A couple of years ago, a small friend came to our house to play, bringing with her the most enchanting recipe book for dolls by Marjorie Winslow. I fell head over heels in love with it and managed, with some difficulty, to track a copy down (it was out of print).
Imagine my delight yesterday, when I went into a bookshop and saw on the table, a newly published re-print.
I cannot tell you what an excited squeak I let out - if you have smallish people at home (up to around 10 I'd guess) you simply must find a copy to look at. And I'd bet a portion of fried water, you'll find a way to squeeze a copy into somebody's Christmas stocking.
And, though I'm sure it is poor etiquette to re-publish one's old blog material, here's my post about the book from a couple of years back.
Is it shameful to be constantly tapping my children for blog fodder? Thankfully, someone in the household still has time to be creative. It isn't me, that's for sure. But I would miss the act of blogging sorely, so you'll have to indulge me. And today, it is worth it. Because there was something very special happening in the garden.
No supermarket is as well-stocked as a forest, a sand dune, or your own backyard, and everyone knows that dolls dote on mud, when properly prepared. Invite everyone, for Pencil Sharpener Pudding, Dandelion Souffle, Wood Chip Dip, and, of course, Mud Pies.
I knew as soon as I saw it, that we needed a copy. It is utterly charming and funny for the way in which all the recipes are presented so seriously.
Melt one ice cube in a skillet by placing it in the sun. When melted, add 1 cup water and sauté slowly until water is transparent. Serve small portions, because this dish is rich as well as mouth-watering.
Unfortunately, it is out of print and has proved a bit tricky to track down. But for something so enchanting, it was worth the effort.
Hors d'oeuvre anyone?
See what I mean? You've got to know someone who needs a copy.
Clearly you can take a bookseller out of the bookshop but the impulse to share wonderful books remains. And in a very spooky throwback, though I was in an independent bookshop far from home, the delivery guy, Andy, was the same one who used to deliver stock to my former bookshop - how very spooky is that? Just like old times.