Sausage Rolls

There are two things that almost always make me feel better–Neil Young and sausage rolls. Before I moved to the U.K., I rarely ate pork. I grew up in Los Angeles where turkey bacon and chicken sausage were the norm. It’s not that I never ate pork, I just rarely did. For me, it was something to be enjoyed but once a year, usually covered in a spicy vinegary Carolina barbecue sauce on the fourth of July.

My first year in London, I went pork crazy. A fact I attribute to our flat’s proximity to The Ginger Pig. I wanted bacon every weekend and pork chops most nights. Fish? Sure. Just cook it with some chorizo. Then I discovered sausage rolls. Which can be horrible, but when done right are divine.

For a long time I stayed away as my only reference was the pre-packaged kind I saw in the refrigerator aisles of supermarkets. The pastry looked sad. The meat inside seemed a better fit for house pet consumption than human.

Eventually, it was a sausage roll from a local cafe that changed my mind.

Sausage rolls are amazing because they are made with humble ingredients but yield a taste that is all luxury. They are the ultimate bar snack or perfect picnic food. Or in our house, my daughter’s favourite for weekend tea.

Below is my recipe. It doesn’t call for homemade puff pastry because at 35, I cannot be bothered. Father Time is robbing me blind and I have got to get on with other things. But if you have it on hand or like to make it, please do.

Ingredients:

1 sheet of puff pastry

700 grams of sausage (I use my favourite sausages instead of plain minced pork because I like the way they’re seasoned)

6 rashers of pancetta or bacon

1 small tart apple (I use a cox)

1 small bulb of fennel and its fronds, chopped

1 small onion, finely chopped

1 tablespoon Tio Pepe sherry or dry white wine

1 tablespoon fresh thyme

1/2 teaspoon toasted fennel seeds, ground

1 piece of toast put through a food processor and turned into breadcrumbs

2 eggs

salt/pepper

fennel pollen (optional)

nigella/sesame seeds

 

Method: 

Pre-heat the oven to Gas 4/350°F/177°C.

Fry the pancetta in a skillet. When it’s done, remove the rashers but keep the grease. Roughly chop the pancetta and place it in a large bowl.

Cook the onion and fennel in the bacon dripping. Add the sherry and cook a minute more with the thyme.

Put the onions, fennel, thyme, and fennel fronds in the bowl with the pancetta. Add the bread crumbs. Squeeze the meat out of the sausage casings and add this as well, along with 1 egg, the apple, some seasoning, and a pinch of fennel pollen if you have it. Mix well with your hands.

filling

Unroll the puff pastry. Fill the center of it with the sausage mixture. Roll it up.

Lightly beat the 2nd egg and brush it on top of the pastry. Don’t use all of it. Just enough to lightly coat it. Sprinkle with seeds and cut into pieces. Usually 8 -10.

Bake for approximately 40 minutes or until golden brown.

While you can eat these hot, I think they taste better at room temperature and dipped in brown sauce or your favourite relish.

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sausage-rolls

Challah

Though I am not actually Jewish, I am very Jew-ish.  Probably one of the most Jew-ish goys you’ll meet.  I can’t help it.  I grew up in Hollywood.  My step-father is a Jewish screenwriter.  His parents are from New York and all the old family photos look like stills from Once Upon a Time in America.  Nana from Flatbush.  Jack from the Lower East Side.  When Jack was growing up, his father was in the clink for racketeering.  So who’d stop by to check in on him?  Meyer Lansky, also known as The Mob’s Accountant.  At least that’s the story I heard.

Growing up, most of my friends were Jewish.  They still are.  By the time I was 13, I had attended so many bar and bat mitzvahs that even I knew the haftarah.  The first time I saw an uncircumcised penis I was baffled by it.  For years, I wore a star of David around my neck and every Yom Kippur I like the way my heart feels after I atone.  When I was cast to play Fran Drescher’s daughter on a sitcom, I put a mezuzah on the post outside my dressing room door.  Ditto my first apartment.  My first kiss was with a Jewish boy and my husband, well, to quote my Nana the first time she saw a picture of him, “His name is Jeffreys but why do I get the feeling he’s a member of the tribe?”  Because he is and the name is actually Jaffe; the family changed it in 1927.

Things I don’t do: sweat, feel proud, get choked up, feel flustered.

Things I do do: schvitz, kvell, get verklempt and fershimmeled.

I also make a mean challah.  Below is the recipe.  Though I love to eat it straight out of the oven, it’s also great to make pain perdu with a day later.

lwf2-1

On the set of Living with Fran. L to R: Me, Ben Feldman, Charles Shaughnessy, Fran Drescher, Ryan McPartlin, Rachel Hunter, Debi Mazar, Mikalah Gordon. Front row: Sylvia and Morty Drescher.

Living with Fran "Who's The Parent" (Episode #101) Image #LWF101-0451 Pictured (l-r): Fran Drescher as Fran Reeves, Misti Traya as Allison Reeves Credit: © The WB/Scott Humbert

 

Ingredients:

3/4 c + 2 tbsp milk

1/4 c + 1 tsp sugar

3 tbsp runny or slightly melted honey

2 large eggs + 2 yolks

4 cups all purpose flour

4 tbsp unsalted butter, melted

2 tsp dried active yeast

1 1/4 tsp salt

 

 

For the egg wash: 1 egg + 1 tbsp water + 1/2 tsp salt

 

Method:

Warm the milk to 115F.  Transfer it to a large bowl and add the yeast plus the 1 tsp of sugar.  Allow to rest for 10 minutes.

In another bowl, combine the 2 large eggs plus the 2 yolks and the melted butter.  Pour this into the yeast mixture and stir together.

Add the flour, remaining 1/4 c of sugar, honey, and salt.  Use a wooden spoon to combine it all.

On a lightly floured counter top, knead the dough until smooth and supple, roughly 10 minutes.

Place the dough in a large lightly buttered bowl.  Cover it with plastic wrap and allow the dough to rise.  It should double in size in about an hour.

dough

After this time, uncover the dough and punch it down.  Then cover it again with the plastic wrap and allow it to rise for 30 more minutes.

Uncover the dough and divide it into 4 even pieces.  Roll them into ropes that are approximately 16″ long.

4-strands

Pinch the tops of the 4 ropes together to form an end of the loaf.  Now braid the strands as illustrated in the video below.

OR, you can take your 4 ropes and braid them into a round as illustrated in this video:

Preheat the oven to 350°F/180°C/Gas4.

Line a tray with baking paper.  Place the braided loaf on the paper.  Cover it back up with plastic wrap.  Allow the challah to rise for another hour.

braid-pre-bake

pre-bake-round

Press a finger into the dough.  If the indent stays, it is ready to bake.

Paint the challah with a thin layer of egg wash.

Bake for 20 minutes then remove the loaf from the oven.  Paint another thin layer of egg wash, but only over the center of the braid.

Return the tray to the oven and continue baking for another 20 minutes.  Be sure to watch the color of your loaf.  When it’s the shade of brown you desire, remove the loaf, tent it with foil, then return it to the oven to finish baking.  Remove the foil for the last few minutes of baking.

challah

 

round-challah

sliced-1 toast

Strawberry Rhubarb Crumble

I don’t eat rhubarb though I’m sure one day I will.  Kind of like “when I am an old woman, I shall wear purple.”  Or as Holly Golightly said about diamonds,”It’s tacky to wear diamonds before you’re 40; and even that’s risky … they only look good on the really old girls … wrinkles and bones, white hair and diamonds.  I can’t wait.”  My sentiments exactly.   With diamond tiaras and crowns of rhubarb in my stars, I look forward to being a woman of a certain age.

My Great-Grandma Sorensen grew rhubarb outside the back door just off the kitchen of her home in Harlan, Iowa.  She loved it, especially with strawberry.  Each summer, she would stock her pantry with strawberry rhubarb jam and cover her windowsill with strawberry rhubarb pies.  My Great-Grandpa had no objections.  For her, strawberry rhubarb was the most winning combination.  For him, he was the biggest winner.  This year, in memory of her, I’m going to pick up where she left off.

Though the distance between what used to be Great-Grandma Inez’s house in Harlan and my in-laws’ in Buckinghamshire is 4,219 miles, there is one thing about these places that’s exactly the same.  The summer rhubarb.  At the far end of my in-laws’ English garden, past the flowerbeds and my daughter, the Weekend Primrose Fairy, who conjures magic with camellias for wounded ladybugs. . . beyond the bramley apple tree laden with blossom that will (fingers crossed) bring us a bumper crop this September. . . after the greenhouse sheltering sweet peas and cherry tomatoes . . . next to the squash, sorrel, and kale. . . is a row of regal scarlet rhubarb.  This weekend I made several crumbles.  Below is the recipe.  I hope you enjoy it.  Actually, I hope my Great-Grandma would have enjoyed it.

Sorensens

primroses

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garden bramley apple tree

best blossom rhubarb in the garden rhubarb growing

Ingredients:

fruit filling:

2 stalks of rhubarb, chopped into 1 1/2 – 2 inch pieces

1 1/2 cups strawberries, washed, hulled, and halved

1 teaspoon crystallized ginger, chopped

3 tablespoons brown sugar

crumble topping:

1/3 cup Demerara sugar

1 cup oatmeal

1/4 cup flour

4 tablespoons cold butter, cut into small cubes

a pinch of salt

Method:

Preheat oven to Gas 5/375ºF/190ºC.

Place the rhubarb and strawberry pieces in a small ceramic baking dish.  Add the brown sugar and crystallized ginger.  Gently stir to mix.

In a medium sized bowl, combine the butter, flour, oatmeal, sugar, and salt.  Rub with your fingertips until it forms a coarse meal.

Sprinkle the topping over the fruit and bake for an hour or until the crumble is golden brown and the fruit is bubbling.

Serve with creme fraiche, Greek yogurt, ice cream or whatever you like.  And to eat it like my Great-Grandma did, be sure to have it with a game of Scrabble.

windowsill crumble

Violet Cakes and California Stars

In 2009, I fell in love with an Englishman whilst on a vintage car rally in Sicily.  We got married and in 2010 I moved from Los Angeles to London. Enter Claire Ptak into my life.  Perhaps not immediately, but almost.

The change of location was a total shock.  The gray skies, the constant damp, the absence of an ocean or the year round availability of ripe exotic fruit.  I had trouble coping.  Within a few months, I’d lost a stone(14 lbs.) and was told for the first time in my life I had high blood pressure.  Then there was the incident at the grocery store.

Desperate for the flavors of home, I decided to make buttermilk fried chicken one day.  But I couldn’t find buttermilk.  Nor could I find peanut oil (because it’s called groundnut oil in the UK).  I also couldn’t find my favorite hot sauce.  My meal had failed before anyone had even taken a bite.

So I went home and did what any homesick California girl with Southern roots and empty shopping bags would do.  I listened to Wilco, wiped the tears from my eyes, and Googled “American bakery East London.”  And that is exactly when Claire Ptak entered my life.

Equipped with my husband’s James Smith umbrella, I braved the inclement weather and walked up Broadway Market, across London Fields, past the lido, down Greenwood Road, and finally found myself on Wilton Way.  Outside the door of Violet, I stood a soggy pilgrim (English rain blows in all directions.  Don’t be a fool and think a brolly will keep you dry).  Inside, I found my Promised Land.

Desserts were displayed in glass cases like gems at a jeweller’s.  The scent of fresh coffee (Coffee!  The drink of cowboys.), homemade vanilla extract and flower cordials filled the air.  I bought a box of cupcakes-red velvet, candied violet and Valrhona chocolate.  When I got back to the flat, I cut into my cakes.  Each one tasted like home.  Unlike the other American-style baked goods I’d had in London, these were perfect.  They weren’t too sweet.  They weren’t topped with too much frosting.  And most of all, they were moist.  I could tell there was buttermilk in them just like there was in the old country.  That afternoon, I fell in love.

A few weeks later, my husband surprised me with a chocolate birthday cake from Violet.  It came with a little banner that read “Happy Birthday Skwirl!” (Squirrel being my nickname, Skwirl being how I pronounce it as an American).  Then on Saturdays when strolling the market, I started treating myself to a macaroon.  Not a fussy French macaron in some lurid shade, but a good old fashioned coconut macaroon.  When I was pregnant in 2011, Mrs. Ptak’s chewy ginger snaps got me through.  In 2012 when my daughter turned one, we celebrated with a ginger molasses cake.  And whenever I’d meet friends for coffee at Violet, it was the banana buttermilk bread that I’d order.  Then in 2013, my family moved from East London.  I still make my pilgrimage to Violet, but only for very special occasions.  Which is why I am so thankful for The Violet Bakery Cookbook which is available as of today.

It’s a beautiful book full of gorgeous sweets and mouth-watering savories that provides practical instructions like “TASTE.”  Mrs. Ptak reminds us to taste everything we make, especially when using fresh fruit and vegetables.  As the piquancy of what grows in the garden changes from harvest to harvest, we as cooks, must make adjustments to our recipes accordingly.  The book is also full of helpful how-tos like how to make one’s own vanilla extract, candied angelica, citrus peel or jams.  She also tells us how to use smashed apricot kernels to intensify a bitter almond taste.

Mrs. Ptak’s final note is on foraging.  I was completely charmed by this. Not only because I too have been brambling at Hackney Marshes, but because like the many ingredients Mrs. Ptak uses in her recipes, this section felt organic.  Mindful consumerism is more de rigeur than ever, but many writers express their views in a way that feels like a political tirade or middle-class one-upmanship.  Mrs. Ptak writes about foraging in a way that feels so intrinsic to her recipes.  There is nothing contrived about her ingredients or the way she uses them to conjure cake magic.  It just feels like a way of life that has always been hers, a way of life she imported to England from California when she came over(like I did, for love) in 2005.

The Violet Bakery Cookbook is going to be a classic. While the photos in it, much like Mrs. Ptak’s shop, are full of vintage china plates and ditsy rose tablecloths, it avoids that Twee for Two feeling I have come to associate with bakeries and tea rooms across Britain.  The book is beautiful, the recipes seasonal and delicious, and more than anything representative of the flavors that got me through my first few really homesick years.  I look forward to raising my daughter on all of Mrs. Ptak’s recipes (particularly the strawberry, ginger, and poppy seed scones and the cinnamon buns).  I urge you to do the same.

happy birthday skwirlseptember 2010december 2012 ginger molasses cake helena's 1st january 2013 cinnamon buns scones cooling scones strawberry and ginger scones 2015-03-11 16.19.28

 

Marshmallowy Macaroons

I am so over French macarons.  They’re everywhere and they have become what I refer to as fake fancy.  Marks and Spencer’s sells them.  Tesco’s sells them.  As does the bakery in the little village where my in-laws live. I still love Ladurée, but let’s face it. Macarons have become the paninis of the pastry world–everyone makes them; yet few know how to make them well.  Besides, they’re a little too refined for me these days.  I want something less fussy, something rougher.  That’s why I’m bringing back the coconut macaroon.

My coconut macaroons are really marshmallowy because that’s how I like them.  I tend to make plain ones that I then drizzle with melted dark chocolate or I like to add the zest of 1-2 limes, depending on how much citrus sunshine I want to taste.

Below is my recipe.  I hope you enjoy it.

 

Ingredients:

3/4 c coconut chips

3/4 c desiccated coconut

2 large egg whites

1/4 c caster sugar

1 tsp vanilla

1/4 tsp salt

the zest of 1-2 limes (optional)

melted dark chocolate (optional)

 

Method:

Preheat your oven to 350°F/180°C/Gas 4.

Toast your coconut in a large skill over low-medium heat.

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In a large bowl, use an electric mixer to whisk the egg whites until soft peaks form.

Gradually add the sugar and continue whisking until stiff peaks form.

Add the vanilla and salt then whisk some more until the mixture goes all shiny and marshmallowy.

Finally, fold the toasted coconut into the marshmallowy mixture.  If you want lime in your macaroons, now is the time to add the zest.

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plain marshmallowy macaroon mix

 

with lime zest

with lime zest

Spoon the mixture into 12 small rounds on a lightly greased baking tray (I use coconut oil).

Bake for 10-15 minutes.  Once cool, drizzle with melted dark chocolate if you like.

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Every Feeling Has a Flavor (a winter pie recipe)

I’ve always said if you want to know what’s going on in my life, observe what’s going on in my kitchen.  My girlfriends used to say they knew how my love life was going just by tasting the pies I baked.  Dark chocolate and berries meant heartache while ginger apple or peach meant happiness.  For me, every feeling and life event has a flavor.  Some are happy like My Best Friend Got into Harvard Pie.  Some aren’t like He Stood Me up on the 4th of July Pie.  Some are more mundane like the recipe I’m about to share with you.

So of course I loved Adrienne Shelly’s 2007 film, Waitress. The story centers around a woman named Jenna Hunterson who bakes whatever she’s feeling into a pie. Though the details of our lives are very different, I found it easy to identify with this character because of the way she expresses herself through baked goods.

Some of her creations include “Pregnant Miserable Self-Pitying Loser Pie, lumpy oatmeal with fruitcake mashed in.  Flambéed of course.”  “I Hate My Husband Pie, you make it with bittersweet chocolate and don’t sweeten it.”   “Earl Murders Me Because I’m Havin’ an Affair Pie, you smash blackberries and raspberries into a chocolate crust.”  “I Can’t Have No Affair Because It’s Wrong and I Don’t Want Earl to Kill Me Pie, vanilla custard with banana.  Hold the banana. . . ” “Baby Screamin’ Its Head off in the Middle of the Night and Ruinin’ My Life Pie, New York-style cheesecake brandy brushed and topped with pecans and nutmeg.”

In the film, a friend of Jenna’s offers her words of encouragement about her career.  “You don’t even know what you are deep inside.  You’re not just some little waitress.  Make the right choice.  Start fresh.”  Replace the word waitress with actress or housewife and there I am.  Another woman baking her feelings into pie and working on recreating herself so she can emerge a different butterfly.  Or maybe a bat.

Recently it’s been so damn cold I’ve felt like Imma die if I don’t have some pie.  So that’s what this recipe is: It’s so Cold Imma Die if I Don’t Have Some Pie Pie.

3 bramleys, 2 cox apples, 4 bosc pears, and 6 Jerusalem figs.  It’s not a combination I’d usually put together but it’s what I had in my fruit bowl.  So it’s what I used as I really didn’t want to leave the flat.  Luckily, I also had some pâté brisée in the fridge because that’s just the sort woman I am.  I peeled and sliced the apples and pears, cut the figs into thin rounds, added 3/4 cup of sugar, some butter, and a squeeze of lemon juice before adding a palimpsest of pastry hearts for a top crust.  I brushed the pie with heavy cream and sprinkled it with demerara sugar before baking.  Halfway through, I poured the liquid out of my pie.  I put it in a pot and reduced it down to a syrup that I then poured over the pie.  I finished baking it until it was golden and the top slightly glazed with my caramel fruit syrup.  I ate it while it was still hot and washed it down with a strong cup of tea.  And guess what?  I lived.  But only because of this pie.

whole pie sliced pie pie fruit pie fruit cu

*I feel the need to add this link to the Adrienne Shelly Foundation. She was the writer/director of Waitress and this NPO honors her memory by supporting women filmmakers. http://adrienneshellyfoundation.org/

 

Apple Custard Pie

My darling husband, Henry, eats like a Dickensian fat man.  Don’t get me wrong.  He likes and eats plenty of fruit and vegetables, but what he really loves is meat, game, offal, wine, port, sherry, and cheese.  My point is he’s just not that into sweets.  He eats them to indulge me, but for the most part, my baking endeavors are lost on him.  He’d rather have another helping of roast beast.  That said, there is one thing he never shies from–apple pie.  Below is my recipe for apple custard pie.  Is it good?  Well Henry asked for seconds so yeah.  It’s really good.

Ingredients:

1/2 the dough from Only the Best Brisée Ever

1/4 cup apricot jam

1 tablespoon dark rum

1/4 cup flour

1/3 cup sugar

the zest of 1 lemon and a wedge for squeezing some juice

4 large eggs (1 for brushing the edges of your pie crust and 3 for the custard)

3/4 cup heavy cream

4 large tart apples

2 tablespoons butter

2 tablespoons demerara sugar

cinnamon

nutmeg

a tablespoon of cinnamon sugar (1 tbsp sugar + 1/4 teaspoon cinnamon)

powdered sugar

 

Method:

First, preheat the oven to 400°F/200°C/Gas 6.  Now we’re going to prepare the pie shell.  Roll the cold brisée dough as thin as you can.  I roll mine on baking paper so I can easily flip it over into my tin.  It’s a really easy way of doing things.  Cut the edges and roll or crimp them however you like.  Prick the bottom of the pastry shell with a fork and brush the edges with egg.  Line the shell with foil or baking paper then pour in some pie weights.  Bake for 20-25 minutes.  Remove the weights and cool completely.

pie shell

While waiting for the pie shell to dry, heat the 1/4 cup of apricot jam and the tablespoon of dark rum in a saucepan over low heat.  Stir often and when it starts to look like a glaze, remove it from the heat.  Strain the mixture into a little bowl.  When the pie shell has cooled completely, brush this glaze along the bottom and sides of your shell.  Allow it to dry. Now onto the custard.

In a large bowl, combine 1/4 cup flour, 1/3 cup sugar, and the zest of a lemon.  Using a wooden spoon, stir in three large eggs.  Set this aside.

Heat the 3/4 cup heavy cream in a saucepan on medium heat.  Just as it begins to boil, turn it off, and allow it to cool for a minute.  Then quickly whisk it into the egg mixture.  Add 2 teaspoons vanilla bean paste.

custard

Peel and slice the apples.  Sauté them in butter with a teaspoon or so of cinnamon and some freshly grated nutmeg.  Allow the apples to soften but do not let them get mushy.  Squeeze them with lemon juice and stir just before removing them from the heat.

spiced apples

Arrange the apple slices in concentric circles in the pie shell.  I use two forks to do this.

concentric

Now pour the custard over the apples and sprinkle with cinnamon sugar.

shell with applesBake at 350°F/180°C/Gas 4 for 25-30 minutes or until the custard has set.  Once it has, allow the pie to cool then dust with powdered sugar.  Put the pie under the broiler for a few minutes to let the sugar caramelize.  Keep an eye on it so it doesn’t burn.

finished

Cut into slices and serve.

slice