Category Archives: dairy

Kentish Lenten pie

As Easter approaches, many people look forward to the end of Lent – the period during which, traditionally, we deny ourselves a favourite luxury as an act of penitence and in remembrance of the forty days Jesus spent fasting in the desert before starting his ministry. For most, Lent starts on Ash Wednesday – the day after Shrove Tuesday, a pre-Lent festival of indulgence – and ends on Maundy Thursday.

In times past, Kent folk broke the monotony of Lenten fasting – particularly abstention from meat – with a simple pie filled with a mixture of ground rice, eggs, butter and sugar (and lemon and nutmeg), and with a handful of currants scattered over the top. The exact origins of the pie are unclear. Perhaps the first published version is that given by Eliza Acton in 1845, but I rather suspect that the pie was being made well before that time.

Similarly, there is dispute over date on which the pie is supposed to be eaten. According to Steve Roud, it is either the first Sunday in Lent, or the middle Sunday of Lent, i.e. Mothering Sunday. Eliza Acton, on the other hand, makes no mention of a specific day, but observes merely that ‘[the pie] is made in abundance [in Kent], and eaten by all classes of people during Lent.’

These days, you can find numerous recipes for the pie, but its core ingredients remain the same whichever version you choose. The filling is ‘puddingy’, rather like a proper old-fashioned Bakewell pudding (not the new-fangled tart) or baked cheesecake, and is enclosed (but not covered) by a pastry shell.

I suppose I would say this, but I think it’s delicious, and well worth making as a Lenten treat – or, for that matter, at any time of year! It certainly deserves a wider audience.

The following recipe makes sufficient for a 20cm tart.

For the pastry:
175g plain flour
75g butter, diced
3-4 tbsp cold water

For the filling:
300ml milk
(or 200ml milk and 100ml double cream for a richer version)
30g ground rice
75g softened butter, diced
75g golden caster sugar
2 large eggs, beaten
1 bay leaf
finely grated zest of 2 lemons
1/2 tsp freshly grated nutmeg
1/2 vanilla pod, seeds only
30g currants

Heat the oven to 190C/375F/Gas 5.

Put the butter and plain flour in a large bowl. Rub together, as you would for a crumble, until the mixture has the appearance of fine breadcrumbs. Gradually stir in the cold water, mixing all the time, until it all just comes together to form a dough. Work it very lightly, then roll it out on a floured surface.

Ease the pastry into the tart case, and gently nudge it into the edges. Prick the bottom all over with a fork, and put it in the fridge for 20 minutes or so to chill and relax properly.

When it’s ready, bake the pastry case blind (with ceramic beans to weight it down) for 15-20 minutes. Remove the beans, then put the case back in the oven for another 5 minutes until it turns a light golden brown.

In the meantime, put the milk (and cream, if using) and bay leaf in a non-stick saucepan. Warm the milk gently, and then turn off the heat and set the pan aside for a short while to allow the bay to infuse.

Remove the bay leaf, add the rice to the liquid, and bring it all slowly to the boil, stirring all the time. Once the mixture has boiled, keep stirring until it thickens appreciably – this will take no more than a few seconds. Remove from the heat and allow to cool.

In a bowl, cream the softened butter and sugar until light and fluffy. Gradually whisk in the beaten eggs, and then add the lemon zest, nutmeg, vanilla, and rice mixture. Combine everything together thoroughly until you have a smooth but thickish batter.

Carefully pour the mixture into the cooked pastry shell. Scatter the currants over. Bake the pie for 25-30 minutes, until it’s turned golden brown and is set throughout. Leave to cool a little before serving. Good eaten warm or cold.

Kentish Pan Cake

Pancakes have long been a British favourite, and certainly ever since the first cookbooks started being published on these shores. Hannah Glasse, arguably the first ‘proper’ English recipe writer, writing back in the eighteenth century, included a recipe for pancakes in her seminal tome, ‘The Art of Cookery’, and the formula for making them has barely changed since then.

Most of us, I suspect, are used to eating them one at a time. Tucking into a stack of them is, Dorothy Hartley once observed, something done ‘abroad’. ‘In England’, by contrast, ‘our pancakes are symbols of our insular detachment, for each is rolled up by itself, aloof, with its own small slice of lemon’.

Here in Kent, however, we like – or at least, liked, once upon a time – to do things differently. Maybe it’s because of our proximity to the continent, or perhaps it’s born from hearty appetites brought on by hard agricultural toil. Whatever the reason, a recipe cited by Pat Smith, in the Kentish edition of the quaint Salmon series of recipe books, is sure to meet with approval by those who like their pancakes. The Kentish Pan Cake is much as it sounds: a ‘cake’ of pancakes piled high, and made Kentish by the addition of chopped apples.

It bears resemblance to another old recipe book favourite, the Quire of Papers, but is less light (having a greater proportion of flour) and rather more rich.

Kentish Pan Cake
3 eggs
2 whites of egg
0.25pt milk
0.25pt double cream
2 tablespoons sherry (I used a medium dry)
3 dessertspoons brandy (I used my homemade quince ratafia – recipe to follow on here shortly)
4oz flour
A pinch of powdered ginger
A pinch of salt
Grated nutmeg to taste
1 tablespoon caster sugar
Half a medium-sized cooking apple

Put everything but the sugar and apple into a mixing bowl and beat well with a whisk until smooth.

Peel and core the apple, chop it finely, and add it to the batter along with the sugar. Leave the batter to stand for 30 minutes.

Lightly oil the frying pan with lard (sunflower oil will do, but lard is far preferable as it gives a crisper finish), and heat the pan over a high flame until the oil or lard is smoking.

Add a small ladle of batter to the pan, and swirl it around to fully cover the base of the pan. You’re aiming for thinness, not American-style pancakes. When it’s golden brown (no more than a minute or so), flip it and cook on the other side. Turn out onto greaseproof paper on a warm plate. Repeat until you’ve used all the batter – using a small frying pan, I managed to eke out 12 pancakes.

Turn the stack onto a warm plate and dredge liberally with icing sugar, and then slice into generous wedges. Smith advocates serving the cake with apple purée and whipped cream, but it’s entirely up to you. My own preference is for caramelised apples and double cream.

Happy Shrove Tuesday!

wild mushroom and cob nut galette

With all the upcoming Christmas festivities in prospect, it’s time to make sure that everyone’s catered for. Delicious in its own right, but particularly perfect for a non meat-eater at Christmas, this mushroom and cob nut ‘galette’ is simple to make and full of seasonal flavours.

If you’re quick, it’s still possible to get hold of Kentish cob nuts for Christmas from Farnell Farm or Potash Farm. You can use hazelnuts instead, but cob nuts have a much richer, creamier, and – dare I say – nuttier hit that’s worth going the extra mile for. Similarly, although I prefer wild mushrooms, you can happily use other well-flavoured mushrooms instead, such as chestnut or portabello.

This recipe is a much simplified adaptation of one by the Irish food writer and restaurateur, Denis Cotter, from ‘Wild Garlic, Gooseberries, and Me’. If you want to try your hand at more unusual vegetarian food, or if you’re looking for a Christmas present for a keen cook, then I thoroughly recommend any of Cotter’s books.

Anyway, to the recipe… It may look a little fiddly, but it’s really quite straightforward and quick to make. Serves 4.

Ingredients
300g or so wild mushrooms, coarsely chopped
100g cob nuts, coarsely chopped
1 large celeriac, peeled
100g mascarpone
small bunch flat-leafed parsley, finely chopped
400ml red wine
200ml passata
1 tsp brown sugar
2 sprigs thyme
about 50g butter
seasoning, to taste

First, make the red wine and passata sauce. Put the red wine, passata, thyme, and sugar in a saucepan, and bring to the boil. Reduce the heat, and leave to simmer until reduced by half. Remove the thyme. Set aside.

Slice the celeriac as thinly as possible, and trim to the size and shape you want (mine were about 7cm squared). Shallow fry the slices, one at a time, in hot oil until tender and golden. Drain on kitchen roll and set aside.

In a large frying pan, heat a generous knob of butter until it begins to foam. Add the mushrooms to the pan, and sauté briskly over a high heat, until cooked and browned. Add the chopped parsley and 1 chopped sprig of thyme leaves right at the end of the cooking, and stir in.

Leave to cool slightly, and then add the mascarpone and chopped cob nuts, and mix in until properly incorporated. Season the mixture to taste.

Layer the galette, starting with a slice of celeriac, then a mushroom and cob nut layer, and so on, finishing with a slice of celeriac.

Reheat the red wine and tomato sauce, and whisk in a small knob of cold butter, so that the sauce becomes glossy. Carefully spoon it around the galette. Serve!

apple, butternut squash, ginger, and cobnut trifle

After a couple of hearty courses, the thought of a hefty pudding often defeats me. But a trifle… well, a trifle can always tempt me!

At this time of year, though, it seems fitting to make a version that’s in keeping with the seasons, rather than using frozen berries for a summer trifle, or rushing into clementines and sherry for a traditional Christmas or winter style one.

So here’s my offering. A late autumnal trifle using local apples, butternut squash, and my favourite Kentish cobnuts. It is simple to make, and utterly delicious. If nothing else (and if you’re not a trifle fan), I urge you to make the butternut squash sponge as an alternative to the more usual carrot cake.

You will need (for 4 people):

Apple purée – 3 or 4 large Bramleys, chopped. Put them in a saucepan with a splash of water and sugar to taste (a couple of tablespoons or so). Cook until the apples have become purée and all the water has disappeared.

For the butternut squash and ginger sponge – I simply used this recipe as my basis, and added 3 finely chopped balls of ginger in syrup. And, instead of using muffin tins, I poured the cake batter into a 20 x 20cm square tin. The result is a flattish sponge, perfect for cutting up and using in trifle. Soak the sponge in your preferred alcohol – I’d suggest dry cider or brandy.

For the custard: use your preferred recipe. A custard which incorporates cornflour, for a thicker, more stable custard, is ideal when making trifle. I also added a couple of spoonfuls of ginger syrup to mine.

Double cream: you’ll need however much you want – whipped until it reaches firm peak stage.

Cobnuts: a couple of generous handfuls, roasted in a warm oven (180C) for about 15 minutes. When the nuts have cooled, rub them between your hands to rid them of the as much of the skins as possible. Then chop coarsely.

Assemble your trifle however you like, but finishing with a layer of the whipped cream and a topping of chopped cobnuts.

fresh goat cheese

The sunshine and warmth that we’ve been enjoying here in the last week or so is promising Spring. And with it, thoughts of renewal – green shoots, nascent buds, and, of course, the lambing season.

But, of course, it’s not just ewes who are busy giving birth at the moment. When I visited The Goods Shed in Canterbury last week, the cheese monger – George, of Cheesemakers of Canterbury – had an intriguing-looking parcel on his counter. When I asked him what it contained, his eyes shone, as though looking at gold bullion for the first time.

fresh goat cheese 1

He had just taken delivery of the first fresh goat’s cheese of the season – that is, the first cheese to be made from goats who have just kidded. As you might imagine, the milk the goats produce is particularly rich and delicious.

The resulting cheese, made by an elderly couple in East Sussex, is a revelation. If you’ve ever had a really good cream cheese – imagine that, and then imagine it twice or three times as good. This is beautifully creamy, intense, tangy, grassy, and lactic all at the same time. A wonderful treat, and one to be savoured. For me, it’s so special that I wouldn’t want to eat it with anything else, but George recommended placing a slice of it atop a grilled lamb chop. And I would never argue with George!

fresh goat cheese 2

Kentish cheese biscuits

Is there anyone who doesn’t like cheese biscuits, I wonder? As a child, one of the most exciting things about Christmas was the prospect of those that my grandmother’s made. A huge plateful would emerge from the kitchen on Christmas evening, fresh baked and warm, just at that time when everyone was starting to feel a tiny twinge of hunger again on emerging from the post-lunch slump. Nothing else hit the mark quite like those little pastry bites packed full of umami. 

Reminded of them as I was recently by a friend’s blogpost and recipe, I bought some local cheeses and made my own. I used a mix of the Canterbury Cheesemakers’ distinctive, sharp Cheddar-style cheese, Ashmore, together with an interloper from across the border – Twineham Grange, a Sussex-made parmesan-type cheese. And, instead of using black poppy seeds, I used white – which, to me, have a greater affinity with cheese. But use whatever you have – the virtue of this recipe is that it’s infinitely adaptable. Hard, sharp cheeses tend to work best, however.

cheese biscuits

Serve warm or cold. Either way, they’re irresistible – and far too good to make only at Christmas.

Kentish cob nut and carrot top pesto

It’s at this time of year that I tend to make pesto out of almost anything fresh, green, and leafy – not just herbs, but beet greens, radish tops, spinach… you name it. So when @CarlLegge tweeted brief details of a version that he’d made from carrot tops, I felt compelled to try it for myself.

carrot top pesto 1

But since I have a kitchen filled with Kentish ingredients, the challenge of tweaking Carl’s recipe to make a more local version also tickled my fancy. And, of course, its adaptability is in any case part of pesto’s appeal. Ask a hundred Italians, and you will hear a hundred different methods of making the stuff!

I also decided to keep the carrot tops raw in order to harness as much of their essence as possible. Together with the sweet golden Kent-grown cob nuts, cold-pressed buttery rapeseed oil from north Kent (Quex Estate), and umami-tangy Lord of the Hundreds cheese (which tastes somewhere between Parmesan and pecorino, and is made in East Sussex), my version makes for a fragrant and wonderfully flavoursome pesto which captures all the goodness of summer’s carrots.

carrot top pesto 2

Kentish cob nut and carrot top pesto (serves 4)
(I give inexact quantities quite deliberately. For me, pesto is all about playing with your ingredients until you achieve the flavour and texture you prefer.)

A large handful of fresh, well-washed carrot tops (about 100g) – they need to be as fresh as possible, as older tops will introduce an unwelcome bitterness. Discard any particularly thick stems, as they will be overly fibrous
A handful of shelled cob nuts (about 50 – 75g)
About 75g or so of Lord of the Hundreds, or any cheese similar to Parmesan or pecorino
As much rapeseed oil as you need for your preferred consistency – probably 150-200ml or so
Half a garlic clove
Sea salt and black pepper

Roughly chop the carrot tops and garlic, and put them in a food processor together with the cob nuts, cheese, oil, and seasoning.

(Note – if you want a more toasted flavour to the pesto, pre-roast the nuts for about 20 mins in the oven at about 160C, or by ‘frying’ them in a pan on the hob for a few minutes. Watch them very carefully, though – once they start releasing their oils, they burn very quickly.)

Pulse until you have pesto! As Carl says, be prepared to scrape down the processor every so often to ensure everything is properly blended. Taste as you go along and adjust the quantities of your ingredients to suit. You may also want to add a squirt of lemon juice at the end.

If you don’t eat it immediately, spoon the pesto into a jar, and seal it with a layer of more oil – half a centimetre should be fine. This will stop the pesto deteriorating and will help it retain its colour.

carrot top pesto 3

Use as you would do ‘normal’ pesto. With pasta is probably the obvious choice, but I also like to stir a couple of tablespoons through puy lentils, served with (confit) roast pork belly.

The original, slightly shorter version of this post first appeared in Permaculture online.