Wise words from Ethelind....

A neighbour posted a small green pocket book through the letterbox with a post-it note stuck to one page. The book was Ethelind Fearon’s ‘Hot and Cold Sweets’, written in 1956. You don’t mess with Ethelind. “I shall expect some slight co-operation from the reader,” she warns. No gentle hand-holding here. Unlike modern day celebrity chefs, Ethelind does not appear in her book. So I can only imagine what she looks like. In my mind's eye I can see a starched apron and sensible shoes. I may be wrong. Anyhow whilst I was daydreaming, Ethelind took me by the scruff of my dirty apron, poked me with her wooden spoon and barked at me to get on with cooking rhubarb fingers. This recipe was sandwiched between ‘Puffs, Jugoslavian’ and ‘Rice Caramel.’ As I dusted the counter with flour, rolled out my rough puff pastry and dipped my rhubarb sticks in melted butter, a wave of 1950’s nostalgia passed over me. Freddie came down and started to play marbles on the kitchen floor. Alex came into the kitchen and joined in. For a split second (if I ignored the i-pod plugged into her ears) we looked like an illustration from a Ladybird book. You know the sort of thing. Jane and Peter are playing in the kitchen whilst Mummy cooks and Daddy is cleaning the car. Then I stepped on a marble, flipping a sugar-coated, butter-dripping rhubarb stick across the room. Mummy never swore in Ladybird books. Ethelind tutted disapprovingly and I pulled myself together, wrapped my rhubarb sticks in their puff pastry blankets and placed them in the oven. When they emerged, some had split. These looked the most appetising, revealing a flash of pink rhubarb. Freddie and Alex had no problem consuming a handful of rhubarb fingers and gave them 8 out of 10. I hope that Ethelind would have looked on approvingly. As she says, “you should be capable of devising your own variations on this delectable theme and have no need of advice from anyone at all.” Don't let on, but I am still in need of advice from all of you out there!