Summer's over, and that's a shame.  There is so much going on, culinarily speaking, in the summer (although I would argue that there is even more culinary goings-on in the autumn - more on that later) that sometimes it makes my head swim.  I tried to stay grounded this summer, but I must admit to a pantry very full of homemade preserves and chutneys.  Here's a list of my exploits:  gooseberry and elderflower jam, elderflower jelly, lavender jelly, strawberry jam, raspberry and lavender jam, french apricot jam, apricot chutney, peach conserve, plum jelly, plum chutney, blackberry jelly, chilli jelly, chilli jam, and tomato jam. 
     Two recipes which I do not want to forget (so often I do forget) are my raspberry and lavender jam, and one of my (happily, successful) experiments this year, apricot chutney.
     The raspberry and laveder jam ... what I love about this recipe is that I can put some of the many lavender plants which I have in my garden to good use.  That makes it seem so thrifty to me.  Thankfully, the raspberries didn't cost the earth, either.  I took my four youngest children to a local raspberry patch, and I encouraged them to pick away.

     They stayed focused for about 50% of the time, I would say.  The other 50% of the time was spent complaining about some perceived dog poo somewhere in the raspberry patch, urgent requests to use a non-existent toilet, and whining about the heat of the English summer (??!!).  To be fair, picking raspberries might not hold their attention for very long when mom's a control freak and tells you constantly to only pick the ripe ones.
     
Raspberry and Lavender Jam

1.1 kilos raspberries
750 grams jam sugar
5 heads of lavender
Juice of 1 lemon

Make sure your lavender heads are fresh and deep purple, rather than drying out.  Aren't they beautiful?

First, put a small saucer in the freezer.  Combine the raspberries and sugar in a big jam pot.  Strip the lavender heads off of the stalks, and add to the pan, along with the lemon juice.  Gently crush the mixture a few times, and then very gently heat until the sugar is dissolved, stirring frequently.

Once the sugar is dissolved, turn up the heat and nurse the mixture to a rolling boil.  Skim off the scum that comes to the surface.  After about four minutes start checking to see if the mixture has reached setting point by putting a little bit on the cold saucer, then putting the saucer back in the freezer for a few minutes.  If the mixture wrinkles when you push it with your finger, you're good.  Pour into sterilized jars.  It makes about 4 350g jars.

     The apricot chutney was a bit of a surprise.  As I thought about which chutneys to make, all of sudden I realized that not only had I never made apricot chutney, but also that it is one of those chutneys that you hardly ever see in the supermarket.  The quest had then begun.  It wasn't very hard - all I did was consult my plum chutney recipe from last year, and replace the plums with apricots.  I made a few other very minor changes and hoped for the best.  The result was so successful that I now consider my plum chutney recipe to be the template recipe for all my other chutneys!

Apricot Chutney

1.2 kilo apricots
250 grams onions
250 grams sultanas
300 grams light brown sugar
1 eating apple
2 pieces stem ginger
1 tbsp + 1/2 tsp ground ginger
1 tbsp coriander seeds
350 mls cider vinegar
3 tbsp ginger syrup

Stone the apricots, and cut them into quarters.  Finely chop the apple, onion and the stem ginger.  Put everything together into a big pot, slowly bring to the boil, and then simmer very gently until chutney consistency is reached.  Pack into sterilized jars and seal.  This makes about four 1 lb. jars.

Although Christmas was nearly two months ago, I must record a few culinary thoughts about it before my memory fails me completely.

Christmas 2011 was special because I took the plunge and invited - for the first time - friends rather than family for Christmas dinner. It was a wonderful occasion but of course occasions mean people, and therefore food, and lots of it. I found myself catering for 15 people on Christmas day, and while I remember feeling stressed, as I look back on it I realize that Christmas day itself was, in fact, not very stressful at all. Indeed, we had finished Christmas dinner by 3pm, which is the time at all other Christmases I have always aimed, and always failed, to get Christmas dinner started, let alone finished.

But more on Christmas dinner later, for there is so much more to be said about cooking at Christmastime than simply the Christmas day dinner. One of our biggest Christmas cooking times is shaping up to be the weekend of Thanksgiving. We have made it a tradition to make the Christmas cake as a family the Saturday or Sunday after Thanksgiving, which gives it a good month to mature. I started doing it a few years ago, as a way of welcoming the Christmas season, which cannot officially start in my house - because I forbid it - until the end of Thanksgiving Day. It turns out that, completely unbeknownst to me, by making my Christmas cake during that weekend, I was in fact honoring the old English tradition of 'Stir up Sunday', the day historically set aside to make up one's Christmas goodies such as the Christmas cake and the Christmas pudding. It falls on the last Sunday before Advent (which is December 1, for anyone who may not know), which, indeed will always coincide with the Sunday after Thanksgiving.

I don't have a recipe for Christmas cake which is original enough to post here, but I will say that the act of making it together as a family, although it can be fraught, is also a powerful way of binding us together. Someone is chopping the almonds and the cherries, someone else is beating the eggs, someone else is grating the nutmeg and getting the zest from the oranges and lemons. Treacle and marmalade go into the mix, and there is butter being whipped up with brown sugar and ginger so you know life can't be that bad. And then the amazing bit: we get to wrap the thing in heavy brown paper and tie it with string, so that the cake doesn't cook too fast. I love these simple methods that remain the most effective way to do something, no matter how advanced our society becomes.

Then, when the cake comes out, I get to wrap it immediately, while it is still in it's tin, in layers and layers of tin foil, and let it cool completely. When I was wrapping it up this year, my four year old watched me and said, 'Is that your baby?' To which I thought, 'Actually, it kind of is.'

Anyway, besides Christmas cake, this year during the 'Stir up Sunday' period, I also made mincemeat. It was the right thing to do - although I don't make mince pies until a few days before Christmas, it made a huge difference to my sanity levels during that frenetic week to know that all I had to do to make my mince pies was mix up the pastry. My mincemeat is different than modern-day mincemeat. First of all, I make it with beef mince, a concept first introduced to me by Hugh Fearnley-Whittingstall. This is the way mincemeat was made historically, and indeed I have a Tudor recipe book which includes a recipe for mincemeat using beef or lamb. I have taken elements from both Fearnely-Whittingstall's and the Tudor recipe to create my own mincemeat. Please make a note of the saffron in the recipe: although it only calls for a pinch, I think this has to be the most exciting ingredient.


Holly's Traditional Mincemeat

250 grams beef mince (ground beef)
75 grams beef suet
100 grams currants
100 grams raisins
100 grams chopped prunes
275 grams grated eating apples
125 grams brown sugar
25 grams gound almonds
50 grams flaked almonds
50 grams candied cherries
25 grams preserved ginger, chopped
100 mls apple juice
zest and juice of 1/2 lemon
zest and juice of 1/2 orange
2 tbls. treacle
1/2 tsp. freshly grated nutmeg
2 tsp. mixed spice
pinch saffron

Combine everything together in a bowl. That's it. The only issue here is the shelf life of the mincemeat, which won't be long since the beef is raw and there is no alcohol in the mixture. (I suppose the title may be a bit misleading, because traditional mincemeat has alcohol in it, and here I have purposely left it out.) I have left it before in the fridge for up to two days before using it, as it does need a little bit of time to mature. Otherwise, the mixture freezes perfectly.

Next post: more on Stir up Sunday, plus other culinary delights of the season

Sadly I didn't blog about food during the Thanksgiving and Christmas periods - simply because I was too busy cooking it. Unfortunately the holidays are now one big blur so it is hard to remember exactly what I cooked and how I did it, but I'll try jotting a few things for posterity. Thanksgiving was a blast. I love cooking turkey - what a fantastic bird! This year I decided to search for the holy grail of turkeys - the super juicy, tender kind - by soaking it in a brine marinade the night before, including honey, sugar, allspice berries, oranges, thyme, bay leaves, etc. I had to buy a special plastic box just for the occasion, and my husband patiently helped me put it in the garage as I struggled to carry it when it was filled with the brine and the turkey - although he did sigh a few times, I seem to remember. But so ecstatic was I at the prospect of this exciting process of marinading the whole bird that I think even he may have caught the vision.
The next day I insisted that every child help prepare the dinner, and as they were wandering around the kitchen, I prepared the bird - wrestling it out of the brine, patting it dry, smothering it with butter, etc. I had to do it when they were there - as far as I'm concerned, this is the stuff of life-giving memories, the kind of memories that sustain you when life is disappointing or seems meaningless. 'Remember the year that Mom had to take the turkey out of that brine .....?'
I have a particular memory of Thanksgiving - one among many, but still one that sticks out. I remember my mother setting out breadcrumbs in a big bowl to make the stuffing, and then combining the breadcrumbs with chopped onion and sliced celery. She poured hot stock over the mixture to moisten it. I remember the smell was exquisite. I still don't think I can make stuffing as good as my mother's.
Other memories include my Grandma Hamilton's mustard pickles and baby onions, inhaling my mother's white bread rolls, cranberry sauce out of a can that retained the shape of the can once in the serving dish, my Dad's turkey gravy, getting up early and seeing the pumpkin pies laid out from being prepared the night before, dressing up and using the best dishes, and the first course of jello salad served on a bed of iceberg lettuce!
The turkey was wonderful, by the way.
Next post, Christmas.

It's autumn, and as far as I'm concerned, that's more than enough of a reason to be happy to be alive. Of course, this love of autumn has a rather strong connection with food; ok, it pretty much centers around food completely. October has got to be the best month for seasonal food. So much is in full swing: onions, potatoes, carrots, apples and pears. We still have tomatoes, courgettes, peppers, and aubergines, and there are even berries to be had! On Sunday we went for a family walk, first through a teeming apple orchard, and then along a road boardered by what seemed like miles of blackberry bushes. All the kids got stained fingers and hands as they kept spotting more and more perfectly ripe berries just within their reach. I still see local raspberries at my fruit and veg shops.

But I think it's the prospect of what will very soon come into season during this month, if they haven't already, that excites me the most: pumpkins, squash, and wild mushrooms. It's fair to say that I'm obsessed with pumpkins, which makes me think I might be French, at least in spirit (certainly not in body). I have a very interesting cookbook, entitled 'The New Vegetarian Cookbook', which has this intriguing recipe simply labeled 'Pumpkin Soup', which the author claims is 'a traditional French country soup'. I have memories of cooking this soup in October, standing in my kitchen, knife in hand, hacking into a massive pumpkin while the wind blew the leaves around outside. Here is where I first noticed, I think, the combination of pumpkin and sage. I have another book, entitled 'Cooking with Pumpkins, Squash and Zucchini', in which there is a recipe for a spicy, creamy squash soup. I cooked from this recipe first, for years, and it also uses sage, but since there is also a fresh chili in this recipe the sage doesn't play such a dominant role. Hence I never realized the important pairing of pumpkin and sage.

This week the pumpkin and sage combo came to our kitchen table in the form of pumpkin risotto. Proudly, I used the first pumpkin harvested from our own pumpkin patch (one of three, sadly). The recipe I used called for cubed pumpkin, which works, certainly, but the standard recipe I used calls for shredded pumpkin (actually butternut squash), which I think works better. I did something like this: chop an onion, and brown it in some butter. Then add 350 grams of cubed pumpkin, or shredded pumpkin, and stir it around until it starts to get soft. Then add 200 grams of risotto rice, and stir that in the pan until the rice is glossy with the fat. Add 100 mls of white grape juice, stirring until it is absorbed by the rice. When it is absorbed, then add chicken stock, a ladelful at a time, until the rice is tender and cooked. I used homemade chicken stock, which I think must be noted as producing a better risotto. It was creamier and more delicately flavored than it would have been if I had used a stock cube. When the rice is done, stir in chopped sage, a knob of butter, and a good handful of parmasean cheese.

I seem to be climbing back up to high levels of catering. We used to have large numbers of friends over on a near weekly basis, but that dropped off last year when we moved to a new place. Now it seems we are getting more settled, and the familiar hustle and bustle of having lots of people in my dining room is returning. It is a lot of work and takes a lot of time, but I love feeding people good food. Here are a few of my catering exploits this past month.

First, about a month ago, I served a five course birthday meal to a good friend of ours and her husband. Little children in bed, larger children plonked in front of the TV, we managed to create a few hours for ourselves for a candlelight dinner. The menu:

Starter: Deep fried courgette and pumpkin flowers stuffed with ricotta cheese, mint and chili

Fish Course: Sea bass topped with Cornish crab, with a saffron sauce

Main Course: Roasted poussins served with a lemon sauce, baby new potatoes roasted with garlic, spinach and carrots

Dessert: Raspberry and lavender trifle

Cheese Course: Brie de Meux, local fresh goat's cheese, lavender cheese, and blue stilton, served with chili jam, lavender jelly, gooseberry chutney, and charcoal biscuits

The highlight of the evening for me was, surprisingly, the sea bass. I had brought some very special fresh crab back with me from Cornwall (fretting for the entire two day return journey as to whether I was keeping it cold enough) and when I got home I threw it in the freezer and waited for a special occasion. I was going to make a cream of crab soup, or something along those lines, but I came across a recipe in the internet for crab-topped sea bass and thought it was worth a try. I adapted the recipe to suit my tastes, combining it with a medieval Italian recipe for sea bass and flaked almonds.

Holly's Crab-Topped Sea Bass

75 grams fresh white crab meat
50 grams small white bread crumbs
50 grams unsalted butter
1 egg, beaten
handful of flaked almonds
2 sea bass fillets

Combine the bread crumbs and melted butter, then add the crab and finally the egg and almonds. Place the sea bass fillets skin side down in a pan lined with lightly greased tin foil. Press the crab mixture on top of the fillets. Sprinkle more flaked almonds over the fillets. Bake for about 20 minutes at 190 degrees celsius.

My second catering moment this month was, happily, with a dear friend whom I have not seen since 1993, maybe even earlier. Like a true friend, she came with no expectations, and therefore it would have been hard to disappoint her - culinarily speaking, at least. But, me being me, I still tried to impress, which means the food wasn't as good as I wanted it to be, but it was still fun to try. The lunch menu:

Duck breasts served with blackberry sauce on a bed of baby leaves
Parsnip mash

I love blackberries, and I love it even more when I can cook with them in unexpected places, like the main dish of a meal. The blackberry sauce - which I got from Henrietta Green's book - is so simple: cook about 300 grams of blackberries in a 125 mls of water, adding some fresh thyme and honey. Boil up the blackberries until they are cooked, and then - this is the best bit - press them through a fine-holed strainer. This makes the most wonderful puree, and is essentially the sauce for the duck. You can add it to the juices in the pan after you have cooked the duck breasts, and heat it up a bit, thin it out if you need to, etc. It is the perfect thing to serve in September, and I make sure I do it every year.

My third catering adventure consisted of feeding twelve people -the family of one of my daughter's friends from school. I wasn't sure how to proceed, because I didn't want to serve chili - again. I have had somewhat of a re-awakening when it comes to roasted chicken, so I decided to go down that route. The menu:

Main Course: Roasted chicken, with twice baked potatoes, tomato and bread salad with anchovies and olives, and a green salad.

Desserts: Blackberry and apple crisp, chocolate custard served with fresh raspberries and crushed amaretto biscuits, and rice krispie treats.

Cheese Course: Gorgonzola, Gruyere, Ossau Iraty, and Vacherin, served with my plum and gooseberry chutneys.

September fare features heavily here: tomatoes, blackberries and raspberries are all at their peak. The seasonal highlight for me, though, was the Vacherin - a gooey, creamy, stinky cheese, only available from September to March, I was delighted to find the season's first of it in my local deli this week.

I am proud to say that my thirteen year old daughter came up the with chocolate custard/raspberry item on the menu. I thought that was a choice that showed a lot of sophisication.

Speaking of the re-awakening regarding roast chicken, I found out this month that I can change an ordinary, though still delicious, roast chicken into something extraordinary by stuffing the cavity of the bird with some very simple things: garlic cloves, thyme, sage and a half of a lemon. The top of the chicken needs to be smothered in unsalted butter, and I put unsalted butter under the skin as well, for good measure. Roast the chickens on top of some sliced onions, and baste the chickens every 20 minutes or so. The results are unbelievable. Just when you thought a roast chicken couldn't get any better, it actually can.

I love simplicity in cooking. I am happiest in my kitchen when I use simple ingredients to great effect: humble, fresh thyme, and sage, and garlic, and a lemon. Nothing artificial, nothing processed. Roman soldiers could have cooked this way.

It's September! For the past month I've cooked incessantly with plums, raspberries, blackberries, and now, new season apples. Corn on the cob features heavily, too, this time of year. I should be cooking with tomatoes as well, but the tomatoes I am trying to grow in my garden are still a shameful green!

I've always suspected that plums make exceptionally good chutney, but in the past when I have made plum chutney I have gotten a bit carried away with adding other seasonable vegetables and fruits - heady combinations of fresh courgettes, onions, apples etc. - which have diluted the taste of the plums to the point where I can't really tell if they are there. So, this year the rule is, as it was with my gooseberry chutney (which I am enjoying very much, by the way, with strong cheddar in my frequent, solitary ploughman's lunches): keep it simple; that is, keep the flavors simple. So, here is my original plum and ginger chutney from this season, which has turned out, I am pleased to say, very fruity and plummy indeed:

Plum and Ginger Chutney

1 kilo plums (stoned weight - I used Victoria plums, but other varieties would do also)
250 grams onions, chopped
250 grams sultanas or raisins
300 grams light brown sugar
1 eating apple (I used a cox), diced
2 pieces stem ginger in syrup, chopped
50 grams dates, chopped
1 tablespoon ground ginger
1 tablespoon corinader seeds
350 mls cider vinegar
3 tablespoons red wine vinegar
2-4 tablespoons ginger syrup, depending on taste

Put everything into a large, deep pan. Bring to the boil, then turn it down and let it simmer for a couple of hours, until the chutney becomes thick to the point where you can see the bottom of the pan when you stir it with a spoon. Mostly this should be done without the lid on the pan, but sometimes I sneak the lid on half way for a little while, just to help us all cope with the smell of cooking vinegar! Pack into clean, hot jars, and seal.

Normally I cook to please myself. It's a wonderful thing if it also pleases my husband, which it almost always does, but ultimately I plan meals according to what I think would be just utterly and completely cool to do with food. However, although my husband's reactions to what I do with food are usually favorable, my children's reactions are another thing entirely. On the whole, their reactions are problematic. I have tried my utmost to expose them to lots of different foods - and, I hasten to add, the very best in table manners and polite conversation during mealtimes -but, contrary to what the parenting books have promised me, all this exposure and training has done very little to refine their palettes or their ability to sit through a meal in a civilized fashion.

So, I must mark it as a red letter day when I cook something that delights them. I have had a few successes the past week. First, on Sunday, we had a lovely roast lamb. They didn't like the saffron, lemon and redcurrant gravy I served with it, or the lavender jelly which was meant to go on the side, but they polished off the very tender, sweet lamb without a complaint. It was served with garlic roasted potatoes, runner beans, baby carrots, and wilted spinach and beet greens. And for dessert, we had a peach and raspberry pavlova, of which there were no left overs.

The next success was Monday evening: meat loaf. They all love meat loaf. It was served with roast potatoes and fresh corn on the cob, which just made everyone that bit happier. Other vegetables were carrots, spring cabbage and green beans. For dessert was everyone's favorite: Nigella Lawson's chocolate truffle cake, which was polished off no problem.