So, who wants to help... to perpetuate the cellar?

I still refer to Mam’s Bero Book and to the Dairy Book of British Food. I also refer to books, new and old, that remain in my collection. Goodness knows what we’ll eat, tomorrow. Cooking can be (and is, in my case) a great hobby and diversion.
Soo xx

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I had a rather odd aunt who used to give everyone even odder presents. She gave me the Findus Book of Fish Cookery for my 21st birthday - I never quite got my head around that.

Mind you, it wasn’t as odd as the present she gave Lou for her 2nd birthday. It was made out of pink felt and none of us ever worked out what it actually was.

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That’s a classic, TFM.

Soo xx

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Be-Ro
Marguerite Patten
Good Housekeeping*

My mother bought & dressed a crab following the destructions in the endpapers of that

Carinthia.xx

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I think I know what the Pink Felt Thing was…

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The first thing I cooked was an omelette following the recipe in Grandma’s Woman magazine

Bless her she ate it all and claimed to enjoy it

I was five or six years old

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I raise you Purnell’s Complete Cookery, given to me by my first fiancé’s mother. She worried that I might starve him, but I left this to another (3).
Soo xx

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I think not.

Though, come to think of it, it anyone can guess, it’ll be you. It did look rather, unsuitable.

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I hope that the Doing Better is going well, Dear TFM.

Must sleep - best nights, Cellarites.

Soo xx

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Well, felt isn’t a terribly practical fabric for a crab…

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Gin, Soo, & fer anyone else in need

Carinthia.xx

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It is going better thanks soo. Sleep well.

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My signature dish when in my teens was kipper omelette. I think the recipe was on the packet of kippers. My mother was extremely flattering about it , since if I made it, then it meant she wasn’t responsible for dinner for a change. The rest of the family also thought it was fine because whatever you think, it really stuck to the ribs.

Oddly enough I haven’t been asked for it recently.

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I can imagine that being rib-sticking, Janie.

I certainly like them both separately

Carinthia.xx

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Just after the War my mother had to get a new gas cooker (I suspect the first one anybody in the family ever got). It was like an old Vincent motorbike: all the pipework was on display on the outside… and it came with a cookery book called “The Radiation Cookery Book”, full of Useful Recipes for “a meal for four” using cheap ingredients. It has two recipes for Scotch Broth. (Eighteenth edition, 1935, it was. And is; I still have it, with the back cover missing.)

The family of mice living in the bottom of that cooker didn’t happen until later, when it had moved house with us and my elder brother started having mice who were all of them escapologists.

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“Why don’t you use the nuclear-powered cooker, Mrs. Tracy? It’s much faster.”
“Well, I’ll tell you, Kyrano. I never did get the hang of those rods.”

yardarm

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Morning all

My new creation is on the sideboard

Bacon and onion chopped fine and cooked in the base of an ovenproof dish

Then two large tomatoes scooped out and well seasoned get put on top of the bacon and baked off till starting to soften

Break an egg into each of the martyrs and put the martyrs tops on top and bake till the eggs are cooked and the yolks runny

Serve with sossiges and soda farls

No eggs looking at a Gus so safe

ETA

Two eggs per person is a meal

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I could rather fancy that, it would make a good breakfast, I think.

I have been sitting here pondering the (many) design flaws of the human body. It seems to be that the worst of them is the one that makes it impossible to sit on your lazy arse drinking tea/beer/wine/gin/whatever all day, without ever having to get up for anything at all.

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Is that a tiny periscope I see emerging from yonder tomato?

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I blame the woodlice.

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