B is for beets

Monix has started to cook herself through the alphabet. She had a yummy recipe for filled aubergine the other day and today I made a beet quiche. I think it would look nicer with red beets than the polka dot ones I bought yesterday. And it would have looked less pale had I turned the oven on the right temperature 200°C instead for just under 175°C that I for some strange reason did. It was good even if I probably try to add more spices next time.

Rödbetsquiche (red beet quiche)

Your favorite whole-wheat crust, pre-baked for about 10 minutes.

½ kg beets, preferable rather small
½ tsp thyme
pepper
100 g feta cheese
3 eggs
3 dl milk
Cook the beets and slip of the skins. Cut them in half and put them, cut side down, in the pie pan. Crumble the feta cheese on top of the beets. Beat the eggs with the milk and add the thyme and pepper (I used chervil as well). Bake at 200°C for about 30 minutes — or until ready.

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I was wondering if carrots would be next but Monix has already prepared a C-dish, so I guess we have to figure out what D-dish to make.

A lunatic post

From Klappa, klappa händer by Maria Moberg

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I happened on this picture today and since I've been reading — well, not really reading, looking at comes closer to the truth — "Moon Lore" by Timothy Harley lately I thought I share both the picture and a few excerpt from the book.
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In English, French, Italian, Latin, and Greek, the moon is feminine; but in all the Teutonic tongues the moon is masculine. Which of the twain is its true gender? We go back to the Sanskrit for an answer. Professor Max Müller rightly says, "It is no longer denied that for throwing light on some of the darkest problems that have to be solved by the student of language, nothing is so useful as a critical study of Sanskrit." Here the word for the moon is mâs, which is masculine. Mark how even what Hamlet calls "words, words, words" lend their weight and value to the adjustment of this great argument. The very moon is masculine, and, like Wordsworth's child, is "father of the man."

We cross the Atlantic, and among the Greenlanders discover a myth, which is sui generis. "The sun and moon are nothing else than two mortals, brother and sister. They were playing with others at children's games in the dark, when Malina, being teased in a shameful manner by her brother Anninga, smeared her hands with the soot of the lamp, and rubbed them over the face and hands of her persecutor, that she might recognise him by daylight. Hence arise the spots in the moon. Malina wished to save herself by flight, but her brother followed at her heels. At length she flew upwards, and became the sun. Anninga followed her, and became the moon; but being unable to mount so high, he runs continually round the sun, in hopes of some time surprising her. When he is tired and hungry in his last quarter, he leaves his house on a sledge harnessed to four huge dogs, to hunt seals, and continues abroad for several days. He now fattens so prodigiously on the spoils of the chase, that he soon grows into the full moon. He rejoices on the death of women, and the sun has her revenge on the death of men; all males therefore keep within doors during an eclipse of the sun, and females during that of the moon."

"A SHREWD OLD FELLOW'S THE MAN IN THE MOON."
"From my palace of light I look down upon earth,
When the tiny stars are twinkling round me;
Though centuries old, I am now as bright
As when at my birth Old Adam found me.
Oh! the strange sights that I have seen,
Since earth first wore her garment of green!
King after king has been toppled down,
And red-handed anarchy's worn the crown!
From the world that's beneath me I crave not a boon,
For a shrewd old fellow's the Man in the Moon.
And I looked on 'mid the watery strife,
When the world was deluged and all was lost
Save one blessed vessel, preserver of life,
Which rode on through safety, though tempest tost.
I have seen crime clothed in ermine and gold,
And virtue shuddering in winter's cold.
I have seen the hypocrite blandly smile,
While straightforward honesty starved the while.
Oh! the strange sights that I have seen,
Since earth first wore her garment of green!
I have gazed on the coronet decking the brow
Of the villain who, breathing affection's vow,
Hath poisoned the ear of the credulous maiden,
Then left her to pine with heart grief laden.
Oh! oh! if this, then, be the world, say I,
I'll keep to my home in the clear blue sky;
Still to dwell in my planet I crave as a boon,
For the earth ne'er will do for the Man in the Moon."
0000000 The Man in the Moon, by C. Sloman.
00000000London, 1848, Music by E. J. Loder.

A CANDLE, A CANDLE

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A candle, a candle

To light me to bed;

A pillow, a pillow

To tuck up my head.

The moon is as sleepy as sleepy can be,

The stars are all pointing their fingers at me,

And Missus Hop-Robin, way up in her nest,

Is rocking her tired little babies to rest.

So give me a blanket

To tuck up my toes,

And a little soft pillow

To snuggle my nose.

From The Peter Patter Book of Nursery Rhymes by Leroy F. Jackson with illustrations by Blanche Fisher Wright

Today

Today I spent some hours in the studio while the plumber was working there. It was rather cold and not much I could do so I looked through some boxes with yarn and thought of all the things I want to do.
I've always envied people who do not need much sleep — how much you could read, weave, sew, knit — and blog if you didn't need more than four or five hours of sleep every night!

It has been a gray day — but I prefer that to the very cold weather — it is back to more endurable temperatures again -7°C (19.4°F) now. So I could take my mittens off and take some photos without getting frostbitten fingers.

Strange how hard it is not to take dozens of photos of sunsets —I know that it never is as exciting to look at pictures of a sunset as it is to watch the real thing, but still I keep taking those pictures.

Amazon staff punished for being ill

THE BOOKSELLER.
The boys like to call on Mr. Leaf,

because he has such nice books.

But sometimes they merely

sit down and read them.

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A couple of days ago a fellow blogger had a link to this article.

A cold beauty

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There is nothing in the world more beautiful than the forest
clothed to its very hollows in snow.
It is the still ecstasy of nature, wherein every spray,
every blade of grass, every spire of reed,
every intricacy of twig, is clad with radiance.
000000000000000000000 William Sharp
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It seems, as the cold weather is here to stay. It is -22°C today (-8°F) so we stay as close to the fire as we can — which is nice — and hope we won't run out of wood.
Today I need to tidy up — I don't understand how a house can get messy when you're sitting in your recliner reading most of the time. Gnomes?We'll keep the tree for another week so it needs new candles. I'm glad that my darling isn't very interested in the tree, he hides under it sometimes and we always are careful to keep an eye on him when we light the candles.

TRETTONHELG OCH TJUGONDAG KNUT

Christmas card by Jenny Nyström

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TRETTONHELG OCH TJUGONDAG KNUT
Twelfth Night and Knut

Twelfth Night or Epiphany, the 6th-7th of January, is cele­brated in many homes as an extension of the Christmas festivities, in terms of food at any rate. Children are still on holiday from school, and many parents take a holiday up until this day, too. In olden days it was customary to put on a Twelfth Night pageant, telling the Christmas story, or for groups of white-clad boys (as described under "Lucia") to go the rounds of the village. These traditions live on in only a very few communities today.

One week after Twelfth Night the Swedish calendar cele­brates the name Knut. Prior to a seventeenth century calen­dar reform Knut was celebrated on Twelfth Night and marked the end of the holiday season. As a result of the reform Knut was moved forward one week, and since Swedes were accustomed to ending their Christmas holidays on Knut's day, they simply continued celebrating an extra week.

This is the day people finally part with their Christmas trees — if they haven't already done so. All the decorations are first removed, and the act is often the occasion for a final party — this one especially for the children. Friends and classmates are invited over to eat cakes and candies, play games and "plunder" the tree. All the small trinkets are carefully removed and stored away, while edible ornaments — ginger biscuits, caramels, and the like — are gobbled up.

Finally, the group pick up the tree and literally toss it out of the house or flat, singing a song that, in translation, goes something like this:

Christmas has come to an end,
And the tree must go.
But next year once again
We shall see our dear old friend,
For he has promised us so.

In the past Knut was also an occasion for masquerading. Men and boys dressed up as "Old Knut" would prowl about, playing practical jokes and doing mischief. In some parts of the country — particularly where immigrant Wal­loons settled in the seventeenth century — Knut is the occa­sion for regular carnivals, especially in the province of Uppland just north of Stockholm.
Author: Ingemar Liman
Translation: Charly Hultén

My small town, in the west part of Sweden, is one of the few places where the Knut tradition still is very much alive. People, not only men and boys, dress up and goes from house to house begging for sweets — pretty much like trick or treating.

Saturday with Gutenberg

One, two, buckle my shoe

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If you have read all books about Katy by Susan Coolidge — you can't pass "Nine Little Goslings" from 1893, by the same author. The chapters have name from well-known nursery rhymes — but are short stories. As so often in old books the illustrators name is a secret — except for in some ads for other books by the same author.

I'm not so sure that I'll try any of the recipes from "New Vegetarian Dishes" (1892) by Mrs. Bowdich. Mr. Bell says in the foreword "If they are not all found to be palatable, the fault must be in the individual cook, who cannot have put in the important ingredient of feeling, without which no work can be wholly good."
In a way I agree but at the same time wonder why bother to write cookbooks — if you have that feeling you don't need any! Most recipes in old cookbooks are rather boring with overcooked vegetables and very few spices. What do you think of these sausages?
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No. 107.—Savoury Sausages.

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¼ Pound cooked cabbage.
¼ pound mashed potatoes.
1 hard-boiled egg.
2 slices of beetroot.
2 teaspoons mint sauce.
1 ounce fine bread crumbs.
½ teaspoon salt.
½ teaspoon pepper.
1 egg and bread crumbs.

Mince the cabbage, boiled egg and beetroot very fine, mix with them the potatoes, bread crumbs, mint sauce, salt and pepper; stir well together, adding 62a teaspoonful of the beaten egg. Shape into twelve sausages, roll in the remainder of the egg and bread crumbs, and fry in boiling oil until a golden brown. Serve piled on a hot dish, and garnish with parsley. Peas, new potatoes, mint sauce and brown gravy should, when in season, be served with this dish.

"The Doers" by William John Hopkins from 1914 is another illustrated book where the name of the illustrator remains a secret. It is an educational book where a five-year-old boy watches workmen building a house.