Jane Brocket's Blog, page 64

book for cook

 

After thinking about it for a long, long time, I finally got round to making a book for Phoebe one afternoon in December. I'd imagined it would take me ages to sort it out which is why I put it off for so long, but in the end I was very pleasantly surprised as it only took a few hours to put together Phoebe's Cakes.

 

As you know, I like to photograph Phoebe's amazing baking creations. She is very patient and knows not to disturb, alter or, heaven forbid, eat anything until the camera has been whipped out. (It pains me when she makes great cakes for friends' birthdays in the evening when it's dark - cakes don't look great with a flash - and then takes them to school the next morning before the sun is up again. We've missed out on quite a few good cake shots this way).

 

I collected photos of her cakes into a file as I went along, and it occurred to me that she should have her own cake book which brings together her 'work', just as an artist has a portfolio to show off their talents. She is extremely modest about her baking skills and I wanted her to have some tangible proof of how good she is. Nevertheless, it took me a shockingly long time to sit down and do it (at least that gave me more to work with) and now I realise it's as easy as pie (cherry with a nice piece of lattice-work pastry on the top, I think).

 

I used Bob Books and even though I did it very close to Christmas, the copies arrived after only three days which I think is amazing. I made a hardback photobook and it was incredibly straightforward, although I now have renewed admiration for book designers who make it look all too easy. I stuck to a very simple design and played with sizes and positioning, but nothing fancier or more sophisticated than that - it really was a matter of 'I've started so I will finish'.

 

Phoebe is delighted with her first book. When she showed it to a group of our friends, they asked in all seriousness how many copies she had sold. I wish. I only made two, but I like to think that this at least gives Phoebe's Cakes a certain cult cachet.

 

 

[Best place for more obtainable but definitely less unique cookery titles: Books for Cooks]

a slice of tartness

 

I've been blogging for almost six years now and still there are many things I haven't said. Many will remain unsaid, but I think it's time I came clean about Christmas. It is, without a doubt, my least favourite time of year. There. Said it.

But the period immediately after Christmas is one of the best in the calendar. I wake up a new woman on December 26, happy that the often over-sweetened season is over, that life can regain  its sweet/sour balance with a little less sugar and little more tartness. It's no coincidence that this is the best season for lemons, and I have made several lemon tarts since Christmas for meals shared with friends. This is today's, still warm and wobbly.

I've been looking for the perfect lemon tart recipe for years (it all started with the holiday in France before the children were born when Simon and I spent a fortnight driving from place to place sampling lemon tarts at every patisserie we found in search of the best lemon tart). This is a pretty good version, a blend of the over-the-top recipe in The Art of the Tart and the sensible recipe in Delia's Summer Collection. Just right for January.

 

 

re-viewing

I take a lot more photos than I can ever show here; some are for various projects, some are to record certain things, and some are taken simply for pleasure. So to end the year, I thought I'd show a few favourite, previously unseen photos that sum up 2010 for me.

Sparkles and spangles and ice

 

The snow fell,

  

and ducks stood forlornly on their iced pond.

The colour/project/place of the year

 

Blue was the nail varnish colour for 2010, knitting was the project,

 

and Hampstead was the place I decided I'd like to move to.

Hands on

  

Hands played a big part in my year, as ever. I used them to knit, as guides for my textures book, and to make arrangements with Phoebe on the beach at Aldeburgh. I also photographed the little cousins' hands.

 

[photo by Simon]

Circles of colour

 

I grew tulips,

 

 and played with colour. Nothing new there, but colour never loses its brightness for me.

 Steps

  

[Steps down at High and Over in Amersham]

I saw some amazing Modernist architecture and the Modernists did staircases and steps quite brilliantly.

 

[Steps up and down in the Porthania Building, Helsinki]

 

[Steps up to the High Line and the very modern Standard Hotel in NYC]

Comforts

 

I ate a lot of toast and even photographed some.

 

I also discovered the fun that can be had with the Hipstamatic  app - very useful when I came across the most cheerful red and white facilities I have ever seen. (At the Bankside branch of Leon.)

All the best for 2011.

 

couldn't resist

 

Snowman made by Tom and Phoebe.

fading

 

I have started bringing a few hyacinths out of hiding now and am positioning them on windowsills around the house so that they can turn dark green and put on a growth spurt that will end with a great flourish of flower and fragrance. As we dip towards the shortest day of the year (although I could swear we've already had a few of those) I need every possible reminder of lighter days.

The children finish school today, Simon finishes work tomorrow, and we shall all have two weeks off enjoying doing as little as possible while the year and light fade away. See you soon, when things are getting brighter again.

tuesday 14th

 

This coming Tuesday, December 14th, I shall be at the Persephone Books Open House event. I shall be selling copies of my quilting book and sets of my Woodmansterne boxed notelets and, as promised on the Persephone site, Phoebe and I will be baking biscuits on Monday evening in preparation. However, in a change to the planned programme, I won't be knitting but I will be bringing something to keep my hands occupied.  

Even if you don't want any of the above, there are plenty more good reasons for popping into Persephone on Tuesday or Wednesday:

::The shop alone is worth the detour for the chance to see a beautiful mix of retail business, office and domesticity (all very eighteenth century, as befits the building).

::The street is fascinating and has a wonderful mix of shops, businesses, cafes and pubs (and there's Rugby Street round the corner). 

::The books, of course, make wonderful presents, especially when gift-wrapped free of charge (the 2011 Diary is beautiful and amazingly good value).

::The subtle and marvellous Ancient Industries is also sending a representative to sell a selection of its wares at the Open House days.

::And there's mulled wine and mince-pies, too.

Have I convinced you yet? Hope so. Look forward to seeing you there. (I'll be there from opening time at 10.00.)

 

paperwhites

 

Although I grow masses of bulbs every year, I haven't grown paperwhite narcissi very often. I think it's something to do with their abilityto flower this side of New Year (as well as afterwards) when deep down I feel that bulbs are part of the magic of spring. And yet, I am growing to love the fact that paperwhites manage to put out long, tall stems and a starry burst of pretty white flowers and an amazing fragrance at the time you'd think nothing like this could possibly happen. So while it's freezing outside, my bulbs have quickly and steadily grown and flowered as if everything is perfectly normal.

These are Paperwhite 'Ziva' (from Peter Nyssen, as ever) and they are super-easy to grow. After mine started growing in the paper bag of their own accord I potted them in a big bowl filled with multi-purpose potting compost (and a layer of gravel at the bottom) with their necks just showing, then kept them in a cool, dark place until the stems were a few inches high which is when I moved them onto the kitchen windowsill.

The only problem with paperwhites is that the stems grow so tall and are so light and slender that they tend to flop and fall over once they become top-heavy with flowers. This is why I push mine into a corner for them to lean against, like worn-out ballerinas who have done a little too much stretching.

Next up are the hyacinths in vases; these are solid, stumpy plodders in comparison to paperwhites, but they really do signal a new year in the New Year.

 

 

the tourist view

 

10.15

I rarely take photos of London's tourist hotspots. But today Nelson loomed high above me as I emerged from the tube station, and for the first time ever I thought him worthy of a shot. I was on my way to see the small but impressive Bridget Riley exhibition at the National Gallery which made me wonder once again why I haven't made a Bridget Riley-inspired quilt, but also reminded me that anything I made would be a poor textile imitation of an untouchably good artist.

On my way out of the gallery I paused to look down and across from the top of the NG steps onto the scene that so many visitors to London capture on camera. The sky had changed dramatically and the Nelson's eye view of Trafalgar Square and Whitehall down to the Houses of Parliament was like something out of a 1950s film, and I wondered why I'd never noticed it before. (No doubt because I've always been trying to not be in someone else's photo.)

  

10.55

Just around the corner from the tourist-filled NG is the often overlooked NPG which is a true haven of warmth and comfort on days such as this (especially in the wood-panelled C19 galleries where the great and good Victorians are kept). There is always something good to see in here, and today it was the marvellous Englishman in New York exhibition which manages to blend the unique character of New York with the big British characters in the photos without detracting from either. I loved the Simon Schama portrait: bet he never forgets to look up and around when he's in NY even though he'd never describe himself as a tourist. 

no complaints

 

I can't complain. Not when we have family in various parts of the north who are truly stuck because of the weather, who are housebound, and who have a snow-plough at the top of their current wishlist. Not even when Simon phones from Bangkok, then Singapore and now Melbourne and tells me of 28-32 degrees C temperatures when we have 28-32 degrees F. But mostly I can't complain about the weather after sitting at the same table as three people in a crowded cafe yesterday who were were completely and utterly miserable about the bus service in Berkshire and the problems of getting to and from work in a little snow and ice. I had to leave my tea and shortbread undrunk and uneaten before they engulfed me in their misery.

I cheered myself up with a Gertrude Jekyll 'flower glass'' ready for the tulips in spring, and a box of clementines with leaves (always a treat to have the leaves as well), then by soaking a bowlful of dried fruit in brandy for a Christmas cake, and making pizzas for everyone to warm us and the kitchen. But the thing that cheered me up most was reading Philip Larkin's Letters to Monica (this review is worth reading) and the descriptions of the poet's bedsit, bachelor life in Hull and his 'fusspottery' as Andrew Motion described it this wonderful radio programme. The thing I hadn't realised about PL is how cruelly funny he could be, how much he liked washing-up as well as jazz and dyeing his socks mauve, and how brilliant he was with ordinary words both in letters and poems (I'm reading the poems as I go along and as he writes about writing them). It's all a seriously good antidote to complaining; even though he does plenty of that himself, he does it with such insight and self-deprecation that he becomes good complaining company, and not miserable complaining company.

on request

 

Now that we are considering the reality - rather than a more abstract idea - of two children leaving home, I sometimes find myself wondering what they will remember of their first eighteen years once they have left. And I am realising more and more that it won't be what I would expect them to remember. Oh no, it will be all kinds of odds and ends, bits and pieces, many of which I will never be able to recall (that's when they will roll their eyes and ask how could I forget something I never thought worth remembering) and many of which will no doubt surprise me.

 

I say all this because I was taken aback by a request from a 6' 2" seventeen year old who, you might think, had moved on fully to Nando's and curries and industrial quantities of salami and cheese. Earlier this week he mentioned that for ages I hadn't made 'those little chocolate cakes where you cut off the tops and do something with them' . He might not remember the name of butterfly cakes, but buried deep inside is a butterfly cake memory, one I hadn't even considered might be there because I was too busy thinking of the major stuff (which might, for all I know, have failed to have any impact on either of them; such are the mysteries of being a parent). 

Ahhh. How could I not make them after that?

[Two things. 1) The light is much better today as you can see from the photos. And 2) the hats were made up as I went along after consulting various hat patterns in various books, so I don't have any written record of what I did. Like the children's filtered memories, I can only remember the fun of knitting with beautiful colours and nothing of the construction.]