Reflections on Rye

Prodigal Wife found this beautiful photo of Rye at PublicDomainePictures.net, and it made me grin like a happy giraffe! At the end of the street is Lamb House, once the home of E.F. Benson (and Henry James before him)—better known as Mallards to millions of Mapp and Lucia fans like myself. Looking up at the conservatory, I so easily imagine Lucia spying on her neighbors from her music room. And one of the lovely cottages on the right must be George's home, before he became Lucia's husband (in name only, of course). Perhaps the one with the charming pink roses?

An inauspicious beginning

When England was celebrating the Festival of Britain and cheering for the Queen, I came into the world without many cheers but quite a lot of tears. Mum bawled her eyes out when I turned out to be a boy and not the girl she always wanted. Regardless, after the nurse offered to take me, mum reluctantly assumed the maternal role.

Roast beef on ...?

The town of Sandwich was first recorded in the seventh century and had Saxon origins, though many believe it was settled much earlier. The name was derived from the Place of Sand, but it was the origin of the edible sandwich that intrigued us most. It all started in the mid-eighteenth century. The illustrious Earl of Sandwich, in order to continue gambling and, presumably, not break a winning streak, called for beef to be placed between two slices of bread so he could eat without getting gravy on his playing cards or ruffled shirt sleeves. Thus a new dish was created. Ironically, the earls of Sandwich had no real connection to the town. The first earl, Edward Montagu, only took the title of Earl of Sandwich because his fleet docked at Sandwich prior to sailing for France to pick up King Charles the Second and return him to the throne of England. Montagu could just as easily taken his title from another town along the coast.
“Anyone for a roast beef portsmouth?” I asked.
We thought about it for a moment; it did not sound as strange as I expected.
“Could work,” said Frances. “Although roast beef ‘rye’ would be better.”
“Rye! Yes. Clever. Very.” I smiled.

Don't knock the stuffing!

Here’s a refreshing, very simple starter to add to your repertoire. The Stilton cheese make this a very proper English dish. This recipe is enough for at least four servings, with a half a pear per guest. Of course, you might like this so much you’ll need a whole pear!
You need two ounces of Stilton and the same amount of cream cheese. Two ripe pears, salad fixings, a lemon, and olive oil.

Here’s what you do.
Crumble the Stilton (no nibbling!), then combine with the cream cheese and whip—we use a mini food-processor for this—until well blended. Use any pears that look and feels nice and ripe. Chill down the pears for an hour or two, then peel and slice in half. Use a spoon to core them out, then spoon the cheese mixture into the hollows you have so cleverly created. I serve the pear halves on a little bed of lettuce garnished with endive spears, and walnut halves that have been sautéed in butter for just a minute.

The pear halves and salad bits are dressed with a vinaigrette made of lemon juice, olive oil, a pinch of salt, and a little sugar. Freshly ground pepper is the final touch.

This is a refreshing and delicious starter, and so simple to put together. Too simple? Don’t knock it until you’ve tried it!

Not so Bleak House

Here is a fabulous view of our favorite seaside town, Broadstairs—with Charles Dickens' Bleak House in the background as a literary bonus. Sadly we did not have time to go inside when we visited, but we understand it's now available for rental. Wouldn't that be the perfect spot for a Prodigal reunion? Or the perfect setting for a murder mystery...

My imagination takes off

“The airport we saw – much air traffic, is there?” I asked nervously.
“God, no. One plane a day. Maybe two. Been there for ages, that airport, it’s right close to a Battle of Britain station. Spitfires.”
“Spitfires?” My interest rose as my support for airplane noise abatement declined.
“The old airfield runs almost parallel with the new one. But the new one never caught on. Hardly anyone uses it.” Then he turned and said, “Oh, I’m Roy by the way. If you need anything, just come by, I’m always around. No problem.”

My favorite Brit radio

The Archers was an institution. There were Archer Addicts. Fan clubs. Archer get-togethers. Many a flagging dinner party conversation could be enlivened by simply voicing a concern for one of the principal characters, such as, “I’m very worried about Shula.” During the year, Lew would airmail cassette tapes every two weeks, and I would try to listen to the recorded show at nine thirty on Sunday mornings, the same time the show’s omnibus edition was broadcast in England.

"Oh, there was a crooked house,..."

We ambled back up the hill into the high street, where we found the Old Crooked House. Whether this was the original old crooked house from the famous nursery song, we had no clue, but the very tiny abode, warped and deformed with age, certainly deserved its name. The house looked as if it had tried to uproot itself and gotten twisted and bent in the process. We walked around it and saw a tiny window in the arched curved roof. Amazingly there was a room upstairs, perhaps with an even tinier bedroom! Not much bigger than a child’s tree house, this fabulous building had been converted into a shop for expensive pottery.

No, Kev, it's not you...

Cousin Kevin (The Repairman Cometh) thought he'd had one too many when he spotted the door of this lovely book shop in Canterbury. He might have, of course, but in terms of the door it was just age taking its toll on the former Old King's School Shop, which was founded so many years ago everyone's forgotten exactly when. If you look closely, it says "circa" 1647 above the door!
Doesn't this look like a great spot for a book signing?

"This is not a car, madam!"

I was in a giddy fog, quite like Mister Toad, totally in thrall to the hum of a hot roadster. Frances was shocked. She never imagined me much of a car man and, the truth was, I never had been. Cars were a convenient mode of transport, nothing more. But this was more. This was a speedy beast posing as a car. And I was posing as its trainer. But it did not last long. The euphoric fog lifted and reality set in. I knew it would not be fair, or nice, to encumber my poor old parents with bags on laps while I sat up front like Stirling, or Mario, or Jackie, or Graham, or—

East End...to East Side

During our fabulous weekend in New York, we stayed on the ritzy East Side and yet, and yet, what do we see as we're walking down the street? A Barking Dog sign! Oh, no! Where are we again? Is this the East Side or the East End? This Barking Dog is a restaurant attached to a hotel, and probably a lot nicer than the pub in Barking, but nevertheless...
We also saw a Baker Street Pub with a charming Sherlock Holmes sign, but were running late and did not take a photo.

Start spreading the news...

Our New York events are finally upon us, and we can't wait! We hope anyone in the area will join us—it'd be so wonderful to meet some of our cyber-friends! Here are the details:

Friday March 26, 7:30 pm
Barnes & Noble at Lincoln Triangle (Broadway & 66)
Professional actors take on all your favorite characters from A Yank Back to England in a theatrical interpretation of one expat’s rediscovery of his former homeland. Plus, don't miss a chance to win one of three fish & chip dinners for two at the ChipShop!
If you come early, pop into the cafe on the 4th floor and say hi to the old Prodigal Wife, who will be there with the little one.


Sunday March 28, 2-4 pm
Connolly’s Pub and Restaurant
14 East 47th Street (between Madison and 5th)
The Daughters of the British Empire invite you to a afternoon of nibbles, drinkies, and humour with the entire Prodigal Clan—and a raffle! Tickets are $30, with all profits benefiting the Victoria Home. For more info & reservations, call Vicki Downey (646) 220 2309 or email Vickilou67@aol.com

Hope to see some of you this weekend!

Bubble, bubble without trouble

Stuck with leftover St. Patrick's Day cabbage and spud? Here's my home version of another cornerstone of English cuisine: Bubble and Squeak. So easy, not a real recipe really. I cook up some bacon and fry up the chopped, leftover spuds and greens in the rendered fat. I let everything brown for a few minutes without touching, then stir up and brown the other sides. That's it! It all goes down very well with everyone, even Kate, though we keep her away from the Guiness...just kidding, Prodigal Wife is not a Guiness fan either.

On the battlements

Walking across a castle tower, we peeked out from the battlements, watching the Arun river as it curved around the shadow of the castle before snaking out into the countryside beyond. About a hundred feet below us, we saw a graveled driveway that led to a private entrance to the castle. As if on cue, a raffishly muddied Land Rover pulled up and young blond children, a pretty blonde woman, and a tousle-haired fellow in a check shirt and crumpled corduroy trousers piled out. They all looked like models from an L.L Bean catalog. But as no photographer appeared, we concluded they might well be the current lord, his lady, and heirs apparent. We walked back inside, descended another staircase past more family portraits, and tried to look for a family resemblance. We found none, but we did find Jessie and Lew patiently waiting for us.
“Gasping for a cuppa tea, son,” said Lew.

Broadcast muse

Trying to repeat the success of my BBC America interview (which sent my little tome flying off the ether-shelves!), we thought we'd put together some "B-roll" before reaching out to some media outlets. Here is what we came up with--what do you think?
It's only 60 seconds, please check it out and let us know!

One sherry too many

“Is Mum alright, Dad?”
“Don’t wake her, for Gawd’s sake!” Lew’s face registered fear. “She’ll start doing a ‘knees up’ or get all funny. Either way, I’ll never hear the end of it.”
“A knees up?” Frances whispered. I explained it was an East London dance that is only difficult to do if very drunk, which is the only time it is ever performed. A “knees up” requires the linkage of arms, the stomping of feet, and high-kicking legs in order to get the required “knees up” while singing “Knees Up Mother Brown.”
The image of my drunken aunts performing like inebriated Rockettes, trampling on each other’s feet, was not far from my mind.

Sunset in Windsor

Kate and I love to feed the Queen's swans whenever we're in England; once in a while we get a fabulous sunset too, as we did in Windsor.
For other beautiful skies, visit Skywatch.

Troubles at immigration

We've received lots of notes/comments saying how wonderful the old Prodigal Wife is, taking everything in stride, smiling, smoothing things over... I thought it was time to set the record straight: Prodigal Wife has her moments too. Specifically, she has trouble with bureaucrats and their silly rules, as you'll see in this encounter with an officious official at Heathrow. (Must be the six months she spent in the Soviet Union.)

Adelard’s disappointed. Again.

“What you lot been up to? Any trips? Any fab hols?” Adelard sucked on his drink between questions.
“Not really. What about you?” Frances asked.
“Well, I went off with some friends and we did Italy. Madly impressed that we were going to stay in a fourteenth century turret, until I discovered everyone stays in fourteenth century Tuscan turrets. So I didn’t feel quite as spesh as I thought I might. And now we’re all here.” He looked around. “In Tunbridge Wells. Hmm.”

Diamonds are a... well, anyone's best friend

“We always liked the West End. Going up to the theatre,” Jessie was saying.
“Come on, Mum, you don’t like the theatre,” I jumped in, gently teasing her. “When was the last time you went to the theatre?”
“The Palladium, the London Palladium! We saw Liberace!”
“Years ago, it was. She wanted to see him.” Lew pointed to Jessie.
“Well, of course I did, a wonderful man, he was. An entertainer, a real entertainer.”
“A showman, he was that alright,” Lew conceded.
“He had all these outfits, diamonds, furs. And then he was all lit up. Lovely!”
“Well, he appealed to old ducks like you, Mum.”
“What’d you mean?” She looked taken aback.
“Well, you tell me, who was in the audience apart from funny old things like you. I bet there weren’t any men there.”
“There was men, remember, Lew? There was men there. Up in the balcony, lots of young men, all dressed up! Just like Liberace!” said Mum innocently.
Lew pulled a face and raised his eyes to the ceiling. Diplomatically, he said nothing.