Pasties and the Past
13/11/2020
By Charlotte
We all have a past. Our own little history bundled into thousands of memories. Some we talk about, others we don't. Hidden in scents, tastes, photos and souvenirs, these memories are a reminder that we have all been places. My earliest memory is meeting my brother when I was two. Peaceful and tiny, I remember peering into his cot, almost wetting myself. There is no photo of that exact moment. But I can return to it whenever I want, recalling, to my left, my Mum’s pink top, and to my right, my Dad chatting with the nurse. It is all there, as a freeze frame in my mind; two proud parents, one hospital room, one nurse, one cot and my brother.
My happiest memories were made in a rural corner of England, which is tucked away safely like the memories. It is a county where the Atlantic waves brush against rugged cliffs, moors host refuge to abandoned mines, and tiny narrow lanes form a maze across the many green fields. The most western county in England; the home of the pasty. Whether you have had the privilege of surfing the tide, eating the rich ice-creams or sitting, wind-swept and sun burnt, peering out to sea, Cornwall celebrates vacation time. This English corner has everything; country pubs, beaches, campsites, cottages, fudge shops, and the ability to be the perfect place to make memories. It is almost a pity that the secret has slipped, and the beaches have become so overcrowded. Yet, the Cornish culture deserves to be shared...
Those of us who make that long tiresome journey down, we are
truly rewarded with moments that we can, and do, cherish forever. I certainly
will. Happy days filled with happy people. I have spent much time exploring what
is known as ‘the jewel’, a quaint seaside village called St Ives. In both
summer and winter, St Ives is filled with a calming breeze that echoes along the
cobbled alleyways. Surrounded by water on three sides, it has the feel of an
island. Isolated, yet homely. In St Ives, my family and I have sat, soaked in
our wetsuits, eating marmite sandwiches before an afternoon surf. Our picnic
blanket , a mere dot within a crowd. In winter, we've sat, wrapped in Christmas jumpers, watching fisherman sail out of the quay
on boxing day. Throughout the seasons, Cornwall changes.
But throughout the years, Cornwall remains the same. My Mum likes to say this
to me when we visit a place she did as a child. You
name it; she has got a memory of it. She speaks of rock pools, dingys, honeycomb, windbreaks, fish and chips, campsites and fun.
More recently, my Mum and I have memories of horse rides along the beach, and as a family we have spent my brother’s birthday on a steam train in the morning. In the evening, I recall bingo and devouring a Tesco chocolate cake whilst playing with other children on our campsite.
In the baking Cornish sun, every visitor has queued for overly priced car parks, which might I add, are not at all convincing in their ability to actually park your car. There is one car park that I should mention. It sits on an almost vertical angle to the beach, on a muddy field in a little settlement called Trevone. I asked my Dad whether he thought the car would roll down the hill whilst we were surfing. His reply, “Only if you didn't remembered to put the handbrake on.” Unfortunately, as a youngster who was still falling victim to dry humour, each time I caught a wave that afternoon, images of Chitty Chitty Bang Bang would flash before my eyes. Would I turn around and see our car floating on the water? I would return to my brother, who was waiting to catch the next wave, and peer behind him to check our car was not drifting out to sea that afternoon…
We’re opposites my brother and I; in the water one of us was constantly carrying out risk assessments and monitoring the rip current. The other one would find it funny to hold his breath under the waves whilst his bodyboard flies in the air like a kite. I think I gained a few grey hairs in the Cornish waters. But, my god, for the feeling of catching the perfect break as you hurdle towards the beach, the worry was well worth it… I do not have the exact photos of that moment when a wave is crashing beneath you. However, it is all there, as a freeze frame in my mind; two surfboards, one afternoon, one beach, one wave and my brother.
I've already said we all have past. Moreover, today we all have a future which, tomorrow, will become a part of our past. Make the most of your days; make the most of you memories; make the most of your past so that your tomorrow is great...
Bring Cornwall to your kitchen this week:
Apple and Raspberry Sweet Pasties
1) Pre-heat oven to 200 degrees Celsius.
3) Heat apple slices for 5 minutes. Add 1/2 cup of brown sugar and 1 spoon full of butter.
4) Stir and then allow to simmer for 15 minutes.
5) Roll ready made puff pastry into a large rectangle so that it is 0.5 cm in thickness.
6) Use a breakfast bowl to cut out 3-5 large circles.
7) Place puff pastry large circles on a floured surface and egg wash one side. Leave the edges from egg wash so that the pasty will seal.
8) Place heated apples slices and fresh raspberries on one half of the circle.9) Fold over other half of circle.
10) Press edges together to ensure the pasty is tightly sealed and no leakages will occur.
11) Egg wash top of pasty and sprinkle brown sugar on top.
12) Cook pasties for 25 minutes until crisp brown.
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