The Greasy Spoon | Food & Culture

How to Make Haggis and Influence People

 

 

 

Mrs Maciver’s Good Scotch Haggis (From The Cook’s Oracle by Dr William Kitchiner (1817)

 

Make the haggis bag perfectly clean. Parboil the draught. Boil the liver very well so as it will grate. Dry the meal before the fire. Mince the draught and a pretty large piece of beef very small. Grate about half of the liver. Mince plenty of the suet and some onions small. Mix all these well together with a handful or two of the dried meal.

Spread them on the table and season them with salt and mixed spices. Take any of the scraps of beef and some of the water that boiled the draught and make about a choppin (sic.) a quart of good stock of it. Then put all the haggis meat into the bag and that broth in it.

Sew up the bag, but be sure to put out all the wind before you sew it quite close. If you think the bag is thin, you may put it in a cloth. A large one will take two hours boiling. 

 

Liver with Dubonnet and Orange

 

 

 

I quite understand why people don’t like liver. Back at Dotheboy’s Hall, the liver served looked and tasted like a bit of rubbery old boot leather. I kid you not. I think it must have come from one of those mass-catering packets or tins. The boys were paid ½ p (a day) to wash up afterwards, which is why I have inside knowledge of what went on in the kitchens. Think septuagenerean cooks of Irish persuasion, blue nylon house coats, hair-nets, rancid Woodbines dripping ash, battered tea-urns and austerity trolleys- and you will get the picture. 

It was many years later that I learnt that liver, if cooked properly (flashed in the pan), could be surprisingly delicious. It works well with a bitter-sweet tasting sauce. So I’ve dug out this retro classic: Liver with Dubonnet and Orange. I’m not one hundred per cent sure who exactly came up with this recipe first, but it was certainly included in Margaret Costa’s Four Seasons Cookery Book (1969). Two years later it features in The Good Food Guide Dinner Party Book, as served by Lacy’s restaurant, London. 

How to make it? It’s a simple affair. Here’s the Lacy’s version (with helpful extra notes from the GS):

You take 1 lb of lamb’s liver and get your butcher to cut it into slices ½ inch thick. Heat oil and butter in a large frying pan at a low heat. Cook finely chopped onions and crushed garlic until soft, and beginning to colour. Coat the liver slices in seasoned flour and cook them in the pan over a very moderate heat. As ever don’t crowd the pan, otherwise they will start to boil rather than fry. As soon as the blood rises, flip the liver over and cook it for even less. You’re looking at a few minutes, I would have thought. Remove the slices to a separate plate and keep them warm. 

Now for the sauce. Add a tablespoon of fresh orange juice and 4 fl oz Dubonnet to the onions and juices left in the pan, scraping the bottom with a wooden spoon to make sure everything is mixed. Bring to the boil and reduce on a high heat. This will, of course, thicken the sauce. When the sauce has reduced by a half, strain, and turn down the heat. Add the coarsley grated rind of an orange and 1 teaspoon grated rind of a lemon. Pour it over the liver, garnish with chopped parsley and serve immediately. 

There you go. I never find recipes which involve sauce reduction entirely satisfactory. Quite often I find that there’s just not enough liquid. Reducing it in a small pan also helps, I think. What else? Whatever happens don’t overcook the liver. But then you know that.

 

How to Make Haggis and Influence People

 

 

 

Mrs Maciver’s Good Scotch Haggis (From The Cook’s Oracle by Dr William Kitchiner (1817)

 

Make the haggis bag perfectly clean. Parboil the draught. Boil the liver very well so as it will grate. Dry the meal before the fire. Mince the draught and a pretty large piece of beef very small. Grate about half of the liver. Mince plenty of the suet and some onions small. Mix all these well together with a handful or two of the dried meal.

Spread them on the table and season them with salt and mixed spices. Take any of the scraps of beef and some of the water that boiled the draught and make about a choppin (sic.) a quart of good stock of it. Then put all the haggis meat into the bag and that broth in it.

Sew up the bag, but be sure to put out all the wind before you sew it quite close. If you think the bag is thin, you may put it in a cloth. A large one will take two hours boiling. 

 

How to Make Haggis and Influence People

 

 

 

Not that the readers of The Greasy Spoon need any reminding:

 

Lady Login's Traditional Haggis (1856)

 

1 cleaned sheep or lamb's paunch

2 lb (900g) dry oatmeal

1 lb (450g) Lamb's liver, boiled and minced

1 lamb's heart, boiled and minced

1 lamb's lights boiled and minced

1 large finely chopped onion

½ teaspoon each: cayenne pepper, ground allspice, salt and pepper

1 pint (600 ml) stock

See that the paunch is well cleaned, then soak it in salt and water for about two hours, take out and let it dry. Put the oatmeal on a baking tray in a low oven and let it dry out and crisp up a little.

Then cook the liver, heart (trimmed) and lights in salted water to cover and cook for about 1½ hours. Strain, but reserve the stock, and chop the meats up finely, or mince. Mix all ingredients (except the paunch) together and season well. Then add the stock. Put into the cleaned paunch (fill to about half) and sew up loosely, but securely.

Have ready a large pot of boiling water mixed with the rest of the liver stock, prick the haggis all over with a small knitting needle to prevent bursting, then cook in the water and stock, at a slow simmer uncovered, but keep up water level, for about three hours. Serves about sixteen.

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.

Devilled Kidneys

 

 

I don't think I've written about Devilled Kidneys before. Very English, very clubby; not to everyone's taste, but certainly to mine. This recipe is similar to the one in Hugh Fearnley-Whittingstall's book The River Cottage Meat Book, but frankly, as this dish is an absolute classic- it could have come from anywhere.

First you heat up some oil in a pan.  Next you cut some lamb's kidneys into quarters, first trimming away the whitish core. Drop the kidneys into the pan, and sauté them very briefly. Add a dash of sherry, bubble it away, and add a further dash of cider vinegar.

Next, add a spoonful of redcurrant jelly, and allow it to melt. Now it's time for a generous dash of Worcestershire Sauce, a good pinch of Cayenne Pepper, a dollop of English Mustard (it's got to be Colman's), and ground Black Pepper.

Season with a pinch of sea salt, and mix in a spoonful or two of double cream. Bubble it away until the sauce is glossy. Serve on fried bread, and garnish with freshly chopped parsley.

It's important not to overcook the kidneys: you want them rare s'il vous plait.

The Honourable Haggis

 

 

 

 

"His knife see rustic Labour dicht, An' cut you up wi' ready slicht, Trenching your gushing entrails bricht, Like ony ditch; And then, O what a glorious sicht, Warm-reekin, rich!"

 

As you've probably gathered, tonight is Burns Night. Scots around the world gather to eat Haggis, tatties, and bashed neeps, and address the noble Haggis with ceremony and reverence. Actually, there's a good reason to eat Haggis all the year round, and it's perfect as a late night television snack. For those of you who claim not to like it, I don’t know what all the fuss is about. Okay, it might sound- how can I put this- slightly gothic, but in reality it tastes a bit like a spicy meatloaf. Mind you, all that stuff about “trenching your gushing entrails bricht” doesn’t exactly help the cause.

The Macsweens brand is the Haggis of choice, but most brands share the following ingredients in common: the sheep’s “pluck” (heart, liver, and lungs), suet, spices, salt, and some form of oatmeal, all boiled up in a sheep’s stomach; though I reckon that most of the Haggis’s you buy at the supermarket have an artificial casing.

And then there’s the million dollar question of how to cook the thing. I favour wrapping it up in tin foil, and roasting it in the oven, though some aficionados like to simmer theirs in boiling water.

Eating it is simplicity itself: slice open the casing with a knife, and spoon out the moist, peppery meat onto your plate. It works beautifully with a peaty Single Malt such as Laphroaig (which if you've ever been to the Outer Hebrides, should remind you of the brown coloured loch water which comes straight from the tap). I like to pour this over my Haggis once it's cooked.

 

                 

Black Pudding

 

 

I love Black Pudding. There will be unfortunate finickity and squeamish individuals out there who will take one look at this post, and want to run for the hills, so my mission this sunny October morning is to try and convert them to the cause.

It's like that Scottish favourite, Haggis, which tastes a bit like a spicy American meatloaf. Yes, the preparation sounds, and probably is gothic; but the taste and result is something to be recommended.

So, let's get the gothic part out of the way: how is Black Pudding made? What exactly is Black Pudding?

It's a sausage made from the blood of a pig. The blood is then cooked with a variety of ingredients, which could include goodies such as suet, oatmeal, milk, onions, breadcrumbs, cayenne pepper, and nutmeg.

Cooking the blood in these ingredients will make the blood congeal, and hey presto! You have a black pudding; or blood pudding in America, blutwurst in Germany, boudin noir in France, and white pudding in Ireland. You eat it for breakfast.

I cook mine very gently in a knob of butter for a few minutes on each side. In Britain, Black Pudding tends to be a local speciality of the northern counties such as Lancashire, but in fact, similar puddings are found all over the world.

I'm going to take this opportunity to have a little rant about the reputation and state of British Food. Okay, we now have some top-notch (and fiendishly expensive) restaurants in London; and generally, the standard of food in Britain is better than it was in the post-war period of rationing, spam fritters, and dried eggs.

But the tradition of cooking food at home, especially the local culture, has been lost. Many of the old-fashioned British classics, are similar- if not identical- to dishes you can find in the French Countryside. They make Moules Mariniere, we have Devon Mussels in Cider. They make Boudin Noir, we have Lancashire Black Pudding, they make Boeuf Bourginon, we have Beef in Guinness with Dumplings.

 

 

The difference is that your typical French grandmother will have a whole list of local specialities up her sleeve- and she will know how to prepare them with love and attention. In Britain, granny is far more likely to be found slumped in front of East Enders eating Sainsbury's Chicken Tikka Masala Surprise straight from the packet. Look at our food shops. In France, you will find endless small corner shops selling wonderful selections of beautifully presented ingredients. Like this boulangerie in Paris, pictured above.

In Britain, we have er- the supermarket (with, in my opinion, pretty dire stocking policies), and miserable corner shops selling dusty tins of this and that at inflated prices. And look at the generous selection of foods you can find in New York delis! Fantastic! Rant over.