July 12th, 2013…
The card said ‘fresh goods’, so I went straight round to the post office to collect the parcel. I knew who it was from as she had sent me a message… and she lives in Yorkshire. I have never met her, yet, but count her a friend. So I had an inkling… a very hopeful inkling… of what I might find inside that warranted the ‘fresh’. I could almost taste it…
There is something about the traditional foods of one’s home that are so deep under the skin that they are embedded in the heart as well as the tastebuds. And anyone who knows me, even via the most cursory acquaintance on Facebook, may have noticed a passionate longing for Yorkshire Curd Tarts.
Now, providing I can get the milk to curdle and separate to make the curds, I could make my own. And have. But they are not the same. And this is the thing. It is almost worse to have ‘not the same’ than to do without. Mine have been very good… but not the same at all.
Like the ‘almost’ pork pie and ‘not quite’ bacon with which I satisfied…or attempted to… my pregnant cravings while in France so long ago.
But the box was too big, too heavy, for curd tarts, and my heart sniffed an odd tear but waited in anticipation to see just what it did contain….
I scrabbled for the scissors, sliced through the tape, peeled back the tissue paper… and found a veritable feast of home! With not one, but TWO curd tarts, nestled between the other treasures.
Yorkshire Brack… a sweet loaf made with strong, black tea… proper Yorkshire gingerbread, which I adore… and a little Wensleydale cheese….made in the Dales where the grass really is greener and the streams crystal clear as they fall from the high moors…
You can taste it.
After a morning that was a tad gruelling at the hospital, followed by an assault on the Friday madness of the supermarket so I can feed my guest tomorrow, I needed a cup of tea…So out came the teapot and saucers, the best Yorkshire Tea, and a curd tart…oh yes….
Dorothy… you are an ANGEL!