Sunday 31 July 2011

Lemon Scrambled Egg Pie

An ex boyfriend's mother, who was otherwise evil, used to make great lemon meringue pie. It was the only thing I liked about her; I found everything else hateful and irritating. She came from a council house in the East End of London (nothing wrong with that) but would have sooner cut off her own legs than let anyone else know that. She spoke with an affected, over the top posh voice that she forgot all about when she was angry. She used to come round my flat and turn the heating off, insisting that her son and I should "just put coats on". Nobody messes with my thermostat without a fight.

Every Sunday I had the pleasure of dinner at her house. Despite her affected poshness she was married to an enormous orangutang of a man who used to punctuate conversation at the dinner table with huge, thunderous farts of varying putridity. This would have been bad enough in itself but the smells emanating from his gargantuan backside had to compete with that of his wife's soggy brussell's sprouts and cabbage, boiled beyond recognition until they arrived on busy floral plates, yellow and exhausted looking. I dreaded those Sundays for many reasons, but mostly for the fact that I knew I would spend at least half an hour having to hold back vomit.

Her one saving grace was that lemon meringue pie. It seemed bizarre that someone who could so heartlessly murder innocent vegetables could produce a pudding of such perfection. The scent of it would fill the air as soon as it came out of the oven (god knows that was some achievement given the green mist it had to cut through) and she used to carry it ceremoniously through to the dining room where it would sit proudly on the table, perfect white and gold peaks crowning its delicate blonde head. If that pie had been a woman, she would have been a Californian beauty queen- tanned, highlighted and gorgeous.

 There would always be ice cream and two varieties of cream offered as an accompaniment (orangutang man would smother his in all three) and it was, as much as I hated its creator, absolutely heavenly. Soft, buttery shortcrust pastry filled with a luxurious, squishy yet firm, citrussy loveliness and topped with slightly chewy, crumbly meringue. It was a masterpiece.

Having only recently left home, this was quite early on in my career as a domestic nightmare, and I was still filled with the enthusiasm, tenacity and naivety of youth. I decided to have a go at the recipe myself, partly because I fancied having a go but mostly because I knew it would annoy Mrs Evil if I managed to pull it off.
I shall, friends, share this recipe with you now. This is how you're supposed to do it:

LEMON MERINGUE PIE


Prep: 25 mins      Cooking 1 hour    Serves 4-6

Short crust pastry made with 175g/ 6oz flour
30 ml/ 2 tpsp cornflour
50g/2 oz sugar
Grated rind and juice of two large lemons
150ml (1/4 pint) water
2 egg yolks
15g (1/2 oz) butter
Meringue topping made with 2 egg whites, 75g/ 3 oz caster sugar and 1 tbsp granulated sugar
  • Roll out pastry on a lightly floured work surface and use it to line an 8 inch fluted flan dish
  • Prick well all over and bake blind at 200 C/gas mark 6 for 15 mins
  • Remove baking beans and return to the oven for a further 15 mins, until golden
  • To make the filling, put the cornflour, sugar and lemon rind into a basin and mix to a paste with a little cold water.
  • Heat the remaining water with lemon juice. Combine with paste and return to pan. Cook, stirring, until the mixture comes to the boil and thickens. Simmer for 5 mins.
  • Beat in egg yolks and butter. Cook on a low heat for a further minute then pour into flan case.
  • Lower the oven to 180C/gas 4
  • Put egg whites into a clean, dry bowl. Beat until stiff and peaky. (when you turn the bowl upside down, the whites should stay where they are)
  • Gently fold in caster sugar with a large metal spoon.
  • Pile meringue over lemon mixture and sprinkle with granulated sugar, then bake in the centre of the oven for 20-30 mins, until meringue peaks are pale gold.
Well, as I said, that's what you're supposed to do. Any successful baker will tell you how important it is to be prepared, use the proper equipment and follow instructions to the letter.

I, unfortunately, have never been great at following instructions and go through life convinced, even now, that if I cut a few corners everything will work out ok in the end. I know exactly why I'm such a disaster in the kitchen but this never stops me, so determined am I that things always work out ok in the end, and instructions are for losers.

This lemon meringue pie incident was almost 20 years ago, but I remember exactly what happened and how it turned out. Essentially what appeared after over an hour of preparation and sweating was  scrambled egg pie with a hint of citrus. Imagine runny egg with a slightly sour lemon aftertaste and that pretty much sums it up. My method would have gone something like this:

  • Make shortcrust pastry. Realise you have accidentally added too much water and created something between home made playdough and wallpaper paste. Try not to panic and add more flour. Repeat flour/water process until there is a large plop of white stuff vaguely resembling pastry. Roll it out, trying desperately to stick together the cracks as you go.
  • Slop the "pastry" into a tin, having pulled out the entire contents of your kitchen cupboards and creating an assault course across the floor after realising you do not own a flan case.
  • Swear.
  • Look for baking beans or foil to bake the pastry blind. Upon realising there isn't any, decide it probably doesn't really matter that much.
  • Stare forlornly at the state of the kitchen floor and open a bottle of wine. Consume a whole glass in one go.
  • Grate lemons then mix the rind up with juice, sugar and flour (there isn't any cornflour but flour will probably do. Probably). Forget about adding any water.
  • After about 15 minutes (having forgotten to set the timer) remove tin from oven. Burn self in face due to leaning in too closely. Swear.
  • Inspect the "pastry", which has puffed up at the bottom but is still flat and cracked around the edges. Understand why people go on so much about baking blind.
  • Spoon lemon mixture into flan case, after repeatedly bashing the puffed up pastry with a spoon. Hope that the lemon mixture is heavy enough to weigh it down, which it probably is what with forgetting to add the water.
  • Make meringues. Miss the side of the bowl when cracking the first one and spill egg slime onto the worktop. Separate the eggs, deciding it doesn't matter that much if you can't properly get all the yolk out completely. Whisk until arm feels like it might fall off . Consider what might happen if the bowl is turned upside down at this point and decide against it. Stir in some caster sugar and hope for the best.
  • Slop "meringue" onto the top of the lemon mixture and put it all into the oven. God only knows what temperature it's meant to be at because the recipe is now covered in egg and flour.
  • Drink another glass of wine and think about washing up. Do not get any further than thinking about it.
  • After probably a bit too long, take the tin out of the oven, this time singing eyebrows slightly. Swear and nearly drop tin.
  • Inspect "pie" and swallow down the little bit of sick that has just popped up into your mouth. Try to convince self that it's meant to look like that- runny on top and burnt round the edges.
  • Serve to long suffering friends and family.

I remember this day clearly as it was my first attempt at a proper pudding. I ended up close to tears at the state of this monstrosity, which I can still taste now if I think about it. Still, it didn't put me off, and I continue to try, but fail, at increasingly complex recipes. One day I WILL be a domestic goddess to rival Nigella...

Friday 29 July 2011

In the beginning there was fire

Hello
Thankyou for visiting me as I begin my latest project/fad/attempt at being multi talented.  This is my account of being a working mum who tries very hard to be a domestic goddess but gets it a bit wrong.

I didn't learn to cook until I left home at 19. Until that point I believed all food stuffs came out of a tin or a box; my mum was the queen of convenience food way before the concept was even properly invented. I remember poking mysterious, polystyreney "noodles" from of a box around my plate, convinced they were space food. Even now she will amaze me with her inability/refusal to cook anything fresh, and recently phoned me up to say how wonderful it was that Iceland had started selling bags of scrambled egg that were microwave ready in 2 minutes.

I almost burned the school down down at 13 during a home economics class. We were instructed to make a gooseberry fool, and I was concentrating so hard on pureeing my fruit in a large industrial looking blender that I completely forgot about the custard I had left on the hob. Five minutes later the class had to be evacuated from the room while smoke and flames billowed up from the shrivelled, coal like substance that was once meant to be creme anglaise. Five years later I almost killed my best friend by attempting to cook her chips- essentially raw slices of potato shallow fried in oil and water. Again, there were flames. 

Because of this dubious start in gastronomic life, I was determined that in adulthood I would only ever cook proper, fresh food myself, and pride myself on the fact that no matter how hard you look, you'll never find a jar of ragu or sweet and sour in my house. When Rosie was born 8 years ago I was even more determined to become a domestic goddess , and the kitchen is full of cookery books and "homely" items like scales and gingham curtains. As a working mum and part of the "have it all" generation I feel a need to try harder than the other mothers at the school gates, most of whom don't work and have immaculate houses.     

I am now a pretty good cook of almost anything savoury, and my macaroni cheese with leeks and bacon is legendary within the culinary hot spot that is Aylesbury (look it up). I love cooking and find it relaxing and therapeutic, but all feelings of calm and relaxation leave me if I attempt to enter the scientific world of baking. Whenever I attempt anything vaguely cakey, biscuity or sconey I end up feeling murderous and close to insanity, standing in my once clean kitchen red faced, demon eyed and covered in flour. If I try to cook biscuits they end up cakey, cakes turn out biscuity, and if I attempt to get clever and reverse the process I just end up with something that looks like it's been dug up.

The point of this blog is to share my daily battles with domesticity, and remind working mums that it's ok to be a little bit imperfect. I will be sharing recipes, along the way that you may have more success with than I- and hopefully there will be a few laughs too.

Yours cakily
Sadie
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