I couldn't resist trying this...

Scarlett Willow
My attempts at making November's Flavour of the Month Chocolate Torte & Chestnut torte went well, despite using every bowl I had in the kitchen. The outcome was delicious and went well with vanilla ice cream, and went down very well with everyone in the office!

Scarlett's Witchy Fingers

Decided with a house full of friends staying over the weekend, I had to get in the spirit of things for Halloween and make something related to the event... the outcome being these rather gruesome looking biscuits! They actually taste much nicer than they look, and good for scaring off unwanted trick or treaters by poking it through the letterbox! I think the adults were more amused than the kiddies - but good fun all round!

Sally

Scarlett Willow

We love it when a plan comes together

We're talking about our recent recipe for the most incredible roast belly of Pork.  My brother and his family were coming over for lunch on Sunday and I needed to cook something with minimal fuss and maximum taste and it scored 10/10.  Everybody loved it, even particularly fussy teenage daughter whose currently leaning toward all things vegetarian.  The pork comfortably fed 8 with seconds plus a hearty lunch for the dog.  Not only only was it utterly delicious, but it cost practically pennies too - currently 1/3 off in Waitrose.  But remember Heston, Scarlett Willow were there first.

Angie

Scarlett Willow

An English(wo)man in New York

I heart New York! Every once in a while I like to take a bite out of the Big Apple and stay up late in the city that never sleeps. J had a business trip two weeks ago, and I thought I’d better hold his hand on that awfully long journey across the Atlantic…

Without early meetings to wake up for, I managed to catch up with old friends at their new late night haunts. It’s amazing how every square inch of the city is buzzing with energy at all hours. There’s always an effortless cool, even if the temperature at night is like an oven on full blast.

In addition to physically coping with the heat, on arrival there are mental and verbal adjustments to be made. Conversation there gallops at top speed and I find I need to change my frequency if I want to be included in their bandwidth. People don’t languish over sentences like they do in LA. In a city where time is money and if you snooze you lose, the only pause you’ll find are attached to tiny 5th Avenue canines.

It’s at this point - wondering if I have the energy or the aptitude to even momentarily slide into their slipstream – that I remember my strength. My accent. Those wonderful rounded Received Pronunciation vowels! Those staccato consonants! Natural Articulation and Enunciation. In a city that is the gloopiest cauldron of a melting pot, a clipped English accent seems to speak volumes. It implies brains (thank you Shakespeare), wit (thank you Monty Python) and charm (um, cheers Joan Collins?)

So, after cranking up the speed a gear, I also ever so slightly exaggerate my English – hello Dahling! – and find myself rollicking along with the best of them. (What’s funny is then being introduced to another Brit who’s up to exactly the same trick. It happened.) My husband looks at me like I’m slightly mad, and then chats away fluently in NY’s favourite language – stocks and shares speak.

It was just a quick burst of a trip, so by day I raced around to see the latest on the culture, fashion and food scene. A friend took me for brunch on a Tuesday and the line was a 45-minute wait (I suppose a blackberry is all the office some people need these days.) It was called Clinton’s* for those of you heading to NY anytime soon. Once you’ve put your name down, you can wander off to look at the local vintage stores (although it’s a risk, and I almost forfeited our table.)

When you’re there, don’t make my mistake. Don’t look at the enormous pile of fluffy, blueberry pancakes with butter and syrup that everyone’s ordering and then opt for something more ‘nutritious’ sounding like scrambled eggs. Or that evening you will suffer everyone saying: ‘You DIDN’T order the BLUEBERRY PANCAKES?!?!’ You have been warned.

It still haunts me. And I’ve been home for 2 weeks! As much as I heart NY – and the best blueberry pancakes that I never had – I’m a very proud Brit.   There are some things that we do so well – self-deprecating humour and Afternoon Tea to name just two.  And lest any of you doubt my patriotism, please see my new collection, Vintage Jack, made using an antique linen image of our iconic flag, I like to think it’s Britishness at its best.  Just perfect for containing those crumbs from good old teatime scones.  Enjoy!

The Vintage Jack Collection click here to buy

* Clinton Street Baking Company
   4 Clinton Street (btw. East  Houston & Stanton), New York, NY 10002
   Phone: +1 646 602 626



Scarlett Willow

Turning Back The Years

I’m all for throwing out the rulebook and giving Inspiration and Intuition room to manoeuvre, but never the book that became women’s gospel when it was published in 1861 (that would be sacrilege.) Mrs Beeton’s Book of Household Management is the original guide to being a Domestic Goddess (though we all love Nigella’s delectable dedication to all things sweet.) Amazing to think Mrs B. was only 23 when she began to write her tome - at that age, I clearly had different priorities…

Her phrases are well worn: ‘A place for everything, and everything in its place.’

And nearly 150 years later she can still pinpoint the weaknesses of a modern day urban hostess like myself:

‘Hospitality is a most excellent virtue; but care must be taken that the love of company, for its own sake, does not become a prevailing passion…’

Too much late night entertaining and I might get slack on the household duties (not to mention the running of a business…) So I take note, and curb my hospitality to a healthy once per week.

I wasn’t sure Mrs B. exerted much influence any more, until I visited a University friend’s family for the weekend several years ago. After dinner (which, naturally, was black tie) the men and women separated into different rooms…

’When fruit has been taken, the ladies must leave the gentlemen and retire to the drawing room. The gentlemen of the party will rise at the same time, all remaining courteously standing until the last lady has withdrawn.’

Then the men swilled port, smoked cigars and talked about…what? Not a clue. I can only speculate on what took place in the chintzy drawing room: gentle chatter, miniature cups of coffee and the hostess actually picked up her needlepoint (I’ve never sat with such a straight back on such a poufy sofa – and it is not to be recommended..)

Mrs Beeton also started a magazine called ‘The Queen’ which grew to become the prestigious ‘Harpers & Queen’ we all admire today.  Back then it was ‘aimed at those people who naturally attended Court functions, and those who would love to have been invited’... so little has changed, including Beeton’s legendary status.

Her commandments remain very much alive and well in many corners of the country, but I personally have to admit that when J and I entertain, we do not employ staff to polish our cutlery and set them on a tablecloth ‘laid without a wrinkle’.

Nevertheless, we can but dream.  And with Mrs Beeton in mind, we’ve created a beautiful new range of placemats with images of gleaming antique cutlery complete with devilish edges.  Each one imbued with the style and elegance of an era that’s passed, but not forgotten.

The Beeton Collection - click here to buy

Scarlett Willow

Party Fever

As much as I love to entertain, I never demand to be centre of attention. But for one night of the year, I am Queen.  I have an annual Midsummer Night’s Dream party and I transform myself in Titania, my garden into the enchanted forest, and my husband into a BBQ maniac.

My garden is normally - shamefully - neglected. There’s an overpoweringly big tree that I haven’t the heart to cut down, particularly because of my precious party. I spread velvet cushions underneath it and hang miniature lanterns off its branches - and every year a repeal is granted.

I felt inspired by Marrakech this year, and thought I’d go more ‘I Dream of Jeannie’. I swathed low tables with saris in saffron and marigold and set one of my large Mabel storm lanterns in the centre of each, with a golden candle.  Then I filled lots of the small storm lanterns with Moroccan roses, broken cinnamon sticks and ginger slices to fragrance the air. I left little dishes of dried dates, figs, nuts and olives to pick at…

 

J was doing his bit by the BBQ and the aroma of roasted cumin lamb had neighbours hanging out of their windows and our nosy local tabby cat ready to pounce. I’d even managed to knock up a few tasty dishes myself: koftas with minted yogurt, salads with pomegranate, fruity couscous and spiced pears. 

With 35 people, I couldn’t do a seated dinner, but I wanted to mix my friends up (match-make? moi?) So I filled one box with padlocks for the boys, and another box with keys for the girls. One key fits in one padlock. You picked up a key/padlock with your first cocktail and had to find your partner for supper.  Fate worked its magic and nudged together some perfect pairings.  In the eyes of a few of my guests, I saw Turkish delight by lantern light, and watched them relish the chance to cosy up on some of the smaller cushions.

The following night J and I had been invited to an 18^th century themed party in the country.  I can normally rustle us up costumes with a quick visit to the haberdashery department and a bit of sticky back plastic. But on this occasion, I sensed we might need professional assistance: the National Theatre Costume Hire warehouse is the most exquisite dressing up box.

The party was set in a proper enchanted forest, with insect-like stilt-walkers, flame throwers and jugglers to entertain the 200 elaborately dressed guests. After dinner in a decadently red and gold saturated tent, we danced furiously under the stars with sticky pink cocktails in our hands. Needing to catch my breath (difficult in a tight corset that felt like a bullet-proof vest) J helped to hoist me onto the pyramid stacked hay bales  (it seemed easier to negotiate than the cushion covered trampoline or the hammocks in trees….)

Surveying the scene of romp and circumstance, I had to admit that my own soiree had been a little upstaged. But there’s always next year in our garden– I’m sure I could get J to put up some hammocks, build us a tree house, do a few tricks…

Please note we are offering 15% off our storm lanterns from today until the end of July 2010
enter Partyfever at checkout.

Scarlett Willow

Come Dine With Me?!

‘Hear no evil, Speak no evil….and you’ll never be invited to a party’ : the wise words of Oscar Wilde.

And they’ve helped me reach a decision. I’ve been grappling with my moral conscience over whether to tell you about the disastrous dinner party I was recently invited to. But I think some good might come of this evil…

Previous to this one, the worst dinner offence I’d encountered was committed by a dear friend of mine. She cooked one organic roast chicken for eight people. I don’t know if she was trying to perform a miracle or an experiment, but we all went home hungry.

Then last Thursday, some ‘new’ friends whom we met skiing at Easter invited J and me for dinner. Not knowing anyone, J and I arrived at their door feeling like it was the first day of school. We clasped clammy hands and held our breath, hoping to be liked. The door opened and behind our beleaguered looking hostess was something not dissimilar to Kindergarten chaos. Children running amok, dogs bounding about and wisps of acrid smoke leaking into the hallway.

‘I’m sorry!’ she blurted, as she ushered us onto her sinking ship, ‘I got distracted by the beef wellington, and burnt the toffee for the banoffee!’ I felt like I was stepping into a recurring nightmare I’ve had for years, only this time I wasn’t the protagonist. I offered to help. ‘Could you possibly set the table?!’ she squeaked apologetically, as she lead me straight into the dining room (J was a big boy and went to meet the other guests on his own.) Still in my coat, I did my best with the mismatching crockery, no placemats and kitchen roll for napkins…

Her husband had been dispatched to buy wine, which he’d forgotten to order in advance. He returned with an array of bottles courtesy of the local petrol station and I thought his wife might explode. She simmered as we sat down and her husband carved the beef wellington. But when rounds of undercooked pastry sliding off overdone meat were dished out, she utterly deflated. ‘Somebody shoot me…’ she sighed, shaking her head, ‘entertaining is so complicated – I just can’t do it anymore.’  She looked broken.

When I got home that night, I started thinking about all the dinner party disasters from the past that I have either created or been witness too.  Too many, way too many.  Then I got thinking about how it shouldn’t be like this, and doesn’t have to be like this.  What if I made Scarlett Willow a one-stop-shop for the best ideas and inspiration for dinner parties?  What if I found a panel of experts who, every month, could create the perfect, fool-proof, simple but delicious recipe, along with recommendations for delicious accompanying wines, and dazzling ways to make the table and atmosphere magical! 

Well, I’ve done it.  Next month we will be launching a monthly e-newsletter for our customers and within it there will be a regular ‘Dine’, ‘Wine’, and ‘Sublime’ section with expert guidance and tips from connoisseurs to create the kind of dinner party you dream about. 

My poor friend though.  I couldn’t get her words out of my head.  In gratitude for the evening (and of course for the inspiration!), I sent her a set of coasters in the lovely red presentation box. Choosing the design was easy: having asked to be put out of her misery, the Banging Collection seemed apt. But really, a dinner party shouldn’t be a life/death situation.

To sign up to our monthly newsletter click here and follow the instructions on the right hand side of our home page.

Scarlett Willow