As sure as eggs are eggs

A clutch of freshly laid eggs were delivered to me yesterday by Mr B who keeps bantams in his garden.  The Girls, as they are known, practically have their own web site, so popular are they.  They are indeed splendid creatures and have regular spa days chez Mr B. I was pretty bird-phobic till I met them, but they have won me over with their endearing habit of 'pock pocking' calls of greeting and being very fond of being stroked till they fall into a pretty feathered coma of contentment in your lap. 
Anyway, I got to thinking about all things hen-like in books and a remarkable thing arose:  All clearly bonkers people have, at some time, lived in a hen house. In fact and in fiction.  I adored the story of Lady Gladys, who had one of the first nose jobs that went a little awry.  She had demanded a nose based on a classical bust, and it was duly done but filled with wax, so that she could never sit in front of a fire lest it melt (which apparently it did).  She had great beauty and wealth and married into the aristocracy but it all went horribly wrong when she lurched from charmingly eccentric to completely batty and retired amongst the hens.  Chips Channon saw her once on Bond Street and doffed his hat and was about to greet her, when she froze him out with an icy sapphire stare.  Then of course, there was Great Uncle Ulick who is drafted in to partner a Molly Keane heroine who to her shame, is splattered with chicken manure as it is rumoured, and she suspects it is true that he lives with his chickens.  And Ma Kettle - oh my goodness, the star of The Egg and I.... You have been alerted Mr B. Stay out of the hen house!

World Book Night

Well, I am quite aware that some of you, well, thousands of you went to Trafalgar Square to hear starry authors (amongst them the perfect poppet that is David Nicholls and the sublime Margaret Atwood) but here in Brighton we made do with Brighton Library.  And being Brighton is was... well, it was somewhat different. We had performance poetry about dog poo, we had pirates, we had a 90 year old woman reading her first book that she'd had published last week into a non-working microphone and a blind woman was emoting in Children's Corner to a group of spellbound kids.  There was also Shedman (don't ask, I haven't got a clue.) Oh yes, and there were the Library Whisperers - a group of thin young men in dodgy looking raincoats who accosted you to 'whisper' about their favourite books, but they were all a bit too nervous and congregated in the Green Room eating kit-kats.  Our brave author, Andrew Kay read aloud from his favourite book (My Family and Other Animals by Gerald Durrell) straining to make himself heard over the unprecedented noise and chaos of the library.  And jolly well he did too.  There were storytellers who had 3 minutes each, and a lovely woman who had written the Brighton Encyclopedia.  There were book give-aways that were eagerly snatched up and a very cute looking scruffy white dog that got a lot of attention (I think he'd got an agent by the end of the evening).  Fun, chaotic, noisy, and quite bonkers.  The saving grace for me was that people had been asked to fill in a questionnaire about books and I leave you with the best comments that I saw. Q: "What do you like best about books?" A:"They are nothing like life ...(they are better) Quite right too.

Marmite

Love it loathe it.  Personally, I love it. Thinly spread over warm toast with butter.  What's not to like? Umami to the nth degree. And I was given some marmite chocolate to try a few months ago.  Sounds horrible.  T'was delish. But I was breakfasting with six Germans, one Dutchman, a Norwegian and a lady from Kenya last weekend and I saw their reactions. Good grief.  International relations had never looked so rocky. Moues of distaste rocketed around the table.  They had to be distracted by a 7 mile muddy walk and a country pub, where thank goodness, Harvey's ale redeemed the taste buds. 
Books can be the same, I know.
Lord of the Rings? Well, I'm with CS Lewes.  'Not another f****** elf?" he was reported to have uttered as Tolkien read aloud another chapter to the prestigious Inkies.  I struggled through it when I was about fourteen I think, only because it was the book at school and it was too dreary to have to pretend that I had read it when I hadn't. Oh dear. Hobbits Schmobbits. Who cares? Yes, I know it was all about Nazi's and evil spreading over the land, but really... I also felt the same about Melvyn Peake. Smike.  Gormenghast (which I do think about every time I go past Lancing College, which isn't that often) what a sprawling turgid page turner that is. Awful.  Just awful. The TV adaptation was just abut bearable, but even that... Other massive bestsellers have left me cold too. But then of course, others that have never been out of print can still grip me.  Forever Amber? Oh, yes please... the attention to detail, the account of the plague, the theatres, the royals, the inns and the streets of London have me gripped every single time.
Some bestsellers, just like Marmite, provoke a strong response.  Which is about the best an author can hope for.

Mucho Macho Chefs

Well, yes.  And what red blooded female doesn't? Fancy 'em.  That's what. When Gordon stripped his chef's whites off down the corridor on The F Word to that music, I always gave a little grin, and a frisson of pleasure rippled over me.  Swearing? check.  Rude comments? Check.  Battered charm? Check.  Then there was the Christmas special.  Oh dear.  We saw him in his kitchen being all dadsy with the kids.  No. Really.  Leave that to Jamie.
But of course the Grand Fromage of the lot was surely Anthony Bourdain. When I first read Kitchen Confidential I was cooking on gas. High octane.  No protective oven gloves, so to speak.  Phew.  It was that good. Reckless and fast and furious.  What a bad boy made good, and through food.  I mean, what's not to like? Nothing.  Not in my case anyway as I've (along with countless others) have a soft spot for the rogue, and a rogue, let's remind ourselves, who COOKS.  Wow.
So it was with huge delight that I turned to Medium Raw his follow up. Hmm.  Well. I persuaded myself to read it again, carefully this time, instead of chomping through it like a starving woman on a diet let loose on a groaning buffet table. Yep, it's OK.  But.... there's a bit too much of whining going on for me.  Poor man.  Travelling round the world to his chosen location so that he can be filmed for his US TV shows.  No one understands the pressure.The TV people don't get it.  The food isn't as good.  The ego becomes super sized. But - there are still some wonderful sickening moments.  The description of the forbidden (and therefore hugely enjoyable) illegal meal of ortolans, the visit to a mafia ridden Russian restaurant are first class, but it certainly doesn't have the fire that I needed. He's mellowed, married, has children, has stopped smoking.  He's changed. But we haven't.  We still long for the bad boy. Come on Anthony - live a little.  Just for us. Pretty please?

To Kindle or not to Kindle?

I freely admit I am an obsessive reader.  You know, the sort that reads the label on a marmalade jar over breakfast, the sort that has to scan the back of other peoples newspapers on a bus.  Oh yes, and I simply cannot sleep till I have read for at least half an hour and I never leave the house without a book in my bag - and can I say - jolly useful that has been, too - delayed trains, gruesome waits in the dental surgery or just a boring journey.  So you can but imagine the weight of my bags when I go on holiday.
Last year I went to Argentina (lovely place - hideous plane journey) and I was going for three weeks.  I had a separate suitcase just for the books.  Then I had a bit of a panic attack and spread them over the two bags in case one got lost en route.  Then I had another panic attack in case three books weren't enough for the flight (how right I was.) So.... I can quite see the use of a Kindle. Have I got one? No.  And I don't really know why....A friend of mine (Damian Barr) wrote an article not so long ago claiming 'No-one will ever fall in love with you in a coffee shop whilst you're reading a kindle'  Or words to that effect.  He's very good with words.  And I think he's right.  I love BOOKS. I love the jacket design, the fonts, the turning of the pages, the fact that if you have a favourite book that you re-read, it falls, quite by its own accord to the favourite chapter.  I like second hand books that people scribble on (I once bought a Molly Keane book from a market and it had scribbled in the front - Do not forget eggs, gin and watercress and for God's sake call Maggie) Or that when you buy an ex-library book page 42 has been circled by someone to let themselves know that they've read it.  I enjoy the rustle of paper and the smell of new ink.  I quite like the gluey smell, too. I can live with the odd crumb or two that find their way into it, but I draw the line at a hair.  Eeow.
But.... I heard someone rather high up on Amazon on Radio 4 the other day saying that for every 100 paperbacks that are sold in America, 150 e-books are sold.  Crikey.  But that's America, right?  Enormous place America.  Fewer bookshops per capita and all that.  But still...... Maybe we should look at it this way.  A Kindle for journeys would be useful, no doubt about it, but no-one's gonna fall in love with you whilst reading from it.  Am I going to get one?  Probably.

One Chicken. Three meals.

There's something very appealing about making something from nothing.  Well, not nothing of course, but very little.  I expect one chicken to make at least three meals for two.  Roast chicken, chicken and leek pie enlivened with some chestnuts perhaps and maybe a risotto.  Then soup. Or at the very least some gorgeously golden home made stock. Or you might want to go the Asian route - chicken with ginger and garlic, or a five spice and pomegranate chicken salad with some fresh mint, the possibilities are pretty endless.  Though a keen cook I have remarkably few cookery books in my kitchen.  I don't know why really - well I do, I suppose.  Sheer laziness on  my part.  I never have all the ingredients for a recipe , I never measure anything, and frankly, I can't be bothered.  But what I do like doing is taking the suggestion of something and making it my own.  A book that has been described as 'The Bible' and  'The best friend you can have in the kitchen' (Nigel Slater) is Leiths Meat Bible by Max Clark & Susan Spaull. It's published by Bloomsbury and is a hefty £40, but goodness me, it's worth it. Unless you're a vegetarian, of course.   Not only does it have everything in it, but the best bit is that after every recipe it tells you what might have gone a bit Pete Tong and how to remedy it. Oh, and also what wine to drink with it. Boned leg of pork with sour cherry and lime stuffing? Roast suckling pig with coriander? Smoked woodcock with broad bean salad? Navarin of lamb? Osso Bucco? Glazed lamb tongues with creamed puy lentils? Pas de problem....  It also tells you how to buy, store, bone, carve and nosh away till your buttons burst.... Beautifully laid out, great photos (but not too many) and top tips.  An all round winner.  Now, where's my carving knife?

Sometimes...

Sometimes it's better to just give up on a book.  Though it pains me to do so.  I can usually finish anything right to the end (skipping if I have to) But not this one.  Norwegian Wood by Haruki Murakami.  It's not him, it's me, I'm sure. He's been described as 'one of the world's greatest living novelists' By the Guardian, no less. He's written oodles and noodles of books, and has legions of fans, so it really doesn't matter, but, oh crikey... Doomed love, suicide, an expensive clinic set in the mountains of Japan and endless music. What can I say? Just not my cup of tea. And...and I missed the details.  It's painted with a broad stroke and if you are not Japanese, surely half the pleasure in a foreign book is in the detail.  I want to know what the trains are like, what the noodles are, what the mountains are like, but that's all glossed over.... though the concentration of a certain butterfly hair slide that re-occurs with monotonous regularity made me want to scream. 'Foreign' means foreign to ME.  So I want to be swept up in the very foreignness of it, if you see what I mean.  I've never been to Japan, or got lost in Tokyo, or been to a bath house, but I want a book that takes me there (without being a guide book) I want a sense of the place and the people, the smells, the customs, the style and the sheer differences of being there rather than here.
So, I gave up and made a cake instead.  Banana bread with rum soaked fruit and walnuts.  And very delicious it was too. No pictures as my camera is on the blink, but take my word for it.  Every crumb was savoured.