Blowing my own trumpet

The opportunity to blow my own trumpet today is too good to miss: my pasta with braised lentils - the one my lentil-hating husband liked - has been voted one of the best of 2007 ... it's a wonderful site, links to dozens of really good recipes from all over the world, and to lots of blogs both familiar and unfamiliar. I'm honoured - and proud - to find myself amongst them ... so THANK YOU Zorra, for all the work involved in hosting, and thank you, too, to whoever nominated me.

Happy New Year!

Brussels sprout puree

You have no idea how delicious this is - essence of sprout. (I'm assuming, of course, that you like Brussels in the first place.)

Whizz your cooked sprouts to a pulp. Jane Grigson says sternly that you should cook the sprouts specially, because their flavour coarsens as they cool. Notwithstanding this advice, I used three-day-old sprouts that had been cluttering up the fridge. Tip the very stiff puree into a saucepan, grate a lot of nutmeg onto it, and add enough 0% fromage frais to loosen the mixture. Heat gently and serve hot.

Happy Christmas!

Happy Christmas everybody ... it's five past midnight, we've just had a very happy evening with my sister's friend Elizabeth and her family visiting from California, and my parents. Roast sirloin, lots of vegetables, good cheese, fruit (lovely sticky dates), some nice Beaujolais, and a great after-dinner game of Mafia .... some hitherto unsuspected brilliant liars amongst us.

Our guests have gone off to the midnight service at Henley parish church (where we were married), so now it's just us: all six of us under one roof, something which doesn't happen very often these days ... and a phrase which I'm always teased about, whether or not I actually say it. Now everyone has disappeared to wrap presents, I've just put on the washing machine, and I'm waiting to fill the dishwasher one last time before I go to bed. A little time to reflect ... and to wish all my cyberfriends A VERY HAPPY CHRISTMAS, and many more to come. See you on Boxing Day!

xx

Ham in Coca-Cola

Lettice loves that slimy thin-cut so-called ham you can buy in supermarkets, but says she hates home-cooked ham off the bone. On the other hand, she loves Coca-Cola. So I thought I'd do Nigella Lawson's ham in Coca-Cola. And she liked it.

I'm not sure how much the taste of Coke comes through, but the topping is lovely, provided you cover it with greaseproof paper, because it burns in seconds ... and that's the second time I've done that.

This is a two-step recipe, boiling first, then baking in a hot oven. You can either do this all in one, in which case allow about 3 1/2 hours. Or you can boil it the day before, then finish it a little under an hour before you are ready to eat.

Ham in Coca-Cola

2kg gammon piece
2l Coco-Cola
one onion
100g fresh breadcrumbs (4 slices)
100g soft brown sugar
3 tsp mustard powder
3 tsp Dijon mustard
2 tbs Coke

Just use a piece of supermarket ham/gammon for this. You don't need to soak it. Put it in a large pan with an onion cut into two (no need to peel), and a couple of cloves if you've got them. Cover with Coke, the sugary sort, DO NOT think of using any form of diet cola. Bring it to the boil, and simmer it at the rate of 30 minutes per 500g plus 30 minutes. In other words, a 2kg piece needs 2 1/2 hours.

Mix the breadcrumbs with the sugar and mustard, and a little Coca-Cola - go carefully, because you want a paste, not a sauce.

Then, when it's cool enough to handle, remove the ham from the liquid, cut off the skin, and smear it with the crumb mixture. Cover with a little greaseproof paper, and bake in a hot oven, 200C, for about 30 minutes. Or, if it was completely cold to begin with, for about 45 minutes (an hour if it's come straight out of the fridge).


Baked potatoes, broad beans, roasted onions, parsley sauce. Lots cold for supper. Mmm.

Spiced Christmas clementines, part 2

These clementines filled the house with their spicy scent this morning when I came down to let the dogs out, make tea, and fetch the newspapers in from the bottom of the drive. Just as Giorgio Novelli remembers from his childhood Christmasses.

They took moments to prepare yesterday before we went to the cinema. I put them in the oven when I took out dinner, then switched it straight off. The morning, I only needed to put a little quince liqueur into them before putting them into the oven as it heated up for lunch. I took them out before it got up to temperature, and let them rest at room temperature until we were ready to eat them.

Delicious. Full instructions in yesterday's post. Just two things: if you use clementines rather than oranges, you won't be able to put in as much as a tablespoonful of liqueur; and put the liqueur in over the dish you're going to use to bake and serve the fruit, because then you won't waste any of it, and there might be a little to spoon over (as you can see, I used a tiny funnel, but only because I have it). Also, if you've got a sweet tooth, you might want to put a grain or two of sugar in at the same time (or use a sticky liqueur).


PS St Trinian's may be the best film I've ever seen ... it's a very silly, highly enjoyable, very English romp, a sort of pantomime on film, complete with Rupert Everett as both pantomime dame and baddy. It was filmed about a mile from here, as the crow flies. Then again, there are plenty of serious candidates for best film ...

Spiced Christmas clementines

As you know, I'm always on the lookout for puddings which are predominantly fruit, but a little more exciting than just eating the fruit. It's not that we eat much pudding, just that I like to know that when we do, it's delicious and as healthy as a pudding can be. So when I saw this recipe in the paper last weekend, I knew I'd have to try it. This is a recipe from Giorgio Novelli's mother, one which she made each Christmas: She put the spices and fruit into a very hot oven and then just turned off the heat. You'd wake up to this amazing smell and you knew at once which day it was.

This is a kind of Christmas cake without the cake, a Christmas pudding without all that steaming. Or suet.

I'm making this tonight, for lunch tomorrow, when my parents are coming. I've prepared the fruit, we're just off to the cinema to see St Trinian's (how can you resist Rupert Everett in drag??), and I'll put it in the oven after I've finished cooking supper when we get back.

Mama Novelli's spiced clementines

whole clementines
vanilla pods
star anise
cinnamon sticks
Kirsch, or whisky, or Cointreau - or quince vodka

Blanch the clementines in boiling water for 30 seconds, to soften the skins, and to melt away any wax used for preservation (you'll avoid this if you buy organic, although I know it's not always easy or possible). If your fruit is waxed, you'll get a whitish bloom which you can gently rub off with kitchen paper while it's still warm.

Pierce each clementine at the top, and stick with spices. Put on a baking tray.

Put the fruit into a very hot oven, and switch it off straightaway. Leave them overnight. It really is best to do this overnight, because the oven takes a very long time to cool right down (I know this from making moonblush tomatoes, another overnight-in-a-cooling oven process).

In the morning, the fruit should be dry to the touch. Pull out the spices, and spoon a tablespoonful or so of your chosen alcohol into the fruit. Put them back onto the baking tray, and then put them into a warm oven, 150C, for 15-20 minutes to absorb the alcohol. Leave to cool.

To serve, cut in two, and scoop over vanilla ice cream / whipped cream / creme fraiche.

Pasta with braised lentils

This earthy pulse dish, just made for winter, had my lentil-hating husband reaching for more. It's richly flavoured, easy, fairly quick (no soaking involved), cheap - a dish you can make with tinned tomatoes, or, if you roasted some tomatoes in the glut months, this is the perfect use for them. It uses two of the few herbs which thrive at this time of year - rosemary and sage. And it's the very first lentil dish Lucius really likes.

Your kitchen will fill with the heady scent of rosemary as this cooks. And the water will turn black as squid ink - which, in turn, will colour the pasta brown as wholemeal.

It's based on a recipe by Antonio Carlucci, although I think it is Umbrian cucina povera. This may seem like a small amount for three, but the lentils are filling, and you could feed four with this much, providing you had a salad, or perhaps a pud.

Braised lentils and pasta
for 2 or 3

150g Puy lentils (or ones which hold their shape when cooked)
1 medium onion, cut in half
6 fresh sage leaves
a sprig of rosemary
250g pasta
2 tomatoes, either tinned or slow-roasted (from the summer)
1 clove of garlic, finely chopped
4 tbsp olive oil

Put the lentils into a large pan with the onion and herbs. Cover with two litres of cold water. Bring to the boil, then simmer gently until the lentils are just done, which will take around 15-20 minutes. Add the pasta and cook until done.

Meanwhile, chop the tomatoes and garlic, and heat in olive oil until they are soft. (You need to use a pan which is big enough to take all the pasta and lentils.) It won't take more than a couple of minutes: whichever type of tomato you choose, they are essentially already cooked, and you don't want to burn the garlic otherwise the dish will taste acrid, when what you're looking for is the soft sweetness of gently melted garlic.

Drain the pasta, fish out the onion and the bare stick of rosemary (the needles will have melted into the dish). Add this to the tomato mess, toss, and serve with a little grated parmesan.

The whole world's sap is sunk

The shortest day. Not even eight hours of light here - sunrise (not that you could see it through this morning's blanket of cloud) was just after eight o'clock, and the sun will set at 10 to four. The world turns today ... and tomorrow there will be a little little more light, perhaps only a minute - even that is something to celebrate.

This poem by Donne catches the mood exactly ... if you don't like poetry, just read the first five lines, which describe so precisely the state of nature at this time of year. Just one thing, though: it's not Lucie's day any more, the calendar was reformed (Give us back our eleven days) in 1752 (in England & the eastern seaboard of America). I've just looked up the details of the switch from the muddles of the Julian calendar to the modernity of the Gregorian calendar which we all now use, and it's fascinating how long it took some countries to make the change ... Russian atheletes arrived two weeks late for the 1900 Olympic Games in Paris, for instance. Don't you just LOVE Wikipaedia?

I'm going to cook spiced clementines according to Giorgio Novelli's mother's recipe, to bring a bit of sunshine into the house. Recipe and photos later.











A Nocture upon St Lucie's Day, being the shortest day
by John Donne

'TIS the year's midnight, and it is the day's,
Lucie's, who scarce seven hours herself unmasks;
The sun is spent, and now his flasks
Send forth light squibs, no constant rays;
The world's whole sap is sunk;
The general balm th' hydroptic earth hath drunk,
Whither, as to the bed's-feet, life is shrunk,
Dead and interr'd; yet all these seem to laugh,
Compared with me, who am their epitaph.

Study me then, you who shall lovers be
At the next world, that is, at the next spring;
For I am every dead thing,
In whom Love wrought new alchemy.
For his art did express
A quintessence even from nothingness,
From dull privations, and lean emptiness;
He ruin'd me, and I am re-begot
Of absence, darkness, death—things which are not.

All others, from all things, draw all that's good,
Life, soul, form, spirit, whence they being have;
I, by Love's limbec, am the grave
Of all, that's nothing. Oft a flood
Have we two wept, and so
Drown'd the whole world, us two; oft did we grow,
To be two chaoses, when we did show
Care to aught else; and often absences
Withdrew our souls, and made us carcasses.

But I am by her death — which word wrongs her —
Of the first nothing the elixir grown;
Were I a man, that I were one
I needs must know; I should prefer,
If I were any beast,
Some ends, some means; yea plants, yea stones detest,
And love; all, all some properties invest.
If I an ordinary nothing were,
As shadow, a light, and body must be here.

But I am none; nor will my sun renew.
You lovers, for whose sake the lesser sun
At this time to the Goat is run
To fetch new lust, and give it you,
Enjoy your summer all,
Since she enjoys her long night's festival.
Let me prepare towards her, and let me call
This hour her vigil, and her eve, since this
Both the year's and the day's deep midnight is.

Pea and avocado puree / dip

Here's something quick and simple for the party season, healthy too. It's two recipes in one: either a puree to spread on little toasts, or, with the addition of a spoonful of low/no-fat cream cheese, a dip. Either way, two minutes max. The flavour is creamy and sweet ... and it's a splendid shade of green.

Pea and avocado puree / dip

1 avocado pear
a couple of handfuls of frozen peas, cooked
lemon juice
pepper

& if you're making the dip:
a spoonful of light cream cheese

Blitz the peas with the avo (and cheese if you're making dip). Stir in the lemon juice and pepper. Dollop into a bowl and serve with vegetable crudites. Or spread on little toasts.

Everyone in my family liked this ... although one or two thought it could do with a little more texture: in which case, blitz the peas (and cheese) to a puree first, then add the avocado and pulse gently.







I'm sending this to Ilva at Lucullian Delights to include in this month's Heart of the Matter - the theme this month is quick and easy for the holiday season. Quick, easy, no saturated fat, good fat in the avo, and a good proportion of lovely legume (I can't get any members of my family to eat pulses apart from peas).

Baked scallops

Lettice and I were on our own for lunch - Lucius was playing in a real tennis tournament, the boys ate early before rushing off to play hockey. So we treated ourselves ... just how much, we realised when we started to eat: this is a simple dish which transcends its ingredients.

We used a small bag of frozen scallops which have been sitting in the freezer for a couple of months since I impulse-bought them. And we used crumbs made from the last of the bread I brought home yesterday from my day's baking with Richard Bertinet. The crumbs on the top make a pastry-ish lid; the ones on the edge crisp up and provide contrast to the creamy texture of the lemony sauce in the centre. I don't think this would work with Mother's Pride.

Baked scallops for 2

6 scallops with their coral
20-30g fine fresh breadcrumbs
lemon zest and juice
coarsely ground black pepper
olive oil

Heat the oven to 250C. Grease a couple of small shallow dishes. Put the crumbs into a bowl, mix in lemon zest and pepper. Add the scallops and toss them until they are completely coated with crumbs. Arrange carefully on the dishes, making sure that the fish is completely covered with crumbs, and that there are a few round the edges. Squeeze the juice of half a lemon over the two dishes, then drizzle with oil.

Bake for 15 minutes. Leave to settle for a couple of minutes before eating.

This could be a starter or a light lunch (we ate it with raw beetroot salad). Next time, we're going to make it with mussels.


















There's something pretty similar in Nigella Lawson's new book, Nigella Express ... but her version is heavier, less heart-healthy, using butter, and there's no zest, which seems a wasted opportunity.

Related link

Scallop and chorizo salad

Bali

Wonderful to wake to the news that some sort of agreement has been reached in Bali, after days of fearing that it would be just another Kyoto.

On the other hand, here, it's clear that my family would rather carry on eating industrialised food, don't really care if it arrives in an aeroplane, don't really think that meals are for a family to sit down together and eat the same thing. And we heat half the house using electricity (and even so we can see our breath as we come down the stairs on a cold and frosty morning).

I'll post about the bread when I'm feeling less grumpy ;)

Breadmaking course in Bath

I've just come back from a very inspiring day in Bath, learning how to make bread the Richard Bertinet way. Lovely light bread, full of life, full of air, full of taste. Tactile to make, delicious to eat. I'll post properly tomorrow - how we made fougasse, focaccia, olive breadsticks.

In the meantime, here's a tip for UK readers .... Richard Bertinet told us you can get fresh yeast from Sainsbury's and Tesco. So on the way back from Reading station, I stopped off at Tesco. And you know what? They GIVE AWAY their fresh yeast. Yes, really ... they gave me enough for three kilos of flour, maybe four. You should have seen the grin on my face as I waltzed out of the door.

PS I got into trouble from Richard for taking this photograph - it seems the bread needs to be arranged, to show it off at its best. I just wanted to show you how much we made ... this isn't all of it by any means; tomorrow I'll post a picture of the basket Richard artfully arranged.

Chairman Mao's red braised pork revisited

When I made Chairman Mao's red braised pork a couple of weeks ago, none of the children was at home. When Lucius came home that evening, he went straight to bed with a temperature. So I ate it alone, two nights in a row. I thought it good enough to do again. I thought they'd all like it. So I made it last night. You should have heard the whingeing.

To be honest, it wasn't what I was expecting. What were you expecting? Well, something with a bright red thick sauce, and chunks of raw peppers and onions. You mean takeaway? Yeah, let's order. & so on & so on & so on.

It was quite hot, even though I doubled the quantities but halved the chilli. So next time I make this - and I will, later this week - I'm going to leave out the chilli altogether, thicken the sauce with a little cornflour, add a few vegetables a la Chinese takeaway. And make an egg fried rice to go with it.


PS if you make this, don't panic when you add the pork - it seems as if there's no sauce at all, but there is, as the sugar melts down. It's delicious. Just don't be tempted to add red food colouring.

PPS I made it with lean pork, much nicer. And I left out the boiling stage, with no discernable difference to the finished dish.

Parsnip puree

Yesterday, just as Alfred's match was ending (very exciting, 22-26, in the dying minutes of the game they scored two tries and converted one to win), Eleanor telephoned from a supermarket. Just a quick call. How do you make those creamed parsnips? Eleanor. The daughter with no interest in food, who hasn't cooked anything to speak of since she stopped baking (very good) cakes aged about 10.

Even better, the first time she asks me for a recipe, it's in season - she may have no interest in food, but she knows what to eat when: how could she not? that's how we eat here. So gladdening to a mother's heart that early training is beginning to pay off!

As the jubilant applause died down, I gave her the full-fat Jane Grigson version, not the equally delicious low-fat adaptation, which is more properly called a parsnip puree. I thought we should celebrate this milestone in style.

Speaking of milestones, my very feeble photograph shows Eleanor at her graduation ceremony earlier this week. Now she's applying for a Master's - I am SO proud of her.

Very low fat Christmas pudding

I've made a version of this Christmas pudding once or twice in the past - one without suet (rock solid saturated animal fat), butter, or oils, just held softly together with eggs. I should think you could take out one or two of the egg yolks if you really wanted to reduce the saturated fat content - only then I think you'd need a little more spice, because the taste of an egg is in the yolk. No pictures, because I'm not making a pudding this year.

This is quick and easy. Worth making. Easy, because all you have to do is assemble, weigh and mix the ingredients. Quick, because that's it. Except that you have to make it ahead (which is a plus), although not weeks and weeks unless that's what suits. And except that you need to cook it twice for several hours. But you don't have to stand over it while it's cooking. So, as I said quick and easy. Wholesome ingredients and not a trace of an e-number. The only fat is in the three egg yolks, so it's ideal for those watching their cholesterol, as this will feed a lot of people.

Very low fat Christmas pudding
for up to 10

650g mixed dried fruit
200g fresh wholemeal breadcrumbs
100g soft brown sugar
50g ground almonds
finely grated zest of 2 oranges
1 1/2 tsp mixed spice
3 large eggs
150 ml brandy

Measure everything into a large bowl. Stir well. Oil a large pudding basin, pour in the mixture. Cover with foil. You need to put a little pleat in the centre to give the pudding room to rise, and fix it tight (you can use string; these days I have some special cookery elastic bands which I got from Lakeland). Put this into a large saucepan, add enough cold water to come 2/3rds of the way up the bowl. Cover, bring to the boil, then simmer for 3 hours. You don't need to do anything apart from check the water level after a couple of hours. If it's low, add a little boiling water from a kettle.

The pudding needs to steam again in the same way for two hours before eating. OR, if you make the pudding in a plastic bowl, you could microwave it, because a microwave oven is basically a steamer, and therefore cooks steamed puddings to perfection in very little time. (As to timings, you'll have to consult your oven manual.)

Notes:
After the first cooking I nearly always let this cool in the water, because it's less of a palaver. It's quite a good idea to change the foil before storing this somewhere cool, but I don't always bother. But the second time you cook it, you're really only heating it up, and you will need to get it out of the pan without burning yourself. One way to do this is to pull a long sheet of foil, long enough to cover the bottom of the saucepan and hang out on both sides. Fold this into three lengthwise, for strength, then drape it over the pan. Put your pudding basin onto it, and then, later, you can lift out the pudding using the foil cradle. Or you could use an old (clean) tea towel.


You can choose whatever fruit you like: figs are traditional (that's why the Victorians called it figgy pudding); I think candied peel is disgusting, even when I've bought the best and cut it myself; I'd rather have sultanas than raisins; if you're going to use cherries, the half-dried ones you can buy these days are nicer here than glace cherries.

Spice: either use mixed spice, or make your own mixture of cinnamon and nutmeg, perhaps a cloves.

If you want to add coins to your pudding, don't bother wrapping them up. Much better clean them - effortlessly, by soaking them overnight in Coca-cola. They'll turn out sparkling mint-clean - and you'll never again drink any cola drink.

Onion, bacon and potato hotpot

The first cookery book I ever bought was called The Pauper's Cookbook, by Jocasta Innes, who later went on to become an expert in the sort of paint effects that everyone except idle me put on their walls in the 1980s - you remember, all that rag-rolling and dragging and stencilling. I've still got my copy, an old, browning food-stained Penguin, the front cover falling off. I've always loved it, and this is one of my favourites from it ... easy to make, although it needs a long time in the oven too cook through. A good dish for supper when you've been out Christmas shopping - cheap winter comfort food.

Onion, bacon and potato hotpot

for 4

4 large onions
4 large potatoes
100-200g bacon
one pint of white sauce

Make the white sauce with oil and skimmed milk. Season with pepper and nutmeg. Peel and slice the vegetables (bear in mind that the onions take a little longer to cook so need to be sliced a little more finely than the potatoes). Chop the bacon (I used largish pieces, but you can use chopped rashers, or those little bits you can buy ready-cut in the supermarket). Grease a casserole (one with a lid). Layer the potatoes, onion and bacon, ending with potatoes. Pour on the white sauce. Cover. Bake in a hot oven, 200C, for an hour. Uncover, then bake at 150C for a further hour.

This is good with cabbage or sprouts.

Extra-fruity golden Christmas cake

It's rather a long time since I put the dried fruit into a plastic box with vanilla vodka and citrus zest. All the recipes say you should soak it for a short time, ranging from about two hours to perhaps a couple of days. I nearly always end up coming back to my fruit after a week or two has elapsed. No problem .... just as well, because this year's cake has twice as much dried fruit in it as usual, to make it more heart-healthy. The aim was to have a slice of fruit glued together with a little cake. And that's what I've got. (Photograph to follow - it's dark, but I've GOT to get this post out now or it will never happen.)

Luckily, as this year's cake is highly experimental, I'd written down notes about what I'd done two weeks ago, and what needed doing next. Otherwise, well - I'd have had to spend another few hours working it all out again.

The biggest problem with reworking a fruit cake recipe is that you don't know exactly how much mixture you'll end up with, or what size tin you'll need. So I decided from the outset that I would make one biggish cake and as many "cupcakes" and teeny cakes as possible. The mix that follows made one 6" cake, and a baker's dozen of variously-shaped little ones.

Extra-fruity golden Christmas cake

When you've got a little time, soak:

1 kilo mixed fruit
18 tablespoons liquor - I used vanilla vodka because that's what I had, but normally I use cheap brandy
zest of two oranges, finely grated

Normally, I put this into a mixing bowl, cover it with a teatowel, and leave it somewhere out of the way, which might or might not be a cool place. This has always worked fine. This year, because there was so much more fruit, none of my bowls was big enough, so I put it into a big plastic box with a lid which I use for picnics. I left it littering the kitchen, which is often very hot. No problem. And the smell was knock-out when I opened the box. Oh and one more thing - you don't need to believe cookery writers who tell you to keep stirring the mixture, there's absolutely no need to do this until you are ready to use it.

When you're ready to bake, assemble these ingredients:

200g Flora
225g caster sugar (less would be good, as there's so much sweet fruit)
4 eggs
100g ground almonds
200g plain flour

Beat the margarine and sugar until the mixture turns pale. Add the eggs one by one so that they don't curdle the mix (but, if they do, start adding the flour). Add the flour and almonds, and stir everything well. Add a teaspoon or two of mixed spice if you'd like. I didn't, because I wanted this cake to taste of the fruit itself (lots of sultanas, dried cherries and glace cherries).

Mix in the fruit, and turn into a prepared cake tin. You can fill this right to the top, because it won't rise much.

Smaller cakes were baked in various ways: I used heart-shaped tin moulds, stainless steel cooking rings (both very successful), and cupcake cases which were less successful because this mixture is lumpy with fruit (it's got twice as much as most "normal" recipes) ... but cupcake cases would be very good with a traditional cake mix.

I baked these at 170C. Start testing the smaller cakes after 30 minutes - if they're near the top of the oven, that's all they'll take. The cupcakes only took longer because they were right at the bottom of my oven in a cold spot - once they'd moved up a rack, they finished cooking in moments. The big cake took about two hours.


Next I'm going to make some marzipan, and then I've got to decide how to decorate. I've never had much success with icing a Christmas cake, so I'd appreciate all the help I can get from experienced cake decorators.

Last, but not least, I'd like to say a huge thank you to so many people who took the trouble to cheer me on and give me advice and help over this .... there are some really good ideas there - pureeing some of the fruit to replace a little of the Flora (I put less marge more almonds for the same sort of result, but only because I was too idle to puree the fruit ... also, since the party a couple of weeks ago, I can't find key parts of my Kenwood mixer) ... I'm going to make the summer solstice cake in a while, I'm toying with the idea of a chocolate fruit cake ... thank you BMP for that very sensible blokey suggestion of just getting on with it ... Steph, I hope you made your stollen ... and, yes, Shreya, you just double the fruit and leave everything else the same - it really works, amazing but true!

Quaking pudding

On Friday we went out for Lucius's office dinner in this lovely upstairs dining room at the Hind's Head at Bray, Heston Blumenthal's pub (not to be confused with his restaurant, the Fat Duck, a couple of doors down the High Street). Good food - thrice-cooked chips, that sort of thing.

I had a dandelion salad, bitter and wintery, with a little bacon and a quail's egg. Moules to follow, and then, for pudding (something I don't often eat), quaking pudding - a delicious modern take on a 17th century English baked cream which is turned out of a mould like a jelly ... and quakes just like a jelly shakes. Blumenthal's version is flavoured with cinnamon and nutmeg - masses of it - rather than the traditional English custard flavourings which would be more likely saffron or lemon zest, perhaps orange blossom water.

Elizabeth Raffald gives two versions in her book, The Experienced English Housekeeper for the use and ease of Ladies, Housekeepers, Cooks, &c, written purely from practice published in 1814:

To make a Quaking Pudding.

Boil a quart of cream, and let it stand till almost cold, then beat four eggs a full quarter of an hour, with a spoonful and a half of flour, then mix them with your cream, add sugar and nutmeg to your palate, tie it close up in a cloth well buttered, and let it boil an hour, and turn it carefully out.

To make a Quaking Pudding a second way.

Take a pint of good cream, the yolks of ten eggs and six whites, beat them very well, and run them through a fine sieve; then take two heaped spoonfuls of flour, and a spoonful or two of cream, beat it with the flour till it is smooth, and mix all together, and tie it close up in a dish or bason (sic) well rubbed with butter and dredged with flour; the water must boil when you put in the pudding. One hour will boil it; serve it up with wine sauce in a boat.

Pretty tricky in a modern kitchen, whichever recipe you go for. Heston Blumenthal, that extraordinary perfectionist, says he tried 50 versions before getting it right - part of that must have been playing with the flavourings, but I dare say it took quite a few goes to get the texture right, too.

Heston Blumenthal's definitive Quaking Pudding

100ml whole milk
400ml whipping cream
65g caster sugar
4 egg yolks
1 whole egg
35g brioche crumbs
a dusting of cinnamon and nutmeg (1g of each, if you want to be particular)
butter and flour to line the moulds.

Using your fingers, rub the moulds with softened butter. Place a coffee spoon of flour in each, then tap the mould, rotating it as you go. Once lined with flour, tip out the excess. Repeat with the other moulds. The butter and flour lining stops them sticking.

Preheat the oven to 100C. Warm the milk and cream with the nutmeg and cinnamon. Whisk together the egg yolks, whole egg and sugar for about five minutes. Pour the warm milk over the egg/sugar mix, tip into the moulds and cook in a bain marie until 90C — this should take about 45 minutes.


When you're served this delicious concoction at the Hind's Head, it comes with a little card giving an explanation of the dish:

The word pudding historically refers to a food that is contained in animal gut to hold it when cooking, like "Black Pudding" of sausages. In the 17th Century, cooks realised that they could make puddings by containing food in cloth bags or bowls; this meant that more sweet puddings could be made than before. One of the sweet puddings that was invented then was the "Quaking Pudding"; a light sweet, gently flavoured dish that gained its name due to the fact that it quakes and shakes like a jelly when it is served. Quaking Pudding was a staple in recipe books throughout the 17th, 18th and early 19th Centuries when it began to disappear from recipe collections.

It deserves to be better known.