Pantries, larders and disappearing words

click photo to enlarge
When I was young the words "pantry" and "larder" were often heard. My parents used both of them, interchangeably, and I knew they signified a small room adjoining the kitchen where food was stored. Only when I was older, and picked up a little French, did I realise the derivation of the words - the pantry was originally the room where bread was stored, and the larder was the store for meat, probably initially, bacon. However, houses gradually stopped being built with this specialised room-cum-cupboard, complete with stone or concrete shelf, and food storage passed to a group of small cupboards in a fitted kitchen. Today, in the UK, we are at the point where pantry and larder are no longer everyday terms.

I was reflecting on this recently when visiting an old house in the care of the National Trust at Canon's Ashby in Northamptonshire. I'd entered a low, basement-level room that had been set out to show how it was originally a food store. I pondered whether it was a pantry or a larder and concluded that it was neither, being too large for such a humble designation. It was presumably chosen as a food store for its cool, cave-like qualities, a place where food suitably stored would have an extended life in the lower temperatures it offered.

The National Trust had set it up quite nicely with a good selection of jars and pancheons. There were even hares and pheasants (presumably stuffed) hanging from joists, and if you look carefully you'll see a couple of rats (also stuffed). The light and subdued colours of the room were very appealing and I came away with a couple of shots that I quite liked, of which this is one.

photograph and text © Tony Boughen

Camera: Olympus E-M10
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 14mm (28mm - 35mm equiv.)
F No: f3.5
Shutter Speed: 1/30 sec
ISO:6400
Exposure Compensation: -0.33 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Derelict farms and regional food

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The Guardian tells me that in a public poll to mark the start of British Food Fortnight the county of Lincolnshire was "revealed" (see my earlier post about the use of this word) to be "the UK's favourite food spot." The article went on to quote Rachel Green, farmer and chef, as saying that "the heritage food of this county really is the pig." To that I say, well, yes, up to a point.

Whilst pigs have long been a food animal of this eastern county, and are prominent today, other foodstuffs have also played a significant part in its agriculture. The importance of sheep in the medieval agriculture of Lincolnshire remains written across its villages and towns in the form of the county's magnificent medieval churches. And, though it was their wool that provided the source of most of the income that funded these buildings, the economy then, as now, used every part of an animal and mutton was a food that figured large in Lincolnshire. Today cereals and vegetables are undoubtedly the main agricultural produce of the county, especially on the fertile Fenlands, and are what it is best known for.

Let's not forget that cattle too were once more widespread in Lincolnshire than they are today, being raised for beef, milk and by-products such as hide. The many roads called "droves" remind us of this, as do some of the derelict farms. I photographed the abandoned buildings above on one recent sunlit evening, and what caught my eye was the raised platform by the barn doors on the left of the picture. It was surely the place where churns full of milk from the farm's herd were placed for daily collection. Today, in the milk producing areas of the country a tanker carries out this task, but when I was a child in the Yorkshire Dales such platforms were commonplace and in regular use. There are few - if any - milk herds on the Fens today, but on the Wolds and in other parts of Lincolnshire they are still to be found.

photograph and text (c) T. Boughen

Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 40mm
F No: f6.3
Shutter Speed: 1/60
ISO: 100
Exposure Compensation:  -0.33 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Crab apples and forbidden fruit

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"Forbidden fruit always tastes the sweetest", or so they say, but that certainly wasn't my experience as a child. In the small market town where I grew up there were abandoned and neglected apple trees, probably the property of someone somewhere, but which seemed fair game for young boys. On more than one occasion I gave myself stomach ache by eating the sour cooking apples and crab apples that hung heavily from the drooping boughs. Elsewhere there were tempting gooseberry bushes, and, even though we knew they were tart to the point of being inedible, still we ate them, and always we regretted it. Then there was the rhubarb. In a few places this grew on the grass verge by a roadside garden: in other words off private property, but probably deliberately planted there by the householder. A stick of this was palatable if eaten raw after each mouthful had been dipped in sugar, but the after-effects were uncomfortable to say the least. So no, I never found that forbidden fruit was the sweetest.

At the front of my house is a crab apple tree. It has become more than a little wayward over the years, and in the time since I have lived with it, I've started to bring it under some sort of control, cutting crossing branches, revealing more of the lower trunk, etc. Each spring it produces fine blossom, and each autumn a copious amount of fruit. Thus far the latter has been left for the blackbirds or has been composted. Perhaps my reluctance to do anything useful with the crab apples stems back to my childhood experiences with the fruit. However, this year, as I photographed the delicate blossom, I thought that perhaps we should look into using it for making jam, jelly, wine or something of that nature.

Today's image shows the end of one of the lower branches of the tree. I chose this one for a shot using the macro lens because it allowed me to have a large petal as the focal point towards the bottom right of the frame, the rest of the nearby leaves and blossom framing it and filling the upper left (the latter out of focus and therefore emphasising the foreground). And it gave me the opportunity to include some dark areas to give a little more contrast across the image.

photograph & text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Olympus E510
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 35mm macro (70mm/35mm equiv.)
F No: f5.6
Shutter Speed: 1/320
ISO: 100
Exposure Compensation: 0 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Cley next the Sea

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I read the other day that wheat accounts for a mere 13% of the price of a loaf of bread in the UK. Since the average loaf is currently £1.10, and bakers are agitating for super- markets to add a further 10p, perhaps increasing numbers of households will see the wisdom in baking their own "staff of life". The rise in the price of food across the world has already seen packets of vegetable seeds flying off the shelves in volumes not seen for many years as more British families turn to their garden rather than the store as the source of their greens. And, though one has to be concerned about the affordability of basic foodstuffs, the benefits to health, wealth, well-being and the environment that flow from making and growing more of our own food are to be welcomed.

Fifty years ago much more food was produced in the family kitchen and from the family garden or allotment. Back then it happened principally for reasons of economy, but taste, nutrient value, relaxation and exercise were also factors. Many families, including my own, have always baked bread and grown vegetables, but until recently, despite the proselytising of TV chefs and gardeners, it was a slowly dying practice. So, if it makes a comeback - for whatever reason - I say "Hooray!"

The image of this much photographed windmill at Cley next the Sea, Norfolk, prompted these thoughts. Its turning sails and grinding stones produced flour from the time of its construction in 1819 until its closure as a mill in 1921. I imagine most of its produce was sold in the immediate locality, and turned into bread and other delicacies in fireside ovens, ranges and cookers. Since the time the sails were stilled it has been a home and a bed and breakfast. Old photographs show the building reflected in the harbour with boats alongside. However, like the village of Cley (pronounced "Cly") the mill is no longer "next the Sea", due to land drainage and the silting up of the harbour. Today a walk of almost a mile is necessary to find the beach!

I took this shot of the marsh, mill and nearby cottages as the sun illuminated them against a dark and threatening sky.

photograph & text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Olympus E510
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 55mm (110mm/35mm equiv.)
F No: f7.1
Shutter Speed: 1/400
ISO: 100
Exposure Compensation: 0 EV
Image Stabilisation: On