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. 

A scene of mild excitement

Browsing through Nikki Duffy's 'Herbs' book (currently by my bed because I keep picking it up for inspiration) I found a promise that Lemongrass is easy to grow from the stalks you can buy in supermarkets - all you need to do is find one with good bit of the brown heel/base at the bottom of the stalk. I don't use a lot of Lemongrass at the moment but it sounded like a good idea so I duly picked up the last packet on the shelf after work which fortuitously had the required brown bit and carried it home in triumph. I figured that for 79p I wouldn't mind if it didn't work. 

More traditionally spring like image

That was a month ago and the Lemongrass failed to either die or grow which was quietly disconcerting (reading up on it again in 'Herbs' I realise how much it likes the heat - it seems it won't do anything in winter) if it wasn't doing anything I expected it to get slimy and disgusting at least, but it didn't and I kept giving it another chance until finally on Tuesday the sun did it's work and something looked different - inspection has revealed roots coming out (doesn't look very appealing at the moment but I'm sure it'll get better) and I'm really quiet pleased. Watching things grow never fails to feel a bit like magic. It's also very satisfactory to bring a bit of spring inside a garden-less city flat, I miss growing things that I can fuss over daily on a regular basis - long may the Lemongrass thrive.

Honey and Preserves

My friend C came round on Sunday evening to commiserate with me over the waterfall* that used to be my airing cupboard (plumber has identified the problem and is quoting the flat's owner what will no doubt be a large amount of money to fix it - everything has gone very quiet. Apart from in my flat where the steady drip, drip, drip of water is becoming increasingly hard to block out.) Eventually we got to talking about cookbooks - she was asking me what I thought of Rachel Khoo - I said she annoyed me; not you understand based on her book or tv show, I've not managed to catch the latter and haven't read the former, my prejudices are based on her little Paris flat being presumably leak free and an over abundance of large and stylish cookbooks on the market. 

In the end it turned out I was annoyed by just about everything and everybody (I don't know what's put me in such a bad mood recently...) but the cook books I do get enthusiastic about are the small fit in your pocket type. I loved 'Tea at Fortnum and Mason' when it came out a couple of years ago and so could fairly be described as over excited when I saw a companion volume had been released - 'Honey and Preserves'. This one is mostly full of the sort of things your grandest aunt probably serves her guests at dinner parties (salmon in a warm cucumber sauce and the like) but there's a surprising amount of inspiration (and information) packed into this really quite small book. There's a description of the Fortnums beehives which makes me long to see them - they sound both grand and fun at the same time (to an architecture geek anyway) and a refreshing lack of personality. Like the shop there is a distinct identity, but it's unobtrusive - if there is a philosophy it's delivered in a slightly tongue in cheek fashion - this is about the finer things in life and a certain old fashioned traditionalism.

It's a refreshing approach and as I read things out to my partner - despite him being full of a very good dinner- he's salivating (it was mention of a whisky custard that did it). He is in all probability another reason why I've come to particularly like small (but perfectly formed) cookbooks; he doesn't have many (I have about 100 for every 1 he has) but I can sneak the small ones in - the same when we go to stay with my fathers Aga - this fits neatly into a suitcase/handbag/pocket... Not to be dismissed as a novelty item.

*This is only a very small exaggeration.

Findings - Kathleen Jamie

It's spring and my reading at least (as you may have noticed) has led me off into wilder countryside than my work bound self can currently manage. One book has lead to another in a way that leaves me wondering how I'd managed to miss coming across them for so long, an effect that's heightened by reading non fiction from a group of writers who if not closely linked were certainly aware of each other and reference accordingly. If nothing else it's given my amazon recommends list a good shake up - which is where I fist noticed Kathleen Jamie's new book 'Sightlines'. It has a particularly beautiful cover - deep blue sky and gannets and I will admit to being hooked in by it. It's not out for another week or two but that's given me time to catch up with 'Findings' (almost as pretty and also from Sort Of books).

Until now Jamie's work had passed me by - and this despite any number of enthusiastic reviews, awards, and general approval - which is disappointing but hardly surprising given that I read in a sort of bubble the limits of which are what catch my eye in my local bookshops (a reasonable but not extensive or overly imaginative range), that which other bloggers recommend (but then I tend to follow people who like the same sort of books I do so it's still a limited scope), and whatever amazon throws at me courtesy of its frequently baffling programme (often surprising and offbeat, not so often hitting the spot). Where do you go to meet new books?

'Findings' itself turned out a perfect delight. It's a series of shortish essays about things Jamie has given her attention to. There are a lot of birds and quite a few beaches, meditations on darkness and light, thoughts about language and experience - especially mortality, and quite a bit about the power of place. I like short essays, like short stories they make for perfect break time reading. 'Findings' had an extraordinary ability to pull me in and shut out the rest of the world which is exactly what I want, and need, over lunch at work, or on the bus, or even in bed before sleep, and because each essay is perfect and complete in itself it's easy to put it down when the allotted time is up.

It's also a book about seeing things, a dead whale, a skull, a spiders web, a bird, a weather vane, all become remarkable under Jamie's gaze but after due consideration though the thing that really set 'Findings' apart from the common run of things for me is that she keeps asking questions; both of herself and her reader, sometimes, but not always, there are answers. There is always something to think about though and I love that. 

March in the Midlands is when spring really kicks in, everything growing is noticeably greener, leafier, taller on a daily basis, and even without the clocks changing today it's felt so much lighter every evening. I find it an unsettling time of year, morning sunlight isn't kind to my flat - it shows up the wear and tear which makes me restless, I feel like I'm missing to much. Reading how Jamie sees the world around her is quietly inspiring in ways I can't explain without falling into cliché, I'm really looking forward to 'Sightlines'. 

Pirates.

There was an interesting article in one of the weekend papers about pirating ebooks - something I've never given any thought to before but I keep coming back to it now, not least because it chimed with an earlier piece, and my own experience, of shop lifting in bookshops. The gist of the article was that an author had seen somewhere on line somebody offering a reward to anyone who would pirate his new (and I think début) novel. He wasn't best pleased but attempted to engage in conversation with the would be thief.

The initial explanation boiled down to this: I want the book, I don't want to pay for it, I don't have to, and what can you do about it? Other justifications include 'I've already bought the book in another format why should I pay again', 'it's not available as a paid for ebook in my region', 'it's more expensive than a paper book (which I don't want) and that's not fair', 'I don't know if I'll like it and don't want to spend my money until I know I will', and the one that makes me want to slap whoever says it - 'knowledge should be free'. This is the sort of reasoning that makes me yell at the screen/radio/paper -"What about a LIBRARY you cretin".

The dishonesty involved in pinching something is one thing, but it's also something I imagine we've all done in some form - stationary from work, the thing you borrowed... The souvenir peat from Laphroaig distillery (that might just be me). What I struggle with is how people will try and justify stealing an authors work - there's really no argument against the 'I can and I will' attitude but if you're going so far as to make an excuse you know you're wrong - don't you?

Frankly if you can afford an e-reader (and all the free stuff out there isn't enough for you) you can sure as dammit afford to pay for the books of living authors trying to make ends meet - and if you don't want to do that do without - or go to a library, show there's a need for them and help keep them open. 

I know the genie is out the bottle on this one, there's no going back to a more civilised way of doing business - you know, when we bought actual things with actual cash money (and probably spent time balancing cheque books too) but as someone who works in retail the way people steal things bothers me - it's frightening if people don't admit they're doing it. There's no such thing as a victimless crime, we all pay one way or another, and the more things taken without payment the more those who do pay have to cough up - and that's not fair either. In my own little world,  where books are still strictly the paper sort, most of my purchases are second hand - which isn't great for authors incomes either, but then most the writers I favour are dead so I don't suppose they mind so much (it could be better news for the publishers though) but if this rant had a purpose (and I admit it might not) it's that this has been another reminder to think about how I spend my money.     

Domestic disaster improved by cake

Because there's some sort of intermittent leak coming from the flat above my airing cupboard looks like this. It used to be full of linens, towels, warming socks, and everything else I wasn't sure what to do with. The leaks been a problem since the new year when I first noticed it but it's been sneaky and most of the time the ceiling has been dry to touch. The last few days however I've caught it out (can you tell how much this is getting on my nerves...). For no reason either I, or my upstairs neighbour, or apparently the plumber employed by his letting agency, can fathom - it's only the last one that worries me - water's coming from somewhere, and only seems to be doing so around about lunchtime. It might help if the plumber was prepared to have a proper look.

This is why, after dispatching a suitcase full of blankets and spare duvet to my mother's thankfully dry house, I spent hours clearing my wardrobe to put the rest of the bits in there. By about midnight everything was neatly stowed away and I thought I might get almost a nights sleep. then I went to set the alarm on my mobile. I couldn't find my mobile. The last time I saw my mobile was on the bed with all the things to go in the wardrobe, 20 minutes hopeful searching revealed nothing. There was nothing for it but to haul everything back out of the wardrobe where finally the phone revealed itself in the depths of a pillowcase, needless to say approaching 1am  nothing went back in neatly. Which is why my wardrobe now looks like this. 

Fortunately it was a half day for me at work and only 5 hours sleep perhaps helped me make the man who has to tell the plumber to pull up somebody else's floorboards believe it's something he Will Have To Do. I hope so anyway not least because I'd hate to think the fraught conversation I had whilst balanced on a stepladder inside the airing cupboard listening to water dripping from Somewhere was a waste of time.

After all that I made cake, Dan Lepard's (I should be on commission) semolina cake from The Guardian a couple of weeks ago. Sadly it's not in 'Short and Sweet' which is fast filling up with cuttings from his column, but this one is a winner. I was looking around for a good recipe for Revani last year and finally this is basically it. the texture is perfect - light and sticky and delicious. It does sound like a lot of syrup but the semolina soaks it up perfectly and it was very simple to throw together. Totally recommended.

 

Isles of the West - Ian Mitchell

This is one of the Scottish ones books which I don't normally touch (he's more careful with his books than I am with mine, and if he has something tempting that's hard to track down the temptation to 'borrow' it might be overwhelming) but I was struggling to get to grips with what I'd taken to read this weekend and after hearing that Mitchell had written about Tex Geddes I thought I'd have a browse. Tex Geddes was a harpoon gunner with Gavin Maxwell in the Soay shark fishery days and bought the island after Maxwell went bust, by all accounts quite a character, and definitely someone who will bear further investigation if his obituary is anything to go by.

Mitchell took to him straight away when he visited in 1996 and writes an entertaining chapter about the occasion and some of the stories told - he mostly wanted to know about Gavin Maxwell which encouraged me to read more. Unfortunately the book doesn't have an index and as I'd also seen mentions of Frank Fraser Darling it seemed worth investigating amazon - where the reviews are mixed to say the least of it (the price of the first copy I found was also unattractive, though further searching has revealed cheaper ones). Intrigued I spent the rest of the day reading on and have now skimmed my way through most of the book. 

I had assumed that 'Isles of the West' and the later 'Isles of the North' were generally about sailing and islands, instead 'Isles of the West' is mostly a crusade against the RSPB, Scottish National Heritage, and any other major conservation body or figure Mitchell comes across. None of these bodies lack detractors in the highlands and islands where ideas about conservation are almost guaranteed to clash with the opinions of crofters and fishermen set on making a living out of the same landscape. In 1996 when the future of Eigg was a hotly debated news topic this was timely and iconoclastic. (Hebridean island with a loathed laird, the outcome was a community buyout in 1997 - I dimly remember this being in the papers.) 

Since then views about conservation and the make up of Island communities have changed considerably, tourism is bigger than ever, property prices have gone through the roof, and incomers have kept on coming in. What's left is occasionally troubling. In an attempt to get answers about how much money has been spent on Corncrake preservation Mitchell frankly bullies hapless RSPB wardens (and then gleefully reports it which makes for odd reading) he has nothing but condemnation for Frank Fraser Darling which may for all I know be well deserved, but dismissing him as a morbidly obsessed seal eater seems a bit extreme, from my recent reading their respective philosophies for the future of the highlands didn't seem so very far apart - both seem to advocate traditional and diverse farming practices as the best way to protect the environment, and both seem convinced that the western isles can be productive farm land. I think he would have had a pop at Maxwell to if he could have got any dirt (and it isn't for lack of trying that he doesn't get any). 

It's an interesting book with a lot to say - much of it worth saying, and one day I should read it properly and try and get past both Mitchell's prejudices and my own. 

St Patrick's Day and a bit of Recycling

Last years shamrock biscuits. The green glitter still lingers.

I'm at the Scottish ones this weekend where I have mostly been trying to dig a hole in heavy clay soil with a view to planting things in it - I hope after all the effort they thrive. Now that I'm back in the warm with a cup of tea my mind has turned to cake; we don't have any and the Scottish one isn't a baker so his kitchen lacks the means for me to make one, but if I was at home I'd be baking a Guinness cake in honour of St Patrick's day and because it's delicious. 

I recommend my sister's version which is dense, chocolaty, and splendid (last written about 2 years ago and definitely time to bake again)

Dark Damp Lovely Luscious Guinness Cake
250ml Guinness                  
250g unsalted butter
100g dark chocolate
200g caster sugar
200g soft brown sugar
142ml (small tub) sour cream
2 eggs
Tablespoon vanilla extract
275g plain flour
2 and a 1/2  spoons bicarbonate of soda

Topping
1 small tub of  double cream 
1 small tub of crème fraiche 

Large spring form tin lined and primed, oven set to gas 4 /180 c
Put the Guinness and butter in a saucepan, heat gently until the butter is melted. Add the chocolate broken into pieces allow to melt and stir all together.
Add the sugars to the mix.
Beat together the sour cream eggs and vanilla, add to the Guinness batter, fold in the flour and bicarb, poor into the tin and bake for 45 mins to an hour.

When it’s cooled completely whip the cream for the topping, and fold in the crème fraiche - the overall effect is very guinnessey, and we want to see what sort of cupcakes this mix makes. Sisters use of crème fraiche in the topping cuts the sweetness of the cake with just a hint of the memory of the bitterness of a good pint (she’s a clever girl) I should also say that these quantities make a cake big enough to feed a small army, but it does go down remarkably fast.


Nigella's version which is a little lighter and more adaptable to being turned into cupcakes can be found here (which is where the picture is pinched from as sadly I didn't take a photo of Sophie's offering which was every bit as good looking). 

Ring of Bright Water - Gavin Maxwell

Little Toller Books have turned out to be a joyous discovery - and one more reason to be thankful for Gavin Maxwell. My original copy of 'Ring of Bright Water' started to fall apart last time I read it and is now kept for sentimental rather than practical reasons. For a while the only version in print was an abridged amalgamation of 'Ring of Bright Water' and its two sequels; 'The Rocks Remain', and 'Raven Seek Thy Brother', it's not a format that appeals to me so I was delighted to find Ring not only back in print, but in such a handsome form. The cover illustration is particularly apt - it's a detail from Winifred Nicholson's 'Bonnie Scotland' and I'm assuming it's a view from Maxwell's Camusfearna (she was a regular visitor and if I had an outrageous amount of money I would have loved to buy this) and I can't imagine anything capturing the spirit of the book better.

I've read 'Ring of Bright Water' any number of times and each time it's a slightly different book, undoubtedly because each time I'm a different person so there were surprises. Memory associates it exclusively with otters and the small patch of the highlands Maxwell came to call home but the otters don't appear until half way through, the whole first half of the book is an evocation of Camusfearna (really Sandaig, but Maxwell wanted to protect his privacy and the place he writes about has become so much a place of fable that his name for it seems more appropriate than a specific geographical location).

The way he tells it he was casually handed the keys to his spirtual home by a friend from university days whilst he (Maxwell) was attempting to earn a living as a portrait painter after the failure of the Soay project. It's love from the beginning and so begins a new phase of life, the chance find of a barrel top from the shark fishery leads to the writing of 'Harpoon at a Venture' and the death of his dog Jonnie leads to the search for a new animal companion. On a trip amongst the marsh Arabs of Iraq with Wilfred Thesiger he buys an otter cub, she doesn't live long but just before he leaves the country he acquires another - it's the beginning of an obsession which will last for the rest of his life. The otter section of the book is both funny and heartbreaking. Mijbil the otter who barely makes it back to the UK alive is with him for a year and a day before his untimely end.  

The grief that colours the whole book is at it's rawest re-living that year and its aftermath. Mijbil was an otter sub species previously unknown to science and so is named after his owner - as Maxwell says "he belonged to the only race of living creature that was ever likely to bear my name", he's aware that the love he lavished on that beast makes him slightly ridiculous but he's prepared to expose himself to it anyway. 

There are a hundred things I could say about this book, but as I've been told the quotes I chose from 'Harpoon at a Venture' were stomach churning I'll leave the last words to Maxwell to redress the balance and because they sum up how I feel about the book as a whole.

"It is October, and I have been for six unbroken months at Camusfearna. the stags are roaring on the slopes of Skye across the Sound, and yesterday the wild swans passed flying southwards low over a lead-grey sea. The ring of tide-wrack round the bay is piled high with fallen leaves borne down the burn, and before a chill sea wind they are blown racing and scurrying up the sands. the summer, with its wild roses and smooth blue seas lapping white island beaches, is over; the flower of the heather is dead and the scarlet rowan berries fallen. Beyond are the brief twilight days of winter, when the waterfall will thunder white over flat rocks whose surface was hot to bare feet under summer suns, and the cold, salt-wet wind will rattle the windows and moan in the chimney. This year I shall not be there to see and hear these things; home is for me as yet a fortress from which to essay raid and foray, an embattled position behind whose walls one may retire to lick new wounds and plan fresh journeys to further horizons. yet while there is time there is the certainty of return."

Danish Pastry

As a break from the West coast of Scotland here's what I've been baking. I've wanted to have a go at Danish pastry ever since finding a recipe in Nigella's 'How to be a Domestic Goddess' but unfortunately the dough demands to be left overnight and I've never been that organised. Dan Lepard's recipe in this weeks Guardian here is a shortcut version which can be done in an afternoon so I thought I'd have a go. I'm used to my pastries shop style - very crisp and flaky so these aren't entirely what I wanted/ expected. It may be that there are no shortcuts, or it may be that I was heavy handed with the pastry and the butter got to thoroughly blended in, either way the result was surprisingly cake-y. The raisin pastries were better than the chocolate ones - which looked like pain au chocolat but just weren't the same as the ones you buy.

We ate the pretty ones first.

This is a recipe I'll try again - just in case I can make it better, but for now no good patisserie counter has anything to fear from me.