End of the summer shrimp

I'm the first to admit that it is hard to find an English main course recipe that doesn't start with "take half a pound of lard..." Nothing wrong with that of course, but when the sun is still lovely and warm, we all crave lighter fare, even this true-blue Brit!
So let's turn to the exotic East, the lazy days of the Raj and a lovely Goan-inspired shrimp dish with coconut and cream. I know I'm taking a bit of liberty but then, is not Indian food a cornerstone of English cuisine? In fact, in a recent poll taken in Britain, the second favorite dish nationwide turned out to be chicken tikka! (No prizes if you guess what the number one fave was!*)
I've adapted this recipe over time. It began life as a mussel starter but I've switched in shrimp, added cream or yogurt, toned down the heat for the Americans in my midst, and I now serve it up over a bed of salad as opposed to rice. By increasing the portions I've turned this recipe into a delightfully light supper dish.

Here's what you will need
A pound and half of large shrimp. I use fresh-frozen, but use whatever looks good in the market. Do use large or extra large shrimp, smaller prawns tend to disappear.
You'll also require a "finger" of ginger; use powder if you must, but fresh is so much better. A few cloves of garlic and cup of grated coconut, dried or fresh but unsweetened. One small chili pepper chopped up, or use a few dried pepper flakes. If using fresh chili, do taste a smidge beforehand. You want the dish to have a little kick, but not too much. Chop up half a bunch of green onions. Have a wedge of butter on hand or a little pot of ghee if you're feeling exotic. You'll also need a quarter cup of lemon juice, but do peel the rind from said lemon, chop it up, and keep it to one side.
Now bring out the big guns: a cup of cream, sour cream, or yogurt or a combination of all three. I'm trying to watch my weight so I use low fat yogurt. Mind you, the cream adds a wonderful richness, so it's your choice. You can add a half teaspoon of salt, but it really isn't necessary Last but not least, you'll need a teaspoon of turmeric and coriander. I usually add a few cardamom pods in the final dish to torment the wife.... This of course, is also an optional addition. If you cannot find any of these spices at your local Indian shop, use the light-colored curry powder found in regular grocery stores.
You will also need a bunch of coriander or cilantro, chop half the leaves for the sauce, retain the uncut leaves for the salad. Did I mention salad?

Let's address the salad
This is a simple green affair, you need enough leaves to cover four dinner plates. Make sure the salad is torn into small pieces, Use a spring mix type; rocket, dandelion, watercress, or what have you. Whatever you use, do add small shavings of green olives and grated flecks of lemon peel and mix in the whole leaves of coriander you cleverly kept to one side. Make a one-to-one vinaigrette using lemon juice and olive oil. Toss at the last minute then divide, forming beds of salad on the four plates.
Now let's get to the main attraction, which can easily be prepped in advance of your dinner party. Drinks at six on the patio...we eat in five? No probs!
First peel, de-vein, and sauté the shrimp. Thirty seconds a side. No more. Use butter, oil, or ghee if you want! You just want the little chaps pink on both sides. Add lemon juice to the pan and remove the happily sizzling shrimp to a side dish. They will finish cooking off heat. Prior to service, you pop them into the sauce to warm them up. And that's all. The key thing is not to overcook the shrimp, which can be made ahead and rest in the fridge until you are ready to make the sauce...
If you have the time, you can make a little stock using the shrimp shells. This will add a very nice flavor enhancement to the sauce but it's not essential.
In a mini prep gadget, put in the finger of ginger, the garlic cloves and the green bits from your spring onions. Add half a cup of water. Whir up this mixture.
In the unwashed sauté pan in which you part-cooked the shrimp, soften the remaining chopped onion bits in a pat of butter (or oil or ghee) for a couple of minutes, then add the garlic-ginger mixture, stir fry for half a minute before adding the chili, turmeric and cumin, along with the coconut. Now add the shrimp stock you so cleverly made (or a quarter cup of water) to the sauce and cook over a low heat for a few minutes. Take sauce off the heat and pour in the yogurt, cream, or what have you. Put back on low heat for a minute. When everything is nicely incorporated and the sauce is just coating the back of a spoon, pile in the part cooked shrimp and mix into the sauce for another minute. If the sauce is too thick add a few tablespoons of water, or cream --you naughty thing, you! Then turn off the heat.
Now toss your salad in a simple lemony vinaigrette. Plate up the salad forming beds. Top with shrimp and curry sauce. Serve with nan or pita bread, or nothing at all. Oh, nearly forgot. Once plated, sprinkle the chopped coriander over the shrimp.

So there we are! An Englishman's Goan-style curry dish to beat the last of the summer heat, a little spicy but very fresh tasting, light, and delicious. Do try it, I know you'll like this one!
*Yes, you guessed it --fish and chips!

Cool, creamy, crunchy: Glorious Eton Mess

When the weather heats up, my thoughts turn to languid summers and strawberries and cream and... Eton Mess! The dish was invented by the boys attending Eton College-that bastion of privilege in the lovely village of the same name-and usually served up on parents day or at prize-giving ceremonies.

Why, you may ask, is a former secondary modern school kid waxing lyrically about such an upper class treat? Well, the answer is simple: It is delicious. And with the Prodigal addition of chocolate this wonderful confection becomes extra special. Plus, it's so easy to throw together!

Here's what you need for 6-8 servings.

A pound and a half or more of strawberries, nice and ripe, two cups of whipping cream, a tablespoon of sugar, and a drop of vanilla.

Twelve small meringues, or more if you like lots of crunch. If you have the patience, you can, of course, make them yourself, but I prefer to buy them.

One third cup of Kirsch, white rum, or flavorful spirit (optional)

Two ounces of good quality, semi-sweet chocolate, grated or shaved.

Here's what you do.

Put the cleansed and hulled berries in a bowl, halved or sliced or quartered depending on size of the fruits. Now add the booze if you so desire. As we have a child and I don't want the police on my doorstep I don't, and it works very well without. At this point, resist the desire to add sugar to the bowl. If you do, the strawberries will weep and turn your dessert a gooey pink, and you don't want that. Instead, add a tablespoon of sugar to the cream and beat it to soft peaks. Add a little vanilla if you so desire, especially if you abstain on the Kirsch.

Crush/chop the meringues into rough chunks then add to the strawberries and whipped cream, then "mess" everything gently together. And there you have it: Eton Mess. More of an assembly job than a real recipe.

Serve in tall sundae glasses and top each portion with generous sprinkles of chocolate shavings. The addition of the chocolate is mine but it really works a treat.

Even if you're not strolling the playing fields of Eton with the sun glazing the Thames a shimmering gold, it will certainly feel like it when you taste this wonderful concoction. Evocative of summer and lazy afternoons, Eton Mess is destined to become a family favourite.

Bubble, bubble without trouble

Stuck with leftover St. Patrick's Day cabbage and spud? Here's my home version of another cornerstone of English cuisine: Bubble and Squeak. So easy, not a real recipe really. I cook up some bacon and fry up the chopped, leftover spuds and greens in the rendered fat. I let everything brown for a few minutes without touching, then stir up and brown the other sides. That's it! It all goes down very well with everyone, even Kate, though we keep her away from the Guiness...just kidding, Prodigal Wife is not a Guiness fan either.

A spoonful of Christmas

My recipe for Christmas mincemeat differs a bit from the traditional ones because I believe in using what is around your pantry. Basically, you'll need a combination of dried fruits-raisins, sultanas, currants, dates, figs, etc.-but, I think it matters not what kind of dried fruits you use. In the nut department, you are expected to use slivered almonds, but I used walnuts this year, and a few leftover pecan bits, with no ill effect. Same goes with the drinkie element. Brandy is traditional but I had rum and a little amaretto lying around, so I used that. Candied peel I omit altogether because, frankly, I don't like it. In short, feel free to improvise-you may even come up with a unique recipe!

For the mincemeat you will need
Two large Granny Smith apples. Instead of boiling them into a mush I peel and quarter the apples and sauté them in a little butter, before chopping the apple bits up. Now finely chop a heaped cup of your chosen nuts-almonds, walnuts, pecans, or what-have-you. Then grate the rind of a lemon and orange and chop. Reserve the juice from both fruits. You'll also need a heaped teaspoon of ground spices. Choose the spices you like best; cloves, cinnamon, star anise, nutmeg. My family likes lots of cinnamon, not much nutmeg. Or add some grated ginger, now there's a thought...
You will also need three cups of mixed dried fruit. This year I used a cup each of raisins, sultanas, and chopped up dried apricots. Use whatever you want, or have to hand but remember, larger fruit should be chopped. Now add two cups of brown sugar and half a cup of brandy or other favored libation.
Fear not about the uncooked alcohol content if, indeed, you worry about such things. The demon drink will evaporate within a few days. And besides, you'll probably cook your mincemeat in a pastry or some such before eating it, which will "cook out" the booze. Unless you're naughty like me, and spoon it right out of the jar! Yum! Yum! (I get scolded though.)
Into all this stuff, grate a stick of butter. I suggest you freeze the stick first, makes life easier. If you're feeling daring or traditional, go right ahead and use 1/2 cup good quality beef fat instead, instead of butter. Whatever fat you use, don't forget to freeze it first before attempting to grate.
Now combine all the ingredients and liquids in a glass bowl and mix very well but gently. The mixture should be quite stiff. The spoon should be able to stand up in the mixture unaided, but not break! If it is too thick, add a little more rum, sherry, apple juice, or other tasty liquid. Now pop the bowl in the fridge and chill at least a day before plunking this classic confection into those clever airtight jars with the metal clamps and rubber rings. Alternatively, you can go right ahead and use the mixture for mince tarts or turnovers. Prodigal Wife folds little rounds of pastry over a bit of mincemeat, wonton-style but, as you see in the photo, I just plop a spoonful of the stuff on a molded round of pastry and bake till it's all bubbly.

Try to be patient!
Mincemeat improves with a little age. Try and give it a week or two. The difference is startling! This stuff will happily reside in your fridge for six months or more. But if you're like me, you'll find your mincemeat far too irresistible to last beyond the season to be jolly....and why should it? After all, a spoonful of Christmas...

A classic side to give thanks for

We posted this last winter, but several people have asked me recently about Cauliflower Cheese—and it's on our menu for Thanksgiving—so we thought we'd post the recipe again. This is a classic English staple and when it’s done well, it’s a wonderful thing. Sadly the reputation for this dish has waned over the years and been relegated to the realm of ghastly pub food, made en masse for the lunch crowd because it keeps its heat, like shepherd’s pie with its layer of crisped mash. Even now, this maligned dish is usually found rubbing shoulders with a tray of baked beans and bangers, all held under the ubiquitous glass coffin atop near the beer pumps. And so after an hour or so, the cheese sauce turns into a rubberized cap, the kind a grandmother would swim in. This of course does nothing for the taste but it does act as a heat-sealant.
This is a culinary tragedy. Done right, Cauliflower Cheese is a truly wonderful dish, good enough to be savored alone. But when it accompanies a prime rib roast...you are in God’s own country.
Here’s how to turn a travesty into a culinary triumph.

Cauliflower Cheese, prodigal-style
Break up the cauliflower into florets, chop up bits of stalks if you are feeling virtuous, frugal, or both. Steam until crisp-tender, or cover and microwave for about 5 minutes. (If you use the microwave and value your fingers, leave the florets alone in the microwave for a few minutes to calm down. Anyway, you'll be kept busy making the sauce. )
Put 4 tablespoons of butter and 3 tablespoons of flour in a small saucepan; melt butter with the flour, whisk until no white bits remain. Take saucepan off the fire and let the flour cook off the heat. Add a little salt, a good pinch of nutmeg, and a 1/2 teaspoon of Coleman’s powder mustard (or a couple of shakes of powdered white pepper). Throw in a bay leaf if you must; I never do, I find bay leaves overrated. By now it should be safe to remove the cauliflower from the microwave, which you will use to warm up two cups of milk, either fat-free or whole if you are feeling naughty. Mind you, if you’re feeling particularly decadent (and I know there are one or two of you out there) add a little cream. Now put the saucepan back on the fire, whisk in the warmed milk, keep whisking for a minute or two until the concoction thickens. You have now made a Béchamel sauce. Congratulations. I don’t tell Frances but I now add a dollop of cream cheese, about a large tablespoonful, for extra enrichment and flavor. To your creamy cheese sauce add a large teaspoon of Dijon style mustard and a shot of Worcestershire sauce. (And by the way, this is pronounced Wooster Sauce. Wooster as in Bertie Wooster. No shire. No cester. Just Wooster.) Whisk your sauce again then set aside.
Butter a large glass dish and turf in the cauliflower florets and edible stalk bits. If you have a 1/4 cup of cauliflower water residing aimlessly in the bottom of your glass dish or steam pot, add it to your sauce. I now sprinkle a generous amount of grated Swiss cheese over the florets, but you could use any grated mousetrap you happen to have kicking around. Then enrobe the cauliflower with your lovely sauce. The experts pour, but I prefer to spoon it on gently, making sure the sauce covers the cauliflower evenly. Now put the dish in the fridge for 24 hours to rest. No, no, I’m only kidding!
But you do need to top the dish with parmesan cheese before going any further. For additional flavor and crunch I also add fresh breadcrumbs toasted in butter--it’s worth the extra step. Now you’re almost there. Mix a couple of tablespoons of the crumbs with an equal amount of Parmesan cheese and sprinkle this mixture over the sauced cauliflower. Pop the dish into a 350 F oven for 1/2 hour or so, uncovered. When the sauce bubbles and the top is a gold, mahogany brown ––et voila! Do let your cauliflower cheese repose for a few minutes before serving.
This wonderful dish can be prepared ahead, and kept covered in the fridge for hours even overnight. Just don’t sprinkle the crumb mixture until you’re ready to bake. And no, it really doesn’t need any additional salt, the cheese takes care of that. And you can adjust the pepper and dry mustard to your taste. But do use the Worcestershire Sauce, especially now you know how to pronounce it. Enjoy!

Roast lamb worth the gambol

We have a wonderful variety of seafood and meats here in the States. For instance, beef here is so good, I used to pack a rib roast and bring it to Blighty to share with my folks. They just loved it! That being said, I must confess, I do miss English or Welsh lamb. Sadly, Americans are not big lamb eaters. And no wonder. Most American lamb is derived from sheep that ceased to gambol a long time past. The lamb here is a bit long in the tooth, a bit tough, and it smells gamey. The other lamb widely available is Australian lamb but, though better, this too tends to be a little tough and just a bit too gamey for my taste.
Now, I’ve long been brining turkey and pork. So I thought, why not give the lamb a brine bath? So I did. And the result? Beyond my wildest expectations. The meat was moist, with the aromas of thyme and rosemary. The color was wonderfully pink, and it was a joy to carve. The meat tasted delicate and not a bit gamey. In short the brining turned American mutton into a sweet facsimile of the young, tender English lamb I fondly remember.

Preparing the meat
First, let’s make the brine. This is good for any size leg, small or large. You need 1 cup of sugar, ¼ cup of salt, 15-20 peppercorns, bay leaves if you must, fresh rosemary, and stalks of thyme or oregano. You can, of course, use dried herbs if you haven’t got the fresh ones. I’ve also used a couple of lavender stalks in this recipe, but don’t use many as the flavor is quite pronounced. Combine all these ingredients into a saucepan with a quart of water. Boil up. When the sugar and salt have dissolved, pour the contents into a glass, Pyrex-type dish with 3 quarts of cold water.
Now put the lamb in the brine. Don’t worry if it isn’t completely submerged. Just turn the meat every few hours, and don’t forget to turn it once before going to bed and again in the morning. You want the lamb to brine for 24- to 36 hours, then drain and proceed as you would for any roast lamb recipe.

Roasting the lamb
As we’re going for the English thing, proceed as follows. Coat the lamb with a little butter, mixed with bits of apricot. Mind you, if you have Provencal leanings, you might prefer to anoint the beast with olive oil, garlic, and herbs but…that’s your choice.
Pop the lamb into a 425 F oven at 10-12 minutes per pound for medium rare or 15 minutes a pound for medium. We prefer lamb on the rare side of medium so I go with 10 minutes a pound.

Greek-style brined lamb on the grill
This year I decided to barbeque the lamb Greek-style, with great results. It goes like this. Keep the herbs from the brine. String up the lamb with butcher’s string, and thread and weave the herbs around the leg so it looks as if the beast had a greenish coat. Then skewer the lamb with two spear-like sticks.
Using a Weber-type grill, bank up a good stack of coals on either side, then forage about for a couple of bricks. Now place your bricks opposite each other on the grill, by each of the two banks of coals. Set coals afire and wait until the coals turn white hot. Position the lamb so the ends of the skewers rest on the bricks and the lamb hangs suspended between the coals. I do this for two reasons: I don’t want the lamb to touch the grill and risk burning, and I really want to try and duplicate the Greek fire thing even though I do not possess a turning spit.
Barbecue the lamb for 15 minutes, covered. Because you pronged it with two skewers, you’ll be able to turn the beast over quite easily. Lacking asbestos fingers, I use gloves to execute this maneuver. I suggest you do the same. Then lightly baste the cooked side of the lamb with a little of the brining mixture you so cleverly retained.
Cover the grill and cook for another 15 minutes. Uncover the lamb and let it roast for another 20 minutes or so. The heat will be intense, and you do not want to overcook the meat. Check for doneness at this point. I had a big leg of lamb and the whole thing was cooked in less than an hour (this little roast in the photo took 40 minutes on our indoor grill, which gives off considerably less heat than the trusty old Weber). For medium, grill the lamb for no more than an hour. Remove from the grill, tent it with foil and let it rest for at least half an hour. Actually, you can leave the lamb to rest for as long as an hour without ill effects. Lamb can be barely warm and still be delicious and succulent.
With all that heat residual heat in the grill, go head and grill up a heap of summery veggies to garnish your wonderful English/Greek style lamb.
Do try grilling your lamb outdoors if the weather holds—it’s quite spectacular and tastes superb. But however you decide to cook your lamb, do brine it first. The brine will rejuvenate a lamb and put the spring back in the step of even the most muttony beasts. So do take a gambol on brining! Believe me, you’ll be roasting a winner.

A cool and peppery starter at summer's end

Being a Brit, I’ve always had a fondness for watercress sandwiches, the kind one has for tea with the crusts cut off, but I’ve always wanted to take their sophisticated, contrasting flavors from the tea table to the dinner table. Here, then, is my take on an old favorite, now transformed into an elegant cold soup for a lovely summertime lunch or dinner.

Choose your weapons
The hardware. A chopping/mashing machine of your choice—luddite that I am, I like to use a pestle and mortar, but this is not necessary. Also a hand-held blender/whirring machine, and You a couple of glass bowls.
The ingredients. A bunch of watercress, an avocado, and a ripe pear, three cups of light chicken stock, four-five thick slices of crustless country bread, a good dash of salt, a garlic clove, three tablespoons white wine or cider vinegar, and a lemon from which to squeeze a few tablespoons of juice. You’ll also need a quarter cup of olive oil, plus a teaspoon or two. If you feel so inclined, a tablespoonful of whipping cream won’t hurt.

Let’s get cracking
Peel and chop up the pear into very small dice, squirt with lemon juice, and set aside. Now wash and chop up the watercress leaves and just the tenderest stalks, put into a glass bowl, reserving a little for garnish. There, simple.

Onward!
While your chicken stock is coming to a low boil, mash up the bread, olive oil, salt, vinegar and tablespoon of lemon juice in your pestle or other mashing implement. Drop the garlic clove in the stock, blanch for 30 seconds, then fish out and add to your sloppy bread mixture. Mash up well. Tip the just-boiled chicken stock over the watercress leaves; this blanches them and adds to the vibrancy of the finished dish. Mix in the bread mixture. Chop up the avocado and add to your mixture. Now whirr everything up with your hand mixer (or food processor). If your soup is too thin, add a bit more bread and whir it into the soup to thicken.
Now chill the concoction for a few hours, and you will end up with a vibrant, peppery, creamy soup. Check for salt, it may need a little more; if you’re concerned about salt add a little more lemon juice instead.
Serve up in little bowls and sprinkle with the tiny pear fruitions––voila! You make of course make bread croutons if you’d rather, but ripe pear adds a luscious contrast. Top with a sprinkling of chopped watercress and, if desired, drizzle on a little cream—et voila! You have a cold, elegant soup with a hint of teatimes past, just perfect for a warm summer’s eve.

'Tis the season to be fruity

With summer coming to a close, I wanted to tempt you with a lovely English fruit pud called, most aptly, summer pudding. I must confess, Prodigal Wife and Daughter never quite took to the cooling charms of this quintessential English dessert. They said it was too bready, too pudding-like, and just a bit too splodgy. And I really could not blame them: apart from fresh fruit, the standard recipe is mostly day-old white bread and gelatin.
So here is a lighter version of this classic summer stand-by, one that has found favor in the Prodigal household. Unlike the traditional sweet, which is large and hard to cut into portions, I create individual puds crammed with fruit filling and devoid of gelatin, encased in a very thin layer of raisin bread! The resulting concoction is lighter, fruitier, and just a little more fun to eat—and everyone has their own pud, which is a great plus.
This is a no-cook dessert (almost), another boon in the summer, but it does require at least 24 hours to set up. In fact, I’ve left them for 48 hours in the fridge, and the bread casing almost disappeared; the flavors meld, becoming richer and even more delectable. What a great do-ahead recipe to round off a special dinner party. Let’s begin.

What you’ll need
Equipment: Six ramekins or custard cups, whatever they may be (Prodigal Wife says Americans know what a custard cup is). You will also need teacup saucers, a couple of cans for weights, and two cookie sheets or large trays. Also, you’ll need a sieve, a glass bowl, and plastic wrap.
The edibles: Purchase or pluck a lemon, a pannet of strawberries, and a carton of blueberries. If you use a combination of berries you won’t need gelatin (strawberries don’t have much pectin, so it doesn’t set up so well on its own). You can of course use other berries, such as raspberries and blackberries, but I find them outrageously expensive and don’t think they add that much. You’ll also need a loaf of raisin bread, sliced thinly or uncut and preferably not flavored with cinnamon. Or else use brioche of challah. Or panetone--I’ve never used that but I think the end result would be quite superb.

Now let’s do it!
Roughly slice the strawberries and place in a saucepan with the blueberries and some lemon zest. Add a squeeze of lemon. You could also add a dash of leftover dessert wine, which is nice but not essential. Now add six tablespoons of sugar. Before adding the sugar, taste the fruits, if both are tart use a little more sugar. Use your judgment on this, but you’ll need some sugar or syrup won’t set up.
As soon as mixture boils, take off the heat and let the cool. Slice the raisin bread as thinly as possible. Cut off the crusts. Recipes I’ve seen always call for day-old bread, but why wait? I don’t. Cut the bread slices into inch-wide strips. Line the bottom and sides of your ramekins with the strips, making sure enough bread sticks out at the top to fold back over. Overlap the bread strips a little and press down, making sure there are no gaps.
Put the fruit mixture into the sieve over a glass bowl. Now wait an hour to let the lovely juices drain. Although you want to capture as much juice as possible, resist the temptation to press down on the fruit or you’ll ends up with pip bits between teeth. Now carefully spoon the fruit mixture into the ramekins until they crest the very top. Fold over the extra flaps of bread, and press down. Now draw the plastic wrap tightly over each ramekin. This will help set the mould. Place ramekins on the tray then place a tea saucer, ridge part down, on top of each wrapped ramekin. Put the other tray or cookie sheet atop the saucers, and weigh the tray down with the cans. Place all this in the fridge. I’ve taken a long time to describe what is in fact a very simple procedure. It does take a little longer because instead of making one large summer pudding you are making (I hope) individual ones. Much nicer. Now boil up the collected juices and reduce a little. You want to end up with a thick, rich, but pourable sauce, not a jam.
Now you wait for a day, then... Remove ramekins from the fridge. Peel away the plastic wrap. Using a sharp knife, go around the edge of the pudding. Turn the ramekin over and turn out your pud onto a small pretty plate — Royal Worcester, of course! You will notice the juices have seeped through, giving the pud a lovely purple color that glistens on the plate. Dab any uncoated bits with the lovely reserved juices. Moat the plate with a little of the purple fruit sauce, add a dollop of whipped cream, and garnish with a sprig of mint, if you must. Now tuck in and discover just how delicious this classic English treat really is. Summer will fade but sweet memories of this fruity indulgence will not.
Try it and see!

Lunch in Long Melford

We walked past the village green, framed by a couple of pubs, and stopped to get our bearings. On closer inspection, one of the pubs was not a pub at all, having been completely converted into an interesting looking restaurant. Inside, the decor was bright blues and yellows, and looked very Mediterranean. Surprisingly, the food was English and good. I had a succulent rack of lamb and a trendy salad of tender young leafy things that, left to grow, would turn into stinging nettles and foul-smelling weeds. Frances had a veal chop and spinach. Kate had her normal one-course meal of formula. If the weather had been better we might have lingered around the antique shops, but it was getting cold and we were still pretty damp from the previous downpour. We decided to head home.

Prodigal Toad: Nothing to croak about

This delicious dish, as you can imagine, has nothing to do with greenish amphibians. Toad in the Hole is a classic of English cookery, in which banger-like sausages are set and baked within a large Yorkshire pudding. Kate and I like our Toad with baked beans. If you’re feeling healthy have yours with a salad.
So let’s begin. First you need to make a Prodigal Pudding batter. Instead of pudding pans, though, use a large oval or oblong glass dish that can easily accommodate a half dozen sausages or more. One sausage per person probably suffices but I tend to bake five, so the Prodigal Family can have seconds. You’ll also need four tablespoonfuls of your favorite fat: duck, goose, beef, or canola. And, of course, you need bangers!
I suppose you could use an Italian sausage but I prefer not to. I do deviate from the traditional recipe by using wonderful apple sausages we buy from the Amish market and studing the dish with sautéed apple segments. It’s a bit like have the main course and dessert all rolled into one. Oooh, I am naughty––but you’ll like it!
Making the Toad
First heat the oven to 450F. Add the fat of your choice to the glass dish and pop it into the center of the oven .
Two granny smith type apples need to be cored, peeled, and quartered. Sounds a bit medieval but carry on regardless. Gently saute apples in a little butter. Watch them like a hawk. Once they start to color, sprinkle with a little sugar and cinnamon then take them off the fire, remove apples but keep handy. Now brown the sausages in the remaining butter. No need to cook through, just make sure they get lightly browned on all sides. Now place sausages, apples, and residual fat into the toad dish, spread the wealth and close the oven door. Remove your Yorkshire batter from the fridge, Re-whisk. After three minutes or so, your glass dish will be smoky hot and the sausages and apples will be ready to receive the enrobing batter.
Open the oven. Warning: don’t pour the batter into the dish tsunami-fashion. If you do, the hot fat will make your sausages and apples slip and slide until they clump together in one unappetizing mass. Not good. You want the batter to moat around all those lovely nibble bits. To accomplish this successfully, I anoint the dish using a ladle, carefully but quickly. The batter mixture will start to set up almost immediately, anchoring the contents throughout the dish. Close the oven door. Cook for 20 minutes at 450F. The sides of the Toad will have risen at this point quite beautifully but the center will not be cooked through. If the bangers are browning too quickly, cover them with a bit of foil. Lower the temperature to 400F and cook for another 15-20 minutes until set.
Here’s how I serve it
When Frances isn’t looking, I purloin the elongated spatula she uses for baking, then slide the Toad onto a nice platter, leaving any excess fat behind in the glass dish.
Do try this grand and surprisingly economical treat. It’s a Prodigal Family favorite and I’m sure if you try it once, it will be a hit with your crew, too.
Enjoy!

The proof is in...

Apparently, Yorkshire pudding first came about, not surprisingly, in Yorkshire, in Victorian times when meat was scarce and people were poor. Puds were served as a first course to fill people up. Today, things are a little better, and nothing is better than a slice of rare beef with a Yorkshire pud. Yum, yum! What a combination. Here’s a surefire way to bake the perfect Yorkshire Pudding.
First off, equipment. The last post showed three pudding pans; the best of these is the one with shallow oval bottoms (the one from Mummy-in-Law). If these pans cannot be found, try small cupcake Pyrex glass containers. Alternatively, you could use a single roasting or pie pan, which will produce one large pudding. This looks quite spectacular, but I feel individual puddings are more fun and you get more crispy bits.
Yorkshire pudding is essentially a batter recipe. People add things like parsley, and thyme and rosemary, extra pepper, even bacon. Jacques Pepin adds leeks. I’ve tried all these additional ingredients and, personally, I feel none add a hill of beans of difference.
The key ingredient is the type of fat you use. The best puddings are made in beef fat, ideally rendered from your Sunday rib roast. But standing rib roast is a big treat in the Prodigal household, so for a non-holidays feast, we use eye of round, a lean cut with very little fat. So I conserve fat from previous meals. Let me explain.
If you’re having a steak or even a stew, just trim the fat, and wrap and freeze it. When you have a bit of time, render your collected bits of fat in a little water. You’ll need about a teaspoonful of fat per individual pudding dish, and what you don’t use can be safely re-frozen (as it’s now cooked). Alternatively, rendered goose or duck fat is delicious too. The key thing is: these fats have loads of flavor and can take high cooking temperatures.

Prodigal Puddings
This recipe makes eight individual puddings. In the Prodigal household, we are only three, but some of us love a second pud. And so will you! If you have leftovers, worry not––cold puds are great topped with your favorite jam as a breakfast treat.
Right, let’s get to it. Before you do anything else, prep your pudding (or Pyrex) pans with a teaspoon of fat in each hollow.
Now make the batter. Combine 3/4 cup of all-purpose flour, a pinch of salt, a cup milk, and a 1/4 cup of water in a glass bowl. We use skimmed milk but use whatever milk you have on hand. Now, add two or three eggs, one at a time. Whisk by hand or machine until everything is nicely incorporated. Then whisk some more. I whisk for the count of sixty. I’m looking for a part-bubbly, fluid mixture. At this point, add some pepper (and other items from above list if you must). Then cover your bowl and put it in the fridge to rest for at least half an hour. Because I get flummoxed when I cook, I’ve been known to get my pudding mixture ready before the meat is even in the oven. It matters not. Just make sure the mixture sits for at least half an hour.
When your roast beast is ready, remove it from the oven, cover, and let it rest. Now crank up the oven to 450 F degrees. Put your pudding pans, with fat in the hollows, at the back of the oven. When the temperature reaches 450, check your pans. The fat should be smoky hot. If not, wait another minute or two. Close oven. Remove pudding mixture from the fridge and whisk quickly to re-incorporate everything. Have a small ladle handy; I sometimes use a 1/4 cup measure.
The next step is important.
Open the oven and slide out the rack. Don’t removes the pans. Ladle the batter mixture into the hot pans right in the oven. Work as briskly as you can. When the pans are filled, gently push back the rack and close the oven. After 15 minutes, reduce oven temp to 425 and cook puds for another fifteen minutes. Then reduce oven temp. to 350. Within the next 10 minutes, depending on the ferocity of your oven, your puds will be baked and ready. Do check, during this final ten minutes, if the puds slide freely in the pans, they’re done.
I switch off the oven at this point and let the puddings be while I carve the meat. I spread the meat on as large platter then garnish with the puds. There is no more sublime a sight! Traditionally, we anoint the hollow of our puddings with gravy. Or not. Either way is lovely.
Enjoy your Yorkshire Puddings!

A spot of tea--and shopping

After being in the car for almost an hour, my folks were gasping for tea and some toast or cake. So finding a teashop took first priority. We found a cafeteria in a large, old fashioned department store that sold tweedy suits and jackets with leather patches, checkered shirts, cloth caps, and similarly sensible clothing for women. There was also a large gardening supplies center and a department dedicated to cooking paraphernalia, where we bought Yorkshire pudding pans. A Yorkshire pudding is our version of a popover, and is usually served as an accompaniment to roast beef for the traditional Sunday lunch. Sometimes made in a large tin, it is best made in a pan with small indentations that proffer individual servings. This way everyone gets a pudding that resembles a golden, crusty well just waiting for a spoonful of beef gravy, preferably ungranulated.
(Thanks, Kate, for the photo work!)

Bubble, bubble, but no trouble

We decided to use up the remaining vittles in the fridge. So dinner that night consisted of a happy mishmash of savory dishes. Eggs, tomatoes, salad, baked beans, and, of course, sausages. I also melted down some bacon and fried up some leftover spuds and greens in the rendered fat, and ended up with another cornerstone of English cuisine: Bubble and Squeak. It all went down very well with everyone except Kate, who would eat nothing but sausage! All in all, it was quite a feast, like having breakfast for supper, but instead of drinking tea and coffee, we polished off the remaining beers and the last bottle of wine. Then we made tea.
(Photo depicts my home version of Bubble & Squeak, with leftover cabbage and boiled spuds fried up in lots of bacon.)

A culinary tradition, reclaimed

Cauliflower Cheese is a classic English staple. And when it’s done well, it’s a wonderful thing. Sadly the reputation for this dish has waned over the years and been relegated to the realm of ghastly pub food, made en masse for the lunch crowd because it keeps its heat, like shepherd’s pie with its layer of crisped mash. Even now, this maligned dish is usually found rubbing shoulders with a tray of baked beans and bangers, all held under the ubiquitous glass coffin atop near the beer pumps. And so after an hour or so, the cheese sauce turns into a rubberized cap, the kind a grandmother would swim in. This of course does nothing for the taste but it does act as a heat-sealant.
This is a culinary tragedy. Done right, Cauliflower Cheese is a truly wonderful dish, good enough to be savored alone. But when it accompanies a prime rib roast...you are in God’s own country.
Here’s how to turn a travesty into a culinary triumph.

Cauliflower Cheese, prodigal-style
Break up the cauliflower into florets, chop up bits of stalks if you are feeling virtuous, frugal, or both. Steam until crisp-tender, or cover and microwave for about 5 minutes. (If you use the microwave and value your fingers, leave the florets alone in the microwave for a few minutes to calm down. Anyway, you'll be kept busy making the sauce. )
Put 4 tablespoons of butter and 3 tablespoons of flour in a small saucepan; melt butter with the flour, whisk until no white bits remain. Take saucepan off the fire and let the flour cook off the heat. Add a little salt, a good pinch of nutmeg, and a 1/2 teaspoon of Coleman’s powder mustard (or a couple of shakes of powdered white pepper). Throw in a bay leaf if you must; I never do, I find bay leaves overrated. By now it should be safe to remove the cauliflower from the microwave, which you will use to warm up two cups of milk, either fat-free or whole if you are feeling naughty. Mind you, if you’re feeling particularly decadent (and I know there are one or two of you out there) add a little cream. Now put the saucepan back on the fire, whisk in the warmed milk, keep whisking for a minute or two until the concoction thickens. You have now made a Béchamel sauce. Congratulations. I don’t tell Frances but I now add a dollop of cream cheese, about a large tablespoonful, for extra enrichment and flavor. To your creamy cheese sauce add a large teaspoon of Dijon style mustard and a shot of Worcestershire sauce. (And by the way, this is pronounced Wooster Sauce. Wooster as in Bertie Wooster. No shire. No cester. Just Wooster.) Whisk your sauce again then set aside.
Butter a large glass dish and turf in the cauliflower florets and edible stalk bits. If you have a 1/4 cup of cauliflower water residing aimlessly in the bottom of your glass dish or steam pot, add it to your sauce. I now sprinkle a generous amount of grated Swiss cheese over the florets, but you could use any grated mousetrap you happen to have kicking around. Then enrobe the cauliflower with your lovely sauce. The experts pour, but I prefer to spoon it on gently, making sure the sauce covers the cauliflower evenly. Now put the dish in the fridge for 24 hours to rest. No, no, I’m only kidding!
But you do need to top the dish with parmesan cheese before going any further. For additional flavor and crunch I also add fresh breadcrumbs toasted in butter--it’s worth the extra step. Now you’re almost there. Mix a couple of tablespoons of the crumbs with an equal amount of Parmesan cheese and sprinkle this mixture over the sauced cauliflower. Pop the dish into a 350 F oven for 1/2 hour or so, uncovered. When the sauce bubbles and the top is a gold, mahogany brown ––et voila! Do let your cauliflower cheese repose for a few minutes before serving.
This wonderful dish can be prepared ahead, and kept covered in the fridge for hours even overnight. Just don’t sprinkle the crumb mixture until you’re ready to bake. And no, it really doesn’t need any additional salt, the cheese takes care of that. And you can adjust the pepper and dry mustard to your taste. But do use the Worcestershire Sauce, especially now you know how to pronounce it. Enjoy!

A cauliflower grows in Dagenham, part 2

For some unknown reason, the cauliflowers attracted an inordinate amount of caterpillars. Every day these green and white creatures would promenade across the plants’ bulbous surface. When they first appeared, Lew was going to spray them with DDT but thought better of it. Using a stick he knocked the insects off and I had the fun job of smashing and mashing them to bits.
Eventually a caterpillar-free, fully grown cauliflower was delivered to Jessie. The large, heavy plant was divested of its outer greenery, then plunged whole into a pot of water in which it was boiled.
And boiled.
Eventually, the cauliflower was retrieved like a hot and soggy sponge, with all its flavor and nutrients drained away. The cauliflower was divided and served as a side dish. The remains of the florets had turned grainy and mealy, and overall the cauliflower tasted of hot water with fibrous bits.
To suggest to Jessie that a vegetable could be cooked less and retain a touch of crunch would have evoked derisive laughter and looks of incredulity mingled with pity. The idea that a cauliflower could be enrobed in a velvety cheese sauce would have caused my mum great consternation and might have had her doubting my masculinity. Mum would not brook such adulterations.

A cauliflower grows in Dagenham, part 1

If Jessie had the green thumb in our family, Lew had patience, a little skill, and great earth. Dagenham dirt was brown-black and rich in nutrients, either reclaimed marshland or ploughed-over farmland. Despite the sameness and dullness of the housing estate, all terraced houses had a plot of garden front and back. And this is where individuality flourished and occasionally bloomed.
The first part of the garden consisted of a small lawn, with beds of plants, mostly hydrangeas and roses. This was Jessie’s domain. Beyond the trellis and the spreading apple tree, the land belonged to Lew. Apart from the usual root veggies, Lew occasionally went in for more exotic edibles. One year, he decided to grow cauliflower, and he grew it from seed. After what seemed to be an eternity, tiny bits of green fluff began to appear. Then, before we knew it, small, white, carnation-like plants sprang up with thick gnarly green stalks. Within weeks the florets began to grow, yellowy at first, turning firm and white and knobby like a scoutmaster’s knees.