…focaccia with tomatoes, asparagus and parsley, nasturtiums, rosemary and chives from the vegie patch. A joint effort between Roger and me this time (he being the bread baker, me the gardener). My focaccia decorating skills didn’t turn out quite as pretty as I’d hoped – and one tray copped the hotter side of the oven – but sprinkled with olive oil and salt and eaten while still warm, that didn’t seem to matter in the end! Buona Domenica!
These lovelies are some baking treats from having more time in the kitchen of late (and there’s been some fiascos as well as triumphs, I admit!) Roger is the scone baker in our house so gets credit for these. He likes following set recipes, while I’m more of a ‘bit of this and that’ cook, assessing as I go. The last time I baked scones was in a school ‘home economics’ class where the teacher said my hands were too warm for the dough (cool hands are better so scones aren’t tough apparently).
Great-grandma Charlotte was the scone baker in my family. She even entered some at the Ipswich show and gained second place for ‘best plate homemade scones’ in 1927 (her breads won several firsts!) Her daughter, Lorna, my grandma, preferred talking politics with a cigarette in hand than cooking, though she did make a mean fried rice. I feel for her as she’d have been great in a professional career but most women in those days didn’t get that chance. I had a thing for pancakes and pikelets from a young age and that page of my first cookbook is splodged with attempts. Just like the kitchen now wears flour over the benchtop and a bit on the floor too.
The thing about home cooking is, it doesn’t matter if it doesn’t turn out quite right. When there’s that comforting, cooking scent in the house (if not too burnt!), a cloth spread over the table and a cup of tea or coffee ready, eating what you’ve cooked while it’s still warm can unexpectedly bring back happy memories and stories of people loved, now long-gone, and just for a little while, all feels well.
Vale Margaret Fulton (1924-2019).
Her person, her cooking, her books…
My Italian grandmother gave me a lot of cookbooks over the years but these two Margaret Fulton ones were given the special place of being my 18th and 21st presents. I know I didn’t appreciate them enough when I was young but over time they’ve been used often with many pages tagged and splotched and I love that Nanna Francesca wrote in both of them.
Granny Maddalena harvesting from her vegie garden before going inside to cook for all the family. Sometimes it’s the simplest things…