Birch, Bristol

Tomato Salad with summer herbs and salted elderberries
at Birch, Bristol

It's late summer and you see a 'Tomato Salad' listed on the menu.  How many times has it been a let down?  Being presented with some tough-skinned, watery, flavourless sliced fruit happens far too often, and yet still we order in hope.  As you can see, there was no such experience at Birch, my favourite restaurant in Bristol and one of my favourites anywhere.  Ripe, juicy, herb-dressed and pepped-up with salted green elderberries.  Summer's peak.  Home-made Sourdough bread, which came with home-made butter, mopped up the juices.  Perfect, and if I could eat this dish every day for the rest of the season I would.

Courgettes with Westcombe ricotta and oatcake
at Birch, Bristol

Local and seasonal is what Birch is about.  True seasonality.  No "spring lamb" in March, when well-farmed lambs aren't ready until mid-summer.  No out of season peas or broad beans.  When ingredients are at their best, they go on the menu.  And a great many of those ingredients are grown organically by the restaurant owners, in a three-quarter acre field on the southern fringe of Bristol. Gathered in the morning, prepped in the the kitchen in the afternoon, and on your plate in the evening.  Excess bounty is cannily preserved for the leaner months.  If they can't grow it, they forage for it and source it from people they know well and trust implicitly.

Sweetcorn and Langoustine broth
at Birch, Bristol

The dedication required shows in plate after plate.  This is a truly ingredient-led restaurant in the hands of owners Sam Leach, in the kitchen, and wife Beccy who runs the most welcoming front-of-house you are ever likely to find.  The menu is usually mostly small plates with a couple of mains, a few puddings and a perfectly ripe cheese.  I don't live in Bristol but have managed to eat at this little neighbourhood restaurant on a residential street in Southville four times.  Each visit has been a joy.

Speckled face Mutton with monk's beard
at Birch, Bristol

Last week we were served that very Tomato Salad with summer herbs and salted elderberries; slices of Air Dried Beef, made in-house, were a superior Bresaola; Sweetcorn and Langoustine broth was deeply fragranced with summer herbs; freshly picked sliced raw courgettes came with a house-made oatcake spread with Westcombe Dairy cow's milk ricotta; Spider crab rolls were rich crabmeat encircled by flavourful ribbons of cucumber topped with borage flowers; a main of Speckled face mutton, served pink, was juicy, tender and full of flavour, and came with the restaurant's lovingly grown monk's beard and a deep-green kale sauce.

Greengage and rye pudding
at Birch, Bristol

Dessert included a Greengage and Rye pudding with Jersey cream, the rye flour bringing a depth of flavour but no heaviness, a nice pairing with these most luscious of plums.  After all that, a Blackcurrant Baked Alaska for 2 was, sadly, out of the question, but a scoop of deeply-flavoured Blackcurrant and yogurt ice cream came with, as you might hope, a crisp buttery biscuit on the side. Prices start at £2.50 for oysters, £6-8.00 for small plates, £14-17.00 for mains and £5.50-7.00 for desserts or cheese.

Blackcurrant and yogurt ice cream
at Birch, Bristol

Wine is from suppliers who specialise in low intervention, small domaine, producers.  I particularly enjoyed a glass of Les Vignerons d'Estezargues Rhone red for £4.20 and a Henri Lapouble-Laplace Jurancon at £6.00.  Cider and Perry drinkers are well catered for, this is the West Country after all.

So good to see Birch packed with regular customers on our visit.  Do book and cross the Gaol Ferry Bridge to neighbourly Southville.  

Birch
47 Raleigh Road
Southville
Bristol  BS3 1QS
Tel: 01179028326

Currently open for
Dinner: Wednesday-Saturday
Lunch: Saturday

Sweetmeat Cake

Candied Citrus Peels

Following a winter of gorging on particularly good citrus, there's a stash of candied citrus peel in the fridge. Maybe I'm a bit mean but I do like to get my money's worth out of citrus fruits.  It's a frugal point I've made before - Candied citrus  - but home-made is far better than anything you can get in a supermarket and way cheaper than the, admittedly, good stuff from up-market stores.  Having urged you to make it, I notice I've been less than helpful on how to use these carefully preserved peels.  Time to remedy that.

We're talking lemon, orange, grapefruit and cedro, sweet and bitter flavours essential to much of our cooking when you stop to think about it.  Chopped peel has to be in the mix for many British fruit cakes like Christmas Cake, and Easter Simnel Cake.  Ditto Tea Cakes, Fruit Tea Loaf, Hot Cross Buns, Yorkshire Fat Rascals, Cornish Saffron Cake and Wiltshire Lardy Cake (although some would disagree). Christmas Sweet Mincemeat too benefits from the tang of bitter that preserved peel brings to the party.  It goes into Italian Christmas Panettone, Colomba di Pasqua, Panforte and Pangiallo.  Chopped candied peel is fantastic in a Cassata ice cream or scattered along with some raisins in a Bread and Butter Pudding.  A little added to a Brioche mix or a Steamed Sponge Pudding works well too.  You can elevate a simple Pound Cake by either folding candied citrus, chopped, into the batter or decorating the top when cooked with thin slices.  I'm sure you can think of more now we've got going.

Here's another idea for which, as so often, I'm indebted to Jane Grigson and her book English Food.  'Sweetmeat Cake' is an 18th century open tart.  There is also a version of it as 'Sweet-meat Pudding' in Hannah Glasse's The Art of Cookery Made Plain and Easy (1747).  I always approach these old recipes with caution.  Tastes change.  In this case the recipe was very simple and the ingredients list rang no alarm bells.  What caught my attention was that rather than candied peel providing just a background note, here it has the starring role.  There's a 19th century version of this recipe, known as 'Duke of Cambridge Pudding' which dispenses with the hazelnuts (optional in the earlier recipe) altogether and calls for 4 egg yolks (no whole eggs).  Grigson implies she prefers the Sweetmeat Cake recipe and declares it her favourite of the 18th century open tarts.  For her its butterscotch flavour and semi-transparent filling has a "much superior flavour" to the later 'Treacle Tart'.  I get what she means, there is an almost jellied quality to the cooked filling, and a slice of this is lot lighter and less sweet than a portion of treacle tart.

Sweetmeat Cake

Personally, I'd include the hazelnuts because I am a fan of frangipane.  For this tart I made a sweet shortcrust and, because I have a horror or undercooked pastry, I baked it blind before adding the filling (the original recipe does not).  I've given my pastry recipe here but Jane Grigson's recipe states simply "Puff or shortcrust pastry". I've changed her wording in the method a little to allow for giving you my pastry recipe.  I've also slightly reduced the amounts of candied peel, sugar and butter in the filling from the first time I made this.  Otherwise, it is just as she instructs.

Sweetmeat Cake slice

Sweetmeat Cake
(makes a 23cm shallow tart)

PASTRY (this will make twice as much as you need, so freeze half the pastry for later):
250g (10oz) plain flour
25g (1oz) ground almonds
Pinch of salt
150g(6oz) butter
75g (3oz) icing sugar
Grated rind of half a lemon
1 egg yolk
3 tablespoons milk

FILLING:
100g (4 oz) chopped candied peel
50g (2 oz) chopped roasted hazelnuts (optional)
2 large eggs
2 large egg yolks
150g (6oz) caster sugar
150g (6 oz) lightly salted butter, melted (gently)

Sift the flour into a mixing bowl and add the ground almonds and salt.  Add the butter and rub in with fingertips.  Sift in icing sugar and add grated lemon rind and mix.  Lightly beat the egg yolk and milk together and stir into the dry ingredients.  Mix until the dough just comes together then turn out and knead gently to smooth the surface.  Divide into two and freeze one for later.  Cover the other half and rest in fridge for just 30 minutes.

Pre-heat the oven to 200C (fan 180C)/Gas 5.
Roll the pastry thinly and line a greased 23cm shallow flan tin with it.  Prick the base several times and rest in the fridge for 15 minutes.  
Line with greaseproof paper and baking beans and bake the tart base for 10 minutes.  Remove the paper and beans and return to the oven for 5 minutes.
Reduce the oven to 180C (fan 160C)/Gas 4.
Scatter first the chopped peel over the tart base and then the chopped hazelnuts.
Beat the remaining ingredients together thoroughly then pour into the tart case.
Bake for 35-40 minutes, checking it after 30 minutes.  The top should be crusted with a rich golden brown all over.  Expect the mixture to rise above the pastry then sink back down a little after its removed from the oven.  The top will crack on cooling, a bit like a brownie mixture does.  Do not worry if the centre part of the filling is a little liquid beneath the crust as it makes a delicious sauce.  The consistency is a matter for individual taste.

Best eaten warm (though it does keep a day), with or without cream.  A very good use for some of your winter stash of candied citrus.  What do you mean, you don't have a stash - Candied citrus

Raspberry Ripple ice cream

Raspberry Ripple Ice cream
in the making

It's February.  Why on earth am I making ice cream?  Because I have a bag of frozen raspberries in the freezer and a great recipe.  In any case ice cream warms you up.  Really, it's true.  OK, the reason it's warming is that the body has to produce energy to digest the protein and fat content and, as every schoolchild knows, energy produces heat.  So, you see, it's good to eat ice cream in winter.  Personally, I don't need any persuading.

Last year we had a glut of raspberries so bagged a couple of kilos for the freezer. The thing with raspberries is, no matter how carefully you freeze them - yes I have tried spreading them on a tray - you end up with a soggy unappealing mush when they defrost.  Options for using them are limited, though I did find this Nigel Slater recipe worked pretty well.  Later in the year they'd be fine in a Summer Pudding, but I needed to start clearing space in the freezer now.  Making a raspberry syrup concentrates the flavour of the fruit, and it's perfect for swirling through vanilla ice cream.

Raspberry syrup

Adding salt to ice to lower its freezing point was known to the Arab world as early as the 13th century.  Using this technique, a container of fruit essence placed in the ice could be frozen.  Fruit ices were described in Italy in the early 17th century but the first written reference to "ice cream" appears in a 1672 document from the court of King Charles II.  If the recipe was written down, it remains undiscovered.  A hundred years later, the French found that frequent stirring of the ingredients gave a smoother, less crystalline result.  They are also credited with being the first to add egg yolks to enrich the mixture.

La Grotta Ices in
The Observer Food Monthly

I love ice cream but it's something I rarely buy from the supermarket as a quick look at the ingredients list most often shows sugar content way too high for my liking.  When you make it yourself, you are in control.  If you have a good recipe your ice cream won't be stacked with ridiculous amounts of sugar.  This recipe comes from La Grotta Ices who not only use the best quality milk, cream and eggs, but make a point of adding only as much sugar as is necessary, and not a spoonful more.

I've mentioned La Grotta Ices before, so if you want some background just click on the name.  I'll just say that I've never tasted better ices than those coming out of Kitty Travers' La Grotta ice cream shed.  Kitty's recipe for Raspberry Ripple Ice Cream, below, appeared in The Observer Food Monthly (OFM) magazine on 16 June 2013.  This is the first chance I've had to follow it and I can confirm it's a great recipe.

Raspberry Ripple ice cream

I made extra quantities of the raspberry syrup, and some meringues from the leftover egg whites. This gave me the opportunity to produce individual meringue desserts by lightly whipping up some cream, adding broken meringue and some syrup and freezing for later.  When you want to serve them, if you have more puree, you can pour a little over the top.  Note: I used dariole moulds but, if you prefer, the mixture can be frozen in a block and sliced for serving.

Frozen Raspberry meringue puddings

I'm giving Kitty's recipe for Raspberry Ripple ice cream here but you can follow the link to The OFM for the original with Kitty's invaluable insights on ice cream making.  Her advice to start making your mixture a day ahead does make all the difference to the result.  In case, like me, you don't have an ice cream machine, I've given the instructions for making it with or without a machine.

La Grotta Raspberry Ripple Ice Cream
(Serves 12)

400ml whole milk
200ml double cream
1 vanilla pod, split and seeds scraped out
Small pinch of salt
6 large free-range egg yolks
120g unbleached granulated sugar

For the raspberry syrup (yields 430g):
400g raspberries
150g sugar

Ice cream:
Pour the milk and cream into a pan.  Add the split vanilla pod its seeds and the salt.  Place on a low heat and, stirring occasionally, until it just begins to simmer.
While the milk is heating, briefly mix the sugar into the egg yolks.
Pour most of the milk into the egg mixture and whisk to combine.
Return the pan to the heat and pour in the egg and milk mixture.  Slowly heat, stirring constantly, to a temperature of 85C (it will start to thicken at 65C).  Take the pan off the heat immediately and place it in a sink of cold water with ice cubes in it to cool the mixture quickly.
When the mixture is at room temperature, cover the pan with cling film, put the lid on the pan and place in the fridge overnight or for at least 8 hours.

Raspberry syrup:
Place the raspberries in a bowl with the sugar and set it over a pan of simmering water.  Cook until the fruit bursts and the sugar dissolves.  Remove from the heat, blitz with a hand blender and push through a sieve to remove the seeds.  When the syrup is at room temperature, chill in the fridge overnight.
(Kitty suggests stirring the raspberry seeds into a jug of water, leave in the fridge until the seeds settle, then sieve.  It gives you a delicious juice drink).

Next day:
Put a large, preferably metal, bowl in the freezer to chill.
Sieve the ice cream mixture into the bowl to remove the vanilla pod.  Blitz with a hand whisk for 30 seconds to re-emusify.

If you have an ice cream machine: Start the machine churning and pour the mixture into the ice cream machine.  Churn for about 30 minutes or until the mixture looks dry.

If you don't have an ice cream machine: Place the bowl in the freezer.  After 90 minutes take it out and whisk the mixture vigorously.  Repeat this procedure twice more.

Pour the syrup over the mixture, fold and swirl.  Scrape into an airtight container and freeze.

The ice cream will keep for up to a month in the freezer.

Brockley Market - Lucky Lewisham

Van Dough
 at Brockley Market

For my last blogpost of 2013 it seemed fitting to finish on a market, the lifeblood of London food.  London Farmers' Markets (LFM) now have 20 market sites covering areas from Balham to Wimbledon. LFM's principle of "We grow it. We sell it." is laudable but its rules and regulations can mean some good "local" producers don't quite qualify.  I shop at one or two LFM markets but they don't satisfy all my needs.  Some very good producers and traders who do not fit neatly into LFM's strict criteria find a home for their goods at Brockley Market in SE24.  That's not to say Brockley doesn't have high standards of its own, they're just different and, in fact, some of their stallholders also trade at LFM.

Brockley Market offers a cracking list of traders in a compact area where stalls are ranged around the car park to Lewisham College.  The estimable BBC Radio 4 Food & Farming Awards described Brockley as "a market that serves a community without pretence or artifice, a model to be followed". Brockley Market is doing a great job of finding, hosting and presenting some of the best food and drink producers and suppliers.  Some of what's on offer is very locally produced and some not, but Brockley Market has most of the food bases well covered.  With a central area devoted to seating, it's a family-friendly place to shop and eat.  This adds to the relaxed and welcoming feel of the market.

So who's there?  To mention a few, there are two excellent Organic fruit and veg stalls in the form of Wild Country Organics from Cambridgeshire and Kent-based Perry Court Organics; meats by my three favourites, Jacob's Ladder Farms, representing a small cooperative of Sussex farmers rearing animals on organic and biodynamic principles, The Butchery, the Bermondsey-based whole carcass butchery owned by Nathan and Ruth Mills and poultry from Fosse Meadows Farms in Leicestershire; East Sussex-based Hook & Son for raw milk; Hartland Pies who I know also make the excellent pies sold by The Butchery using The Butchery's meats; Flavours of Spain with a good range of Spanish ingredients; Blackwoods Cheese Company selling a small selection of Neal's Yard cheeses alongside their own Lewisham-made fresh cheeses.  Food vans include Van Dough selling freshly-made pizzas baked in a wood-fired oven mounted in the back of a 1970s Citroen Hy van; Mother Flipper offering burgers; and Good & Proper serving tea with, that irresistible pairing, crumpets.  Coffee is represented by Dark  Fluid.

Blackwoods Cheese Company has quickly become a favourite of mine for their lovely marinated raw cows milk Graceburn.  The fledgling cheese-maker is already getting noticed, being stocked by both Neal's Yard Dairy and the recently-opened shop attached to the Quality Chop House restaurant on Farringdon Road.  Look out for a Blackwoods washed-rind cheese coming soon, I'm expecting it to be pretty special.

You really get a sense of passion from walking around and from looking at the Brockley Market website.  It's a market I want to go to more and if I lived closer I'm sure I'd be shopping there every week.  Luckily, I can shop on Saturdays at some of the same traders in Spa Terminus/Druid Street, Bermondsey.  From talking to those traders, I know that they love trading at such a well-run and well-supported market as Brockley.  I can see how hard the organisers work at getting the best and Lewisham is lucky to have it.

Happy food shopping in 2014.

Brockley Market
Lewisham College Car Park
Lewisham Way
SE4 1UT
Saturdays 10-2pm
The market is a stone's-throw from St John's train station (7 minutes from London Bridge)

Pear vanilla upside-down cake

Pear Vanilla Upside-Down Cake

There's something undeniably retro about an 'upside-down cake'.  Say the words and most people will have a memory of a pineapple, maraschino cherry and sponge cake.  Depending on when you were born it's either a classic or a joke.  If Fanny Craddock didn't make a Pineapple upside-down cake she should have done as, for looks alone, it's very Fanny and Johnnie.  Putting the fruit on the bottom of the cake tin means it will hold its shape beautifully.  It's a cake that has had its fortunes revived so many times that there's got to be something in the recipe to account for it.    

Slice of Pear vanilla upside-down cake

There are still devotees of the pineapple version.  It dates from the early 20th century when pineapples began to be available in cans, but 'upside-down cake' may go back rather further than that.  An old copy of Reader's Digest Farmhouse Cookery offers a recipe for Upside-Down Winter Pudding and refers to it as a "Victorian Pudding".  Pears provide the necessary fruit layer.  Golden syrup, black treacle and lard enrich the sponge and the addition of cinnamon and ginger make it positively festive.  I have made it and it's very good, if rather rich, and the Christmassy spicing might be just what you're looking for right now.  The version below is lighter and allows the delicate pear flavour to shine through rather better than the "Victorian" version does.  My spice of choice with pears is vanilla, and Muscovado sugar is highly recommended for a better 'toffee' quality.

Pears don't store as well as apples do.  They rot from the core so there may be no outwardly visible signs of decay.  If you see British pears in January they've probably been kept in cold stores where the oxygen has been removed.  All the more reason to choose pears for an upside-down cake right now.  Pear, caramel and sponge - all the makings of a good pudding.

A slice of Pear vanilla upside-down cake using ordinary caster sugar in the sponge

Pear vanilla upside-down cake

(for an 18-20cm round cake tin)

3 pears

50g softened unsalted butter

65g muscovado sugar

1 tbsp mild honey

125g softened unsalted butter

125g raw cane caster sugar

Vanilla extract

2 large eggs, mixed together

125g plain soft flour

1 tsp baking powder

1 tbsp milk

Heat oven to 180^oC/160^oC fan/Gas 4.

Cream 50g butter with 65g sugar and 1 tbsp honey until light and fluffy.   

Spread over the base of the cake tin.  

Peek, halve (or quarter if large) and core the pears and place them flat side down in the tin.

Mix 125g of butter with the caster sugar and vanilla beans until soft and fluffy.  

Gradually beat in the eggs, adding a little of the flour if the mix starts to curdle.  

Sieve the flour and baking powder together and fold into the mixture.  

Gently mix in the milk.  

Smooth the mixture over the top of the pears.

Bake for about 55 minutes.  Turn out after a further 30 minutes.

Good served just warm or at room temperature - keeps well for a couple of days, though doesn’t look as pretty as on day 1.

This recipe is an adaptation of Nigel Slater’s 'Honey Pear Cake' 
published in The Observer magazine on 6 December 2009

Pumpkin Soup - Bocuse via Hopkinson

Pumpkin Soup

Squash and pumpkins come in all sizes, from 'Baby Bear' and 'Jack be Little', both around 10-18 cm in diameter, to the monstrous 'Atlantic Giant' which has been grown to over 300kg.  They come in all shapes and colours too - the muted flesh coloured butternut; steel blue teardrop-shaped 'Blue Ballet'; dark green 'Table Queen' shaped like an acorn; fiery round 'Rouge vif d-Etampes'; dusky orange-brown 'Moschata Muscade' tasting faintly of nutmeg; the blue-black of the well-named 'Ironbark'; and the  extravagantly top-knotted yellow/green/orange/white 'Turk's Turban'.

Although the French and Americans prize them, until fairly recently in the UK we mostly stuck to growing summer squashes.  The simple reason for this is although pumpkins are easy to grow, a dry, warm period is needed to harden the skins for keeping through winter.  A warm dry autumn here is not something we can take for granted but this year has been exceptional and harvests have been good.

'Uchiki Kuri' Pumpkin Squash

Personally I have no need for enormous pumpkins so I tend to stick to growing 'Butternut' or 'Uchiki Kuri', each of which grows to around half a kilo to a kilo in weight.  The flesh of both is deliciously sweet but the 'Uchiki Kuri' has a lovely chestnut flavour and a vibrant orange colour which just makes you want to tuck in.

Pumpkin soup straight from the oven

This adapted recipe comes from Simon Hopkinson's book The Vegetarian Option.  Based on a classic Paul Bocuse recipe, Simon Hopkinson has paired back the original reducing the dish to its essence of pumpkin, cream and cheese.  My adaptation is slight.  Apart from reducing the quantities to work for a smaller pumpkin, I added some fried sage leaves at the end.  They work but are they necessary?  Frankly, no but if you want an extra something, sage makes a good partner for pumpkin.  Like Hopkinson, I think the word 'soup' doesn't really describe this dish well.  It's more of a creamed pumpkin.  Whatever you want to call it, it is rich and absolutely delicious.

I used an 'Uchiki Kuri' weighing barely 500g here which was enough to serve two people but 'Jack be Little' would be a good choice if you wanted to serve individual ones.  It also has the advantage of a softer, edible, skin.

Pumpkin Soup (Bocuse via Hopkinson)
(Recipe Serves 2 but can be easily scaled up)

1 pumpkin weighting 500g (1lb) or 2 smaller pumpkins
150ml  (¼ pint) double cream
1 small garlic clove, flattened and peeled.
Salt and pepper
50g (2oz) Gruyere or Beaufort cheese, grated
A few sage leaves, fried until crisp (optional)

Preheat the oven to 200C (fan 180C)/Gas 6.
Heat the cream with the garlic, salt and pepper until it barely simmers.  Take off the heat and leave to infuse for 20 minutes.
Slice off the top of the pumpkin a quarter of the way down to make a lid and keep to one side.
Scoop out the seeds and stringy membrane.
Strain the infused cream into the cavity and discard the garlic.  Add the cheese. Top with the lid.
Bake in a roasting tin in the oven for about 1 hour until the flesh of the pumpkin is tender when pierced with a fork.  The skin should be lightly browned - turn the heat down slightly if it is becoming burnt.  Lift off the lid and add the crisped sage leaves for decoration (if using).

Serve with a crunchy salad.

Quince & ginger sponge pudding

Quince

The first time I cut into a quince the unyielding flesh, gritty with stone cells, and its pale, off-white, unappealing colour tending to oxidise made me despair of making anything from it.  It was the flowery aroma with notes of tropical fruit that made me buy it.  There it sat, for at least a week, perfuming my kitchen until I plucked up courage to cook it.

Poached Quince

Most of that distinctive aroma is concentrated in the skin and, like the apples and pears to which it is related, its skin cooks down well.  In Middle-Eastern cooking the quince is usually added, unpeeled, to meat dishes which are then cooked for several hours.  In the West we often remove the skin, seemingly only for aesthetic reasons, just as we regularly peel apples for cooking.  Note to self: think twice before peeling.

Picked when it turns a pale yellow, long, slow cooking with sugar softens the natural astringency of the quince and turns the flesh ruby-red and translucent.  High in pectin, it makes wonderful jam, jelly, syrup and fruit cheese or Membrillo.  It was used by the Portuguese to make the original 'marmalade' (marmelo being Portuguese for quince) before it was usurped by the Seville orange. In 16th century France quince were stored immersed in honey.

The Quince has long been associated with love. Brides scented their breath with a bite of quince.  Poets referred to it in their love poems.  Despite searching long and hard, I can find no better love poem than the one Jane Grigson recommended.

" …When it stood fragrant on the bough and the leaves 
had woven for it a covering of brocade,

I gently put up my hand to pluck it and to set it
like a  censer in the middle of my room. 

It had a cloak of ash-coloured down hovering over
its smooth golden body,

and when it lay naked in my hand, with nothing more than
its daffodil-coloured shift,

it made me think of her I cannot mention, and I feared
the ardour of my breath would shrivel it in my fingers…"

                                                                          Shafer ben Utman al-Mushafi

Quince & ginger steamed sponge pudding

From Moorish Andalucia to England.  To mark the change from autumn to winter,  I've married a favourite simple ginger steamed sponge recipe with a vanilla scented poached quince for a very English style steamed pudding.

Quince & ginger steamed sponge pudding
with cream

Quince & ginger steamed sponge pudding
(Serves 4-6)

About 400g poached quince, including syrup
115g (4oz) softened butter
60g (2oz) soft dark brown sugar
2 medium eggs
115g plain flour
1 tsp baking powder
1 knob of preserved stem ginger + a little syrup, OR, 1 tsp ground ginger
A pinch of salt
1 tablespoon milk

Lightly butter a 550ml (1 pint) pudding basin and in the bottom place the poached quince (and preserved ginger if using) with the syrup.
In a small bowl, lightly beat the eggs together.  In another bowl, sift together the flour, baking powder, (powdered ginger, if using) and pinch of salt.
Cream the soft butter with the sugar well then gradually add the eggs, beating well - add a tablespoon of flour if the mixture begins to curdle.  
Gently fold in the dry ingredients followed by the milk.
Spoon the mixture on top of the quince.
Cover the basin with a square of buttered greaseproof paper (folded into a pleat) and tie in place.  Top with a pleated square of kitchen foil.
Steam for 1 hour.

Good served with a thin custard or cream.

England Preserves

Seasonal Specials
at England Preserves

The renewed interest in home preserving is a trend I hope will long continue.  A desire to be more self-sufficient and, hopefully, a little less wasteful has in recent years sent many more of us foraging and gleaning, reaching for the jam pan and bottling our finds.  Eliza Acton, Constance Spry, Jane Grigson and the Women's Institute were where most of us turned for guidance when faced with a hedgerow harvest or a glut on the allotment.  Often, these days, the first port of call is the internet. However, some good preserving books have hit the shelves over the past couple of years.  Diana Henry's Salt Sugar Smoke is one of the best I've found.

Allotment harvest

Having an old tried and tested recipe for strawberry jam is a wonderful thing, but, in the pages of these more recent books lies inspiration for preserving the less obvious pickings.  These recipes are also more likely to retain the flavour of the prime ingredient at the forefront.  This may mean the preserve won't keep so long.  Times change and our tastes change too.  

Bergeron Apricot Jam
from England Preserves

Preserving is not all about jams.  However, as the fruit:sugar ratio of that preserve has excited so much debate recently, I will come off that particularly sticky fence and declare myself in favour of using less sugar.  I'm more interested in tasting the fruit than having jars of sweet unidentifiable spreads lining my larder.  My level of preserving is modest so I'm no expert and I'm always on the look-out to see who's doing it well.  It's a crowded market and I've tried and tested aplenty before settling on a personal favourite.

Sky Cracknell and Kai Knutsen began making jams in their home kitchen in 2001.  Selling initially on Farmers' Markets, their England Preserves are now stocked by an impressive list of food shops, cafes and restaurants.  Fruits are sourced as close to their Bermondsey base as possible.  At this time the focus of their attention is the apple, pear and quince harvest.  They take full advantage of the fantastic crops from Brogdale in Kent.  Fruit butters such as 'Salcott Pippin & Cinnamon' and 'Beurre de Beugny Pear butter with Vanilla' are favourites in our house right now.  We are also just coming to the end of our stock of Bergeron Apricot Jam.  The vibrant colour and stunning apricot taste of this jam convinced me I'd found my favourite preserve-maker.  Jams, fruit-butters and fruit-cheeses (Damson, first this season, and now Quince) are made in small batches, cooking the fruit gently to retain "flavour and colour" and using as little sugar as possible.  It's a sympathetic approach which I can relate to.  When my own fruit harvests are exhausted, England Preserves is my larder.

England Preserves
See website for list of stockists.
Also open Saturdays for direct retail sales from their production unit at:
Arch 4 Spa North
London SE16 4EJ

Warm Plum & Citrus Compote

Warm Plum & Citrus Compote

Jane Grigson wrote in 1982 of the ubiquity of the Victoria plum.  Since 1840, when a stray seedling was found in Sussex, the Victoria has been grown for its qualities as a good cropper rather than for its flavour. Even today, more than 30 years on from publication of Jane Grigson's Fruit Book, we seem reluctant to acknowledge its inferiority and so we have reached a point where it's difficult to find other varieties of plum. That's not to say Victoria plums can't be made palatable by cooking, but to eat one straight from the tree is invariably disappointing.  Grigson agreed with Edward Bunyard  (Anatomy of Dessert).  He said, of plums intended to be eaten uncooked, that there was little "encased in red, black or blue" worth growing.

Neither Edward Bunyard nor Jane Grigson seem to have rated the dark, dusky Damson plum.  It is a personal favourite of mine, not just for making Damson gin.  In a Damson souffle its sharp, bitter qualities are hard to beat, but a yellow- or green-skinned plum is my first choice for most other plum dishes.  These range from the tiny intensely sweet Mirabelle, its yellow skin blushed with a fingertip of rouge as its season progresses, to the honeyed flesh of the green/gold Greengage.  I've previously written about Greengages so rather than repeat myself, here's a link to that post which includes a recipe for Plum Tart

The recipe below is based on A Warm Compote of Plums with Honey and Orange from The Art of Cooking with Vegetables by Alain Passard.  Unsurprisingly, Passard uses French Reine Claude plums (Greengage) for this dish, as do I.  The citrus fruit pairs surprisingly well with the Greengages.  However, I've found, if the plums are a little on the tart side, then the quantity of lemon needs to be reduced.

I think it's time I planted a Greengage tree.  Perhaps it should be a self-fertile 'Early Transparent Gage', or, better still, the elusive 'Coe's Golden Drop', if I can only find a source.

Warm Plum & Citrus Compote
(Serves 4-6)

1kg (2lb) ripe Greengages or other plums
40g (1½oz) salted butter (or unsalted with a pinch of salt)
2 tbsp caster sugar
2 tbsp runny honey
1medium unwaxed (or well-scrubbed) orange, cut into segments with skin intact
1 small-medium unwaxed (or well-scrubbed) lemon, cut into segments with skin intact

Choose a lidded frying pan large enough to eventually take the plums in a single layer. Gently melt the butter (and salt if using), honey and sugar in the pan, stirring to amalgamate.  Add the orange and lemon slices.  Partially cover with the pan lid and cook gently for 15 minutes. Wash the plums and add them whole to the pan in a single layer. Partially cover again and cook gently for 30-40 minutes - the fruit should be tender but not mushy.  Take off the heat, remove the lid and leave to stand for 10 minutes.  
Serve warm with vanilla ice cream or double cream.  An almond biscuit goes well too.

Gathering the last of the berries

Blueberry & Raspberrry Mascarpone Pot

On this day of the autumnal equinox the temperature is hovering around 20 degrees C throughout most of the UK.  Plums, apples and pears have made a welcome appearance but English blueberries are still in the shops and I can't be the only person to be still happily harvesting Autumn Bliss raspberries.  These two berries go together so well and need only the lightest sprinkling of sugar to marry the sweet of the raspberry with the slight tartness of British blueberries.

I have absolutely no idea where the recipe at the end of this post comes from.  It's one I've been making for years and, try as I might, I cannot discover its origin.  Having spent a happy hour searching through my favourite go-to books for inspiration on fruits does, however, give me the excuse to share a peek at the work of Patricia Curtan.  I have a bit of a thing about food illustrations and, if only I had the talent, I'd probably abandon photographing - and maybe even talking about - food, swapping it for the illustrative life.  One of my favourite artists is Patricia Curtan who's best known for her beautiful colour relief prints which illustrate many of Alice Waters' Chez Panisse books.  The two below appear in Chez Panisse Fruit by Alice Waters.  You can luxuriate in more of Patricia Curtan's work by going here 

Photo of Raspberries Illustration by Patricia Curtan
Chez Panisse Fruit by Alice Waters

Raspberries are not just for summer and they really are the easiest of fruits to grow.  The trickiest thing about raspberry canes is curtailing their ambitions - they love to spread their roots and produce new canes if you let them.  Planting an 'autumn' fruiting variety can extend the season right up to the end of September or even early October.  'Autumn Bliss' is a great choice, producing large flavoursome berries.  The canes start fruiting before 'summer' raspberries are quite over.

Photo of Blueberries Illustration by Patricia Curtan
Chez Panisse Fruit by Alice Waters

Blueberries are a fruit I've toyed with growing but they need light, free-draining, acidic ground to grow well. London clay won't do and I'm not a great fan of trying to change the pH balance of soil.  An alternative is to grow the plants in pots filled with ericaceous compost and apply a high potash feed.  There's still the problem that birds love them even more than raspberries.  Hmm, maybe one day I'll grow them but for now I'll leave it to the experts.

Here's the recipe.  It's got to be the easiest in my repertoire and perfect for when you have to knock up a quick dessert.  If anyone does recognise where it comes from, do let me know as I'd love to be able to attribute it.  If you have by now moved on from soft fruit, I think some stone fruit would work for this dish - a barely-sweetened compote of plums for instance.  The grill warms the fruits beneath the molten mascarpone just enough to bring out their fragrance.

Blueberry & Raspberry mascarpone pots
(Serves 4)

A 50/50 mix of blueberries and raspberries (quantity depends on the size of your ramekins)
250g mascarpone
50g demerara sugar

Wash the blueberries and mix with an equal quantity of raspberries.
Fill 4 ramekins to just below the top.
Spoon mascarpone over the fruit 
Sprinkle with demerara sugar.
Place ramekins under a hot grill until the topping starts to caramelise.

Serve with a crisp biscuit, if you like - an almond one will go well.