What I need is a woman (sorry to be sexist, but there are
certain areas in which tradition counts) who is preferably aged between 35 and
55, a little on the corpulent side so as to look correct in an apron, possessed
of her own teeth to obviate the possibility that she might have been handling
dentures, speaks with a warm and homely West Country accent, and is prepared to
call me ‘sir.’ The latter requirement is so that I can instruct her: ‘Please,
Mrs Miggins, there’s no need for such formality. Please do address me as Mr
JJ.’ And then she can say ‘Very well, sir, if you say so. You’re a very fine
and kind gentleman, if you’ll pardon my being so bold, and it is a pleasure to
be in your employ.’ And then all will be right with the world and the
grandfather clock in the corner will chime its approbation with greater gusto
than usual.
As for the repertoire of puddings for which her culinary
skill is famed in local parts, it must include jam roly-poly (steamed, not
baked, and brought to the table in a cotton sleeve so as to smell of washday
only a bit different), oven-baked milk puddings with bits of yellow stuff
floating on the top which is probably butter (I’m working from childhood memory
here), spotted dick with lots of currants so I can make rude jokes about it
when I think nobody is listening (as I did at school once when I was about 8
and got sent to the head for punishment), fruit pies with shortcrust pastry so
short that you don’t have to chew it because it melts first, proper trifles
with lots of fresh cream and stiff custard and just the right amount of
distilled liquor added to the breadcrumbs (not sponge because sponge tends to
set off my occasional gluten intolerance), cheese scones made with strong
Cheddar cheese, and baked Alaska because I’ve never had it and always wanted
to.
(And if she can make Australian apple pie, so much the
better. One of my partners made an Australian apple pie once and I remember
liking it very much. I don’t remember why I liked it very much, but I do
remember that it was nicer than ordinary apple pie.)
And I forgot to mention
that she must be able to make excellent custard that is thick, creamy, and has
a colour approximating to the yellow of a buttercup or maybe just a little
darker. Oh, and she must be prepared to do the washing up afterwards.
That will do for now. Maybe I’d better start scouting around
for a second-hand grandfather clock.
No comments:
Post a Comment