The Greasy Spoon | Food & Culture

Pork Scratchings Come Out of The Cold

 

 

 

I've got a guilty secret. I like pork scratchings. Until recently, every day on my way home from the Blacking Factory (a quasi-heated, cavernous warehouse found in the scrappy, semi-industrial inner suburbs of North London), I would pull over at a garage on the A40 and buy a packet of Mr Porky's Pork Scratchings. It was sort of addictive. I kept this one quiet from Mrs Aitch, carefully removing the greasy, empty packet from the floor of the car before bounding up the steps to our shiny, Grecian knockered front door.

You see, it's been a sort of secret love affair over the years- I mean with the Pork Scratchings. If you're not British, you probably don't know what I'm talking about. Pork Scratchings are off-cuts of pork rind or skin, deep fried in fat, and then sprinkled with salt, flavourings and undoubtably, our old friend monosodium glutamate. They have a dodgy reputation; they're about as classy as a Knees Up Mother Brown at the local dog track. Those on a diet can look away now.

But now and again, you would run into tantalising, if raffish, home-made versions. The Star Tavern in Belgravia (that excellent traditional London pub; the former haunt of the Clermont gambling set and the Great Train Robbers) sold fresh scratchings, cooked to their own recipe, salted and presented in large glass jars, into which you could plunge your grubby mitts. I liked this.

And now, at last, Pork Scratchings can truly come out of the cold. Tom Parker Bowles, Matthew Fort and pig-farmer, Rupert Ponsonby, are the brainchildren behind a new venture: Mr Trotter's Great British Pork Crackling ('Hand Cooked For a Crisper Crunch'). I'm munching on a packet as I write this, it's a sort of manly, substitute breakfast. According to the packet, "it's seasoned with a special blend of ingredients, without a trace of MSG. Unlike other pork scratchings, Mr Trotter's Great British Pork Crackling is made with 100% prime British pork skin from the finest British Pigs".

They are indeed divine, and far less salty than the more ersatz brands. It's also nice to know that British pigs are being turned into scratchings- sorry boys, crackling, rather than Danish beasts. My only sorrow is that currently, they only seem to be available at the usual up-market parade:  Harvey Nick's food hall, Fortnum's, the Chatsworth Farm Shop. But you can, at least, buy them online, and in bulk (£57 for 30 bags, if you're wondering). I quite like the idea of a pork scratchings hoard; in this case, there's going to be no need to keep it a secret.

 

 

Devilled Quail's Eggs for Hallowe'en

 

 

Arthur Rackham, from The Ingoldsby Legends, 1898

 

Every year I try and come up with something "devilled" for Hallowe'en. It seems appropriate somehow. A few years ago I wrote about Devilled Quail's Eggs- they were truly, deliciously sinful and I urge you to make some as soon as you can. Devilled Eggs are popular in the Southern States, but I've given them a more refined twist with the use of quail's eggs. Easier to stuff into your mouth, too. They can, of course, be eaten at any time of the year, and I think they would work brilliantly if you were planning to have a Christmas party.

Here's my post from 2010:

I'm writing this as the gloom descends on a Hallowe'en afternoon. I've always been fascinated by Hallowe'en: as a child in England, it was barely celebrated, apart from a few cartoons on the BBC and a spooky tale or so read out aloud at nursery school. I've been reading up on Hallowe'en and according to the Oxford Dictionary of Folklore, it's quite possible that all that pagan stuff about Celtic fire festivals and the like is a fantasy, invented by Sir James Frazer in the "Golden Bough", and that Hallowe'en's origins are, indeed, Christian and Scottish, where it was known as "Nutcrack Night". During the 19th century, Hallowe'en was associated with fortune telling and love divination: young girls would learn who their future husbands would be.

My grandmother taught me how to carve lanterns, but from turnips- rather than pumpkins. Recently, under American influence, Hallowee'en has become much more popular in England. We've just barricaded our front door and battened down the shutters in preparation for the annual onslaught: London street urchins hammering on the door and rattling the letterbox: "'ere, mister!  we know you're there!"

 

Francisco Goya, Witches' Sabbath, 1789

Hallowe'en food should be spicy (especially with the Mexican Day of the Dead just around the corner) and I gather that in the American Deep South, devilled eggs are traditionally served. But I'm not keen on the idea of serving up stuffed chicken's eggs as a canapé. They're too large, and I think would be a bit clumsy, and even slightly Gothic. So I've adapted the idea, but using tiny quail's eggs, instead. This works much better and they were utterly delicious. We scoffed a plate of them this morning.

Place your quails eggs in a pan of cold water, and bring to the boil. Turn off the heat, put back the lid, and let them stand in the hot water for four minutes. Plunge the cooked eggs into a pan of cold water. To shell them, gently roll the eggs on a hard surface, so that the shells crack. You will find that the quail's eggs have a tougher membrane than chicken's eggs, and once you've carefully removed it, you'll find the shell easier to remove. But it's delicate work.

Slice the cooked eggs in half, and spoon out the cooked yolk and place in a mixing bowl.  Add a light mayonnaise, a few dashes of Tabasco, a dollop of Dijon mustard, cayenne pepper and celery salt for seasoning. Whisk up the ingredients together until smooth.  Using a piping bag, pipe the devilled mixture back into the quails egg halves.

Arrange on a plate, and sprinkle with finely chopped chives.

 

 

 

 

Devilled Kidney Canapés

 

 

With Hallowe'en today, and Guy Fawkes Night and the Mexican Day of the Dead just around the corner; this time of year calls for a certain type of food: it needs to be warming, probably spicy too (with a nod to Mexico and all things "devilled"); I also like the idea of small, easily made tapas-style dishes and canapés. Perfect to serve up to any friends who drop by for Bonfire Night drinks.

About three years ago, I covered Devilled Kidneys on The Greasy Spoon. I cannot stress how surprisingly delicious these are- utterly wicked. I had the bright idea this morning of serving them as canapés; although bear in mind that you'll need to cut up the kidneys into small, bite-sized pieces and cook them extremely briefly.

First you heat up a bit of oil in a hot pan. Cut your lamb's kidney's into quarters, first trimming away the whitish core, and any white stringy bits. Chop the quarters up into smallish dice. Drop the chopped kidneys into the pan, and sauté them very briefly. Add a dash of dry sherry, bubble it away, and then add a further dash of cider vinegar.

Stir in a spoonful of redcurrant jelly, and allow it to melt. Add a generous slug of Worcestershire sauce, a dollop of yellow English mustard (Colman's is ideal), and ground black pepper. 

Season with a decent pinch of sea salt, and mix in a spoonful of so of double cream. Bubble away quickly until glossy.

To serve: take a slice of bread and cut into bite-size crutons or squares (I like them to be reasonably small). Fry in a shallow pan with groundnut oil until golden brown. Spoon the devilled kidneys onto each cruton. Arrange on a plate, season with cayenne pepper and sprinkle over chopped parsley or chives.

Go on, be a devil- you'll love 'em.

Incidentally, the rather haunting photograph at the top of the page is taken from Ossian Clark's "Haunted Air- a collection of anonymous Hallowe'en Photographs from America, c.1875 - 1955", published by Jonathan Cape in 2010. Ossian Clark has collected hundreds of vintage snaps found in flea-markets, car boot sales, junk shops and the like. I haven't bought this book yet, but I'm intrigued. What I've seen so far seems strangely moving (the lives of ordinary suburban and working class American families- now forgotten but captured in time), surreal, weird, and genuinely frightening.

Zucchini Fritters

 

 

 

I like the word "Zucchini". It rolls off the tongue. Here in England we call them "courgettes". Anyway. If you've got the time and inclination, zucchini fritters are the perfect thing to serve with drinks, and especially with a Dry Martini.

I'm currently keen on the idea of tiny fritters; the size of a small coin: slice up some baby courgettes very thinly, put the slices into a colander, and sprinkle them with sea salt. The salt will draw out enormous quantities of water. Your friends will be thrilled and amazed.

Next, beat an egg white until frothy, and dip the courgette slices into the egg white. Shake off the excess, and then dip them again into strong flour which you've previously seasoned with salt and white pepper.

In a deep-fat fryer, heat some peanut oil to about 375 F (190 C). If you don't have a fryer, use a wok. As nut oil burns at a higher temperature, it's an excellent choice for this sort of operation. Drop the courgettes into the oil, a few at a time, and fry them until they are crisp. Watch them like a hawk, and make sure they don't burn.

Incidentally, when frying, it's always best never to overcrowd the pan; if you do, you run the risk that your food may steam or boil, which, of course, is a different technique all together.

Drain the fritters on kitchen paper, and sprinkle them with more salt and pepper. Okay, this means that your fritters are going to pretty salty, but I think that in this case, it provides a perfect balance with the dry oiliness (is that a word?) of a classic Martini cocktail.

I also quite like the idea of cutting up the courgettes into wider slices, and serving them in that simple way, as a side dish. Baby yellow courgettes could be an interesting concept, too. Lots of ideas.

The Old Original Bookbinder's Restaurant Cookbook

 

 

I've just bought this book for the princely sum of £4.50. From a little bookshop in the quaint Cotswold town of Chipping Camden, of all places. It's the 1961 edition of the official "Old Original Bookbinder's Restaurant Cookbook", by Charlotte Adams.

Bookbinder's was a distinguished American restaurant, first founded as a Philadelphia oyster saloon back in 1893. It's wikipedia entry describes its 1950s' heydey as ''a hot spot where red-jacketed waiters scurried through dark-panelled rooms festooned with photographs of VIPS; redolent of cigar smoke tinged with shellfish." This sounds very much my sort of place. I gather that the restaurant fell on hard times, lost its exclusive allure, became a tourist trap, and is now quite probably defunct. A pity, because I miss this sort of joint: the type of restaurant where a fawning mess-jacketed waiter might flamb-ay something jaw-droppingly expensive at M'sieur's very own table.

 

I've picked out two recipes at random, which I haven't tried yet, but, I think, with a bit of tweaking, could be good. The first one's for the obscene sounding "Crab Balls". I would suggest that you make these very small in size, and serve them as canapés- perhaps with some sort of a dipping sauce to go with them:

In a bowl mix together: one tablespoon of chopped green pepper, one tablespoon of finely chopped onion, one tablespoon of finely chopped celery, one tablespoon of minced pimento (ie sweet red pepper), and a teaspoon of fresh thyme leaves. Season with salt, black pepper and a dash of Worcestershire Sauce. Sweat in butter over a lowish heat for about ten minutes.

Sprinkle in four tablespoons of flour (this sounds like quite a bit, even too much; so I would suggest that you go easy on this) and stir in to the vegetable mix. Cook for a further five minutes. Next pour in a cup of milk, and stir until thickened (in effect you've made an old-fashioned white sauce). Then add a pound of crabmeat. Take off the heat, mix in well and chill the mixture in the 'fridge.

When it's cold enough, you take out the crab mixture and roll it into small balls. The balls are then dipped into beaten egg, coated with breadcrumbs- or even more authentically Yankee- crushed up cream crackers, and fried in deep fat until golden brown.

The second recipe is for "Bookbinder's Shrimp Chowder":

Sweat chopped onions in butter until golden, and put to one side. Make a smooth white sauce in the usual way from butter, two tablespoons of flour and four cups of hot milk. The sauce is then placed over a bain-marie, seasoned with salt, pepper and a blade of mace. Pre-Cooked shrimps (large prawns in England) are added and the whole thing cooked gently for twenty minutes. The mace is removed, and the chowder finished off with an extra cup of hot cream and the onion flavoured butter which you've previously strained off. On second thoughts, I'm not exactly sure about this recipe. It could be a bit bland: it's certainly a heart attack in a bowl- not that I'm one of those Cromwellian types pulsating with disapproval at any symptom of a sybaritic lifestyle. I'm not even sure if it's a genuine chowder; I suspect that it isn't.

In complete contrast, I had the most divine thing at the Canton yesterday evening. It was a vegetarian marrow gratin, served piping hot in one of those dinky orange Le Creuset dishes. Half a marrow- cut in half, and scooped out. Covered in Italian Borlotti white beans, and flavoured with a stock, perhaps, and most certainly salt and black pepper. Persillade (ie garlic and parsley finely chopped and crushed together) dotted the top, and the dish was finished off with grated parmesan and butter, before being flashed under a hot grill. At least, I think that how it was made. There may have been tomatoes in there as well. C'etait formidable.

 

Miniature Blini Canapés with Herring, Keta Caviar and Dill

 

 

 

I came up with this idea for canapés on New Year's Eve, and they went down a treat.  I expect someone's thought of them before, but they were utterly delicious, and I would, without any hesitation, serve them again.  

First, you need to get hold of some miniature blinis. Mine came in a packet from Sainsbury's, but they were fine. You'll find that they have been pre-cooked, so you will need to heat them up in the oven for about five to ten minutes.  Grate some fresh horseradish into several spoonfuls of sour cream (making sure you grate across the base of the root) and add a squeeze of lemon juice.  

Spread the blinis with the sour cream, horseradish and lemon juice. Cut up some cured herring (ie marinated roll-mops) and place a small "square" of the herring onto the blinis. Top up with a teaspoon of keta caviar (that's that wonderful juicy orange stuff from H. Forman & Sons) and arrange the blinis on a serving plate.  Finish the canapés off by sprinkling freshly chopped dill over the canapés and the plate.  Happy New Year!

Devilled Quails Eggs

 

 

 

I'm writing this as the gloom descends on a Hallowe'en afternoon.  I've always been fascinated by Hallowe'en: as a child in England, it was barely celebrated, apart from a few cartoons on the BBC and a spooky tale or so read out aloud at nursery school.  I've been reading up on Hallowe'en and according to the Oxford Dictionary of Folklore, it's quite possible that all that pagan stuff about Celtic fire festivals and the like is a fantasy, invented by Sir James Frazer in the "Golden Bough", and that Hallowe'en's origins are, indeed, Christian and Scottish, where it was known as "Nutcrack Night".  During the 19th century, Hallowe'en was associated with fortune telling and love divination: young girls would learn who their future husbands would be.

My grandmother taught me how to carve lanterns, but from turnips- rather than pumpkins.  Recently, under American influence, Hallowee'en has become much more popular in England.  We've just barricaded our front door and battened down the shutters in preparation for the annual onslaught: London street urchins hammering on the door and rattling the letterbox: "'ere, mister!  we know you're there!"

Hallowe'en food should be spicy (especially with the Mexican Day of the Dead just around the corner) and I gather that in the American Deep South, devilled eggs are traditionally served.  But I'm not keen on the idea of serving up stuffed chicken's eggs as a canapé. They're too large, and I think would be a bit clumsy, and even slightly Gothic.  So I've adapted the idea, but using tiny quail's eggs, instead.  This works much better and they were utterly delicious.  We scoffed a plate of them this morning.

Place your quails eggs in a pan of cold water, and bring to the boil. Turn off the heat, put back the lid, and let them stand in the hot water for four minutes. Plunge the cooked eggs into a pan of cold water. To shell them, gently roll the eggs on a hard surface, so that the shells crack. You will find that the quail's eggs have a tougher membrane than chicken's eggs, and once you've carefully removed it, you'll find the shell easier to remove.  But it's delicate work.

Slice the cooked eggs in half, and spoon out the cooked yolk and place in a mixing bowl.  Add a light mayonnaise, a few dashes of Tabasco, a dollop of Dijon mustard, cayenne pepper and celery salt for seasoning. Whisk up the ingredients together until smooth.  Using a piping bag, pipe the devilled mixture back into the quails egg halves.

Arrange on a plate, and sprinkle with finely chopped chives.

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Devil Sauce

Crispy Squid

 

 

I'm fortunate enough (or unlucky enough, depending on your point of view) to work next door to the new Westfield Shopping Centre in darkest Shepherd's Bush. For those of you who don't know about it, this is a spanking brand new Shopping Mall built on American lines, and apparently, the largest shopping complex in Europe.  I'm sure you'll get the picture: squeaky clean chain shops, giggly teenage girls hanging out in pairs, bland post-modern architecture, bored looking Security Guards talking into mobiles. Escalator Heaven.

It's a useful place to get a quick lunch, and I've been to that fast-food Chinese place on the first floor a few times. They cook an excellent, crispy squid, which they serve with black pepper, salt, and thinly sliced chili; along with a further chili dipping sauce. It's delicious and given me a quite a taste for the thing. It would make an excellent Chinese influenced canapé, and I think, would work well with a Dry Martini. It needs to be served very hot, and very crispy. The following recipe is based on Rose Prince's version in the Daily Telegraph:

Use fresh squid. Cut them open lengthways and remove the insides including the hard quill. With a pair of scissors cut away the tentacles and any hard, boney bits. Dry the squid with paper towels, and then score one side of the squid with a sharp knife to make a lattice pattern. Cut the squid into bite sized pieces.

Heat up some groundnut oil in a wok. Groundnut (or peanut) oil is excellent because it has a high smoking point. Carefully drop a tiny globule of water into the hot oil. If it sizzles, you will know that it is ready.

Dip the squid into some flour, and fry in small batches for two minutes. If you overcrowd the wok this will lower the temperature, and stop the squid from frying properly. Remove the crispy squid and let them cool down in a paper-lined sieve or colander.

When the time comes for you to eat them, reheat the oil and re-fry the squid for 3-4 minutes, or until they are a pale golden brown.

Serve them with fine salt, freshly ground black pepper, strips of red and green chili and a chili dipping sauce.

 

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!

 

Zucchini Fritters

 

 

If you've got the time and inclination, courgette (or zucchini) fritters are the perfect thing to serve with drinks, and especially with a Dry Martini. I find it best to use baby courgettes, so that you end up with fritters the size of a small coin. Slice the courgettes very thinly, put them into a colander, and then sprinkle them with salt. The salt will draw out the water. You will be amazed by how much water drains off.

Next, beat an egg white until frothy, and dip the courgette slices into the egg white, shake off the excess, and then dip them again into flour, which you have previously seasoned with salt and black pepper. In a deep-fat fryer, heat some peanut oil to about 375 F (190 C). If you don't have a fryer, use a wok. Nut oil burns at a higher temperature, and so is an excellent choice for this sort of operation.

Drop the courgettes into the oil, a few at a time, until they are crisp. Watch them like a hawk, so that they don't burn. Incidentally, when frying, it's always best never to overcrowd the pan; if you do, you run the risk that your food may steam or boil, which, of course, is a different technique all together.

Drain the fritters on kitchen paper, and sprinkle them with more salt and pepper. Okay, this means that your fritters are going to pretty salty, but I think that, in this case, it provides a perfect balance with the dry oiliness (is that a word?) of a classic Martini cocktail.

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Devils on Horseback

 

 

I'm back in the Big Smoke. You may remember that I was planning to write about whitebait. I cooked some on Saturday. They were delicious (deep fried in Cayenne pepper, and coated with a dusting of seasoned flour) but the photography wasn't that hot; so as Hallowe'en is almost upon us, I'm going to concentrate on some classic Hallowe'en dishes over the next few days instead. Hallowe'en is interesting. When I was about so-and-so high, it was barely celebrated in Britain; all the emphasis was on Bonfire Night a few days later. In those far off days, Trick or Treating was just not the done thing in Jolly Old.

I suspect that Hallowe'en was originally brought to the United States by Scottish or Dutch settlers in the nineteenth century, became a big deal over there (Hallowe'en post cards were huge in America before the First World War) and then in the last few years with the Americanisation of Europe, came back over here.

Not that I'm complaining. It's a bit like Chop Suey, which, apparently, was re-invented by Chinese immigrants in San Francisco; the European Coffee House in Seattle (er- Starbucks), or the deep-pan "Italian" pizza re-gurgitated in Chicago from the classic Neopolitan street recipe. Old World classics go to America, are re-invented, and then make their way back here with a bit of North American perzazz thrown in for good measure.

 

Here's a good 'un for the Night of the Living Dead: they're called Devils on Horseback. You get hold of some rashers of streaky bacon and half-cook them under your grill. The night before, you've soaked some dried prunes in water and Lea & Perrin's Worcestershire Sauce. Now wrap each bacon rasher around a prune, and fasten with a wooden cocktail stick. You are going to re-grill them, so it's a good idea to soak the cocktail sticks in cold water first- to stop them burning.

 

 

 

 

 

Bung them back under the grill, until they are cooked through. Take them out. Season with salt and pepper, and if you're up for it, a further dash of Lea & Perrins. Serve with hot toast and a watercress garnish.

Tomorrow, it has to be about pumpkins- and as I hate the taste of pumpkin, I'm going to have to come up with some palatable ideas fast. Very fast. If anyone out there in cyberspace (especially the dear old U S of A) wants to email me with pumpkin-fest ideas, please do, and if you can persuade me, I'll get your ideas up on the site to share with the rest of the world...