Page one of George House says, “Welcome, come on in,” with a black and white picture of a doorknob.
Yes, a doorknob, albeit a rather ornate one. It reminds me of the knob on the door to Granny’s parlour.
Hang on a moment before you turn the knob. There’s something to ponder in the previous pages, the ones with the Roman numerals.
On page ix Dale Cameron recalls helping his mother with her baking when he was a child. He especially remembers stirring batter and scraping out the mixing bowl.
Hands up, those of you who fondly remember standing by Mommy’s apron strings and lickin’ out the bowl, especially if the bowl was slick with the leftover batter of the chocolate cake that was presently baking, the one you were drooling to eat.
I’m imagining a veritable forest of waving hands.
Ah, life is good when you can lick out the bowl, idden it b’ys?
Page xvi promises “As you leaf through the pages of this cookbook you will have an adventure in cooking.”
I’ve leafed through the book and I’ve had an adventure. Not in cooking, since I don’t like to cook.
Left alone without Missus’s unrivaled cooking – Yes, I know I’m a fortunate man – I’d live on Kraft Dinner and Pop Tarts. My adventure, so to speak, has been in lickin’ out the bowl.
Incidentally, Missus had sticky-tabs fastened to dozens of pages of George House before I had a chance to browse through it, to commence my bowl (bold!) adventure, which might help explain the following incident.
One morning I scuffed into the kitchen and discovered Missus rolling the bacon. I repeat, rolling the bacon.
“What are you at?” I asked.
She explained about the Recipe Tip she found beneath a George House breakfast recipe: ‘Before opening a package of bacon, roll it. This helps separate the slices for easy removal of individual slices’.
Of the dozens of Tips in George House, my favourite is on page 151: ‘Brown gravy in a hurry with a bit of instant coffee straight from the jar … no bitter taste either’.
Ah, coffee, that’s your gravy browning.
I adventured on. Here and there I found sticky-tabs with this cryptic note: H might like. Missus, God love ‘er, always thinking of me, H – her Honey.
One note in particular, stuck beside a recipe for Curried Carrots said, Supper – H might like.
The curried carrots were wicked.
George House itself, a Bed and Breakfast, offers an innovative treat for its guests when they leave to continue their travels. Guests are given a bag of cookies for the road.
Sometimes, I imagine, the treats are ‘Easy Chocolate Chip Cookies’ – page 207.
Now b’ys, better even than lickin’ out the bowl is eating one of Missus’s homemade chocolate chip cookies straight from the freezer.
That’s right, frozen.
With due respect to George House’s cookies, I doubt they’re as yummy as the ones in our freezer but I wouldn’t hesitate to try a bagful if I was leaving George House.
Again with respect – only one recipe in this cookbook gives me the belly quakes: ‘Cold Cucumber Soup’.
But, hey, an adventure is not an adventure without some queasy stomach-ness.
George House is chock-a-block with interesting recipes, some of which require exotic ingredients. One apparently requires a medium-sized diced elephant.
Remember the doorknob picture?
A second picture in George House caught my eye. I wish it were in colour. I’m sure it’s a snap of lupines growing above the beach. Lupines, my second favourite flowers on the planet.
It pleased me to see a guest is quoted as saying, “I loved the lupines.”
The final section of George House is called ‘Beverages and Cocktails’ and contains recipes for drinks with evocative names such as ‘Nutty Tourist Martini’ and ‘A Julie Dorantini’.
The final recipe in George House, the one with which the proprietors close the door – the door with the fancy knob? – on their departing quests, is called Route 80 Bumpy Road.
P’raps it’s intended to be a last libation, one for the road, kinda; one final nightcap before guests arise in the morning, breakfast on ‘Baked Hearty Breakfast’ – page 12 – accept their bags of cookies and drive off southward on bumpy Route 80.
Thank you for reading, for adventuring with me.
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