The Greasy Spoon | It's not just about Haute Cuisine...

Happy Christmas

 

Robert Braithwaite Martineau (1826-1869) The Christmas Hamper

 

To all readers of The Greasy Spoon, wishing you a very Happy Christmas and with every best wish for the New Year!

 

And to you your wassail too...

 

Here we come a-wassailing
Among the leaves so green;
Here we come a-wand'ring
So fair to be seen.

REFRAIN:
Love and joy come to you,
And to you your wassail too;
And God bless you and send you a Happy New Year
And God send you a Happy New Year.

English Traditional Carol, circa 1850 

 

A few years ago I became fascinated by Wassail. It's a word that gets bandied about at Christmas, but I bet you anything that most people haven't a clue as to what exactly it is or means. And neither did I until I did a bit of good old internet research. Wassail is a traditional mulled punch, drunk at Christmas-time in the Northern and Germanic countries. Wassailing can either mean the singing of carols (at Christmas, the serfs would wassail the Lord and Lady of the Manor), or, as in Gloucestershire, and the other western counties, the wassailing of an apple tree: to ensure a good harvest and drive away the evil spirits. This happens on Twelfth Night. The wassail is served in a wassail cup or bowl.

Every year, I make my own recipe for Mulled Cider, and it's exceedingly good, I tell you. I'm not really a fan of Mulled Wine: it's too heavy, there's too much tannin, it gives you a headache. And then many people get it wrong. Very wrong. They chuck in a bottle of plonk, boil it up, and then add all sorts of other dodgy ingredients, including vodka; and the result is an over-acidic, pungent brew which can leave you with a god-awful hangover. 

Mulled Cider is "different", smoother- and in my opinion delicious. There are no rules; but to get the best results, I suggest that you keep it simple. In a large pan, I pour in a decent dryish West Country of Norman organic cider. The stuff that looks like still, dark, pond water. Try and avoid the cheaper, sweeter, fizzy stuff.

Next, I cut an orange in half, and add that. I do the same with a lemon. I add a few spices: a cinnamon stick, a few cloves, ground nutmeg, and a kernel of ginger. All of these would work well. I taste it.

If it's too dry, add a bit of brown sugar. Start warming it up. You do not want to boil it. Keep it simmering at just below boiling point. If you boil it, all the alcohol will vapourise away, defeating the whole point of the thing in the first place. If you're going to serve it in glass mugs, make sure that you put a silver spoon in the mug first. This will prevent the glass from shattering. 

If you've got time, decorate the wassail with "Lamb's Wool". This is just bits of peeled apple, simmered in cider until woolly (it "explodes"). The pulp is floated on top of the mulled cider. 

Related articles

Wassail Delivers British Nostalgia in a Warm Punch

A Medieval Recipe for Christmas

A Medieval Recipe for Christmas

 

 

 

I'm quite curious about the food people ate in the Middle Ages. In The Big Fat Duck Cookbook, Heston Blumenthal mentions his fascination with a bizarre 14th century French cookery book, Le Viander de Taillevent, in which a chicken is plucked alive, basted with soya, wheat-germ and dripping- to simulate roasting, coaxed asleep, and then 'brought back to life' at the table.

In case you're wondering, the rather beautiful illustration is from the Duc de Berry's Book of Hours and depicts the month of January. It probably shows the Twelfth Night banquet, as during the Middle Ages the focus of the Christmas festivities tended to be during the Twelve Days of Christmas, and after the Advent Fast.

I've adapted a 15th century English recipe for "Goose in a Garlic and Grape Sauce" which you could easily make at home. I haven't tried it yet, so I've no idea what it tastes like- it could be foul:

You make a stuffing out of garlic cloves, seedless grapes, chopped parsley and salt, and then stick it up a goose. Roast the bird in an oven set at 350༠C (twenty minutes per pound). When you're happy that the goose is cooked, take it out of the oven, and set aside to cool.

Spoon out the cooked stuffing and blend it in a food processor, adding three hard-boiled egg yolks, and half a cup of cider vinegar. Spoon the finished sauce over the goose.

 

Related articles

There never was such a goose!

It's a wild world

Last Christmas? Partridges and turtle doves face risk of extinction in UK

Heston Blumenthal goes Christmas crackers at the Fat Duck restaurant in Bray (and so could you for £300)

Paul Levy's "The Feast of Christmas"

Piccalilli

 

 

 

There's a recipe for Piccalilli in the Waitrose Autumn booklet which caught my eye. They've called it "Piccalilli With A Punch". I like the idea, but they haven't got it quite right. Waitrose suggest you use butternut squash (not that authentic in my opinion), and their photograph shows very large (too large) chunks of vegetables sitting on a watery sauce (which, I think, should be much thicker). Still.

Piccalilli is one of those slightly weird British "delicacies"- if that's the right description; I'm not sure that it is. Bright yellow in colour, and potently acidic; utterly out of fashion too, evoking the world of Austerity Britain: all the glamour of Dad's allotment, prize marrow competitions, Brown Windsor soup, late dusty Summers and musty pigeon lofts.

I spent a few minutes researching its history on the internet. Apparently, the first known Piccalilli recipe was created by a Mrs Raffald in 1772, when it was also known as "English Chow Chow". That sounded about right. It had to be connected in some way with Eighteenth Century India didn't it? I'm assuming that the rather odd sounding name is just a play on the word, pickle.

Anyway, here's The Greasy Spoon's recipe for making your very own piccalilli. You can, of course, use any late summer vegetables you happen to have lying around, but I do think that piccalilli should include cauliflower in some shape or form; butternut squash just strikes me as too American for what is a very British pickle. Carrot and courgettes would be good, too.

First prepare the vegetables: I like them to be chopped up into reasonably small, bite-size chunks. Break up a small cauliflower into small florets, peel a cucumber, de-seed it, and chop it into small cubes. Finely chop up two onions. Chop up a few peeled carrots into small to medium size dice. Dice up a courgette into similar size chunks. 

Place the vegetables in a bowl, sprinkle them with salt, and leave to stand overnight. The salt will draw out lots of water and help to keep the vegetables crisp. Pour off the water, rinse the vegetables with cold water, and pat them dry.

When you're ready to make the piccalilli, get hold of a large preserving pan and pour in about 500ml of cider vinegar. Add 250g of sugar and the following spices: a dollop of Colman's English mustard, turmeric, ground ginger, ground cumin, black mustard seeds, chili flakes, nutmeg, and a pinch of cayenne pepper. 

Warm it through until the sugar dissolves, add the vegetables and then bring the mixture to the boil. Season with chunky black pepper, reduce the heat and simmer away for about ten minutes. It's unlikely that you'll need to add any more salt, as you've already used it at the beginning of the recipe. The turmeric and mustard will turn the mixture a bright yellow colour.

Finally, thicken up the piccalilli with some cornflour: in a separate bowl add some of the cooking liquid to a tablespoon or so of cornflower and whisk it up until it forms a paste. Reduce the heat and slowly mix this paste into the piccalilli. Simmer for a further five minutes (until the cornflour is cooked properly) and then decant into sterilised jars.

It will need to mature in a dark cupboard for about a month before use. Excellent with cold beef and oily fish such as mackerel and herring, and perfect for Christmas if you start thinking about making it now.

 

Related articles

Spicy Butternut Squash Soup

Salad Olivier

 

 

Remember this old favourite?  Otherwise known as the Russian Salad, it was invented by Lucian Olivier, a Belgian chef who ran the fashionable Hermitage restaurant in Moscow during the late nineteenth century. Olivier's salad, apparently, became quite a cause célèbre with le gratin; and enjoyed the patronage of the grand matrons of Muscovite Society. The Hermitage restaurant closed down in 1905, and Lucian Olivier died at the relatively young age of 45. If you're so inclined to pay your respects, he's buried in the Vvedenskoye Cemetry. And the closely guarded secret recipe for his famous salad went with him to the grave. Or did it?

What's in it, I hear you ask?  That's a very interesting question and much open to debate. There's quite a bit of stuff about it on the net; the subject's almost becoming a sub-culture in its own right. The original recipe included all sorts of exotic lovelies: grouse, veal tongue, caviar, crayfish tails, capers and even smoked duck- this was a fabled dish from Pre-Revolutionary Russia after all; nothing like that awful Heinz Russian Salad thing that came in a tin, and looked suspiciously like Oskie the Cat's sick.

 

Nicholas II and Alexandra, in 17th century fancy dress for the Winter Palace Ball, St Petersburg, 1903.

 

Anyway, a certain- and enterprising- Ivan Ivanov, a sous-chef at the Hermitage restaurant, plucked up enough courage to steal the recipe. Look upon his dastardly plan as a late nineteenth century pension pot. Now Olivier prepared the wretched salad himself- and only by himself. No other chef was allowed anywhere near him while he made it. Fortunately he was suddenly called away to deal with some emergency. While Oliver was gone, Ivan sneaked into the kitchen and managed to work out, at the very least, how the secret dressing was made.

Ivan left the Hermitage and went to work for Moskva, a local restaurant with an inferior clientele. A few weeks later, low-and-behold, a new salad appeared on the Moskva menu- the "Capital Salad" which, most suspiciously, looked and tasted very much like the original Olivier salad from the Hermitage restaurant. Naughty old Ivan.

The story goes that Ivan then sold the recipe to various publishing houses. One of the first printed recipes for Olivier salad, by Aleksandrova, appeared in 1894. It included grouse, potatoes, gherkins, lettuce leaves, crayfish tails, capers and aspic. All bound in a Provençal dressing.

Here's my take on Salad Olivier, based on a recipe from the fanastic Taste of Russia by Darra Goldstein. It will serve about eight people. "A Taste of Russia" is one of my favourite cookery books. It rediscovers the cuisine of Pre-Revolutionary Russia; the food from the days of the Romanov Tsars. It's a terrific book.

 

In a large bowl, mix: 225g cooked potatoes (cut into dice), a large cooked carrot (cut into dice), two apples (chopped into dice), one peeled orange (membranes removed, and cut into chunks), two spring onions (chopped), and 120g peas.

Mix in 225g of cooked chicken (which you have previously chopped up into bite-sized pieces.

Make a dressing: Press three hard-boiled egg yolks through a sieve into a small bowl. Mix in two dollops of olive oil and stir, to form a smooth emulsion. Add two tablespoons of cider or wine vinegar and eight tablespoons each of mayonnaise and soured cream. Season, and pour over the vegetables and the chicken, keeping some of the dressing back.

Let it chill in the 'fridge overnight. To serve, form the salad into a neat mold or mound, and pour over the remaining dressing. Garnish with fresh dill. You could of course, for a more piquant taste, ditch the orange and include diced gherkin. An authentic addition. I think it would work. 

There never was such a goose!

 

 

There never was such a goose. Bob said he didn't believe there ever was such a goose cooked. It's tenderness and flavour, size and cheapness were the themes of universal admiration. Eked out by apple sauce and mashed potatoes, it was a sufficient dinner for the whole family; indeed as Mrs Cratchit said with great delight (surveying one small atom of bone upon the dish), "they hadn't ate it all at last!"

 

This Christmas, as there's only going to be four of us, we've decided to have a shot at goose, rather than turkey. I'm looking forward to this immensely: there's just something terribly Dickensian and Christmasy about our old friend the goose, isn't there?

 

Up until the 1890's, most people in England didn't eat turkey because it was too expensive. That's why it's such a big deal when Ebeneezer Scrooge orders the massive prize turkey for the Cratchits, who normally would be huddled round their scrappy little goose come Christmas Day.

Coming to think of it, I've got a slight problem with all of this. Scrooge sends the prize turkey round to the Cratchits on Christmas morning. By the time it's been ordered, delivered to Camden Town from Clerkenwell, stuffed, and roasted at the local baker's shop, it's going to be way past the Cratchits' bedtime, and poor old Bob's got to be up the next day at the crack of dawn to toil away in Scrooge's counting house. Heigh ho.

But which one is better? The goose or the turkey? I like turkey, I do. But it has a tendency to become dry and stringy, and by Boxing Day most sane people are fed up with it; even when it's turned into our notorious Boxing Day Turkey Curry.

There's no doubt that a fresh turkey is preferable to a frozen one. If you do have a frozen one, for God's sake make sure that it's thawed properly, otherwise you could find yourself into serious trouble. If you can, try and get the gamey tasting English Black Norfolk, or the American Bronze variety. And some more advice if you'll allow me: stuff the bird at the last minute, rather than the night before.

The immediate problem with goose is that there just isn't going to be enough meat on the thing. If you've got lots of friends and family coming round, then some of them are going to go hungry. It tastes delicious, and has a rich and gamey flavour, but there's also going to be lots of fat. I'm fine with that, but there will inevitably be some poor souls out there who'll run for the hills. Paul Levy also reckons that the goose is really at its prime come Michaelmas (ie September) rather than December.

So my advice on this one: if there are just a few of you- go for goose, and sit back and enjoy the rich and subtle flavours; if you've got a horde coming round, go for turkey, but try and get a properly reared and decent variety, and cook it with care. I know this is expensive, but as it's only once a year, I think it's going to be a good investment.

 

Alastair Sim with The Ghost of Christmas Present, A Christmas Carol, 1951

 

It's Christmas Pudding Time...

 

 

Believe it or not, it's time to make your Christmas Pudding. Here in London, Christmas seems to start earlier and earlier. The television advertising spree has begun, and suddenly our screens are full of earnest, eager types wrapped up in noddy hats and woolly scarves, grinning kiddywinks, and beaming Old Dears. Teflon snowflakes are having a field day. The lights have gone up in Sloane Square too, yet the leaves are still on the trees. Look, I love Christmas, please don't get me wrong: I'm no Scrooge; but often the expectation is, truthfully, more enjoyable than the actual event itself. But London is particularly pretty in those two weeks leading up to Christmas, and I can't think of a better place in the world to be at this time.

Right now is the time to start making your Christmas Pudding; and if anything it may even be a bit on the late side. Traditionally, the Christmas Pudding was made on "Stir-Up Sunday", which was the last Sunday before Advent, (about four to five weeks before Christmas Day), but in our family we used to make it as early as late October. I love Christmas Pudding. The way your spoon plunges into the moist (you hope!), rich, fruity mass; and the contrast with the smooth, rich, alchohol infused brandy butter.

Here is my tried and tested recipe for Christmas Pudding. It's based on our age-old family recipe (which I suspect was nicked from Cordon Bleu), but I've "improved" it with the addition of Guinness and Black Treacle. It went down extremely well with my brother-in-law, who gobbled down the lot, and apparently, declared it "one of the best Christmas Puddings he had ever tasted"; in fact- "never was there such a pudding". Incidentally, as an experiment last year, I added Scotch Whisky instead of the traditional brandy- and it sort of worked, although the resulting smoky taste was not really that appropriate. So back to good old Cognac it is.

 

 

Here's the recipe:

Stir up all the following ingredients in a pudding basin:

350g Mixed fruit and peel (this means crystallised peel, dried apricots, currants, saltanas, raisins, grated lemon rind, and grated orange rind)

50g Chopped glacé cherries

25g Flaked almonds  

50g Dried suet (you can't get the proper stuff anymore- the EU has made it illegal)

35g White breadcrumbs 

35g Plain flour 

70g Moist dark brown sugar 

50g Grated apple 

A dash of mixed spice and grated nutmeg. Some weirdos add carrot- but very sensibly, I leave this one out.

Once you've stirred all the ingredients together, mix in the following ingredients:

Two beaten eggs

The juice of half a lemon and half an orange

Two tablespoons of a dark stout (ie Guinness)

A tablespoon of black treacle 

A dash of decent Cognac (ie Brandy or Armagnac)

Stir it up like mad. Now's the time to add the mixture to a basin. Recently, I've had this thing about those old-fashioned ball-shaped puddings- the ones you see in the Victorian illustrations of Phiz and in Walt Disney. A few years ago, I managed to track down a ball-shaped pudding mould from Divertimenti in the Fulham Road, and used that- but a traditional ceramic pudding basin is just dandy.

Smear the inside of the basin with butter. This will stop the pudding sticking to the side. Pour in the mixture. Top off with a piece of buttered greaseproof paper, ideally cut down to fit. Finally, place a cloth over the basin, and tie it off at the top with a bit of string.

Steam it for five to six hours. This means getting hold of a large pan, filling it about a quarter full with water and bringing it to the boil. Place the pudding in the middle of the pan, and put the lid on. The steam will rise up within the pan, and cook the pudding. Once it's cooked, leave it in a cool place with a piece of tin foil on top. It will mature in the run-up to Christmas. On the great day itself, you will need to steam it for a further three hours.

Coca-Cola Glazed Ham

 

 

 

Last Christmas or so, I wrote a post about a slightly weird recipe: "Ham Glazed in Coca-Cola".  It's still one of my most popular posts, and as I'm currently getting increased hits (no doubt because of Thanksgiving), I'm going to give you the recipe again.

It doesn't sound that great, does it?  However, as Coke is really just a very sugary, brown and fizzy syrup, there's no reason why it shouldn't work nicely with a lovely, juicy ham.  And the recipe's an old favourite from the American Deep South, too- which is no bad thing.  So, here's how you make it:

Put in a medium sized unsmoked gammon into a large pan.  Add a peeled onion (for flavour), and then pour in a litre of coca-cola.  Bring to the boil, put the lid back on, and turn down the heat.  Let the ham braise in the liquid for 2 ½ hours.

Take the gammon out of the pan, and let it rest.  Remove the skin and preheat your oven to 210˚C.  In the meantime, mix up a glaze from 100g breadcrumbs, 100g brown muscovado sugar, two tablespoons of French Dijon Mustard, and a tablespoon of Colman's Mustard Powder.  With a sharp knife, scour the gammon to make a criss-cross pattern. Stir in a spoonful or so of coca-cola into the sugar and mustard mixture, and then slap it onto the gammon. 

Roast the gammon in the hot oven for about ten minutes, or until the glaze has cooked.

 

New Year's Day Chili

 

 

I think there's nothing better than tucking into a satisfying and hearty bowl of cowboy chili on a raw New Year's Day. It just seems so right. After all that Christmas over-indulgence, you want something simple, yet, if you're greedy like me, a limp bit of lettuce ain't going to pass muster. You're also probably feeling a trifle frazzled after the New Year's Eve revels.

Regrettably, Chili con carne is often nothing more than stewed mince, kidney beans and a bit of chili powder. Here's my idea for a more sophisticated version:

Sauté some chopped onions, garlic and chopped red chilis in oil and butter.  Stir in some good chili powder, oregano, cumin, and paprika. Now add the beef (or pork); or a combination of the two. You can either chop the meat into chunks, or put it through a mincer (if you've got one). Cook for a bit until the meat is sealed and coloured.

Next, add some stock, beer (the Mexican beer, Corona, is excellent), and a splash of Tabasco. Let the chili simmer slowly at a low heat, until the meat is cooked. You want the sauce to be reasonably thick. When the meat is nearly done, add some tomato purée, or even better, sun-dried tomato paste, and grate in some bitter chocolate- the sort of quality chocolate (high in cocoa solids) you can buy in delis and specialist shops. Season with salt and pepper to taste.

Finally, stir in some cooked beans (Kidney, Haricot, or Black Beans are fine, I'm not really that fussed). Serve with some grated cheese on top, sour cream, and saltine crackers.

To all the readers of The Greasy Spoon: A Very Happy New Year!

Related articles

Piccalilli

Recipe Of The Day: Black-Bean Turkey Chili

Goose

 

 

"There never was such a goose. Bob said he didn't believe there ever was such a goose cooked. Its tenderness and flavour, size and cheapness were the themes of universal admiration. Eked out by apple sauce and mashed potatoes, it was a sufficient dinner for the whole family; indeed as Mrs Cratchit said with great delight (surveying one small atom of bone upon the dish), "they hadn't ate it all at last"."

There's something terribly Dickensian and Christmasy about our old friend the goose, isn't there? Up until the 1890's most people in England didn't eat turkey, because it was so incredibly expensive. That's why it's such a big deal when Ebeneezer Scrooge buys a massive turkey for the Cratchit family, who would normally be huddled round their scrappy little goose come Christmas Day. 

But which one is better? The goose or the turkey? I like turkey, I do. But it has a tendency to become dry and stringy, and by Boxing Day most sane people are fed up with it; even when it's turned into our famed Boxing Day Turkey Curry. There is no doubt that a fresh turkey is preferable to a frozen one. If you have a frozen one, for god's sake make sure that it has thawed properly, otherwise you and your family could get yourselves into serious trouble. If you can, try and get the gamey tasting English Black Norfolk, or the American Bronze variety.

 And some more advice: stuff the bird at the last minute, rather than the night before. The immediate problem with goose is that there just isn't going to be enough meat on the thing. If you've got lots of friends and family coming round, then some of them are going to go hungry. It tastes delicious, and has a rich and gamey flavour, but there's also going to be lots of fat. I'm fine with that, but there will be some poor souls out there who will want to run for the hills. 

Paul Levy also reckons that the goose is really at its prime come Michaelmas (ie September) rather than December. So my advice on this one: if there are just a few of you- go for goose, and sit back and enjoy the rich and subtle flavours; if you've got a horde coming round, go for turkey, but try and get a properly reared and decent variety, and cook it with care. I know this is expensive, but as it's only once a year, I think it's going to be a good investment. Joy to the World!

Related articles

Roast Pheasant with Juniper Pear Butter

Succulent Roast Goose

Wassail

 

 

 

I've noticed that quite a few readers of The Greasy Spoon have been searching for wassail on the internet. As I'm feeling in a helpful mood, I'm revisiting a post that I wrote last year on the subject. I've also added a nice interactive link to a quirky short film I've found, explaining the wassail tradition in Herefordshire, England. Please take note of my own recipe for Mulled Cider. It's so utterly preferable to the ubiquitous Mulled Wine. I can't stress that enough.

Here's the article:

Wassail is a traditional mulled punch, drunk at Christmas-time in the Northern and Germanic countries. Very Nordic. Wassailing can either mean the singing of carols (at Christmas, the serfs would wassail the Lord and Lady of the Manor), or, as in Gloucestershire, and other western counties, the wassailing of an apple tree- to ensure a good harvest, and drive away the evil spirits. This is done on Twelfth Night. I reckon that The Wicker Man was closer to the bone than many people realise. 

Anyway, although I realise that the chances of wassailing an apple tree in down town Vancouver are practically zero, I'm going to give you my recipe for my very own wassail, otherwise known as Mulled Cider. I prefer it to Mulled Wine, I really do. The problem with the wine version, is that many people get it wrong. Very wrong. They chuck in a bottle of plonk, boil it up, and then add all sorts of other dodgy ingredients, including vodka; and the result is an over-acidic, pungent brew which can leave you with a god-awful hangover. 

Mulled Cider is "different", smoother- and in my opinion delicious. There are no rules; but to get the best results, I suggest that you keep it simple. In a large pan, I pour in a decent dryish West Country or Norman organic cider. Try and avoid the cheaper, sweeter, fizzy stuff.

Next, I cut an orange in half, and add that. Do the same with a lemon. Now it's time for the spices. A cinnamon stick, a few cloves, ground nutmeg, and a kernel of ginger would work well.Taste it!

If it's too dry, add a bit of brown sugar. Start warming it up. You do not want to boil it. Keep it simmering at just below boiling point. If you boil it, all the alcohol will vapourise away- and you want your party to go with a swing, don't you? If you're going to serve it in glass mugs, make sure that you put a silver spoon in the mug first. This will prevent the glass from shattering. 

If you've got time, decorate the wassail with "Lamb's Wool". This is just peeled apple simmered in cider until it goes woolly, and "explodes"; once that's done, you can float the pulp on top of the mulled cider.

 

 

Related articles

Wassailing

Spiced Wassail, Traditional Apple Cider

Mulled Fresh Cider

September 30 is Hot Mulled Cider Day

Mince Pies

 

 

Looking back at my posts past, I'm amazed that I've never covered these before. Of course, "mince" pies have got nothing to do with meat or even minced meat; the reason why they're called this goes back to the days of Merry Olde England, when mince pies did indeed include meat, or at least, a "mincemeat" consisting of chopped meat, candied fruit, suet, and sugar, all soaked in brandy. These days, we leave the meat out.

Here's our family recipe for mince pies. Ideally, you leave the mincemeat to mature for god knows how long, but as time is short, I'm sure that it won't be the end of the world if you don't.

First, you need to make the "mincemeat". Peel, core and chop 450g apples and mix them up with 335g raisins, 225g sultanas, 175g shredded suet, 335g soft dark brown sugar, 225g  chopped mixed peel (that's candied fruit), 110g chopped almonds, and a teaspoon of mixed spice.

Grate the rind off a lemon and squeeze out the juice. Pour this into the mixture, and add 110ml of brandy or rum. Ideally, you would leave the mincemeat to mature for up to three months, but as time is short, leave it to mature overnight.

To make the pastry: mix up 335g plain flour, 75g ground almonds, and 75g caster sugar. Stir in two egg yolks and 225g unsalted butter, so that the mixture takes on a breadcrumb type texture. Finally, mix in two tablespoons of cold water. Leave the mixture in the 'fridge for 45 minutes.

Roll the pastry flat, and use it to line small jam jar tart tins. Fill each space with heaped teaspoonfuls of mincemeat, and then top with a smaller circle of pastry. Wet the edges of the pastry and press down well at the sides. Cut a slit or a cross on the top of each pie, and brush with milk or egg white, and dust with caster sugar.

Bake in a moderate oven until the pies start to turn brown.  Serve hot- or cold- with brandy butter. Traditionally, the first mince pie of the season grants you a wish, but only on the condition that you don't talk while you're eating.

 

Related articles

Traditional Fruit Cake Recipe for a Celebration cake

Recipes for traditional mincemeat and fruitcake for the festive season

Smoked Eel with Creamed Horseradish Sauce

 

 

Racking my brains for an appropriate Christmas Lunch or Boxing Day first course, I've come up with the idea of giving 'em Smoked Eel, served with a Creamed Horseradish Sauce. For some reason, this seems to me to be a suitable choice, and I think the subtle smokiness of the eel will balance all the richness and over-stuffing to follow.

If you've never had smoked eel, forget all the "cor blimey, Guv, jellied eel" nonsense. Smoked eel tastes entirely different, and with a properly made horseradish sauce, might even prove to be a sophisticated option.

It's not especially cheap, I have to admit. We've just ordered our smoked eel from the excellent Brown and Forrest, and an 8oz pack of smoked eel fillets (hot smoked over beech and apple) costs £14.00. You will need about 2oz per person.

We're going to serve it with slices of lemon and creamed horseradish sauce. I'm basing this on Simon Hopkinson's version:

First you need to make a horseradish concentrate. Peel a horseradish root and grate it finely across the base of the root. You will need 200g of the stuff.

Next, put the grated horseradish into a food processor. Add five tablespoons of water, two teaspoons of Maldon Salt, one and a half tablespoons of caster sugar, two and a half tablespoons of lemon juice, and two and a half tablespoons of white wine vinegar. Purée the ingredients until smooth. You will be able to keep the horseradish concentrate in a Kilner jar for up to two weeks.

When you want to make the creamed horseradish sauce, it's simplicity itself. Take four tablespoons of the horseradish concentrate you've made earlier, and whisk it into 200ml of double cream, adding a little bit more sugar and salt, to taste.

Related articles

Dilled gravlax with horseradish cream sauce

Devil Sauce

Salmon and fresh horseradish cakes with watercress velvet soup recipe

Hold the chilli: Horseradish is hot stuff

Fortnum's... where real men take afternoon tea, sweetie

Cumberland Sauce

 

 

 

 

I had a minor tiff with Mrs Aitch the other day. As we were watching "Delia's Christmas" on television (there's been a fresh outbreak), I suggested, in my superior way, that Delia's version of Cumberland Sauce was too thin. Mrs Aitch pointed out that Cumberland Sauce should never be too thick, and should always be served cold. Well, of course, after a bit of research, I discovered that Mrs Aitch and Saint Delia were right, and The Greasy Spoon was wrong.

I love Cumberland Sauce, and think it's utterly, completely delcious. In my opinion, it's infinitely a cut above the ubiquitous Cranberry Sauce, though I think, from memory, that we're planning to offer both on Christmas Day. Cumberland Sauce works brilliantly with ham, bacon and turkey.

There's quite a bit of useful historical info in Elizabeth David's superb little book, Elizabeth David's Christmas, edited by Jill Norman. I've recommended this one before, and I'm very happy to recommend it again.

According to Mrs David, the first mention of Cumberland Sauce in any published cookery book, comes as late as 1904, in Alfred Suzanne's "La Cuisine Anglaise". The great Alexis Soyer, however, published a similar German recipe for "a sauce to go with Boar's Head" as early as 1853.

Elizabeth David reckoned it to be the best Cumberland Sauce recipe, and it's almost identical to the family recipe I'm about to give you. The only substantial difference is that Soyer added a heaped teaspoon of English Mustard (Elizabeth David uses Dijon) to the redcurrant jelly, and Mrs David specifies Medium Tawny Port.

Peel of the skin of an orange, and then cut the skin into "julienne" (very thin strips). Put the orange strips into a pan with some water and bring to the boil. This will remove any bitterness from the orange peel.

In another small pan, melt four heaped tablespoons of redcurrant jelly, with a teaspoon of ground ginger. Stir well, until the redcurrant jelly and the ginger have combined. (If you're going to add mustard, add it now).

Redcurrant jelly is best described as a smooth English sweet, fruity jam (or jelly to my American readers) which we normally eat with lamb. It's available in ready-made in jars- though I have to admit, I have no idea if it's easily obtainable in America or not; so, if you live on that side of the pond, you may well have to track the stuff down on the internet, or see if you local deli stocks it.

Redcurrant jelly will act as a thickening agent, but true Cumberland sauce should really have a thinnish consistency, so try to keep it reasonably runny- if it coats the back of a spoon, you know it's about right.

Now's the time to pour in a decent slug of port, the juice of one orange, and the juice of half a lemon. Stir well, then add the blanched orange strips (which you've previously taken out of the hot water, and drained).

You will be left with a tangy, fruity, gingery, port-infused dark red sauce- which will act as a balance to the salt in the ham. I can best describe it as the taste of Christmas. Nostalgic. Oh- and one last word of advice from Mrs Aitch: Cumberland Sauce should always be served cold, so don't try and warm it up; otherwise you're going to find yourself in trouble...

Related articles

Rex Whistler and The Tate Gallery Restaurant

Venison stew with redcurrant jelly and bacon recipe

Saturday Lunch Toad in the Hole (with Onion Gravy)

Paul Levy's "The Feast of Christmas"

Nigel Slater's chilly weather recipes

Devil Sauce

Bourbon Sauce

Cranberry Sauce from Scratch

Homemade Cranberry Pomegranate Sauce

Fondue

 

 

Back in the late 1960's, our Swiss au pair brought back a funky fondue set. I remember it well: a beaten copper affair, raised on a nifty wrought iron stand.

I happen to think that the best fondues use authentic cheese recipes. Recently, however, a bad, mad, and dangerous tendency has crept in for sickly, over rich chocolate fondues with cake, strawberries, sweeties, and the like. Please avoid them at all costs.

Here's how to make a genuine Swiss cheese fondue: grate ½ llb of Swiss cheese (Emmenthaler is ideal), and ½ llb of Gruyère into a pan. Start melting the cheese on a medium heat. It's important not to boil the cheese, over-stir it, or let it get cold. All these things will encourage separation and stringing.

Carefully stir in two tablespoons of flour or cornstarch. Again, the flour will help to prevent separation. Add a tablespoon of dry mustard.

When the cheese, flour and mustard have melted down, add a cup of dry white wine, a generous dash of Kirsch, a squeeze of lemon juice, and some grated nutmeg. That's it.

You then dip in hunks of fresh white bread into the cheese sauce. Traditionally, if you loose your bread in the cheese, you're supposed to pay a forfeit. Having seen The Stepford Wives, I can imagine the sort of saucy things our parents got up to forty years ago, though I stress that in our family, the forfeit was always a bottle of Kirsch.

 

Related articles

The Savoy's Cream Cheese and Marmite Sandwiches

Devil Sauce

Fondue au Fromage

Swiss Cheese

Fond of a "fondue?"

The London best: Fondue restaurants

Fon-Do and Fon-Don'ts

Coca-Cola Ham

 

 

Last Christmas or so, I wrote a post about a slightly weird recipe: "Ham Glazed in Coca-Cola". It's still one of my most popular posts, and as I'm currently getting increased hits (no doubt because of Thanksgiving) I'm going to give you the recipe again.

It doesn't sound that great, does it? However, as Coke is really just a very sugary, brown and fizzy syrup, there's no reason why it shouldn't work nicely with a lovely, juicy ham. And the recipe's an old favourite from the American Deep South, too. So, here's how you make it:

Put in a medium sized gammon into a large pan. Add a peeled onion (for flavour), and then pour in a litre of coca-cola. Bring to the boil, put the lid back on, and turn down the heat. Let the ham braise in the liquid for  2 ½ hours.

Take the gammon out of the pan, and let it rest. Remove the skin and preheat your oven to 210˚C. In the meantime, mix up a glaze from 100g breadcrumbs, 100g brown muscovado sugar, two tablespoons of French Dijon Mustard, and a tablespoon of Colman's Mustard Powder. Stir in a spoonful or so of coca-cola to the mixture, and then slap it onto the gammon. 

Roast the gammon in the hot oven for about ten minutes, or until the glaze has cooked.

 

Related articles

The Dilemma of Tomato Ketchup

Devil Sauce

Coca-Cola Glazed Ham

How Did A Coke Only Cost A Nickel For 70 Years? Because Coca-Cola Said So

Coca-Cola retires classic glass bottle

The Official Greasy Spoon Christmas Pudding

 

 

Each year, Christmas seems to start earlier and earlier. The lights have gone up in Oxford Street (do you remember that dreadful "Birds Eye" affair?), and our television set has suddenly erupted into full Christmas mode. Teflon snowflakes are having a field day. I suspect sales of Charles Dickens are on the increase.  And yet, autumn leaves remain: it's still November. The world's gone barmy.

Having said that, right now is the time to start making your Christmas Pudding; and if anything it may even be a bit on the late side. Traditionally, the Christmas Pudding was made on "Stir-Up Sunday", which was the last Sunday before Advent, (about four to five weeks before Christmas Day), but in our family we used to make it as early as late October.

I love Christmas Pudding. The way your spoon plunges into the moist (you hope!), rich, fruity mass; and the contrast with the smooth, rich, alchohol infused brandy butter.

This is the way I make The Official Greasy Spoon Christmas Pudding:

First, you need to stir up all the following ingredients in a pudding basin: 350g mixed fruit and peel (this means crystallised peel, dried apricots, currants, saltanas, raisins, grated lemon rind, and grated orange rind); 50g chopped glace cherries, 25g flaked almonds, 50g dried suet (you can't get the proper stuff anymore- the EU has made it illegal), 35g white breadcrumbs, 35g plain flour, 70g moist dark brown sugar, 50g grated apple, and a dash of mixed spice and grated nutmeg. Some weirdos add carrot- but very sensibly, I leave this one out.

Once you've stirred all the ingredients together well, mix in two beaten eggs, the juice of half a lemon and half an orange, pour in two tablespoons of a dark stout (ie Guinness), a tablespoon of black treacle, and a dash of decent Scotch Whisky. Most recipes will tell you to add brandy, but being a contrarian, I've decided that Scotch works better. Stir it like mad.

Now's the time to add the mixture to a basin. Recently, I've had this thing about those old-fashioned ball-shaped puddings- the ones you see in the illustrations of "Phiz" and in Walt Disney. A few years ago, I managed to track down a ball-shaped pudding mould from Divertimenti in the Fulham Road, and used that- but a traditional ceramic pudding basin will be just dandy. Smear the inside of the basin with butter. This will stop the pudding sticking to the side. Pour in the mixture. Top off with a piece of buttered greaseproof paper, ideally cut down to fit. Finally, place a cloth over the basin, and tie it off at the top with a bit of string.

Steam it for five to six hours. This means getting hold of a large pan, filling it about a quarter full with water and bringing it to the boil. Place the pudding in the middle of the pan, and put the lid on. The steam will rise up within the pan, and cook the pudding. Once it's cooked, leave it in a cool place with a piece of tin foil on top. It will mature in the run-up to Christmas. On the great day itself, you will need to steam it for a further three hours.

Related articles

First taste: Heston Blumenthal's mixed-up chocolate brownie Christmas pud

Celebrity chef Heston Blumenthal makes a giant Christmas pudding... then watches as it goes up in flames

The Christmas pud rush: It's still October but festive goodies are already flying off supermarket shelves

Aldi beats luxury Fortnum & Mason in Christmas pudding taste test

Aldi Beats Fortnum And Mason In Taste Test

New Year's Eve Canapés

 

 

Peppadew's are currently very much in vogue. They're a brand of miniature piquanté peppers from South Africa. They're sweet and slightly spicy, and perfect for making quick canapés if you've got friends coming round tonight for the New Year's Eve celebrations tonight (I'm writing this at lunchtime, so you've just got enough time to dash round to the shops and track down a jar).

You will find that you can stuff them very easily. How about a mixture of some type of salty blue, or otherwise soft, cheese, some chopped pine nuts, some chopped capers, and some finely chopped parsley, chives or coriander?

A big thank you to all the readers of The Greasy Spoon. My readership is up- long may that trend continue! I look forward to new food discoveries in 2009: so please keep those comments and emails coming in.

Happy New Year!

 

Champagne Cocktail

 

Here's a great idea for the Hogmany revels tomorrow: it's a Champagne cocktail with Sloe Gin. Like many of the best ideas, it's utterly simple.  Just add a dash of Sloe Gin to a decent Champagne, which, naturellement, you've previously chilled 'on ice'. A perfect winter cocktail, and British in spirit, too; which is no bad thing. For my other Champagne Cocktail recipe, have a look at my post from last year.

I've still got some of the Sloe Gin left from '07. If you remember, I added a bit of almond essence, and having tasted the stuff, I've now decided this is the way forward. The gin's turned a nice, brownish colour too. Sloe Gin improves with age. Definitely.

Happy Christmas

 

It's Christmas Eve, and I'm retreating to the country for a few days.  Today's post is less about food- and more about people who don't have much of it.  

Crisis at Christmas is a superb British charity that helps homeless people- who may be on the streets for a variety of reasons beyond their control. With its emphasis on the family, Christmas for some people can be a time of immense loneliness: I can't think of anything sadder than the single Christmas Puddings you can buy in the supermarkets. Please click on the link, and go to the Crisis at Christmas website.  It will tell you far more than I can. A small donation will help to improve someone's Christmas next year.

I wish you all a very Happy Christmas, and I'll catch up with you when I get back from the revels.

Joy to the World!

Brandy Butter

 

 

Essential with Christmas Pudding or Mince Pies. 

Place 8oz (225g) unsalted butter into a bowl with 6oz (175g) icing sugar. Mix them up well, and then slowly pour in three tablespoons of cognac. Add the grated peel of an orange, and a small splash of fresh orange juice. Pat into a jar, and keep in the 'fridge.

Turkey and all the Trimmings

Christmas Turkey and all the Trimmings!  How those words fill me with dread. I'm sure you know why. It conjures up visions of: stale food kept under hot lamps, old people's homes, Bisto packet gravy, office parties, forced jollity, soggy Brussels Sprouts, paper crowns (both on the head and on the bird), dry turkey, and last and least, ready made packet stuffing.

It doesn't have to be like that.  Cooking a Christmas dinner or lunch is not especially difficult; it just needs a bit of planning. Here are some nuggets of wisdom:

The Turkey 

If at all possible, try and buy a fresh bird, and avoid a frozen specimen. If you've left it too late and are forced to buy a frozen bird, for God's sake make sure that it is properly de-frosted. Rub the turkey with butter, and season it with salt and pepper. Place rashers of bacon over the breast.  Wrap the turkey in tin foil, so that there is air circulating around the bird. Being impatient, I'm a fan of the fast school of cooking. Preheat the oven to 200C (400F, gas mark 6) for birds weighing up to 6kg (13lb). Cook them for 26 minutes per kg (12 mins per lb).  Once the turkey's properly cooked, let it rest for at least 15 minutes. Cover the bird with tin-foil, and a cloth while its resting.  This will help to keep it moist.

The Stuffing

For health reasons, it's not a good idea to stuff the turkey the night before.  If possible, stuff the bird just before it goes into the oven.  My chestnut and watercress stuffing is delicious.

Sausages

I like to put chipolatas around the bird. Check them towards the end of the cooking period, to make sure they don't burn.

Roast Potatoes

Skin your potatoes, and par-boil them for ten minutes.  Drain, and put them back in the saucepan.  Put the lid back on and shake the pan around so that they get fluffy.  Another way to do it, would be to scrape them with a fork.  Melt some goose fat (available tinned in supermarkets) in a roasting tin, and add the potatoes, making sure that they get covered with the fat. They'll take about 40-50 minutes in a hot oven.

Roast Parsnips

Cook in a similar way to the potatoes, making sure that they are basted in fat before the go into the oven.  I find that parsnips cook quicker than potatoes, and should take about 30 minutes. Make sure they don't burn.

Brussels Sprouts

Not everyone's cup of tea by any account. No need to make a deep "cross" in the root, and if you're going to boil them, make sure that they are slightly undercooked and crunchy.  Put masses of sea salt into the water (this will help keep them green), and plunge them straight into the rapidly boiling water. To be different, try Brussels Sprouts in Riesling with Bacon.

Cumberland Sauce

Try The Greasy Spoon's version of this lovely, tangy sauce.

Bread Sauce

I love this traditional English sauce, which is also excellent with game. Make sure it's not too thick. Here's the link.

Gravy

Home-made si vous plait. Bisto's a dirty word. It's simplicity itself.  Once you've removed the turkey from the roasting pan, you will see that there is a bit of fat and various bits of pieces left in the bottom of the pan. Keep the pan on the heat, and stir in a spoonful of flour. Whisk it into the fat, to remove any lumps. Cook the flour for a few minutes.  Add a decent splash of wine and some stock, and let it bubble away.  Add a spoonful of redcurrant jelly, and season with salt and pepper.  I like to add a dash of soy sauce, which helps the gravy to turn a nice brown colour.  If the gravy's too thick, add some more stock. Personally, I like my gravy to be thin. It's a personal thing.

Hideous gadget, so kindly meant...

Are you fed up with Christmas yet?  Want me to go on?  For this post, I thought I would have a look at kitchen equipment, especially as it's the sort of thing that you might be giving as a present. 

I'm fascinated by the concept of kitchen equipment- the sort of stuff that people buy for show, and then never use.  I suppose Terence Conran invented the whole caboodle, back in the Sixties, with his innovative market stall-like displays at Habitat in the King's Road, Chelsea. You know the sort of thing: blue and white striped Cornish ware, copper pans, red enamel coffee perculators, 19th century French dial clocks, and scrubbed pine tables. All offset by a framed Toulouse-Lautrec poster of the Folies Bergère. This was a new non-aristocratic, democratic look for the upper middle and professional classes, with a nod to the Welsh Methodism of Laura Ashley. An amlgamation of Mrs Bridge's "downstairs" kitchen, and the rustic charms of the imagined French countryside.  It said "I'm a sophisticated urban person, but I don't have servants".

One of the highlights of the Christmas season used to be my annual Christmas Eve visit to The General Trading Company  in Sloane Street. Here, a guaranteed quota of gormless, spaced-out men wandered around like Neanderthals, while dippy alice-banded girls flirted with their hair, and flogged them useless ethnic nick nacks from Sri Lanka. You see,  typically, I always leave my Christmas presents to the last minute.  

Incidentally chaps, probably about the worst present you can give to a girl is kitchen equipment. It's a funny thing. For some reason, women seem to think that it relegates them to the status of kitchen slave, by appointment. A few years ago, I very generously gave a pasta machine to my then girlfriend, and she went ballistic.  The ultimate Christmas present nightmare would be a Magimix stuffed with kinky lingerie.

I would be delighted if anyone gave me some kitchen stuff- even a humble wooden spoon. Tom Parker Bowles wrote an excellent article recently, in which he urged readers to dispose of their gimmicky gadgets, and, instead, buy a few, high quality (albeit expensive) kitchen utensils. Brands of note are: Wusthof (knives), Le Creuset (pots), Stellar (pans), Mauviel (copper cookware), and Anolon Professional (non-stick). You have the advantage that these will probably last you a life time.

Wassail

 

 

I've noticed that quite a few readers of The Greasy Spoon have been searching for wassail on the internet. As I'm feeling in a helpful mood, I'm revisiting a post that I wrote last year on the subject. I've also added a nice interactive link to a quirky short film I've found, explaining the wassail tradition in Herefordshire, England. Please take note of my own recipe for Mulled Cider. It's so utterly preferable to the ubiquitous Mulled Wine. I can't stress that enough. Here's the article:

Wassail is a traditional mulled punch, drunk at Christmas-time in the Northern and Germanic countries. Very Nordic. Wassailing can either mean the singing of carols (at Christmas, the serfs would wassail the Lord and Lady of the Manor), or, as in Gloucestershire, and other western counties, the wassailing of an apple tree- to ensure a good harvest, and drive away the evil spirits. This is done on Twelfth Night. I reckon that The Wicker Man was closer to the bone than many people realise. 

Anyway, although I realise that the chances of wassailing an apple tree in down town Vancouver are practically zero, I'm going to give you my recipe for my very own wassail, otherwise known as Mulled Cider. I prefer it to Mulled Wine, I really do. The problem with the wine version, is that many people get it wrong. Very wrong. They chuck in a bottle of plonk, boil it up, and then add all sorts of other dodgy ingredients, including vodka; and the result is an over-acidic, pungent brew which can leave you with a god-awful hangover. 

Mulled Cider is "different", smoother- and in my opinion delicious. There are no rules; but to get the best results, I suggest that you keep it simple. In a large pan, I pour in a decent dryish West Country or Norman organic cider. Try and avoid the cheaper, sweeter, fizzy stuff. Next, I cut an orange in half, and add that. Do the same with a lemon. Now it's time for the spices. A cinnamon stick, a few cloves, nutmeg, and a kernel of ginger would work well. Taste it! If it's too dry, add a bit of brown sugar. Start warming it up. You do not want to boil it. Keep it simmering at just below boiling point. If you boil it, all the alcohol will vapourise away- and you want your party to go with a swing, don't you? If you're going to serve it in glass mugs, make sure that you put a silver spoon in the mug first. This will prevent the glass from shattering. 

If you've got time, decorate the wassail with Lamb's Wool. This is just peeled apple simmered in cider until it goes woolly, and "explodes"; once that's done, you can float the pulp on top of the mulled cider.

Chestnuts

Where have the London roasted chestnut street sellers gone? Not that long ago, they were all over the place- in Piccadilly, outside The Ritz, several in the Charing Cross Road; quite a few near Oxford Circus. I liked the way they stacked up their hot chestnuts on their grimy braziers- in rows, and in little paper bags.

I love Chestnut Stuffing.  Buy a packet of peeled chestnuts. Cut them in half, and then fry 225g of chopped streaky bacon. Turn up the heat, and add the chestnuts.  Fry them on a high heat. Remove the chestnuts, and add 50g of butter to the pan, so that it mixes in with the bacon.  Add 110g fresh brown breadcrumbs, and fry until brown. In a separate bowl, mix up the chestnuts, the breadcrumbs and bacon, a bunch of chopped watercress, a beaten egg, and season with lots of salt and pepper, and a tablespoon of caster sugar.

Still on the subject of chestnuts, if you've ever wondered, here's how they make marron glacés in France: the chestnuts are blanched in lightly salted water to loosen their membranes. The membranes are removed. Next, the chestnuts are simmered in a vanilla flavoured sugar syrup for up to twenty four hours. Finally, the marron glacés are dried out in a hot oven.

The Medieval Christmas Banquet

 

 

 

I'm quite curious about the food people ate in the Middle Ages. In The Big Fat Duck Cookbook, Heston Blumenthal mentions his fascination with a bizarre 14th century French cookery book, Le Viander de Taillevent, in which a chicken is plucked alive, basted with soya, wheat-germ and dripping to simulate roasting, coaxed asleep, and then 'brought back to life' at the table.

In case you're wondering, the rather beautiful illustration is from the Duc de Berry's Book of Hours and depicts the month of January. It probably shows the Twelfth Night banquet, as during the Middle Ages the focus of the Christmas festivities tended to be during the Twelve Days of Christmas, and after the Advent Fast.

I've adapted a 15th century  English recipe for "Goose in a Garlic and Grape Sauce" which you could easily make at home. I haven't tried it yet, so I've no idea what it tastes like- it could be foul:

You make a stuffing out of garlic cloves, seedless grapes, chopped parsley and salt, and then stick it up a goose. Roast the bird in an oven set at 350༠C (twenty minutes per pound). When you're happy that the goose is cooked, take it out of the oven, and set aside to cool.

Spoon out the cooked stuffing and blend it in a food processor, adding three hard-boiled egg yolks, and half a cup of cider vinegar. Spoon the finished sauce over the goose.

Coca-Cola Glazed Ham

 

 

There's an urban myth currently doing the rounds that Santa Claus (or as we say here in Blighty, Father Christmas) was invented by the Coca-Cola Corporation of America. Well, there's a little bit of truth in the story. Santa Claus is an amalgamation of the 17th century English folk personification of Christmas, "Father Christmas" , and the 19th century "Saint Nick" of Clement Clarke Moore's poem, "The Night Before Christmas". Father Christmas was usually portrayed as a scrawny, bearded old man wearing a fur robe, and the "Spirit of Christmas Present" in Charles Dickens's "A Christmas Carol" was illustrated wearing a similar robe, but in green. In Europe, "St Claus" was sometimes imagined as a sprightly little elf. 

The modern image of Santa Claus (the one you see at your local department store grotto); the red cap and suit, huge buckled belt, enormous stomach, black boots and Mr Kiplingesque whiskers was, in part, invented by a series of Coca-Cola advertisments illustrated by Haddon Sundblom. These ran from the 1930's.

Talking of Coca-Cola, I've got a slightly weird recipe for you: it's "Ham Glazed in Coca-Cola". Okay, it doesn't sound that great; but as Coke is really just a very sugary, brown, fizzy, syrup, there's reason why this shouldn't work nicely on a lovely, juicy ham. And the recipe's an old favourite from the American Deep South, too. Here's how you make it:

You get hold of a large pan, and into that you place a medium sized gammon. Throw in a peeled onion (for flavour), and then pour in a litre of coca-cola. Bring to the boil, put the lid back on, and turn down the heat. Let it braise in the liquid for 2 1/2 hours.

Take the gammon out of the pan, and let it rest. Remove the skin and preheat your oven to 210C. Meanwhile mix up a glaze from 100g breadcrumbs, 100g brown muscovado sugar, two tablespoons of French Dijon Mustard, and a tablespoon of Colman's Mustard Powder. Add a spoonful or so of coca-cola to the mixture, and then slap it onto the gammon.  Roast the gammon in the hot oven for about ten minutes, or until the glaze has cooked.

Incidentally, I've just had an interesting comment from "carrotosaurus": it's a recipe for White Borscht. Go and have a look...

Champagne Cocktail

 

 

I adore Christmas, believe me. But, Jiminy Cricket, I'm glad when it's all over. I sympathise with a friend who used to hang a banner up in his Drawing Room declaring "Christmas Must Go!". That's why I like New Year's Eve (or Hogmany as it's called in Scotland), even if this means that you might get a dark, hairy stranger in a kilt turning up on your doorstep at midnight with a lump of coal.

 

 

And what to drink, apart from the obvious and excellent choice of Champagne? How about mixing up a chic Champagne Cocktail this evening?

 

Here's a classic 1930's Champagne Cocktail from the Metropolitan Hotel, New York. First you need to soak a sugar cube with a dash of Angoustura Bitters. Put it in the bottom of a champagne flute.

While I'm about it: a quick word on champagne glasses. I use the classic flute shape. You can also use the rather kitsch shallow glass version- which, apparently, was fashioned from Marie Antoinette's left tit. They're fun- but I've been told on good authority that they're not good for the champagne bubbles, and make them go flat rather quickly.

But on with the cocktail: Fill up the glass with a decent Champagne. Laurent Perrier is delicious, relatively affordable, and a brand I'm currently rather keen on. Finish it off with a twist of lemon.

 

 

Champagne afficinados will probably sneer at anyone who tries to make a champagne cocktail, but I like this recipe for its simplicity, and classic origins. I'm off to a New Year's Eve party in Buckinghamshire tonight, but if I'm still alive by tomorrow morning, plan to write about things Bavarian. I would like to thank everyone and anyone who has bothered to read "The Greasy Spoon" over the last few months, and I wish you all a happy and peaceful 2008. Happy New Year!

The Twelve Days of Christmas

 

 

King Arthur lay at Camelot upon a Christmas-tide, with many a gallant lord and lovely lady, and all the noble brotherhood of the Round Table. There they held rich revels with gay talk and jest; one while they would ride forth to joust and tourney, and again back to the court to make carols; for there was the feast holden fifteen days with all the mirth that men could devise, song and glee, glorious to hear, in the daytime, and dancing at night.

Traditionally, The Twelve Days of Christmas starts on Christmas Day, and ends on Twelfth Night. It was a time of great Medieval feasting and revelry. I'm very fond of St George's Hall, Windsor, which is an early Victorian fantasy of what a Medieval Hall should look like; and the recent restorations after the disastrous fire have been superb. There's a suit of armour there, stuck up in front of a great roundel on the wall- with all the overtones of Arthurian legend and the great Medieval poem, Sir Gawain and the Green Knight. And how suitable for a Christmas feast! In a similar vein, the engraving below shows the famous Boar's Head being brought into The Queen's College, Oxford. The boar is paraded into the Hall, to the strains of the fifteenth century Boar's Head Carol.

 

 

 

Still on the subject of Christmas food, I've got a great family recipe for Candied Fruit.

First, you need to get hold of five large oranges. Cut them in half, and squeeze out the juice. Discard the flesh, but not the pith. Next, cut the peel into strips about half an inch wide, and place them into a saucepan. Cover with boiling water and simmer for about five minutes. Drain and repeat this four times, using fresh water each time.

In a large pan, pour 250 ml (8 fl oz) of water over 1 1/2 lb of granulated sugar, and dissolve the sugar over a gentle heat. Add the orange peel, and cook them slowly, with the lid partially on, until they are soft. This should take about half an hour- or a bit longer. Leave them to cool down, and then sprinkle them with caster sugar.

Leave out to dry for a day or so- and then store them away in an air-tight tin. They are utterly delicious, and would make an original- if simple- present for someone. You can also try the same technique on lemons, but we all reckoned this Christmas, that the orange version was probably better. But as always, it's a matter of personal taste, isn't it?

Mulled Cider

 

 

Old Apple tree, old apple tree; We've come to wassail thee; To bear and to bow apples enow; Hats full, caps full, three bushel bags full; Barn floors full and a little heap under the stairs

Wassail is a traditional mulled punch, drunk at Christmas-time in the Northern and Germanic countries. Very Nordic.

Wassailing can either mean the singing of carols (at Christmas, the serfs would wassail the Lord and Lady of the Manor), or, as in Gloucestershire, and other western counties, the wassailing of an apple tree- to ensure a good harvest, and drive away the evil spirits. This is done on Twelfth Night. I reckon that The Wicker Man was closer to the bone than many people realise.

Anyway, although I realise that you are probably not going to start wassailing apple trees in down town Vancouver or Katmandu, I am going to give you my recipe for my very own wassail, Mulled Cider. I prefer it to Mulled Wine, I really do. The problem with Mulled Wine, is that many people get it very wrong. They chuck in a bottle of plonk, boil it up, and then add all sorts of other dodgy ingredients, including vodka; and the result is an over-acidic, pungent brew which can leave you with a god-awful hangover.

 

 

 

Mulled Cider is "different", smoother- and in my opinion delicious. There are no rules; but to get the best results, I suggest that you keep it simple.

In a large pan, I pour in a decent dryish West Country or Norman organic cider. Try and avoid the cheaper, sweeter, fizzy stuff. Next, I cut an orange in half, and add that. Do the same with a lemon.

Now it's time for the spices. A cinnamon stick, a few cloves, nutmeg, and a kernel of ginger would work well. Taste it! If it's too dry, add a bit of brown sugar.

Start warming it up. You do not want to boil it. Keep it simmering at just below boiling point. If you boil it, all the alchohol will vapourise away- and you want your party to go with a swing, don't you? If you're going to serve it in glass mugs, make sure that you put a silver spoon in the mug first. This will prevent the glass from shattering. If you've got time, decorate the wassail with "Lamb's Wool". This is just peeled apple simmered in cider until it goes woolly, and "explodes"; once that's done, you can float the pulp on top of the mulled cider.

Potted Stilton

 

 

More Christmas food from The Greasy Spoon. Stilton is a famous English blue cheese only made in the counties of Derbyshire, Leicestershire, and Nottinghamshire. It has a creamy, crumbly taste which improves with age. It's also quite similar to the Danish Blue.

To make Potted Stilton, you need to mash some up with a third of its weight of unsalted butter. Next add a pinch of cayenne pepper, and a bit of nutmeg. Add some port, and carry on mashing. If it gets too runny, add a good hard cheese to thicken it up.

Pack the cheese mixture into a ramekin dish, and bung it in the 'fridge. It will make an interesting alternative to the cheese course, and is highly, highly suitable for this time of year. Drink it with port- if you're extremely fortunate, something like a Fonseca '63. I'm lucky enough to have a few bottles of the stuff left, but recent tastings have been a bit disappointing. It was probably at its peak about five years ago, so need to drink it up fast. Life is so darn hard.

Gravy

 

 

I hope- pray even- that this Christmas you are going to make some genuine, home-made gravy. I know that some poor souls out there skip this, and make that stuff straight from the packet. And I loathe that. Starchy, synthetic, a nasty brown colour, gloopy- quite horrible. Ruins everything else on the plate.

What is gravy? I had a few protest emails when I had the temerity to suggest that "gravy' in the United States, is what we call a white sauce. Ok, ok, I realise now that this is a term from the Deep South, and that some of you up on the East Coast have a similar thing to us in Britain. Serves me right for hanging out with a bunch of wannabe Confederates.

Proper gravy (or jus, if you live in Hampstead) should be thin (I can't stress that enough), and made from the juices left over from your turkey, beef, or joint.

Once the meat has cooked, lift out your joint, and let it rest. You will have the oven pan left over with the meat juices left behind, and probably some caramelised burnt bits as well. Pour off the surplus fat floating on the top.

Over a moderate heat, stir in a small bit of flour, so that it soaks up the juices, and let it cook for a bit. It's now time to deglaze the pan. This means adding liquid to soak up the burnt bits left on the bottom of the pan. You can use wine, or stock- or a combination of both. For stock, I normally use the water left over from any vegetables that you are cooking at the same time. If you're making a light coloured gravy, say for chicken or turkey, I would use white wine. If you're making a darker gravy for beef, I would use a red, say a Beaujolais.

Let it bubble away, and then finish it off with a tiny splash of soy sauce. This adds a bit of colour, and intensifies the flavours. Strain off the gravy, and serve it in a sauce boat. I prefer my gravy to be very thin, light as well, and it's important when you serve it, not to let it swamp everything else on the plate. Apart from that, it's all pretty straightforward. Good Luck!

Never Was There Such A Goose!

 

There never was such a goose. Bob said he didn't believe there ever was such a goose cooked. It's tenderness and flavour, size and cheapness were the themes of universal admiration. Eked out by apple sauce and mashed potatoes, it was a sufficient dinner for the whole family; indeed as Mrs Cratchit said with great delight (surveying one small atom of bone upon the dish), "they hadn't ate it all at last!"

I've decided this cold and hoary morning (it's seven o' clock!) to write about the Christmas goose. There's something terribly Dickensian and Christmasy about our old friend the goose, isn't there? Up until the 1890's most people in England didn't eat turkey, because it was so incredibly expensive. That's why it's such a big deal when Ebeneezer Scrooge buys a massive turkey for the Cratchit family, who would normally be huddled round their scrappy little goose come Christmas Day.

But which one is better? The goose or the turkey? I like turkey, I do. But it has a tendency to become dry and stringy, and by Boxing Day most sane people are fed up with it; even when it's turned into our famed Boxing Day Turkey Curry. There is no doubt that a fresh turkey is preferable to a frozen one. If you have a frozen one, for god's sake make sure that it has thawed properly, otherwise you and your family could get yourselves into serious trouble. If you can, try and get the gamey tasting English Black Norfolk, or the American Bronze variety. And some more advice: stuff the bird at the last minute, rather than the night before. The immediate problem with goose is that there just isn't going to be enough meat on the thing. If you've got lots of friends and family coming round, then some of them are going to go hungry. It tastes delicious, and has a rich and gamey flavour, but there's also going to be lots of fat. I'm fine with that, but there will be some poor souls out there who will want to run for the hills. Paul Levy also reckons that the goose is really at its prime come Michaelmas (ie September) rather than December.

So my advice on this one: if there are just a few of you- go for goose, and sit back and enjoy the rich and subtle flavours; if you've got a horde coming round, go for turkey, but try and get a properly reared and decent variety, and cook it with care. I know this is expensive, but as it's only once a year, I think it's going to be a good investment. Joy to the World!

Cumberland Sauce

 

 

One of the best English Christmas traditions is the Christmas ham. As well as turkey or goose, many families order in a York ham- dry cured and matured over a period of at least ten weeks. Let's be honest: it's probably more delicious than the turkey, especially when cut into impossibly thin slices and served on your plate with Cumberland Sauce.

I'm sorry America, but Cranberry Sauce looses hands down in the Christmas sauce stakes! English Cumberland Sauce is infinitely preferable. And I would love to persuade you to give it a shot this year, instead. Try it out- and report back.

This is how you make it: Peel of the skin of an orange, and then cut the skin into julienne (ie very thin strips). Put the orange strips into a pan with some water and bring to the boil. This will remove any bitterness from the orange peel. In another small pan, melt four heaped tablespoons of redcurrant jelly, with a teaspoon of ground ginger. Stir well, until the redcurrant jelly and the ginger have combined.

Redcurrant jelly is best described as a smooth English jam (made obviously from redcurrant berries) which we normally eat with lamb. It's available ready-made in jars- though I have to admit, I'm not sure if it's easily obtainable in America; so you may have to track it down on the internet, or see if you local deli stocks it. The redcurrant jelly will act as a thickening agent, but true Cumberland sauce should really have a thinnish consistency, so try to keep it reasonably thin- if it coats the back of a spoon, you know it's about right.

Next, pour in a decent slug of port, and the juice of one orange, and half a lemon. Stir well, then add the blanched orange strips, which you've taken out of the hot water, and drained.

You will be left with a thickish, tangy, fruity, gingery, port-infused dark red sauce- which will act as a balance to the salt in the ham. I can best describe it as the taste of Christmas. Utterly nostalgic. Oh- and one last word of advice: Cumberland Sauce should always be served cold, so don't try and warm it up; that would be a huge mistake...

Christmas Herring Salad

 

 

A German style Christmas market has come to town. I haven't been yet, but all sorts of stalls, fairground rides, and ice-rinks have gone up in Hyde Park. And for once, it's suddenly cold and frosty here in London. Every Christmas I make a German or Scandanavian style Herring Salad. I was given the recipe by my great uncle whose family originally came from Cologne. He treated the enterprise as a work of art, and "built" up the salad over three or four days; however I recently ran into a Swedish girl at a cocktail party who insisted that it needed to be made quickly- and then finished off immediately. I'm going to go with my great-uncle on this one, as the vinegars in the salad should act as a preservative.

Want to make it?

This is how I do it: You will need a large mixing bowl. Chop up some herring. You are supposed to use salted herring, but I use Scottish roll-mops- which are herring marinated in vinegar and spices. Add some diced cooked potatoes, peeled diced apples, diced gherkin, chopped celery, chopped anchovies, and ham- chopped up into small pieces. Mix it all around. Throw in a handful of capers, and some diced cooked beetroot.

 

 

The beetroot will make the salad go an interesting bright pink colour. Next, mix up a vinaigrette. That's just a small dollop of mustard mixed with sugar, and wine vinegar to form an emulsion, with oil added slowly. I suggest you use a light oil, such as sunflower oil, rather than olive oil for this one. Olive oil is too Mediterranean in style and flavour. Finish off the salad with lots of chopped dill, and chopped egg white. It's delicious.

Christmas Pudding

 

 

Look, this may seem completely loopy-loo, but now is the time to start making your Christmas Pudding; and if anything it may even be a bit on the late side. Traditionally, the Christmas Pudding was made on "Stir-Up Sunday", which was the last Sunday before Advent, (about four to five weeks before Christmas Day), but in our family we used to make it as early as late October.

I love Christmas Pudding. The way your spoon plunges into the moist (you hope!), rich, fruity mass; and the contrast with the smooth, rich, alchohol infused brandy butter. Nearer Christmas, I'll have fun writing about that festive sauce.

This is the way I make The Official Greasy Spoon Christmas Pudding: First, you need to stir up all the following ingredients in a pudding basin: 350g mixed fruit and peel (this means crystallised peel, dried apricots, currants, saltanas, raisins, grated lemon rind, and grated orange rind); 50g chopped glace cherries, 25g flaked almonds, 50g dried suet (you can't get the proper stuff anymore- the EU has made it illegal), 35g white breadcrumbs, 35g plain flour, 70g moist dark brown sugar, 50g grated apple, and a dash of mixed spice and grated nutmeg. Some weirdos add carrot- but very sensibly, I leave this one out.

Once you've stirred all the ingredients together well, add two beaten eggs, the juice of half a lemon, and half an orange, pour in two tablespoons of a dark stout (ie Guinness), a tablespoon of black treacle, and a dash of decent Scotch Whisky. Most recipes will tell you to add brandy, but being a contrarian, I've decided that Scotch works better. Stir it like mad.

Now's the time to add the mixture to a basin. Recently, I've had this thing about those old-fashioned ball-shaped puddings- the ones you see in Dickens and in Walt Disney. I managed to track down a ball-shaped pudding mould from Divertimenti in the Fulham Road, and used that- but a traditional ceramic pudding basin will be just dandy. Smear the inside of the basin with butter. This will stop the pudding sticking to the side. Pour in the mixture. Top off with a piece of buttered greaseproof paper, ideally cut down to fit. Finally, place a cloth over the basin, and tie it off at the top with a bit of string.

Steam it for five to six hours. This means getting hold of a large pan, filling it about a quarter full with water and bringing it to the boil. Place the pudding in the middle of the pan, and put the lid on. The steam will rise up within the pan, and cook the pudding. Once it's cooked, leave it in a cool place with a piece of tin foil on top. It will mature in the run-up to Christmas. On the great day itself, you will need to steam it for a further three hours.