Saturday morning thoughts . . .

 

A cookbook dated eighteen eighty three

That my old mother handed down to me,

Full  of old recipes . . . I wonder where

They ever gathered up such bills of fare,

Soups . . . jellies . . . pies of every hue and shade

Cross-bared and 'kiveredm every kind was made.

A christmas cake from Queen Victoria's day

Buttermilk scones . . . seed cake with caraway

Plum duff and gingerbread . . . brown buttered toast,

A Yorkshire pudding cooked above the roast,

Braised duck . . . fillets of sole and caviere

Washed down by some old vintage rich and rare.

Spiced apples . . . raisin loaf and hot cross buns

Old fashioned cookies . . . pans of Sally luns

Sweet ginger pears . . . and herring cured in brine

Brown Betty Pudding . . . cabbage shredded fine,

Roast suckling pig with dressing bulging out.

A little sprig of parsley in its snout.

I wonder how they ever lived to write

The bills of fare that greet my eyes tonight.

~Edna Jaques, The Old Cookbook, Roses in December 

This poem really spoke to me this morning for I have an old cookbook that my mother gave to me. (Aside from the many other recipes shared with me down through the years.) It may not date back to the Victorian age, but it certainly goes back quite far to when my mother was first married.  It was a part of a housekeeping encylopaedia that she had purchased which had many multi-hued volumes.  I guess she got tired of me poring over its pages as if to memorise them over the years . . .  laborously, painstakingly copying out recipes in ink on paper so as to preserve them for my own use.  I'd done it since I was a child. Finally she gave it to me.  I remember being over the moon. 

Oh the many hours I spent planning meals from it when my children were growing up!  There are no recipes in it for Roast Suckling Pig  or Braised Duck, but there is plenty of good solid cooking there. As you can see it is well loved up and considered to be one of my treasures.  I mean, how can you fail to fall in love with a cookery book whose author addresses you as a friend! Its impossible!   

 

The geraniums are coming right along, I turn them back

and forth every day so that they grow evenly. 

Its not raining this morning, but it is still overcast so who knows what the day will bring. We have had ever so much rain this past week. In some places a whole month of rain fell in just a few hours. Water-logged to say the least.  I was up at five this morning and had another Irish Brack in the oven as Todd loves it so.  It smells really good in here.  The aroma almost chases away the rainy day blues  . . . 

  

My day laid out on the table with the Irish Brack cooling . . . cards I picked up at the shops yesterday and a beef joint I have coming to room temperature . . .  

As I was buying the cards yesterday I almost broke into tears in the shop. It took all I had in me not to. This will be the first year ever, since I was able to make or buy a card, that there is not one for my mum. 

 

Did you know birds sing  . . .  even in the rain?  They do.  I noticed this week.  I had not ever taken note of it before, but this week I did.  I have often thought about how it must feel like to be a bird.  Oh yes, you can soar and swoop through the air, but in winter you huddle inside the hedge, all puffed up trying to keep your tiny feet warm . . . .

  

And on rainy days, when the wind beats at the bushes and leaves and the rain does not stop falling, drenching everything within its touch  . . . you sit again in the hedge, perhaps all gathered together for warmth, wings fluttering every now and then to shake off the damp  . . .  and still you sing. 

That is an amazing thought.

How many of us find the will to sing,

even in the rain

...

 

Tendrils curling, creeping, shooting . . .  they advance and climb and twist themselves around the bamboo poles . . . a harvest in the wings.  I do so love fresh beans.  I hope we have a good crop and that the slugs don't get there first.  The one good thing about so much rain is that it does the garden good, for the most part . . .  but it also brings out all the slugs, unfortunately.  I hate to put out slug pellets because I am afraid to kill the birds that might enjoy a slug or two as a snack . . . 

 

I thought marigolds put off slugs . . .  but I think I am wrong in that . . .  in any case they are so bright and cheerful.  It is hard not to smile when you are looking at a pot of marigolds don't you think?  I wonder can you eat marigolds like you can some flowers?  Hmmm . . .  I will have to check that out, but I can't imagine how anything which smells so bad would taste very good anyways  . . .  but nasturtiums are said to be very nice. 

  

I can't wait for these to turn blue  . . .  is there anything on earth as tasty as fresh berries you have grown yourself?  As a child I hated to pick the wild blueberries that grew abundance around us.  It was always in August and so hot  . . .  they were so low to the ground.  It was back-breaking work having to crouch for what seemed like hours and hours picking berries and trying to fill the ice cream pails we had been given.  Bugs buzzing, skeeters and black flies biting, it was not my favourite thing to do.  It seemed to take forever to fill a bucket.  The berries were so small. I think it was only the thoughts of home baked blueberry pies which kept me going. Oh my father did so love a home-baked blueberry pie. We all did. My mom made good ones.  She never made blueberry muffins or cakes . . .  or even pancakes . . .  just pies.   

  

  

We did not mind too much, for we all loved and love pie.

Any pie, sweet or savoury.  If it is in a crust

we are on it. We cannot, any of us

deny ourselves a pie. It is

a family trait. 

 

And with that I best leave you with a thought for the day.  I have plans to cook a roast today and Ariana messaged me right as I was getting into bed last night.  She wanted to know if Todd could take her on a few errands today.  I expect I will have the pleasure of watching Grace.  Yay!  I love watching Grace. 

° * 。 • ˚ ˚ ˛ ˚ ˛ •
•。★★ 。* 。
° 。 ° ˛˚˛ * _Π_____*。*˚
˚ ˛ •˛•˚ */______/~＼。˚ ˚ ˛
˚ ˛ •˛• ˚ ｜ 田田 ｜門 ★
 *I know a bank where the wild thyme blows,

where oxlips and the nodding violet grows,

quite over-canopied with lucious wood-bine,

with sweet musk-roses and with eglantine;

There sleeps Titania, sometimes of a night,

lulled in these flowers with dances and delight,

and there the snake throws her enamell'ed skin

Weed wide enough to wrap a fairy in.

~Shakespeare  •。★★ 。* 。•。★★ 。* 。 

 

In The English Kitchen today  . . . . Moroccan Orange Cake. TO DIE FOR.  I say no more  . . . 

Have a wonderful Saturday no matter what you may get up to.  Do it with a smile and don't forget! 

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And I do too!