Vintage wheels and jellied eels.

Continuing from last week's marriage theme, I thought we'd fast forward 27 years and take a look at my own wedding day in September 1986.

In contrast to my parents relatively short courtship (see previous post), our's lasted 7 years. By the time we got round to tying the knot, my husband Lloyd was 26 and I was 25. Given this long period I'd clearly had years to think or even fantasise about how I wanted my wedding day to pan out, but beyond knowing that the colour pink would feature and that there would have to be roses and a yellow and black vintage car to take me and Dad to the church (inspired by the film Genevieve about The London To Brighton Veteran Car Run), I had no grand plan, so basically made it up as I went along.

Me and dad off to the church in the yellow and black Vintage Rolls Royce

My original intention had been to hold my wedding reception at Porchester Hall  (Bayswater). I knew the building well as I had learnt to swim in the adjoining baths. Seduced by the wood panelled walls and crystal chandeliers in this stunning Victorian venue, I could picture myself and my future husband having our photographs taken on the main staircase; a vision of glamour and elegance. But this wasn't to be, the hall was already booked and our options were limited. So we were left with The Sidings Community Centre in West Hampstead; the place where one of my sisters had held her wedding reception the previous year. Not the prettiest of venues inside it has to be said, a typical community hall with gym markings on the floor and ugly prison like grey brick walls. But the facilities were good, there was plenty of parking, pretty gardens for photographs and more importantly just up the road from my parents house in Kensal Rise; vital for ferrying food to the hall as quickly as possible. Mum with help from my brothers and sisters would be doing all the catering. Reckless you may think, but in the years that had passed since mum's own wedding day she had managed to build up a varied and impressive repertoire of dishes, our family celebrations particularly the buffets were now legendary, there was never any question of hiring outside caterers.

The weeks went by and not only was mum busy buying anything that she could in preparation for the vast wedding buffet, she also took it upon herself to carry out the alterations to my wedding dress.
This massive job involved taking the dress apart completely, cutting out various inches of fabric to fit my tiny frame and then sewing it all back together again; a real labour of love. Looking at the dress with it's scalloped hem and V shaped waistline, you would wonder how on earth she had managed it, but she did and it was perfect (remember this was the 80s the Lady Di effect and all that!).

Me and mum and that dress

I had also set my heart on pink tablecloths which were to go on the smaller round tables for the guests to sit at. I probably could have hired them from somewhere, although there were very few companies around and of course no internet. But once again mum was having none of it; she spent weeks going to Portobello Market, buying up old white sheets which she cut into rounds, hemmed and then dyed a beautiful shade of pink, I think she must have made around ten of them.

My mother in law also wanted to be involved with the arrangements so asked if she could organise the wedding cake and flowers for the guest tables. I had no idea what the cake would be like because I left it up to her to decide, but I knew she would go for something unique.When she bought the wedding cake round to my parents house the week before the wedding I wasn't disappointed. Rather than go for the traditional round or square tiered (with pillars) cakes that were popular at that time, she'd chosen a cake in the shape of three different sized bells finished in Royal Icing and decorated with Sugar Flowers. They were presented on a specially made stand which I covered in pink tulle netting.

My wedding cake, the three bells and a small section of the dessert table

Even my grand-mother who was about 83 at the time wanted to get in on the act. She was enlisted to do the little tags for my wedding favours. She cut out little cards with pinking shears, punched a little hole in each, threaded with ribbon and then wrote our names and date of marriage on each one in her beautiful handwriting.

There was only one disagreement and that was over 'Jellied Eels'. You see my husband's family are from the East End of London. Over the years I had attended many weddings on his side of the family and knew that the eels, together with the awful plastic basins they were presented in were part and parcel of their family celebrations. In fact his grand-mother, Doris (or Doll); a typical east end matriarch, a lovely lady but someone you really didn't want to cross, told me in no uncertain terms that there would have to be jellied eels, and to go with them, brown vinegar and pepper. I had a job convincing mum at first; her reputation in jeopardy by these fishy interlopers, but in the end she accepted my pleas and the eels were in.

The community centre didn't have it's own bar so drinks were bought on sale or return from my husband's uncle who ran an off-licence in Chingford , we had a full bar with 'Veuve Du Vernay' for the toast and at dad's request, bottles of red and white wine on each table; there were no returns.

The hall was arranged with the main buffet table down the centre and the desserts and wedding cake and favours along the top in the shape of a T (did you think dessert tables were something new?). There were the round tables with the pink cloths for the guests to sit at and a separate table for the children decked out in tableware featuring whatever the character of the day was, I can't quite remember. The bar was located in a separate room where there was another table displaying a selection of seafood. A beautifully dressed salmon from Scotts of Mount Street (courtesy of my sister's godfather Eugenio, who was chief oysterman there at the time), sat cheek to cheek with the bowls of jellied eels, plates of prawns, smoked salmon and a variety of molluscs. It's taken me 27 years to see what mum did here; very clever.

I had no balloons or bunting or paper pom poms or fairy lights, there were no chair covers or large centrepieces; just the little floral arrangements organised by my mother in law. I had asked that the main buffet table be decorated with a pink tulle swag and fresh pink roses, which had been beautifully done by my friend and chief bridesmaid Karen. When I stepped into hall for the first time the ugly features in the room faded into the background and all I saw was the table laid out with this amazing buffet, I actually said "Wow!". Mum and dad, brothers, sisters and other family and friends had worked so hard and really pulled out all the stops. Sadly this photo (below) only shows part of the table, it continued for another few feet, but just to illustrate what was here I would like to list the dishes as far as I can remember. Bear in mind that most wedding buffets at this time would have consisted of a couple of plates of sandwiches, sausage rolls a green salad (no dressing)), ham and a few chicken bits. A lot of these dished were made up from scratch, with many of the salads consisting of a number of ingredients. See below.

A section of the buffet table in the main hall with pink cloths in background

Meats
Roast and sliced Beef, Pork, Turkey, Ham, plus accompanying sauces, chutneys.
Roast Chicken pieces
Cocktail sausages                                        
Chorizo,Salami
Paté

Salads
Rice, Potato, Pasta, Green, Bean, Curried Fruit, Coleslaw and Russian which I will talk about in a future post.Crudités and dips.

Eggs
Eggs Mayonnaise (hard boiled, halved and dressed with mayo, sprinkling of cayenne)
Spanish Omelettes (Potato, onion, egg)
Scotch Eggs

Pastry
Quiche
Veal and Ham Pie
Pork Pies
Sausage Rolls

There was also bowls of Coronation Chicken and rice that had also been prepared by the chef at Scotts Restaurant. Having panned in on the photograph once it was scanned in I can also see a large lasagne that was made by a friend at my work.

Cheese and Biscuits, French Bread, Crisps, Olives, Nuts

The fish bar which I spoke about earlier and the dessert table with a selection of shop bought gateaux, cheesecakes, fruit and the wedding cake. Interestingly no sandwiches.

A couple of years ago, we visited the home of one of my husband's old workmates, he and his wife had been guests at our wedding. On the table in the sitting room were some photographs that he had taken on the day. They weren't pictures of us or the many other friends that had also attended, they were pictures of the buffet. He picked them up for us to look at saying that it was 'the best food, I have ever had at a wedding' considering  that 25 years had passed and he still remembered I took that as a real compliment and of course, he wasn't wrong.

Me, hubby and the caterers ; mum, dad, brothers and sisters

Ps. Our wedding song was 'Stuck On You' by Lionel Ritchie. In the summer of 2001 we visited New York with our two children.Walking along the road we came across a crowd of people just by Central Park watching Lionel Ritchie playing that very song; you couldn't make it up.

Text Copyright Antoinette Satchell 2014

Olé we're married!

With the wedding industry gearing itself up for the busy season ahead, I thought that it would be interesting to look back at how my parents an ordinary couple got together and celebrated their marriage in the late 1950s.

Mum and Dad (2nd from left) with Dad's two brothers 

Dad was 27 and having carried out his National Service with The Intelligence Corps was now working as a translator for a textile company on a wage of £14.00 per week. Mum who was just 20, came over from Spain after her brother saw an advert which had been placed in The Lady magazine by a family in London who were looking for a Spanish au pair for their two young sons, the family name was Rothschild. Mum's brother who was very keen on languages suggested that it would be a good way for her to learn English and as the contract was only for one year she applied for the position and got the job; it was March 1958.

My parents met within a couple of weeks of mum's arrival here in London, they were both guests at a house party thrown by a lady called Araceli who had helped to arrange mum's passage over from Spain and was also acting as her chaperone while she was in England. Araceli held regular gatherings at her home in Earls Court, her work as a stewardess for Iberia meant she was able to buy duty free goods every time she flew; her well stocked drinks cabinet as well as a healthy supply of Spanish foodstuffs and natural hosting skills always attracted a loyal and diverse group of friends.

The first meeting Mum and Dad front with Araceli (back centre) and friends

Mum and Dad met up again a couple of weeks later at The Challoners; a Catholic social club in Pont St, Belgravia and regular haunt of the many Spaniards living in London at the time. By the third meeting dad had decided that mum was the one for him and following a day out alone together proposed on the platform of Edgware Road Station in a nervous conversation that went like this; (in Spanish obviously),
Dad, "I'm thinking of getting married", Mum, "Oh, who to?" Dad, "You" Mum,
 "Ok then".  As soon as he received his next pay cheque he took her to the jewellers to buy the engagement ring telling her not to worry about the price, he could afford it. The jeweller using his experience and discretion bought out a tray of reasonably priced rings for mum to look at; she chose a small blue sapphire surrounded by tiny diamonds in white gold.

The date was set for 17th January 1959, they were to be married at the Roman Catholic Church Of Our Lady in St Johns Wood with the reception for around 30 guests to be held  afterwards in the basement rooms that dad was renting privately in Sutherland Avenue, Maida Vale.
The wedding rings were bought for 5 guineas each and the dress for 10 guineas. Invitations were ordered and printed with dad's parents as hosts;  mum's family would not be coming as they couldn't afford the fare.

In the months leading up to the wedding mum and dad would speak on the phone most evenings and meet on their weekends off. Although by now they were living less than a mile and a half apart, they wrote to each other regularly. Mum recently gave me a pile of 19 letters written by dad. I am sure they must contain a more detailed insight into this period as well as a load of sweet nothings; but as yet I can't bring myself to read them.

The love letters sent by Dad to Mum in the months before the wedding

On the day of the wedding mum got herself ready at her employer's house where she was still living. She had not thought to order a wedding bouquet for herself or indeed any flowers at all, so Mrs Rothschild sent her husband out to the local florists to get a bouquet made up in mum's choice of white flowers which was tied with a simple white ribbon. The Rothschilds had ordered a new car a couple of months earlier and asked that it be delivered on the day of the wedding; they used it for the very first time to take mum to the church. Mum walked up the aisle on the arm of her father-in-law George, who gave her away to his son. The ceremony took place in front of the invited guests and with Araceli and one of dad's brothers as witnesses, there were no bridesmaids or pageboys.
As a mark of respect following the ceremony mum left her bouquet at the alter.
My parents also received a special blessing from Pope John XXIII; a wedding gift arranged by a friend of dad's who did voluntary work at Westminster Cathedral, it was presented  in the form of a commemorative certificate. Mum gave me the certificate along with the letters, it was the first time I had ever seen it or even known of its existence.

Mum arriving at the church on the arm of her father-in-law George

The Blessing from Pope John XXIII 

Mum and  Dad inside the church 

Back at the reception a buffet had been prepared which consisted of bridge rolls, sandwiches, sausage rolls, cold meats and crisps with chorizo and jamon sent over from Spain. I'm almost certain that they're would also have been one of those cheese and pineapple hedgehogs; although this was never confirmed. The foil covered potato studded with cheese and pineapple on cocktail sticks was the stalwart of many an English buffet table. The Rothschilds who had already shown such generosity contributed various cakes and Petits Fours made by Mrs Rothschild herself. The wedding cake which was a traditional two tiered fruited and royal iced affair had been ordered from a local bakery, it was mum's first taste of such a cake. Used to Spanish style wedding cakes which were more like a dessert often filled with fruits and confectioner's custard she hated it. Drinks of course were plentiful and had been arriving in a steady stream in the months leading up to the wedding. In fact a photographer with the local newspaper; The St Marylebone and Paddington Record, who turned up having heard of a wedding taking place between a Spanish couple, left rather worse for wear having indulged just a bit too much on the liquid hospitality that was on offer. But not before taking a couple of photographs of the occasion. The image (apologies for poor quality scan of  scan) at the very top of this post featured on the front page of the newspaper (23/1/1959) under the heading; 
                                                            
                                                        'OLÉ WE'RE MARRIED'

Music came courtesy of dad's two brothers George and Joe both gifted musicians with mum and dad adding the vocals whenever appropriate. This was now 1959 and like all couples they had their special song; their's was 'Living Doll' by Cliff Richard and The Drifters (later called The Shadows).
They spent their honeymoon at a little guest house on the Isle of Wight, a wedding gift from the owners who they had met at a friends wedding a month or so earlier.

Dad (Arthur) centre and his two brothers Joe (Left) and George with Mum (Marlene)

As you will know from my earlier posts, mum and dad went on to have 7 children and
13 grand-children. Like all marriages it had its ups and downs but there were many many happy times,  had dad not passed away just over 5 months ago, yesterday, would have marked their 55th wedding anniversary, this blog post is a tribute to their long marriage and is dedicated to them both.

Mum and Dad Christmas 2009

Copyright text and colour images Salon Glacé 2014

A Sweet Rebellion- Part 2

In early September 1992 I found myself standing in a queue at my local college about to enrol on a course known then as City & Guilds 706/1 or by it's title: Cookery For The Catering Industry- Part 1;  at 31 I had decided that I wanted to become a chef.

Given my previous history this might have seemed like an irrational choice. I'd all but stopped attending school,  presenting my form teacher with the same forged note whenever I returned following an absence; no one ever said anything. 
In my final year when I should have been studying for my CSEs/O'Levels I would spend my days either in Hyde Park ( on one occasion joined by my sisters who were not such regular truants) or visiting Soho. Drawn to the excitement and atmosphere in this part of London, the smell of cigars and coffee that wafted out of the Italian cafés, I would use my school dinner money to buy myself a cake from one of the Patisseries and then wander the streets until it was time to go home. On Mondays I would sneak into a neighbour's house a couple of doors along from my own; Anna was a hairdresser and Monday was always her day off. Her father was the head chef at a hotel in Victoria,  he taught her how to make the most fabulous 'Chocolate Eclairs' from Choux Paste,  she in turn taught me.

The years went by,  subsequent careers as a hairdresser and ten years as an invoice typist helped to tame my impetuous ways. I married, bought a flat, had two children and spent five years at home looking after them. Now that my eldest was about to start school it was time to stop procrastinating, it was time to get out there and learn about the one thing that I had always been passionate about, I just hadn't realised it; food.

So here I was waiting in line, little did I know that I would find myself in this very same place every September for the next five years.
Learning had become addictive, I also loved the language that was an integral part the Classical French kitchen and restaurant and by chance the one and only qualification (O'Level) gained at school. I went on to study the second part of the original course (2 years), Food and Wine Service (2 years), Patisserie (one year) and finally Larder and Cold Preparations (1 Year). Along the way I also won 'Food and Wine Service Student Of The Year', but to be honest I don't think there was much by way of competition. I was in a class with a bunch of 16 year olds that had left school that summer. Many didn't really want to be there, they weren't interested. They would turn up late or not at all, they were rude and were incapable of concentrating; what I was seeing was in fact the old me. During my time at college and for many years afterwards I worked both front and back of house in a number of areas within the hospitality industry, I absolutely loved it.

Although my business now (Salon Glacé) focuses on cake decorations made from 
sugar, I never actually studied Sugarcraft in any detail apart from a couple of lessons within the Patisserie course. During these classes I discovered that I had a talent for manipulating sugar but knew that the traditional tried and tested methods of 90s cake decorating just weren't for me. I would do things my own way, which through a range of unconventional techniques and use of edible gold lustres and other metallic colours evolved into the unique, distinctive and instantly recognisable style of cake decorating associated with Salon Glacé today.

A Sweet Rebellion- Part 1

I've always been a bit of a bad girl I'm not going to lie. Of mum and dad's seven children I'm probably the one that gave them the most grief growing up. The fact that I ended up working in the Hospitality Industry would have seemed completely unlikely some 30 years earlier given my dislike of school and in particular the cookery lessons or 'Housecraft' as it was known then.

It all came to a head one day when our cookery teacher, Miss Ballinger asked us to bring in ingredients to make something of our own choosing.
Up until then our repertoire had consisted mainly of dishes such as Vegetable Soup, Sausage Plait, Jacket Potato and a variety of Steamed Puddings, all terribly English and a little bland for my Mediterranean palate.

This was the 70s, mum was Spanish, so every other summer we would go over to visit our grandparents in Spain. We would return from the six weeks holiday with our suitcases laden with Chorizo, Jamon Serrano, Turron, Saffron and various other Spanish delicacies; it would take another three decades before some of these ingredients would be making regular appearances at British dinning tables.
The most important thing of all was of course the Olive Oil, at the time only available in the odd Soho delicatessen or in tiny bottles from some chemists. Mum always bought back a massive metal drum of the stuff, it was too precious to go in the plane's hold so she would always carry it on as hand luggage.

Anyway, mum suggested I make Empanadas de Atun, a type of pasty popular all over Spain. Like all pasties, fillings and methods of cooking vary depending on region; some people like to bake them in the oven, while others prefer to shallow fry them in the aforementioned olive oil.
My version would consist of tuna, red peppers, tomatoes, onions and a few peas. Mum prepared the filling for me the night before and put it all in a washed out Nescafé jar with a screw top lid. She gave me another jar with olive oil which when combined with flour would make a simple dough, with enough oil over to shallow fry the pasties.

Arriving at my cookery lesson, happy that I was going to make something that I would actually enjoy taking home afterwards I set about preparing the dough, 
just as mum had shown me.
Within minutes Miss Ballinger was standing next to me asking for an account of what I was planning to make. The method of making the dough, the shallow frying in olive oil, in fact the whole thing proved just a little too Avant Garde for her delicate sensibilities, she declared in her loudest voice, "that is not a proper recipe". 
Thoroughly offended I returned the insult by enquiring whether a salad consisting of "half a tomato balancing on half a hard boiled egg, masquerading as a toadstool" was?. This was something we had prepared in class a few weeks earlier, the tomato had been dotted with salad cream to resemble a toadstool which sat amongst a couple of lettuce leaves presumably like some kind of enchanted forest. By the time I got it home after an hour and a half's bus ride on the number 16 from Maida Vale to Victoria Bus Terminus  it looked anything but enchanting. Naturally we parted company, her happy never to see me again and convinced that I was "beyond help" and me happy that I would never again have to step foot inside a training kitchen... to be continued.