Pretty dreary

Today seems to be one of those days when everything is sort of sticky and slow right from the beginning.  One of those days when you know that no matter hard you try - and in truth you don't try very hard - everything's going to conspire against you having a productive day. 

The weather is grey and uninspiring. The computer is slow. Just when you get in the right mood for some work (writing a thesis in my case), someone calls you, and BAM, the thread of your thoughts is tangled again. In the supermarket everyone moves just as slowly and aimlessly as you do, not looking anyone in the eye, blocking the aisles with their slow trolleys. You pick the slowest queue in the whole darn shop - possibly in the whole universe - and wish you had the presence of mind to open the bag of sweets you're buying, before you've paid for it. 

On most days, if things start piling upon me like this, I just get pointlessly angry. Today, as befits a slow and sticky day, I've just been drifting around in a half-awake haze, hoping that the aforementioned bag of sweets might brighten things up a bit. 

And it has. The best part of the day is already hopelessly wasted, but at least now I'm fully awake.  The other thing which contributed to my newfound alertness was this startling piece of poetry: 

Right on.

Treasure

As is my habit, I spent last weekend in Helsinki, watching films and catching up with friends I see far too seldom. What made this year's gathering a bit different, however, was that the person responsible for it all was getting married on that same weekend. Thus there were only two films (but what films!), and considerably more voluntary work involved - which suited me just fine, as over the years I've been getting quite good at handling ridiculous amounts of food, fetching and carrying, and just generally trying to guarantee a pleasant time for all. 

During my career as a party organiser/cook/fetchercarrier/Ms Fixit, I've come to the conclusion that the trite sentiment of "giving is better than receiving" works pretty well in practice, too. Even better than giving things, however, is giving time: helping out with things that require more than one pair of hands and more than five minutes of your day - doing instead of buying, being there when someone really needs you, and not just in a mental sense. Even for such a non-sociable person as myself, building up a party from scratch can be great fun if you're working with like-minded people and know that in the end, you'll be enjoying the fruits of your labours with those very same people.

Don't get me wrong: giving and receiving things is also very nice, too. Especially when that thing happens to be handmade Belgian pralines, delivered straight to my door. That's what, dear reader, I got for my trouble this time.

The moral of the story: help thy friends, and thou shalt receive chocolate.

This is just to say...

  I have eaten
the plums
that were in
the icebox

and which
you were probably
saving
for breakfast

Forgive me
they were delicious
so sweet
and so cold 

                          (William Carlos Williams) 


...and that the Austen/Napoleon party went brilliantly.

... that it's still sweltering hot, and I'm still enjoying it.

... and also that I have a new groovy tablecloth. 


That is all.

Another party, another pie

A week from now, another SHS party will (hopefully) be in full swing. So far, the preparations have gone without a hitch: our dresses are coming along nicely (thanks to Juska's unflagging effort), most people who've promised to come are probably going to turn up, and most importantly, the menu is looking good. At least for the most part.

The one thing that has been causing me some brief moments of anxiety is the vegetarian option. As far as I know, all of our guests are meat-eaters, but it's always best to be prepared; also, an extra dish never goes amiss especially as the party's going to be an all-night one. 

Following the tradition established last year, we (Otter and I) decided that some kind of vegetable pie will do this job nicely. The Renaissance version was delicious; in fact, I'm so fond of the cheese-and-onion tart that I make it on a regular basis. Thus I was confident that the Regency era would yield something equally tasty. But I was wrong. Most of the pies I've come across are either very simple (and thus not very festive) carrot-leek-parsnip-cabbage affairs - or else they have bacon in them. The time of Jane Austen doesn't appear to be very  vegetarian-friendly. Another explanation for the dearth of suitable recipes is that there are tons of websites dedicated to Middle Ages/Renaissace cooking, and a lot fewer specialising in the short and apparently rather uninteresting era between the French Revolution and the Victorians.

Luckily, with a lot of googling, I finally came across a recipe that's both authentic and pork-free.  Actually, the version I made is a combination of two different tarts, which have the same basic idea: cheese, eggs, spices + something green. I chose a mixture of nettles and herbs, which works quite well, but I'm not yet completely satisfied with the result. At least straight from the oven the taste is rather bitter (despite the sugar), and now I'm trying to figure out how to sweeten it. Adding raisins would be an option, but as there are currants and sultanas in the desserts, I think there is a possibility of dried grape overload. Perhaps a different type of cheese would solve the problem.

Well, I'm going north for the next few days, which both gives me the opportunity to get away from this mind-paralysing heat, and also to pick my mother's brain regarding the pie dilemma. I'm sure she'll have some constructive ideas.  

In addition to puzzling out the party menu, today I've also tried to figure out how to do my hair. The basic idea has been quite clear to me for several months, and I've tried different approahces, but finally I've hit on the perfect solution. The curly Greek do has the advantage that although it takes almost an hour to get the pin curls done (and a whole night to let them to their job), the bun itself is ridiculously simple to construct, and with the right amount of hair spray (which I'm sure Miss Austen would have heartily approved of) stays in place for hours and hours.

The picture makes the do look duller than it is IRL (I'm rubbish at taking pictures of myself, and my camera certainly doesn't make the job any easier), but at least I've managed to hold a suitably haughty stance. Which will come in useful when I'm dressed in my purple coronation gown. No Lizzie Bennet bonnets for me - when I do costume drama, I go straight for the royalty. ;)

We are the Draught Beer Preservation Society

People often wonder why I'm so drawn to England. Many times, huddled under a heap of blankets, drinking endless cups of tea in a futile effort to keep warm, I've wondered that myself. Surely there are countries that are more sunny, exotic, and affordable? Of course there are. But there's something about the eclectic charm of the Old Green and Pleasant that keeps me coming back again and again. 

Here are some of the reasons, in no particular order, as prompted by my latest trip: 

* History. For someone hailing from a relatively young country, the sheer amount of old things - both weird and wonderful - is mindboggling. 

* Pubs. The Finnish drinking culture is as sordid as our climate. The Brits, on the other hand, have turned their climate to their benefit, and come up with communal living rooms which tend to be warmer and comfier than their actual living rooms. And of course the beers are varied and tasty and cheap (from the Finnish perspective, at least). 

* Fudge. Although the English sweet culture isn't as vibrant as the Finnish one, there are some things we haven't quite got the hang of yet. One is the gentle art of fudge-making. The best hand-made fudge I've ever had I came across in Arundel, but the one made by the monks of Buckfast Abbey was very delicious as well.

* Creativity. And the encouragement thereof. There's a lot of street art in Britain that would never survive in our northern climes - partly because it wouldn't be permitted in the first place, and partly because it would be destroyed by spraycan-happy teens as soon as it was created. The amazing murals of Stokes Croft in Bristol is only one example of this (for some great examples of what we saw, go here).

* English Breakfast, in moderation. This isn't suitable for vegetarians, obviously, nor a good option for those with high cholesterol, but for a financially challenged backpacker who's bent on walking 10 km a day the bacon-eggs-sausage-and-tomato option is a brilliant one. And, if it's complemented by fresh fruit, Greek yoghurt and muesli, along with some toast and tasty homemade jam (as it was in one of the B&Bs we stayed at), your bowels needn't complain, either.

The title of this post comes from this song by the Kinks. I first heard it when I was 17 or thereabouts, and already in the throes of anglophilia. Needless to say, the song only helped to reinforce my image of the England that Never Was.

Confessions of a Rosewater Eater

Rosewater is not a staple spice in traditional (or even in the contemporary, more cross-culinary) Finnish cooking; therefore it took me a long while to realise it had such a wide range of uses. In this country, liquids that smell of rose are usually reserved for cosmetic purposes, which is a shame. 

As I happen to have a bottle of rosewater in my fridge, I've been looking for new foods to put it in. Yesterday I came across a mention of medieval rosewater wafers, which were enjoyed at most festive occasions. Because of the wonders of the internet, I was able to find a recipe (here) and with some alterations, came up with the beauties pictured above. The main difference was that I didn't use a wafer iron, but a frying pan  - just like when making contemporary pancakes. 

My love affair with rose water officially began about a year ago, when Otter and I got the wonderful idea of trying out milk jelly according to an authentic Tudor recipe (as documented here).  Although the gentle aroma of the slippery cubes didn't appeal to everyone, at least they were unlike anything we'd ever  tasted before. Thus they were served as "second dessert" at our Renaissance party, along with lovely fruit and some anachronistic coffee, and if not universally adored, at least got sampled by all of our  brave guests.

(The photo above courtesy of this guy who unfortunately isn't a fan of the white wobbly stuff.)

The preparations for next summer's period frock party have already begun, and one manifestation thereof can be seen above. Those are  Rout Drop Cakes, the recipe for which I found in The Jane Austen Cookbook (by Maggie Black and Deirdre le Faye). Otter and I tried them out over the Easter holidays - and they were delicious, simply melting in the mouth. There's plenty of rosewater in them, but also some brandy, orange juice, currants and lots of sugar. 

It says in the book that these little cakes "are pleasant with a glass of wine or a cup of coffee." Having tried them with both, I can assure that they are indeed.

Hausfrau-in-Residence

Now and then I'm seized by an urge to do housewifely things  (such as cleaning the windows or mending a sock): a dangerous  occurrence altogether, which usually passes as quickly as it arrived.  Yesterday another such bout came upon me, and I decided to make full use of it. Firstly, I baked a delicious cake (as seen above); then I  hauled my Afghan rug out for a good airing (in which task I was assisted by my landlord's dog, who wanted to give the rug a good shake); and if all this housewifery hadn't been enough, I spent an hour or so wrapping the first Xmas present I'd bought (the results of this endeavour, I guess, cannot be aired in public before the recipient has actually seen them first).

A few years back I picked up an intriguing book at a local fleamarket. It's called Joka naisen niksikirja from 1952. As far as I know, these housewives' manuals have been published since time immemorial, and the Niksikirja something of a institution in Finland (don't know whether any of these editions are still in print). The copy I've got came with extra household tips (cut out from magazines and glued to the covers and empty pages by the previous owner) - and even a letter (remember those?) written in the spring of 1971 by someone called Sylvi. To my disappointment, it doesn't deal with scandal or even the tiniest bit of gossip, but mainly details the various health problems of its writer and her husband.

What fascinates me about this book is (in addition to its dated beauty tips) its emphasis on recycling. Nothing is wasted, be it old socks or leather gloves (the first, among other things, can be used to line a jacket, the latter to make a handy (heh) neckwarmer for winter). Sour milk is still good for cookies, and dried apple peels make refreshing tea.

Nowadays it's harder to make new things from old things. What to do with a burned-up hard drive? How to give a memory stick a new life? Pantyhose, of course, are an inexhaustible source of recycling fun, but surely other clothing items could be recycled as well? I try to mend whatever clothes I can (with my limited skill), but it's just so much easier to throw the old garment away, and buy a new one.

To get you, random reader, into the right spirit of good housekeeping and rejoiceful recycling, here are some miscellaneous vintage tips, gleaned from the treasure trove that is Niksikirja.

• A cup of strong, good coffee makes mutton juicy, and shortens the cooking-time considerably.  I might try this next time I'm cooking mutton.
  
• Velvet can be washed in potato water (1 kg shredded potatoes, 5 litres water).  I'm not sure I'd try this, but sounds intriguing. I wonder who came up with this idea?
• Wet shoes should never be dried with their soles against the floor, but on their sides. Also, filling the shoes with hay or oats dries them quickly.  Sounds like a great idea, but where can I get some oats every time I need to dry a shoe?
• A glass of honey-and-water is wondrously invigorating! Oh, I agree. 
• If you have trouble falling asleep, try eating something. Lingonberries, for example, are very effective against insomnia. What? 
• If you don't have time to wash your hair, you can brush some rye flour into your scalp. Yes, but how do I get it out of my scalp? 
• Walking a sheep on a leash is difficult, but if you rinse its eyes with water, it follows you willingly even for a long distance. Now where can I get a sheep to try this out on?! And what else would you rinse someone's eyes with but water...?
  

Context, Cows and the Capital

I spent the weekend in Helsinki, celebrating Fidia's birthday in the usual manner  (but with fewer films this time) and also doing some work on our webpage with Otter and T. Thus in three days I indulged in catching up with a dozen of friends, eating in a rather fancy restaurant, making and helping to destroy a truly sinful chocolate cake, watching some great films, and - as always with Otter and T, planning a glorious future for SHS.

On Sunday I got treated to a side of Helsinki I rarely encounter - and one I enjoy greatly. As the pictures above show, there is more to our capital than concrete and traffic jams and grumpy people; indeed, it also seems to include cows and fields and friendly dog-owners. If I saw that side of the city more often, I might even get to tentatively like the darn place.

Today's been a cloudy day - both internally and weather-wise. I like the bleakness of October when it coincides so wonderfully with my mental state - which is similarly worn-out but at the same time serene and strangely expectant.

What I'm expecting, of course, is a satisfactory ending to my nearly year-long travail with my Licentiate, which should take place tomorrow. And even more than that I'm looking forward to the big chocolate cake I've been promised. :)

Contributing to my bitter-sweet mood has been Aimee Mann, whose soundscapes are perfect for this season. I love her matter-of-fact delivery and inventive lyrics, especially as they are set to devastatingly gorgeous music. Like so:

Later That Same Wednesday...

Well I'll be damned. After having complained for ages about the non-existent progress of my Licentiate, it seems I'm soon being robbed of this particular joy. This morning I got a call from our professor, who had finally got things moving at the department, and arranged the defence for 13th of October.

And he said there'd be cake.

This is of course great news, and also means that I'll have to stop all this complaining, and actually get some work done towards the PhD in the near future. But I'm in no particular hurry to get my silly hat and sword just yet. In the meanwhile, I'll concentrate on teaching (I'm planning of smuggling some Beatles into the first literature lecture) - and all those lovely extracurricular things.

Speaking of which, lately I've been watching loads of classic Brit comedy on Youtube (seriously - what did people DO before Youtube?) - and for some reason I always end up watching Blackadder, or something by Fry and Laurie (with or without Rowan Atkinson). I'm planning of doing a separate post on either (or both) of these in the future, but here's a little something I discovered the other day browsing around. This clip features Emma Thompson and Stephen Fry doing what they do best (i.e. saying absurd things in impossible upper-class accents): 

Ebsolutely fentestic!

I've said it before, and I'll say it again: Brits do know how to make first-class costume drama. And comedy. And comic costume drama. And Emma Thompson and Stephen Fry are gorgeous.

Perhaps I should include this in my lecture as well...?

Here's one I made earlier

Autumn's great. Nights are dark, days are bright and colourful - or rainy and drab, which gives you the perfect excuse to stay in and bake. The raspberry pie above is a favourite of mine (I normally use lingonberries or blueberries) as its very quick and easy to make, and absolutely delicious.

This is also the perfect time for listening melancholy music (although I have to admit that I indluge in it regularly, regardless of season). I'm about to clean my mp3-player - chuck out most of the happy, summery songs (Lovin' Spoonful, The Best of Bollywood, Steely Dan etc.) and replace them with stuff like this:

The Gentle Art of Renaissance Cooking

For some reason, in the last few days preparations for the Renaissance party have motivated me much more than academic accomplishments. So here's what I did today instead of grading home exams or finishing an essay: I baked a Renaissance-style cheese and onion pie. In case you're interested, you can find the recipe here (be warned: that is not a Weight Watchers page you're entering).

I was expecting the tart to be tasty (after all, what's not to like: fatty cheese, onions, sultanas, parsley, sugar and spices), but still the result surprised me positively. It's not too sweet, although the added sugar and sultanas make your brain do funny things, not knowing whether this is a sweet or savoury dish. Also next time I'll double the amount of ginger.

But yep, this one's definitely on the party menu.

Another example of my skewered priorities is that when I couldn't sleep last night, I got up to trim my French hood (now there's a double entendre if I ever produced one). Never in my life have I considered sitting up until 11 pm sowing beads on a piece of headwear. Strange days indeed.

The SHS is also spreading its sinister influence, one person at a time.; at least I've already managed to involve some totally innocent people in this Renaissance lark. Last week I persuaded my mum to help me with the making of two bumrolls (ours are blue, by the way). Mum's a good sport, and she complied with surprisingly little resistance (I think she was curious to know what exactly I had in mind). However, in order to make a decent bumroll, you need quite a lot of stuffing. Having exhausted our supply of old pantyhose and other miscellaneous hosiery, we turned to my mum's best friend for help. Thankfully, she's one of those people who never throws anything away, and soon furnished us with about fifty pairs of old pantyhose. (Seriously, people! Let this be a warning to you all...). But now Otter and I can cut a nearly authentic figure in our Renaissance frocks, although I don't think even Queen Elizabeth has as cool bumrolls as we do. At least hers weren't stuffed with support stockings...

Frock fetishes and wobbly milk cubes

This Renaissance party thing is starting to get out of hand. I spent a weekend in Hämeenlinna with Otter and T, and in addition to visiting the local theatre to look at available dresses and tunics (for those who aren’t willing to spent their month’s salary on period clothes), cooking some ‘authentic’ renaissance milk jelly, planning a web page for our very own Stereotypical History Society and just generally planning stuff to do with the party, Otter and I also spent ridiculous amounts of money on ‘authentic’ Renaissance dresses and jewellery.

At least you can’t blame us for feeding the economic depression.

I don’t know what it is about period dress that fascinates so many women, myself included. It may be the fact that in this day and age, dressing up in fabulously ‘feminine’ but completely impractical clothes is not an option for many of us; a heavy full-length skirt and a tight corset may look fabulous on you, but imagine going through your day unable to go to the toilet. Occasions like our little Renaissance party give us a taste of what it was like to wear ridiculous clothes - and then go back to wearing jeans and T-shirts for the rest of the year.

Another reason I can think of off the top of my head for this frock fetish is that I don’t expect to get married - and thus am not entitled to a day of meringue fabulousness, surrounded by fussing friends and members of my family. Thus I have to make up my own fun - which in fact should be even more fun than a wedding, since as a member of the Stereotypical History Society, I can indulge in my period dress fetish every year; furthermore I don’t get riddled with a husband and five toasters.

In case you’re interested, the 16^th century milk jelly cubes turned out pretty well. Their taste can be best described as ‘interesting’ - but that’s only inevitable since these wobbly cubes are made up of boiled milk, sugar, gelatine and rosewater. They taste faintly of milk and rose, and then sort of disappear in your mouth. And, because they are such a strange and unexpected dessert, Otter and I decided they’d make a perfect snack accompanied by fruit and wine.

I’m pretty excited about my dress, by the way; however, because I ordered it via the Intertubes, there are many things that can go wrong with it. Therefore I’m not saying anything more about it at this point. After the Renaissance party there’ll be pictures.

In addition to the dresses, food, websites and general planning, I’ve also promised to contribute to the cultural content of the party. So far, I’ve listened to some Renaissance music (I particularly like John Dowland’s lute songs), looked at some Renaissance dancing on Youtube, and read a depressing book about Renaissance women (apparently they were nowhere near as versatile as Renaissance men - most likely because Renaissance men didn’t want any competition). I’ve also dug out my tarot cards and am trying to relearn the basics so that when I’m in a merry mood after a few goblets of wine, I can tell people their approximate fortunes.

Still, there’s a lot of stuff that needs organising. We don’t know how many people are going to turn up, what the venue is really like - and most importantly, how we’re going to get there. Luckily we’ve started our planning in time; many things can change between now and late June.