Lavender bags and logs

November 19, 2008

I was allowed out last Saturday night and went to a party at newly revamped Soho restaurant Kettners , where designer Ilse Crawford has waved her magic wand. Pretty, white Thonet chairs, twinkly candles and pale grey walls are delicious as the steaming French onion soup.

To sleep late, but not too late to bounce out in the morning and get on with garden tidying. High winds and heavy rain have denuded the trees, which look like bristle brushes. Autumn is making way for winter. My brother-in-law is cooking Sunday lunch, a good incentive to work hard if there’s a reward of Jonny’s chocolate tart for pudding.

Putting the garden to bed for winter is satisfying: trimming, and sweeping and generally neatening up the withered remnants of summer’s wild growth. My garden is allowed to meander more than is good gardening practice, but then I’m no wannabee Martha Stewart. I snip the lavenders so that they are more rounded and bushy, but I’m not going to bust a gut about making them look topiary perfect. I should have collected the dried flower heads in summer when they were at their most pungent but there are enough aromatic handfuls to rescue from the flower stalks to make lavender bags for Christmas presents. A whiff of lavender is almost as good as ginger and lemon tea for getting me off to sleep.

There’s an Ercol love seat with a simple spindle back for sale at the Midcentury Modern show, where young couples with babies trussed up in hand knits barter for retro fabrics and furniture. The price tag is too high for me, my goodness I didn’t realise quite how collectable Fifties’ Ercol has become, but feel that I spend money well on the latest issue of Selvedge, a beautifully illustrated and informative magazine for the textile addict.

On the other hand, many discounts are appearing from every which way now that recession is as official as Madonna’s divorce from Guy Ritchie. I welcome the special deal on a load of logs which, I suppose, helps to even out the cuts appearing in some of our location fees. I really don’t mind the general slowing down, and drawing back, it’s a chance to reassess priorities, to spend more prudently, on what we need rather than what we want.

PANCAKES

Pancakes are a tasty recession proof idea: flour, milk, eggs, butter that’s all you need. Great for stuffing with fridge leftovers - chopped chicken, spring onions, fromage frais and a squeeze of lemon - pancakes are a quick lunch option. We like the sweet version in our household:
100g plain flour; l beaten egg; 250 ml milk;30g melted butter
Put the flour and salt in a bowl. Make a well and pour in the egg and the milk. Stir well with a wooden spoon until the batter is smooth. Add a little more milk if necessary.Leave to stand for half an hour.

Heat the butter in a small non stick frying pan. When it is very hot add about 30 ml batter or enough to coat the bottom of the pan. Tilt so that it spreads evenly. Cook for about a minute until bubbles appear and the bottom is gold brown. Turn or toss the pancake and cook the other side. Sprinkle it with caster sugar and juice squeezed from an orange or lemon wedge. Roll up and eat immediately.

A packet of bulbs

November 9, 2008

Autumn’s performance continues to spellbind. The park is decorated like a natural film set, dressed in toning themes of yellow, golden brown and berry pink. Wading through layers of papery leaves is sensual, like eating a Bendicks Bittermint or lazing on hot sand.

It was good to get out in the fresh air as my kitchen was steamy and busy, booked for a team photographing food by Australian chef,
Bill Granger. I watched the refreshingly ego-and-expletive-free, maestro conjure up gorgeous baking one minute, then exotic oriental fish flavours the next. The dog had a field day escaping to lick up whatever tasty crumbs might fall. Bill’s take on chicken curry, with aromatic coconut and chilli, was among the divine leftovers that upped the ante on our everyday grub after the shoot departed in the evening.

The house has been working hard for its living. As soon as the cooking gang left, knitting heroine Debbie Bliss arrived to take pictures for the second issue of her smart new knitting magazine. My knitting skills are restricted to never-ending scarves in purl and plain, but I’m feeling inspired after drooling over Debbie’s fabulous ideas: I fancy the apricot coloured long cardigan, a groovy alternative to a dressing gown.

I’m laying down the dust sheets for the next job, a recycling ad that stars a dustbin, plus all the clobber and fuss that accompanies film making. Hey ho, all in a day’s work.

RETRO LOOKS

The fifties’ were not all about kitsch. It was an era of high quality design classics that were meant to last. I have a passion for the simple elm stick back chairs and tables that Lucian Ercolani designed for his company Ercol . I grew up eating my mum’s sphag bol around an Ercol table. I must admit that Ercol didn’t make it into my first home; I was trying out new ideas and anything associated with parents was uncool. I re-discovered the simple shapes a few years ago in forays to junk shops (see an example above, with one of the paparazzi seated) and intensive searches on Ebay, one of which led me a garage in Bedfordshire and a set of Windsor table and chairs in fabulous condition. Even the flat tyre on the way home didn’t dim my excitement. For more fifties’ ideas visit the exhibition, Designer Style: Home Decorating in the 1950s at the Museum of Domestic Design and Architecture.

MORE JOBS

On gardening matters, I really must get out to finish the weeding, rose pruning, (remember: clean secateurs and slanted cuts to let rain run off and prevent infection) and bulb planting. The most important thing about bulbs is to make sure you plant them the right way up: the hairy root bit at the bottom, and the pointy shoot at the top. If in doubt plant them sideways as the shoot will find it’s way to the light. The next most important thing is keep the squirrels out and plant the bulbs at a depth of 10cm. I’m looking forward to seeing what these white and green flamed tulips bulbs from the local garden centre will look like next spring.

On ‘the room on top’ in Olhao, we’ve submitted the planning application to the camara. Now all I have to do is wait, and send out positive vibes so that the word from on high will be positive and in the not too distant distant future. I know that I’m supposed to be on the slow road to less instant gratification, but I can’t wait to get out the roller and finish the walls in pig fat and lime a tried and tested traditional recipe, would you believe, for lime wash. I sense, though, there will be one or two hurdles to leap before that day arrives.

During my visit there a couple of weeks ago, the chestnut vendors had arrived with rickety metal wagons to sell paper twists of roast nuts from the smoking coals. Everyone from old men to young children are customers. We roast chestnuts over an open fire at home in winter by slitting them first and then tossing amongst the embers for a few minutes. One year a friend gave me a chestnut roaster, a pan with slotted holes that was much less messy, and more suitable if a novice.

Making plans

October 30, 2008

I am in black-out darkness and a bell clangs somewhere. Relief. It’s not some stress induced nightmare. I’m in Olhao to finalise details and submit plans for the ‘room on top’. It’s half-term. Already? it seems only like yesterday that school started. As morning confusion clears I swing out of bed onto cool stone and pad upstairs to the roof and watch a man tending his birds and a luminous sun rising against a skyline of tv aerials and cubist terraces.
We’re following the Olhao tradition of making more space by building vertically. There are now height restrictions in the historic part where the house is but the white cube is within the permitted ceiling. I have decided to apply for a building licence and avoid blotting my copybook with the town hall. Planning permission takes much longer than in the UK, and I should be prepared to wait up to six months, maybe longer, but hopefully less. I feel very confident with the team: the architect understands how to build something new but in the spirit of the old; the builder is like a gracious old uncle, and knows traditional techniques like the back of his hand.

Although we’re using energy saving materials, such as reclaimed tiles, and natural paint, I have backtracked on the solar panel and opted for electricity to power a small water heater and a couple of sockets. I reckon that for the amount of hot water needed it is not worth the expense of a solar panel, and although I would be content in a candlelit retreat, or reading by solar powered lamp , guests might prefer the normal way of illumination.

Portuguese is testing, and I go everywhere clutching a dog eared pocket dictionary. I left it behind this morning and instead of locating the ‘Conservatoria’ to buy a copy of the ‘ Registo Predial’ title deeds, strayed into the ‘Palácio Justiça’ humming with knots of rather fierce and serious dark eyed fishermen, waiting for the results of a trial. As well as getting to grips with the planning related lingo, I must work on my strangled hybrid of Portuguese/ English/Spanish with other important locals, like man of all trades, Luis. This involves much gesticulating on both parts, with Luis , knowing that he has the upper hand on the verbals, typically declaring that the job is going to take longer and he needs more euros, etc. etc. In mitigation, he often stops by on his bike, with dog Picant in tow, and a bucket of sardines for us, so fresh they’re almost swimming.

After all the linguistic brain stretching it’s time to go around the corner for a bica, espresso coffee and a pastel de nata, egg custard tart. A boxful is an essential luggage item on the return trip.

ARTICHOKE SOUP
I am in soup mode, back home in London, having swapped hot sun for night frosts. Knobbly Jerusalem artichokes are in season and their creamy fresh-from-the earth-flavour is what makes this soup so moreish:
Wash, roughly peel and chop lkg Jerusalem artichokes.
Put in a large pan and saute in l00g butter until quite soft
Add 2 litres water
Bring to the boil and simmer for 20 minutes
Liquidise the mixture and serve with dollops of creme fraiche.

SEWING

The clocks have gone back and we have to learn to appreciate the violet qualities of twilight, that seems to begin not long after lunch. Is it possible that only three weeks ago I was enjoying the last bracing swims of the season at the lido? Now the park shuts at 4.30pm. Time though to catch up on all those sewing repairs which are lying in a large heap. I’ll also get down to giving one or two or my more tired blankets a new lease of life , After gentle laundering with a wool friendly eco detergent, I hide any ragged edges with satin binding and add strips of bright velvet ribbon, pink and green is a great combination, in rows or criss cross patterns. (See below, from my book Sew Easy.) The effect, is very bo-ho, very laid back, and of course, a brilliant way to wrap up and keep warm.

Home sweet home

October 15, 2008

Hard times make houses into homes. I’m hoping we’ll see less of city banker style: perfectly good houses extended and interior designed to death and then sold on to make big fat profits. Bring on the recession. Houses are reverting from assets to homes: they have skips outside because owners are staying put instead of making a fast buck and moving on.

As money gets tighter we should automatically start asking ourselves “Do I need this, or do I just want it?” It’s thus for you to decide whether to invest in the new combined hardback edition of Pure Style Home & Garden. Ok, I’m on dodgy ground here, and certainly wouldn’t be so conceited as to think that it is a necessity, but if you don’t have the earlier Pure Style and Pure Style Outside titles, this has hundreds of thrifty and simple home ideas which help save money without forsaking looks and style. Let me know what you think.

Home work

photo/vanessa courtier

It’s important to hide the custard creams if you’re a easily distracted home worker like me. Go for some healthy oatcakes, which can be thrown together with out difficulty:

Add 270g medium oatmeal, one quarter teaspoon baking soda, and a pinch of salt to a bowl. Make a well and pour in 2 dessert spoonfuls of melted butter and 164 ml water. Mix to a stiff paste with a wooden spoon. Knead with the hands and roll out thinly as possible. Cut into circles or triangles and bake in the oven at 200C 400f for 20 to thirty minutes. Makes about 20.

Paris Hilton has paparazzi. So do I: the dog and the cat, who sit or lie with their eyes boring into my back willing me to their food bowls. The dog follows me upstairs, downstairs, to the washing machine, to the bin, back to my desk and so on. When I hit a dead end on the thoughts front I get out into the garden to plant or dig. (Psychologists say that continuous small achievement is the key to happiness). The dog and the cat come too. This morning I planted white wallflowers, hoping they will smell as scented as the mixed colours I usually choose. The dog hung around my spade hoping for a stone to be thrown. The cat watched, eerily balanced on the fence. The rose bushes are thinning with few blooms, like a frail and fragrant aunt. I wonder if enough heat can be squeezed out of the sun to ripen the rest of the tomatoes. I do know a good recipe for green tomato jam.

A visual tonic

October 7, 2008

The park glittered in the still clearness during my early morning dog walk; the light as intense as the sweet liquorice smell from the dried fennel sprig I picked and crushed in my hand. The autumn fall of leaves this year is a breathtaking chemical wonder of nature, suspending belief that summer is over. So much colour. So many variations on yellow, burnt orange and brown. This visual tonic is more energising than herbal Floradix, the liquid plant food for humans, that my friend Bea swears by when she needs perking up.

I say ‘day-lee-a ‘ you say ‘dah-lee-uh’. Whatever the emphasis, dahlias are another last blast of gorgeous autumn colour before the dankness begins. This native Mexican flower imported two hundred years ago has always been a mainstay of the allotment garden, to pick for the table along with the cabbages and beans. I remember grandpa, fag in mouth, carefully tying his prize purple spiky blooms to stakes with green hairy string. In high-up garden circles though, the frilly dahlia was long considered rather vulgar. I’m glad the style bibles and garden columns have made them acceptable again in and outside the vegetable patch, and there are a wonderful array of varieties for any border or pot. On of my favourites is ‘Noreen’ a flirty rich pink pompom shape.

keeping warm

Got to think about keeping out all those beastly draughts this winter, as I don’t want a repeat of the heating bill we ran up last year, especially when energy costs are supposed to rise another whopping 40 percent. Something thick and sensible, but nonetheless good looking, like a curtain lined with a blanket,is going to be a good way to deal with the gale that blows in under the front and side doors. There is a very basic pattern for one, using some tough pink corduroy in my book Sew Easy. It’s based on the same lines as the old insulating curtains we found in the house when we first moved here.

chocolate and chestnut cake

I know I’ve posted this recipe before, but it is too, too delicious, and, because chestnuts are gluten-free, might inspire anyone who has an intolerance and is missing gooey cakes. I admit to being partisan but you must try the peeled organic chestnuts my husband produces at his little factory in Andalucia, South Western Spain

Base:400g peeled chestnuts, 125g caster sugar, 125g chocolate (min 70% cocoa solids), 100g butter
Icing: 15g butter, 125g chocolate, as above, 15ml fresh orange juice, 1 teaspoon grated lemon rind
Process peeled chestnuts and sugar until smooth. Melt chocolate and butter in a large saucepan. Add chestnut/sugar paste and mix until smooth. Turn into a greased cake tin. Icing: melt the chocolate with butter, orange juice, rind, and stir until smooth. Spread over the mixture and chill in the fridge overnight.

Mellow Yellow

September 24, 2008

Last week we waved teenage son off to university with the usual unwanted advice on how not to run up debts. I’m relieved he didn’t spy the card a friend sent me with Oscar Wilde’s quote ‘Anyone who lives within their means, suffers from a serious lack of imagination”. Good for Oscar, but I think its more glamorous being an Einstein of resourcefulness in these credit crunch times.
Let’s take comfort for example. You absolutely don’t have to have the latest piece of designer luxury , but what really is important, is how your cushions are stuffed. With feathers of course. This was one of the first lessons from the white haired tartar of interior decoration I once shared a hallway with. The mere mention of of foam chips would send her into an apoplexy. Decent feather cushion pads don’t cost a fortune and make all the difference between a chair that envelopes you and one that is plain uncomfortable.

Even if I had fifty something million smacker to spend I’m not sure whether a Damien Hirst diamond skull would be my first choice; a couple of Picassos, maybe, but then why can’t art be something that is unpretentious and as simple as leaves pressed in a frame? It’s important to have the confidence in furnishing your home with things that please you not what is fashionable or investment material.

Foodie heaven on a budget? I suggest a few quinces, the golden apples of mythology, made into quince paste or ‘membrillo’ as it is known in Spain. Eat sweet but tart (I add lemon) slivers with a strong cheese like manchego. Not your usual supermarket stock, quinces require sleuth in tracking down. Now is the season. I have often loaded a suitcase with an arm load picked from the finca in Andalucia, where quince trees qrow prolifically. There are surprising number of English country gardens that possess the quince, so ask around. And they’re the kind of garden produce that turn up at a local farmers’ market.

QUINCE PASTE:
Cut up 3 kilos of quinces: peel, pips, core and all. Put in a deep heavy-based pan, cover with water and simmer until soft. Puree mixture with a handblender. Weigh, and add an equal amount of sugar, plus the juice of 2 lemons. Simmer, and stir constantly, until a rich red colour. Line shallow trays with greaseproof paper and spread the hot paste about 4cm deep. Leave to dry and harden in a cool place. Cut into slivers and serve with hard cheese, and a little glass of something sweet like moscatel wine.

A new term

September 17, 2008

It’s September. It’s swallows flying south. It’s sun tan washing off in the bath. It’s back to school. It’s polished shoes, timetables, and a brisk swim at the lido on a mellow Sunday morning. As my children get down to their books with the vigour only seen at the start of a new year I, too, am enthused with ideas for colours, new spaces, and what to plant in the garden. August under cloudless Algarve skies has filled me up with positive thoughts, like a well stocked fridge. Ballast against the coming grey afternoons that darken before six.

Olhao is an ongoing project near the top of my list of things to do. For the last two years we’ve been restoring an old townhouse, in this Portuguese coastal town with it’s specific aromatic tag of grilling fish, drains, and salty air. This where we come in the holidays to eat sardines so fresh they are rigid, swim in clear unpolluted sea reached by ferry boat, and live at a slower pace.

Using local builders we have repaired and renovated walls weeping with salt, and woodwork blistered and warped by sun and rain. I have sourced handmade terracotta floor tiles, still produced by an ancient factory up in the hills, and poked around in dusty warehouses to find the perfect sized white tiles for the kitchen and bathroom. The interior is plain, with tongue and groove detail, high ceilings and tall double doors. On the flat roof, typical of the town’s North African architectural feel we’re adding a room, a white cube, with a bedroom, wood burning stove and shower. This will be a cool retreat in summer without electricity, candles will do, and there’ll be a solar panel on top for hot water. This is where to watch storks glide and breathtaking sunsets. . As my grasp of Portuguese is at best, limited, my hands will held by a Portuguese architect friend. I hope we will not need to seek planning permission as the building will remain in the permitted height restrictions. Ho hum, I’m not counting on anything though. E-mails are being pinged back and forth refining the original layout, which I paced out one sizzling morning, eyed by a scraggy black cat. Fingers crossed, completion should be by next Spring.

I’m off to seek more architectural inspiration over the Open House weekend when all kinds of extraordinary buildings, public and private are open to the public in London. Last year we stayed local and explored a windmill, an amazing eco house, and a fabulous but faded art deco housing estated called Pullman Court.

Apples, apples and more apples are waiting to be gathered in the grey metal bucket. If I am organised there will be crumbles and apple sponge for pudding. The garden has that overgrown and dying back look of autumn. The effect is monotone and washed out like the moody Vilhelm Hammershoi canvases of landscapes and interiors I managed to catch on the last day at the The Royal Academy of Arts.

Summer ingredients

July 20, 2008

I can’t believe the slugs and snails did not get their evil way and decimate the beans. But then I did keep an eagle eye on the fledging shoots, crunching any marauders, as they budded and curled skywards up the bean sticks. In the last weeks the flowers have dropped to leave nascent pods which are swelling fast as a result of the downpours we’ve been having. There are even enough fully formed to pick a first batch and eat steamed with melted butter, garlic and lemon juice.

The rocket is also doing well, and the bitter sharp taste transports me to the whitewashed Italian house where as a lily white 18 year old ‘exchange’, I picked it for the first time from a herb patch outside the back door. I learnt to toss it in golden olive oil for salad that the family ate after the daily plates of pasta and grilled meat.
The southern tradition of whole families sitting down to bond and eat proper meals is something that seems to be on the wane in our takeaway culture. But after sitting through the food, family, failure and friction within France’s community of North African emigres in the film Couscous (La Graine Et Le Mulet) I began to think that maybe the odd tv dinner wasn’t so sad after all. I would recommend this film though, for its mouthwatering visuals of the preparations for fish couscous: gorgeous steaming piles of fluffy grains, spicy sauces, firm fleshy mullet and wonderful cooking pots.

A quick but delicious way to eat couscous is to combine the cooked grain with olive oil, chopped mint, parsley, spring onion, and grilled peppers. This is a sublime salad to eat with meat or fish, or on its own.

I’m an alfresco girl, even if the weather looks set to be indifferent for a party this weekend. Once I gather a few colourful cushions and fabrics around the table, a string of lanterns, shawls to keep warm and something fizzy to drink, I will imagine the mood to be more Tangier than Tulse Hill.

The swimming pool season

There’s not much time to write. It’s over 70 degrees, the sun is shining, the sky cloudless and the lido’s cool ripply blue water beckons. The government wants free swimming for all - it’s already part of the primary curriculum - but there aren’t enough outdoor watery oases like the Brockwell Park Lido where swimmers from 0 to 90 plus can get fit and chill out. My season ticket here is worth more than a hundred pairs of Manolos in terms of well being. A few lengths and a dry-off in the sun are guaranteed to remove the jitters or bad humour. Looking at all the blue below and above my breast stroke makes me think of what a brilliantly versatile and natural decorating tool this colour is.

From deep hyacinth to very pale ice, blue comes in a myriad of shades. I think of how blue turns to lavender when mixed with violet, or turquoise when blended with green. Take a cue from the fashion world and look at the soft blues that characterise denim as it is washed and worn. These shades adapt as easily to home furnishings as they do to jeans and jackets.
My favourite blue dream-scheme is walls in sludgy grey/blue offset with white painted furniture, blinds in blue and white ticking and bowls of cut herbs. Make your own blue story by adding blue pigment to a white base, like my friend Hermione who repaints her beach house in Portugal, every spring with limewash tinted with blue.

And as it’s the time of year for alfresco feasts, a blue and white checked tablecloth is an important part of my kit, whether it’s to spread out at a picnic on the beach, or to make the table look jolly for an everyday meal. Blue and white checks are prosaic, pragmatic and never look out of place.

Good things

We’re back home: back to our own beds, and garden with the beans now curling wildly up their wigwam supports. It’s odd to imagine that 10 days ago the house was heaving with 40 crew and cast, false doors and walls, towering light arrangements, and a forest of christmas trees in the front garden. Like the fair that came to town and left, all that remains are some faded patches on the grass and a signed mugshot of Jack Dee pinned to the fridge.
The garden tasks have built up over five weeks of plunging downpours and bursts of heat. I’m deadheading roses (my favourite scented and blousy Gertrude Jekyll blooms), watering, and planting, rather late, several different varieties of tomatoes. I’d forgotten about the compost we’ve been making in our free Lambeth Council compost bin. It was a bit of a bonus, on top of the sunniness of the morning, to open up the hatch at the bottom and find an earthy smelling and glistening mush of fruit and vegetable matter to dig in for a hopefully bumper crop of Alicantes and Sweet Millions.

The family’s linen is in need of some maintenance. I shall have to put off excuses and deal with it. I try to follow the example of my Grandma Phyllis, who emerged intact from her devastated cellar, after a Luftwafe bombing raid over Clapham Junction and became, by necessity as the family lost their home and most of their belongings, a devoted make-do-and-mender. She sucked on Murray Mints as she repaired worn sheets by folding and cutting away the thin part. The cut edges would then be hemmed on her rackerty Singer. The sheet ends up with a central seam, but that matters little when there will be a good deal more wear in it.
Dyeing worn and grungy bedlinen is another good way to extend its servitude. I have found that the colours by Dylon last well; see the hot pink dyed sheet here, from Decorating easy. I know that dyeing with chemicals is not particularly eco-friendly, but on the other hand the amounts needed for this sort of home dyeing are small, and it’s more sustainable to eke out the usefulness of an item rather than chuck it.

There’s always someone trying to spoil the fun, like the government study which showed that 90 percent of the fruit from national retailers and pick your own farms was covered in pesticides. It’s not going to stop me from buying punnets of juicy sweet English strawberries from my local high street stall. I’ll give them a good wash though, before piling them onto a meringue base with blueberries, and any other summer berries I can find. I am thinking though, that it’s time to invest in an organic boxed delivery from Riverford Organics, which sound brilliant because bundles of asparagus, rhubarb, or whatever arrive just hours after they’ve been cut.