Wednesday, 9 January 2008
I've never really fancied making Quiche Lorraine. The name just puts me off. It sounds so naff, so seventies, so Abigail's Party. I can just see it sitting there on the buffet table at a summer luncheon, right next to Salad Brian and Tart Janice. And yes, I know Lorraine is a region of France but the name just conjures up images of cockney actress Lorraine Chase or Scottish sofa hogger Lorraine Kelly, neither of whom seem remotely Gallic to me.
Being of an age when many of my peers are giving birth (well the female ones at least), the subject of names comes up fairly often. The resurgence of traditional names is evident and in a few years time teachers are sure to be battling to control classrooms of rowdy Oscars, Archies, and Jacks. I know many prospective parents who wander around graveyards looking for inspiration from Victorian headstones where Ethels, Ernests, and Elizas lie beneath layers of creeping ivy.
It's only a matter of time then before names fashionable in the 40's are cool again. Alan and Kenneth will once again have their day in the spotlight and in a few years MC Ronald may well be the hottest hip hop act on the planet. It's not inconceivable to think that a future girl band might consist of Maureen, Barbara, Deborah, Patricia, and Linda. Maureen will probably be the slutty one married to a footballer, Linda the ginger one that no one fancies.
All of which brings me back to Lorraine, and in particular the Quiche Lorraine that I made today at school. It was really a test of our shortcust pastry technique and I'm happy it passed with flying colours. I'm even happier to report it tasted nothing like Lorraine Kelly.