One effective way to escape a Paris heatwave is to get on a plane and fly to Canada, as we just did. It’s obviously summer here, too, and nice and warm, but not debilitatingly swelteringly so, and that makes all the difference. We arrived home to be greeted by a full strawberry moon, which, by chance (well, thanks to jet lag, actually) I was up at 4 a.m. to see.
According to something called “Mental Floss,” which cropped up when I did a Google search about this moon, “Spiritually, the Strawberry Moon is often seen as a prompt to check on the ‘fruits of your labour.’ It encourages deep reflection on what personal and professional intentions are ripening and what still needs nurturing.” Nice thought. Maybe I’ll do that.
Now that I have the image of that big red dot of a full moon in my mind’s eye, I’m reminded to tell you about the book I read on the airplane (although the red dot on the Japanese flag symbolizes, of course, the sun, not the moon).
An etiquette guide to Japan will seem an odd choice of reading material for someone flying to Canada’s Atlantic provinces, but a friend saw the book in a Paris shop the other day and thought of me, so I went out and bought it on her recommendation. It was written by a man who was a member of a U.S. intelligence agency, amongst other vocations. He was born in 1929 and the last edition of his book, which is the one I read, was published in 2015, two years before his death. That should give you an idea of what a lively and engaged mind he had, and how passionately devoted he was to his subject.
I learned that, in Japan, etiquette is a form of morality, central to which is the notion of maintaining harmony. There are chapters on everything from when and how to bow, bath and toilet etiquette, gift-giving (with an interesting emphasis on the language of gift-wrapping), the importance of expressing appreciation appropriately, and the essential art of the apology, all unique angles that make this book quite different from its Western counterparts. And, unlike most manuals on etiquette, this one is so beautifully and sparingly written, and in such a lyrical way, that you cannot put it down. The moment I did, Peter snapped it up and started reading it himself. “I’m interested,” he said, “because we live in a world today without a unifying code of conduct. It can be everyone for themselves when it comes to public behaviour.”
As I write, it’s Canada Day here, our national fête, which funnily enough I have no memory of celebrating growing up. I don’t think we did. It was called Dominion Day until 1984, which hardly seems like something to set off fireworks for. But even today, for most it’s simply an excuse to have a barbeque at home and invite a few friends over, not for the kind of elaborate public displays of patriotism that you see in places like the United States and France. Here, we’re less festive and expressive, which may be what gives us the reputation of being reserved, not to say boring (although that does get said, too, at least of the anglos in this country). What do you expect from a country whose unofficial motto is, “Peace, order, and good government”? Snooze. On the other hand, given the kind of horrific excitements playing out in many parts of the world today, I think I’ll raise a glass to this country’s moderate approach and basic maintenance of sanity. Cheers to that!
As a celebratory Canada Day gift to you, I’ve unlocked a video shot two years ago at my family home. It’s bittersweet, because I have since lost my father; however, some of his hooked rugs, only a sample of which I show here, are having their own exhibit, which opens tonight at a nearby museum. What a touching tribute that will be.
I always like to include a recipe with these chatty, top-of-the-month missives, and this time it’s going to be for Heritage Jelly Cakes, a local recipe that an elderly neighbour always used to bring to community events. (She was born at the end of the 1800s, which always impressed me.) Since I’ll be heading to an event tonight myself, I thought I’d bake some to bring along for old time’s sake. I wonder if anyone will recognize them.
Heritage Jelly Cakes
These chewy, faintly lemon-scented teatime treats with a ruby of jelly at their hearts are a delectable cross between a cake and a cookie. They travel well and are easy to eat, making them ideal for taking to any sort of stand up event to pass around.
Makes: 42
¾ cup/170 g butter, softened
¾ cup/155 g sugar
1 egg, beaten well
1 tablespoon milk
Zest of a lemon
¼ teaspoon salt
1-1/2 cups/185 g flour, sifted
About 1/4 cup/60 ml red currant jelly
Heat the oven to 350°F/180°C. Grease and flour a mini muffin tin (or just use a non-stick tin).
Cream together the butter and sugar until pale and smooth. Beat in the egg, milk, lemon zest, and salt. Stir in the flour.
Spoon 2 teaspoons of batter into each muffin cup. Press flat with a damp finger, then make an indentation in the centre of each. Spoon about 1/4 teaspoon of jelly into each indentation. Bake until lightly golden around the edges, about 15 minutes.
Remove to a rack to cool, then store in an airtight container.
Here’s to the summer holiday season, and to enjoying it to the full wherever you may be. There’s always something nostalgic about summers. Childhood memories float through our minds like clouds: a retro piece of music from someone else’s car radio takes us back to being 16; the scent of freshly cut grass; the shock of a cold river when you dive in for the first time; the taste of corn on the cob… Savour every summer moment now, because one day, these too will join the bank of wistful memories of long ago.
Lots of love,
Laura
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