Is it really July? Without the endings that bring expectations of holidays and sunshine – the end of ballet classes, the end of the school year, the end of chorister duties …
– we could easily be hoodwinked into building bonfires and counting down the days to Christmas.
The BBC called us ‘deluged Devon‘ today. Apparently, a month’s worth of rain – up to 80mm – fell in the past 24 hours and more bad weather has been forecast. Thanks.
This eternal drizzle makes everything difficult. Bookbags and papers get soggy, hair turns frizzy, cooped-up children become grumpy. Okay, that’s probably more a description of my own problems with the weather than of anyone else’s … but I’m sure you know what I mean.
What’s that saying …? When life deals you something-or-other, make something-or-other? Fry fish? Make bagels? There’s a saying there on the tip of my tongue, but I can’t quite get hold of it.
Never mind. Here’s another I’ve just made up on the spot: when it rains instead of shines, make apple and plum pie.
Which is made just like Gooseberry pie really, only bigger. But if anyone wants the exact recipe, give me a shout.
Mirem més ensota que endalt; de peixos, no en plouen.
T sat down at the kitchen table yesterday evening and drew a garden full of beautiful flowers. Or ‘flauers’ as he first started to spell it (except you can’t see that because he hid it under the telephone-box magnet). Perhaps he intended his flowers to be tasty treats for his dinosaur. Looking at his picture again though, perhaps he meant the flowers to catch the T-Rex. You can never be too sure how his mind works.
It’s a shame that the weather isn’t quite as summer-conscious as T apparently is right now. Almost a week into July and we’ve seen little but rainclouds and puddles. And T is missing school today because of a winter-like cough. He’s asleep at the moment, curled up in bed and snuggling into his soft toy frogs (one big, one small).
The squishy lemon squares that I baked this morning would have been perfect for a scorching, sunblazing summer afternoon. As it is, they’ll be just right for a small, sleepy-headed boy when I have to bundle him into the car in an hour or so to collect his sisters from school.
Perhaps the weather will take the hint.
Squishy Lemon Squares (or Rectangles, depending on how you cut them)
4 oz plain flour
7 oz caster sugar
1/2 tsp salt
5 1/2 oz butter, room temperature
3 medium eggs (5 oz without shells)
zest of 2 lemons
3 tbsp lemon juice
Preheat the oven to 180 degrees C. Grease and baseline a 7″x11″ baking tray.
Beat the flour, sugar, salt and butter together in a big bowl until smooth.
Crack the eggs into a jug and beat in the lemon zest and juice.
Add the lemony eggs gradually to the floury butter mixture, beating to incorporate after each addition. Continue beating at medium speed until the batter is smooth and creamy.
Scrape into the prepared baking tray and smooth the top evenly.
Bake in the centre of the oven for 25 minutes until golden and risen. Don’t overbake.
Leave to cool in the baking tray, then cut into squares (or rectangles – but Squishy Lemon Rectangles doesn’t sound as poetic as Squishy Lemon Squares, so call them whatever you wish).
O is quite happy to describe himself as a bit of a Luddite, so I hope I’m not betraying any confidences when I tell you so. It relates to the extent to which he is comfortable (or not) to embrace new technologies. Perhaps the best illustration of this is his endearing persistence in starting all emails to me with a formal, ‘Dear Kate …’ in avoidance of anything more casual. I even received text messages from him in this way until either our need to keep in more regular contact strained his texting thumb or he relaxed his perception of correct wife-husband correspondence.
Anyway – why am I telling you this? Only because I know that the title of this post will either have confused the hell out of him or he’ll be reaching for the psychiatrist’s phone number thinking he’s got a psychotic wife on the loose again. Relax – it’s only a doffing reference to txtspk or emoticons or whatever (you see, I really don’t know any more than O does) because a) we really do love gooseberry pie, and b) I really did make my little pie in a heart-shaped ramekin. And really, how many reallies can you fit into one paragraph without sounding insincere anyway?
So, having completely tied myself up in knots (or should that be ‘tied up myself in knots’?). Ug. Who cares? The pie was good.
Which pie?
Didn’t I tell you?
Oh, sorry. I got a bit side-tracked.
Here’s the story.
O picked our first crop of gooseberries.
I made gooseberry pie.
Which would have been a very short post.
Gooseberry Pie (makes one very small ramekin-sized pie for a first crop of gooseberries)
Your favourite shortcrust pastry
+
8 oz gooseberries, topped and tailed
4 oz caster sugar
juice and zest of 1 small lemon
2 tsp cornflour
1 oz butter
Preheat the oven to 180 degrees C.
Put the gooseberries, sugar, lemon juice and zest in a saucepan. Cook over low to moderate heat until the gooseberries are looking very relaxed and chilled out with life.
Strain the mixture then put the strained gooseberries into a bowl and mix with the cornflour until fully incorporated.
Return the sugary juice to the pan, add the butter and simmer until thickened to a jam-like consistency.
Line your ramekin with pastry.
Mix the gooseberries with enough jam to make a not-too-soggy filling, and scrape into the pastry-lined ramekin. (I had a little extra jam, so made gooseberry snails with the leftover scraps of pastry).
Top the pie with a layer of pastry and seal.
Bake in the oven for about 20 minutes until the pastry is golden and flaky.
This recipe (for what it’s worth) is dedicated to Rose, to whom I sent a heart-shaped ramekin not so very long ago.
xx
I don’t often say things like that, so it must be true. I’d even go so far as to claim that every child needs to have this recipe book.
The book that has so totally captured my children’s imaginations is Mud Pies and Other Recipes by Marjorie Winslow. It was originally published in 1961 but has fortunately been reprinted more recently, which means you don’t have to pay bucket-loads for it on Amazon. And no, I’m not being paid, blackmailed or otherwise encouraged to say wonderful things about it – the publishers don’t even know I exist. I do have a copy of this book that I’d like to give away, but it isn’t some freebie sample or review copy from anywhere. I bought it myself.
So – what’s so good about this book, anyway? Although its contents are divided into Appetizers, Soups, Salads, Sandwiches, Main Dishes, Pastries, Desserts and Beverages, and although there is even a section on Suggested Menus, it doesn’t contain any recipes that you would actually want to eat. Unless you were a doll, that is – or perhaps a garden sprite or an imaginary friend.
And that’s exactly where the power of this book lies. Using ingredients found easily in a backyard or on the seashore, children learn skills of food preparation and serving that would be worthy of any Michelin-starred chef or restaurant.
I have watched my children sieving, stirring, pouring, seasoning, baking, spreading, sprinkling, skewering and cutting their ingredients. They have arranged their meals on serving platters, plates and in bowls, and carried everything carefully to the pass. Whether as Chef de Cuisine, Sous-Chef, Commis or General Dogsbody, they have negotiated their roles and responsibilities in the industries of Food and Beverage Production, Service and Kitchen Stewarding. And they have done all of this themselves in a world entirely of their own making.
Pine Needle Upside-Down Cake, Crabgrass Gumbo, Dandelion Soufflé, Leaves en Brochette …
And Mud Pies, of course …
To a coffee can filled 3/4 full of rich dirt, add just enough water to make a very firm mud. Pack this mud into the cups in the bottom half of a heavy cardboard egg carton. Set in the sun to dry slightly, then turn the carton over and unmold on a sunny terrace or sidewalk. When the pies are hard, they are done. Serves 12.
These mud pies keep indefinitely and are good to have on hand for impromptu entertaining.
This is exactly the sort of book that I would have spent hours poring over as a child. Heck, I’d love to have more free hours to spend poring over it even now as an adult! It’s charming, whimsical and dated, yes. But it’s also creative, sophisticated, inspirational, magical and timeless. My only regret is that I didn’t come across it sooner in the lives of my children.
I haven’t forgotten that I mentioned a Giveaway …
I have a spare copy of Mudpies and Other Recipes by Marjorie Winslow that I will send to someone who promises to let it get a bit muddy in the name of creativity. To enter the giveaway, leave a comment in the space below this post. You don’t have to say anything much – a quick ‘Hi’ will do. Just something to let me know you’d like to enter the draw. Random.org will choose the lucky winner (make sure you leave a valid email address so I can contact you – it won’t be published, but I’ll need to contact you to find out your mailing address if you win).
The deadline for entry to the giveaway is at midnight (BST) on the day that my children break up from school for their summer holidays – Wednesday 11th July 2012.
A long, long time ago when M was only four, I baked a rainbow cake for her birthday. Even though she is now all growed up and turned a humongous seven years old yesterday, she still remembers her last slice of rainbow.
“I have to take a cake into school for my birthday on Wednesday,” she told me as we walked in the shade of the Roman city walls on Monday afternoon.
“And it has to be a rainbow cake.”
Sometimes, it’s best not to question dreams too closely …
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