Even though I am in no way affiliated with the cultural leanings of the Mother of the Commonwealth, I feel some sort of an affinity for the culinary history of the British Isles. My family is very much Eastern European, with numerous family recipe outlining the ways to prepare potatoes and water with a little flour. I was pretty happy when we had roast beef for Sunday dinners (though wished for Yorkshire pudding more than anything, since people on TV would always talk about it) and loved having fish & chips on Fridays (my mom is a good European Catholic).
My first year of university I lived with my aunt and her Anglo husband, both of whom were convinced they could turn me into a kidney pie-loving, lamb and mint jelly-eating, tea totting Anglophile. I resisted strongly (some might say fought) because I don't like being told what to do. In reality, I had somewhat of an affinity for tea anyway from childhood tea parties that involved 80% milk and sugar and 20% tea to stretch out the miniscule tea pot contents as long as possible. Still, I don't really fix myself a cup of tea unless I've got a cold or someone visits and requests it.
Lately, though, I have enjoyed more than a few London Fogs from coffee establishments around my workplace. The rain made me wish for something hot and it's cheaper than a coffee-related drink. And just this week a book I put on hold ages ago came in: England's heritage food and cooking by Annette Yates. It makes me think I should have been born in England or a more strongly affiliated Commonwealth country because I am tempted by the photos and recipes. I'm becoming obsessed with the idea of full-slice bread and butter pudding, Eton mess with macaroons smushed up into it, Cornish pasties and Eve's pudding. Full roasted chicken with bread sauce. Beef Wellington. Mushrooms on toast. Syllabub.
Sadly, large portions of the recipes in this surprisingly delightful book involve baking. This is still a problem with no end in sight. I fear I may never have a working oven again, yet have done very little to inquire when this situation will be remedied, so it mustn't be that pressing.
When I mentioned to my friend that I'm concerned that I'll have no way to calm my overanxious nerves when the thick of classes starts to steamroll me down (since I bake to relieve stress), she suggested I go to yoga instead. This might be a good plan since I should probably try to organise my potato body into a shape that will be somewhat foxy for a wedding in which I believe I am an active member of the bridal party. (I should probably see if I've been kicked out for lack of assisting/supporting, huh? I'm such a delinquent.) Another friend said she would hook me up with her Yoda-like yoga instructor after she finishes her driving lessons, so I've got some options. Yoga is probably better for me than cupcakes. But cupcakes smell so much better.
2 comments:
This means that getting gift cards to Lulu Lemon aren't out of the question.
Um... well... apparently they can actually be worn to yoga class instead of on the street with high heels and a dog under an arm.
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