I wrote a couple of weeks ago that
I wanted to highlight local producers who service the royal family—not only at
Buckingham Palace but also at Sandringham and Balmoral and Windsor. It turns
out the Queen has a host of producers in all of these places and buys from the
producer closest to where she’s traveling instead of bringing food with her
from London. Thus, the list of firms holding a royal warrant as fruit &
vegetable suppliers tells a story about the royal family’s habits and haunts.
D&F MCCARTHY LTD. is a family-owned producer located just outside of
Norwich, England, that holds warrants from both the Queen and the Prince of
Wales. DEESIDE DELI & GARDEN SHOP provides fruit and vegetables to the
Prince of Wales when he visits Scotland, and DDP LTD, located in the New
Covent Garden Market, supplies fruit and vegetables to the Queen while she is
in London.
If the royal family is that interested
in eating local, I thought we could give it a go here too. Why not try using local ingredients to make authentic English cuisine? I bought a fabulous cookbook—Jamie Oliver’s Great Britain (Penguin, 2011)—and decided
to jump right into it. This girl is going to make some British food.
I’ve dabbled a little in that
before, right? There was the Pilgrim’s Pie and bacon butties I made with HP sauce; the caramel slice I baked with Lyle’s golden syrup; the barbecue sauce I
made using a Waitrose recipe. Still, I feel like I usually end up cheating a
bit and making the recipe into something already familiar to me. Maybe I ought
to make an effort to bend a little and try something new.
I thought Jamie Oliver might be a
nice gateway into British food. Real British
food. He’s such a fabulous crusader for home-cooked meals that use fresh fruits
and vegetables and humanely-treated meat and animal products. I love his Food Revolution programs and his intent
to practice what he preaches in his cookbooks. The recipes in this book, as in
all of his cookbooks, are simple and straightforward. Though they might use red
meat or butter or cream, their redeeming feature is that they don’t contain
preservatives or artificial ingredients or shortcuts. This is real food. Oliver’s
recipes also take vegetables I’m usually a little afraid of—kale, spinach,
turnips, leeks, watercress—and makes them delicious.
I admit that at times Oliver’s
book seems a little too authentic for me. The recipes for Flapjack Crumble,
Velvety Chocolate Pots, and Root Vegetable Chips don’t pull me out of my
comfort zone, but several of the others do.
Hearty Oxtail Stew? Yikes.
Easy Essex Haggis? Huh?
Easy Essex Haggis? Huh?
Happy Fish Pie? No. Just…no.
I’d almost talked myself out of it before I started. Shouldn’t British food seem a little more familiar? Shouldn’t American cuisine and that of the Mother Country have more in common at this point? It doesn’t, strangely. As I turned through page after page of vaguely familiar-sounding dishes with all manner of bizarre meats and cheeses, I felt the trademark Chelsey pickiness kicking in. What was I doing here?
I’d almost talked myself out of it before I started. Shouldn’t British food seem a little more familiar? Shouldn’t American cuisine and that of the Mother Country have more in common at this point? It doesn’t, strangely. As I turned through page after page of vaguely familiar-sounding dishes with all manner of bizarre meats and cheeses, I felt the trademark Chelsey pickiness kicking in. What was I doing here?
I set my cookbook aside but made
myself return to it the next day. What about the vegetable section, right? How
bad could that be? I turned the pages until I stopped dead in my tracks on page
317. There I saw the most fantastic looking mashed potatoes I’d ever laid eyes
on.
Oliver dubs these potatoes “King
of Mash: Irish Champ.” It’s a thick and hearty mashed potato flecked with lots
of dark green from parsley, scallions, a leek, and watercress, the latter being
something I’d never bought or cooked with before. I had to try these mashed potatoes.
The recipe is straightforward and
gave me no trouble: while you boil the potatoes on the stovetop, you roughly
chop your scallions and leek. Then you do this incredible thing where you boil
milk, butter, the scallions, and the leek together. The onion flavor infuses
the milk, which you later use to mash the potatoes with. Brilliant, right? I
admit I usually like my potatoes non-lumpy and whipped into a light and fluffy
perfection, but the great flavors from the onions and the watercress (peppery
and fresh-tasting) made up for it. Adam—who never gets potatoes mashed the way
he likes them—absolutely adored these. Here’s the recipe:
King of Mash: Irish Champ (adapted from Jamie Oliver’s Great Britain)
2 lbs. russet potatoes (I used a
mixture of russet and red potatoes; I peeled the russet and left the skins on
the red)
Sea salt and ground black pepper
2 scallions
1 leek
2/3 cup milk
1 fresh bay leaf
3 ½ T butter
A small handful of watercress
A small bunch of fresh flat-leaf
parsley, leaves picked and roughly chopped
Directions
Peel the potatoes and place in a
large pot of salted water. Bring to a boil and cook for 12-15 minutes, or until
fork tender.
While the potatoes are boiling,
wash and trim the scallions and the leek (leeks hold a lot of sand and sediment
in their layers, so be mindful of this and wash thoroughly), then slice them
finely. Place in a heatproof pot with milk, bay leaf, salt, pepper, and the
butter. Bring everything to a boil, then turn the heat down and allow the milk
to simmer for 5-7 minutes.
Drain the cooked potatoes and
transfer to a bowl. Mash with a potato masher, ladeling in the milk as you go.
Once you’ve used all of the milk, add salt, pepper, and butter to taste. Add
more milk (I did) if the potatoes are not yet at the consistency you want.
Roughly chop the watercress and parsley and stir the chopped leaves into the
mash.
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