A Rose by any other name

Rose Elliot’s vegetarian cookery book Not Just a Load of Old Lentils cost £1.50 in 1972.

‘Fun, practical, easy, delightful!’ reads the strapline on the faded orange cover, the words running around an etched sketch of pulses, cheese, vegetables and wine. There’s a photo of Rose herself on page 2, demure, but smiling encouragingly, with a subtle twinkle of fun in her eyes. This is the only photograph in the book; it’s left to the reader/cook to decide how Rose’s recipes should be styled.

NJaLoOL lived by the cooker in all the kitchens I grew up in, from the semi-commune in Wales to the one where the ceiling almost collapsed just after my family did. But in between the covers of this lovingly battered relic, my family remains totally intact.

On page 179, buttery stains from my own childish fingerprints make a flapjack recipe almost indecipherable, while a hundred dinner party preparations have left their mark on the stuffed pancakes recipe on page 94. Potato cakes: serve hot, with crumbly Cheshire cheese and a glass of Ribena – manna from heaven. Dhal, p108; butterbean curry on the previous page – old friends, both of them. But why the purple stain on the Spaghetti with Aubergines page? I don’t remember ever eating this dish. Maybe mum tried, but failed? It’s never too late…

Rose nursed me through my very first soufflé. She taught me how to make a croustade, stuff a marrow, handle pastry – she skilled me up. This weekend I’ll be making her mushroom stroganoff, yet again; last week, I made her banana bread. And as I go, I’m adding my own indelible stains to a cookery book that brings back more memories than Proust’s Madeleine ever could: 52 years worth so far, and many flapjacks still to go.