lucia. It's all to do with light at a dark time of the year isn't it? As John Donne says, it's the year's midnight (well it was before the eighteenth century calendar reform), time to turn the lights on. St Lucy was on of the early virgin martyrs, she was from Syracuse and she was executed for her faith in 304 AD under the orders of the Roman Emperor Diocletian. The veneration of virginity in the early church has had significant ramifications through the ages. Numerous legends tell of young Christian women undergoing horrific tortures to maintain their virtue for their faith and for Christ. St Lucy had her eyes gouged out. Eyes? Light? Of course.<br />
<br />
Anyway by the sixth century St Lucy was widely known and worshipped. Our old friend the Venerable Bede mentions her popularity and her festival was kept in England as a holy day of the second rank, in which no work was allowed which might interfere with worship. There are lots of paintings of her, but as most of them have her offering her eyes up on a tray, you're getting this one instead, it's slightly less gruesome. Nice frock too.<br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5k7zDwISrLj-umI_VL1ydFRjlPDFngS8NKr1_TOekpKmw6Qa1Wrh1uaqVTCgEajoKkDI25CacRNnGCopRSkCDyrKZjuoyw-kiJ_wO1FNaFADaqnmnHaf7WZ_UgNddefpa2qIqBpNjCt4/s1600/DelCossa_SantaLucia.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5k7zDwISrLj-umI_VL1ydFRjlPDFngS8NKr1_TOekpKmw6Qa1Wrh1uaqVTCgEajoKkDI25CacRNnGCopRSkCDyrKZjuoyw-kiJ_wO1FNaFADaqnmnHaf7WZ_UgNddefpa2qIqBpNjCt4/s640/DelCossa_SantaLucia.jpg" width="470" /></a></div>
<br />
<span style="font-size: xx-small;">(Francesco del Cossa 1430-1477)</span><br />
<span style="font-size: xx-small;"><br /></span>
As the earlier post mentions, St Lucy is still a popular saint in Scandinavia where the religious aspects of the day have become a cultural event. That's fascinating given that it was probably made a holy day because the pre-Christian pagan practices. Plus ça change.<br />
<br />
So here's the tea ring I made. It's a traditional recipe, but my version owes something to The Hairy Bikers European Baking Book. It sounds much more complicated than it is.<br />
<br />
Make a sweet dough with 175ml milk, 1 egg, 65g butter, 1 sachet fast action yeast, 30g sugar, 375 plain flour, ½ tsp salt and 1 tsp freshly ground cardamon. It will be sticky but keep kneading. I always use a dough hook for sweet dough - less sticky hands. Leave to rise until double in size.<br />
<br />
Make a filling by mixing together 100g very soft butter, 100g granulated sugar, 2 tsp cinnamon, 100g candied peel, cut small, 50g ground almonds and 50g glace cherries chopped in half. You'll need 50 g flaked almonds too but see the method.<br />
<br />
Knock back the dough and roll out to a rectangle 25x40cm and spread the filling on it, sprinkle on the flaked almonds. Go right to the edges on the long side, but leave a margin on the short side. Roll up into a tight sausage from the short side. Curve the dough round and stick the ends together to make a circle - use some beaten egg if it helps.<br />
<br />
Now cut the circle with kitchen scissors right round but not through, tease the sections apart slightly and leave to rise for another 40 minutes. Glaze with beaten egg and bake at 190c for about 30 minutes. It should be golden brown. Leave to cool.<br />
<br />
Make some glade icing with about 100g of icing sugar and 3 tablespoons of milk. It should dribble in a continuous stream but not lose its shape on contact with the bread. Cover with cherries, chopped nuts, glitter, crystallised fruit - whatever. Have fun.<br />
<br />
I made two of these and I wasn't sure about how to keep the ring together, so I baked one in a large spring form tin and one on a baking tray. The one in the tin took longer to cook and the centre filled itself in. The one on the tray wasn't really a circle, but actually it didn't matter. It was delicious and the filling meant it kept really well. I took it to a Christmas drinks party yesterday and it went in a flash.<br />
<br />
<i>Since she enjoys her long night's festival,</i><br />
<i>Let me prepare towards her, and let me call</i><br />
<i>This hour her vigil, and her eve, since this</i><br />
<i>Both the year's, and the day's deep midnight is. </i><br />
<br />
<b>From 'A Nocturnal upon St Lucy's Day, being the shortest day' </b><br />
<b>John Donne (1572-1631)</b><br />
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09045660787350825648noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6559862206054673677.post-47411944392435150712013-12-01T08:40:00.002+00:002013-12-01T08:40:28.628+00:00The St. Andrew's Day Service in Edinburgh.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5vDT3WmlZwFqeX3gn3714ESCZuWbPcWffJ2PYUJzFEFwUv_R9DfWZSdZybjxOmUmUXi1sMqA7MSeEgnWiX5H3Hk-OXY5oAQ6SlEsbvBRxE3jJEING6tM5GQ9nTZCJtketpwXXoo_SRMU/s1600/photo.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5vDT3WmlZwFqeX3gn3714ESCZuWbPcWffJ2PYUJzFEFwUv_R9DfWZSdZybjxOmUmUXi1sMqA7MSeEgnWiX5H3Hk-OXY5oAQ6SlEsbvBRxE3jJEING6tM5GQ9nTZCJtketpwXXoo_SRMU/s640/photo.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
<div style="font-family: Helvetica;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="font-family: Helvetica;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><br /></span></div>
<br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: x-small;"><i>Above the Crags that fade and gloom</i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: x-small;"><i>Starts the bare knee of Arthur's Seat;</i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: x-small;"><i>Ridged high against the evening bloom,</i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: x-small;"><i>The Old Town rises, street on street;</i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: x-small;"><i>With lamps bejewelled, straight ahead,</i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: x-small;"><i>Like rampired walls the houses lean,</i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: x-small;"><i>All spired and domed and turreted,</i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: x-small;"><i>Sheer to the valley's darkling green;</i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: x-small;"><i>Ranged in mysterious disarray,</i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: x-small;"><i>The Castle, menacing and austere,</i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: x-small;"><i>Looms through the lingering last of day;</i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: x-small;"><i>And in the silver dusk you hear,</i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: x-small;"><i>Reverberated from crag and scar,</i></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: x-small;"><i>Bold bugles blowing points of war.</i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana;"><br /></span>
<b><span style="font-family: Verdana;">'From a Window in Princes Street - to M.M.M'B' </span><span style="font-family: Helvetica;">by William Ernest Henley (1849-1903)</span></b><br />
<div style="font-family: Helvetica;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="font-family: Helvetica;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">I love Edinburgh, it's my favourite city. Yes, of course I love Paris, Milan, Adelaide and New York, but Edinburgh is a capital city on a human scale. You can walk right across it in an afternoon, catching glimpses of the shining sea and the ancient mountain in the centre of the city. I love the mix of architectural styles, the dark closes and the elegant squares. I love the Waters of Leith, the charity shops in Stockbridge, the ever-so-slightly scruffy streets round the university, the fabulous galleries and museums, the narrow pubs and the upmarket stores of New Town.</span></div>
<div style="font-family: Helvetica; min-height: 13px;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span><br /></div>
<div style="font-family: Helvetica;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">But it's more than that. In some profound way the city speaks to me. It stirs some deep atavistic memory, as if once long ago in some former life I scrubbed steps there or sold vegetables or gutted fish or maybe even tripped along on the cobbles in my pattens behind some grand mistress. I am always at home in Scotland's first city and l've never lived in it. </span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div style="font-family: Helvetica; min-height: 13px;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span><br /></div>
<div style="font-family: Helvetica;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">About eight or nine years ago l found myself there for a weekend in December. I had a wonderful time, it was my first visit for years and l had fun reminding myself of how beautiful it was. On the Saturday morning l fortified myself with a bowl of porridge laced with a wee dram in the best Farmers' Market I've ever been to. On the Sunday I thought I'd go to St Giles Cathedral for morning service, just to listen to the singing.</span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpbVFDs_alDux8c1GXoa5kMCUcCX_vT6b63B4r9veyLOKMAwNxFc5Y5_izL2N-RasC1uAKdPphocXvapxuxLhcK4kmxhkB0c5O1wVY2LJDWlIuWPG5y1-FzEYVzHkcxIGo8I13bMT_pBc/s1600/photo.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpbVFDs_alDux8c1GXoa5kMCUcCX_vT6b63B4r9veyLOKMAwNxFc5Y5_izL2N-RasC1uAKdPphocXvapxuxLhcK4kmxhkB0c5O1wVY2LJDWlIuWPG5y1-FzEYVzHkcxIGo8I13bMT_pBc/s640/photo.JPG" width="480" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div style="font-family: Helvetica; min-height: 13px;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span><br /></div>
<div style="font-family: Helvetica;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">I didn't know it was the Sunday of the annual St Andrew's Service. All the great and the good of the city were there. The Edinburgh Establishment turned out in force and in their best. The city worthies in their kilts and wigs and vestments, processed up the aisle with much pomp and solemnity. I sat at the back and drank it all in, then sang my heart out with the rest of the congregation. Wonderful. Maybe that's the reason I've been listening with much interest recently to the debate on the referendum to grant Scotland independence. Because I think if I didn't live here, then I'd like to live there. </span></div>
<div style="font-family: Helvetica;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="font-family: Helvetica;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">It's a literary city too and for me it gives another dimension. It's a city that Boswell and Robert Louis Stevenson would have recognised, but it's also the home of Ian Rankin, Alexander McCall Smith, Irvine Welsh. It's where Arthur Conan Doyle was born and Sherlock Holmes was conceived....</span></div>
<div style="font-family: Helvetica; min-height: 13px;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span><br /></div>
<div style="font-family: Helvetica;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">My most recent visit to Edinburgh was only about a month ago. I went up by train from Yorkshire so I could meet up with one of my oldest friends who lives not too far away. I stayed in a University room in the centre of town, much used by visiting academics. It was much more homely than being in a hotel and prevented me feeling like a tourist. Kathy and I had an elegant vegetarian lunch and talked non-stop whilst we wandered around the city and then caught our respective trains home. We sat for a while in the gardens on Princes Street and I took the lovely shot of autumn foliage and the backs of the Old Town houses. </span></div>
<div style="font-family: Helvetica;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><br /></span></div>
<br />
<div style="font-family: Helvetica;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">So I'm cooking something which is not particularly Scottish, but reminiscent of the delicious lunch we had. Good autumn fare for a hungry vegetarian. A reminder of a happy time in a beautiful place.</span></div>
<div style="font-family: Helvetica;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="font-family: Helvetica;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">The traditional accompaniment for jerusalem artichokes is hazelnuts, but I only had walnuts.</span></div>
<div style="font-family: Helvetica;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><br /></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Helvetica;"><b>Jerusalem<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"> </span>Artichoke<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"> and Walnut Bake (for 2)</span></b></span><br />
<br />
<div style="font-family: Helvetica;">
About 8 large Jerusalem artichokes (get the un-knobbly ones if you can)</div>
<div style="font-family: Helvetica;">
1 tin of tomatoes</div>
<div style="font-family: Helvetica;">
1 onion</div>
<div style="font-family: Helvetica;">
1 clove garlic</div>
<div style="font-family: Helvetica;">
olive oil</div>
<div style="font-family: Helvetica;">
a thick slice of stale bread</div>
<div style="font-family: Helvetica;">
1 oz walnuts</div>
<div style="font-family: Helvetica;">
1 oz parmesan cheese</div>
<div style="font-family: Helvetica;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-family: Helvetica;">
Boil the artichokes in their skins until just soft, but not squashy. Drop into cold water and then remove the skins. Slice thickly. Make a rich tomato sauce with the tomatoes, onion and garlic, add a splash of red wine if you have it. Put a layer of the sauce in the bottom of a gratin dish, layer over the artichokes and cover with the rest of the sauce. </div>
<div style="font-family: Helvetica;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-family: Helvetica;">
Make a gratin top with breadcrumbs, grated parmesan and crushed walnuts. Sprinkle over and bake for thirty minutes in a hot oven. </div>
<div style="font-family: Helvetica;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-family: Helvetica;">
Best with a green vegetable.</div>
<div style="font-family: Helvetica;">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-family: Helvetica;"><i>I like the English tongue fu' weel</i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica;"><i>In writin' an' in readin';</i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica;"><i>But 'tween the English an' the Scotch</i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica;"><i>There's lack o' truth an' breedin'.</i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica;"><i>It's England's meteor flag that burns</i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica;"><i>Abune oor battle plains;</i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica;"><i>Oor victories, baith by sea an' lan',</i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica;"><i>It's England aye that gains.</i></span><br />
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<b>From: 'Auld Mither Scotland' by Janet Hamilton (1795-1873)</b><br />
<b><br /></b>
<b>PS. I know St Andrew's Day was yesterday, but the service is the nearest Sunday - and I so wanted to do a post on Thanksgiving, which took last week's slot. </b><br />
<b><br /></b>
<b>Have a good week.</b><br />
<b>xLiz</b></div>
<div>
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><br /></span></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09045660787350825648noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6559862206054673677.post-58881361648802383422013-11-24T09:29:00.000+00:002013-11-24T09:29:36.597+00:0028th November: Thanksgiving <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHdnVSnRUB_AGeMU65Aeh6v6HqTWXRYh_VpISoSwnU9nQ7gAi43QOdb4MgZOCMZpRLjfTnxuyGlHWXpr2Xc_clLX1evCBzYmz9oWHVEjJ0yaKRo9goImTepEQfASgY2W5nOBW_j4Shj4Y/s1600/IMG_1003.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHdnVSnRUB_AGeMU65Aeh6v6HqTWXRYh_VpISoSwnU9nQ7gAi43QOdb4MgZOCMZpRLjfTnxuyGlHWXpr2Xc_clLX1evCBzYmz9oWHVEjJ0yaKRo9goImTepEQfASgY2W5nOBW_j4Shj4Y/s640/IMG_1003.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
<div class="Body">
<br /></div>
<div class="Body">
<i>The weary Pilgrim slumbers,</i></div>
<div class="Body">
<i>His resting-place unknown;</i></div>
<div class="Body">
<i>His hands were crossed, his lips were closed,</i></div>
<div class="Body">
<i>The dust was o'er him strown;</i></div>
<div class="Body">
<i>The drifting soil, the mouldering leaf,</i></div>
<div class="Body">
<i>Along the sod were blown;</i></div>
<div class="Body">
<i>His mound has melted into earth,</i></div>
<div class="Body">
<i>His memory lives alone.</i></div>
<div class="Body">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div class="Body">
<b>From: 'The Pilgrim's' Vision' by Oliver Wendell Holmes (1809-1894)</b></div>
<div class="Body">
<br /></div>
<div class="Body">
William Tyndale was the first man to translate the Bible into
English. He wanted ordinary men and women to be able to read the Bible for
themselves, but his view was so heretical it lead directly to his death at
the hands of the Holy Roman Empire. He was betrayed by a secret agent and
burned at the stake in Belgium in 1536. Even as he lay in prison awaiting his
death he begged the governor for his Hebrew lexicon so that he might continue
his life's work.</div>
<div class="Body">
<br /></div>
<div class="Body">
Tyndale gave his life for his self appointed cause and his impact
on the living language of English is immense. He used simple, direct
monosyllabic words so that even a plough boy (his exemplar) would be able to
read his Bible. But Tyndale was a subversive too and he knew that translation
is a subtle art. Two words stand out. The Greek word for 'church' Tyndale wrote
as 'congregation' and the word meaning 'priest', he translated as 'elder'.</div>
<div class="Body">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhV2ZJ06LM1Fu0rSJxTCRftGKrzS5O6JfY4ABJ3RydY8DimQY6XW12P8JMQBMROB1LFCAAHc_6Hs4iFgn7l0UG1ZGr4abgVM25hscbEpRa9nIlWoXcNgMajj3EhZuOmkSAJxwvbrfltVZY/s1600/114_1776034-W.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhV2ZJ06LM1Fu0rSJxTCRftGKrzS5O6JfY4ABJ3RydY8DimQY6XW12P8JMQBMROB1LFCAAHc_6Hs4iFgn7l0UG1ZGr4abgVM25hscbEpRa9nIlWoXcNgMajj3EhZuOmkSAJxwvbrfltVZY/s400/114_1776034-W.jpg" width="300" /></a></div>
<div class="Body">
<br /></div>
<div class="Body">
<br /></div>
<div class="Body">
Tyndale broke the mould. He let the genii out of the bottle. The
Church was not the clergy, it was the congregation, the leaders were not the
priests but rather the respected elders of the Church community. The word of
God could be read by anyone who was literate - and many people, especially
girls were allowed to become literate in order to do just that.</div>
<div class="Body">
<br /></div>
<div class="Body">
This simple switch of emphasis - from the clergy to the worshipper, was a written example of the revolutionary mindset that led in 1620, to the
presence of a nervous group of people waiting on the edge of a muddy creek on
the south bank of the broad Humber Estuary.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They must have looked at the choppy brown water and
anticipated the weeks ahead, crossing the Atlantic to a future that they could barely imagine. They called themselves
'Separatists' or 'Brownites' definitely not 'Pilgrims'. Separatists dissented
from the beliefs and practices of the Church of England to the point where they
wished to 'separate' from it. 'Puritans' on the other had wished to purify the
Church from within. I didn't know that before writing this.</div>
<div class="Body">
<br /></div>
<div class="Body">
The River Trent is unusual in England in that it flows north through the wide flood plain it has made over the millennia to tumble out into
the Humber Estuary at Trent Falls. The Trent valley has always been a major
route from the south to the north of England, the Great North Road runs through
it, as did the Roman Road, Ermine Street. The river itself was a major
navigation route to and from Europe, the Anglo Saxons and the Vikings invaded
via the Trent, and the Pilgrims went out that way and they came, many of them,
from the Trent Vally itself.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<div class="Body">
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwslPom8vlWLgmG8dAsjP2tAAe9eYT9hyphenhypheng8CqdViig-mT4gRrj5JLxvkfeFo9KgVRRG1L-JKm5UrCjZexjK9tWXZW1rPkOaGc9milv252iLRtTO3e1nGs2ALYFtzTxliKtSY3tNpaISoA/s1600/l.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="270" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwslPom8vlWLgmG8dAsjP2tAAe9eYT9hyphenhypheng8CqdViig-mT4gRrj5JLxvkfeFo9KgVRRG1L-JKm5UrCjZexjK9tWXZW1rPkOaGc9milv252iLRtTO3e1nGs2ALYFtzTxliKtSY3tNpaISoA/s400/l.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<div class="Body">
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="Body">
<br /></div>
<div class="Body">
It's interesting to speculate why this was the case. Maybe the
Trent valley was far enough from the centres of power to allow dissent to
flourish, but connected enough for ideas to travel. The practice of pluralism (i.e. absent clergy) in many
parishes encouraged devout believers to find a church where there was an active
incumbent and he might be more likely to be fired by evangelical zeal. It was a
legal requirement to attend Holy Communion - you were fined if you didn't and
ironically this might have encouraged those of a dissenting frame of mind to
come together. </div>
<div class="Body">
<br /></div>
<div class="Body">
Following the Mayflower expedition, more groups of parishioners
crossed the Atlantic lead by radical clergy. The Vicar of Rowley in East Yorkshire, the Reverend Ezekiel Rogers was expelled from the church for
dissent and he lead a party of parishioners to America aboard the ship 'John'
which also set sail from the Humber in 1638. </div>
<div class="Body">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXG3sOOoy1RpSTU5wuwSLncgYRjipdHp8CP4iRkO0fVp-Hif3T47Cu2mqV4UyHZOkbLpTL-meZr1M0PlvSZbTPKrpkjI0g6Q79XvvFNvg-Xdi1-c4xO21Zjr6EnhGH3zzNy1cw3dd5t-k/s1600/IMG_1010.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXG3sOOoy1RpSTU5wuwSLncgYRjipdHp8CP4iRkO0fVp-Hif3T47Cu2mqV4UyHZOkbLpTL-meZr1M0PlvSZbTPKrpkjI0g6Q79XvvFNvg-Xdi1-c4xO21Zjr6EnhGH3zzNy1cw3dd5t-k/s640/IMG_1010.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
<div class="Body">
<br /></div>
<div class="Body">
The Wampanoag tribe of what is now New England, grew a handy
vegetable they called<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><i>askutasquash.
</i>It could be stored all winter and the settlers must have rapidly seen its
enormous value as a source of nutrition through those harsh early winters. I took the photo above this week outside my local greengrocer. Recipes for fritters go back to the middle ages and there is one in the <i>'The Williamsburg Art of Cookery or Accomplish'd Gentlewoman's Companion</i>' first published in Virginia in 1742. This is a modern version.</div>
<div class="Body">
<br /></div>
<div class="Body">
<b>Pumpkin or Squash fritters with cinnamon sugar.</b></div>
<div class="Body">
<br /></div>
<div class="Body">
500g of pumpkin or butternut squash, peeled and chunked</div>
<div class="Body">
40g very soft butter</div>
<div class="Body">
30g caster sugar </div>
<div class="Body">
A good pinch of salt</div>
<div class="Body">
¼ tsp vanilla essence</div>
<div class="Body">
½ tsp cinnamon</div>
<div class="Body">
1 large egg, </div>
<div class="Body">
90-100g self-raising flour,</div>
<div class="Body">
½ tsp baking powder</div>
<div class="Body">
<br /></div>
<div class="Body">
Optional – a dessertspoonful of maple syrup or a dessertspoonful of orange flower water in the batter ( add a little more flour if you use these)</div>
<div class="Body">
<br /></div>
<div class="Body">
Rape seed or other taste-free oil for deep frying</div>
<div class="Body">
<br /></div>
<div class="Body">
To coat: 50g caster sugar and 1tsp ground cinnamon</div>
<div class="Body">
<br /></div>
<div class="Body">
Cook the pumpkin until tender, then drain and blend in a food processor, leaving to cool. You can boil it or bake it, I think having made this I’d favour the latter. It would make for a less wet batter.</div>
<div class="Body">
<br /></div>
<div class="Body">
Put the rest of ingredients except the flour, BP and oil in a food processor and blend briefly until smooth. Add the flour and baking powder and blend again briefly, you should have thick dropping batter. Do a test fritter to see if it holds together and if it breaks up add a little more flour.</div>
<div class="Body">
<br /></div>
<div class="Body">
Preheat about 8cm of oil to 160-180C in a large, thick-bottomed. I used a thermometer to check. Drop desertspoons of the mixture into the oil, a few pieces at a time, turning them as they cook with a slotted spoon and fry until crisp and golden brown.</div>
<div class="Body">
<br /></div>
<div class="Body">
Remove the fritters from the oil, drain for a few minutes on some kitchen paper and then gently toss in a bowl into which you have put the sugar and cinnamon. </div>
<div class="Body">
<br /></div>
<div class="Body">
We ate these warm with our fingers, but you could have them hot with cream and maple syrup….</div>
<div class="Body">
<br /></div>
<div class="Body">
I made these about four hours before we ate them and warmed them gently in the oven before serving – they were really good.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<div>
<i>November is my last, for Time doth haste,</i></div>
<div>
<i>We now of winters sharpness 'gins to tast.</i></div>
<div>
<i>This moneth the Sun's in Sagitarius,</i></div>
<div>
<i>So farre remote, his glances warm not us.</i></div>
</div>
<div>
<i><br /></i></div>
<div>
<b>From: 'The Four Seasons of the Year' by Ann Bradstreet (1612-1672)</b></div>
<div class="Body">
<br /></div>
<div class="Body">
<br /></div>
<div class="Body">
<br /></div>
<div class="Body">
<br /></div>
<div class="Body">
<br /></div>
<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
<o:DocumentProperties>
<o:Template>Normal.dotm</o:Template>
<o:Revision>0</o:Revision>
<o:TotalTime>0</o:TotalTime>
<o:Pages>1</o:Pages>
<o:Words>560</o:Words>
<o:Characters>3197</o:Characters>
<o:Company>XYZ Co</o:Company>
<o:Lines>26</o:Lines>
<o:Paragraphs>6</o:Paragraphs>
<o:CharactersWithSpaces>3926</o:CharactersWithSpaces>
<o:Version>12.0</o:Version>
</o:DocumentProperties>
<o:OfficeDocumentSettings>
<o:AllowPNG/>
</o:OfficeDocumentSettings>
</xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
<w:WordDocument>
<w:Zoom>0</w:Zoom>
<w:TrackMoves>false</w:TrackMoves>
<w:TrackFormatting/>
<w:PunctuationKerning/>
<w:DrawingGridHorizontalSpacing>18 pt</w:DrawingGridHorizontalSpacing>
<w:DrawingGridVerticalSpacing>18 pt</w:DrawingGridVerticalSpacing>
<w:DisplayHorizontalDrawingGridEvery>0</w:DisplayHorizontalDrawingGridEvery>
<w:DisplayVerticalDrawingGridEvery>0</w:DisplayVerticalDrawingGridEvery>
<w:ValidateAgainstSchemas/>
<w:SaveIfXMLInvalid>false</w:SaveIfXMLInvalid>
<w:IgnoreMixedContent>false</w:IgnoreMixedContent>
<w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText>false</w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText>
<w:Compatibility>
<w:BreakWrappedTables/>
<w:DontGrowAutofit/>
<w:DontAutofitConstrainedTables/>
<w:DontVertAlignInTxbx/>
</w:Compatibility>
</w:WordDocument>
</xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
<w:LatentStyles DefLockedState="false" LatentStyleCount="276">
</w:LatentStyles>
</xml><![endif]-->
<!--[if gte mso 10]>
<style>
/* Style Definitions */
table.MsoNormalTable
{mso-style-name:"Table Normal";
mso-tstyle-rowband-size:0;
mso-tstyle-colband-size:0;
mso-style-noshow:yes;
mso-style-parent:"";
mso-padding-alt:0cm 5.4pt 0cm 5.4pt;
mso-para-margin:0cm;
mso-para-margin-bottom:.0001pt;
mso-pagination:widow-orphan;
font-size:12.0pt;
font-family:"Times New Roman";
mso-ascii-font-family:Cambria;
mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin;
mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman";
mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-fareast;
mso-hansi-font-family:Cambria;
mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin;
mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman";
mso-bidi-theme-font:minor-bidi;}
</style>
<![endif]-->
<!--StartFragment-->
<!--EndFragment--><br />
<div class="Body">
<br /></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09045660787350825648noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6559862206054673677.post-19888266328095522502013-11-17T08:17:00.000+00:002013-11-18T08:23:17.684+00:0022nd November. The Centenary of the Birth of Benjamin Britten.<div class="Body">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjKkGFZZb3gw_nAlIKqzu9TkYF8FH5rOU6Lf1eBSDwlFrnNoh5t8S7w3O7-5nrxMLGxIvp22fgnDzo-TgRD6PRiZ95JkIRvE8UDQU0A_DqooQJDsZ1gd9w-YpOEoijVmGwIPSSEcRRL2k/s1600/IMG_0965.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjKkGFZZb3gw_nAlIKqzu9TkYF8FH5rOU6Lf1eBSDwlFrnNoh5t8S7w3O7-5nrxMLGxIvp22fgnDzo-TgRD6PRiZ95JkIRvE8UDQU0A_DqooQJDsZ1gd9w-YpOEoijVmGwIPSSEcRRL2k/s640/IMG_0965.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><i><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 21px;"><br /></span></i></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><i><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 21px;">Love will expire - the gay, the happy dream</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 21px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 21px;">Will turn to scorn, indiff'rence, or esteem:</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 21px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 21px;">Some favour'd pairs, in this exchange, are blest,</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 21px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 21px;">Nor sigh for raptures in a state of rest;</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 21px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 21px;">Others, ill match'd, with minds unpair'd, repent</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 21px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 21px;">At once the deed, and know no more content...</span></i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><i><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 21px;"><br /></span></i></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 21px;"><b>From Tale IV of 'The Borough' by George Crabbe (1754-1832)</b></span></span></div>
<div class="Body">
<br /></div>
<div class="Body">
I once spent a summer living and working in Oxford. I had a
boyfriend there and I shared a rackety Victorian house with him and some of his
colleagues, most of whom worked for the student branch of Oxfam. I can't remember
now who we were visiting, but we went for tea in some upstairs rooms in the
centre of the city. I was attracted to the view from the window, which looked
over Christ Church College. There was a lodge in the grounds and in the garden
an old man was pottering around the roses. Our host said "That's Auden.
Back from America. Christ Church have given him a house." Auden! The most
famous and celebrated poet of his generation. And I saw him in his shirtsleeves
shuffling around his back yard. Here he is looking louche.<br />
<br /></div>
<div class="Body">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRITlNp4Cik5mYD26tgqixrZg5_Zs7FK8QbW4KsN6T5HWOU0AgudGo4NX6co9Ipbg2uXVVsauBsO-_7ApGqlgBDyORipTVH_wq3Dd5SdF-3g1o_4Y8J43etgRCnjoqe3jK5QClYsHWPHk/s1600/20070926100145.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="482" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRITlNp4Cik5mYD26tgqixrZg5_Zs7FK8QbW4KsN6T5HWOU0AgudGo4NX6co9Ipbg2uXVVsauBsO-_7ApGqlgBDyORipTVH_wq3Dd5SdF-3g1o_4Y8J43etgRCnjoqe3jK5QClYsHWPHk/s640/20070926100145.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<span style="font-size: xx-small;">(Britannica Image Quest)</span><br />
<span style="font-size: xx-small;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="Body">
Between 1940 and 1941 Auden shared a similarly disorganised house
in Brooklyn Heights with Benjamin Britten and Peter Pears. The other residents
were Carson MacCullers, George Davies the former literary editor of Harper's
Bazaar and Chester Kallman, the young poet who was Auden<span style="font-family: "Arial Unicode MS"; mso-ascii-font-family: Helvetica;">’</span>s lover. This amazing m<span style="font-family: "Arial Unicode MS"; mso-ascii-font-family: Helvetica;">é</span>nage
was completed by Gypsy Rose Lee (!) and other temporary residents who included Louis Macneice, the children of Thomas Mann, (one of whom Erika, was
legally Auden's wife) plus numerous other artistic and literary types. </div>
<div class="Body">
<br /></div>
<div class="Body">
It was an extraordinary time and for the rather conventional Britten something of an eyeopener. The dives of the Brooklyn waterfront
were a regular haunt for some of the residents and not infrequently, bewildered
sailors found themselves breakfasting with a famous burlesque artist and some of
the twentieth century's most innovative and creative individuals.</div>
<div class="Body">
<br /></div>
<div class="Body">
It was all a long way from Lowestoft. <br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh42cm0ckRv3AqgW-z0oWTT_Xfg1jaAaJhBEr82L_EcmX_MqbQ-X-9M_GNFSO-g2bNJrEJOiKM3FtWu4dG96OXssch0kuZQ_eP9A8eGurbKA-6nDXdctoMTOfOCI6XrkqFwcM454liF6KM/s1600/115_2814619-W.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="420" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh42cm0ckRv3AqgW-z0oWTT_Xfg1jaAaJhBEr82L_EcmX_MqbQ-X-9M_GNFSO-g2bNJrEJOiKM3FtWu4dG96OXssch0kuZQ_eP9A8eGurbKA-6nDXdctoMTOfOCI6XrkqFwcM454liF6KM/s640/115_2814619-W.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
<br /></div>
<div class="Body">
<span style="font-size: xx-small;">(Britten in a boat off the Aldeburgh coast. Britannica Image Quest)</span><br />
<span style="font-size: xx-small;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="Body">
Benjamin Britten was born there on the 22 November 1913, the
third child of a reluctant dentist and his musical wife. They were prosperous
and respectable. Britten's prodigious talent and his homosexuality propelled him
into another world - not least the sort of bohemian set-up that existed at 7
Middagh Street. But you get the feeling Britten was never comfortable in bohemia, certainly not the way that his friend (at the time - they fell out
shortly afterwards) Auden was. The Middagh Street m<span style="font-family: "Arial Unicode MS"; mso-ascii-font-family: Helvetica;">é</span>nage was short
lived and Britten was homesick for the fens, but two things happened whilst he
was in the US that had ramifications for the rest of his life. </div>
<div class="Body">
<br /></div>
<div class="Body">
He and Peter Pears had gone to America as friends and colleagues,
they returned as lovers and life long partners. Whilst they were there, Peter Pears
wandered into a second hand bookshop in New York City and bought an old copy of
the poems of George Crabbe. Crabbe was an eighteenth century clergyman from
Aldeburgh in Britten's beloved East Anglia. His narrative poetry breathes the
big skies and open spaces of that unique landscape. One poem in the collection
called 'The Borough' tells the tragedy of a harsh fisherman who was an outsider
in his small community. His name was Peter Grimes. </div>
<div class="Body">
<br /></div>
<div class="Body">
The opera that Britten wrote based on Crabbe's poem set the tone
for most of the operatic works that followed. There is usually a main character, who
for reasons which are sometimes of his own making,<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>sometimes not, cannot be admitted to the mainstream of life.
He is an observer, an outcast, a maverick.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<div class="Body">
<br /></div>
<div class="Body">
Pears and Britten returned to England in 1942 and both
registered as conscientious objectors. Britten at his tribunal said he was a
creative person, he could not bring himself to participate in the destructive force
of war. Am I right that Britten's felt his homosexuality set him apart
from bourgeois society, but his essentially conventional nature set him apart
from bohemia? I don't know. Maybe. All I do know is that the music is wonderful
and it's the song and not the singer that really matters.</div>
<div class="Body">
<br /></div>
<div class="Body">
Back at 7 Middagh Street, the chaotic lives of the residents were
somewhat regulated by the availability of good food. Gyspy Rose Lee introduced the house to a wonderful cook called Eva. Auden would say before supper, "<i>We've
got a roast and two veg, salad and savory, and there will be no political
discussion."</i></div>
<div class="Body">
<br /></div>
<div class="Body">
Eva produced nightly meals of a delicious main course, often followed by a chocolate pudding. She might have made this, or she might have bought it at Ebinger's, the chain of Jewish bakeries in Brooklyn.</div>
<div class="Body">
<br /></div>
<div class="Body">
<b>Brooklyn Blackout Cake<o:p></o:p></b></div>
<div class="Body">
<br /></div>
<div class="Body">
So called because of its crumb coating. The blackout
cake was created by Ebinger in the Second World War and named for the frequent
blackout drills that had to be undertaken by Brooklyn's port side community.</div>
<div class="Body">
<br /></div>
<div class="Body">
This is from an old edition of The Daily Mail. Not my usual
reading I have to admit.</div>
<div class="Body">
<br /></div>
<div class="Body">
Make the filling first so it can cool. The quantities below make a lot more than you need (well more than I needed), so if I made this again I would reduce the quantities by a third or even half. Why do so many recipes get this sort of thing wrong? Left overs could always be frozen or served with ice-cream.</div>
<div class="Body">
<br /></div>
<div class="Body">
75g cornflour</div>
<div class="Body">
600ml milk</div>
<div class="Body">
300g golden caster sugar</div>
<div class="Body">
1 tbsp golden syrup</div>
<div class="Body">
100g cocoa well sifted </div>
<div class="Body">
1 tsp vanilla extract</div>
<div class="Body">
100g unsalted butter diced</div>
<div class="Body">
<br /></div>
<div class="Body">
For the cake</div>
<div class="Body">
<br /></div>
<div class="Body">
180g soft unsalted butter</div>
<div class="Body">
300g golden caster sugar</div>
<div class="Body">
3 eggs</div>
<div class="Body">
1tsp good vanilla extract</div>
<div class="Body">
50g cocoa</div>
<div class="Body">
1tsp baking powder</div>
<div class="Body">
1tsp bicarbonate of soda</div>
<div class="Body">
280g plain flour</div>
<div class="Body">
200ml milk</div>
<div class="Body">
<br /></div>
<div class="Body">
2 x 20cm loose-bottom cake tins at least 5cm deep.</div>
<div class="Body">
<br /></div>
<div class="Body">
To make the filling, mix the cornflour into about a third of the
milk until smooth. In a small nonstick saucepan, bring the remaining milk to
the boil with the sugar, syrup and cocoa, whisking until smooth. Add the
cornflour solution, bring to the boil, stirring constantly, until you have a
rich, thick custard. Remove from the heat and add the vanilla extract and
butter, stirring until it melts. The mixture should be silky smooth, but if not
give it a quick whiz in a food processor. Pour into a large bowl, cover the
surface with clingfilm and set aside to cool completely.</div>
<div class="Body">
<br /></div>
<div class="Body">
Preheat the oven to 190C/170C fan/gas 5 and butter the cake tins.</div>
<div class="Body">
<br /></div>
<div class="Body">
Cream the butter and sugar together in a mixer or food processor, then
incorporate the eggs one at a time, followed by the vanilla extract, scraping
down the sides of the bowl as necessary. Sift together the dry ingredients and
add them half at a time to the creamed mixture, then add the milk with the
motor running.</div>
<div class="Body">
<br /></div>
<div class="Body">
Divide the mixture evenly between the cake tins and smooth the surface. Bake for 30-40 minutes until a skewer
inserted at the centre comes out clean. Run a knife around each cake and leave
to cool on a wire rack.<br />
<br /></div>
<div class="Body">
Cut both cakes in half horizontally using a bread knife. Set
aside the best-looking top half. Place the other top half in the food processor
and whiz to crumbs.</div>
<div class="Body">
<br /></div>
<div class="Body">
To assemble the cake, stir the cold filling to ensure it is lump free. Spread a
quarter over one cake base, taking it almost to the rim, place the other base
on top and spread with another quarter of the filling. Lay the reserved cake
top in place. Coat the top and sides with the remaining filling.</div>
<div class="Body">
<br /></div>
<div class="Body">
Coat all over with the cake crumbs (this is the <span style="font-family: "Arial Unicode MS"; mso-ascii-font-family: Helvetica;">‘</span>blackout<span style="font-family: "Arial Unicode MS"; mso-ascii-font-family: Helvetica;">’</span>).
Take handfuls of the crumbs and gently press them against the side, leaving any
loose ones to fall down and discarding the excess. Chill for a couple of hours
and take it from the fridge 15-30 minutes before eating.<br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>Should you have troubles (pets will die </i><br />
<i>Lovers are always behaving badly) </i><br />
<i>And confession helps, we will hear it, </i><br />
<i>Examine and give our counsel: </i><br />
<i>If to mention them hurts too much, </i><br />
<i>We shall not be nosey. </i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<b>From: 'For Friends Only' by W.H. Auden (1907-1973)</b></div>
<div class="Body">
<br /></div>
<div class="Body">
<br /></div>
<div class="Body">
<br /></div>
<div class="Body">
<br /></div>
<div class="Body">
<br /></div>
<div class="Body">
<br /></div>
<div class="Body">
<br /></div>
<div class="Body">
<br /></div>
<div class="Body">
<br /></div>
<div class="Body">
<br /></div>
<div class="Body">
<br /></div>
<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
<o:DocumentProperties>
<o:Template>Normal.dotm</o:Template>
<o:Revision>0</o:Revision>
<o:TotalTime>0</o:TotalTime>
<o:Pages>1</o:Pages>
<o:Words>1006</o:Words>
<o:Characters>5739</o:Characters>
<o:Company>XYZ Co</o:Company>
<o:Lines>47</o:Lines>
<o:Paragraphs>11</o:Paragraphs>
<o:CharactersWithSpaces>7047</o:CharactersWithSpaces>
<o:Version>12.0</o:Version>
</o:DocumentProperties>
<o:OfficeDocumentSettings>
<o:AllowPNG/>
</o:OfficeDocumentSettings>
</xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
<w:WordDocument>
<w:Zoom>0</w:Zoom>
<w:TrackMoves>false</w:TrackMoves>
<w:TrackFormatting/>
<w:PunctuationKerning/>
<w:DrawingGridHorizontalSpacing>18 pt</w:DrawingGridHorizontalSpacing>
<w:DrawingGridVerticalSpacing>18 pt</w:DrawingGridVerticalSpacing>
<w:DisplayHorizontalDrawingGridEvery>0</w:DisplayHorizontalDrawingGridEvery>
<w:DisplayVerticalDrawingGridEvery>0</w:DisplayVerticalDrawingGridEvery>
<w:ValidateAgainstSchemas/>
<w:SaveIfXMLInvalid>false</w:SaveIfXMLInvalid>
<w:IgnoreMixedContent>false</w:IgnoreMixedContent>
<w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText>false</w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText>
<w:Compatibility>
<w:BreakWrappedTables/>
<w:DontGrowAutofit/>
<w:DontAutofitConstrainedTables/>
<w:DontVertAlignInTxbx/>
</w:Compatibility>
</w:WordDocument>
</xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
<w:LatentStyles DefLockedState="false" LatentStyleCount="276">
</w:LatentStyles>
</xml><![endif]-->
<!--[if gte mso 10]>
<style>
/* Style Definitions */
table.MsoNormalTable
{mso-style-name:"Table Normal";
mso-tstyle-rowband-size:0;
mso-tstyle-colband-size:0;
mso-style-noshow:yes;
mso-style-parent:"";
mso-padding-alt:0cm 5.4pt 0cm 5.4pt;
mso-para-margin:0cm;
mso-para-margin-bottom:.0001pt;
mso-pagination:widow-orphan;
font-size:12.0pt;
font-family:"Times New Roman";
mso-ascii-font-family:Cambria;
mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin;
mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman";
mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-fareast;
mso-hansi-font-family:Cambria;
mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin;
mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman";
mso-bidi-theme-font:minor-bidi;}
</style>
<![endif]-->
<!--StartFragment-->
<!--EndFragment--><br />
<div class="Body">
<br /></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09045660787350825648noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6559862206054673677.post-9329380929448016092013-11-10T09:23:00.003+00:002013-11-11T13:51:25.431+00:0011 November: Remembrance Day<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8V1UK4q2K92rZXbimDJ3teE5SX3sbtbMHMeqBDj6s3FRwWBOubYVZZkDzW0C8AkwRA-6U0Lp3NtS0jsqvDrBN0CchKqQjAGoSOk8N5DUSKsL5lRyFJTVLV1qqx75O8IKcCumTDy1Ic4w/s1600/IMG_0945.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8V1UK4q2K92rZXbimDJ3teE5SX3sbtbMHMeqBDj6s3FRwWBOubYVZZkDzW0C8AkwRA-6U0Lp3NtS0jsqvDrBN0CchKqQjAGoSOk8N5DUSKsL5lRyFJTVLV1qqx75O8IKcCumTDy1Ic4w/s640/IMG_0945.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
It’s Remembrance Day. A day to remember war and think of peace. War has always been a scourge, it's mankind's fatal flaw. So hopes and prayers for a more peaceful world have been an important part of literature almost since there <i>was</i> literature.<br />
<br />
John Gower (1330-1408) was a contemporary of William Langland and friend of Geoffrey Chaucer. He was a Yorkshire man, a lawyer and a poet. Chaucer called him ‘Moral Gower’ and made him his attorney. He must have been an impressive character and although he’s largely forgotten these days, we can glimpse his presence in history, not directly, but through his many friendships. Gower met King Richard II in about 1385 and wrote a long poem ‘Confessio Amantis’ which he dedicated to Richard.<br />
<br />
‘The Confessions of a Lover’ are written as if by a forlorn lover dying from love. He confesses his sins and sorrows to Venus and Cupid, who finally cure him. But the confessions are merely a device to tell a number of individual stories. So Gower’s lover is a bit like the young nobles in ‘The Decameron’ or the pilgrims in ‘The Canterbury Tales’, he has lots of tales to tell. The moral tone hides the confession of rather naughty behaviour, so the whole thing becomes wonderfully ironic.<br />
<br />
Gower is buried in Southwark Cathedral and Shakespeare must have known of his works and some details of his life because he appears as a character in Shakespeare’s Henry IV. Here's a picture of Gower puncturing the pretensions of the world. (Note the longbow!)<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicDfxmEhdQK4PYaqZ0wCH9JmLykB-aJm05VnM2J_JYLO_A5ZGTzkNlyoGFFWIDPJWy-RGROutnsuhAqie92l6px66e3Tbfee1UctW056BMOn339KhYO4fmhv5nPiYIiOQiYCpGixdoJQU/s1600/John_Gower_world_Vox_Clamantis.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicDfxmEhdQK4PYaqZ0wCH9JmLykB-aJm05VnM2J_JYLO_A5ZGTzkNlyoGFFWIDPJWy-RGROutnsuhAqie92l6px66e3Tbfee1UctW056BMOn339KhYO4fmhv5nPiYIiOQiYCpGixdoJQU/s640/John_Gower_world_Vox_Clamantis.jpg" width="412" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
This is John Gower’s poem ‘In Praise of Peace’ addressed to Henry IV. It’s a marvellous antidote to the St Crispin’s speech I posted a little while ago. There’s a translation at the end of this post, but I like the original. The key to understanding the language is to read it out loud, the meaning then becomes much clearer. I love the spelling, it gives an idea of why English spelling even today is so bizarre and when you read it you also get a flavour of how Gower and would have sounded when he spoke.<br />
<br />
<i>‘Pes is the chief of al the worldes welthe,</i><br />
<i>And to the Heven it ledeth ek the weie;</i><br />
<i>Pes is of soule and lif, the mannes helthe</i><br />
<i>Of pestilence, and doth the werre aweie.</i><br />
<i>My liege lord, tak hiede of that Y seie:</i><br />
<i>If werre may be left, tak pes on honde,</i><br />
<i>Which may noght be withoute Goddis sonde.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>With pes stant every creature in reste;</i><br />
<i>Withoute pes ther may no lif be glad;</i><br />
<i>Above alle othre good, pes is the beste;</i><br />
<i>Pes hath himself whan werre is al bestad;</i><br />
<i>The pes is sauf, the werre is ever adrad:</i><br />
<i>Pes is of al charité the keie,</i><br />
<i>Which hath the lif and soul forto weie.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>My liege lord, if that thee list to seeche </i><br />
<i>The sothe essamples that the werre hath wroght,</i><br />
<i>Thow schalt wiel hiere of wisemennes speche,</i><br />
<i>That dedly werre turneth into noght;</i><br />
<i>For if these olde bokes be wel soght,</i><br />
<i>Ther myght thou se what thing the werre hath do,</i><br />
<i>Bothe of conqueste and conquerer also.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>For vein honour or for the worldes good,</i><br />
<i>Thei that whilom the stronge werres made,</i><br />
<i>Wher be thei now? Bethenk wel in thi mod,</i><br />
<i>The day is goon, the nyght is derk and fade;</i><br />
<i>Her crualté, which mad hem thanne glade,</i><br />
<i>Thei sorwen now and yit have noght the more;</i><br />
<i>The blod is schad which no man mai restore.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>The werre is modir of the wronges alle:</i><br />
<i>It sleth the prest in Holi Chirche at Masse,</i><br />
<i>Forlith the maide and doth here flour to falle;</i><br />
<i>The werre makth the grete citee lasse,</i><br />
<i>And doth the Lawe his reules overpasse.</i><br />
<i>There is no thing wherof meschef mai growe,</i><br />
<i>Which is noght caused of the werre, Y trowe.</i><br />
<br />
Here is Gower in a much later etching. His manicured beard appears in both drawings so it must have been notable!<br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9nPI3_2ig-aCZ2eE1JcFFf3nvAjWDXGLTGy829i-bmDqYVjjEXJoy-fTmEznNyWtOGLxZfxkZ9O083ctQ4IJi-SbV1hhth97v1BezUVFA3JJJ_BxnXbfF-qBKTzk-8u_bd7_16bMtzmc/s1600/John+Gower.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9nPI3_2ig-aCZ2eE1JcFFf3nvAjWDXGLTGy829i-bmDqYVjjEXJoy-fTmEznNyWtOGLxZfxkZ9O083ctQ4IJi-SbV1hhth97v1BezUVFA3JJJ_BxnXbfF-qBKTzk-8u_bd7_16bMtzmc/s400/John+Gower.JPG" width="341" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
<div>
I've made a pudding adapted from a recipe in Marguerite Patten's book of war time recipes. My Aunt Frances used to make something very similar with apples and lemon. This is made with pear and ginger but the variations are vast - plum and cinnamon, pear and cardamon, blackberry and allspice…make up your own. It's a sort of Brown Betty but without the inner layer of crumbs which I think make a b-b too stodgy.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<b>Baked Pear and Ginger Pudding.</b><br />
<br />
For the topping<br />
4 oz soft white breadcrumbs<br />
1½ oz butter<br />
2oz sugar - Demerara is best<br />
½ tsp ground ginger<br />
<br />
4/5 pears<br />
Sugar or honey to taste<br />
1 lump candied ginger and a little syrup from the jar<br />
<br />
Blitz the breadcrumbs with the sugar and butter and ginger. Peel chunk and stew the pears until soft and add the ginger diced finely. Allow to cool a little then taste and add sugar or honey. If your pears were watery, which mine were, thicken the juice with a little arrowroot.<br />
<br />
Put the fruit in an oven proof dish and top with the crumbs. Bake or 30 minutes at 180c. Serve warm with cream or even better - vanilla ice cream.<br />
<br />
I wish I'd used a shallower dish and also allowed the fruit to cool before adding the topping, then it wouldn't have bubbled through.<br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: xx-small;">Translation</span><br />
<span style="font-size: xx-small;"><br /></span><span style="font-size: xx-small;">Peace is the chief of all the world’s wealth,</span><br />
<span style="font-size: xx-small;">And to the Heaven it leadeth e’en the way;</span><br />
<span style="font-size: xx-small;">Peace is of man’s soul and life the health</span><br />
<span style="font-size: xx-small;">And doth with pestilence and the war away.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: xx-small;">My liege lord, take heed of that I say:</span><br />
<span style="font-size: xx-small;">If war may be left off, take peace on hand,</span><br />
<span style="font-size: xx-small;">Which may not be unless God doth it send.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: xx-small;"><br /></span><span style="font-size: xx-small;">With peace may every creature dwell in rest;</span><br />
<span style="font-size: xx-small;">Without peace there may no life be glad;</span><br />
<span style="font-size: xx-small;">Above all other good, peace is the best;</span><br />
<span style="font-size: xx-small;">Peace hath himself when war is all bested;</span><br />
<span style="font-size: xx-small;">Peace is secure, war ever is a dread:</span><br />
<span style="font-size: xx-small;">Peace is of all charity the key,</span><br />
<span style="font-size: xx-small;">Which hath the life and soul for to weigh.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: xx-small;"><br /></span><span style="font-size: xx-small;">My liege lord, if that thee wished to seek</span><br />
<span style="font-size: xx-small;">The some examples that the war hath wrought,</span><br />
<span style="font-size: xx-small;">Thou shall well hear of wise men’s speech,</span><br />
<span style="font-size: xx-small;">That deadly war turns into naught;</span><br />
<span style="font-size: xx-small;">For if these old books be well sought,</span><br />
<span style="font-size: xx-small;">There might thou see what thing the war hath done,</span><br />
<span style="font-size: xx-small;">Both of conquered and conqueror also.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: xx-small;"><br /></span><span style="font-size: xx-small;">For vain honour or for the world’s good,</span><br />
<span style="font-size: xx-small;">They that aforetimes the strong battles made,</span><br />
<span style="font-size: xx-small;">Where be they now? Bethink well in thy mood,</span><br />
<span style="font-size: xx-small;">The day is gone; the night is dark and fade;</span><br />
<span style="font-size: xx-small;">Her cruelty, which then did make them glad,</span><br />
<span style="font-size: xx-small;">Thy sorrow now and yet have naught the more;</span><br />
<span style="font-size: xx-small;">The blood is shed which no man may restore.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: xx-small;"><br /></span><span style="font-size: xx-small;">The war is mother of the wronges all:</span><br />
<span style="font-size: xx-small;">It slayeth the priest in Holy Church at Masse,</span><br />
<span style="font-size: xx-small;">Assaults the maid and makes her flower to fall;</span><br />
<span style="font-size: xx-small;">The war maketh the great city less,</span><br />
<span style="font-size: xx-small;">And doth the Law his rules to overpass.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: xx-small;">There is no thing whereof mischief may grow,</span><br />
<span style="font-size: xx-small;">Which is naught caused of the war, I trow.</span></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09045660787350825648noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6559862206054673677.post-86151946942476765412013-11-03T09:02:00.000+00:002013-11-03T09:02:56.488+00:003 November: Diwali<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbwpGzGgd621tXDPi2est0GBchUfbUHPIQ1BfrFpi9QgZomcjWGJSKWUeIPxwXeNepXjOSRQFCv4ZCya71tRtbzg8H5b5OxkZDQlUPfzBRbYJfKaZIk42Jvo_U_mNTZzMF8iLPjV7ZM20/s1600/IMG_0864.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="512" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbwpGzGgd621tXDPi2est0GBchUfbUHPIQ1BfrFpi9QgZomcjWGJSKWUeIPxwXeNepXjOSRQFCv4ZCya71tRtbzg8H5b5OxkZDQlUPfzBRbYJfKaZIk42Jvo_U_mNTZzMF8iLPjV7ZM20/s640/IMG_0864.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
<i><br /></i>
<i>'With his conch, wheel and coils, Vishnu</i><br />
<i>readied to find suitable couple</i><br />
<i> seeking strapping male babies</i><br />
<i> albeit with tad complex background.</i><br />
<i>In the process, Vishnu hoped he may learn</i><br />
<i> what it feels being human.'</i><br />
<b><br /></b>
<b>'The Ramayana: A Retelling' by Daljit Nagra (b 1966)</b><br />
<br />
It's the culmination of Diwali today - the Hindu Festival of Lights and I've been reading 'The Ramayana'. Diwali incorporates a number of different aspects, practical, financial and mythical. Firstly it marks the harvest festival of the Indian subcontinent and thus the end of the agrarian year. So in exactly the same way as Michaelmas, it's when a farmer can sell his crops and pay his debts and most importantly, his rent. It's easy for us urbanites to forget that although we might have lost a direct connection with the land, a huge proportion of people on earth still sow and reap in the same way as our ancestors. Their lives depend on it.<br />
<br />
Diwali and harvest festival are also similar in the opportunity they give for a rest from toil, a giving thanks for harvest and an opportunity to spend some hard earned money. Let your hair down - it's Diwali!<br />
<br />
'The Ramayana' is one of the oldest stories on earth and it predates Christianity and Greek myth by many centuries. It's an epic tale of a God, Vishnu, becoming a man - Rama, a name that means 'peace' in Sanskrit. Rama is put into earth to defeat the evil Lord of the Underworld, Raavana. Vishnu has to do this, because only a mortal can over come the evil in the world represented by Raavana. Vishnu seeks out a royal couple who want a son and when their son is born he is Rama - the saviour of the world. Is this sounding familiar?<br />
<br />
Rama is helped by his brothers and by his wife Sita. She's a terrific character, but unfortunately whilst Rama and his followers are exiled in the forest for fourteen years (for reasons I won't trouble you with) Raavana comes and kidnaps Sita and takes her off to the underworld. So Rama has to go and rescue her and defeat Raavana in a terrific battle where he is aided by an army of monkeys (some of whom are, of course, Gods in disguise.)<br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxTZhT8LX69eV4c4iBk6skIv-Xm_XPlQXemJeFjr_Q1oZrUBh3GwvfArecHw9PW2MqdgzuDi64XkxTnf9MlM3bzIds9CoDMOXUsC8XHkNDHjWO8V-mOGF4WZIpUpELsy68zgVwCc1CoLU/s1600/800px-Battle_at_Lanka,_Ramayana,_Udaipur,_1649-53.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="376" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxTZhT8LX69eV4c4iBk6skIv-Xm_XPlQXemJeFjr_Q1oZrUBh3GwvfArecHw9PW2MqdgzuDi64XkxTnf9MlM3bzIds9CoDMOXUsC8XHkNDHjWO8V-mOGF4WZIpUpELsy68zgVwCc1CoLU/s640/800px-Battle_at_Lanka,_Ramayana,_Udaipur,_1649-53.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
<br />
Anyway, to cut a very long story short, Rama rescues Sita from Raavana and defeats him in battle. As they proceed from the underworld to the real world, via the forest of exile, people light lamps to show them the way. And that's what the word Diwali means - a row of lamps.<br />
<br />
My book of 'The Ramayana’ is a retelling by Daljit Nagra and it's just been published. It's also been shortlisted for the T.S.Eliot prize. Daljit really captures the essence of the epic. Although it was first written down maybe 2000 years ago, it is really a tale to be told out loud. So every telling and re-telling becomes spontaneous and new.<br />
<br />
I read the prologue to The Penzance Ladies' Book Club last week and the story is so strong and so dramatic, that as I was reading, the verse just took over. It was impossible not to feel that you were making it up as you went along. The man's a genius. His retelling is spellbinding and spine tingling. Buy it for someone for Christmas. They don't need to like poetry, and it's a story for all people for all time.<br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjX1WRdloW4HTiraHwxORu3QyRvzBPqDkvGGLTfOTVPmZpXMoNkVLUozqZQtVgvTceiPC0V_FcAVqk5a9brP6pmn_qzqoVpn8Umo4WRin_pKWSOUxKz34WAUeZlYbsKH3mnivFEHrp7QGY/s1600/IMG_0860.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjX1WRdloW4HTiraHwxORu3QyRvzBPqDkvGGLTfOTVPmZpXMoNkVLUozqZQtVgvTceiPC0V_FcAVqk5a9brP6pmn_qzqoVpn8Umo4WRin_pKWSOUxKz34WAUeZlYbsKH3mnivFEHrp7QGY/s640/IMG_0860.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
<br />
Two things are traditional at Diwali. Lighting lamps and eating sweets. So I am going to do both.<br />
<br />
<b>Almond and Saffron Kulfi</b><br />
<br />
Kulfi is traditionally made by boiling down milk, then thickening it and then freezing it in a special mould called a ‘matka’. This version, like a mango version I made a while ago, uses condensed milk. Interestingly, although I totally made this recipe up, traditional kulfi often includes a starch-based element to help the thickening. Marzipan makes a good substitute.<br />
<br />
400g tin condensed milk<br />
300ml double cream<br />
150g good marzipan cut into cubes<br />
A pinch saffron filaments<br />
<br />
Put the saffron in a little dish and steep in a tablespoon of boiling water.<br />
Blitz the condensed milk and the cubed marzipan in a food processor until you have a smooth but slightly grainy cream. Add the saffron threads and water. Blitz again.<br />
<br />
Whip the double cream in a separate bowl until it makes soft peaks, then stir in the almond and saffron mixture. Pour into moulds and freeze for at least three hours.<br />
<br />
I use plastic cups for moulds and then you can rip them away when the kulfi is frozen. They are roughly the right conical shape and usually ridged so you can be sure that you get the same amount in each.<br />
<br />
<i>'Rama and Sita, you are the twain essence of life.</i><br />
<i>You are the twain endurance of the essence.</i><br />
<i>You are the spirit. The spirit unbound.</i><br />
<i>You are the breath. The breath unbound.'</i><br />
<br />
<b>(ibid)</b><br />
<br />
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09045660787350825648noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6559862206054673677.post-65284531041071923422013-10-27T01:00:00.000+01:002013-11-02T14:02:15.832+00:002 November: All Souls' Day<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkU0C4xhL3_ifrwKMajhGJ_a-e_kmaC-GWy8Vii7HWdF4QvWTJZ0Iyg4R-FE4elpBuOksnZUl0J9LTqn79GIm2tGyFu0qyypuOG7jPT86bES2D1ReyA_HS2mFuzVCFGs3w3b0APK4oP_c/s1600/IMG_3852.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" height="640" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5530831085678019970" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkU0C4xhL3_ifrwKMajhGJ_a-e_kmaC-GWy8Vii7HWdF4QvWTJZ0Iyg4R-FE4elpBuOksnZUl0J9LTqn79GIm2tGyFu0qyypuOG7jPT86bES2D1ReyA_HS2mFuzVCFGs3w3b0APK4oP_c/s640/IMG_3852.jpg" style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center;" width="480" /></a><br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span lang="EN-US"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;"><i>A Soul Cake ! A Soul Cake!</i></span></span><br />
<i><span style="font-size: large;">I <span style="font-family: arial;">pray good missus for a soul cake!</span></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;"><i>An apple or pear a plum or a cherry<o:p></o:p></i></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;"><i>Any good thing, to make us merry.<o:p></o:p></i></span></span><br />
<span lang="EN-US"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;"><i><br /></i></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;"><i>Traditional Rhyme</i><o:p></o:p></span></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></b>
<b><span lang="EN-US"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;">I'm away this week, but it's All Souls wherever you are. Back to normal next week.</span></span></b><br />
<b><span lang="EN-US"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></b>
<b><span lang="EN-US"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span lang="EN-US"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial;">‘All Souls Day’ or the ‘Commemoration of the Faithful Departed’ </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial;">is the day when Catholics specifically remember the souls of the dead condemned to purgatory – </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial;">that intermediate state between death and judgement.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span lang="EN-US"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;">In the pre-reformation Church, the night before All Souls was marked by prayers </span></span><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial;">for the dead, followed by all night bell ringing in order to comfort the souls </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;">in purgatory. That interests me. Surely if that is the case, the dead souls must actually be able </span><i style="font-size: x-large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial;">hear</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;"> the bells and therefore must be temporarily released back to earth. All of which all seems to tie in very neatly with the Pagan belief that spirits are abroad at this turn of the year.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span lang="EN-US"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial;">After the Reformation the new Protestant Church didn’t hold with p</span></span><span lang="EN-US"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial;">urgatory and attempted to suppress All Souls Day. However of all the changes to the liturgical calendar brought in in the sixteenth century, this practice proved the most difficult </span></span></span><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial;">to abolish. Not surprisingly people wanted to remember their dead in the traditional way. There is even an account of a fight at Hickling in Nottinghamshire in 1587 when the men of the village </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial;">‘used violence against the parson at that time to maintain their ringing.</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial;">’ (Hutton </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;">p 372)</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5528691478087320978" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYLx-sJW5kRUW0uIXIhw96noUQBNLoSnDNJEl6Q4kajx3kRn2Qx5zSyoKWdIJP2Sk2vX9bPOVX8ep2R_vRWWkDXr24WlR5Pi9Ream4HhuuiM0pW3761Pj3XQzQF21jiJasYcRkTEH1F-8/s400/Woodcit_1422153c.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 299px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 400px;" /><br />
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;"><i> A peal of church bells being rung in a 17th-century woodcut Photo: The Stapleton Collection/The Bridgeman Art Library </i></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial;"> In Britain – particularly in Wales and the north, the traditional way to celebrate this Feast was to go ‘souling.’ That is to go from door to door begging for a soul cake from the housewife, who would hopefully give it out of piety and supplication for </span><span style="font-family: arial;">her dead loved ones.</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;">Soul cakes may also have been given to the priest as a thank you gift for saying a mass for a particular soul in purgatory. As John Aubrey says in his 'Remaines of</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial;">Gentilisme' published in 1686:</span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial;">'</span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial;">soule-cakes lying upon one another like the picture of sew-bread in the old bibles. They are about 2d of bignesse and all </span></i></span><br />
<i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;">visitants that day take one. This custome is continued to this time'</span></i><br />
<i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;"><br /></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial;">'Showbread' was a consecrated unleavened bread that sat on an altar in the Jewish Temple and was only consumable by a priest - so Aubrey may be unconsciously giving us a hint as to their origin. Alternatively and earlier John Mirk’s ‘Festial’ a collection of sermons published about 1400 says '… </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial;">wherefore</span></i></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial;"> in olden time good men and women would this day buy bread and deal it for the souls that they loved, hoping with each loaf to get a soul out of purgatory.' </span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial;">I wonder what 'olden time' was in 1400?</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial;">So what is a soul cake? Thomas Blount’s </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial;">‘</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial;">Glossographia’</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial;"> (</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial;">1674) calls them </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial;">'Soul Mass Cakes’</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial;"> and says they are </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial;">‘a kind of oat cake’</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial;">. An internet search produces numerous so-called authentic versions. There’s really no way of knowing and in any case I’m sure the recipe changed depending on where they were made. I think it likely they were a flat cake maybe yeasted, maybe not. In Wales they were a sort of autumnal hot cross bun. </span></span><br />
<span lang="EN-US"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span lang="EN-US"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;">My soul cakes are a biscuit, cut in the shape of a bell, marked with a cross and </span></span><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;">presented as Aubrey suggests lying upon one another. A peel of soul cakes in fact.</span><br />
<span lang="EN-US"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span lang="EN-US"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;">Soul Cakes</span></b></span><br />
<span lang="EN-US"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;"><br /></span></b></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span lang="EN-US"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;">6oz butter</span></span><br />
<span lang="EN-US"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span lang="EN-US"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;">10oz caster sugar</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span lang="EN-US"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;">1 egg and 1 egg yolk</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span lang="EN-US"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;">1 tsp vanilla essence </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span lang="EN-US"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;">grated rind of a lemon</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span lang="EN-US"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;">10oz plain flour</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span lang="EN-US"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;">Oven 180c</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span lang="EN-US"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;">Cream the butter and sugar until white and fluffy, beat in the egg, the yolk, the lemon rind and the vanilla. Sieve in the flour and mix to a soft dough. ( I did the first part in my mixer and the second by hand) Chill for at least 30 minutes. Roll out as thin as you dare - about 1/8". Cut into the desired shape and mark with a cross. Bake for 8 minutes until just colouring. It didn't feel appropriate to brown them. Cool on a wire rack.</span></span><br />
<span lang="EN-US"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;">These are lovely with a cup of tea, or if you are my Mum with a G &T at about one o'clock.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<i><span lang="EN-US"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;">‘Midnight has come, and the great Christ Church Bell</span></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<i><span lang="EN-US"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;">And may a lesser bell sound through the room;<o:p></o:p></span></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<i><span lang="EN-US"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;">And it is All Souls’ Night,<o:p></o:p></span></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<i><span lang="EN-US"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;">And two long glasses brimmed with muscatel<o:p></o:p></span></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<i><span lang="EN-US"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;">Bubble upon the table. A ghost may come…’<o:p></o:p></span></span></i><br />
<i><span lang="EN-US"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<b><span lang="EN-US"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;">From: ‘All Souls’ Night’ by W. B Yeats (1865-1939)</span><o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<!--EndFragment-->Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09045660787350825648noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6559862206054673677.post-45415426835891860472013-10-20T16:38:00.000+01:002013-10-25T08:02:22.339+01:0024 October: St Crispin's Eve<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1x7uRlb8ie1SfRk8PvFNqvTYBAk6NgC0HjQp3jo7MzIkInpPda05yMK-nYI_l0IzhRbhIa2Z_mss_FDAQZYbQyCSrFl41W6IA4rrjtQPIMrcyayU0tJT1JrYCCoQLOMOqpgZcYJXO96Y/s1600/IMG_0796.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1x7uRlb8ie1SfRk8PvFNqvTYBAk6NgC0HjQp3jo7MzIkInpPda05yMK-nYI_l0IzhRbhIa2Z_mss_FDAQZYbQyCSrFl41W6IA4rrjtQPIMrcyayU0tJT1JrYCCoQLOMOqpgZcYJXO96Y/s640/IMG_0796.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
<br />
<i>This day is call'd the feast of Crispian. </i><br />
<i>He that outlives this day, and comes safe home, </i><br />
<i>Will stand a tip-toe when this day is nam'd, </i><br />
<i>And rouse him at the name of Crispian. </i><br />
<i>He that shall live this day, and see old age, </i><br />
<i>Will yearly on the vigil feast his neighbours, </i><br />
<i>And say 'To-morrow is Saint Crispian.' </i><br />
<i>Then will he strip his sleeve and show his scars, </i><br />
<i>And say 'These wounds I had on Crispian's day.' </i><br />
<br />
<b>Henry V (Act IV Scene iii) by William Shakespeare (1564-1616)</b><br />
<b><br /></b>
This is part of the famous speech made by Henry V on the eve of the Battle of Agincourt. It's so familiar to us, that sometimes it's hard to remember that Shakespeare <i>made it up.</i> A bit like people who believe soap operas are real life, it's easy to fall into the trap of thinking that the young King really did visit his soldiers' camp the night before the battle and then rallied them with this wonderfully rousing speech.<br />
<br />
I went to Agincourt once. It's called Azincourt now and it's a lot of ploughed fields - sugar beet I seem to remember. However there are helpful notices which enable you to see the positions of the various troops and we spent a muddy but enjoyable morning working out how the battle unfolded. Then we drove to Waterloo and did the same again. It's not that far away - about 125 miles. They are both in that sad part of the Low Countries; fought over for hundreds of years and soaked in the blood of generations.<br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjphgvhCKVRhTmkQNXxLQDfdjUHH3t6QnH1J8fvSAG26SThtSEZGNxc6WCHX1jghN5xQ8i8Ct4NV3T2fZcj_mrqbyK2_DWt8dwg46PfnuY7K9fWIqVeRciLc0oxXOlHFnBRF8t-Q00-dS8/s1600/Agincourt-Tapestry.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjphgvhCKVRhTmkQNXxLQDfdjUHH3t6QnH1J8fvSAG26SThtSEZGNxc6WCHX1jghN5xQ8i8Ct4NV3T2fZcj_mrqbyK2_DWt8dwg46PfnuY7K9fWIqVeRciLc0oxXOlHFnBRF8t-Q00-dS8/s640/Agincourt-Tapestry.jpg" width="414" /></a></div>
<br />
It's 598 years since the Battle of Agincourt. And yes it was a famous victory. The English Archer with his long bow triumphed over the French Cavalier still fighting according to principles of a former time. The archers moved lightly over the muddy ground that sucked in the French cavalry and made them sitting targets. The enemy were attempting to cut off the English retreat to the coast and the English soldiers were tired, worn out by dysentery and far fewer in number, but they were skilled. Boy were they skilled.<br />
<br />
Over 150 years earlier, the '<i>Assize of Arms' </i>of 1252 required that all citizens, burgesses, free tenants, villeins and others from 15 to 60 years of age should be armed. Even serfs were expected to have a halberd and a knife, and freemen a bow, if they owned land worth more than £2. Then in 1363, Edward III declared, <i>"Whereas the people of our realm, rich and poor alike, were accustomed formerly in their games to practise archery – whence by God's help, it is well known that high honour and profit came to our realm, and no small advantage to ourselves in our warlike enterprises... that every man in the same country, if he be able-bodied, shall, upon holidays, make use, in his games, of bows and arrows... and so learn and practise archery."</i><br />
<br />
You can drive round England now and see innumerable country roads called 'Butt Lane' or 'The Butts'. I had a quick look on StreetMap and stopped counting at 100. Every village had its archery practice ground - and the old road names tell us where they were. Every man could use a bow and arrow and we're not talking about the flimsy things archers use these days. These were longbows made of yew wood. To master one required considerable strength and skill, but a trained archer held in his brawny arms a weapon with the power to pierce the leg armour of an opponent or to de-horse him.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhvnBBiNYG2zR2KVDzxalDUzlnaHBPs6pq6wzJiNlxAMHdQ7krySa41xMtGh6wpukxRlhP-w9tOS-4EiWNQesYejhKMTe0oD4fgy_QAAZmYmjESwM_2723436u__-uc5CUnlIRehNEhzc/s1600/butt-lane-300x225.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhvnBBiNYG2zR2KVDzxalDUzlnaHBPs6pq6wzJiNlxAMHdQ7krySa41xMtGh6wpukxRlhP-w9tOS-4EiWNQesYejhKMTe0oD4fgy_QAAZmYmjESwM_2723436u__-uc5CUnlIRehNEhzc/s400/butt-lane-300x225.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
<br />
Once upon a time we were a nation of archers, and the evidence is all around us . In fact <b>it is us</b>; every Archer, Arrowsmith, Fletcher, Bowman, Boyer, Stringer and Stringfellow. Archery is in our names, our geography and our blood.<br />
<br />
One final note. In 1415 at the Battle of Agincourt just one soldier carried in his hand a strange metal tube which at the pull of a lever, fired a small metal ball over a considerable distance. Warfare would never be the same again. In fact on exactly the same day, 25th October in 1854, the Charge of the Light Brigade took place at the Battle of Balaclava...nothing compares.<br />
<br />
I scanned through Henry V for food references and there are several: strawberries, beef, barley broth and because of the prominence Shakespeare gives Fluellen, there lots of references to leeks! At one point Pistol refers to his sword a something on which to toast cheese, just the sort of thing the soldiers were doing as the young King went on his rounds. Anyway it me think of Welsh Rarebit and leeks.<br />
<br />
I used to be a bit of a purist about Welsh Rarebit and thought putting egg yolks in it was heinous. But actually it works well and stops the mixture going stringy.<br />
<br />
<b>Cornish rarebit leek gratin.</b><br />
<br />
2 slimmish leeks (dark green parts discarded) then washed and chopped into rings as thick as a pound coin<br />
60g butter<br />
<br />
175g Cornish Yarg, de-rinded and grated<br />
1 tsp English mustard powder<br />
30g butter<br />
3 tablespoons - 45ml of good beer or stout.<br />
2 egg yolks<br />
<br />
Cook the leeks in the 60g butter until meltingly soft but not brown. Set aside.<br />
<br />
In the same pan, mix the mustard powder with the beer, add the 30g of butter cubed and heat gently until the butter has melted. Tip in the cheese, reserving a tablespoonful or two for the top.<br />
<br />
Very gently, keeping the heat low, stir the mixture until the cheese has melted. Cool a little and taste, then season with black pepper and a little salt. You can add Worcester Sauce - and I would if this were just going on toast.<br />
<br />
Add the egg yolks and stir through, then add the leeks. Pour into individual gratin dishes, grate a little cheese on top and grill until bubbling.<br />
<br />
Serve with crusty bread and a sharp salad.<br />
<br />
<i> From this day to the ending of the world, </i><br />
<i> But we in it shall be remembered- </i><br />
<i> We few, we happy few, we band of brothers; </i><br />
<i> For he to-day that sheds his blood with me </i><br />
<i> Shall be my brother; be he ne'er so vile, </i><br />
<i> This day shall gentle his condition; </i><br />
<i> And gentlemen in England now-a-bed </i><br />
<i> Shall think themselves accurs'd they were not here, </i><br />
<i> And hold their manhoods cheap whiles any speaks </i><br />
<i> That fought with us upon Saint Crispin's day.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<b>(ibid)</b><br />
<i><br /></i>
PS. Such is my innocence that when I googled 'The Butts' to find an image for you, the results were quite unexpected. The correct English term of course begins with an 'a'.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09045660787350825648noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6559862206054673677.post-27105084796361232302013-10-13T10:10:00.000+01:002013-10-16T11:31:12.954+01:0018 October 1216: Bad King John.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj71hxP0f4-ugyo4duKXnpJ6kQ5jSsDjv9cx0KejQ8MVnCGQMj2WhDKw7jlXN0Y01ryBpmPwbSPCUDrBwsMiBdl8REthymh14sqFVjaxRxP72mXTMnGkNFwvGjgfk0dH0z_u_sCg_HCslI/s1600/IMG_0760.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="512" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj71hxP0f4-ugyo4duKXnpJ6kQ5jSsDjv9cx0KejQ8MVnCGQMj2WhDKw7jlXN0Y01ryBpmPwbSPCUDrBwsMiBdl8REthymh14sqFVjaxRxP72mXTMnGkNFwvGjgfk0dH0z_u_sCg_HCslI/s640/IMG_0760.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
<i>An ancient story Ile tell you anon </i><br />
<i>Of a notable prince, that was called King John;</i><br />
<i>And he ruled England with maine and with might,</i><br />
<i>For he did great wrong, and maintein'd little right.</i><br />
<b><br /></b>
<b>Anonymous English Folk Song, date unknown.</b><br />
<br />
Everybody knows that King John was a <i>Bad King </i>and it's not because we were taught that in school. In the old the TV series 'The Adventures of Robin Hood'; John is the usurper whose cruel henchman the Sheriff of Nottingham, pursues the heroic Robin Hood (played by the appropriately named Richard Greene) through 143 black and white episodes of dodgy dialogue and rickety scenery. Robin has remained loyal to John's brother, King Richard the Lionheart, who is away at the Crusades and for whose triumphant return all loyal Englishmen hope and pray.<br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-r7NZjpC_RTGguJivSu2ryyryQWw4PUzpO0M6EHYIMgHKP4BapBEUv9A2zfnVxn3XG78z9Y0qZKQgV2e5ib1mv9_94BXiqmwd7vTTjIUK_YhFSO-0xDbb4ejR3akKH9vWyNDKLPDcVOs/s1600/marian&robin.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="436" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-r7NZjpC_RTGguJivSu2ryyryQWw4PUzpO0M6EHYIMgHKP4BapBEUv9A2zfnVxn3XG78z9Y0qZKQgV2e5ib1mv9_94BXiqmwd7vTTjIUK_YhFSO-0xDbb4ejR3akKH9vWyNDKLPDcVOs/s640/marian&robin.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<br />
Well sort of.<br />
<br />
In truth, King John didn't have many redeeming features. The only two good things about him were that firstly, he was such a bad King that the English Barons forced him to sign Magna Carta and secondly, that he managed to die at just the right moment - 797 years ago today. John was the youngest son of Eleanor of Aquitaine and Henry II, who will be forever be Katharine Hepburn and Peter O'Toole. In the movie 'The Lion in Winter' he was played by Nigel Terry who coincidentally now lives just three or four miles away from me. It's a terrific film with some brilliant lines. Watch out for it if you've never seen it.<br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiCTb-a-SKovRHdyMPVi6cb-0njO7B_FXO2bphAVm35xzqUsId9u_G2aGFHK6h8XPmS1neio6rDk2qeD69yrTdKrWZVc2P1_Aq58VFTa_Hp_G8yX0_f7fr3fxR_3-zXTKh-DrHGzBcq1I/s1600/6a00d8341c464853ef0168ebc6f230970c-800wi.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiCTb-a-SKovRHdyMPVi6cb-0njO7B_FXO2bphAVm35xzqUsId9u_G2aGFHK6h8XPmS1neio6rDk2qeD69yrTdKrWZVc2P1_Aq58VFTa_Hp_G8yX0_f7fr3fxR_3-zXTKh-DrHGzBcq1I/s640/6a00d8341c464853ef0168ebc6f230970c-800wi.jpg" width="374" /></a></div>
<br />
Even by the standards of the time John was avaricious, lascivious and incompetent. He managed to lose control of the huge swathes of western France that were his Angevin inheritance and thus earned the nickname 'John Lackland'. Despite levying huge taxes on the Barons he virtually bankrupted the English Crown and he fell out so badly with the Pope that he was excommunicated and the whole of England was put under a Papal interdict. This meant that for five years, no church bells could be rung and except in very limited circumstances no one could marry or take communion - a very bad thing for Feasts and Festival lovers.<br />
<br />
John's imposition of heavy taxes and the arbitrary nature of his decision-making eventually lead the English Barons to force him to sign away some of his powers in a 'Great Charter' or face being deposed (or worse). The senior Law Lord, Lord Denning, once described Magna Carta as <i>'The greatest constitutional document of all times – the foundation of the freedom of the individual against the arbitrary authority of the despot'</i>. It limited the King's authority and laid the foundation of the Rule of Law.<br />
<br />
King John signed Magna Carta and then in typical fashion, reneged on his decision. Disaster piled upon disaster. England descended into civil war and the ever troublesome Scots decided invade. John had to go and relieve a rebel siege in Lincoln and on his return south his entourage travelled across the great tidal estuary of The Wash. The story is that his baggage train floundered in treacherous quicksands and the Crown Jewels were lost. Roger of Wendover (he pops up a lot doesn't he?) says John subsequently contracted a 'violent fever' and sunken in misery he stuffed himself with peaches and vast amounts of new cider. It was the death of him.<br />
<br />
The crucial fact though is that the barons had negotiated the support of Prince Louis of France and Louis was about to be offered the Crown of England. John died just in time for that to be unnecessary. Just as well, otherwise this blog would be written in my very bad French.<br />
<br />
I've been looking at <i>'1066 and All That'</i>, the hilarious spoof history book that predates 'Horrible Histories' by decades. It's great on King John:<br />
<br />
<i>'John finally demonstrated his utter incompetence by losing the Crown and all his clothes in the wash and then dying of a surfeit of peaches and no cyder; thus his awful reign came to an e</i>nd.'<br />
<br />
No contest then.<br />
<br />
<b>'A Surfeit of Peaches and no Cyder'</b><br />
<b><br /></b>
A great pudding for a chilly autumn day. Make some suet pastry with<br />
<b><br /></b>
<br />
225g/8oz self-raising flour<br />
110g/4oz shredded suet<br />
75ml/3fl oz milk<br />
75ml/3fl oz water<br />
<br />
Lightly butter a 2-3 pint pudding bowl and line it with 2/3 of the pastry. Keep it fairly thin. Reserve the rest of the pastry for the lid.<br />
<br />
4 peaches<br />
1 tablespoon sugar<br />
1 tablespoon jam - I used apricot.<br />
<br />
Cut the peaches into chunks and toss in a bowl with the sugar and jam. Pack into the pastry. Roll out a lid and tuck it over. Cover with greasproof paper and tie tightly. Steam for two hours.<br />
<br />
Serve with cream or even better with an almond flavoured custard.<br />
<br />
It's a great way to use those hard peaches that come in punnets and never seem to ripen properly.<br />
<div>
<br /></div>
<br />
<i>Robin Hood, Robin Hood, riding through the glen</i><br />
<i>Robin Hood, Robin Hood, with his band of men</i><br />
<i>Feared by the bad, loved by the good</i><br />
<i>Robin Hood, Robin Hood, Robin Hood!</i><br />
<div style="font-weight: bold;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-weight: bold;">
The Adventures of Robin Hood. Theme Song by Carl Sigman (1909-2000) </div>
<br />
<br />
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09045660787350825648noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6559862206054673677.post-10761987400887203372013-10-06T11:50:00.000+01:002013-10-06T11:53:19.022+01:0026th September - 12th October: Autumn Goose Fairs<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGblgsEH5MpGTqqDd0QWKQJFLMzIoNoTsFNoKts-N-1Rg00V_I-AYGF7BJFHKdG-cMI3IE1VIgUPtFYia8_prvI0Vgf5lm0EQLYjmOnz__t56uLnA7hb-nJ_Yk34rYUpYHJdjyYz9ZSJo/s1600/IMG_0736.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGblgsEH5MpGTqqDd0QWKQJFLMzIoNoTsFNoKts-N-1Rg00V_I-AYGF7BJFHKdG-cMI3IE1VIgUPtFYia8_prvI0Vgf5lm0EQLYjmOnz__t56uLnA7hb-nJ_Yk34rYUpYHJdjyYz9ZSJo/s640/IMG_0736.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
<i>If thou didst feed on western plains of yore </i><br />
<i>Or waddle wide with flat and flabby feet </i><br />
<i>Over some Cambrian mountain's plashy moor, </i><br />
<i>Or find in farmer's yard a safe retreat </i><br />
<i>From gipsy thieves and foxes sly and fleet....</i><br />
<br />
<b>From: 'To a Goose' by Robert Southey (1774-1843)</b><br />
<b><br /></b>
It’s fair time around the country; Tavistock Fair was last week, Nottingham Goose Fair is this week and Hull Fair next. We’ve heard about Hull Fair before: <a href="http://feastsandfestivals.blogspot.co.uk/2010/10/9-october-peep-behind-scenes-of-hull.html" target="_blank">http://feastsandfestivals.blogspot.co.uk/2010/10/9-october-peep-behind-scenes-of-hull.html</a> but what about these 'goose fairs'?<br />
<br />
I was intrigued by the idea of a Goose Fair partly because when I had my first job after I left university, I lived in south London near to an area called Goose Green - still a green oasis in a crowded bit of the city. How did Goose Green get its name?<br />
<br />
Green geese are traditionally eaten around Michaelmas at the end of September and they were called ‘green’ because the young geese were fattened on the green shoots of ears of wheat left on the ground after harvest. The geese that were fattened for Christmas on dried grain ceased to be 'green' and were apparently less delicately flavoured. Every autumn from the twelfth century to Victorian times, thousands of geese were driven to special goose markets, held in places like Nottingham and Tavistock. Goose Green in south London was the place where the geese were fattened for market after their long walk from the country. Note <i>‘walk’</i>, the geese <u>walked</u> to their destination.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<br />
So that got me thinking about how before the train and the internal combustion engine, animals had to be driven to market on foot. The geese fattened on Goose Green would have come from all the way from Kent and were sold at Leadenhall Market in the City of London (which is still very much in use). The Nottingham geese walked from the Lincolnshire Fens, the Tavistock geese from Somerset. In order to protect their feet, the geese were shod and this was done either by putting their feet into little leather boots (really) or by driving the geese through a tray of tar and then a tray of sand.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOFtRTXi1Vnm1AMtfOKwGCrvvZiCUpMI3nm2sen_HQ5cOSBWhF_BzZCiVsTlutISFXeTqor3qcm98-zq9nprGmzbyzOD32acSblI-kYBxnzAcZhlijtn4YppGjbNWoEdQXzPrVdyfWI1A/s1600/p61b.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOFtRTXi1Vnm1AMtfOKwGCrvvZiCUpMI3nm2sen_HQ5cOSBWhF_BzZCiVsTlutISFXeTqor3qcm98-zq9nprGmzbyzOD32acSblI-kYBxnzAcZhlijtn4YppGjbNWoEdQXzPrVdyfWI1A/s640/p61b.jpg" width="458" /></a></div>
<br />
<span style="font-size: xx-small;">Illustration from Kate Douglas Wiggin's book 'The Goose Girl'</span><br />
<br />
The different flocks of geese would meet up at given points along the way and them be driven to the markets in huge numbers. I thought when I read this – but all the geese would be mixed up – how did they know which was whose? But of course what happened was that middlemen bought up the geese at the stopping points and it was the middlemen who finally sold them onto the poulterers.<br />
<br />
Nottingham’s Goose Fair was established by Charter from Edward I in 1284. The Charter permitted an eight-day fair around St Matthew’s Day and as well as selling green geese, it later became famous as the place to buy cheese. The cheese in question was probably that king of English cheeses – Stilton made just over the border in Leicestershire.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhG860wjPIj98QTdn5lS871iFkCdYq4gXwc-9O-H8ovuDgKK3-m_cz-huACSRWyc8USyrRavz5xv9v05bQ2n8DGRPa-wErfE5W-O9PwLxOJ2QxVZZ1hM8bUW9-CUmBBnJXvLbkpHSnIGcM/s1600/not_ncmg_aloan_95_large.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="454" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhG860wjPIj98QTdn5lS871iFkCdYq4gXwc-9O-H8ovuDgKK3-m_cz-huACSRWyc8USyrRavz5xv9v05bQ2n8DGRPa-wErfE5W-O9PwLxOJ2QxVZZ1hM8bUW9-CUmBBnJXvLbkpHSnIGcM/s640/not_ncmg_aloan_95_large.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
<br />
<span style="font-size: xx-small;">'The Goose Fair: Nottingham' by Arthur Spooner (1873-1962)</span><br />
<span style="font-size: xx-small;"><br /></span>
In his ‘Tour through the villages of England and Wales’ published in 1724, Daniel Defoe said that Stilton was ‘famous for cheese’ and referred to the cheese as being the English Parmesan. Forty years later there were cheese riots at the Nottingham Goose Fair. Here’s what the National Fairground Archive says about them.<br />
<br />
<i>‘In 1764, an increase of a third on the price of cheese.... resulted in outraged customers launching an attack on the stall holders at the fair. Huge cheeses were bowled down the street with the frightened owners following them. Finally the Dragoons had to be sent in to control the mob, after the attempts by the local mayor had resulted in his dignity being flattened by a 100lb cheese.’</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
If you want a goosey recipe look at the earlier post on Michaelmas. We’re having Stilton.<br />
<br />
<b>Stilton and pear tart with pistachios</b><br />
<br />
An 8” shortcrust pastry case, baked blind.<br />
2 eggs<br />
About 175ml single cream<br />
A large Conference or other hard pear<br />
50g chopped pistachios<br />
100g Stilton grated<br />
Black pepper<br />
<br />
Beat the eggs with the cream add a couple of grinds of pepper – no salt. Peel the pear and cut into six sections.<br />
<br />
Lay the sliced pear into the pastry case in a wheel, narrow part inwards and sprinkle over the grated cheese. Pour in the egg mixture and sprinkle over the pistachios.<br />
<br />
Bake at 190c for about 30 - 35 minutes. Serve warm with a watercress salad.<br />
<br />
<br />
<i>Goosey goosey gander,</i><br />
<i>Whither shall I wander?</i><br />
<i>Upstairs and downstairs</i><br />
<i>And in my lady's chamber.</i><br />
<i>There I met an old man</i><br />
<i>Who wouldn't say his prayers,</i><br />
<i>So I took him by his left leg</i><br />
<i>And threw him down the stairs.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<b>(Traditional)</b><br />
<br />
<div>
<br /></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09045660787350825648noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6559862206054673677.post-29837012202266157632013-09-29T13:36:00.002+01:002013-10-06T11:53:51.732+01:004 October: St Francis and the Jongleurs of God<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwzK8i-q2A8VsuGkefPnri9gyvFbUyQJ52vLcvvBhicOOYURq3FCfHyX5W2aBNFjFc9DSl9g-aKEwWNUUYxG1xjTdq8UvyzMbjKV9rSlRy1Z4y9X1THWKUZduJJq9W24absRfNvVt0u0k/s1600/IMG_0661.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwzK8i-q2A8VsuGkefPnri9gyvFbUyQJ52vLcvvBhicOOYURq3FCfHyX5W2aBNFjFc9DSl9g-aKEwWNUUYxG1xjTdq8UvyzMbjKV9rSlRy1Z4y9X1THWKUZduJJq9W24absRfNvVt0u0k/s640/IMG_0661.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
<i>Little sisters, the birds: </i><br />
<i>We must praise God, you and I </i><br />
<i>You, with songs that fill the sky, </i><br />
<i>I, with halting words. </i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>All things tell His praise,</i><br />
<i>Woods and waters thereof sing, </i><br />
<i>Summer, Winter, Autumn, Spring, </i><br />
<i>And the night and days. </i><br />
<br />
<b>From 'St Francis and the Birds' by Kathleen Tynan (1861-1931)</b><br />
<br />
<br />
I was sitting on a beautiful beach recently. It was early evening and the waves were rolling onto the sand in great translucent breakers, like sea glass turning to snow. My companion was an artist, someone I don't know very well, but we sat and admired the scene as people strolled along the sand or stood and watched the waves. Children raced into the thin layer of foam that spread up the sand and shrieked with laughter as they dodged the spray.<br />
<br />
The artist said, "How real this is. What I see are horizontal and vertical lines, but what I feel is how elemental it is. People are having a real experience, not feeling something via the medium of something else." I agreed and said that for me as a writer and poet (sorry! - but I was trying to keep my end up) what I saw was a continuum of mankind's relationship with the sea that has existed as long as we have existed. We could have been looking at the same scene five thousand years ago, so she and I were, in that sense, time travellers.<br />
<br />
It was a joyous few minutes that made one grateful to be alive and I thought of it when I was reading G.K.Chesterton's rather overwrought 'Life of St Francis'. Chesterton was a Catholic convert and had been fascinated by St Francis all his life. He was particularly interested in the fact St. Francis referred to himself and his followers as 'The Jongleurs of God'.<br />
<br />
As a rich young man who was half French, Francis would have been well acquainted with the 13th century troubadour tradition and one of the key features of his spiritual awakening was his singing. But a jongleur was slightly different from a troubadour. A jongleur was more of an entertainer and he could be a juggler (it's same word) or a tumbler. The Latin root also gives us jocund, jollity and joy. So a jongleur is a spreader of happiness and that's what Francis intended his mendicant friars to be. Chesterton says that Francis thought of himself as the court fool of the King of Paradise.<br />
<br />
St Francis was a poet and a mystic and my happy beach moments came back to me when I read how Francis so closely identified with the elements all around him, that he saw himself as part of the wonder of the whole. Here's a bit of of his 'Canticle of the Sun'.<br />
<i><br /></i>
<br />
<i>Be praised, my Lord, through Brothers Wind and Air,</i><br />
<i>and clouds and storms, and all the weather,</i><br />
<i>through which You give Your creatures sustenance.</i><br />
<i>Be praised, my Lord, through Sister Water;</i><br />
<i>she is very useful, and humble, and precious, and pure.</i><br />
<i>Be praised, my Lord, through Brother Fire,</i><br />
<i>through whom You brighten the night.</i><br />
<i>He is beautiful and cheerful, and powerful and strong.</i><br />
<i>Be praised, my Lord, through our sister Mother Earth,</i><br />
<i>who feeds us and rules us,</i><br />
<i>and produces various fruits with coloured flowers and herbs</i><br />
<br />
<br />
St Francis’s life is well known and well documented, you can look him up on Wikipedia, but I always try and make sure these posts give you something more than Wkp does. What GK does is to paint a lively sketch of the world around the turn of the 13th century. It was a world of courtly love, troubadours, a dawning of a new world of painting and a cruel world of the suppression of non-believers. I had to look up the Albigensian Crusade, the war against the Cathars that was being waged in the early 1200s and very nasty it was too.<br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7lEIcpJSGnFPXHjCkzpK7n9gbZoHgvUKQTmpnj5KIuHg7CXWyGTfR-ZgW8n9AlG8iGVXD2lwN-A3OMZkb4LsSehITMvzQuoI4rEmZjlHfw8KxZUNuTSx8jmxgANXeBSsEsC2pO9K5OYw/s1600/IMG_0446.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7lEIcpJSGnFPXHjCkzpK7n9gbZoHgvUKQTmpnj5KIuHg7CXWyGTfR-ZgW8n9AlG8iGVXD2lwN-A3OMZkb4LsSehITMvzQuoI4rEmZjlHfw8KxZUNuTSx8jmxgANXeBSsEsC2pO9K5OYw/s640/IMG_0446.JPG" width="492" /></a></div>
<br />
<span style="font-size: xx-small;">Giotto di Bondone's fresco of St Francis preaching to the birds done in 1297 in the Upper Church in Assisi.</span><br />
<br />
St Francis made a huge impact on the Catholic Church of the time and he must have been a pretty canny political operator for a saint. In a time when heresy was rife, being on the wrong side of belief often meant a nasty death – viz the Cathars. St Francis ensured that his new orders of monks and nuns deferred to Papal authority. They were accepted as true believers, even though, unlike many holy orders at the time, their vows of poverty really meant something - and reflected badly on the riches of the Church.<br />
<br />
The Chesterton biography is merely a continuum of the hagiography of St Francis that began even before his death. The monk Roger of Wendover, who was roughly contemporary with St Francis, wrote about him in his <i>Flores Historiarum</i> of 1235 and it is from Roger we first get the account of St Francis preaching to the birds - after the people of Rome refused to listen to him. <br />
<br />
I wonder if the popularity of St Francis is because he is so appealing to children? The iconic image of him preaching with woodland creatures all around him, has adorned dozens of children's prayer books. Gentle St Francis who could charm the birds of the air and even tamed a wolf with his kindly ways. Even if you don't know anything about saints, St Francis has entered into popular culture in a way that virtually no other saint has. He's now the patron saint of the environment (of course) and of animals as well as Italy, San Francisco and merchants.<br />
<br />
St Francis once had a vision of his hometown of Assisi with the rolling Umbrian hills all around and the beautiful terracotta roof tiles of the golden buildings. The tiles give their name to 'torta al testo', an Umbrian specialty. It’s a sort of posh toasted sandwich but it’s really, really good.<br />
<br />
You can see it being made on Youtube here:<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.blogger.com/I%E2%80%99ve%20been%20reading%20G.K.Chesterton's%20rather%20overwrought%20'Life%20of%20St%20Francis'.%20Chesterton%20was%20a%20Catholic%20convert%20and%20had%20been%20fascinated%20by%20St%20Francis%20all%20his%20life.%20He%20was%20particularly%20interested%20in%20the%20fact%20St.%20Francis%20referred%20to%20his%20followers%20as%20'The%20Jongleurs%20of%20God'.%20%20%20As%20a%20rich%20young%20man%20who%20was%20half%20French,%20Francis%20would%20have%20been%20well%20acquainted%20with%20the%2013th%20century%20troubadour%20tradition%20and%20one%20of%20the%20key%20features%20of%20his%20spiritual%20awakening%20was%20his%20singing.%20But%20a%20jongleur%20was%20slightly%20different%20from%20a%20troubadour.%20He%20was%20more%20of%20an%20entertainer%20and%20he%20could%20be%20a%20juggler%20(it's%20same%20word)%20or%20a%20tumbler.%20The%20Latin%20root%20also%20gives%20us%20jocund,%20jollity%20and%20joy.%20So%20a%20jongleur%20is%20a%20spreader%20of%20happiness%20and%20that's%20what%20Francis%20intended%20his%20mendicant%20friars%20to%20be.%20Chesterton%20says%20that%20Francis%20thought%20of%20himself%20as%20the%20court%20fool%20of%20the%20King%20of%20Paradise.%20%20St%20Francis%E2%80%99s%20life%20is%20well%20known%20and%20well%20documented,%20you%20can%20look%20him%20up%20on%20Wikipedia,%20but%20I%20always%20try%20and%20make%20sure%20these%20posts%20give%20you%20something%20more%20than%20Wkp%20does,%20hence%20my%20ploughing%20through%20Chesterton%20on%20your%20behalf.%20What%20GK%20does%20do,%20is%20to%20paint%20a%20lively%20sketch%20of%20the%20world%20around%20the%20turn%20of%20the%2013th%20century.%20It%20was%20a%20world%20of%20courtly%20love,%20troubadours,%20a%20dawning%20of%20a%20new%20world%20of%20painting%20and%20a%20cruel%20world%20of%20the%20suppression%20of%20non-believers.%20I%20had%20to%20look%20up%20the%20Albigensian%20Crusade,%20the%20war%20against%20the%20Cathars%20that%20was%20being%20waged%20in%20the%20early%201200s%20and%20very%20nasty%20it%20was%20too.%20%20St%20Francis%20made%20a%20huge%20impact%20on%20the%20Catholic%20Church%20of%20the%20time%20and%20he%20was%20beatified%20only%20two%20years%20after%20his%20death.%20%20He%20was%20actually%20a%20pretty%20canny%20political%20operator.%20In%20a%20time%20when%20heresy%20was%20rife,%20being%20on%20the%20wrong%20side%20of%20belief%20often%20meant%20a%20nasty%20death%20%E2%80%93%20viz%20the%20Cathars.%20St%20Francis%20ensured%20that%20his%20new%20order%20of%20monks%20and%20nuns%20deferred%20to%20Papal%20authority.%20They%20were%20accepted%20as%20true%20believers,%20even%20though,%20unlike%20many%20holy%20orders%20at%20the%20time,%20their%20vows%20of%20poverty%20really%20meant%20something.%20%20The%20Chesterton%20biography%20is%20merely%20a%20continuum%20of%20the%20hagiography%20of%20St%20Francis%20that%20began%20even%20before%20his%20death.%20The%20monk%20Roger%20of%20Wendover,%20who%20was%20roughly%20contemporary%20with%20St%20Francis,%20wrote%20about%20him%20in%20his%20Flores%20Historiarum%20of%201235%20and%20it%20is%20from%20Roger%20we%20first%20get%20the%20account%20of%20St%20Francis%20preaching%20to%20the%20birds%20-%20after%20the%20people%20of%20Rome%20refused%20to%20listen%20to%20him.%20%20%20%20I%20wonder%20if%20the%20popularity%20of%20St%20Francis%20of%20Assisi%20is%20because%20he%20is%20so%20appealing%20to%20children?%20The%20iconic%20image%20of%20him%20preaching%20to%20the%20birds%20with%20woodland%20creatures%20all%20around%20him,%20has%20adorned%20dozens%20of%20children's%20prayer%20books.%20Gentle%20St%20Francis%20who%20could%20charm%20the%20birds%20of%20the%20air%20and%20even%20tamed%20a%20wolf%20with%20his%20kindly%20ways.%20Even%20if%20you%20don't%20know%20anything%20about%20saints,%20St%20Francis%20has%20entered%20into%20popular%20culture%20in%20a%20way%20that%20virtually%20no%20other%20saint%20has.%20%20%20St%20Francis%20had%20a%20vision%20of%20his%20hometown%20of%20Assisi%20with%20the%20rolling%20Umbrian%20hills%20all%20around%20and%20the%20fabulous%20terracotta%20roof%20tiles%20of%20the%20golden%20buildings.%20%20I%E2%80%99ve%20made%20torta%20al%20testo,%20an%20Umbrian%20specialty.%20It%E2%80%99s%20a%20sort%20of%20posh%20toasted%20sandwich%20but%20it%E2%80%99s%20really,%20really%20good.%20You%20can%20see%20it%20being%20made%20on%20Youtube%20here:%20http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IVFMEZtWLtI" target="_blank">http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IVFMEZtWLtI </a><br />
<br />
<br />
Most recipes call for yeast, but I made mine with baking powder.<br />
<br />
<b>Torta al testo</b><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>The dough</i><br />
500g strong white flour<br />
1 tsp salt<br />
2 tsp baking powder<br />
3 tablespoon olive oil (at least)<br />
fizzy water<br />
<i>The filling</i><br />
Chard or spinach<br />
A melting cheese – fontina if you can get it. I couldn’t and used gruyère.<br />
Nutmeg<br />
You can add ham or salami too…<br />
<br />
Add the dry ingredients together, then the pour in the oil and sufficient water to make a soft dough. It will be sticky at first. Then knead it <i>really well</i> – see the video and leave it to rest. Divide the dough into six portions and roll out. Flatbread always shrinks and thickens when it hits the heat, so roll it thinner than you want it to be when it’s cooked.<br />
<br />
I then slapped the breads straight onto the hot plate of my cooker, but a really hot dry frying pan will do just as well. Turn the bread a few times and then take off the heat. Each one only takes 8-10 minutes to cook. Let it cool a bit.<br />
<br />
Wilt some chard or spinach and dry out as much as you can. Add a grate of nutmeg. Slice the cheese thinly.<br />
<br />
Slice each torta horizontally and separate the two halves. I scraped away the odd bit of uncooked dough. Pile in the filling replace the top and put into a hot oven until the cheese melts. Remove and cut each torta into quarters. Eat immediately.<br />
<div>
<br /></div>
<i>If Brother Francis pardoned Brother Flea,</i><br />
<i>There still seems need of such strange charity,</i><br />
<i>Seeing he is, for all his gay goodwill,</i><br />
<i>Bitten by funny little creatures still. </i><br />
<div>
<b><br /></b></div>
<br />
<b>'A Broad Minded Bishop Rebukes The Verminous St. Francis' by G.K. Chesterton (1874-1936)</b><br />
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09045660787350825648noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6559862206054673677.post-3552261391824006442013-09-22T09:41:00.000+01:002013-09-22T09:41:00.193+01:0026 September 1580: Sir Francis Drake completes his circumnavigation of the world<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3whrFOA2E5ObD0YrkExm0mUXU5kpJNAT1xuRpzCoVsSW6QW4ygtwPrTBi5W0c3oevjnsJZWFQCAmsisL6eFhZd6GLNpAIt9UskNdTZj0qucBRxCJzj1YPHTdgJ41RN0amtvdQYWs340I/s1600/IMG_0656.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3whrFOA2E5ObD0YrkExm0mUXU5kpJNAT1xuRpzCoVsSW6QW4ygtwPrTBi5W0c3oevjnsJZWFQCAmsisL6eFhZd6GLNpAIt9UskNdTZj0qucBRxCJzj1YPHTdgJ41RN0amtvdQYWs340I/s640/IMG_0656.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
<br />
<i>Drake he's in his hammock an' a thousand mile away,<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span> </i><br />
<i>(Capten, art tha sleepin' there below?)<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span> </i><br />
<i>Slung atween the round shot in Nombre Dios Bay,<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span> </i><br />
<i>An' dreamin' arl the time o' Plymouth Hoe.<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span> </i><br />
<i>Yarnder lumes the island, yarnder lie the ships,<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span> </i><br />
<i>Wi' sailor lads a-dancin' heel-an'-toe,<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span> </i><br />
<i>An' the shore-lights flashin', an' the night-tide dashin'<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span> </i><br />
<i>He sees et arl so plainly as he saw et long ago</i><br />
<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span><br />
<b> From ‘Drake’s Drum’ by Henry Newbolt (1862-1938)</b><br />
<br />
The main part of the British Isles is but one landmass in an archipelago of 6,289 islands. Men and women have been sailing around and through them for more than twenty thousand years and we are often referred to as ‘an island nation’ - but really that should be a ‘nation of islands.’ Our relationship with the sea is written into our culture, our consciousness and our psyche. <br />
<br />
Peter Ackroyd says in his book ‘Albion’, <i>‘The course of an adventurous sea-voyage represents one of the enduring myths of the English imagination,' </i>and the recounting of fabulous journeys goes back to Anglo-Saxon times. However it was in Tudor England, when the world was opening up in such a spectacular and rapid way, that the idea of the ‘voyage’ really takes hold. Think of the number of sea journeys, islands and shipwrecks in Shakespeare.<br />
<br />
In 1589, the cleric Richard Hakluyt, published the first edition of his masterwork ‘<i>The Principall Navigations, Voyages and Discoveries of the English Nation.'</i> Hakluyt made it his business to collect first hand accounts of his subject and for Sir Francis Drake, his source was Francis Fletcher who had been Drake’s chaplain and who had accompanied him on his mammoth excursion. Eventually Hakluyt’s book was two thousand pages long and contained the details of no less than 216 voyages. If anyone is responsible for turning the map of the word pink it’s an obscure Welsh cleric who never travelled further than Paris.<br />
<br />
This is Drake as engraved by the Flemish cartographer Hondius in about 1585, it's probably done from life as Hondius was a great admirer of Drake and lived in London in the late 1580s.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9N-MahdbctNDvGZ5ydsLZQpn8mWOh50lHBFM5Ddk4s7u4zusTrVQdChIHqf7CfHzrh3P21qvih5rGRuRs4b12m7jzRUKPrWody48Pwym_7fOSVzRT713YCqB0c7j7rJ1sdiKwLOHi3-k/s1600/capdrake.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="470" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9N-MahdbctNDvGZ5ydsLZQpn8mWOh50lHBFM5Ddk4s7u4zusTrVQdChIHqf7CfHzrh3P21qvih5rGRuRs4b12m7jzRUKPrWody48Pwym_7fOSVzRT713YCqB0c7j7rJ1sdiKwLOHi3-k/s640/capdrake.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
<br />
Between the first global circumnavigation by Magellan in 1521 and Drake’s voyage of 1577-80, the Spanish and the Portuguese made several long distance journeys and had begun to colonise the Philippines and the Americas. Hakluyt had little time for these foreigners, <i>‘pretending in glorious words that they made their discoveries chiefly to convert infidels to our most holy faith (as they say)</i>’ He made no such pretence; it was all about trade, new markets and new products.<br />
<br />
Drake as a young captain had accompanied his cousin Sir John Hawkins to exploit that most valuable commodity – the captured slave. The Spanish and Portuguese had been slave trading for years and not surprisingly the English wanted a piece of the action. Drake's reputation as an English hero, coolly playing bowls even as the Spanish Armada sailed up the English Channel, has to be seen in the context of the times, which were brutal. The Spanish called Drake ‘El Draque’ and as so often before and since, one man’s hero is another man’s pirate. In fact when attacking Panama in 1576 Drake had made an alliance with the Cimmarroons who were escaped Spanish slaves and it was thought at the time that an alliance between England and West African states might challenge the might of the Spanish. Hence the symbolism on the jewel below.<br />
<br />
Having sailed around the world harrying Spanish fleets and sacking their trading posts, Drake returned to Plymouth on the 26th September 1580 laden down with a cargo of spices and captured Spanish gold. Half the value of the cargo went to Queen Elizabeth I and Drake gave her a personal gift of a fabulous diamond. The Queen gave him a Knighthood and the Drake Jewel – here it is.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQJaF-vMnUf22QUoFrUUCAIRd0tEB1I7rm-9X5i5NEopsVxbO01Zj-XYY8QZOGTO9wkrlPHdOcR2nEEVTqn5iXizOFfyHFmzyi40Rx5_-X5ywdwHZSVhNHiyvz4aTlCWINS_bNdZ6NiyU/s1600/drake-jewel.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="628" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQJaF-vMnUf22QUoFrUUCAIRd0tEB1I7rm-9X5i5NEopsVxbO01Zj-XYY8QZOGTO9wkrlPHdOcR2nEEVTqn5iXizOFfyHFmzyi40Rx5_-X5ywdwHZSVhNHiyvz4aTlCWINS_bNdZ6NiyU/s640/drake-jewel.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<br />
<br />
The great age of discovery brought significant changes to the dining tables of Europe. The Portuguese who owned the island of Madeira (which had been the main source of cane sugar in the early sixteenth century) switched production to Brazil. By 1600 they had 400 mills producing 57,000 tons of sugar every year; all on the back of (literally) the sweating labour of African slaves. Most of the sugar was brokered through London and the British nation developed its sweet tooth. <br />
<br />
Drake died of dysentery (Hakyult called it <i>‘a scowring</i>’) in Panama in 1596. He was buried at sea in a lead coffin wearing his suit of armour. His legacy, like that of his slightly younger contemporary Sir Walter Raleigh, was Britain’s dominance of the seas and global trade. Tomatoes, squash, chilli peppers, chocolate, corn, potato, avocado, vanilla, pineapple and the mass production of sugar, we owe them all to those sixteenth century voyagers. <br />
<br />
<b>Vanilla scented apples with cinnamon meringue and caramel (for 2).</b><br />
<b><br /></b>
I find the best way to cook apples for a puree is to cut them in quarters and remove the cores but leave them unpeeled. I toss them in a little lemon juice and microwave until soft, then I can leave them to cool, remove the skin with a teaspoon and nothing is wasted. Even if you don't make this recipe, vanilla with apple is delicious and sweetens it wonderfully without sugar.<br />
<b><br /></b>
2 large cooking apples and 1 dsp of caster sugar<br />
2 egg whites<br />
3/4 cup of sifted icing sugar<br />
1/2 tsp ground cinnamon<br />
1/2 tsp vanilla essence (the real thing)<br />
2 tablespoons of caster sugar<br />
<br />
Make an apple puree and sweeten it to taste with a dessertspoon of sugar and the vanilla essence. Beat the egg whites to soft peaks and fold in the icing sugar and cinnamon. Now you can do one of two things - spread the meringue over the apple in a shallow dish and bake until lightly golden, or you can make quenelles of the meringue and poach them in milk. I meant to do the latter but I over beat my eggs and they collapsed as you can see in the picture above.<br />
<br />
Make a caramel by melting the caster sugar in a heavy pan. When it is a nutty brown and foaming, take it off the heat and before it hardens drizzle over the meringue. It adds a nice crunch.<br />
<br />
Soak the pan in hot water immediately!<br />
<br />
Serve cool on its own or with thick cream.<br />
<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span><br />
<i>FULL fathom five thy father lies:<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span></i><br />
<i>Of his bones are coral made;<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span></i><br />
<i>Those are pearls that were his eyes:<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span></i><br />
<i>Nothing of him that doth fade,<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span></i><br />
<i>But doth suffer a sea-change<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span> </i><br />
<i>Into something rich and strange.<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span></i><br />
<i>Sea-nymphs hourly ring his knell:<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span></i><br />
<i>Hark! now I hear them,—<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span></i><br />
<i>Ding, dong, bell.<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span></i><br />
<br />
<b>From ‘The Tempest’ Act 1 Scene ii by William Shakespeare (1564-1616)</b><br />
<div>
<br /></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09045660787350825648noreply@blogger.com0