Bette Davis' Marmalade

Bette looks how I feel. Mildly pissed off that her marmalade yet again hasn't set. I am beginning to come to the conclusion that it must be the ratio of fruit to sugar that's to blame rather than my technique. I'm going to have to do some research on preserves. It was nice to have Paulette's lovely big copper preserving pan in to make it but I do feel like I have wasted the whole day standing over a pan of bubbling sugary fruit...

Alongside wasting time doing that I have YET AGAIN been wasting my time waiting for the phone to ring. Spoke to Mr Mayfair on Thursday and agreed to meet this evening. 5pm and still no call. Has he forgotten? Or is this just his style? Well whatever (as the teenagers say), I'm going to go for a swim, watch a movie and blow a raspberry in his general direction. He'd better not come up with some cock and bull story...

I am getting some comfort from the fact that a newly purchased moth box seems to be doing its work. I can see three moths from where I am sitting and they are all in the general vicinity of the moth motel. I predict that when I get back from my swim there will be three less of the critters to worry about. In general I like animals but the moth is the enemy of the knitter and my wardrobe is full of beautiful hand-knits so death to the moth!

Update - it is now 22.15pm and no phone call - should I consider that being stood up?!

Silver Screen Sunday - Now Voyager

"...don't let's ask for the moon. We have the stars."

It's a good point Bette, we just CAN'T have it all... As someone once said, you can't expect to have a great job, a great relationship and a great place to live all at the same time. You can only have maximum two at once. Might have been Rosalind actually.

This is THE hat Veronica came over to see. We had a lovely Now Voyager brunch with Finnan Haddie a la Davis and some Bonita Granville Gingerbread followed by the film. A lovely springtime lunch party. There was much discussion before and after the film about whether Veronica should take the plunge and co-habit once more with her ex-husband. An interesting conundrum and more complicated than it sounds. I'm glad I don't have that to worry about at the moment.

I was very glad I got up the gumption to go to the Rock and Roll night last night. Reminded me how at home I am with the rockabilly types, even if none of them will speak to me. They were all too cool for school but I do love all that posturing. At one point there were about a dozen men lined up at the bar and the sight of their massive turn ups pleased me immensely. Brilliant to see that as usual at this kind of event the most unexpected people are always the best dancers. An Amy Lame lookalike and a guy who looked like one of the scary types in a Dickens novel wiped the floor with all the beautiful people. I loved his half splits.

Bette Davis' Finnan Haddie a la Davis

Oh I am having such fun this weekend. Doing a LOT of writing work and a LOT of cooking. Fab.

It’s Sunday and so I decided to treat myself to Bette’s favourite Sunday morning breakfast dish. And delicious it was too. It’s the first time I have tried it but wanted to have a test run before the Now Voyager Silver Screen Sunday. Veronica is going to come for brunch as I have told her that it has the best scene in any film ever that features a hat.

It's been sunny, sunny, sunny all weekend - perhaps Spring is actually here already?

Bette Davis Hollywood Salad

"That's me: an old kazoo with some sparklers."

Ooh! A lucky shamrock charm bracelet. I want one!

I'm feeling a bit like an old kazoo myself today so have cheered myself up by re-reading Rita's verdict on the Bette salad recipe. I haven't seen Rita in a LONG time which is something I must rectify as she is one of the funniest people I know. Always a tonic.

The salad was rustled up in Cape Town (isn't this project getting cosmopolitan?!) and Rita shared it with her cleaner Busisiwe - they both loved it. Although Orson professed to not liking three of the main ingredients (figs, dates and sultanas) once he'd had a bite he ate whatever was left on the plate. Rita said she wouldn't bother with the figs next time as she "didn't give a fig" about figs and they were hard to get hold of in Cape Town.

The thing that made me really laugh was in reference to a conversation we'd had ages ago about Bette Davis. She said that she might add olives the next time she'd made the salad as they would, "add a twist of acid which is precisely what I would have expected from Bette - having seen her at the Ashcroft Theatre in Croydon, you know: 1973". Ha ha! Perfect.

Bette Davis' Marmalade

"Everybody has a heart. Except some people."

I spent most of the weekend crying and making marmalade. It wasn't the making of the marmalade that made me cry, it was, as usual a boy. A big cloud of woe hung over me whilst I stirred Bette's marmalade for about four hours and my melancholy mood spoiled the time I had with my parents which upset me more than anything.

When I got home I had a crying jag of Routemaster proportions and thanked the Lord for Grace and Ginger who got me through it just before guests arrived for dinner. I scrubbed up a bit and when I arrived all wobbly in the dining room the charming Stockabilly announced with a big smile, "You look very glamorous". I said, "I'm wearing lots of make-up because I've been crying over a boy", and gentleman that he is, he immediately opened up his big strong arms and gave me a huge bear hug. I'm a lucky, lucky girl to have such lovely friends who care about me.

My last blog entry about being well and truly single must have sent some kind of ripple out into the ether because a cage rattler sent me a disconcerting text involving the L word. The magic of the mixed message precipitated what my Alexander Technique teacher would call an "emotional gust" which blew me off kilter. However, changing the habit of a lifetime, this morning I called a halt to the nonsense that's been going on instead of just putting up with it. I would rather be a spinster for the rest of my life than feel like this on a regular basis.

Grace and I had some marmalade on toast for breakfast this morning and it was scrumptious. All that stirring and stirring and stirring and testing and testing and testing was worth it. It was also worth it for hearing my mother swear - only the second time I can recall this ever happening. When she saw how much sugar I was going to put into the huge preserving pan she said, "Christ!" which made me laugh a LOT.

More Bette Davis Hollywood Salad

“I will not retire while I've still got my legs and my make-up box."

Me neither doll.

William and Cary came over for tea and we polished off the Hollywood Salad for appetizers. Cary decided that the gherkins I placed on top of each salad smeared cracker would be "the copyright buster". Ha ha!

Much fun was had as the conversation turned to Ginger Rogers' tapioca extravaganza. I revealed that I'd been so amazed to find a whole 1930s tapioca cookbook on ebay that I'd got trigger happy and bought it. The fact that the book is entitled "Miss Dine About Town" was the clincher. Ginger wondered out loud how one could Dine About Town purely on tapioca then suggested perhaps there could be a chain of restaurants called Tapioca Hut.

A late night phone message from a beau of Grace boldly demanding she meet him for a drink provoked a celebratory bout of Scottish dancing - purely due to the fact he has a Scottish name. I can see that there are going to be plenty of high jinx round at number 43.

Bette Davies' Hollywood Salad

"I didn't forget your breakfast. I didn't bring your breakfast.

Because you didn't eat your din-din."

Bette is still coming up trumps with the recipes. There is just something GOOD about all of hers I think. And I do love the use of the term "din-din" - I'd forgotten all about that - my dad used to say it.

Her Hollywood Salad was weird but good. I must say that I have never eaten so many dates in my LIFE - what was it about dates in Hollywood in the 1930s - they all LOVED them. We had the salad stuffed into pepperdew peppers and popped on top of some Ritz crackers - very 1970s dinner party stylie.

And the verdict? As Ginger put it, "There's no need to apologise for THAT!"

Fasten Your Seatbelts...

"I am just too much."

Ah, the beans were a great success. Rosalind even had two portions. John G (her ex) said they were good but he wasn't sure why they had to have been cooking for 8 hours. Made the whole flat smell of molasses though which on the whole was a good thing. It was pelting with rain all day and we were all very jaded after a late night carousing at the Eurovision party. We spent our time lying on the floor gazing at the television or standing in the kitchen grazing on all manner of comfort food. Walnut Whips were in evidence as were onion and goats cheese tarts from Marks and Spencer and some miniature onion bhajis (as Rosalind pointed out as the oven was "on" we might as well have some snacks to keep us going). To sip throughout the day Rosalind invented what she called "White Trash Pimms" which involved sherry, lemonade and mint. I can't remember the last Sunday I managed to pack away so much grub and booze. Mourning the end of my romance with salty snacks and sweet alcoholic beverages I suppose.

When the beans were ready we had them with fresh Lincolnshire asparagus (from Berwick Street market - big bunch for a pound) and Lincolnshire sausages. Although the original Rosalind Russell hails from Connecticut, mine is from the lovely English county of Lincolnshire - hence the county based foodstuffs. The beans were sweet and perfectly cooked and although the bacon had shrivelled up to a shadow of its former porky self it added to the general flavour. The film was enjoyed by all even though the pair of them were snoozing half way through like two old folks in the retirement home. It was a proper lazy Sunday with a proper beanfeast.

15 minutes after going to bed Rosalind popped her head around the door to report that it was "blowing a gale" in her bedroom. I know exactly what she meant...

As soon as I can work out how to get a side page I will put the recipe on the blog. The bean baton now passes to the Frickster - get cooking baby!

Worth Eating?

Stomach is churning at the prospect of dinner tonight with Square Jawed Gordon who wants to meet up because he says "some things need explaining" and there are "some things you need to know". What, what, what, what, what?

Is it fair to expect me to try and eat tapas with wobbly hands and wobbly lips whilst being told all my shortfallings? I don't want to go! Tried to get out of it with a text suggesting it might be better just to have a drink rather than dinner. Got the curt response: "we can drink at the bar and eat at the same time". Oh can we? I can't imagine being able to eat a thing.

Shoes or boots? Shoes or boots? Shoes or boots? I cannot decide. Spent ages trying to pick a frock this morning then agonised on the train about making the wrong choice. Then my chum Rosalind's words popped into my head, "You are not auditioning for the part of girlfriend" - indeed not. Which would look most fetching whilst perched on a bar stool though?

The only thing keeping me going through all this is the thought of Bette's BBBeans. Truly. It is all I have to focus on to get me through tonight's ordeal. I am on the hunt for navy beans or failing that haricots. I have also printed something out about what "fat salt pork" is to wave at a friendly butcher if I can find one in London's West End.

"All About Eve" has arrived and is in my handbag. Rosalind is helping me to scope out a cheap DVD player tomorrow. She is being a ROCK throughout my break up trauma. I wouldn't be surprised if she suggests that I stay at her place the whole weekend and have ourselves a little beanfeast to cheer us both up. What cocktail would go best with a big bunch of beans I wonder? We are going to need several jugs of something...

Pilchards on Toast

My good intentions at getting going on this project have been foiled by the fact I didn't read the recipe. Bette's Boston Baked Beans require 8 hours of cooking and I didn't get home until 6pm so methinks they will have to wait until next weekend. Instead of a gourmet dinner I had myself pilchards on toast with sweetcorn and a dash of Worcestershire sauce sitting up on the roof.

Besides, couldn't find any pea beans. Closest I could get were white kidney beans so may have to go with those. This involves more complications as they have to be soaked overnight in order to avoid "tummy upsets". I don't know about the States but here in Britain anyone who has ever been a student will know that kidney beans can kill... Good premise for a murder mystery novel actually. I wonder if I could get Lantern Jawed Gordon over for a chilli made with unsoaked kidney beans just to see what would happen.

So it looks like next weekend's socialising will be based around beans. I'll put them in to soak on Saturday evening before going to Rosalind's Eurovision party then rush back to the boat on Sunday morning (no doubt with pounding hangover) in order to get them in the "beanpot". Bette's recipe specifically mentions a "beanpot" - maybe those who live in New England have such a thing amongst their crockpots and fonduepots but all I have is a shallow casserole dish with lid that belongs to the landlady. I am of course expecting that the combination of molasses and fat salt pork is going to cause some kind of tar like substance impossible to remove from said dish which will result in me having to throw it in the river rather than attempting to wash it up.

At least it gives me time to buy myself the mini DVD player and a copy of "All About Eve" - seems the most appropriate film to watch what with me being a recently spurned older woman and all that...