#food with george

[kirkendauhl-v2]

This man is singlehandedly changing my perception of British food

[deadpoets]

GEORGE HARRISON The Beatles: Get Back (2021) dir. Peter Jackson

[life-imitates-art-far-more]

Georg Flegel (1566-1638) "Still-Life with Fried Eggs" (c. 1630-1638) Oil on beech wood

[mirellapryce]

I am thinking about how Edwin asked Charles if he'd been crying, when they were in the Devlin house. Something about it seemed to me like this wasn't something Edwin was unfamiliar with.

So please picture, it's the early 90s, and for two ghost boys things are going pretty swell. They have their freedom, this blossoming friendship, and a detective agency they're starting up. But also remember that Charles is a 16 year old boy. No one can see him or hear him. He can never go home. He'll never hug his mom again. His friends killed him. He can't sleep. Or sometimes it's the little things, like not being able to taste his favourite foods and drinks. He is 16 forever now, and in those early years sometimes it hits him that he's dead, and the grief just knocks him down.

Edwin may never be comfortable with the emotional outbursts but he is understanding. Edwin didn't have time to grieve his own death, and he has no one on Earth to miss, but Charles had a life, and he had people, and things that brought him comfort that are beyond him now. So when Charles cries and grieves his own death, and says it's not fair, Edwin doesn't argue. He just tries to be there for his new friend as best as he can.

[kaceyrps]

RENEÉ RAPP in MEAN GIRLS

[bookshelfpassageway]

"tumblr users play with jpgs like dolls" actually jpg filetype does not support transparency which provides most of our shenanigans

we play with PNGs like dolls

[literaryvein-reblogs]

George Orwell's 11 Rules for the Perfect Cup of Tea

George Orwell:

If you look up ‘tea’ in the first cookery book that comes to hand you will probably find that it is unmentioned; or at most you will find a few lines of sketchy instructions which give no ruling on several of the most important points. This is curious, not only because tea is one of the mainstays of civilization in this country, as well as in Eire, Australia and New Zealand, but because the best manner of making it is the subject of violent disputes. When I look through my own recipe for the perfect cup of tea, I find no fewer than 11 outstanding points. On perhaps two of them there would be pretty general agreement, but at least four others are acutely controversial. Here are my own 11 rules, every one of which I regard as golden:

First of all, one should use Indian or Ceylonese tea. China tea has virtues which are not to be despised nowadays—it is economical, and one can drink it without milk—but there is not much stimulation in it. One does not feel wiser, braver or more optimistic after drinking it. Anyone who has used that comforting phrase ‘a nice cup of tea’ invariably means Indian tea.

Secondly, tea should be made in small quantities—that is, in a teapot. Tea out of an urn is always tasteless, while army tea, made in a cauldron, tastes of grease and whitewash. The teapot should be made of china or earthenware. Silver or Britanniaware teapots produce inferior tea and enamel pots are worse; though curiously enough a pewter teapot (a rarity nowadays) is not so bad.

Thirdly, the pot should be warmed beforehand. This is better done by placing it on the hob than by the usual method of swilling it out with hot water.

Fourthly, the tea should be strong. For a pot holding a quart, if you are going to fill it nearly to the brim, six heaped teaspoons would be about right. In a time of rationing, this is not an idea that can be realized on every day of the week, but I maintain that one strong cup of tea is better than twenty weak ones. All true tea lovers not only like their tea strong, but like it a little stronger with each year that passes—a fact which is recognized in the extra ration issued to old-age pensioners.

Fifthly, the tea should be put straight into the pot. No strainers, muslin bags or other devices to imprison the tea. In some countries teapots are fitted with little dangling baskets under the spout to catch the stray leaves, which are supposed to be harmful. Actually one can swallow tea-leaves in considerable quantities without ill effect, and if the tea is not loose in the pot it never infuses properly.

Sixthly, one should take the teapot to the kettle and not the other way about. The water should be actually boiling at the moment of impact, which means that one should keep it on the flame while one pours. Some people add that one should only use water that has been freshly brought to the boil, but I have never noticed that it makes any difference.

Seventhly, after making the tea, one should stir it, or better, give the pot a good shake, afterwards allowing the leaves to settle.

Eighthly, one should drink out of a good breakfast cup—that is, the cylindrical type of cup, not the flat, shallow type. The breakfast cup holds more, and with the other kind one’s tea is always half cold—before one has well started on it.

Ninthly, one should pour the cream off the milk before using it for tea. Milk that is too creamy always gives tea a sickly taste.

Tenthly, one should pour tea into the cup first. This is one of the most controversial points of all; indeed in every family in Britain there are probably two schools of thought on the subject. The milk-first school can bring forward some fairly strong arguments, but I maintain that my own argument is unanswerable. This is that, by putting the tea in first and stirring as one pours, one can exactly regulate the amount of milk whereas one is liable to put in too much milk if one does it the other way round.

Lastly, tea—unless one is drinking it in the Russian style—should be drunk without sugar. I know very well that I am in a minority here. But still, how can you call yourself a true tea-lover if you destroy the flavour of your tea by putting sugar in it? It would be equally reasonable to put in pepper or salt. Tea is meant to be bitter, just as beer is meant to be bitter. If you sweeten it, you are no longer tasting the tea, you are merely tasting the sugar; you could make a very similar drink by dissolving sugar in plain hot water.

Some people would answer that they don’t like tea in itself, that they only drink it in order to be warmed and stimulated, and they need sugar to take the taste away. To those misguided people I would say: Try drinking tea without sugar for, say, a fortnight and it is very unlikely that you will ever want to ruin your tea by sweetening it again. These are not the only controversial points to arise in connection with tea drinking, but they are sufficient to show how subtilized the whole business has become. There is also the mysterious social etiquette surrounding the teapot (why is it considered vulgar to drink out of your saucer, for instance?) and much might be written about the subsidiary uses of tealeaves, such as telling fortunes, predicting the arrival of visitors, feeding rabbits, healing burns and sweeping the carpet. It is worth paying attention to such details as warming the pot and using water that is really boiling, so as to make quite sure of wringing out of one’s ration the 20 good, strong cups that two ounces, properly handled, ought to represent.

Published in the Evening Standard, 12 January 1946

More: George Orwell

[leclercskiesahead]

scuderiaferrari Asking Charles and Carlos to create their perfect festive day using ONLY the F1 grid 🎅

[zimmer-zupastar]

Tom got the munchies🍅🥬🌽

[eeechooo]

Just Maybe

Fandom : Lockwood and Co. Pairing : Female Reader x George Karim Request : @sarahhelpimsinking "Reader is also part of Lockwood and co and they are really close, but George starts to get super attentive and touchy and she starts to catch in and mess with him, happy ending."

You were still buzzing with the adrenaline of the latest job as you climbed into the back of the cab with Lucy. The boys took the front seats, Lockwood chatting animatedly with the driver about something you couldn't quite hear. You settled into your seat, letting out a sigh of relief. The job had been a close call, but you had all come out unscathed.

Lucy leaned closer, her voice a conspiratorial whisper. "I am telling you, something is wrong."

You turned to look at her, raising an eyebrow. "What do you mean?"

She glanced towards the front where George and Lockwood were deep in conversation. "George. He's been acting weird."

"Weird how?" you asked, genuinely curious. George had always been a bit of an enigma, but you figured you knew him well enough.

Lucy rolled her eyes, clearly frustrated. "He's been all... touchy. And he's never like that."

You frowned, thinking back to the events of the night. George had been more... present than usual, sticking close to you, even holding your hand during a particularly tense moment. But you brushed it off. "He was just scared, Lucy. It was a tough case. Anyone would be a little more... clingy."

Lucy shook her head, her expression sceptical. "I don't buy it. I've seen George scared before, and he doesn't get touchy. He gets quiet and intense, but not touchy."

You sighed, leaning back in your seat. "Look, George and I are just really close friends. Maybe he felt safer with me nearby. It's not a big deal."

Lucy gave you a look that said she didn't believe a word you were saying. "Close friends, sure. But he's been different lately. More attentive. Haven't you noticed?"

You shrugged, trying to brush off the growing unease in your chest. "We've all been under a lot of stress. Maybe he's just... I don't know, reacting to that."

Lucy crossed her arms, clearly unconvinced. "Maybe. But I still think there's more to it. Just... keep an eye on him, okay?"

You nodded, more to placate her than anything else. "Fine, I'll keep an eye on him. But I still think you're overreacting."

Lucy sighed, leaning back and staring out the window. "We'll see. Just don't say I didn't warn you."

You turned your attention to the front of the cab, watching George as he animatedly discussed something with Lockwood. You couldn't help but smile. Whatever Lucy thought, you knew George better than anyone. And if there was something more to his behaviour, you were sure you would notice it. Eventually.

For now, you were content to brush off Lucy's concerns and enjoy the calm after the storm. But a small part of you couldn't shake the feeling that maybe, just maybe, she was onto something.

The next morning, you made your way downstairs, still shaking off the remnants of sleep. The house was unusually quiet, a stark contrast to the usual hustle and bustle. As you reached the kitchen, you found a note on the table from Lucy and Lockwood. They had gone to Arif’s shop for some supplies, leaving George in charge of breakfast.

You spotted George at the counter, his back to you as he prepared something. The smell of fresh tea and baked goods filled the room, instantly lifting your mood.

“Morning,” you greeted, sliding into your usual seat at the table.

George turned around, a small smile tugging at his lips. “Morning. Tea and an orange muffin, just how you like it.” He placed the steaming cup and the muffin in front of you, then took the seat next to you.

Your heart did a little flip. It wasn’t unusual for George to make breakfast, but the fact that he had gone out of his way to prepare your favourites made you pause. “Thanks, George. This looks great.”

He nodded, already launching into a detailed recount of his latest research findings. His enthusiasm was infectious, and you found yourself drawn into his world of dusty books and ancient lore.

“And then I remembered that the spectral resonance in Type Two ghosts is significantly higher in areas with historical trauma,” George said, his eyes alight with excitement. As he talked, he absentmindedly brushed your arm with his hand.

You felt your brain short circuit for a moment, your skin tingling where he had touched you. It was just George being his usual self, you told yourself. There was nothing more to it. But Lucy’s words from the night before echoed in your mind, and you couldn’t help but wonder if there was something you were missing.

You tried to refocus on what he was saying, nodding along, but your thoughts kept drifting. Why was he being so attentive? And why did it matter to you so much?

George must have noticed your distracted state because he suddenly fell silent. You looked up to find him staring at you, a curious expression on his face.

“You’re really weird, you know that?” he said with a smirk.

You blinked, taken aback. “Excuse me?”

He chuckled, shaking his head. “You’ve been staring at me like I’ve grown an extra head. What’s going on in that mind of yours?”

You felt a flush rise to your cheeks, quickly looking down at your tea. “Nothing. Just… thinking about your research. It’s fascinating.”

George raised an eyebrow, clearly not buying it, but he didn’t push further. Instead, he leaned back in his chair, his smirk softening into a genuine smile. “Well, if you ever want to dive deeper into the archives with me, you know where to find me.”

You nodded, the gears in your mind turning. Maybe there was more to George’s behaviour than you had originally thought. And maybe, just maybe, you were starting to see him in a new light.

__

For the next week, you began to notice the subtle changes in George's behaviour. It started small, with him standing a bit closer than usual or offering a hand when you climbed out of the cab after a job. His attentiveness grew more noticeable, and there were times when you caught him looking at you when he thought you weren’t paying attention. 

But then, just as quickly, his demeanour would shift back to his usual sarcastic self. The mixed signals were driving you crazy, leaving you confused and off-balance. One minute he was the George you’d always known, and the next, he was someone new—someone who seemed to see you differently.

It was during a particularly tense moment after a mission that you started to piece it together. The team had just finished a challenging case, and as you all piled back into the cab, George had taken your hand to help you in, his grip lingering a bit longer than necessary. You felt a flutter of something—excitement, maybe?—and you glanced over at him, but his eyes were already back on his notebook, jotting down notes as if nothing had happened.

Lucy, who was sitting next to you in the back, nudged you. “See what I mean?” she whispered, her eyes flicking to George. “He’s never like this.”

You shrugged, still trying to convince yourself it was nothing. “He was just anxious, Lucy. It’s not a big deal.”

Lucy gave you a sceptical look but didn’t press further.

The real turning point came a few days later. You were all gathered in the library, sorting through the latest research for an upcoming case. George was sitting next to you, his knee brushing against yours under the table. You found yourself hyper-aware of his presence, his proximity.

Lockwood was across the room, leaning against the fireplace, watching you both with a knowing look in his eyes. It was a look you couldn’t quite decipher, but it seemed to make George uncomfortable. You noticed that every time Lockwood gave him that look, George would pull back, retreating into his usual sarcastic demeanour.

Like clockwork, it happened again. George was in the middle of explaining a particularly complicated theory about ghostly manifestations, his arm resting on the back of your chair, when Lockwood shot him that look. George immediately withdrew, his tone turning sharp and distant as he redirected his attention to the books spread out on the table.

The shift was jarring, and you couldn’t help but feel a pang of hurt and confusion. Why did he keep doing this? What was going on between him and Lockwood that made George act so erratically?

That night, as you lay in bed, your mind raced with thoughts. George’s mixed signals, Lockwood’s strange looks—it all swirled together in a confusing mess. You needed to figure out what was happening, to understand why George’s behaviour was affecting you so much.

The next morning, you woke up with a new resolve. You would get to the bottom of this, no matter what it took. George’s actions were starting to feel like a puzzle, one that you were determined to solve.

__

As the days passed, you couldn’t shake the feeling of unease that had settled in your chest. George’s behaviour continued to oscillate between attentive and distant, leaving you feeling more confused than ever. You realised that while you appreciated his friendship and companionship, you didn’t quite reciprocate the level of physical touch he seemed to crave. You thought you'd never think that, but that was true at the moment.

It wasn’t that you didn’t like him or that you didn’t enjoy his company—you did, immensely. But the sudden shift in his behaviour had caught you off guard, and you weren’t sure how to navigate it.

So, you decided to take matters into your own hands. Literally. You started to initiate small touches—brushing against his arm as you passed by, resting your hand on his shoulder when you laughed at one of Lockwood’s jokes. You made sure to respect his boundaries, never pushing too far, but you couldn’t help but notice the way he seemed to relax under your touch, his tension melting away ever so slightly.

And then, something strange happened. Lockwood stopped giving George those odd looks. Instead, he watched the two of you with a fondness in his eyes, as if he knew something you didn’t.

It was then that it hit you. Lockwood wasn’t trying to make George distant by giving him those stares. He was scared. Scared that his best friend was going to get hurt if he got too close to you. If it was unrequited.

The realisation hit you like a ton of bricks, and suddenly everything made sense. The mixed signals, the strange tension between George and Lockwood—it was all because of you.

The pieces finally fell into place.

“Oh. Oh.”.

__

That was when you started to tease him.

The opportunity presented itself while you were grocery shopping together. As you reached for an item on the shelf, your hand brushed against his, ever so subtly. You pretended not to notice, but you felt the slight twitch in his fingers, betraying his surprise. 

“Oh, sorry,” you said innocently, flashing him a quick smile before returning your attention to the task at hand. But you couldn’t help the thrill that ran through you at the contact, the electricity of his touch lingering on your skin.

Another chance came when he complained about his unruly hair one morning. Normally, George couldn’t care less about his appearance, but today seemed different. As he grumbled about his curls, you stepped closer, reaching out to gently smooth them down.

“They’re not that bad,” you remarked, your touch light and fleeting. But as your fingers danced through his hair, you felt him relax under your touch, his shoulders dropping as a sense of calm washed over him. It was a small gesture, but it felt good. Alright, more than good, you had to admit. It felt peaceful.

But perhaps the boldest move came when he mentioned his sore shoulders after a particularly long day. Without a second thought, you moved behind his chair in the kitchen, your hands finding their way to his tense muscles. 

You could feel him tense up at first, his body rigid with surprise. But as your fingers worked their magic, kneading out the knots and tension, you felt him slowly start to relax, his muscles melting under your touch.

“Wow, that feels amazing,” he murmured, his voice low and appreciative. 

You couldn’t help but smirk, enjoying the reaction you were getting out of him. It was fun to see George, usually so composed, let his guard down for once. And if it meant you got to enjoy a few stolen moments of closeness, then all the better. Maybe, just maybe.

__

Then one night, you didn't know if you wanted to kick or kiss your coworkers.

The movie night started out promising enough, with everyone gathered on the couch, snacks in hand, ready for a cozy evening. But as the movie dragged on, it quickly became apparent that it was a snoozefest of epic proportions. Even Lockwood, the eternal optimist regarding his tastes, couldn’t hide his yawns as he struggled to stay awake.

You, on the other hand, weren’t so lucky. Despite your best efforts to stay engaged, the monotony of the film proved too much, and before you knew it, you had drifted off to sleep.

When you woke up, it was still dark outside, the remnants of the movie flickering on the screen. Blinking blearily, you realized that George was lightly snoring beside you, his head resting on your shoulder. You were both lying on the couch, tucked under a blanket, and for a moment, you couldn’t help but chuckle at the absurdity of it all.

Clearly, Lockwood and Lucy had orchestrated this whole thing, choosing the most mind-numbing movie imaginable so that you and George would fall asleep. Sneaky, but effective.

As you shifted slightly, George stirred, his eyes fluttering open to gaze at you with a look that was equal parts dazed and disoriented. It was as if he had just woken up from a particularly bizarre dream, and you couldn’t help but laugh at the sight.

“Enjoying the view?” you teased, a playful smirk playing at your lips.

George blinked, his brain still catching up to reality. “Hmm? Oh, uh, yeah. Very scenic,” he replied, his voice thick with sleep.

You rolled your eyes, suppressing a giggle. “Smooth, George. Real smooth.”

But despite the sarcasm, there was something undeniably comfortable about the moment. You shifted onto your side to face him, hiding your face in the crook of his neck as you both settled back against the cushions.

And then, almost on instinct, George tilted your chin up, his eyes meeting yours with a mixture of hesitation and determination. You don't know who initiated it, but without another word, you both leaned in, meeting halfway in a soft, quick kiss that left you both breathless.

As you pulled away from the kiss, the air between you crackling with a newfound tension, you couldn’t help but chuckle softly, the sound vibrating against George’s lips. He blinked, his eyes still closed as if savoring the moment, before finally opening them to meet yours.

“What’s so funny?” he asked, his voice low and tinged with curiosity.

You shook your head, a playful smirk dancing on your lips. “Oh, nothing. Just guessing about how Lockwood and Lucy must be thinking they’re some sort of mastermind matchmakers.”

George’s lips twitched with amusement, a faint smile playing at the corners of his mouth. “Well, they do like to meddle, don’t they?”

“Definitely,” you agreed, your laughter bubbling up between you like a shared secret. “But I have to admit, they might be onto something with this whole movie night setup.”

George raised an eyebrow, his gaze locking with yours in a way that sent a shiver down your spine. “Oh? And what do you mean by that?”

You shrugged, feigning nonchalance even as your heart raced in your chest. “Just that… maybe there’s something to be said for falling asleep on the couch with your best friend,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper.

There was a moment of silence as George processed your words, his expression unreadable. But then, without warning, he leaned in again, his lips capturing yours in another kiss that was both soft and electrifying. You both moved gently against each other, fearing the other would break the spell. You both did not. He was the first one, however, to pull back, only slightly to mumble against your lips.

"Just maybe?"

"No, definitely."

This time, there was no laughter, no teasing remarks. No mixed signals, no one around to tell you if what you were doing was good or not. It felt good, that's all that mattered.

And as you lay there in the quiet darkness, tangled together on the couch, you couldn’t help but think that maybe, just maybe, falling asleep during a boring movie wasn’t such a bad thing after all.

__

okay so i am lowkey proud of that one??? i made it way longer than the others because i found a new way to write and it actually helped a lot! i hope you liked it, it was very fluffy, i tried my best LMAOOOO

i wanted to include lucy and lockwood because they're my favourite matchmakers, but also oh how lockwood is worried for his friend and just doesn't know how to help george so he's just like "yep. just be distant" lucy should slap him but we love a bsf who just wants his happiness AND HE GOT IT

anyways i read too many notes from ao3 authors, have a good day!

taglist : @neewtmas @cielooci @thestrangerblog

(if you don't want to be tagged anymore or want to be just tell me!)

[vintagepromotions]

"If you drink that water, you'll get colic." 

Cover of the menu at Ciro, a café in Paris, France (1928). Artwork by Georges Redon.

[deadpoets]

GEORGE HARRISON The Beatles: Get Back (2021) dir. Peter Jackson

[ribcagebonemeal]

living the 2014 tumblr beatle fan dream

[maxedes]

george russell you move me so deeply

[leclercskiesahead]

There is no need for them to be this funny 😂🤣

[literaryvein-reblogs]

A Writer's Recipes George Orwell

Recipes (Christmas Pudding; Orange Marmalade; Plum Cake; Treacle Tart; Welsh Rarebit; Yorkshire Pudding)

Excerpts from the article, "British Cookery" commissioned by the British Council in 1946 but was unpublished

CHRISTMAS PUDDING

Ingredients:

1 lb each of currants, sultanas & raisins 2 ounces sweet almonds 1 ounces bitter almonds 4 ounces mixed peel ½ lb brown sugar ½ lb flour ¼ lb breadcrumbs ½ teaspoonful salt ½ teaspoonful grated nutmeg ¼ teaspoonful powdered cinnamon 6 ounces suet The rind and juice of 1 lemon 5 eggs A little milk 1/8 of a pint of brandy, or a little beer

Method. Wash the fruit. Chop the suet, shred and chop the peel, stone and chop the raisins, blanch and chop the almonds. Prepare the breadcrumbs. Sift the spices and salt into the flour. Mix all the dry ingredients into a basin. Heat the eggs, mix them with the lemon juice and the other liquids. Add to the dry ingredients and stir well. If the mixture is too stiff, add a little more milk. Allow the mixture to stand for a few hours in a covered basin. Then mix well again and place in well-greased basins of about 8 inches diameter. Cover with rounds of greased paper. Then tie the tops of the basins over the floured cloths if the puddings are to be boiled, or with thick greased paper if they are to be steamed. Boil or steam for 5 or 6 hours. On the day when the pudding is to be eaten, re-heat it by steaming it for 3 hours. When serving, pour a large spoonful of warm brandy over it and set fire to it.

In Britain it is usual to mix into each pudding one or two small coins, tiny china dolls or silver charms which are supposed to bring luck.

ORANGE MARMALADE (handwritten note – ‘Bad recipe!’ –‘too much sugar and water’)

Ingredients:

2 seville oranges 2 sweet oranges (no) 2 lemons (no) 8 lbs of preserving sugar 8 pints of water

Method. Wash and dry the fruit. Halve them and squeeze out the juice. Remove some of the pith, then shred the fruit finely. Tie the pips in a muslin bag. Put the strained juice, rind and pips into the water and soak for 48 hours. Place in a large pan and simmer for 1 1/2 hours until the rind is tender. Leave to stand overnight, then add the sugar and let it dissolve before bringing to the boil. Boil rapidly until a little of the mixture will set into a jelly when placed on a cold plate. Pour into jars which have been heated beforehand, and cover with paper covers.

PLUM CAKE

Ingredients:

¾ 1b butter ½ 1b sugar 4 eggs ¾ 1b flour ¼ lb crystallised cherries ¼ Ib raisins ¼ lb sultanas ¼ lb chopped almonds ¼ lb mixed candied peel The grated rind of 1 lemon and 1 orange ½ teaspoonful of mixed spice A pinch of salt 1 glass brandy

Method. Beat the butter and sugar to a cream; add each egg separately and beat until the mixture is stiff and uniform. Sift the flour with the mixed spice and the salt, stir well into the creamed mixture, add the raisins (stoned beforehand), the cherries cut in halves, and the sultanas, the candied peel cut into small pieces, the grated lemon and orange rind, add the brandy. Mix thoroughly, put into a round tin lined with greased paper, put into a hot oven for 10 to 15 minutes, then reduce the heat and bake slowly for 3 ½ hours.

TREACLE TART

Ingredients:

12 ounces short crust pastry Golden syrup 2 ounces breadcrumbs A pinch of ginger or a little lemon juice

Method. Make the pastry crust in the proportion of eight ounces of flour to five ounces of butter, with a pinch of salt, and mix with cold water. Line a flat metal dish with the pastry. Cover with a layer of bread crumbs, then pour in the golden syrup. Sprinkle lemon juice or ginger over the syrup and cover with the remainder of the crumbs. Bake for 30 minutes in a hot oven.

WELSH RAREBIT

Ingredients:

1 ounce butter 4 ounces cheese (coarsely grated) 1 tablespoonful milk or beer ½ teaspoonful made mustard Pepper and salt

Method. Melt the butter in a saucepan. Add the milk, salt, mustard and cheese. Heat and stir until the cheese has melted. Pour on to slices of hot buttered toast which have been prepared beforehand. Serve immediately.

YORKSHIRE PUDDING

Ingredients:

4 ounces flour 1 or 2 eggs ½ teaspoonful salt ½ pint milk (or milk and water)

Method. Put the flour into a basin with the salt. Make a well in the centre, break in the eggs; beat well, adding the milk to make a think batter; allow this to stand for 2 hours. Melt some dripping in a baking-tin and when quite hot pour in the batter. Make for half an hour in a hot oven.

More: George Orwell