Gifts From Away

Man In Comfortable Shoes Bearing Crab Soup

 

Firstly, I’m shocked that you’ve opened a tin of crab meat for this dish.  Isn’t that running contrary to your manifesto or something?  First rule:  shun all things canned. Secondly, you’re wearing socks.  This is the first time in six years? Have you been replaced in the night with a more sensitive human being?

Mrs. F has taken up knitting.  Can you believe this?  After the endless scarves, she turned to socks. 

Shouldn’t homemade socks be purple or yellow & green stripey things?

Mrs. F has made twelve pairs of red socks for herself.  I told her I will wear only white.  She has made one pair and that was my lot.  And thank God because they itch like a bastard.

I think that was very generous of her.  Before we start we should raise a glass to Devon and Cornwall.  Things have been a little damp over there.   Our very dear friends are down in Cornwall.  You’d get on famously with them.  She made the best tomato sandwiches.   Of course that was back in the old days when tomatoes had taste.  How on earth do you stand travelling through Florida?  I don’t need to tell you what they do to tomatoes down there.  What do you do, smuggle a crate down with you?

You would say I martyr myself for the cause. 

I feel sorry for Mrs. F

She’s too busy mixing drinks to notice.

 

 

Devonshire Crab Soup

For 2 persons.

 

1 oz butter

1 onion

1 stalk celery

3 oz long grain rice

2 C milk

8 oz crab meat

1 C chicken stock

2 tsp fish sauce

2 TBSP brandy

5 oz 35% cream

Sauté onion and celery with butter. 

Add rice and milk.  Cook for 15 mins. Puree.

Add crab, stock, brandy and sauce.

Simmer, heating through. Add cream-don’t let it boil.

 

Celebration Cocktail~Happy Thanksgiving

Frederick is back;  just in time for Thanksgiving. We dusted off a couple of glasses and sat down for the full story.  Mrs. F back in two days.

For two persons.

SHAKE & STRAIN:

1oz brandy, 1/2 oz lemon juice, 1/2 oz simple syrup, 1 oz guava & mango juice

TOP EACH FLUTE w/: 

3oz Brut rose or your choice of sparkling wine

So that's where they went?

Sulking would be a more accurate description.  But four weeks of it?

Apparently she’d eaten all thirty pieces of his stuffed morels.  I wondered why things had gone quiet.

These were no ordinary morels.  Frederick had to cross international borders; meaning a passport renewal.  He hates having his picture taken.  The MOT close ups are the reason he doesn’t drive anymore.

The pleasure of tromping through woodland in search for the elusive fungus outweighs the inconvenience of a double chin.

You were wondering where the evidence was?  Mrs. F. knows.

Garlic and crab stuffed morels.  Thirty pieces of gland aching delight.

Who amongst us could resist?

What does that leave us with?  Zucchini. 
To be continued.

 

 

In the garden, with flats on.

Nestled under the tree with the second half of the Fizz.  Perfect afternoon of shoulder weather.  The solo bass lines were quite hypnotic.  It had been steadily playing for the last hour which meant the kitchen was closed for the day. Music is welcome in the garden as long as it's the right kind of music.   I would throw Bach’s solo cello into the mix. There was a rustle in the shrubbery; I traded one chair for another and charged my glass.  We swapped notes on the canoe; in the same spot as before.  Some people erect fencing, others merely lean watercraft against a shed.

A chair was no match for my host and he sank down onto a puffy cushioned divan.



Everything looks so well manicured.  We've often wondered about that.

I like order with the vegetables and chaos with the flowers.  My wife is the opposite but she cannot cook. This is why she is not allowed anywhere near my kitchen.  I would never find anything.  Don't let her near yours. 

And the grass?

Chamomile.

Oh, like the book.

Book?

The Chamomile Lawn.

Never heard of it.  My wife tells me you cook.  Do you cook or merely think you can cook?

I like a complicated recipe.  It doesn't always like me.

Complicated is never worth the stress. Simple is good. People have no appreciation for the amount of work you’ve put into a dish.  Remind me to give you some asparagus before you go.  If you can handle the asparagus, we’ll see about mushrooms.

 

Frederick-Afternoon Tea

Took afternoon tea with the pair and decided a plate of Welsh scones would be a safe dish. No fear of going wrong with this.  People are particular about scones.  They can vary from lead to clay.  The Welsh don't disappoint.

A cool room on a hot day.
Well worn leather chairs.  I found out later how well travelled they were. I sunk into one.
Nobody ever sits in a chair, do they?  They are always hanging about the edge looking constipated.

I have been watching you.

Not something one is accustomed to hearing over a cup of tea and pastry.

Of course, I'd been watching the house, too.  But I didn't tell them that. Probably didn't have to.

Cups and saucers.  Refrained from looking at the underside.  Where have I seen this pattern?
Not one but two teapots-his and hers. He favours loose, she's the Bag Lady. It's her little joke which Frederick does not find remotely amusing.

Smoked salmon, pate and a cheese board. Delicious.

You are sleeping better these ...?

A bell went in the kitchen and off he went.

We won't see him again, today.  Meringues.  She whispered the word.
I think we're all sleeping better these days, no?  Everyone says so.  Frederick is such a snob about tea.  I can't stand it.  Give me a bag, any day. He really is the most tiresome little man. I only stay for the cooking.
More scones?

Frederick-an introduction-after the cat

I took a few steps back and was mortified to see divets.  I offered up the spoon.  Apologies didn't seem quite enough.

Come with me. He turned and walked to the house.  Considering his height and girth, he moved fast.

Was that Wagner?  He took three glasses from the cupboard and poured a snifter of armagnac.  A woman appeared in the archway. Frederick's wife-tall, flaming hair, clad in a striped leotard and platform shoes. Wagner was abruptly silenced.

What are we drinking to this time? 

We drank to the end of cats and the pre-dawn departure of our neighbours.  How long will it be before that canoe finds a home?

Common ground, at last?

Cafe de Paris

PREP. PREP. PREP. 

It cannot be said enough.  Prepare your ingredients and have everything on the counter ready.

Frederick has a French bias.  He alluded to the French Resistance but I can't imagine it was his war.  He won't tell me his age, so it is entirely possible. 

There is a framed article hanging in his kitchen on Antonin Careme-father of le grand cuisine. Frederick's wife said she wouldn't be caught dead wearing Empire waists.  She's heard one lecture after another on the superiority of the French cuisine. 

"It's not the complexity, but the simplicity of it all that makes it so."  Or so he says.

 

On my travels this past summer I picked up a mint condition second hand At Elizabeth David's Table. Ms. David had a touch of the curmudgeon in her.  Does David pass muster in F's kitchen?  The editor of Table feels that David has not been given her due.  Frederick feels we've heard more than enough on this grand dame of the kitchen. 

 

Partridge was initially suggested, but it's been an age since the last roast pheasant so faisan it was.  "Brevity is my forte." was Ms. David's motto.  Her recipes are short and to the point so I've taken the liberty of elaborating just a wee bit.

One has to start a meal right.  Gin and Pernod work the appetite effectively on their own so why not combine the two?

 

 

 

cafe de paris

2 oz gin

1 tsp Pernod

1 tsp cream

1 egg white

shake and strain to martini glass; delicious

Notes from F:  Pernod should be drunk with a little cold water to cloud it.  Don't sully it with creme and eggs!


scallops with pancetta & white wine

 

 

 

 

I like three scallops per person.  David calls for two chopped scallops but this looks like a pile of stuff on the plate as opposed to nicely presented scallops and dressing.



 

For every two servings:

 

scallops; rinse & pat dry

1 TBSP flour

fresh pepper to taste

2oz pancetta, chopped

1 TBSP butter

1 large shallot, chopped

1/3 C white wine

chopped parsley to finish

 

Sautee shallot in butter 'til translucent.  Add pancetta. Cook 'til crisping up.  Sprinkle scallops with flour.  Cook 4 min per side.  Remove from pan and keep warm.  Add wine; low boil 'til thickened.

 

I sauteed a little baby bok choy to use as a bed or accompaniment and a bit of colour.

 

Notes from F:  give the pancetta room and time to cook; we're not setting it on fire but cubed pancetta is an unusual texture; finely dice to ensure crisping.

 

 

pheasant with chestnut sauce

 

Chestnut sauce (make ahead)

 

½ lb chestnuts

3 TBSP butter

2 celery stalk

one slice bacon

6 TBSP port

6 TBSP water

Conservative sprinkle of salt

2 TBSP stock OR 35 % cream

Buttered parchment paper

Score chestnuts and roast in 350F oven for 15 mins.  Shell and skin.  Chop into quarters.

Sautee celery, bacon and when tender and crisp add chestnuts, port, water, salt.

Cover and cook for 30 minutes.

 

Roast pheasant in parchment paper, one side for 20 min; second side for 15 mins at 375F then right side up for 20 mins (I gave it  10 extra minutes)

 

Reheat sauce adding cream or stock. 

 

Go with stock as reheating addition. The sauce has a good colour but with the addition of cream, it turned a sickly purple; BUT with further cooking browned nicely

 

Notes from F.~ pay attention to the weight, adjust time accordingly;  allow for extra roasting time; nothing is gained from prolonged parchment cooking; wrap bird in bacon for moisture

Buy good quality bacon.

As chestnuts cook, break them down to smaller pieces.

Don’t let the sauce boil its gut out with the lid on; simmer, simmer, simmer!

Don’t forget to check the inside of the bird for neck, kidneys, etc;  roast the heart for the stock or to garnish the breast!

 

 

 

Good luck on your quest for a pheasant.  Do plan ahead and get a reputable butcher to order one in for you unless you happened to be out in farm country and see one grazing in a farmer's field.

 

pommes de terre l’echirlete  (aka roast potatoes)

½ lb new potatoes

Chicken stock to cover

2 garlic cloves

1 TBSP animal fat

Simmer potatoes in broth. Finish by roasting in bacon fat and minced garlic.

Notes from F:  fat should be hot!

 

 

 



 

 

 chocolate pots (from the delightful Jamie Oliver)

 

 

1 C 18 % cream

7 oz  70% chocolate-broken into pieces

2 yolks

3 TBSP brandy

1 TBSP butter

2 TSP butter

Heat cream ‘til just about on the boil.  Let cool a couple of minutes and incorporate chocolate.  Stir ‘til smooth.  Beat in yolks and brandy. 

Cool.

Beat in butter ‘til smooth.

 Suggested serving to pour into espresso sized cups or other vessel.

Notes:  used 85 % cocoa second time around; received lecture on why not to go any higher than 70 %

The brandy does the job of the other 15% taste-wise

A dollop of whipped 35 % wouldn’t go a miss if you find it too strong!

Original recipe notes that separation can occur if you add the butter too early; it’s your best judgement on gauging the correct temperature; if in doubt, leave a minute longer.  For some reason mine worked.

 

Pouilly Fuisse for the table. Dry but doesn’t suck the life out of your mouth.

Frederick extra: Pouilly comes from Pouilly sur Loire, a small town on the East bank of the Loire.  Lots of fine vineyards in Pouilly and Sancerre which sits opposite.  (I was spared the details on the romp through a vineyard with a fine young mademoiselle.  I have the cognac to thank for that.)

 

 

Fasting 101

The argument went long into the night.

It was a fast, not a hunger strike!  As much as you're willing to die for your cause, you're not going to achieve this by drinking soup broth.  I've drunk that stuff and let me tell you, there's enough there to keep a team of oxen going through ploughing season.

Point taken.

Frederick Hates Cats, Too (an introduction of sorts)

 

Curiosity peaked.  Whoever lived there had kept a low, low profile. Never saw a shadow, regardless of the time of day.  I had even made a point of changing my routines in an effort to discover who the owner was.  The nightly constitutional proved disappointing.  Where do people disappear to?  Off to stare at the big, blue screen? 

The grass was perfectly manicured, landscaped beds produced vast quantities of tulips and daffodils in the Spring, roses throughout the Summer and there was no need for Jesus when it came to the vegetable patch.  Patch being a gross misnomer.  Cigar smoke and The American Songbook drifted in nightly.  Unlike the daily assault of grease emanating from the next door neighbour’s window; aromas of fresh chopped chive and baked bread found its way out of the courtyard.

It was pure chance encounter. He was chasing (or rather attacking) a trespassing cat when I first came upon him.  I had gone to the alley to confirm my suspicions about the noise.  Cats mean rats and the sudden appearance of two dead rats in the alley set panic amongst the neighbours.  The cat ran for one of its nine lives and was promptly followed by a rather large wooden spoon.  I took a tentative step to retrieve it.  What kind of pot needs such a large spoon?  The gate hadn’t latched and I decided it was now or never.  A few more steps. 

 

“Damn it woman, get your heels off the lawn!”