It was time to turn up the heat this morning. I haven't had a kitchen food bonanza day for quite some time. Before covid, I used to do a lot more baking and cooking- for family birthdays or special occasions or for friends coming round for tea. I miss all that - the careful thought of who likes what, which flavours complement each other, the savoury versus sweet elements, some fresh fruit to cleanse the palette. I miss the noise, the laughter, the chaos of big get-togethers, even if they are hard work.
We are going on a picnic tomorrow, so I decided to have my kitchen day . I started by making some pastry. I used my Gran's recipe, written out for me by my Mom and given to me at my kitchen tea over 30 years ago. There is a history of love in that recipe. While the pastry was chilling, I made the rock buns - scone-like dough with raisins, and iced with a lemon butter.
As it is a Saturday, the house was empty - it is archery day. But the kitchen was filled with the presence of so many people. The quiche recipe is from an ex work colleague. The rock bun icing reminds me of a friend, because we used to joke about our lack of perfection on the fairy cakes made for the preschool our daughters went to. The buns themselves make me think of Great Aunt Edna, because they are her favourite.
Our kitchen has a few unusual quirks: some years ago, we wrote our favourite recipes on the pantry wall, for example. (One of Son's friend's asked if we had run out of paper.) The jars that we keep the sugar, flour, cornstarch (etc) are all labelled with not only the contents, but also things like "respect", and "important conversations that bring awareness." The vanilla essence jar is labelled "gender." These were placed there by Daughter as part of of presentation she and the Plus committee put together for school. The labels can stay: I rather like using 2 cups of "Normalizing taboo subjects" in my cake when the recipe rather boringly calls for regular flour.
Food has always been a language in itself : The thoughtfulness of a meal when you are ill, celebratory cakes, welcome-home favourite dishes, successful and umm - unsual- experiments of flavours....,playful cake decorating with kids.....so many moments are defined by flavour.
For me, when people have brought me food, I take it as a huge act of love - someone telling me they will nourish me and look after me when I am unable to do so for myself or my family. I know the time and cost sacrifice involved in cooking, and in cleaning up afterwards. It is an unspoken way of shouldering a weight, by taking on more work to lessen the load for someone else.
DJ Opperman, a South African poet, wrote about the memories of aromas and foods in Sproeireen .
It doesn't translate into English very well, but it is about how fragrances remind him of women in his life. I remember when I was in my thirties, I had baked a gingerbread (a soft gooey loaf of deliciousness - my other Gran's recipe) and offered a slice to a young salesman who had come to discuss some building we were thinking of doing. He told me he liked our house - the smell and atmosphere (he said) reminded him of his much loved Grandma. That compliment aged me a lot!
The picnic is packed. Dishes done. Tea and coffee flasks prepared. It is time for an adventure!
