Sauce - Keep It in the Fridge

 

Most of the door compartments of my tall larder fridge are taken up with sauces. Apparently, everything needs refrigerating when it has been opened and must be used within six weeks or sometimes only four weeks. We often go beyond that, with our general rule of ‘no fur, its fine’ unless it is obviously curdled or changed colour. Mint sauce, full of sugar and vinegar, in a jar with a two year ‘best before’ or ‘use by’ date, would surely not just ‘go off’ if left in the fridge for seven weeks instead of six? If you don’t hear from me for a while, I might have poisoned myself. Joking apart, nothing hangs around for too long, except the seafood sauce that I bought too much of one Christmas. I’d over-estimated the prawn cocktails, again. The name ‘Seafood Sauce', when did that happen? I searched the shelves in our massive, well-stocked Tesco looking for Thousand Island Dressing, in vain, on a rare physical food shop for last minute Christmas stuff.  Seafood Sauce would have to do. Anyway, I’m melon, not prawn cocktail, it is for dinner guests. Someone suggested mixing mayonnaise and tomato ketchup. I haven’t tried it.

Like lots of people, I was brought up in a family which had two sauces, red and brown. My dad loved tomato ketchup and plastered everything with it. He would have swamped his Sunday dinner if he could have got away with it. My mum liked H.P, Brown Sauce, or mustard, but mustard was a powder that needed mixing and that was a lot of faffing for one sausage butty. I was with dad on the ketchup, but only a small amount on the side of my plate and when it was gone, that was it. The glass bottle took ages to pour and my dad would push a knife in to get it going. Those were the days.

I blame Mrs Bridges, the cook from Upstairs, Downstairs, for my desire to make homemade sauces. I’m not a domestic goddess, I’m more for feeding a family or just the two of us these days, by affordable, practical means and I haven’t got a kitchen maid to help either. I love my own cheese sauce, perfect for cauliflower, broccoli or both, but my favourite is seasoned onions and mushrooms in cream with steak or pork. It is from a recipe for Boeuf Stroganoff but seems to work well,

Amongst the fridge door contents is the irreplaceable Heinz Tomato Ketchup, no other will do, and the H.P. Sauce. They were kept in a cupboard when I was a child. I keep Soy sauce and Worcester sauce in a dark cupboard with the vinegar, salt and pepper. I hope they are alright.

Here is Lake District, from Sir John Betjeman,

I pass the cruet and I see the lake
Running with light, beyond the garden pine,
That lake whose waters make me dream her mine.
Up to the top board mounting for my sake,
For me she breathes, for me each soft intake,
For me the plunge, the lake and limbs combine.

I pledge her in non-alcoholic wine
And give the H.P. Sauce another shake.

Sprint of Grasmere, bells of Ambleside,
Sing you and ring you, water bells for me;
You water-colour waterfalls may froth.
Long hiking holidays will yet provide
Long stony lanes and back at six for tea
And Heinz’s ketchup on the tablecloth.

John Betjeman  (1906 – 1984)

Thanks for reading. Stay safe and keep well, Pam x

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Fragrance - In Memoriam

The mornings, a time for toast and cereal, checking homework is in satchel, P E kit if required then sending children off to school. Next would be allocating jobs to the household staff and bar staff, rotating the tasks as fairly as possible and getting stuck in herself where she was needed.

My mum, hair scraped back from her naked face, comfy flat shoes, navy slacks, fine-knit pale blue jumper with the sleeves pushed up. I remember her being busy, hands on, making sandwiches to sell at lunch time and how quickly she could butter the bread; two loaves worth of grated cheese and onion, a favourite of the regular customers.  Our pubs were ale houses, before breweries franchised into eating establishments and takings became target based. Any snacks or lunch-time sandwiches provided by my parents was separate to pub takings and the income it fetched was their own.

Later, after tea and into the early evening, my mother would transform herself into the smart, glamorous, attractive woman she was. She styled her brown hair into soft curls lifted off her face and shaped neatly over her ears. Lipstick, a hint of mascara, a dress and high heeled shoes, finished off with a subtle application of Estee Lauder Youth Dew or Chanel No5. This is how I like to remember her, looking lovely, accompanying my father downstairs in the pub, leaving a waft of her favourite fragrance behind.

She died young. For years I kept an almost empty bottle of her Estee Lauder for the comfort her fragrance gave me. Eventually, what was left completely evaporated and the bottle was discarded. I still have a box of talcum powder, not that I can smell it, if it should have any scent left at all, after all these years.

My sense of smell vanished after chemo and radiotherapy. All the fabulous fragrances are lost on me now. Perfume, lilies, home-made baking, the aroma is all left to memory and imagination. I still wear my Christian Dior which I used to love, and why not? I might be wafting memories around those who care.

I found this poem,

Fragrance

The fragrance of
Love and care

The fragrance that
Repair

The fragrance which
Always reminds of welfare

The fragrance with
The power of flare

The fragrance of mother
Is the fragrance of prayer.  

 

By Gemini Girl on All Poetry

Thanks for reading, Pam x

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