Despite my best intentions, Self-deprecating has remained stagnated in the recent past in part due to pressing concerns, and trying to juggle work and classes and other daily obligations, and a disconnect from my inner self. However, I miss connecting, being introspective, and exploring literary conundrums, op-ed pieces, and my own personal narrative. Hence, I will be trying again amidst my other planned projects on my own domain. I hope that you join me there.
Love,
Saro
During my tumultuous childhood in war torn Beirut, reading was my steadfast friend and salvation and I was forever to be referred to as the voracious bookworm among family and friends. As a precocious reader, I seemed to have discriminated against children’s literature. Perhaps the trials and tribulations of my childhood enabled me to escape in the foray of the unknown, the enigmatic, and thrillers.
As an eight year old, I would take my little courage in my hands and visit our eerie neighbour Marie-Rose to borrow her stash of early editions of Agatha Christie novels. Since then, I have been an ardent fan of classic literature, but just as passionate about British mystery fiction of the yesteryear. Indeed, my particular fondness for Dame Agatha Christie’s pen and the world that she created makes me reminisce about M. Hercule Poirot et amis decades after her demise.
In honour of Agatha Christie’s 120th anniversary, Kerrie’s holding the Agatha Christie Reading Challenge Carnival book tour in which I am participating a bit belatedly among other Christie afficionados. During the summer, I began to read Christie’s books in order of publication, something that has captivated me enormously. Next up for my reading pleasure is the collection of stories Partners in Crime which may induce me to review the entire collection of novels and short stories. In today’s belated post, I am going to delve about the myriad relationships that interconnect the usual suspects in Agatha Christie’s universe.
In general, Christie obsessive readers and fans gravitate their allegiance towards one of her two principal sleuths, the dabber, egg-shaped little Belgian detective Hercule Poirot or the obsequious yet shrewd old spinster Miss Marple whose keen and astute sense of observation is equally impressive, never failing to ignite the admiration of her old friend Sir Henry Clethering, the ex-commissioner of Scotland Yard.
Although the hypochondriac and fastidious Poirot and the quietly engaging Miss Marple never met, one wonders if they would have got on with one another? Would Poirot’s dominance as the greatest living private detective be threatened by this provincial busybody? Despite my ardent fondness for Poirot, reading Miss Marple stories is oddly comforting, particularly on cold Sunday afternoons when I read Miss Marple stories or listen to BBC Audiobooks featuring Joan Hickson, who always seemed almost frightening to me immersed in her austerity. The fictional village of St. Mary Mead is quaint and charming, but to me it is a respite from the hurried life urbanites espouse in nowadays. Perhaps I would have felt at home among the Tuesday Murder club, where Miss Marple and friends would recount yarns of suspense and murder.
Besides le petit Belge, the minor and secondary characters in Hercule Poirot’s entourage pique my curiousity to no end. During the post war years, Poirot’s most faithful sidekick and associate Captain Hastings dutifully transcribed most of their adventures much to the chagrin of the great detective – not because of faux modesty of his exploits, but perhaps Hastings’ sense for flair and vivid imagination enabled him to miss the boat, so to speak. Still, the friendship between the men is an ode to honour, loyalty, and deep feeling. Indeed, Hastings is the closest family that Poirot never had, notwithstanding the enigmatic twin brother Achilles Poirot superbly presented in Christie’s espionage chef d’oeuvre The Big Four.
I came out of my domestic hibernation during the past week only to discover that cooking is an activity that inspires me, after all. As you may deduce, I am fond of baking although my desire to lose weight runs amok when I indulge in homemade cakes and savoury sweets. At first, I wanted to make a carrot cake, but the stock I had in the fridge left a lot to be desired. Therefore, I baked a delicious orange ring cake which is rather reminiscent of the yesteryear and grandma’s moist, homemade cake. For the curious, Tehama’s family recipe is available on Chow.
Orange Ring Cake Ingredients
1 cup sugar
1 cup butter *
3 eggs
1 cup sour cream *
1 3/4 cup sifted flour
1 tsp. baking powder
1 tsp. baking soda
grated rind of one orange
(* please have these ingredients at room temperature)
Cream butter and sugar well. Add egg yolks, sour cream, and orange rind; beat until light and fluffy. Sift flour, baking soda, baking powder into the first mixture. Beat egg whites until stiff, but not dry, and fold into the mixture.
Turn into a well greased and floured bundt pan; bake at 325 degrees for one hour. Remove from oven and let stand 15 minutes. Loosen carefully around edge and turn-out onto a rimmed plate. Deeply and repeatedly pierce the top of the cake with a very thin skewer (eg, like a wooden skewer used for chicken satay) and then spoon the hot orange sauce over the top of the cake slowly. (The hot orange sauce will “leak” from the cake, so make sure it is placed in a rimmed plate.)
Hot Orange Sauce
Juice of 2 oranges (a little less than 1 cup); Juice of 1 lemon (about 2 TBL); 3/4 c. of sugar; dash of salt
Combine ingredients; let sugar first dissolve over low heat, then bring to a rolling boil for 3 to 4 minutes.
(1 orange = 1/2 c. so, if you are in a pinch, 6 oz. of frozen orange concentrate could be substituted)
