Cornflower

Choc au citron

Lemon and chocolate cake (appreciated by delinquent dogs as well as humans)

Line a 7" x 5" loaf tin with baking paper and pre-heat the oven to 180/350/Gas 4. Beat together the following ingredients: 125g/ 4.5oz. unsalted butter, 125g/ 4.5oz. caster sugar, 2 large eggs, 150g/ 5oz. self-raising flour, 1 tsp. baking powder, grated rind of a large lemon, approx. 2 tblsps. milk - enough to give a dropping consistency. Fold in 75g/ 3oz. dark chocolate which has been either chopped into chunks or grated. Spoon into the prepared tin and bake for about 40 minutes until springy to touch in the centre; (for  'fast' Agas, put the tin on the grid shelf on the lowest set of runners in the baking oven ).

      

On removing the cake from the oven, leave it in its tin and skewer holes in the top, piercing well down. Dissolve 50g/ 2oz. granulated sugar in the juice of the lemon and pour over. Leave to cool before turning out.

Josceline Dimbleby gives an excellent wholemeal version of this in her "Puddings, Desserts and Savouries" - she omits the chocolate and boils the lemon juice and sugar for 30 seconds before drenching the cake with the resulting syrup, and she suggests serving it warm with cream.

                                                   

Edinburgh woman in cake theft drama

Housewives in the north of the Scottish capital were last night warned to be on the look-out for a notorious baked goods thief, believed to be operating in the area.

Prominent domestic goddess Mrs. Cornflower was about to enjoy a slice of lemon drizzle cake with extra chunky chocolate chunks when she turned to retrieve it from the coffee table on which she'd set it down just seconds before and found only crumbs remained on the plate. A shocked Mrs. C. reported seeing a black shape moving quickly from the room. With the help of her evidence, police have been able to issue a picture of the suspect:

This would appear to be the latest in a string of offences involving patisserie - recently a Valvona & Crolla bomboloni was taken from the same address.

Witnesses said the culprit, an habitual criminal whose aliases include "Mollie the Labrador", was later seen wearing a blue collar

and a hang-dog expression.

Freesia

Collision course

I first read Penelope Fitzgerald's "The Gate of Angels" around fifteen years ago, and as a mark of how a reader can change and their perceptions develop over time, I must say that I scarcely remember its having made an impression on me then, but it certainly has done so now. Perhaps it was because I was in the baby/toddler/sleep-deprived/brain gone to mush stage back then - anyway, that's my excuse for my lack of appreciation.

This is a superb book. It shows a greater emotional engagement than does "The Blue Flower", but the same wry humour, attention to detail and intensely realised scenes. It is a love story, and without wishing to tease, I'm not going to say any more than that about the plot as I'd like appetites to be whetted, not sated!

This book is like a perfect miniature, executed with consummate skill: rich, well planned, deeply meaningful and pleasing to the eye. While I am mindful of this dictum which Penelope Fitzgerald quotes : "the element of wonder never lies in the phenomenon, but always in the person observing", I defy anyone not to wonder at this little masterpiece. It is controlled, but in a very light-handed way, and it looks deceptively effortless, but is the work of a gifted writer. I'm so glad the brain-fog has cleared and I've re-read it.

[By way of a footnote, my copy all those years ago was a 'cover gift' from "Woman's Journal" - how many women's magazines today give away Booker/Whitbread shortlisted novels?]

Still in the chair ... and on the roof

Given the photographs I posted yesterday, it was a coincidence to find this one in a book I picked up this morning. We were at the "Cutting Edge" exhibition in the National Museum of Scotland, looking at the work of contemporary artist/craftsmen, and I bought a book on the origins of traditional Scottish crafts and their continuation today.

 

The chapter on the chairs of the northern isles includes a picture of the hooded version I'd love to have:

The book covers (among other things) boat-building, bagpipe making, dyeing, tartan and Harris Tweed weaving, and Shetland and Fair Isle knitting, and the beautiful photographs illustrate clearly just how much skill and experience is involved - these are masters at work. 

This is a dyer's recipe and record sample book,

making Harris Tweed,

a beret knitted on Fair Isle c.1860. They wool used is natural brown and white, yellow dyed with lichen, and red and blue from imported madder and indigo.

Before I get back to my chair by the range, here is the Edinburgh skyline from the roof terrace of the museum:

In the chair

Here is where I'll be spending the afternoon (thanks to my very kind husband who has gone off to the supermarket leaving me to put my feet up). When I was first in gainful employment and had a few pounds in the bank I went to auctions and bought the odd thing for the home which I would eventually have. This chair was one of those purchases and I love it still.

It is an Orkney chair, oak-framed, with a high curving back made of straw - designed for comfort and to keep out the draughts.

I have another one, smaller than this and with a solid wooden seat, but what I have my eye on is the biggest size of all, the ones which resemble the old buttoned leather hall porter's chairs and have a domed straw hood. Perfect for keeping cosy on a cold day.

Time to put the kettle on.

Desk top publishing

I may have an exaggerated view of my influence, but checking my 'viewer statistics' last night and being able to see a map of the world on which were displayed little coloured dots to represent the whereabouts of recent Cornflower readers seems to have gone to my head. My family are now referring to my control room study as "The Nerve Centre" and to my desk as "The Desk of Power", and before I acquire a white cat and turn into Blofeld (you see, world domination is the name of the game here - I may talk about knitting and baking cakes but that's just a front for my real operations) I thought I'd lay on a little tour of my immediate surroundings (no piranha fish today).

I called this post 'desk top publishing' for good reason as above I have published a picture of the very desk top at which I sit. Gold-tooled leather covers the surface of this Edwardian partner's desk, and it's just been spruced up for its photo shoot with a gloss of beeswax polish. Dusted off, too, are the 'furnishings' which include a selection of paperweights:

some pieces of quartz from the Isle of Man (I pick up stones wherever I go and should add that fact to this list)

various cards and postcards which I just like looking at,

and the brass nameplate I had in my office once upon a time when I was a professional person and I got paid for my expertise!

So there it is for what it's worth, minus (because image is everything to a global dictator) the pile of papers waiting to be filed, the family photographs, the pot full of pens which people keep pinching, the coffee mug, the.... Ah, good afternoon, Mr. Bond.

Plat de gourmet et mots d'amour

The 25th. of January is the anniversary of Robert Burns's birth, and as Burns Night is celebrated the world over, we shall serve up our own mix of "neeps and tatties" here on a Scottish site.

At lunchtime today a vast haggis will be piped into the dining hall at my son's school, and a boy with a dagger will pierce its skin as he declaims Burns's famous address. No doubt similar practices will be followed at other institutions across the country, the great Scottish dish being consumed in immense quantities (and with varying degrees of pleasure). Here at home we shall be having it as a starter with the addition of a dash of cream and a more generous splash of whisky, and very good it is, too.

Annette Hope's "A Caledonian Feast" quotes Marian McNeill in "The Scots Kitchen": "It is a testimony to the national gift of making the most of small means;for in the haggis we have concocted from humble, even despised ingredients, a veritable plat de gourmet. It contains oatmeal, for centuries the national staple, whilst the savoury and wholesome blending of the cereal with onion and suet (met with in its simplicity in such dishes as Mealie Puddings, the Fitless Cock, and Skirlie-in-the Pan) is typically Scottish. Further, it is a thoroughly democratic dish, equally available and equally honoured in castle, farm or croft. Finally the use of the paunch of the animal as the receptacle of the ingredients gives the touch of romantic barbarism so dear to the Scottish heart."

From one atrium or ventricle of the Scottish heart to another: Antonia Fraser's "Scottish Love Poems" is a charming personal anthology which makes much use of Burns's work (among many other delights), and includes in the section titled "Romantics", the following lines which I've chosen to quote as being perhaps not what is typically associated with him.

"It is na, Jean, thy bonie face Nor shape that I admire; Altho' thy beauty and thy grace, Might weel awauk desire: Something, in ilka part o' thee, To praise, to love, I find; But dear as is thy form to me, Still dearer is thy mind.

"Nae mair ungen'rous wish I hae, Nor stronger in my breast, Than, if I canna mak thee sae, At least to see thee blest. Content am I, if Heaven shall give But happiness to thee: And as wi' thee I'd wish to live, For thee I'd bear to die."

Tulips

A bare little book

Jane Gardam describes Penelope Fitzgerald's "The Blue Flower" as "a bare little book", and in the spirit of the late 18th. century in which it is set, that is so. It is written sparsely, economically, and very cleverly, and almost defying analysis, the reader is left wondering how, in the manner of a conjuring trick, it has been done.

This is a book which engages without seeming to do so; unobtrusively detailed, surprisingly affecting, it is detached yet curiously involving. It recounts the engagement of Fritz von Hardenberg (later to become the philosopher and poet, Novalis) to Sophie von Kuhn, an empty-headed twelve-year-old. In the manner of so many young girls (no matter the century in which they live) Sophie's diary records her featureless existence : "Friday: no-one came and nothing happened".

While the betrothal is beset by obstacles, unrequited love falters in the background and family dynamics are handled with skill. Although there are few set-piece scenes, where they do occur they are beautifully framed and so stand out. The period is evoked deftly and intelligently, and rather as the fashion of the time was to arrange the furniture round the perimeter of a room, so with 'classical' restraint Penelope Fitzgerald leaves the floor clear for her 'Prophet of Romanticism' to play out his story.

Posh socks

The pattern for these Posh Socks comes from Nancy Bush's "Knitting Vintage Socks"; it's the Madder Ribbed Sock with (for the cognoscenti) Dutch or Horseshoe Heel and Pointed Toe. As far as I, a fairly novice sock knitter, am concerned, it's extremely clear, logical, very satisfying to follow, and has given a great result, so it gets the "Cornflower Recommended" sticker.

The yarn is the most sublime cashmere from Posh Yarn (the shade is 'Crocus') which was a joy to work with and which I'll be returning to as soon as possible.

What intrigued me as I was making these was the construction of the sock: in this case, the way the heel flap has slipped stitches at the sides which are then picked up after turning to form the gussets. All you old hands out there will be thinking "well, so what, that's how it's done", but I loved its neat simplicity, and it works.

The pattern I used dates from the 19th. century, but the techniques involved have been around a lot longer. For a pair of very early socks, look here.

Just add water

I defy anyone to eat Cock-a-leekie soup from a tin after they've made it from scratch. Nothing could be simpler, nor could it taste better. The ingredients are pictured above, and apart from a little seasoning, all it wants is water.

The recipe comes from Jane Grigson's "Good Things" and requires simply prunes,

a chicken,  leeks

and shin of beef.

Jane Grigson comments that though some recipes omit the prunes, "to do so is a pity because they add a wonderful richness. A description of a knight's table in Scotland in 1598, by Fynes Moryson, mentions that while the servants and lower tables had broth with a little bit of stewed meat, the 'upper messe, insteede...had a Pullet with some prunes in the broth'."

Three out of five family members clearly belong to 'the upper messe' while the remaining two must sit below the salt.

Zing

Emma King's "Fun & Funky Knitting" is full of quick, straightforward projects such as belts, bags and flowery corsages, and it has prompted several cries of "could you make that for me?" from my daughters.

Finished this morning is the 'Fuchsia' hat from that book, done in a very zingy blackcurrant and lime combination, and all ready to be worn by Harriet with the simple ribbed scarf and the Dickensian mittens I made before Christmas.

As I write this, Miss H. is 'working' at the computer, still in her pyjamas (yes, it is early afternoon) and wearing headphones over the hat, the mitts on the desk beside her in case all this 'mousework' brings on a case of "my tiny hand is frozen". I know a mother wants her children to keep warm, but this is going a bit far.

"I'm ready for my close-up, Mr. de Mille."

Cakes and ale

I admit I made another cake, and I employed chocolate and Guinness in so doing.

Well you see, there just happened to be some Guinness sitting winking its Irish eye at me after we'd made a steak pie and simmered the meat very slowly in the treacly dark aromatic stout with just the savour of bay leaf and the sweetness of caramelised onion to balance the earthy blackness, and then it would have been wasteful to have poured the rest away, and when the book just happened to fall open at the recipe which needed only about half a pint (with creamily settled head) and a spoon or two of cocoa powder for mellow intensity, and some soft dark brown sugar and grated chocolate to give it a damply luscious subtle richness, well....what would you have done?

It's all gone.

 

At home

In the Lucia books by E.F.Benson, great stress is laid on social conventions. "It is a fortnight since I called on her," Lucia says of her new neighbour, "and she has not even returned the call." Georgie explains that "she told Mrs. Weston that she would have returned her call but she hadn't got any calling cards." "Impossible!" cries Lucia, "They could have printed them at 'Ye Olde Booke Shop' in a couple of hours."

 

The little booklet in the grey cover belonged to my grandmother. It is part catalogue for Wm. Culross & Son, Ltd., The Strathmore Press, Coupar Angus, and part a guide to the etiquette of social stationery, weddings, at homes and the like. The rules on visiting cards alone run to five closely printed pages. For example, "If it is the first call of the season, a lady leaves one of her own cards and two of her husband's......On ordinary occasions, if the hostess is at home, no card should be left unless to draw attention to an "At Home". If the hostess is not at home, the caller leaves........" Different rules apply to men: "When a man calls personally and finds both husband and wife at home, he need leave no cards; if the host is not in, he would leave a card for him. If both were at home and his address is new....." and so on and so on. 'Faux pas' (or even 'foxes paws') must often have been made.

Should I require to write to anyone of title from Her Majesty the Queen to the daughter of an earl, this book gives me the correct form of address:

and it tells me that it adds greatly to "interest and eclat to have menus [for ordinary dinners] prepared from the hostess's own design or sketch, and when tastefully produced these form a pleasant souvenir and suggest a subject of conversation - always a help to the hostess at the commencement of the dinner." Fish and chips, anyone?

Which reminds me, I must inform my maids of the hours at which I shall be "Not at Home", even to Cornflower callers, but should they wish to leave a "comment" in the appropriate form of course, I shall endeavour to return the compliment forthwith.