Memorial Day and Summer Picnics

Photographs by Elspeth Young

" Putting down her pail, Emily thinned out the too lavish lilies of the valley.  She raked the dead leaves, clipped the long grass, and dug a hole on each mound, into which she sank an empty jar.  Taking her pail, she went to a nearby pump for water.  She filled the jars and inserted the still dewy bouquets."  Emily of Deep Valley

There are few books that capture the essence of Decoration Day (now Memorial Day) as endearingly as Maud Hart Lovelace's Emily of Deep Valley, which commences and ends with the sweet small town celebrations of the holiday.  We loved creating the issue of the journal surrounding it, and also delight in returning to the book around Memorial Day to sense that same nostalgia, even while we work away at the upcoming issue of Charles Dickens' Our Mutual Friend.

But whether the festivities include a rainy day re-read of Emily, or a sunny picnic near the bandstand at the park, the following recipe for delectable "Barley Twists" breadsticks will make either tradition more memorable. The barley flour adds a satisfying richness that may make it a favorite, even without a holiday.  We offer up the recipe a bit early so there's time to make a batch, watch them disappear, and make another batch in time for the family picnic.

 Barley Twists  

by Nancy Young

1¼ cups warm water
2 ½ teaspoons dried yeast
1 teaspoon sugar (optional)
1 cup barley flour
1 cup whole wheat flour
1-1½ cups unbleached flour
½ cup olive or canola oil
2 teaspoons salt


Additional Olive Oil and Sea Salt

Place warm water in the bowl of a heavy duty mixer and stir in yeast and sugar, if using.  When yeast is proofed add the barley, whole wheat and 1 cup of the unbleached flour.  Using the paddle attachment, stir the flours in lightly and add the oil, salt and enough additional unbleached flour to make a soft dough.  Allow to rise until doubled—about an hour. 
Divide dough into 2-ounce sections and roll the dough into long strands about the width of a pencil.  Cut into two pieces to create long barley twists or four to make short ones. (Those shown, left, are of the long persuasion.)  Place two strands side by side and overlap repeatedly to create twists.  Place on parchment or silicone lined baking sheets about one inch apart, and preheat oven to 400 degrees.  Allow twists to rise until about doubled, about 20 to 30 minutes.  Brush with oil and sprinkle lightly with the sea salt.  Bake until lightly golden brown—about 15 to 20 minutes.  Cool on wire racks.  Recipe makes about 22 long twists or 44 short ones.

Happy May Day

While men cultivate flowers below, God cultivates flowers above; 

 He takes charge of the parterres in the heavens . . . 

  ~Henry David Thoreau

Our valiant and anonymous May Day phantom sent another luscious bouquet yesterday, and our sole means of thanks is to share their beauty with all of you.  A happy and flower-filled May (of both the garden and heavenly variety) to all you from all of us at The Storybook Home Journal!

Tying Up Loose Ends

The last while has left us a little frazzled and frayed at our too-busy fringes, and consequently blogging bereft, so we thought today to be an ideal time to smooth ourselves out, and tie up some needful loose ends.  First and foremost, we wanted to acknowledge these kind notes from subscribers from upstate New York, the East Midlands in England, America's Deep South and the upper Pacific Coast:  (Thanks so much, Flo, Rowena, Susana, and Mary Anne!)

"To all at The Studio, I just want to say I was talking to my best friend a few days ago and she had tried Nancy's recipe for "Wheaten Griddle Bread," and as soon as I could this afternoon, I made the recipe.  I have to say it is the best thing ever--what a  wonderful taste--thanks so much for doing such a great job.  I love Rachel Ray.  From a very happy customer, Flo Olden"

"I hadn't read Trollope for years, and Rachel Ray was new to me, but I'm enjoying it very much, and the Journal, as usual, is charming."  ~Rowena Edlin-White"

"Our family just finished a reading of Greyfriars Bobby during our school-day meeting time, and we were sad to be finished with it.  It gave our days a special, much-needed lift.  The children still call me Mither now, and how long, I wonder, will they refer to sonsie things? . . . I thirst for inspiration in my home endeavors at any time, but never as much as during seasonal changes . . . I remembered I should pull out some "Springy" back issues of your Storybook Home.  I have a nice pile on the kitchen sideboard now, spurring me on to finish my work today."  ~Susana Cleveland

"I just got your lovely new issue of Storybook Home today, and it's whimsical and beautiful.  Looking at The Garden, I just had to laugh because when we lived at Carton House--the big Irish estate--they had a ha-ha all around, instead of fencing, to keep the cows in the field.  One day we were walking our little Cavalier King Charles Spaniel--as she ran ahead, she didn't see the ha-ha, and so went flying through the air, and landed in a bunch of soft grass at the bottom--it was so funny. And that's my story of a ha-ha!"  ~Mary Anne Komar

Second, among the more fanciful sandwich shapes featured in the the Storybook Kitchen for the Mansfield Park issue of The Storybook Home Journal, we parked a more traditional one--a  less playful tray-full of roast-beef-on-whole-grain-bow-knot sandwiches (page 13).  Although most of you are probably dab-hands at the easy, yet elegant, bow knot, we wanted to provide some instructions for those who may not yet have been allowed to play sufficiently with their food.  Further, sometimes those dapper bow knots are relegated only to the dinner roll basket and aren't treated as rightful sandwich fare, so we also wanted to add a brief pointer on calculating weight of dough to match type of sandwich:

1 to 1.5-ounce bow knots are perfect for small, tea-tray type sandwiches of the two-to-three-bite persuasion, such as those shown in Mansfield Park.
2 to 3-ounce bow knots work well for light luncheons, soup and sandwich meals, and grade school lunchboxes.
4 to 6-ounce bow knots can make a meal, when filled bounteously with meat, cheese and/or veg--or make memorable hamburger buns, withstanding even the outdoor barbecue test (i.e.hot and drippy off the grill) without wilting.

If Elspeth's snappy sketches, right, don't work as sufficient  instruction--just tie a knot with a length of dough--but don't neglect to tie in the loose end!

(Yet one more loose end: we made these out of "Timothy Baker's Bread" featured in Summering in Sawrey with Beatrix Potter--it creates a wonderful sandwich texture and crust.)

Forgotten Films: "And Then There Were None" and "Green For Danger"

By Nancy Young
 When I was very young my sister always won when we played Clue.  She was invariably Miss Scarlett—pictured on our playing cards as a film-noir starlet—young, glamorous, and forever unattached.  According to the rules, she always started first.  I was always Mrs. Peacock—elderly, stern and indomitable—widowed because she probably killed her husband so she could spend his money on the queen-for-a-day tiara and blue earrings she wore.  I always started last.

Of course there were the other suspects—Professor Plum who looked like Einstein after some serious time at the barber’s; Mrs. White who looked like Bessie-the-Cook at our elementary school; Colonel Mustard who suggested Clark Gable with his ears flattened; and Mr. Green who managed an appearance both nondescript and guilty.  (On the rare occasions when we could get my older brothers to play, everyone shied away from being Mr. Green.)

It took a long time before I detected just how my sister always managed to solve the case in such short order.  She was eight-years-old and I was four.  She could read and I could not.  She graciously marked my cards for me.  Only two of us played.  You do the math.

I’m not sure, but I believe my keen interest in the mystery genre began then.  And while I appreciate why-dunits and how-dunits, I adore a good whodunit—one low on gore, but with an adequate stockpile of clues and an equivalent stash of suspects.
 
About the same time that Anthony Pratt was filing for a patent for his game Cluedo, (shortened to Clue when it arrived on our shores in the probably-all-too-accurate assumption that Americans wouldn’t grasp a pun based on Latin terminology) a game Pratt reputedly invented to literally kill time in WWII air raid shelters, two defining and campy whodunits were being produced: Rene Clair’s And Then There Were None (1945) and Sidney Gilliat’s Green For Danger (1946).

And Then There Were None, based on the Agatha Christie play and her novel, Ten Little Indians, is a whole lot like a game of Clue in that it takes place as part of a house-party, involves both guests and servants, has varied murder weapons and locations, and solutions to the mystery begin to emerge as one-by-one the suspects are eliminated.  Unlike Clue, however, these suspects are eliminated permanently with the modus operandi following the children’s rhyme and song, “Ten Little Indians.”  (Incidentally the tune to the song may beat in your brain for a day or two after watching.)

The film plays murder on the light side—a ploy that resonates through many subsequent whodunits—though a great deal of its cleverness derives from its canny casting.  Instead of ten of the biggest stars in Hollywood to headline the film, its crew is mostly made of the finest character actors of the day— a cast more-or-less composed of best supporting actors.  Louis Hayward and June Duprez technically fill the more traditional concept of leading roles, but are as lost at sea as the rest of the players—except, of course, for the always-two-jumps-ahead manipulating mastermind committing the murders, whose identity isn’t revealed until the very last moment.

And Then There Were None spends as much time poking the audience in the ribs as it does stabbing victims in the back, but there’s no doubt its mood includes the macabre —so little ones may want to grow a bit older before they join in the armchair detecting.

The same goes for Green For Danger, where there are enough moments of eerie suspense to earn it’s title as a thriller, and make it best for children who’ve made it beyond the scared-of-the-dark phase; but there’s also enough humor to make it a fine re-watch even after the mystery’s gone.  The comedy grows out of Alastair Sim having way too much fun with his interpretation of Christianna Brand’s staple Scotland Yard sleuth, Inspector Cockrill.

The story is told as one long flashback after Cockrill has solved the case and is writing his report concerning three deaths at Heron’s Park Emergency Hospital during the final, weary year of WWII.  The suspects are presented early—all doctors and nurses from one operating theater working tensely to save lives while doodlebug raids rain down upon them and the neighboring countryside.  There are loves that have been, loves that are, loves that will be, and loves that are triangular, not to mention, of course, murders, amongst a very fine cast of British actors—Trevor Howard and Leo Genn (who incidentally was in the 1965 remake of Ten Little Indians) being the stars that most American audiences will recognize—though Meg Jenkins' long career will always be memorable if only for her delicious voice quality.  But this is Alastair Sim’s show and he’s just plain fun to watch, and the movie left me, at least, wishing that there would have been more adaptations of Brand’s mystery novels for film with Sim in the lead.  Green For Danger is blatantly the prototype for the best of British television mysteries—taut and intelligent with a laugh to relax suspense at all the right moments.

I suggest you will enjoy these films in your family room with a bag of hot-buttered popcorn.  Can anyone prove me wrong?

When Life Hands You Sour Tangerines, Make This Cake

By Nancy Young

Photographs by Elspeth Young

John Frederick Peto

They were alluringly large and alluringly priced.  I didn’t resist.  Six pounds of sour, and never improving clemmies later, have me revisiting the Greyfriars’ Bobby issue for my marmalade recipe, and also making up this intensely flavorful concoction that wavers pleasingly between cake and confection, and lingers nicely on the tongue.  When early spring snow flies, it provides a quick trip to Provence, Florence, or Torrance.  It’s especially transporting teamed with the orange-mascarpone spread coming in the springtime Mansfield Park issue. 

Parchment line a 12-inch or equivalent cake pan
Preheat oven to 375 degrees

4 large eggs, room temperature
1/3 teaspoon salt
1¼ cups unrefined cane sugar
1 cup whole wheat flour
1 teaspoon baking powder, optional
1 cup ground almonds
¼ chopped almonds
Grated rind of 3 to 4 clementines or grated rind of 2 large oranges
Juice of 1 to 2 clementines or 1 orange
½ cup toasted walnut oil or olive oil or ¼ cup of each

1/3 cup of dark chocolate coarsely chopped or dark chocolate chips
2 teaspoons walnut or olive oil

Place the eggs in the bowl of a heavy-duty mixer, and with the whisk attachment beat the eggs for one minute, add the salt and beat for another 3 to 4 minutes.  Gradually beat in the sugar.  At this point the eggs will gain a sense of their own importance and begin to thicken and lighten impressively—do nothing to discourage it (the realities of life will take care of it soon enough.)  Stir the baking powder into the flour, if using, and set aside.  (I’ve never been really sure why setting something aside needs its own directive, but...)  When the eggs are very thick and light—about another 4 to 5 minutes, switch to the paddle attachment and gently add the flour, stirring for about 2 seconds until just incorporated.  All the remaining ingredients will be folded in by hand, but since you’ve already dirtied the paddle—just use that for folding—and gently add the almonds, citrus juice and peel, and oil.
Pour the batter into the pan and bake for about 35 minutes.  Cool on a wire rack.  Meanwhile, melt the chocolate in the microwave or double boiler, stirring in the oil at the end.  When cake is cooled drizzle with the chocolate (or better yet, have Elspeth do it), and allow it to set before cutting.  Serves 12.  Maybe.

The Veranda: Spectacular Speculaas

"If you would live a beautiful life have a beautiful farm," though not a precise quote from the Shakers, is certainly a concept they would have empathized with.  It is just as certainly a description of the world Carol Cordiale shares with her husband in their country acreage in historic upstate New York--as Carol describes it, situated "on a rise nestled between two hills with a brook flowing from East to West."   Together they have long cultivated an herb and cottage flower garden, raised sheep and goats, and even opened a little wool shop where, for a few years, Carol could sell the yarns she spun from the wool she gathered from her Nubian and Angora goats, and her llama, "Tommy-Hawk."

Painting Copyright by Elspeth Young

Shortly after receiving her copy of Heidi's Christmas (featuring Nancy's recipe for Anisbrötli made in some of our traditional Swiss cookie molds pictured above), Carol--an ardent cook, herself--sent us these wonderful images, below, of gingerbreads created from her family's spectacular speculaas-board collection. 

Though we didn't get to share them at Christmastime, we thought we'd show off Carol's beautiful handiwork as Easter approaches, since a captivating chicken like the one below would make as charming a centerpiece for an Easter buffet as it would have at a Christmas Day dinner or a New Year's Day brunch.

To read more about Carol, see p. 21 in our 2004 Spring issue inspired by Sarah Orne Jewett's The Country of the Pointed Firs.

Copyright by Carol Cordiale

Copyright by Carol Cordiale

 

 

Many Apologies for a Somewhat Distressing Emergency

It has just been brought to our attention that our manufacturer inadvertently printed a proof copy of our Winter issue of The Storybook Home, instead of the completed, camera-ready version.  We wish we could say that, as with stamps where the image is printed upside-down, that it will increase the value of the artifact in years to come and that you can put your great-grandchildren through Harvard on the proceeds; all we can say, however, is that we will ship all subscribers the correct copy of Rachel Ray within the week.  We appreciate your patience in this matter, and wish to thank those of you who brought this mistake to our attention.

The painting, above, by Auguste Tolmouche, expresses our feelings at this time.

Our Winter Issue

Our Winter issue featuring Anthony Trollope's endearing Victorian-Valentine-of-a-Romance, Rachel Ray, is on its way, speeding to subscribers' mailboxes.  It features every "batter-cake"--from barley to buckwheat--the eccentricities and chic of an 1860s ballroom, how to be "clever in little comforts" like dear Rachel, herself, a new sheet music arrangement in honor of Trollope's heroine, a discussion of literature and home life, and much, much more.  (Available for $5, plus shipping.)