Have spent a glorious day at the newspaper library in Colindale searching 1930s fan mags for silver screen recipes. Alas, zilch. Saw some fun things along the way though including a remarkable press photograph of Dick Powell in “Cowboy From Brooklyn” wearing the campest chaps I have ever seen (and I have seen plenty of camp chaps).
I know for a fact that Lady Longhorn is cooking a Dick Powell number this very weekend over there in cowboy country. She’s had trouble getting off the starting blocks (due to neighbours trauma) but I am expecting a sprint from her very soon. Once she gets going she’ll be like a dog with a bone no doubt. This kind of thing is highly addictive. I am planning a Clark and Carole tribute day tomorrow with Gable’s “Hunter’s Breakfast” in the morning and Lombard’s “Barbecued Spare Ribs” in the evening. Not her very own spare ribs you understand. Personally, I have never bought ribs in my life. Does one just ask the butcher for a rack of ribs? How in the name of Carole Lombard does it work?
The proposed “Hunter’s Breakfast” shebang provoked a hilarious exchange of emails yesterday with Lady L as, being a Brit, I had no idea what BISQUICK was. As this is sort of the mainstay of the breakfast of “he who hunts” I’ve had to find out. I shall be prowling the “home baking” shelves of Tesco later looking for a replacement packet of powder very soon. I have only ever eaten pancakes for breakfast in the US. We don’t really do it here. So it’s going to be quite an exotic brunch. It will be just like IHOP only IBOP – International Boat of Pancakes.
Thursday’s date was fab and he says he will “call me”. I met the flesh and bones version of Radio 4 soap star “Lilian Bellamy” who told me that the last time she was at Hampton Court she was there to see a “Burly Chassis” gig – which might not make sense to those across the pond but made me laugh like a drain. She had old school Hollywood style glamour. Skin tight lime green frock, real looking tan and silver grey hair in an Armani style wave with a tiny pink streak in the fringe! My escort was wearing an Oswald Boateng suit with yellow silk lining and the food was by Gordon Ramsay (or he “designed the menu” or whatever). Heels were actually banned not because of the lawns but because we were some of the select having our posh nosh in the “Great Hall”, parquet floored and resplendent with dead animals and dusty tapestries. I had my photograph taking holding a rather splendid rhubarb dessert. Is rhubarb big in the US?