Well, it was a mostly successful weekend away - took Little Miss to visit her more distant grandparents in Devonport (North West Tasmania) and absorbed ourselves in a serious contemplation of the ferocious and terrible wonder that is the Deloraine Craft Festival.
Man, that place is scary. I really don’t think we’re ready for it yet…
But that’s probably subject matter for another blog. Relevant to this one are two tidbits from the weekend: one is that Raeli ate NO VEGETABLE SUBSTANCES AT ALL that were not a) potato and b) deep fried. Well, the chips at the aforementioned restaurant were probably shallow fried because they were a funny colour. But still…
She also threw up on the drive home, which is unfortunate because it marks the second time she has done this on a long drive in the last month. Two is coincidence, not actual evidence of a dodgy car stomach… but, oh. I forsee much trouble ahead.
That wasn’t a tidbit, just a momentary bout of paranoia.
The highlight of the weekend was a couple of hours in which the Man and I abandoned our sleeping child with a vigilant Nanna and Teddy Dog i order to wander aimlessly through Latrobe, a town that proudly sports almost as many antique shops as cafes. It’s the closest town to the in-laws’ farm, and I’m getting rather attached to Latrobe. We had a coffee without having to share any froth with the child (what luxury!), visited a slightly lopsided little market and a mildly terrifying school fair (trying not to be snobby urbanites, honest).
But then I got to play in Reliquaire, which is one of my favourite places ever - a wonderland of doll art, weird mock-Victoriana, deco & nostalgia reburbishing props, Venetian masks, luxury gift items and other ephemera (whole rooms of science stuff which I ignore but makes the Man happy, and an entire room of fairy dresses! Was so tempted to buy the girl wings for her wedding semi-floweer-girl debut…). I was simultaneously bewildered and inspired, as usual.
I bought something, at least - what looked to be a very nicely designed POD anthology of Mrs Beeton recipes. It was cheap, and I vacillated between the cakes one and the everyday cooking one, before deciding the cake one would be more practical (no, really) and toddled off happily with my purchase.
Having examined the book thoroughly, however, I have come to some conclusions.
a) While undoubtedly based mostly on actual Mrs Beeton recipes, the contents of this book has been extremely modernised and simplified.
b) This appears to have been done in a very skillful manner, and I have no problems with it - indeed, I would quite happily attempt at least 75% of the excellent-looking recipes inside. Having tried a few to gauge the excellency of the book, however.
c) I have no idea who has performed the marvel that is this book. There is no foreword, no context , no explanation as to the reasoning behind this book, no context, no discussion on the process of modernising the recipes - and no author name!
I can only guess that this is in fact a bootleg Mrs Beeton book. It still looks unconscionable brilliant, though, so I am going to use it to my heart’s content - as long as the recipes prove sound.
Oh, and d) I can just about imagine Mrs Beeton being canny and well-read enough to produce brioche and other frenchy foods, but bagels? Really? I’m tempted to now to get a more substantial Mrs B compendium out of the library to see just how authentic the recipes in this book are…
But in the mean time, hold on to your hats as I experiement with gateaux, Eccles Cakes and other exotic English delights. Vegetables? What vegetables?