Yorkshire Pudding and a Trip to Ireland

In the midst of all this month’s craziness, I managed to host two supper clubs.  I am delighted that I was able to manage it and fix up the dining room and work crazy hours.  But it is funny how some craziness becomes serendipity.

As certainly this blog will show in the coming months, my determination for supper club themes was inspired by my latest television obsession, Downton Abbey.  Realizing that Downton stretches over three decades, I decided to make every month this year a representation of food from every decade of the 20^th century.  So January starts off with 1900-1910.

As I started glancing through the internet about menu inspiration, I realized there was food for the upper class and food for the lower class.  So taking the Downton theme even further, I chose to have an Upstairs meal and a Downstairs meal.  And that serendipity of crazy meant for the downstairs theme, we had to eat in the kitchen whilst I was painting and re-configuring the dining room.  

I made a pot roast (easy to put in a crock pot and not worry about so I could do said painting).  Then to accompany and take the English soul food theme further, I decided to make my first attempt at Yorkshire Pudding.  Truth be told, that was the main determination of the menu selection.  Because I knew from thumbing through my grandmother’s recipe box, there was a handwritten recipe for Yorkshire Pudding.

I can’t say I’ve had Yorkshire Pudding much in my life.  I remember my mother once cooking a birthday meal for an uncle that involved roast beef and said pudding.  I’m sure I’ve had it at a restaurant – maybe during my stay in England.  The Brennan memory that stands out though is from a trip to Ireland in 2005.

One of the very unique stories I like to share about my family is our trips to Ireland.   I could probably write a whole book about just one trip… but in a nutshell, we have visited our ‘mother’ country three times as a group of extended family.  I’ve only gone on two of the trips – but the idea was we rented cottages, took day trips and hikes, and cooked a fair share of our meals with products from the local grocers in the kitchens of our cottages.  

In 2005, we visited Connemara the first week and Kerry the second week.  We stayed in a couple cottages at the end of a very narrow, rocky and grassy road.  But we were right on the water with a view that looked more like Hawaii than Ireland.  It’s probably a good thing we were so rural because our meals were the typical boisterous rowdy Brennan affair.  

I do remember one meal being pancakes.  Or an attempt at pancakes.  And that’s the Yorkshire Pudding connection.  We went to a local grocer and got the pancake ‘mix.’   But it was actually more a crepe-like pancake… that frustrated my uncle who was attempting to make the meal.  I don’t remember if there was a solution or just a resignation when we realized it was a mix meant more for Yorkshire Pudding than a fluffy buttermilk stack. 

Hm… it’s funny how that one little thought triggers a memory of that kitchen, that cottage that was so damp no towel ever dried.  The fact we drank lots of Spanish wine and I discovered Bulmers for the first time.  The juice that accompanied our breakfasts was Ribena – a juice made from currants.  Brown bread, cheese, and apples for all our hikes.  Getting my ankles scratched by the heather.  Pirate caves.  The crazy old farmer who flirted with my aunt.  Turning 30 and having a whole pub sing to me.

Hopefully someday there will be another family visit.  But for the now, I commiserated with my Irish forbears by cooking a downstairs English meal using my grandmother’s recipe.  Although, it appears from her handwritten note that she got this recipe from another family member, George Edward Brennan.

George Edward was my mother’s cousin – the son of my grandfather’s brother, George.  He passed away in 2004 from pancreatic cancer.  But I always think of him as the life of the party.  He would have had a grand time in that kitchen in Ireland.

So, apparently the recipe he gave my grandmother is as follows:

Yorkshire Pudding (the original spelling is Yorkshore, the ‘o' overwritten with and ‘i')

Use cast iron fry pan or muffin tins

Get fat almost boiling 1/8 or ¼ in bottom. 
Mix 1 cup milk + 1 cup flour, ¼ salt. 
Add after breaking 2 eggs into small bowl.
Add to milk and flour mix gradually.  Beat until batter is smooth.
Pour into hot grease and bake in pre-heated oven at 450° for 25 minutes.

I opted to use a cast iron skillet, thrilled to put the skillet from my grandmother’s kitchen to work.  The fat I scooped from my pot roast crock pot with a little bit of butter.  I realized, of course, that this is essentially pancake batter cooked in meat fat.  Which is funny… considering my little Ireland anecdote. 

I never did take a picture of the finished product.  And sadly it was gone by meal’s end so I couldn’t get remnants – just this photo of my half finished plate.

It was a very good meal.  Rather reminiscent of those meals in Ireland, where good food was just the icing on the cake of good company.  Something that I think is very much in the spirit of both my grandmother and George Edward.

Chocolate Mint Brownies or a Layered History

I am behind on my writing.  Although, to be fair, my weekends have been full in January.  Full of the things that inspire this blog – family, food, and the house where these recipes were first transcribed and tested.  A mix of nostalgia, grief, happiness, and hope.  Not to mention a huge shift of reality.

The occasion for which I made this entry’s recipe is definitely the superlative of these moments.  Family celebrating life and the accomplishment of three decades.  My sister turned 30 two weeks ago.  Last week, her husband planned and executed a happy birthday party surprise for her.  Friends from throughout her life and family members gathered to celebrate the milestone.  And of course… true to family tradition… there was a lot of food.

It was a happy celebration in the middle of visits to my grandmother’s house when we all started to organize objects, furniture, and memories so we could take them apart and bring them into our own homes.  This is one of those times when I realize how very lucky I am to be in this family.  It is one of those shifts that could create rifts… but the humility, grace, and generosity with which this was done has and continues to fill me with awe.  We are truly a family that loves one another… and loves the woman who made that happen.

I was very happy to get a baking pan from the kitchen and decided the best inauguration for its use in my own kitchen was a bar for my sister’s party.   Remembering that once upon a time chocolate and mint were a preferred combination for her, I decided to make chocolate mint brownies.  Maybe I was projecting my own tastebuds on her palate, because they were definitely one of my favorites to come from my grandmother’s recipes.

Of course, being this insane month of January, I was nervous I wouldn’t even be able to make the bars… but serendipity landed me with a free Thursday before the weekend so I could make the brownie base.  This recipe comes in two steps, plus the half step in between to cool things down.  So when I’m juggling a week of rehearsals, dinner plans, and the performance those rehearsals were to lead up to, it’s a wonder I could cook anything at all.  But cook it I did.  Thursday I made the brownie.  Friday it had the chance to cool down.  And Saturday morning, it got the peppermint treatment.

One could, of course, just as easily do this in the course of an afternoon – maybe even with the help of a refrigerator… which is indeed necessary at the end.

Chocolate Mint Brownies
Ingredients:
½ c. margarine (Oleo)
1 c. sugar
2 eggs
2 1 oz. sq. chocolate melted
½ c. flour
½ c. chopped nuts

Heat oven to 350°. Cream margarine and sugar.  Blend in eggs.  Stir in chocolate: ad flour and nuts.  Mix well.  Pour into greased 9 inch square pan.  Bake at 350° 25 min.   Cool.  Frost with peppermint frosting.  Let stand until firm.  Melt chocolate with margarine.  Spread over frosting.  Chill 30 minutes until chocolate is set.  Cut into squares.
Peppermint Frosting
2 Tbsp. margarine
1 c. sifted confectioners sugar
1 Tbsp. milk
¼ tsp peppermint extract

Melt 1 ox. unsweetened chocolate +  1 Tbsp. margarine

I thought it said Tbsp not tsp of peppermint extract.  It didn’t seem to matter much.  I only had two small squares left at the end of the party… and that was because I was sneaky.

It’s a thin layer of frosting… and a thin topping of chocolate… but it definitely makes it a different brownie.  The chocolate all by itself would have been well enough.  But the extra flavor makes it so much more than a simple brownie.  Layers add a lot to flavor.  Sometimes we know they are there.  And sometimes, as with this brownie, I never actually thought about the separate pieces before I actually made it last week.  The peppermint is an important piece of this, as is the hardened chocolate on the top.  But none of it would matter without the base of that very basic brownie.

I found myself thinking about layers and foundations this weekend – well after the hubbub of my sister’s birthday had passed, but as I entered my grandmother’s house as its identity was making a shift from my grandmother’s house to my aunt’s house.  The furniture was removed in different stages throughout the day.  I was there to take home the dining room set.  As the buffet, china closet, and table were removed, the room looked much… bigger… looser… without the compact fitting of those three pieces and the other tables that filled all the wall space.  Even with the haphazard placing of chairs, it was as if that loosening had shook out the memories of those walls.  I could see and understand for the first time how that room was once not a dining room.  

I’ve seen it in the old home movies when there was a chair and couch and someone dodging the camera.  I know the history of the house is that the dining room was the original TV room, where Nana Rose and her sister held court.  But it was always so difficult to see when the dining room I have always known, always seen was locked into my vision.  But that removal of the major pieces made the room a different space, with more space… and the possibility of a couch and the positioning of the TV console that was eventually hollowed out for us to play in.  

So I thought about that as I took one of my trips in the U-Haul yesterday trying to think how to capture this transition, this bittersweet leap between past and future… and connect it to a recipe of chocolate and mint.  Chocolate and mint together is always great in my book.  But sometimes the layers are on their own and have their own flavor.  Their own sweet deliciousness.  

  

And so that room – now seeming so empty without the pieces that made it the room I knew – has its layers.  The room I never knew that changed seven or eight years before I was born.  The one in which I remember watching my grandfather mash a potato.  And the one yet to take shape with new paint and wood and furniture.  But just like all the layers of that brownie, they are sweet and full of flavor and the perfect way to celebrate with Brennans.

Rice Pilaf, Sunday Dinners, and Mashed Potatoes

I had intentions of making a decadent sweet yesterday to bring to a New Year’s Eve party.  But then the end of the year just plum wore me out and I decided to be under the covers before midnight and skipped the party.  I also skipped the baking, knowing full well I didn’t want to wake up on the first day of a new year with a whole pan of chocolate to myself.

I did, however, have a whole day of time to myself… so it seemed rather a waste not to pull a card out of the box.  There was a snow day on Sunday, when I decided to roast a chicken so I’d have some lean protein to start off the new year… as well as the bones with which to make my own chicken stock.  So I skipped passed the recipes with chocolate chips and sugar and shortening and started looking through chicken recipes to see what would match my kitchen’s stores.

Then, as the smell of my crock pot steeping chicken bones, carrots, and onions filled the house, I found an index card with very teacher like cursive writing in red ink with the recipe for Rice Pilaf.

My mom has always made rice pilaf.  Not the Near East stuff you get out of a box with lots and lots of sodium.  Okay… she did start doing that later on… but it’s still a pretty basic staple from childhood family meals.  It’s also something that reminds me of Sunday dinners at my grandparent’s house.

I don’t know how long this was a tradition in my youth.  But I do have very vivid memories of going to church at St. Mary’s and then staying at my grandparents to have dinner.  And I was little.  Of this I am most sure because I was seated at the corner of the table next to my grandfather’s chair, in the not so baby high chair with olive green, orange, and yellow 1960’s patterned flowers on the vinyl seat.  I was probably one of – if not the only child seated at the table then.  Maybe there was another baby… but if I was at the table, it meant the little table and chairs did not leave the attic to share with my other little cousins.  And I got to sit next to my grandfather.

I remember this rice pilaf.  I remember dishes like lamb and maybe roast pork or some other rich meat.  There was my uncle Andy’s broccoli.  Maybe some green beans.  And baked potatoes.  I would watch my grandfather with awe as he practiced the ritual of cutting open his potato and scoop out the innards to go on his plate.  He added butter and then salt and pepper with the tiny clear glass shakers, then mashed it all with a fork.  The skins he saved and passed to the opposite side of the table for my grandmother.  I was impressed by the artistry of this ritual… but also by my grandmother for eating the uglier skins.  And maybe that’s why I like potato skins… because they were a gift from my grandfather.

So we apparently served rice and potato at the same meal.  Or maybe the meals all just blend together in the weird little box of images from my childhood memory.  But there is definitely something about smelling those tablespoons of butter melting and browning the rice that makes me think of an electric fry pan in my grandmother’s kitchen, being served in a Corning casserole dish around that table in the dining room, as I sat in that higher chair in the seat of honor next to my grandfather.

The recipe card is not, apparently, my grandmother’s hand.  Her hand gives credit to Ann Deroches?  This blog is going to need an appendix of recipe sources soon.  

Rice Pilaf

2 Tbsp butter
1/3 c. thin spaghetti, broken in small pieces
¾ c. white rice
¼ c. diced onion
¼ c. diced celery
1 ½ c. chicken broth
salt and pepper to taste
½ c. toasted almonds

Melt butter over moderate heat.  Cook onion and celery until translucent.  Add spaghetti bits and rice and brown for 3-5 minutes.  Add broth and salt and pepper and bring to a full boil.

Cover pot and reduce heat to simmer and cook for 18 minutes.  Fluff with a fork and add almonds.

It didn’t taste exactly as I remember… probably because I used my own chicken stock which had no salt.  But… the smell of the butter melting, the softness of the onions with the rice… it was very similar to what I remember about sitting rosy cheeked next to my grandfather on a Sunday afternoon, watching him mash a potato.