A Summer Wedding (2014 Edition)

College sweethearts, they nipped away and got married this winter, after about eight years of living in poky bedsits in Brighton, fresh flowers always on the marquetry drum table so the various places looked bright and homey.  They decided to gather the clans to celebrate at grandma's New England pond-side summer house, and gosh can the young folks throw a party.
 

The gift table, with its own little marquee in case the partly-cloudy sky got obstreperous.

The bride is a horticulturalist and artist; this wildflower arrangement is hers.

She also did the centerpieces, with help from friends.  The table runners are paper, decorated with the bride and groom's initials handwritten by anyone who was around to write them.  They made a great graphic design; I feel very smart that I managed to figure out they were letters.

The view from the buffet.

And we walked by the marriage vows to get to that buffet.

May there always be a shared adventure rich with moments of serenity, as well as excitement; vital with problems that test as well as successes that lift...

The feast included charcuterie and cheese plates, mezze and salads and sandwiches and really great breads.

On the groom's side, we got to meet Mum and a cousin or something.  On the bride's side, there were Mum and Dad, one and a half sisters, three aunts, two uncles, just one of several cousins, Mum's second ex-husband (effectively bride's stepfather for much of her childhood and adolescence), stepdad's mother, sister and wife and someone who may have been his mother's boyfriend, Dad's mother, sister, wife, two cousins and Dad's daughter by current marriage so that's another half-sister.  There may have been more.  The photo of the bride's mother, father's wife and stepfather's wife together is... let's call it interesting.

Dress varied widely.  One of the wedding gifts was the bride's gorgeous tiara of fresh roses.

Where do I come in?  Through the kitchen door, natch.  I made Mum and Dad's wedding cake more than thirty years ago, and the bride wanted someone to bring dessert.  They hadn't specified a wedding cake, but wedding cakes are fun!  And since they had way fewer than 150 guests, I didn't need to construct a three-tier cake, which I can only vaguely recall how to do.  So I decided to go with two tiers and a cheesecake on the side that would make her dad happy.

Cheesecake o' love.

So having made that first cake, 30-some years ago, I got called on twice more in the ensuing fifteen years.  That, for those of you challenged by the maths-totting, means I haven't made a tiered cake for more than fifteen years.  How hard could it be, I reasoned, and left everything to the last minute.  My wedding cakes have all been chocolate, with fruit filling between the layers and buttercream overall.  The two marriages celebrated with chocolate and raspberry ended in divorce; the one celebrated with chocolate and cherry filling is still going fairly strong.  So there you go.  One of the bride's friends whipped a gallon or two of cream to go with a few gallons of fresh strawberries, plus there were sorbets, so everyone got well-desserted.

Sugaring a cherry is akin to gilding a lily, but sometimes 'fancy' is the right way to go.

They both seem very down-to-earth, reasonably smart, and centered.  I'm betting on happy ever after.

Guests did a little swimming as the sun drew in.

Then there were lanterns.  The groom and bride took theirs out on the pond, lit it...

let it go...

and watched it fly.

 

The latest addition to Betty A’s household is a baby one...

Thanks, Betty Anonymous, for keeping us posted on your most Betty-esque adventures:

On Friday, I received a package. I had ordered a new light jacket, navy blue – such a useful colour. It’s not a Burberry, no, neither cat nor boots, but still... It’s a — wait for it — WELLINGTON® of Bilmore.  My mother had ordered some organic cookies, Duchy Originals. We usually call them Prince Charles cookies, for (at least to us) apparent reasons.

Then there was a jar of Mrs Bridges® FOUR BERRY Preserve, Made in Scotland. Just for me.

“Mrs Bridges? The Mrs Bridges?”

You may well ask. Because, yes, Mrs Bridges, the Mrs Bridges of Upstairs, Downstairs at Eaton Place fame lends her name to all sorts of jams, preserves and chutneys that are being created in her name.

And last but not least, for little Betty A., all 5 feet 6 inches of her, there was a small baby jar of Marmite. For months I had meant to order one, but ordering just one jar and nothing else would have been silly. Now, finally it arrived, a limited edition no less. Call me strange, but not only do I like Marmite, but sometimes, for a special treat, I put a wee little bit on the tip of a spoon and eat it straight from the jar. I just let it melt in my mouth and “Ah!” Pure bliss... Sigh

A few media citations:

Food & Drink Innovation Network, September 16th, 2013:

Marmite is welcoming a new member to the family – the “Baby One” – following its appearance on the current End Marmite Neglect TV advert.

This 125g jar features a new label quoting part of the now famous line, “It’s a baby one”, and joins the household for a limited time only.

Joanne O’Riada, Marmite brand manager, said: “The ‘It’s a baby one’ quote in the Marmite advert has caused such a stir that we wanted to do something to honour it.

“What better way than to create a limited edition jar that we hope will remind people to never neglect the brown stuff again."

(source: Food & Drink Innovation Network)

The Guardian, 7 August 2013:

A storm in a Marmite jar

The Video on YouTube:

End Marmite NeglectAdvert 2013

Betty in the Wild: The Less-Deep South

I know Betty will disagree - politely - but I like superhighways.  Of course, the lesser byways of my native land are more likely to be lined with strip malls (pawn shop, hot-tub store (I'm serious; lots of hot-tub stores in the USA), nail salon, mini-food mart and not the kind where one receives proposals over the tinned goods) than with thatched pubs and white-clapboard churches.  That makes the major roads, which are most often lined with grasses and trees, seem quite attractive.  Nonetheless, I was a bit daunted by the thought of 1,000 miles on Route 95... but a few judicious exits made the trip a pleasure.

As, for instance, a stop at the Santee Wildlife Refuge in more-or-less Summerton, South Carolina, where there are endangered alligators (saw a skull at the visitor center, probably from a gator killed by a poacher, but no live critters, which is just fine with me; what ugly animals they are) and a burial mound that both Brits and Yanks used as a fort back in the Disturbance-in-the-Colonies days.  By that time, the local Santee tribe had little use for it, as contact with Europeans had reduced their numbers from 3,000 to fewer than 500.  The tribe was extirpated by 1800.

Not quite the Acropolis, but the site of a notable American victory over British forces in... oh.  Sorry.

Just to prove we're still in the South.  Note commendable lack of alligators slithering from the mud, much as an over-indulged little sister might, or the imp of jealousy operating on an over-imaginative fiancee who catches sight of a pretty cousin kissing her fiance.

In Roanoke Rapids, North Carolina, I accidentally purchased a gardenia that will not thrive in northern Virginia, and skidded into a u-turn when I saw this picturesque church.  Why?

Give you hint:  not because it's picturesque.

Get it?  Get it?!?

Finally, in Richmond, Virginia, once the capital of the confederacy, I perused the statuary, much as Beatrice did in Copenhagen.  Except hers was a mermaid and mine was mostly soldiers, statesmen and allegories.

Then I had lunch at an old-world Italian place, followed by what Beatrice would call pancakes by way of a sweet.  The restaurant pictured here, and I, call them crepes.

Economizing with Dearest Eulalia

Betty Anonymous on a timely post-holiday topic...


Did you ever have to economize, or, in other words, have to scrape and scrimp, cut down on expenses, lay out your money with a careful eye?

Economizing with Dearest Eulalia

I don’t know how many times I have read Dearest Eulalia.  I know I had always read things the way The Great Betty had meant them.  But this time my eyebrows shot up with mounting incredulity, in utter amazement, in total stupefaction... – What was that, dear little red pen?  You think I’m overdoing it?  Nah! – penlike Snort!

With something like nostalgia, I remember my days as a student, "far away" from home (about 480 km/300 miles). – Ok, I had worked at a place more than ten times that distance from home before but that was different. – Anyway, I always had enough money during those days but I tried to keep expenses down to a minimum so I could afford the train ride home during holidays, between semesters, or for the odd weekend.  (Hey, that’s almost like a Neels heroine!)  I bought a lot of my groceries at discount stores, back when discount stores did completely without frills or brand names.  The cheapest pasta, the cheapest cheese, the cheapest bread... You get the picture.

If only I had known, back then, that there was another way to save money on groceries, a way that would help me keep up appearances and eat like a king at the same time...

But then, the book I could have used as a guide would not be written for more than a decade.

Eulalia‘s Shopping List

Earl Grey
cheap tea bags
the finest coffee beans
tin of instant coffee
Cooper‘s marmalade

sugar
flour
Bath Olivers

farm butter
butter substitute
Brie
Port Salut cheese
a few slices of the finest bacon
streaky bacon
lamb cutlets, a couple
chicken breast
lamb’s kidneys
minced beef
some sausages
potatoes
cabbage
celery
carrots
grapes

If this is what Eulalia buys when pay day is a week away and the housekeeping purse is almost empty, then I don’t want to see what’s on her shopping list on pay day and the days thereafter. In fact, I am no longer surprised their housekeeping purse is almost empty at this point.

"She frowned as she spoke; pay day was still a week away and the housekeeping purse was almost empty. The Colonel's pension was just enough to pay for the maintenance of the house and Jane's wages; her own wages paid for food and what Jane called keeping up appearances [...]

"'That's a mercy. Now, Miss Lally, you do your shopping; I'll hang out the washing—see if you can get a couple of those small lamb cutlets for the Colonel and a bit of steak for us—or mince. I'll make a casserole for us and a pie if there's enough...'

"Eulalia got her coat from the hall and fetched a basket and sat down at the table to count the contents of her purse.  A week to pay day so funds were low.

"'It had better be mince,' she said.  'It's cheaper.'  And then she added, 'I hate mince...'

"She looked up and saw that Jane was smiling — not at her but at someone behind her. Mr van der Leurs was standing in the doorway holding the coffee tray. 'Delicious coffee,' he observed, 'And I was delighted to meet the Colonel.'  [...]

"Mr van der Leurs, without appearing to do so, noted that she bought Earl Grey, the finest coffee beans, Bath Olivers, farm butter, Brie and Port Salut cheese, Cooper's marmalade and a few slices of the finest bacon; and, these bought, she added cheap tea bags, a tin of instant coffee, a butter substitute, sugar and flour and streaky bacon. It was the same at the butcher's, where she bought lamb cutlets, a chicken breast, lamb's kidneys and then minced beef and some sausages.  He hadn't gone into the shop with her but had stood outside, apparently studying the contents of the window.  At the greengrocer's he followed her in to take the basket while she bought potatoes and a cabbage, celery, carrots and a bunch of grapes.
 
"'We make our own bread,' said Eulalia, bypassing the baker.

"Mr van der Leurs, keeping his thoughts to himself, made light-hearted conversation as they returned to the house.  It was evident to him that living was on two levels in the Colonel's house, which made it a sensible reason for him to marry her as quickly as possible."

It is sooo sweet of Eulalia and Jane to scrape and scrimp just so that the Colonel won’t know how bad the state of their finances really is, to let him enjoy the creature comforts he is used to probably all his life.  I don’t know what I would have done in their stead.  I am very much afraid I would have been a bit more of a realist and would have introduced meals to the Colonel’s menu that would have been a little easier on the housekeeping kitty.

 

Cooking With Betty

Betty Anonymous sent us an email this weekend - and now I want to go buy some raspberries and whipping cream and stroopwafels!

Stroopwafels

Went to a different supermarket, yesterday, and what did I see? Stroopwafels! So today, Betty A. polished off very creamy raspberry ice cream, home-made, and stroopwafels!!! I would have shared with you, Bettys, honest, I would.

Raspberry Ice Cream

300 g / 10 ½ oz           frozen raspberries

200 g / 7 oz                 whipping cream (fluid oz = same difference)

100 g / 3 ½ oz             sugar (scant ½ cup)

Process with your food processor or hand blender.

For frozen yogurt substitute yogurt for whipping cream

I microwaved the stroopwafels for a few seconds.

Bibbidi Bobbidi Boo

In case you've a yearning to hear the song.

If we are honest with ourselves, I think we all have to admit that no matter the joys of brand new children or grandchildren, smokin’ hot crossword-puzzle experts at the breakfast table, new homes for furbishment in the West (Texas) Country, or placid husbands who gaze lovingly at us whilst driving with quiet competence across several counties so we can explore the Cheddar Gorge or Carlsbad Caves or whatever, that there are moments when we’d be tempted to trade it all in for life in Betty-land.  After all, Amelia Esmerelda has all that plus an account at Harrod’s and a pair of butlers, and a dog that apparently never bespoils the Aubusson.  Plus she has an array of Aubussons.

I know you’d never really give up your wonderful family and friends for a luxurious home in Menkemaborg, a Mini of your own and a future full of little boys who will grow to very big boys indeed and lovely-eyed little girls who are pretty when they smile, all tromping about the gardens in Wellington boots with Old Trott and two boys standing by to repair the damage – but.  Every now and now, you think about it.

So I’m curious:  what’s your single favorite element of the Fantasyland that is Amelia Esmerelda’s post-nuptial life?  I’m going to do another little poll thing like the Christmas-scene poll of a few months back (December, I think it was).  My candidates would of course include faithful retainers, which just seems like a blissful accoutrement of the good life.  But you may wish to nominate three course lunches, splendid teas and four course dinners that don’t lead to inappropriate weight gain, or impeccably well-behaved children (and even stepchildren, though they may be quite horrid at first), or a socking great dress allowance, the figure to pull off haute couture ballgowns, or antique epergne and tallboys that are neither dented nor odd smelling and never need polishing (by you, anyway).

Lunch at Betty's.

 

Once I have your ideas, I’ll put up that poll.  If you’d care to disclose why you most appreciate the element of Bettylife you nominate, that might make for entertaining reading.

More Bettysday Festive-ness

Oh, joy – photos arrived this morning from Betty Adrianne and more from Betty Barbara.  Please read the previous post if you haven’t already so, so this one has at least a shot at making some sense.

I mentioned Betty Margaret/Mickie’s (She comments as Betty Margaret but in person becomes Betty Mickie.  I shall continue to use both until instructed otherwise.) beautiful peacock theme.  And then Betty Barbara told us she (Betty M/M) acquired a peacock at her country estate some years ago, when it wandered in and stayed!  For those of you wondering, peacocks are not native to the Maryland woodlands.  Anyway, with judicious cropping, I think I can show you a bit better what I’m on about ref: her outfit:

Better, right?  And there’s also a bit better a view of Betty Adrianne in her hand-knit (by her) lacey scarf, and if you peer in just to the left of Dearest Mary Jane, you can see that hand-turned (by her friend) box-elder scarf pin.  But don’t strain, as a close-up is coming.

And here we have a pair of architectural views of the peacock frou-frou or fascinator affixed to Betty Margaret/Mickie’s head in the above, built with feathers from her very own adopted peacock, Pete.  That's right, Pete the peacock:

Hands up who wants one?  (Me!  Me me me oh pick me!)

And here’s a lovely photo of Betty Adrianne in her scarf (or shawl – is that a shawl?):

I’ll take one of those, too, if anyone’s offering.

If you were wondering about the food, which was tasty but a very distant third to the company and the (very distant second) revivifying beverage:

Beginning with the lowest plate, we have some fruit, a little metal cup that used to have corn salad in it, a small cut of dilled Havarti, and a cranberry-orange scone waiting to be bedecked with clotted cream, lemon curd, strawberry conserve or some combination thereof.  On the middle level, there’s a cucumber-lavender sandwich you can barely see – a thin slice of bread, spread with cream cheese with lavender petals blended into it, and topped with a slice of cuke.  Then the round tomato sandwiches, a not-yet-empty cup of corn salad (the shadow of my hand, reaching out to sweep that middle plate clean, hovers in this photo) and a ham-and-habenero sandwich.  Up top are the sweets, which included thickly-frosted carrot cake, some little chocolate things and shortbread biscuits drizzled with ‘chocolate.’  That’s how the tearoom describes them, but I say if it’s pale orangey-yellow, it’s not chocolate.

Ignore any incidental cleavage in that photo, please.  It’s allowable in a married lady, or anyone else.

Also, if I may request this, please forgive errors, typos and oddly-placed photos.  Favorite Girl has decided opinions on the appropriate use of human laps on Sunday mornings, and computers don’t come into it.  So I had to juggle a bit...