One Fat Man

Rosa Mystica Chocolate Ganache Pots

This is the final recipe for Our Lady’s Titles that I’m going to do this May. I have spoken before of my love for rose water. It is one of my favourite ingredients. I decided that, with one of Our Lady’s titles from the Litany of Loreto being ‘Mystical Rose’, it would be nice to do something with rose water for Rosa Mystica. I don’t know that much about the litany of Loreto. I know it was approved in the 1500s, but litanies have been going on for years, and the titles of our lady are very ancient, indeed many have their origins in the Old Testament and in the Temple traditions of Jerusalem, as a forthcoming book by Margaret Barker will show.

There are some Mexican visions from the 1950s that I don’t think have been approved by the Holy See. But these visions, being Mexican, gave me a very sensible excuse to do something with chocolate.

8 oz white chocolate

8 oz good quality dark chocolate

50 ml double cream

3 oz unsalted butter

8 strawberries

100 ml rose champagne

A tablespoon of rose water

Rose petals for prettiness

Break the chocolate up and put in a bowl. Blitz the strawberries in a blender, add the champagne. In a saucepan heat the cream and butter until boiling. Pour over the chocolate, whisk rapidly, the chocolate will start to melt and become unctious. Whisk in the blitzed strawberries, champagne, and rose water. Leave to chill in the fridge for half an hour. Pipe the chocolate ganache into little pots or coffee cups and decorate with rose petals. Chill for a couple of hours. Serve with a strong coffee, these are very rich indeed.

Mint Juleps For St Bede

It's been beastly hot here in the UK, and we're all feeling the need to be led by de-stilled waters accordingly.

Today, joy of joys, it is the feast of one of my favourite saints. The Venerable Bede. Now Bede is a favourite not simply because of his Ecclesiastical History, his status as a Doctor of the Church, and his importance for the Church in England.

Bede is a favourite also because a very dear friend of mine is called Bede. Indeed, part of the inspiration for this blog (I say inspiration, he sort of told me to do it) is my friend Fr Bede. I met Fr Bede when we were students together at St Benet's Hall in Oxford, and we became firm friends. Fr Bede is from the South, by which I don't mean the home counties (although, there's nothing wrong with the home counties) I mean that he hails from Paris, Tennessee. Consequently, Fr Bede is - in my mind - arbiter of all American drinks.

For many years Fr Bede has waxed lyrical to me about the Mint Julep, that great drink of the South. It's the drink that people enjoy on porch swings, in the blistering heat. It's a drink of romance, of movies, of legend and lore. Fiddle-de-dee, I do declare, I'll never be hungry again and all that.

I had my first Mint Julep (proper Mint Julep - the ones in London bars don't compare and are sludgy with horrible mint jam sort of stuff) last summer when visiting Fr Bede at St Louis Abbey. So what better for St Bede, in this heat, than a Mint Julep.

Ingredients:

Solid silver Mint Julep Cup polished especially by your mother for the occasion (if you're a bit common, and don't have solid silver Mint Julep cups then use your good silver plate Mint Julep cups)

Slightly crushed ice (lots)

Bourbon (good)

Basic syrup (sugar dissolved in water - one tablespoon of sugar to two of water)

A sprig of mint (from the garden, with not too many holes where slugs have eaten it)

 

Pack your solid silver Mint Julep cup with crushed ice, pretty much to the top. Pour on about a jigger of basic syrup. Top up with bourbon. Put in the mint. Taste. If it's too sweet, drink a bit and add more Bourbon. If it's not sweet enough drink a bit and add more basic syrup.

Enjoy thinking of both Bedes, the one up there in Durham who wrote lots of great stuff, and the one over there in St Louis, bringing souls to God and offering the Holy Sacrifice at the Oratory of Ss Gregory and Augstine.

Happy Feast, dear Fr Bede. I have raised my Mint Julep cup to you today, and will raise it many more times as the evening goes on.

Bird for the Ascension and an attempt at Giuncata.

I've not been well. Indeed I've had a nasty sore throat, and been feverish. I think it's my tonsils flaring up, as is their wont.So my culinary activities have been rather scuppered.

I had particularly wanted to do something special for the ascension, as my grandmother - to whom I was devoted - was born on an Ascension Thursday.  On the Sorrentine Peninsula they make a curd cheese called 'Giuncata' on the ascension. They let it drain in rush baskets and eat it with honey and brandy. I decided that a rudimentary curd cheese would do the trick. But my illness rather prevented me from doing the necessary research. I did have a half-arsed go at it, by boiling up some milk in a pan with vinegar and cream. This is the basic method for a homemade curd cheese. I sort of presumed it'd work and I'd have a lovely quick recipe to impress and delight. Well, it did work, but I didn't get much cheese out of it. Do you know how much milk it takes to make cheese?! A VAST QUANTITY is the answer, and I did not have a vast quantity, especially given that I spilled some (but there's no use crying over that now). The resultant cheese (which took all of ten minutes to make) was rather delicious, but so small in quantity as to not really be worth a photograph, nor a blog. I also think it was a mistake to attempt it whilst ill. This is the problem with me and paracetemol. Half an hour after taking it I believe I'm invincible, and have a go at making cheese.

By next ascension I promise to have properly researched the methods, and quantities, and to offer you up a delicious giuncata. For this year, however, it'll have to be another chicken dish. The reason for this is that chicken is a bird, and it is traditional to eat a bird on Ascension Thursday... because birds fly heavenwards, much as our Lord did on this magnificent feast. This is convenient for two reasons. First, it means I can simply give you my 'roast-a-chicken-with-garlic-because-my-singing-teacher-has-told-me-chicken-and-garlic-will-make-me-better' that I did on Tuesday using all sorts of oddments from the 'fridge. Secondly, it gives me a good opportunity to expound upon my theories regarding roast chicken.

I ardently believe that a chicken likes to be roasted hot and fast to get the fat out, and that it also needs stock to help the breast stay moist and decent flavouring, because the flavour has been bred out of even the happiest of free-range chickens.

So for this chicken I did the following:

1. Untrussed it.

2. Rubbed it all over with butter. Seasoned it well. [Remember that salt brings out flavour, but that pepper adds a new flavour of its own. I rarely use much salt. My granny cut it from everything because of high blood pressure and my mother and I consequently do the same. Strangely none of us cut alcohol, fat, or sugar. In the grand list of 'bad things' salt seems easy to give up. My chief exceptions for this are: dough, aubergines, chicken, pasta, occasionally tomatoes, bloody marys and CHIPS. Hooray for low blood pressure and healthy eating].

3. Put half a bulb of garlic and half a lemon up its bottom.

4. Put it breast-side down in the tin, poured half a pint of stock round it and popped it in a hot oven for half an hour.

5. Got it out, turned it over, put new potatoes, sun-dried tomatoes, green olives, parsley, corriander, some more lemon, pepper, chilli, onion and the other half of the bulb of garlic (and quite a bit  more garlic) around it. Added some of the oil from the sun-dried tomatoes and a bit more butter.

6. Put it back in the oven for another half hour. Got it out, turned the potatoes about a bit, basted it. Put it back in for another half hour.

7. Took it out of the oven.

8. Ate it.

I did much of this in a lemsip induced haze. But it turned out rather well. So there we are. Bird for the ascension, and giuncata for next year.

P.S. Of course, in England, we will be celebrating a stupidly ersatz transferred feast of the Ascension on Sunday... because the English bishops in their infinite wisdom... blah blah blah blah need I say more(?) blah blah...

 

Morning Star French Toast – continuing things with Our Lady’s Titles for May

Slices of stale bread

Beaten egg, beaten with a little milk

Salt and pepper for savoury, cinnamon and a little sugar for sweet

Good smoked back bacon

Brown sauce or maple syrup

 

I was hungry at the weekend and fancied some French toast (eggy bread for the less pretentious among us). I remember my childrens’ cookbook, which began my adventure with food, gave a recipe for star-shaped French toast. It occurred to me that this was a way of shoe-horning another of Our Lady’s titles into what I wanted to eat. So I took the scissors to the bread and made stars. A star-shaped cutter would have been better but I don’t have one.

The crucial thing with French toast is to cook it quickly, in hot bacon grease and butter. I love bacon grease. Soak the bread stars in beaten egg (with sweet of savoury flavourings), shake off the excess egg, pop into a deep, heavy, frying pan with a good amount of hot fat in it. Leave one side for about a minute, and flip. Cook for another minute. Do in batches and drain on paper towel. Keep warm in a low oven. Serve with bacon and brown sauce, if having savoury, or with maple syrup if sweet. I would much rather have gone sweet with these, but didn’t have any maple syrup.

[as a side point, a good savoury eggy bread can be made with leftover ciabatta, which soaks up the egg very well. This can be served with some leftover peperonata, or a fried tomato. A nice big fat Jack Hawkins, or a San Marzano].

Stella matutina ora pro nobis!

Poule au Pot for Henri of Navarre

Henri the IV of France is not a saint, nor does he have a feast day. But, legend has it, he is responsible for one of my favourite dishes. The glorious poule au pot. Henri wanted every member of his kingdom to have a chicken in his/her pot on a Sunday.

Henri went some way to achieving this with many of his policies, particularly those promoting agriculture, and he was an extremely popular king.

Where he was contentious, however, was in matters of religion. He started off as a Calvinist, a Hugeneot… indeed he fought wars to maintain a protestant regime in France. Eventually he saw the light and converted to Catholicism, realising that it was the only way to end civil war and to safely be King of France. He is said to have remarked ‘Paris vaut bien une messe’ (Paris is worth a mass). By all acounts he became a very devout Catholic.

Poor old Henri was assassinated, his head cut off, by a particularly zealous Catholic called Francois Ravaillac. Dear Francois was a bit mad and interpreted some of Henri’s actions as the start of a war against the Pope, so sprung into action. After Henri’s death his body was buried in the Basilica of St Denis. During the revolution his tomb was trashed, and his head went missing. It was tracked down a few years ago, having passed through private collections for years. All sorts of science matched Henri’s body with the head that was found, and they were joyfully reunited after over 200 years!

So I’m rather a fan of Henri IV… Catholic (up to a point) and responsible for Poule au pot. He died on the 14^th May, so here is a nice springtime poule au pot for Henri IV.

Ingredients

 

1 happy medium sized free-range chicken

A few rashers of smoked streaky bacon/lardons

4 nice young carrots

4 sticks of celery

10 new potatoes – halved, or old potatoes (skin off) in wedges

A leek – cut into rings

A shallot, chopped up

Garlic – 3 cloves

Bay leaf

Thyme

A few sprigs of parsley

Water

Butter

A note on ingredients and method:

I’m afraid that the ingredients for this recipe are not desperately traditional, and nor is the method, because I like to allow the breast to brown and then to serve the chicken with a buerre blanc. Traditionally one would stuff the chicken, put it into a simmering broth, add the vegetables a little later and serve everything together once the vegetables are cooked. If you wanted to be really keen you’d wrap the chicken in muslin first.

But I do it differently. Sorry. To be honest, it’s so delicious this way that I think Henri IV would have approved. Because this is a dish I do rather a lot, and usually with whatever needs using up, it often turns out rather differently, and the photos with this post are phone snaps from three different poules.

Start by sweating the shallots, garlic, and lardons. Then pop in the chicken and brown the dear thing on all sides. Then it’s really just a case of adding the ingredients around the side. Start with the leeks, then the carrots and celery. Sprinkle in the thyme and add the bayleaf and parsley and then pop the potatoes around the top. Pour hot water, and some good stock into the pot, until everything’s just about covered, and bring up to the boil. Then pop in the oven at 170C for about an hour and a half. After this time, take the lid off and turn the oven up to 200, there should still be a decent amount of liquid around the chicken. It may need topping up a little, but the top part of the breast and legs should be exposed now. Rub butter on the exposed bits of skin and pop the whole thing back, lid off, for another 20 minutes to half an hour. When the breast is browned serve portions of chicken with vegetables in wide bowls, together with a beurre blanc. Save the cooking liquor as decent vegetable/chicken stock. Indeed you can boil up the chicken carcass with it and it’ll make lovely rich stock for the freezer (and your next poule au pot).

 

Beurre Blanc

Finely chopped shallots

White wine

White wine vinegar

Salt and pepper

Good butter – a lightly salted French or Italian butter is great

Put shallots in a pan, and cover with two thirds white wine, to a third white wine vinegar (probably about ½ pt in total) and put on the hob until it’s well-reduced. Then take off the hob, and whisk in cubes of cold butter a couple at at a time, whisking constantly (off the heat, or on a very low heat). Make sure you whisk in the each couple of cubes before adding more. Keep adding butter and whisking until the sauce thickens. It’ll probably take about 6oz butter.

 

Our Lady’s Crown - Marian pudding for May

Fr D.W. Ryan, sometime chaplain of Digby Stuart  Catholic Teacher-training college in Roehampton (the Alma mater of my own dear mater) had a saying, which I vaguely remember from childhood. The saying was basically that when things go wrong it is our lady smiling upon us, giving us something to offer up for the holy souls. It’s a saying that I have always found a bit much. Yesterday it came back to me in a harrowing tale of broken pastry. Allow me to tell you about it.

Sunday morning, May Bank Holiday Weekend 2012: picture the scene! I got up rather early – having been bolstered by by Bloody Besses on Saturday, and having given it large again at a party (at which I was dressed up as white rapper Eminem, but managed to look more like a butch nun). The reason for my early rising was to make a tart for a dinner party in the evening. I’d made the pastry the night before, and needed to roll it and bake it, and make a crema pasticcera before the 11.30am mass.

I have little recollection of the whole morning process, indeed my memory from yesterday begins roughly half-way through the Pater Noster. Nevertheless, when I returned from mass I found two neat tarts, filled with delicious crema pasticcera. One of the tarts was to be ‘Our Lady’s Crown’, a pudding inspired by Our Lady’s royal titles, for the marvellous month of May. The other tart I considered a little over baked, it was an auxiliary flan. It was rejected.

When, at the end of a pleasantly boozy (but not excessive) dinner, I brought out Our Lady’s Crown, resplendent with its jewels of summer fruits and piped cream, it had stuck right royally in the flan dish, and wouldn’t come out. Now, I’d worried about it this, because I would usually make such a thing in a tin, and take the shell out of the tin. But I thought it’d be fine... I was in a rush, so I chanced it. The dish was blessed by Our Lady, she wouldn’t let it go wrong.

Disaster! The whole thing collapsed and it made me rather sad, even though I think it tasted delicious. Here’s how I made it. Whatever you do, use a well-greased tin.

Ingredients

For the pastry:

3oz butter

2 oz sugar

7 oz flour

3 egg yolks

For the crema pasticcera:

4 egg yolks

1 egg

5 tablespoons flour

5 tablespoons sugar

1 pt milk

Vanilla extract

For the top:

A quantity of summer fruits (I used the English strawberries and raspberries, and some blueberries)

Double cream

Some jam, for a glaze

 

Method:

Pastry

I like a traditional sweet pastry, as it has very little shrinkage during cooking. It’s sensible to make the pastry the night before, that way it can chill down and will be easier to work the following morning. Cream the butter and sugar together, then work in the egg yolks. You should have a pleasing yellow paste. Work in the flour and form the pastry into a ball. Then wrap in foil and put in the fridge for at least half an hour.

Roll the pastry out, and place in a WELL GREASED flan dish, or better still a nice tin. Give a decent lip, which you can then either trim down after baking or leave for a rustic look. Bake blind for 15 minutes, and then for another 7 at about 190C. Leave it to cool completely.

Crema Pasticcera

I suppose you could call this crème patissiere, and you’d be right, but I’ve always admired the Italian approach to puddings... which is basically to make a jolly good chilled custard, and to couple it either with pastry or cake and leave it at that. So, in union with this principle, I use the Italian lingo.

I have a couple of tricks for CP. The first is to run a sink or big dish of cold water at the beginning. This means you can cool the bottom of the pan, to stop the CP from curdling. The other is to use a whole egg in addition to egg yolks. This gives a lighter cream.

Begin with two pans. In one place the milk, the sugar, and the vanilla. You want to bring this up to just below the boil.

In the other pan beat together the yolks and the egg with the flour, until they are a smooth paste. When the milk is hot, pour it into a pyrex jug. Pour slowly into the egg and flour mixture, whisking constantly. I do this off the heat. Then put the whole mixture over a low heat. Cook until the mixture thickens, again whisking constantly. You want to do this slowly. Do not overheat. I tend to cook until it bubbles a tiny bit and then plunge the bottom of the pan into cold water and... you've guessed it... whisking constantly. Let the CP cool before putting it into the tart shells. Then chill them.

Topping

When the tart(s) are cool, top with fruit, glaze with jam melted with a little water, and decorate with piped whipped cream (double).

And what of the difficult doctrine of Our Lady’s Smile (incidentally if anyone knows about that do tell me – the only thing I can find on the internet relates to St Therese of Lisieux and that’s something rather different)? Well, it occurred to me as I ate a slice of the auxiliary tart this morning, which slid easily out of dish and onto plate… that in truth Our Lady is crowned by the marginalised and forgotten, that Our Lady draws all to her heart and smiles upon us all. So – even whilst it would be crass to draw too many similarities between the forgotten back-up tart and the forgotten and marginalised – there is a beauty in the way things worked out that made me think.

Not only was our lady crowned with the broken and unbeautiful – but nonetheless delicious – but also she was crowned with the marginalised and forgotten.

Perhaps Our Lady was smiling after all.

Regina in caelum assumpta, ora pro nobis!

 

Bloody Besses (and coffee) for the 40 Martyrs of England and Wales

Yesterday I gave it large for the English Martyrs. Those men and women who perished for the faith in protestant England, largely during the reign of Elizabeth I. Pope Paul VI canonised 40 of them in 1970 (yay for Paul VI, at least he did something right!) and we celebrate them on the 4^th May (or the 25^th October). Indeed, I drank to them heartily last night, with quite a lot of lager, some cheap red wine, and a Manhattan when I got home (in retrospect, a mistake).

This morning I am feeling a little fragile after my devotions. This said, I do not want to let the English Martyrs pass by without the recognition they so clearly deserve. They are wonderful, and brave, and I have a special devotion to them… and so I am going to take this morning, the day after so wonderful a feast, to share with you all the details of my breakfast. Do forgive me if this blog is short, the noise of the keys tapping is somewhat excruciating.

Bloody Besses for the English Martyrs

Because of nasty old Queen Elizabeth I I’ve decided to rename the Bloody Mary, the Bloody Bess… and here it is. I’m a bit of a fascist when it comes to Bloody Marys --- Besses --- I like them to be traditional, and I do not like the frou-frou of celery or horseradish or all that nonsense. The only ‘trick’ I have with them is to use sea salt, and to salt the ice so that the salt dissolves and the ice starts to melt... and to add a slug of red vermouth to take the edge off the vodka.

 

1 jigger vodka (keep your vodka in the freezer)  

½ jigger red vermouth

Tomato juice

Sea salt

Black pepper

Tobasco

Worcestershire  sauce

ICE

 

Put the ice in a glass, add the vodka and vermouth, sprinkle a little salt over the ice and let it dissolve. Stir. Top with tomato juice, then add salt, pepper, tobasco, and worcs sauce to taste. Stir again. I find the tobasco to be extremely important.

When it is ready, enjoy with a cup of freshly made coffee, and, if this avenue of pleasure is still open to you --- a cigarette.

Surrexit Christus Alleluia - Easter Cake

I have no truck with the simnel cake. Not only do I not particularly like it, but it became quite firmly a mothering Sunday tradition... and whilst I think its origins were Easter based its dalliance with another day now makes it feels like an imposter in this holy season. Nevertheless, I do like the symbolism of the balls on top of the marzipanned simnel cake. 11 balls for the 11 faithful apostles. Poor Old Judas. He remains a problem for me. Our redemption would have been impossible without him, so perhaps we owe him a debt of gratitude in some sense. Just as we sing of the 'necessary sin of Adam' in the Easter Exsultet, we might also think of the necessary betrayal of Judas. I tend to spend quite a bit of Easter praying for Judas. I'm sure he's beyond hope, beyond redemption... but where would we all be without him?

But I digress. Instead of the simnel cake we make a light almond cherry cake, the recipe for which my mother found in a magazine many Easter moons ago. Then we decorate it as if it is a simnel cake. As this is very much my mother's recipe she kindly helped with the baking, which was not in any way a stressful experience for either of us. Top marks go to our trusty electric mixer, which is the same age as me.

Ingredients

1lb glace cherries - washed and halved

10 oz self raising flour

3 oz ground almonds

10 oz unsalted butter

10 oz caster sugar

Zest and juice from one lemon

5 large eggs, beaten

9 inch cake tin, greased and lined

Apricot jam

Icing sugar

12 oz block of shop-bought marzipan

Preheat the over to 350F/180C. Cream the butter until soft in an electric mixer. Add the the sugar, and beat until the mixture is light and fluffy. You must use an electric mixer. I tried making this cake in November in an attempt to recreate the cherry cake from Nash's in the covered market. I was in a log cabin in the Missouri countryside at the time and there was no electric mixer. The cake didn't get enough air into it and was a bitter disappointment. Although it was rather nice lightly toasted with a little bit of butter on it.

Once the butter mix is light and fluffy add the lemon zest and then you can start to add the eggs, but do so gradually, otherwise the mixture will separate. Give a good burst with the mixer between each addition. When all the eggs are in fold in the flour and almonds.

Toss the cherry halves in a little flour (theoretically this stops them from sinking to the bottom of the cake). Fold the cherries in, but reserve a good handful. Once the larger quantity of cherries has been incorporated pour the mixture into the tin, and smooth down. Now thwomp the reserved cherries in at the top, pushing them in until they are just under the surface, and smooth the cake mix over the top. This will ensure that at least some cherries are near the top. Pop the cake into the oven for 1 hour, then reduce the temperature to 325F/170C and give it a further half hour to forty minutes.

Take the cake out of the oven and let it cool for 5-10 minutes in the tin. Then turn it out and let it cool on a wire rack.

When the cake is completely cool roll out the marzipan (using icing sugar as you would flour when rolling pastry) use the cake tin to cut a perfect circle the correct size. Brush the top of the cake with apricot jam, and pop the marzipan over the top, fluting the edges with your fingers. Then make the little balls with the leftover marzipan and use a little jam to glue them in place.

This year I've tied a nice blue ribbon round the cake, and put three dainty little chicks in Easter bonnets on the top. Well, they are meant to be Easter Bonnets, but personally I think  they look like Air Raid Precautions warden's hats. I also think that the cake, when covered with a basin, looks like a scene from a bizarre paschal Logan's run. 

Finally, here is a photograph of a cockerel that I made - from scratch - out of chicken wire, papier mache, crepe paper, and raffia when I was 12. He comes out every Easter, and to this day I overbearingly insist on receiving compliments about him from all who visit. I think he's very handsome. For the chicken fanciers among you I feel it's important to say that he's a Rose Comb White Dorking, such as this magnificent fellow. Dorkings are one of the oldest British breeds, thought to have been introduced to these shores by the Romans. I cannot stress enough how much I would like to keep chickens of my own. Anthony Worrall Thompson does.

Happy Easter!

 

Quail's Eggs to start Easter lunch

I adore eggs. I find them perfect, magical things. They are so versatile, so wonderful, so full of potential. The rich symbolism of the egg, signifying new beginnings in general, but particularly the resurrection. The egg holds new life within, lying dormant in the tomb of the shell. The presence of this rich symbolism meets a slight obstacle given that, for centuries, Christians have been removing the potential for new life to stem from the egg by boiling it, dying it, and toting it about at Easter. But hey-ho, boiled eggs are delicious. Quail's eggs are particularly delicious, extremely pretty, and they make the perfect Easter starter. We're also very lucky that they're available all year round from the lovely people at Clarence Court.

I like my Quail's eggs done simply (and who doesn't?), with a light salad, some brown bread, and a little mayonnaise. So that's what I have done here. It's really much better if you make your own mayonnaise... for which I claim no trick of my own but direct you to Jennifer Paterson (whose recipe is not available online). Constance Spry is also good on this. But St Delia is available online, so here's a link to her.

If you can't be bothered to make your own mayonnaise, then I give a recipe below for gussying up some from the jar.

Ingredients (the number of people this serves depends entirely upon how many quail's eggs you can eat. I would say that 5 each is the perfect number).

Two dozen quail's eggs

A bag of young salad leaves

Some good brown bread

Celery salt

Mayonnaise - home made

[Or... four good dollops of Hellmans full fat mayo' (there is no point eating low fat mayonnaise) to which you should add two generous teaspoons of dijon mustard, some cayenne pepper, a little honey, three teaspoons of extra virgin olive oil and a drop of wine vinegar. Whisk this all up. It's passable. Add some dill, extra honey, and grain mustard if you fancy serving it with salmon].

Method:

Put the eggs in a pan and cover with cold water. Bring to the boil and when the boil is reached leave for a minute and a half. Then use a slotted spoon to remove eggs and plunge into cold water.

Arrange salad and bread on a plate. Give each quail's egg a little tap on the work surface to crack it a little (otherwise you won't get into them) and arrange them in their nest of leaves. Put a dollop of mayonnaise on the side of the plate, and a few little dishes of celery salt on the table. I like to have some black pepper with them too. And a glass of Pol Roger.

 

One-a-penny, two-a-penny, hot cross buns for Good Friday

Blessed breads were one of the great traditions of mediaeval catholicism. Part of the great raft of the theatrical, the magical and the superstitious trappings that upheld the popular piety and devotion of the time. Indeed the tradition of giving out blessed breads at feast days still abounds in many European countries, and in Eastern churches it remains important.

Hot cross buns are part of this tradition of giving out blessed breads. Perhaps it's to do with the fact that there was a time when the laity did not receive communion, perhaps it just marks a day out as significant. As far as hot cross buns are concerned some think their origin very ancient - even pre-Christian. To my mind it seems likely that for as long as human beings have been able to make bread it has been used in sacrificial or festal contexts.

In England the hot cross bun as we know it seems to be a post-reformation thing. The habit of handing out blessed breads for feast days and solemnities seemed rather too catholic for protestant monarchs, and seemed to be part of the great pageant of catholicism that the protestants sought to eradicate. Nevertheless, the breads remained popular, and eventually Elizabeth I passed a law permitting them to be baked at Christmas and Easter. This seems to be where the hot cross bun came from, and in due course it became particularly associated with Easter, and by its cross marking, with Good Friday.

The recipe I use is a mix between that of Mr Nicola Cerrato, former Maitre Patissier at the Kensington Palace Hotel (which was collected from an old edition of the Catholic Herald by my Granny) and the recipe from my marvellous little baking book by George and Celia Scurfield, that I've mentioned before. Here's Mr Cerrato's clipping:

Here is what I ultimately do:

1lb plain flour

Three oz butter

Two oz sugar

1 oz fresh yeast

1/2 pt milk

1 egg

2 tspns mixed spice

6 oz currants (I had to use sultanas this year, as we're out of currants. Currants are MUCH better)

Put the flour, sugar, and spice in a large bowl and mix. Make a well. Cream the yeast in a little milk, and pour into the well. Add the egg and the butter (melted) and knead all together into a nice stiff dough, using as much milk as you need. Then add the fruit and knead evenly through the dough. Cover the bowl with cling-film and leave to rise for two hours, or overnight in the warmth of the kitchen. I think it's best to put it in the oven (with the oven off) and forget about it overnight.

Knock the dough back, and shape the buns - you'll get about 15 out of this quantity - and put them on a couple of baking trays. Leave to prove for half an hour. Do not overprove, the dough will collapse and your buns will be ruined. I once left the buns proving and went over to help with something at church. I got delayed and when I returned my buns were flat and soggy.

After proving make crosses on the back with the back of thick knife. Bake in hot oven for 15 minutes. Then brush with a glaze made from icing sugar, normal sugar, milk and a little water.