Blessing of the Kindling

An old Gaelic prayer found, handwritten, on a piece of paper folded in an antique book I'd bought. A consequent internet search said that this one was translated by somebody called Alexander Carmichael. I love the image that it raises of a gnarled little woman, on her knees, laying the fire and whispering this devoutly in the early morning.

I will kindle my fire this morning

In the presence of the holy angels of heaven

In the presence of Ariel of the loveliest forms

In the presence of Uriel of the myriad charms

But the Holy Son of God to shield me.

Without malice, without jealousy, without envy,

Without fear, without terror of any one under the sun,

But the Holy Son of God to shield me.

God, kindle Thou in my heart within

A flame of love to my neighbour,

To my foe, to my friend, to my kindred all,

To the brave, to the knave, to the thrall,

O Son of the loveliest Mary,

From the lowliest thing that liveth,

to the Name that is highest of all.

O Son of the loveliest Mary

From the lowliest thing that liveth,

To the Name that is highest of all.

Child and David

I really want to be a cook. There, I have said it. I have a pretty successful career in government and politics, and time was when I would hoover up the current affairs analysis in the Guardian, and the Times and the FT and the Economist. Now I find myself turning to the food articles, and surfing cookery blogs. It was Julia Child's 100th birthday this week, prompting a tsunami of writing in this post Olympics, pre-politics summer lull.

It is often said that she brought to the States what Elizabeth David bought to the UK; a reminder of good food, well cooked with love and enthusiasm, instead as seen as the drudge of a housewife, who would rather blitz ready meals and use labour saving devices. It is interesting that they should both have coincided with the rise of the women's movements on both sides of the Atlantic. Was it a reaction? Or part of the same thing? I would like to think the latter. That women given more time and more choice rediscovered the joy of producing beautiful, sumptuous food. But perhaps it is only like Marie Antoinette and her washed and beribboned sheep. It is only when removed from the real grind of peasant life,  housework and toil that middle-class urban women rediscovered a version that they could enjoy.

An eighteenth century dinner party

Far from the Parlor have your Kitchin place'd
Dainties may in their working be disgrac'd
In private draw your poultry, clean your Tripe
And from your Eels their filmy substance wipe
Let cruel offices be done by Night
For they who like the Thing abhor the Sight

...
Crowd not your table, let your number be
Not more than sev'n, and never less than three

.....
Make your transparent sweetmeats truly nice
With Indian Sugar and Arabian Spice
And let your various Creams incircled be
With swelling Fruit just ravish'd from the Tree
Let Plates and Dishes be from China brought
With lively Paint and Earth transparent wrought
The Feast now done Discources are renew'd
and witty Arguments with Mirth pursu'd
The cheerful Master midst his jovial Friends
His glass to their best wishes recommends.

William King; The Art of Cookery 1702

Mr London St: Great writing, and Reading to boot

"Brisk Susan whips her linen from the rope
While the first drizzling show'r is born aslope"

Jonathon Swift; Description of a city shower; 1710