Maudiegirl

Carl Muller

Description

Nobody – and the whole of Boteju Land agreed – could cook like Maudiegirl. She wielded a wizard’s wand not only in the kitchen but also over domestic problems, however large in magnitude; from predicting the sex of an unborn child to knowing more than a dozen ways to cook eels; from cutting a goat in the right way to setting failing marriages straight; from nursing the ailing to health to keeping the best kitchen, Maudiegirl had a solution to every little problem. Her home was her castle and the kitchen her domain.In the fourth serving of his Burgher chronicles, Carl Muller reverts to his favourite family, the von Blosses of his first ‘Burgher’ book, The Jam fruit Tree. A hungry family and a wonderful cook, a kind paedophile, a cantankerous mother-in-law, a disloyal husband, good-for-nothing uncles, prudish Pentecostals, Dunnyboy’s exhibitionism, Sonnaboy’s show-of-strength- the author captures the hallmarks of the von Blosses’ days and ways in his quintessentially irreverent, witty and heart-warming style.Maudiegirl and the von Bloss Kitchen features many of Maudiegirl’s famous recipes making the book a treat not only for Muller fans but also for the senses!

Informations

• Publié par: Penguin Books India Pvt Ltd
• Date de parution: 09 mars 2009
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9789352141647
• Langue: English

Extrait

Carl Muller

Maudiegirl and the von Bloss Kitchen
Contents
About the Author
Praise for Maudiegirl and the Von Bloss Kitchen
Also by Carl Muller
Dedication
Beef Fritters and What Will the Baby Be
A Pounding Place and Anna s Birthday Dinner
The Coin Burgher and Cod s Head and Shoulders
Lamb Chops and Pentecostal Viva
The Making of Dunnyboy and Roast Lamb
Quyn Takes Aim and a Good Family Soup
Proposals, Disposals and Sundry Celebrations
The Coming of Uncle Boy
Dinner for Some Peculiar People
Eels Galore
The Church Raffle and Maudiegirl s Pie Stall
Dinner For the Old Cat and Getting Jamis s Goat
Visiting Anna and other Pyrotechnics
A Kitchen Clean-Up and Quyn s Teals for Dinner
The Ladies of Charity and Elsie s Engagement
The Time to Live Ever After
A Postscript
Grandmama s Recipes
Follow Penguin
Copyright
PENGUIN BOOKS
MAUDIEGIRL AND THE VON BLOSS KITCHEN
Carl Muller (1935- ) is an unusual man. He is no academic; kicked out of three schools, he never went to university and served in the Royal Ceylon Navy, the Ceylon Army and the Port of Colombo as a pilot station signalman. In advertising briefly, he was also involved in the travel trade, and donned the robes of an entertainer. A pianist and a journalist, Carl Muller has a large number of published titles, ranging from poetry to science fiction, under his belt. But it is his Burgher novels that have earned him special acclaim, especially the first one, The Jam Fruit Tree , which won the Gratiaen Memorial Prize , 1993, for the best work of English literature by a Sri Lankan. He has also won the State Literary Award for his historical novel, Children of the Lion .
He lives with his wife, Sortain, in Kandy.
Praise for Maudiegirl and the Von Bloss Kitchen
Powerfully matriarchal, presenting the Burgher woman of old as a force to be reckoned with, Maudiegirl and the von Bloss Kitchen gives us lovable Maudiegirl, firmly ensconced at the centre of the von Bloss universe, her children and her neighbours, her stubbornness and her dedication to the running of her home, however crazy things may be, her home-brewed wisdom and, above all, her cooking. The recipes are a vital part of the book s rich life, no less than the throbbing energies of railway Burgher families that Carl Muller renders with his inimitable gusto in this evocation of the von Bloss world. Carl Muller has paid his grandmother, upon whom the character of Maudiegirl is based, the greatest tribute ever. -Ashley Halp , Kalakeerthi, Emeritus Professor of English, University of Peradeniya
Also by Carl Muller
Children of the Lion
Colombo: A Novel
A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to the Cemetery
Once Upon a Tender Time
The Python of Pura Malai and Other Stories
Spit and Polish
The Jam Fruit Tree
Yakada Yaka
I take no credit for the recipes in this book. They are all from the handwritten recipes of an old lady who died some years before I was born. She was my paternal grandmother, someone whose memory my family holds dear to this day. It was father, rest his soul, who, when cleaning house one day, dumped a pile of old stiff-covered books in my den. Your grandmother s books, he said. Might be better reading than your rubbishy cowboy comics! I was a boy, then. I found pages of crowded handwriting, little slips of faded paper, cuttings from very old magazines. I pushed them aside. What does a ten-year-old do with recipes and kitchen wisdom? Today, it is a treasure trove. I can well picture what grandmama s kitchen must have been like and all the marvellous fare she must have turned out. All I can now do is revert to my favourite factional Burgher family and to Maudiegirl of my first Burgher book, The Jam Fruit Tree. I have made this her kitchen-grandmama s kitchen. Perhaps you will wish to try out her recipes. Do so, for then will Maudiegirl be long remembered.
Carl Muller
This novel is dedicated to my wife, Sortain, my children, Jeremy, Michelle and Minette, and to their husbands and wives. After all, at some time or another, every day, they spend time in the kitchen, don t they?

Beef Fritters and What Will the Baby Be
M y God, child, what is all that white thing on the front rug?
Maudiegirl von Bloss stared. She could find no reason to ask why Dora Ball simply waltzed in, clacking cheerfully in her rubber slippers, quite unconcerned that she had left a trail of dusty prints on the Mansion-waxed floor. Visitors to the von Bloss domus had long forgotten or simply ignored the niceties of tapping on the door, waiting to be welcomed. They simple sailed in, steered into the broad open rear veranda and tootled their greetings at the kitchen door.
Maudiegirl and her kitchen. Even the Kelaarts, who proudly maintained that they minded their own business , could not resist remarking to nosey Mrs Balthazaar, who always wore a scarf, indoors or out: Straight inside going. What, men, anybody go there, walking straight to the backside. Won t even tap. You wait and see, one day. Someone will take the furniture and go and no one will know who.
White thing? What white thing?
Anney, I don t know child. Santa Claus came and wiped his face? Go and see, will you . . . so, so, how? Just came to put a chat. My devil has gone to work. Told Asilin to clean the garden and I came.
Maudiegirl put away the checked cloth she was wiping her hands with and smiled. Must be that damn dog. Shedding all the fur. Telling to tie and keep on the side, but where? Sonnaboy won t listen, no?
Tell to take and give a good sea-bath. Our Binkie the same, full of ticks and getting mange. Our Ralston took for a sea-bath. Two three baths and everything all right.
Maudiegirl sighed. Her sighs were always huffs, but then, she was fat, broad-faced, quite red-nosed and her greying hair never stayed in the big bun she twisted it into at the back of her head. So sit, sit. Making lunch, what else? All will come at two o clock. Today Saturday, no?
Dora sat and regarded her slippered feet with some distaste. Her toenails never grew evenly. Just came in slippers, men. Comfortable, no? So what you cooking so much? One thing, no trouble with my devil. Put anything on the table, he will eat.
Hah! Must see the fuss here, Maudiegirl exclaimed. Not enough salt, curry is too watery, something or another they ll say. Then if you don t like, get up and go, I am saying. If go out to eat will nicely eat and come. Not a word. Only here they come to say this is that and that is this. That Viva is the worst: picking, picking and eating. See his state-like an eekel. For that Anna and Elsie. Whole time want to eat.
Dora clucked her sympathy. That s what I always say, men. However much we do, no thanks at all. I get very angry when the big one, Benno, makes remarks at the table. Always starts something.
Maudiegirl woofed a sigh. Just a minute, must see to the beef.
Dora knew that anything Maudiegirl was cooking had to be special. Nobody-and the whole of Boteju Lane agreed-could cook like Maudiegirl. It was almost ritual to accost old Cecilprins von Bloss in the lane on his way to or from work.
So, so, what are you doing on Sunday?
Cecilprins would take off his white toppee and beam. Ah, Holdenbottle, how? Going to the barber s?
Aleric Holdenbottle always went to the barber s. He was a dirty little fellow with shifty eyes, who had decided some time back that fucking his wife was a duty he did not really relish. He had given the matter some thought and decided that he needed to be wily. Edna had that nasty habit of jumping to conclusions. He would screw her once a week-a sort of obligatory manoeuvre. It would tell Edna that he found her desirable and all would be well. She would even puff in mock indignation. What? Again you want? Only last week you did, no?
Holdenbottle would make a gargling sound. Edna was pleased. At least, she would tell herself, her man was faithful. Otherwise why was he pressing into her the way he did? So come and do, then, she would say with a sort of queenly condescension. Can t be without a jiggy-jiggy, no?
Jiggy-jiggy, for Holdenbottle, was a most mechanical business. He would spend himself in a matter of minutes and roll off to nip into the bathroom. Edna would look at his lean buttocks. It came for you?
Yes. You go to sleep. I ll wash and come.
Edna would flop back, burrow her cheek in the pillow and expel deeply. Damn silly nonsense, she would think. When Holdenbottle came to bed, she would have dozed off, her mouth slightly open, eminently satisfied that she had, as a good wife, done her duty.
Holdenbottle touched the side of his head. Just a small trim. Hate when the hair comes to the back of the ears.
Cecilprins would nod. He knew that his neighbour had no thought of the hair that grew lankly on the sides of his odd-shaped head. Everyone in the lane knew why Holdenbottle went to the barber s. There, in his chair, he would busily squeeze the cock of the young Tamil boy who leaned against him, gently snipping away. The boy would raise and knot his sarong and press against the chair, while Holdenbottle would sneak a hand under the sheet he was draped in. Both seemed to enjoy themselves immensely. Old Nathanielsz would laugh loud and long. That bugger? Must call him Holdencock! Even if he s bald, he ll go for a haircut!
So what are you doing on Sunday? Holdenbottle would ask again.
Nothing much. Go to church and come. What else?
I ll bring a bottle.
Good idea. So come with Edna. We ll put a drink. Can have lunch and go.
Which is just what Holdenbottle was angling for. But he made a begging-off sound. Lunch? Noooo men, how to come like that? Enough people to cook for. Can t trouble Maudiegirl like that.
Nonsense! You come. I ll tell Maudiegirl.
People who just dropped in did so with purpose writ large. They also considered it so necessary to stay and eat. Dora Ball would not budge either. She would glance at the clock. My godfather! Past one also. Don t kno