We discussed gateaux, Daughter and I. She is going to bake. I, apparently, get to have some say on what and how.
I now have crème pâtissière coming out of my ears. Not literally, unfortunately, as that would save on the making of it. If that’s what we’re having.
Consulting my old and trusted copy of Vår Kokbok, I issued my thoughts on the how and the what. Not ready to completely agree, Daughter eventually came to the conclusion her own copy of it would have to come out of hiding.
We made our way out into the garage where I proceeded to slit open several boxes of books. The first two were upside down. Very disconcerting. You stand there looking at all these anonymous opposite ends of book spines. However, we could tell none of them were Daughter’s Vår Kokbok. That was in the third box we tried.
Then we sat down and compared the recipes for the same, classic cakes, discovering they varied quite a bit at times, and not at all for some. I also discovered I had been staring at the wrong recipe for about three decades. Not all in one go, but still.
The Resident IT Consultant joined us, looking for his socks. He seemingly misheard my reading of a recipe, believing it had mustard in it. Most of my kitchen disasters involve mustard. The socks were in his pocket, which, if you ask me, is a stupid place for them.
As for me, I am hoping Daughter is still willing to bake after all this cream here, crème there business.
Posted in Books, Languages
Much to the bemusement of the decorator, we started making marmalade when he was here to paint Son’s bedroom. Pardon, I mean the library. I’ve come to the conclusion that Son and any other over-night visitors we may have, will be sleeping in the library. Not at the same time, naturally.
I think we’re past the stage where we put books into Son’s room. It will have to be a library of sorts, in which one can also put sleepers. Dusty, perhaps, but with plenty to keep an insomniac company.
Where was I? Yes, we were making marmalade. And by that I mean that I chop citrus fruit until I’m blue in the face, while the Resident IT Consultant puts the largest cauldron on the hob and boils Seville oranges and lemons for hours on end.
I reckon it was this that struck the decorator as odd. If he eats marmalade, he gets it out of a bought jar. I feel it’s odd that in all his visits to people’s homes – and in his job he makes a lot of house calls – that he hasn’t come across more preserving going on.
So he asked lots of questions on the how and the what, and a little on the why.
‘We’ make two kinds. The marmalade with loads of peel in it for the Resident IT Consultant. And the – nicely bitter flavoured – jelly for the peel-hating witch. Although, I have to admit to occasionally scraping a peel-free spoonful out of his marmalade jar, because it does have a very good flavour.
I sent the Resident IT Consultant out for some last Sevilles yesterday, and he panicked because they were coming to an end, and he had to go to one more supermarket in his search. But we should be all right now.
Just wish I’d hung on to more of my empty jars in the move. I used to have a very nice jar collection…
Yesterday I saw the Retired Children’s Librarian.
That is a phrase I have so far been unable to say on this blog, which makes it noteworthy. Saw her the day before as well. And before that it had been eight years. Bookwitch is only seven, which is why I’ve never said it on here. The RCL doesn’t travel much these days, and I find that the town where she now lives is – quite frankly – on the wrong side of the country.
It is far and it is not on the railway. That’s where the Resident IT Consultant comes in, because he can be made to drive witches to places not so easily reached by other means. (Before you ask, the broom suffers from heat exhaustion.)
The town where the RCL lives is a lovely town. Don’t misunderstand me. It’s just not convenient. So, in-between lunch at her place one day and dinner at a restaurant the next, we went to see her niece at Växplats Nybyn, which is where the RCL does most of her work in the summer. My old mentor might be gasping for air in the hot weather, but she still helps her niece with serving coffee at her herby heaven in the countryside, almost daily donning a pretty purple pinny.
If you think the photos look a little dark, I’ll just mention this was immediately before some magnificent thunder and lightning. Which did make it a teeny weeny bit colder. Not to mention wet.
It’s a lovely place, even if it does have a geranium room, which is a sort of witchy hell on earth (me and geraniums don’t mix). Beautiful, but smelling of geraniums.
With a Pippi Longstocking hut for children, the niece has clearly had the same mentor I had. She used to have – pet – pigs, who all bore the names of children’s literature characters.