Going the whole hogmanay

Following on from your interest in Halloween Scots-style, I've turned my attention to one of the most significant of the Scottish celebrations - Hogmanay (or New Year's Eve) and once again I consulted my in-house experts on Scottish culture before our time, my Mum and my Aunt. For good measure, my (soon-to-be) 99 year old grandmother added her memories.

My Mum recalled:

When we were young Christmas day was not a holiday in Scotland as the Scots wanted their one day off to be New Year's Day - the day after Hogmanay (New Year's Eve). The house was thoroughly cleaned on Hogmanay - no self respecting Scot would go into a new year with dirt from the old year lurking around! Shortbread tins would be full, black bun was at the ready (black bun is a heavy fruit cake encased in a shortcrust pastry) and the whisky cupboard was well stocked!

Before midnight the floor would be swept again to make sure no dirt went into the new year and the ashes from the fire taken out and disposed of.

After the stroke of midnight the men of the house gathered up their 'gifts': shortbread and perhaps a couple of kippers to ensure that the houses they went to would always have food in the coming year, a lump of coal to put on the fire - for warmth in the coming year and a bottle of whisky to pour ' a wee dram' for good luck in the coming year. The first man over the doorstep on New Year's Day was known as 'the first fit (foot)' and everyone wished to have a tall dark and handsome man as they brought the most luck to the house.

New Year's Day dinner was similar to what we now have at Christmas.

Together, my Aunt and Gran reminisced:

On the 31st of December, the house was cleaned. Beds were changed, all the washing and ironing was done and shortbread and blackbun were baked. Just before midnight we would check again that everything was clean, the dishes were all done and the place was tidy. Moments before midnight, your Grampa would take out the ashes from the grate below the open fire.

At the stroke of midnight, we would wish everyone present a “Happy New Year” with hugs, kisses and shaking of hands. Your Grampa would pour everyone a drink , traditionally this was whisky but other drinks were given if preferred and shortbread and blackbun would be eaten while everyone would drink to the New Year.

First Footing was done just after midnight to neighbours and friends to wish them “A Guid New Year”. To go “first footing” you took whisky, a piece of coal, a coin and some shortbread or blackbun with you to give the household you were visiting wealth, warmth, nourishment and happiness for the next twelve months. You always knocked on the door, even if you knew them well, so that you were invited in. The darkest haired person entered first as this was thought to bring good luck to the household and you handed over your gifts and had a drink with everyone present.

On New Year's Day, the whole family would gather at the parents’ house for lunch. Anyone visiting would, of course, bring the first footing items with them, and as each group arrived the darkest headed always entered first. You always knocked on the door on these occasions, even if it was your family home, and waited to be invited in!

Traditionally in our house we always had roast goose or duck on New Year's Day with all the trimmings.

I'm not so sure about all this cleaning on New Year's Eve - although I can see the reasoning behind it. If the house at least starts the year clean and tidy, there is some hope of that continuing into the New Year!

A tradition I'm more than happy to maintain in our own household however, is the baking of shortbread. As far as I'm concerned, the festive season is not complete until I've consumed at least a bit of homebaked Scottish shortbread.

There are a number of variation on shortbread recipes. I use a simple recipe which has been the standard in our family since well before my time.
The recipe makes four large rounds, which are shaped by hand, marked with a fork and scored by knife (ready to be broken into wedges when cooked).



They come out of the oven when they are golden and full of buttery promise and are sprinkled with caster sugar while they are still hot.

With a cupboard full of these, how could it fail to be a good New Year?

Wishing you all wealth, warmth, nourishment and happiness for 2009. May the year be full of coins, coal, kippers and whiskey.

(And just a little shortbread too.)

Scottish Shortbread

250g caster sugar

500g butter

750g plain flour

• Leave butter out to soften a little, then beat (I use an elecric mixer) with sugar until light and creamy.
• Add half of the flour and beat in.
• Remove from mixer, and add remainder of flour with a wooden spoon.
• Knead the mixture on a floured board until smooth.
• Shape into rounds and place on a baking tray lined with baking paper. Thumb press the edges, prick with a fork, and score into eighths.
• Bake cakes for up to an hour in a pre-heated 160C oven - watch until they are golden brown.
• Remove from oven and while still warm, sprinkle with caster sugar.
• When completely cool, store in an airtight container.

Cookies that "stir" rather than "whirr" in the kitchen

Many Western Australians grew up learning to cook from either the Golden Wattle Cookbook or the CWA (Country Women's Association) Cookbook. We had both in my house. The CWA cookbook was first published in 1936 after a call was put out to all Western Australian branches for members to submit recipes. Recipes flooded in once members could put their name to their creations.

"...The recipes and hints contained in this book are all thoroughly reliable, and are in almost daily use in the home of the women who have contributed them. They are for the most part simple and economical, and within the reach of every intelligent Australian housewife." from the preface to the CWA Cookbook (1936 edition) by Agnes K. B. Barnes

As a child I would often cook from this book. Many of the recipes were simple and required only a bowl and a wooden spoon. Mum would keep old butter wrappers which would be used as cake tin liners and with this book I could make all manner of concoctions. You would have loved, I am sure, to have been the recipient of my layered green, blue and purple cake. Perhaps mum should've kept the food colouring in a more secure place...

I would love for my children to have the same freedom in the kitchen to cook, however I find myself having to set up all manner of machinery to help them cream butter and sugar, or to help them use the food processor. Not to mention the amount of washing up all that produces.

So when my 8yo son wanted to bake biscuits (AmE: Cookies) the other day I searched once more through the CWA cookbook (facsimile 1936 edition) for a simple recipe. We found this recipe from Mrs Brebner in Kellerberrin. I wonder was Mrs Brebner an American lady? It seems unusual to call this recipe cookies rather than biscuits.

This was a simple recipe needing only measuring, stirring, kneading, rolling and cutting. No machines that go "whirr" required. The only supervision needed was putting the cookies in the oven.

They tasted great.

And once finished it was only fitting that the washing up be done by hand as well.

I think we'll search out more simple recipes that go "stir" rather than "whirr".

Pucker up

"I saw Mommy kissing Santa Claus, underneath the mistletoe last night. She didn't see me creep down the stairs to have a peep; She thought that I was tucked up in my bedroom fast asleep."

"I saw mommy kissing Santa Claus" Music and lyrics by Tommie Connor.
Originally recorded by Jimmy Boyd. It reached #1 on the Billboard charts in 1952.

Every year for as long as I can remember, when we opened up the Christmas decorations box at my parents' house, we would find a small sprig of plastic mistletoe that had come from a larger bouquet of mistletoe given to my Mum by some of her college friends in Scotland. Apparently they had surreptitiously hung it from the roof of my Dad's car (How one would do that surreptitiously, I'm not sure.)

The mistletoe sprig from my childhood home.

Once we pulled it out of the decorations box, the mistletoe would be unobtrusively hung above a doorway, with the idea being that anyone caught under the mistletoe was fair game to be kissed.

Mistletoe is the common name for a group of hemi-parasitic plants in the order Santalales that grow attached to and within the branches of a tree or shrub. Mistletoe takes its sustenance from the branches and trunk of the host tree or shrub.

The tradition of kissing under hanging mistletoe at Christmas time has its origins in Druid and pre-Christian cultures. Mistletoe was believed to have significant, almost magical powers and was associated with fertility and sexuality. In Scandinavian countries it was a symbol of peace under which under which enemies could declare a truce, or miffed lovers could kiss and make up. It is from this that the tradition of kissing is believed to have arisen.

Which, when you think about it, is a most suitable concept for a festival that brings families and friends together, sometimes for the only time in the year. How appropriate to celebrate a symbol of open and forgiving affection over the festive season. Christmas is a time when people come together, and the tradition of mistletoe is a device to break down barriers and have a laugh.

My parents are all set for this Christmas with their plastic sprig of mistletoe, but for the rest of us, where can we obtain ours?

According to a recent article in The Guardian newpaper, this year's British mistletoe crop is a bumper one. Shoppers can expect to find it well-hung with 'sticky white berries held between suggestively splayed leaves'. Lucky Brits.

But here in Australia, we have a mistletoe-with-berries drought. I've always associated mistletoe with cold climates in the Northern Hemisphere but in fact, Australia is home to 85 species of mistletoe.

As I researched mistletoes and examined the photographs, I realised I even have one of my very own in the backyard, attached to a Silver Birch tree.

Mistletoe growing in a Silver Birch tree

(at least, I think it's mistletoe)

However, Australian mistletoe doesn't bear its berries at this time of year, so even if we adopted some of our tropical and sub-tropical species for the festive purposes, at our (summer) Christmas time, there are no berries on our mistletoes.

Which is a bit of a problem. The tradition of mistletoe is that each time someone is kissed under a fresh sprig, one of the berries should be plucked. When the branch is berry-bare, the kissing ceases.

In the Antipodes it appears kissing won't even get a chance to begin. So I vote that we ignore the berry-rule for Southern lands.

Do you hang mistletoe in your house?

Megan and I would like extend the heartiest of season's greetings to all our Before Our Time readers. Enjoy this special time of year with your friends and families. Travel safely. Sing lustily. Laugh loudly. Eat muchly.

And kiss beneath the mistletoe at every opportunity.

Apples with a few rough patches may be all the better for it

“This was Jo’s favourite refuge; and here she loved to retire with half a dozen russets and a nice book” excerpt taken from Little Women by Louisa May Alcott

A short time ago my 10 year old daughter and I read Little Women together. I had forgotten what a lovely book it is so full of cues to the social arrangements and situations of Northern families during the American Civil War.

Our reading sessions are full of questions such as “why does she call her best dress a ‘poplin’?” or “What are rubbers?” (Well honey, in this context, they are a cover ladies wore over their shoes to keep them clean when they went outside) and, relevant to this discussion, “what are russets?”.

Russets are apples with reddish-brown roughened skins. The rough patches are called ‘russet’ and some varieties that are more prone to russetting (as it is known) are considered to be part of the ‘russet’ group. Russets are considered by many to be the best eating apples and were so well known in Louise May Alcott’s time that no explanation of what they were was necessary.

Russets are now rarely seen at mainstream supermarkets and fruit sellers as consumers demand only blemish-free shiny-skinned apples. This has contributed to fewer varieties of apple being available than in our grandparents’ time.

Do you remember eating apples with harmless blemishes as a child? One of my favourite childhood memories is stopping at well-known apple producing town, Donnybrook, Western Australia, on the way back from our summer holidays to pick up a large bag of apples. The apples would come complete with little rough brown bumps, which I would pick off with my fingernails. It was normal for an apple to have a rough patch which I don’t remember thinking was particularly unusual.

Now, however, I carefully pick over the Pink Ladies and the Fujis at the store to ensure the apples I take home are smooth, have even colour and have no lumps or bumps.

If we are to take a cue from heritage apple growers then perhaps we should seek out older varieties, such as russets, from farmer’s markets and experience, they say, a superior taste – something like our grandparents would remember.

*Image from http://www.telegraph.co.uk/gardening/main.jhtml?xml=/gardening/2007/10/16/garden-apple-cider116.xml

Stir Up Day

"In half a minute, Mrs. Cratchit entered -- flushed, but smiling proudly -- with the pudding, like a speckled cannon-ball, so hard and firm, blazing in half of a half a quartern of ignited brandy, and bedight with Christmas holly stuck into the top."

from A Christmas Carol by Charles Dickens

Did anyone else ever wonder how poor Mrs Cratchit ever managed to put a plum pudding on the table for Christmas with her limited resources? Certainly anyone who has been out to buy the ingredients themselves would. This is not a quick, or cheap dessert and it is no wonder that making one, rather than buying one, has gone out of fashion.

As a Christmas traditionalist I say hang the cost and the time. A home-made Christmas pudding is an absolute must. I am not a big fan of fruit cake but once a year I gorge myself on this pudding (and the accompanying ice cream and custard).

Christmas pudding is an English christian tradition which harks back as early as the 15th century. At that time the puddings were served before a meal and contained meat (as did the traditional "mince meat" pie). From about the 18th century Christmas or plum puddings were an entirely fruit-laden affair, with suet (beef or mutton fat) as the symbolic remainder of its former self.

Before our time the Sunday before Advent was traditionally the last day a household would make its pudding before Christmas to give it time to hang and mature before the day. This day was called 'stir-up Sunday' and each family member would take turns to stir the pudding and make a wish. At this point silver coins and later charms may have been added to the mix for luck.

I completely missed this deadline.

This year I made the pudding on the second Sunday of Advent, no-one stirred the pudding except me and I didn't have any charms to put in (hint, hint). However, being a modern girl I boiled the pudding in my pasta pot so there was no messy or dangerous lifting of pudding basin from boiling water.

Poor Mrs Cratchit, she was placed in far more danger

"Hallo. A great deal of steam. The pudding was out of the copper. A smell like a washing-day. That was the cloth." from A Christmas Carol by Charles Dickens

Hopefully my pasta pot creation will be a suitable substitute. And if not, at least a generous dose of brandy poured on the pudding and a well-lit match will create a spectacular end to the meal.

Do you make a pudding at Christmas? If not, what are your dessert traditions for the holidays?

Should we cast our nighted colour off?

Good Hamlet, cast thy nighted colour off.

W. Shakespeare (1564-1616) from Hamlet. Hamlet's mother/aunt asking him to stop wearing his dark funeral clothing after the death of his father

Funeral wear is such a sombre topic for this time of year so I apologise for mentioning it however I have been to three funerals in the last 14 months, the most recent yesterday, and this is a topic that is front of mind for many attending these ceremonies.

Before our time attendance at a western Christian funeral was governed by a strict dress code which reached it's height during the Victorian era following the death, in 1861, of Queen Victoria's consort, Prince Albert. After this period full black mourning dress became essential for the upper and middle classes and their service staff. For immediate family this form of dress was not only for the funeral but continued for up to two and a half years after the death. Children were often spared this dress code but may have had a purple or black ribbon attached to their clothing instead. Queen Victoria famously wore her "Widows Weeds" for the rest of her life.

In the second half of the twentieth century the funeral dress code relaxed. Fewer people wore mourning dress other than for the funeral itself and other dark or sombre colours such as navy, purple or grey became acceptable provided the clothing was conservatively styled. Prince Charles is said to have worn a navy suit to Diana, Princess of Wales' funeral because it was a suit she liked him to wear.

Today funeral etiquette guides advise attendees to wear conservative clothing in accordance with the grieving family's wishes or belief system. However, what do you wear if this is unstated or unclear? With the relaxation of dress codes comes ambiguity. How many of us really feel we know what is right to wear?

Having attended three funerals recently, and following discussion with other funeral attendees, I found that many agree that funeral attire depends on the context of each death that is being mourned. As such I have developed a personal guide to what I would wear for each context. This guide assumes that no specific dress code has been requested (eg. everyone wear football colours) and that the funeral is a western-style Christian ceremony, perhaps in a church or cemetery chapel. It also assumes the deceased is an adult.

• Tragic, sudden unexpected death (eg. from an accident) Black or very dark conservative clothing. Minimal accessories. Minimal makeup and waterproof mascara a must. Black in this scenario represents a shared sense of shock.
  
  
• Tragic, but not unexpected death (eg. long illness): Conservative primarily dark clothing, perhaps a touch of colour - especially a favourite colour of the deceased.
  


• Death from old age, expected, lived a long and happy life: Dress in a dignified style that reflects the individual's outlook. Still conservative styling, this is not a dance but a dignified memorial of a life long-lived. I have said to friends that if I manage to live a long life and die in summer - hold a wake in the garden and wear your prettiest floral dress, zimmer frame optional.

It is harder to know what children should wear. At a recent mid-week funeral of a much-loved friend with a young daughter the presence of her classmates dressed in school uniform (most Australian school students have uniforms) was lovely and dignified and reminded we adults that life goes on. Yesterday the 12 year old son of the deceased wore his football uniform and this year's premiership medal, as did the rest of his team. His father was the team manager and this was a touching symbol of his involvement with his children.

This is one 21st century girl's outlook on funeral wear. What do you think? Are there occasions where we should cast of our nighted colour, or should we get back to black as standard funeral wear?

Hold the mayo

“Mayonnaise sauce is best served separately in a tureen or sauce boat with the salad either cut up or the lettuce in pieces.”

Australian Enquiry Book of Household and General Information
for the Cottage, the Villa and the Bush Home
by Mrs Lance Rawson
first published by Pater & Knapton, in 1894.
Facsimile edition reproduced by kind permission
of the State Library of New South Wales, 1984, by Kangaroo Press

Mayonnaise is one of those foods that I’d always suspected probably tastes better if you make it from scratch, but I’d never actually done so. Then I spotted a recipe for it in Mrs Rawson’s book. (The instructions in italics under each photo are Mrs Rawson’s)

Ingredients: 3 or 4 eggs, 3 teaspoonfuls salad oil*, 1 teaspoonful vinegar, pepper, salt.

Strain the yolks of the eggs into a basin, and set it in a cool place – in the ice chest if you have one.

(well, yes Mrs Rawson...I am somewhat fortunate, and I do indeed have an ice chest. Although they're called refrigerators now.)

Let it stand an hour or two, and then take a spoon and begin to stir round and round (not to beat).

Add salt, stirring well; then a few drops at a time of the salad oil. The quantity of oil depends on individual taste; some people like a lot of oil.

When half the oil is well mixed, put in in the same way some good vinegar and keep adding oil and vinegar in these proportions until you get sauce the thickness of thick cream, then add pepper and more salt, if necessary.

The oil and vinegar must be added by degrees or they will not blend smoothly and the amount of both will depend upon the quantity of sauce, and also the consistency you like it.

At this point I abandoned the good counsel of Mrs Rawson. The mayonnaise was looking a little like beaten egg yolks and tasted just like them too.

So I took to the bowl with a whisk to lighten the colour and aerate the mixture.

To deal with the lack of taste, I added the juice of half a lemon.

And a teaspoonful of Dijon mustard.

I used the finished mayonnaise on a Waldorf salad. In spite in their initial skepticism, the household’s verdict was that it was worth the effort involved. I'm not sure it would meet with the approval of mayonnaise purists, but we thought the taste was more acceptable with the addition of the lemon and mustard.

* Salad oil is any edible vegetable oil: corn oil, peanut oil, sunflower oil, olive oil etc. I used an Australian extra virgin olive oil.

This 21st Century Girl loves a seasonally inappropriate Christmas

“I have been looking on, this evening, at a merry company of children assembled round that pretty German toy, a Christmas Tree. The tree was planted in the middle of a great round table, and towered high above their heads. It was brilliantly lighted by a multitude of little tapers; and everywhere sparkled and glittered with bright objects.” Charles Dickens

One of the occasions where we commonly see the celebration of traditions, and skills, of time past is Christmas. For those who follow a traditional western anglo-celtic Christmas like our family it is probably the only time a pudding is boiled for four hours as in time past and when traditions passed down through the family are followed. Christmas often is a blend of traditions that have passed down through different family lines.

Chooks'r'us at Life in the Dome has asked us here at beforeourtime.com to reveal eight things about our Christmas celebrations. I thought I would reveal eight things I do at Christmas and how old customs fill this otherwise 21st century seasonal celebration.

1. Christmas Tree

With pagan origins associated with the northern Winter Solstice the Christmas tree can be traced back to 16th century Germany. It gained popular acceptance in Victorian England and was introduced to the US in the 18th century by German settlers.

While real trees are popular here in Australia our family puts up a fake tree on 1 December (or the first weekend of Advent) and takes it down on the twelfth night (January 6). The tree is put up with some ceremony accompanied by the loud-playing of Christmas music. We buy one new bauble each a year and so our tree represents a purchase of baubles over the past 10 years.

2. Advent Calendar

Again from 19th Century German traditions, the advent calendar is a physical way of counting down the days until Christmas. While chocolate calendars are popular, our family has a wooden calendar with little doors containing Christmas-themed charms which are hung each day. Our children take turns to hang the charms each day.

3. Hot Christmas Lunch

Christmas day is notoriously hot in many parts of Australia. Many families have forsaken a more traditional English-style hot meal for a seafood barbecue or cold meat with salad. Not us, however. I insist on roast turkey, ham, roast vegetables and all the trimmings hot weather or no. My husband glazes a ham on Christmas Eve which we then eat cold over the Christmas week.

4. Christmas Pudding

Along with my hot Christmas lunch I insist on a homemade Christmas (plum) pudding served with homemade custard and vanilla ice cream. Christmas puddings have been popular in their dessert form in England since the 19th century. Prior to this the original recipe contained meat and was served before the meal - the symbolic remainder of this tradition being the suet that some puddings still contain.

Tradition dictates that puddings must be made by "stir up" day - the last Sunday before Advent. I have missed this deadline this year but hope to make my pudding this weekend. Many traditionalists put silver coins or charms in their puddings but I don't own any to do this...perhaps this year I might.

5. Christmas Street Party

Christmas is traditionally the time of year we make contact with friends and family. It is also a time to show appreciation to those who have helped us throughout the year.

We live in a cul de sac and host a street party each December for people in surrounding streets. We open up our garage and put a case of beer on ice and nearby residents turn up with a small plate of food, a chair and their children and grandchildren and we catch up on street and local gossip.

6. Christmas Cards

Commercially made Christmas cards were first available in the mid 19th century England. Cards are sent throughout the western world and Asia in the weeks before Christmas. Australia Post expects to deliver over 470million items this Christmas. Cards are another form of contact we make to spread goodwill at this time of year.

In recent years there has been a proliferation of the Christmas letter where families provide extraordinary detail of their past year often accompanied by photographs. This year our family have bought cards with artwork by our kids through a school fundraiser. We will send approx. 100 cards containing a photo mosaic of our year to friends and family.

7. Carrots for the Reindeer, Beer for Santa

It has always been tradition in our family to leave out beer and Christmas cake for Santa Claus on Christmas Eve. Recently we have taken to leaving out carrots for the Reindeer as well. It is incumbent on the adults to ensure that the carrots have been found by the Reindeer and look suitably chewed in the morning...

8. Boxing Day celebrations

Christmas Day marks the true beginning of the Australian summer holidays. This is a five-week period in which many businesses operate on a skeleton staff and where many Australians head for the beach or to other holiday destinations.

The first big day of the summer is marked by Boxing Day - a holiday in all Australian States. Traditionally a day to give gifts to the less fortunate it has become associated with the start of the summer department store sales, the Boxing Day Cricket Test and the start of the Sydney to Hobart yacht race. Being a Sydney family we head down to Middle Head to watch "the boats" sail through the Heads. Lunch on that day consists of cold turkey and ham with salads.

So, if you celebrate Christmas - are you a traditionalist? Or do you have a thoroughly modern Christmas? And, incidentally...how is your preparation going?

Why don't prepare a list of eight of your Christmas traditions on your own blog. Link back to this post so that others know you have done this and we'll come and have a look!

Is 40 the new 25?

I turn 40 years old later today. (Yes, you can leave your birthday greetings in the comments box below...all gratefully received. Cheques attached especially valued...!)

Anyway, in the past few weeks I've thought quite a bit about what it means to turn 40. Am I past it? Am I over the hill? Am I...dare I say it...middle-aged?

In a timely and opportune moment, I spied a small article in The Age newspaper last week which showed that an Australian woman aged 40 is likely to have 44.8 years of life remaining (unfortunately, the on-line version of this article doesn't contain the graphic I refer to) although the article highlighted the sobering prediction that these longer than ever lifespans are also more likely to end in Alzheimer's disease.

Of course, one never knows what lies ahead, but with an average life expectancy for Australian women into their 80s I conclude that 40 is not even the half-way point.

So then I discovered some of the life expectancy calculators at various financial planning websites (I'll let you google those for yourself if you are interested: 'life expectancy calculators') and based on my responses to the various questions asked, was given an age into the 90s.

Which is a big contrast to women's lives before our time.

My great-great-grandmother was born in 1825 in a small Scottish village overlooking the valley of the River Forth. By the time she turned 40, she was married, had moved to another village just nine miles away and had given birth to her seventh child, a girl who was named after her mother.

Just over two years later in 1866, that child died. My great-great-grandmother was to give birth at home one more time, to another daughter (also named after her) and although the baby survived the delivery my great-great-grandmother did not. The cause given on her death certificate is exhaustion after delivery (8 hours).

The baby died two weeks later of atrophy.

It makes you appreciate the advances in medical science, now doesn't it?

So at 40, my great-great-grandmother was nearing the end of her life, a life which had possibly been confined to an extremely small geographic area. A life without electricity, or telephones, or television, or (gasp!) the internet. A life in which advancements like aeroplanes, motor cars and space exploration wouldn't have been even dreamt of. A life in which there were no antibiotics to combat infections, and diseases such as smallpox were still prevalent (another of my great-great-grandmothers died of smallpox in 1872 in Glasgow). A life in which a lot about the world just wasn't understood (another great-great-grandmother died from lead poisoning before she was 40 from the water she drank running off lead-laden hills).

Most importantly, it was a life in which women were much more limited in their choices than we are today.

Compared with life before our time, turning 40 nowadays seems quite a young and fortunate age, indeed. In terms of my great-great-grandmothers' lives, it's more like turning 25.

Happy 25th birthday to me!

Taking stock of what we eat

“It is on a good stock, or first good broth and sauce, that excellence in cookery depends. If the preparation of this basis of the culinary art is intrusted (sic) to negligent or ignorant persons, and the stock is not well skimmed, indifferent results will be obtained”. From Mrs Beeton’s The Book of Household Management, S. O. Beeton 1861, Chapter V: Soups

Mrs Beeton has given me a wakeup call. For years I have extolled the virtues of making white sauce and egg custard from scratch, but avoided stock and gravies, and as my husband is equally challenged in this area we had destined our children to eating a range of chemicals that parade as stock-like substances.

Before our time the inability to make a stock would mean a household was denied many dishes unless you were in a position to have staff to make it for you. Oh how I wish I had staff. I dream about having staff.

I’m evidence of the evolution of the self sufficient home chef to supermarket hack. These days I can waltz down to my local supermarket and pick up a whole load of chemical food-like products which can be used in place of stock.

The trouble is the ingredient list looks like this:

Beef Stock Cubes: Wheat flour, salt, yeast extract, maize starch, flavour enhancers (621, 627 ie msg), colour (why?), vegetable oil, autolysed yeast extract, flavourings (including beef flavour – and I bet it wasn’t extracted from a cow...), sugar, onion extract, onion powder.

That’s not food. Not even slightly. What am I doing to my children?

So, despite memories of long hours of simmering and a fatty unappealing result, I thought let’s give this stock caper a go once more.

One night I cooked a roast chicken dinner. After dinner I gathered up the remaining carcass and meat and threw it in a pot of water along with the most wilted vegetables in my fridge. My secret here is that I put all this in my pasta pot which has a built in drainer (handy later believe me).

[This was my first attempt when I hadn't worked out about using the pasta pot...]

I simmered this concoction from the time after dinner until just before I went to bed. At that point I drained the stock, threw out the lumpy bits and put the stock into the fridge overnight. The next morning the fat had risen to the top and hardened. I simply scooped this off and voila four litres of chicken stock! Why had I thought it was so hard? The stock went into takeaway containers in the freezer. Easy.

But still I hear you decry this as too hard? Visit your local butcher. Many of ours make their own stock (they have the bones on hand after all). If a stock has more than four ingredients, or ingredients I don’t recognise, I don’t buy it anymore. My great-grandmother wouldn’t have, and now, neither will I.

[this is a photo of beef stock in progress. I'd learnt about using the pasta pot with internal drainer by then...]

Oh, and once I had stock on hand, suddenly gravies became so simple, soups easy. Who knew?

Any stock makers out there?

Packing for a holiday abroad

"When packing your bulk luggage, remember that it won't be available to you on the journey. Therefore, pack the items most urgently needed in a small handbag which will remain in your custody. Keep within the weight limits laid down for luggage, which, in normal circumstances, is 44lb. Don't exceed that limit unless you are prepared to pay excess."

Etiquette for Australians by Noreen Routledge (1944)

Next week, my husband, daughters and I are heading off on a plane for a holiday 'abroad'.

(Don't you just love the word abroad? It conjures images of European Grand Tours and Mediterranean sojourns, flying boats and steam trains - so much more evocative than overseas.)

Anyway, I digress. The fact is that we are journeying to another country via an aircraft. And I have started to worry about what I need to pack for three weeks which includes two cities - one of which has recently been experiencing temperatures in the high 20s, low 30s (Celsius) and the other of which hovers around 0-4 degrees for most of the day and drops below zero at night.

It's a difficult task.

So I consulted the wisdom of the past.

Noreen Routledge's Etiquette for Australians published in 1944 contains a chapter on travel by air, including a very helpful list (with weights) of suggested clothing to pack. (Click on the photo if you would like to read the list.)

Now keep in mind that this book was published in 1944. The Second World War was raging. When Singapore had fallen to Japanese forces in 1942, Qantas's thrice-weekly Australia-England flying boat services had ceased*. In 1943, Qantas (together with the British Air Ministry and BOAC) agreed to a plan to re-establish the Australia-England air link by establishing regular Catalina flying boat flights between the Swan River, Perth, and Koggala Lake, in southern Ceylon (now Sri Lanka).

The single Indian Ocean hop of 5,652km was to be the longest non-stop regular passenger flight ever attempted. Navigation was by the stars to maintain radio silence near enemy aircraft and each flight was limited to only three passengers and 69kg of diplomatic and armed forces mail. The flying boats took an average of 28 hours to complete the journey. By the time the operation ended in 1945, 271 crossings carrying 648 passengers had been completed.

It's not quite the same as a 747-jumbo packed full of tourists, backpackers and business people now is it?

Throughout the War, Qantas did maintain a modest domestic schedule (a Brisbane-Darwin service and a handful of minor Queensland routes) but air travel was hardly an experience for the masses.

Which perhaps explains some of the items on Ms Routledge's list: 1 costume, 2 dinner frocks, 2 silk frocks, 2 afternoon frocks...3 pairs of gloves...1 hat box, 2 hats...

Interestingly though, after all this time, and with significant changes in the type of aircraft flown, today's baggage allowance is identical to that of 1944. Forty-four lbs (or 20kgs) is still the baggage allowance for travellers flying economy class on an international flight.

Which, as far as I'm concerned, is about 15 kilograms too much to be lugging around into and out of hotels and taxis. I like to travel reasonably light. I can probably forgo the silk frocks and the hat box, but I know that in my enthusiasm to keep our suitcases light, I'm bound to leave out an essential item.

Tell me. What should I not forget to pack?


* Historical information about Qantas came from the Qantas website.

Chatting over the back fence, is cyberspace the modern equivalent?

How often do you stand at your fence and chat to a neighbour? How often do you pop next door for a warm drink and a chat? If you are like most people you probably don’t. While neighbourly chats are not extinct anecdotal evidence suggests they are becoming a rarity. Parents are more likely to spend their afternoons running their children to and from various after-school activities than watching them play with the kids next door.

In fact chatting with one’s neighbours or catching up for coffee is viewed by those who hold the notion of “busy-ness” in high esteem as a luxury or not.real.work. But in fact it plays an important social role. Connectedness with people who live around you is part of living; if it is not seen as valued activity then other social necessities may be lost. Social necessities such as knowing whether someone is away, whether they are ill, whether they are lonely or whether they know about a great builder, dentist, doctor or soccer team are all vital components of our lives.

This is all about really living and not just existing.

I am one of the lucky ones to have experienced chatting over the back fence in the 21st century. I live in a cul de sac with fabulous neighbours. One neighbour in particular has children of similar age to mine and over the past three years we have lived the 1950s TV Lifestyle where the mums chat over the back fence, borrow cups of sugar and watch their offspring race from house to house. But I know I am in the minority.

It is no surprise then that journal-style blogging and other forms of social networking have taken off. We humans crave connectedness and many of these environments, particularly the “mom blogs”, are the cyberspace equivalent of chatting over the fence; such is the sense of community created. To the uninitiated this is difficult to explain. Why would you want to talk to people you don’t know and have never met? How can you feel you have a relationship with them? Isn’t this only for the lonely?

Well no. These blogs often contain the sort of quiet ‘chat’ that one would have casually with a neighbour. Pictures of vegie gardens may be shown, or of a recently knitted item. A daughter’s exam results may be celebrated, or a toddler’s funny conversation or mishap re-told. In some cases bloggers reveal their struggles with an ill partner, parent or child; or perhaps their own illness. If these blogs are well structured and well written they will develop an audience, or become part of a circle of bloggers who all visit and comment; thus becoming a community.

Jo from Jelly Baby Blog some time ago commented on the phenomenon beautifully:

“There are many reasons why I keep a blog, but one of the nicest aspects are the comments that I receive, some are supportive, some have great tips, and some have me laughing out loud ... but mostly they make me feel like I am part of something, a community of people who all have something in common ~ and it's something different with each one of you”

I have been writing to a personal blog for 18 months. I have a wide circle of friends in my own community and a supportive family and I am not at all lonely. But blogging has re-introduced me to knitting, to want to be more adventurous with my cooking, to read a wider variety of books and to understand that although we all come from such varied places and backgrounds around Australia and the world we are also so much the same. It’s a world-wide neighbourhood with the feeling of local connectedness.

But is cyberspace really the true equivalent of chatting over the back fence? Two days ago the neighbours with whom we shared the 1950s TV-style Lifestyle with had to move. As I stare across the yard towards their now empty house I realise that online social networking is great, but chatting over the back fence in person is something I’m going to sorely miss.

I really hope a new family moves in soon.

How about you? Do you chat to your neighbours? Or is cyberspace more your cup of tea?

A thankless task?

“I am sure I need not add that the receipt of a present, however small, should be acknowledged at once, and the letter worded as graciously as possible.”

Etiquette in Australia by Mrs Erskine
published by William Brooks & Co, Sydney in 1911.

Speak to any person of the most mature years about the giving of presents and one of the comments they will inevitably make is that the younger generations never thank them adequately for their gifts.

In this age of letters, faxes, e-mail, SMS, instant-messaging, Facebook pokes and phone calls, what is the acceptable etiquette of thanking someone for a gift? And how do we broach the gulf in expectations and understanding between generations?

As a child brought up in an age when mail was the only reasonable way of communicating with friends and family members who lived some distance away, my grandmother would have, as a matter of course, written thank you letters on many hundreds of occasions. Thank you for your gift. Thank you for your hospitality. Thank you for your kindness. Thank you for your sympathy. It was the accepted way of acknowledging the effort and thought another person had extended towards you.

She, like many of her generation, therefore expects (and extends) written acknowledgement of gifts. And the acknowledgement should be prompt. I’ve watched her sit down on Boxing Day morning with a set of note cards, writing thanks for gifts she received on Christmas Day.

Her great-grandchildren, on the other hand, are natives of the digital-generation. For them communication with people half a world away can be instantaneous and can take a great many forms. Asking an eleven year old to sit down with paper and a pen and handwrite a number of thank you letters after a birthday party, is akin to asking them to pull their fingernails out one by one (and just as torturous for the parent concerned).

Yet, I persist in nagging my daughters to write thank you letters after their birthdays because to me, the very act of writing the note to the giver of a gift forces you to contemplate and appreciate the effort and thought that went into the selection of the present (or the writing of the cheque!) and communicate this appreciation.

I let the youngest cheat a little, by just asking her to sign her name on letters I’ve written for her. It’s not that difficult, but it does require some effort on their behalf, and they need to do it within a day (or three or four…) of receiving the gift.

I do however, have my own special 'thank you caveat'…I don’t make the girls write Christmas gift thank you letters, and I don’t write them myself. We thank people personally or ring them because let’s face it, who wants to spend the Christmas break forcing children to write letters when there are beaches to be visited, and icecreams to be eaten?

Perhaps I’m old-fashioned and out-of-touch to insist my girls send thank you letters through the post? Perhaps it would be just as acceptable for them to SMS their thanks? Or send e-mails? Maybe they could just phone everyone? Or instant-message them if they catch them on-line?

I worry though, that a pain-free and fleeting method of communicating a ‘thank you’, removes the contemplation time a written note involves. A ‘thank you’ can be casually tossed out verbally with very little actual thought.

Some of those methods may not meet the expectations of all of the givers either. Anything short of a handwritten envelope in the mailbox with a stamp attached may come up short of my grandmother's generation's requirements, and with gift-giving being a two-way process is it not disrespectful and inconsiderate to refuse to play the part that generation expects?

Maybe I need to develop a multi-tiered system of thank you categories depending on the age and expectations of the gift-givers? Handwritten letters for great-grandmothers, word-processed letters for grandparents and great-aunts, e-mails for anyone internet-friendly, and a casual verbal, ‘Thanks,’ for school friends?

What do you suggest? (But please, don’t expect me to handwrite a thank you letter for your advice!)

Days 6 & 7: Soaking up the lessons

A hot shower has never felt as good as the one I had this morning. After seven days of sponge-bathing and a single soak in a warm soupy, sweaty sauce I relished my (four minute) shower.

The 1930s bathing challenge wasn't as bad as I feared though. It is definitely possible to shower a little less than we have become accustomed to, and still maintain acceptable standards of hygiene.

Some wisdom gained from this experience:

• It is possible to bathe adequately using only four litres of water in a basin.
• Washing hair in a hand-basin is not a pleasant experience, and is best accomplished with assistance.
• A bath uses way more water than a four minute shower.
• A water-efficient shower head can cut water use dramatically.
• Showering twice daily is a luxury, and can only be justified if each shower is two minutes long (i.e. half of the four minute shower allowance).
• Shower timers are a great idea - particularly to remind younger members of the household when they have reached their shower limit.
• Showering has an intellectual pay-off effect. Some of my best thinking happens under the shower.

Moving forward, this experience has given me a few ideas about how to reduce our overall water consumption in relation to the bathroom, which I think makes it all worthwhile.

Day 5: Up to my neck in it

Everything is a miracle. It is a miracle that one does not dissolve in one's bath like a lump of sugar.

Pablo Picasso

In these days of water-scarcity awareness in Victoria, having a deep warm bath is really an indulgence. It has become a guilty pleasure. Just this week, the Water Minister, Tim Holding, confirmed that the Government is considering the introduction of daily individual water use targets. According to the article in the Herald-Sun, it is believed individuals would be asked to limit water use to 155 litres a day, 10 litres less than the current average daily use. An average bath uses something between 80 to 200 litres of water which represents a very large chunk of that daily allowance.

If however, you are sponge-bathing daily instead of pouring litres and litres down the shower drain, you could perhaps ‘bank’ the additional litres to justify having a once-a-week luxury bath.

Which is what I did last night.

The 19th century Australian health reformer Philip E. Muskett had the following to say about baths:

Now, the daily use of the cold bath, together with the assiduous application of soap, may be sufficient to keep the skin cleansed from impurities. Yet as a matter of fact this will the more certainly be ensured by a weekly —or, better still, bi-weekly—warm cleansing bath. The best time to take it is before bedtime, so that there is no risk of taking a chill afterwards. After the body has been well lathered over with soap, and this has been thoroughly washed off, the cleansing process may be then considered as completed. It is next recommended that two handsful of common salt should be added to the warm water, and the body steeped therein for a minute or two. The particles of salt pass into the skin so firmly that they cannot be removed even by the most vigorous rubbing. In this way the functions of the skin are stimulated to a considerable degree; the process of nutrition throughout the body greatly promoted; and the liver roused to action. From this it is easy to understand why hot sea-water baths are so beneficial.

P.E Muskett, The Art of Living in Australia (1893) - accessed via http://ebooks.adelaide.edu.au

I took his advice. After soaking in the soapy water, I added the two ‘handsful’ of common salt. I’m not sure what the intended effect was, and whether in fact I achieved it. I didn’t notice any rousing to action of my liver, but perhaps it roused itself discreetly.

I’m a big fan of the occasional evening bath. I think there is nothing as relaxing as sinking into a deepish warm bath with a folded towel under your neck and a good book. And for occasions where muscle soreness or stiffness is an issue, a hot bath hits the spot nicely.

But, I’m reconsidering them as a method of cleanliness. Last night I contemplated the nature of lying back in a warm soapy bath and I realised that I was, in fact, gently stewing in a soup of soap scum, dead skin, the day’s dirt and sweat. Lovely.

When I finally got out of the bath, I felt I needed a quick shower to rinse off the film of debris I was sure was clinging to my skin, but of course that was impossible under my 1930s regime. I had to resign myself to a quick rinse with a sponge and basin.

Just the thought of it was enough to make me yearn for my hot showers. Only two days to go...

How do you like your bath?

Days 3 & 4: Bath day has been postponed

I know, I know. You've come here expecting a philosophical discussion about the nature of bathing for relaxation versus bathing for hygiene.

And you will get it.

But not today.

Melbourne has experienced two days well into the 30s (degrees Celsius) and the house is like an oven. The last thing I wanted to do yesterday evening was sink into a deep, warm bath.

Instead, a cool sponge bath seemed a very attractive option.

I'm waiting until the cool change comes through before I embark on 'bath day'.

I have however, over the past two days, proven that a thorough and judicious regime of sponge-bathing does not compromise today's hygiene standards. At least, I don't think it does. I haven't heard any complaints.

How do you keep your cool when the weather heads north?

Day 2: Saving precious drops

Here in Melbourne, like many parts of Australia, water is a precious resource. According to the weekly update at the Melbourne Water website, Melbourne’s water storages dropped by 0.2% of capacity in the week to 6th November, despite some good rain in that time over Melbourne’s major catchments.

Our water storages are now at 33.6% of capacity which is 118 billion litres lower than the same time last year, when they were 40.3% (715.2 billion litres) full.

The good news is that average daily water consumption was 1,028 million litres which was 83 million litres less than the previous week, and below the 1990s spring average of 1,246 million litres a day.

The weekly update concluded by saying Melbourne’s water authorities are encouraging four-minute showers and providing a free showerhead exchange program to help save more water ahead of summer.

So, how much am I saving ahead of summer by daily sponge-bathing and a weekly bath?

Equipped with a bucket and a stopwatch, my daughters and I worked out the flow rate of our shower. Luckily my oldest daughter is a whiz at working out equations such as what the per minute flowrate of the shower would be if a 12 litre bucket fills in 46 seconds (Answer: almost 16 litres per minute*).

Assuming I stick to the four minute shower in the morning and have a quick two minute one in the evening (and this is a big assumption...as sometimes the water is just so nice and warm, and the thinking time just too irresistible...but go with me on this one) I'm using a total of 96 litres per day just in the shower.

My sponge bath option uses just 4 litres in a basin twice a day, plus I'll add an extra 8 litres four times a week to wash my hair over the hand basin. This averages to about 12.5 litres a day.

Where the 1930s figures start to blow out though is in the weekly bath. If I was being scrupulous about water-saving I'd only put a few centimetres into the bottom of the bath. But if it's the only bath I'm going to have all week, I know I'll be tempted to fill it to a reasonable level so I can soak. This could mean up to 200 litres.

Even with the deep soaking bath option, my 1930s regime uses a total of 287.5 litres a week compared with the showering 672 litres per week.

Over the course of a year, I would save almost 20,000 litres.

I tried to think of a way to graphically represent that amount of water, then it came to me.

20,000 litres is about two-thirds the volume of our swimming pool.

Of course, if I just swam every day I could avoid the whole sponging/showering dilemma totally. It may be a chilly option in winter, my skin would dry out and I would smell of chlorine rather than soap, but I guess it's an option.

What are you prepared to do to save water?

*Please do not hesitate to correct me if any of my maths is wrong - it's been known to happen. And, I've now realised that this showerhead flowrate is excessive. A water-efficient shower head has a flowrate of less than 9 litres per minute. I will be looking at swapping to a water-efficient one.

Thursday...I shall report on 'bath day'.

Day 1: The Sponge Bath

Many houses, and fairly sized houses too, are destitute of a bath, and if there is no room for the erection of one, or if the means for having it built are not forthcoming, it becomes necessary to see what cheap and efficient substitute can be made. A sponge bath, or large tub, with a bucket of water and a good-sized sponge, can readily be obtained, even in the most humble dwelling, and answers as well as can be wished. When the body is simply sponged over with tepid water it makes one of the mildest baths that can be taken; but those who are in ordinary health can well lather them selves over with soap and cold water, and then wash it off with some squeezes of the sponge copiously wetted with the water.

Philip E. Muskett, The Art of Living in Australia (1893)

Chapter 3 Ablution - the Skin and the Bath.
(Accessed via: http://ebooks.adelaide.edu.au/)

The internet truly is an amazing thing. You want to know how to make 19th century damson preserves? Google it. You want to know how to bone a bodice? Google it. You want to know how to spin flax? Google it.

Thus, skills and knowledge that may have been previously locked away in dusty tomes on the shelves of libraries are now accessible to anyone, anywhere - and often come accompanied by a Youtube video tutorial.

But when it came time for me to master the ancient art of sponge-bathing, I turned my back on the copious advice available to me on the web and I decided to wing it.

I've developed my own method.

1. I filled a basin with warm water.
2. I washed my face with plain water, then used my cleanser and a wipe.
3. I applied soap to a damp washcloth and lathered up all over. (One of Megan's handknitted washcloths would be perfect for this job, but alas, I have not been the lucky recipient of her washcloth largess - instead I used a regular towelling one.)
4. I wet the second washcloth in the basin and removed the soap from my skin. I rinsed this washcloth in the basin every few seconds and didn't wring it out.
5. The process took around five minutes from start to finish - slightly more than a four-minute shower.

I'll finesse this method over the week. For a start, I'll move the basin into the shower, as Step 4 ended up slopping soap and water all over the bathmat and the floor. And I think I may add a small jug to the equipment to pour the last of the water over my body.

I'm sincerely glad I'm not doing this challenge in the middle of winter. Even this morning it was a little chilly to be standing naked and dripping in the bathroom.

At the end of it, I felt surprisingly clean. I'm not sure I removed all the traces of soap, and I've spent the day smelling a little of Palmolive Gold...but I suspect that is better than the alternative?

Tomorrow...how much water am I actually saving?

The 1930s bathing challenge

At a dinner earlier this year I was seated next to a lovely octagenarian couple. Conversation on the table meandered through various topics, and at one stage we were discussing Melbourne's Stage 3a water restrictions and the impact they have had on our day-to-day life, especially in relation to the length of showers taken and whether or not we use buckets to capture the excess water while waiting for the shower to heat up.

"Oh, we don't ever use our shower," the 80-something gentleman declared.
"No," his wife agreed. "We soak in a bath once a week, and the rest of the time we fill a basin and have sponge baths."

She went on to explain how when she was growing up, they didn't have such things as instant hot water systems, and if you wanted warm water to bathe, you needed to heat it on the stove first. Therefore, people learnt to make do with very little water. The couple have never seen any need to change the habits they established early in life.

This conversation started me thinking. Do we over-shower? For most Australians a daily shower is the standard, twice daily is not abnormal. We try to keep our showers as brief as possible, but are we pouring unnecessary water down the drain? Is it possible to bathe like our great-grandparents and maintain an acceptable standard of hygiene in today's world?

Join me this week as I attempt to eschew my shower in favour of a weekly bath and daily sponge baths. I will post reflections on my progress throughout the week.

Can I last seven days?

Frankly my dear, do you give a darn?

"Wendy's favourite time for sewing and darning was after they had all gone to bed. Then, as she expressed it, she had a breathing time for herself; and she occupied it in making new things for them, and putting double pieces on the knees, for they were all most frightfully hard on their knees. When she sat down to a basketful of their stockings, every heel with a hole in it, she would fling up her arms and exclaim, "Oh dear, I am sure I sometimes think spinsters are to be envied!”
from Peter Pan by J M Barrie 1911

Who on earth could be bothered darning a sock?

In the dark recesses of my mind I think I remember my maternal grandfather once talking about darning socks. I don’t know whether he was referring to his ability to do so, but that was certainly my impression at the time. My grandfather was born in 1913 and spend his formative years in the Depression and his early married life during WWII. Even if your family lived comfortably during these times a certain frugality was politic and sock darning was an honourable and necessary way to spend your time. Why waste an entire sock or jumper because of a small hole?

The next generations were not to know the catastrophes of depression and war and the honour of a frugal life was surpassed by the desire for a life unconstrained by the chore of mending and making-do. These generations, our generations, could no longer justify the time to stop and mend. Our time cost more than our socks. To do so would admit that we couldn’t afford a better life. And so the skills of simple sewing are forgotten to be held in trust by a few people who rarely even use those skills themselves.

I never learnt to darn. By the 1970s this was not a skill often passed on as women marched against being chained to the sewing machine and new clothes were easy and cheap to come by.

But what if we disregarded the economic, gender and social implications of mending our socks and considered what else darning can do for us?

...It may surprise you to learn that a princess ever does such a common thing as darn stockings. But, if you will stop to think, you will realize that a princess is sure to wear holes in her stockings, the same as other people; only it isn't considered quite polite to mention the matter. From Ozama of Oz by Frank L Baum

I considered this point while attempting to darn a hole in my ten-year-old daughter’s school stockings.

First I had to learn how to darn. Through the magic of the Internet I found this tutorial on YouTube. A trip to my local needlecraft store (with three children in tow) and I was set for my experiment.

Per instructions I stretch the hole over the light globe (which is what all self-respecting frugal sewers use, apparently) and create the warps. I am intimidated by the size of the hole but I am impressed with my new vocabulary.

I start weaving, per instructions. This process actually makes sense, but my attention to detail is lacking and my warps and weaves are not on speaking terms.

The result is a complete hatchet job on the stockings. Miss 10 says she will still wear them but I think she’s being polite. I have new respect for the neat stitching of our forebears.

The darning process took an hour and cost me a couple of dollars worth of embroidery floss. I can see where I went wrong and would like to try this process again because the act of darning was, strangely, satisfying.

Darning is viewed as a little eccentric but it depends what else you were going to do with that hour. The act of darning gave me ‘permission’ to stop and think for a while, it was time that I wasn’t rushing around the house.

Many of the gentle arts have value in getting us to slow down. We may apply little worth to the act of darning but how do we value the quiet moment?

How about you? Do you give a darn?

A Quince a Day ...

“If they stomacke bee very luse, or moyst, or thy belly laxative, then Quinces be good to be eaten before meate, beying rosted, or eaten colde: and in this case, the tarter the better...preserved, they do mightedly prevaile against drunkenness.” Bulleins Bulwarke of defence against all Sicknes, Sornes and Woundes, 1562

Originating in old Persia and then spreading around the Mediterranean Quinces were a popular food in the ancient European diet. Venus (Aphrodite), the goddess of love is often pictured holding a Quince and during the Middle Ages a Quince was exchanged during wedding ceremonies as a symbol of love.

Smelling somewhat like a cross between an apple and a pear the Quince was thought a cure-all in the 16th century diet similar to the apple.a.day mantra of four centuries later.

These days I eat this bulbous yellow fruit in the form of Quince paste where I love to eat it on a cracker with soft blue cheese. Here in Australia a small tub of Quince paste from a reputable company will cost around AUD$5-6.

Before our time families would've made this at home from the Autumn crop. Certainly few families bother with preserving fruit or making Jams (Jellies) these days however I decided to try my hand at making Quince paste to see whether it was worth the bother.

I found this recipe in Maggie Beer's book "Maggie's Harvest". It is Maggie's Quince paste which I buy for myself so this seemed a good place to start. The recipe is simple enough:

• 2kg Quinces, cored and chopped in quarters
• Water
• Sugar
• Lemon Juice

However, as I discovered it is vitally important to read the recipe all.the.way.through before beginning.

• Simmer the quinces (including the cores which are wrapped in a muslin bag or tea towel and placed in the water with everything else) until the quinces are soft and mushy.
• Take out the cores then process or smoosh the quinces until they form a pulp.
• Add sugar equal to the weight of the pulp plus some lemon juice.
• Then (and here's the bit I should've read before I started) "cook over low heat, stirring continuously for four hours".

Okay.

Cripes, lucky it was an overcast day in the school holidays.

Once the paste is so thick you can't move your spoon in it, spread it on a tray and dry it out in a very low oven (lowest setting or just pilot light) overnight. In the morning, slice it up.

Despite our shock at the 4 hour constant stirring it was fun for the kids and I to watch the Quinces change colour from honey yellow, through orange, watermelon pink and then to a deep Ruby red. To my surprise the paste turned out beautifully.

I would like to point out here that I am no gourmet cook. I cannot remember participating in any jam or preserve-making activities in my past.

I was so excited with the results I promptly wrapped them up and gave some away to my friends. That is the thing about making food - you might come over all neighbourly, and that's a good thing for all of us.

So, was it worth it? I wouldn't want to appear overly domestic but I loved creating deep ruby-red Quince Paste out of those bulbous yellow fruits and it was certainly an education for the kids to watch the fruit change colour. The quinces cost $8.20, the sugar $1.00 and the lemons $1.00. I was able to satisfy myself that all the ingredients were Australian and at 42cents per piece it cost a lot less than the $5 or more I would pay at the deli.

Mind you, four hours of stirring is not for everyone. But Quinces are only in season in Autumn so you only need put aside five hours a year. This is not the thing you cook after work with guests arriving for nibbles at 6pm. But if you do have some on hand it just might help your guests “...mightedly prevail against drunkenes”!