Retro Recipes and Traditional Fare

Ok, so England isn't the home of one of the world's greatest cuisines, but it has exported a number of delicious dishes. I'm particularly fond of crumpets, Summer pudding, bangers and mash, fish and chips, the Sunday roast with Yorkshire pudding, and chicken tikka masala (while not completely English the combining of chicken tikka with a masala sauce is believed to be a British invention). On the rise in popularity are sticky toffee pudding and perhaps one day, my favorite English sausage the chipolata.

Something else I think of as decidedly English that has not gained in popularity yet here in the States, are Jellies. Not jelly like grape jelly, but jellies for eating that we call gelatin or Jell-o. But the British versions are much more sophisticated often including booze and ending up like gelatinized versions of elegant cocktails. Every Summer, British cookery magazines feature a variety of these lovelies which can be served instead of a cocktail, as a starter, a palate cleanser or a dessert.

The possibilities are endless. One package of gelatin and you are on your way! Other requirements include little glasses and tiny spoons. I have collected some shot glasses for this purpose and also use my otherwise rarely used vodka set.

I felt my big toe push a hole through my fishnet stockings as I stepped on the gas and drove south on Fairfax. I nibbled on the broken corner of my dark red thumb nail and made a right turn onto Pico Boulevard.  I thought about lighting a cigarette to calm myself but didn’t.

I was driving to see “Vertigo Road”, a band that my recently ex-fiance and I knew quite well and my social fears were getting the best of me.  They were playing at a bar with one of those anti-esoteric names I can’t remember exactly, like “The Place”, or “The Gig”, or “The Thing”. 

It was an unseasonably cool night for Los Angeles in early September so, when the closest parking space I found was 8 blocks from the bar, I knew I wouldn’t mind walking.  I flipped down the mirrored visor to check my lipstick and stared at my reflection for a moment.  I hadn’t seen many of these people since the break up and I knew they would search my face and demeanor for clues as to how I was doing.  I wanted to look amazing.  I wanted to seem like I had it all figured out.  I knew that was going to take some effort.  I applied more lipstick.

When I turned off my Honda, it suddenly sounded like I had parked in a war zone.  Sirens screamed and glass shattered.  I was overtaken by the smell in the air.  It was luscious and earthy and charred.  I shut my eyes and gulped the aroma down for a moment and then walked quickly toward the commotion on Pico.  It was a fire.  A big one.  And as mesmerizing as the flames were, nothing could compare to the smell.

Okay, I'll try anything once and make the best of it if need be, but winter camping in near zero temperatures? I prepared a favorite dinner of braised rabbit with prunes, an undressed endive salad with the vinaigrette on the side and ramekins of chocolate mousse for our dream overnight camping in the backwoods of Northern Maine. We decided on a trail to cross country ski in on with my three dogs, nothing too challenging as we had lots of gear to transport on a toboggan plus it gets dark very early at this time of year AND it was our first test at "making camp" at rather cold temperatures.

Five miles in we found the perfect spot beside a icy, running stream to pitch our four-season tent, made a fire and enjoyed the pure silence of being in the Maine woods for the whole night. Everything was perfect, the tent went up easily without referring to the directions more than a couple of times, the sleeping bags were unrolled, the cushions to insulate us from the frozen ground were in place, we collected firewood from downed trees with a small saw as the sun started setting early like it does in the winter months.

As I was making my Shepherd's pie for our book club supper last night, I started to nibble thoughtfully on a celery stick and realized with quite an epiphany what a maligned and ignored vegetable the poor celery is. All due credit to Hugh Fearnley-Whittingstall who said, famously, "Celery is a bit like a gym membership." The crunch is the thing, isn't it? It's the minxy little crunch that gets you every time.

Which led (as it does, stay with me here) to my driving home this morning down the CA 170 (my very favorite freeway) absolutely ravenous after schooling three horses and wondering what could prevent me from stopping at a fast food drive-thru. Cut to twenty minutes later and a plate adorned with a skinny version of a Waldorf salad sits in front of me, proud as can be. Easy and inadvertently calorie-conscious (as I couldn't find any mayo in the bloody fridge). Here's how you make this excruciatingly simple, scrumptious, crunchy lunch: