Sweet Pastry – Deja Food

Empty Pudding

19th century, 20th century, Pastry, Pudding, Sweet Pastry

Sometimes I stumble across a hidden gem of a recipe when I am supposed to be hunting out something else. Thus it is with this recipe that I found in a nondescript Edwardian cook book¹.

There are several things that drew me to this recipe. Firstly, the name, which is curious, and after following the recipe, is also extremely accurate. Secondly, the ingredients list. It is incredibly short. Just three ingredients. Which I find rather exciting – the possibility of creating something out of practically nothing is great fun. Especially since, in this case, the recipe has been costed at 9d, nine old pence, less than a shilling for, what appears to be, pudding for four. More so if it is delicious. Which this is. But I’m getting ahead of myself.

This recipe so caught my attention, I don’t even remember what recipe I was searching for in the first place, so I was keen to read on and discover the secrets within. Alas, the fourth thing that drew me to this recipe is the confusing way it is written.

As can seen above, the instructions call for one to:

Make pastry
Put zest & juice in the pudding basin
When basin is lined with pastry, add sugar.
Seal a pastry lid on top.

This didn’t seem right at all: juice trapped between the basin and the pastry would steam in the heat of the oven and prevent the pastry from becoming crisp, surely? Why use puff pastry if you didn’t want it crisp? How can you seal the pastry and prevent the steam escaping if the thing making the steam (the lemon juice) isn’t inside? This last instruction was, for me, the key, or rather the ‘permission’ to break my number one rule with old recipes and NOT bake it as written in the first place, and put the zest and juice inside the pastry.

And it worked wonderfully. I baked my puddings in individual-sized metal pudding bowls, to shorten the cooking time.

And here’s how they turned out. Beautiful, golden pastry and a puffed and crispy lid. Inside, the lemon zest and juice combined with the sugar to make an incredibly zingy lemon syrup, which really packs a punch.

The heat from the oven creates steam from the lemon juice inside the pudding, which in turn helps fluff the puff pastry into soft, delicate layers. The contrast of flavours and textures is amazing.

But there’s more.

Because not all of my puddings turned out perfectly. Two of them sprung a leak during baking, as can be seen here (arranged upside down).

But here’s the thing: it’s not a disaster! The zest and juice still combined with the sugar to make a syrup, which, after the leak, coated the outsides of the pastry and made an amazing lemon caramel. Not all the liquid leaked out, so the insides still benefitted from steam, and puffed out fantastically. The photo at the top shows the insides of one of the ‘leaky’ puddings. These are also brilliant, as the lemon caramel hardens in the best traditions of creme brulee, and gives even more flavourful contrasts with the crisp pastry and soft interior. I might even like this variation more than the original. So if your puddings bake perfectly, or whether they spring a leak, it really is a win:win situation!

An extravagance: I used two blocks of puff pastry for just 4 puddings, because I wanted to use freshly-rolled pastry for the lids and the linings, in order to get the best ‘puff’ during baking. On reflection, this might have been unnecessary, as the basins do such a good job of ensuring the pastry puffs inwards whilst keeping the outsides smooth. Certainly, the lids were spectacular, so I’m going to recommend cutting lids from freshly-rolled pastry, and then re-roll the trimmings for the basin linings, which means you could probably get everything from a single block of puff pastry. I haven’t tested this, so I recommend having the second block of pastry on standby, just in case.

Empty Pudding

Serves 4

2 blocks puff pastry
2 lemons
4tbs caster sugar
butter for greasing
milk and caster sugar for glazing

Butter your pudding bowls generously. If your puddings spring a leak, you want to ensure you can still get them out of the bowls.
Roll out your pastry and cut 4 lids. Make sure the pastry is a little larger than the diameter of your pudding bowls, to ensure there is enough to make a firm seal.
Cut pastry to line your pudding bowls. Make sure the pastry overhangs the bowls a lttle to make a firm seal. Re-roll the trimmings if necessary.
Put the zest of half a lemon into each pastry-lined bowl.
Put the juice of half a lemon into each pastry-lined bowl.
Put 1tbs caster sugar into each pastry-lined bowl.
Moisten the edges of the pastry lids and attach to the rim of the bowls by pressing down firmly.
Chill the bowls in the fridge for at least 30 minutes to allow the pastry to relax and firm up.
Preheat the oven to 200°C, 180°C Fan.
Place the chilled bowls on a baking sheet and crimp the edges between finger and thumb.
Brush the tops with milk and sprinkle with a little caster sugar.
Bake for 20 minutes, then turn the baking tray around and bake for a further 10-15 minutes. NB Puff pastry takes a surprisingly long time to be properly cooked, so when in doubt, cook a little longer. You can also return them to the oven for extra browning when turned out. See below.
Remove from the oven and turn out as follows.
- Ease a knife around the edge of the pastry to loosen it from the sides of the bowl.
- Gently test whether you can lift out an un-leaky pudding.
- If you suspect your pudding has leaked, turn your pudding out upside down.
- Depending on your pastry colour, you might want to return your puddings to the oven for some extra colouring. If your pudding has leaked, I would definitely recommend returning them to the oven (still upside down) to harden the lemon syrup/caramel mixture until glossy and brown.
Serve with custard, cream or as they come.

¹ A little book of cookery by Dora Luck, 1905, Sands & Compy., London ; Edinburgh.

Banyon Toat Pie

18th century, Pastry, Pudding, Sweet Pastry

This recipe is bonkers: bonkers name, bonkers method. I’ve spent ages trying to work out what, in the 18th century world of erratic spelling, the name is supposed to be, and drawn a blank¹. I’ve pondered many an hour over the pancake-ception involved in the filling, and been baffled. It’s a true one-off. I’ve never read anything like it – and I’ve read a LOT of recipes. Finally, ealier this month, I decided to grab the bull by the horns and just make it, and see how things go. The result, after a little tweaking, is insanely delicious, so I thought I would share in time for Pancake Day (February 16th), so you can enjoy the deliciousness yourself.

Banyon Toat Pye (1700-1735), MS1797, Wellcome Collection

Aside from the already-mentioned bonkers title, the method of this pie is very unusual: make some pancakes, mash them up, mix in yolks, cream and sherry, fry this mixture as thin pancakes, then layer them in puff pastry with candied peel, dried fruit, sugar and butter. When baked, pour a sherry/lemon custard (caudle) through the holes in the lid.

The adding-the-sauce-after-baking was an acceptable approach for pies at this time. Usually the pastry served mostly as a container for the contents and to keep in steam and moisture, and an interesting sauce was added at the end.

It was the pancakes-made-from-pancakes that really intrigued. And so I set to with a vengeance, and initially, it all went swimmingly. Unfortunately, the second batch of batter proved a giant stumbling block. The recipe called for it to be made into thin pancakes, but even using single cream, it was more like bread sauce. Trying to dilute the batter with more cream meant it just wouldn’t hold together. Batch after batch was scrapped, which meant I then had to re-make the first batch and pancakes before working on the second. I must confess, I got a little tetchy, telling myself: it’s a pancake batter! How can I mess up a pancake!?

Eventually, I came up with a compromise, and made just a single, standard pancake batter, but with the flavourings and enrichment that had been used in the second batch. This did indeed make wonderfully thin pancakes, which were delicious in their own right.

Once this hurdle had been successfully leapt, the rest of the recipe was almost straightforward. The pancakes are layered in a puff pastry case, with each layer being sprinkled with sugar, spices, dots of butter, candied peel and dried fruit. A cut-pastry top, 40 minutes in the oven and the addition of the caudle sauce finished it off quite easily, and I must admit, being rather impatient to taste the result.

Well, gentle reader, you’ll be pleased to discover that it is bonkers. DELICIOUSLY bonkers! The pancake layers keep the filling evenly spread, but are light and delicately flavoured with no hint of ‘stodge’. The spiced filling mixture is reminiscent of mince pies, and rich-tasting and thanks to the sharpness of the sour cherries/barberries neither heavy nor cloying. The sauce/caudle really brings the zing, with the sherry and lemon-juice adding freshness and richness. I commented on Twitter after the first trial that it was ridiculously delicious, and I stand by that claim. I literally had to hold my daughter at bay until I had photographed the smaller pies, as she is so taken with them!

Now that I have sorted out the pancake problem, it’s a very straight-forward recipe: much more an assembly rather than anything complicated. If you’re short of time, you could even opt to buy the pancakes rather than make them, although that would mean on missing out on their delicate flavour.

There are no quantities given in the original recipe for the filling, so you can be as generous or as careful as you like. The quantities below make for a flavourful, rich pie without overdoing it, but for special occasions, you could really layer them thickly.

Banyon Toat Pie

This can make whatever size and shape of pie(s) you like. One large (20cm) pie will serve 8 generously. Due to the richness, a smaller, 10cm pie can be shared between two. The instructions and quantities below are for one large pie, but, as mentioned above, can be scaled up or down easily.

For the pancakes
50g plain flour
1 large egg
1 large yolk
100ml milk
50ml cream sherry

butter for frying

1 x 500g block of puff pastry

Filling
40g candied citron peel, diced small
40g candied orange peel, diced small
40g candied lemon peel, diced small
40g dried sour cherries or barberries
40g butter
4tbs caster sugar
1tsp ground cinnamon
1tsp ground nutmeg

Caudle
2 large egg yolks
juice 1 lemon, strained
50ml cream sherry
15g butter
2tbs caster sugar
2tsp cream sherry to finish

Egg white and caster sugar for glazing

Whisk together the pancake ingredients and make four thin pancakes. Use a 1/4 cup measure to ensure the batter equally. Lay the cooked pancakes on kitchen paper and leave to cool.
Grease your pie tin(s) and line with thinly (5mm) rolled puff pastry. Leave a generous edge overlapping the sides of the tins, to help secure the lid. Cut a lid a little larger than your pie. Chill the lid in the fridge.
Pile the pancakes on top of one another, and place your lined pie tin on top. Cut around the base of the tin, to make four pie-sized pancakes. Eat the pancake offcuts and enjoy!
Layer the pie contents as follows. For each layer:
- Place a pancake.
- Sprinkle 1tbs caster sugar.
- Sprinkle ¼tsp ground cinnamon.
- Sprinkle ¼tsp ground nutmeg.
- Sprinkle 10g candied citron peel.
- Sprinkle 10g candied lemon peel.
- Sprinkle 10g candied orange peel.
- Sprinkle 10g sour cherries or barberries.
- Cut 10g butter into tiny pieces and dot over.
- Repeat for all 4 layers.
Heat the oven to 200°C, 180°C Fan.
Remove the pastry lid from the fridge.
Cut holes in the lid. You can do this by using a lattice wheel, or by cutting a lattice by hand. Alternatively, use small pastry cutters or even the wide end of a piping nozzle, to cut random holes in the pastry.
Moisten the pie edge with water and carefully lay the lid over the filling. Press the edges together firmly, to seal, and then trim the excess with a sharp edge (I use my metal bench scraper).
Whisk an egg-white to froth and brush it over the pastry lid. Sprinkle with caster sugar.
Bake for 35-40 minutes until the pastry is crisped and brown. Turn the pie around midway through cooking, to ensure even colouring. When fully baked, it will be easy to lift the edge of the pie and check that the base is also browned. If you’re making mini pies in 10cm tins, cooking time is 25 minutes, turning the tray around after 15 minutes.
While the pie is baking, make the caudle, You can do this after the pie has been turned, so that it is ready to go when the pie is fully baked.
Whisk the ingredients (except the final 2tsp sherry) in a pan over medium-low heat until the sugar has dissolved and the sauce has thickened. It should be of the consistency of single cream. If you think it looks too thin, whisk in an extra yolk. Taste, and add more sugar if needed. When ready to add to the pie, add the remaining sherry.
Remove the pie from the tin to a wire cooling rack. Spoon/pour the caudle into the pie through the holes in the pastry lid. Gently shake the pie to help distribute the caudle.
Allow the pie to cool for 15 minutes before enjoying.
Best served warm. Delicious by itself, if you wanted to ‘gild the lily’, you could serve it alongside some unsweetened whipped cream.

¹ Of course, a week after publishing this post, I worked out that ‘Banyan Toat’ was a variation in spelling of ‘Banniet Tort’. a recipe published in Charles Carter’s “The Complete Practical Cook”, 1730.

Sultana Tarts

19th century, 20th century, Pastry, Sweet Pastry

This recipe comes, once again, from the pen of Frederick T. Vine. I like it because it shows how much can be achieved with a very small number of ingredients.

I chose it because ’tis the season and is also a great way to present mince pies, making the most of each component.

Mince pies are delicious, but they can be fiddly – especially if you have sausage fingers like me. Trying to get the pastry rolled thin enough, and neatly into the tins, is a challenge. Then too, with a very rich filling, a little variation in cooking times and they can either be a little greasy, or overcooked and dry, and an overall disappointment. With Mr Vine’s approach, everything is prepared separately, and then merely assembled when required. This allows for everything – mincemeat, cream, pastry – to be at it’s absolute best and remove much Faff™ and stress.

The pastry is baked by itself: rolled slightly thicker than usual – although ready-rolled is fine – the pastry is glazed and baked in whatever shape you like. Once cooled, you can decorate with royal icing (optional), split them open and add your filling.

These are called Sultana Tarts because the original recipe has a crescent of puff pastry added as a garnishing flourish, held in place with royal icing, and with both pieces of pastry being decorated with patterns also in royal icing. Neither is compulsory, of course, but the dazzling white of the royal icing and the glossy burnished surface of the pastry does make for a very striking appearance.

I think the pies look just as attractive without the crescent of pastry and some dots of royal icing, in as simple or as elaborate a style as you can muster.

If you want to serve mince pies with the minimum of fuss and the maximum of impact both of taste and visual appeal, I don’t think you could do any better than to serve these delightful Victorian versions.

Sultana Tarts

Puff pastry – home-made, block or ready rolled.
sieved icing sugar for dusting
To serve:
mincemeat of choice – delicious vegan version here
cream – double, whipped or clotted

Heat the oven to 200°C, 180°C Fan.
Roll out your puff pastry if necessary, slightly thicker than usual, about 8mm.
Cut your pastry into the shape you want, although it will probably change shape during baking. NB My circles never stay circles, despite being fastidious in letting the pastry rest for ages.
Put the sieved icing sugar onto a tray or piece of parchment.
Wet the tops of the pastry with water, turn them over onto the powdered sugar, then set them right side up onto a baking sheet lined with parchment. The bit of moisture is enough to melt the sugar which will turn a rich, glossy brown during baking.
Now, a word or two about baking. Puff pastry is capricious and will rise like a phoenix, but all too often a phoenix that has been on the Christmas lollywater, i.e. in many a lopsided way. To mitigate this, you can balance a cooling rack over the top, resting it on top of some metal egg-cups or small pudding tins, to help control the rising to a set height. Due to the sugar glaze, it is probably best to have a layer of parchment between the rack and the pastry, to prevent any sticking.
Bake for 20-30mins, depending on size. Puff pastry can be tricksy, in that it looks done long before it actually IS done. It needs a surprisingly long time to both puff up and crisp up.
Cool on a wire rack.
Decorate with royal icing when cold.
Store in an airtight container until required.
Warm in a 160C, 140C Fan oven for 10 minutes before splitting, filling and serving. Be sure to warm your mincemeat enough to allow the suet to melt, before filling.

Mincemeat a la Royale

19th century, 20th century, Sweet Pastry

This recipe dating from 1900 sits right on the cusp of the centuries and comes from the pastry manual “Savoury Pastry” written by Frederick T. Vine.

I have a bit of a thing for Mr Vine and his manuals. Written for the bakery trade, they are packed with recipes for the variations and huge range of goods that made Victorian bakeries so amazing. Mr Vine also published books on ‘Practical Pastry’, cakes, biscuits, ‘Saleable Shop Goods’ (covering a range of small items), Christmas puddings and bread.

A little trouble needs to be taken in order to scale down the recipes to a more manageable domestic size (the original size of this batch was over 120kg), but it is well worth it in terms of flavour as well as delight in the sheer number of (to our 21st century eyes) innovative and unique baked goods.

Here’s the thing, though.

This traditional mincemeat contains meat.

Stop! Wait! Come back!

I thought it best to be up front about it, because I can then explain why I can thoroughly recommend you try it.

You don’t taste the meat. Well, actually you do, but you don’t realise that you do. It’s an underlying umami taste that makes the whole flavour experience much richer, deeper and just generally bigger. Can you honestly see the meat in the above photograph? No, I can’t either – and I made it!

Having read probably close to a hundred mincemeat recipes spanning five centuries of books and manuscripts, I feel confident in stating that, overwhelmingly, the best meat for mince pies, according to the recipe writers and my own taste testing, is ox-tongue. But I appreciate that that is a bit ‘full on’ for the meaty mincemeat novice, so I have chosen this recipe as a ‘gateway recipe’ to all the wonderful savoury-sweetness that traditional mincemeat recipes hold.

The recipe calls for lean beef. Some recipes I have read suggest that this should be beef fillet, but personally, I think that too extravagant, so my recommendation is for beef skirt, as it’s widely available, lean and economical.

Another reason why I like this recipe is the use of a couple of ingredients that don’t usually get included in modern recipes.

Mincemeat a la Royale

Makes approx. 1.5kg, enough for 36 individual mince pies. Be sure to read the ingredient notes at the bottom of the post.

140g beef skirt
170g fresh suet [1]
265g sharp apples
112g raisins
190g currants
95g sultanas
95g raw sugar [2]
60g citron peel
70g preserved ginger
50g glace fruits [3]
50g candied orange peel
50g candied lemon peel
25g brandied cherries [4]
25g chopped almonds
½ lemon – zest and juice
3tbs/45ml brandy
2tbs/30ml sherry
1/2 tsp each of ground cinnamon, nutmeg, mace, cloves, allspice, ginger, salt

Trim any fat/silverskin from the meat and cut into 1cm cubes. The aim for mincemeat is for everything to be roughly the same size. Small, but not so small that it goes to a mush. The meat will shrink as it cooks.
Cut the suet into 5mm cubes (obviously skip this step if using dried).
Peel, core and cut the apples into 1cm dice.
Leave the dried fruit whole, unless, for example, the raisins are very large, in which case cut them in half.
Cut the preserved fruit and peel into small dice (5-10mm).
Mix everything, including the liquids and spices, together thoroughly.
Check the seasoning by heating some in a pan or by zapping in the microwave until the suet has melted, and tasting. Add more spices/salt/alcohol as you think fit.
Keep in an airtight container in the fridge until required.

[1] If you can’t get fresh suet, dried is absolutely fine. Atora is the main brand in the UK. NB If using dried, reduce the weight to 120g.

[2] Not 100% sure what Mr Vine means here, so since I had some in the cupboard, I used jaggery. Soft, light-brown or light muscovado is also fine.

[3] Don’t splurge on expensive boxes of preserved fruits just for 50g for this recipe, use a mix of any sweetened and dried fruit you have to hand – glace cherries, pineapple, mango, etc.

[4] I didn’t have any of these, and couldn’t find any in the supermarket, so I used dried cherries and soaked them in brandy. Verr’ nishe. *hic!*.

Sultan Cream Tart

19th century, 20th century, Pastry, Pudding, Sweet Pastry

This tart is a pleasant change from round or rectangular tarts and has the added advantage of being able to be made in any size required, from small, serving just one person to large, serving eight. Of course, if you’re feeling peckish, then one person could probably eat a large one, but I’m going to pretend I never said that – I’d hate to put ideas in your head.

This tart is also infinitely customisable. The original recipe (Harris & Borella, All About Pastries, c1900) filled the segments with delicately coloured and flavoured whipped cream, which makes for a wonderfully light and airy treat. For the photo above, I chose an 18thC recipe for a dairy-free whip. Similarly, fresh summer berries or indulgent fruit conserves are both equally appropriate.

Sultan Cream Tart

This enriched shortcrust pastry is halfway between pastry and shortbread: very crisp and friable and a great contrast with the buttery, puff pastry.

Sweet shortcrust
170g plain flour
60g cornflour
125g unsalted butter
15g caster sugar
1 large yolk
ice water to mix

Put the flours, yolk, sugar and butter into the bowl of a food processor and blitz until the mixture resembles breadcrumbs.
With the machine running, gradually add the cold water a tablespoon at a time until the mixture comes together in a ball.
Tip the mixture onto a floured surface, knead smooth then roll out to a thickness of 5mm.
Transfer to a board, cover with cling film and chill in the fridge for at least 30 minutes.

To assemble the tart
1 sheet of ready rolled puff pastry
1 large yolk whisked with 1tbs water for glazing

Remove the chilled pastry from the fridge and cut out into circles of the desired size, 15-25cm in diameter.
Prick all over with a fork, to prevent blistering, and brush the surface with water.
Unroll the puff pastry. Each tart will require 5 strips of 1cm width, and 2 strips of 2cm width.
Place the 1cm strips of puff pastry as follows, laying two strips down the middle with a small gap in-between, as shown.
Lay the two, 2cm strips around the edge to form a rim. Have the ends start/finish at the top/bottom of the pastry as shown.
Trim the pastry ends neatly.
Return the pastries to the fridge and chill until firm. When thoroughly chilled, transfer each tart to a separate piece of parchment paper. using a sharp knife, cut down between the two vertical strips of pastry, and draw each half apart.
Heat the oven to 205°C/185°C Fan. Brush all the puff pastry edges with egg glaze and bake them until puffed and golden brown, 25-30 minutes. Cool on a wire rack.

Finishing

These pastries can be made and finished with the glaze/nuts the day before they are required, and kept – carefully – in an airtight container until needed. Fill just before serving.

chopped pistachios
toasted, flaked almonds
75g apricot jam – warmed with 2tbs water

fillings of choice

Warm the jam with the water and whisk until smooth. Brush the semicircular rim with glaze and smother with toasted almonds.
Brush the glaze over the three dividing bars and smother with chopped pistachio nuts.
Fill as desired and serve at once.

Plum Cannons

19th century, 20th century, Pastry, Sweet Pastry

These eye-catching pastries are, essentially, a jam turnover, but with a little deft handling, they are transformed into an unusual and appealing shape.

Another hit from the team of Harris and Borella’s All About Pastries, they date from the turn of the nineteenth century.

The original recipe suggested Greengage conserve for the filling, but alas, my cupboard was as bare of this preserve as the supermarket shelves. I was more than slightly perturbed by this sad state of affairs: I had merely run out, but I would have settled for ‘store-bought’. Seeing as Greengages are a classic in preserves, I was disconcerted to find my local Sainsbury’s devoid of Greengage Conserve, despite internet assurances that they would have some.

Of course, any high-quality preserves can be substituted – I opted for mirabelle – the real pleasure comes from enjoying the combination of crisp pastry, crunchy sugar topping and sweet/sharp burst of fruit in the middle.

With a sheet of ready-rolled puff pastry, these treats come together very quickly – and will no-doubt disappear just as fast.

Plum Cannons

1 sheet ready-rolled puff pastry
Plum conserve
egg-white for glazing
caster sugar to sprinkle

Use a rolling pin to roll the pastry a little thinner, so it measures at least 24cm by 36cm
Cut the pastry into nine rectangles 12cm by 8cm.
Put a teaspoon of jam/conserve in the middle of each piece of pastry.
Damp the edges of the pastry and fold the ends inwards to cover, overlapping the pastry by at least 3cm.
Turn the pastries over, so the seal is underneath and trim the ends (the original long side) straight with a sharp knife.
Arrange on a cutting board and chill for at least 30 minutes until firm.
Heat the oven to 200°C, 180°C Fan.
Remove the chilled pastries from the fridge and, again with a sharp knife, cut a neat V-shape from each end.
Arrange the pastries on a lined baking sheet (the jam WILL run during baking, and cleaning baked-on jam from a metal baking sheet is not fun).
Brush the pastries with lightly-beaten egg-white and sprinkle with sugar.
Cut a small vent in the top to let out steam – I was a little heavy-handed with this batch and the slits opened too much. No-doubt yours will be the epitome of elegance.
Bake for 25-30 minutes, turning the baking sheet around after 15 minutes. NB This might seem a long baking time, but puff pastry needs a surprisingly long time to both puff up AND bake thoroughly. If you’re sceptical, before you remove the pastries from the oven, check underneath to see that they are golden brown. If you remove the pastries too early, they will sink as they cool and their layers disappear into stodge.
Cool on a wire rack and serve either warm or at room temperature.
Store in an airtight container and ‘refresh’ by crisping them in a low oven for 10 minutes.

Fruit Pudding Pies

18th century, Pudding, Sweet Pastry

Mary Rooke, 1770

Pudding pies used to be immensely popular in the 18th century, and describe a particular style of dish where a pastry case is filled with a thick, flavoured and sweetened porridge and the two baked together. Obviously, you’re now saying to yourself, ‘Hang on a second, that’s a tart, not a pie’, and you’d be quite right, of course, but only by 21st century semantics. In addition, the ‘pudding’ of the title is to our modern eyes, rather vague, but to those of an 18th century cook, it was curiously specific, and not for the reason you might think.

Look up the word ‘pudding’ in the Oxford English dictionary, and the very first definition is: A stuffed entrail or sausage, and related senses. Yes, no mention of warm, comforting delicacies served at the conclusion of a meal, but innards and stuff in ’em! In the 17th and 18th centuries, pudding could be sweet or savoury. Echoes of these savoury puddings are still visible today in the black and white puddings sold in butchers shops. Sweet puddings included dense mixtures of dried fruits, peel, suet and spices, either stuffed into entrails or wrapped in floured cloths and simmered in water, as the traditional Clootie Dumplings of Scotland are today.

A more accurate description of pudding from these times would be that of a foodstuff of a certain texture, and so it is with pudding pies. The texture is more akin to a baked cheesecake, smooth and dense, but with just a fraction of the richness, they’re practically health food! In this instance, the filling is flavoured with the sharpness of gooseberries. I like the way it cuts through the denseness and really lifts and brightens the filling, but any smooth fruit puree will work well, the best results coming from sharply acidic fruit.

Original Recipe — Source: D/DU 818/1, Essex Record Office

Fruit Pudding Pies

112g ground rice
112g butter
225ml milk
112g sugar
100ml gooseberry pulp
4 large eggs
zest of a lemon
½ tsp freshly grated nutmeg
4 individual pudding, or deep tart, dishes lined with shortcrust pastry

Preheat the oven to 180°C/160°C fan/gas 4.
Stir the ground rice, butter and milk over heat until quite thick, then pour into a basin.
Add the sugar and stir together until cold.
Add the gooseberry pulp, well-beaten eggs, lemon and nutmeg.
Mix thoroughly.
Spoon the mixture into the pastry-lined dishes and smooth over.
Put the tarts onto a baking sheet and cover lightly with a sheet of foil, to prevent the filling darkening too much.
Bake for 20-30 minutes, depending on the size and shape of your pie dishes. Remove the foil after 15 minutes and turn the pie dishes around if they seem to be colouring unevenly.
Cool on a wire rack.
Serve warm or cold with cream or custard.

Gooseberry and Elderflower Raised Pie

18th century, 20th century, Sweet Pastry

Traditional

There’s a 200-year-old tradition in Oldbury-on-Severn of making gooseberry pies with a sweetened hot water crust pastry as part of the Whitsun celebrations. Jane Grigson mentions them in several of her writings on English food. Due to the age of the recipe, it was some time before I managed to find a picture of these iconic tarts, and for a long time had to rely solely on my imagination. Consequently, what I pictured in my mind was the pie you see above, and was just a little disappointed to eventually learn that the pies were small, hand-sized, shallow, round pies with a single layer of gooseberries and a lot of sweet/sharp juice.

The use of a hot water crust for a fruit pie is unusual, and can be tricky to work with. Some recipes even recommend that once the tart shell has been formed, the pastry is chilled overnight in order to make a firm casing for the gooseberries, but this then makes it difficult to attach the lid firmly once the paste is cold.

In my searching, I also found accounts that seemed to agree on two things: everyone seemed to like these tarts, even if they didn’t like gooseberries, and that they were extremely juicy when bitten into. I decided to make a large, consumer-friendly variation of this classic dessert pie by setting the juice with gelatine, so that it could be sliced and each slice would hold its shape.

Elderflower is a classic flavour pairing with gooseberries, and this pie combines a jelly made from the gooseberry juice syrup and elderflower cordial with fresh gooseberries and a sweetened hot water crust. The jelly is sweet and delicately flavoured and the gooseberries are so sharp, the contrast between the two is both delicious and refreshing. To make everything much easier, it is baked in a loaf tin.

Sweet Hot Water Crust
600g plain white flour
400ml water
100g butter
100g lard
60g caster sugar

Put the fats, sugar and water into a pan and warm over a low heat just until the fat has melted.
Put the flour into a bowl and pour on the warmed liquid. Stir well.
The paste will be very soft when it comes together, and you can roll it out if you like, but it can also just be flattened and pressed into the tin by hand.

1kg fresh gooseberries
1kg caster sugar
2-3 tablespoons of elderflower cordial

beaten egg to glaze.

3-4 sheets of leaf gelatine

Use a sharp knife to top-and-tail the gooseberries, removing the stalk and the calyx.
Generously grease a large loaf tin. You can, of course, make this in any shaped tin, but a rectangular loaf tin does produce pretty and regular slices. In order to decide what size of tin to use just tip in your prepared gooseberries. The best fit will be from the tin the gooseberries only just fill.
If liked, line the tin with baking parchment in order to help with the removal of the pie once it has cooled.
Make the pastry and divide into two. Roll out one piece and cut a lid for your pie. Use the empty tin to mark out its size, then cut the pastry 3cm larger all the way round. Set aside.
Gather the trimmings and the rest of the pastry together and roll out to about 1cm. Line your greased loaf tin and allow the excess pastry to drape over the sides for now. Make sure any cracks are well patched, so that the juice stays inside the pie.
Layer the gooseberries in the lined tin with the sugar.
Moisten the edges of the pastry with water and place the pastry lid on top of the pie. Press the edges together and trim the excess. Crimp the edges in a decorative manner.
Cut three circular vent holes in the lid at least 2cm in diameter.
Use the pastry trimmings to make additional decorations if liked.
Cover lightly with cling film and chill in the fridge for 1 hour to firm up.
Preheat the oven to 200°C/180°C fan/gas 6.
Brush the lid of the pie with beaten egg and bake for 45 minutes to 1 hour, until the top is crisp and golden and the sides are well-baked. It is better to cook the pie a little longer than for the pie to be under-baked, so if the top is becoming too dark, cover with some foil.
When you’re happy with the done-ness of the pastry, remove the pie from the oven and set aside to cool for 10 minutes.
Tricky Part: You need to drain the juice from the pie in order to mix in the elderflower cordial and the gelatine that will make it set. After much experimentation, I recommend the following method:
- Put your pie onto a wire cooling rack.
- Put a second rack upside-down on top of your pie.
- Place a large bowl on your work surface. If you think it necessary, place a damp teatowel underneath to prevent slippage.
- With your thumbs uppermost, pick up your pie tin, sandwiched between the wire racks.
- Holding the pie tin over the bowl, flip it towards you and let all of the juice drain out of the pie through the vent holes. Once the juice has topped dripping, turn your pie the right way up and set aside.
Taste the syrup and add sufficient elderflower cordial to flavour. Since the pie will be eaten cold, you can make the flavouring slightly stronger than usual, since the flavours will be somewhat muted when served.
When you’re happy with the taste, measure the volume of syrup. For every 150ml, you need to bloom (soak in water) 1 leaf (sheet) of gelatine. Once bloomed, drain and add the gelatine to the syrup and warm gently until melted.
Pour the syrup/gelatine mixture back into the pie. You want enough syrup in the pie to make the cooked gooseberries float.
Leave your pie to cool. Cover with plastic wrap and chill overnight in the fridge.
Allow to come to room temperature before removing from the tin and cutting in slices to serve.

Posset Pie

17th century, Pudding, Sweet Pastry

Joseph Cooper, 1654

The surfeted Groomes doe mock their charge With Snores.
I have drugg’d their Possets.

Macbeth, Act II, scene II

The broadest description of a posset that I can think of is that of a hot syllabub: a thickened drink of either milk or cream, sweetened and flavoured with any of a number of alcoholic drinks and/or fruit, served warm.

In the Middle Ages it was seen as a winter warmer and it’s ability to make one feel good meant that over the years it segued into becoming borderline medicinal. It was recommended for insomnia, indigestion, as a purgative and of benefit when fasting.

Recipes abound, and the styles are as numerous as their intended uses: custard posset, cold posset, apple posset, whipped posset, froth posset, sack posset, soap sud posset, posset without milk, posset without wine, posset without milk wine or beer.

Thus far, Joseph Cooper is the only person I have found that turns posset into a dessert. Twenty years later Hannah Woolley would include this same recipe in her own book, adding a few of her own details to the method.

Apples are the recommended fruit, but this would work well with almost any fleshy fruit pulp; apricots in summer, for example, and dark, sharp damsons in autumn.

Posset Pie

Sweet shortcrust pastry
Eggwhite for glazing

500g fruit puree
2 large yolks
200ml double cream
50ml cream sherry
1tsp ginger
1/2tsp cinnamon
1-2tbs icing sugar
4 heaped tablespoons dried white breadcrumbs

To decorate
2cm matchsticks of candied orange, lemon and citron peel
sugar nibs

Preheat the oven to 200°C/180°C fan/gas 6.
Roll out the pastry and line a greased shallow tart tin. My favourite shape is long and rectangular (36 x 12 x 3cm).
Prick the bottom with the tines of a fork to prevent blistering and line with parchment paper and baking beads.
Bake for 10 minutes, then remove the parchment and baking beads and bake for a further five minutes.
Brush the insides of the tart with beaten egg white and bake for a further 3 minutes.
Turn the oven heat to 160°C/140°C fan/gas 3.
Mix the filling ingredients until smooth. Taste and add more sugar if liked.
Pour into the pastry case and smooth over.
Bake for 20-25 minutes until the filling is almost set.

Shrewsbury Pudding Tart

19th century, Pudding, Sweet Pastry

Georgiana Hill, 1862

Here is something a little different for the adventurous, an unusual dessert in the form of a gloriously vibrant beetroot tart: given an official Thumb’s Up™ by my daughter. I’ve tweaked this recipe slightly and baked it in a pastry case, for ease of serving. The original method was for a buttered-and-breadcrumbed bowl. The cooking times are roughly the same. The flavour is very light and delicate, the lemon counteracting a lot of the beetroot’s sweetness.

1 x 24cm blind-baked pastry shell

225g cooked beetroot
115g unsalted butter – melted
150g icing sugar
zest of 1 lemon
juice of 2 lemons
3 large eggs
60ml brandy
150-200g fresh white breadcrumbs

Preheat the oven to 150°C, 130°C Fan.
Puree the beetroot until smooth.
Add the butter, sugar, lemon, eggs and brandy and whisk thoroughly.
Add in the breadcrumbs BUT not all at once. You want them to absorb a lot of the moisture in the filling, which will vary depending on the freshness of the eggs and the moisture in the beetroot. You might not need all of them. The texture should be similar to a sponge cake mix, but still pourable.
Add the filling to the pie shell and place the tin on a baking sheet.
Bake for 25-30 minutes until the filling has set. Turn the baking sheet around after 15 minutes to ensure even baking.
Cool on a wire rack.