yarnstorm

patterns

It must be the extremely wet and mild weather. The garden is madly green and sprouting and leafy, and my crochet flowers are blooming. I'm getting into a pattern of making, and  can recognise that familiar, slightly obsessive desire to make sure I get to the end of each square before leaving my crochet (it happens with knitting, too) so that I can see how the whole thing looks.

I can also begin to visualise how the pattern will work as a whole, when I have joined the edges and made the squares squarer. And, of course, I can't wait to sew in all those ends. Not.

I am flattered to be asked for the stitch pattern. As I mentioned in the post of 11 June, I made this one up after I saw the effect I wanted to achieve when I browsed crocheted blankets on the internet, but couldn't find the exact pattern anywhere. I am not a crochet pattern writer by any stretch of the imagination and, at the moment, would rather see whether or not it works before leading others up the garden path with iffy instructions. But I can recommend 200 Crochet Blocks by Jan Eaton as a brilliant resource for square patterns, and I spent a long time looking at this before working out how to make mine.

In fact, I think I'm pushing it by calling these 'squares' when they bear a distinct resemblance the tallest and best stack of (circular) pancakes I have ever eaten, courtesy of Lou Mitchell's in Chicago. (Almost twenty years ago, but the 'memory lingers on', as Frank Sinatra would say.)

flowerburst

 

I've started in earnest on the crochet squares for a blanket. I have no idea how many I'll make, and I don't really want to count as I go along as I find that's not the point. For me, there is something very happily random about crochet - mixing and playing with the colours, picking it up and putting it down to suit my whims, having no idea how much yarn it will need or how big it will be. There's a kind of unknown outcome which means I'm taking a risk, but it's a gentle, comfortable and colourful risk.

I like the way the squares develop to make what look like flowers with centres and petals. They resemble sunflowers, but I want more than just yellow blooms in my crocheted garden, so I'm creating many different flowers in fanciful combinations. This is going to be a good-size garden with bright, cheerful, warm colours.

I'm using Cascade 220 and a 5mm hook and find this makes my flowers open up rapidly. I feel like a gardener watering and feeding my plants on a daily basis. Soon I'll move on from a posy to a big bunch, and then to a whole border.

I can't boast wonderful technical skills, but so far I am happy with the way my flowers are bursting from my hook.

                                 ***

A combination of proof-reading, Phoebe off school and under a duvet with Bruno, Simon off work due to illness for the first time in five years, my Mum coming for a few days, school productions, Speech Day and a cricket match, means that I am finding it difficult to keep up with my email at the moment. I hope you will understand if you haven't heard from me.

An afternoon on the settee with Orlando the Marmalade Cat, Phoebe and Bruno, and my crochet would be just right today.

time warp

Ever since I went to a party when I was sixteen and some confident, good-looking boy said he thought the host's mother looked as if she was in a time warp which made everyone consider him incredibly witty, I've been preternaturally occupied with notions of time warps. At the risk of emulating this older woman, who did indeed appear to have stepped out of a Victorian romance, I have often even cultivated time-warps of my own.

Take iPods. They have never impinged on my life or ears, unless I'm asked to untangle the ear-phones for the children - and this is a good enough deterrent to ever wanting one of my own. But when someone gave me a lovely little red iPod, it would have been very rude to say that actually I don't even know what to do with one. Especially when it came with all my favourite songs already crammed inside.

Thrilled though I was with my new toy, my time-warpishness meant I didn't have a clue how to use it when I took it to NY, and I've still no idea how you get music onto it, but as I was going into London today to knit with the group at Foyles, I decided I needed to get myself into the iPod era. I took a lesson with Phoebe on the way to school and, fortunately, met a friend on the train who is only two years younger than me but light years ahead in terms of technology, and she was able to show me how to switch it off.

Well, I never. How on earth does everyone else cope with music coming into their ears which nobody else can hear? How do you stop yourself laughing/crying/singing/dancing as your favourite Leonard Cohen/Bob Dylan/Nina Simone/Motown tunes play? Does everyone else find themselves walking along in time to the music or imagining they are in every film ever made in London or on a train? I tell you, I have been in comedies, weepies, love stories and street scenes galore - all in the space of a morning.

I can see why I don't listen to music while I work; I'm far too sensitive to all the possible time-warps that music can transport me to. I'm frankly amazed that every person who listens to an iPod can function normally while doing so.

And as for knitting with an iPod, the twin pleasures of music and musing while knitting mesh so closely that I could easily see myself using the cables as extra yarn.

simple and complex

I much prefer simplicity to complexity in many ways. I'm not good with complicated lives, arrangements, relationships, food and clothes and this is why I enjoy the philosophy books of Alain de Botton who writes about complex issues in a cleverly simple, thoughtful and lucid manner.

How, then, did I manage to forget completely that I had a ticket to hear him speak on Friday night? I was driving back from dropping Simon and Phoebe off in town today when my stomach lurched and I realised I had missed the opportunity of gazing at and listening to my favourite literary idol for a whole hour. I felt quite sick.

It really took me a while to recall what was happening on Friday to induce this amnesia. And then it all came flooding back: the proofs of my book arrived on a motorbike from London and, far from having a simple, philosophical evening, I had one full of complex and nervous excitement as I saw my words and pictures on the printed page for the first time. And now I have a few more days ahead of intense detail and scrutiny as I correct the proofs.

So, to counteract the mental complexity, I'm knitting something incredibly simple and soothing. It's in smooth Euroflax linen and is the just the right sort of knit-a-row-purl-a-row simplicity I need. It's going to be a summer slipover/vest/tank-top thingy; I love my woolly ones so much I thought a linen version would be great for cool summer days and evenings. A simple plan, and one I hope will work.

 

purly, purlesque, purlescent

Purl. Did you know that 'to purl' also means 'to flow with a murmuring sound', 'to spin round' and 'to fall headlong or heavily'? How apt. I did all these things in Purl and Purl Patchwork at the weekend. I certainly flowed round the shops murmuring to myself about the beauty and desirability of everything in them, and when I wasn't flowing I was spinning with excitement and darting from side to side to check, consider and compare. And, of course, I fell heavily for far too many fabrics.

When I finally emerged with my purchases, I could have done with a large tankard of purl (warmed and spiced ale, as drunk by various characters in the novels of Charles Dickens) to revive myself.   

The first wonderful thing about Purl is that the two shops, one for yarns and one for patchwork fabrics, are there at all. There aren't many cities where two such eclectic, visionary and independent enterprises could thrive. Yarn and fabric sales can never depend on passing trade, and it's all credit to Joelle and her excellent team that Purl has become a destination for buyers. There's a palpable feeling of excitement in the shops every time I visit - all those people, from beginners to seasoned knitters and quilters, purl around and are clearly inspired by the possibilities that the jewel-like yarns and the more pearlescent fabrics suggest. 

The second wonderful thing is that so much of the hard work has been done for you before you even step over the threshold. I'd arranged to meet Liesl just after she'd taught a sewing class at Purl and we had a lovely, chatty lunch together, and she used just the right word when describing Joelle's skills. She said that Joelle is a genius at 'editing', at choosing the best, the loveliest, the most tempting, whether you are looking for basic or luxurious, bright or subtle. Liesl also introduced me to Joelle who is charmingly modest and relaxed about the whole Purl phenomenon, which makes me love it even more.

I had a good idea about this 'editing' from my previous visits to Purl, but I could see exactly what Liesl means when I went into Purl Patchwork for the first time. As everyone who has written about PP before me has said, it's really very tiny as patchwork shops go, and yet there is not one fabric which hasn't earned it place on the two, tall, tastefully arranged walls. Despite the limitations of space - or, more likely, because of them - there is a great breadth and depth to the range which makes you consider colours, patterns, designs which you may never have even thought about before.

I fell particularly heavily for a number of delicate, beautifully coloured Japanese prints (above and in other photos) in unusual tones and shades. I also bought some prints by Denyse Schmidt and Amy Butler (n.b. there are 2 or 3 fabrics in the first pile which I bought at City Quilter), and had a great time mixing and matching until I gave up and, on Joelle's advice, simply bought the fabrics I liked ('go with your instinct', she said - a dangerous suggestion when my instinct was to buy a piece of everything).   

At the yarn Purl I had a much easier time. I arrived with a plan and left with what I came for - a mass of cheap, cheerful, colourful Cascade 220 for a new crochet project.

And now I'm hoping I've cured my tendency to purl, as well as my itchy fingers and my itchy feet. For a while, at least.

words in and on new york

 

Each of my visits to New York acquires its own distinctive flavour. Although I like to enjoy a portfolio of pleasures (as a sybaritic investment banker might say), there is usually one theme which emerges, and this visit was decidedly literary.

This wasn't deliberate, although I now realise it was inevitable. I stayed near the magnificent New York Public Library and on my first day was delighted by the brass plaques on Library Way . It's not easy walking along East 41st Street as you have to keep stopping every few yards to read the quotes and poems in beautiful typefaces and with wonderful decorations (below). The WB Yeats poem above is one of my favourites (click on the photo to read the text). How amazing to halt and read the pages of the pavement in busy New York where everyone seems to walk twice as fast as anywhere else.

 

When I arrived, my room wasn't ready so I went to the Oyster Bar at Grand Central Station, also not far from my hotel. As I went in, I discovered the brilliant independent bookstore in the terminal (at the moment it has a lovely window display of knitting books) and bought a book of Robert Frost's poems. Then I sat and ate local seafood, drank a glass of wine from Washington State, read RF's poems and was totally absorbed in things American. It was completely wonderful, and all the better for being unplanned. It's not often that words, wine, food and atmosphere all come together to create a perfect moment of solitude.

But I didn't spend all my time on my own. I also shared plenty of words with some great people. I met Kay of Mason-Dixon book and blog fame, and another time I met Liza of books and quilting fame. As words are one of our stocks-in-trade we are never to going to run out of them, and we certainly managed spectacular word-counts in our conversations.

As well as giving me some excellent book recommendations*, Kay also pointed me in the direction of a great Upper East side bookshop - Crawford Doyle Booksellers at 1082 Madison Ave. I do like the way neighbourhoods and clientele are reflected in their local shops - this was very smart and tasteful. The Upper East side also has correspondingly upmarket under-tree planting,

and some fetching pavement patterns.

By contrast, a couple of days later I was in the Lower East side, 'reading' my favourite window display in NY, that of Economy Candy on Rivington Street.      

 

This is one aspect of the window dressers' art which is overlooked in the sophisticated shops of Fifth Ave. The 'fill 'em up, pile 'em high and make them look mouthwatering' style of display isn't exactly what you find in Barney's, and I love it all the more for that.

This temple to tooth decay is just down the street from Schiller's Liquor Bar, which not only has top tiling and word design inside and out,

but also has a huge range of reading material on racks by the door. I always associate the bar with reading The New Yorker, a magazine which requires several beers and plenty of food to sustain you through one of their mega articles.

   

On my last morning, I went to the printing district of lower Manhattan around Hudson and Varick streets where the characterful buildings once housed presses and print warehouses, and now accommodate publishers' offices. How prescient of Jacques Torres to open his chocolate factory here, when everyone knows that books and chocolate are a match made in heaven.

It was here that I met the lovely, generous Irene who has read the blog for a long time and has been incredibly helpful with books and suggestions (she has introduced Alice and Phoebe to some excellent, contemporary American writers). Irene suggested we meet for a hot chocolate at Jacques Torres' place. Oh my goodness. All I can say is - go.

And so I came back from NY with piles of words, visions of words and memories of words. What a great collection.

                                ***

*Kay's recommendations gave me the impetus to visit the famous Strand Books ('18 miles of books' - but no satellite navigation to help you) which is bewildering and brilliant at the same time. It's the best place I've found for cut-price, second-hand and out-of-print books, and it's also only five blocks away from an excellent Barnes & Noble on Astor Place if you need new and in-print books, and a little more order.

As well as the above shops, I'd recommend Kinokuniya for Japanese books, and the Shakespeare & Co outlets as good alternatives to the ubiquitous Barnes & Noble.

                                ***

Tomorrow, the last word on New York: Purl.

fabracadabra

I feel as if a pink, spangly fairy godmother has waved her magic wand and transported me to a hot and sunny New York for four nights and then whisked me back to my normal, cloudy, grey environment in the twinkling of an eye. One day I am sorting out accounts, washing, food shopping and weeds, the next I am wandering the streets of New York buying nail varnish in wild colours, swooning in Purl Patchwork and buying more books than I can lift.

Unlike Cinderella, though, I don't have to wear glass slippers when I am transformed into a woman-about-New York. Wearing Birkenstocks and not silly see-through stilettos means I can walk and walk, and look up and down and around, so I don't miss the splendidly pink building opposite the fabulously green Vesuvio bakery in SoHo,

just round the corner from the enticingly aqua Purl shops on Sullivan Street.

Pink and green were weaving a magic spell in NY, and I saw these wonderful Japanese baked goods (can't say for sure what they are) in an extremely tasteful shop window opposite the Rockefeller Centre and next door to the Japanese bookshop, Kinokuniya, which carries far too many craft books for anyone's luggage allowance.

A pilgrimage to Billy's Bakery on Ninth Avenue was made, and Key Lime Pie admired and eaten. If my fairy godmother could grant me a wish or two, one would be to bring Billy home with me so that he could keep me constantly supplied with Red Velvet Cupcakes and Coconut Cream Pies.

And just to prove that you can never go wrong with a bit of silvery sparkle, here's my favourite NY skyscraper - the utterly glamorous Chrysler Building.

Unfortunately, my fairy godmother has not made the jet lag disappear by magic. Nor the fact that I have to re-enter domestic life at top speed. So tales of what I did and whom I met in NY will have to wait until tomorrow. 

butterscotchy lemon curd cake

Here's the recipe for the cake you saw in the post of 8 June. The sponge is made with soft brown sugar and ground almonds and these give a deeper, butterscotchy flavour and a damper texture than ordinary sponge - and they contrast nicely with the tangy, lemon curd filling. It's a big cake which is perfect with afternoon tea, but we ate it on Saturday night as a dessert with thick, fresh cream and a glass of sweet wine. It was delicious, though I say so myself.

I made the first cake in heart-shaped tins, but today's cake has worked just as well in circular tins. The recipe uses ingredients which may or may not be available everywhere,  and I'm afraid I can't answer questions about local ingredients, substitutions, and conversions of weights and measures.

Butterscotchy Lemon Curd Cake

Ingredients:

Cake sponge

• 225g/8oz light soft brown sugar
• 225g/8oz butter at room temperature
• 4 large eggs
• 175g/6oz self-raising flour
• 50g/2oz ground almonds
• 1 teaspoon baking powder
• grated peel and half (or all) the juice of one, unwaxed lemon (depends on size, juice yield and taste)

Grease two 22cm/9" cake tins and line with baking parchment. Pre-heat the oven to gas mark 3/325 F/170 C

I make a very simple sponge by putting ALL the ingredients in the KitchenAid mixer and mixing until pale and fluffy. Alternatively, you can cream the sugar and butter together, beat in eggs, fold in dry ingredients and grated lemon peel, and finally lemon juice.

Divide between the two tins and smooth the surface with a spatula or back of spoon.

Bake for 20-25 mins until risen and golden (it may take up to 30 mins depending on your oven), and a sharp knife/skewer/cocktail stick inserted into the middle comes out clean. Leave to cool completely.

While the cake is baking, you can make the lemon curd filling. My recipe comes from How To Eat by Nigella Lawson and it has never failed. I know that lemon curd has a bad reputation for being tricky to make, but this method is very easy and makes a brilliant curd. It doesn't require a bowl over hot water, or subsequent straining, but it does need vigilance and stirring. The recipe here makes enough for a generous filling and a good bowl-scraping, and if you double the quantities you can make enough curd to fill two standard jam jars -one for now and one for later (it will keep a couple of weeks in the fridge).

Lemon Curd

Ingredients:

• 150g/5oz caster sugar
• 2 eggs and 2 egg yolks
• 100g/3 and a half oz butter
• 2-3 unwaxed lemons

In a large, heavy bottomed pan, hand-whisk the caster sugar and eggs until thoroughly mixed and the sugar has dissolved. Add the butter. Grate the rind of two lemons into the pan and add their juice. (You can add more juice if necessary in the early stages of stirring.)

Now put the pan on a gentle heat and stir, and taste. Once all the ingredients are melted and mixed you need to keep stirring (do not walk away) until the mixture thickens and becomes smooth and recognisably lemon curd. This will only take a few minutes. Take the pan off heat and transfer the curd to a bowl to cool.

Once all the cake's components are completely cold, all you have to do is sandwich the two layers together with the curd and perhaps dust some icing sugar on top for decorative purposes. (We are not bakers who will miss any opportunity to decorate.)

Then pour a glass of chilled, sweet Italian Muscat wine or make a pot of tea, and enjoy.

itchy feet, itchy fingers

I have had itchy feet since I was very young, so I know how to recognise and deal with the symptoms. Itchiness in my feet is particularly acute around this time of year, so I am going away for five nights on my own at the end of this week.

While I love the planning, the thinking and the organising involved, I also find that the prospect of travel makes me somewhat 'jiffly' as Simon would say (the slang verb 'to jiffle' is an expressive one for 'to fidget', a word which could have been invented for Simon when he was younger). When I know I'm off somewhere very soon, I find it hard to concentrate on current projects, like sewing up these fabrics to make a bluey-greeny 'Swimmining Pool' or 'Pond' quilt. 

And now the itchiness has spread to my fingers and I find I am literally and metaphorically feeling for something new. I don't know about you, but sometimes my fingertips really do itch for a lovely, new yarn project, something which will give tactile pleasure and demand that my fingers and hands embark on a new series of repetitive and satisfying actions.

I have some knitting on the go but it's not assuaging the itchiness, and I know that what I really want to do is start a crocheted granny square blanket with masses of colours and some new stitches. So, in lieu of some calming balm from the chemist's and to stop my fingers jiffling, yesterday I made myself work out the kind of square I want to use for this blanket.

I was so pleased to find that I now have enough crochet knowledge that I can understand how it works. I couldn't find a pattern for the square I have in mind, so I spent all yesterday afternoon with yarn, hook and books, and let my fingers have a lovely time playing with puffs and clusters. I think I've put together a template I like, so that now all I have to do is let my itchy feet get me to a yarn shop to buy the necessary treatment to cure my itchy fingers.

(The practice squares are very much that - practice. I suppose I could claim that the yellow and blue look is inspired by Monet's kitchen at Giverny, but that would be a lie because these are simply two balls of leftovers which contrast and show up the pattern and stitches. A whole blanket of these squares would induce nausea, and I'd rather suffer from itchy feet and itchy fingers than feel sick.)

I knew you were coming...

...so I baked a cake.

A while ago, Simon came across the wonderfully bouncy Eileen Barton record, 'If I Knew You Were Comin', I'd've Baked a Cake', which was a hit in 1950. It makes me smile every time I hear it even though it's not something I'd sing about myself, because I'll bake a cake just for the fun of it, whether or not someone is expected.

But I did know some of you were coming today via Typepad's featured blog page. So, to make you feel at home, I made a lemon cake with soft brown sugar, ground almonds and lemon peel, and filled it with thick, home-made lemon curd.

You are very welcome.