17 Aug Clootie Can You Hear Me?
So, my Auntie Jean is visiting from Australia, and I’ve shaken her down for the infamous clootie dumpling recipe — the right one — from my mother’s side of the family. She thought she could escape by living halfway across the world, but she seemed to know in advance that her visit would bring an interrogation, because she arrived with a photo of her Christmas Dumpling in hand. Of course, she might have done it to taunt me, dangling the carrot of the perfect dumpling right in front of my nose as I writhed in agony, my inner baker screaming for mercy. She even hid it away so I could not study the texture and proper form, but I do not need it — I have tasted the dumpling as crafted from her hands, and I know all the dumpling can be.
I’m working on a feature story for this, so I can’t give away too much at the moment, but suffice it to say that my greatest challenge is as follows: My grandmother was the one with all the secrets, and she did leave a recipe behind — but with no measurements. You see, adept bakers like my Nannie did not have to measure like us pedestrians — oh, no — she did it by sight, so there is nothing but a list of ingredients in her cookbook.
You realize what this means, don’t you? I will now be forced to tackle my dear 79-year-old Auntie before she adds each ingredient to the bowl so I can m-e-a-s-u-r-e. She’s feisty, so she’ll likely put up a fight, but I’m ready for her. I’ve been to Scotland and back to track down the right way to make this damnable creation, and by god I will get it right before this Christmas!
gilded fork, food, food writing, Clootie Dumpling
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