Marmalade

‘Oh, dear, bought marmalade. I call that very feeble.’--The Countess of Trentham, Gosford Park

Oddly, the bleak midwinter is the best time for citrus fruits. You think they’d be a summer crop, but apparently not. And for a brief window of time, knobby, super-sour Seville oranges start showing up, and you know it’s marmalade making time.

My parents have the best story about marmalade, I think. Back before they were married, they took a trip to England and decided to bring back a tin of Sevilles so they could make their own (this being the days before the internet, it was hard to track down fresh Seville oranges in the states, and they lived in the northeast, where you never find them). The can was sealed, of course, so they didn’t think they’d have a problem. They did not count on the brain trust that was customs at Philadelphia Airport at the time. A sealed tin completely threw these people for a loop, and they had no idea what to do with it. They kept my poor parents there for over an hour while they stared at the can, shook it, called over friends to stare at it and shake it, you get the idea. My parents begged them to just open the stupid thing already so they could see there weren’t drugs or anything inside. They wouldn’t do that. Finally, their shaking arms got tired and they just handed the tin back to my parents and let them go. The marmalade they made was delicious, apparently, but they never tried making it again.

As I have the good fortune to live in the UK, I can get oranges that have been shipped straight from the source, and man, did I go crazy this year. We now have a cupboard stocked full of marmalade, in all its tangy glory. I’ve been spreading it on crumpets and English muffins and mixing it into muffin batter and morning bowls of oatmeal. It’d probably be good on chicken or fish or tossed into a stew for an unusual tang as well. This is a wonderfully versatile preserve.

A word of warning: this is not for the short on time. It takes a couple of days to make this, so make sure you plan accordingly.

Classic Marmalade

From the Complete Traditional Recipe Book

1.6 kg (3 1/2lb) Seville oranges

2 lemons

Water

2.6 kg (6lb) sugar

Cut all the fruits in half and squeeze the juice out into a bowl or large measuring cup. Scrape the pith and pips out of the fruit shells and put pith and pips into a bowl lined with cheesecloth. Chop up the peels into matchsticks or chunks, depending on your preference.

Top up the fruit juice with water so it measures 3.6 litres (6 pints). Put the juice and peels into a large pot or bowl. Tie the cheesecloth up around the pith and pips and add the bundle to the peel and juice. Cover and let sit overnight.

Bring the fruit and water to a boil, lower the heat, and simmer for 50-60 minutes, until the peel is translucent and tender. Turn off the heat and let the mixture stand, still with the cheesecloth bag in it, until cool. This will take a couple of hours, so it’s a great time to get any errands or housecleaning or House of Cards binge-watching done. You can also leave it overnight, if you wish.

Put a couple of saucers in the freezer.

Once it’s cool enough to handle, take the bag out of the peel and juice and squeeze the hell out of it. See that viscous, snot-like stuff coming off of it? That’s pectin, which helps your marmalade set. Get as much of it out of the bag as you can (I actually find myself squeezing the bag for a good 10-15 minutes, setting it aside for a bit, and then squeezing it a bit more later, just to get everything out of it). Once you’ve gotten all the pectin you can out of the bag, set it aside and start bringing the peel and juice up to the boil. As it heats, start adding your sugar, testing the flavour as you go. Husby and I aren’t big fans of very sweet marmalade, so I actually only ended up adding around half the amount of sugar the recipe called for, keeping our preserve pretty nice and tart, but if you like your marmalade sweet, go nuts. Some people substitute some of the white sugar for brown, for a richer, darker marmalade, but I haven’t tried that yet and can’t vouch for it. I’m sure it’s delicious. As the juice heats, you might notice it seems rather thick. That’s a very good sign. Bring it up to the boil.

Keep the marmalade going at a nice rolling boil (essentially, just at boiling point, not boiling so crazily it’s spattering), scraping off any thick foam that rises to the surface. After 15 minutes, test the set by dropping a teaspoon of marmalade on one of the saucers and popping it back in the freezer for about 3-4 minutes. Pull it back out and push your finger along the preserve. If you end up shoving a little skin off the top, you’ve reached setting point. Don’t panic if you haven’t reached setting point after 15 minutes. It’s taken me a good hour sometimes to reach setting point. Just rinse off the saucer, dry it, and pop it back in the freezer to test again. Test every 10 minutes or so, alternating the saucers.

Once you’ve reached setting point, turn off the heat and let the marmalade stand for 10-20 minutes before ladling it into hot glass jars. You’ll notice the marmalade is still very liquid at this stage—don’t panic, that’s normal and doesn’t mean you haven’t actually reached setting point. Seal the jars, label them with the date, and store in a cool, dark cupboard.

Orange, Lemon, and Ginger Marmalade

From Nigel Slater

1 kg oranges

4 lemons

2 kg sugar

100g fresh ginger, peeled and cut into matchsticks

Prepare as for classic marmalade above, topping up the juice with an additional 2 litres cold water and adding the ginger when you start boiling the peels on day 2.

Stir-Up Sunday

Happy Stir-Up Sunday! It's time to officially kick off the holiday season--starting with dessert. Those Christmas puddings need time to mature and develop their flavours (some people actually make them more than a year in advance), so pull out those pudding basins and steamers and let's get to work!

Christmas pudding has its origins in the medieval period and is also traditionally known as plum pudding, though it doesn't typically have plums in it (the plum pudding term is probably because the Victorians used to refer to raisins (which are always part of the ingredients list) as plums). In the medieval period, the Catholic church decreed that a 'pudding should be made on the 25th Sunday after trinity, that it be prepared with 13 ingredients to represent Christ and the 12 apostles, and that every family member stir it in turn from east to west to honour the Magi and their supposed journey in that direction.' Nowadays, we give it a stir in any direction and make a wish. The traditional pudding recipe took its form in Victorian England, when people would either boil it in a pudding cloth (resulting in the nostalgic round shape) or pack it into a pudding basin for steaming, as we do now.

The nice thing about this pudding is that, although there are some traditional elements you may want to keep, it's pretty versatile. Feel free to play with the fruits you include--dried cherries and candied ginger are delicious additions, and I even tossed in a bit of leftover homemade cranberry sauce that I had around after our wee Thanksgiving on Thursday, just to see what would happen. I also soaked the vine fruits overnight in some Christmas Orange tea I picked up from Anteaques. Have a little fun with it, and don't forget to make a wish!

Christmas Pudding

Adapted from Delia Smith
400g mixed vine fruits
brandy or strong black tea for soaking
4 oz (110g) shredded suet
2 oz (50g) self-raising flour
4 oz (110g) white breadcrumbs
1 tsp ground mixed spice
1/4 tsp freshly grated nutmeg
good pinch ground cinnamon
8 oz soft dark brown sugar
1 oz (25g) mixed candied peel, finely chopped
1 oz (25g) slivered almonds
1 oz (25 g) candied ginger, chopped
1 oz (25 g) prunes, chopped
1 small cooking apple, peeled, cored, and grated or finely chopped
grated zest and juice of 1/2 large orange
grated zest of 1/2 lemon
2T rum, brandy, or whisky
5 fl oz (150 ml) stout
2 large eggs

Pour the brandy or the strong (brewed about 10 minutes) tea over the vine fruits and let sit overnight. The next morning, drain and set aside.

In the largest bowl you have, combine suet, flour, breadcrumbs, spices, and sugar. Mix in the dried fruit, mixed peel, nuts, and ginger, followed by the apple and zests. Mix thoroughly.

In a smaller basin, mix the eggs and all liquid ingredients. Pour over the dry ingredients and mix thoroughly. Call in family members for help and wishes. Once it's mixed (it'll be a fairly wet and sloppy mix), cover the bowl with clingfilm and let sit overnight so the flavours meld.

Butter a 1.2-litre pudding basin and put a small circle of greased parchment paper in the bottom. Scoop in the pudding mixture and cover the basin with baking parchment and foil. Tie securely with a string and place in a steamer for 8 hours. For those without a steamer, put an upended saucer in a large pot with a tight-fitting lid, place the pudding in the pot, fill up halfway with hot water, put the lid on, and boil away for 8 hours, checking back periodically and topping up with more boiling water as needed.

Remove the pudding from the steamer or pot and let cool completely. Refresh the parchment paper and foil and leave in a cool, dark place until Christmas. When ready to serve, flame with brandy or serve with holly and sifted icing sugar.

Happy Christmas!

Ghoulish Goodies: Pretzel 'Fingers'

Lo these many years ago, my roommates and I threw a Halloween party. I baked goodies--lots and lots of them, and we invited all my one roommate's fellow Psych grad students. One of them was a handsome man who later became my husband. I dressed as a saloon girl, he dressed as...a hot guy, I guess, and the rest is history.

I like to think my appropriately creepy snacks had something to do with winning him over. The cooking's definitely helped keep him around since!

Delicious!

Amongst the offerings were these little beauties: pretzels transformed into fingers with the judicious use of almonds and red food colouring. Easy to make, particularly if you regularly make pretzels anyway, as I do, and excellent for atmosphere. These made their way to my office Halloween party, where they went over like gangbusters. I like to be able to surprise people.

Pretzel 'Fingers'

1 batch sourdough pretzel dough, rested for 3 hours
Skinless almonds
Food colouring of your choice (I usually go with red)

Bring a pan full of water to the boil and add 2T bicarbonate of soda. Preheat your oven to 190 degrees C.

While that's heating up, cut the rested dough into manageable pieces, roll each piece into a long log, and cut it into 2.5-3" sections. Roll them slightly at one end so it comes to a rounded point.

Using a small, sharp knife, insert the tip into the almonds and split them in half lengthwise. This is a bit fiddly and you can skip it if you like, but I find the whole almonds a bit bulky to make a really great fingernail and prefer to use halves.

Boil the fingers for about 30 seconds each. I advise only doing a couple at a time, so you have a chance to press on the nails before they cool and firm up too much.

After you pull the fingers out of the water, let them cool slightly, and press the almond into the rounded end, pushing firmly so it sinks into the dough and looks like a nail.

Bake the fingers for 20 minutes for softer pretzels, 35-40 minutes for hard. Cool on a wire rack.

Using a paintbrush you keep only for food, paint the nails with food colouring. It may take a few coats for them to look quite right--I think mine took 3. Let them dry thoroughly and dig in!

Dam Good Plums

It's plum season here in the UK, and the little jewels are everywhere: Victoria, green gage, and the famous damsons. I hadn't heard much about damsons before I came over here, but they're big on this side of the pond, and very popular with jam makers. They're considered too sour to eat alone (and they're too small to serve as much of a snack anyway, being about the size of a very large grape) but they pair beautifully with all sorts of flavourings and foods. Being a jammer myself, I thought I'd give these "soor plooms" a go.

Off to the greengrocers' I went to stock up, and stock up I did, so much I ended up making two recipes: ice cream and jam. Jam first.

Most of the recipes I found for damson jam were pretty straightforward: plus, sugar, maybe some water. But I can't leave well enough alone, so I started thinking of what I could add to really make the plum flavors sing. Plums are a good stout fruit that can hold their own against warmer, more aggressive spices like clove, so I decided to go that route, but kick it up by using one of my favourite spice blends: Chinese Five Spice. The combination of star anise, cinnamon, Sichuan pepper, cloves and fennel would at least be interesting, I figured. So, I gave it a go, and after quite a bit of tweaking (and the addition of a couple of extra spices), I had a jam I was proud of. Tangy, warming, plummy: delicious.

 

Seven-Spice Damson Plum Jam

For the sake of those who have more or less damsons than I did, I tried to keep the proportions in the recipe even so it's easier to scale up or down as necessary. Also, feel free to mess around with spice proportions, or leave the spices out altogether. Jam's fairly forgiving when it comes to flavourings, so experiment away!

500 g (about 1 lb) damson plums, washed
1/2 cup water or black tea
1-2 c sugar (depending on your tastes)
1 T Chinese Five Spice powder
1/2-1 tsp ground ginger (or use fresh ginger, peeled and chopped)
1/4 tsp ground allspice

Procedure
Place the damsons and the water in a sturdy pot over medium heat. If you're using fresh ginger, add that too.  As they warm up, the plum skins will start to split. Simmer until the plums have all split open and gotten nice and soft (about 20-30 mins). Remove the pot from the heat and let the mixture cool until you can handle it without burning your hands.

Sift through the plum guts and remove all the stones (you can chop the plums ahead of time to avoid this step, but that's a pain and I just can't be bothered. Easier to do it this way). Once all the stones are out, add the plum guts, peels, ginger (if you're using fresh), and accumulated juices to a food processor (or use a hand blender) and process until smooth. Add it all back to the pot.

Place the pot back over medium heat and add the spices and sugar. If you prefer your jam on the tangy side, use the smaller amount of sugar and adjust as you go. Bring to a boil, then lower the heat and simmer until the jam has thickened enough to coat the back of a spoon (about another 25-30 minutes). Test for deliciousness and adjust spices/sweetener as necessary.

If you're canning for later use, go ahead and do that while the jam's hot. If not, cool jam at room temperature, then store in the fridge.

Uses: This jam is good with a wide variety of dishes. Scrape it onto some toast for a delicious snack or breakfast, swirl it through whipped cream for a lovely ice cream topping, or serve with duck or other meats (I can tell you from experience, this is fabulous with duck). Enjoy!

Damson Ice Cream

Regrettably, I got here and realized I wouldn't be able to use my ice cream maker anymore, because there was no way the bowl would fit in our freezer. Luckily, I found this recipe in the Complete Traditional Recipe Book that doesn't require an ice cream maker, just a bit of an arm workout on my part. It's totally worth it. Since this is a syrup rather than a custard-based dessert, it's more like a sorbet than an ice cream, but it's still incredibly delicious and highly addictive. Excellent with a bit of whipped cream with the jam mixed in, topped by a few blackberries.

For the Syrup
700ml water
425g sugar
Juice and thinly pared zest of 1 lemon
2 drops (about 1/8 tsp) vanilla

For the Ice Cream
1 litre hot ice cream syrup
600g damson plums
150ml double or whipping cream

Bring the water and sugar to a boil in a heavy-bottomed pan, adding the lemon zest as it heats up. Let the syrup boil for exactly 1 minute, then remove from the heat and add the lemon juice and vanilla. Pour into a bowl and allow to cool, if you're planning on storing this and making the ice cream later. It can be stored in teh fridge for up to 2 weeks.

If, however, you want your ice cream tonight, then poach the damsons in teh syrup for about 10 minutes, until the fruit is soft. Leave to cool completely (the recipe book suggests overnight). When cool, remove the stones, strain, and liquidise the pulp. Scrape into a freezer-safe container and freeze for 1 hour.

Whip the heavy cream until stiff and fold completely into the ice cream mixture. Replace in the freezer.  Remove after 1 hour and mix. You'll start to see the edges hardening. Repeat the freeze/mix cycle a few more times, until the mixture hardens. It'll take 4-5 hours, but it's definitely worth it.

Recipe: Green Onion, Coriander & Chili Flatbreads

Damn you, Great British Bakeoff. Once upon a time, I was able to happily sit on my bum on a Sunday afternoon, whiling away the hours with some knitting and mindless entertainment, but then you came along and I find myself thinking, "Oh, man, now I want to make some crazy flavored breads/ridiculously intricate cakes/perfect looking pies!" And so I haul myself off to the kitchen and proceed to spend the rest of the afternoon trashing it, pulling out eggs and flour and recipe books and interrupting my previously useless tranquility with fatty deliciousness. Thanks. Thanks a lot.

Green Onion, Coriander & Chili Flatbreads

2 tsp dry yeast
1 cup plus 2 T warm water
3 1/2 cups flour
2 tsp salt
3-4 green onions, sliced thinly
2 tsp ground coriander
1 1/2-2 tsp chili flakes or hot piri-piri seasoning (optional)*
1 T olive or rapeseed oil

Sprinkle the yeast into the 2T warm water and let dissolve for about 10 minutes. It should look slightly frothy.

Meanwhile, whisk together the flour, salt, coriander, and chili flakes, if you're using them. Make a well in the center of the flour and pour in the green onions, yeast, oil, and 2/3 cup water.

Mix, adding more water, if necessary, to form a firm, moist dough.

Knead on a lightly floured surface until the dough is smooth, shiny, and elastic. Put the dough in a clean bowl, cover with clingfilm, and leave in a warm place to rise until doubled in size, about 1 1/2 hours.

Punch the dough down and let it rest. Meanwhile, heat a griddle or skillet over medium heat until very hot.

Divide the dough into eight equal pieces androll out each piece into a round about 6" (15 cm) across and 1/2" (1 cm) thick.

Place the dough rounds on the hot griddle or pan and prick all over with a fork to prevent large air bubbles from forming. Cook each flatbread until golden brown on both sides, about 5 minutes per side. Set aside while you cook the others.

Serve with houmous, curry, or cheese for a delicious lunch or afternoon snack.

*If you're not partial to spicy things, consider replacing the chili with some freshly grated lemon peel. I find the lemony flavor compliments coriander quite beautifully.

Recipe: Gin and Tonic

It seems the weather gods have finally started to feel ashamed of the way they treated us this summer. And really, they should. Making the summer of the Jubilee, the Olympics, and our first season here one of the coldest, wettest, and most miserable on record? Not cool, weather gods.
But August has been a bit different, for the most part. There have actually been sunny warm days. I’ve been able to put my jumpers and cardigans aside and put on those cute sundresses I brought from the States! This weekend, temperatures are set to hit 31 degrees C (which is hot, quite hot) in some parts of the country. We’re looking at about 21-24 up here in Edinburgh, which is just fine by us. Warm enough to be pleasant without being unbearably steamy. Still, I’m sure that plenty of people will be reaching for the Pimm’s or that other hot weather standby, the gin and tonic.
The classic G+T actually has an interesting history to it: it was originally introduced by the army of the British East India Company in India in the early 19^th century. See, the British soldiers and colonists got down to India and realized there were bugs there. Specifically, malaria-toting mosquitoes. Quinine was an effective treatment for the disease, but its bitter taste made it unpalatable. So, they did what any sensible person would do: added booze. Enough gin and you won’t remember what flavour means anyway. They also used to add sugar and lime to the quinine and gin. Nowadays, tonic water has much less quinine, so it’s less bitter, but we still cling to that lovely gin and tonic (or vodka tonic, which we can now enjoy because we’re all kind of friends with Russia again). Sit back, enjoy the lovely weather, and treat yourself to a tipple!
Gin and Tonic
2 oz gin
5 oz tonic water
1 lime wedge
1 tsp lime juice (optional)
Pour gin, tonic water, and optional lime juice into a highball glass over ice. Stir well and garnish with a lime wedge.

Steak and Kidney Pie

The first time I ever had steak and kidney pie was at Ffiona's on Kensington Church Street in London. This tiny restaurant is known for its delicious classic English dishes, so I figured if I was going to have the pie anywhere, that was the place to do it. I was so right. After I was done, Ffiona herself (who was waitressing that night--she's a hands-on owner) hurried over and asked me how I'd liked the pie. I told her it was fantastically delicious.

"I'm so glad," she said. "I always ask Americans that order it how they liked it, because usually they don't want to eat anything with organs in. I had one man come in and order it and he absolutely cleaned his plate. When I asked how he liked it, he said it was excellent, but his didn't have any kidney beans!"

The necessaries

Steak: The meat's essentially braised in this dish, so stewing meat works just fine. You can also use meat that's already been cooked--for me this recipe was a way of using up the remainders of our Sunday roast. If you like, you can also use lamb.

Kidneys: Not necessarily easy to find, even over here, but if you have a halfway decent butcher near you, give them a call and see if they can get some for you. It doesn't really matter what kind of kidney you use--I've seen some recipes that call for ox kidneys, others lamb. I used lamb because that's what the butcher had. 3 or 4 of them should do the trick, but you can always use more or less, if you want to.


Stock: I always recommend a good stock when you're cooking. Some people use bouillon cubes, but I find them incredibly salty and fake-tasting. Why ruin a beautiful supper with sub-par ingredients? If you're feeling adventurous, try and get some bones and make your own stock. Our butcher handed me some lamb bones for free, so it never hurts to ask. If you can't find bones, make a vegetable stock--it's super easy, and you probably already have the ingredients in the kitchen anyway. Otherwise, grab a decent pre-made stock from the grocery. Beef is best for a true steak and kidney pie, but I used lamb stock because that's what I had and that worked just fine. And a vegetable stock would work as well; it just wouldn't have a very robust flavor.

Steak and Kidney Pie
1 lb stewing beef (or lamb, if you want to do a lamb and kidney pie)
3-4 lamb's kidneys
40g plain flour
cooking oil
knob of butter
250g mushrooms, cleaned and sliced (optional)
1 onion, halved and sliced
1T tomato paste
500 ml stock
3 sprigs thyme
bay leaf
2T Worcestershire sauce
500g puff pastry, chilled
1 egg, beaten

Cut each kidney in half lengthwise. See all that hard white stuff in there? You don't want that--it's like cartilage. Cut it out using either nail scissors or kitchen shears, but try not to completely butcher the kidney while you're at it. If there's any membrane on the outside of the kidney, remove that too. It should peel off fairly easily. Dice the kidneys.

Season a bit of the flour in salt and pepper and dredge the kidneys and the meat (if it's uncooked). Shake off excess flour. Heat some oil in a large saucepan or casserole on the hob over medium. Brown the meat and kidneys in batches and remove to a plate. Once that's done, add a bit more oil if necessary and brown the mushrooms, if you're using them. Set them aside with the meats.

Add the butter to the pan and fry the onions over medium-high heat, until soft and browned. Add the tomato paste and the remaining flour and mix well. Gradually stir in the stock and whisk to break up any lumps. Bring to the boil and stir for a few minutes, until it starts to thicken.

Return the meats and onions to the pan and add the thyme, bay leaf, and Worcestershire sauce. Partially cover and simmer for 1 to 1 1/2 hours, until the meat is tender and the sauce is thickened. Taste and adjust seasoning, if necessary. Set aside to cool a bit, so it doesn't melt the puff pastry.

Scoop the filling into a deep pie dish. Roll out the puff pastry and lay it gently over the filling, trimming around the edge. Cut a few slits in the top for steam to get through and put the pie in the fridge for 20 minutes to cool and firm up.

Preheat the oven to 200 degrees C/180 fan/Gas 6/400 degrees F. Brush the top of the pie with beaten egg and place it in the oven. Slide a baking sheet underneath it to catch any drips. Bake for 30-35 minutes, until the filling bubbles and the top is golden. Let sit for 10-15 minutes so the bubbling starts to calm down and dig in!

Eat a Gray, Save a Red

Eastern gray squirrels are obnoxious little bastards.

It's bad enough that they go after all your birdseed and lawn seed and whatever else they can get their greedy little paws on, but while they're helping themselves to all the food, they're actually killing off a lot of native squirrel populations, like the British red squirrel. They're like locusts, and they don't even belong in this country, they're native to the northeastern United States, so they're essentially wiping out their hosts, and that's just poor etiquette.

In an attempt to curb this ecological curb-stomping, the powers that be have set out to encourage us to eat more squirrel over here. Celebrity chefs have chowed down on the little buggers on their TV shows, and they've started showing up in farmers' markets (including ours, in Stockbridge). Perhaps ironically, food that would be considered backwoods redneck dinner by most people in the U.S. is total yuppie food over here.

And it's delicious.

The wild game and fish stall at the market first had squirrel a few weeks back, and I decided to look into some recipes and get it when it showed up again. This past Thursday, it was back, so I picked one up for 3.95, figuring that if I screwed this up, I'd only have lost 4 pounds. I did not screw it up, happily. Since it's a pretty lean meat (as you would expect) I thought it would be good for stewing, served up with some nice crusty multigrain bread from the baker at the market. Yesterday turned out to be cold and rainy, so I pulled out my squirrel, picked up a couple of extra ingredients and started experimenting. Here's what I came up with.

Mediterranean Squirrel Stew
Serves 2

1 gray squirrel, jointed
Flour
1/2 yellow onion, diced
2 cloves garlic, minced
A few T stock (whatever you have on hand), white wine, or water
1 carrot, peeled and diced
1 rib celery, diced
1 bay leaf
1 14-oz can diced tomatoes with juice (or whole peeled tomatoes, crushed up with your hands)
1 tsp dried oregano or 1T fresh, chopped
1 small, whole hot pepper, like a fingerling
1 potato, sliced fairly thinly
10-20 pitted green olives (optional)

Warm some olive or flavored rapeseed oil (I used the Supernature jalapeno flavor) in a skillet over medium heat. While it's warming, mix some salt and pepper with about 1/4 cup of flour and dredge the squirrel pieces in it, shaking off any excess.

Add the onion and garlic to the pan and saute just until they begin to color. Remove to a soup pot, crock pot, or large saucepan. Add more oil to the pan and brown the squirrel pieces on all sides. Add them to the pot with the onion and deglaze the pan with stock, wine, or water, scraping up any brown bits. Add that to the pot with the squirrel.

Add all remaining ingredients except for the potato and olives. If you're using a pot on the stove, bring the mixture to a boil, cover, lower the heat, and simmer for about an hour to an hour and a half, until the meat's done and coming off the bone easily. If you're using a slow cooker, put all the ingredients in the cooker and cook on high for 4-5 hours or low for 6-8.

Remove the meat and the hot pepper from the stew and set aside to cool a bit. When it's handleable, pull the meat from the bones, taking care to check that any small bits of bone have been removed (squirrel has a lot of little bone bits, so be careful). Return the meat to the pot with the remaining ingredients. Set the hot pepper on a cutting board, cut off the stem end, and run the blunt edge of a kitchen knife up the length of the pepper to squeeze out the seeds and guts. Return these to the pot (Note: if you don't like your food spicy, leave this step out) and discard the pepper skin.

Add the potatoes and olives to the pot, cover, and return to medium heat. Cook until the potatoes are done, about 10-20 minutes, depending on how thick they are. If the stew's rather watery, uncover and cook down for a few minutes over medium heat. Test for seasoning and adjust as necessary (I found I didn't even need to add salt, thanks to the olives). Serve with thick slices of toasted bread for sopping up juices.

Cliche though it sounds, I found that squirrel tastes a lot like chicken, but sweeter. It's quite a lovely meat that could be adapted to just about any chicken recipe, or you could just mess around and make up your own, like I did. If you're in the States, it might be hard to come across squirrel, unless you or someone you know is a really good hunter, but if you have the chance, give it a try, you might be surprised by how much you like it!

Rabbit and Leek Pie

One of the things I love about living here is the availability of a wide variety of game meats. Meats that were impossible to come by in the states, like venison, can be picked up in the local grocer, though we prefer to hit up the market or the local butcher. Once I realized I had two places I could get rabbit from (cheaply, no less) I decided to make something with it, because if there's one thing I know, it's that Thumper is every bit as delicious as Bambi's mom.

Rabbit meat's pretty lean, so it benefits from slow cooking in some kind of broth (so, stew or a pie, like this one). This recipe's adapted from Jamie Oliver, and it's fantastic. If you can't get rabbit, try it with chicken instead, but if you can get your hands on a rabbit, definitely give it a try--it's fab.

The necessaries:
A rabbit: If you're getting it from a butcher, see if he or she will cut it up for you, because breaking it down at home can be a giant pain. If you get it from somewhere whole, you can find instructions for breaking down a rabbit here.

Missy is not impressed

Leeks: We picked up a monster leek at the farmers' market for just a pound. If you can't find one roughly the size of a small child like we did, you'll need about 3-4 regular-sized ones.

Cider: The recipe calls for cider, by which it means alcoholic cider. Contrary to popular belief, not all the alcohol burns off during cooking, so if you're making this for someone who can't or shouldn't have alcohol, use a high-quality apple juice (try and find one with no added sugar) instead. You can also omit the cider and just double up on the stock.

Rabbit and Leek Pie
6 rashers smoked streaky bacon or 4 rashers smoked back bacon, diced
4 leeks (depending on size)
3 sprigs rosemary
1 rabbit, jointed into 8 pieces
3T flour
a knob of butter
600 mL (about 2 1/2 cups) chicken stock
500 mL (just over 2 cups, or 1 typical-size bottle) good-quality cider
Peas
Spinach or chard
zest of 1 lemon (don't omit this--it really makes the dish)
Puff pastry
1 egg, beaten and mixed with a little water

Fry the bacon in a bit of oil in a large pan or casserole. When the fat starts to render, add the leeks and rosemary and cook for 20 minutes or so, stirring often, until the leeks begin to color. Add the rabbit, flour, butter, stock, cider and cook on low for an hour and a half, until the meat's falling off the bone.

Let the meat rest for a bit to cool off, then pull it off the bones and return the meat to the broth mixture. Stir in the peas and spinach and let simmer for 5 minutes (or longer, if the broth seems too thin). Add the lemon zest.

Preheat the oven to 200 degrees centigrade (approximately 400 degrees farenheit). Roll out the pastry to about 1 cm thickness. Pour the rabbit/broth mixture into a baking dish and top with the pastry, making slashes so steam can escape. Brush the top with egg wash and pop in the oven for 25 minutes, until the pastry is golden and puffed and the broth is bubbling. Remove and let sit for about 5-10 minutes to calm down. Eat like you're starving.

By the way, I can happily report that this reheats beautifully and is still delicious a day or two later!

Haggis, Neeps, and Tatties

Oh, haggis. Robert Burns loved you; most Americans hear about your ingredients and can barely finish their breakfast sausage. But you're a really beautiful, brilliant, delicious thing, and I'm a lucky girl because one of the excellent butchers near my flat makes it in-house and it's fabulous.

For the past few days, my husby's been waxing rhapsodic about haggis, neeps, and tatties--a traditional (I believe) Scottish supper dish, and what Honey wants Honey gets. The dish is typically made with a steamed or baked haggis and mashed root vegetables, but I thought that might be a bit too much soft on the plate, so I opted to make a root vegetable hash. The result: fantastically delicious and wholly satisfying. I paired it with a really lovely, slightly spicy Spanish wine I picked up at Waitrose for the princely sum of 4 pounds. Livin' large, here.

The necessaries

Haggis: Hard to find in the U.S., everywhere over here. Many balk at the idea of eating a food that's mainly offal, forgetting entirely that that's basically what all sausages are. Haggis is a type of sausage and mostly tastes like the spices that are used in it. Be bold and give it a try--you might surprise yourself.

Neeps: We thought the neeps were parsnips, but they're actually turnips. By the time we realised, the parsnips (a root veg that looks like an anemic carrot) had already been purchased, so I threw them in as well and found they added a welcome sweetness to the dish.

Tatties: Potatoes. Get some nice firm ones that stand up to roasting.

Haggis with Neeps and Tatties Hash
Serves 4

1 small haggis, traditional or vegetarian
2 medium-sized potatoes, diced large
1 medium swede (the vegetable, not a tourist) or 2 turnips, diced large
2-3 parsnips, sliced chunky
1 small onion, sliced crosswise
3 slices or rashers of bacon or cubed smoked pork
Brussels sprouts, split lengthwise
Olive oil
Fresh herbs

Bring a pot of water to the boil on the hob. Add the swede/turnips and boil for about 5 minutes. Add the potatoes and parsnips and boil another 3-5 minutes, until just starting to get slightly fork tender. Drain and cool slightly.

In a frying pan, saute the bacon until it starts to color or render fat (if you're using streaky bacon). Add the onion and saute together for about 2-3 minutes, until the onion takes on a creamy color.

Preheat the oven to 180 degrees celsius/350 farenheit.

Put the parboiled root vegetables and brussels sprouts in a bowl and toss with olive oil and herbs (I used thyme and rosemary). Add the bacon and onion and toss.

If the haggis is in an outer packaging, remove it. Prick the haggis all over with a fork and wrap it in aluminum foil. Set it in the middle of a baking dish and arrange the roasting vegetables around it. Roast for 40 mins to an hour, until the vegetables are browned and the haggis is steaming. Split the casing around the haggis  and scoop out the insides to serve with the veg.