Читать книгу Cooking Up Christmas - Katie Ginger - Страница 16

Hi everybody, I thought I’d better begin my blog by introducing myself to you! My name’s Esme Kendrick and I love, love, LOVE cooking! Sorry for using big shouty letters but I do really love cooking! I’ve been working as a food technologist on some TV shows since I graduated university, but have always wanted to cook my own food and write about it, so that’s why I’ve started Grandma’s Kitchen.

It’s named after my lovely grandma who left me her ancient and amazing recipe book. It even has recipes from her mum and grandma in it, so it’s a real family heirloom. It means the world to me, and I hope that through sharing my successes and failures with you, you’ll enjoy trying out some new recipes and begin to love cooking as much as I do.

So what more can I tell you? My grandma, Pearl, was a brilliant cook and taught me everything I know. I think that, after discovering what a liability my mum was in the kitchen, she focused all her energy on me and my sister, Alice. Mum won’t mind me saying that – she’s an amazing mum, but she never really liked cooking and much prefers a takeaway or having dinner in the pub to slaving over a hot stove. One of my earliest memories is of Mum trying to cook a sausage casserole and it going so horribly wrong that Grandma had to step in. I remember she turned this burnt, crazily spiced mess into something delicious she called Cowboy Casserole. I’ll share the recipe with you later. You’re sure to love it!

I’ve just moved back to my hometown after my life took an unexpected change of direction. It’s been a bit of a knock, but you have to keep moving forward. My dad always says never go backwards, so I’m taking the plunge and starting this blog. The recipes you’ll find here will be family-friendly (my sister insisted! She said cooking different dinners for the adults and kids would drive her insane!) and are easy to follow with no weird ingredients. I can’t wait to share my first recipe with you soon!

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After a couple of hours’ sleep, Esme awoke and went downstairs to write her first proper recipe for the blog. It was the first Monday she should have been at work and it felt strange to be her own boss and not have anywhere to go. Esme wrestled with a restlessness that filled her muscles with unspent energy as she flitted around the kitchen making herself a cup of tea.

So much had happened in such a short space of time. Less than a week ago her life had been ticking along as normal, her routine engrained in her mind and body. She could have walked to the tube station blindfolded and told you exactly what Leo would say in any given situation. She wondered what he was doing now. He’d have been to the gym and be at work already. Resisting the urge to cry, Esme clicked through her blog– her future – and sat back on the sofa, waiting for the number of hits to start pinging. Deep down, she knew this wasn’t going to happen, but couldn’t resist watching for half an hour anyway.

She picked up her grandma’s recipe book. The black leather cover was worn and frayed at the edges. The red ribbon she had inherited with it was beginning to fray as it forced numerous pieces of paper covered with scribbles and scrawlings back inside. She took off the band and opened it to leaf through its pages, examining each one and the delicate handwriting listing the recipes.

Affection and tenderness warmed her through. Her great-grandma’s fingers had touched these pages, as well as her grandma’s and her mum’s. Carol’s attempts at cooking from her youth were weirder and wilder, involving a lot of Seventies aspic-based recipes and random swearing. But her grandma had been an amazing cook and family legend had it that Esme’s great-grandma had been incredible too, creating exciting dishes even through rationing. This was why Esme loved cooking so much. It was history, their history. It meant her grandma who had helped her through so much, whose loss she had felt so deeply, would never be forgotten if her recipes were still being cooked, and the love that went into them still existed.

An old torn piece of paper fell from the side and she picked it up, turning it over in her fingers. It was a recipe for vanilla biscuits and in the margin, in a small, elegant hand, she could see the words, ‘Carol loves these’. Her grandma had written it and Esme smiled at the thought of her mum as a little girl, begging for biscuits just as she and Alice had done. She carefully placed it back inside and glanced again at the counter on her blog. It still registered zero hits. She checked the clock. It was now just after lunch and boredom gnawed at her brain. Esme made herself a bowl of cereal and sat back down on the sofa, still in her pyjamas, two jumpers and her favourite big, fluffy bed socks. Pulling one of the throws off the back of the seat, Esme tucked it around her as the cold of the cottage tried to seep into her bones.

Spooning soggy cornflakes into her mouth (she hated them all hard and crunchy), she opened the book to her favourite comfort food recipe. Just reading the words ‘orange tea bread’ made Esme’s mouth water. Maybe this could be her first recipe for the blog? After leafing through the book and scanning the index in her brain, Esme decided this was definitely the right one to begin with, and even though she’d made it so many times before, she wanted to test it one last time, just to make sure the measurements were all correct. Esme moved to the kitchen and began weighing out flour, butter, sugar and boiling oranges for the tea bread.

The rickety old cottage was soon filled with the sweet smell of oranges and when the loaf was cooked and cooled, Esme cut a piece and smothered it with butter. Taking a bite was like being 5 years old again, home from school at her grandma’s house while her mum worked. Esme remembered being hungry and happy sitting with her grandma at her old fold-out table, talking about the things she had done at school that day, or playing Happy Families with Alice. It was one of her favourite recipes of all time.

Esme re-read the instructions she’d written down, changing some of the wording and some of quantities to suit her own palate. Instead of white sugar, she had added light brown sugar for a hint of toffee and though she could use orange juice or flavouring, real oranges were better. Two hours later, she helped herself to another slice of the delicious bread and typed up her findings, posting for the second time.

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