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Category Archives: Prose

D is for Roald Dahl

04 Friday Apr 2014

Posted by Caro Field in Prose

≈ 36 Comments

imagesAfter university, I went to work at a literary agency, Murray Pollinger. The last job I held there, before I moved on, was to be responsible for all rights that were not book rights in England and America. In other words, film, TV, radio, theatre, foreign, serial, etc. It was exciting work, because the agency represented some of the most astonishing names in children’s literature in particular, and numerous award winners, from Carnegie Medal, to Whitbread and Booker Prizes and 3 Children’s Laureates.

Their most famous author was Roald Dahl. A fascinating man. Very fair, very straight, he didn’t suffer fools gladly. He seemed happiest in the company of children, because they saw things so clearly and could usually be relied upon to give you an honest answer. Above all, he could be very generous.

Whilst I was at the agency, Danny, The Champion of the World was filmed for TV and came out in 1989. A stellar cast, including Jeremy Irons and his son, Sam, Cyril Cusack, Robbie Coltrane, Lionel Jeffries, Michael Hordern, Jimmy Nail, Ronald Pickup, Jean Marsh, et al, all gathered for the preview. I showed up, a trifle later than I’d intended, to be greeted by Roald, who was holding court. He introduced me to all these people, plus Sinead Cusack, who had accompanied her husband and son, as “the best bird in the business”.

Flash forward a month or two, and I told Murray and Gina Pollinger, and all our authors that I was getting married and taking a month’s honeymoon. Roald announced that he wanted to give us a wedding present. He duly came into the office and handed me an envelope. He said it did not look much, but I was a foodie, so he thought I’d like it. He instructed me to open it that evening with my fiancé and then act on its instructions.

I carefully stashed the envelope in the inside pocket of my jacket, so as not to lose it. I took it home to Malcolm and explained what it was. We unfastened the envelope with real excitement and a great deal of curiosity. Inside was a card which, when opened, read:

“To Caro, the best bird in the business!

This entitles you to a meal at my favourite restaurant. Ring and book a table under your own name. Show up on the night, tell them who you are, and my credit card will do the rest. I expect you to eat and drink the very best of everything, including drinking champagne all night, if you want to.

Roald “

We chose a date when we knew we weren’t busy. This was an evening to savour. I rang the next day and booked a table. I told them, as I always have to, that they needed to know that I was desperately allergic to mushrooms. The date was set for a few weeks later, when we knew we had nothing planned for that day or the day after and could deliberately keep them clear.

The appointed night came. We dressed to kill. We showed up. I stepped through the door and when the mậitre d’approached us, I told her my name. She smiled broadly. She led us to a table in the window that was undoubtedly the best spot in the restaurant. She poured us a glass of champagne that was already waiting for us on ice in a bucket at our table.

The meal was an absolute dream. We didn’t actually order a thing… They told us that they wanted us to have a gastronomic experience. That the chefs were each wanting to showcase their special skills. That they would bring us appetiser-sized portions of everything to try. Was that OK? Would we trust them? We told them that indeed we would.

Dish after tempting dish arrived. And despite the fact that the champagne was permanently on tap in its bucket, every one was served with a different wine. The sommelier brought each wine over and told us a little about its provenance. There was a glass wall into the kitchen, so we could see the chefs at work. We could also see them studiously avoiding being too obviously interested in our reaction to the food, if the dish that they had cooked came out.

Time seemed to telescope outward, other diners came and went. And through it all, we were clearly the source of a great deal of speculation. Just WHO were we? We didn’t look like anyone they recognised…. but? Surely, the treatment we were getting, we MUST be? I mean, for heaven’s sake! Why were WE getting such special treatment? There was quite a lot of discreet whispering behind menus….but, for obvious reasons, no one could quite place us…. The waiters, who had all entered into the spirit of the evening, weren’t letting on… So, by the end of the evening, the other diners were still none the wiser. No conclusion had been reached.

However, when we got up to leave, CLEARLY without PAYING…well…

………you could have cut the air with a knife…

The astonished silence lasted until we exited the building. And the door closed behind us…Then the crescendo of noise, followed us up the street. I occasionally idly speculate just who it was I was mistaken for….

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Snowflake

25 Friday Jan 2013

Posted by Caro Field in non-fiction, Prose

≈ 21 Comments

Since the rather wonderfully named Waterlooville, here in South England is currently under inches of snow, I thought I would write a blog about it!

A snowflake can be either a single ice crystal, two of them fused together, or a whole mass of them getting together to have a party, to make a kind of snowflake puff ball. Snowflakes are not frozen raindrops, that would be sleet. Instead they are crystals which form when water vapour condenses straight into ice in the clouds. The unique shape and pattern of each snow flake gradually emerges as the crystals grow.

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A snow crystal, that may be round, will attract material to it, because it is rough, but then there may also be a number of facets that are smoother and so accumulate material much more slowly. After all the rough surfaces have grown out, only the slower-growing facet surfaces remain, to create the snowflake. A snowflake is, most commonly, a hexagonal prism in shape. This, in turn can either be plate-like (or flat), or columnar, depending on which facet surfaces grow the quickest.

ImageWhen snow flakes are just baby flakes, they tend to just be these hexagonal prisms, but as they mature and grow, branches grow out from the corners to create more intricate and complex shapes. This perfection, is, like so many things in this world, created from imperfection. Snowflake branching occurs because in order for water vapour to attach to the ice crystal, it has to diffuse through the air. If it finds a spot on the crystal with a tiny protuberance, it does not have to travel so far through the air to condense, so it tends to concentrate itself around and grow quicker at that particular spot…creating a branch. Then that branch in turn may have minor imperfections, so the process repeats itself. The result is an exquisite structure…unique to itself, because no two ice crystals will have lumps and bumps in the same spot. Cool physics, huh?

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Now for more interesting science! Thin plates and starlike flakes tend to develop at temperatures of -2º C (28 F) and -15º C (5º F),columns and needles at around -5º C (23º F) and a combination of plates and columns at about -30º C (22º F). Also snow crystals tend to form simpler shapes when the humidity is low, and more elaborate ones as the humidity rises.

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So the life of a snowflake entails evaporation of the water vapour from seas, lakes, rivers, plants, even you, when you exhale! If you take that air and cool it down, it will eventually condense, as dew if it is near the ground, as snow, if it is way up high.Snow-forming clouds are just conglomerations of liquid water droplets, until the temperature drops to about -10º C (14º F) and then the droplets gradually start to freeze, as described above.

So the next time it snows, consider the complicated evolution of that single snowflake that lands on your hand!

 

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Hard Times

15 Tuesday Jan 2013

Posted by Caro Field in non-fiction, Prose

≈ 21 Comments

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Recently someone I love saw 2 people that they cared about die, an uncle and a very best friend. I wrote a piece about it at that time to try to help bring consolation. I have revisited the subject, because we were discussing it again the other day and I felt there was more to be said.

Why is it that in the West we seem to be so bad at dealing with death when it comes to our friends, and coping with it when it visits one of our own? Why does it defeat us so completely? Sometimes it comes with foreknowledge, and we attempt to prepare for it but we invariably fall short. We do not want our loved one to suffer but to contemplate a world without them is impossible. And then we are left feeling guilty because our need for them may be causing them further distress, so our despair becomes magnified.

On other occasions, death bludgeons its way into our world without warning and shatters our peace, suddenly, shockingly, and we are left feeling bewildered, angry, defenceless. Why? Why now? Why was there no opportunity to say goodbye? Why us? And we can be sure that our friends, seeing and feeling our pain will be thinking, “thank heavens it’s not someone I love”. This isn’t an unkind or unfeeling response, it is really only natural. But sadly, it makes us feel worse and simultaneously makes our friends feel worse too for thinking it and there’s the uncomfortable stand-off.

Why too, do we find it so hard to name death? Why do people talk about ‘losing’ someone? They’re not mislaid! They’re are never coming back. They are dead. Nor have they ‘passed over’. They have not just suddenly become Jewish overnight, nor have they taken to flight. What’s with the euphemisms? As Monty Python would say, they are dead, defunct, they are no more. They have shuffled off this mortal coil. They are pushing up the daisies.

Death is always unwelcome. Yet it comes to every one of us. So why are we not prepared for its ravages? We know it is there, lurking, waiting, for each of us, so why are we not better equipped to deal with its consequences? If our loved one has an illness that we know will eventually prove fatal, why does the knowledge that they are no longer in pain not bring us more solace? It helps for sure, as does the knowledge that someone who died suddenly, did so almost certainly without any presentiment of mortality, yet we still struggle with facing life without their physical presence.

Grief is a strange bedfellow. It takes us all in different ways. I know I struggled for years to come to terms with the death of my mother, my friend with a father’s death. I simply couldn’t speak of my mother without choking up. Common to all of us, I believe, is that need to see ourselves as immortal, including those we love. When we are not, it is a devastating blow. One that every one of us struggles to come to terms with.

There are those of us, like myself, who have an illness that may well kill us, sooner or later, so we have tried to prepare ourselves to some degree. The notion of doing so is, of course, ridiculous. Although we may claim that death isn’t fearful, it simply isn’t true. We have not yet had to confront it. We have not yet looked it firmly in the eye and decided how we intend to greet its entrance. If death is imminent the struggle to deal with it is harder still. Many of my friends who have died have chosen to lock themselves away until they are able to mourn for themselves before they can allow those they love in, because they are painfully aware that those people they love are already struggling to prepare for their loss.

One of my friends, Mark, knew he was dying, but he had already made peace with himself. He then lived more fully in the moment than anyone else I have ever known. He knew he was going to die so he did not want to waste a single minute. And he didn’t. He lived, joyfully, until the day he died. My own mother, with characteristic bravery, chose to die. She was very single-minded so if she decided to do something, it always got done. Her illness, a very rare form of leukaemia, had left her very dependant on others, which, for a fiercely independent woman, was simply intolerable. So she sat down with our father, and wrote a letter to each of their friends. She told them she was dying. She told them she did not want them to read about her death in a newspaper. She told them that she loved them.

She made it very clear that she did not want to see any of her grandchildren, whom she adored, because she wanted them to remember her as she had always been to them. However, she wanted to say goodbye to each of her children so we all descended on her home to spend time with her. To laugh with her. To reminisce. To love her as she did us. Our brother was the last to say farewell and she died on the night he’d visited her earlier in the day. She died where she wanted to, in her own bed, surrounded by those she loved.

I have learned from my own loss that for some people, they may at first need to be quiet with their grief. Nevertheless, there will come a time when it is important to talk about the person who has died. Talking about the deceased does not diminish their loss but for those mourning it reminds them of all that made them fully them. What we need to do to support them in their grief is to ask them to tell us about the deceased and then be fully prepared to invest the time (no matter how long) to laugh and to cry as we hear them bear witness. In doing so we honour both the dead and the people they have left behind.

When I die I hope I have the courage to do what my mother and Mark did. I intend to live life to the full, then to make peace with myself, my world and my place in it, until the last breath leaves my body. And I also hope that by doing that, I will prepare those I love and who I know love me just a little for my loss. That if they close their eyes and ask me a question, if they ask me about something that is bothering them, they will instantly know what my answer would be. That I may not be by their side physically, or in their arms, but I will always be with them in spirit.

Jupiter

14 Monday Jan 2013

Posted by Caro Field in non-fiction, Prose

≈ 17 Comments

Our skies have recently become somewhat sexier with the arrival of Brian Cox on our TV screens in the UK. Formerly the keyboard player in a rock band, he is now a particle physicist and Royal Society University Research Fellow and Professor at the University of Manchester.

Jupiter. The largest planet in our solar system and named after the Roman king of the Gods by ancient astronomers. It is the fifth closest planet to the sun and is made up of 84% hydrogen, 15% helium and small amounts of ammonia, acetylene, ethane, methane, phosphine and water vapour.

A few facts about Jupiter. It is such a giant of a planet, that 1,300 Earths could exist within its volume. It rotates so incredibly quickly that days only last 10 hours and yet it takes 12 of our Earth years to orbit the sun. The planet has the largest moon in the Solar system, bigger than Mercury. It has over 60 known satellites, or moons, and they have wonderful names: Gannymede, Europa, Callisto and Io are four of them. The four major moons were discovered by Galileo Galilei in 1610 and were named for the lovers of Zeus.

Jupiter has a red spot, which is essentially a persistent anti-cyclonic giant storm that has been raging possibly since 1665, certainly since it was first spotted via telescope about 300 years ago. This Great Red Spot has roughly the circumference of the earth, which gives a stark realisation of the sheer size of this planet. Even before Voyager proved it was a storm, it was known that it bore no relation to the mass below it because it rotated at a different speed to the mass beneath it, sometimes faster, sometimes slower. During its recorded history, relative to any fixed marker on the planet below, the red spot has travelled round Jupiter several times.

The orange brown colour of Jupiter is due to the upwelling of compounds that change colour when they come into contact with ultraviolet light. No one knows their exact composition, but they are believed to be sulphur, phosphorous and maybe hydrocarbons. Theory posits that if Jupiter’s mass increased considerably, then it would shrink in size because the interior would be so severely compressed by the increased gravitational force generated. Fascinating, huh?

My last interesting snippets of information are that the planet’s mass is 70% of the total mass of all the other planets in the solar system and that if you weigh 100 pounds on Earth, you will weigh 264 on Jupiter. Lucky we live on this planet, yes?!

Exit the Dragon

13 Sunday Jan 2013

Posted by Caro Field in non-fiction, Prose

≈ 11 Comments

2012 was The Chinese Year of the Dragon – so it got me thinking as to why it is a creature of great good fortune in Chinese culture yet a monster to be feared and vanquished in the West.

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In Chinese culture, the dragon represents power, authority, and is a harbinger of good luck. It demands respect. In the west, it is usually thought of as malicious and monstrous and commands fear and loathing. I know which dragon I would rather pursue!

The western dragon of myth and legend overlaps in many different cultures/countries. It is usually depicted as scaly, with a tough, armoured hide. It often has wings, though it rarely flies, and lives in rivers, caves or an underground lair. The first mention of a dragon is in The Iliad but the Greek word used, drákōn, can also mean snake. Interestingly, the Slavic words for dragon, zmey, zmiy or zmaj, are all masculine words for a snake, which is normally feminine! These dragons, with the exception of the Red Dragon of Wales, are malevolent, and in need of slaying. Some of them are even depicted with 3 heads, and these heads grow back every time one is cut off!

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In stark contrast, the Chinese dragon is a beast to be honoured and revered. People born in a Dragon year are, according to the Chinese, uninhibited, non-conformist, free spirits who don’t play by the rules. They are masters of the grand gesture. They like to do everything on an epic scale. Creative, flamboyant, confident, fearless, they invariably make it to the top. They are irrepressible, energetic and hugely gifted, and they simply do not know when to stop. Generous to a fault, they are popular, but their impulsive natures can sometimes get them into trouble!

What is interesting to me is that the Year of the Snake follows the Year of the Dragon…so it is interesting that in Western parlance, the word used for it was used for both. Interesting too, that the dragon is often depicted as being quite serpentine in appearance…The Snake’s characteristics could not be less like the dragon, however. It is private, introspective, and self-composed. Where the dragon is bling, the snake is refinement. They both share the same desire to succeed, they just go about it in different ways.

The year 2012 was something of an upheaval for me, I don’t know about you, but I am looking forward to 2013 mightily, as a year of new beginnings, of good fortune, of joy.

A Blessing

09 Wednesday Jan 2013

Posted by Caro Field in non-fiction, Prose

≈ 6 Comments

I have been speculating on what I consider a blessing to be in 2013…and why!

A blessing. It is defined in the dictionary as the infusion of something with holiness. A blessing allows for my spiritual redemption. It is the will of God. It is my hope for approval from others.

The modern English language term bless is probably derived from the term blessen, first heard in 1225, which in turn derived from the Old English, blǣdsian, which appeared first in the Northumbrian dialect around 950 AD. The term also appears in other words, such as blēdsian from some time before 830, blētsian from possibly around 725 and blesian from the year 1000, or near enough. All mean to make sacred or holy by some kind of sacrificial rituals. This was in the Anglo-saxon era. The word found its origin in German pagan customs, and means to mark with blood. This is where the term blōd, meaning ‘to blood’ comes from.

So to bless someone is, literally, to express the wish that they find God’s favour. More prosaically, if I bless someone, I am wishing them well. In this fast food day and age, we seem to have lost the connections we used to have. We have neglected the art of socialising. We have forgotten what it means to REALLY communicate.

Instead, we conduct our lives via text messages. We structure our lives around email. We speak and write in a truncated way, in acronyms. When is the only time we are likely to get anything handwritten? A note on a birthday present. Or a card at Christmas.

So when an old friend sent me a letter, it truly felt like a blessing. This woman had with forethought and intention, sat down to write about her life at that moment, her hopes and dreams. She also wanted to know how I was, what I was up to, what my plans for the coming year were. And she had chosen to send this missive to me. Mindfulness had inspired her to write it…in gratitude it was joyfully received. Not least because it is such a rare and precious gift, in this day and age. So when next you receive a handwritten note, whether it is a scribble or a tome, consider this…it is the 2013 equivalent of a blessing…..it was destined for you, to benefit you alone… do not just crumple it up and throw it away.

SING

06 Sunday Jan 2013

Posted by Caro Field in non-fiction, Prose

≈ 9 Comments

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I love to sing! Don’t you? It lifts my spirits, fills my heart, nourishes my soul. Whether it is singing in a choir or singing alone in the shower, it cannot fail to energise, enthuse and yes, surprise.

There is that soaring sense of achievement when you hit that top ‘A’. A sense of shared accomplishment when a harmony is perfect. A triumph gained from distinguishing the individual notes of a broken chord or arpeggio. The magic of turning mere speech into lyrics by the imposition of rhythm, of tonality. Accompanied or a capella, a song is a sheer expression of creativity and joy.

Recently, with hip hop music, we have seen the evolution of the voice being used as a kind of vocal percussion, aka beatboxing. In Turkish and many African and middle-Eastern countries, singers employ elaborate untexted vocal improvisation within their musical tradition. Such music existed long before the First Crusade to Palestine, possibly even as early as the year 900. In Iceland they practice throat singing. In the sprechstimme technique, singers half-talk, half-sing a piece of music and often only approximate pitch. In European classical vocal music, traditional Indian music and scat singing in jazz arrangements, a solfege assigns syllables to each note. The most famous such music is the Do-Re-Mi song in the ever popular musical, The Sound of Music.

However, the most enduring, popular form of vocal music is the song. A melody with lyrics. And it is that melody that lifts the words from prose to become musical poetry. Your song may be a Geman lieder, an Italian canzoni, a French chanson, an English or American folk song. Linking them all is the fact that meaningful words are made more resonant, more powerful, by putting them to music. That music can inspire, stir, tug at the heart strings, but always it is the combination of the two which makes the song work. A lyric may be immensely powerful, but for the western ear as a rule, setting it to a minor falling cadence of notes for example, tends to heighten the emotional impact.

Whatever you feel about songs, I urge you to sing as often as possible in 2013. Singing has immense physical and emotional benefits. It exercises the body aerobically, increasing blood oxygenation and exercising the major muscle groups in the upper body. It is immensely influential for psychological problems, reducing stress through the action of the endocrine system and giving us a sense of emotional well-being. Singing as part of a choir can also give us a greater sense of community, of belonging.

Singing can help you to live longer. It keeps you in shape because it is good for the heart and lungs. It releases endorphins into the body, giving you the feel good factor, but unlike chocolate, you don’t gain weight! It strengthens the heart, increases lung capacity, improves posture, clears synuses, raises levels of immune system proteins, tones the muscles of the stomach and back and heightens mental acuity.

So what’s not to like? Go on! Turn over a new leaf! Make 2013 the year that you start to SING!

The Artichoke

04 Friday Jan 2013

Posted by Caro Field in non-fiction, Prose

≈ 6 Comments

Did you know that, amongst other things, that this is the month of the artichoke? I didn’t till the other day when I discovered it on my Ultimate Blog Challenge mail! I did know however, being a foodie, that there are 2 types of artichoke, the globe and the Jerusalem.

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The globe artichoke  (Cynara cardunculus var. scolymus) is a perennial plant. It is a thistle of the genus Cynara  which originates around the Mediterranean. It grows to somewhere around 1.4 – 2 m (4.6 – 6.6 ft) tall, with graceful, arching, deeply lobed, silvery, greyish-green leaves. The flowers develop as a large head from an edible bud with a number of triangular scales; these individual florets are purple. The edible portions of the buds consist  of ‘the heart’, which is mainly the fleshy lower portions of each bract and the base; the numerous florets in the centre of the bud is called ‘the choke’ or ‘beard’. These are inedible in older, larger flowers, but utterly delicious, with melted butter, in immature ones.

In North Africa, they still grow in the wild, but cultivated seeds of globe artichoke were discovered in Roman ruin excavations in Egypt. The name comes from the Arabic, ardishoki, meaning ‘ground thorny’ but in Sicily, where they have been cultivated since the Ancient Greeks, they are known by the Greek word kaktos. The Romans knew them as carduus, which is almost certainly where the name for the naturally occurring variant of the same species, the cardoon, comes from (Cynara carduculus).

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Most of us like to eat a globe artichoke with either melted butter or hollandaise sauce but did you know you can drink it too? It is the principal flavour of a drink known as  Cynar. It is either drunk neat, on the rocks, or as a Cin Cyn cocktail, a version of the Negroni, that substitutes Cynar for Campari. You also might like to know that the globe artichoke has medicinal properties.It is highly antioxidant,  and a good digestive aid, because it increases bile flow and aids liver function through the production of cynarin. It also decreases the risk of coronary heart disease and arteriosclerosis, by lowering blood cholesterol.

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The Jerusalem artichoke (Helianthus tuberosus) is a species of sunflower, native to North America. It has many names; sunroot, sunchoke, earth apple,  topinambour, or (for reasons that soon become clear) as fartichoke. It grows from Canada in the north, as far west as North Dakota, and as far south as Florida and Texas. It is a pretty plant but is grown  more particularly for its tuber, which is one of the most delicious vegetables, even though it has somewhat less elegant side-effects.

It is a herbaceous perennial plant of between 1.5 – 3m (4 ft 10 in – 9 ft 10 in). It has rough, hairy leaves that grow opposite one another on the stem. These are large and oval at the base and become progressively smaller and narrower, the nearer the flower head they get. The flower is a sunburst of yellow, with between 10-20 petals. The tubers are elongated and bumpy, look a little like root ginger, and are about 7.5 – 10 cm long (3 – 3.9 ins). They can be brown, white, red or purple in colour.

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These artichokes contain about 10% protein, have almost no starch, no oil whatsoever and are rich in inulin, which when broken down becomes fructose. That  is what accounts for their sweet flavour and why Jerusalem artichokes are a good food choice for diabetics, because fructose is more easily tolerated.

It is a bit of a mystery as to how the Jerusalem artichoke got its name, since it has no connection to the place and it is not actually an artichoke.  When Italians settled in America, they called the plant girasole, the Italian word for sunflower, and over time this got bastardized to Jerusalem. Or maybe the founding fathers thought of the new world as their new Jerusalem and named their vegetable for it.

It was first cultivated in North America by the Native American tribes and was bought back to Europe as early as 1605. In 2002 it was cited as the best soup-making vegetable in the Nice Festival for the Heritage of French Cuisine. So why don’t you start eating it in 2013? I like mine best, sliced finely, sauteed in butter, with a sprinkling of garlic, bay leaves and a squeeze of lemon juice (go check Jamie Oliver’s recipe). Fancy cooking me some?

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Orange

02 Wednesday Jan 2013

Posted by Caro Field in non-fiction, Prose

≈ 15 Comments

Orange. I painted one wall in my kitchen orange in my last home. I started out just painting all the walls white, but the room was lacking something. Lacking COLOUR. So the wall, above the Aga became my blank page and I chose to scribble on it in orange. Bright orange. Ding dong orange. And the wall that abutted this orange wall was then painted azure blue. Orange’s complementary colour. It worked. Everyone always commented on how fabulous it was… So it wasn’t just me who thought so!

This is where I should post a picture of it, but I am not going to because I want you to just imagine it. A wall just long enough to accommodate an Aga, painted like a tropical sun splash. And a curved wall adjoining it painted the colour of the sky on a bright summer’s day. It lifts your spirits, doesn’t it? Here are the colours, now let your imagination paint the picture.

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Orange. Not a colour that particularly appealed to me as a child. Why, I wonder, does it do so now? What has changed?  Is it because, as a jaded, more cynical adult, I need more colour in my life to keep me cheerful? Well yes, because it undoubtedly has that effect. But no, because it is such a brilliant colour intrinsically, such an explosion of joy!

Orange, according to colour therapy, is a power color. It is healing. It is meant to increase our craving for food,  stimulate enthusiasm and creativity and give us stamina. Anyone who is an ’orange’ person, is usually thoughtful, sincere, mindful. Some superstitious folk go so far as to burn an orange candle for 7 nights in succession, in order that their luck will  change.

Unlike the explosive grenade that is red, orange is a sunburst. It is more thoughtful, thought-provoking, balanced, controlled. Curiosity makes orange-lovers tick. They have a thirst to explore, to discover, to create. Orange spices up your life, relieves boredom and brings levity to anything that is proving just a trifle too serious.

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Orange gemstones are said to increase your sense of personal power and are very effective for people with low self-esteem. In Europe and America it is associated with extroverts, amusement, fire, autumn, warning even, but in Asia with spirituality. Orange fruit gave its name to the colour. It was originally known as pomme d’orenge in Old French and that name in turn was derived from the arabic narenj, the Persian naranj, the Sanskrit word, naranga. The word orange only appeared in English in 1513, prior to that, it was known as yellow-red or geoluread. In the Netherlands, Germany and Russia, the fruit  is still called the Chinese apple.

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Orange has a rich history. Ochre pigments were added to animal fats and painted on the walls of caves in Lascaux, France. An orange mineral pigment, orpiment, was traded by the Romans and used by the Chinese as medicine, even though it is highly toxic. It was also used by alchemists to try to make gold. Another mineral,  realgar, was used by the Egyptians to colour their tomb paintings and by medieval artists to illuminate manuscripts. The house of Orange-Nassau was one of the most influential royal lineages in Europe in the 16th and 17th centuries. The flag of the city of New York has an orange stripe for the Dutchmen who founded the colony. The protestants in Ireland were known as Orangemen because William III of Orange, a protestant himself, defended them against the Roman Catholic majority. When Dutch settlers in South Africa rebelled against the British in the 19th century, they founded what became known as the Orange Free State.

The colour found particular favour with painters too. The pre-Raphaelites, Impressionists and Post-Impressionists all championed the use of the colour, but none so effectively as Vincent Van Gogh, who wrote to his brother, Theo, about “searching for oppositions of blue with orange”, because any artist worth his salt knew the juxtaposition of the two made each colour brighter.

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You might also like to know that the saffron stripe on the orange, green and white Indian flag symbolises, courage and sacrifice. And that these three colours also feature  on the flags of  the Republic of Ireland, the Ivory Coast and Niger. That the US Department of Homeland Security’s  code orange represents the second highest terrorist threat. That the Orange river rises in Lesotho in the Drakensberg Mountains and flows westward through South Africa to the Atlantic Ocean. It is the longest river in  South Africa and forms the border between that country and both Namibia and Lesotho. In 1867 the first alluvial diamond, the Eureka, was found at Hopetown on this river, followed 2 years later by the much larger Star of South Africa, starting a diamond rush.

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So next time you consider the colour orange, dear reader, consider too its extraordinary journey through history, its evolution, and the simple fact that it brightens even the gloomiest of situations…

Happy New Hangover Cure

01 Tuesday Jan 2013

Posted by Caro Field in non-fiction, Prose

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We’ve all been there, haven’t we? A head that feels as if thousands of meerkats are shifting from foot to foot in stilettos on your forehead. Temples that are being used as bongo drums in the percussion section of a large orchestra. A mouth that feels as if something small and hairy died in it overnight… and a thirst. A thirst so bad that it is as if you have spent the last 10 days in the desert. Well, here we go! Hangover cures for the day after! The most popular is probably a Bloody Mary, but I have given you its non-alcoholic little sister. Here are some other heavenly solutions!

Absinthe Makes The Heart Grow Stronger

Absinthe  is a highly alcoholic beverage of 45-74% proof. It is made from botanicals; the flowers and leaves of the grand wormwood (Artemisia absinthium), green anise and sweet fennel to name a few. It was viewed historically as a pretty good tonic for the stomach. It originated in Neuchatel, Switzerland in the 18th century and became very popular with Parisian writers and artists in the late 19th and early 20th centuries.

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  • 2 oz absinthe
  • 1 oz anisette syrup
  • 1 egg white
  • soda

Shake the ingredients violently with cracked ice. Strain into old fashioned glass. Splash in a little soda water to your taste/need!

The Morning After

images-6You may not know it but raspberries come from the genus, Rubus, which is part of the Rose family. Well, this cocktail will certainly give you a rosy glow after the night before! This may be due to the fact that raspberries are a rich source of Vitamin C and are high in dietary fibre.

  • 7 raspberries + raspberries to garnish
  • 1.5 oz vodka
  • 1 oz Monin Gingerbread Syrup
  • third oz lime juice
  • third oz lemon juice
  • 2 dashes Tabasco

Muddle raspberries in base of shaker. Add all other ingredients with ice. Shake hard and strain into cocktail glass.Drop a couple of raspberries in the bottom of the glass. Zest orange peel over drink to garnish.

Tequila Immune Booster

Created by mixologist, Ross Meisel, at Cocktail Bodega. Bar owner, Matt Levine, claims this is the surest way to manage the most fearsome of hangovers. Tequila is distilled from the blue agave plant, primarily in the area surrounding the city of Tequila, 65 kilometres (40 miles) northwest of Guadalajara, and in the highlands of the western state of Jalisco, in Mexico.

images-4

  • 2 oz tequila
  • 2 oz fresh carrot juice
  • 3 oz fresh squeezed orange juice
  • 2 pieces root ginger
  • 1 tbsp vitamin C

Muddle ginger. add other ingredients. Shake with ice and strain into a glass.

 

The Eye Opener

images-5Created by Mixologist, Chess Lankford at Alobar. Espresso is made by forcing extremely  hot water under high pressure through very finely ground, compacted coffee. If the coffee is tamped down, it encourages the water’s even penetration of the grounds. This process produces a beverage that is syrupy, by extracting both solid and dissolved components.

  • 2 oz coffee infused bourbon
  • 1 oz Frangelico – hazlenut liqueur
  • 1 oz espresso

Make coffee bourbon by infusing half a cup of ground coffee in 750 ml bottle bourbon for at least 24 hours. Strain coffee grounds through cheesecloth/filter. Store for reuse. Combine all ingredients,shake well, serve over ice.

 

Virgin Mary

Anita-Clare’s own recipe,because, as most of us know, she has been perfecting this cocktail and it’s rather more adult alcoholic version, for some years now. Fernand Petiot claimed to have invented the drink in 1921 while working at the New York Bar in Paris, later Harry’s New York Bar, a frequent hangout for American expatriates. But two other claims are plausible. The first is that it was invented in the 1930s at New York’s 21 Club by a bartender named Henry Zbikiewicz, who was charged with mixing Bloody Marys. A second claim attributes its invention to the comedian George Jessel, who was a frequent visitor to the same club.

Serves 4

recipes

  • 1 litre of premium tomato juice
  • 1 tsp celery salt
  • Juice of one lime
  • 1 tbs of Worcestershire sauce
  • 1 tbs of Tabasco
  • 1 tsp freshly milled black pepper
  • 1 tsp of freshly grated horseradish
  • 4 celery sticks
  • 4 long cucumber spears

Place all of the condiments and aromatics in the bottom of a heavy based jug and pour over the tomato juice. Stir until all the flavours have combined and pour over long glasses filled with ice. Place celery stick and cucumber spear in each glass and serve. If you fancy something a bit stronger then the addition of vodka will turn this delicious concoction into a fantastic Bloody Mary.

Hair of the Dog

67hair_of_the_dogThe old saying “hair of the dog that bit you” is a common means of curing a hangover. Most people choose a bloody or virgin Mary but the thick, red drink can be stomach churning to look at, let alone quaff when you have a hellacious hangover. The Hair of the Dog cocktail is a tremendous alternative: a little bit of alcohol, sour citrus and a hot digestive to calm the stomach. Unless you have Bloody Mary ingredients on hand, Hair of the Dog is easier to mix.

  • 6 oz gin
  • 1/2 oz fresh lemon juice
  • 2-3 dashes Tabasco sauce

slice of chili pepper Pour the gin and Tabasco into an ice-filled cocktail shaker. Shake generously. Strain into a chilled glass. Garnish with a chili pepper. [Remember to wash your hands well with soap (especially before touching your eyes) if you handle the chili pepper.]

If all else fails, climb into bed with someone you love and…..well, you fill in the rest!

…and if that doesn’t float your boat for any reason (I can’t think why!) then tuck into a bowl of mashed potato….

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