A familiar face .

Riding in the car , chat and companionable silence . I have a pad and pen on my lap and an old A5 book I am consulting .

Two crows are in conference facing each other on a branch . They nod at one another .

Further down the road two  more crows pace . They look as if their hands are behind their backs and are dressed like old fashioned school masters , but no mortar boards - I looked .

I go back to the hard backed book but ponder the crows conferring and pacing .

I began to put recipes from old books or was given in a hard backed  book when I was 18 . I am now on my 23rd volume .
The early ones have my maiden name on the cover and later ones the married one .

It was an early volume I was consulting in the car .
Oh , all the recipes , menus and ideas for meals I had forgotten !
All the asides that had nothing to do with cookery . I was making notes of things to revisit and cook again .

I confer with the books like a crow and pacing down this road I see some one walking in the opposite direction towards me . As we get closer I can make out her features .
 She is the young woman who wrote these books .

Amongst the pages she confides an occasional sadness or frustration , Mostly though I can see , clear sighted , that this slight figure with her quirky clothes and long blond hair is fearless . Her work is high powered and challenging but she balances that in the kitchen making pies , chutney , marmalade .
I know that sometimes she worries she may loose the oomph or opportunity to be creative in the kitchen .

The crows look beadily at the two of us . I smile at her  .
 Its all I can do ,  for I cannot tell her that she has some great joys to come and just a few things she is better off not knowing about before hand .
I cannot tell her " your hand writing is my hand writing and I made tangerine marmalade the other day .

Two posts for the price of one .

Healing is a strange thing isn't it ?
 I was thinking about that whilst I was reading an essay that Phillip Pullman wrote to accompany , so to speak , an exhibition at the Ashmolean concerning talismans , amulets , charms and other things with and without magical properties . ( The Oxford exhibition was called " spellbound "and ran till the 6th of January ).
He makes the point that though he is a rationalist and a humanist , he , as a fiction writer ( and sensible )likes to pay attention to things that he comes across including the uncanny and  the mysterious . He quotes physicist Niels Bohr who when asked why a horse shoe hung over his laboratory door claimed he did not believe it worked but had been told that it worked whether he believed it or not .
Pullman says that reason is the wrong tool to understand such things because " its like trying to pick up something made of wood by using a magnet ".

I said to myself that I had never happened upon a word that explained what was known by some people but never mentioned , lay beneath the surface or was hidden in plain sight .
There are many hundreds of people who dress up , call themselves foolish names and kid people or frighten them but whats actually real is as  natural as breathing .

Somewhere between the layers of pills , respirators and goverment guide lines ( and these are all useful except perhaps the last ) lies another hidden layer . Yes its common sense and its good luck too but there's something else in the mix . It isn't love ,it isn't relief . It has a distinct sound all of its own  .
Yesterday when we stood , he with his arms about me , looking out at the lights from the far harbour playing on the water I heard it again .


Since the saxophonist came home I have upped the bold flavours we enjoy ( one of the first things he said to the nurse when he regained his senses was " sorry I'm not eating that ").

So a drive to an Indian quarter in outer London .

Again we were the only white faces I saw the whole time we were there .
We went to my favourite samosa shop .Their's are the cheapest but more importantly the best I've ever tasted . They like us there  - last time it was free extra samosas and this time free samples and discounts on the little cubes of sweet meats they sell . I asked what sold best and he smiled and said try this and now try this .
The first was soft and creamy with a huge hit of butterscotch . The other was full of nuts and once you had swallowed it a warming taste of ginger suffused your mouth .

At the Indian supermarket I bought all the usuals from the huge piles laid outside : garlic , ginger , coriander , lemons and some fat , fat tangerines to make marmalade .
 Inside I bought handfuls of various chilli's , big packets of spices it's hard to find elsewhere  , set yoghurt in little sealed buckets with handles and charred flat breads .

Driving away the whole car smelt  of delights to come . You have to know what you are doing of course if you're making your own spice mixes .
Alchemy I suppose of a sort .

Why do we see no white people there ? Is it because we are open to another alchemy apart from cooking .A way of being or thinking maybe .

I think what we felt on the shore line and when we grinned at the lovely tastes in our mouths as we tried the free sweeties in the  Indian shop are growing from the same root .

If true alchemy exists and an older hidden order exists in the air then it's there for the curious , the open minded and those not afraid to love unreservedly never mind the advice of others or experiences of the past suggest we should .

As I write there is a lovely tangerine smell coming out of the pores of my hands .I've  made the tangerine marmalade .All the forms of alchemy eh ?

I shall put my tangerine scented hands to the saxophonists face as I kiss him later on ........... alchemy ........

Seduce me again ...

So the saxophonist went to see the consultant yesterday . We did not talk about it much , when he went out I pulled the covers over my head and went back to sleep .

We have been building this new ,  home based , life brick by brick and much of it is very good .The seductive landscape was consigned to the box marked  " happy memories ".

The consultant wrong footed us both . They did tests , scans and in depth questions .
They told him that the only residue from the heart attack and coma are a slight scarring of the heart which will clear in time plus a tendency to misplace the odd word or place name . They told him that he can drive again .

I swore and shook my fist at the new sewing machine , got the hang of it and then made a cover for it and a new tea cosy .
Then I got out the five linen dresses I bought last summer that needed the straps shortened ( I'm shorter than some ) . I have machined them so they swish and don't drag .

So there I will be , swishing out into the seductive landscape again .

I thought I couldn't ask for anymore than the saxophonist back by my side but it seems I got given it anyway .

My spirits soar as I remember the estuaries and seascapes we can inhabit again .

I had seen myself walking slowly , in measured fashion , into the future .

 Fuck it . I'm going to sprint down the beach and then brazenly stop and let the saxophonist catch me .

Concerning birds and buns .

The still water shivers with a ripple . Leaves that remain on the tree are like black lace or have been bitten round the edges by the cold .

Black silhouettes soar the sky . A contented lone figure strolls by the river , hands deep in pockets ,  she is planning some baking .

She grins and heads back up the hill in pursuit of the smell of freshly baked rock buns .

The zietgeist of the common potato .

ME: " I am sitting here in the middle of this potato field collecting potatoes that the farmer has missed . I rub off the worst of the mud and hold up the hem of my hessian dress to collect enough for us to eat today . The dress itself is made from a potato sack " .

YOU: " What ? " .

ME: " Its cold out here and my makeshift shoes are oozing water " .

YOU: "Now you have overcooked it " . "You were doing OK until we got to the potato sack but you totally blew it with the shoes ". "Unless makeshift shoes are part of the fashion zietgeist on the street at the moment there's not a chance in hell that ....

ME: "Alright , alright perhaps I'm not actually in a potato field at the moment ".

YOU: "What's this all about " .

ME: "Simplicity and a return to basic values " . "It's about how classic design is often simple design : a Zippo lighter , a Bic biro , a nineteen twenties Singer sewing machine " .

YOU: "Ah" . "Let me stop you there , I know what this is about " .

ME: "Oh ".

YOU: Yes , I've heard you bang on about classic design before but the sewing machine is a new one " . " Am I anywhere close ? "

ME:  " NO ! " " Well yes actually " .

YOU: "Go on then  run it past me " .

ME: " Well I wrote about how we were cooking and eating all our meals at home , that I was reading more and that I was doing more craft projects " . "It's sort of led on from there " .

YOU:  " And ? "

ME: " I 'd like to get an allotment and grow my own veg and I'd like to alter , repair and make clothes to my own design " .

YOU: " And have you done anything about this ?"

ME: " Yep , I've bought a nineteen twenties singer sewing machine " .

YOU: " Manual " ,

ME: "YES and it's beautiful . " It came yesterday , it's cast iron and painted black and gold " . " It has all the original gadgets and instruction book and a heavy wooden case like an old fashioned attache case " ." I've used one before ". " It feels like a real possession as few things that I've owned before . It has real heft . Genuine weight . It  is heavy but it is also heavy with potential and my intent . I can make things precisely to my specifications and my own style . There will be a sense of achievement and something to put on my back against the cold " .

YOU: " Oh God , we're not going back to the potato field are we ? "

ME: "No " . " It could easily be a cheeky little sundress , in fact that is probably a good simple way to start " .

YOU: " Well we await developments " .

ME: " Paper patterns , potatoes all the essence of simplicity in their way ......

YOU: "Enough ! " "Just let me know how you get on and leave out any twaddle about vegetables , OK ? "

ME: " Fair enough ".

The leaning curve of lunch .

One brought wine , one brought tulips and the "plain eater " brought a stony silence .

The stew had been browned off and set to bubble in the slow cooker last night . Left for the flavour to meld and heated again in time for the dumplings to go in . I set both slow cookers on the table , served people and left spoons and ladles around the table so people could dip in when they wanted seconds .

LESSON ONE:
Never leave a saxophonist near a ladle and a slow cooker and take your eye off the ball.

Conversation faltered and died several times despite heroic efforts from the saxophonist and me and no effort at all from the " plain eater ".

LESSON TWO: 
Do not forget yourself and tell people that you have a blog and then remember that your last post was about this very meal and was not entirely complimentary about people sitting at that very table ( I had to feign coy stage fright despite being pushed on it's title) .

LESSON THREE: 
Do not suddenly panic once they have left and belt up the stairs to the laptop to see if they can Google your name and get the blog's name too .

The pudding had to be changed after the saxophonist and I had an extra one last night and sat companionably gossiping as front loaded compensation for today .

LESSON FOUR:
Don't march towards a pudding recipe on the day and find that you will be an hour short of cooking time - especially if you suspect they will arrive early - and they did .

LISTEN ten minutes is ten minutes when you have flung together a blackberry and apple crumble whilst taking time to yell like a fish wife at a passing saxophonist who you are fairly confident will try to pretend that you are speaking in Urdu / Welsh or any other language he can insist he cannot speak .

LESSON FIVE:
For goodness sake remember that whilst the saxophonist may be easy on the eye he will not interpret
"sexy is as sexy does " by laying the table .

So people had seconds of everything and sat alcohol free , making fitful conversation for three days - well until five o clock but you get the picture .

FURTHER NOTES TO SELF:

• Don't do it again .
• Don't be surprised when the " plain eater " slinks off without even saying thank you .
• Make a note now you have done the maths to tackle the saxophonist about the information gleaned that he ingested seven fat dumplings on the sly .

Don't do dosas .

You know when you invite someone to lunch ,  full of joie de vivre and a couple of drinks and then have plenty of time to regret it ?
 Saturday since you're asking .

He only eats " plain English food " he says .

My inclination would be to carry on with current experiments with savoury pancakes with fillings gussied up with garam masala , chilli flakes and other niceness .

My default ( and what you would get if you hadn't visited before ) would be my lasagne . The ragu and the cheese sauce must be to die for and the salad en point . People generally have second helpings , more wine and undo their top buttons .

Neither the Indian or the Italian are on though are they ?
The saxophonist says give him the lasagne .
The saxophonist ? Oh thank you for asking but you don' need to anymore . He walks into town on his own . He's driven the car round the block and he's been out for a drink with me several evenings this week .

Anyway plain English food . I could use the cold weather as an excuse just to make a kick ass stew and dumplings plus spring greens .
Afters are up for grabs and are :

1. homemade treacle tart and clotted cream .

2. an old fashioned trifle .

3. little apple and blackberry pies made in muffin tins , sugar topped and served with ice cream or custard .

4. proper rice pudding with a vanilla pod split into it and some double cream plus a dollop of it on the side .

All typically English and cold weatherish .

What should I make or am I missing a trick and it should be something else entirely ?
Comments welcome as usual but if anybody feels moved to mention calorie counting or fat free substitutes they should be ready to be called joyless and be deleted straight way . Ha !