Cooking Yorkshire Pudding at 1,300 Feet Above Sea Level: An English immigrant's story, by Mary Cavill

Mary F. Cavill describes the challenges of baking and becoming 'accustomed to different food and drinks' after immigrating to Edmonton from England. She recalls her 'first encounter with a wiener' while making her first visit to an Alberta farm at harvest

After arriving in Edmonton from England in 1957, my husband, our two children and I had many adjustments to make in many different areas of our lives. We had always lived by the coast, so getting used to life at 1,300 feet above sea level generated some problems.


The dryness caused us all to be constantly thirsty. We were used to tap water that had been filtered through chalk and although it was hard, it had a clean, refreshing taste. (The White Cliffs of Dover are an example of the soil conditions in Kent.) The Edmonton water was quite different. We referred to it as funny tasting, and it did not make a good cup of tea. We discovered reaching boiling point took longer at this high level, so I had to be aware of different cooking times. Many recipes needed adjustment, and I had quite a few failures before recognizing the problem. Another concern with baking was with flour. In England, flour was self-raising which meant no raising agent had to be added. It was only after many disastrous efforts that I discovered that I would have to add these raising agents to flour to obtain good results.


We had been in Edmonton for a short time when we were invited to visit a farm in Ferintosh for a long weekend. This was indeed exciting as we hadn't been outside Edmonton since our arrival. The farmhouse was completely isolated on what appeared to be the end of the world. I had never seen such an expanse of flat land just stretching forever and ever into the distance. I felt isolated. I felt the need to wrap the property around me in some way to feel comfortable. But our host was exclaiming his love of the land and of farming in general, so I just made polite exclamations of approval.


We discovered that visiting a farm in the late summer is not for socializing. There were chores, many chores. My husband and the children went off into nowhere to help with harvesting vegetables, and I stayed behind to help in the kitchen. I agreed to tackle the vegetables. That was a mistake. I had never before had to cope with such heaps of potatoes, carrots, beans, peas and such. I asked why so much food was needed and was told that other farmers would be dropping in for lunch as they too were helping somewhere outside. So, I washed, peeled, scraped and chopped nonstop, all the while chatting to Marguerite, who was an Edmonton elementary school teacher who loved spending the summer on the farm.


Arrangements had been made to take us to a wiener roast the next evening. I had no idea what this was, other than a meal of some sort. We drove to a nearby lake where barbeques were set up and many people ready to make us welcome. This was my first encounter with a wiener. Our two children were most impressed with this new food and were soon happily munching away. Not I. A similar treat in England was a cooked, highly spiced sausage enclosed in a long, crusty roll-tasty and satisfying. Then there was corn on the cob. Masses of it. I didn't realize that this was for eating because at home we fed corn to the pigs. When I saw people consuming what looked like rows of yellow teeth dripping with butter, I was amazed and did not choose to try any. It became a favorite with the rest of my family, though.


It really does take a while to become accustomed to different food and drinks. Fish and chips at home were very different from those here in Edmonton in the middle 1950s. We had access to fish straight from the ocean, which tasted very different from the frozen stuff available here at that time. Chips were called chips, not French fries. They were crisp and tasty with a dash of brown vinegar to bring out the flavour.


I had not had a tossed salad until I came to Canada. Salad was the main dish offered at high tea in England. Each vegetable was served separately on a large, oval plate. Lettuce leaves formed the base of the salad. Tomatoes were sliced and arranged around the rim, followed by rings of onions, thinly sliced cucumber, celery, radishes and others. The space in the centre was filled with hard-boiled, sliced eggs and ham. The finished plate was a work of art.


The Sunday dinner I remember as a child was usually roast beef, roast potatoes, many vegetables, Yorkshire pudding, and thick brown gravy. I continued to serve this treat after we arrived in Canada, but it took a lot of experimenting until I could produce a Yorkshire pudding, as it should be. There was the flour problem, and the longer time to reach the correct temperature. I finally managed to achieve the highly risen, crisp, light dish so popular with most British folk. But there was and is one aspect of cutting beef that I cannot accept to this day. My father made a ritual of slicing the beef at the table. He sharpened the carving knife to a thin cutting edge and proceeded to slice the beef very thinly. This was important. The thinner the slice, the better. This is how I still like it. I don't want big lumps of beef on my plate-very unappetizing. I also prefer thinly sliced bread for my sandwiches.


While on the subject of food, I remember an embarrassing situation in a bakery soon after our arrival here. I had been used to buying bread in the size I wanted, so when I asked the lady behind the counter for a large and a small, please she looked at me in astonishment. I repeated my request. She finally asked me what I wanted. I told her I wanted a large loaf and a small one. She then explained that her loaves were all one size. I was amazed that there was no choice.


So now, forty-five years later I am still living in Edmonton. I'm used to tossed salads, and can buy really good fish and chips locally. I don't like refrigerated fruit. I prefer the taste of warm juicy strawberries, for example, and always have a bowl of fresh fruit on the counter, not in the fridge. I still like all meat to be thinly sliced, and at times have been known to enjoy a hamburger. I don't like ice cubes in soft drinks or juice, preferring not to have the liquid diluted with melting ice. I enjoy home made pizzas and good Chinese food. All in all, I have adjusted well to the differences in both food and drink in Edmonton, and when I have friends and relatives from Britain I try to offer them as much variety as possible, though a really good cup of tea is still a problem.