February 2011 Archives

War-time Soup

| 6 Comments | No TrackBacks
As a young married woman writing to a friend expressed it, "We live mostly on entrails."

I spent yesterday in 1917. Felt like it, anyway! I was reading Dorothy Constance Peel's How We Lived Then, 1914-1918: A Sketch of Social and Domestic Life in England During the War. Here's a gem from the appendix (originally distributed by the Ministry of Food in 1917 and 1918):

War-time Soup

All outer leaves and peelings and tops and tails of vegetables, all fruit peelings, stones and cores, all saucepan and dish rinsings, bread crusts, remains of suet, batter, and milky puddings (but not jam or sweet puddings), cheese and bacon rinds, skim milk, sour milk, remains of sauces (not sweet sauces) or gravy, vegetable water, margarine (if liked), pepper and salt, water.
Wash thoroughly all vegetable peelings and leaves (do not use potato peelings); use the outer leaves of cabbage, cauliflower, broccoli, curly kale, lettuce, leeks, and onions; the tops and peelings of turnips, carrots, parsnips, swedes, kohlrabi. Put all into a cooking box saucepan with plenty of water, bring to the boil, boil 20 minutes; add some or all of the other ingredients; season to taste; boil 10 minutes without removing cover, and place in the cooking box 2 to 3 hours. Take out and rub through a sieve and, if necessary, reheat on gas ring.
Every economical housewife should have War-time Soup constantly going; it is both delicious and nourishing and, above all, cheap.

Today we'd call this 'compost stew'! Cheap? For sure. Delicious? I'm doubtful. (It's the 'dish rinsings' mostly. And the sour milk!) Any brave soul want to try this?

(I took down another recipe for vegetable pie with a potato crust, which would have been a sensible thing to cook during meat shortages. That one I'm going to try next month when I'm home again.)

[Edit: to put the above quote into context, offal wasn't rationed, so it was much easier to obtain scrap meats.]

New Lanark

| 2 Comments | No TrackBacks
P1020494

I spent most of Saturday at New Lanark, a late 18th-century mill town (and World Heritage site) situated along the River Clyde in South Lanarkshire. There's a lovely hourlong wooded walk that takes in three waterfalls (harnessed for hydroelectric power in 1927), although the weather was pretty dismal, so my photos of the falls aren't really worth sharing.

The exhibition was open by the time I got back from my walk:

P1020524

P1020533

P1020534

P1020542

Above: the engine house; YARN!; the roof garden; a phrenology model in the restored 1820 period classroom.

Robert Owen purchased the business from his father-in-law, David Dale, in 1799, and over the next few decades turned the weaving mill complex (which originally milled cotton picked by American slaves) into a celebrated experiment in utopian socialism. Owen thought even the humblest factory worker deserved a comprehensive education (at least until the age of ten, although continuing ed classes were offered at night), fresh air and exercise, a sick fund in case of illness, hygienic living spaces, and quality meat and produce available at reasonable prices at the village store. My inner cynic piped up as I went through the exhibition--no doubt such reforms resulted in a very obedient workforce; 'Institute for the Formation of Character,' ieeeee!, etc.--but it's true his ideas were well ahead of his time, and that what we take for granted now was pretty revolutionary back then. You learn on the cheesy 'Annie McLeod Experience' ride (narrated by the ghost of a 10-year-old millworker--!) that they worked six days a week, ten (or was it twelve?) hours a day, and only got two holidays a year--but back then that work schedule was generous.

P1020556

The history lesson was interesting and all, but this was what I really came for. Bwahahahahaha. Proceeds benefit ongoing conservation efforts.

My kind of church

| 2 Comments | No TrackBacks
P1020342

The south chapel murals depict the first part of the parable of the ten virgins (i.e., the wise and foolish virgins).

On Sunday, thanks to my new friend Kate ('blessed by Kates', as I like to say), I was able to visit the Mansfield Traquair Centre, a deconsecrated church full of the most wonderful murals I've seen outside of Italy. (This building is actually called 'Edinburgh's Sistine Chapel', although tourists don't generally hear about it; it seems like they have sufficient income through space rental that they don't need to push for tourism.) It's only open to the public one Sunday afternoon per month, so I was very fortunate to be able to go!

P1020336

The neo-Romanesque chancel arch, featuring the first set of murals (1895-1897). The worship of heaven as given in the Books of Ezekiel and Revelation.

Phoebe Anna Traquair (1852-1936) was the foremost artist of the Arts and Crafts movement in Scotland. She spent eight years on these murals, doing hardly any preparatory drawings before sketching the figures right onto the walls. This is a particularly stunning achievement given the curved surfaces of the chapel ceiling.

P1020382

I wasn't surprised to hear that she took a holiday to Italy before returning to start the south chapel murals, because the virgins all have Botticelli coifs!

P1020355

Two of the four angels symbolizing the ministries of the Catholic Apostolic Church: the Prophet in blue and the Pastor in silver (the other two are the Evangelist in scarlet and the Apostle in gold).

Notice how bright and joyous it all is? The Catholic Apostolic Church, founded in 1835, basically cherry-picked their favorite bits from the Anglican, Roman Catholic, and Eastern Orthodox traditions, so at a Catholic Apostolic service you would find vividly colored vestments and incense, but but no crucifixes (why dwell on Christ's suffering when you can celebrate his resurrection?) or last judgment scenes with demons dragging damned souls down into hell (they believed everyone could be saved). Sounds like my kind of church apart from that whole imminent-second-coming business; too bad it doesn't exist anymore! (If I remember correctly, the New Apostolic church, founded after a schism in the 1860s, is still in existence.)
 P1020363
The great west wall was completed in 1901.

P1020352

The north aisle features the conclusion of the parable of the ten virgins. The ornamentation on the walls and sloped ceiling are  reminiscent of both William Morris and medieval illuminated manuscripts.

P1020359


The happiest Judgment Day you will ever see.

So if you are coming to Edinburgh and are a huge art history nerd like I am, it's worth planning your visit around the opening days! I believe it's open daily during the theatre festival in August.

Great Book #48: A Farewell to Arms

| 4 Comments | No TrackBacks
farewelltoarms.jpgI tried to breathe but my breath would not come and I felt myself rush bodily out of myself and out and out and out and all the time bodily in the wind. I went out swiftly, all of myself, and I just knew I was dead and that it had all been a mistake to think you just died.

I tried reading Hemingway in college, just the one short story, and it was so misogynistic that I swore I'd never bother with him again. His brief appearances in Marion Meade's Bobbed Hair and Bathtub Gin softened me up a bit, so I put this novel on my 100 great books list even though I still didn't want to read it. Then someone at the Common Good Books event asked if I'd ever read A Farewell to Arms (since, y'know, it's got the whole love-in-war thing going on). I told her I was allergic to Hemingway, and to my satisfaction everybody got a chuckle out of it.

So imagine how taken aback I was to find that, apart from one annoying instance of the N-word, I actually liked this novel. People always praise his spare prose, and I get it now, I see the beauty in it.

I sat up straight and as I did so something inside my head moved like the weights on a doll's eyes and it hit me inside in back of my eyeballs. My legs felt warm and wet and my shoes were wet and warm inside. I knew that I was hit and leaned over and put my hand on my knee. My knee wasn't there. My hand went in and my knee was down on my shin. I wiped my hand on my shirt and another floating light came very slowly down and I looked at my leg and was very afraid. Oh, God, I said, get me out of here.

Frederick Henry--an American ambulance driver in Italy during the First World War--is an unremarkable character, but I think that must be the point; there's nothing remotely romantic or heroic about him, nor anything 'epic' about his situation. Even his relationship with Catherine underscores the absurdity, the mess, the out-and-out wrongness of war. What would otherwise have been a passing attraction turns into a great love; he runs from the battlefield to live with her in peace and quiet, and in the end finds life would have been kinder to let him die in uniform.

The ending is inevitable, of course. It made me cry. 

Gosh, this is turning into quite a surprising experiment, isn't it? Who would have thought I'd be bashing Peter Pan and writing admiringly of Hemingway?!

(Oh, and I went back and forth between my paperback copy and the audiobook read by John Slattery, who is excellent. Isn't he on Mad Men? I think that's the guy.)

A Tiger in the Kitchen (and zucchini souffle!)

| 7 Comments | No TrackBacks
new cover.jpgRemember when I was at Yaddo last April? (Sheesh, I can't believe it's going on a year ago already.) Well, when I walked into the common room my first evening there, we were doing the usual introductions and one of my new friends said, ' Wait a minute--I've read your book!' Cheryl turned out to be the social glue the whole time I was there, always hatching plans for fun things to do in the evenings, acquiring bruises all over in the name of PIG (official rules posted here, also thanks to Cheryl), and taking wonderful pictures to remember each other by.

I blog family recipes from time to time, and you all know how fond I am of my grandparents, so of course Cheryl's new memoir, A Tiger in the Kitchen, is right up my alley. I haven't had a chance to read it yet (it'll be waiting for me when I come home next month), but here's the book description:

After growing up in the most food-obsessed city in the world, Cheryl Lu-Lien Tan left home and family at eighteen for America--proof of the rebelliousness of daughters born in the Year of the Tiger. But as a thirtysomething fashion writer in New York, she felt the Singaporean dishes that defined her childhood beginning to call her back. Was it too late to learn the secrets of her grandmothers' and aunties' kitchens, as well as the tumultuous family history that had kept them hidden before? In her quest to recreate the dishes of her native Singapore by cooking with her family, Tan learned not only cherished recipes but long-buried stories of past generations.

A Tiger in the Kitchen, which includes ten authentic recipes for Singaporean classics such as pineapple tarts and Teochew braised duck, is the charming, beautifully written story of a Chinese-Singaporean ex-pat who learns to infuse her New York lifestyle with the rich lessons of the Singaporean kitchen, ultimately reconnecting with her family and herself.


IMG_4524.JPGCheryl's author photo, taken by John Searles (another Yaddo buddy!)

Now, Cheryl has some pretty sophisticated tastebuds (as evidenced by her popular blog), but she's no 'food snob.' Recently a reader commented that her grandmother's recipe for pineapple tart was 'run of the mill', which of course annoyed anybody who ever had a grandmother. My grandmom Kass' cooking is unabashedly 'run of the mill'--simple, no-fuss recipes for good old-fashioned comfort food. So what if the zucchini soufflé recipe calls for Bisquick? I'll take my grandmother's cooking over haute cuisine any day. (Besideswhich, those pineapple tarts look pretty extraordinary to me! Bewitching bite-sized marvels, indeed.)

Ever hear that saying, 'every time an old person dies a library burns'? So far as I've observed, my grandparents' generation were and are a humble bunch, and they don't think too much about posterity or how valuable their life experiences are. Family recipes are a huge part of this trove of knowledge. Grandmom Kass learned how to cook from her aunt, because her own mother wasn't exactly Betty Crocker (we heard stories of how she used to dump sugar on the salad, and her jello always came served with a nice thick skin on top). Pumpkin soup, onion pie, creamy horseradish carrots, broccoli baked with cheese and breadcrumbs, rice pudding, depression cake...for me, my grandmother's culinary repertoire typifies mid-century blue-collar Philadelphia--nothing fancy, just good, wholesome food. (Though by 'wholesome,' I don't necessarily mean healthy. Philly is best known for cheesesteaks, pizzas, and spaghetti-meatball dinners, after all.) None of those recipes are original, but to me they are hers. She could have made up her own, of course, but I don't think it's ever occurred to her. Every cook makes her own modifications as she works, and given that she probably added a dash of this and a pinch of that without ever making a note of it, I doubt my versions of her signature dishes will ever taste as good as hers; but at least we have the recipes, and every time we make one we'll think of her.

P1020222.JPGSo to celebrate the publication of A Tiger in the Kitchen, I'd like to share my grandmother's recipe for zucchini soufflé.* This one is, hands down, my favorite of everything she has ever made. It's light and delicately flavorful and I always try to snag a nice golden-crusty corner piece.

Combine in mixing bowl:

--3 cups grated zucchini
--1/2 cup vegetable oil
--1 cup Bisquick mix
--4 eggs
--1/2 cup grated parmesan
--1 small onion, grated

Mix well, spoon into greased two-quart casserole dish. Bake at 325º for 50-60 minutes. Serves 6-8.

*From The Best of the Zucchini Recipes Cookbook, compiled by Helen and Emil Dandar and published locally in 1988; this recipe was submitted by Antonette Biasotto of Newark, Delaware.


Happy Pub Day, Cheryl!

Back to Scotland...

| 2 Comments | No TrackBacks
fairy castle louise.jpg
(On the fairy castle, isle of Skye; photo thanks to Louise.)

...and down the rabbit hole.

Twitter

Words to Live By

"We act as though comfort and luxury were the chief requirements of life, when all that we need to make us happy is something to be enthusiastic about."
—Charles Kingsley

Categories

Tag Cloud