Egg white and cauliflower pancakes

Finally figured out what to do with the egg whites left over after making egg tempera medium.

Take:

whites of two eggs
2 cups finely grated raw cauliflower
salt n pepper
handful of almond flour, coconut flour or other keto/low carb friendly flour of your choice
oil for cooking (I've just bought a hella-spensive jar of coconut oil... not sure about it yet)

~

Whip egg whites to stiff peak and fold in the "dry" ingredients. Season. Heat up the oil in a pan to just under smoking-hot. Spoon the mixture into the nice silicone crumpet rings someone sent you in the post but you can't use anymore because you're not eating carbly anymore. Fry over a low heat. Remove the rings and gently flip. Toast a bit on the other side.

Top them with sliced avocado, soft goat or sheep milk ricotta, load some sauteed mushrooms on top.

Eat.

The pancakes come out sort of cakey, not at all cauliflowery. They'd be fine for a sweet thing too, with a little low-carbly-approved sweetener (stevia... barf...) or stewed fruit, or tahini or something nice like that.



~

A hearty Sunday lunch

I'd be inclined to marinade the pigeon breasts in the port and herbs overnight. And I'm afraid with that many whole cloves the pie is going to taste of cloves and nothing else - which is a pity considering how expensive those truffles must have been. I would have ground the cloves very fine, mixed them with the other spices and used only two or three at most for the whole mix.


Boiled crust, also called hot water crust or standing crust, is a lost art, but SO easy you won't even believe. It's very forgiving with none of that annoying fussing over not allowing the gluten to develop, making sure everything's ice cold, etc. that can intimidate beginner pie-makers.






My own little efforts, some years ago; piggy pies for an Epiphany dinner party in Santa Marinella. Unfortunately, the juice boiled out of the steam holes and discoloured the top of the pie, rather spoiling the effect, but it was pretty good for a first effort. Make sure the crust on the sides is as thin as you can make it. This is quite a heavy pie crust, and a little goes a long way.


This, of course, is also how you make a classic Melton Mowbray pie, which is served cold at lunch with some nice hot English mustard. You bake it, then pour the gelatine and stock mix into the holes and refrigerate until the gelatine sets. If you can find small spring-form cake tins these really help with forming the crust into the traditional shape. Line the tin with some baking paper, so even if the stock boils out a bit, it won't stick to the tin. Spring form baking pans come in every size and are one of the most useful multi-purpose things you can have in the kitchen.


Raised pies are something that need to be revived. It's an entirely different sort of pie crust than we're used to, being designed to be waterproof. In fact, boiled pie crust was intended to form a seal that helped to preserve the meat inside and they were often kept for a long time in a cool place like a root cellar or dairy. In the old days, one didn't eat the crust (unless one were poor) but treated it the way we do the wrapper on a hamburger.

A standing pie is a great way to use up leftover turkey or chicken or any cooked or roasted meat. They're especially nice with sliced apple or carrots, caramelised onion or some other lightly flavoured, sweetish vegetable. (Pass on the brussel's sprouts though, or any brassicas).

Fried pumpkin flowers

Right, that's a keeper...

Having finally learned the difference between male and female flowers on my pumpkin plants, I collected a few of the male flowers to eat this morning. They are very popular among the Italians, but I had no idea how to do them apart from the deep-fried-in-batter-with-cheese thing you get in Rome restaurants.

Not having a deep fat frier I just washed them in cool water, sliced them in half (and plucked out the dead ants) dipped them in a bit of whisked egg, then dredged in some seasoned flour, and fried them in less than an inch of hot olive oil in the bottom of my cast iron enamel pot.

They're completely addictive.

Before.

After.

Also, discovered that if you cut them young enough, even halloween pumpkins are very tasty, like dense zucchini, sliced thin and deep fried the same way.

Braised cabbage and winter veg.

Braised cabbage and winter veg.

Take:
1 whole cabbage head - red is best
two large carrots
an onion - red is best
2 bulbs finocchio
two beets
a leek
stick of celery
handful of chopped walnuts

3 cloves garlic
1/2 + cup of rendered goose fat
3+ cups vegetable stock
apple cider vinegar
blob of tomato paste/concentrate
favourite autumn herbs like sage or thyme

Cut the cabbage in half and then into wedges about two inches wide. Make sure you include the tough inner core, which won't be tough once you're done. Grease a deep roasting pan or baking dish or Dutch oven with goose fat and place the cabbage wedges in, layering them a bit. Chop up the remaining veg and nuts and sprinkle over top. I just used a bunch of stuff I had in the fridge that needed using up.

For the sauce: mince the garlic very fine, and chop any herbs you're going to use. Sage, savoury and thyme are ideal. Put all in a nice heavy bottomed pan, and add in the big blob of goose fat, the stock & tomato paste and bring to a boil, lower heat and simmer until the flavours start to blend.

(I threw in the left over sweet/sour spicy pickling juice I used to make the fig pickles. That was basically a simple sugar syrup with cloves, allspice, cinnamon, ginepro and whatnot. I had about 250 ml. left in a jar in the fridge.)
Once the sauce is more or less blended, pour over the veg. Cover tightly with a lid (if Dutch oven) or tinfoil and bake in a 250 degree oven for an hour. Turn the cabbage pieces and bake for a further 1/2 hour or until very tender.

Eat.

For a Friday meal, I fudged a little with the goose fat. Don't worry, I consulted my theological expert, and he said it was OK since we are still in the weeks after Pentecost and not in Advent yet. But it needs some fat, so if you're going strict on this for Lent or Advent, you could substitute a little butter, which I think is OK as long as you're not an Ortho.

The cabbage is VERY locally sourced; Annamaria turned up one morning with two huge beautiful cabbages for me from her orto. The walnuts came from the garden too, as did the finocchio.

~

How to render goose fat.

When you roast a goose, you will have to prick the skin all over to allow the fat to run out. This will be about the best cooking fat you have ever used and it is NOT to be thrown away (!!). Collect the fat in a jar from the roasting, but also you will have had to cut off a bunch of extra fatty bits before you put him in the oven. Save these. When you've got half an hour, take the bits, skin and all, and put them in a pan of water over a low heat and simmer. Let it go 30 minutes or more, making sure the water doesn't boil off. Then you can either strain the solid bits out (and give them to the kitties who will love you forever) or you can just pick them out with chopsticks as I did. then pour the water and fat together into a bread pan and put in the fridge. Goose fat liquefies at a pretty low temp and it won't solidify nearly as hard as beef or pig fat, so it's not much use as a sealant for potted meats, but as a cooking fat there's none like it. When your bread pan of fat is solid and completely white on top. take the pan and very carefully pour off the water, and scoop the fat into the jar you saved the other stuff in. Keep in the fridge. It should be fine indefinitely.



~

Pies. In. Art!

This just appeared in my Twittface feed. I found myself trying to work out the recipe. It's obviously a boiled crust for a meat pie with gravy, but the filling...

Duck maybe, and turkey, plums and figs, walnuts and pinoli.

I might have to try it.



~

Buon Venerdi, and here's to the pope...

...whoever he may be.

A fun Friday rhyme to go with an old fashioned English dish, Stargazy pie, from Cornwall.

Yep, it's a pie with fish heads sticking out, looking straight at you.

The traditional fish is called Pilchards, a kind of sardine that English (protestant) fishermen used to catch and export to Catholic countries, where they were eaten on Fridays.

It goes with the traditional "Toast to Pilchards," which these days I think we can all agree on...

"Here's health to the Pope, may he live to repent

And add just six months to the term of his Lent

And tell all his vassals from Rome to the Poles,

There's nothing like pilchards for saving their souls!"

Here's the BBC's recipe, if you want to give it a try.

For the mustard sauce

• 250ml/9fl oz white chicken stock
• 125g/4½oz crème fraîche
• 25g/1oz English mustard
• pinch salt
• ½ tsp mustard powder
• squeeze lemon juice

For the pie

• 150g/5oz piece streaky bacon
• 16 baby onions, peeled
• 250g/9oz all-butter puff pastry, rolled to 3-4mm thick
• 1 free-range egg yolk, beaten
• 4-8 Cornish sardines, filleted, carcasses and heads reserved
• 1-2 tbsp rapeseed oil
• 25g/1oz butter
• 1 tbsp white wine vinegar
• 16 quails' eggs

1. For the mustard sauce, bring the stock to the boil in a non-reactive saucepan. Whisk in the crème fraîche, mustard, salt, mustard powder and lemon juice until well combined. Bring back to the simmer.
2. Pass the sauce through a fine sieve into a jug and set aside.
3. For the pie, cook the bacon in boiling water for 20 minutes. Drain, then allow to cool slightly before chopping into lardons.
4. Bring another pan of water to the boil and cook the baby onions for 6-7 minutes, or until tender. Drain and refresh in cold water, then slice each onion in half. Set aside.
5. Preheat the oven to 200C/400F/Gas 6.
6. Roll out the puff pastry until 3-4mm thick, then cut into 4 equal-sized squares. Using a small circular pastry cutter the size of a golf ball, cut out 2 holes in each pastry square.
7. Place each square on a baking tray and brush with the beaten egg yolk. Chill in the fridge for 15 minutes.
8. Bake the pastry squares in the oven for 18-20 minutes, or until golden-brown and crisp. Remove from the oven and set aside.
9. Turn the grill on to high.
10. Place the sardine fillets, heads and tails on a solid grill tray, brush with the oil and season with salt and freshly ground black pepper. Grill for 2-3 minutes, or until golden-brown and just cooked through (the fish should be opaque all the way through and flake easily).
11. Heat a frying pan until medium hot, add the butter and bacon lardons and fry gently for 3-4 minutes, or until golden-brown. Add the onions and stir in enough sauce to coat all the ingredients in the pan. Reserve the remaining sauce and keep warm.
12. Bring a small pan of water to the boil, add the vinegar and a pinch of salt. Reduce the heat to a simmer.
13. Crack the quail's eggs into a small bowl of iced water, then pour off any excess (there should only be just enough water to cover the eggs). Swirl the simmering water with a wooden spoon to create a whirlpool effect, then gently pour the quails' eggs into the centre of the whirlpool. Poach for about 1-2 minutes, or until the egg whites have set and the yolk is still runny. Remove with a slotted spoon and drain on kitchen paper.
14. To serve, divide the onion and bacon mixture between 4 serving plates. Arrange the sardine fillets on top, then place four poached quails' eggs around the fillet. Using a stick blender, blend the remaining sauce until frothy. Spoon the froth over the top of the sardines and eggs. Top each pile with the puff pastry squares, then place the sardine heads and tails through each hole in the pastry. Serve immediately.

~

Leftover turkey pie

The English tradition of sealed, raised meat pies meets American Thanksgiving leftovers.

This method of making meat pie crust is not very well known anymore. But it was very commonly used in the Old Days when refrigeration was rare. It completely seals in the meat and gravy and doesn't leak. In the town of Melton Mowbray, it is used to make their famous pork pies. They make the dough a little more dense and build it up without a form, so the sides bow out a bit, then when it's baked, pour in melted aspic and allow it to cool together. The aspic gells and seals the meat. If they're not cut, they can keep a very long time. Much of the old timey cooking methods are actually meant as ways of preserving foods.

With this kind of meat pie crust, you can do any sort of meat or veg pie, and of course it keeps and reheats beautifully. The real blessing is the spring form cake pan. You can't easily buy English pork pie pots here, and the spring form thing allows you to just lift the sides away without any bother. Much easier with baking paper. The carta al forno helps too.


(Had to steal these pics from the innernet. My camera was damaged in the quake.)



Take:
1 pound of flour
1/2 tsp each salt and sugar
200 g lard (butter will do)
1/4 cup each water and milk
1 egg

Warm the lard, with the water and milk and beaten egg, over a low flame until the lard is melted. Wisk.

Make a well in the dry ingredients and pour in the mixture while stirring, to form a soft dough. Knead gently a few times and set aside in a bowl to rest.

Take:
Leftover turkey dinner

Cut up the meat into nice big meaty chunks and put it in a large mixing bowl. Season to taste with salt, pepper and red wine. You could melt a turkey or "delicato" soup cube in a few spoonfuls of water in the microwave and mix that in.



Line a spring form cake pan with baking paper. (I didn't do it this neatly; just sort of stuffed it in.) Into this, place a large blob of dough in the centre and use your fingers to press it outward until you have covered the bottom of the pan.

Add lumps of dough around the edge, and press those gently upwards until the pan is entirely lined with dough. This can be a bit tricky and takes some patience.

The dough should be no more than 1/4 inch (1cm) thick and even all over. It will tend to be thicker in the corners. Make sure there is a little bit hanging over the edges of the pan.

Take another bit of dough, roll it out on the counter and save it for the top. Cut three good vents. Big ones.

Put the pan and the top into the fridge for a few minutes for it to stiffen up a bit.

When it's a bit less goopy, take a layer of turkey meat and spread evenly over the bottom of the pie. Do a layer of leftover stuffing, then a layer of whatever you've got leftover. Corn is especially good. Do a thin layer of cranberry sauce, then more turkey. Keep filing up until the pie is full. To keep the pie from being dry, include plenty of gravy. Don't worry, it won't run out if you put a layer of stuffing in to absorb the liquid.

When it's full, flip the edges of the dough over the top and lay the top bit over it all. Pinch the edges together well.

You can brush it with an egg to give it a bit of shine.

Place in the oven and bake for maybe 30 minutes.

V. good with hot English mustard or Branston Pickle.

You're welcome.

Beet and mushroom soup - laugh in the face of the apocalypse

OK, that one's going in the cookbook: Beet and mushroom soup

Step 1: build a garden

Step 2: grow a beet

Step 3: make bone stock

Step 4: make beet and mushroom soup

Step 5: survive the Apocalypse, 

Optional: laugh in the face of disaster

I planted a whole row of beet seeds, and they all sprouted up nicely, and didn't grow into beets. They all stayed these little things with some small leaves. One seed, however, must have fallen into the planter outside the veg bed where I've planted a protective wall of marigolds. It sprouted and grew right up into a full size beet. My entire crop. I learned that you have to thin the seedlings, or they just don't grow. Sigh. Live and learn. 

However, my beet was a beaut. Its leaves were large and shiny with beautiful red stems nice and lots of pretty veining. The root was a good size, about the size of a lightbulb. And the colour was excellent, a gorgeous deep purply red. 

I chopped the leaves and stems and sauteed them with a little stock and curry powder and had them as a side with lunch yesterday. 

For the soup: 

take

a few cups of stock

one beet, peeled and grated fine

blob of tomato paste

chopped mushrooms

3 cloves garlic, crushed and minced

1/2 onion, chopped small

(dried porcini mushrooms, or porcini mushroom soup cube)

tsp salt

splash of port

(optional) tsp apple cider vinegar 

(If you want the digestive benefits of apple cider vinegar but don't like too much acid, add a teeny barely-there bit of baking soda, which neutralizes acid.) 

In a heavy bottomed sauce pan (mine's enamelled cast iron) bring the stock to the boiling point, but don't boil. Sautee the chopped mushrooms, onion and garlic until they are releasing their juice and the onions are transparent, and add to the stock.(If you're using dried mushrooms for flavouring, add them to the stock immediately so the flavour can be simmered out.)

Grate the beet root very fine and add to the pot. Allow to simmer for 10 minutes - NO BOILING ! Add the blob of tomato paste, a handful of pepper, the stock cube if you're using one, splash of port and vinegar. 

Cover, and turn the heat down as low as it will go. Maybe move to the smallest burner. Leave it to simmer very, very low for 1/2 hour. 

Eat. Good with a blob of sour cream, like the Ruskies do. 

Here's a thing about how beets are the best food in the world. Antioxidants. Phytonutrients. Science!

Here's a thing about how to grow beets in the winter.

How do you know your beets are ready to pick and eat?

Not like potatoes when you just have to guess. Beets - which have a bazillion times the nutrients of potatoes - pop up out of the ground and all but say, "Hey! I'm done here! Where's the soup?"

~

Greatest mushroom soup evah!

You guys seriously have to try this one.

Take:

1/2 onion, chopped
5 cloves fresh garlic, minced fine
1/2 peeled green apple, chopped
big lump of butter
1-2 potatoes sliced
2 cups of diced pumpkin
2-3 cups sliced mushrooms
handful of rubbed basil
1 porcini mushroom soup cube
2 cups milk

In a large pot over a medium heat saute the onion, garlic, basil, soup cube, mushrooms and apple in the butter until they're soft. Add potatoes (I don't peel) and pumpkin and enough water to cover. Reduce heat and simmer until the spuds are soft. This should be about 20 mins. Make sure the water level doesn't go down too far. Add more if needed.

While this is doing up, cut up some more mushrooms into nice bite-size chunks and sautee them in a pan with more butter and then set aside.

Take another pot or a big bowl and blend the hot soup together with the milk in portions, letting it go long enough to make it really smooth and frothy. If you've got it, try heavy cream instead of milk.

Transfer the blended soup into the new pot and put it back on a very low heat to warm up. Add the mushroom bits.

Eat with fresh bread and butter.


Oh! Best one ever!



~

Hilary's Kushari

My favourite spiritual website/blog, City Desert, has an interesting post about what sort of food the ancient desert hermit monks would have eaten while living in their caves in the Egyptian desert back in the day. One tends to overlook these practical things while reading the lives of these extraordinary saints. But (barring miraculous interventions) even a levitating, bilocating mystic gotta eat.

It's got all kinds of interesting links to the foods that would have been eaten in Egypt in late antiquity and early Christian period.

It also mentions a dish that is still the "Egyptian national dish" and which many of us will be familiar with from the local felafel, Lebanese take-away shop: kushari. It's basically, just rice, lentils, salt and fried onions and garlic with olive oil and lemon. These days it's usually served with a dollop of tomato sauce.

Being a bit broke, I did a version of it tonight that was really good.

Take:

A cup of the rice/millet/buckwheat combo you picked up on a whim in the healthfood section the other day
two cups water
1 cup lentils cooked in tomato sauce
1 onion chopped
three cloves garlic chopped
grated rind of 1/2 a lemon, minced very fine
handful of fresh mint leaves
1/4 of a vegetale bullion cube
handful of coriander seeds, ground
two small tomatoes, sliced
a bit of red onion, sliced
tobasco and/or plain yogurt

In a heavy-bottomed pot, combine onions, garlic and olive oil and saute until the veg is softened. Throw in the rice and coriander and the bullion cube and let it cook in the oil a bit. Add the two cups of water and cover, reduce heat to minimum and let it steam up for about 20 mins. In a nice big dish, spoon up a layer of the rice and add a big spoonful of the lentils in a well in the middle. Shake a little tobasco over to taste, and add a big dollop of plain yogurt on top of the lentils. Sprinkle the red onion over all, and top with the sliced tomatoes.

Eat.

SO good!

Things to add: Chopped parsley, cucumber or fennel

~

I'm growing more and more interested in the idea that the principles of asceticism can and maybe ought to be applied to our lives as laymen living the Christian life in the world. I was talking to one of the monks the other day about "what makes a monk a monk," and he said that two physical things are really important, fasting and a regular schedule.

Of course, fasting for us regular folks has to take into account a lot of things, esp if you are, shall we say, of a certain age and have experienced health issues and whatnot. But the stuff I've been reading lately in the medical research world all say that a lifetime of fairly low calorie intake can have huge health benefits. Really, regular fasting isn't bad for you at all, done sensibly.

One of the things to remember, of course, is the spiritual requirements. St. Philip Neri teaches that any ascetical or penitential action taken absolutely must be done only with the permission of a religious superior. If you just do it on your own, the only result will be a very undesirable one; spiritual pride. Permission, obedience that is, is totally central to any devotional practice. Most of the time, of course, we have the normal precepts and requirements of the Faith, particularly as they are attached to the liturgical year, so of course, special permissions don't have to be granted to follow the normal life of the Catholic Church. But seriously, anything at all beyond that is very unwise to take on without supervision by competent authority.

Here's a few handy rules of thumb that the City Desert website suggests with regards regulating one's eating habits:

The basic principles, which can (and probably should) be applied by contemporary Hermits, were that diet needed to be based on ingredients that were:

• simple – it was not intended to be “gourmet cooking”, nor to require unnecessary expenditure of resources, time or effort in preparation;

• sustainable – any ingredients needed to be able to survive (often for long periods) in the desert without refrigeration, preserving or canning (thus, dried lentils or chickpeas are excellent resources)(although olives might be preserved in oil, or vegetables in brine);

• accessible – ingredients needed to be easily accessible either from the Hermit’s own garden or from local suppliers close-by;

• seasonal – given the lack of means of storage for anything not dry, only seasonal produce could usually be used;

• cheap – Hermits lived with minimal resources and could only buy the cheapest (which also means the best value for money) food;

• nutritious – since Hermits ate frugally (and often infrequently), the diet needed to provide maximum nutrition with minimal quantity and cost (again, lentils are an excellent resource in this regard).

~

Success

Well, I made three things from the big bag of elderflowers I collected and at least one of them has already been a smash success.

I put up ten litres of wine and three L of liqueur. The fastest thing was the cordial, however, which is intended to be simply a sweet infusion. I tried it today and it is fantastic.

I combined the grated rind of a lemon, a leaf of sage, a handful of rose petals and a pile of elderflowers with water, sugar, honey and citric acid (preservative). You bring the water, lemon and sugar to almost a boil and let it dissolve and cool a bit.

While it's cooling, cut as much of the stems off the flower sprigs as you can. The stems and leaves of elder are toxic. Not enough to really harm you, but not good for you either. The flowers by themselves are fine. Just remove as much of the stems as you can.

Then add all the flora and stir gently. Pour the whole thing into a big glass hinge-lid jar and seal. Leave it to sit for two days to infuse. Then strain through cheesecloth and bottle. I used plastic 1/2 L water bottles. The amount came to about 3L and you can freeze whatever you're not going to use right away. If you're going to freeze it, make sure the bottles are plastic, not glass, and that you leave at least two fingers-width at the top of the bottle to allow the water to expand.

It was so amazing that I used the rest of the leftover elderflowers today to set up another batch. This time I did 8L of water, with 250g of honey (no sugar) three large sage leaves, a big handful of rose petals and half an apple grated in. Brought the water, lemon, sage and apple just barely up to a boil. The elderflowers, after spending two days in the fridge, were still very fragrant, but they also had let go of the stems pretty well, so I was able to eliminate the stems altogether just by gently coaxing the flowers off with my fingers. It took about an hour to de-stem the flowers and in the end I think I had about five cups of flowers.

Seriously, it's absolutely gorgeous. Delicate floral flavour with a hint of lemon. I've been mixing it with sparkling mineral water.

The Elderflower champagne just sat in the bucket smiling up at me, entirely innocent of any sign of fermentation. After two days, I decided to force the issue, and stirred in about 20g of brewer's yeast. Then I left it to spend a long weekend in Rome. I hope I don't come home to a disaster. But it was certainly starting to sizzle a bit by Friday morning.



~

Elderflower champagne recipes

Here, here and here. And here's Hugh's.

And elderflower liqueur, elderflower cordial + a Wiki page on it, and another recipe, plus Hugh's version.

And, just for fun, sloe gin.



~

Brewing tasty May beverages

So, I went out for a long stomp yesterday afternoon in the Marcite, and was specifically looking for more cleavers. I usually collect up a bunch of it about this time every year, dry it and use it for a tea that's supposed to be anti-cancer and helpful to the lymphatic system. It's quite nice with nettle and chamomile and I'm nearly out.

Well, as usually happens when you go shopping, I ended up coming home with everything but. It turns out that sambucca, that the English call Elder and Linnaeus (and Pliny) called Sambucus nigra, is extremely abundant here. I mean, forests of the stuff, and it's all in bloom right now. I had no idea how lovely it smells! And there are cartloads of it out there.

The Elder, with its flat-topped masses of creamy-white, fragrant blossoms, followed by large drooping bunches of purplish-black, juicy berries, is a familiar object in English countryside and gardens. It has been said, with some truth, that our English summer is not here until the Elder is fully in flower, and that it ends when the berries are ripe.

The word 'Elder' comes from the Anglo-Saxon word aeld. In Anglo-Saxon days we find the tree called Eldrun, which becomes Hyldor and Hyllantree in the fourteenth century. One of its names in modern German - Hollunder - is clearly derived from the same origin. In Low-Saxon, the name appears as Ellhorn. Æld meant 'fire,' the hollow stems of the young branches having been used for blowing up a fire: the soft pith pushes out easily and the tubes thus formed were used as pipes - hence it was often called Pipe-Tree, or Bore-tree and Bour-tree, the latter name remaining in Scotland and being traceable to the Anglo-Saxon form, Burtre.

The generic name Sambucus occurs in the writings of Pliny and other ancient writers and is evidently adapted from the Greek word Sambuca, the Sackbut, an ancient musical instrument in much use among the Romans, in the construction of which, it is surmised, the wood of this tree, on account of its hardness, was used. The difficulty, however, of accepting this is that the Sambuca was a stringed instrument, while anything made from the Elder would doubtless be a wind instrument, something of the nature of a Pan-pipe or flute. Pliny records the belief held by country folk that the shrillest pipes and the most sonorous horns were made of Elder trees which were grown out of reach of the sound of cock-crow. At the present day, Italian peasants construct a simple pipe, which they call sampogna, from the branches of this plant.

Well, what do you do, if you're English, with lots and lots of elderflower?

You make elderflower champagne... durrr...




I could have brought home a houseful, and I think it's finally time to go down to the garden centre and buy me some a them really huge galvanized buckets. I'm gonna need a bale of cheesecloth too. Maybe I'll see how my mosquito nets work. And I'm going to get some of the bottles with the lever-caps too.

The monks gave me a little packet of leftover yeast from their last brew. 200 g will do me for a whole season's worth of brews. I'm looking at mead ("idromele") recipes and of course, the sambuca will produce a huge crop of berries in the late summer/early autumn, so there's going to be loads of elderberry cordial and maybe I'll try my hand at elderberry wine.

I might also have to buy another big metal shelving unit and put it in the workroom/spare room to store all this stuff.



~

Winnie update

She's been a bit peaky in the last week or so, being a bit more wobbly than usual, having trouble jumping up onto the bed and the sofa, so I called Dr. B. and asked if he could please come and take a look at her. He gave me some surprisingly good news. Yes, she's a little low right now, and he gave me a prescription to help with her blood pressure which is low, but overall, she's actually a bit better. Her gastro-intestinal distress seems to have cleared up and she's put on a teeny weeny bit of weight.

She's not going to recover completely, of course, but I think we might be over the worst. He said she's found a steady-state.

The difference came when I started feeding her chicken livers and hearts, minced up fine and mashed into her special veterinary food, three times a day. Chicken livers are good food for anyone. I've loved them forever, since my mum used to make them into curry when I was a kid. They've been a staple. They're jammed with iron and vitamin A and probably all sorts of other stuff.

It seems to have made a huge difference for my ailing and ancient cat. Imagine what it could do for you.



~

Nettle Day

Had an EPIC stomp around the Marcite today. It was the warmest day of the year so far, at 22 degrees, and I didn't bother with either a jacket or even a cardie. I took a nice flask of green and gallium aparine tea, and used my backpack chair, stopping when the bells for Sext wafted up the valley from the Basilica, and joined in from afar.

Three hours, all the way down the hill, across the Nera and mucking about in the mud, wading over the little streams and peering into the depths. In one little pond, I saw lots of caddis fly larvae with their intricate little stone houses and a few water-skaters, but also witnessed something I'd only previously seen on Nature Shows on tv. I startled a spider as I approached the pond, and it ran across the surface of the water, its little feet bouncing off the water's surface tension like a trampoline. If I'd been just glancing the wrong way for an instant I'd have missed it. No more than a tenth of a second across to a safe blade of grass. Amazing!

Startled a few pheasants, and saw plenty of trout in the river. Took a rest in the shade of a willow in the middle of a big field to have a cup of green tea. Without another human in sight, I figured it was the perfect moment to make up a new song. "Happiness is a Damp Swamp" to the tune of the Beatles song Happiness is a Warm Gun, sung loud and through several verses improvised on the spot.

The nettles are up, and I collected two full shopping bags worth, mainly around the base of one of the old ruins where the nettles had grown up between the fallen stones and so had lots of sun. It made it a bit hazardous to climb over these loose stones, but it was fun.

Not only are they an excellent green leafy vegetable when steamed, full of ten times the nutrients as spinach, a decoction of the fresh leaves taken twice a day can treat seasonal allergies, which, as I moaned about earlier, have flared up ferociously in the last few weeks; I sound and feel like I've got a horrible deathly cold. Antihistamines work pretty well, but turn me into a zombie, so I'm going to try some Urtica dioica.

I started the seeds for chamomile, salvia and marjoram and will do the rest when I've finished my stories tonight. I've also bought the necessaries for finishing the stock I've been planning. A friend likes to serve prime rib for Christmas and I have had last year's bones in my freezer all this time, waiting for a new pressure cooker. Well, today's the day.

Stock is very misunderstood. People think that it's meat-flavoured water that you get from boiling the meat and the bones don't add much. But in fact, that's what used to be called "beef tea" which was popular for sick people in the 18th and 19th centuries because it was pretty insipid and you could digest it on a weak stomach. But with real stock, it's the bones that give you the goods, and what you've got at the end is not flavoured water, but liquified meat protein. Bones are spongey, and the cells are filled with this marrow stuff that is possibly the healthiest part of the animal. The way to get it out of the bone framework is simply dissolving it in hot water over a long time.

I do it the traditional way by saving in the freezer the odds and ends of vegetables. I've got a bag of frozen asparagus ends and mushroom stems, then toss in a whole onion or two, paper and all, an apple cut in half, a carrot and a few stems of celery, cloves of garlic and peppercorns. I also throw in a couple of whole cloves, but not too many as well as a handful of bay leaves and maybe a bit of orange peel. Fresh herbs should be thyme and marjoram, but not oregano which tends to be too strong. I also exclude from the veg any brassicas, broccoli or cabbage for the same reason. You also have to be careful to avoid anything that would disintegrate too thoroughly, so no potatoes. You're not making soup. Soup comes later.

All in the pot, and top up with water and let er go. Without a pressure cooker, I used to let stock go for at least five hours. Just on a very low simmer; no boiling. With a pressure cooker... we'll have to see.



~

Successful experiment

In the photo of my sitting room below, you will see that in the hearth there is a grill for cooking meat. This is apparently still a very common feature of life in these parts, and the grill, which looked like it hadn't been cleaned in years, was here when I moved in and had obviously been well used.

Tonight, I tried it, and mmmm-boy!

I had observed the technique at a favourite restaurant in town

where there is a large traditional wood-burning open hearth oven/grill.


If you are ever in Norcia, you absolutely must eat at least once at Granaro del Monte restaurant. And try the fegatino. It is in a large vaulted medieval banqueting hall kind of place, in the 16th century palazzo of the hotel Grotta Azzura, one of the four hotels in town run by the wonderful Bianconi family (who have been exceedingly kind and welcoming to me and my friends).

Anyway, the technique is as follows: You start your fire fairly far forward in the hearth. When there is a good bed of coals, push the rest of the combustible stuff (wood) way to the back and let it keep going. Rake all the coals forward into a pile. Flatten them out with your poker, and put the grill on so that it's not more than an inch or so above them. If your grill doesn't have little feet like mine does, just put two largish pieces of wood on either side of the coals for a stand.

I did lamb tonight, and just marinaded it a little, rubbing with seasoned salt, then letting it sit in some olive oil and red wine. I didn't have any rosemary, but this is really great if you let it grill with the rosemary sprig right on the grill. It doesn't take long, and if you've got a good cut of meat, it will do exactly what it's supposed to do, which is get nice and crispy on the outside, and seal in the juices and be incredibly tender.

You can also use the grill, as they do at the Granaro del Monte, to make toast.

If you come to Norcia, one of the first things you see on the main strip are these iron monger shops that sell all sorts of things made out of steel, copper and cast iron to use with your fire.

There are pans for toasting nuts, including chestnuts, all sizes of grill, copper pots and tripods, hooks and ladles and fire irons and warming pans, and all sorts of old fashioned looking things. Of course, the first thing you think is that this is just touristy kitsch, and in a way I suppose you'd be right. Except that I've learned that a lot of people still do use these things, at least some of them, and they're sold to locals.

I get the feeling that life here, until they finished the tunnel to Spoleto in 1996, hadn't changed much since the time that painting at the top of the post was done, and I think it probably looked a lot like that.

I've also learned how to "bank" the fire, so the next morning you can start it again quickly to get the tea on.



~

More Pumpkinny goodness

What do you do with the pumpkin after Halloween? Traditionally, you just let it sit there and melt. Which I admit is often pretty fun.

But here's another idea:

Take
a big chunk of pumpkin, about a pound or more
curry powder
cinnamon
cumin seeds
coriander seeds
sesame seeds
butter
heavy cream


Cut the pumpkin into large chunks, about the size of your hand. Slice down into the meat to the skin, to score it and place in a roasting tin. Sprinkle generously with curry powder and cinnamon. In a pan, melt a bunch of butter. Grind a handful of the cumin/coriander/sesame seeds (that you toasted in a dry frying pan earlier and keep in a jar) in a mortar and pestle. Throw the seeds in with the butter and let them fry a little. Then douse the pumpkin with the butter, making sure it gets into the scored cuts. Roast in a hot oven for about an hour, or until it's toasty and crispy on the outside and soft in the middle.

When you plate it, douse in a little heavy cream. This will mix with the spices and the butter to make a truly gorgeous sauce. When you're eating it, gish each forkful around in the butter/spice and cream sauce.

Oh baby!!



~

Pumpkinny goodness!

What is wrong with processed food, in a nutshell? It's not food.

Well, as I was watching this very interesting video about the(mainly American) processed food industry, I was making a batch of Orange Soup. A long time ago a hippie/foodie told me that putting red lentils and sweet potatoes together gives you a "perfect protein". I really have no idea what that means, and I'm not really even interested enough to look it up on Google. I figure he was probably right, however, and that a "perfect protein" was probably good for you. Good enough. Other reading/rumours told me that orange food is good food. If it's got an orange colour, it's good for you. Vitamins and whatnot. So, I invented a recipe for soup in which nearly everything is orange in colour, and that involves an actual orange.

Take:

a knob of butter
1 onion,
2 or 3 garlic cloves,
3 large carrots,
1 sweet potato
1/2 a regular potato
big hunk of pumpkin
1 cup of red lentils
1 orange.
tablespoon of curry powder
tsp of cayenne pepper
chicken powder
1/2 pint of milk
125 ml heavy cream

Chop and saute the onion and garlic in a large heavy-bottomed pot. Peel and dice all the veg while it's cooking. When the onion is softened, put in the chopped veg and the lentils with enough water to cover comfortably. Simmer together, and while it's simmering, throw in the curry powder, chicken powder and cayenne pepper. Grate the rind of the orange and chop it very fine, and add it into the soup, then use the wooden spoon to ream out the juice from the orange. Let it simmer about 15 mins or until the veg is soft.

When the veg is cooked, take the pot off the stove and set up your blender with a large bowl, ladle, the milk and cream. Put on an apron, since it's going to make a little mess. About two or three ladles full at a time, pour the soup into the blender and combine with the milk and the cream in batches. Pour the soup into the bowl as you blend each batch, and when you're done, stir it all together, since each batch is going to have a slightly different ratio. Blend a good long while to get a really cloud-like texture.

Eat.

You will be amazed! Really!



~

Nostalgia food

I love Kraft Dinner. I'll admit it right now. I know, I know, it's fake, it's plastic food, it's a mean fist of carbs, but I can't help it. I love the stuff. (You Americans call it "Mac and Cheese". One time I was in a house full of people including a bunch of kids, and the mum was making KD for the kids to have before the grownup food was put on for supper later. I took one look at that huge pot of glowing orangey-goodness and begged to have some. Yes, I'll take food out of the mouths of children as long as it's KD.

I also love tinned Campbell's chicken noodle soup. So many happy memories of a bowl of that lovely salty stuff, slurping up the noodles with a grilled cheese (cheddar, of course) sandwich on the side.

What are some awful packaged fake-food you like?

(Oh man, I'm so hungry!)



~

Sing to me of a warm pastizz in the morning sunshine

Well, my Maltese Pastizzi experiment has been broadly a success. The filling was a huge pain but only because it was nine freaking hours of simmering the peas. I'm told this is because of the high calcium content of our water, and because the peas were old. Get better peas and put a new filter in the jug. On the whole, the only drawback is that the filling takes a long time to prepare, but it doesn't require too much attention. It's mostly just "put it in the fridge over night" sort of thing.

Soak about two cups of dry split peas in a bowl overnight. Then wash them in a colander to get the extra starch off. Then simmer in water with a cube and a half of mushroom stock, a blob of tomato paste and some fresh mint. Simmer until they're soft. If they stubbornly stay slightly crunchy, which happens frequently with dry split peas, just get them to the point where they're chewable and put about half of it in the blender, then back with the rest of the peas. Boil off the remaining extra water while you're standing over them stirring (that last bit is important; peas love to stick to the bottom of the pan and burn, then they're ruined because they also love to pick up the burnt flavour) until it's a nice thick paste. Let it cool to room temp or in the fridge over night.

I used a roll of store-bought puff dough. Take the roll out of the packet and off the wax paper. Roll it back up into a snake and cut the pieces about three or four inches long. With your hands coated in flour, just form them into the little envelopes and pinch them closed.

The pastry opened at the top as they baked, but you can fix that. Just a little egg wash will glue them closed, and if that doesn't work, you can just use a wee bit more dough and form a more bowl-like shape as in the video below. Dough pockets open on the top because as they bake the water boils off and the dough shrinks, so it pulls apart at the join, which is the weak spot. The solution is to stretch the dough pocket a little more when you're forming them.

On the whole, however, they really are just more or less the same as the ones we had in Malta, and they're really simple to make. Have with your tea in the morning like the Maltese do, or they'll go perfectly for 3 o'clock tea time or elevensies.

Just don't do it every day, or you'll be four hundred pounds by the end of the week.


Also, there's a song. A pastizzi song. Sing the song. It will cheer you up.

Not to Maltese standards of cheeryness, but I think that's impossible unless you have the right genes.



~