After more than two years in the role, I genuinely think that I have got some aspects of housekeeping well and truly sorted. I’ve trimmed the time it takes to do the weekly shop to under sixty minutes so that I can take advantage of the 1-hour parking slot conveniently located outside the supermarket front door and, with careful monitoring of the daily weather forecast, I can almost guarantee fresh air- or sun-dried laundry, which is somehow so much nicer - a bit like organic fruit and vegetables which, despite the claims of the Food Standards Agency, are definitely much tastier. Nevertheless, there are some domestic chores with which I feel I am fighting a losing battle, but not due to lack of effort on my part.

Perhaps, at our forthcoming Open Day, Caroline Ingraham might care to touch upon the antibiosis, rather than symbiosis, between animals and humans, because young Mick, Jan’s Glen of Imaal terrier, has developed an annoying trait. Dubbed ‘Velcro Dog’ by Justin, because every single bit of garden detritus attaches itself to his coat, he has an uncanny knack of detecting visitors five minutes before they knock on the front door, which opens directly into the kitchen, and will whine at the back door to be let out before they arrive. He will trot swiftly around the garden attracting as much debris as possible to his rotund shape and, upon return, will shake it off all over the kitchen floor. If it is raining his little face lights up, as it can all be trampled in with 12-size muddy paws. Initially I gave it little consideration as I thought that he simply yearned a comfort break before offering an enthusiatic welcome, but now I’m not so sure.

During the recent spate of rather wet weather he has been in and out of the garden like a yo-yo, painting the kitchen floor a darker shade of pale. Whilst I would not consider myself unduly house-proud, I do like to keep the cream-coloured tiles as clean as possible, but even I know when I’m beaten and let him go about his, doubtless contemporary, doggy artwork uninterrupted, until the other day. Knock! Knock! What a lovely floor, but how much nicer it would look if it was clean, snootily snorted the lady at the kitchen door. Now, whenever he whines at the back door I reach for the mop and bucket. Is he doing it on purpose, I wonder? 

Similarly, the parrots have become a tad contrary of late. Usually they can be relied upon to eat their morning ‘muesli’ without much fuss but recently they have begun to hurl their normal nuts and seed around the room with squawks of anger, demanding garden-fresh raspberries and strawberries to which I have been treating them during the growing season. Whatever next? Cream and sugar? All the same, the constant shower of shards has me daily on my knees with pan and brush, which is greeted with shrieks of merriment as they empty their water bowls over my head. You may think I’m joking, but I’m not. It’s all becoming a little tedious, a bit like washing-up.

When I was a bachelor, I shared a flat for several years with four other fellows. We all had a knife, fork, spoon, plate and tankard and nothing else, and cooking, be it curry, spaghetti, chilli con carne, bacon and eggs, or the Sunday roast, was done in a single large cauldron. Young ladies were wined and dined in restaurants and male friends in pubs. Thus, there was little needless washing-up. However, there is only so much straining of spaghetti through a squash racquet that a chap can take and so marriage seemed a fine idea. Forty years later, I still cannot commend it highly enough.

For the first year or so of married life I was shielded from swirling greasy pots and pans around in a sink, because we had servants when living in Thailand. Bliss! However, upon return to Blighty grim reality kicked in as Jan finally unpacked our wedding presents, at which we had had only the briefest look to make sure that we did not mistakenly thank the giver of a toast rack for a bottle roasting jack which, incidentally, we still have as a cherished antiquity. What is a bottle-jack, you may ask?

Although Mrs. Beeton would be surprised that you do not know, as she mentions in the 1912 edition of her Book of Household Management that ‘the action of this familiar piece of kitchen furniture is so well known that very little explanation is needed’, should you wish to cook a joint of meat over an open fire, which in these faddish times could yet become quite voguish if I can convince fellow car aficionado celebrity chef James Martin to showcase it on Saturday Kitchen, this bit of kitchen kit could be just the thing that you need. So called because of its resemblance to an ordinary glass bottle, when the joint is hooked on, the jack requires to be wound up (we’ve lost our key!), an operation which must be repeated once or twice during the time the meat is cooking to ensure that it gently goes from bleu (very rare) through saignant (rare) and a point (medium) to bien cuit (well done), whichever be your choice, as it unwinds like the weight of a long-case clock.

Our own bottle roasting jack, capable of carrying a joint of about 10kg, large enough for ordinary family use, could have been had for 6s. 9d. (say 30p or so) but, for £1 a bottle-jack to carry 35 kilos was available.    My word, they must have had big appetites, or large families, a century ago! 

All the same, once Jan had unwrapped our gifts it was obvious that our wedding guests had assumed that we also were either going to have a very large family or entertain on a lavish scale, neither of which was remotely likely in the foreseeable future (and still isn’t!). There were glasses of every shape and size, several decanters, enough crockery to set up a decent sized restaurant, sufficient pots and pans to make even a scullery maid wince, which I feared might be me as we could not fit a dishwasher into our diminutive flat, knives, forks and spoons for every conceivable occasion, a clutch of toast racks, a bevy of cruet sets, and a coffee morning’s worth of silver coffee spoons, which must have been gift of the year that year, but sadly no Warren’s cooking pot to save me both onerous washing-up and money.

This versatile culinary utensil is a vessel in three divisions, in which meat and vegetables can be cooked at the same time, but in separate sections. The benefit of the process consists in cooking without the viands coming in contact with water or steam; the meat, kept from water entirely, is cooked in an inner cylinder, the outer one containing the water, being kept at boiling point. The food thus prepared is cooked in its own vapour, and none of its nutritious properties are wasted. This cooking pot is also convenient where cooking space is limited, and economical, because one ring of burners will serve instead of two or three.

Undoubtedly forty years ago I thought that we would never ever need to buy another culinary utensil, but the passing years have proved me very, very wrong. Very enthusiastic cooks, Jan and Justin just keep heaping on the agony with more and more kitchen kit and, despite better and better dishwashers, I still find my hands in the sink more often than I would like.

That said, my whingeing quickly stopped when they returned from the Le Creuset factory in France with a Doufeu. Like all Le Creuset things, it is wrist-achingly heavy, but it’s brilliant for cooking. Without doubt, it is the modern equivalent of Captain Warren’s cooking pot. In goes the joint, or whatever, a handful of fresh herbs, a selection of beans and vegetables, and a splash of wine. Voila! It reminds me of my bachelor days, and very little washing-up!

Impetigo.
Could you send me the following, as I have broken out in a horrible rash called impetigo, e-mailed Jillian Jamieson. Having been given antibiotic cream and tablets by the doctor, it’s got even worse so I am going down the natural cure road. My book by V.A. Worwood says Myrrh and Tagetes [The Fragrant Pharmacy].

Impetigo is the most superficial skin infection and is contagious and can not only pass from person to person but can also spread from one area of the skin to another on the same person. In the UK it is usually caused by Staphylococcus aureus, but in Caribbean and Asian immigrants it is more likely to be Streptococcus pyogenes; though the two may co-exist [Finch, R. Skin and soft tissue infections. Lancet 1998; i: i64-8].

Nonbullous impetigo can be caused by Staph. aureus, Streptococcus spp., or both organisms; it mainly affects young children and is highly contagious, with yellowish-brown crusting. Bullous impetigo is caused by Staph. aureus; it is characterized by blisters, is less contagious than the nonbullous form, and occurs at any age.

Erythromycin is still generally the oral treatment of choice for nonbullous streptococcal impetigo but, for those who fail to respond, treatment with an antistaphylococcal antibacterial should be considered. Flucloxacillin is indicated as the initial treatment for bullous impetigo and erythromycin for those who are penicillin-allergic. Topical antibacterials are also widely used but resistance has been encountered with tetracyclines, gentamicin, and fusidic acid; mupirocin has proved topically effective against both streptococci and staphylococci including methicillin-resistant Staph., but again resistant strains have been reported.

Invariably, when asked about natural cures for skin disorders, I turn to Bensouilah and Buck’s excellent reference, Aromadermatology, for advice. They comment that for people with limited disease antibiotic creams have been found to be equally effective or more effective than oral antibiotic treatment and since children are found to comply better with topical rather than oral treatment and where the infected areas are small, initial topical aromatic treatment can safely be considered but, if impetigo is not improved after four days, or any new infected areas appear, medical treatment should be sought.

As the crusts of impetigo act as a barrier to essential oil formulations they need to be removed. Soaking with a disinfecting warm hydrosol compress can do this. After debridement, a cream or lotion formulation is applied several times a day. In the book, there is a table of essential oils with activity against S. aureus and Strep. pyogenes but, as is pointed out, precise selection and dosage is made after full consideration of all factors. That said, I am a little confused because neither of Valerie Ann Worwood’s suggestions is listed. However I can understand perhaps why Jillian is tempted to try them, because she mentions in her e-mail that she has a ‘horrible pus-filled rash’.

The Fragrant Pharmacy explains that impetigo starts as tiny red spots, turns into blisters and can change into a sore pus-filled area that gets bigger and spreads. The sores do not just go away and they must be treated as soon as they are noticed. It is important to get all the pus out of the sore. To clean it out, prepare a small bowl of cooled, boiled water (about 100ml), add 10 drops of lavender (Lavandula angustifolia Mill.) and, using clean cotton wool, wash the sores out thoroughly. Now apply a compress.

First, prepare your essential oils - equal amounts of tagetes (Tagetes minuta L.) and myrrh (Commiphora myrrha (Nees) Engl.) in a synergistic blend. You will also need a piece of lint cut in a rectangle large enough to cover the area of the sore twice. Soak the lint in water and then put two drops of the synergistic blend in the centre. Fold over the two ends of the lint so that the essential oil will not be directly on the sore. Bandage the lint to the body, or if the sores are on an awkward part attach it with plaster. Leave the lint there for an hour and then remove it so that the sore can be exposed to the air. If the sores do not clear, repeat the treatment until they do.   

Well, I must admit that it couldn’t be more specific, but tagetes and myrrh would never have jumped immediately to my mind!

Yes! We Have No Bananas.
Recorded by Frank Silver and Irving Cohn from the 1922 Broadway revue “Make it Snappy”, the song Yes! We Have No Bananas became a major hit in 1923 and topped the charts for five weeks. Some speculate that a banana shortage at the time, which began with the infestation of Panama disease early in the 20th century, inspired the song, which has endured to this day.

The song was the theme of the Outdoor Relief Protests in 1932. These were a unique example of Protestants and Catholics in Northern Ireland protesting together, and the song was used because it was one of the few non-sectarian songs that both sides knew. Later, the song lent its title to a book about the depression in Belfast [Paddy Devlin (1981), Yes, We Have No Bananas: Outdoor Relief in Belfast, 1920-39].

The term has been resurrected on many occasions, including in Britain during WWII when the Government banned the importing of bananas for five years. Shop owners would place signs stating “Yes, we have no bananas” in their shop windows in keeping with the general upbeat war spirit. A popular wartime song, by the bandleader Harry Roy, had asked “When Can I Have a Banana Again?”. Although I was only a very young child at the time, I can clearly recollect my father banging on in similar vein, as he adored bananas all his life.

Ever since refrigerated ships initiated the global banana trade at the end of the 19th century, the banana’s tropical origins, and its susceptibility to disease and shortages, had made it an exotic object. The words “have a banana” were inserted into the music-hall song “Let’s All Go Down the Strand”, giving it free advertising that would have been the envy of any other fruit.

The word “banana” is a general term embracing a number of species or hybrids in the genus Musa of the family Musaceae. Most edible-fruited bananas, usually seedless with just minute vestiges of ovules visible as brown specks, belong to the species Musa acuminata Colla or the hybrid Musa x paradisiaca L. Originating in India and southern Asia, they were known only by hearsay in the Mediterranean region in the 3rd century B.C., having been seen by Alexander the Great, and are believed to have not been cultivated there until about 650 A.D., or possibly much later according to some historians. Certainly they were being grown in West Africa in the 15th century, prior to the arrival of Europeans, and were taken to the Caribbean by the Portuguese in 1516; and must have been introduced at some point to Hawaii, because Captain Cook found them there when he arrived in 1778.

The banana plant, often erroneously referred to as a “tree”, is a large herb, with a succulent, very juicy stem which is a cylinder of leaf-petiole sheaths, reaching a height of 6-7.5m and arising from a fleshy rhizome or corm.

The fruit (technically a “berry”) turns from deep-green to yellow or red, or, in some forms, green- and white-striped, and may range from 6 to 30cm in length and 2 to 5cm in width, and from oblong, cylindrical and blunt to pronouncedly 3-angled, somewhat curved and hornlike. The flesh, ivory-white to yellow or salmon-yellow, may be firm, astringent, even gummy with latex, when unripe, turning tender and slippery, or soft and mellow or rather dry and mealy or starchy when ripe. Bananas consist mainly of starch, which turns to sugar as they ripen. When it is fully ripe and the skin is bright yellow, the flesh consists of over 90 per cent natural sugars. The flavour may be mild and sweet or subacid with a distinct apple tone.

Plantains (Musa paradisiaca) grow in the same way, but are not sweet like bananas: the starch does not convert and so they need to be cooked before eating and for their nutrients to be released.

Bananas are very easily digested which makes them a good food for children, invalids and old people. Containing vitamins A, B, and C and minerals calcium, iron, magnesium, phosphorous and potassium, they help growth in the young and counter calcium deficiency and brittle bones in the elderly. They restore the equilibrium of the nervous system, due to the potassium, and are also recommended as a cure for diarrhoea.

Despite being frowned upon by today’s low-carb diets, the banana is still the third bestselling item in British supermarkets, after petrol and lottery tickets. Little wonder five years without a banana was quite a wrench 64 years ago, but I had never even seen one, let alone tasted one, when the Government issued ration coupons at the end of the war entitling every child to a single banana.

On December 30th, 1945, the ship Tilapa arrived at Avonmouth from Jamaica, loaded with 10 million bananas. Hundreds of children were there to greet it. As the ship docked, a crew member threw a yellow banana on to the quayside, where it was caught by Daphne Philips the 10-year-old daughter of a dock worker. It was the first banana to reach Britain since 1940.

The consignment was earmarked for under-18-year-olds, as a special austerity-era treat. The arrival of the Tilapa was a symbol - albeit rather premature - of the end of shortages and the return of good times. Many children had to be shown how to eat one: like an ice-cream cone, rather than corn on the cob. However my father ate mine, and it was several more years before I tasted one. Auberon Waugh, whose father Evelyn also ate all three of his children’s bananas, later wrote: “It would be absurd to say that I never forgave him but he was permanently marked down in my estimation from that moment.” Exactly!

A touch of Tarragon and Chervil.
I do like a little Sauce Bearnaise with grilled meat or fish, but it must be freshly made; the stuff in supermarkets just doesn’t taste the same.

“The history of the table of a nation is a reflection of the civilization of that nation. To show the changes in the order and serving of meals from century to century, to describe and comment on the progress of French cuisine, is to paint a picture of the many stages through which a nation has evolved since the distant times when, as a weak tribe, men lived in dark caves, eating wild roots, raw fish and the still pulsating flesh of animals killed with the spear.”

“It is this history that is the subject of Larousse Gastronomique, in which Prosper Montagne has outlined in some thousand pages all the improvements brought to the culinary art from prehistoric times to the present day”, wrote Auguste Escoffier, the great ‘king of cooks and the cook of kings’, in his preface to the book after reading the first draft of the manuscript. Sadly, Escoffier died before the book was published in France in 1938.

This formidable encyclopaedia is an inexhaustible treasury of culinary knowledge, containing more than 8,500 recipes, including 600 hors d’oeuvre, 282 soups, 400 egg dishes, 250 chicken dishes, 175 beef dishes, 122 recipes for sole, 304 sauces.....

Put into a saucepan a good tablespoon of chopped shallot, 2 tablespoons of tarragon and chopped chervil, a sprig of thyme, and a fragment of bay leaf. Moisten with 50ml of vinegar and 50ml of white wine; season with a pinch of salt and a pinch of pepper. Boil down by two-thirds. Allow to cool and then put into the pan two raw egg yolks mixed with a tablespoon of water. Beat the sauce with a whisk over very low heat and as soon as the yolks begin to thicken incorporate little by little, whisking all the time, 125g of fresh butter. Season the sauce, sharpen it if necessary with a squeeze of lemon juice and heighten the seasoning with just a pinch of cayenne. Strain. Finish off with a tablespoon of chopped tarragon and chervil. Keep warm in a bain-marie. Voila! The perfect Sauce Bearnaise. Enjoy!    

Chervil (Anthriscus cerefolium (L.) Hoffm.) is one of the French fines herbes, a term, generally speaking, used not of mixed herbs but simply of chopped parsley. Thus an Omelette aux fines herbes is an omelette containing only chopped parsley whereas, actually, fines herbes should be a mixture of herbs, such as parsley, chervil, tarragon and even chives. In earlier times chopped mushroom and even truffles were added to the mix. 

An annual herb growing to 60cm, it has finely grooved stems, opposite leaves and many small white flowers arranged in compound umbels and grows freely on wasteground. Native to eastern Europe and western Asia, it is now cultivated throughout the world. There are several varieties, all of which taste fresh, slightly sweet and aniseed-like.

Chervil is a powerful diuretic, so herbal teas should be drunk to benefit the circulation and associated problems such as cellulite, haemorrhoids, varicose veins, high blood pressure and the fluid retention of PMT and menopause. This property can also benefit bladder disorders such as kidney stones and cystitis, and liver problems: infuse 10g chervil and 20g lettuce in 500ml boiling water, and drink when cool.

Juice from the fresh plant is applied to various skin conditions, including wounds, eczema and abcesses. Some say that the tisanes are good for the puffiness caused by complaints such as hayfever and colds.

Chervil also contains an essential oil, of which the major components are methyl chavicol and 1-allyl-2, 4-dimethoxybenzene, and anethole among the others, but we have never stocked it. Tarragon, on the other hand, as it is mentioned in many aromatherapy books, we have stocked for many years, but demand has always been very small.

Tarragon (Artemisia dracunculus L.), a member of the Compositae, is a perennial herb, growing to about a metre, with long narrow lance-shaped leaves. It blossoms in August, the small flowers, in round heads, being yellow mingled with black, and rarely fully open. The roots are long and fibrous, spreading by runners. Native to Russia, western Asia and the Himalayas, it is now cultivated as a culinary herb in gardens around the world. It is thought to have been introduced into Europe by returning Crusaders, as the Arabs had long used it in medicine. Their doctors prescribed it for anaemia, to stimulate digestion and appetite and to prevent bad breath. The name tarragon is a corruption of the French Estragon, derived from the Latin dracunculus (a little dragon), which is also its specific name. In French it has also the name Herbe au Dragon. To this, as to other Dragon herbs, was ascribed the faculty of curing the bites and stings of venomous beasts and of mad dogs.

There are two types of tarragon; French tarragon (A. dracunculus) and Russian or false tarragon (A. dracunculoides). The French is valued in cooking and medicine and has very smooth, dark green leaves and the true tarragon flavour. The Russian has less smooth leaves of a fresher green shade and somewhat lacks the peculiar tartness of the French variety. The aerial parts of both contain essential oil. Methyl chavicol (para-methoxy allyl benzene) or estragole is the main component of the French oil whereas sabinene is the major constituent of the Russian oil, which probably accounts for the difference in taste. Interestingly, hot air drying of French tarragon will reduce the estragole content and increase  the sabinene, and time of harvesting can also change the constituents of the oil.

Tarragon is stimulant, stomachic, emmenogogic, digestive and laxative. I have read that a maceration of crushed leaves in a glass of good white wine, drunk before a meal, is strongly digestive but as I only ever drink red I have never tried it. For depression, from which I might well suffer after too much red, juice some fennel adding some tarragon at the last minute. Tarragon is also a useful alternative to salt for people suffering from heart problems and obesity, since its flavour is so savoury that salt isn’t needed.

Tarragon is diuretic as well; drink an infusion of 2 tablespoons chopped fresh leaves in 1 litre boiling water. This is good for dysmenorrhoea, so I’m told; drink three or four times per day leading up to the period, after a meal.

The essential oil, on the other hand, is another matter. Most advise that it must be used with great care, because it can contain up to 70% methyl chavicol. This compound has been implicated by research on animals as being a carcinogen. Therefore, by inference, the use of this oil might be considered hazardous, but research at St. Mary’s, London, indicates that the results of animal tests cannot be extended directly to humans. The case for skin application of essential oils with a high content of estragole is still undecided. When applied to the skin, not all of the oil enters the body, but caution is advisable nonetheless, pending investigation of the metabolization of estragole in the transdermal route [Aromatherapy for Health Professionals. 3rd Edition, pp. 49-50.].

Finally.....

I’m off to whip up some sauce bearnaise and to cook a steak saignant, but not over an open fire hanging from a bottle-jack!

charles@essentiallyoils.com

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