Carole McCall Author and Coach

THEY HAVE RIFLED MY KNICKER DRAWER

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Every rascal is not a thief, but every thief is a rascal. Aristotle
…….Life moved on and each weekend we played the same game of jumping in the car on Saturday lunchtime to go back to the country and then drive back, at the crack of dawn, on a Monday to town.
One summer’s morning we all piled into the car at five am in Suffolk and then out of the car in Surrey at seven am to get ready to go our separate ways for the day. That particular day was a lovely sunny one and we had had a very pleasant journey that morning with everyone sharing their news.
Our rented house was large and double fronted and the dining room was the first window you could see in as you walked down the drive. Theo was standing leaning on the wall as I passed him. “My computer has gone,” he said nodding towards the window and I let out a squeak of alarm.
Of course the front door was locked from the inside and we had to go round the back to see what had happened. The back door had been left wide open by the burglars.
Everything that belonged to us was gone. I looked round in alarm and began to shake.
Grant said “I will get you a drink”. He came back a moment later, “They have taken the booze”.
Theo said “They have taken my leather jacket and the Tag Heuer watch you bought me for my birthday”.
Miranda said “All my jewellery had gone”.
We stood looking at each other. I went upstairs and realised all my underwear was thrown all over the bedroom.
When Grant came in I cried “They have rifled my knicker drawer.”
He laughed and said “It could have been worse.”
“How? ” I screeched.
“You could have still been in them!” was his amused reply.

Yellow birds of Curaçao.

THE BAKING PARAPHANALIA
Find something you’re passionate about and keep tremendously interested in it. Julia Child.
In fact I had all my mother’s baking paraphernalia as nobody else wanted any of it. Mother possessed jelly moulds, china baking beans, cake tins, copper pate moulds, biscuit cutters, spoons, baking weights and many more things I found at the back of the cupboard and I could only guess what they were originally meant to accomplish. There is still a roll of stiff, crackled grease proof paper from the year 1962 in my baking cupboard. I also have a jar of ancient dried butter beans that I remember my mother using when I was a child to stop the pastry crust for the delicate egg custard rising.
Of all my mother’s baked delicacies, egg custard was the family favourite. With its gently wobbling top and vanilla scented, creamy interior it tasted like the food of the gods.
I also had all her cookery books and elegant hand written recipes. I could only look at her cooking missives occasionally though as her beautiful, neat handwriting broke my heart, in a way that her photograph or a recording of her mellifluous voice never could.
Mother was a fan of popular cooks of the day Marguerite Patton and later Mary Berry. She found both their styles very plain and no nonsense, which she admired enormously. She found Fanny Craddock far too showy and would turn off the television with a “Tut” if she appeared.
Mother had wonderful hands for short crust and puff pastry; always cool with elegant, long, fluttering fingers.
However I had perfect hands for bread making, capable and wide with strong fingers and with a capacity to keep going at all cost.
This made me a perfect candidate for choux pastry and that was the secret of my baking success.
I had always bought puff pastry, as I heartily agreed with Grandmother Alexandra about all that faffing about being a waste of time.. I could produce very passable short crust pastry with the judicious use of very cold water and a special flat knife to mix it all together. Then I always ran my hands under the cold water tap before I commenced the very fast and feather light pressure task of the rolling out procedure.
My skill with choux pastry involved boiling water, butter and a little sugar and salt together, then flinging flour at the resultant liquid very fast and always in one go. Then quickly one has to set about beating it with a large wooden spoon until the ball leaves the sides of the pan.
Whilst I waited for it to cool I mixed together six egg yolks and then added them slowly one by one.
This is where I excelled as I could keep beating ferociously until suddenly the yellowy, glossy gloop became a thing of shining intensity. A very hot oven would complete the magic show.
Choux pastry is a phenomenon of chemistry that means mere mortals can transform every day ingredients such as eggs, flour and butter into ambrosia. These were turned into exquisite tiny chocolate éclairs, huge cream coffee puffs, Religieuse, Paris Brest and the thing my children loved the most when they were small, delicate, perfectly shaped swans.