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The Great Ricochet Holiday Cooking Show and Tell, 2021 Edition
Ladies and Gentlemen (and the rest of you too, of course), start your engines!
I’ve handicapped myself (because whatever privilege the English enjoy, cooking isn’t it, as many of you have kindly reminded me over the years), and I’ve given myself a head start. Because I need one. So far, I’m three Christmas puddings (should do this Christmas and the next two) and a fruitcake in.
The pudds are this recipe. It’s not one I’ve tried before, but I thought I’d give it a whirl.
And the cake is Mary Berry’s Fruitcake. My batter must have been a little more liquid than it should have been (probably overly large eggs — thanks, girls!)
because some of the almonds that were supposed to decorate the top have sunk in. The house (after a 4.5-hour bake) smells glorious, though. Now, to let it cool and sprinkle on even more booze. (My only adaptations to the original were to use bourbon instead of brandy and to “invent” my own mixed spice out of what I had on the shelves. Note to self: Is “mixed spice,” as an end product, a peculiarly British thing? It’s in the puddings too.)
Let’s not limit this thread just to baking. I’ve still got a couple of pounds of bangers (specially made for me by the local butcher), and I’ll be indulging at some point in Toad in the Hole With Onion Gravy. Sublime. (Get English bangers, if you possibly can; it’s just not the same with Bob Evans or Jimmy Dean.)
Yesterday, when I was at the butcher’s (where I am known far and wide as “Banger Woman,” for reasons that might not be obvious to those who don’t cherish a secret regard for English “hoht kwizeene,” but which — in that context — make eminent sense), they had calves’ liver on offer. I snaffled a couple of packages. The lovely (young) man gave them to me for free, merely because I was one of the very few takers! (My sense of self and of the ridiculous is AJ Squared Away, and I’m certain that’s all there was to it. LOL.) I shall try (when all my company has left me, and I am on my own) my mother’s recipe for liver and onions and revel in a childhood delight. I will report back after the fact. Need to make sure I can get it right first. In the meantime, drool away — there’s lots of bacon involved!
And in about 90 minutes, an enormous pot roast should be done and ready for consumption. I’ll test it for supper tonight, to make sure it’s not poisonous. While I greatly enjoy cooking the holiday meal (the centerpiece of which, for our small celebration this year, will be a turkey breast with cranberry stuffing from the aforementioned local farm butcher), I really don’t like struggling to find things to eat when company shows up unexpectedly, or when those of us who are here want to veg out (see what I did there) and pick at food. So I like to have plenty on hand.
Boy, howdy.
Between Thanksgiving and Christmas, I’ll ponder some of our family culinary traditions in all directions: British, Polish, French, German, Scottish, and — newly added — Indian (East). Could anything possibly be more delightful?
You should expect, at some point, that my late mother-in-law’s holly cookies will make an appearance:
(If you’re making these more than a day or so in advance, store them in an airtight tin. Also, understand that you are using more green food coloring than you imagine is possible. Your fingers will be green. Your bowls and utensils will be green. And if you cheat and try one, it will be like that ink the feds use to identify bank criminals. Your teeth will be green. Your tongue will be green. Make a wrong move, and your clothes will be green. The fact that you cheated will be undeniable. Just so you know.)
Yeah, most of the time, I’m by myself (so I think, “My God, what am I going to do with all this food????”). But I’ll have company for Thanksgiving, Christmas, and New Year’s, and something tells me that this year’s iteration of all of those is going to be the best ever! Perhaps I’ll not even have to wait till the clock strikes midnight on New Year’s Eve for a Hollywood handsome or even just a rather ordinary-looking stranger to first-foot into my house and bring me luck! (Experience over several decades has informed me it’s probably best not to count on such a thing, anyway.)
And even if I spend the holidays as an old hag, alone here with my dogs, cats, sheep, bunnies, and chickens, dreaming of days gone by or what might have been 🤯, I’ll be content. And I know I’ll have enough fruitcake to survive any privations and supply-chain issues that come my way. Laugh if you dare. Pretty sure I’ll have the last one.
What are you cooking/baking for the holidays this year? And please, will you share your stories and your favorite recipes?
Published in General
I added my two cents here, a few years ago. As for English food, it’s not for the squeamish. In fact my forebears, mostly English but also represented by neighbors in Ireland and Scotland, shared much of the British palate, even after generations in the new world. No one can make tasteless sausages like the Brits. And they need to be reminded that there are ways to make eggs other than sunny side up. Liver and onions is a waste of good onions. Also boiling is highly overrated and you can eat too many cruciferous (sulfurous) vegetables. And what is up with those little stale sandwiches?
And to you, She, and all the Ricochetti!
I should mention, I never brine a processed turkey (it will say xx% solution). This is a fresh, minimally processed turkey given to us at work. Nice! I’m thankful for our employer.
Success! Very good. I used mild jalapeños but they would do equally well with hot. I garnished a few with hot candied jalapeños too. I’d have taken a picture but they were demolished.
Woo hoo! Glad you enjoyed!
I liked the zip top bag trick, too. I had never tried that and it works great.
Fighting words from the country that invented the corn dog and Hershey’s chocolate, LOL
You know, I never even heard that phrase until I’d lived in this country for a bit. Sure, I love bacon and eggs, but only with the bacon grease spooned over the yolks until they are a bit cooked and not that awful bright yellow. (Totally different from “over easy,” which–AFAIK–is a strictly US abomination.) TBPC though, most of the eggs I ate as a child were scrambled (on toast–the Brits will put anything on toast), poached, or (it was England, after all) boiled.
When the liver is tough and overcooked, I completely agree. Perhaps that was the problem.
My mother (a woman who believed that it was impossible to overboil such things) would not have agreed. I incline to your view on this one.
Again, you seem to have been in some unfortunate UK culinary spaces. So sorry.
Happy Thanksgiving!
That’s what I’ve always called “basted”. AFIK most restaurants that serve breakfast know exactly what that means.
I spent the better part of a year in London at UCL back in the 70’s. That was before the culinary renaissance that took place in England in the 2000’s when American fast food came along. I actually liked British fast food and nearly lived on street Gyros and Fish and Chips. (Well actually, the chips were on the mushy side and malt vinegar is not a condiment.) As for your liver, other than turkey liver chopped finely and added to stuffing, any type of liver is disgusting. But when it comes to disgusting, what can beat kidney? The Brits gobble them up, ugh! I’d say that steak and kidney pie is the abomination of the world. Eggs? Brits like them undercooked and slimy and they eat them all the time. I like eggs, but the whites need to be well cooked. Those stale little sandwiches (a piece of old cheddar on white bread, a tomato sliced on white bread, etc.,) were on display under glass at every pub I entered (and there were many, a kind of hobby). They looked like the food displayed at Starbucks, old and ugly. I never saw a single person buy one. One thing is for sure, Brits are well lubricated. Coffee in the morning with your underdone egg and toast; tea and various butter slathered scones and crumpets mid-morning, a pint of bitter with lunch and a coffee backer to offset the alcohol, then tea and pastries mid-afternoon, then more bitter, wine with dinner, then coffee and then, back to the pub to drink until closing. Also, Brits spend a lot of time in the loo.
I thought that was sunny side up.
I have three vivid memories of food on my two trips to Britain in 1984 and 1991. In 1984, we started in Scotland and made our way south. We were stuck for three hours in Athol, Scotland, when Hubby drove too close to the edge of a narrow road and banged up a wheel on our rental car. A service station fixed the wheel and flat tire, but it took some time. We found a pub for lunch while we waited, and they served a dish they called “Crofter’s Chicken”, which turned out to be an absolutely scrumptious chicken pot pie, with a melt-in-your-mouth pastry crust over perfectly cooked chicken and vegetables. Also in 1984, we stopped in Thirsk for a pub lunch after we toured the cathedral there. We had very yummy curry, due to the high number of Indians in Britain-we also had curry at other pubs, and it was always wonderful.
On my trip to Cambridge in 1991, we ate in the college dining hall most nights. They always served a type of potato with every dinner. One day when we were out and about, we saw a dining-hall employee pushing a cart with a big bag of potatoes, and it hit us-they called the taters something different every time, but the variety was solely in the way the potatoes were cut-rounds, chunks, cubes, etc. Same potatoes, different configuration.
That’s the dining hall in Trinity Hall College, where I stayed.
My ex-husband’s family tree originates in Atholl, and Duke of Atholl is a title always held by Clan Murray, and my father-in-law used to like to drink a few scotches and say “Hey I’m the Duke of A**hole.” At every family dinner, we all had to stand in a circle holding hands and sing “Loch Lomond.”
There’s a drink recipe, somewhere in one of my more fundamentalist cookbooks, called Athol Brose. IIRC (I’ve tried it, but not for a long time, and remember it as being unexpectedly good–considering)), it’s composed of water you boil and allow oatmeal to stand in till it gets cold, honey and whisky. Oh, Wikipedia knows about it, here. I was going to ask if either of you knew it, and if it was associated with the place or the family. Wikipedia says it’s named after the first Earl of Athol (which is spelled sometimes with one “l” and sometimes with two).
Jenny arrived later than expected yesterday (traffic), and so we postponed Thanksgiving dinner until today (it was delicious), and enjoyed pot roast, pie and cake last night.
She did arrive in good order though, and began to unpack immediately:
#CouldntBeProuder
No “S’s?”
Here’s what we had yesterday.
Nothing worse than fish and chips and mushy peas. How a small island nation can completely wiff on preparing fish, and how one so dependent for so long on living off the land can make such a mess of potatoes is completely beyond me. As a former pupil at a British public boarding school (that means it was private, in American terms), I completely understand the mushy peas. though. Childhood memories, sometimes even unpleasant ones, still resonate.
Chillax, @dougkimball. You’ve survived, and even better, you’ve escaped. And what memories you have!
As for Kate and Sidney Pudding (made with suet, and boiled for several days–so much nicer than the pie version), there’s nothing better on a cold and blustery day.
Except maybe Spotted Dick, served with thick, lumpy custard.
Exactly. As I said in my recent post about becoming the proud owner of a fleet of dispossessed and battered (not in a culinary sense) hens, I took my first ever farm-fresh-from-my-own-farm egg, and made a beloved childhood breakfast. And here it is:
The coffee wasn’t on the menu when I was about four, but the rest of it is perfectly legit. Hope it’s not too triggering….
Where’s the Scotch?
She doesn’t need to bring that with her….
The best of all possible answers.
You are a good son, indeed! Happy Thanksgiving to you as well.