Cornflower

After school treats

    School finishes for us today so I've done a spot of baking to welcome Harriet home as a 'start of the holidays' treat. Speaking of after school treats, did you see the biscuit-making and marketing on The Apprentice last night? I hope my oatmeal and chocolate chip muffins go down better than poor old Tom's* creation did.

*We are all fans of Tom's, though Helen is very impressive and may be the winner, don't you think?

Perfume

    My thanks to Margaret Powling for mentioning (in her comment on yesterday's post) the documentary series Perfume which begins on BBC Four tonight at 9.00pm - follow that link for the details. I for one shall be watching as it sounds very interesting indeed, and if you were one of the many who contributed to this fun post, no doubt you will be, too, if it's a channel you can receive.

Later: tonight's programme is now available on iPlayer.

La lavande

    My weekend reading of Deborah Lawrenson's wonderful new novel The Lantern (post on it here) so transported me to the lavender fields of Provence that I was out checking on my own plants - only one variety is in flower yet - and refreshing the lavender bags I made some time ago.

 
    "The next day in the fields during our break for water, I asked the others how they would describe the blues we could all see. It was a case of trying out the words to convey to Marthe the startling beauty all around.

    'Blue like the stripe in the rainbow,' said Aurélie.

    'No, more purple,' said Mariette.

    'Not that dark.'

    'A mauve, then. Don't forget the green and greys underneath, and the chalky pink and brown stones in the soil between the lines.'

    'A colour that hesitates between blue and purple,' Auguste cut in. He did not usually join in our conversations. I found I liked his phrase very much."

    The book is excellent on the cultivation of the herb, the old techniques of extracting the essential oil and on its many uses from antiseptic to purgative to flu remedy, but quite apart from all that, and much more detail, it's a really super novel.  

Books and cakes - 42

    Before I read Babette's Feast, our CBG book of the month, I was expecting that the high point of the novella might provide a good deal of choice in the way of a 'cake' for this post, but sadly, no. Turtle soup, Blinis Demidoff, Cailles en Sarcophages, grapes, peaches, fresh figs .... (click here and scroll down for links to various articles and recipes about the food), but no cake as such. So I thought I'd look for something to represent the more usual fare of Martine, Philippa and Babette; not perhaps the split cod and ale-and-bread-soup which was typical eating, but an everyday equivalent.

    Casting around for recipes, I found these Norwegian biscuits, and if we have any Norwegian readers I'd be glad if they could tell me how authentic they are! The recipe itself is slightly odd in that the quantities given don't produce enough mixture to fit the size of tin specified, the ingredients include margarine or butter (I used the latter) while the method makes no mention of those fats but instead refers to oil, and the 'extra Demerara sugar' listed at the end isn't in the method, either  (I sprinkled it on after baking) - a bit sloppy for a food company's website, don't you think? However, the results taste good, so I'll let them off, but I ought to say that as this recipe included sesame seeds, I threw in some, too, so we have a glorified flapjack, but one that's going down well with my tasters here. What would Babette think of them, though?

Friday flowers - rosy posy

    Evelyn and Tuscany Superb - the real things, not Mrs. Delany versions!

Paper cut

 

    You may remember this post about Mary Delany from last year, well I didn't get to the exhibition, nor did I acquire the books, but my interest was still keen so I'm delighted, now, to have a new book about her, The Paper Garden: Mrs Delany Begins Her Life's Work at 72 by Molly Peacock. I've had that on my wishlist ever since I read Darlene's post on attending a talk by Molly Peacock, and as it's one of those books which could sit equally well on this site or the other one (where I do mention it today), I thought I'd quote the opening passage here as, if that doesn't make you want to read on, I don't know what would:

"Imagine starting your life's work at seventy-two. At just that age, Mary Granville Pendarves Delany (May 14, 1700-April 15, 1788), a fan of George Frideric Handel, a sometime dinner partner of satirist Jonathan Swift, a wearer of green-hooped satin gowns, and a fiercely devoted subject of blond King George III, invented a precursor of what we know as collage. One afternoon in 1772 she noticed how a piece of coloured paper matched a dropped petal of a geranium. After making that vital imaginative connection between paper and petal, she lifted the eighteenth-century equivalent of an X-Acto blade (she'd have called it a scalpel) or a pair of filigree-handled scissors - the kind that must have had a nose so sharp and delicate that you could almost imagine it picking up a scent. With the instrument alive in her still rather smooth-skinned hand, she began to manoeuvre; carefully cutting the exact geranium petal shape from the scarlet paper.

    Then she snipped out another:

    And another, and another, with the trance-like efficiency of repetition - commencing the most remarkable work of her life."

    Read a bit more about this beautiful and inviting book here.

A tale of passion

 

    "This is the saddest story I have ever heard. We had known the Ashburnhams for nine seasons of the town of Nauheim with an extreme intimacy - or, rather, with an acquaintanceship as loose and easy and yet as close as a good glove's with your hand. My wife and I knew Captain and Mrs. Ashburnham as well as it was possible to know anybody, and yet, in another sense, we knew nothing about them. This is, I believe, a state of things only possible with English people of whom, till to-day, when I sit down to puzzle out what I know of this sad affair, I knew nothing whatever. Six months ago I had never been to England, and, certainly, I had never sounded the depths of an English heart. I had known the shallows."

    Please join the Cornflower Book Group to read our July book - all the details are here.

The cover image from my edition, above, is a detail from Luxembourg Gardens at Twilight, 1879, by John Singer Sargent.

Colour on a grey day

    It may be the longest day of the year, but the weather here is anything but light and bright and summery. Dreich is the word, with rain all day and no sign of a let-up. Keen souls (myself included, probably) will venture out to get wet at the Botanics' special Midsummer late opening, though it feels more like an evening for sitting by the fire.

    As grey as the day itself is my sock, on which I'm making steady progress, though if you look closely you'll see it's far from the misty, murky, drear grey of today's sky, as its subtle variations and touch of sparkle lift it well away from the 'cheerless' range, but if that's still too monochrome for your taste and you're craving something bold and brilliant, click here for a good long video of the great Kaffe Fassett talking about colour and inspiration.

A spurtle it is

 

    Well done to all those who identified the mystery object as a spurtle or porridge-stick. I used it this morning to stir my porridge, and what a grand job it did!

    I spotted the spurtle in the shop at Gladstone's Land, the seventeenth century tenement in the Old Town, and never having owned one before, I paid my £2.50 and can now have an authentic porridge experience - that is, if I want to follow the detailed instructions in F. Marian McNeill's The Scots Kitchen, of which I'll quote a small excerpt:

"Bring the water to the boil and as soon as it reaches boiling-point add the oatmeal, letting it fall in a steady rain from the left hand and stirring it briskly the while with the right, sunwise, or the right-hand turn for luck - and convenience. A porridge-stick, called a spurtle, and in some parts a theevil, or, as in Shetland, a gruel-tree, is used for this purpose."

The book goes on to talk about porringers, which must be cold, and instructs that each spoonful of porridge be dipped into one's individual bowl of cream or milk or buttermilk, before being conveyed to the mouth. The traditional porridge bowl was made of hardwood, "preferably birch, because of its sweetness", and horn spoons were commonly used for porridge and broth and were preferred to metal ones "which are apt to become unpleasantly hot" - that's my father's horn spoon in the picture, and given the signs of wear, it was much used by him when he was a boy.

    As to what to put on your porridge, well, I think I'd get a raised eyebrow from Floss McNeill if she saw my morning serving accompanied by yogurt and blackberries, blueberries or rasps. She does quote someone writing in The Scotsman in 1939 who recalled childhood Sundays when, if he or she had been good during the week, they'd be allowed their initials in treacle on their porridge, and then cream. Someone else was reported as drawing a dromedary with syrup on the surface of the porridge to encourage reluctant eaters. One more thing - and this is news to me - it is traditional, apparently, to stand whilst supping porridge, "whether this has any mystical significance or is merely an application of the proverb that 'a staunin' (standing) sack fills the fu'est' is not known.

Mystery object: 1

    We've had a very full and very enjoyable cultural weekend here in Edinburgh, and I shall post on it soon, but while I catch my breath, here's a mystery object (a small souvenir I bought today) for you to identify. Any guesses as to what it is?

Mystery object number 2 is here.

Spoils

    Mr. C. has been away at a conference in this quite luxurious location, and he's returned with a corporate gift or two. Leading the glamorous life that he does (you may remember this post), he brings home the odd souvenir (such as this memorable one), but today's is just the thing for a stationery* fiend like me: a Moleskine notebook, and - wait for it - a mini notepad with a set of neon sticky tabs! I'll draw a veil over the 'gold bar' paperweight, best described as plastic bling.

*I note Cornflower doesn't have a stationery category as such, and yet it's a very popular topic with a lot of us, so perhaps it's time to introduce one.

The leisure hour

    I saw this picture - The Leisure Hour by Harold Harvey - on The Persephone Post the other day (scroll down to 9th. June). I like it very much as a restful piece and a pleasant domestic composition, but I saved it as some kind of reminder to myself to try to have 'a leisure hour'. When things are particularly busy and there's little or no breathing space (and the last few days have been like that), I find it hard to take a break, to 'sit down', when there are tasks and chores waiting to be done. I bet I'm not alone.

Scotland in stitches

   

     The endlessly inventive (and tireless) Alexander McCall Smith has come up with the idea of creating an enormous tapestry to depict Scotland's history. Working with artist Andrew Crummy and history writer Alistair Moffat, his plan is to tell the story of Scotland in over 100 panels which will be stitched by volunteers. The tapestry will be two years in the making and will be handed over to the nation on completion, going on display from August 2013, and the Edinburgh publishing house Birlinn will be bringing out a book on the project. Read the full story here.

Bread and cheese

                 Matt's bread and Charlie's cheese.

 The bread has appeared here often - though this time I made it with half strong plain flour and half Dove's Farm Barleycorn flour, as used by Natalie the other day - but the cheese was a first, made overnight, and tasting just sharp enough and very creamy and delicious.

We had it, as Charlie suggests, with Parma ham and peaches, but it would be lovely with tomatoes and basil, or toasted pine nuts and a drizzle of honey, perhaps. Do try it, and the bread, too, if you haven't already made it Matt's way.

Heavenly blue

 

    I don't know the variety of these iris, which are in my parents' garden, but their glorious blue draws and delights the eye.

(PS. Here's something to draw and delight the mind!).