springish pasties

The kind of spring we've had this week—the cold drizzle and whipping wind, the smell of damp earth, the robin redbreast hopping about the mud puddles—reminds me of England. In particular, it reminds me of a walk along a certain Dorset footpath and through the wild windswept pastures of Worth Matravers, which slope down to the sea in a disquieting fashion.

It was after (or before? I can't quite remember) that walk, we stopped by the local pub for some of what our Uncle Richard told us were the best Cornish pasties and cider around. They certainly were. It was on that day that many traditions unfolded, not the least of which our famed Butterboots. I often think upon that day with such fondness and nostalgia. I would love to go back... But in the meantime, here is the Cornish pasty recipe that I tried to recreate with mixed success and which I'm thinking of trying again for a pasties & cyder night very soon.

good ol' bubble & squeak

Now that I'm eating a little meat every now and then, I've revived the bubble & squeak dinner of my childhood: bangers and mash (sausage & mashed potatoes) with a side of steamed cabbage. I made it tonight for a quick dinner and Colin proclaimed it his second favorite winter meal after chili. The twist on the original is that I use the Al fresco chicken sausages. (The teriyaki ginger & apple maple flavors are the best.) This time, I steamed the potatoes and cabbage together (added the cabbage halfway through) and that worked out swell. Mashies with just a tad of butter, milk, salt & pepper. Cabbage with the same.

And of course, I served mustard alongside. Colin likes the grainy kind of Dijon mustard. Me, I like Coleman's Hot English Mustard.

Mmm, so good!

pasties & cyder

It was just about a year ago that we took our unforgettable trip to England to visit family. One of the best times we had during the stay was a day trip we took to the tiny village of Worth Matravers on the Dorset Coast. Uncle Richard recommended an ancient local pub, the Square & Compass, for the best cider and Cornish pasties around. So we went there for lunch and then took an epic walk along the coastal cliffs.

During the walk, we happened upon some strange caves, which Uncle Richard later informed us were used during the war as hide-outs for the military. Butter Boots, our sassy English superhero, was also born in the wheel wells of a big old tractor. The whole day was a succession of amazing discoveries and good feeling, so we decided to try and recreate part of it for the one-year anniversary. Namely: the pasties and cider.

Traditional Cornish pasties (the 'a' pronounced as in 'cat') are a very simple free-form type of meat pie filled with chunks of beef, potatoes, onion, and turnip. With just a little salt, pepper and parsley for seasoning. Nothing more. My mother says:

A true Cornish pasty is as simple as can be, chunks of meat, rather than ground, and potatoes, onions and turnips, inside a crisp pastry overcoat. There's a legend at home that tells of the Devil refusing to cross the Tamar River into Cornwall because he had heard that the Cornish people were putting just about anything in their pasties!"

Oh dear. We used some hot sausage from Kevin's piggie and shredded rutabega instead of turnip. Let me just say, pasties are much harder to make than they look! (Maybe it's because I used organic shortening and whole wheat flour for the crust, instead of lard and white flour.)

The Devil did not approve. My pastry kept breaking and the first one I made looked like a total blow-out, Colin said. By the last one, I was starting to get the hang of it. Maybe next year, they'll actually look like the real deal. Surprisingly, they actually tasted quite delicious!

We also found a lovely local organic Vermont cider from Flag Hill Farm. They offer a fizzy and a still version. Both are wonderful and quite close to what we were drinking at the pubs over in England. Highly recommend.

Two people were missing from the table: Hannah and Brian. We missed you. Next year maybe? We'll save the Butter Boots reunion for when we're all together again.

xoxo

Cornigan Pasties

Pastry:
1/2 pound lard
1 teaspoon salt
3 1/2 cups flour
1/4 cup water, or more

Filling:
1 pound beef chuck, cut into chunks
2 large onions, sliced
2 large potatoes, cut into quarters and sliced thin
Grated turnip
Salt and pepper
Chopped parsley

1. Mix the lard, flour and salt, and add water slowly, using just enough water to form a dough that is slightly moist.
2. Roll the dough into 4 balls.
3. Roll out each pastry ball to the size of a dinner plate.
4. For each pastry, on the part of the crust furthest from you, layer a quarter of the potato, meat, onion, turnip and parsley. Add salt and pepper to taste.
5. Lift the front half of the crust over the filling.
6. Lift the other half to meet the front and press the edges together.
7. Crimp the edges tightly to seal in the filling.
8. Brush the pastry with milk or beaten egg.
9. Cut a slit at the top, near the crimped edge, to allow steam to escape.
10. Bake at 350 degrees F for one hour.

wash me trousers & the birth of butter boots

I probably shouldn't be telling you any of this. I should keep it locked up forever in the memories of those select few who were there. To keep it safe and untouched by the outside world. To keep the pub and the field and the memory just as they were. But to lock it up would also risk losing the story forever. For, what happens to unspoken memories? They fade.

So I've decided to tell—to share this sacred memory—if only for the sole purpose of keeping the story vibrant and living.

It all began with a woman, a pub and a tub of butter. Well, not real butter—the spread kind that's made from oil. She would never rub real butter on her Ferragamo boots... lest it become rancid and spoil the fine leather...

But it really started here: at the Square & Compass, a fine English pub situated on a hillside by the sea in the Dorset village of Wash Me Trousers (not its real name). We ventured there one sunny spring day during our visit to Uncle Richard's et al in search of their infamous meat pasties (prounouced pas-tē—I'm ashamed to say we were pronouncing the word incorrectly that day) and cider. The real-deal cider.



The pasties and cider were out of this world. They quite made our heads spin. And by the end of lunch, the whole lot of us were giddy as kids. So we decided to walk it off on a public footpath by the sea.

So we started our refreshing afternoon outing. The boys walked on ahead, while we three sisters hung back. We were enthralled in a conversation about my boots and how nice they looked. (I had polished them with butter that morning, upon the suggestion from my sister Emma, when there was no wax to be found in the cottage where we were staying.) The three of us concurred: tub butter, in a pinch, makes a very nice shoe polish.

All of a sudden...



And Butter Boots, our great Super Hero, was born. And she grew. And we made up more and more stories for her. She had super powers. She had back-up dancers. She had pink rubber gloves. She would save the world from evil criminals and even hemorrhoids. But that was then.

If you're wondering where she is now, I haven't a clue. The thing is, well, she can only come to life when the three Wall sisters are reunited again. I'm not sure if she'll ever grace Vermont or California with her presence (Butter Boots and her ladies are distinctly English). But I'm sure we'll find her one day, back in Wash Me Trousers. In the field with the cow pats and sheep. In the wheel well. With a jug of cider from the Square & Compass and Cornish pasty in hand. That's where the magic is. So, we'll be back to find her one day. Ahoy, Butter Boots!

in the details, nature

I found much inspiration in the English country side. The endless combinations of textures and colors drew my attention as much to close surfaces as it did to the broad landscapes. Once I got all my photos off my camera, I noticed that I had taken many close-up pictures of interesting compositions. I did it somewhat without realizing it, but looking at them now, I find myself drawn to them again and again.

I keep discovering new things about them. Like, for one, a recurring church theme. Also, most of them seem to portray something human or manmade deteriorating—over-run by nature. By age or weather. I love the vibrant green algae on the wooden fences and clapboard siding. It's from, I imagine, the damp weather there. We don't get that kind of wear and tear in Vermont. It's too cold. Or too dry. So for me, it's beautiful. For others, it might be a nuisance.

Here are some of my favorite detail images. I like to think of them as "vignettes." They're evocative. They tell a story. I'll give a little clue. You can make up the rest...


Wheels, in a church yard in Dorchester, Dorset.


Exposed brick from what's left of a building in the deserted village of Tyneham, which was evacuated during World War II.


Lichen on a gravestone in the Tyneham church cemetery, Dorset.


Slate walk-way in a Dorchester church yard.


A window railing in Dorchester.


Beautiful poisonous berries in a hedgerow.


On a public foot path in Whitecombe, Dorset.


Garden shed behind Uncle Richard and Aunt Carrie's house.


A tiled floor at the Sherborne Abbey in Sherborne, Dorset.


Wooden doors at the church in Marston Magna, Somerset, where Mummy was born and where Gaffa and Granny now rest in peace together.

best of london? international cuisine

My favorite part about London was—can you guess?—the food. We were there for the first three days of our trip, and while we didn't get much British food on our plate (we saved that for the country) we did taste some delicious Italian, Indian and French cuisine. Actually, take away the food and there wasn't much left of our London vacation!

The first day, went to PJ's Bar & Grill right near our hotel. What we assumed was a cheap pub from the outside ended up being a posh restaurant with silver settings and huge soup spoons, white tablecloths and beautiful people at every turn. But we weren't disappointed. Instead of grabbing a quick lunch, we ended up staying for hours eating yummy food, drinking wine at the bar, and dropping a pretty penny when the check came. No worries.




That night for dinner, we were waiting for Hannah & Brian to arrive, so we stayed near our hotel again, this time at Carluccio's near South Kensington station. There was a nice open atmosphere with large, cafeteria style dining and a yummy Italian menu. My favorite was what Colin ordered for dessert: a glass of vanilla ice cream with a shot of espresso on the side to pour on top. What a great idea for a dinner party! Dinner ended up being cheaper than our lunch at PJs and we enjoyed the meal so much, we went back with Hannah & Brian for Easter Brunch.



Saturday brunch was at La Brasserie, a Parisian-style bistro on Brompton Road. The buckets and buckets of toast were no match for us—we enjoyed it with all the little jars of jam and honey on the table. The waiter picked up on this, and he wrapped some up for Hannah to take home with a pretty lily garnishing the package.


Saturday night, I had my first real taste of India at Vama. Oh the fantastic combinations of spices and sauces were out of this world. Even Kevin liked the meal! I have to say though, my favorite part of the meal was the drink: Vamamama. A delightful cocktail of apricot brandy, fresh mango and champagne. Totally worth the $14 pricetag (the American dollar doesn't go very far these days).


I should also mention that though we were trying to "get away" we did find a lovely little American-style bakery that we found, called Hummingbird, where we gorged ourselves on these delightful cupcakes:

with my english accent

We returned from our English vacation on Saturday. The trip was indeed a magical one and I'm so overwhelmed by what to write about first. So I think I'll try to do it over a few different posts. For this week's Eat Peas, I decided to write about the English roast dinners we had just about every night once we got to the country. London was a different story all together. Then there's Marston Magna and the Illingworth clan, staying in Minette Walters' cottage, many sheep and other animals, pasties and cider, Butter Boots, and more... I'll try to get to all or most of them over the next few days. For now, there's the bit on English roasts. And photos—all 800 or so of them. Enjoy :-)

England 2008 - London

England 2008 - Dorset

hi ho london!

We've been itching to get ourselves to England for a while now. I wanted Colin to meet my grandmother and the Illingworth clan. We're too late for Granny Dot, but we're off to England to meet the rest come March. All 8 of us—Mummy & Papa, Hannah & Brian, Emma & Kev, Me & Colin. Yippee! Oh and we're spending a weekend in London too. We've already booked our hotel. Maybe we'll see the queen. How posh!

the queen's scarf

I saw The Queen last night. Not in person, in the movie. Helen Mirren portrays with fervor a chill likeness to Her Majesty Elizabeth II in the aftermath of Princess Diana's death. I watched half with awe and half with sadness remembering the china bell my mother gave me years ago that had a picture of Charles & Diana printed on the front and a golden handle shaped like a plume. That bell broke with some irony shortly before the couple's marriage ended. But I lovingly glued it together and placed it in a box for safe keeping. I have yet to find that box.

Funny, as infatuated as I was with Diana and her stunning presence, I never once considered the Queen. She meant nothing to me, except for her small resemblance to my English grandmother, though not half as pretty. Queen means next to nothing in today's terms, but Princess. Princess is the stuff little girls' dreams are made of. Right?

Last night was different. I saw the Queen, for what it's worth, from a different perspective. From an empathetic--and sympathetic--point of view. I saw a woman who, when in her darkest moment, donned a gorgeous royal scarf and went to befriend a wild stag in the Scottish highlands. The scarf seems somewhat out of place in the otherwise stoic country-side and on the neck of such a somber lady. It, however, like the stag, has significance. As the stag seems to represent a glimmer of hope before embodying the Queen's broken spirit, the scarf also carries with it layers of symbolism. Like a printed veil, the scarf is a visual depiction of the Queen's fear and vulnerablity, while at the same time representing her strength and determination as one of the most powerful, albeit fated, women in history.

I'm sure that Princes Di wore many scarves in her shortened lifetime, and I'm sure she wore them beautifully. But this scarf, the Queen's scarf, is in a realm all its own.

And have you noticed? HM Elizabeth II is not the only Queen to grace the screens these days. A new enstated awe of the womanly monarchy is sweeping through our film culture. Does the scarf have significance beyond the English Isle? Who knows, perhaps Marie Antoinette wore a scarf to hide the forshadowing across her neckline.

/p.w.

new summer cocktail

I love happening upon a treasure and the other day was no exception. While shopping at IKEA of all places, I laid my eyes upon a glistening bottle of elderflower concentrate, stuff which I thought was only available back in Europe. My mind brought me back to summers in the English countryside, in my grandmother's garden where we made bucketfuls of the sweet citrusy stuff and saved it in the larder. So I bought the bottle (a Swedish commercial version of that favorite summer cordial) for $4.59. When I got home, however, the taste--even watered down--was so acrid, I almost tossed it, until I arrived at a brilliant idea: what if I used it to make a cocktail?

So I poured over ice 1 part cordial to 1 part white rum, added a splash of sweetened lime juice, a sprig of fresh mint, and topped it off with sparkling water. Voila. And the result was, well, the New Summer Cocktail (n.s.c). My sister will kill me for divulging the secret. But I had to write it down somewhere. Two days later, the cordial was almost gone, so I watered it down with some Grand Marnier and the result was just as sweet and refreshing.

Here's to summer cocktails.

elderflower cordial

Summer always brings to mind the elderflower, a wonderfully fragrant English blossom that preceeds the berries of the elder tree. The floral citrusy bouquet of a New Zealand sauvignon blanc, often described as grapefruit or leechee, is in my mind very similar to the elderflower. As a child, my sisters and I would make a sweet, syrupy cordial from the blossoms that grew behind my grandmother's garden on The Avenue in Sherborne, Dorset.

Don’t mistake the store-bought cordials or concentrates for the real deal. The only true elderflower cordial is that which you make yourself.

ingredients:
2kg (4½lb) Sugar
1.14lt (2 pints) Boiling Water
20 Elderflower Heads
80g (2¾ oz) Citric Acid
2 Lemons, grated rinds, sliced

to make:
Shake elderflower heads to ensure they are free of insects.
Place the water into a large saucepan and ring to the boil.
Add the sugar and stir until dissolved.
Add the grated rind and sliced lemon, plus the citric acid.
Place the elderflower heads in a bowl, pour over the boiling water.
Leave for at least 12 hours covered with plastic wrap.
Sieve the liquid, to remove the solids.
Strain the liquid through muslin or even a coffee filter to clarify.
Dilute and add to sparkling water or Gin and soda.

Recipe couresty of the Foody.com