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”!

Time for a cuppa?

It is used excessively throughout Australasia—for has it not been shown that our four million people use more of this beverage than the millions who inhabit Continental Europe, if Russia be excepted? This fact is much to be deplored, for when taken in excess it causes severe functional derangement of the digestive organs, and prejudicially affects the nervous system. The gentler sex are greatly given to extravagant tea-drinking, exceeding all bounds of moderation in this respect.

Muskett, Philip The Art of Living in Australia, 1893 CHAPTER VI. DIET

By the 1890s, Australians were consuming around 8lbs (3.6kg) of tea per person annually, which was a good fifty percent more than the British and five times as much as the Americans. These were statistics which worried medical practitioner and health reformer, Philip E. Muskett.

He called for a more restrained approach to the drinking of tea. Nowadays we consume around a quarter of the 1890s amount, and it seems every magazine I pick up heralds the anti-oxidant health benefits of tea drinking, particularly the drinking of green tea.

Of particular concern to Muskett was women’s timing of their cups of tea.

“Their favourite time for a chat and the consumption of tea is at any period between ten o’clock in the morning and three in the afternoon. Now, if there is anything of which I am certain, it is that tea in the middle of the day, say from ten o’clock to three, is a deadly destructive fluid.”

I’ve often had a cuppa in the middle of the day, with nary a thought about the deadly destructiveness of my habit. Perhaps it is something about the way the tea was made back then? There is a big difference between a cup of tea made with a quick dangle of a teabag in some hot water, and a pot of tea made with precision in the age-old tradition.

I consulted Mrs Beeton’s Book of Household Management (1861) to ensure I was making tea in the same way as those extravagant tea-drinking women who attracted Mr Muskett’s disapproval. The italicised instructions under each photo are Mrs Beeton’s.

Warm the teapot with boiling water; let it remain for two or three minutes for the vessel to become thoroughly hot, then pour it away.

The old-fashioned plan of allowing a teaspoonful to each person, and one over, is still practised.

The tea will be quite spoiled unless made with water that is actually ‘boiling’, as the leaves will not open, and the flavour not be extracted from them; the beverage will consequently be colourless and tasteless,—in fact, nothing but tepid water. Pour in from 1/2 to 3/4 pint of boiling water, close the lid, and let it stand for the tea to draw from 5 to 10 minutes; then fill up the pot with water.

The end result? A lovely strong cup of tea. I added the milk after I poured the tea into my cup. I know it is an issue of some contention, but Mrs Beeton didn’t have anything to say about that matter.

I consumed my cup over a chat in the middle of the day. So far I haven’t noticed any ill-effects, but I shall report back if I do.

How do you like to make your tea?