Country Lunch

I didn't do any plowing (much less ploughing) this morning, but I did haul a couple of loads of stuff to the sheds (still unpacking and organizing here), set up the compost bin, did some soil mining (digging topsoil from the pasture to fill planters and raised beds), and planted a washbucket full of herbs (chervil, basil, thyme, parsley) on the deck, so I was feeling pretty accomplished, and very hungry.  I felt I had earned a ploughman's lunch.

Some leftover biscuits (Mary's delectable handywork) I set to warm in the solar oven (Mary also made that, at a  Hay River Transition Initiative workshop a couple weeks ago).  Sliced some lovely aged cheddar and threw down a few curds.  Spooned up a newly minted salsa composed of  pickled rhubarb, pickled ramps, and dried apple.  I was thinking of this as a chutney originally, but since it's entirely uncooked, I think salsa, or maybe relish, is the more apt term.  Here's how that came together:

1/2 cup chopped dried apples
3 pickled ramp bulbs and
1/4 cup pickled rhubarb, both chopped small
1 tablespoon of the ramp brine
1/2 tablespoon of the rhubarb brine
1 tablespoon sunflower oil

Mix all let sit and few hours or overnight.

A glass of our home-fermented cider was de rigeur.  This was actually cold-fermented cider, which is to say:  it was simply fresh apple cider that hung around in the fridge long enough to ferment, turn slightly fizzy and a bit alcoholic.  That's how simple cider making can be.  If you want to try this yourself, just be sure to check on your fermenting cider occasionally and take off the cap to release excess pressure.  This makes a really refreshing beverage provided you've started with excellent, unpasteurized cider free of preservatives.

I think that pickles fall into roughly two categories, in terms of how they are used:  there are those meant to be eaten as is, such as bread & butters, sour dills, watermelon pickles, etc.; and there are those that are most valuable as ingredients in other dishes.   Some pickles--cornichons, for example--go both ways.  The rhubarb and ramp pickles definitely fall into the second category.  I can't see myself going to the fridge to grab a snack of a ramp bulb or rhubarb stick, but they'll be great to have on hand to add zip and flavor to dressings, potato salads, sauces and relishes.

Right.  That was really good.  Now, where did I put my plough?

Text and photos copyright 2012 by Brett Laidlaw

Sweetly

Got all the recipes for the book rounded up, a hundred-forty-plus: two desserts, and one of them was toast. I'm not joking.



Me, when I hear "dessert," I translate that to "cheese." It is not that I don't like sweets; indeed, at certain points in my life, like my entire childhood, I liked them too much, just ask my dentist. Little will power issue there, so over time I backed away until today I hardly ever eat dessert. But I felt that a whole wide-ranging cookbook with two desserts, one of them toast, would be sort of lame. So I cooked a few up, and I'm glad I did. In the last couple of days I made two takes on maple, apple, cream and eggs: maple flan with maple-calvados sauce, and maple-apple custard pots (pots de creme, en autres mots). Maple and apple go really well together, and hey, it's what I've got.



Then today, an apple-blackberry galette, darling and delicious, with our own apples and blackberry jam, a triumph. So lately I am taking that good advice about eating dessert first, and then eating it again, just for good measure. Pictures here of two of those three, recipe for one. I gotta go walk the dogs for a couple of hours.



Maple Flan with Maple-Calvados Sauce
Serves four

The custard is rich and light at the same time, just barely sweet. The caramel and syrup are intensely mapley, quite sweet; the Calvados and vinegar cut the sweetness and complement the maple flavor beautifully.

The Syrup:
¾ cup maple syrup
1 teaspoon apple cider vinegar
1 ½ tablespoons Calvados or applejack (or, in a pinch, brandy or rum)
Good pinch salt
2 teaspoons unsalted butter

The Custard:
3 yolks from large eggs
1 whole large egg
6 tablespoons maple syrup
1 ½ tablespoons Calvados or applejack
Pinch salt
1 cup whole milk
½ cup heavy cream

Heat your oven to 300.

For the syrup, reduce the maple syrup by half in a small saucepan over medium heat, taking care that it does not boil over. When it is reduced, very thick and dark, spoon one tablespoon into each half-cup ramekin, and turn and tip the ramekins to distribute the syrup partway up the sides. To the remaining reduced syrup add the vinegar, Calvados, and a pinch of salt, and stir to mix. Set aside.

For the custard: In a mixing bowl whisk together the egg yolks and whole egg. Heat the milk and cream to boiling in a small saucepan. Turn off the heat and let sit for two minutes. Very slowly whisk the milk-cream mixture into the eggs yolks, a couple of tablespoons at a time at first. When half the milk and cream have been added, pour in the rest in a steady stream, continuing to whisk. Add the six tablespoons maple syrup, Calvados, and salt. Strain the custard into a large measuring cup, then pour it into the ramekins. Place the ramekins in a cake pan and add hot water to halfway up the ramekins. Loosely cover the pan with aluminum foil. Bake for 45 to 50 minutes. The custards are done when the sides have firmed up, and there’s just a wee wiggle in the center. Let cool to room temperature, then refrigerate until ready to serve.

Just before serving, reheat the sauce over medium heat. Stir in the butter and bring the sauce to a boil. It should have a syrupy consistency; if you want it thicker, reduce it a bit more.

Run a paring knife around the edge of the ramekins, and invert each onto a plate. Spoon a bit of sauce over the custards, and bring the rest to the table.

Text and photos copyright 2011 by Brett Laidlaw

Pasty

(Previous post Big Borscht is in the "Grow Your Own" Round-Up hosted by House of Annie. This pasty post would qualify, too.)



Pasty could well describe the skin tone of most of us northerners this time of year, but in this case it's not PASTE-ee, but PASS-tee, short 'e' sound, doncha know, hey. That's the Cornish treat beloved of Yoopers and Iron Rangers, hungry, hard-working miners of the North Country. It's a portable meal of humble ingredients that has achieved legendary status because, well, what other dish are the Cornish known for? Not to damn with faint praise, although I've had a few pasties that didn't really rise above the humble ingredients. Mine are sort of jazzed-up pasties that are almost hybrid empanadas. Like most other combinations of flour and fat in our household, the pastry benefited greatly from the tender touch of "Mary, Pastry Goddess."



The most basic pasty filling consists of ground beef, onion, potato, and rutabaga. Variations on the theme are myriad (and I must say, quite welcome, given the spartan flavors in the basic template). Some add pork, or other root vegetables, boullion cube or gravy, cream of mushroom soup (which I think is going too far down the Midwestern road). I look at this type of dish as a "use what you have" preparation, and what I had was: leftover grilled Sheepy Hollow Lamb leg, leek, carrot, potato, turnip, squash and onion (all from our garden except the onion). And an open bottle of red wine, and lamb stock.

(I do enjoy chopping!)

A lot of the pasties I've had have tended to the dry side, that quality rectified by copious application of the Iron Ranger's favorite condiment "sauce de tomates a la Heinz." I served ours with frozen sauce from last year's garden tomatoes, freshened with a bit of onion, garlic, and a splash of white wine.



Here's my filling, which made enough for a dozen pasties and a pot pie. In other words, it's way too much, so adjust to your needs. But pasties are a great thing to have in the freezer. They made a quick late dinner for us just last night, and this time we had some of our apple ketchup on the side, and that was excellent.



Too Much Pasty Filling:

1 med leek, white and most of green sliced thin 1 cup
1 large carrot, in small dice (3/4 cup)
1/2 large onion chopped 1 cup
2 large potatoes peeled and diced 2 cups
1 small turnip peeled in small dice
1 cup diced squash
1 large garlic clove minced
2 cups diced cooked lamb
3/4 cup lamb stock
1/4 cup red wine
3 Tbsp flour

Mix it all up in a big bowl. The stock and wine are the "Gravy Train" factor; the flour thickens it.



The Pastry Goddess's Buttery Crust:

2 cups flour
1/2 tsp salt
4 ounces (one stick) unsalted Hope Creamery butter, cold
1/4 to 1/3 cup ice water (and possibly a little more to get the dough to come together)

Combine flour and salt in the bowl of a food processor fitted with the metal cutting (not dough) blade. Cut the butter into 1/2-inch cubes and add to the flour. Pulse a few times to break the butter down a little more. Add 1/4 cup of water and pulse a few more times. The dough should start to come together in a ball. If it doesn't, add more water a tablespoon at a time, and pulse until it does start to come together. It needn't be a totally uniform dough at this point, and you don't want to overwork it. It's okay if it looks a little crumbly still (tolerance of crumbliness, I have found from observation, is the key to the Pastry Goddess's powers).

Dump the dough onto a lightly floured counter, bring it gently together, wrap in plastic wrap, and refrigerate for at least an hour before rolling.

When you're ready to fill and bake, roll the dough out to about 1/8-inch thickness. Cut rounds of about 10 inches. Add filling. Crimp on the top or on the side. Brush with an egg wash, poke a couple of holes in the dough on top with the point of a paring knife to let steam escape. Bake at 375 for 40 minutes or so, until they are golden and steaming.



We served ours with a glass of our own hard cider, which is really quite Cornish, indeed--"...pint of scrumpy and a pasty in a pub," the Cornish "national meal" (with a nod to Rick Stein of The Seafood Restaurant in Padstow and many BBC cooking series).


Text and photo copyright 2010 by Brett Laidlaw