yarnstorm

what i did on my holidays

When I was little I dreaded the return to school, mostly because I knew I would be faced with that old chestnut of an essay title,'What I did on my holidays'. My mind would go a blank and I would be totally unable to make any sort of story or narrative out of the previous six or seven weeks.

So when I decided to have a holiday from the blog, I wanted to make sure that the same thing didn't happen, that when I was asked or, more likely, asked myself, 'what did you do on your blog holiday?', I'd at least have some sort of meaningful recollection.

When I visited Chartwell in June, I found a lovely illustration of what I was trying to do. The photo above shows a single window, like an eye, set in the wall of a terrace looking out over the vast and stunning Kent countryside. It frames and focusses the view perfectly.

Then, as I walked around the gardens, I suddenly saw the same window from the other side and now at the top of a very high wall, and was surprised how different it looked covered in creeping ivy and so unexpectedly small. It made me think how important it is not only to observe and view but also, occasionally, to turn your gaze in a different direction and look at life and yourself from a different angle.

When I younger I was really only good at seeing out, which is why those essays were such a torture. But writing this blog has changed the way I look at things, and even though I was on a break, I often found myself reviewing what I'd observed or made or read and composing posts in my mind. And it was amazing how much this practice of trying to look from a different perspective, articulating my thoughts, finding words, capturing moments, made all sorts of little events and pleasures so much more significant and meaningful.

I'd also decided to keep a very limited diary - really just a few words. At the end of each day, I noted down the things I felt I'd achieved or enjoyed, so that by the end of the 'holiday' I had pointers and signposts and milestones instead of a vast wilderness of lost weeks. Saturday 21 June, a fairly typical day, included: making recipes from the (wonderful) Ottolenghi Cookbook book for a meal with friends, finishing laying out a quilt, making bread in an old Hovis tin, listening to Bob Dylan on the radio, watching the beginning of Meet John Doe (with a breathtakingly beautiful Gary Cooper - how did I ever miss him up till now?), reading more of Miss Ranskill Comes Home (highly recommended, excellent book). And picking a jugful of pale, peachy-yellow roses - perfect for the longest day. Maybe not as expertly grown as the roses at Chartwell (below), but incredibly lovely, nevertheless.

It wasn't really a holiday, of course. I was still busy with the children, school then school holiday stuff, work, and all the minutiae of daily family life. But it's amazing how a change of viewpoint is as good as a rest. As they almost say. 

leftovers

This is the exact moment at which the Sleeping Beauty, the King, the Queen and all their courtiers fell asleep.

Well, not quite. But when Phoebe came out to survey the tea table after everyone had left on Saturday, she thought the whole thing looked strangely unreal, as if suspended in time. I knew what she meant; it just doesn't seem normal to walk away from all that lovely baking.

Unless, of course, you are Miss Havisham. When I see a scene like this, I think of Great Expectations and the dusty, dried-out wedding feast which was never touched. I had to read the book at school when I was 12; I barely understood a word but I was absolutely terrified by Miss Havisham. I know now that it was this bad-witch fairytale element, the sense of a malevolent enchantment, that frightened me. Since then I've come to love Dickens and I realise that he wrote some of the best fairy-tales ever for adults.   

Unlike Miss Havisham, however, we did go back to the leftovers. For the rest the day, and the next, with Simon making a valiant effort to make sure nothing was wasted (and cycling for hours and hours to work it all off).

And there were some floral leftovers that lasted just a little bit longer - lovely pink snapdragons and huge, floppy, petally peonies.

I wouldn't have minded a Sleeping Beauty-type deep sleep after the weekend, but I couldn't find a fairy to grant my wish. 

cherries on the cake

Hello again.

I still can't say a great deal about my new projects but I am happily working hard on several of them already.

One of them, though, has come to fruition at last. For a few months now, I've been busy with Rob at ph9 putting together a website, and today it goes out into the big, wide, world-wide web. It's at janebrocket.com (there's another link on the sidebar) and I think Rob has done an absolutely brilliant design job and, as it comes with an ultra-simple website management system that even I can use, it will be updated regularly. Have a look and you'll see all the things I enjoy writing about, plus some background information, news and favourite recipes.

I hope you like it, too.

                               ***

We had a journalist and photographer from a major newspaper here at the weekend, and the above is just one of the shots of leftovers. (I'll mention the paper & date of the article when it's fully confirmed.) I baked and baked and baked, and talked and talked and talked. The sun shone, Alice's eclairs were a triumph, and Phoebe's meringues as soft as sugary little clouds. Alice also decorated the cherry cake I'd made with a very definite cherry statement. And I thought how all this - the books, the writing, the making and baking, and the sheer enjoyment of my work - are all the cherries on the icing on cake of life for me. I'm making sure I enjoy it while it lasts.

my pcc

When I go into London for meetings I usually catch a train which is full of commuters and bulging with PCs. I have my bag and book and maybe some knitting, but never a PC. Today, however, I joined the ranks of worker bees and travelled with my very own PCC.

My Personal Cake Carrier. How else to transport Cherry Buns and Marmalade Buns to a meeting to discuss Cherry Cake and Ginger Beer?

This PCC is brilliant. Genius. It's the most simple yet satisfying design I've come across in a long time and I know from the reaction I get when I bring it to meetings, that I am not the only person who agrees that it is wholly wonderful.

 

It holds 24 cakes/buns safely and securely and, just like a PC, it fits on your lap, on a luggage rack, under a desk. It may not do as many fancy things as a PC, but it allows you to travel in style and read a good book at the same time. I have to thank Liza for alerting me to this gem's existence (it's brilliant to have friends who understand just how important a cake-carrier is) and pointing me in the direction of Crate and Barrel so that I could pick one up when I was in New York.

The book? 84 Charing Cross Road by Helene Hanff in a lovely new Virago edition - hardback, textile design on the cover, one of the ten special editions published to celebrate thirty years of Modern Classics. Very appropriate that a book about a love affair with books is available in a very lovely format. Rereading this little classic gave me goosepimples on the train. Something a personal computer could never do.

magic

She may not make Queen Cakes, but she is undoubtedly the Queen of Cakes.

This week, Phoebe was put in charge of organising her class's fund-raising through the sales of cakes with a magic theme. So I keep finding shopping lists, lists of girls' names next to responsibilities, promotional material, and cake designs all over the house.

Although she is queen bee at school, it was this drone who did the cake-baking at home. Phoebe couldn't manage to make and decorate after school, so I was drafted in to supply the sponge while she was out. Several dozen fairy buns one day, and yesterday four separate cakes to construct the first prize in the school raffle. I loved the way Phoebe skipped off leaving me with all my instructions for the day, but then phoned from school to check that I was following them to the letter. Would I dare not?

So this is her Magical cake; vanilla sponge sandwiched with lemon buttercream and covered in a fetching shade of aqua frosting, topped with silver and blue adornments and a light sprinkling of iridescent fairy dust. It's a '12 aig cake' as the housekeeper in the Billabong series would say when boasting of how many eggs her creations contain (except her piece de resistance is a mere '10 aig cake'). 

I feel like a brickie who puts the construction together with bricks and mortar, while Queen Phoebe is the architect with all the wild ideas. Long may she reign.

                             ***

And here are some magic tulips. These are 'Daydream'; they come up yellow and then change to a beautifully attractive soft apricot orange on the outside (a colour which reminds me of butterscotch Angel Delight),

but with vividly tangerine interiors. Utterly magical.

   

dove-grey oasis

The pale grey skies yesterday matched the dove-grey exterior

and complemented the spring flowers outside Persephone Books.

The shop is a silvery oasis in London, situated in the wonderfully named and characterful Lamb's Conduit Street (little cafes and delis, flower shop, book shops, pubs and wine bar, and a very imposing undertaker's business), a sort of civilised, homely curiosity shop with a Georgian-style mix of domestic and business (it's both shop and office, but it feels like a large, comfortable room in a private house - cushions and flowers and reference books and wonderful posters all contribute to the atmosphere).

I was there for a stimulating, thoughtful talk by, and lunch with, Christina Hardyment whose book Dream Babies has just been republished. 

I've always been highly sceptical about baby and child advice/gurus; having twins first made me realise very quickly that there was no single babycare theory which could be applied successfully to all babies (especially to two so very different personalities) and I quickly discarded all the books I'd bought. But it's fascinating to hear the historical perspective on childcare, and Christina Hardyment treads a careful path through this minefield.

Going into Persephone Books for a couple of hours is like coming upon an oasis. I go to imbibe the atmosphere of gentle intellectual debate and to meet thoughtful, interesting women. Last time I was there in December, I was the speaker and I made some Persephone fairy cakes for the occasion.

But it was lovely to be spoken to, and catered for, this time.

the final flourish

This is it. The last recipe to be tested for the book. It's also a first as I've never made a walnut cake before and I am relieved I didn't have to go through several versions on this final day. Apart from anything else, levels of icing sugar have fallen dangerously low and I might have had to go out to get some more. How ironic that would have been after six months of having cream and butter fall out of the fridge every time we open it, bags of flour crammed into cupboards, and layers of different coloured sugars on every available shelf.

And now I feel like a free woman. Tomorrow, for the first time in fourteen and a half months I'll be able to wake up without thinking about a book deadline. My calendar has suddenly opened up and I realise there is life beyond 14 March, and yet I feel strangely unprepared for the freedom. Maybe I just need to re-test a few recipes...   

So what am I going to do with my time?

I am going to sort out my office. I have a disconcerting ability to ignore the fact that the whole room has crept up around me while I've been working, and I need to rediscover its real boundaries by moving dozens and dozens of children's books, papers, recipe books. I might even find there is room to swing a cat in here.   

I am going to read some grown-up books without looking for food moments and treats. This will be difficult as I've grown so used to my eyes scanning pages for mentions of cakes, biscuits, eggs, ginger, jam, sandwiches, picnics that I'm going to have to readjust to reading whole chapters again. But I suspect I'll still be thrilled when I meet a scone or a fruit cake.

I am going to knit and quilt. The thing I've been looking forward to most is moving away from the computer screen and having something soft and colourful in front of me again. Life will cease to exist in black and white and will turn into glorious Technicolour rather like one of the wonderful transitions in A Matter of Life and Death.

I am going to soak up some new ideas and inspiration. I have my tickets booked and I'm going to be doing some visiting and travelling.

I am going to get some fresh air. Goodness knows, my lungs need some.

I am going to get some sleep. Goodness know, my brain needs some.

Best of all, I am going to spend time with Simon, Tom, Alice and Phoebe who have been amazing over the last year and have seen me through some pretty tricky moments. And they have been the best treat-eaters a cook could ever wish for. This walnut cake is for them.

   

 

turkish delight au poisson

There was, understandably, consternation in the kitchen last night. I decided to test a recipe for Turkish Delight and, as this meant standing by the stove for an hour, I reckoned I might as well cook a smoked haddock kedgeree for tea at the same time. Mmmmm, fishy, turmeric-infused Turkish Delight, anyone? However, the fears of Simon and the children were allayed as I stirred the glutinous mass of what looked like sticky Vaseline and remembered to change spatulas when moving to the rice and fish.

We've made Turkish Delight before but it didn't turn out well. TD has a very strange texture but this stuff had the wrong strange texture, was too wet and slimy, and the flavour wasn't sufficiently 'boudoir'. As a result, I wasn't convinced that TD could even be made at home.

But I was not prepared to give up that easily and decided to have one last attempt. I found another recipe, stocked up on sugar and cornflour and set to work creating the extra-thick wallpaper paste-like mix to which we added rosewater and fuchsia food-colouring at the last minute.

Turning it out of the tin this morning, I could see that it had worked well. It is beautifully, pinkly translucent and gently scented, and when I cut it up and covered it with snowy icing sugar and cornflour, I could almost imagine myself in Narnia.

And how does it taste? Well, I reckon it's the closest I'll get to the real thing when making it in a domestic kitchen. It's soft and sticky yet firm and yielding. It's sweet and perfumed and it makes you very thirsty. It's not authentic Turkish Delight because I really don't think you can beat TD made the traditional way in Turkey. But I like to think it might tempt Edmund in The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe.

One thing, though. You can cook TD and kedgeree at the same time, but I wouldn't say you'd get any Michelin stars for serving them together.

Or maybe I'm wrong. Now I come to think of it, my rose-scented, gelatinous Turkish Delight and smoked fish combination is not a million miles away from Heston Blumenthal's signature dish of oysters and passion fruit jelly with lavender... And look at the way he's convinced people it's what they want.

no words

Something sweet to look at while I use up all my available word-store elsewhere.

A birthday cake made by P for E.

bun-run

We're having a bit of a bun-run here. The new book includes several recipes for traditional, yeast-raised buns such as sticky buns, jammy buns, currant buns and spice buns, so we've been bun-baking in the morning and the evening (see buns below in the gloaming)...

...and in the middle of the day (see hot cross buns below in the weak afternoon sun - I know it's not Easter yet but the recipe - and the deadline - couldn't wait).

I've never been one for a 'baking day' (unlike Milly-Molly-Mandy's Muvver who always bakes on a Saturday morning) as I think everyday has potential for baking. And we have also come to realise that any time of the day is good. This morning I'd made a big fruit cake and 18 eclairs by 9am, and Phoebe often puts her apron on after school when I announce that something I've been writing about needs to be tested and tasted.

Despite the element of pressure, it has to be said that the bun-run has been most enjoyable. I mean, when you get to eat something like this (a Devonshire split) after slaving away over yeasty dough it hardly counts as work, does it?