A few kitchen tales
Also: I'm discovering that February's an introvert's dream
I got my longed-for snow. Not the big, goose feather-sized flakes I’ve been wishing for, but ethereal dots of it which dance about in the wind. The hills are transformed though, and the kitchen - being painted white - feels lighter than it has for weeks. The Nordic people know their stuff when it comes to these things and I’m happy to follow their example.
The past few days have been spent at home. I’d planned on going on a bit of a drive over to Todmorden, and maybe back home to Rossendale, but the road’s closed again. And the car needs fuel, and… Well, any excuse to hunker down really.
I bought some striped tomatoes (always a sucker for pretty food - we’re also stocked up with blood oranges again) and when I sliced into them they were a gorgeous mix of burgundy and scarlet and green. Which got me thinking that perhaps I should try growing some unusual varieties of my own in our tiny garden. I’ll go and get some seeds once the road reopens…
Much of my time has been spent with Nigel Slater. Baking flatbreads (to accompany tagine) and using his Gooseberry Crumble Cake recipe as a basis to try and recreate my Polish grandmother’s apple cake. Not the Szarlotka, with its crumble topping, but two layers of cake sandwiched together with stewed apples.
Next month, things are already starting to appear in my diary. The bookshop’s 40th birthday party, an evening book launch I’m working (at the Little Theatre), parent’s evening. Another trip to Leeds - this time for pleasure - and over to Lancashire for Mother’s Day.
I ordered more yarn for another knitting project. The first flummoxed me, so I’m going to attempt something more straightforward before revisiting it. Having been a bit tired of February with its grey and gloom, the snowfall - light as it is - seems to have reset things. Now I’m making the most of these last quiet weeks before the spring, when we’ll be picking up bigger projects and starting new ones in the house and garden.
I always have a pot of daffodils on the table at this time of year, for a bit of sunshine. But I’ve been thinking about wax flowers (Chamelaucium). They’re one of my favourites and I’ll be on the lookout.
Next week’s half term and Joe’s away for a few days visiting his grandparents. They always take him climbing at an indoor centre, which he loves. He also loves food. Yesterday, he came home to a huge loaf still warm from the oven and we had slices of it, thickly buttered, and it was delicious. It was easy enough to make: I just followed the instructions on the bag of flour.
I think this may be the beginning of a new hobby.
Growing up, we often had either porridge or bread and jam or honey for breakfast. I still do; I like making a pan of porridge, stirring it slowly on an equally slow morning. But other days it’s bread with butter and jam - my favourites now, like back then, are apricot, damson or raspberry. When I was working in Haworth I’d sometimes go and eat breakfast at Pavé, the charcuterie and bistro at the top of Main Street, and order tartine and coffee.
If we ever stay somewhere overnight, I choose the Continental breakfast over a fry up every time. Cheeses and pastries and bread rolls and preserves.
We had power cuts again this morning. Just a few short-lived ones, which necessitated me figuring out how to reset the oven clock. Because everything’s new in the kitchen, I’m having to learn (by trial and error) how to use various programmes. As long as I don’t flood the place or burn it down, it’s fine. But the oven tends to cook hot - even when dialling it back a bit - so that’ll take some getting used to.
I’ve put some photos in here of the almost-finished room. We still need to tile here and there, and touch up the paint, and redo the little area which leads through to the living room. A few shelves, some artwork. Possibly paint the plate rack which is currently that horrible orangey pine.
But this is what it was like when we started:
Still makes me shudder.
I really want to plant out the climbing hydrangea so we look out onto flowers and leaves. But all this can wait. Which is why I’m slowly easing myself back into productivity by cooking, baking, knitting. With work, and taking care of the house, it’s enough.
The snow’s still coming down. The cats are getting annoyed with each other because they’re inside most of the time - hissing and growling and tearing around the rooms.
I’m currently reading a proof copy I brought home from work: Celeste by Colette Snowden. It’s really gripping: the story of a young woman who goes missing, told through the perspective of several different characters including Celeste herself, the man responsible for her disappearance, their mothers and the female police officer investigating.
It’s described as ‘urban noir’ - not something I’d generally go for, but I’m finding it so well-written that I’m glad I broadened my horizons a bit.
I love Friday nights. When everyone gets home and we can draw the curtains, switch on the lamps and just loaf around. We’ll probably watch another episode of Small Prophets together, then Jay and I can try Anniversary or The Holdovers on Netflix. Joe always heads into town with his friends after school on Fridays, regardless of the weather, and they eat slices of pizza or boxes of fries (paying tourist prices for the privilege). Sometimes they sit downstairs in the library, where they don’t have to whisper, and others they go to the park.
And then he has to be collected. In winter, it’s never much after 6pm. But I’m still pushing for a bus service for us poor, lowly hilltop dwellers.
My yarn has just been delivered, by the wonderful Michael from Evri. This afternoon I’ll bake the apple cake, and get a few chores out of the way, then write a bit more on my first draft. And then drink tea and get the knitting needles out. I hope the snow keeps coming down, bringing that very specific serenity with it, and we - and you - have a bright and cosy weekend.
Thank you for reading.
Sarah.
Your writing is so beautiful x