Review: The Great Gatsby


The Great Gatsby
The Great Gatsby by F. Scott Fitzgerald

My rating: 5 of 5 stars

This is another of those classics I’ve been promising myself I’d get around to for years, and now I have, and yet again I’ve been blown away.

I seem to remember reading Tender Is The Night years ago, but can remember next to nothing about it. I suspect that Fitzgerald, like Jane Austen, is one of those authors you can be too young to read, and tragically, they are also the sort of authors that are given to kids as required reading.

But as for The Great Gatsby, it’s a wonderful take on ambitions, dreams, and the semi-permeable boundaries of class. Gatsby lives alone in his massive house in West Egg, hosting lavish parties, and is an object of fascination to new arrival Nick Carraway, who lives in a small house next door. Gatsby, who trails an aura of vague notoriety wherever he goes, is in love with the glamorous Daisy, who is seemingly unhappily married to the stymied, bullying, unfaithful Tom. Tragedy ensues.

The thing that struck me most is how exquisitely filtered everything is. We follow Nick as these characters open up to him, like Chinese dolls, revealing different facets of themselves as everything rushes to its denouement. They are faithless and shallow, and it is Gatsby, the fraud and criminal, who at least sticks true to his doomed dream. For such a small book, it really delivers pounds per punch.



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Medieval Cookery III: Blaunchyd Porray (Creamed Leeks)


This one is from a book called the Liber Cure Cocorum, which is completely wonderful for three reasons:

  • It comes from Lancashire and is in the Northern dialect current around 1430.
  • It includes the earliest references to haggis and humble pie.
  • And, awesomely, it’s in verse form:

For blaunchyd porray.

Take thykke mylke of almondes dere

And heke hedes þou take with stalk in fere,

Þat is in peses þou stryke.

Put alle in pot, alye hit ilyke

With a lytel floure, and serve hit þenne

Wele soþun, in sale, before gode menne.

 

Like I said. AWESOME. It must be this way as a form of mnemonic in the face of widespread illiteracy – there is evidence that many pre-literate societies just didn’t muddle along helplessly, but instead used a strong and structured delivery for their oral knowledge, which they could then reel off when required. One of the strategies for that delivery is verse.

 

Obviously, during Lent or other fast days, you could substitute thick almond milk for the cream. Hieatt and Butler suggest a halfway house for modern cooks that combines almond milk and cream, and this is what I’ve used here.

 

To make the creamed leeks, you’ll need the following:

 

  • 4 tbsp ground almonds (more flavourful if you grind them yourself, if you have the patience)
  • 475ml light cream or whole milk
  • 2 large leeks, washed, trimmed, and sliced into thin disks
  • 1-2 slices of white bread, crusts removed, and torn into fragments
  • 1 tsp salt

 

Start by chopping up your leeks:

 

Chopping the leeks, or "porrays"

Chopping the leeks, or “porrays”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Mix the almonds and cream/milk together and leave them for an hour. I just left them in the saucepan. You’re going to be boiling the leeks in this liquid.

 

Next, tear your bread into breadcrumbs. Note that you don’t want stale bread here – you’ll be using the crumbs to thicken the sauce so a kind of elasticky dampness is okay.

 

Making breadcrumbs

Making breadcrumbs

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

When the almond/cream mixture is ready, strain out the almonds with some muslin.

 

Soak the breadcrumbs into the liquid and give it all a good stir until they practically dissolve. The recipe says blend it, but I managed very well with a whisk (this is why it’s good to have fresh bread!)

 

Turn on the heat to medium and bring the sauce to the boil. Keep stirring it all the while, as the bread will start to thicken the sauce to a remarkable degree.

 

When it’s getting noticeable thicker, chuck in your leeks and the salt.

 

Simmering the leeks in the sauce

Simmering the leeks in the sauce

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Let them simmer gently for 5 – 10 minutes. What you’ll end up with is a soft, velvety concoction, fairly stiff, that you can then go and serve alongside your other medieval delights, such as Cormarye in my case.

 

Cormarye and creamed leeks

Cormarye and creamed leeks

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Or you could eat it with practically anything else, because it’s absolutely delicious. A dish of creamed leeks – what’s not to love?

Was it nice?

It looked beautiful and tasted great. I was initially skeptical about the breadcrumb thickener, but ended up completely sold. It wasn’t at all lumpy or grainy, and the almonds gave the whole thing this wonderfully sophisticated sweet edge. If you were using pre-made almond milk, the whole thing would be ridiculously easy to prepare, too.

 



Review: Give Me Everything You Have: On Being Stalked


Review: Grimm’s Fairy Stories


Grimm's Fairy Stories
Grimm’s Fairy Stories by Jacob Ludwig Karl Grimm

My rating: 3 of 5 stars

More repetitive and not as dark as I expected – perhaps I had the bowdlerised version?



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Review: 1227 QI Facts To Blow Your Socks Off


1227 QI Facts To Blow Your Socks Off
1227 QI Facts To Blow Your Socks Off by John Lloyd

My rating: 4 of 5 stars

A fun grab-bag of assorted facts, such as the observation that “time” is the most commonly used noun in English, and that in Iceland the phone book is organised by first names. If that’s the kind of thing that floats your boat, you’ve come to the right place.

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Review: Dominion


What I want for Christmas… Part One, the Knitting Clock


It’s a knitting clock – not a clock made of knitting, but a clock that knits. Behold!

Knitting clock

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Apparently it costs a cool 200,000 Norwegian kroner. I know nothing of Norwegian money, except that 200,000 sounds like an awful lot of it.

Courtesty of @sumit.



Review: Life of Pi, Illustrated


Review: Beowulf


Review: The Twelve