Traditional Food in Yorkshire - Peter Brears

This has not been a great week work wise - due to some oversights far above the shop floor my own particular challenge is to find a home for 5 tonnes of wine before more turns up. More is always turning up, a lot more is turning up over the next few days. I have 7 cardboard inflicted cuts on my hands all in places guaranteed not to heal well and to sting like mad every time I wash my hands. Boxes of wine are dirty, I wash my hands a lot. There are also the cuts from where various bits of metal have attempted(with a  fair degree of success) to take their pound of flesh. Everything hurts, it's been hot, and frankly I'm grumpy.

Limping towards my flat tonight my eye was caught by what looked like a parcel in the doorway (hard to tell from a distance as the automatic light is currently promoting a mysterious atmosphere by only turning on after I've fumbled in the gloom with my keys and actually got into my flat) it was a parcel. A totally unexpected parcel from Prospect books and it contained a copy of Peter Brears 'Traditional Food in Yorkshire' it made my day. The aches and pains remain but the grumpiness has largely gone because a) I have a new book which always cheers me up, and b) I fell in love with Brears' 'Cooking and Dining in Medieval England' - which was a little bit unexpected.

'Traditional Food In Yorkshire' is about far more than just food, it's the life and food of the working people of Yorkshire between roughly 1800 and 1920 - a time of significant change in working patterns and life style. The chapters break down into farmworkers from different areas, the fisherfolk of the Northwest coast, West Riding coal miners, spinners and weavers, and workers in towns. There are chapters on the normal foody things arranged by ingredients and also for traditional feasts, celebrations, and general high days and holidays. The whole is illustrated by Brears; it looks like every aspect of working class life is covered in beautifully constructed cross sections of buildings and then there are the details of kitchen equipment - they're wonderful.

I've only browsed through this book so far (I've not been home that long) but it's something I'm so excited by that I couldn't wait to share it. Also the recipe for Surprise Potatoes sounds brilliant.

Traditional Recipes of Laos - Phia Sing

Prospect Books asked me if I would like a copy of this as Laos is now the place to go in South East Asia, I would unhesitatingly say yes to anything from Prospect because their books are excellent - they cover 'food, cookery, food history, foodways, ingredients, and anything else concerning our diet'. They happily publish books I can't imagine anybody else taking on and some of which can't make much money (any money?) but all of which deserve to find an audience. the world at large and book lovers specifically need publishers like this.

My travels have never taken me out of Europe and whilst paying a mortgage is my primary concern I don't suppose that's very likely to change. I sometimes wonder if I should have made more effort to go further afield when I was younger and didn't have so many bills to pay but on the whole I don't really regret not having travelled more (yet). Meanwhile I can explore from the comfort of my own home through recipes. 'Traditional Recipes of Laos' is a perfect exploring book.

Phia Sing was the master of ceremonies and chef in the Royal Palace at Luang Prabang. Towards the end of his life (some 70 years ago) he wrote down a collection of traditional recipes at a time when written sources where almost non existent and oral accounts not as precise as could be wished for. Alan Davidson (who originally founded Prospect Books) was a career diplomat as well as being one of the great food writers, he was posted to Laos in the 1970's just before the country became communist. It was a lucky conversational chance with the then Crown Prince that led to Davidson getting his hands on the original notebooks. They had been talking about fishing when he mentioned how hard it was proving to get authentic recipes, the Crown prince produced the notebooks and happily Davidson got them Xeroxed and translated.

In this edition there are facsimiles of the original notebooks on one page translations on the next. There are also excellent sections on Loa eating habits and attitudes to food, culinary terms and equipment, and ingredients and other practical information for the cook. There are 124 original and authentic recipes from Phia Sing's notebooks - as I write this I keep thinking about how easily these might have been lost - and also a chapter on desserts which come from the Davidson's own research, Phia Sing's notebook's didn't contain any and his family considered it unlikely that he would have written any down.

This is so much more than a simple collection of recipes; it's a glimpse into a different time as well as a different place. There is a lot of chopping, pounding, simmering, and steaming so it's a world where cooking is the main business of the day and where the kitchen is the centre of the world - full of ingredients and preparations that lead into one another, it's a fascinating world to explore.

Rhubarb

I had meant to write about Diana Henry's 'Food From Plenty' tonight - actually I've been meaning to write about it for weeks but other things keep pushing in and today is no exception which is a shame because it's excellent and doesn't deserve to be sidelined. It's moment will come soon. Meanwhile a trip out to buy milk and glare at the 'G' section in Waterstones fiction department because they still don't have those Rumer Godden books (how I spend my weekends maybe needs re-addressing) led to bargains - bunches of daffodils for 10p each (I've never had so many daffodils in the house before, and as I type I can hear them popping open; it's very disconcerting) and cheap English rhubarb. 

Rhubarb is always a favourite, forced rhubarb even more so, and what could be better than supporting a home grown industry? Absolutely nothing could be better if it involves rhubarb. Anyway I managed to come home with about 2 kilos and the question of what to do with it all. I also got a very decent litre of vodka at a knock down price so schnapps was an obvious choice. Nigella has a recipe, so does Diana Henry in Salt Sugar Smoke, and so does Mary Prior in 'Rhubarbaria'. I've gone with Diana Henry's but basically it's rhubarb, sugar, and vodka, I'm guessing quantities don't matter very much - you fill a jar with rhubarb, add sugar, let it melt and get all juicy over night, and then top up with vodka before letting it mature for a month. 

I also went with Diana Henry's rhubarb jelly recipe because it uses apples as well which meant I had enough rhubarb left to make the rhubarb muffins from Mary Prior's book. The apple rhubarb mix is draining into a bowl at the moment but it doesn't look like it's going to produce a whole lot of juice, if the jelly is as good as I hope it will be I'll try making more before the season ends.

juices beginning to macerate; very exciting!

As for the muffins - I've never had much luck with muffins in the past, they've been okay but a little bit underwhelming but these are brilliant. Fruity, not to sweet, moist - generally delicious (I've eaten 2 already)... One of the things I love about 'Rhubarbaria' is that each recipe comes with a provenance, these muffins come from Canada with a charming story attached.

Mix 150g plain flour with 1 and a 1/2 teaspoons of baking powder, 100g of sugar, 1/2 a teaspoon of vanilla extract, 120 mls of milk, 60mls of sunflower oil, and 1 egg. When just combined throw in a cup and a half of  rhubarb chopped into small squares (that's about 4 small stalks) stir in and divide into muffin cases. Sprinkle the tops with caster sugar and bake for about 30 minutes at 190 C/ gas mark 5. Very enjoyable.

I've written about 'Rhubarbaria' before, it's a terrific little book, and should be indispensable to anybody who likes rhubarb even a little bit. It's far more than a cookbook, I get lost in it every time I consult it; it's the sort of book that begs to have cuttings added to it (I have) and invites you to imagine something of the lives of all the very many people who are the source for it's recipes.    

A brighter prospect

Oh dear, I meant this post to go out on Saturday but I'm still miserable with my cold (and if it sounds like man flu than it probably is, but I've been at work all day being extremely patient and so reserve the right for a bit of a whinge now). Sunday was devoted to James Bond and a family gathering but here I am, back home, in my pyjama's, considering another hot toddy and ready to blog. 

A goodly portion of my book pile has come courtesy of Prospect Books, one of them particularly (Messy Cook) I've had for months without ever seeming to find the time to have a proper look at it so I thought the best thing might be a quick run through of these four titles prior to a better look later.

Michael Raffael's 'Messy Cook' is a book with recipes that wants to be read. It has short stories, experiences, a bit of philosophy, and some instructions - in short there's a whole lifetime's accumulated knowledge, the proper appreciation of which will take some time. I need to find that time somewhere, but until I do - this book looks great, absolutely perfect for anyone interested in cooking and food.

Caroline Conran's 'Sud de France - The food and cooking of the Languedoc' is a slightly more traditional cookbook in that it seems to be slightly more focused on recipes than philosophy. I know a lot of people who would love this book, but not being a francophile it might have been a bit of a hard sell for me until I read the magic words cuisine du terroir. Terroir is a concept that I not only believe in but get quite excited by. The idea that you can taste geography - and culture - is quite seductive, and is the basis for much of my love of cookbooks, so once again I'm looking forward to spending more time with this book.

Peter Brears 'Cooking and Dining in Medieval England' deserves to be a best seller as well as winner of the Andre Simon food book of the year award (2009). You can taste history in food as well, and never more so than at Christmas when all those dried fruits, nuts, and spices hark back to at least the middle ages and all sorts of culinary explorations. (I really love mince pies.) When I first got this book I started flicking through it until I finally put it down at something like 2 am. Everything is in here; what was eaten, how it was eaten, where it was eaten, or made - everything, right down to the lengths of tablecloths and how they went on the tables and it's all really interesting (because honestly, it might not have been). Interestingly Brears has reconstructed the recipes using contemporary ingredients so cooking from this book should be quite easy.

Last but not least I also got a copy of Dorothy Hartley's 'Lost World'. Hartley's best known book is 'Food in England' a complete guide to the food that makes us who we are. It hasn't been out of print since it was first published in 1954 and is familiar to me from many, many, bookshelves (though somewhat inexplicably not my own). Lucy Worsley is presenting a programme about Dorothy Hartley on BBC4 at 9pm Tuesday (6th November) which should be good. meanwhile 'Lost World' is a collection of her journalism written between 1933 and 1936 and covers a range of rural matters from a time when farming and country life were changing fast. It's a beautiful book. 

The Treatise of Walter of Bibbesworth

Prospect books sent me 'The Treatise of Walter of Bibbesworth ' a month or two back - my initial response was one of slight trepidation, but I have fond memories of Chaucer from 'A' level days so decided I was up to the challenge. Chaucer turned out to be utterly irrelevant,  the Treatise itself translated by Andrew Dalby for Prospect is however is oddly beguiling. 

The history of the treatise is fascinating; written by Walter of Bibbesworth (a Hertfordshire gentleman) sometime in the 1230's probably as a wedding present for his friend Dionisie de Anstey when she made her second marriage, and with it a considerable step up in the world. Both Walter and Dionisie came from minor landed families, Walter was something of a soldier and poet - both of which presumably improved his French. 

Dionisie, as an attractive young widow, caught the eye of Warin de Munchensi - who seems to have owned a considerable chunk of southern England, he was also a widower having been married to a sister of the Earl of Pembroke, hereditary Marshal of England. Dionisie's step children were connected with, and would be on visiting terms with, the royal family, the little girl - Joan - would grow up to be the most eligible heiress in the country. As part of the Anglo-Norman aristocracy the de Munchensi children would need to speak French and it would be Dionisie's job to teach them though at the time of her second marriage it seems that she was by no means bilingual and this is where Walter's Treatise comes in to play; it's a long poem in Anglo-Norman French designed to explain the grammar, names of things, and how to avoid mixing up similar sounding words, and meant to be read by Dionisie with the children.

Anglo-Norman is not something I knew much (anything at all) about before reading the excellent introduction to the Treatise, but I'm interested by it now, just as I am by the idea that there are dialects in America that are closer to Elizabethan English than anything now to be found in the UK, (or the tantalising loss of the old Norn language from Shetland, Orkney, and Caithness by the mid 19th century). The French spoken in England was based on the language as it existed in Normandy at the time William came and conquered, after that Anglo-Norman and French diverged, by the time the treatise was written it couldn't be taken for granted that noble families would be naturally bilingual - French needed to be taught, and at the same time words are being borrowed and assimilated into both languages.

Unlike reading Chaucer - who has a story to tell rather than a language to teach, the Treatise loses quite a lot if you only read the translation. There are bits that don't make much sense if you can't see the French version and appreciate the rhymes and homonyms that would have made the lessons both easier to remember and so important. There are however plenty of bits that stand up by themselves - mostly the descriptions of food (Haggis gets a mention!), feasting, and brewing, but also a lovely section on the sounds that different animals make. 

All in all it's a fascinating read; there is so much detail about medieval life, but also the undeniable charm that comes from it being a book meant as much for children as their educators - something which gives scope for jokes and a general light-heartedness. Forgotten about for a long time before being rediscovered in the nineteenth century the Treatise certainly deserves to be better known and more widely enjoyed.  

The Fruit, Herbs, & Vegetables of Italy - Giacomo Castelvetro

Winter made an unwelcome return today - when it wasn't raining it was snowing, and although I don't doubt the garden will be appreciative of all the water I would have preferred it if it had fallen on any other day of the week; day off plans were comprehensively washed and frozen out. It's not been a total loss though, there was some really very good carrot cake (from 'Short and Sweet' with added raisins, and I would say excellent but I never manage to get the cream cheese frosting just quite right) and a lamb and apricot pilaf from Claudia Roden's never yet beaten 'A New Book of Middle Eastern Food'. Inbetween the cooking and watching rubbish daytime telly there's also been some reading. Come to think of it that could have been a much worse day off.

The book that's been reminding me of warmer climes today has been a classic of early 17th century food writing; 'The Fruit, Herbs & Vegetables of Italy' written by Giacomo Castelvetro, translated by Gillian Riley, and published by Prospect books. Castelvetro is an intriguing character, he had to leave Italy on account of his protestantism and the unwelcome attentions of the Roman Inquisition and spent much of his life travelling around Europe. He eventually returned to the charity of his friends in England but his last years don't seem to have been altogether happy. 'The Fruit, Herbs & Vegetables of Italy' was written late in his life and circulated  in manuscript form to would be patrons including Lucy, Countess of Bedford (she who was a friend of John Donne). He was a passionate advocate of fruit and vegetables, and although not quite a vegetarian doesn't seem to be so far off. 

It's interesting (and entertaining) reading, Gillian Riley talks of how much she enjoyed Castelvetro's voice and I enjoyed what she did with it. His format follows each fruit or vegetable as it comes into season - something that's right back in vogue - and explains how it's cooked and eaten in Italy along with some of it's health benefits and occasional anecdotes. Perhaps because the things you can do to vegetables and salad haven't changed so very much this doesn't feel like an antique account (although modern cookbooks don't tend to focus quite so closely on cures for constipation and urine infections - at least not the ones I tend to consult - in this case it's endearing). What I found particularly interesting was an insistence on cleanliness; hands have to be thoroughly washed, the English, Germans, and French all do a poor job of washing salad - which again has to be done properly and then dried. There are frequent exhortations to make sure bowls are properly washed too, I think the modern cook would feel quite comfortable in Castelvetro's kitchen. 

There is also an excellent glossary which explains and expands on much of the text. I'm fascinated by culinary history - you wouldn't believe how excited I get about mince pies and Christmas pudding ever since I realised just how old they were - and the links with middle eastern cooking - that's the taste of history (and Christmas) which is quite exciting for something Mr Kipling makes. 'The Fruit, Herbs & Vegetables of Italy' has ensured I'll never take a salad for granted again.

Prospect Books

You will never know how hard I fought against the urge to use some sort of pun in the title for this post but I successfully resisted. I am extremely fond of Prospect Books and it's proprietor Tom Jaine, though I must admit with the latter that it's cupboard love; he sends me books from time to time which never fail to delight me be it something like Gereldine Holt's 'Cakes' - just excellent - or Blandine Vie's 'Testicles' which has amused or discombobulated whoever has seen it (reaction is generally dictated by gender). I don't doubt that Tom is charming in real life too, his letters and emails certainly are - such as today when he sent me some copies of his food journal Petits Propos Culinaires (PPC for short). Now I know I've read about it before but I hadn't given it much thought, you get 3 copies a year for £18 (which represents pretty good value compared to  Slightly Foxed and Hortus which it's not at all dissimilar to) and I will be subscribing immediately (stopping only to blog about it first). 

As Tom says (I hope he doesn't mind me calling him Tom) "Had it been founded in the last 5 years rather than in 1980, it would most likely have been a blog and you might think that we would be best advised to convert to electronic publication at full speed. But there are plenty of people who still enjoy the printed word, find a small book fits more easily into the reticule or brief case, can be consulted at ease on the throne or be cuddled closely in bed. So we stick with the printed form." 

Well I prefer the printed form and enjoy food history; the two hours I spent on buses today was rendered much more enjoyable by the copy of PPC I read. The illustrations are black and white and there are no recipes - this isn't food porn, instead what you get are a series of thoughtful and thought provoking articles about food writing, it's history, and again quoting Tom "...what might charitably be called ethnography and some frivolities to lighten the mix." My favourite section though is the book reviews which range from the lengthy and erudite to the short and pithy. 

Talking about 'Honey and Preserves' (the little Fortnum and Mason book) the other day I touched on a growing feeling of over exposure towards all those lavishly photographed personality heavy cook books. The best food writer I've ever read is Jane Grigson, her books are wonderful; full of anecdote, history, and excellent  reliable recipes all of which come with a provenance (I like my wines to reflect their terroir* and prefer food which does something similar) there are no pictures. Prospect's books do the same thing, amongst other activities they showcase good writing, the history of our food culture (which is pretty much the history of our culture) the slightly off beat (Testicles and Tripe) and what to do with single crop gluts (Rhubarb and Courgettes) it's exciting. 

Publishers like this deserve attention and support - they make my shelves more interesting, but there books aren't always the easiest to find - seek them out and at least take a look at what they have to offer.

*Terroir loosely translates as a sense of place - it refers to the geography, geology, and climate of a vineyard  all of which should go to make a wine that's unique to its own particular spot. There's a sort of romance in the idea which appeals to me and once you've had a surfeit of identi-kit fruit forward wines (think of every new world sauvignon blanc you've had under a tenner) something distinctive is a blessing. 

Five reasons to be cheerful on a gloomy November day

I’ve been feeling slightly sorry for myself recently, work has been hard with no promise of let up until after Christmas (actually it’s going to get a lot worse before it gets better), my patience with humanity as it exhibits itself in customer form has hit some all time lows and my back hurts (which is a distraction from my arm and ankle hurting at least). The economy is not encouraging either, neither common sense nor austerity particularly appeal to me and I feel like I’ve been exercising both for quite long enough now, if I had a budget I’d blow it on something extravagant but despite it only being mid month I’m already reduced to scrapping around for coppers and counting down until pay day.

However the sun finally shone this afternoon and I had an exciting parcel from Prospect books which added to a few other recent packages encouraged me to pull myself together and realise it’s not all that grim. It might be a while before I manage to read my way through all these beauties and meanwhile I can’t wait to share...

Pride of place goes to ‘Tripe: A Most Excellent Dish’ by Marjorie Houlihan. It only arrived this afternoon and I’ve done nothing more than glance at it but the title alone was enough to make me smile. It’s a history of tripe in Lancashire along with a collection of tripe recipes from around the world. Leicester has a tripe stall on its indoor market selling white and brown versions, both look revolting and I’ll take some convincing to actually try the stuff. Regardless Prospect’s English Kitchen series is always fascinating and I look forward to reading about it if not to eating it.

The book I’m currently enjoying is Matthew Sweet’s ‘West End Front’ about life in London’s great hotels during the war. I picked this up to have a look at it and couldn’t put it down, it’s much better than I expected (I mean I thought it would be good but had no idea it would be this good) there are plenty of books which I should have read before I got to this one and plenty of other things I should be doing when I’m reading it but it’s irresistible.

‘The Gentle Art Of Cookery’ also landed on my doorstep recently and is one that I meant to have a better look at before I got distracted by ‘West End Front’. This is a lovely looking thing complete with coloured page edges (we can’t think what the proper word for that is). I’ve dipped in and out of it enough to know that it’s as good as it looks – more on that soon.

‘Women’s Suffrage in Shetland’ by Marsali Taylor came courtesy of my father late last week. Mrs Taylor was my English teacher (and a very good one too) and again all I’ve done is open this and have a quick look, first impressions are excellent so I’m looking forward to spending more time with it – two obsessions in one handy volume – what a treat.

Last but not least is Jane Robinson’s ‘A Force to be Reckoned With’ a history of the WI. I’ve been tempted by a few of Robinson’s titles in the past but this is the first one I’ve got my hands on. It sound very promising and again I’m really looking forward to getting stuck into it. If only there were more hours in the day.

Monday

On Mondays I generally finish at lunchtime which is nice, but this is after getting up at 6am to be at work in the first place which I don’t enjoy so much. It’s always a toss up between being a glass half empty, glass half full kind of a day. Today turned into a glass half full when I found this in the letterbox when I got home. It was utterly unexpected and even after a brief look it’s still something of an unknown quantity but it’s a long time since a book title has made me laugh like this (my mother was amused too, but the Scottish one was appalled). I don’t know quite when I’ll read this but I love Prospect books, a parcel from them has never failed to make my day and although I suspect this is a change of pace from the last book I got from them (the superlative ‘Cakes’ by Geraldine Holt) here is a picture of ‘Testicles: Balls in Cooking and Culture’ which I hope will raise both a smile and enough interest to encourage all and sundry to go and look at Prospect's website.

Geraldene Holt’s Cakes

Today has been a despondent sort of occasion – no reason for the mood, it should on the whole have been a happy sort of a day, but there’s been far too much procrastinating and not enough action until it’s got unexpectedly late and I still haven’t done many of the things I meant to do. If I can shift myself off the chair in front of the computer (with a nice view of the television and with a handy shelf for a drink / plate of sandwiches / piles of books) my answer to these sorts of moods is to bake and cook my way out of it. That’s finally what I did tonight, so now I do at least feel like I’ve done something.

And indeed I have, I’ve baked a really very satisfactory chocolate cake (actually its bloody brilliant for which I wish I could take more credit) and done something useful but dull (compared to cake) with elderly peppers and a bit of pork rescued from the back of the freezer. Mind you the kitchen looks like a bomb site again which was part of the reason for earlier dejection.

I’ve been playing reading with Geraldene Holt’s ‘Cakes’ ever since I got back from holiday and found it waiting for me courtesy of lovely Prospect Books. (And where has the last month gone exactly?) I meant to write about this properly a bit ago, it’s a brilliant book that deserves some serious attention but I fear that it’ll be passed over. I don’t often see Prospect’s titles in bookshops and amazon don’t seem to recommend them to me which means unless you know about them they can be easy to miss which is a crying shame.

‘Cakes’ is a reprint of a classic (at least a classic to those in the know) and is the fruit of Geraldene Holt’s baking for her local WI stall. I like this edition for the no nonsense approach, by which I mean clear and precise instructions rather than a reliance on styling. I’m getting sick of food books which are more picture than recipe (Nigel Slater’s fruit book is beautiful I don’t deny it, but since I got it for Christmas all I’ve done with it is admire the moody pictures of blackberries which feels like a fail). Not having pictures is unexpectedly liberating – if my cake doesn’t look perfect (but ahem, they always do...) at least I don’t have to compare it to an unfeasibly beautiful piece of baked perfection.

Clear instructions that I can rely on however are another story. The pedant in me craves foolproof instructions which is exactly what Holt gives me. If I do what I’m told I’ll get what I want, and once I know what I’m doing I can think about improvising. This is the best kind of cookbook. It’s also taken me back to an appreciation of the basics; it had been a long time for example since I made a Victoria sponge (I’ve been to easily seduced by other flashier cakes) but after a prompt from the book I made a cracker filled with passion fruit and cream. It was very nice. I can also recommend the chocolate velvet cake, and really have to finish with a list of some of the cakes I mean to make... Angel  cake with St Clemant’s cream, Russian cake, Dutch apple cake, Pineapple fruit cake, Chocolate honey fudge slices, Hazelnut cake with Port wine cream, French coffee walnut cake, Pine nut honey and lemon cake, Congress tarts (because they sound just a little bit wrong), Palmiers, Gold vanilla and Silver almond cakes, I could go on and on, but I need to go to bed, and want to reassure myself that the chocolate velvet cake is still as good as it was an hour ago as I go on my way happy.

Building a Wood-Fired Oven for Bread and Pizza – Tom Jaine

There’s something about a bank holiday weekend that calls for a project, so far I’ve spent the afternoon reading about building a wood-fired oven. I don’t have a garden so an oven of my own isn’t really on the cards; tentative suggestions to the Scottish one regarding his garden haven’t been met with any real enthusiasm which is fair enough given we wouldn’t actually be around to use it much. I do however plan to send this book to my father – this is exactly the sort of thing he does so I may not be entirely deprived of proper pizza and bread of the like I’ve never had the chance to taste yet. (The timing is propitious as well - father and stepmother are off to Italy in a few weeks where the food ought to inspire, and we’re all already a bit envious of the oven my cousin built a month ago...)

But back to the book which Tom Jaine very kindly sent me a little while back. Tom runs Prospect books which made me particularly curious to see what his contribution to the English Kitchen series would be like – it’s a more than worthy addition. (I have vague intentions of doing a Prospect week which whether it happens or not is a testament to my love of this publisher.) Because wooden floored flats aren’t ideal homes for wood fired ovens I always intended to pass this book on, but having spent a happy few hours absorbing information I’m ridiculously unwilling to part with it (the chance that dad will deliver is reconciling me to the idea, but still).

Object of Envy

The instructions for building mercifully leave nothing to the imagination and are pitched at the amateur which made me feel like I could genuinely have a go at doing this myself (I think it would be fun which is not a feeling I’ve ever associated with the prospect of brick laying before). What really excites me though is the history and culture of these ovens, that and getting a thorough understanding of how they work. It’s not so much that the doings are complicated although every individual oven will have its idiosyncrasies which would take time to learn and master, and I suspect that the bit where you transfer stuff into the oven and in turn extract it would take quite a bit of practice, but that they are so old.

Bread – when it comes to food it doesn’t get much more fundamental than that, there are few things I find it more satisfactory to make, and few things that taste or smell better than bread fresh out the oven. When I knead dough I think of my mother doing the same thing in the kitchen of my childhood and all the generations before us over thousands of years – and until really very recently in all that history it would have been baked like this, often in community ovens. Bread feels like something almost magical again – it will be a while before I can raise any enthusiasm for a ready sliced loaf of supermarket white.

Marmalade

I’ve spent the last 3 days (3 days is a long time) on what I’ve come to think of as a marmalade project. Not just making marmalade you understand, but a Project, or perhaps that should be PROJECT. Last week I bought a whole lot of blood oranges going cheap at work. Normally they’re approximately the same price as gold but these were 60p for half a dozen so I got lots thinking I could experiment with all those blood orange (remarketed as blush oranges for heaven’s sake) recipes that normally look impractically expensive. After spending the weekend out and about my options narrowed to marmalade.

Making marmalade is a deeply satisfying if very time consuming activity, so far though I’ve only really dabbled with Seville Oranges, there was a brief flirtation with Lemon and Lavender which was okay but it didn’t really feel like marmalade, and Seville’s seem foolproof which fills me with confidence. Still nothing ventured nothing gained – Prospect books sent me C. Annie Wilson’s ‘The Book of Marmalade’ late last year so not before time I had a good browse through it – which delayed me actually doing anything effort related to the oranges – but it’s a cracking little book with loads of history, recipes, and general entertainment. Naturally I had to cross reference my findings with Pam Corbin’s ‘Preserves’ and after only a few hours happy reading I had a recipe.

Which told me to slice the oranges and soak the bits for 24 hours. Fine it was getting on for a Monday evening and I wanted to get to bed before midnight so I chopped and chopped feeling very domestic and a veritable goddess. I measured the water and filled the pan with orange juice and bits only slightly dismayed by its tendency to look like it was going to overflow (it’s quite a big pan as well) then went to bed. Where I did some maths. All well and good having pre chopped fruit but it would still want at least 3 hours messing around with and I wouldn’t get home on Tuesday until 9pm. Still no bed before midnight.

Due to it being a big pan of cold water and cold oranges it took far longer than I imagined to come to the boil, never mind for the skins to soften and sometime around 1am on wed morning I gave up in favour of sleep setting my alarm for stupidly early on a day off to finish the Marmalade (PROJECT) so having slept through my alarm there was a hectic and quite damp and sticky hour and a half today before going out to meet my delightful god son and his mother, who didn’t get marmalade because it was still molten sugary lava albeit in a jar. Given the stop start nature of the enterprise I’m really pleased with the results, it’s a sweeter marmalade than I normally make, but a very pretty colour and will I think be excellent for using in other recipes.

1.5 kg oranges

175 ml lemon juice

3kg sugar

3.75 litres of water

Scrub the oranges, halve them squeeze out the juice and chop the skins into thin strips.

Put the juice, peel and water into a Very Large Pan (or make up a smaller quantity) and leave to soak overnight or for 24 hours,

Bring to the boil and simmer for a couple of hours or until the skins are soft

Add the sugar and lemon juice and bring back to the boil

Prepare as many sterilised jars as you can find

After about 20 to 25 minutes of vigorous boiling start checking to see if setting point has been reached, when the marmalade gets there let it stand for roughly 10 mins before bottling and sealing (the standing time stops all the fruit bits rising to the top – my marmalade looks a bit uneven because I had a bus to catch)

Domestic Bliss – Even if it’s for only ten minutes

Today was the day I wanted to start Christmas shopping...and then I looked at my bank balance. By the time the shock and despair lifted my afternoon off had all but disappeared, and by the time I’d had a restorative glass of wine courtesy of a kind wine shop keeping friend the afternoon and part of the evening was gone too. Getting home to a cold flat – it’s definitely time to put the heating on – wasn’t the most welcoming experience but now I have a nice cup of tea (in a beautiful mug) and a cake in the oven courtesy of things found at the back of the cupboard. It’s chunky spicy fruit cake from and if it turns out well I’ll let you know.

Thinking about things domestic, or at least thinking about the domestic things I like rather than the things I probably should be doing, has reminded me that I’ve got a book I should have written about an age ago. Patience Gray’s ‘The Centaur’s Kitchen’ from the incomparable Prospect Books has been my tea break book for a while now and I’m going to try and tell you how good it is. I knew of Patience Gray from the Persephone Books edition of ‘Plats du Jour’ (which I’ve got and should have a proper look at) but know very little about her. The introduction to this little book has made me want to seek out the rest of her work because she sounds fascinating. It seems she upped and left her life in Hampstead and North London, which included two children and a career in journalism, to run off to Carrara with the artist and sculptor Norman Mommens. I think it must be quite a story because the voice that comes across in ‘The Centaur’s Kitchen’ is an uncompromising no nonsense one and I want to reconcile the different impressions I’ve gathered of Patience Gray.

‘The Centaur’s Kitchen’ is one of the jobs she took on to make ends meet and fund an expedition to the Greek Cyclades. It’s a cooking manual that only appeared in typescript designed for the use of the Chinese chefs on board the Blue Funnel Line ship ‘Centaur’ as she plied her trade between Freemantle and Singapore. The theme is basically Mediterranean, the recipes are to serve 8, and forget Delia Smith this should have been the first cookbook I ever got because everything in it is useful and everything is explained. For example on butter:

I have made no extravagant recommendation for the use of butter, but would like to remind chefs that only unsalted butter should be used in sauté-ing or cooking fish in the oven. Salted butter inevitably burns in the pan. And nor do I think in any circumstances that margarine can be substituted in these recipes for butter.

These are the sort of instructions I like – explicit with no room for doubt. The kind of kitchen equipment to use is discussed, essential storeroom ingredients are covered, basic sauces and salad dressings essayed, and a full repertoire of recipes for five courses and side dishes are naturally included. All of this fits into 124 pages with room for illustrations. Amazing.

The recipes are (very) good, but for me the best thing about ‘The Centaur’s Kitchen’ are the instructions and the Why’s. Why to add dressing to warm potatoes when making salad and then cool them, why to use copper or enamelled cast iron pans, why it’s better to use coarse rather than refined salt, why salad should be dressed in the bowl... These are things I’ve picked up along the way but I can’t help thinking how useful it would have been to have understood them properly when I first learned to cook in the bad old days of assuming margarine and butter were interchangeable.

Oh and please do have a quick look at Prospect Books, they have a great offer on and the books are brilliant.

Good things come in envelopes from publishers

My job is changing – wine selling activities are moving across town into a big new shiny shop which doesn’t leak and smells of paint. It’s a great thing from my point of view – the number of wines, beers, and spirits I get to play with has tripled and I have a team to lead again (time to dust off my intimidating manner and practice looking like I know all the answers) but it has meant that the last few weeks have been hectic, dirty, and depressing in almost equal measure as operations in the old shop have been wound down. Fortunately there are books which see me through this sort of thing and two have turned up in the last few days which have made me particularly happy. (One expected and one not.)

Some things just look to good to sit on until I’ve read them properly so here’s a quick preview. The unexpected one came from Prospect books (who I thought were a brilliant publisher before – but now I’m totally enamoured) and is called ‘The Book of Marmalade’. Anyone who knows me will be able to imagine my joy over a book with a name like this. I was a late convert to marmalade but it was a damascene affair in the middle of Sainsbury’s one day when I found myself wishing someone would make a bitter orange jam (yes I’m aware of how ridiculous this makes me sound) and what do you know there was the marmalade right in front of me. That was actually the only jar I ever bought – since then I’ve been making my own. (Mostly Seville orange but there has been a foray into Lemon with a hint of lavender.)

‘The Book of Marmalade’ by C. Anne Wilson looks to be an in-depth history (the chapter titles are enticing in themselves ‘Marmalade as an aphrodisiac’, ‘Marmalade in the new world: The early centuries’) followed by a collection of recipes. I honestly can’t wait to get started on this one and am considering making it my bus book next week. Can I also suggest that if you have an interest in cookbooks and/or food history that you have a look at Prospect's list – I’ve got a few on my Christmas wish list already and suspect there might be a few more before December.

Book number two is Mark Diacono’s ‘a taste of the unexpected’. Mark Diacono heads the gardening team at River Cottage. I have, and have given as presents a few times, his ‘Veg Patch’ (one of the River Cottage handbooks) and am quite excited by another River Cottage title coming from him next year (‘Fruit’). ‘A taste of the unexpected’ (published by Quadrille) is if anything even more exciting... Mark’s philosophy is that life is too short to grow the everyday when it’s easily and cheaply available everywhere. Why not grow the odd and wonderful instead? He started off with ‘Jane Grigson’s Fruit Book’ and made a list of the things he wanted to grow (at this point I was hooked, and then came the icing for this particular cake) Mulberries and Quinces featured heavily. I got mulberries last year but only by flirting outrageously with a park keeper and I didn’t get a chance this season. Quinces which I’m also keen to experiment with have proved really difficult to get my hands on as well. I clearly need to annexe the Scottish one’s garden and establish an orchard immediately.

I will be spending a lot more time with this book – it’s a brilliant combination of gardening advice, cook book, and inspiration. I saw a mention of comfrey tea for plants as well which makes me think there may be some talk of bio dynamics which also really excite me...

Basically despite the weather, despite the prospect of losing my life to work until January, and despite having no money for fruit trees I feel pretty damn good about the world today. Books are great aren’t they!

And The Winner Is...

Thank you to everyone who commented and emailed, sadly only one book to give away and it’s going to Clover Heather. I hope it answers all your rhubarb questions and proves inspiring recipe wise!

Rhubarbaria and Prospect Books.

What with holiday reading, holiday book hunting, some very exciting book donations, and a sneaky amazon purchase, a lot of very good bookish things have come my way recently, with the end result that everything is piling up and I’m feeling a touch guilty about it. However I’ve dug out a notebook and made some lists which is giving an illusion of orgonisation, so now all I need to do is stop procrastinating and start writing this stuff up.

Second on my list, but bumped up to first place because of pure enthusiasm is ‘Rhubarbaria’ by Mary Prior published by the really wonderful Prospect Books. Mary Prior has a Shetland connection (including a daughter who’s a very talented cook, which all adds to the pedigree of this book) and I’d heard that this collection was in the pipeline a couple of years ago but nothing more since, and then on this last trip back I actually saw (and bought) a copy. Seeing it was published by Prospect books I looked them up and have been wondering how on earth I could have been basically unaware of such a treasure trove for so long.

As a cook book enthusiast I do own a copy of Alan Davidson’s ‘North Atlantic Seafood’ which I think is probably Prospects best known title, and I distinctly remember reading an article about them some years ago in The Guardian which made me think I should look out for their titles. Sadly I don’t see them very often in the markedly average bookshops which are within my reach, a fact which I’m increasingly inclined to think of as a breach of my human book buying rights. I got in touch with Tom Jaine who now runs Prospect and he very kindly sent me a handful of titles from the English Kitchen series of which ‘Rhubarbaria’ is part, he also sent me a catalogue...

Prospect publish cookery, food history and ethnology of food titles (my mouth is actually watering as I type this) and here are just a few: ‘Dinner for Dickens The Culinary History of Mrs Charles Dickens’s Menu Books’, ‘The Elder In History, Myth and Cookery’, ‘Outlaw Cook’ – no idea, but it sounds exciting – ‘Sugar Plums and Sherbet The Prehistory of Sweets’, ‘Rhubarbaria’ of course, and who couldn’t want ‘The Closet of the Eminently Learned Sir Kenelm Digby, KT., Opened (1669)’ on their shelf? This is a very small cross section of what’s on offer, please, please go and have a look for yourself.

'Rhubarbaria' is a slim and very reasonably priced volume (to my delight all the headings inside are in a bright rhubarb pink). I have actually read it cover to cover, and caught the Scottish one doing the same thing. He was intrigued – and slightly repulsed - by recipes for Puffin and rhubarb, included for the sake of completism rather than for trying I think.

I learnt that rhubarb was first known for its medicinal qualities, only becoming a recognised food stuff in the last few hundred years. The leaves (poisonous) used to be eaten like spinach, which is perhaps why it took a while for rhubarb to become popular. I read about the heyday of the Yorkshire rhubarb triangle, complete with the rhubarb express which transported the sticks to London. The last express left in 1966 but it’s an image which has really fixed itself in my imagination. The promise of the introductory essay is more than fulfilled in the recipes which are presented with learning, humour, and anecdote – this is a book with a winning personality. Incidentally the recipes I can’t wait to try are for rhubarb jelly; I’ve never eaten it, but have an enticing image in my mind’s eye of something with a jewel like colour and a seductive wobble.

It’s fair to say I have my own cultural reasons for an interest in rhubarb – it’s one of a few things which grow well in Shetland, is indeed almost ubiquitous. Judging by the provenance of the recipes I’m not alone in associating the rhubarb patch with a well ordered home. I can’t say it’s the taste of childhood (though we certainly ate plenty of it) it’s more that I feel slightly adrift when I realise I can’t put my hand on a stick or two of it, and resent the high price I have to pay in supermarkets for it. I collect any recipe that comes my way as if it’s still a staple of existence, and see a romance in the fact of an ingredient shared across the world and including the Falkland Islands, Faroe, Shetland, New Zealand, America, Canada, Yorkshire, and the Persian court.

Finally, if anyone shares my enthusiasm for Rhubarb, thanks to the generosity of Prospect I have a spare copy which is up for grabs. I’m happy to send it anywhere and really can’t recommend this book highly enough. A comment or an email will get you entered in the draw.