Giant Puffball and Radiccio

In a garden in the Val d'Orcia this summer I had a plate of chicken livers that reminded me that the simplest, humblest of rural foods can be quite the greatest delicacy.  And, as one seems to compose a map of the world according to what was eaten and where, I shall here recall another meal that took place about fifteen years previously: A salad of chicken livers and other gesiers in a hilltop restaurant somewhere in the Cevennes - as we ate a storm blew up and we sat in wavering candlelight watching as bolts of lightning illuminated the valleys below.

The Tuscan Chicken Livers were served hot on some radiccio leaves, which wilted in the livers' warmth, and with toast and olive oil.  So, when we came across a multitude of Giant Puffballs last week, I decided the buttery truffley marshmallowey richness would do well against bitter red Radiccio leaves.  The Puffball was sliced and fried in butter and garlic, seasoned and placed on a bed of Radiccio.  These were eaten with a homemade Baguette, Butter and a grating of Parmesan.

Spaghetti alla Vongole/Stewkey Blues

I love this picture, which captures the somewhat chaotic cockle lunch we had on Sunday.  Spaghetti alla Vongole is all about timing - timing is not my forte.  But we managed it - Cockles open, hot, Spaghetti still al dente, Samphire perhaps a touch undercooked.

Picnicking at Stiffkey (or Stewkey) on Saturday, a friend came upon a crock of the famed blue cockles, blue because of the mud they live in, and sent me home with a sackful and a recipe.  I have to admit, despite being local to Stiffkey - I have never cockled, and never eaten a cockle.

Much impressed, I set to purging them overnight in sea water with a handful of oats, that they spit the sand out.  Next day I rinsed them.  Then followed (more or less) his recipe:

Soften Shallots and Garlic in a mixture of Butter and Olive Oil.  Add about 300ml of White Wine, tiny touch of Salt and loads of Pepper and heat.  Meanwhile, get the salted water boiling for the Spaghetti.   Once the Spaghetti is in the water and boiling away, toss the Cockles into the wine, put the lid on.  Drain the Spaghetti when not quite cooked.  Shake the Cockle pan, after about 3 or 4 minutes all should be open, remove any that are still closed.  Add the Spaghetti to let it finish cooking in the winey cockley juices.  Meanwhile chop loads of Parsley, or in my case, for lack of Parsley: Spring Onions, Oregano, Rocket, Celery tops, Thyme...

Serve still hot, having removed most of the shells, with blanched Samphire on the side and doused in herbage.

This was so utterly delicious, and to my mind is even better than local Mussels.

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N.B. On the purging front it seems a few hours will suffice.

Blackcurrant and Windfall Jam... and Raw Blackcurrant Jam

Blackcurrant is quite the headiest of summer flavours, almost musky, a touch tart, the scent of the leaves alone risks intoxicating.  I long to make cakes and sorbets and all sorts, but, better still, to capture this flavour in a jar.

The winds brought down the first Windfall Apples, and I used these to add body, texture, pectin and tartness to the Blackcurrant Jam.

2 1/2 lb ripest Blackcurrants
1/2 lb grated Windfalls
3 lb Sugar
1/2 Lemon juice of

Macerate these overnight in a bowl.  Bring to boil in a jam pan, then simmer quickly until reaches setting point.  Pot in sterilised jars.*

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I wondered a moment how to capture the raw Blackcurrant flavour, besides freezing, and remembered a recipe, again from Clare Island, for Raw Blackcurrant Jam.  This recipe uses far less sugar and has to be eaten immediately (or frozen) :

Mash Blackcurrants without crushing pips.  Beat until light.  Add sugar to 1/3 of the weight of the currants.  Beat again until light.  Pot in clean jars.  Use as jam  - not just on toast, but with yoghurt, pancakes, cakes, smoothies, on a spoon...

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*To test for setting point, put a plate in the fridge.  Put a teaspoon of the jam on the cold plate, return to fridge.  Setting point is reached if wrinkles when cool.  Sterilise clean jars by putting in oven at 100 C for 20 minutes.

Honey and Lemon Roast Carrots

Yellow and orange Carrots roast with Honey and Lemon.  Piled on top of large grain wholemeal Couscous and Rocket.  Glamourised with Nasturtiums, Calendula Petals and Feta.  A super Sunday evening feast of allotment pickings.

Pot-Roast Partridge

I have to acknowledge having, these last few days, fed friends on the likes of Steak Tartare and Chips, dishes that are utterly inconsistent with the rustic glow I aim to emanate here.  Admittedly the Tartare was made of the finest of Norfolk cows, adorned with the yellow Yolks of my mother’s hens’ eggs, Nasturtium Capers and Lacto-Fermented Cucumber, the Chips cooked over gas by starlight in the garden.

The Tartare… preceded by raw Jerusalem Artichoke and Fennel salad, preceding Pear Cake made with the beautiful sweet Josephine pears that are best stored till now, and eaten peeled, running with sweet juices… The Tartare therefore, photogenic though it was, was not photographed.

A Pot-Roast Partridge

More in line with the wholesome theme of this blog however were last week’s Pot-Roast Partridges.  Envisage the artful cooking of the meat as in a roast, the vegetables meanwhile cooking slow in the bird’s juices, all in one pot, for a couple of hours, till the meat is falling, melting in the vegetables, the vegetables are tender but not falling apart… This is the simplest and quite my favourite way of cooking game.  (That is besides enrobing it in Cabbage as in this Rabbit and this Partridge.)

A brace of Partridge, kindly given.  Hung four days.  Plucked, Gutted.  Necks and hearts reserved for stock.  Partridge sealed in butter, stuffed with Butter, Onion, Carrots, Bay Leaves.  Swede, Celariac, Potatoes, Carrots chopped into chunks.  The Partridge lain on these in a big pot.  The mere addition of a knob of Butter, Salt, Black Pepper, an inch of water, some Herbs.   This is brought to the boil on the hob them put into the oven, with a lid on, to cook at about 150-180C for two hours.  The birds tender, the vegetables slow-cooked and rife with flavour…  Eat with the juices, a teaspoonful of jelly, and that’s all.

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Save the carcass for stock.  Add to this vegetable peelings, the reserved necks and hearts of the birds.   Simmer covered in water overnight and use the liquid for the base of winter soups.

A Winter's Quiche - Roasted Pumpkin and Onion Tart with Cumin Pastry

On a winter’s night: a Quiche.

Whether to call these creations that are not Quiche Lorraine, Quiches, or as perhaps the French would:  Tartes. Or indeed, as Elizabeth David denominates:  Galettes, Fiouses, Tourtes, Flons, Flans to describe "a flat open tart".  Whether one term demands Lardons, another Gruyère, one Pâte Feuilletée another Pâte Brisée, I’m unsure.  Mrs David seems to suggest that the variations are likely regional. (French Provincial Cooking, Elizabeth David).  

Either way, this one is something of a Roasted Pumpkin and Onion Tart, with Cumin Pastry.

Pastry:  Wholemeal Wheat and Spelt, 2 tsp ground Cumin, 2tsp whole Cumin, 50g Butter, 1 Egg, a splash of cold water.  Left for twenty minutes in the cool, then rolled out.

Meanwhile roasting in the oven;  Pumpkin chunks, added to these, an Onion, cut large, a sprinkling of Paprika.  When just roast, these are laid in the pastry with some cloves of garlic, and Oven-Dried Norfolk Tomatoes, stored in Olive Oil, ‘til the depths of winter.  Need I say ‘tis a joy to have these sweet salty tomatoes at this time of year.

The Egg Mix, on this occasion, was made of: six Eggs, 1 tbsp Yogurt, 100ml Milk, Salt, Pepper.  Poured over the veg until near reaching the rim of the pastry.  The pastry was folded over the top (Is it then a Pie?)

Then cooked in the oven at about 180C for 40 mins until browning and rising.  Eaten with a Winter Slaw and steamed Purple Sprouting Brocolli doused in Lemon Juice.

Winter Slaw:  Red Cabbage, Endive, Lacto-Fermented Cucumber, Lacto-Fermented Radish, Pickled Beetroot.  Vinaigrette:  Apple Juice, Cider Vinegar, Balsamic Vinegar, Olive Oil, Sunflower Oil, grated Ginger, Garlic

I ate this one winter’s eve when a sudden bout of eggs were sent my way.  It’s also makes a nice low key Sunday meal, fitting between pruning of the Apple Trees, the turning of the compost, the planting out of Broad Beans…

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Other seasonal Quiches might include:  Leeks, Sea-Beet, Brassicas, Sorrel, Salsify, Jerusalem Artichokes.  If there are enough Nettles around you could try this Quiche: Turkey Egg and Nettle Quiche. If you fancy something slightly extravagant: Endive, Blue Cheese and Walnut is a delicious combination, especially with a few slices of Pear.  That or Boudin noir, Apple and Chestnut for something sustaining, French and all the more extravagant.

Winter Feasting - Partridge; Beef Stouties; Celeriac Gratin; Woodcock on Toast

I haven’t blogged this last month, but I have certainly been eating.  Winter staples, repeated ad infinitum, which we fail to bore of, and so banal I haven’t photographed them are:  Puy Lentils, seasoned with Herbs, Garlic, a dash of Balsamic, of Soy Sauce, of Red Wine, sometimes Bacon... and Cabbage, cooked long and slow in home-made Apple Cider Vinegar, with Carrots or Onions, Beetroot or Marrow, Caraway or Sage, whatever comes to hand.  These bring repeated joy and are quite my favourite foods of a frugal winter, nourishing and full of simple vitamins, piping hot coursing right to the soul…

There have however been occasions of more flamboyant feasting, and, while I failed to note down the exact recipes, I have some photos, and share them here:

Perdriz aux Choux - Patridge cooked in Cabbage

The Partridge a gift, the recipe was taken directly from Elizabeth David's French Country Cooking.  It is the same recipe I used for the Rabbit in October, and you can find it here.  The only adulterations were the additions of Russet Apples and Jerusalem Artichokes to Mrs David's recipe, to not use Sugar, and to cook it in Apple Cider Vinegar.

Beef Stouties with Flageolet Beans

These come from Charcutier Jules of De-Lish.  The Stouties I believe are Beef and Horseradish Sausages soaked in Stout - he'll no doubt correct me.  I cooked them in Onions and a can of Bitter, added the liquid to some Flageolet Beans (cooked previously with herbs), then plunged the whole lot together and baked it in the oven.  This was eaten with Jerusalem Artichoke and Potato Mash and slow-cooked sweet vinegary Cabbage.

Celeriac and Marrow Gratin

This recipe is originally, I hear, a Hugh Fearnley-Whittingstall creation.  I picked it up on Clare Island, and added the Marrow to fill the pot.  Steam thinly sliced Celeriac and fry off peeled half moons of Marrow.  Layer the lot with Olive Oil, Creme Fraiche, Yogurt, Garlic, Chilli, Salt and Pepper in an ovenproof dish.  Cover and cook slowly for about forty minutes. At the last minute top with Curd or similar Fresh Cheese and place under the grill.

This is very rich and doesn't really need an accompaniment - some bread perhaps to mop it up, or a bowl of rice.

Woodcock on Toast with Pickled Crabapples

Le Piece de Resistance - I have always thought Woodcock on Toast quite the sexiest rustic dish, though, need I say, it is utterly inappropriate for the squeamish.  The bird is cooked with all its innards minus the gizzard (remove using your little finger once plucked), its beak spiked through the body, holding the legs together and a piece of bacon over the breast.  A mere eight to twenty minutes, if that, then the Bacon is removed, the guts scraped out, fried with the chopped Bacon, Butter and Port, Salt and Pepper, then spread on toast.  The Woodcock is sat beside, on a separate piece of Toast.

The whole bird is eaten and the ritual approaches that of the Ortolan Bunting.  It is an utter dream, the flavours are rich, indeed, exquisite.   Despite being miniscule, the dish is very filling, often served as  a starter I would suggest this as a main, perhaps with something sharp and light aterwards to cut through the heavenly richness.  Serve with a deep peppery and robust Red Wine.  Here we ate it with the Pickled Crabapples, which stood up superbly and smartly complemented the rich flavours of the bird.

I know a boy who bakes...

I know a boy who bakes...

His technique honed over many a long Georgian winter

Strong Organic White Flour; Easy-blend Yeast;
Rock Salt; Table Salt; Demerara Sugar

He adds water, at body temperature to the dry mix...

Then kneads the dough:

Kneaded, he adds some water, again wetting the dough...

And, while we drink Coffee, rises it warm

The dough, risen to more than double its original size,

is scooped from the bowl, cut into three,

briefly kneaded by folding,

placed on a baking tray, 

 

slashed

...and proven a second time

...while we hunt for Mushrooms to adorn our breakfast

On our return, the bread is baked, left a moment to cool,

then eaten with Baked Eggs and Ham, a plate of Mushrooms,
a Sunday morning...

Mutton and Quince Tagine

Partly inspired, I have to admit, by Hugh FW’s Lamb and Quince Salad, which featured in The Guardian a fortnight ago, I endeavoured last week to concoct a Mutton and Quince Tajine.

It was a feast of medieval charm.  The meat falling off the shoulder of Mutton, the Quince a fragrant, if slightly tart companion to the meat.  Spicing the dish Morroccan style gave it an edge, cutting through ingredients that might otherwise have verged on stodgy.

The recipe I concocted was as follows:

Marinade

Toast 1 tbsp Cumin Seed, 1 tbsp Coriander Seed, crush.  Chop 2 Chillis.  Slice 1 Lemon.  Crush and peel 1 head of Garlic with the back of a knife.  Mix the lot in Olive Oil, adding a sprinkle of Salt, lots of Black Pepper, 1 tsp Paprika.  Rub into the shoulder of Mutton and leave to marinade for two to three hours.

Mutton in Marinade

Meanwhile cut 1 large Quince into 8 slices.  Poach very gently in water with a sprig of Rosemary, 2 tbsp of Honey for about 20 minutes.  (Normally I wouldn’t cook the veg prior to placing it in the Tagine, but Quince being such a stubborn fruit, I decided to do so.)  Remove Quince, saving liquid and mix it into Marinade with Mutton.

While these are marinating prepare the Bread Dough

I use a Nigella recipe, which I adapt only slightly.  500g White Flour (mixture Strong White and French) sprinkled with 1tsp Yeast.  Mix.  Mix 2 tbsp Yogurt with 2 tbsp Olive Oil and add a touch of warm water.  Add this to Flour mix, adding more warm water, stirring with a wooden spoon into a dough.  Knead gently.  Leave ten minutes.  Knead again.  Rise in a warm place covered in a plastic bag.

Tagine

A couple of hours before eating layer 1 large Onion, or in my case several Torpedo Shallots, in the bottom of the Tagine.  Follow this with some large slices of Pumpkin.  Seal the shoulder of Mutton.  If your Tagine is not large enough cut part of the meat off to bake separately.   Place the Quince and Mutton in the Tagine with a handful of Olives and Chillies.  Pour on the remainder of the Marinade and bring to heat.  Once the Tagine is hot, pour on the liquid saved from the Quince, adding more water if necessary to bring to reach the edges of the Tagine base.   Lid, bring to the boil, then simmer very slowly for one to two hours.

Bread

The bread should be punched down, salted one hour before eating.  It is stretched on an oiled baking tray in a warm place to prove for twenty minutes.  Then cooked at heat for 20-40 minutes until browning and bubbling.  Wrap in a tea-towel when removing from the oven to keep the crust soft.

Mutton and Quince Tagine for dinner

Serve the Tagine with Bread, a simple Cucumber Yogurt.  If necessary pour off some of the juice from the Tagine at the last minute and reduce with Rosemary to make a jus.  Serve baking hot, don’t be afraid to eat with the hands, and extra Harissa.

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The Following day

A Mutton and Chilli Sandwich in Flatbread, leftovers were packed up for lunch-break working at the bookshop.

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For other Quince Recipes, see my Pheasant Roast with Autumn Fruits and my Quince Brandy.  For another Tagine see:  Lamb and Fig Tagine. 

Got a Rabbit ... Lapin aux choux

Joy that is the coming of winter, lengthy, frosty nights spent hunkered down by the fire.  Autumn, ‘midst forays for wood, mulching of the garden or hanging heavy curtains has obliged late night fireside feasts…and this weekend it was themed: Rabbit.

For a mere fistful of coins, P & S Butchers in Holt – one reputed for its panoply of wild bird and beast – handed over a large Wild Rabbit, skinned, gutted and jointed and with that a slip of Pork Belly…

Unsure of how then to cook the creature, Amelia pronouncing Rabbit Satay to be quite the best manner in which to eat a rabbit, I shied once again from the fusional towards the provincial. Keen to use Cabbage and in my thoughts the eternal Pot au Feu, staple of the French home, I came across a recipe for Partridge in Elizabeth David’s French Country Cooking: Perdrix au choux, which proved the source of inspiration.

The recipe reads thus:

Brown the birds in Bacon fat; blanch the cabbages in boiling water for 7 or 8 minutes; drain them carefully, cut out the stalks and the hard inner part.  Cut the cabbages in fine slices and put a layer at the bottom of a large earthenwear pot; on top put the bacon, cut in large slices, the carrots, the sausages and the partridges; season with salt, pepper, a few juniper berries, 2 or 3 cloves of garlic, 2 lumps of sugar, nutmeg and a little grated lemon peel.

Cover with the rest of the cabbage, moisten with stock to half way up the cabbage, cover the casserole and cook in a very slow oven for 4 or 5 hours.

Cabbage layer topped with veg, bacon etc

My rabbit variation went thus:

Briefly sauté chunks of Pork Belly with Shallots in pan.  Remove.  Deglaze with Red Wine.  Brown rabbit.  Remove.  Sauté slices of Apple, Sage Leaves and whole cloves of Garlic in same pan, adding butter.  Meanwhile blanch Cabbage, retaining water, and chop as above.  Layer half the Cabbage in bottom of coverable oven dish.  Then layer on Pork, Shallots, Apples, Sage, Garlic, Rosemary, Thyme ,half Carrots, followed by Rabbit. Cover the lot with remaining Cabbage.  Mix 50ml Balsamic Vinegar, 50ml Cider Vinegar, 50ml Apple Juice/Cider, 50ml Red Wine, Pour over dish, topping to half way with Cabbage Water, season with Black Pepper.

Cook covered at 150C for about 3 hours, topping up with liquid and basting as necessary.

...and browned Rabbit

...finally, smothered with cabbage.

The ultimate in rustic fireside feasting, a near emulation of Russian peasantdom in its quintessential rurality.  Served as it was with a touch of Wholegrain Mustard, the Rabbit was delicious, if a touch dry, the vegetables a dream.   Perhaps placing the Rabbit lower in the pan, stacking it more and even stuffing the Saddle with fruit and veg that it remain moist, or as it is again a lean meat, enrobing it in Bacon as we did the Pheasant, would keep it tender.  On Sunday we cooked it for a further two hours, by which time the vegetables were of a sweetness near’ caramel, the rabbit meat falling from the bones, served with baked potatoes and a jus made of the Rabbit juices, Rosemary, Garlic, Red Wine…

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The following day:
Luncheon of Pasta and Rabbit - serve, terribly continental, with the jus, the remaining veg and rabbit on a bowl of  hot pasta.

A Pheasant - Roadkill roast wi' Autumn Fruits

The roads again amok with Pheasants and the like, driving in the country at this time of year is akin to running the gauntlet, obliging severe and intrepid manoeuvring to avoid the creatures.  Last week however, I hit one.  And, as etiquette prevails, fast wrung its neck.  Unwilling to not eat a bird I had unwittingly killed, I took it home.

Sometime, and yet I haven’t the courage this morning, I shall write a treatise detailing my views on wild and reared meat… Here instead, let me simply say, I had never before eaten roadkill pheasant. 

I hung the hen pheasant in the shed for three days.  On Sunday, returned to the cottage and, as dark fell, put a pot of Lentils on the stove, plucked the bird.  I was lucky to have hit it in the neck/head region as the body was undamaged, the bird clean.

Plucking a Pheasant

On Preparing a Pheasant:

Remove all the feathers, pulling in the direction they grow so as not to tear the skin.  Then take off the Feet and the Head, discard, leaving the Neck intact.  Next remove as much length as possible of the Neck – this is a tasty piece of meat ideal for a stock, a stew or soup.  The Crop where the Pheasant momentarily holds its food (often corn) can be slipped out, the Windpipe likewise extracted from the neck end of the Pheasant.  Any yellow lumps of gathered fat should also be removed as these are not pleasant to eat.  The base of the Pheasant is then slit open.  Plunge a hand in and drag out the insides, of this the edible parts are: the Heart, the Liver, the outer layer of the Gizzard. The Gizzard is a delicious Muscle, which to be eaten has to be peeled off the inner part of the muscle where food is ground.   On one occasion, having gutted and spatchcocked a dozen Pheasant for a New Year’s party, I gathered all the Gizzards and prepared them in a Goose Fat Confit as the French might Gésiers de Canard.  These would then be served hot on Salad leaves with Croutes and Goat’s Cheese for a Provençal feel.

Prepared, the Pheasant was stuffed with chopped Apples, Onion, and Quince.  A knob of Butter, some Garlic Cloves, a bunch of Thyme.  Pheasant is a lean meat with very little of its own protective/ cooking fat, so it was covered in Bacon.  A sudden moment of inspiration led us to fill the tray with chunks of Pumpkin, Swede, Marrow, Parsnip, and more Fruit.  The lot was doused in Apple Juice, more Butter, Salt and Pepper and loads of Rosemary.  Put in the oven about 200C for roughly 30 mins, then 150C for 20 or so until cooked. Rested for ten before serving.

Despite the chaotic end to its life, the bird was beautifully tender, no doubt the Fruit and layers of Bacon kept it thus.  Served on a bed of Puy Lentils with the apple-juice-roasted fruits and veg, the meal was a joy, part medieval banquet part reminiscent of the provincial food of French Wayside Inns.

Part-Cured Pig with Greengages and Apples

Unfazed by a pheasant, by gizzards or liver, I have to admit to being slightly nervous about cooking cuts of meat, particularly when it comes to reared livestock: Pig, Sheep, Cow.  But De-Lish, the North-Norfolk Coast charcutier was sporting some pics of shopmade Petit Salé, and, when I saw it in life, I couldn’t resist.  I admitted my ignorance and the charcutier advised:  Wash, rinse, wash again.  Leave overnight in clean water.  Bake.  

Qu’est-ce qu’un Petit Salé?  Whence the term originates I know not, but I imagine it would be better literally translated as a little bit salted, than, as I would be tempted: small salted thing.  In English one might call it Salt Pork, or, as in a book I am currently reviewing: Simple French Cooking for English Homes (republished by Quadrille), Pickled Pork.  I quite like to think of it as Part-Cured Pig, as, I assume, were it fully cured it wouldn’t need to be cooked.

Here’s Alexandre Dumas’ recipe for Petit Salé, in one lengthy but eloquent sentence from Le grand dictionnaire de cuisine:

Pour faire le petit salé, vous coupez des poitrines de cochons en morceaux ; frottez-les de sel fin comme le lard, ajoutez-y un peu de salpêtre, arrangez-les au fur et à mesure les uns après les autres dans un pot, ayez soin de les bien fouler pour éviter qu’elle ne prennent le goût d’évent ; bouchez les vides que pourra laisser le sel, recouvrez le vas d’un linge blanc et fermez le plus hermétiquement possible et servez-vous au bout de huit ou dix jours pour mettre sur des choux ou sur ce que vous voudrez.

Otherwise, Monsieur le Charcutier suggested looking to Jane Grigson and Lindy Wildsmith for recipes.  I would imagine these are slightly more adventurous than Duras’ simplistic version above.

 Washing petit salé

So, simply:  Wash, rinse, wash. Leave overnight in clean water.  The following day however, I did get adventurous, and laid the piece of meat on a bed of Greengages and Chopped Apples, whole cloves of Garlic a knob of Butter, salt and some Red Onion before baking it at 180C for about half an hour, until cooked.  Deep pink, with a ham-like consistency, lovely and flavoured, surprisingly sweet and not too salty.  

Were I to do it again, I would sweat the onions and garlic first, and lay the Greengages etc on a bed of buttered onions.  I ate it as it was with only a spoonful of Pickled Gooseberries, to cut through any fat and aggrandize the medieval theme.

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Next I’ll have to attempt that Petit Salé m’self…

Plum Chutney, worth more than a song...

Sunday morning, lain in bed, nursing toothache with an array of Cloves, Whisky, Ice-cubes, Painkillers, anything to hand… and quite draped in the fumes of vinegar rising from the kitchen.

I will sing and sing again for a Chutney, that Anglo-Indian concoction, accompaniment to many a meal.  Yet, Amelia’s Plum Chutney deserves more than a song:  

Rich, magenta, thick with Plumchunks, it somehow retains an almost rawfruit texture whilst being quite the most gloopy Chutney one could dream of.  Smother it on cheese, offer to friends at breakfast, spread on toast when alone or slather over rich meats for a medieval feel… 

She produced a remaining jar in Spring and we’d quite finished it in a day… so, this year, nudging over a box of Early Rivers Plums.  I left her too it:

Stone and halve or quarter 1.5 kilos Plums.  Chop three Apples and Two Onions.  Place the lot in a Jam Pan with a couple of Star Anise, a stick of Cinnamon, Peppercorns and coarse Salt.  Add 750ml Cider-Vinegar and 500g Raw Cane (or Demerara) Sugar.  Bring, stirring, to the boil, then simmer steadily for several hours, stirring to prevent sticking.  The chutney is ready when dark and sludgy, a wooden spoon will stand-up in it unaided.  Pot in sterilised jars and leave at least a month to mature.

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For other Chutney and Pickle recipes and posts see: Chutneys n Pickles