Hot Water Pastry

Hot water pastry is a strangely-made but traditional pastry used for making raised pies. This includes the venerable pork pie, most popular in the UK (and one or two other places), but also extends to include veal or game pies. What distinguishes a raised pie from an everyday pie is the lack of pie dish. The pie itself is placed on a baking tray, and the sturdy walls of pastry are left to hold in the filling as best they can. Correctly made hot water pastry is easily up to the job, however, and constructing a hand-raised pork pie is an excellent excuse to melt a block of lard and stir in some flour.

Okay, there's a little more to it than that, but not much. Hot water pastry is simple, perhaps because it seems to break all the rules held most dear to the experienced pastry chef. Keeping it cool, refraining from overworking the mixture - all of that means nothing when it comes to hot water pastry. Something of a masochist, this pastry likes it hot and will thank you kindly for a good beating...

You'll need:
350g (12 oz) plain flour
A pinch of salt
1 egg yolk
4 tablespoons of milk
4 tablespoons of water
25g (1 oz) butter
75g (3 oz) lard

Begin by sifting the flour and salt into a bowl and making a well in the centre. Mix the egg yolk with one tablespoon of the milk and pour it into the well. Don't worry about it needing to be cold; warm milk and flour is perfectly acceptable for hot water pastry, mainly because in a moment you're going to heat the lard, butter and remaining milk and water in a saucepan.

Only heat it gently at first, just to allow the lard to melt, and then bring it to a brisk boil. Pour this into the well and mix until everything is completely blended. By this time your mixture should have cooled to the point where you can comfortably handle it, in which case it's time to tip it onto a floured work surface.

Knead it thoroughly until the pastry is smooth, at which point the pastry needs to rest for about half an hour. Keep it warm as it rests - the best way being to place in a bowl over a saucepan of hot water. Covering it with a clean cloth at this point is also beneficial.

Following this the pastry can be rolled out to a thickness of about 5 mm (quarter of an inch) and used as required. To create a pie case the pastry can be moulded around the bottom of a jar. Upon removing the jar it can be filled with whatever takes your fancy - rich pork and onion filling or a beef and gravy mixture - and topped off with a pastry lid before baking. Delicious!

Hot Water Pastry: Merely one of a series of adventures in the peculiar realms of British cuisine!

Teapot

I'm a little teapot, short and stout.
Here's my handle, here's my spout.
When I get all steamed up, hear me shout:
Tip me up and pour me out!

The teapot, a hollow vessel in which tea is brewed and from which it is ultimately poured is now well-known around the world. Seemingly a boring, unremarkable and utilitarian item of pottery, one might feel it is difficult to get excited about the teapot. Well, even if becoming excited is out of the question, becoming educated certainly isn't...

The Origins Of Tea Drinking

(Or 'Who discovered that cows give milk, and what did he think he was doing at the time?')

There are two legends concerning the origins of tea. Shen Nong, a Chinese Emperor from the third century BC was sitting beneath a tree, boiling his drinking water when the leaves of the tree fell into his bowl. The taste, not unpleasant to the Emperor, quickly increased in popularity. A plausible tale, if you can get past the idea that the Emperor's mother obviously never warned him about eating berries, mud or, indeed, the liquid formed from brewing mysterious leaves.

Either way, the second legend is probably less believable, though it may possess a little more romantic appeal. It is the fifth century, and a Dharuma Buddhist monk has travelled fromChina to India, pursuing his faith. During the fifth year of a seven-year meditation he finds sleep is beginning to overcome him. Offended by his own eyelids, he cuts them off and hurls them to the ground. At this very spot, a tea plant springs, from which the monk cuts the leaves and brews them. The drink produced, he finds, keeps him awake, allowing him to pursue his spiritual studies.

Regardless of how, Camellia sinensis, the common tea plant, is now consumed all over the world. It was first cultivated in the 4th century when wild plants were taken from China toIndia. This evergreen tree is kept at a manageable five foot height, the leaves picked by hand, one worker picking enough tea per day to produce around 2800 cups.

Brewing Up: The Rising In The East

('If you have enjoyed this drink, why not share it with your friends?' - Nutrimatic Drinks Dispenser)

Teapots were not immediately used upon the discovery of tea. Even in the 8th century tea leaves were hand rolled, dried and ground into powder. This powder, mixed with salt, was dried into cakes which were added to hot water, forming a thick liquid, prized for its supposed medicinal value. These cakes eventually gave way, in 9th century Japan, to the powder remaining in loose form, which was simply added to hot water and whisked vigorously. Indeed, it was not until the beginning of the Ming Dynasty, 1368 to 1644, that leaf infusion became commonplace.

It is from this era that the earliest examples of teapots originate. Made from the characteristic clay of the YiXing region of China, these strong yet delicate pots were used as both brewing and drinking vessel, each tea-drinker being provided with an individual-sized pot. Tea was sipped directly from the spout, making the transition from brewing bowl to teapot a smooth one.

Demand for teapots spread from China to Japan, and by the 15th century tea-drinking had evolved a complex set of ceremonies, drunk for social reasons rather than simply for medicinal beliefs. The teapot was no longer merely a brewing vessel, but had the added dimension of artistic merit. Teapots with themes were introduced; red clay or shudei teapots became prized as creative pieces, as did the well-seasoned YiXing pots. The Japanese province of Bizen became renowned for its earthenware, and new techniques were developed to produce these delicate and highly-prized vessels.

Brewing Up: Go West!

('Tea to the English is really a picnic indoors.' - Alice Walker)

Tea, at this point, began to spread into the West. Mirroring the evolution of tea-drinking in the East, tea was first used in herbal infusions and tisanes. By the seventeenth century Europe had adopted the drink with enthusiasm, labelling it 'cha' after the Cantonese name, and a little later British inhabitants were showing increasing interest in the beverage, adopting theAmoy term 'tay'.

Teapots arrived in Europe with the first shipments of tea, however, and by 1883 the East India Tea Company, formed in 1669, was importing YiXing teapots. Portuguese traders also began importing teapots, naming the pottery buccaro or boccaro ware after the delicate red earthenware seen in South and Central America. These imports had an influence, of course, on European versions of teapots, which were quick to follow.

Initially, the European teapot, often constructed from silver or ceramic would also be used for coffee or hot chocolate, and the earliest known British vessel designed specifically for brewing tea is the silver ewer now featured at the Victoria And Albert Museum in London. It is inscribed '1670 - tea-Pott'. This dates it within ten years of a ceramic European teapot, made between 1670 and 1680 by Arij de Milde in the Dutch town of Delft. The European version, unlike the tall, silver British pot, retains the YiXing design with a short spout and loop handle.

Present Day: The Place Of The Teapot In Everyday Society

('Strange how a teapot can represent at the same time the comforts of solitude and the pleasures of company.' - Author Unknown)

With the advent of bagged tea, the teapot is in something of a decline at present. While, not so many years ago, the teapot was a revered item, occupying its own space in the kitchen and often equipped with its own set of clothing, there is something convenient about slipping a single bag into a cup, brewing the beverage and discarding the teabag before drinking.

Nevertheless, for those who prefer the ritual of making tea, or simply feel that a better flavour is produced from loose tea, the pot is still available in both traditional and more modern varieties. Bodum, popular for their coffee brewing equipment, make a clear glass teapot with a central reservoir for the leaves which can be sealed off once the optimum brew strength has been achieved. The more traditional earthenware pot does become seasoned over time, however, and many will swear by a decades-old pot despite the internal build-up of tannin. A glance inside a well-aged teapot can often be more scary than enthralling, though I recall my own grandmother complaining bitterly that the new pot didn't taste the same. Either way, radically different varieties of teas should be kept to their own pots - a green tea would easily be spoiled by brewing in a teapot that has been well-seasoned with black tea.

The teapot has, regardless, entered popular culture. The Utah Teapot is well known to anyone involved in 3D computer graphics work, and more recently a Malaysian cult, The Sky Kingdom erected a 35 foot tall pink teapot on its property. This 2004 addition was, apparently, symbolic of the life-giving properties of water, though it has caused much controversy with nearby residents.

Making The Perfect Cup Of Tea

('The perfect temperature for tea is two degrees hotter than just right.' - Terri Guillemets)

It must be said that I ignore the following advice completely when making my mug of Earl Grey, preferring instead to force a teabag to the bottom of a mug, pour on hot water and then, in a display of total ignorance and sacrilege, add a splash of milk before it's even had time to brew properly. For the perfect cup of tea, one has to be a little more pedantic:

A cup of tea is approximately 98% water, so for the best cup of tea one requires the best quality water. Bottled or filtered water produces the best flavour. Bear in mind that dissolvedoxygen content will affect the quality of the tea, as well; never draw water from the hot tap or use water which has been boiled for an excessive period of time.

Pre-heating the teapot is vitally important, too. If poured into a cold vessel the water will immediately drop a couple of degrees, hampering the brewing process. To pre-heat the pot simply rinse it out with boiling water and discard.

The recommendation is that three grams of dry tea leaves are used for every six fluid ounces of water. In practice, one rounded teaspoon per cup will do. Bear in mind, tea enthusiasts, that oolong teas may vary greatly in density, due to their large and wiry leaves. On the other hand, gunpowder tea is much denser than ordinary tea, and only two thirds of a teaspoon is necessary to achieve an ideal strength.

When brewing black tea, the water should reach a rolling boil and immediately be poured onto the leaves, the pot lid being placed firmly on for the five minute steep time. Green tea, which also benefits from slightly less brewing time, is better with water at around 70 degrees celcius (160 degrees Farenheit) - a good rule of thumb is to wait for the first few bubbles to rise from the base of the kettle and pounce, or even to leave the kettle for a few minutes after boiling before beginning to steep the tea...

Enjoy...

Toad In The Hole

The British seem to have a penchant for naming foods in the most bizarre manner possible, leading to such delights as spotted dick, black pudding, faggots, and bubble and squeak - all of which are familiar to your everyday inhabitant of Little Britain but cause the rest of the world to scratch their heads and, in extreme cases, point.

Toad in the hole fits neatly in amongst these stalwarts of British cuisine, turning out to be nothing more than delicious pork sausages, browned nicely under the grill or on the stove top before being popped into a miniature lake of fat and subjected to a nice hot oven. A very hot oven, if truth be told; it needs to be hot enough to make that oil smoke.

Eventually the oil will be smoking away merrily, with or without appropriate help from the impatient chef who may well get sick of hanging about and just stick the tin onto the stove for a while. However, at this point a more thoughtful chef will have used the ten minutes wait by beating together flour, milk and eggs to produce a smooth batter - you're wondering how much of each, and I have a fail-safe recipe that stipulates equal quantities of each, including the eggs. For six sausages, I've always gone with four eggs and worked from there. This resulting yorkshire pudding batter, which some may say is a little thick, is poured around the sausages and the whole thing is returned to the oven for around twenty-five minutes. Perhaps a little longer, perhaps a little less - you can check to see if it's golden brown and crisp when it gets close to the magic twenty-five minute mark, but don't be tempted to peek too early: a disturbed yorkshire pudding is a flat yorkshire pudding, and nobody wants that.

Remove from the oven, plate it up and add onion gravy and mashed potato. Before digging in, however, note how the little sausages look very, very vaguely like tiny toads poking their inquisitive heads out of a crisp and battery landscape. You know, I have no idea who first called it that. I wish I could shake their hand. Feel free to muse on how odd we English folk are as you chew...

Yorkshire Puddings

Yorkshire puddings are a popular accompaniment to a roast dinner, originating (as the name suggests) in Yorkshire, England. Although Yorkshire puddings are, nowadays, treated as an accompaniment to a meal, this status is a recent development. Originally, not so long ago, the single and sole purpose of a Yorkshire pudding was to fill you up. Served separately at the beginning of a meal, the cunning housewife would pile up her husband and children's plates with as much Yorkshire pudding as they'd let her, provide gravy (sometimes with onion), and wait. There was even a saying: Them that eats most pudding gets most meat. Which was a tongue-in-cheek blatant lie, actually...

The reasoning behind it all was simple. A joint of beef, for many families, was an extravagance that went so much further if everyone was already full of batter pudding. Another recipe designed to achieve the same result was the suet pudding, sometimes known as a crispy pudding. Stodgy, yet tasty and (above all) filling and cheap, there was always plenty of crispy pudding, or a goodly heap of Yorkshires. Far from being a cut-price hors d'oeuvre, Yorkshire puddings were an essential element of making sure there was enough food to go round.

Nowadays, Yorkshire puddings are seen as an accompaniment to a meal, and occasionally double up as a kind of trencher. Small, bun-sized Yorkshire puds will fit nicely on the edge of a plate, and one or two per person is more than sufficient to accompany a main meal. Larger puddings will fill a plate and are capacious enough to contain the whole meal; a yorkshire pudding filled with mince, sausages and gravy or even baked beans is a common sight on café menus, and a meal worth sampling.

Another traditional British dish which incorporates Yorkshire pudding is toad in the hole, a delightfully-named recipe which features no amphibians at all, coming up trumps instead with pork sausages, poking alluringly through a landscape of batter pudding.

The actual creation of Yorkshire pudding seems, at first glance, to be suspiciously simple. You can make pancake batter? Then you can make Yorkshire pudding batter - just make it a little thinner. Put it in the oven and wait a while. And that's it. In theory.

Realistically, getting the hang of Yorkshire puddings can be a little tricky. Novice pudding-wranglers may end up with a set of entirely flat mini-pancakes or a large dome of batter. Promisingly large puddings may churlishly deflate upon being observed, or a previously docile mixture might suddenly develop rebel tendencies and attempt to escape over the side of the pan. The solution to all these problems is, unhelpfully, experience. Yorkshire puddings, for all their simple and subtle charms, can be bastards at times, and the key to their mastery is simply to try again.

Recipes for Yorkshire pudding vary wildly. One can produce passable, even delicious, Yorkshire pudding with either a thick, stodgy batter or a thinner, more milky batter, and you'll find people who swear on either type. The following recipe produces a batter of medium consistency. Should you be unsuccessful with this, you may wish to experiment with either more flour or more milk, though a more likely cause of problems will be the temperature of your oven or the type of flour itself. Don't even think of using flour that's been lying around for months - invest in some good, fresh plain flour. And get that oven stoked up! Yorkshire puddings may seem plain and boring, but they're just reclusive little minxes - they like it hot and they like it quiet; don't disturb them once they're in the oven, not even to peek!

I used to do the following:

• 4oz (100g plain white flour
• 300ml (1/2 pint) milk
• 1 egg
• Oil, lard or dripping (for cooking)

Recently, however, I've adopted a new method based on volume which seems to give better results, but can be a little extravagant on the egg front:

• The same volume of flour, eggs and milk
• Oil, lard or dripping (for cooking)

Whichever you choose, place the flour in a bowl, break in the egg(s) and add the milk before beating into a batter. You may wish to add salt and pepper to season it. The surface will be covered with tiny bubbles when you've thoroughly beaten it together, at which point the mixture should be allowed to rest.

While it's resting, you'll want to get your oven to a high temperature - at least 425 degrees Farenheit, or 220 degrees centigrade. A little hotter won't hurt; it all depends what you have in the oven to begin with - your roast may not appreciate too high a temperature.

The tin in which the Yorkshire puddings will be cooked must be heated, too. Place a small amount of fat in each well if you're intending to produce many bun-sized puddings, or just grease out a larger tin if you're heading for a six or seven-inch pudding. Place this tin in the oven, and wait until the fat begins to smoke. Do not be tempted to add the batter before the fat has reached such a stage: very hot fat is an important part of the cooking process. Conversely, don't go to the other extreme - the fat should be slightly smoking, not billowing clouds of sooty malevolence.

When you have a hot tin of smoking fat you can safely add the batter. Cook it in the oven for ten to fifteen minutes if producing individual puddings. Larger puddings will require at least half an hour to cook. You may check after ten minutes or so, but do remember that a disturbed Yorkshire pudding will usually go flat. Allow it a little time on its own before checking - at least ten minutes.

Experience, a little tweaking, and a patient and systematic approach will easily produce excellent results. And once you've mastered a plain pudding, then the joys of toad in the hole are only a trip to the butchers away!

Pikelets

Pikelets and crumpets - both traditional British tea-time dishes. What's the difference? A good question, because there isn't much of a one. Crumpets and pikelets are both raised bread products made with yeast, and they're both baked on a griddle (although a frying pan does just as well).. Crumpets - proper crumpets - are thick and usually cooked in a circular mould leading to a seven or eight centimetre diameter circle with a top covered in little open bubbles. When toasted and buttered, the melted butter oozes into these holes, producing a soft, buttery honeycomb with a crunchy exterior. A pikelet is usually flatter and less regularly shaped as you simply spoon a small amount of batter out rather than filling up a mould. Although other countries have their own versions, the traditional English recipe involves yeast, and so is a little more involved and lengthy than other recipes which use eggs or bicarbonate of soda as a raising agent.

This one contains a bit of both - yeast and bicarbonate of soda. Fresh yeast is always best, and it's surprisingly easy to get hold of if you don't mind asking at the local bakery. Even the supermarkets with in-store bakeries are usually happy to sell you a lump, and I know for a fact you can get it at Morrisons because I usually do; it's near the butter in our local store, and the bakery politely but firmly point you in that direction if you get mixed up. Strong bread flour has proteins necessary for making that wonderful gluten, which helps when you're making yeast-based bread treats, so do check your packet carefully and go for a good, strong flour.

Making the batter:
125g strong bread flour
125g plain flour
1 and a half teaspoons bicarbonate of soda
Half a teaspoon of salt
8g fresh yeast (if you're using powdered, you may need to prepare it differently)
75ml lukewarm whole milk
250ml lukewarm water

Sort your yeast out first, adding the water to it slowly until you've made a yeasty paste into which it's easy to combine the remaining water. Add this to the flours with just half a teaspoon of the bicarbonate of soda and mix it into a very thick batter.

You're going to leave this in a warm place for two hours, covered with a damp cloth. The batter will go very frothy, and you can now dissolve the remaining bicarbonate of soda in the lukewarm milk and add it to the batter. Yay! You're now ready to make pikelets!


Cooking the pikelets:
Lightly butter and heat a non-stick frying pan. Spoon tablespoons of the mixture onto the pan and watch the pikelet for signs of the bubbles beginning to burst on the surface. When this happens, turn over the pikelet and continue to cook for a little longer until the top, bubbled surface is golden.
It's best now to allow them to cool, then re-toast them and slather them with plenty of butter. In practice, however, the freshly cooked pikelets are a little too tempting to be left alone, and a good smear of butter on top of them is hard to resist. Either way, enjoy.

Sources:
The Great British Kitchen, The Lovely Delia, Wikibooks

Cheese Straws

Cheese straws are long pastry fingers with, as you might have guessed, added cheese. A sort of long, cheesy biscuit, if you will. They sit nicely alongside sausage rolls, chunks of cheddar and pineapple on cocktail sticks and cucumber sandwiches with the crusts cut off as quintessential British party food. A glass of crisp white wine, a plate of cheese straws and a doily, and you're away...
Ingredients
100g (3.5 oz) butter
100g (3.5 oz) plain flour
150g (5.25 oz) deliciously tasty cheese (go for a mature, strong flavour)
Salt and pepper to season
1 egg yolk
Method
Sieve the flour and grate the cheese. Cut or rub the fat into the flour, just as if you were making pastry, and add the grated cheese. Mix in a sprinkle of salt and a grind or two of pepper. It's important to use a good, tasty cheese here - after all, if you're going to use butter to make something pastry-based, you might as well splash out on the cheese as well. If you're stuck with supermarket brands then a good pinch of cayenne pepper can help add to the bite.
Use the egg yolk and a couple of tablespoons of water to bind the mixture together into a ball. Be careful here - it really is just like very cheesy pastry, so if you go wild and add too much water you'll end up with tough cheese straws. You want it to just hold together; if you can get it to do this with just the egg yolk then so much the better.
Flour a work surface and roll the dough out to about 5mm (1/8th of an inch) thick, gently pressing it into a square, if you can. Then simply cut it into strips about 1cm wide. You could also do them a little wider, if you want chunky cheese straws. Pop them on a baking tray, possibly lined with some non-stick baking paper, leaving a small gap between each straw.
Nearly there now... pop them in a 220°C oven (that's about 425°F) for about seven minutes. You could put them in a lower oven for longer, of course, but whatever you're doing, it's wise to check these after about six minutes. They're supposed to be a beautiful pale golden brown, you see, not black...
This basics of this recipe come from a wonderful book I found under the stairs called 'Bestway Cookery Gift Book', a treasure trove of pre-war cookery. My favourite recipe is for boiled calf's head with parsley and brain sauce, although I've never dared try to make it. Mmm!

Amuse Bouche

Amuse Bouche, on occasion known as amuse gueule, are delicious little delicacies served in many good quality restaurants to tantalise and whet our palates in anticipation of the meal to come. Indeed, the very phrase amuse bouche translates as mouth amusement, a little treat to excite the tastebuds; a taste experience crammed into just one mouthful. Once a relatively unknown feature of French culinary tradition, amuse bouche have now become increasingly common, the modern equivalent of the once-popular hors d'oeuvres.

Sometimes an espresso cup of soup, a single scoop of savoury sorbet, a mere spoonful of dressed salad (perhaps actually served on a spoon) or a single, bite-sized tart, the attraction of the amuse bouche has to be its sheer decadence. Rarely, at home, would one devote the time to produce food in such tiny servings, all for a half-minute of heaven before the main course. Eating out, however, and the situation sees a sharp change: if someone else is prepared to stand around and do it for you, and serve it cooked to perfection at just the right time, a bite of Blue Cheese Foam with Port Wine Reduction seems like just the thing to pass the time before the starters arrive.

However, one shouldn't give the impression that the amuse bouche has to be complicated. Rick Tramonto's book Amuse-Bouche: Little Bites That Delight Before The Meal Begins features page after page of these miniature treats, many of which incorporate no more than four or five ingredients. The simplicity of Creamy Corn Grits with Butternut Squash and Sweetcorn sits happily alongside Charred Lamb With Truffled Vinaigrette and Oven-dried Tomatoes, both just begging you to put in the time and effort.

For an even simpler start, straighten shrimp on bamboo skewers; two per person is adequate. Marinade in soy sauce and ginger for at least half an hour. Remove from the marinade, dip into sesame seeds and briefly grill just prior to serving. Provide a small bowl of chilli dipping sauce.
Your mouth, and any dinner guests, will thank you for it...