The Greasy Spoon | Food & Culture

The Duke of Windsor's Haddock Soufflé

 

 

 

My old friend, Nick "Moussaka" Good, has come up with an excellent take on a traditional soufflé. For some bizarre reason he has an obsession with the scary Fanny Cradock (to those who don't know, she was one of the first British television cooks; competent no doubt, but caked in make-up, and altogether like some psychedelic creature from Planet Nine). Anyway, I'm a fan of the Duke of Windsor- or at least his rather rakish dress sense.

Nick writes: "Last year I decided to become proficient in making soufflés. It’s all about getting the oven hot enough, the sauce right, whipping egg whites to perfect peaks, and bringing it all together at the right time in the right order. There’s nothing vulgar or "chuck it all together" about a soufflé. It takes patience, practice and the acceptance of initial failure or at least disappointment. Also they really don’t rise up quite like they do in films. If however you follow the rules you will succeed and produce something worthy of enjoyment. Carrier and Kerr recipes are fine (Brisbane Bay prawn soufflé is fantastic but a little OTT for the beginner) but there is only one soufflé teacher for the masses: Fanny Cradock.

Follow Fanny’s instructions and you’ll have perfect soufflé, diverge but a half inch (centimetre for those in the Common Market) and you’ll be doomed to a sloppy mess. Such is the way of the soufflé. Fanny suggests various basic recipes to cut your teeth on, but here is her recipe for Haddock Soufflé which is utterly delicious. Being Fanny this is not just any old Haddock Soufflé, but the recipe given to her and Johnnie by the Duke of Windsor when they dined at the Windsor’s Paris house in 1956.

You will need:

½ pint whole milk

¼ pint single cream

½ lb uncooked smoked haddock

1½ oz flour

1½ oz butter

8 egg whites

3 oz grated parmesan

1 egg

spoonful dry mustard powder

½ egg spoonful nutmeg

Generous grate of black pepper

1 level teaspoonful salt

Teacup of small croutons

 

Cook the haddock gently in a milk and cream mixture for ten minutes. Remove, cool and flake the fish. Reserve the milk mixture for soufflé. Heat your oven to 225 Degree Celsius (very hot!). Butter an eight inch diameter soufflé mould. Reheat the fishy milk mixture in a small pan over a low heat.

Whip the egg whites with a rotary hand whisk (not an electric whisk or you’ll overdo it) to firm peaks in a very clean large bowl. Dissolve the butter in a second, larger pan. Add the flour to the butter, stir to a soft, pale coloured ball in pan and add a quarter of the warm milk mixture. Wait a moment for the milk to boil, then stir thoroughly. Take it from the heat and beat well. Repeat with the second quarter of the milk and add half the cheese.

After the second beating add the remaining milk, the seasoning and rest of the cheese and, when milk boils again, beat very thoroughly. Take this sauce off the heat and beat out some of the steam for approximately one minute. With a large metal spoon (preferably silver but never wooden) loosely stir in the flaked haddock, the croutons, then the egg whites. Level this off into the soufflé mould with the large metal spoon.

Bake the soufflé for twenty minutes. Never open the oven door to have a peek whilst it’s cooking. Enjoy with a white wine dry enough to cope with the eggy saucy goodness! "

 

 

Maryland Crab Cakes

 

 

This is one of the all-time great American recipes, comfort food at it's best; and it's relatively easy to make too. Traditionally, the Blue Crab from the Chesapeake Bay area is the one to go for, but I have to accept, reluctantly, that this side of the pond, other varieties of crab will have to do. Die-hards might also want to add Old Bay Seasoning, which is a spicy American herb and spice mix. As I don't seem to be able to get it here (maybe I should try the excellent Wholefoods in Kensington High Street?), I've substituted a very similar spice mix.

Take some juicy crab meat and put it into a mixing bowl. Add a cup of mayonnaise, a tablespoon of mustard powder (I use Colman's), a beaten egg, a teaspoon of Lea & Perrins, the juice of a lemon, and some chopped parsley. Mix it all together.

Now for The Greasy Spoon's "Old Bay Seasoning" mix. Grind up some celery salt, mustard seed, cinammon, powdered ginger, peppercorns, and a bayleaf until you have a reasonably fine powder. Add a teaspoon or so of this to the crab mixture. Next you need to add some form of breadcrumbs. I find it easiest to use about seven crushed Saltine Crackers, and I suspect this is more authentic. The easiest way to crush them is to put the crackers into a plastic bag, and then bash them with a hammer.

Chill the mixture for about two hours in the 'fridge. To cook them, all you need to do is to drop them into hot oil (say, in a wok), and fry them until they are golden brown. Utterly delicious: the taste of the East Coast.

Mock Pâté de Foie Gras

 

 

Venetia's Sauternes Jelly post made me think about pâtés and terrines. I love Foie Gras (apart from animal rights activists, who doesn't?), but in this country, it's just so darn expensive.

Here's a worthy substitute. Okay, it doesn't taste exactly the same, but I think the finished result is super smooth, and melts on the tongue.

This is how I make it: Get hold of 300g fresh chicken livers, cut them up into pieces and remove all the skin and the fat. Soak them in cognac for an hour or so.

Next, flash fry them in goose fat. This means frying them quickly, so that the outside of the liver goes brown, but the inside remains pink. This will help the pate to remain smooth.

Saute three chopped shallots in goose fat until they are are soft. Whizz up the cooked livers, shallots, a crushed garlic clove, and the juice of half a lemon in your Magimix (or blender), until you have a smooth paste. You will now need to mix in some fat. I use about half a packet of melted unsalted butter, and a tin of goose fat. This sounds like a scary amount, but remember that goose fat is an unsaturated fat, and is, apparently, rather good for you. The technique's a bit like adding oil to make mayonnaise. I recommend that you add the melted butter (which you've left to cool down) and the goose fat very, very slowly- to avoid curdling. Look- it probably will curdle, but strangely enough, even if it does, your pate will still be extremely smooth once set. Trust me on this. Carry on whizzing your machine the whole time as you pour in the butter and fat, and try and get the mixture to become as smooth as you possibly can.

Season with salt, pepper and a pinch of sugar. Next, push the mixture through a sieve, and gently fold in two tablespoons or so of double cream.

Pour the finished pate into small ramekin dishes and leave to set in the 'fridge. When the pate's firm, sprinkle the top with sugar, and use a kitchen blow-torch to caramelise the sugar. You don't want the sugar to burn, but instead, to bubble up and turn a golden brown colour. Serve with Melba Toast, Chutney, or Sauternes Jelly.

Sauternes Jelly

 

 

I'm delighted to welcome Venetia Jeffcock as another guest contributor to The Greasy Spoon. Venetia is both a talented and elegant cook, and her recipe for Sauternes Jelly is unusual, different, and delicious.

I sampled some yesterday, when she dropped some off at my place on her scooter, and it had a subtle, smooth- and even lemony taste, which melted on the tongue. It would work beautifully with Foie Gras, pates, and other rich and gamey terrines. ]

She writes: "A friend of mine loves Foie Gras, and Chateau Y'quem is the ideal accompliment. Sadly, she has Rolls-Royce tastes on a Mini Metro budget, so she buys the Foie Gras on holiday in France, where it is much cheaper (a bloc of 200g will serve six people), and serves it with a Sauternes Jelly- which can be hard to find. It also makes a change from the more traditional confit of onions or figs, and the sweetness cuts perfectly through the fat of the Foie Gras. In Austria, Foie Gras is served with Cranberry Sauce. Pimento Jelly made from peppers works well too.

Here's how she made it: First you need to work out how much liquid you are going to use, and soak some fine gelatine leaves according to the instructions on the packet. Dissolve 180g of sugar in 360ml of warm water, and allow it to cool for a little while.

Next, add the dissolved gelatine and Sauternes, and stir over a low heat until the gelatine has completely dissolved. Use a half bottle of Sauternes (you can buy Chateau Liot (375ml) in Waitrose). I am also a fan of Tokaji from Hungary, with its honeyed overtones. But you can use whatever you like.

Pour the mixture into sterilised glass jars, and re-frigerate. It should have set after four hours. Serve it with toasted brioche and Foie Gras. It will keep for a long time in the 'fridge."

Mushroom Soup

 

 

London, at this time of year, gets pretty cold and wet, with a general dampness that chills you to the bone. To counter this, I've come up with a recipe for a thick mushroom soup laced with garlic and parsley. One of the things that I like about this version is that the soup is thickened with bread- and the result is spectacular.

Melt some unsalted butter in a pan, and add some chopped up mushrooms. I like to use brown field mushrooms, which I've chopped up roughly, stalks and all. Stew them gently for about five minutes. Next, add some chopped garlic. Cook it for a bit.

Get hold of some bread, which you've previously soaked in milk. Squeeze out the surplus milk, and add the bread, in small pieces, to the mushrooms and the garlic. Now you can add some chicken stock, and a pinch of nutmeg.

Bring to the boil, and then simmer for about fifteen minutes. When it has cooked through, put the soup into a Magimix or blender, and give it a whizz. Put the soup back into the pan, add some double cream, and masses of chopped parsley. All you have to do now, is heat it up again and eat it.

Marinated Haddock with Prawns and Dill

 

 

 

This recipe comes from Nathalie Hambro's Simple Fare (1986), one of the more interesting cook books in my collection. As well as being a fashion designer, and all-round style guru, Nathalie Hambro is one of the most innovative and inspiring cookery writers out there, and if you are looking for fresh ideas, I whole-heartedly recommend her books. Most of them, I think, are out of print, but can be bought easily from amazon.co.uk, or abebooks.co.uk.

I like this recipe for its Baltic, or Nordic, overtones, and it's very easily made with the simplest of ingredients. Here's how you do it: Line a dish with tin foil. Spread some dill over the foil, and season with sugar, Maldon salt, and black pepper.

Next, place a fresh smoked haddock fillet over the dill. Normally I would use undyed haddock, but for this recipe I've found that the dyed yellow haddock works better. The Haddock needs to be as fresh as you can get it. Cover the fish with more dill, sugar, salt and pepper. It's best to use more sugar than salt, and to go easy with the pepper. Sprinkle some large peeled prawns on top. Wrap the whole thing up tightly with the tin foil, and stick it into the 'fridge, with a weight on top, for at least 24 hours- preferably longer.

When it's ready, slice the haddock into long, thin pieces. It's slightly like Japanese sushumi. Arrange it in a serving dish, with the prawns. Take some spring onions, and cut them in four lengthways. Soak them in a bowl of ice-cold water- after a few minutes the green tops with start to curl-up- which looks impressive, for virtually zero effort. Take them out, drain them; and stick them in with the marinated haddock and the rest of the prawns.

Oysters

 

 

One of my all-time favourite restaurants is the incongrous Grand Central Oyster Bar in New York, situated directly beneath the Railroad Station Terminal in Midtown Manhatten.

Grand Central was built between 1903-1913 in the Beaux-Arts style, and the Oyster Bar ("Below Sea-Level") is a sprawling labyrinth of Byzantine influenced vaults decorated with glittering mosaics. I like the huge choice of oysters chalked up on the menu there. The agonising decision you have to make between say, Martha's Vinyard oysters on the one hand, or Chesapeake Bay molluscs on the other.

I've no truck with those poor souls who insist on cooking their oysters using bizarre recipes involving breadcrumbs and grills. For me, oysters should always be eaten raw, on ice, straight from the shell, perhaps with a dash of our old friend, Tabasco, or a squeeze of lemon juice.

 

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There are three types of oyster. The Pacific, Olympia, and Atlantic. Pacific oysters are the most prolific, and tend to have a creamier taste. The Olympia is found again, in the Pacific Ocean, but limited to Washington Sound. They're a small oyster with a full taste.

Atlantic oysters (as served at Grand Central), have a saltier flavour. I'm currently into the Atlantic type, preferring the ozoney, minerally, salty taste of the sea that hits the back of your throat as soon as you've tipped one of the critters (they're alive!) down there. If you've tended to avoid oysters in the past, may I persuade you to change your mind? Because you're missing out on one of the greatest pleasures in life. It's true. Trust me!

Mexican Prawn Ceviche

 

 

The 1st and 2nd of November are celebrated in Mexico as the Festival of the Day of the Dead. It does, of course, co-incide with our Hallowe'en, but the emphasis is on joy and celebration, rather than the macabre. The Mexicans believe that death is not the end, but instead the beginning of a new stage of life, and celebrate the lives of former loved ones with colourful parades, papier-mache skeletons, bright pink sugar skulls and anarchic carnival. I haven't been yet, but one day I would love to fly over there and join in the fun.

Well, it had to be a Mexican recipe today, didn't it? As it's The Greasy Spoon, I've adapted a Mexican version of Prawn Cocktail, although I think it originally came from Peru. It's called Ceviche. The raw prawns are "cooked" in lime juice. It's delicious. For my American readers, we say "prawn", you say "shrimp". So let's call the whole thing off.

In a mixing bowl combine fresh prawns, lime juice, salt and pepper. Your prawns will need to be extremely fresh.  Mix it all together. Cover and stick in the 'fridge for twelve hours. The acid in the lime juice will "cook" the protein in the fish. You will know when the mixture is ready, when the prawns have turned pink. In case you were wondering, they start off a grey colour in their natural state. Now it's time to add the other ingredients.

 

In the meantime, you've cut up red peppers, red onions, plum tomatoes, and yellow peppers into julienne (which is a cheffy term for thin strips). Add these to the bowl. Next add a finely chopped jalapeno chili, a teaspoon of sugar, and a dash of wine vinegar.

Finish the whole thing off, by garnishing with a thinly sliced or diced avocado, and roughly chopped coriander. You could get away with serving this as a first course in a wine glass, though in the photograph above, it's presented on a serving plate. Very retro, and slightly different. I like it.

Black Bean Soup

 

 

I've had fun researching suitable food for Hallowe'en. Along the way, I discovered Colcannon, a traditional kale and potato dish which is eaten in Ireland, and Gingerbread Husbands, which were eaten by young village girls to make sure they found a husband. And then I hit upon the brilliant idea of Black Bean Soup. It's spicy, warming, velvety, er- black, and with Mexican hints suitable for the Day of the Dead festival on November 2nd, too. Here's my version:

You can either use tinned black beans (which are hard to find in the UK), or dried beans which you need to soak overnight in cold water. In a pan, cook some chopped smoked bacon in butter for a few minutes. Next, stir in a chopped onion, chopped carrot, and two crushed cloves of garlic. It might also be a good plan to throw in a finely chopped green chili. One of those fiendishly hot small ones. I'll leave that up to you.

 

 

Next, you need to add cumin. If you've got time, you can dry-roast some cumin seeds in a hot frying pan, and then when they're popping, take them out and crush them in a pestle and morter. Otherwise you could use powdered cumin. Add the cumin to the pan, and stir in. Cook for a few moments. Tip in the black beans, some chicken stock, and a liberal dash of my favourite Tabasco Sauce.

Simmer on a very low heat with the lid on for about an hour and a half. You want the soup to be thick and velvety. The black beans should thicken everything up. Serve with sour cream, and chopped chives. A spicy Mexican Salsa would be good too.

Luckily, I'm not going to be at home tonight. In recent years, the mean streets of Battersea have become full of roaming gangs of ghouls, witches, Frankensteins and mad axe murderers on Hallowe'en Night. Yup, Tick or Treating has suddenly become big over here. It was quite amusing at first, but last year I found myself under siege, and had to retreat to the back of the house, while the street urchins shouted through my letter box: " 'ere Mishter...we know you're in there", or words to that effect. Well, tonight kiddos, you ain't getting anything from me. That nice Mr Scrooge in Number 43...

 

Scrambled Eggs

 

 

You may be surprised that I am devoting a whole post to scrambled eggs. What's there to know about them, I hear you ask? Well, quite a bit.

For seven long and hard years, I had to endure the scrambled eggs made by the gastronauts who ran my school kitchen at Dotheboy's Hall. Watery, and rubbery, like some experimental industrial plastic; I reckon that they had added quite a bit of egg powder and water to the mix.

But scrambled eggs made properly is an entirely different matter. Here's how that great French chef, Auguste Escoffier, made them: Break eight good eggs (yup, eight eggs) into a mixing bowl. Blend them very very gently with a fork. You do not want to beat them. You do not add water or milk. That's what British cooks did in the 1950's. You don't want to add salt at this stage, either, as it makes the eggs watery, and the finished product will end up less yellow. I think it was the restauranteur, Marcel Boulestin, who suggested that Escoffier also rubbed garlic onto his fork to add a bit of flavour to the eggs. I'll have to check up on that one- I may be wrong.

 

Anyway, now heat a small copper pan. When the pan is hot, add a knob of unsalted butter. Pour in the eggs, and start to cook them on an extremely low heat. In professional kitchens, they would probably use a bain-marie. That means placing the smaller pan over a larger pan full of simmering boiling water to get the lowest heat. As I've got a job of sorts to hold down, and have limited time, I don't do this; but I can only stress that for it to work, you need to set your heat to the lowest possible settings.

 

            

 

Stir slowly with a wooden spoon from the middle, so that the egg sets in creamy curds. It's a real art. You don't want the egg to stick to the pan, yet at the same time, you want the egg to set. When the eggs are almost ready, stir in some cream.

Quickly remove the eggs from the heat. They will carry on cooking in the pan. Now you can stir in some more butter to taste, and season with salt, pepper, and some chives.

As Ian Fleming once wrote: "Scrambled Eggs, Bacon, and Strong Black Coffee- they never let you down." Though I suppose at the same time, he was implying that his women did. Enough said.

Mushrooms

 

 

It's Autumn, and I'm thinking mushrooms. Moist, meaty, woody mushrooms. There's a place I know on a wooded hill in South Oxfordshire, where at this time of the year top London chefs drive out to and pick fungi for free; then charge a fortune for them in their fancy restaurants back in The Big Smoke. Believe me, I've seen it with my own eyes: Volvo estates loaded up entirely with mushrooms; every variety of mushroom you could ever think of.

The English have never really been into mushroom hunting. It's far more common in mainland Europe, and in France you can take your crop into a local chemist, and get them to point out which are the deadly ones; in other words, whicha the ones that are gonna kill you. If you're going to go mushroom hunting, you need to know what you are doing, otherwise you could end up in trouble- serious trouble. So kiddywinks- a word of advice from The Greasy Spoon: please, please don't do this at home...

 

 

As I was in an autumnal mood, I decided to make Mushroom Risotto. And who better as a guide than Arrigo Cipriani of The Harry's Bar Cookbook. The Harry's Bar Cookbook is one of my all-time favourite foodie reads. The recipes are unpretentious, delicious, and always seem to work out.

The next time you're in Venice, save up, and enter the hallowed doors of Harry's (It's next to the Gritti Palace, near the Grand Canal, opposite a rather dubious dive called Haig's Bar)- you won't be disappointed,; although I have to admit that it has a reputation for being fiendishly expensive. Fiendishly.

Anyway, this is how you make "Harry's Bar Mushroom Risotto":  First, you need to make a "mushroom mixture". Sweat some porcini mushrooms in olive oil, for about seven minutes or so, until they are cooked and golden. Next, add some crushed garlic, and some chopped flat leaf parsley. Cook for a bit. Add a cup or so of white wine. I used a dry Italian Soave. Put to one side.

Now for the risotto. They say that the mark of a good chef is how well he or she makes risotto. It could be true. I'm usually quite good at it, but now and again I go wrong; especially if my attention span starts wandering, which as my ex-girlfriend contests, happens on a regular basis. Heat some olive oil in a pan. My much loved and battered bright orange Le Creuset thing was perfect.

Now saute a minced onion. I chopped up my onion in the Magimix. Cook for a bit. Now add your rice. It's crucial that you use risotto rice. Under no circumstances use any old rice you've got hanging around in the cupboard. The best rice to use is either Carnaroli rice or Arborio. Let the rice absorb the oil for a minute or so. Add your mushroom mixture and stir.

 

 

 

Now for the important stock bit. You need to use a chicken stock, which you have kept on or near the boil. You are going to ladle in your hot stock bit by bit, so that the rice absorbs the liquid. What you must not do is tip in the stock all at once. Stir like crazy. Ladle. Stir. Ladle. Carry on adding the stock bit by bit. Risotto always takes much longer than the cookery books say. I would guess at least half an hour, to forty five minutes.

When the stock runs out, use boiling water. You should finish up with a well-cooked risotto. I like mine to be somewhat sloppy, though the Italians prefer the rice to be slightly crunchy. Grate in some fresh parmesan cheese and stir in some butter. That's it. Perfect for October. And I expect you want to know where that mushroom hot spot is in South Oxfordshire, don't you? I'm not gonna tell you.

Russian Lemon Soup

 

 

Jiminy Cricket, I love this soup! I've taken it from Dara Goldstein's "A Taste of Russia", which is a must for your cookery library if you like hearty East European cuisine. It's straightforward to make, cleansing, unusual, and most importantly delicious. Here's how you make it:

In your favourite pan cook a handful of rice (I use Uncle Ben's Long Grain American Rice) in unsalted butter until the rice absorbs the butter and becomes translucent. It should only take a few seconds. Next, add some good chicken stock (home-made si'il vous plait- I'll be coming to this in another post). Simmer for about twenty minutes.

You will probably need to add more stock bit by bit- you want to get the balance right between the rice and the liquid. Wait until the rice is cooked, and then stir in some double cream, and the finely grated rind and juice of a lemon. Keep on stirring to make sure the soup is well blended.

Finally, serve in bowls with a slice of lemon floating on the top and chopped parsley or dill. Make sure that each bowl has a spoonful of rice on the bottom.

Jellied Eels

 

 

Gor Blimey, for years now, I've tried to like jellied eels- I really have, and this is from someone who will quite happily tuck into a juicy plate of Tete de Veau when he's living it up in Paris.  Trust me, I want to like jellied eels, but somehow the miraculous conversion on the Road to Damascus hasn't quite happened yet.  But I'm getting there- slowly.

The photograph shows Tubby Isaac's famous seafood stall in Aldgate, London, which has been feeding "the poor man's delicacy" to hungry East Enders since 1919.

What exactly are jellied eels?  Well, the eel is caught- or used to be caught- in the muddy and murky waters of the dear old Thames Estuary.  Long, slippery, slimy things.  Then they're sliced up and boiled in water with herbs, spices and a bit of gelatine to make a sort of fish stock or jelly.  Aficionados like to sprinkle chilli vinegar on them, and stress that you need to suck at the bones to get out the full flavour.

I'm fascinated by the traditional Eel, Pie and Mash shops of Old London Town.  There's that many left now.  I need to get my camera out and go and photograph them for a later post.  If anyone out there can point me in the right direction with a particular favourite, please do.  I know Manze's in Peckham and F. Cooke in Dalston- although I have a sneaky suspicion that the last one might have closed down.

 

Cream of Onion and Cider Soup

 

 

It's that time of year again. Here in the gloomy streets of London, the nights are drawing in, and a sniff of woodsmoke is in the air. Before we know it, Bonfire Night and Hallowe'en will be upon us. And what better than a warming onion soup laced with cider?

Here's how you make it. First, you need to understand that onions need a great deal of cooking before they become palatable. I don't care what your cookery books say; you will have to trust me on this. You need to slice some onions. Throw a few knobs of unsalted butter into a pan. Now cook the onions. It's probably better if you've sliced them thinly.

Add some thyme. I'm lucky enough to have a vigorous plant thriving on my kitchen windowsill. Let the onions cook well until they are soft, but not burnt or brown. So you will want to use a low heat. Now stir in some flour and let that cook.

Pour in a good slug (I love that word) of cider. I used a dryish West Country Organic Cider that I found in a local shop. At this stage, it's important to let the cider bubble- to boil off the alcohol. Okay, we all love a good dram of whisky at the right moment, but I find that alcohol needs to be boiled off in cooking- otherwise you are left with a nasty bitter taste.

Now add some stock (chicken or vegetable is fine, home-made or reduced-salt Marigold Bouillon powder would be ideal). Cook the soup on a low heat. Like mad. Mine took over an hour before the onions were cooked properly.

When that's done, lower the heat and add a dollop of single cream, (double cream is likely to curdle). If you are using single cream and you don't lower the heat, you run the risk of the soup curdling. Season with a decent salt, and ground chunky black pepper to taste. That's it. And if it's cooked properly, it's surprisingly subtle and smooth.

Kedgeree

 

 

I've had arguments with a friend of mine about what makes up a proper kedgeree. A breakfast relic of the British Raj, in its purest form it's essentially rice, smoked fish and eggs (the original dish, khichdi, included lentils); and Great Aunt Agatha, in a naughtier moment, might have stirred in a smidgin or two of curry powder. Here's my improved creamier version. And there's wild rice for extra crunch, too.

First, cook a cup or two of wild rice for about 25 minutes. Next, fry some chopped onions in oil and butter.  Next stir in some rice. (I prefer Uncle Ben's Long Grain- which has had the starch removed, and will stop the kedgeree becoming one big mess).

Add a few teaspoons of curry paste and some grated nutmeg, and then add the partially cooked wild rice. Cook for a few minutes, so that the rice becomes translucent and soaks up the spices.

Meanwhile, cook some smoked haddock fillets (preferably undyed) in a mixture of milk and water, with a few peppercorns and a bay leaf. Bring to a simmer, and then turn off the heat, and let the fish sit in the hot milk and water (with a lid on) until cooked. This is the best way to poach smoked haddock.

Set the cooked fish aside, and tip the resulting milky fish stock over the rice. Simmer this on a low heat until the rice is cooked. In effect, you are making a pilaf. You may need to add some more water and stock.

When the liquid has been absorbed, flake up the haddock into large pieces and fold into the mixture with a dollop of single cream, a few knobs of butter and a good squeeze of lemon juice. Slice up some softly boiled eggs, and serve with chopped flat leaf parsley, and a pinch or so of Cayenne Pepper. For some reason, this dish works well with Mango Chutney.