Title: Mary Poppins in the Kitchen: A Cookery Book with a Story.
Author: P.L. Travers.
Genre: Fiction, literature, non-fiction, children's lit, sequels, cook-book.
Publication Date: 1975.
Summary: A unique glimpse at the famous Poppins cast, as the spit-spot English nanny and the Banks children take over the kitchen for a week. With the help of familiar visitors like the Bird Woman, Admiral Boom, and Mr. and Mrs. Turvy, Mary Poppins teaches her irrepressible young charges the basics of cooking, from A to Z. Also functions as a cook-book, including 30 different recipes.
My rating: 7.5/10.
♥ "..Tomorrow we will start.”
“But you’re always telling us, Mary Poppins, that tomorrow never comes.”
“Well, call it Monday,” said Mary Poppins. “For Monday never fails to come."
♥ “There!” she said. “Now, all we need is some golden stars, and I happen to have some with me.” And she proceeded to fish from an inner pocket a handful of paper stars.
“You’ll save them, won’t you?” she asked the children, with an eager look in her eyes.
“Of course we will,” said Jane and Michael, for they knew from old experience that Mrs. Corry’s golden stars had a special kind of magic. Some night, if they looked from the nursery window, they would see her perched on a tall ladder, pasting the stars on the sky, with the help of Mary Poppins.
♥ "..Well, Mary Poppins, all alone? What are you having for dinner today?”
“Well, yesterday it was roast beef. So today it has to be shepherd’s pie.”
“Of course it does,” said Admiral Boom. “Shepherd’s pie always comes after roast beef. It uses up the remains."
♥ At these words everybody turned. And there stood a small chubby old man in a frock coat and baggy trousers and a long white beard down to his waist.
“Cousin Fred!” exclaimed Mary Poppins.
“Mr. Twigley!” the children cried.
“The front door was open, Mary, my dear, and a young man was sleeping on the doormat. So I just stepped over him and came in.”
“Will you get any wishes today?” asked Michael.
“Oh, dear me, no! They only happen on the first New Moon after the Second Wet Sunday after the Third of May. I can’t just wish the patties cooked. But I’ll help wherever I can.” Mr. Twigley took up a fork, ran his fingers lightly across it, and a stave of music sounded.
♥ And there they all were, singing and cooking, with Mr. Twigley making music with everything he touched. He struck two saucepan lids together and made them sound like cymbals. He took the egg whisk and plucked the wire, and there was a small guitar. He thumped on the pie dish with his fists till it gave forth a roll of drums. He made knives sound like violins and soup spoons like xylophones. And when the beef patties were ready and the pudding came brown and crisp from the oven, they arrived together on the table with a lordly blare of a trumpet blown through a stalk of celery.
♥ Mr. Twigley plucked a blade of grass and ran it lightly over his lips till it sounded like an English horn.
“Mr. Twigley,” demanded Michael. “Has everything got its own true music?”
“Everything,” answered Mr. Twigley.
“And everybody?” Jane inquired.
“Everybody,” he said.
♥ “But you’ll stay to dinner, ma’am, surely?” Mary Poppins, her hands full of bananas, oranges, apples, and pears, made a gesture of invitation. “Jane and Michael are going to make a fruit salad.”
“No, no. I must be on my way. My other birdies are waiting. You’ve got your birds to feed. I’ve got mine.”
The Bird Woman, under a cloud of wings, straightened her hat and took up her basket.
♥ “I’m excited,” said Michael as he dried the last of the lettuce leaves, wrapped them in a fresh napkin, and put them into the icebox. “What time will they arrive, Mary Poppins?”
“The letter said at one o’clock. And good cooks are never excited, Michael. It spoils what they are cooking.”