vegetarian – Deja Food

Apploffi Pie

Recipe inspiration can come from many quarters. The prompt for today’s recipe comes in the form of four words in a newspaper article over 20 years ago.

Back in March 2006, The Guardian published a piece by Ian Dowding entitled “I Invented Banoffi Pie”. Dowding then spends the rest of the article chronicling how he did NOT invent the classic pudding loved by millions, rather how it evolved from an original pie – Blum’s Coffee Toffee Pie – from the famous Blum’s Bakery and Restaurant in San Francisco in the 1940s.

The owner of the restaurant where Dowding was employed felt that the dessert needed a little something extra, so experiments were conducted introducing various ingredients, including fruit.

“Apple was quite good” is the phrase that set me experimenting. There was no recipe included, although I have found examples by other people out there which involve a simple substitution of apple for banana, but I felt the dish deserved something more to set it apart.

There were a number of points to ponder:

The base.
The caramel.
The fruit.
The cream topping.

The Base

The original Banoffi Pie recipe called for shortcrust pastry, whose plainness was just the foil needed against the richness of the filling. Could this be improved upon in some way? I’m a real fan of the original shortcrust pastry, especially my version using cornflour for a proportion of the flour, as it makes it fabulously crisp and dry, and it is a great foil against the very rich sweetness of the caramel and banana. But using apple is a whole different kettle of fish. Banana is a really strong flavour, and while apples are characterised as being crisp and juicy they’re not really strongly flavoured. So I started thinking about a different kind of base that might contribute to the mix a little more than plain pastry. Since salted caramel is very much a thing in recent times, leaning into the savoury seemed a promising direction. I was reminded of the saltine crust of the Atlantic Beach Pie that was all the rage back in 2014, decided to mix in some pretzels for extra crunch, and then make the whole crust gluten-free, because why not? The Italian company Schar produces a wide range of gluten-free products, many of which are available on UK supermarket shelves. I chose their Salti crackers, which are like a cross between a Ritz cracker and a Saltine, and their pretzels. Obviously, regular crackers/pretzels are fine too.

With the addition of a little salt, this was still pretty much a regular crumb crust, except I had a brainwave and opted to use browned butter. It turned a fairly straightforward crumb crust into a buttery, crunchy, salty, rubble-y, nutty delight that is just incredible against the caramel/apple/cream, and positively addictive on it’s own. Very autumnal and just the perfect pairing with all the other elements. I’m slightly obsessed with how good it is and am now thinking of all the other dishes I can use it with.

The Caramel

Classic. Not to be messed with. No notes.

That being said, you can choose whether to buy tins of caramel, or make your own, which is cheaper and less sweet than the tins of caramel. To make your own, put unopened tins of sweetened condensed milk into a slow cooker and add water to cover. Cook on Low for 8-10 hours. Switch off the slow cooker and leave to cool overnight. UNDER NO CIRCUMSTANCES open a tin while it is hot. Buy your unbranded condensed milk from Aldi – other supermarkets seem to be carrying the (much more expensive) named brand only these days.

The Apple

Which apple to choose? There are so many, dessert and cooking types. Jazz apples are my current favourite dessert apple with a crisp, clean and juicy bite. Rough-skinned russet apples have an almost nutty flavour, and go great with a variety of cheeses. My number one pick of fresh apples, however, is Bramley apples – a British cooking apple that is pleasantly sharp and breaks down into billowy apple fluff when cooked. You could slice and use it raw, but the juice might become a problem if left for a while, not to mention the discolouration, so cooked apple is probably the best way to go here. If you prefer a dessert apple, consider using a little lemon juice to sharpen it. To help prevent the juice from weeping out of your cooked apple, you can thicken your pulp with a little cornflour.

Other Apple Options

I thought of this after finishing up all the taste testing and using up all my apples, but you could also use gelatine to set your pulp. Bloom it in water, either sheet or powder, and then add to your hot apple pulp and stir well until it melts and is well combined. Pour over your caramel.

A third option would be to use Apple Butter, a favourite autumn preserve made mainly in the United States, which is already seasoned and spiced, and solid when cold. The apple flavour is much more rich and concentrated and is definitely something I would have chosen, had we not already scoffed all of the last batch I made.

The Cream

The unsweetened cream flavoured strongly with coffee was the original, classic recommendation. I was puzzled after reading the above article – and wasn’t sure if it was it supposed to go with the apple version as well. I had my doubts, so I decided to taste-test a number of flavouring options for the cream as follows:

- Coffee, (unsweetened) – Not a fan. I was going to go as far as ‘revolting’ but that seemed a bit harsh. For my palate, the bitterness just jars against the sharpness and freshness of the apple.
- Lemon (sweetened juice) – Had potential, as it goes well with apple, but it did not tie in with the caramel at all.
- Vanilla (unsweetened) – Pleasantly surprising. Having it unsweetened made it a little unusual, but it was great with both the apple and the caramel, and the sweetness of both more than made up for it.
- Unflavoured – I don’t know whether it was because all my flavouring thoughts had turned out to be less than a roaring success, but I decided to try just plain whipped cream – no flavourings, no sugar. And, ladies and gentlemen, we have a winner. It was great with the apple, great with the caramel, and great with the brown butter base. Sometimes the simplest idea is the best.

So there we have it. A cracking autumnal variation on a classic crowd-pleaser whipped up from just a 4-word prompt!

Apploffi Pie

If you already have a favourite Banoffi Pie recipe, you can just swap out the banana for the cooked apple. However, I strongly recommend trying the brown butter cracker crust – it’s a taste sensation!

Use whatever tin/dish you prefer. I used a rectangular, loose-bottomed fluted tart tin. As in the picture, you want to aim for roughly the same depth for each of the layers – crumb/caramel/apple/cream – Mine is about 1.5cm.

Browned Butter Pretzel/cracker base

250g unsalted butter – divided
60g GF pretzels
90g GF Salti crackers
2tbs soft dark brown/muscovado sugar
½ tsp salt

Put the block of butter into a pan over a medium (level 5 on my induction hob) heat. You’re not going to use all of the browned butter, but it’s difficult to calculate how much fresh butter will make just the right amount of browned butter, because the water content of the butter isn’t set in stone. Much simpler to make a whole block into browned butter, use what you need and then you have delicious browned butter to use on other things.
Allow the butter to melt, and continue to heat, stirring occasionally. The milk solids will eventually start to turn brown and will release an amazing, nutty caramel aroma. This will take about 10-15 minutes. It will happen quicker if you raise the heat, but this will also speed up the browning, making the line between toasty brown and burnt very sudden.
Stir more frequently as the solids brown, and remove from the heat once they are sufficiently toasty.
Set aside to cool.
Prepare the tin you are going to use. I like to line the tin with foil to help remove the pie once set and ready to serve.
Put the pretzels, crackers, sugar and salt into a food processor and blitz to crumbs. NB if you’re using salted butter, reduce the salt to ¼ teaspoon.
Tip the crumb mixture into a bowl.
Stir your browned butter and measure out 75g. Save the rest to use on popcorn or to make more crumb mixture! NB Keep giving your butter a stir as it cools, so the delicious browned bits are mixed throughout – otherwise they will just all sink to the bottom.
If your butter has started to solidify, warm it with a brief zap in the microwave.
Stir the butter into the crumb mixture until well mixed. It should clump together if you press it firmly. Press the crumb into the bottom and sides of your tin. Use a flat-bottomed glass to get a smooth, compact finish on the bottom. Fingertips are probably best for the sides.
Heat your oven to 200°C, 180°C Fan.
Bake your crumb shell for 10 minutes, then set aside to cool. The baking will help solidify and firm up your tart shell.
Chill in the fridge until needed.

Caramel

1 tin sweetened condensed milk OR 1 tin caramel.

If you are catering for large number, you might want to use 2 tins, but in all honesty, the dish is so rich, one tin is enough for 8 servings.

As I’ve already mentioned, making your own caramel from sweetened condensed milk is both cheaper and better than buying it pre-made – the finished caramel is firmer and not as sweet. You do whatever suits your situation.
To recap making your own: put unopened tins (do several at once and keep the spares in the cupboard for EBS (Emergency Banoffi Situations)) of sweetened condensed milk into a slow cooker and add water to cover. Cook on Low for 8-10 hours. Switch off the slow cooker and leave the tins to cool overnight. And, just to belabour a safety point UNDER NO CIRCUMSTANCES open a tin while it is hot.
Warm your caramel gently in a pan so that it is easier to pour. As it warms, stir to remove lumps. If you are using your home-made caramel, which has a firm set, you might want to use an immersion blender or hand mixer to get rid of any lumps. Tins of ready-made caramel have a softer consistency.
Pour your smooth, warmed caramel over your chilled crumb shell. Spread it evenly and smooth over.
Cover with plastic wrap so that it touches the surface of the caramel and chill until required.

Apple Layer

300g OR 1 rounded cup of fresh apple pulp (made from 3 Bramley apples OR 5-6 dessert apples) OR apple butter

OPTIONAL: the juice and/or zest of one lemon to sharpen the pulp

EITHER 1tbs cornflour mixed with 1tbs water OR 2 tsp powdered gelatine OR 2 sheets gelatine

Put your apple pulp into a pan and heat through.
Taste your pulp and add the lemon zest/juice if liked.
If using cornflour…
- Mix the cornflour with the water until smooth.
- Stir the cornflour slurry into your warm apple pulp and cook for 1-2 minutes until the pulp thickens and no white from the slurry remains.
If using gelatine…
- Bloom your gelatine in water according to instructions.
- Add the bloomed gelatine to your heated apple pulp and stir thoroughly to combine.
If using apple butter, just warm it enough to make it pourable.
Pour your thickened apple over the caramel layer and spread smooth.
Cover your apple layer with plastic wrap and chill thoroughly in the fridge until set.

Cream Layer to finish

300ml chilled double/heavy cream
ground cinnamon to sprinkle

Whip the cream until it holds its shape.
Spread the whipped cream over the apple layer of your pie and swirl it artistically. Alternatively, just spread it like I did.
Sprinkle the top of your Apploffi Pie with ground cinnamon and serve.

Carrot Soup

19th century, soup

One of the main attractions of old recipes is the lack of messing about that goes on. For the most part, what you see is what you get. The ingredients are largely wholesome and unadulterated. Flavours are clear and crisp and very reminiscent of a much simpler time.

However some recipes that sound simple in my indexed spreadsheet, turn out to be surprisingly complicated when I come to look them up.

Take this recipe for pottage, for example. Back in the early part of the year, I thought a recipe for the humble dish of pottage might be just the thing for the blog during Lent – tasty, but abstemious and possibly even pious. I was going to look so good adapting this recipe. Many, many Lenten brownie points were going to be headed my way. I selected one of many recipes entitled just ‘pottage’ that appears in an anonymous manuscript from the late 17th century, and bustled off, as much as one can when reading a PDF document, to see what it was all about.

Recipe to make Pottage, MS7892, 1675-1725, Wellcome Collection

Turns out, it is quite the Palaver, possibly even bordering Malarkey! We have beef, we have mutton, we have veal, we have a range of unspecified poultry and we also have bacon. And this is just to make the broth! Then we need to add seasoning and greens, specifically spinach, lettuce, sorrel, young beets, asparagus tops and artichoke bottoms. And while all that is going on, we have a quick side-quest to prepare the serving dish and rustle up garnishes by dicing up the meat that was boiled, making and slicing fresh meatballs. and boiling and slicing cabbage lettuces. *mops brow* I’m exhausted just from typing that all out!

I’m also quite amused by the apparent ‘three stages of pottage’ handwriting styles. It’s almost as if we too have been on something of a journey with the recipe writer, who starts out using a calm and flourishing hand in the beginning, with just a couple of smudges, where it’s all ‘throw it in a pot’ – simple, straightforward. When I first re-read the recipe, I actually thought it ended after the first paragraph, and was rather puzzled that my notes said it was a very detailed recipe. Because then we enter what is obviously a manic phase, where greenery is having to be prepped and shredded and simmered. The handwriting style is all over the place. Perhaps it all got too much for the cook and she delegated to an underling when the frenzy of pottage-making took a bit of a turn. The final section, on the second page, is much more sedate and calm: the neat handwriting has returned and you just know that, even though there is quite a bit of detail in finishing off the dish, this part of the account has been written in a much less frenzied atmosphere, after the author has almost certainly had a bit of a lie-down in a dark room and possibly a stiff drink to calm the frazzled nerves. All in all a veritable pottage saga! Who knew cooking soup could be such a rollercoaster!

All of which is in complete contrast to the recipe we’re actually doing today, namely Carrot Soup.

Recipe for Carrot Soup, 1829, MS4645, Wellcome Collection

Helpfully including details such as provenance (Sarah Mathews) and a date of 1829, this late-Georgian recipe is the epitome of simplicity: vegetables in a pan, add stock, cook, puree, garnish, serve. Bish, bash, bosh. Done.

It is also, however, slightly sneaky in that it includes lots of vegetables that give body to the soup and round out the flavour but are undetectable in the final serving. There’s no need for flour thickening – great for anyone with a sensitivity to gluten – and just some slight adjustment with the finishing can easily make this vegetarian soup vegan by swapping out the butter for a suitable alternative

Carrot Soup

This is a scaled-down version of the above recipe, which makes four generous meal-sized servings. You can add more vegetables if you like – another similar recipe I found suggested adding 2 leeks, which I didn’t have, but I did have a bunch of spring onions that needed using up, so in they went. The garnish is a mixture of a swirl of cream and diced celery tossed in sage butter.

500-600g carrots
2 onions
1 turnip (and/or small swede)
1 small celeriac
(optional) 2 leeks/bunch of spring onions
60g butter
1 litre vegetable stock (1 litre of water + 2 stock cubes)

To finish
150ml cream
3 sticks celery
60g butter
10-12 sage leaves (optional)
coarse-ground black pepper

Peel and chop all the vegetables to roughly the same size – I used my trusty mandolin slicer fitted with the wide/large blade.
Put the vegetables in a pot with the butter and cook gently until softened.
Add the vegetable stock and cover.
Simmer until all the vegetables are tender. (about 30 minutes, depending on how large the pieces are).
Use a stick blender or liquidiser to puree the soup smooth. For extra smoothness, pass the soup through a sieve.
Rinse the pan, pour the pureed soup back in and heat gently.
To Garnish
- While the vegetables are cooking, cut each of the celery sticks into 3 pieces and add to a pan with enough water to cover.
- Simmer for 20-25 minutes until tender. Drain.
- Using a sharp knife, cut the cooked celery lengthwise into strips about 1cm wide, then across making 1cm cubes.
- Melt the butter in a pan and toss in the sage leaves. Fry until just crisped.
- Add the cubed celery and heat through.
Serve the heated soup with a swirl of cream and a spoonful of the celery/sage butter. Finish with a sprinkling of black pepper.

Easter Baking

17th century, 19th century

Two recipes for you this week, both of which are ancestors of recipes we still use today: a Good Friday Cake, and Easter Cakes. Both recipes come from manuscripts held by the National Library of Scotland.

Good Friday Cake recipe, from the manuscript of Dorothy Best, circa 1688, National Library of Scotland.

The Good Friday Cake is a yeasted saffron bun, lightly spiced and speckled with either currants or raisins. Links to our modern Hot Cross Buns are obvious. The use of saffron gives the cooked buns a wonderfully golden crust. The recipe doesn’t give an exact quantity of saffron, rather it suggest “two penny-worth”. In terms of translating this into a modern recipe, it’s probably better to go by the quantity of dough your working with to guide you. I’ve scaled this recipe down to 1/14th scale, working with just 1lb/450g of flour. Consequently, I suggest just a pinch of saffron. Sidebar: in culinary terms, a pinch is usually the quantity of whatever you’re measuring that can be picked up using two fingers and your thumb. However, due to the strength/expense of saffron, the smaller finger-and-thumb pinch is all that is required here.

For the Easter Cakes, we revisit the eccentrically-spelled Bakery Book (my own nickname for it) dating from the early 19th century. Easter Cake recipes are still being made today, with modern variations including a range of spices and/or lemon zest. To avoid confusion, they are nowadays usually referred to as Easter Biscuits. As I’ve mentioned before, back in the day, the word ‘cake’ was used to refer to anything round and relatively flat in shape. I’ve read ‘cake’ recipes for sugar drops, lozenges, incense pellets, fruit drops, biscuits, buns, crackers, small cakes, large cakes and preserved herbs.

Easter Cakes recipe from an anonymous, hand-written commercial bakery book, dating from 1827, National Library of Scotland.

I’ve spent so much time reading handwritten manuscripts, and many laborious hours with this manuscript in particular, I can now read the above recipe at something resembling a ‘normal’ speed, but for anyone interested but deterred, I offer the following ‘translation’:

Easter Cakes for shops or for tables.
First, take 1½lb butter and 1½lb of coarse sugar rolled clear of lumps, and clean currants and finely sieved cinnamon, then rub that all fine into 4lb flour and then make a bay in the flour so and take ½oz volatile salts and dissolve it into a little milk and then pour that into it and enough milk for to wet that into a good stiff paste and roll that out into a thin thin sheets and cut them out round with tin cutters and crimp the edges of them all round so [diagram] and then put on very slightly-greased tins so far apart [diagram] and slightly wash the tops over with fine sieved loaf sugar and a little milk and bake in a sharp oven and stand on the tins until cold and keep dry and clean.

So! We meet again, Mr Volington Salts.

There are but a few tweaks of this recipe required in order to bring it into something usable by today’s standards.

Volatile salts (aka Baker’s Ammonia) were used for aeration in the years before the invention of baking powder. During baking, the heat of the oven causes the ammonium carbonate/bicarbonate to decompose into ammonia, carbon dioxide, and water, providing both puff and crispness to baked goods, without any aftertaste. You can still buy it today (it is especially good for certain gingerbreads), although your kitchen should be well ventilated in order to disperse the ammonia properly. Substituting baking powder for the volatile salts is a straightforward swap.
We no longer need to smash out the lumps in our coarse sugar – Demerera sugar is an excellent substitute.
Cinnamon can easily be purchased finely ground and lump-free.
Hand crimping biscuits is no longer required and a fluted, round cutter will do the job in a fraction of the time.
Using parchment paper ensures your biscuits do not stick to the baking sheets and also reduces washing up afterwards.
Caster sugar can be used for the finely-sieved loaf sugar.

I hope you enjoy trying these two Easter resurrections from times past.

Good Friday Cake

Delicious sliced, toasted and spread with salted butter.

200ml milk
a pinch of saffron strands
1lb plain flour
50g unsalted butter
0.5 tsp ground cloves
0.5 tsp ground mace
100ml warm water
1 sachet fast-action yeast

35g raisins
35g currants

milk to glaze

Put the milk into a small pan with the saffron and bring to a simmer.
Remove from the heat, cover and allow to steep for 20 minutes.
Put the flour, butter, cloves, mace and yeast into a food processor and pulse until the mixture resembles breadcrumbs.
Pour the saffron mixture and the water into the bowl of a stand mixer.
Add the flour mixture and knead for 10 minutes.
Cover the bowl with plastic wrap and allow to rise for 1 hour.
Tip out the risen dough and divide in half.
Flatten the dough and sprinkle over the dried fruit – currants in one half, raisins in the other.
Shape into rounds and flatten slightly. Each bun will be about 15cm in diameter.
Cover lightly with a cloth and set to rise for about 30 minutes.
Heat the oven to 180°C, 160°C Fan.
Cut a deep cross into the centre of each bun. Be sure not to cut through the edges. My dough scraper is just about the perfect width for this.
Brush the tops with milk and bake for 30-40 minutes, turning the tray around after 25 minutes to help even the colour.
Cool on a wire rack and store in an airtight container.

Easter Cakes

Makes about 35 biscuits.

I made these gluten-free with a mixture of gluten-free flour and xanthan gum. If you’re fine with gluten, just use regular plain flour.

225g gluten-free flour + ½ tsp xanthan gum
1 rounded tsp ground cinnamon
2 level tsp baking powder
85g unsalted butter
85g Demerera sugar
85g currants

milk to mix & glaze
caster sugar to sprinkle

Heat the oven to 180°C, 160°C Fan.
Put the flour, xanthan gum, cinnamon, baking powder and butter into the bowl of a food processor and pulse until the mixture resembles breadcrumbs.
Tip the mixture into a bowl and add the currants and sugar.
Moisten with milk and stir until the mixture comes together into a dough.
Knead briefly and turn out onto a floured surface.
Roll out thinly (5mm) and cut into biscuits using a crimped, 5cm diameter cutter.
Lay the biscuits onto baking sheets lined with parchment paper.
Brush the tops with milk and lightly sprinkle with caster sugar.
Bake for 15-20 minutes or until the edges are a light golden brown, turning the tins around after 10 minutes to help even the colour.
Cool on the tins for 10 minutes, then finish cooling on a wire rack.
Store in an airtight container.

Apple Cream

18th century, Pudding

Recently, I was browsing my collection of manuscript recipes, looking for something suitable for the upcoming Mothers Day, also known as Mothering Sunday.

I have already posted about the original Simnel Cake, which has more recently morphed into a marzipan-layered fruit cake. But to be honest, my reaction to thoughts of doing anything with marzipan is, pretty much as it has always been:

I know it’s very much a part of traditional baked goods in the UK, but exposure to the neon-yellow, heavily almond-flavoured monstrosity of my youth has left its scars. Some day I shall get around to rehabilitating my taste-buds, but for now, to paraphrase the words of Syrio Forel: What do we say to things with marzipan? Not today.

So I decided to go another way and make something that many manuscript authors decide is important enough to be recorded in their book: a recipe from their own mother. The recipes they wish to preserve are many and varied, ranging from jams and marmalades, custards, pastry, cheesecakes and puddings, to spiced meats, possets, biscuits, cakes and more.

Handwritten recipe for Apple Cream, from a manuscript dated circa 1725, MS1343, at the Wellcome Collection — Apple Cream, circa 1725, MS1343, Wellcome Collection

This recipe from Deborah Branch’s manuscript, dates from 1725, the early years of the Hanoverian Era. It is a simple recipe, with arguably just three ingredients, and it suggests to me that it is a treasured childhood memory: Cooked apples, bread, custard. It is served cold, and can be assembled just before serving, if more suited to your circumstances. The textures play a large part in the enjoyment of this recipe: the firm, coldness of the cooked apple, the lightness of the cream and the crunch of the toasted bread are very ‘toothsome’, as they used to say. The recipe suggests assembling and then chilling, however this will impact the crispness of the toasted bread, so I would recommend making and chilling everything, then assembling when required.

A word or two about the ingredients.

Apples: I’ve tried this recipe with both Bramley cooking apples and (Cox’s) eating apples. Both are good in different ways. The Bramleys are much bigger (so fewer are needed) and are less prone to holding their shape. Time the cooking just right and they have a fantastic texture, soft on the outside and firm yet still cooked in the centre, but even if they tip over into fluff, their flavour is still wonderful, especially if you’ve used either light or dark brown sugar. Eating apples hold their shape much better and are a great contrast against the crisp bread and creamy custard. Personally, I prefer to use Bramley apples – their sharpness is a great contrast against the sweetness of the toasted buns and cream.
Bread: the original recipe just calls for ‘slices of bread’ to act as a base, but this didn’t seem to offer much, especially not in texture. I recently read a recipe for a trifle that had the bread toasted, and I thought that sounded much more exciting (yes, dearest gentle reader, I really did just admit to toast sounding exciting. Hey, I live in the wilds of the countryside, we gotta take our entertainment where we can!). You can tinker with this recipe merely by changing the bread you choose – airy sourdough, an enriched brioche, even dark rye bread or malt loaf. I chose to go with spiced hot cross buns, as a nod to the Easter season in general, and I can highly recommend this option.
Cream/Custard: despite the title, the cream proved to be a rich custard made with egg yolks and cream. I’m always pondering the type of cream they mean in old recipes, because here in the 21st century we’re rather spoiled for choice. But you can use the same tweaks here as for the bread option: I used single/pouring cream, but you could enrich it by switching to whipping, double, extra thick or even clotted for a real indulgence. The ‘set’ wasn’t very firm – and I liked that – but if you prefer a set to your custard cream, just add a rounded teaspoon of cornflour (mixed to a slurry with milk) to the eggs and sugar.

Apple Cream c.1725

This recipe can be customised to both your liking and your needs. I offer the following quantities as a guide to serving four people, but the quantities of each can be doubled for large appetites/extra portions.

Bramley Apples x 2 ( ½ an apple per person)
OR
Eating/Dessert Apples x 4 (1 apple per person)
4 tbs sugar – caster, light or dark brown

2 x Hot Cross Buns

300ml single cream
3 large egg yolks
1-2 tbs caster sugar – or more to your taste
flavouring – 1tsp rosewater/orange flower water/vanilla/lemon zest – or other
1 rounded tsp cornflour & milk to mix (optional)

Cook the apples: Peel the apples and cut into halves. Remove the cores. Sprinkle over sugar to your taste. About 1tbs per half-apple.
Add the apple halves to a pan with a lid (preferably a glass one so you can easily keep an eye on the apples as they cook.
Sprinkle 1tsp water per apple into the pan, just to keep the sugar from scorching until the juices start to run.
Cover the pan and turn the heat to low (4 on my hob).
Allow the apples to poach gently until just cooked through – for Bramley Apples about 15 minutes, eating apples will be closer to 20 minutes.
Switch off the heat and allow the apples to cool in the pan. When cold, transfer them and any juice to a dish and chill in the fridge until required.
Toast the bread. Tear your buns/bread into small pieces and spread out on a baking sheet.
Toast the bread under the grill until crisped and turning brown at the edges.
Cool on the baking sheet and when cold, transfer to a ziplock bag or airtight container until needed.
Prepare the cream. Pour the cream into a small saucepan and bring to a gentle simmer – when the edges are just bubbling.
While the cream is heating, whisk the yolks with the sugar. If you’re using cornflour, add the slurry now.
Pour the scalded cream onto the yolks, whisking, then return the mixture to the pan.
Whisk the custard over medium heat until it has thickened. Take care it doesn’t boil, as it will turn the cream grainy.
Remove from the heat, stir through your flavouring and set aside. If not assembling immediately, cover the surface with plastic wrap to prevent a skin forming.

To Assemble

You can make this recipe in a large trifle bowl, but I think individual servings are much more attractive.

Cover the base of your dish with toasted bread/buns. If your bread has softened put it into the oven to crisp it up. Alternatively, prep and chill the cream and apples beforehand and toast the bread just before serving.
Arrange your cooked apples (or apple fluff if your Bramleys went a bit too far) over the toast. Drizzle any juices over as well.
Spoon your custard cream over the apples. I like to leave gaps here and there to allow the other ingredients to peep through.
Top with chopped/flaked nuts, sugar crystals, candied fruit or whipped cream as liked.

Onion Soup

17th century, 18th century, 19th century, soup

There’s nothing quite like a hearty soup for filling and warming you up on a brisk winter’s day. I’m patriotic for British food and deep down I must confess being a little resentful of the popularity of French Onion Soup. Nothing against the French, but recently, I starting pondering why we don’t have a decent British Onion Soup? After all, onions have been part of our food landscape for over 1500 years, brought by the Romans, presumably because our native alliums did not, pardon the pun, cut the mustard.

So I leapt, gazelle-like, to my collection of handwritten manuscripts to see what was occurring back in the day, and found many an onion soup, if not alive and kicking, then robustly chopped and simmering for many a decade.

I have selected three such soups for your delectation today, each of them delicious (obvs), each of them different in subtle, surprising ways. In deference to modern eating habits, one is vegan, one is vegetarian and one is whipped up with an unashamedly meaty stock.

Feel free to serve your onion soup with whatever garnishes take your fancy: crusty bread, cheesy croutons, spring onions/chives, grated cheese…

Which ever you choose, I hope you’ll enjoy warming yourself up with some/all of them .

White Onion Soup, circa 1820

Gluten-free.

This recipe caught my eye first and foremost because it is the first recipe in an anonymous, early 19thC manuscript. I like to imagine the author excitedly beginning a new recipe collection and what’s their first choice? Boom! White Onion Soup! I, not unreasonably, assumed this would be a banger of a recipe. I was also intrigued because of it’s title – specifying ‘white’ – unlike the majority of the onion soup recipes. It isn’t in reference to a specific type of onion, so I thought maybe it was for something cream or milk-based, thus resulting in a light-coloured soup. Turns out, it is quite the opposite, as the cooking liquid is made from two very meaty stocks of lamb and beef, and the onions are initially simmered with some lean ham/bacon. After much thought, I’ve come to the conclusion that ‘white’ refers to how the onions are treated, i.e. not browned or coloured. In each white onion soup recipe I found, the onions were either gently stewed in butter or initially parboiled in water. Cream was added at the end, as is recommended in this recipe, but having tasted this soup both before and after the addition of cream, my recommendation is to omit it altogether: the mix of meat broths give a light and delicate flavour that is as savoury as it is surprising, given its dark colouring. It is deliciously complex.

A bowl of onion soup, showing chopped onion in a dark meat broth — White Onion Soup with meat broth

For the stock
2 strong beef stock pots/cubes
2 lamb stock pots/cubes
1 blade of mace
3 whole cloves
1 tbs black peppercorns
2 litres water

800g brown onions
120g unsalted butter
½ gammon steak or 120g lean back bacon

salt and pepper
cream to taste (optional)

Put the ingredients for the stock into a large saucepan.
Bring gently to a boil, stirring until the stock pots have dissolved, then turn down the heat and simmer, uncovered, for about an hour, or until reduced to 1.5 litres.
While the stock is simmering, peel and chop the onions finely.
Melt the butter in a pan and add the onions and gammon/bacon and toss to coat.
Cook the onions in the butter over a low heat, stirring occasionally, until softened and translucent. Stir to keep them from catching any colour.
When the stock is ready, strain out the solids and return the stock to the saucepan.
Remove the gammon from the pan, then add the softened onions and butter to the stock.
Simmer the soup for 10-15 minutes, then taste and adjust the seasoning with salt and pepper. Since the stock pots are already quite heavily salted, you may not need anything further.
Chop the gammon/bacon finely and return to the soup if liked, or use it elsewhere (sandwich, salad, omelette, etc).
Serve hot, with cream if preferred.

Late Stuart Onion Soup, circa 1700

Vegetarian. Gluten-free.

This onion soup is about a century older than the one above, and is the kind of recipe I love in that it gives several options when making it to tailor it to your own personal tastes. I do love multi-purpose recipes! This is a recipe where the onions are browned/caramelised, and you can feel free to decide how dark to take them, according to your personal preference. The recipe actually calls for them to be ‘blackish’, which I think is a bit far, but certainly they should be brown and maybe a little dark on the edges also.

I love the addition of the fresh herbs in the cooking liquid, adding a real savoury note to the soup. This recipe also suggests ways in which the soup can be enriched, either by the addition of milk or broth for the cooking liquid, but only either one or the other, never both together. Adding milk to hot liquids can be tricky, because it is prone to curdling if you take your eye off the pan for a second and the soup gets too hot. One solution would be to use double cream, as the additional fat content helps to prevent curdling, but this might prove too rich for some palates. I recommend using a small can of evaporated milk: its caramel notes being very complimentary to the browned onions, and also much less likely to curdle.

Creamy caramelised onion soup with fresh herbs

800g onions
1 level tsp salt
125g unsalted butter
1200ml cold water
3 sprigs fresh thyme + more to garnish
12 stalks fresh parsley + more to garnish
EITHER evaporated milk – 1 small tin (170ml) or to taste from a large tin (410ml) OR 500ml beef stock
black pepper to taste

Peel and slice the onions into semi-circles.
Melt the butter in a large pan, preferably non-stick
Add the onions and cook slowly over a medium-low (6 of 9) heat, stirring occasionally, until browned to your liking. This will take a while, probably 30 minutes or more. Sprinkling the onions with the salt will help draw out their moisture and speed up the browning process a little.
When the onions are browned to your liking, add the water, thyme and parsley.
Simmer with the herbs for 20-30 minutes. NB Fresh thyme can be quite potent, so check along the way how your soup is tasting – you might want to fish out the thyme stalks sooner rather than later.
Add your enrichment liquids – either evaporated milk or beef stock – and heat through.
Taste and adjust the seasoning to your palate.
Serve.

Martha Bradley’s Onion Soup with Vinegar, 1758

Vegan. Vegetarian. Dairy-free. Gluten-free*.

This onion soup recipe is the most surprising of the three. I have adjusted it slightly in order to make it vegan (oil for butter), but that’s not what is surprising.

No, the surprising part is the flavour: bold and hearty with a real punch of richness and then brightness brought by the vinegar. I looked up this rather unusual combination, and found several versions, some of which were entitled “Drunk Soup” and emphasized the restorative properties of such a soup when recovering from over-indulgence: the sweetness of the onions providing restorative energy to the body and the vinegar providing balance to the fat/richness.

Another unusual aspect is the use of another soup to give body to the onion soup. ‘Pease soup’ is made from dried peas, not fresh garden peas, and is usually simmered with a ham hock in the making to give a thick and hearty soup. Obviously that wouldn’t do if I was to keep this recipe vegan, so not having any dried peas to hand, I opted for a tin of lentil soup, reasoning that both peas and lentils are farinaceous in texture and also vegan. I figured I could switch things around later if the recipe showed promise. However, it made for such an extraordinary soup I had absolutely no notes, so the recipe neither needed nor got any further tweaks.

It is my favourite of all three soups and epitomises why old British recipes are worthy of perseverance: this recipe was just tucked away in a relatively unknown, mid-eighteenth century book and it turns out to be a classic.

Martha Bradley's Onion Soup with Vinegar, "The British Housewife" 1758 — Martha Bradley’s Onion Soup with Vinegar, “The British Housewife” 1758

600g brown onions
2tbs vegetable oil
2 level tbs cornflour
salt and pepper to taste
1 x 400g tin Heinz Lentil Soup*(See note [1] below)
1-2tbs vinegar (your choice of type)

Peel and slice the onions either in half moons or vertically.
Add the vegetable oil to a large pan and tip in the onions.
Stir the onions over a medium-low heat (6 of 9) until softened and browned. Again, you can take the browning to whatever degree you like, but a mid-brown will take about 30 minutes.
Add the cornflour and stir in. Cook for a couple of minutes.
Open the tin of soup and pour into a bowl. Fill the tin with water and add it to the bowl. Use a stick blender to puree the mixture smooth, then pour the blended and diluted soup into the onion mixture.
Stir the soup/onion mixture. It will thicken quite quickly. Decide whether the soup is thick enough or too thick for your tastes. Add another soup-tin of water to dilute it, if liked.
Add vinegar of your choice. This can be any kind of vinegar: white, distilled, rice, sherry, malt, wine, cider, balsamic – whatever you have to hand. I would caution you to add a teaspoon at a time and stir it in thoroughly before tasting and adding more. A relatively mild white balsamic might require the full two tablespoons, but distilled vinegar merely a teaspoon or two.
Heat through and serve.

[1] Heinz Lentil Soup is vegan, even though it only says Vegetarian on the tin. It contains wheat flour (presumably for thickening purposes), making it not strictly gluten-free. I have developed some sensitivity to gluten, and yet I experienced no adverse effects, which leads me to assume it is only there in trace quantities. Not everyone is the same, so in order to keep this strictly gluten-free, I recommend making your own lentil/split-pea soup. My suggestion is for using yellow split peas due to their colour (a better match to the caramelised onions than green peas – although I could be wrong. Let me know!), dried black Carlin peas or even dried white beans/peas.

Ormskirk Gingerbread

19th century

If you’d asked me only a few years ago, of my opinion of gingerbread, I would have given an indifferent shrug in response: I didn’t dislike it, but I wasn’t a fervent fan either. Ginger biscuits and the gingerbread used for gingerbread men I thought dull. Ginger cake was fine, but it would never be a first choice. Since then, I have discovered so many old recipes that have range and depth and nuance that it’s turned my head completely. And here we have another to add to the collection.

Ormskirk Gingerbread has a lot going for it, and I’d even go so far as to say it is probably one of the best-tasting gingerbreads you’ve never heard of.

It has a speckled appearance, from mixing the dry ingredients with melted butter and treacle, which is enough to bind, but not drown. There is candied peel, traditionally lemon but sometimes others, and spices, usually ginger, but frequently, additional spices as well. A major attraction, for me at least, is the texture, falling between the softness of parkin and the crispness of a biscuit. As you, quite literally, sink your teeth into a piece, you experience a dense chewiness which, with the variety of flavourings, is immensely satisfying.

Ormskirk Gingerbread (1830s) is one of the earliest geographically-linked gingerbreads I’ve found – predated only by Wrexham Gingerbread (1828). In the 1850s, a group of five local women paid £20 per year to the East Lancashire Railway company for the privilege to sell their gingerbread to travellers passing through Ormskirk station, which must have contributed to the spread of its popularity.

I have a selection of recipes for you to try, because in all honesty, I like them all. The method is the same for all of them, so I shall be listing the scaled-down ingredients alongside each recipe, then you can scroll down to the method and cooking instructions. All quantities are for a 20cm square tin.

Ormskirk Gingerbread recipe, (1822-1841), MS4998, Wellcome Collection

This recipe is from a handwritten manuscript held at the Wellcome Collection. It might actually be older than the recipe below, but there’s no way of telling for sure. Rather unhelpfully, there are no instructions for either making or baking, but it clearly contains all the classic ingredients and is a great introduction to this type of gingerbread:

225g plain flour
115g soft, light brown sugar
7g/1tbsp ground ginger
85g butter
115g treacle
20g candied lemon peel

From: The domestic receipt-book by Joseph Worrrall, 1832, p38.

This is the earliest printed recipe I found. Unfortunately, it contains an error – the sugar is missing. Aside from this, what I found interesting was the complete omission of what appears to be a major component of other recipes, the candied lemon peel. In addition, there is, proportionally, a lot of spice in relation to the quantity of flour, but it is an interesting variation. In the past, I have bought dried, chipped ginger, and ground it as needed, and the flavour is bright and vibrant and, curiously, with a touch of lemon. Similarly with allspice, whose flavour really evokes a blend of spices.

225g plain flour
60g butter
115g treacle
115g soft, light brown sugar
14g ground ginger
14g allspice

From The druggist’s hand-book of practical receipts, Thomas F. Branston, 1853, p80

This recipe echoes the medicinal uses many believed gingerbread possessed in the middle ages. I find it odd that it is Ormskirk Gingerbread that is specified in particular, instead of a generic gingerbread recipe. Jalap is the ground root of a Mexican plant of the Morning Glory family, and it was used in times past for its laxative effect.

225g plain flour
115g soft, light brown sugar
115g treacle
80g butter
30g candied lemon peel
2 tsp ground ginger
1½ tsp ground nutmeg

Peterson Magazine 1861-01: Vol 39 Iss 1, p93

This last recipe is a full-on, all the bells and whistles version. There’s no candied lemon peel – instead there’s candied orange and candied citron and, aside from the ginger, no other spices. There’s a higher than usual farinaceous component, with the addition of some oatmeal flour (which you can make yourself by putting rolled oats into a blender/spice mill). Finally, there’s the instruction to mix it a full day before you want to bake it. Many old gingerbread recipes have this added time requirement, because they’d also use alum and potash as raising agents, and these worked slowly, so a mix for gingerbread could be sitting in a tub for days if not weeks. There’s no raising agent included in this recipe, so I was curious whether there would be any difference to the other batches. Verdict: There was, and the resulting gingerbread was definitely veering towards cakey, although this might have been due to the added oatmeal – if that’s your preferred texture, have at it. The next time I make this I probably wouldn’t wait the 24 hours, but that’s just me being impatient.

225g plain flour
115g butter
60g sifted oatmeal flour
80g soft, light brown sugar
115g treacle
15g candied orange peel
15g candied citron peel
7g ground ginger

As I said at the top, all these recipes are delicious.

Ormskirk Gingerbread

Another reason to choose to make this gingerbread is that it can be made gluten-free, using gluten-free flour (I used Doves Farm) and gluten-free oats (Morrisons have the nicest looking GF oats – they’re like steel-rolled ones!).

It can also be made vegan, if you swap out the butter for either coconut oil or some other fat that is solid at room temperature.

Finally, there’s two slight variations in method, and it relates to how you handle the butter. The traditional method for gingerbread is to melt it in the treacle and then pour the mixture into the dry ingredients to mix. The other method is to blitz it with the dry ingredients in a food processor (or rub it in by hand). It doesn’t matter which method you choose, as the result is the same.

Choose your ingredients from one of the four recipes above.
Line a 20cm square tin with baking parchment.
Heat the oven to 160°C, 140°C Fan.
Mix your spices, sugar and flour(s).
If you’re blitzing the butter with the dried ingredients, add it now.
Blitz the mixture to resemble breadcrumbs.
Slice the candied peel thinly and then cut into 1cm pieces. Mix the peel into the dry ingredients, making sure the pieces don’t stick together.
Pour your treacle into a pan to warm. I use a large frying pan, as I prefer to add everything to the treacle, as opposed to pouring the treacle into the dry ingredients. Add the butter if you’ve not added it to the flour. You’re not trying to boil it, just warm it up enough that it moves freely and the butter (if using) is melted.
When the butter has melted and the treacle warmed, pour the warm liquid into the dry ingredients and mix in. It doesn’t have to be evenly coloured.
Tip the mixture into your prepared pan and level out. I like to leave it rather roughly textured. Don’t press the mixture down hard, just even it out.
Bake for 40 minutes, turning the tin around after 20 minutes to ensure even baking.
Remove from the oven and , leaving the gingerbread in the tin, divide it into pieces. You can cut it into any shape you please – easiest with a square tin is 16 pieces (4 x 4 grid).
Set the pan aside to cool completely.
When the gingerbread is cold, store in an airtight container.

Dairy-Free Cream

17th century, 18th century, Pudding, Tracklements

Here is very useful recipe for those looking to avoid dairy products or even to just reduce the amount of fat in their diet. By whisking together some smooth jam and a couple of egg-whites, a deliciously light and frothy ‘cream’ can be created, for use as a finishing touch to trifles, puddings and pastries, or to enjoy by itself. The cream will be influenced by whatever flavour of jam you choose to use, but it doesn’t dominate at all. The above was made using seedless raspberry jam, and the subtlty of colour reflects the subtlty of flavour – a mere whisper on the palate. For an almost white ‘cream’ with a very faint flavour (if that suits your needs best), I can recommend making and using Christine Ferber’s Green Apple Jelly.

It is a surprisingly elegant solution for anyone with dietary restrictions, and dates from the cusp of the 17th and 18th centuries (circa 1700).

This particular recipe I found in a manuscript held by the Wellcome Collection in London, but I have also read variations in other manuscripts and locations. I am surprised tht it has fallen out of favour, for it is one of the simplest and easiest recipes I have adapted.

Well, I say adapted. In fact I have changed very little from the original instructions.

To Make Cream Without Milk, MS1804, dated circa 1700, Wellcome Collection.

The one detail I did change was to reduce the number of egg-whites from three to two, reasoning that the eggs we have nowadays are much larger than those of three hundred years ago.

Thanks to modern technology, we are also spared the two hours of hand whisking (with a spoon of all things!) required in order to achieve the light and fluffy outcome pictured above, and can achieve the same result with about 10 minutes of whisking with your kitchen gadget of choice.

The potential worry regarding the consumption of raw egg whites is eliminated by the convenience of being able to purchase pasteurised egg whites in a carton.

The finished whip will hold its shape for several hours, should the need arise, allowing you to prepare this well in advance of your entertaining needs. I decided to leave the whipped ‘cream’ out, to test it’s durability, and can confirm that after 5 hours, it was still (mostly) holding its shape, as can be seen below.

Furthermore, this recipe is customisable in that you can vary the flavour of the whip by using different jams/jellies. For the smoothest result, they should be clear and set. Alternately, you could make your own by gently warming and sieving the jam to remove the fruit pieces in the conserve or jam flavour that you require. Apple, apricot, redcurrant, cranberry, blueberry, blackcurrant, plum, damson, marmalade…the possibilities are endless!

Dairy-Free Cream

You can easily halve the recipe at first, to make a trial batch to see if you like it. However, this might be too small an amount for a stand mixer to get to grips with, so use a hand-held whisk instead.

2 large egg whites (80ml)
225g seedless raspberry jam (or smooth jam/jelly of choice)

Put both ingredients into a bowl and whisk using a mixer, for about 10 minutes, until the mixture is thick and glossy and holds its shape.

Harlequin Salad

21st Century, Salad

It is June, and summer is upon us! It’s the time of salady goodness! And I have here a very easy salad for you which I’ve cobbled together over the years. It’s simple and fresh and delicious and exceedingly easy to make. In fact, the skill bar is set so low I’m going to sum it up in one sentence.

If you can use a knife, you can make this salad.

Yes, it’s that easy.

Like pretty much everyone, I think small is cute, especially when it comes to food. This salad embodies that notion, because all of the elements are of a similarly small size. It also addresses a perennial salad problem, that of gloopiness. Salad vegetables usually have a high water content, and when you start cutting into them, the juice starts to flow, so your salad can become somewhat waterlogged in a very short time. With just a couple of tweaks to your regular salad preparation, you can keep your ingredients crisp and fresh much longer.

Each element is neatly diced to keep the overall appearance looking clean and fresh. Cutting raw broccoli and cauliflower into miniature florets, as opposed to just chopping them, keeps the salad from becoming cluttered with stray leaves falling off. Plus mini florets look adorable.

Another advantage of this salad is how you can easily customise it to whatever you have to hand. For example, I had hoped to include radishes in the picture above, but the supermarket had not received its delivery and there were none to be had. So I just left them out. You’re only going to be limited by your imagination: if you’re a fan of fruit in salad, add in some chopped apple and pomegranate seeds, if you relish crunchy sharp flavours, add in some pickled vegetables. Just be sure to follow The Rule.

The One Rule: Everything in your salad should be roughly the same size.

Gather your ingredients and decide on the smallest item. In the salad above, it’s the sweetcorn, but it could just as easily be peas or something else. Using that as a guideline, peel and dice your salad ingredients to a similar size and mix them together.

Harlequin Salad

This salad can be scaled to your requirements – for as small a number as one, as a main course, to a family-sized bowl as a side. Undressed, it will keep in the fridge for several days. The number of ingredients is enirely up to you, but there should be roughly the same quantity of each ingredient. Here’s a brief run down of how to prep various salad ingredients. The top two are the most important to ensure your salad stays gloop-free.

Cucumber: Cut off a 6-8cm piece and cut it in half lengthwise. Using a teaspoon, scrape out the seeds, leaving just the green flesh. Discard the seeds.¹ Slice the rest of the cucumber lengthwise into 1cm thick strips, then cut across into 1cm dice.
Tomatoes: Cut in half around the middle, then slice the seed stalk as shown in the picture. Scrape the seeds into a bowl and set side (see Harlequin Salad Dressing below). Slice the tomato flesh into 1cm dice. I used mini tomatoes, which were a bit fiddly, but they had beautiful mixture of reds and yellows.

Celery: Wash the stalks and trim the ends. Slice into 1cm strips. Cut across into 1cm dice.
Carrot: Top and tail and cut lengthways into 1cm thick slices. Cut each slice into 1cm strips and then cut across into 1cm dice.
Raw Broccoli: Cut mini florets from the 1-2 large branches. Cut the stalk into 1cm slices, then into 1cm strips and dice.
Raw Cauliflower: Cut mini florets from the 1-2 large branches. Cut the stalk into 1cm slices, then into 1cm strips and dice.
Raw French Beans: Top and tail and cut into 1cm slices.
Radishes: Top and tail and cut in half. Cut each half into four. If large, you might need to cut down further.
Peppers – all colours: Cut in half and remove the stalk and seeds. Cut into 1cm strips, then into 1cm dice.
Spring onions: Remove papery outer layers and trim roots. Slice into 1cm slices.
Red onions/shallots: Top and tail and remove papery outer layers. Cut into 1cm slices, then across into 1cm dice.
Red Cabbage – raw or pickled: Cut a 1cm slice, then cut into 1cm strips and slice into 1cm dice.
Sweetcorn – fresh, canned or frozen: No chopping required.
Peas – fresh or frozen: No chopping required.
Pomegranate Seeds: No chopping required.
Apple: Have the juice of a lemon ready squeezed. Peel (or not, you choose) your apple and cut in half. Remove the core and cut each half into 1cm slices. Cut the slices into strips and then cut across into dice. Toss immediately in lemon juice to prevent browning. Drain thoroughly before adding to the rest of the ingredients.
Pickled silverskin onions: No chopping required.
Pickled cornichons: Cut in half lengthwise, then slice into 1cm pieces.
Olives: Cut in quarters or eighths, depending on size.

When you’ve gathered and chopped your salad ingredients, the last flourishing touch is to add the secret ingredient which makes this salad really sing:

at least 1 sprig fresh mint

A little goes a long way, so one sprig is probably all you’ll need, unless in a moment of madness you’ve recklessly agreed to make Harlequin Salad in catering quantities.

Strip the leaves from the sprig of mint and shred finely. Turn the shreds and chop again crossways to cut the mint into small pieces and sprinkle over your chopped vegetables. Toss gently to combine.

Harlequin Salad Dressing

The tomato seeds can be a bit irritating, and in this instance would otherwise interfere with the clean salad appearance, but the flesh around them is deliciously tart and perfect to use in a dressing.

tomato seeds from the salad
olive oil
salt and coarse-ground black pepper
a light vinegar (optional)

Sieve the tomato seeds over a bowl until all that remains are the seeds.
Add 1tbs olive oil, salt and pepper to the tomato seed juice and mix to combine.
Taste and adjust the seasoning. Add more oil/vinegar as required.
Set aside until ready to serve the salad.

To Serve

Wash some lettuce leaves (I used Cos/Romaine), pat them dry with a paper towel and use them to line a serving dish.
Shake your dressing and pour over your chopped vegetables and toss gently to mix.
Spoon the dressed salad onto the leaves and serve.

¹I agonised over this, as it’s the only waste in this salad. Having thought about it for a while, my suggestion is to sieve the seeds to remove all the juice, and have a shot of cucumber water with your salad.

Fruit Puffs

17th century, Biscuits, Small Cakes

This recipe appears in the 17th century manuscript book of Lady Anne Fanshawe (MS.7113 at the Wellcome Collection), and is attributed to Lady Scarborough. What might appear, from the name, at first to be something pastry-based, is in fact a form of meringue.

Unsweetened fruit (I used apples) pulp is mixed with sugar and eggwhites and whisked until stiff and white. The recipe calls for this to be dropped in spoonfuls onto glass and dried in the oven, although I made adaptations for the modern kitchen. After a couple of practice runs, the result is, to all intents and purposes, an apple-flavoured meringue. Not as sweet as regular meringues, with the pleasantly tart flavour of sharp apples.

It is from the same recipe family as Apple Snow, with a slight alteration in porportions and a spell in the oven, and to my mind would be delightful served alongside that ethereal confection.

The main challenge with this recipe was the missing details. Apple and sugar quantities are given, but the instruction to beat them ‘with white of egg’ is open to interpretation. Additionally, “dry it in a stove” is hardly suffering from an over-abundance of detail. Hence the trial runs.

One of the batches I made whilst juggling baking times and temperatures turned a light caramel colour, which I suspect is not how the finished puffs should look, but proved to be absolutely delicious – crisp, delicate with a whisper of toffee apple. I’m counting that particular error as a win!

Fruit Puffs

Although I have only used apple here, the recipe does state that any fruit pulp can be used. My advice would be to choose pulp that has some bulk to it. Berries might prove too moist. Stone fruit, rhubarb and gooseberries would all be suitable, especially if tart, as the sugar content is quite high, and it would ‘cut through’ it nicely.

340g cooked cooking apples
225g caster sugar
2 large egg-whites (about 80g)

Puree the apple smooth with a stick blender. Sieve the puree if liked (I didn’t, but I was very thorough with the blender).
Add the remaining ingredients and whisk until light, white and stiff. I used a stand mixer on High and this took 10 minutes.
Heat the oven to 100°C, 80°C Fan. This temperature will be for the white puffs, for caramel puffs, increase the temperature to 140°C, 120°C Fan after 2 hours.
Add a decorative nozzle to a piping bag and spoon in some of the mixture. Pipe the mixture onto a baking sheet lined with parchment. There will be some shrinkage as the puffs dry out, so pipe them on the large side. For example, the white puffs in the top photo were 5cm tall when first piped. When dried, they are about 3cm tall.
Dry in the oven for 5-6 hours, depending on the size and how moist they are. Prop the oven door ajar by inserting the handle of a wooden spoon, for the first hour or so, to help dispel the moisture, (otherwise it stays trapped in the oven and slows down drying time).
After about 4 hours, remove the baking sheet from the oven and allow to cool for 5 minutes. The puffs should be firm enough by this stage to gently peel off from the parchment. Turn the puffs upside down and lay them back on the parchment, so that the bases can dry (about an hour). If you don’t let the puffs cool down first, you will squish them as you try to remove them from the paper. If the puffs aren’t firm even when cooled down, put them back in the oven for another 30 minutes and try again.
For Caramel Puffs, bake as above for 2 hours, then increase the heat to 140°C, 120°C Fan and bake for 1 hour. Check the colour/dryness and bake a little longer if still sticky.
Once the puffs are dried to your liking, store them in an airtight container. They will absorb moisture and become sticky if left in the open air for any length of time.

Vegan Lemon Curd

20th century, Preserves

This is a recipe from May Byron’s Rations Book (1918). Rationing during the WW2 is well known, but it was also introduced during the last year of the first world war. Confession time: I’ve changed the title of this recipe from the original. The original recipe is for Lemon Curd Without Eggs, which would have been a concern back then through food rationing. In this day and age, it is mainly be a dietary choice, so I have opted for the (nowadays) clearer and more succinct term, ‘vegan.’

It also has a lot of other things going for it, like being fat free, dairy-free, gluten-free and coconut-free. There are lots of vegan lemon curd recipes out there, but the vast majority seem to employ some kind of fat and many of them also include coconut cream to give body to the finished result and turmeric for colour.

This recipe has none of that, because the main ingredient in this recipe is swede. Yes, swede the vegetable. Also known as rutabaga, or ‘neeps’ if you’re in Scotland (shortened from Swedish Turnips, in case you were wondering). A mild-flavoured root vegetable, it adds body and also colour to the lemon curd. A little sugar, lemon-zest and juice and a gentle thickening with arrowroot, and you have a gloriously golden preserve to spread on your toast, fill your cakes and tarts and drizzle over ice-cream.

It doesn’t have to be arrowroot – although I do like the quick and ‘gentle’ set it has, and it’s ability to go clear when it’s setting qualities have ‘activated’. When cold, its not as firm/rubbery as other thickening agents. You could alternatively use cornflour, tapioca flour, sago, ground rice, etc. These last two were also in the original, but the sago needs to be soaked overnight and then cooked until translucent, and the ground rice made for a slight graininess, all of which takes away the spontenaiety. More cooking might have addressed the texture issue, but any prolonged cooking you run the risk of losing the fresh lemon flavour of the juice and zest.

And the flavour is the best thing about this recipe. It’s bright and fresh without any cloying richness from butter or eggs. It’s practically health-food!

This method could also be used for other citrus/fruit curds.

Vegan Lemon Curd

Makes about 250ml.

225g swede – peeled and diced small
85g caster sugar
zest and juice of 2 lemons
pinch of salt
15g arrowroot

Simmer the swede in boiling water until tender (15-20 minutes).
Drain and return to the warm pan. Turn off the heat and allow the excess moisture from the swede to evaporate.
Puree the swede. Because it is a small amount, it can be done in a spice grinder or small liquidiser. It is important for the texture to use something with offset blades – that is, blades pointing in different directions – to ensure a smooth puree. A food processor, with it’s flat blades spinning in just one plane, won’t chop things finely enough. Spare a thought for May Byron’s original readers, who had to press the cooked swede through a sieve.
Add some lemon juice to make the pureeing easier.
Return the puree to the cleaned pan and add any remaining lemon juice, the zest, the sugar and the salt.
Mix the arrowroot with a tablespoon of cold water and pour into the pan.
Heat gently, stirring, until thickened (4-5 minutes) and you can no-longer see the whiteness of the arrowroot mixture.
Pour into a clean jar and store in the fridge.