Up Periscope (Dreaming of the Queen)

I hit the office at 5:44 this morning after passing out around 9:45 the evening before.  I finally put a quilt on the bed to supplement the pretty but porous summer blankets and slept more comfortably than I had in a long time.  From 2:22 to 3:33 I dreamed about preparing a speech for the British Parliament concerning my professional experiences during the recession.  Although I tried to keep things as “light” as possible by leavening my somewhat lengthy remarks with jokes and funny (I thought; Caroline said many of them seemed bitter) stories, they were trenchant nonetheless and the audience, who I was at that point only anticipating in my head, seemed rapt.  As I envisioned them, they looked like one of those monolithic Loony-Tunes backdrop cartoon audiences who don’t  breathe and are visually one flat undifferentiated mass.  

 

The Queen came by to attend my drafting and was very nice – interested, concerned and sympathetic.  My brother-in-law and former sister-in-law, whom I was surprised to see, paid close attention also.  Jane was excited about the trip to London.  Although I am a nervous public speaker, I always try to be thoroughly familiar with my material and to practice a lot.  The fact that I would be using teleprompters was encouraging.  It was difficult settling on a title or a short description of my subject. I was undecided among  Human Nature, Human Nature and Its Shortcomings, Human Nature Is Horrible or You Wouldn’t Believe What I’ve Learned About Human Nature.   

The Queen was very helpful on this score and you could tell what an experienced person she is.  It’s 5:55 now.  (Jane and I often joke about my peculiar waking and sleeping times, the joke currently ending on variations of waking up at 6:66.)  Because it’s still baseball season and a game is sometimes on when I fall asleep with all its numerals going, I wonder whether the game is somehow setting me like an alarm clock, which makes you wonder who is setting the game?  My ensemble, incidentally, for my Parliament speech includes a stiff blue-grey military type jacket with braids on the sleeves.  No epaulets.  I need to keep working on the speech.  I need to find a way to end on an optimistic note.

Why "There Will Always Be An England" (Royal Wedding Special No. 5)

        "When the most talked-about dress in modern times went on display in Buckingham Palace last week, its owner the Duchess of Cambridge and her grandmother-in-law the Queen stood transfixed.  

         Hundreds of millions of people around the world had held their collective breath as Kate Middleton arrived at Westminster Abbey on 29 April, waiting for the moment when her full-skirted ivory and white satin gazar wedding gown, created by Alexander McQueen designer Sarah Burton, would finally be revealed. 

        Now, those lucky enough to get a ticket have a chance to see the dress at close quarters, during Buckingham Palace’s annual summer opening.

         Standing on a plinth beneath six grand chandeliers, it takes centre stage in the Palace’s majestic Ballroom, usually the scene of state occasions and investitures.

        Among the first and most important guests to see the fascinating exhibition, just one day before its grand public opening, were the Duchess of Cambridge wearing a light-beige L 395 Joseph Scala dress and the Queen.

        As the present and future Queens gazed at the display, memories of the day Her Majesty had called 'amazing' no doubt came flooding back.  But the Queen’s first reaction on seeing the headless mannequin upon which the dress hangs was less than complimentary. 

       Overheard in conversation with Kate, she commented that the ghostly tailor’s dummy – which appears to float in mid-air – made it look 'horrible' and 'creepy'

        Known for her strong opinions, the Queen clearly feels comfortable enough with her newest granddaughter-in-law to speak so plainly about the gown’s presentation.

      The Duchess countered with her view that the display had a '3D effect,' as well as how the exhibition felt slightly unreal.  'It’s surreal looking at it now . . . It’s very weird,' she was overheard saying."

(From Hello! No. 1185, 1 August 2011: “The Queen and Kate View Her Iconic Bridal Gown At Buckingham Palace”)

NOTE:  This story surprised me and made me laugh.   Although it is written with a completely straight face and not a bit of humor (nothing even remotely tongue-in-cheek), I assume the editors at Hello! also laughed about the scene they describe so vividly while sitting around the conference table in London.  Imagine being the former Catherine Middleton and mounting your first major independent public relations event involving the display of your own wedding dress in the Queen of England's principal residence and having Her Majesty (quite correctly) describe the mise-en-scene as "horrible" and "creepy."  I know that the Queen knows her horses and corgis and I suspect her knowledge and love of animals includes a strong and refined aesthetic sense.  Having grown up  around natural and man-made (i.e., artistic) beauty her entire life and employing a retinue of aestheticians (including the late, feckless, ruined Sir Anthony Blunt) has doubtless made her extremely knowledgeable and highly confident in her judgements, especially now that she has attained the venerable age of 85.   HRH's  directness here reminds me a lot of my late mother-in-law, Caroline Butler Prutzman, a woman who was also very confident and direct in her pronouncements and actions, especially late in life when she had a chance to take stock of what she knew and what others didn't.  She was always polite, and even though she didn't have the influence and power of a monarch, she spoke her mind clearly and precisely.   The Duchess of Cambridge's "3D" reply is absurd, of course, but I'm prepared to cut her a break.  This must have been a distinctly uncomfortable moment for a young woman starting out in married life.  One more thing:  I refuse to believe that Catherine Middleton actually wore those high heels under her wedding gown.  I believe she must have worn flats and substituted these later as the "official shoes".  Any reader thoughts on this subject?  (Please note that all photos included above, with the exception of the black & white image of the Queen wearing the Grand Duchess Vladimir tiara, a gift to her from her grandmother Queen Mary, enlarge beautifully when mouse-clicked.)

Esme, the Dowager Countess of Cromer, dies

Beauty: Esme Cromer, photographed by Cecil Beaton in 1940, led an active life and was an accomplished artist, author and gardener

By David Wilkes

Daily Mail, London, June 10, 2011

        Esme, Dowager Countess of Cromer, has died peacefully in hospital at the age of 88 after a short illness.

        A former Lady-in-Waiting to the Queen, artist and author, she was a co-chairman of  the Founding Council of  the Rothermere American  Institute, an international  centre of excellence at the University of Oxford for the study of the United States. 

        Her father was the second  Viscount Rothermere and she was an aunt of Jonathan Harmsworth, the fourth Viscount Rothermere and Chairman of The Daily  Mail and General Trust, which publishes the Daily Mail.

        Her first husband was the  third Earl of Cromer, who was born into the Baring banking  family. He was British Ambassador in Washington during  Edward Heath’s premiership  and achieved great success in the international financial community. This culminated in his appointment as the youngest Governor of the Bank of England for 200 years. 
 

        He is renowned for having single-handedly saved the pound during a major run on Britain’s reserves in the 1960s following  the election of the Wilson government. 

In her published memoirs, Lady Cromer recalled how her husband, known as Rowley, worked through the night dealing with the crisis, staving off disaster by arranging international loans of $3billion.

Young love: Lady Cromer, seen here on her wedding day to the third Earl of Cromer, revealed she walked barefoot down the aisle to avoid being taller than her husband

        They had three children and were married for 49 years until  his death in 1991. At his funeral at the Guards Chapel at London’s Wellington Barracks, which  was attended by more than 500 people, former foreign secretary Lord Carrington paid tribute to Lord Cromer as a man who had served his country ‘well, wisely and with much distinction’.

        Her memoirs, entitled From This Day Forward, also revealed that when she married she took off her shoes and walked barefoot down the aisle rather than appear taller than her husband. 

         Lady Cromer married for  the second time in 1993 to Gerrit van der Woude, who died six years later.

         She took up painting in the 1970s when Lord Cromer was ambassador in Washington, displaying a particular flair  for watercolours and flower paintings and holding exhibitions in aid of charities.

Generous: Lady Cromer contributed to Oxford University's development and helped pay for a library

        She was an accomplished gardener and chairman of the Orchid Society of Jersey.  She is survived by Evelyn, the fourth Earl of Cromer, and the Hon Vivian Baring, chairman of A&N International Media.

        In recognition of significant contributions to Oxford University’s development and strength, Lady Cromer and her brother, the  third Viscount Rothermere, then chairman of the Daily Mail and General Trust, were admitted to the university’s prestigious  Chancellor’s Court of Benefactors at a ceremony in 1993. 

         A donation from family trusts helped pay for a library of American books and documents.

         In a tribute to his aunt, the present Lord Rothermere said: ‘Esme’s passing ends an era for the Harmsworth family.

        ‘She has been a tremendous support to me personally since I succeeded my father as Chairman of DMGT. I shall miss her wise counsel as the family matriarch.’

         A private funeral service will be held, followed by a memorial service in the autumn.

Motherly: The Countess seen here with her children Lady Lana Gray and Evelyn, Viscount Errington



READER NOTE: Coming across Esme's obituary on turgid, steamy Friday afternoon, I was immediately struck and enlivened (as anyone would be) by her extraordinary beauty, as shown in the Cecil Beaton portrait, and this led me to read the fascinating story of her life and that of her family and extended family. For many reasons, which I won't slow you down by tediously reciting, accounts like this make you take pause.  They also animate reflection.

He Drew The Line At Snoek (Jean Conil)

 

"But even he drew the line at snoek" is a line taken from The Telegraph's (London) May 1, 2003 obituary of the legendary,  "French-by-birth, English-by-adoption", chef and culinary authority Jean Conil (1917-2003).

        For a few weeks I have been working out in my mind strategies for developing an essay/presentation about Conil's 1959 book, A Gastronomic Tour de France, a masterwork that until very recently had been staring down at me, unopened and unread, from various of my and my parents' bookshelves for nearly 50 years.

        Success has so far eluded me.  The book, handsomely published in London by George Allen & Unwin, Ltd. in 1959 and in New York by Dutton in 1960, presents gracefully and economically in its scant (considering the range and complexity of its subject) 300 pages more useful information for the culinary visitor to France than I could have imagined possible before opening its pages.  Conil simply addresses everything you might wish to know regarding every region and sub-region of France, i.e., regional political and social history; geography; agriculture; viticulture; art history; places of touristic interest, including restaurants, hotels and inns; and representative regional recipes, all in good and stimulating prose.  

        The book simulates a large-format photograph of France in the late 1950s seen through the particular lens of a man with a specialized genius, but a highly catholic point of view . Because the  world has changed during the last half-century, its current usefulness as a "tour" may have dwindled.  But I challenge anyone reading the book not to want to hop into the Way-Back Machine, setting the dial to, say Haute-Vienne (Marche),1959, to achieve their own, more genuine "Sputnik moment" than the sorry, ersatz article currently being peddled.

Le Caprice

F & M

        Jean Conil (1918-2003) was well-known in his adopted country as the man who (like his contemporary Elizabeth David) regarded the imaginatively impoverished state of British cuisine following World War II as a national "tragedy". A prominent chef and restauranteur (the Savoy Hotel, Le Caprice, Fortnum & Mason), caterer (the coronation of Queen Elizabeth II), journalist and television personality, The Telegraph observed when he passed away:

"It was not the ingredients that were the problem, he believed, but the way they were prepared.  'What we need is good chefs and a good cuisine', he argued. 'If Mr Atlee and Sir Stafford Cripps would eat a solid, well-cooked meal, perhaps they would find themselves better-equipped to discuss affairs of state.  Good business and good diplomacy depend on good food'. 

People tended to blame Britain's poor cuisine on rationing, but Conil maintained that good meals could be prepared with the most humble ingredients.  'Only take sausage meat, onions, parsley, carrots, peas, and some dried egg and you can turn out a meal fit for anyone'. . . . .But even he drew the line at snoek."

Queen Elizabeth II at her coronation, June 2, 1953

Portico of The Savoy, London


        Until I read the Conil obituary, I had never heard of snoek, but I was immediately strongly motivated to learn what this most discriminating, but imaginative and tolerant, of culinary evangelists considered to be beneath consideration. 

         

        Because of the internet, wonder of our age, my research almost instantly yielded highly fascinating results about this important food fish, treasured by the residents of South Africa, from a variety of sources. Essentially, snoek's (the fish is a form of perch; the name is Afrikaans) terrible reputation in England is a legacy of World War II food rationing.  The South African food blogger (resident in the UK ) and barrister CookSister writes: "During World War II, when everything was scarce, food rationing was rife, and cheap sources of protein were few and far between, somebody had the bright idea to catch cheap fish in South Africa, can it and ship it to England.  Suffice it to say that it did not go down too well over here.  The Web is full of war years recollections penned by people who remember this weird fish with the hugely amusing name arriving and being inedibly bad.  A large proportion of the tins that were imported remained firmly on shop shelves (despite optimistic suggestions from the Ministry of Defence -- like Snoek Piquante, which seems to have become a kind of shorthand for everything unpalatable about food rationing."

 Three aspects of World War II food rationing 

        
        CookSister goes on to say that: "For those of us in South Africa, it's a very different story.  Snoek is one of the great culinary pleasures of the Western Cape (the province surrounding Cape Town.  The flesh is oily and presumably packed with all the health benefits that oily fish brings; the meat is firm and strongly flavoured, rather like mackerel on steroids".  

         In South Africa, snoek is enjoyed either fresh, salted or smoked. Apparently it is marvelous cooked whole on the grill (or braii) or transformed into a pate, which is how it is most commonly served in restaurants, in the manner of smoked bluefish pate, which is more popular, I think, in the U.S., than bluefish eaten in other ways (something I'll never understand).   At Cape Town airport, sides of smoked snoek are available for purchase in the same way that you can purchase sides of smoked salmon in Ireland.  Snoek cuisine suggestions I have reviewed bring to mind the Spanish way with fresh sardines, another delicious oily fish.  A charming, possibly unpronounceable expression in the Afrikaans language, equivalent to "knock me over with a feather", is "slaat ma dood met 'n pap snoek" or "strike me dead with a limp snoek".

Smoking snoek

        Food memories endure because they intensely convey thoughts of happiness, grief, plenty and deprivation.  The mother of an old friend who was interned in France by the Germans during World War II never again touched turnips because they were fed to her daily during her imprisonment.  Even my own parents and my mother-in-law, who experienced relative luxury on the home front during the war, told stories of rationing that clearly formed a deep and permanent part of their life experience.

        I would like to try snoek one day.  It's right up my alley.  But, frankly, so is that trip in the Way-Back Machine.

        I would be remiss if I didn't provide at least one snoek recipe.  This one, which CookSister linked to (her own smoked snoek pate looks marvelous and could easily be adapted to our own bluefish or mackerel, I think), looks very enticing:  

Snoek With Coriander, Bacon and Orange

Ingredients

1 cleaned and butterfiled snoek

500 g back bacon

1 orange

1 bunch fresh coriander

Olive oil

Salt

Directions

1.  Place fresh, butterflied snoek on lightly oiled tin foil, flesh facing up

2.  Lightly salt the flesh.

3.  Squeeze over fish the juice of one orange.

4.  Chop all the coriander and cover the fish completely.

5.  Drizzle fish with olive oil.

6. Cook for 15-20 minutes, depending on thickness, in closed tin foil at 180 degrees C, and then open the tin foil and grill the bacon for a few minutes until crispy.

La Guienne in 1360

Boy Scout parade celebrating the coronation of Queen Elizabeth II