Oh Christmas Tree

It's been a couple of years since my last Christmas tree - last year we were in Seville, and the year before, with Mum galavanting off in Europe with my sister, Dad and I couldn't really be bothered.
This year however I decided I needed something.

It may have been the Christmas cheer of a work colleague rubbing off on me, or simply the fact that there weren't any Christmas decorations up when I arrived at the house I'm house sitting (not that I'm complaining).

An indecipherable recipe - Baton Sale/Salty Biscuits

At that time of the year when Kahk and Cornetti made their appearance at Granddad's, a form of savoury biscuits also appeared. My sister and I would eat them, but they weren't the thing we'd make a bee line for. 

Instead they were left for Mum, solid savoury sticks with cumin seeds mixed throughout that she would nibble on, as happily as we would devour the Kahk. 

Christmas in Andalusia

Christmas this year was spread over two cities; Christmas eve in Cordoba and Christmas Day in Seville.

Christmas Eve started with a bit of food shopping. We were leaving for Seville that evening and knew that nothing would be open then or the next morning. So our Christmas meal had to be bought in advance and carried with us.

Mum had heard about a market not that far from our apartment though it took us a little while to find them, even once we had arrived in the associated square. Several big bags later (which we had to carry to Seville with us), we may have gone a little over board due to Christmas tradition and the cheap prices, not to mention the fact that Mum decided she needed to buy a Christmas tree as well.

Having recovered over coffee and churros, we wandered up to the Roman Ruins we'd seen on the bus into town before splitting. 

Mum and I were keen to visit the Archaeological museum which was supposedly open but in fact turned out to be closed for the Festive season. So instead we wandered around the streets looking at the shops and buying chocolate and tea (naturally). 

Having a little spare time before our departure, Mum and I found a restaurant and soaked up the sunshine whilst discovering a few new dishes of the area. 

We then wandered back to the apartment in time to collate our shopping and head to the station for our evening train to Seville. 

We arrived in Seville late on Christmas Eve and knew that nothing would be open on Christmas Day. As a result we planned to spend the entire day relaxing, sleeping in and eating. Before long, Mum and I were in the kitchen preparing for the feast (while Dad and Tegan documented the occasion). Though there were only five of us, we had bought enough for a veritable feast (which lasted us at least three meals). at the markets the day before I'd seen rabbit (albeit with the skin and head still on) and with 4 of the 5 of us happy to eat it, we found a skinned one for dinner. This was stewed in Red wine, onions, herbs, speck, olives... (a la Country style). Dad however doesn't really eat rabbit, and so we decided on a rather large chook for him, which we stuffed with all sorts of goodies that we found in the apartment's kitchen and happened to have on us. These meats were accompanied by roast potatoes (for Dad) sauteed mushrooms, sauteed marrow, a green salad, risotto (which also stuffed the chicken). We also had the usual supply of chocolate in case we ran out of food.

While the chicken roasted (with the potatoes) and the rabbit stewed away, we nibbled on an assortment of olives, cheeses and cold meats and opened our presents around the little Christmas tree Mum couldn't resist buying.

After a late leisurely lunch we stumbled out of the apartment in time to watch the sun set and join the rest of Seville who were enjoying a promenade down the main street of Seville, also walking off their extensive lunch. Having wandered past the Tobacco factory, along Avenue de la Constitucion to the Ayuntamiento we meandered towards the river towards the Torre del Oro.

We headed home after discovering an icecream shop.

British Subject, of Maltese heritage originally from Spain, with a French education, who was born in Egypt.

In relation to a kind lady's response to my previous post, and the curiosity it created for her for more information on what probably seems a confusing history/identity at this end, I thought it was probably easier to explain it out (as I know it) in depth, and subsequently length. 

Granddad's heritage has always seemed to confuse people. And though the easiest way to describe him is as a British Subject, of Maltese heritage originally from Spain, with a French education, who was born in Egypt, that still seems to confuse people.

So here's hopefully a breakdown...

Sometime in the mid 19th century, when the Khedive of Egypt was in trouble with the French government regarding the construction of the Suez Canal, he asked the British government for protection. This the British were willing to provide, with certain conditions. 

1. The British government would carry on the construction of the canal and run it for 99 years. 
2. The British government would bring in the necessary skills to complete and run the canal (and all administration that could conceivably be connected to the canal). 

Even though the British did not have subjects that possessed all of the necessary skills, rather than curry favour with the local people (the Egyptians), they decided instead to ask Europe to supply people with the desired skills. This would then enable them to 'run' the various businesses associated with the protection of Egypt. 

What it also enabled, was the British to create a sizable social structure to superimpose on the one that had already existed in Egypt (probably since the time of the Pharaohs).

From Malta, Granddad's Armarego great grandfather was asked to provide his expertise in building wooden vessels held together with dowels instead of nails. Granddad's maternal grandfather also migrated across, working as a lithographer for an English newspaper. 

As incentive to leave their cultured homelands (the view of the time, not mine), each migrant was allowed to retain their old nationality for a number of generations, as opposed to becoming Egyptian. This meant that having originated from Malta, a British colony, the family maintained their nationality as British Subjects by birth even though successive generations were not born in a British colony. 

The horror of becoming Egyptian was also said to be part of the family's incentive to leave Egypt before the birth of my mother's generation.

Granddad was intensely emphatical of his right to a British passport, because it showed that he was not Egyptian as assumed from his place of birth, and that he was not Italian as assumed by ignorant Australians when they were confronted with his surname and foreign accent. 

Unfortunately because he was in no way connected to the mainland of the United Kingdom, having neither been born there, or lived there, his grandchildren are unable to claim any form of ancestry visa through him. 

The family considered themselves to be Maltese and though we hadn't lived there for generations they maintained this identity and elements of this cultural heritage. Maltese was spoken within the community, many of the recipes the family still know and love to this day are Maltese, though as my sister discovered on her recent trip to Malta, our versions are tastier (even when we don't tweak the recipes). There was also a Maltese club they frequented in Alexandria. 

To ensure their subjects in Egypt were able to receive an education equivalent to what they would have received had they remained in their homeland, and to ensure they could easily assimilate back into their homeland, the government/church of each of these European countries established schools in Egypt. These schools were not just restricted to those of the corresponding nationality, but were presumably open to whomever could afford that education. 

My grandfather followed the French education system while his younger brother received a British education. Granddad's French was impeccable, if becoming more dated with time, for I also believe it was his first language. Throughout his life, it was the language he counted in, the language he constructed sentences in before translating them to write them in English, and the language he used on his non-French speaking grandchildren to tell them to stop quarrelling when they visited him the day he died. 

However this in no way made Granddad French. 

In fact he spoke many languages; French, Italian (because his mother decided she liked speaking in that language), English (for work and when his daughters started school in Australia), Arabic (at work in Egypt translating textbooks for the Egyptians to be able to use), a bit of Greek (he and a neighbour in Alexandria taught each other a language). Though French was the one in which he was most fluent. 

In Australia they continued to speak French, Italian and Maltese amongst themselves but were forced to speak in English within the larger community and continually emphasis their nationality as British subjects. 

My mother - born a few years after their migration to Australia has a first language of French because her parents spoke that language within their home. Four years later she needed English to start school so the family made the switch to speaking English within the home. This meant that her younger sister born around the same time only learnt English. 

I don't know what languages Assunta had, though I presume she would have spoken English at some point as her grandchildren would have had few languages besides. However, depending on where she shopped, she may have been able to achieve a lot with her Italian. This is because there was a huge Italian community in Fremantle where the family settled. How much integration occurred between the two cultures I don't know. 

So soon after the war (when Italians in Australian had been viewed as the 'enemy within' and subsequently placed in internment camps) such an Italian sounding name was greeted with suspicion. Granddad was derided has having bought his passport illegally and was questioned by clients over his language. One client asked what language he wrote in as his language did not sound English, while in the early days, phone calls were a nightmare as the Australians spoke extremely fast English whereas Granddad didn't. 

Oh, and the link to Spain, another branch of the Armarego family has managed to trace the family tree back to Spain. 

A new Singer in the family.

The sewing machine I've been using till now is a little old. Not quite a hundred year old treadle Singer, but old enough to be showing its age.

My Grandmother or Great-Grandmother's sewing machine, which my mother learnt on. 

In fact my mother bought it the year I was born, and while it survived the t-shirts, bathers, leotards, tracksuits... of our childhood, recently it fell in a heap when confronted with a piece of raw silk chiffon.

So, while it was getting a much needed service, I started researching sewing machines and when Mum brought hers home, I brought one home too. It's not the brightly coloured toy that my sister bought, but I'm happy with it and hopefully it will age as well as Mum's has.

With a sewing machine back on the work bench I got stuck in and finished a couple of projects that had been awaiting the return of Mum's machine.

On the left, the old fabric, on the right, the new. 

First project was a pair of burnt terracotta cushion covers to replace a slightly less appealing set for my Aunt. The couch is comfortable, but needs the terracotta to offset the great expanses of beige tapestry.

They were relatively straight forward; a few rounded corners, overlocked hems and a normal zip (not an invisible zip) in each one.

Project number two: I had this piece of beautiful copper chiffon and decided that I would make it into a top - following a pattern surprisingly. Unfortunately it felt doomed to failure as a) it was cut on the bias, b) my bias pieces didn't exactly match up, c) Mum's machine decided to chew up my test piece (thank goodness) of chiffon before deciding to stop working completely. Resuming the project on my own machine I discovered there was too much fabric incorporated into the cowl thereby requiring some speedy adaptation. As a result the second of the layers at the front now has a deep V neckline.




However a dear friend saw it hanging in the window, expressed a liking for it and was subsequently shocked that I'd made it. Given that she buys brand names, it was a compliment indeed.

With Mum's machine chewing up the chiffon I wasn't going to risk it on the raw silk bodice I was working on. This was being made to accompany a full length skirt made from a length of sari silk. I'll admit I don't start with easy pieces. This one, my first major attempt at sewing (it began long before the dresses and skirts of this post) was inspired by an outfit belonging to Jackie Kennedy of all people. Despite the fact that her figure is vastly different from my own, it seemed, at the time, to be a good idea.

So I began folding the stiffer-than-anticipated silk and was not getting anywhere. It would pleat, but not in the way I wanted and definitely not creating a silhouette I was willing to wear. Practical enough to know that if I wasn't happy with it, regardless of the effort expended, I wouldn't wear it, it sat in a dark corner glowering at me for several months before I decided to pull all the pleating out and start the draping process again. Much better!

With the skirt utilising the pattern of the sari, the bodice was constructed from the different piece that forms the front fall when draped as a sari. I used one of the decorative borders  of the fabric to create the waist band and bodice straps, tying the two pieces together and providing a focal point for the back of the bodice.

As expected, the bodice isn't perfect as I'm still having difficulty finding a pattern or style that fits enough to meet my standards. But that will take practice and a little luck so I've no complaints at the moment.

Found on Etsy

Project Four: This one was made entirely on Mum's machine, but I'll admit is still unfinished as I haven't gotten around to adding the second of the hooks and eyes needed to close the back of the bodice. Window shopping on Etsy I stumbled upon a bodice/skirt fabric combination which in conjunction with a recently bought pattern, could provide a very nice way of using up two measures of rather dated fabric.

Somehow I seem unable to leave patterns alone and make them as is. In this particular case I shortened the zip and moved to cover only the waistband and skirt leaving the back of the bodice open, closed only by two sets of hooks and eyes. It made it easier to install the invisible zip, but I'm not sure how acrobatic I'll need to be to close the bodice up each time I wear it. And as it's not polite to show your bra strap, it may prove a slight dilemma (that hook and eye is the one that still needs to be installed... eventually).

The other alterations were not my fault. Provided zips are moved to the centre back, all waist bands and skirts are now relatively easy to make.
Saying that, I did add 2 inches to the length of the skirt. I seem to frequently forget that I'm taller than average.

Bodices however are still a bloody nightmare. In this instance I measured and cut the pattern and then discovered that it would have barely covered half my boobs. Given that an empire line is supposed to sit under the bust, not cut it in half, I found I needed to add 2 inches to the length of the bodice and even then it just worked.


This pattern also reinforced that pleats and big boobs don't really work. In the pattern diagram, the pleats are supposed to sit softly over the boobs producing a blouse-like appearance, not be pulled out of shape to draw attention to the armpits.
Perhaps 2 inches is not enough to add. Perhaps it just wasn't designed for anyone bigger than a C cup.

As a pattern that's annoying to assemble, and unflattering, it definitely doesn't win my favour, or live up to its branding of being a 'Vogue Easy Options' pattern.

Not a bodice pattern I will be using again soon.
Sorry Vogue.

The next projects have already begun...

Homemade Pastizzi

I was raiding my database of photos and stumbled upon a few that belonged to a recipe I didn't realise I hadn't shared.

Granddad used to make these and like the Piragi, ration them out amongst the family whenever we visited en masse. As the expanding family crammed into the sitting room, a small plate of goodies would be brought out, two always separated out for my fussy aunt, and once everyone had taken their fill of the quota, the four grandchildren would bargain for the remainder. It wasn't as though we weren't going to be fed an elephant's sufficiency (Dad's phrase) when we moved into the kitchen, it was just that these were one of the absolute goodies Granddad offered.

Now, you can buy them in the supermarket.  More than a few varieties, and while they're deliciously flaky they're not the same. The ricotta is too mellow and the pastry that little bit too oily to make them truly right. But then, having fought over Granddad's, these will never quite compare.

So, here's the recipe, transcribed from an ancient note in my sister's hand. Thankfully, this recipe is not as bad at the Kahk and Cornetti where you are told to keep going until the dough 'feels right', and so in comparison is relatively easy to make.

Pastizzi
makes 54,
1 packet of puff pastry
1 kg dry crumbly fetta (not the smooth danish type)
2-3 eggs
seasoning

Crumble/grate the fetta into a bowl. You want this in relatively small pieces. I find the grating blade on the food processor works well enough.
Season liberally with pepper and/or finely chopped herbs. Do not add any salt as the feta is already salty enough
mix in one egg and stir until well combined. If the egg is binding all of the feta together don't add the other eggs. If not add the other eggs one at a time until the right consistency is achieved.

Allow the pastry to defrost, and with a sharp knife, cut each sheet into thirds horizontally and vertically. This should result in 9 equal square.
Place a small teaspoon of cheese in the centre of each square.
Roll the square up into a sausage and pinch the pastry together on each side of the cheese filling. They should look like little bonbons.

Brush with egg and bake in a moderately hot oven until golden.

*Sorry, they got eaten before I had a chance to capture them in their crunchy glory.

Easter treat (Bombolotti)

I'm in the process of scanning in old recipes, ones found carefully folded and sealed in plastic in a drawer of my grandfather's kitchen. Some recipes look illegible, some are illegible, being in Italian, one even is just a list of ingredients without a method.  However in amongst the pages are a few recipes that are recognisable, one of which stirs up memories of Easter.

In bygone years, Easter was a major family affair. Mum's extended family gathered for a long lunch while the kids played four square around the hills hoist. The main meal was okay; a vegetarian feast of falafels, fish, ful and a bevy of salads. We picked at it, primarily because we knew what dessert was.

Bombolotti!


Bombolotti are a little hard to describe. They're possibly a little like hollow doughnut balls, but more like the Greek Loukoumades, deep fried hollow balls of pastry, drenched in syrup, icing sugar and cinnamon.

I've watched Uncle Tony make them at least once, before trying them myself to resounding success. It's a strange recipe, a very very yeasty batter that subsequently smells horrendous. To create the balls, you grab the gloopy batter by the fistful, squeezing to create a balloon between the thumb and forefinger that is then dropped into the boiling oil.

To eat, you enjoy them by the bowlful, drowned in a light sugar syrup with a sprinkle of icing sugar and cinnamon.

Recipe 
1 lb Plain Flour
1 oz Fresh Yeast
1 tsp Sugar
[Warm Water]
[Frying Oil]

[To Serve:]
[Sugar syrup]
[Icing sugar]
[Cinnamon]

Mix well yeast [and sugar]  with a bit of warm water. 
Then add water and flour. The consistency not too liquidy (custard)
Mix the lot very well until it bubbles
Cover Overnight
Next day, beat very well the mixture by hand until it bubbles again
Deep Fry [They will puff up like a balloon. Cook until golden brown then remove from the oil, let stand on a paper towel before placing in the serving bowl.]
[Serve with a light sugar syrup, icing sugar and cinnamon]. 

Discovering a Past Hobby_Hand Embroidery

Cleaning out my Grandfather's linen closet, which contained far more than just linen, and far more linen than was necessary, we discovered a pile of lace work and embroidery, neatly folded and in dire need of a long soak in Napisan. Piling these (and every doily I could find around the house) into a big Ikea bag, we took them home for the required clean and iron. While some of them are in remarkably good condition, some remain a little stained and most require some form of darning. In addition, all with tassels need the tassels to be softened and combed flat.

To the best of Jocelyn's recollection, most of these pieces were created by her grandmother, Granddad's mum, in the days before TV, when she would spend the evening listening to the wireless, her fingers occupied with these pieces. Looking at some of the pieces more closely, she wondered how many had actually been made instead by her mother. 

An afternoon tea set comprising of a square table cloth of blush pink colour, matching tea cosy and 6 napkins. All are embroidered with bright flowers and trellising (bar the napkins). The tea cosy is edged with lace while the napkins and table cloth have a drawn thread hem.
Made by Violet Camilleri

Made by Violet Camilleri

A set of 6 coarse green linen placemats and napkins. It seems to be a form of drawn thread work with the pattern picked out in white thread.

Rough cotton doilies embroidered with multi-coloured sunflowers. One of these (family owned) is on display at Azelia Ley House.
These were all embroidered by Violet Camilleri

 

A rectangular cotton table cloth and 11 napkins embroidered in a beige thread. Very ornate and detailed with different patterns and techniques providing texture and 3D bits.

Part one: Lace