Blue Monday

Today (17 January) is said to be the gloomiest day of the year. Can’t say I’m particularly gloomy, although I am a bit exhausted.

Yesterday, we were finally able to host the Family Get-Together we had planned to have over Christmas, but were unable to do so because of colds, flu, snow and so forth.

As the fates would have it, we had everyone round for Sunday lunch. The DEB made the invitation while we were dining at his brother’s, along with our lovely rellies from Cumbria. “Shall we have everyone to ours for lunch on Sunday?” he asked. There was general, enthusiastic agreement around the table.

My panic did not set in until the following day! My brother-in-law, a.k.a.,"The Guru" is an amazing cook, who entertains with an effortless abandon that would make Nigella green with envy! His partner-in-crime, a.k.a, "The Guru-ette", is a sassy, hard-core foodie, who likes what she likes.

My heart sank at the very thought of cooking a serious meal for these two. I mean, of course, I’ve cooked a ‘fun’ meal for them (big bowls of chili con carne) before we moved into our new house, and we’ve had everyone round for Indian take-aways, snacks and nibbles, anniversary party finger food, bacon butties (sandwiches) and even a World cup barbecue – but we’ve never hosted The Guru and The Guru-ette to a proper, full-on, sit-down meal.

 

The minute we returned home, I ran to my cookbook shelf for inspiration! Whilst fumbling through pages of Jamie, Nigella, and Easy British Classics, I sneaked a peek at The Perfect Hostess to see if good, old Rose Henniker Heaton could offer any cheering words of advice…

In her section entitled: “The Family Gathering takes place at your House” her advice is shrewd and curt:

“It sounds a lot trouble but it’s really worth it,” she begins. “Having the family to Luncheon,” she warns, “is a most difficult form of entertaining.” (Hmmm…I had already figured that one out myself.)

However, Henniker Heaton continues, “if, at the end of the meal everyone is still speaking civilly to everyone else, the hostess may congratulate herself on a successful party.” (…Oh dear. Thankfully, ours isn’t that sort of family.)

Once she moves on the menu itself, Henniker Heaton finally strikes a more pertinent note: “Cocktails,” she declares, “are absolutely essential!” (Finally, some useful information!)

I read recipes until my eyes blurred, and then decided the best way to decide what to cook was to take to the streets! Or, rather, to the shops. Off I went to my beloved Sainsbury’s for some inspiration.

Warning: Vegetarians, stop reading now.

Steak, turkey, venison, duck, goose, chicken, lamb, roast beef, pork…I was overwhelmed by choices. Before heading off to Sainsbury’s, I had a gander at BBC Good Food online, and the first thing that came to mind was Lamb.

It sounded to appetizing, delightful and fresh. After a long, cold foul (fowl?) winter - Lamb seemed a harbinger of a Spring that is surely, surely somewhere out there on the horizon? 

All the Lamb recipes I found promised an easy process, with a huge and impressive pay-off. Hmmmm…it all seemed a little too good to be true…

I walked briskly into Sainsbury’s, straight to the lamb section of the meat aisle. Legs, shoulders, joints, steaks, chops - lamb everywhere! My mantra was clear: “I will not be intimidated by lamb. I will not intimidated by lamb…”

Though that eventually gave way to a much simpler motto: “I will not cry in Sainsbury’s. I will not cry in Sainbury’s...”

Thank heavens, for the DEB. A firm hand on my shoulder, and his calming voice: “You can do this. And, I’ll help.”

In the end, it was lamb, and it was lovely! And more importantly, it felt so wonderful to be sharing a meal and hosting this wonderful, new family that I love so much!

Here is the recipe I used – a combination of several different ones, cobbled together:

Roast leg of lamb with rosemary & red wine gravy

Ingredients

1 leg of lamb - about 2½kg

olive oil

1 garlic clove, sliced thinly

3-4 sprigs rosemary

sea salt

pepper

dried mint, thyme, marjoram, rosemary

Red Wine Gravy

2 onions,  sliced

2 shallots, sliced

2 garlic cloves bashed

300ml red wine

1 lamb stock cube

Heat the oven to 190C/fan 170C/gas 5. Put the lamb in a shallow dish and rub with olive oil all over the surface. Make holes in the lamb with a small sharp knife and stick slices of garlic and few sprigs of rosemary in each. Sprinkle with sea salt, pepper, dried mint, thyme, marjoram, and rosemary.

Line a roasting dish with the onions, shallots, garlic and rosemary sprigs. Drizzle with olive oil. Crumble the lamb stock cube over the top of onions, shallots, garlic and rosemary. Pour in the red wine. Place the lamb on top of the onions, shallots, garlic and rosemary.

Roast for 11/2 hours. Leave to rest loosely covered with foil for at least 30 minutes.

Strain the liquid into a jug and serve piping hot.

We had a super time. It was Uncle C’s birthday, and so the DEB and I got a cake and indoor sparklers. The sparklers failed to cooperate, but that just made the mood all the more festive! And, I realised there was no need for me to be have been so stressed, after all.

One trick pony

Jamie. Nigella. Delia. Tovey. I’m scanning the shelves for inspiration.

We’ve got the rellies coming down from Barrow tomorrow to join us for our 1^st wedding anniversary weekend. They will be our very first house guests in our new home!

I’m thrilled to bits ... and panicked beyond belief. It will be my first time playing “hostess” to the family. More than anything, I want to get it “right.”

I rather wisely gave myself a bit of “dress rehearsal” last month, by inviting the Vicar, His Wife, Their Son and few other special friends for a “House Blessing” followed by lunch. Our friends, Julia and Robert, who moved away in January, came from Rutland to join us, and did our much beloved Sally.

It was a gorgeous day, the English weather did its part, and cooperated beautifully. We were able to have champers outside on the patio before the Blessing and lunch.

The Vicar led us all round the house for a traditional house blessing ceremony. To be sure, I’m one of those people for whom ritual and liturgy are very important. Ritual is of course the outward sign and expression of faith, physicalising the internal and invisible.

We all found the ceremony deeply moving, it was truly lovely as we progressed from room to room, celebrating the love and grace that has made this place our home.

After the little service, we had lunch. I was surprisingly calm, and well-prepared. The importance of planning, as the gurus do say! And, I actually enjoyed myself and didn’t feel harassed or overwhelmed.

This was due largely to the best piece of hostess advice I’ve come across recently:

Don't be afraid to be a 'one trick pony'.

Meaning, develop a meal that you do really well; one that you feel truly comfortable and confident creating. Then, roll it out again and again, and wow your guests every time.

Obviously, in time one would need to add more meals/dishes to your menu arsenal, if you are having the same guests over and over, but initially, what a super strategy!

And that is precisely how I approached the Blessing Lunch. Keep it simple. Stick with what you know.

So...my menu that day was Proscuitto and melon for starters; followed by Parmesan & parsley-crusted salmon, served with baby new potatoes and steamed asparagus, with a parmesan sauce. Lovely! Thank you BBC Good Food Guide.

The Vicar is a “crumble” fan, so for "pudding" I did a mixed berry crumble for him; and Sally brought along a gorgeous Sherry Trifle. Splendid.

Perhaps, leaving Jamie, Nigella and Delia aside once again, I should follow my own advice and continue in this vein for this weekend.

Though, I think I might branch out and tweak the BBC Good Food recipe slightly by using trout instead of salmon…

Sunshine in a jar

"I confess I have never made marmalade.  The nearest I've got is buying a box of oranges that then reproachfully, went moldy in my pantry. I have since never even pretended to myself that I'm the sort of person who's about to turn into a bottler and canner and storer of good things, though I live in hope."                                                                                                                                - Nigella Lawson, How to Eat

Another snowy morning in Barford...

A thick, beautiful, blanket of white covers the village, and the snow shows no sign of ceasing. 

Frantic mums scurry through the slippery streets, trying to get their precious ones to school on time, only to find that all of their early morning antics and efforts are for nought -- school is scheduled to shut at noon. 

On days like these, I am thankful to have only a cat and dog to worry about.

I'd hoped that the DEB would have a "work-from-home" day, but alas, no. There's a big meeting with chaps from Swansea, and one of the guys from head office actually made it in from Holland last night, so no excuse for the locals. 

If it had been a "no work, snow day," the DEB and I had planned to snuggle down and have an epic Cranford Fest! 

We have only just discovered the joyous pleasure that is Cranford, the epic, period drama starring Dame Judi Dench. We love it! 

We have also discovered that -- wonderful period costumes aside -- Cranford is an uncannily apt depiction of where we live! Barford, is indeed "very Cranford"- in all the best ways, of course. 

And, like Cranford, the only downside for a newcomer entering such an idyllic environment is that of learning to yield to the long-established principles of how things are done -- and not done.

There is, I imagine, in every English village a certain way of doing things. Whether it's the "Cranford way," the "Barford way", the "Alveston way", or the "Dunchurch way" -- there is a 'way,' a manner in which things are done. 

Process, protocol, habit and tradition. One would be wise to take a step back, learn, and above all, listen. 

There is an innocent American tendency, I believe, to rush in, as it were, where angels fear to tread. It comes from our innate sense of adventure, a desire to give, an urge to contribute/participate, and "make a difference."

I am learning to resist these natural urges, to take things slowly and steadily, and that "making a difference" is not always necessary.

An example. I have been asked, on several separate occasions, to join the leadership committee of the Barford W.I. Of course, I am flattered, humbled and hono(u)red by the suggestion. Someone even said that one day, I would "make a wonderful W.I. President."

In the not so distance past, I would have jumped at an opportunity like this. But, now? No, no, no, no, no. I'm still very wet behind the ears, and think I need to bide my time, observe more, watch and learn.

I find it very funny, and I'm sure I'm not the first person to acknowledge the similarity between the supporting community of women in 19th century Cranford, and the modern W.I. 

Before joining the W.I.,  I was very much of a similar mind to Nigella Lawson: "not the sort of person" to perserve, pickle or bottle, but always hopeful. 

Last year, I delighted myself by successfully turning out a very nice quantity of  "Chunky Lemon, Lime and Grapefruit Marmalade." 

But, this year? 

The big kahuna. I'm having a go at making the quintessential English perserve: Orange Marmalade.

The perfect activity for a snowy morning: the kitchen windows steamed over as jam jars boil on the hob; strains of Rachminov playing on Classic FM in the background; the sweet, tangy smell of oranges percolating slowly for two hours...

If Nigella can do it, so can I!

 

    

Birthday panic

The D.E.B. and I share the same birthday: 22 August. 

That is four days from today. In truly uncharacteristic fashion, I have somehow allowed this significant date to sneak upon me without warning.

What am I going to do?!

 I am normally several steps ahead of the game, and usually have more than one sassy trick up my sleeve. Not this time. I got nothing.

I have no idea what to get him for a birthday present! And the clock is ticking.

Our birthday plans have only now taken shape in the past few days. We are having a weekend away in the Cotswolds in our little camper van.

With the work and preparation for my Lit Fest appearance next month, and a Shakespeare lecture on The Winter's Tale, for the University of Helsinki next week, I'm just drowning. So much for my attempt at being the "Goddess Wife." Nigella would have managed all of this with ease, prepared some deep-fried Mars Bars and baked a cake...

Oh, well. I still have a bit more time to make some magic happen.

Speaking of magic...magic moment last night as we had dinner in the garden.

I asked the D.E.B. what he'd like most for his birthday. He responded by smiling his beautiful smile, and putting his hand on my belly. Oh, my.

Well, we shall have to see about that. I wish that, too. I would love to make him a dad. I've never met a man who needs and should be a dad as much as my D.E.B. does. And I'm not alone in thinking so. So many of his female friends have said to me: "I'v e always thought he would make such a fabulous dad." I think they're right.

So, I guess we need to start thinking about all that then. On top of everything else. But, what a delightful thought.

The Meaning of Wife

Recently, The Times, and especially The Sunday Times, has been positively obsessed with “wifedom.” Over the past several months there has been article upon article in the Times’ Style magazine wherein writers have actively pondered on the page the concept of “the wife.”

Even the chatty and ever-entertaining Shane Watson has joined the fray, declaring her opinion that what men really want in a wife is: “a woman [they] can believe in.”  Very heady stuff, indeed, particularly from a writer known primarily for celebrity-jabbing.

Another writer in the same publication set about outlining what she believed were the current wifely archetypes in contemporary society, along with some real life examples for readers to emulate or to be admonished by.

My personal favorites (no surprises, here) were: “The Goddess Wife” - personified by Nigella Lawson, and “The Inspiring Wife” – personified by Michelle Obama.

Let’s face it, Nigella Lawson is a modern-day, brunette, Marilyn Monroe - who can cook. But, despite her sometimes over-obvious sex appeal, her hyper-confidence, and sexy smarts (she has an M.A. in medieval and modern languages), ever so often viewers can catch a glimpse of the other side of Nigella, the besotted schoolgirl underneath it all, who still gets weak in the knees at the very thought of “that sweet man of mine.”

“The Goddess Wife” is all about hearth and home, care and comfort. Everything she does, and everything she is, is about sensuousness, deliciousness, warmth, scrumptious indulgence, and ample luxury. She’s can’t help it, she’s just built that way.

“The Inspiring Wife” comes at caring from a different, though no less valuable, perspective. Michelle Obama is the perfect example of the “Inspiring Wife.” She is her husband’s equal (intellectually, socially, professionally, &etc.) and his champion.

But, she is no mere cheerleader encouraging him from the sidelines, nor is she his coach. What she is, as the article writer put so beautifully, “[Michelle Obama] is the reason Barack Obama gets up in the morning.”  She is his sunshine.

As “The Inspiring Wife,” she enkindles his greatness. The concept of “Ihe Inspiring Wife” is not a new one. My chief bridesmaid, Sarah, gave me a lovely gift the day before our wedding: a copy of A History of the Wife by Marilyn Yalom. In it, one of the countless relationships Yalom details is the remarkable marriage of John and Abigail Adams.

After Abigail had accepted John’s proposal, he wrote to her, thanking her and expressing his belief that by knowing and loving her, he would “Gain some of your sweet grace, My Dearest Friend, that will perfect my many Imperfections.”

Shane Watson’s comment touches upon this very idea: the wife as source of grace, a figure to be ‘believed in’. There is no doubt, upon reading the love letters of John and Abigail Adams, that John viewed his wife as clearly the very best part of himself.

I devoured Yalom’s book while lounging and sleeping by the pool in Tunisia. And contemplated what kind of a wife I would like to be. From the title, it may sound uber-academic and dry as toast, but is really a super, super read. So fascinating to consider the twists, turns and changes that have happened in relation to wifedom over the centuries.

In the past, being a Wife was considered a vocation, a privilege, an honour, an occupation and a gift. I think it is still all of these things today, though I think we are uncomfortable using such florid language.

There was a time when being a wife was considered a great calling, and women proudly defined themselves by the distinction: “I am a wife.” I believe we have lost that, and with it perhaps a great possibility for feminine pride and expression.

When I was growing up, and especially when I was in university, the notion of “just being a wife” was completely alien and abhorrent. We were encouraged/taught/urged to look disdainfully upon young women who “lacked ambition and brains,” who had come to university only to find a husband, and obtain their “Mrs. degree,” and little else.

In this same vein, India Knight did a piece recently where she, too, was thinking through some of these post-feminist issues. She interviewed several high-powered professional women who were attempting, as so many women do, to “have it all” (career, family, kids, life).

The general consensus amongst the women interviewed was that they would not wish their life choices on their daughters. They hoped that their daughters’ lives would be better, different and freer than their own. That their daughters would choose to have lives that were more centred on creating a family, building a home and serving their community, than their lives had been.

A dear friend of mine, wrote me recently from Dubai to congratulate me on getting married. Along with her good wishes and advice, she expressed her own sense of being at a crossroads:

Being married teaches you how to be a wife.                                                                      ...In my neck of the woods…all I have been doing for the past month, going on two months is move, organize, decorate, shop, mother, mother sick children and eat like crap. I read an email today about a novel about Hemingway's wife selling for half a million and wept. It wasn't the money, really. I just got my first check for my book by the way. It was about the fact that I miss writing, I need it as much as I need my kids. Anyway, when are you getting back to work?

This is how I began my reply to her:

I am happier now than I have ever been in my life, and I am more lost than I have ever been. I feel and am more centred, grounded, and anchored as I have never been, nor ever imagined. Anchored, and yet I also feel frighteningly adrift.

In the past, I have always defined myself by what I do, and not by who I love or, who I am in relation to someone else. All of that has changed. And I feel/know that it has changed for the better. And what of work? Ugh. I just wasted a colossal amount of time applying for two jobs I don’t even want, one of them in London, how would that even work? Why did I bother? The problem is that is muscle-memory and the force of habit. I have spent my life applying for jobs, that’s what I know how to do. Facing myself and a blank computer screen? Yikes!

As I embark on this new journey into wifedom, I am searching for examples, and trying to embrace my own uncertainties. For years my life has been guided by the mantra: “Career first, career first.” Now, I feel the sand shifting beneath me, and the turning of a tide. Could the new mantra be: “Family first?”

While she was still here, my friend, Sarah and I shared our mutual admiration for that wonderful HBO series, John Adams. I remember telling her that one of the things I loved most about that series (apart from Laura Linney’s fabulous portrayal of Abigail Adams) was very real sense that one had while watching it, that the Founding Fathers, those great men of history, had no idea what they were doing at the time. The founding of America was not some grand design enacted with stealth and precision, they were making it all up as they went along!

And perhaps, that is the answer, the best notion toward a vision of marriage and wifedom, we are all making this stuff up as we go along. We can only do our best and try.

Unless, of course, your goal is to be “The Slacker Wife” (sadly exampled in The Times by Madonna Ritchie). “The Slacker Wife,” as the name suggestions, does “bugger all,” and causes those around her no end of grief.

A little piece of home

The gifts I've chosen for my bridesmaids just arrived! I won't go into much detail here, in case one of them takes a sneak peek here. But, I am thrilled beyond belief and the items are better and more beautiful in person than I even imagined. I just have to say a word or two about the designer, Keiko, who I discovered at Etsy.com.

India Knight had recommended etsy.com in a recent article she wrote in The Times about being thrifty and the joy of crafting. (If you hadn't noticed, I want to be India Knight when I grow up. Or Nigella Lawson.) 

Etsy.com is a source for all things handmade, where you can purchase and special order gorgeous things directly from crafters themselves. It seems to me that most of the artisans are from the States, or perhaps I just seem to find those folks naturally. I was thrilled to find that Keiko,whose label is called "Pear22" is from Brooklyn. 

Brooklyn, Manhattan, it's all New York, and it felt really nice to be able to support a fellow New Yorker. And, sometimes, no matter how much you love your new surroundings, you just need a little piece of home. 

In the Land of Nigella...

I was never a "Domestic Diva" but always wanted, secretly or not so secretly, to be one. This was an impossible feat to pull off in my shoe-box Manhattan apartment. My kitchen in New York was so small that two people could not stand together in it comfortably, nor was it possible to open the stove door and the refrigerator door at the same time. While my new English kitchen does present its own unique challenges, I have been granted to the gift of space: room in which to actually cook, move and navigate; and surfaces, surfaces, surfaces, at last. So now, with the time and space within which to channel my "inner Martha," I could not wait, as the locals say, to get "stuck in."

British food. A comedian once made the joke that a "British cookbook" should be merely "a pamphlet, that says 'See other countries'." Funny. But true? I don't think so. I have always enjoyed British food -- beyond my favorite Fish'n'chips. British food is the ultimate comfort food. In every British kitchen, something is undoubtedly being roasted to perfection in the "cooker," and thankfully for me there is sure to be a potato involved in one way or another.

What I noticed from watching and reading a small cross-section of Nigella Lawson, Gordon Ramsay, Jamie Oliver and the like, is that key factors in British cooking are: freshness and flavo(u)r. Gordon stresses simplicity, which works for me. Keep it simple. Quality, fresh food, cooked simply. What a way to seduce the senses.

Speaking of culinary seductions ... I recall one of my many, recent, transatlantic jaunts in the past year to visit my Darling English Boy, wherein I was treated to an exquisite culinary evening at Stratford-upon-Avon College. The Darling English Boy has a dear friend who is an exceptional chef who heads the culinary program at Stratford College, and every year they provide the students with the ultimate challenge of presenting a seven course meal to invited guests and local glitterati. Staff members from the Ritz Hotel in London are brought in and added to the mix. The evening was so divine that I wrote a short sketch about it three months later for an in-class Creative Writing assignment:

Dinner at Stratford College. Final Exam dinner for culinary students. Late May 2008. Wore my favorite "19th C-esque, travel suit". Champagne and canapes to start. Seven course meal, a different wine with each course. Favorite course: Lobster tail with a green pea puree, dressed in caviar. Delicate, cold, white and pinkish meat lounging in a pool of green, wearing tiny, glistening, black pearls. Green pea puree base. Soooo lovely. Fresh, spring peas pureed. They actually taste like Spring. Earthy. Fresh. New. I want to learn to make pea soup just to capture this taste forever.

I recently discovered the BBC's wonderful Foodie website: www.bbcgoodfood.com 

In addition to recipes and cooking tips, the site also has an excellent features section dedicated to "Seasonal and Local Food". Who knew that tomatoes, blackberries, lobster, plums, cauliflowers, aubergines, goose, garlic are all considered at their peak in Britain in September? The website also provides information, based on postcode, of nearby suppliers of fresh, organic food. It seems that the "Slow Food" movement has truly taken root quite firmly in England. I noticed an example of this when my friend Karen had me round for lunch last week. Karen -- who I have known for ages, from when I was living here before as a student -- is an excellent and fastidious cook. She prepared the most gorgeous lunch, which she said she had started cooking at 9 AM. We sat down for lunch at nearly 2 PM...Since moving here, I am learning the importance of slow downing, generally, not just food-wise. But food is a good place to start. 

So far I have tried my hand at such traditional English favorites as Fish Pie and Rhubarb Crumble, and think I've done pretty well. Last night, after what I thought was a failed, and over-cooked attempt at "Glazed Baked Gammon," D.E.B. gave me his mum's favo(u)rite cookbook. I wanted to cry. The book is Marguerite Patten's Perfect Cooking (1972), and throughout its well-worn and much-loved pages, D.E.B.'s mother, Elsie, has made copious notes, and added her own comments, critiques and thoughts to the pages. As I read and touched the pages Elsie had, I felt a connection with her. A tangible link to the beautiful woman I sincerely regret I will never know. 

Food. So much more than just the stuff that keeps our bodies going.
Facing my biggest cooking challenge this weekend: Sunday Lunch. The quintessential British meal: Roast Beef, Yorkshire puddings, roasted potatoes & veg and gravy.
Thankfully, I've got Nigella and Elsie in my corner.