Frangipane-topped mince pies

I love mince pies and so, it transpired this week , does my one-year old nephew George. I am not surprised; this child was born to be a gourmand. He sports round, rosy cheeks and enjoys a polo-neck most days, pootling around somewhat unsteadily on his feet; channelling the Eighties food-critic vibe perfectly.

Although we share the mince-pie love, Master G and I approach them in different ways; I like mine warm (if the mincemeat even makes it out of the jar uneaten) whereas he enjoys rubbing the pie between his hands to extract the currants before plucking them out daintily (an amuse-bouche, if you will) and poking the lot in the general direction of his mouth. Either way, we all agree that a baby that smells of mincemeat at Christmas will be happily passed around from person to person. Better than smelling of something else.

George’s first mince pie was of the very highest calibre – made by the BSG’s mum just that morning and an hour off the cooling rack. As he crammed it in I asked his parents, casually, if he had a nut allergy. Thankfully not. The addition of a surprise almond either on top or inside each pie is magic, and the frangipane such a good foil to the rest of the pie that I am not sure there’s any going back for me; they are quite simply my favourite version yet. Ma BSG’s is a closely guarded secret recipe but I managed to cobble one together for you. Try them on Christmas Eve perhaps, with the radio up loud, just before you all settle down for The Snowman…

Happy Christmas all!  

Frangipane pimped-up pies

The quantities below really depend on how you like your pies. I like mine with a crisp thin base, to contrast with their soft top. You can do them thicker, add more brandy/frangipane..whatever.

1 pack (750g) ready-rolled puff pastry
Large jar of good mincemeat
100g unsalted butter
100g caster sugar
100g ground almonds
20g plain flour
1 large egg
2 tbsp brandy
Handful of chopped dried cranberries
Zest of half an orange
Whole blanched almonds

Preheat oven to 180 degrees Celsius.
Grease two 12-hole tart tins (or if you happen to have a tin with smaller holes you can make – and eat - many more).
Roll out the pastry sheet very thinly and cut 24 rounds of pastry to line the tins with. Leave the pastry bases to rest in the tins in the fridge while you make the frangipane.
Beat the butter until soft. Beat in the sugar until pale and fluffy and then beat in the egg. Mix in the flour and ground almonds.
Mix the brandy, chopped cranberries and orange zest with the mincemeat in a bowl. Half fill the pastry cases with mincemeat and then spoon a heaped teaspoon of frangipane over the top over each one. Smooth it over and press in an almond.
Bake for about 20 – 25 mins until golden brown.

Try not to eat the lot before they cool down. And leave a couple for Father Christmas….

Say it with flour

There are post-holiday blues, and then there are post holiday-blues, like when you return from your fairytale wedding on an island in a sparkly sea surrounded by your friends and family to find that the decorators you’ve so carefully timed to give your flat a refresh in your absence have disconnected your telly, left the contents of your kitchen on the floor, the books off the bookshelf and hung your pictures ‘their way’. Plus your beloved, tiny sausage dog is so cross at being left behind that he’s up at 3am wanting a pee and a walk –except he doesn’t really, he just wants to annoy you.

How to combat such a comedown and persuade the newlyweds not to make a break for the nearest airport? Yesterday, September tried an effort at an Indian summer to show that London is still a brilliant place to be. I think it should keep trying – the BSG and I are taking them for drinks outside the Dock Kitchen next week.

In our first modest effort to go some way to buoying the spirits of these two dear friends – let’s call them Barbie and Ken – and thanking them for the Montenegrin extravaganza that was their wedding we decided to make them a quiche. I’d been meaning to make one, having never attempted it due to an abject fear of short pastry, and we’d been inspired by a very good homemade one recently courtesy of our friend G. Barbie happens to be a veggie, so it would also prove a useful exercise in the expansion of my pitiful repertoire in that department (stuffed baked marrow, anyone?).

I came across this recipe whilst flicking through the BSG’s newest epicurean tome, How to Eat In, by Adam Byatt of Trinity in Clapham. Both of us were already eager to visit Trinity; having read these recipes we’re champing at the bit. His recipe called for fresh morels, but it being early autumn rather than early summer we used dried chanterelles instead and it worked out fine.

 

Quiche of morels, broad beans and goat’s cheese

150g fresh morels (or 15g dried morels or chanterelles)

200g fresh broad beans (we used frozen ones)

1 bunch chives

Shortcrust pastry (make your own or readymade is fine)

4 eggs

2 egg yolks

700 ml double cream

100g goat’s cheese

Salt and pepper

Olive oil

Preheat the oven to 180 ˚C. Clean and trim the fresh mushrooms, or soak the dried ones. Blanch the beans in boiling salted water, run under cold water and pop them from their outer casings. Finely chop the chives.

Place a 26cm x 4cm tart ring or dish on a cold baking sheet.

Roll out the pastry on a floured surface to a 40cm disc that is 0.5 cm thick. Drape it over the tart ring, then press it well into the bottom inside edge and let it overhang the top. Line the pastry case with clingfilm and fill with rice or baking beans. Bake ‘blind’ for 25 minutes.

Take the pastry case out of the oven, keeping it in the ring on the baking sheet. Removed the clingfilm and rice or beans and leave the pastry to cool. Turn the oven temperature down to 160˚C for cooking the quiche.

Put the eggs and egg yolks into a large bowl and gently whisk in the cream. Crumble in the goat’s cheese, stir in the chives and season with salt and pepper.

Heat a frying pan, splash in some olive oil and gently fry the mushrooms for 4 minutes with plenty of seasoning. Remove and leave to cool, then add to the egg and cream mix with the beans. Leave to stand for 30 minutes – this will prevent the mushrooms from rising to the top of the filling during baking.

Trim the overhanging pastry off the cooled pastry case and brush away the crumbs to leave a perfectly lined tart ring.

Return the tart ring to the oven and, keeping the oven door open, pour the filling mix into the pastry case. Close the oven door and bake the quiche for 45 minutes, gently shaking the baking sheet after 30 minutes. When the quiche is done, the filling should be set around the edges with a slight wobble in the centre.

Take the quiche out of the oven and allow to cool in the tart ring for an hour or so before cutting into slices.

Chicken, leek and tarragon pie: a golden hello

You know those promises you make at the end of an evening: you’ve all had slightly more wine than necessary and you very enthusiastically set plans in order that you fully intend to keep, but which somehow magically evaporate during the night? Well, the pie challenge wasn’t one of them.
Over a sober brunch we agreed with our friends Anna and Charlie that we should do a pie exchange; we had little idea how serious this promise was on their part until this week. Seriously, perhaps we should have all cut our fingers and mixed the blood on it – that is, if it wasn’t really gross.
Only a present like the one they gave us for our wedding could have had the BSG and me leaping up and down on the sofa. Five (yes five, just about a whole section in itself) books on every aspect of pie eating, culture and making, and a couple of pie dishes; yes, Anna meant business: it was time to get practising. So, in honour of Dad and Ari, finally landed from NYC after two days of failed attempts due to airport freeze lockdowns, I thought I’d just knock up a pie…
Well, you don’t just ‘knock up a pie’. Well, at least not the chicken, leek and tarragon pie I selected from the book called Pie (why on earth not?) by Angela Boggiano; I chose it because the picture made me want to breach the golden crust and dive right in.
First, you’ve got to poach a whole chicken with stock veg and fresh tarragon sprigs, removing the bird after its Jacuzzi simmer and reserving the stock, which you then reduce by half. (I should think that handy leftovers from a roast chicken would be as effective here, unless you have an entire afternoon you want sucking up.)
Meanwhile, sauté 2 finely sliced leeks and half an onion in oil and butter until softened, adding ¼ pint white wine and simmering to reduce by half. Add single cream and aforementioned stock in increments of a similar volume, the zest of half a lemon and some chopped tarragon. Combine with the chicken meat* and season with salt and pepper, and set aside to cool.
There are so many rules about pastry floating about that I am sure I broke dozens, but I made my rich short-crust pastry in my food processor, thus avoiding any clammy-hand-heat (a chance would have been a fine thing during the Arctic, pre-Crimbo blast). It was an utter pleasure to stand observing as the machine worked its magic and the dough was the texture of a damp builder’s sand as I gathered it into a ball. After chilling it in the fridge in clingfilm I rolled it flat between sheets of greaseproof paper (a valuable tip indeed) and draped and pressed it into the perfect pie dish. Adding the now-cooled filling, I sealed and crimped (squished) the edges together, brushing the top with beaten egg.
After 35 minutes on a preheated baking tray in the oven at 180 degrees, the pie came out crisp and golden all over, the pastry cooked perfectly (the wonder of the pie dish). The inside was velvety unctuousness, punctuated by lemon and tarragon exclamation marks.
It was almost as easy as pie…time is really what’s required here. Pies are just perfect for these winter days and I can’t wait to make more of them.

*I have to say that I stripped the bird with my bare hands once it had cooled; a bit savage maybe, but far more effective at extracting every morsel than any tool – not to mention way more fun.