Letter to Pamela Vandyke Price

Dear Mrs Pamela Vandyke Price: I should like to tell you of a recurring day-nightmare I have.

Telephone rings. A friend's voice says: "Halle Julian ,I'm bringing Elizabeth David round to lunch with you today, if that's all right. I know how much you admire her, and we happen to be quite near you."

say, "Oh my God."

She says " Look Julian, Elizabeth is perfectly aware how frightened people are of entertaining her. But she really means it when she says she likes the simplest possible food."

"Like what?"

"Well ,for instance, any piocc of pate maison that you happen to have in your fridge. The coarser the better."

"Oh."

"And, I know she loves a tomato salad — with just a simple French dressing and a few fresh basil leaves. Then a completely plain, very light soufflee. That would be all really. Perhaps a few of those little Greek olives, any good cheese,' and freshly ground coffae." "What about wine?"

"Oh just the local wine."

" We don't have local wine in Cricklewcod."

"Then whatever you would he drinking yourself. All right?" Someone told me that when Queen Mary used to invite herself to tea with country-house friends her lady-in-waiting would tell them on the telephone "The Queen would like two thin pieces of brown bread and butter, a slice of plum cake, two cups of china tea and a Turkish cigarette' Excellent idea. Nothing to be nervous about at all. (Well, almost nothing . . .) So I was delighted and relieved when I read your article (May 27), because I've always wanted you to come to lunch and now I'll know exactly what to do. For instance I would have made a frightful opening mistake if you hadn't told me about that large glass of reasonably good dry white wine. (I'm not absolutely sure what I'm going to do with the rest of the bcale . . . too gocd for cocking? I'll probably just drink it myself in the evening.) I promise I won't "show you anything" and I won't tell you how to write your articles. (I wouldn't have anyway, even if you hadn't told me not to. I'm not that stupid.) I've one or two minor worries about the 'simple Sunday lunch.' First, I don't actually grow my own delicious young vegetables, and I feel you might spot the difference if I bought them at the greengrocer. Then there's this question of the two bottles of wine you are almost certain to bring, and which, if you do, you want uncorked at once and drunk with the lunch. If, for instance, you brought some very light, flowery kind of white wine (I wouldn't dare name a name) and I had cooked, say, roast duck, and had got in a wine I thought would go with it . . then?

But I think I'm being imperceptive here, because your 'Sunday lunch' probably implies a joint of beef or lamb and you'd know exactly what to bring. It's a question of us each having to read the other's thoughts. I'll settle for lamb anyway, then you can at least have mint sauce that was growing in the garden a couple of hours before.

And I'm so glad you mentioned you wanted pudding — otherwise you wouldn't have got any. Most of my friends are either on diets. or are alcoholics (which usually means, in my experience, no taste for sweet things. I am slightly in both categories.) Now — what pudding? Simple, of course. After a lot of thought I've decided to give you baked apples and thick cream. That couldn't be wrong, could it? You didn't mention cheese, but I know that nothing from the local supermarket would be right for you. I think I'll get a friend to ring up Margaret Costa, who's always so brilliant at knowing where to . get the best of whatever it is. A simple, homely English cheese. Thank goodness you don't want tea (unlike Queen Mary; and unlike my father, who complained about being given 'a very mean tea — just tea and biscuits — no sandwiches, no little cakes, no big cake". ..) I find tea the most fiddly and tiresome of all meals to make, fattening and unnecessary, yet so many people do invite themselves 'to tea, so as not to impose. It's lovely that you're going to stay on until six. I think I won't ask that gang of hard-drinking friends who are all dying to meet you because I'm not sure I've really got the savoir faire to introduce you all round and then immediately hurry you out to your car, as you would like to me to do. Oh — about the 'something to block' the short drink. With Elizabeth David it would have to be home-toasted almonds or homemade cheese straws . . . I like those ready-bought Japanese rice biscuits that taste of the taste of licking a cut finger. .. Would they do?

Recently I've been suffering from a new day-nightmare I can't get rid of: Quentin Crewe for dinner. I can't see him wanting something 'simple.' On the otherhand . . . Perhaps I could concentrate his attention on the decor . . .

Anyway, thank you again, and very much looking forward to your coming one Sunday.

Yours sincerely Julian Orde (Miss)

38 Lynda! Avenue, London, NW2 14