Full disclosure: I don’t bake. I made a cake once. Once. It had a slope vaguely reminiscent of Bob Hope’s profile. I had to buy little plastic trees and skiers to make it look intentional. Most of the time, I buy dessert — what the English call “pudding.” Which brings up the subject of this post. “Dessert” for me is a cheese course.

I may also serve cheese as an appetizer when we are seated in the bar. I usually put out a wedge on my marble serving square, accompany it with a few water crackers, and lay out the cheese knife (or several if there are more than one variety being offered.)

“What? Cheese knife you say?”

Yes, I have cheese knives, a broad bladed thing with the top third of the blade sharpened to the tip, smaller curved and forked numbers and equally small “spreaders.”

And therein lies the confusion for some. How does one cut oneself a serving? First of all, feel free to take a sample of each. But do so by cutting thin wedges from the larger wedge of cheese — a brie or Camembert for example. That leaves an …err… appetizing portion left for the next guest. And be sure to take some of the rind (unless it is wax or paper covered or something.) It is usually very tasty. If faced with a rindless block of cheese (perhaps a cheddar) you may slice straight across. If faced with more than one choice, please use the knife associated with each. That way you don’t wind up with extraneous Bleu d’Auvergne tastes in your fresh goat cheese. And neither does the next guy.

Transfer the slice to your cracker using the knife and eat the cracker with your fingers.

If you are being served at table, you may put a serving of each cheese you select onto your plate and then eat using your knife and fork. If you are given one of those specialty cheese knives with the forked end, the right way to use it is to cut the cheese using the center of the blade, turn the knife and spear the piece with the tines and eat directly from the knife. I doubt that you will ever be faced with having to do this.

And for the record, the port is placed before the host, who serves the guest at his right, then himself and passes the port to the left. The bottle is passed until the port returns to the head of the table. Do not forget to pass the port.

(Soup spoons are left on the saucer/plate under the bowl when you are finished — not in the bowl itself. This has been a public service announcement.)

Things nautical are perennially stylish. Or at least they are never really fashionable, and so, don’t go out of fashion. One of the best pieces of kit out there is the fisherman’s sweater, either an Irish Aran Sweater, or a Norwegian number like that worn by Hem, in the photo above. Ruggedly handsome, they are also built to take the weather.

Why write about a bulky, handmade sweater today? I’ve just returned from our Irish festival (no, I’m not, except for one day a year when Guinness is in plentiful supply.) Yesterday, the temperatures soared to 80ºF. Today we are expected to top out at a brisk 54 sometime around 3 PM. Which was as good an excuse as any to lug out the cable-stitched turtleneck, Donegal tweed flat cap and Barbour jacket.

The classic French-vanilla coloured sweaters (which are really the invention of the early part of the 20th century when modern production methods were introduced in the Aran Islands) work well with jeans or brown and cream herringbone tweed trousers. Since they are a little bit oily — if you get a real one — they will shed some dew (although Guinness can leave a bit of a stain and at any rate, you will eventually wind up smeeling a bit like wet sheep…) and allow you to stay toasty, dry and well-dressed.

And they’re not only for men. A particularly fashionable young woman I knew wore one to our croquet party with winter white trousers. While the rest of us shivered in our linens and cotton tennis sweaters, she remained unaffected by the drizzle and damp. Layer a technical fabric, long-sleeved t-shirt underneath and breeze through the next, too-early-in-the-spring, garden party.

The darker varieties always work well with jeans or cords, with blue being the most versatile colour in my opinion. I have worn mine with darker greenish brown whip-cord trousers (or olive wide-wale corduroys) and a brown leather jacket to great effect. With a dark brown trilby and a good pair of ankle boots, you are ready for travel and dinner at a casual bistro upon arrival. Or a $5 bowl of shepherd’s pie and an equally expensive plastic cup of Guinness at the street festival. Now I really know why Irish eyes are smilin’.

Forgive the title of this post, but spring fever has given way to the real thing… spring, that is, and I’m feeling alternately sappy and full of beans.

Yes, spring has officially sprung here in Central Virginia and our two weeks of perfect weather is about to come upon us. No humidity, pleasant temperatures, fresh(er) produce… and yet another reason to wine and dine al fresco.

During my school days, my little band of misfits and miscreants and I would anxiously await these days, pushing the envelope to include any with temperatures above, say… 55ºF. At the first hint of good weather we would sprint to a former gas station, stake out a wooden picnic table in the sun and order the first of many, many … many libations. For spring always brought with it a great thirst for all things. As the sun set, we would pull on jackets, take off our sunglasses, order some bar food and keep at it for as long as the money held out. Do you ever want the first days of spring to end?

So today’s easy and elegant assignment is to have at least one glass outside after work, sunglasses mandatory until dusk. Then light a luminary, or tealight, Chinese paper lantern or hurricane lamp, peel a steamed shrimp, serve the nachos and toast the coming of the good weather. Only do it with something better than we did twenty years ago.

Happy Weekend.

(Spiff, Scratch, Timmy-O, Al, Thomas, Tommy, Fitz, Q and even Asia Minor, this one’s for you– Chin, Chin!)