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…

Lamb and Fig Tagine - and Moroccan meanders

I haven't the camera to persuade you of the sumptuous delight that was last night's Lamb and Fig Tagine...She writes, swallowing down the last leftovers in a bout of shovelling, smiling, chop-licking.  But picture: sweet nuggets of Lamb, slow cooked in North African spices with whole homegrown Figs, Patisson and Squash... the lot layered in a ceramic Tagine in an expression of artistic diligence and decadence...Oh, had I but the photo to share.

Instead, let me share the Recipe.

I learnt to make Tagine having found myself living in a dustblown village on the edge of the Moroccan Sahara five, perhaps more, years ago.  Tagine was a staple, a simple dish, prepared by roughly chopping a few veg, placing them in the Tagine with Water, Cumin, Paprika and Olive Oil, and then leaving sat on the stove slowly cooking.  Effortless, delicious.  On grander occasions, a chunk of meat, often Lamb or Chicken was added, some Fruits or Olives.  The lesser members attending the feast would eat the vegetables and the guest of honour, a well-married aunt perhaps, would take the meat, leaving a smidgen for the others.  We ate with our hands of one bowl.  We broke one bread.  Memories are now vague, but, as often when travelling, the food remains, the flavours, the tastes and textures, and the communal act of sharing a meal with the people of that land.  Morocco draws memoryscapes heavy with rasping sweet Mint teas; Rose and Orange scented Sweetmeats; Oases where Pomegranates grow; Dates ripe, sweet and large as your fist; Rooves lain with Apricots sundrying... Those, Polenta bread at dawn eaten dripping with Honey and steaming milky Coffee.  Or, Loubia a streetfood not unlike classy baked beans, Round baked breads dipped into endless bowls of Harira ( a lentilly/chick-pea Soup mad with beef or Lamb or... Thick and Yellow and sustaining); on the coast Sardines fresh grilled.  I have no memory of eating Couscous, nor did I ever try Bastilla (sweet Pigeon Pie) 'til quite recently in Norfolk, but, need I say, falling deeper into reveries, the Hashish sticky and black as Opium, the Opium...
Somehow I hefted a ceramic Moroccan Tagine all the way back overland to Norfolk...

So, the recipe for a basic Tagine:

Chop onions in large rings, place on base of Tagine with Olive Oil, Paprika and Whole Cumin.  Heat without the lid.  Meanwhile seal the meat.  Then layer Meat, Veg (keep large), Legumes, Fruit, Nuts, Olives, whole Cloves of Garlic, whole Chillies artistically - a sort of Food-Mandala in the dish.  Placing the veg that need more cooking lower down, those that need less higher.  Top with a few half-Lemons, more Chillies, fill to rim with water,adding salt, spices, Harissa, Chermoula, and cook lidded for an hour to an hour and a half, until meat cooked, veg tender but not fallen to pieces, juice full of flavour.  I tend to serve with Couscous or a large Flatbread (actually Nigella's recipe from Domestic Goddess), perhaps some Yogurt and extra Harissa.

For Lamb and Fig Tagine I used: Onion, Garlic, Shallots, Florence Fennel, Pumpkin, Patisson, Courgette, Fresh Figs, Black Olives and Fresh Chillies.  Paprika, Cumin, Ground Ginger, Harissa and Ras-el-hanout.

Otherwise, root veg are great in Tagines, Cinnamon and Apricots are nice additions, as is Pheasant or Chick Peas.  Once again, when you have the basics, you can put in what you best like.

Saucy additions to  Tagines come in the form of:

Chermoula (Sauce for tipping on your Tagine and for cooking Morroccan style fishes, meats etc)
2 Cloves Garlic, Salt, Chilli Powder, ground Cumin, Pepper, Fresh Coriander and Flat Leaf Parsley, Juice of 2 Lemons, 1 tsp Vinegar, 1 Tbsp oil.  

Crush Garlic and Spices to a paste in a Pestle and Mortar.  Mix with rest of ingredients.  Heat gently to release aromas, do not boil.

(Recipe from a great, seemingly authentic Moroccan Cook Book A Taste of Morocco, published Hachette)

Harissa
There are a million recipes, my favourite a basic blend of Olive Oil, Whole Cumin, Crushed Garlic, Coarse Salt and Loads of crushed Chilli.
But otherwise Roast Garlic, Red Peppers, Chilli, and blend with Olive Oil and ground Cumin.

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I had meant to combine this post with recipe and pics of part-cured pig with apple and greengages, but it'll have to wait...

Likewise, photos to be posted someday soon.

Hedgerow Syrup and A Line Made by Walking

A chesty cold and sore throat on waking took me to the fields for some dawn air and to gather some of those Elderberries hanging bulbous, big as Blackcurrants, before the birds did.  Wellybooted over pyjamas - for the Elder grows in patches of nettles high as my hips - I stepped out.  The fields dewladen, my steps marked the grass invoking Richard Long's beautiful artwork - A Line Made by Walking.

A Line Made by Walking - Richard Long

The hedgerows brimming with fruits, as well as the Elderberries, I grabbed handfuls of Haws and Rosehips, Blackberries and Wild Apples... a few Crabapples, some wild Plums all to go in the syruppy concoction.  Chopped up the hard fruit, just covered with water in a pan and brought to simmer, then adding the soft fruits (remove the elderberries from their very bitter and cyanide rich stalks using a fork).  Pummel the lot adding a few Cloves, some grated Ginger and half a stick of Cinnamon.   Simmer gently for up to an hour, so the liquid is rich gloopy purple.

Strain for several hours or overnight through muslin.  Then, adding between 500g-750g of sugar per litre of liquid heat once again until the sugar is dissolved, the syrup just boiling.  Pour immediately into sterilised bottles and seal tightly.   The syrup keeps thus for several months, rich in Vitamin C and wild goodness it is somewhere between a cordial and a medicine.  Drink hot or cold, diluting with water, on those cold-ridden days, or wintry evenings by the fire, adding a splash of brandy when necessary.  Otherwise add to Crumbles, Pies and even stews for some late Summer Hedgerow Flavour.

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If you happen to have a steam juicer this concoction can be made without sugar, the steamer will pasteurise the juice and it can likewise be kept in sterilised bottles for several months.

Bullace Gin + Sloe Gin

The season is nigh', to rummage again in the hedgerows, concoct what preserves one might.  The next posts will surely be full of forage and preserving, as we hoard in preparation for the winter.  The weekend was spent on bikes foraging, and this evening a brief stint at Sloe and Bullace Gins.

I have already posted a foolhardy recipe for the Sloe Gin... Here's a brew made with something of our rampant garden hedge - we suspect it is Bullace.

The same recipe applies for Bullace as for Sloe -  about 4pts Gin to 3lb Fruit and 1lb Sugar.
(I notice however the River Cottage handbook suggests equiv: 1.2 pt : 1lb :1lb , so perhaps one should say each to their own, depending (always) on what is to hand, and what feels right)
Shake/stir regularly and allow to mature over several months (at least two).  Then strain through muslin, bottle, and age further in bottles.  My father prides himself on drinking his ancient vintages of the stuff, here in the cottage we have trouble keeping it 'til Summer.  Indeed, my father is so abstemious, he would ne'er pick a Sloe before the first frost.... here, we couldn't wait.  There will surely be a post-frost batch to follow.

Drink these wintry Gins in the depths of the season, huddled by the fire, fill a hip-flask on a blustery walk, or use for a farmhouse Kir aperitif, mixing it with home brewed Elderflower Champagne.  Right now however we're drinking a more sober homemade Blackberry + Lemonade with Water Mint.  (Juice of 3 Lemons, 100g Sugar, a few squashed Blackberries and some Water Mint leaves, topped up with Sparkling Water and Ice if you have.)

Lacto-Fermented Horseradish

As with all Lacto-Fermentation, this recipe is subject to experimentation, and depends on what you have to hand.  Here I grated Horseradish, muddled it with Parsley and Radish Tops.  Stuffed the lot in jars with 10g or salt to 1lt jar (in this case 2.5g to 250ml Jar).  Pressed in tight and covered in water.  Left a few days at room-temperature, when obviously fermenting moved to a cool-dark place.

Eat at your leisure, keeping the horseradish out of the air by consistently checking and topping up the layer of water.

Eat with Beef, Mackerel, or Beetroot... Or trying tossing into a 'Slaw to spark it up.

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For further information on Lacto-Fermentation, please refer to other posts.

Tea and Saki

If one's soul was really enslaved at one's mistress's feet, 

how could one talk coherently about weakened tea?

Stopping for tea, an afternoon last week... and tea it was, leaf-tea in cups and saucers, bread, butter and that blackcurrant jam, radishes and salt, à la façon française... recalled a story by Saki, entitled: Tea.

Proposing marriage, even to a nice girl like Joan, was a rather irksome business

But as James Cushat-Prinkly sets out one afternoon to fulfil his duty, he realises with distaste that his arrival coincides with the hour of afternoon tea.

Joan would be seated at a low table, spread with an array of silver kettles and cream-jugs and delicate porcelain tea-cups, behind which her voice would tinkle pleasantly in a series of little friendly questions about weak or strong tea, how much, if any, sugar, milk, cream and so-forth.

He takes a detour via a distant cousin Rhoda, who happens to be having a picnic-meal of bread and butter and caviare, red-pepper and lemon, and tea.  Based on this, and amusing conversation, Cushat-Prinkly's marriage proposal is instantly transferred to this cousin.

Only to find, coming into the drawing-room, once married:

Rhoda was seated at a low table, behind a service of dainty porcelain and gleaming silver.  There was a pleasant tinkling note in her voice as she handed him a cup.  'You like it weaker than that, don't you?  Shall I put some more hot water to it?'

...

Tea,  by Saki

In 76 Short Stories, Collins, London 1956

Habas con Jamón, Courgette Gratin

Early Summer, in this belated garden at least, brings a wealth of Broad-Beans, Spring-Onions and young Courgettes.  With today’s warm breeze blowing through the cottage, we are not thinking of hot food, but only a few days since the fires were lit and the windows tight-closed.

One of my favourite hot Broad-Bean dishes is the Spanish Habas con Jamón.  It is in fact quite the thing for those warm breezes blowing through whitewashed windows: redolent of searching for midday shade from drybaked Andalusian streets, stepping, cowering from the sun into the sudden dark cool of a café.  Appears from the darkness looming: a bar, stools sat with a few elderly men drinking coffee (short and black in glasses sat on saucers) or wine, sherry in tiny glasses, above their heads Jamón Serrano hanging.   On the corner of the bar, in front of a blue/white tiled wall, a cluster of ceramic dishes Pulpo perhaps, cold Tortilla or resplendent with Winkles.  On this occasion a superb, if understated Tapa:  Habas con Jamón.  Traditionally beans and ham, hot from the kitchen in a rich tomato sauce, Habas con Jamón can also be done without the tomatoes in a lighter more summery version or indeed raw (peel the Broad-Beans toss with Jamón Serrano, coarse Salt, Black-Pepper, Olive Oil and thinly sliced wet Garlic).

My variation (seen above) was based on a Habas-craving and what I had in the garden/kitchen at that instant.

Habas con Jamón hecho en casa:

Pod peas and broad beans (peel beans if desired).  Chop Mange-Tout, French Beans, Courgettes, Onion, Saucisson, Spring Onion into slightly-larger than broad-bean sized pieces, peel eight cloves of (wet if possible) Garlic.

I suggest basing amounts and ingredients on what you have available.  I also used a Patisson and some Courgette Flowers when I made this.

Gently heat Olive Oil in a frying-pan, adding first Onion, then Garlic, then Courgettes, Saucisson, a whole Sprig of Thyme and of Rosemary and a couple of fresh Bay Leaves, taking care to keep heat low.  Add Spring Onion and the Beans and Peas, toss in oil then add a splash of water so as to prevent burning or sticking and cover for five minutes or so until the beans are just-cooked, still retaining their colour.

Serve with a squeeze of Lemon, fresh Oregano and Nasturtium Flowers, a chunk of bread, and in this case some home-made Cottage Cheese.

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Courgette Gratin

A sudden influx of Courgettes from the farm had us on perpetual Courgette Soup, that and Courgettes fried, steamed, barbecued with every meal.  Then as the weather darkened so did talk turn to Gratin.  The thought fomented over a few days and on the third I came home with a pot of Crème Fraiche and some Binham Blue, and we set to it.

Gratin for me suggests French childhoods, often a creamy rice dish with a vegetable of sorts in it, served in a deep dish, the sort the English might use for Shephard’s Pie.  It isn’t glamorous, but it is continental.  We were obliged to forgo the rice as a friend dining with us was on something low-carb… same friend rid Gratin of any pretentions whatsoever, saying it is the French term for anything covered in melted cheese.  Quick then to interfere, I think now he was perhaps right.  I believe a Macaroni Cheese in France is a Gratin de Macaronis, as a Cauliflower cheese – Gratin de Chou-Fleur.  A name used in England to somewhat glamorise those comfort foods indispensable to our diet.

We did slightly glam-up our version by using Blue Cheese, Crème Fraiche and White Wine as opposed to béchamel and super-market Cheddar.

Cut Courgettes into rounds.  Marinate briefly in Olive Oil, Salt, Black-Pepper and Garden Herbs.  Fry off sliced onions and Courgettes in Olive Oil.  Layer in a dish with more Black-Pepper, dollops of Crème Fraiche, splashes of White Wine (to help retain moisture and add a sophisticated flavour) chopped Oregano, Spring-Onions, Parsley, wet Garlic.  Top with more coarse-ground Black Pepper and Binham-Blue, or similar Blue Cheese.  Cook in the oven at about 180C for twenty minutes or until cheese is just browning, courgettes are soft, the dish is moist…

The art, or otherwise, of food writing.

A steaming Summer’s eve’, once again running late, I joined a friend, wine-buff, entrepreneur and surreptitious reader of food-literature in his London backyard over a chilli-mackerel-couscous, and there was asparagus too and feta and a bottle of something French and White…  As conversation veered and the light waned he scurried away, returning, dragging from pouches and pockets, from hidden nooks, beloved bindings of food-writing.  Like a collector who comes upon some other, not rival, morelike apprentice, with whom they can gush unguarded as to their too-oft’-solitary passion, I was passed first, ‘midst murmurings, Brillat-Savarin’s The Physiology of Taste or Meditations on Transcendental Gastronomy, then Alexandre Dumas’ Encyclopedia of Food and Nigel Slater’s Kitchen Diaries…

Watching this friend, erudite and articulate, bringing food-writing into his conversation as he might 15th Century Italian literature, awoke a long-nurtured query: Do food and thought illuminate or interfere with one another?

I am since compelled to think upon the art (or otherwise) of Food Writing.  For therein lies the dilemma: is such writing worthy of consideration as an art, or, dealing with the pleasures, the mere sustenance of the body, as opposed to the perturbations of the mind, is it rather one of the cruder written forms, certainly not to be mistaken for an art?

It is said that Jorge Luis Borges offered only a bowl of rice at his dinner parties, for fear that the food might otherwise interfere with the conversation; his guests were there to converse about matters of the mind, and not the baser ones of the bowl.  


Follow this link to read the full article...

Hot Summer Soups

Although in the rest of the country it is said that the sun does shine, here in the East any sense of the season has quite forsaken us, so, while we may dream of Maxi-dresses and Vichyssoise, we are wearing woolly jumpers and slurping steaming soups.

On Clare Island, at the height of the courgette glut, we put aside some home-made pesto, and make a summery Courgette and Pesto Soup - the pesto really gives this soup edge, lifting it from overgrown-courgette dowdiness into a somewhat sophisticated soup.

This is best with Basil Pesto, but Rocket or Nettle will do as well.

Heat up some Olive Oil in a pan, add a couple of Spring onions, finely chopped, and 4 cloves of Garlic (halved) briefly fry, then add 2 overgrown courgettes, chopped. Toss these in the oil for five minutes.  Cover with water, bring to the boil, adding a handful of basil leaves and simmer for about fifteen minutes, the courgettes should hold their shape.  Stir in 1 tbsp pesto.  Blend.   Taste and season with a touch of coarse Salt (Pesto can be very salty) and loads of coarse ground Black Pepper.

If you've no Pesto, Food Urchin has a Courgette Soup recipe with Basil and Parmesan, toss a few toasted pine-nuts on top when you serve it and you'll have the Pesto effect.
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Pea Soup

This is quite the most beautiful soup, when made with fresh-picked peas the soup is ever so sweet and a gaudy bright green.

Saute a couple of Onions in oil, add Ground Cumin.
In separate saucepan add Peas to boiling water for not more than five minutes so they retain their colour and sweetness.  Drain reserving the water.
Add a bit of the pea-water to the softened onions and cumin.  Blend this.
Blend peas in a tiny bit of water separately.
Add peas to onion mix, and more water if necessary.  Bring to the boil.
Season with a bit of coarse salt.

Serve immediately drizzled with Olive Oil and roast whole Cumin.

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Broad-Bean Soup

My mother has been crowing about a such-a-success Broad Bean Soup recipe...she has however failed as yet to produce said recipe.  When she does I shall post it here.

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On other recent soup notes: as well as Food-Urchin, Pistachio and Rose made soup here, and Fiona Beckett the Frugal Cook, blogged here on why isn't soup sexy?

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

Sauerkraut and Cabbage Kimchi

Besides beautiful 'Slaws, Pot-au-Feu and stir-frying in vinegar, Sauerkraut is quite the best way of rescuing Cabbage from the confined notions we have about the vegetable: insipid, slovenly, "cabbagey" Sauerkraut is not, but sharp, sparky, sexy even, a super accompaniment to meats, cheeses, grains... it will zaz up even the most drear' of dishes.

Make sauerkraut in times of glut as it may require several, using white or red cabbage, very thinly sliced, and adulterate as you wish with favourites leaves, fruit or spices.

For a classic Sauerkraut:
Slice White Cabbage very thinly, layer with Salt (10g per 1lt Jar), Caraway Seeds and Sliced Apple, pushing down as you go.  Eventually the liquid form the cabbage will rise to cover the leaves. Weigh down so the Cabbage remains covered by the water.  Leave thus at room-temperature for about three days, the start of fermentation is marked by bubbling, then move to a cooler place and allow to ferment slowly for at least a month, not being afraid to taste regularly.

(You can also use Rocket, Red-Mustard Leaves, Land Cress, Horseradish Leaves, Fennel, Mustard Seeds or preferred Herbs with the Cabbage in the above recipe.  Blackcurrant Leaves, rife with Lactobacilli might speed up fermentation, Salt keeps it in check.)

For a zestier version, based on the Korean fermented dish, Kimchi:

Chop cabbage with Chillies; grated Horseradish; White, Black or French Radishes, chopped; grated Root Ginger; Spring Onions.  Use your own judgement to measure amounts of each.  Squeeze into jar or crock, layering with Salt (10g to 1lt Jar), until liquid rises. Weigh down and leave to ferment as above.

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For more in-detail information about Lacto-Fermentation, please refer to earlier posts:  The Art of Lacto-Fermentation, Purge!, Fermentation Fervour, Wild Fermentation (review)      
or Sandor Ellix Katz's Wild Fermentation website.
See also Carl Legge's posts on Fermenting and particularly this one about Kimchi.

Two staunch Summer Jams and a rather flippant Redcurrant Jelly

The first Plums, Currant-gluts, Blackberries precociously fruiting on the briars… Take hold of that Ladle, that Maslin Pan, tether a thick Apron around the waist, ‘tis time to make Jam.

The following recipes are very simple, unadulterated and quite revoke my tendency towards frippery in the kitchen.  Two staunch Summer Jams and a rather flippant Jelly.

Blackcurrant Jam

Bring 3lb of Blackcurrants to boil in 400ml Apple-Juice.  Simmer for twenty minutes.  Take off heat, add 3lb Sugar.  Stir until dissolved.  Return to heat, bring to Setting Point*.  Pot immediately in Sterilised Jars**.

Plum Jam

Bring 3lb (Halved and Stoned) Plums to boil in 400ml water.  Simmer until fruit is soft.  Remove from heat and add sugar, as before.  Return to heat, Set*, Pot**.

Bar-Le-Duc
The recipe for this Redcurrant Jelly, originating in the French town of Bar-Le-Duc might indeed be considered frivolous if concocted as intended:  The strands of Redcurrants are plucked early from the bushes and each currant is cut from the stalk, so as not to damage the fruit.  The seeds are removed from one by one, using the sharpened Quill of a Goose.  The fruits are then placed in a boiling sugar syrup, and potted to create a Jelly of seeded Redcurrants in suspension, not unjustly compared to Caviar in appearance, and cost.

When trying this at home, forget the Goose Quill... The recipe I used was shared by Jules Jackson, local charcutier extraordinaire, who did suggest replacing the water with a Dry White...

Make a sugar syrup of 3kg Sugar to 1lt Water (or Wine!), bring to 110C.  Add 1kg Currants, and take to Setting Point*.  Cool slightly and stir before potting - vital for fruit suspension.  Pot**.

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* Setting-Point is reached at 105C, or when the liquid when dribbled on a cold-plate forms a skin and dimples to touch.
** I sterilise jam-jars by putting them (clean) in the oven at over 100C for at least twenty minutes.

A Norfolk Breakfast - Mackerel, An Egg

Sent home with a fresh Mackerel, too late to dine on... The following morn, with an Egg, Cucumber Pickle and a slice of Sourdough... Those, a mug of coffee: a heavenly Norfolk breakfast. 

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Mackerel caught-the-night-before at Heacham (I believe?), Eggs my ma's, Greens from the garden, Cucumber Pickle made  locally, Flour from Letheringsett Mill, Strawberries from Sharrington.

Mulled Pears

Divine with a Chocolate Mousse, dreamy with Soft Cheeses and Marscapone, or for a heavenly breakfast with Goat's Yogurt and Maple Syrup... these pears, which have sat mulling in wine for near' 10 months now, offer an otherworldly breath of Christmas in the Summer midsts. 

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1 Bottle of Red Wine

300g Sugar

Orange Juice

Lemon Rind

Mace

Cloves

Cinnamon

Ginger

Bring the above to the boil, and add whole, peeled Pears.  Cook at low heat for 2-3 hours until pears tender.

Bottle and Pasteurise.  Store.

I tend to do this recipe with early, slightly hard, windfalls.  As well as using them sweet, they work well with game and richer meats, much like the Pickled Pears.

Last night: A Huddled Banquet.

As yester'eve, the winds began to whirl, the rain to spill, the fires were lit and a simple summer supper became rather a huddled banquet.

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Merguez on Puy Lentils

To commence: 

Sortov Brawn from De-Lish on Spelt and Linseed Sourdough with Sweet Pickled Cucumber

Followed by:

Merguez (De-Lish again) on Puy Lentils with Broad Beans

Grilled Courgettes amd Baby Leeks

Mange-Tout

Caraway and Balsamic roasted Beetroot

Goat's Yogurt with Spring Onion and Land-Cress

that Pickled Beetroot

Courgettes from the garden

Pickled Beetroot (see Recipe)

Then:

Mulled Pears

Welsh and French Goat's Cheeses

Chocolate/Almond Brownie

Panier of gifts from A and N...

in that brown-paper-package-tied-up-with-string: 
an Almond/Chocolate Brownie, baked at break o' dawn...

Pea-Pod Stock

The Peas have swelled.  As we are picking, pea-ing and podding away, I thought to share a quick note on what to do with Peapods - and I welcome (please) any other suggestions.  For what sadness but to find great baskets of peas in their shells provide but a scarce handful of peas.  Now, they do reccommend Peapod Wine.  But tonight, instead, a simple stock:

Bring the peapods, covered in water, to the boil.  Simmer gently for about forty minutes.   Take off the heat.

This gives a lovely light and pea-tasting stock.  Great in Summer Soups, Veggie Stews or to flavour Grains.  Try adding Onion Skins for a heartier flavour, Carrot tops, Cabbage Stalks, Herbs and general Vegetable Waste creates a more ordinary Vegetable Stock.  I tend not to salt my stocks, allowing one to then decide how much salt to add in cooking.  

If you wish to keep the stock, freeze or seal and pasteurise it.  Or, I have never tried, you could a la Mrs Beeton, boil it down to bare flakes and make of it a stock-cube.

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For another simple Stock Recipe.

See also The Frugal Cook for uses of Beetroot tops (quite my favourite seasonal green, as sweet and buttery as spinach) and, who'd 'a' thought: broad-bean skins... though, I rare' manage to peel them m'self!

On that Gooseberry Theme... Here's a Gin

With the gooseberries still fruiting, I couldn't (of course) refrain from making a bottle of the Gin.  The Juniper bitterness of Gin seems to combine with many a fruit:  in Summer it's Gooseberries and Whitecurrants (here I've combined the two), in Winter Damsons (drool) and that ol' hip-flask filler: Sloe Gin.

I ad-libbed, but let's say:  300g Fruit to 150g Sugar and 600ml Gin.

Top, tail and prick the Gooseberries, slightly squish the Whitecurrants, cover with the Sugar and Gin. Put in a lidded bottle and shake regularly over the next two months.  Then strain and bottle for sumptuous height-of-summer-filled Gin and Tonics...

...here's that thrifty Gooseberry and Elderflower (Vodka) Fool I mentioned...

Ever so simple:  Remove some of the Elderflower stalks from the strained remains of the Gooseberry and Elderflower Vodka.  (The Elderflower scent has actually somewhat pervaded the Gooseberries) Cook up the remaining Gooseberries with a splash of water and a dash of Raw Cane Sugar, gently so they hold their shape.  Once soft-ish, leave to cool, tasting the liquid for sweetness.

When cool, layer in a glass with Yogurt, (Sheep's Yogurt or Goat would give it a lovely rural depth of flavour) Marscapone, Creme Fraiche, or Whipped Cream, depending how gluttonous you are feeling.   Tart up with a sprig of Mint, a spray of Whitecurrants, a splash of Gooseberry and Elderflower Vodka, or leave it as it is (in picture).

Enjoy on a hazy Summer evening, lazing in the garden, with a long spoon.

Slow Food Weekend, on Clare Island, Ireland

The Cove, Clare Island, looking across to Achill

Before time blankets the vibrant tastememories of last weekend’s Slow Food Galway visit to Macalla Farm, on Clare Island, let me tell…

Macalla Farm is home to the artisan, the sustainable, the innovative, regarding food and all aspects of living.  A crowd of twenty or so mainlanders boarded the Pirate Queen or another intrepid sea-faring vessel for an experiential couple of days in the ‘midst of the Macalla household.  Of course.  Of course, when the East of England was baking in temperatures of around 34C, Clare Island was shrouded in a heavy fog, interspersed with deluges unthinkable in an apparently “temperate” climate.  Indeed, the island has been battered now since April with storms ranging up to Force 12, interminable deluges, plagues of Sawfly and the like.. whilst we in the East have been begging for a drop of rain… and the gardens, although abundant were not as bountiful as previous years – the apple trees had lost not only their blossom, but their leaves… a sobering sight for those hoping to be self-sufficient.

Despite the weather, and the garden bereft, a fine show was put on for the Galway Slow-Fooders, the outline as follows:

Saturday Evening

Kir Royale (home-squeezed Blackcurrant Juice with Elderflower Champagne)

Beetroot Soup (with Coconut and Ginger), Sourdough Bread and curls of Bernie’s Island-made Butter

Swiss-Chard, Wild-Rocket and Sheep’s Cheese Tart (with Duck Eggs and home made Ewe’s cheese)

Puy Lentil, Broad Bean, Tomato and Courgette Warm Salad (using the garden’s somewhat scant offerings)

New Potatoes (variety: Sharp’s Express)

Dill Sheep’s Yogurt Dressing

Green Garden Salad, with Nasturtiums and Calendula

Blackcurrant and Strawberry Frozen Yogurts

(Blend 1lb Fruit, 100g Raw Cane Sugar, 500ml Homemade Sheep’s Yogurt.  Then place in the ice-cream maker until frozen)

Ciara’s melt-in-the-mouth Snowball Cookies

(must get hold of a recipe for these)

Lemon Verbena Tea

-- Rye and Spelt Sourdough Breadmaking Demonstration --

Sunday

Breakfast

Tonka Bean and Hazelnut Porridge

Buckwheat and Sheep’s Whey Pancakes

Rhubarb and Blackcurrant Compote

Sheep’s Yogurt

Blackcurrant and Apple Juice

Rye and Spelt Sourdough

Water-Mint Tea

-- Dairy Demonstrations – Making Sheep’s Yogurt, Kefir and Soft Ewe’s Cheese --

-- Visit to the Gardens and Polytunnels --

-- Lacto-Fermentation demonstration – making Lacto-fermented Beetroot, Cauliflower and Carrot Kimchee --

-- Visit to Ballytoughey Loom --

Buffet Lunch

Brown Rice and Seeds Salad with Lacto-Fermented Courgettes and Cauli Greens

Tabbouleh with Garden Herbs (Wild Rocket, Marjoram, Lemon-Balm, Water-Mint, Parsley, Savoury, Oregano, Chives and Borage Flowers)

Potato Salad with Lacto-Fermented Sea-Spaghetti, Chilli and Onion Greens

Courgette Antipasti

(Courgettes macerated in Olive-Oil then Grilled and stored in Oil, Herbs and Garlic)

Tzatziki (with Garden Cucumbers, Garlic, Water Mint and Sheep’s Yogurt)

Stuffed Macalla Vine-Leaves

Wild Rocket and Wild Garlic Pesto

Herby Soft Sheep’s Cheese

Strawberry and Blackcurrant Muffins

Ginger and Cardamom Tea

-- Visit to the Island Farmer’s and Craft Market --

The Cabbage Patch

…

Christophe and Ciara will be hosting a “Food Matters” course towards the end of August this year, on beautiful Clare Island.  This will be a chance to take part in hands-on workshops and to learn about the myriad aspects of sustainable living as well as enjoying informal discussions as to why food does matter in the current climate. 

We much look forward to seeing you there.

Sunday Morning - Bottling (Tasting) the Elderflower and Gooseberry Vodka

Bottling/Tasting

The Gooseberries and Eldeflowers were left a month to brew in Vodka, merely shaken on occasion, in a Demijohn… [Gooseberry and Elderflower Vodka Recipe].  A Sunday dawn, before the wasps did awake, commenced the bottling of the brew.  Fragile Elderflowers willn’t withstand the length of time sat in alcohol as a Sloe, for example, might.  [Sloe Gin Recipe].  Indeed, With Knife and Fork’s Blog advises that once strained the vodka should be drunk in a mere few months, to forestall the loss of the floral nuances.

To bottle (when lacking a funnel): Strain through muslin into large bowl – scoop from bowl into jug – pour from jug into clean bottles – seal, label, store.

Despite being slightly sweet for my palate (keener on the bitter, the sour, the salty), the sharp, indeed hearty Gooseberry flavour is heightened by the Floral notes of the Elderflower, near’ shimmering, near’ effervescent, what a delightful manner of breaking-the-fast (!).  This is quite the most delicately perfumed of flavoured vodkas.   (That said I long to attempt Sarah Pettegree’s Rose Vodka, another Sunday brewing escapade.)

…Pour on ice, drink neat, or with a splash of something fizzy, to fully enjoy the gustative combination.

…

And, now to the bowl full of Vodka-imbued Gooseberries – promise of a sparky Gooseberry Compote (simmer with a touch of sugar), a stunning Gooseberry-Vodka Jelly…. Or perhaps a little pot of Gooseberry-Vodka Jam…  hmmm... a Gooseberry Fool me thinks

(The use of the remnants is inspired by Christophe of Macalla Farm, Clare Island, who makes Elderflower and Lemon Marmalade and Cordial with the strained remains of his Elderflower Champagne.  I shall try persuade him to share his recipes.)