There is some evidence to say that summer-born children are more likely to report being unhappy at school and that, as they are relatively immature compared to their older classmates, they don’t do as well scholastically. Continue reading “All in a Puff”
As for many of us born in the 50s, my childhood was difficult. Many adults were too traumatised by war and its losses. It can’t have been easy on any front to return to whatever ‘normality’ was. Neither of my parents seemed to be able to settle down. They banged around like an out of control bobsleigh on the Cresta run, although not always together. Fortunes went up and down as they careered from job to job and town to town, dragging my grandmother, my brother, and I with them. Continue reading “Straight from the Tables of Disney”
Cassoulet is a legend here in the South West of France. Quite literally. It was supposed to have originated during the Hundred Years War when the English were besieging the nearby town of Castelnaudary in 1355. The story goes that the inhabitants cooked up what was left of their beans, bones, scraps of meat and dried bits of ham, then went out and beat the English!
Like many of my favourite dishes, I suspect it has its real origins in “peasant food”, cooking whatever is to hand, but over the centuries, it has become a complex and truly wonderful dish. It takes its name from the large earthenware pot in which it is cooked and served – “le cassole” – hence “Cassoulet”. When it’s cooked for you by my good friend, Philippe Seguier then it is, quite simply, probably the best cassoulet you’ll ever taste. Continue reading “The Legendary Cassoulet”
The 70s was the era of the dinner party. Never more so than in foreign lands, where expatriates clung together, socialising amongst themselves by circulating around each other’s houses, consuming pineapple cubes on sticks, platters of coronation chicken, and boeuf Wellington, all washed down with enough alcohol to drown a liver or two. At eighteen I started my married life as an expatriate wife, set to travel the world with postings in Ghana, Zambia, Hong Kong, Jakarta, Bahrain, and Haiti. Continue reading “Keeping Up with the Joneses”
Last week, I was finally able to unpack one of my boxes of cookery books and found a copy of the Longtown W.I. Cookery Book to which my mother had contributed her recipe for “New Zealand Chocolate Cake – 1966!”. I also found the small recipe book she gave me as a teenager in which I’ve written up many favourite recipes. Glued in under the cakes section, written in her distinctive hand-writing, I found the same recipe. Continue reading “New Zealand Chocolate Cake – my mother’s fifty year-old recipe!”
There is no law, no rules or regulation that say that you have to love, like or even get on with your siblings. As a mother of four, I would be horrified if my children didn’t at least like, rub along with and support each other. Horrified.
But my relationship with my brother was far from harmonious. Continue reading “Oh Deer, Oh Deer”
Carrots have been one of my favourite vegetables since way back when. As a child, I was never keen on meat, especially beef. I hated all that chewing and would end up with dry indigestible lumps hidden in my cheeks like a hamster. Muttering that I had finished, I would leave the table and head for the toilet to spit out the offending lumps. So my mother wisely compromised by serving me potatoes and carrots covered with the meaty gravy which I would then mash together. For a four year old, it was my idea of the perfect meal.
In those days, carrots were the inevitable pairing with potatoes – mashed, roasted or boiled – for the traditional ‘meat and two veg’. My grandmother sliced her carrots in roundels and boiled them, as did my mother. Generation after generation of us eating sliced carrots… Continue reading “An Ode to Carrots”
Having lived as many decades as I have (six and counting), it’s easy to forget how some of the most basic elements of cooking have changed over my lifetime, and you cannot get more basic than salt and pepper. Continue reading “Salt and Pepper – Earth and Fire”
In my mind there are three types of campers. The itinerant workers travelling around wherever work takes them, using only tiny tents to sleep in or renting site caravans; those that are looking for cheaper holidays, eating and sleeping in camper vans loaded with bicycles; and those few who enjoy the actual art of camping – the joy of sleeping under canvas, eating under starry skies and enjoying the feeling of being outdoors, far removed from the urban life of bricks and mortar. I would count myself in the latter category with a few provisos. Continue reading “Starry, Starry Nights”
This is the simplest of recipes, but whenever I make flapjacks, I am transported back to my college days in Oxford at Lady Margaret Hall. One of the first women’s colleges at Oxford, LMH (as it’s called), had a reputation for being a college where the ‘posh girls’ went.
By the mid-1970s, Oxford University was under pressure to admit more state school candidates and I clearly qualified, having gone to the local grammar school in Buckingham. At my interview I was asked which colleges at Oxford had my parents gone to. My heart sank. When I replied that I was the first member of my family to ever go to university, the tutor looked visibly surprised! Continue reading “College Days – cooking my oats!”