Category: Food

A Tuscan Wedding Feast

‘…picked by Teresa and her girlfriends from the meadows around the village.’

You are all invited to an Italian wedding feast.  Dust off your gladrags and let Angela Petch tingle your taste buds with an extract from the final chapter of ‘Tuscan Roots’. 

 

 

 

 

Extract

‘Teresa and her friends from the village have been busy for days in the kitchen, banning Anna from the food preparations..’

The railings on the steps to Il Casalone have been festooned with laurel branches, garlands of white roses and long strands of variegated ivy and Teresa and her friends from the village have been busy for days in the kitchen, banning Anna from the food preparations. The wedding meal and sharing of food is every bit as important a ritual as the nuptial mass. Tables are piled with a feast of colourful, appetising food, spread on freshly laundered Busatti linen. A warm, balmy October has followed a wet summer and so a separate round table is arranged outside on the terrace to hold a whole Parmesan cheese, cut into squares and served with sparkling Prosecco to each guest as they arrive. Teresa and her team have been busy with starters of roast peppers, courgettes and aubergines, pastries with asparagus and artichokes and melting soft cheeses, home-made cappelletti, small hat-shaped ravioli stuffed with chicken breast, lean beef, lemon zest and nutmeg – and tagliatelle, with Anna’s favourite fresh tomato and basil sauce.

‘And all this is to be washed down with glasses of full-bodied local Sangiovese and Chianti Classico.’

And for the main course, Teresa carries in a platter of whole roast suckling pig served with tiny potatoes kept from the ‘orto’, roasted in olive oil and pungent rosemary, a salad of flowers: nasturtiums, borage and marigold petals with young dandelion leaves, wild sorrel and rocket picked by Teresa and her girlfriends from the meadows around the village. And all this is to be washed down with glasses of full-bodied local Sangiovese and Chianti Classico.

End***

The food prepared by the locals, in the Italian Apennines, transcends time and bridges the gap between the generations.

The food prepared by the locals, in the Italian Apennines, transcends time and bridges the gap between the generations.  I enjoyed ‘the stuffed zucchini flowers, little squares of crostini topped with spicy tomatoes, liver pate and a creamy relish made from dandelion flowers, roasted bay leaves topped with ovals of melted cheese.’  Food is prepared: to celebrate feasts, to welcome people into the home, to celebrate family occasions and to woo.

Let Angela Petch tingle your taste buds with her final chapter of ‘Tuscan Roots’.

Read Tuscan Roots, and you will not want to leave the romantic beauty of ‘indigo blue mountains’, or the ruins of Il Mulino (The Mill).  You will be impressed with the bravery of the Italian community during the war, and you will not want to leave the blossoming romance.  I highly recommend this book! Please read my whole review.

Angela has also published ‘Now and Then in Tuscany’: the sequel to Tuscan Roots.

She has published several stories in People’s Friend and is currently writing her third novel.

About Tuscan Roots

If you like Italy, you will enjoy this novel. A story of two women living in two different times. In 1943,in occupied Italy, Ines Santini’s sheltered existence is turned upside down when she meets Norman, an escaped British POW. Years later, Anna Swillland, their daughter, starts to unravel romantic and historical accounts from assorted documents left to her after her mother’s death. She travels to the beautiful Tuscan Apennines, where the story unfolds. In researching her parents’ past, she will discover secrets about the war, her parents and herself, which will change her life forever.

Angela’s Love Affair with Italy

Angela Petch in Italy

I live in the beautiful Italian Apennines for several months each year. Such an inspiring location.
My love affair with Italy was born at the age of seven when I moved with my family to Rome where we lived for six years. My father worked for the Commonwealth War Graves Commission and he made sure we learned Italian and visited many places during that time.
Later on I studied Italian at the University of Kent at Canterbury and afterwards worked in Sicily, where I met my husband. His Italian mother and British father met in Urbino in 1944 and married after a war-time romance.

 

Contact Angela
Facebook:  https://www.facebook.com/AngelaJaneClarePetch/
Twitter:  https://twitter.com/Angela_Petch
Website:  https://angelapetchsblogsite.wordpress.com/

 

Please see all my extracts at Book Extracts and my website and blog at JessieCahalin.com.

A Bread Tale on the Road to Canterbury

We collected our daily bread in Wye Bakery, Kent

On our pilgrimage to Canterbury, we decided to stop in Wye in Kent, for provisions.  When we collected our daily bread in Wye Bakery, I found myself lost in another age. Allow me some creative liberty in my tale…

The quaint Wye Bakery is accessed via an ancient corridor constructed three hundred years ago.

An ancient, mysterious corridor constructed three hundred years ago

Walking through the corridor transported my imagination back in time.  The Franklin, from The Canterbury Tales, invited us inside to taste the bread. Alas, we did not wish to dip the lovely bread into wine, particularly at such an early hour.  We thanked the Franklin for his hospitality and bid him to return to Chaucer’s England.  The ancient vision dissolved, as the aroma of fresh bread brought us back to the present day.

Mother and daughter are passionate about the health benefits of traditional, slow baking.

Inside, we were greeted by the baker Mrs Hickson, and her daughter.  Mother and daughter are passionate about the health benefits of traditional slow baking.  It is hoped that Mrs Hickson’s daughter will be able to apply her Nutrition Degree to the business.

The pastries were buttery, crumbly and utterly delicious.  The bread had a wonderful robust structure and a delicate taste like sour dough.  Is there anything more comforting than simple bread and butter? One could taste the attention to detail in every single crumb.

I heard Robert Browning say:

‘If thou tasteth a crust of bread, thou tasteth all the stars and all the heavens.’

‘If thou tasteth a crust of bread, thou tasteth all the stars and all the heavens.’

I urge you to visit Wye Bakery.  It is refreshing to listen to Mrs Hickson wax lyrical about a business that consumes sixteen hours of her day.  Taste the delights of the labour of love that could be your daily bread.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Dutch Food and French Romance with Imogen Matthews

Last Christmas, I made sourdough bagels for breakfast -they vanished almost as soon as I took them out of the oven!

Historical novelist, Imogen Matthews, shares her love of Dutch food and reveals her double life as a romance novelist.

Ah, good food…where do I start? A couple of years ago I went on a sourdough breadmaking course and have been making my own bread ever since. Last Christmas, I made sourdough bagels for breakfast -they vanished almost as soon as I took them out of the oven!

I lead a double life as an author…writing romance novels under my pen name, Alex Johnson, and Dutch historical fiction under my real name, Imogen Matthews.  So here are the flavours of Holland, a place I visit at least once a year:

Flavours of Holland: Dutch pancake

I am delighted to present a foodie extract from The Perfume Muse.  Come along and join Oliver and Julie.

A romantic dinner in Grasse

Extract

Over dinner in his favourite bistro in Grasse, the gorgeous suave Olivier breaks the devastating news that he will be moving to New York. But just weeks ago, Julie gave up her life in Oxford to be with Olivier in Grasse…

‘a piping hot casserole dish.

‘When?’ she whispered?

‘No fixed date but my boss wants the project completed by the end of the year. I’ve told him I need three months, at least, working in Grasse. I think he’s accepted that.’ He drew his lips into a thin smile which broadened as soon as he saw the waiter approach with their poulet served in a piping hot casserole dish.

‘…you can only get the sweetness from these tomatoes which grow in my friend’s garden.

‘Voila!’ exclaimed the waiter proudly, setting the dish in the centre of the table and flapping his cloth against each plate before placing it in front of them. ‘We have the local chicken from my father, cooked in the oven for a long time with the onions. See how beautiful, soft and sweet, and the fresh tomatoes -you can only get the sweetness from these tomatoes which grow in my friend’s garden.’ He waved somewhere in the direction behind their heads before carrying on. ‘And look at these olives, black and juicy, they burst with flavor. Please, enjoy your meal.’

Flavours of Holland: Appelgebak -Dutch apple tart

‘It looks wonderful. I’m sure we will,’ laughed Julie, who was enchanted by this performance. She was pleased to have the diversion, giving her time to gather her thoughts.

End of extract

 

 

 

Alex Johnson The Perfume Muse

As Alex Johnson I have written two novels: Run Away and The Perfume Muse. My career in the beauty and perfume industry, where I’ve worked for many years as a journalist, inspired my characters and I’ve used my experiences to give some insight into the fascinating world of perfumery.

The Perfume Muse is the sequel to Run Away: the first story is about the break-up of a family and how Julie, the protagonist, copes with life as a single mother and her wayward teenage daughter. Julie falls in love with gorgeous French perfumer, Olivier, but must decide whether he can offer the future she longs for.

At the start of The Perfume Muse Julie and Olivier move to Grasse, the French perfume capital, but Julie’s dreams are dashed when, almost straightaway, he accepts a job in New York. Their relationship is tested by long periods apart and Julie finds comfort in a budding friendship with the intriguing and sexy Jean-Jacques.

Both men, both acclaimed perfumers, vie for Julie’s affections through perfume: each create romantic, sensual perfumes inspired by and especially for her.

How can she possibly choose between them?

Julie’s resolve is further tested by the unexpected arrival of Olivier’s son, Michel.

What were the reasons for Michel turning up out of the blue?

Can the disappearance of the perfume formula Olivier invented for Julie be connected?

And to top it all, it looks like Michel is falling in love with Julie’s daughter, Lisa.

Julie must get to the bottom of this. She flies out to New York to confront Olivier about the son he’s never mentioned and to determine whether her future lies with him or with Jean-Jacques.

The romance novels are very different to Imogen’s recent bestseller: The Hidden Village – the forgotten story of Dutch World War Two History.  Imogen’s romance novels are available for a great price so check out Run Away and Perfume Muse.  I am incredibly impressed with Imogen’s versatility as a writer – she is a great storyteller.

 

Please see all my extracts and excerpts at Book Extracts and my website and blog at JessieCahalin.com.

Trip Down Memory Lane to the Sweet Shop

‘I pull free a chunk and it fizzes on my tongue. Angela’s got rhubarb and custard…’

Inspired by Gail Aldwin’s ‘Socks’, I have been investigating local sweet shops.  If you are confused, then read the flash fiction and let Gail tempt you. It is my sweet joy to present Gail’s foodie flash fiction.

 

 

 

 

Socks by Gail Aldwin

The paper bag is damp in my hand and I peek inside – most of the sherbet pips are stuck together like frogs’ spawn. I pull free a chunk and it fizzes on my tongue. Angela’s got rhubarb and custard, she counts the sweets, putting them in a line along her thigh.

What are your favourite childhood sweets?

‘That’s not fair.’ She talks with a sweet tucked inside her cheek, making her look like a gerbil. ‘Last time I bought two ounces, I got eight sweets, but I’ve only got six this time.’

‘Don’t forget the one in your mouth,’ I say.

‘Oh yes.’ She nods and returns the sweets to the bag, inspecting the yellow and red sides. ‘This one’s chipped. D’you want it?’

‘Let’s swap.’ I take the sweet from her and spill some loose pips into her palm.

‘Is that all I get?’ She downs the scattering in one go.

I’ve been walking home with Angela for a whole week now. She’s nice – she’s the friendliest person in my new school. She lives round the corner from me and she says I can call for her in the mornings, if I like. I wish I could sit next to her, but I’m stuck with Brian Redding. He takes more than his fair share of the desk and he rubs his leg against mine when he gets up from the chair.

‘‘Let’s have a look in the stream.’ Angela picks up her satchel and leads the way.’

‘Let’s have a look in the stream.’ Angela picks up her satchel and leads the way. I don’t have a bag so it’s easy for me to scramble over the rocks, but she has to make a path over the dried mud. Once we’re by the water, she dares me to walk under the bridge. I look at the sloping sides and water laps right up to the edge.

‘I can’t. I can’t get my sandals wet.’

‘You won’t get wet. There’s enough of a ledge to walk on.’ Angela points. ‘I’ve done it loads of times.’

‘You go first then.’

Angela clutches her satchel and takes side-by-side steps, her back against the concrete wall. I watch her until she beckons. I’m only a couple of paces in when there’s a splash. She’s dropped her satchel and it’s floating down the stream.

‘What are you going to do?’

‘Get it, of course.’ She steps into the ankle deep water, then trots along, chasing the bag. When she catches it, she swings the satchel onto the ground, splattering droplets into the air like a fountain. I find her sitting on the bank, her legs are soaked and she’s using a leaf to dry her satchel.

‘Aren’t you going to check inside?’

Angela undoes the buckles and finds her pencil-case, the new felt-pens are leaking. She takes off her socks and wrings them, then wiping her pens, she turns them into a tie-dye of colours.

‘Won’t your mum mind about your socks?’

‘I don’t think so,’ says Angela. ‘Not if I tell her Brian Redding pushed me into the stream.’

Jessie:  What inspired this piece?

Gail: My family moved to Dorset from south London when my son was ten years old. This move had many advantages including extending the childhood experiences for Jonny. While his friends in the city thought a good day out involved visiting a theme park, my son was riding down the river on an airbed. Jonny’s adventures triggered memories from my own childhood involving outings to the brook.

Back in the day when sweets were sold from jars and measured in ounces, I regularly bought a bag full to eat by myself or share with friends. None of my childhood memories are complete without the tang of sherbet on my tongue.

Jessie:  Please tell me a little about flash fiction form.

Gail: I chose to write Socks as flash fiction due to the concise nature of the form. For flash fiction to be effective, it must contains all the elements of a longer piece such as plot, narrative, characters, conflict, and resolution but these parts are distilled into a story that leaves the reader free to fill in the gaps. I hope I have achieved this in Socks. (Socks was first published by FlashFloodJournal)

A Hedgehog is a Cornish ice cream coated in clotted cream then rolled in toasted hazelnuts.

Jessie:  The sweetshop in your extract resonates with me.  Do you still enjoy sweet treats from your childhood?

Gail:   Hedgehog!  I mean the ice cream not the cute creature.  A Hedgehog is a Cornish ice cream coated in clotted cream then rolled in toasted hazelnuts.  It is essential eating when visiting Chapel Porth, St Agnes, in Cornwall and brings back such memories.

Jessie:  What is your latest novel about?

Gail: Paisley Shirt is fascinating collection of twenty-seven stories that reveal the extraordinary nature of people and places. Through a variety of characters and voices, these stories lay bare the human experience and what it is like to live in our world.

Gail: Paisley Shirt is fascinating collection of twenty-seven stories that reveal the extraordinary nature of people and places.

Jessie:  What did the reviewers say?

Gail:  I have had some lovely reviews.

A collection of great depth and variety, packed with emotional integrity. Gail Aldwin’s flash fictions are sensitive, surprising, unnerving, tender and crucial. Maria Donovan, author of Pumping Up Napoleon and The Chicken Soup Murder

In these arresting and sometimes disturbing short fictions, Gail Aldwin reveals hidden moments between husband and wife, lovers, mothers and sons and those on the edge of society. Relationships are fractured or violent, tender or tragic. Often set in city suburbs in different countries around the world, the vividly written pieces in this collection cover a breadth of life and linger long after reading. Jude Higgins, author of The Chemist’s House

Gail Aldwin, author

Gail Aldwin is a prize-winning writer of short fiction and poetry. As Chair of the Dorset Writers’ Network, Gail works with the steering group to support writers by connecting creative communities. She is a visiting tutor at Arts University Bournemouth and author of Paisley Shirt a collection of flash fiction.  This collection of flash fiction has been nominated for the Saboteur Awards.

I hope you will look up Gail’s collection of flash fiction. Has her featured flash fiction tempted you to buy some sweets? As a child, I used to love buying two ounces of sweets and still can’t walk past a sweet shop. 

What are your favourite childhood sweets? 

You can contact Gail at:

Twitter:           @gailaldwin
Facebook:       https://www.facebook.com/gailaldwinwriter/
Blog:                  The Writer is a Lonely Hunter

 

Please see all my extracts and excerpts at Book Extracts and my website and blog at JessieCahalin.com.

 

Fish Shack, ‘bay-bee’, Fish Shack

Books in my Handbag Tour

Fifteen miles from nowhere, we saw a faded sign for ‘Fish Shack’.  We followed a road to the middle of the beach desert until we reached a decaying old boat that was almost as big as a whale. Yes, and the B52’s track was playing in my head…

Parking the car on the uneven tarmac, we hobbled over the pebbles to the shack.  Luckily, I found a table overlooking abandoned boats and Dungeness Power Station.  Optimistic that my husband had reserved a love shack to celebrate two decades of marriage, I congratulated him on this romantic setting.  Alas, always thinking of his stomach, the Fish Shack was the destination.

Expecting greasy fish and chips, I was handed plaice and salad with a large cup of builder’s tea.  The food was absolutely delicious!  The plaice, caught only hours earlier, was cooked in olive oil on a hot plate. The fresh salad had an olive oil and lemon dressing. It was served in a small cardboard box, but they will probably steal this idea on the Great British Menu. And builder’s tea could be the new Pinot Noir.  I must confess that I declined the bread roll, but understood that it was a nod to the fishermen who eat this food.

Seizing the moment, we decided to go for a walk on the beach.  We were told it was fine to walk on the beach if we didn’t touch the ‘fishing tackle’!!  Forget visiting a maritime museum, there were artefacts on the beach such as rusty anchors and abandoned nets.  These savvy people are obviously protecting the objects d’art to prevent art galleries and Michelin starred restaurants from displaying them in their gaffs.  The food and the setting were perfect: The Fish Shack is indeed a funky little shack. Get yourselves off to the food getaway!

Who knows? Maybe this place will become either the Dungeness Modern Art Gallery or even the Derek Jarman Modern.  An art gallery and restaurant without walls could be the new concept of the 21st century.  Visit now as in the future you may need a credit card without a limit.

Funky Fact

Derek Jarman, the artist and filmmaker, lived in Prospect Cottage, Dungeness.

 

Please see all my travels and adventures at Handbag Adventures.

Does the Camera Lie?

‘Alex made the images look like big cartwheels bursting with droplets of fresh juice’

Determined to confuse my senses, Susan Willis has sent me her take on a foodie extract. The fruit is alive with colour but isn’t as delicious as it seems.  Let Susan tempt you another cheeky extract from The Girl in the Dark.  Find out if all is well and whether the kitchen is too hot.

 

‘Kim sliced large Jaffa oranges and bright, full Sicilian lemons’

Kim sliced large Jaffa oranges and bright, full Sicilian lemons while Alex made the images look like big cartwheels bursting with droplets of fresh juice. He’s such a clever guy, she thought.

She began to peel a kiwi fruit while Alex watched. He grinned at her. ‘I haven’t had this much fun for ages,’ he teased. ‘What do you think about this, Kim?’    

‘Hmm, not a shade of lipstick I’ve ever used before, but, I suppose there’s always a first time for everything?’

Kim giggled. ‘Hmm, not a shade of lipstick I’ve ever used before, but, I suppose there’s always a first time for everything?’

Alex stared into at her mouth. ‘Maybe not, but you do have those big kissable lips!’

She felt her cheeks flush and touched her bottom lip. It feels as though I’m in some type of trance, she thought, and knew for certain that she was falling for this guy in a big way.

‘Let’s see what this pineapple looks like when sliced?’

Kim shook herself. ‘Let’s see what this pineapple looks like when sliced?’                        

Alex danced a little jig from one of his big loafers to another. ‘God, I love it when a plan comes together.’

Kim laughed at the sight of his huge feet skipping lightly.

Alex placed three apples together, but Kim frowned knowing the image didn’t look original compared to the rest of the work.

Touching his arm, she suggested, ‘How about if we make long rows of the apples?’

‘But maybe the first one could be cut in half to show the white crispness inside, or, I could always take a bite out of one of them?’

He nodded as she placed the fruit. ‘Fab.’ he said. ‘But maybe the first one could be cut in half to show the white crispness inside, or, I could always take a bite out of one of them?’

‘What a marvellous team we are,’ Kim cried.

Alex agreed and came up close to her. He bent down to her ear. ‘Not just a pretty face, then,’ he whispered. ‘But more of a very clever lady, methinks.’

‘Oh, I think any stylist can come up with new ideas,’ she said gently shaking her head.

Alex smiled. ‘Aah, but you’re my food stylist and nobody else comes close.’

End of Extract

The Girl in the Dark

About the Novel

The Girl in the Dark is the latest Grip Lit novel from Susan Willis. A thrilling romantic suspense story that will keep you turning pages long into the night.

When Kim goes to old friend, Sidney’s, photography studio to start a new food styling contract she meets his new assistant, Alex. Kim is catapulted from her mournful existence into an explosive romantic relationship with Alex. Sidney, however, is wary. He thinks, there’s something not quite right about Alex, and urges caution.

Will Kim look back and wish she’d listened…

Susan Willis

Susan Willis is a published author of three novels, and five novellas’. She lives in the North East of England surrounded by family and friends. Following publication of a love story about a chef and her boyfriend, she wrote more foodie-based love stories and wove them into her first novel, ‘Yes Chef, No Chef’.

Now Susan has ventured into romantic suspense with her latest novel, The Girl In The Dark.

Set in her home town of Durham City, this storyline is not a who done it thriller, but, a psychological page-turner which she loved writing. We can only hope the heroine hasn’t put her trust in the wrong man?

Best of luck to Susan with this novel.

The heat is certainly on with this great summer read set in a photography studio in Durham. Kim is styling fruit for the new photographer, Alex, but it’s not only the July sunshine that is making her sizzle with anticipation. 

Follow Susan on:
Twitter:           @SusanWillis69
Email:              williseliz7@aol.com

 

Please see all my extracts and excerpts at Book Extracts and my website and blog at JessieCahalin.com. 

Turkish Delights

Cherry trees bursting with flavour

Food is the heart of a culture and its identity, so I have invited authors to share the plates of food offered in their delicious words. Beth Elliott has invited me to join her at her table, in Turkey. Travel with me to enjoy the vibrant colours and fresh flavours of Turkish food.  A decadent Turkish feast awaits you in Beth’s travel article.

Friends,

A view of the Taurus Mountains at Aladag, in Adana province.

This is the end of a travel article called Cherries and Plums, about a Turkish mountain village [yayla] in the Taurus, north of Adana. My husband was Turkish and his kind relatives invite me to stay with them each summer. Of course, they like the coolest places they can find, hence a cottage as high up in the mountains as they could go.

Best wishes,

Beth

Extract – Cherries and Plumbs

The trees are always laden with fruit in season, sweet and tempting.

All the plum trees in everyone’s garden up in the yayla are bent nearly double under their load of purple-sheened fruit. It takes several days to pick all those we can reach. After making jam until we have used up all the sugar and run out of jars; after filling five kilo bags for each of a dozen friends and relatives in the city and after eating as many raw plums as we dare, the rest at the top of the tree are left for the birds.

In September in the main street of Tekir there is a slightly melancholy air. The summer crowds have gone. Now the weather is cooler down in Adana, the townsfolk don’t come up to their country cottages so much. A few elderly men in traditional baggy trousers shuffle along the street to their favourite café. There they will read the newspaper, talk with friends and watch the much reduced world go by.

Main market in Adana

The street is lined with mighty trees. They provide shelter from sun and rain. Little shops expand onto the pavement with displays of thick jumpers and woolly waistcoats, hardware, newspapers and strong shoes, in preparation for the snow of the coming winter. Alongside the general stores, are food shops. The large number of refrigerated stalls stocked with great tubs of thick, creamy yoghurt and pails of local white cheese reflect the importance of these items in the traditional Turkish diet.

Nearby, another shop also has a refrigerated display, this time of glorious plump green and black olives and turshu – mixed pickled vegetables. On the counter are oblong containers of honeycomb, oozing golden and sweet. The irresistible smell of fresh bread: loaves or the flat pide, wafts to our nostrils.

Everything is piled into the car. We set off slowly down the main street, across the bridge, turn sharply at the edge of town where the houses thin out and the fruit trees begin. The car twists and turns its way uphill. We go past the new mosque with its little pocket money shop underneath [useful for biscuits and matches].

Here the mountain sweeps out into a shelf where shepherds pasture their flocks in the hot summer months. The larch trees grow from this point up. Great cobbles are set in the track to stop wheels losing their grip in wet or snowy weather. The car creeps up in second gear and at last we reach the yayla, set so high above the valley but still far below the sheer grey wall of rock that makes a sharp outline against the sky. Somewhere over the ridge is the eagle’s eyrie.

Yayla soup, made from yoghurt, flour, an egg and broth, with some rice added in. You can add pepper sauce on top for a spicy version, as well as mint.

For the evening meal we have hot yoghurt soup – called, appropriately, yayla soup. This is followed by salad, cheese and olives. Then we fall upon the fresh bread and honey. To finish, there is a huge bowl of plums.

Jessie:  This is a wonderful article.  I would like to know more about Turkish food.

Beth: I have some photographs to tempt you.

Here is the main market in Adana. Four types of beans, three sorts of peppers, all fresh that morning. Turks won’t eat produce unless it’s of that day.

Breakfast at my aunt’s home

Breakfast at my aunt’s home. Four sorts of white cheese plus one hard cheese, kaymak, olives, salad, dried apricots, walnuts, honey and grape syrup [pekmez]. The boiled eggs and the freshly squeezed orange juice were added soon afterwards…

Another breakfast, at my brother and sister-in-laws’ home. Again, white and hard cheeses, olives, eggs, some fruit compotes, honeycomb and rosehip puree. All washed down with many glasses of tea.

The town of Akcatekir on the valley floor. The holiday villages are up in those pinewoods, near the rock wall, where the goats scamper along all day and the eagles fly out occasionally from over the top.

Scandalous Lady

Jessie:  The tables presented speak volumes about the generosity of the Turkish culture.  Tell me how your love of Turkish culture influenced your novel, Scandalous Lady.

Beth Elliott’s fiery, rebellious artist Olivia falls in love with the magical land of Turkey. When she encounters mysterious, ice-cold diplomat Selim, nothing goes to plan – for either of them. Is Olivia destined to live a life of solitude and regret? Or will her past stay buried long enough for her to have her happy ending?

Beth Elliott

From a young age, Beth made up adventure stories and persuaded her friends to act them out with her. Writing the novels came later, after a career as a Languages teacher in several countries. Her own Mr Darcy being Turkish, Beth adds a few exotic elements into some of her Regency Tales.

 

 

 

I hope you enjoyed a taste of Turkish culture.  Please contact me at mailto:JessieCahalin@aol.co.uk if you would like to share your cultural experiences via food and words.

 

Please see all my extracts and excerpts at Book Extracts and my website and blog 

 

Tea and Contemplation

Making the tea helps my thoughts to flow

The ritual of making tea always punctuates the flow of my day.  I meander to the kitchen between words.  Making the tea helps my thoughts to flood out.  Builder’s tea is my preference, but a friend challenged me to try something more refined. Thus, we went to Bath in search of tea and Jane Austen.

Bath Market has a wonderful array of teas.  The selections are stored in jars like a sweetshop, but woe betide you if you venture to pick up the jars.  The assistant will guide you through the tea sniffing journey.

Selections are stored in jars like a sweetshop

I noted the different textures of the tea leaves: some leaves are larger and crisp while others are smaller and smoother.  It was all rather overwhelming to learn selecting tea can be an art form.

I was forced to make my selection on the scent rather than the taste.  I pontificated for some time.  It had to be Lapsang Souchong, because I liked the sound of the words.  It is a black tea, and the aroma of the tea leaves is beautifully smoky.  The assistant said, ‘It is packed full of antioxidants and supports well-being.’ The tea sounded like a medicine delivered by a therapist.  Apparently, ‘ this tea strengthens the immune system, prevents cardiovascular diseases and fights inflammation.’ Moreover, the Lapsan Souchong can assist with a hangover. What more could one ask for?

Which tea would you choose?

My selection was carefully wrapped in a parcel, labelled and presented to me. I couldn’t wait to try the tea at home. Initially, the tea was smoky with a hint of disinfectant.  However, as the tea reached room temperature, the taste was pleasantly smoky and quite soothing.  As I drank the tea, I decided to write this blog post.

According to Lin Yutang, ‘There’s something in the nature of tea that leads us into a world of quiet contemplation of life.’ And this seemed to work for me after the taste of the disinfectant had subsided.

I did meet with Jane Austen on another trip to Bath. On this occasion, I heard whispers as I strolled past the Royal Bath Crescent. A woman’s voice confided:

‘But indeed, I would rather have nothing but tea.’
Mansfield Park by Jane Austen

I prefer builder’s tea

Perhaps, the esteemed Miss Austen visited one of the grand houses to take tea with the lady of the house.  However, I suspect tea making was also a glorious, thought-provoking ritual for Jane Austen.

Let me know what you think of speciality teas. Do you prefer a robust builder’s tea or a speciality tea? Is coffee the only fuel for your words?

 

Please see all my adventures at Handbag Adventures and my website and blog at JessieCahalin.com.