Bread and Butter Pudding

We spent last Saturday looking at houses in Oxford. 
It was one of those winter days that is much better spent inside -- what with the wind and the rain and bone-chilling damp. 
No house is going to look its best on such a day, even if it is filled with vases of red tulips and wood-burning fireplaces in every room.  But that fantasy scenario was far off the mark.  In reality, we were looking at run-down houses that were still horrendously expensive. Is there anything more depressing than looking at houses that have come on the market because their elderly occupants have recently died?  They have a forlorn quality like nothing else in the world. The howling wind just magnified the flaws of inadequate heating systems and ancient wooden sash windows which creaked in their frames. 

On the drive home from this grim outing, I caught part of a Radio 4 program about bread and butter pudding.  There is definitely a good reason why this solid old English pudding falls under the heading of "comfort food."  By the time we got home, I was so desperately hungry that I went straight into the kitchen to make myself one.  There was a rather virtuous minestrone soup for dinner, but I filled up on bread and butter pudding.  What is that saying?  Life is uncertain; eat dessert first.

This version is my own experiment, based on what I could remember from the radio program -- mainly, to "heat milk, cream and eggs until they were the temperature of blood."  It is creamier and more custardy than the English version, which can be a bit dry, but not as rich and decadent as American bread pudding.
I highly recommend it -- best just warm from the oven, but still quite good cold for breakfast the next morning.
It's vegetarian, although not as low-fat or high-fiber as the lentils that Julochka has been eating.  On the other hand, it has a pleasingly frugal quality that seems right for February.  It is the perfect use for stale bread, and I was also able to empty out two jars of orange marmalade that contained about two tablespoons each.

Ingredients:
8 slices white bread
approximately two ounces of butter, plus a bit more to grease the pan
32 ounces (or 800 ml) of milk and cream combined -- I used two-thirds semi-skimmed milk and one-third single cream.  I think this is a fairly flexible arrangement, though.
2 ounces of caster sugar, plus extra sugar (demerara would be good) to sprinkle on the top
3 large eggs
enough orange marmalade -- maybe 4 tablespoons -- to cover four slices of bread
a large handful or raisins soaked in a couple of tablespoons of Grand Marnier
freshly grated nutmeg

Method:
Preheat the oven to a moderate heat -- about 350F.
Start soaking a generous handful of raisins in a couple of tablespoons of Grand Marnier (or Cointreau; or orange juice if you are teetotal).
Generously butter 8 slices of white bread.
Spread 4 slices with orange marmalade -- again, quantities need not be too specific and can depend somewhat on your liking for marmalade (or how much you have left in a jar you want to empty).
Make "sandwiches" from the bread, and then cut them into triangles.
Whisk the eggs into the cream, milk and sugar until thoroughly combined, and then carefully heat over a low flame until barely warm. 
Arrange the bread triangles in an oven-proof dish.  I like to use my oval two-quart Pyrex.
Throw the raisins over the bread, and then pour the liquid mixture over the top.
Leave to soak for about ten minutes -- and then, as a final touch, dust with freshly grated nutmeg and some coarse demerara sugar.

It will need about 35 minutes in the oven, and maybe 5 minutes before you can plunge in with a big spoon.

Sunday morning pancakes

Last night we had a drip in the ceiling over the sink, and I lay awake fretting about it.  I kept getting up to check how quickly it was filling up the silver bowl that I had left under it . . . and I had terrible visions of waking to find that the kitchen ceiling had collapsed under the weight of water.*  My husband is out of town, the roof is rimmed with icicles, and our driveway is one big drift of snow -- despite my shovelling efforts.  Suddenly winter doesn't seem so cozy.

While I couldn't sleep, I kept thinking about pancakes.
Pancakes with melting butter and warm maple syrup.  Hot coffee on the side.

Sitting in my kitchen in the darkish dawn, as I drank endless cups of tea and monitored the drip of water (wondering how early I could call my builder-friend), I flipped through The Little House Cookbook -- which has not just one, but two recipes for pancakes.  One of the recipes is for the buckwheat pancakes that Alamanzo and Royal Wilder ate, plate after towering plate, during The Long Winter.  The other recipe is for the "pancake men" that Laura ate as a small child in The House of the Big Woods.  This one is a buttermilk batter, and you are advised to take a chunk of salt pork and grease up your (presumably cast iron) griddle.  Although both recipes made for interesting reading, I decided to stick with my tried-and-true recipe for pancakes.  It's an old family friend, and I felt more like comfort than experimentation after a largely sleepless night.

Pancake (or Waffle) Batter

Ingredients:
2 cups of flour (approximately 320 grams)
1/3 cup sugar (68 grams)
4 1/2 teaspoons baking powder
1 teaspoon salt

16 ounces milk (450 ml)
2 large eggs
2 ounces butter (34 ml)
a dash of vanilla (not necessary, but I usually add it)

Method:
Sift together the dry ingredients.  Then pour the milk, beaten eggs and melted butter over the top.
Lightly whisk until everything is well-incorporated, but don't worry about a few lumps.  You don't want to overbeat this.

My mother uses an electric griddle to make pancakes, but I use a nonstick pan on the stove-top. You can make pancakes of any size, obviously, but a 1/4 cup scoop makes a medium-large pancake.

When the pancake begins forming bubbles that are just starting to pop, it is time to turn it.  You can lift it up with a spatula and take a peek . . . it should be a golden brown color.  If it sticks, it's not quite ready.

Making pancakes is not exactly an art, but there are a few tricks to the process.  I always use nonstick pans, but I butter them lightly at first -- more for the flavor than anything else.  One of my pans cooks faster than the other one, and one browns more evenly.  I have a gas stovetop, and I keep it at medium-low flame for pancakes . . . but sometimes I will need to turn the heat down slightly after the pan thoroughly heats up.  Your pans and burners will have their own idiosyncrasies, so just use your own good judgment!

I added some chopped pecans to the batter just after I poured it.  Fresh blueberries or raspberries also make a good add-in.

*It turned out that the overflow from our water tank was freezing up, which caused it to back up.  We had to get a new ball valve.  Thank goodness for builder friends!

Meatball Stew

Yesterday I stopped by the grocery store and it looked like pre-Christmas shopping all over again.  Everyone must have run out of food at the same time, I joked to the cashier, and she said, I think that people must be stocking up for the snow.  Snow, really?  It was bitterly cold, but the sky was blue.  But just to be on the safe side, I decided to get the ingredients for one of my favorite warming meals:  meatball stew.

We are now in the middle of a month-long cold snap, and so are many other places.  As much as we might long for healthier food after the holiday excesses, the weather calls for something rib-sticking.  I think this recipe is a nice compromise, as it is full of vegetables and fairly low in fat, but still so savoury and filling.

This recipe has been in my family for ages, and I've already shared it in From the Desk of Bee Drunken back in October 2008, but as I make it every winter, I think it's time to dust it off again.

Meatball Stew
Make small (3/4 inch) meatballs out of the following:

1 1/2 lb/675 grams ground chuck (or good mince)
1/2 teaspoon salt
1/2 teaspoon pepper
6 ounces seasoned bread crumbs
Or, if you live in England, just buy two or three packages of Organic meatballs from Waitrose -- they are ideal.

Saute one clove of garlic in a small amount of olive oil. Remove garlic and brown the meatballs in the flavored oil.
Place the meatballs in a casserole dish with a lid (I use my Le Creuset) that is burner/oven proof.

Add the following:

16 oz/500 ml tomato sauce/passata
32 oz/1 liter water
1 teaspoon salt
1 teaspoon thyme
1 bay leaf
1-2 beef boullion cubes, or a couple of teaspoons of Marmite

Cover and cook on top of low heat for 30 minutes. Then place in an oven at 325F/165C for 30 minutes. After this two-part process, you can add the following vegetables:

4 medium potatoes, cubed
3 or 4 carrots, sliced
3 or 4 stalks of celery, thinly sliced
1 large onion, roughly chopped

(As this is a stew, the vegetable amounts should be thought of as a rough guide.  I tend to add more, rather than less.)

Cook in oven until vegetables are tender. Approximately 45 minutes should do it, but sometimes the potatoes will need a bit longer.
Serve with french bread or corn bread.

This stew can be made ahead, and like most stews, it is actually better the next day.
Even if, like me, your refrigerator is way too small to hold a Le Creuset and so you use "outside air conditioning" to keep it chilled overnight.

As you can see, the snow did indeed arrive.
And after my children play in it all morning, a bowl of warm-up meatball stew is going to taste so good!

Food for comfort

Perhaps it’s a case of “great minds think alike,” but I suspect that is has more to do with cold and flu season. Whatever the case, both Julochka and I had chicken soup on our minds and stovetops this week.

For the past couple of weeks, someone in my family has been coughing, snorting, wheezing, not sleeping well and feeling downright low and lethargic. Although English small-talk usually revolves around the weather, at the moment that perennial topic seems to have been replaced by dissecting the symptoms of what may or may not be swine flu. The problem is that the symptoms are so nonspecific, and resemble every other bad cold: aches, congestion, a streaming nose, a fever, a sharp sinus headache. My workaholic husband rarely gets sick, but on Friday he was home, in his bathrobe, pale and sweaty and downright miserable. Since he can’t abide the dubious saccharine flavored promises of Lemsip, (and doesn’t believe in them, anyway), I had to resort to that oldest and truest of remedies: homemade chicken soup.

In truth, chicken broth is something that I make every week – but I tend to use it for something else: a risotto, or the basis of a soup like Minestrone. Although I’m not the most efficient housewife, I regularly practice one recycling economy: I make a roast chicken, and then I make a broth from its carcass. It’s not a recipe exactly, but more of a method. I have a close friend who always just boiled up the bones with water, but I like to add more flavor and nutrients to my broth.

This is my method:

Remove any skin or fat, and then cover the bones of a chicken with cold water - approximately 3 quarts or 3 litres is usually about right.
Then add a large white onion, cut in half; two or three carrots and the same of celery, also cut into pieces. (I always save the frilly bits of the celery for broth.)
Very importantly, add about a tablespoon of good sea salt and in between 10-20 peppercorns. (I like a lot of pepper.)
If I want the broth for a Mexican soup of some kind, I might also add a clove or two of garlic and a bunch of cilantro.
(I like fresh parsley in a chicken broth, but I always add it at the end – so it retains its flavor and doesn’t get slimy.)
Bring the contents of your soup pot to a boil, and then simmer for at least an hour . . . or as long as you like. The longer you cook it down, the more concentrated the flavor will be – although you will, of course, lose some volume in the process.

After I’ve strained the broth, I tend to add more carrots and celery – cut into small coins and crescents – some chicken, if I have it, and noodles or rice. Let the broth boil, gently, until everything is soft.

The problem with persistent colds it that they tend to make a person feel really low and listless. Although chicken soup does help clear the sinuses, sometimes other comfort food is needed for those feelings of exhaustion and low-grade depression.

Once, when I was a child, my mother made me a homemade vanilla pudding when I had been ill for days and was just regaining my appetite. It was somehow rich and bland, soft and soothing, all at the same time. When I am feeling utterly worn-down, I still crave foods that fall into this category – and for several years now, my favorite has been a rice pudding made like a risotto.

A lot of English people have negative feelings about rice pudding because they associate it with “school food” – and have a horror of its watery lumpiness and the “skin” that forms on the top. A risotto inspired rice pudding is nothing like this, however; it is creamy and luscious. Another advantage it has over traditional rice pudding is its cooking method: instead of taking hours to cook in the oven, you can produce it in about half an hour’s stirring time. The only caveat is that you have to actually stand at the stove and stir it. Unlike a usual risotto, made with a clear broth, this one is made with milk – and milk burns easily. I recommend reading a light paperback while you stir; alternatively, you can have a long phone conversation with someone you’ve been meaning to catch up with for a while.

I got the inspiration for this recipe from my beloved Nigella – in her How to Eat cookbook.


Risotto-Inspired Rice Pudding

Ingredients:
700 ml (or about 24 fluid ounces) of “full-fat” milk*
1 ounce butter
2 heaping tablespoons of sugar**
75 grams (or four heaping tablespoons) of Arborio rice

Method:
Heat the milk to boiling in the microwave. (You can also heat it in a pan on the stovetop, but be vigilant because milk scorches easily and can leave you with horribly burnt pan to clean up.)

Melt the butter in a large saucepan, and stir the sugar into it. When it is bubbling away, add the Arborio rice and stir for a minute or two until the grains are evenly coated.

Slowly, one ladle at a time, add the milk until is all incorporated. Then you need to slowly and methodically stir until all of the milk has transformed your rice into a lovely, creamy pudding.

After 20 minutes you can start tasting it. The rice should be soft, but still have some “shape” to it. (It shouldn’t be hard or grainy, though.)

When it is the right texture, I finish it off in one of several ways:
A handful of raisins
A few shavings of fresh nutmeg
A dab of butter and a tablespoon of cinnamon sugar

Nigella likes to add several tablespoons of double cream at the end, but I don’t like it to be this creamy.

*On the subject of full-fat dairy products, I will confess that I always make this pudding with semi-skimmed or even skimmed milk. Julochka and I differ when it comes to dairy products. I don’t like the overly creamy taste (or fat content) of whole milk; she and Nigella do.

**I always use vanilla sugar when I make this pudding. If you don’t have any, you might want to do some good vanilla essence to the hot milk.

On Friday, I made this lunch for my ailing husband: chicken soup, followed by rice pudding. It was delicious and comforting, and l would like to think that it made both of us feel a little bit better. Of course, you don’t have to be sick or depressed to enjoy this meal . . . but sometime this flu season you will probably have the need of it.   Of course, it would be extra extra-nice if someone would make it FOR you . . . but we can't everything in this life.

comfort food: The Soup

whenever the week gets hectic and we need something hearty and comforting to fall back upon (and last us two days), at our house, i turn to what we affectionately call The Soup. it was great during my Summer of No Kitchen and it's great even if you have an indoor 6-burner 2-oven smeg stove. hearty enough to be a meal in and of itself, it's one of the essential comfort and convenience foods in our home.

The Soup

500 grams (1 pound) ground pork

assorted fresh (or dried) herbs - thyme, sage, oregano, parsley - chopped finely

chili powder to taste (can be left out if children prefer it without)

1 medium onion, diced

3-4 cloves of garlic, minced

1 good quality vegetable bouillon cube

1 can good quality tomatoes

1.5 liters of water

4-5 medium potatoes, peeled and grated

1 package frozen spinach

salt & pepper to taste

brown the pork, then add the onions and garlic and continue to sauté until softened and fragrant. add the chopped herbs, chili and the bouillon cube. add the can of tomatoes and the water. i generally boil the kettle and add hot water to speed the cooking process, it also helps to add the grated potato to hot water, as it stops it from going brown. i tend to grate the potatoes directly into the pot, but if you're lucky enough to live a place where you can buy frozen hashbrowns, they're very convenient and you can use them. we just don't happen to have them in denmark, so i grate fresh potatoes. add the frozen spinach. you can also use fresh spinach, but since you're going to simmer for at least an hour, frozen is just as good and a lot less work.

it's ready to eat after about an hour. and we serve it with a good dollop of creme fraiche (sour cream) or thick greek yogurt and a good loaf of bread. it makes a meal. i also add a spoonful of chiu chow chili oil (a chinese condiment which i highly recommend for its heat and slightly smoky flavor - look for it in an asian market) to give it extra kick (especially on the occasions when i leave out the chili for sabin's sake) and because i'm a bit addicted to chili.

i can also see from my photo that i added a can of beans on that occasion to make it even heartier, so you can do that as well, but i don't do it every time, it's really a matter of what you feel like. i've also read that you shouldn't reheat spinach (something about the nitrates), but i'll admit here and now that we reheat it the next day every single time we make the dish and have never had a problem. it tastes even more delicious on the second day, when the flavors have had a chance to meld. it's really the perfect dinner on a busy, autumn day.