Photograph from The Daily Telegraph
The Barbara Cartland Cookbook. It exists. Or more accurately, 'The Romance of Food,' published by Hamlyn in 1984. I came across a copy on eBay and couldn't resist it: I've got a soft spot for the old gal in a way; not, of course, that I've read any of her lovey-dovey stuff- it's just not my cup of tea, dear.
But may I recommend John Pearson's (the biographer of Ian Fleming and the Clermont Club Gamblers) amusing biography, Crusader in Pink, (written under the pseudonym of 'Dr Henry Cloud')? And for a few days, Bab's bizarre, semi-autobiographical, I Seek the Miraculous made hilarious (and strangely compelling) bedtime reading, a breathless index of supernatural and mystical experiences encountered over her long, and over-documented life.
Barbara Cartland, of course, was a terrific self-publicist, and The Romance of Food is no exception. We learn that as well as being a playwright, lecturer, political speaker, and television personality, she is also a historian, and has sold over 400 million books across the world. And so it goes on and on: as a gossip columnist she raced MGs at Brooklands, and in 1984 she received the Bishop Wright Air Industry Award for her pioneering long-distance 200-mile tow in a glider, eventually contributing to troop-carrying gliders which were used so effectively during the D-Day landings.
And don't forget that "in 1976, Miss Cartland sang an Album of Love Songs with the Royal Philarmonic Orchestra". One for the record collection, eh? As Barbara croons: "I did fall in love in Berkeley Square, and I swear a nightingale did sing in the trees as I was kissed":
Barbara Cartland sings I'll See You Again
But back to The Romance of Food. It had me on the floor. Doubled up. In Stitches. Where do I begin? It's full of rather pretty technicolor photographs, beautifully arranged in 80s style, with carefully chosen antique porcelain and Regency pearlware nick-nacks ("all photographs were taken under the personal supervision of the author at her home in Hertfordshire using her own background and ornaments"). And then, underneath each dish, Babs's romantic captions to put you in the mood for love: enamoured with "the throbbing enchantment of gipsy violins" and "the allure of passionate Russians." The Queen of Love peppers each recipe with historical asides, anecdotes, and nutritional recommendations: our heroine is, of course, a champion of multivitamins and Royal Jelly.
"What women does not long to be carried like a lamb in the arms of the man she loves?"
But of course, she's an easy target. In truth, the recipes, have been taken from her private chef, Nigel Gordon, and in their 80s way are perfectly all right, if not actually rather good (ignoring the decorative chicken wishbones soaked in bleach) with that understated Country House vibe. I'm keen on the food private chefs rustle up: old favourites, with a nod to the French classics, cooked with care, and presented on the plate with a simple flourish. Who wants to eat restaurant food on a daily basis? An invitation to spend the weekend- sorry the Friday to Monday- with Babs at her appealing country house, Camfield Place, Hertfordshire- (once the childhood home of Beatrix Potter) might have been a hot passport to the shores of love; in these mundane times, The Romance of Food is the next best ticket.
I made her Devilled Crab, and it was surprising all right: Fry some chopped spring onions until soft (shallots might be better here, surely?) and then stir in dry English mustard powder and two teaspoons of cognac. Make a roux from butter, flour and cream; season and combine it with the mustard mixture, and then stir in fresh crabmeat. Spoon the mixture into ramekin dishes, with breadcrumbs scattered on top. Bake the dish in a moderate oven (180° C, 350° F) and serve piping hot.
I will leave you with a Barbara Cartland anecdote. During the 1960s, Sandra Harris interviewed Miss Cartland for the BBC's Today programme:
Sandra Harris (to Barbara Cartland): Do you think class barriers have broken down?
Barbara Cartland: Of course they have, or I wouldn't be sitting here talking to someone like you.
