The hunt for the ponciest title for a post goes on.
With Halloween less than a fortnight away the shops are full of pumpkins, and I find it sad (and wasteful) that so many of them will not be used for culinary purposes. I have nothing against making lanterns out of the things, but do try to use the scooped-out flesh too please. We have about 10 small pumpkins drying and hardening in our conservatory, to extend their storage life, and a few still to be gathered from the allotment. I don't grow the monster ones anymore, small son having grown into large (student) son unlikely to be revisiting trick or treating and Halloween parties anytime soon, and the dinkier ones (think the size of a crown green bowling wood - how Northern is that?) are tastier and provide enough for a single serving or a soup ingredient.
Soup was what one such became last night, and what a soup. Simple, velvety, delicious. There is a traditional French soup made with pumpkin (potiron in French btw, as enjoyable a word to savour as our own pumpkin) and pounded shrimps, but not having shrimps I ventured crab instead. Tinned crab is a store-cupboard standby here, not as good as fresh, but not too far off. Trying substitute ingredients like that can lead to interesting discoveries.
From start to ready took just 25 minutes. A chopped onion was gently sauteed in butter until opaque, then a sliced clove of garlic added for a further minute or two. A spud cut into little dice went in, then the chopped pumpkin flesh (peeled, de-seeded and de-fibred). When they had all sweated for five or six minutes a pint of hot chicken stock went in, followed by 1/4 pint of hot milk. Lastly the tin of white meat crab chucks joined them to warm through, and the lot was zhooshed with a hand blender until really smooth, with salt and plenty of pepper to get the seasoning right. It even gained a (pointless) cheffy foam on top with the blending.
That made enough for a bowl and a half each. It was like a crab bisque without the faffage of crushing and sieving the shell. The crab dominated the flavour, the veg lent it just the right consistency. The pumpkin I used - seeds from Garden Organic - is green-skinned and -fleshed, so you'd have guessed pea soup by looking at it. I'll repeat the exercise with one of the orangey-yellow variety, expecting it to be more pleasing to the eye. Definitely to be tried again more than once this autumn.
Showing posts with label pea soup. Show all posts
Showing posts with label pea soup. Show all posts
Tuesday, 20 October 2015
Sunday, 25 November 2012
Pulled Pork - Thing du Jour
Every now and then you notice one food or another suddenly coming up time and again in conversation, the colour supplements, and on TV. The one currently making it big is pulled pork. The magnificent (or hated, depending on your viewpoint) Man v Food was where I first came across the dish. On a new Channel 4 programme tonight about spices - after an awkward start surprisingly interesting - the chef made it with chilli. Because my son and I love BBQ food I looked up some recipes two days ago with a view to making some soon. And by accident I made some today. Cooking by accident?
In fact it was pulled ham from the ham shank cooked yesterday in my Lancashire pea soup, simmered slowly with the peas for about three and a half hours until it was falling off the bone. Normally from my researches this is made with shoulder of pork rubbed with herbs and spices then roasted slowly, covered with foil to keep the juices in.
When Sternest Critic returned via Dad's taxi from his sleepover party he was hungry, so an instant filler-upper was a sandwich made with chunks of the leftover meat pulled into shreds with two forks then covered with cheating BBQ sauce. It went down very well. We have enough meat still for a dish of this, (so the £2.60 shank bought on Blackburn market really was a bargain), which I'll do tomorrow, spiced up to ring the changes.
In fact it was pulled ham from the ham shank cooked yesterday in my Lancashire pea soup, simmered slowly with the peas for about three and a half hours until it was falling off the bone. Normally from my researches this is made with shoulder of pork rubbed with herbs and spices then roasted slowly, covered with foil to keep the juices in.
When Sternest Critic returned via Dad's taxi from his sleepover party he was hungry, so an instant filler-upper was a sandwich made with chunks of the leftover meat pulled into shreds with two forks then covered with cheating BBQ sauce. It went down very well. We have enough meat still for a dish of this, (so the £2.60 shank bought on Blackburn market really was a bargain), which I'll do tomorrow, spiced up to ring the changes.
Friday, 23 November 2012
Cuisine Lancastrienne
One post leads to another.
Today I found the dried peas needed for proper Lancashire pea soup with ham hock, so Saturday's main meal is sorted. The tall box of bullet peas and soaking tablet brings back memories of childhood food - I still make it according to the instructions given to me by my late mother, duly written in a personal cookbook to keep in perpetuity.
Lancashire has some other wonderful dishes worth guarding from extinction: proper hotpot, made with stewing beef cut into very small pieces, good spuds, and onions, and little else - carrots an extravagance; lob scouse; the simple onions cooked in milk then enriched with grated cheese - I facetiously called this Lancashire Fondue in an earlier piece, though I also wanted to imply that with a sexy name it would get made more; and Bury (and Haslingden) black pudding.
Black pudding well made - ideally IMHO by Andrew Holt of The Real Lancashire Black Pudding Company - is a delicacy. I had the privilege of travelling to Mortagne-au-Perche with Andrew three years back, to attend what is effectively the world black pudding championship. Mortagne is nicknamed Boudinville (Black Pudding Town), its love for the stuff proven by finding it on pizzas in a local trattoria. At the contest - Austrian German, Italian, Belgian, Dutch, Irish and of course French entrants vied for various prizes, Andrew taking a couple.
There were black pudding chocolates, black pudding cakes, puds with lobster, puds in fantastic shapes - witness the various photos in this post.
But in the end black pudding is a tasty, savoury, rich ingredient, not just something fried for breakfast. People are put off by the fact that blood is the main ingredient, but why this should be off-putting and flesh not is beyond me. I love them.
Somebody should write a history of and guide to the Black Pudding, and another on Lancashire cooking. I'd love to if any publisher ever reads this. I bought The History of Lancashire Cookery by Tom Bridge, an Amazon second-hand bargain - except that even paying 1p and postage this was a waste of money, a litany of appallingly subbed anecdotes and recipes.
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| Black Puddings |
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| Andy Holt's Chili Bomb Black Puds |
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| Black Pudding Fancies |
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| Puds awaiting judgement |
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| Chocolate bunny sanguinacho |
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| Black pudding with smoked salmon and lobster |
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| Black Pudding Cake |
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| Cheese enrobed boudin noir pralines |
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| Andy Holt (R) |
Somebody should write a history of and guide to the Black Pudding, and another on Lancashire cooking. I'd love to if any publisher ever reads this. I bought The History of Lancashire Cookery by Tom Bridge, an Amazon second-hand bargain - except that even paying 1p and postage this was a waste of money, a litany of appallingly subbed anecdotes and recipes.
Thursday, 22 November 2012
On Markets and Kicking Myself
Doing a piece for Lancashire Life (with a side one for Bass Guitar Magazine - the life of a freelancer) I was in Blackburn today. We lived in nearby Rishton for a few years, the only place I ever regret living. Blackburn has come up in the world since then, its local authority showing the oomph sadly lacking in my home city of Preston. Maybe Rishton has changed, I hope so.
One very clear sign of progress is the market, now beneath a huge mall, and open six days a week. It was always good for food, and now looks better. Markets can be a boon to bargain hunters, or just those seeking variety not found in many supermarkets. I picked up a huge ham hock for £2.60, which will be used on Saturday in a traditional Lancashire favourite - pea soup made with a packet of dried peas (if I can find them tomorrow). It's a one-pot dish, the lengthily soaked peas added to a big pot in which finely chopped onion has been sweated, hock buried among them, then just water added, the lot simmered gently on the stove-top for a couple of hours or more. With buttered bread to dip in the finished article and the meat broken up and returned to the pan it is a rib-sticking meal well worth the inevitable percussive repercussions later.
That butcher's stall also had bacon ribs, which are just as good in the same role, though the ribs cooked in the soup tend to be eaten separately. Something about them didn't grab me, though.
In my Norfolk childhood I remember my father (cooking runs in the family, my WWI-veteran grandfather did quite a bit too) asking a local butcher for bacon ribs, to be met with a blank stare. They thought he was after bacon scraps and bones for stock, so gave him a pile of them for free, which I don't think went to waste.
As I walked around the market I kicked myself for not shopping at such places more often. I was expecting a box of Aberdeen Angus beef today (now in fridge and freezer), otherwise I'd have bought some of the beef flatrib I saw, another bargain. Next time for sure - steamed slowly in the oven for several hours then finished with a BBQ glaze at a higher temperature. Another cut that fits the rule - long cooking means cheap and delicious.
One very clear sign of progress is the market, now beneath a huge mall, and open six days a week. It was always good for food, and now looks better. Markets can be a boon to bargain hunters, or just those seeking variety not found in many supermarkets. I picked up a huge ham hock for £2.60, which will be used on Saturday in a traditional Lancashire favourite - pea soup made with a packet of dried peas (if I can find them tomorrow). It's a one-pot dish, the lengthily soaked peas added to a big pot in which finely chopped onion has been sweated, hock buried among them, then just water added, the lot simmered gently on the stove-top for a couple of hours or more. With buttered bread to dip in the finished article and the meat broken up and returned to the pan it is a rib-sticking meal well worth the inevitable percussive repercussions later.
That butcher's stall also had bacon ribs, which are just as good in the same role, though the ribs cooked in the soup tend to be eaten separately. Something about them didn't grab me, though.
In my Norfolk childhood I remember my father (cooking runs in the family, my WWI-veteran grandfather did quite a bit too) asking a local butcher for bacon ribs, to be met with a blank stare. They thought he was after bacon scraps and bones for stock, so gave him a pile of them for free, which I don't think went to waste.
As I walked around the market I kicked myself for not shopping at such places more often. I was expecting a box of Aberdeen Angus beef today (now in fridge and freezer), otherwise I'd have bought some of the beef flatrib I saw, another bargain. Next time for sure - steamed slowly in the oven for several hours then finished with a BBQ glaze at a higher temperature. Another cut that fits the rule - long cooking means cheap and delicious.
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