#christmas feasts

Please accept my apologies for the silence of the last three days; I went away for a much-needed wee holiday, and it was wonderful. I did take the computer, but decided to leave it switched off in favour of long walks through unexpected snow, beautiful scenery, and good food. Because I bought myself a humble abode earlier this year, I didn’t have a long holiday, so decided to treat myself. Now suddenly it’s Hogmanay. I’ve not done much today, just a bit of cooking, of one of my favourite dishes, a red cabbage-based delight.

Recipe: Red Cabbage with Juniper Berries

Ingredients

400ml/14 fl oz red wine
100ml/4 fl oz red wine vinegar
2 tbsp juniper berries (lightly crushed)
125 g/4 oz sugar (I used dark brown sugar this year)
300 g/10.5 oz cranberries (the matriarch’s addition to the original recipe, as we like cranberries in most dishes at this time of year)
2 large red cabbages (shredded finely)

Serves: 8
Preparation: 10 minutes
Cooking: 30 minutes

Method

1. In a large pan with a lid, heat the wine, vinegar, juniper berries, cranberries, and sugar gently until the sugar dissolves. Stirring will help this happen more quickly.
2. Add the cabbage and simmer with the lid on for 30 minutes.
3. Season with salt and freshly ground pepper.

Tomorrow, I will serve it with ginger-glazed ham, per Nigella Lawson’s recipe here, although it also goes well with turkey during Christmas dinner, and would I think be rather splendid with roast beef. Here are some photos I took of the various stages of the process of making the red cabbage dish, mostly because I love the combination of colours, particularly effect of the jewel-like cranberries against the deeper purple cabbage.

The process starts in the top left, with the brown sugar and the juniper berries, and ends with the final potful on the bottom right. If you try it, let me know, especially if you make some changes to the recipe. I’m thinking of adding some apple juice next time.

A Scottish Hogmanay and New Year are traditionally celebrated with the arrival of a “first foot” – i.e. the first person across the threshold after the bells. To bring the household luck, this person should be a tall, dark, and handsome man, bearing shortbread, whisky, coal, and black bun (try the recipe for the last here). Tall, blonde men are not usually welcome, as it’s likely we’ll suspect that you are a Viking, out for a spot of pillage to while away the wee hours. Otherwise, if you’re visiting, be you second, third, or last through the door, make sure to remember a wee gift to mark the New Year. This year, it’s rather more poignant for me as our first foot from my childhood died earlier this year – although it has been a few years since he was this important New Year tradition in this house, it’s worse that he has gone altogether.

Whatever you are doing this evening and tomorrow, or last night and today, depending on where you are, I hope that 2018 will be a better year for you than this year has been, even if this year has been, on a personal level, wonderful. For the world as a whole, it’s been a terrible year, and I really dread what’s to come, while still hoping to do my part to make things better. In the meantime, I’ll end with one of my favourite New Year’s blessings, from one of my favourite people. As always, he can say everything I would like to say, with an eloquence that I wish I could have.

May your coming year be filled with magic and dreams and good madness. I hope you read some fine books and kiss someone who thinks you’re wonderful, and don’t forget to make some art — write or draw or build or sing or live as only you can. And I hope, somewhere in the next year, you surprise yourself.

Neil Gaiman, 2001.

He has not posted anything (yet, I say hopefully) for the end of 2017, but I recommend reading this post of his from 2016. Perhaps if there is nothing – no, actually, even if there is something – I really should make a resolution to develop my own eloquence.

Who else in the UK watched episode 1 of  The Miniaturist on BBC1 last night? I thought it was a great adaptation of Jessie Burton’s first novel. I won’t see episode 2 for a few days, so please don’t spoil it for me! My favourite thing about the programme is its colour palette. It looks like a Dutch painting in its own right, perhaps by Vermeer. Family prayers in “The Miniaturist” The dollhouse at…

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Doesn’t that post title sound ominous? It’s not supposed to, really, but when I tried to find another phrase, all the possibilities sounded that wee bit sinister as well. So, “aftermath” it is. But I promise that everybody lives. “Just this once, everybody lives”.

Yesterday’s post described our family Christmas Day meal, spent in the homestead of Younger Sibling and Family. We ended our meal with Christmas cake and custard, and chocolate cake. When we were children, or at least as long as the family seat was the location of choice for us all to come together for Christmas Day, we ended with Christmas pudding, with custard or cream, or trifle. Our trifle is not a heavy one with layers of custard, for which I am profoundly grateful. It’s actually comparatively light, and decidedly refreshing, at the end of such a big meal. We alternate layers of peach slices and slices of sponge cake spread with jam into a cut-glass bowl, not in a Fitzgeraldian way which is kept exclusively for that purpose. I love that we have this little bit of decadence. Anyway, we then pour jelly over all the layers until the bowl is full. I like to experiment with the flavours of jam and jelly to see what work best together.

In the days when we were at the family seat for Christmas, we then had Christmas dinner leftovers for at least two days following 25 December. This becomes a bit trickier when you go elsewhere for Christmas – I’m pretty sure that it would be considered bad form to run off with your hosts’ leftovers. So now we have fresh leftovers, if that makes sense, once we return home. With that in mind, I had cooked a turkey before we left, and bought in everything else to cook it later. The trifle is one of my favourite dishes, and a beautiful end to a wonderful meal, so we had to have one. Therefore I had made the trifle sponges (a very simple egg sponge) on Christmas Eve before we left.

Today, I sat down to make the trifle proper, which is quite a relaxing task, actually; I recommend it if you are not in a rush to be somewhere. Cut up the trifle sponges into small, vaguely even, pieces, and spread jam on one side. Drain the peach slices and keep the juice if you want. Place a layer of sponges into the bottom of the bowl, jam side up. Follow up with a layer of peach slices, and so on, and so forth, until the bowl is full – I like to finish with a layer of peach slices on the top. It should look like this:

Trifle layers: aerial view and side view (my photos)

I used apricot jam on the sponge, and strawberry jelly. They made a wonderful combination. Next time, I think I might try lemon curd, as I tasted it for the time this Christmas, and it is gorgeous. We used to pipe thick, glorious double cream in lovely patterns over the layers, when I was young, but as the matriarch can’t actually eat it, we stopped that some years ago. Instead the cream is served alongside in an unruly mess, and we serve ourselves.

The aftermath was usually homemade Christmas cake and mince pies, and sweets made by our Grandma, with coffee, tea, or juice for us wee ones. Quite a lot more delicious than the word “aftermath” suggests, isn’t it? And we all lived well. I hope you all had a relaxing day following yesterday’s excitement.

Today has, happily, been a much more relaxed day than the last few. It has been mostly loud and chaotic, but happy.  The centrepiece of the day was our meal (thanks to the chef and to the hosts, again, if they read this post).  To keep in today’s spirit of relaxation and not sitting silently behind individual screens, this post is brief and mostly comprised of photos of today’s Christmas feast.…

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From the moment I got up yesterday, I was busy, busy, busy, and there wasn’t a moment to even think about blogging until the early hours of Christmas Day, at which point: hello, my bed, o how I love you. Cook the turkey, Cinderelly; make the stuffing, Cinderelly; wrap the presents, Cinderelly; finish the Christmas trees, Cinderelly! (just kidding; it’s manic, but enjoyable). Christmas tree 1 (my…

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When the snows are lying deep,
When the field has gone to sleep,
When the blackthorn turns to white,
And frosty stars bejewel the night,
When summer streams are turned to ice,
A Snow Ball warms the heart of mice

Who knows what this means? Friends of Brambly Hedge, unite! Brambly Hedge, if you don’t know it, is the creation of Jill Barklem, who sadly died just a few weeks ago (which I only found out while writing this blog post, and I’m feeling pretty sad about it). The first four books, which I was given as a present when I was four and which I am using to write this post, were first published in 1980 – Spring Story,Summer Story,Autumn Story, and Winter Story. They covered a year in the life of the mice who lived in Brambly Hedge, and they are lovely little stories, brought magically to life in Barklem’s own illustrations. Every time I look at the interiors of the mice’s houses, I see a new detail that I never noticed before. Just take your time gazing at the picture below. I don’t think I’ll ever stop wanting to turn my house into one of theirs, at least on the inside.

Today’s blog post is from the same book as the illustration above, Brambly Hedge: Winter Story. The poem which opened the post is the way in which the mice announce a traditional event in their lives, and the lives of their ancestors – the Snow Ball. It is an event which demands the work of all mice – well, all except Wilfred and Teasel, usually – either in the making of the venue (the Ice Hall) or in the making of the feast. Since starting this series of blog posts, I have been planning to feature the Snow Ball’s feast. Jill Barklem writes more about the preparation of the feast than the feast itself:

All the kitchens along Brambly Hedge were warm and busy. Hot soups, punches and puddings, bubbled, and in the ovens pies browned and sizzled. Clover and Catkin helped Mrs. Apple string crabapples to roast over the fire. The boys had to sit and watch because they ate too many.
“It’s not that I mind, dears, but we must have SOME left for the punch!”

Thereafter, we must content ourselves with brief mentions of little mice stealing cream cakes, pictures of a sumptuous dessert and of the feast itself in progress. But Barklem still succeeds in making the feast truly tempting; her artwork is wonderful.

The Snow Ball Feast, in Brambly Hedge: Winter Story (my photos)

I particularly enjoy the fact that the adults take all the wee mice home at midnight before returning to have a party fuelled by Basil’s hot blackberry punch. Mice; they’re just like us!

It sounds like a really good party, and I would love to try my hand at making the food of Brambly Hedge one day. Having spent today making madeira cakes (which are too small, so a second batch is needed tomorrow) and trifle sponges, as well as getting the last Christmas decorations up, tomorrow I will be decorating Christmas cakes and wrapping presents, so there is no time on this side of Christmas to make soups and punches, much less to string crabapples. But who knows how the rest of the school holidays may go?

I have really struggled to find a subject for today’s feast. It’s entirely possible that the final afternoon of Christmas shopping may have stunned my imagination and ability to write into shock. All I wanted by the time I returned home was a cup hot chocolate, as thick and rich and chocolatey as possible; the perfect hot chocolate is a feast in itself, with cream and lots of spices.

While, as this blog post makes clear, hot chocolate is undeniably one of my comfort drinks, it can on occasion be sinister, which warning comes from one my favourite children’s books, Sorcery and Cecelia, or, the Enchanted Chocolate Pot (1988), by Caroline Stevermer and Patricia C. Wrede. I have never been able to understand how I didn’t come across this when I was of the intended age to be reading this, as I would have loved it even more than I do as an adult. The elements combined to make the story are just a few of my favourite things: the Georgian and Regency eras, magic, letter-writing, and strong-willed young ladies who are not at one with proper manners and deportment. I also recommend that you read this post on the origin of hot chocolate from the blog Jane Austen’s World.

The book is the first of the Cecelia and Kate trilogy – Cecelia and Kate are friends separated by a great distance (for the time), as one (Kate) has gone to London for the season while the other (Cecelia) has been left at home because of her unladylike behaviour (stealing goats from neighbouring farmers). Their letters begin rather normally, bemoaning their separation and sharing what is happening on a day-to-day basis, but the story soon becomes rather more exciting than may be entirely suitable for impressionable young ladies. Such excitement begins when Kate, when attending an investiture at the Royal College of Wizards, seeks other amusement upon realising that she is too short to see what is happening.

I think the ceremony was all that could be wished. Even Oliver was not bored. He pushed ahead, squeezing forward to see better, but because I am so short, it did me no good to try. Instead, I skirted the back of the crowd and walked along the north aisle, gazing about me at the hall. There are many banners, very threadbare and tattered, and many stone slabs underfoot, well worn by centuries of steps, all worked with symbols and signs to identify the wizards who placed them there. I walked along happily, admiring the splendid clothes of the onlookers and the general air of faded elegance and chilly, damp, historical glory, until I encountered a little door in the north hall, only latched, not locked, its pointed arch scarcely higher than my head.

I only meant to glance in to satisfy my curiosity, but beyond the door I found a cloistered garden, planted with daffodils and hyacinths, as tranquil and remote as if it were in Essex or some more distant place. I couldn’t resist stepping through the door. It swung shut behind me and as I took a few steps forward, I saw I was not alone. In the center of the garden was a tea table and two chairs. In one chair sat a little woman with hair so white it was almost blue in the sunlight — which was odd, for the day outside was a gray and drizzly one (at least, it had been as we walked to the hall). I took the vacant chair at the little woman’s gracious gesture. The instant I sat, my legs and feet went first pins and needles, then quite numb. The little woman watched me very hard and when she saw my puzzlement she beamed with pleasure. At first I thought she was old, because of her hair, but when I looked closely I saw she had only powdered her hair white, as was the custom in our grandparents’ day. Her skin was smooth and carefully painted, her eyes were dark and very hard. She smiled kindly at me and asked if I would take chocolate with her.

You and I often played at dolls’ tea party together, Cecy. I will never again remember such games with pleasure. The very thought chills me, for now I know how the dolls felt when we poured out tea for them. For the life of me all I could do was nod and smile inanely and hold out my cup. She took this for acceptance, and poured me a cup of chocolate from the most beautiful chocolate pot I have ever seen. It was blue porcelain, a blue that made me think of the sky in September, or the lake at Rushton, or Georgina’s eyes. I could scarcely look away from it.

“I was sure you couldn’t resist one last attempt to recover it,” she said. “Sir Hilary mocked me, but I knew you could not stay away. So I set a trap, as you see, and you have fallen in. But I suppose you deserve credit for confounding my expectations so completely. You’ve always seemed so exceptionally masculine to me, Thomas, it never occurred to me to think what kind of woman you would make. Really, who would expect you to disguise yourself as your utter opposite?”

Understandably, I found her words as puzzling as they were insulting, but it was difficult to spare enough attention from the chocolate pot to be properly vexed with her.

“Do drink your chocolate, Thomas,” she went on, a chill amusement behind her gentle words. “It won’t hurt you a bit—and think how appropriate it will be for you to go this way. Almost by your own hand.”

I was very confused and very frightened. With all my heart I wanted to get up and run away. But all I could do was say, “That is a very singular chocolate pot.”

“You have the most sardonic sense of humor, Thomas,” she said, “really, almost morbid. It’s a fake, of course. I thought you’d realize it at once. Hilary couldn’t deny me my chance at a trap for you, but he wouldn’t risk using real bait. No, you’ve ventured your last stake, my darling Marquis, and all for a cheap copy of your own magic. I find that most amusing, don’t you?”

“Not really,” I said, and spilt my chocolate on her.

She dropped the chocolate pot, which instantly became the drabbest earthenware bowl imaginable, and overset her chair as she leapt to her feet, slapping at the dark stain on her dress, which rapidly spread to her hands. It seemed to burn her, for she kept jumping and slapping. The pins and needles vanished. I swept my skirts up and found I was able to get to my feet and run, stumbling and gasping, for the little door. It was latched but not locked, thank goodness, and I slammed it to behind me, then leaned against it to catch my breath. And realized every onlooker in the hall was staring, for I had slammed the door at the very height of the smallest choirboy’s solo.

I hope that this excerpt from the novel has whetted your appetite enough to read the full story. This is not the last you will see of the Dread Chocolate Pot, of course, and there is lots more to come. If, in the meantime, you are interested in the history of chocolate pots of a less deadly persuasion, here’s an article from the Smithsonian. I had a quick look for preternaturally blue chocolate pots online, and while I didn’t find one which precisely met the picture I have in my head, there are still some beautiful variations on the theme available (no mention was made in the descriptions of the following examples having ever been used in evil spells).

From left to right: Limoges porcelain chocolate pot, Chinese porcelain chocolate pot, Royal Copenhagen blue fluted chocolate pot. (All images via Pinterest).

The last of these three chocolate pots, the Royal Copenhagen pot, is the one I like most, out of pure nostalgia, as it’s from the same range as, or ridiculously similar to, the china my maternal grandparents always used in their house.

And please let me know, what is your favourite hot chocolate recipe? What would you serve with it, if anything?

Wassail, by Leah Palmer Preiss Today is the shortest day and the longest night of the year. You might already know that. It seems appropriate that I spent the daylight hours stocking up on food and drink for the feasts to come next week. As I said in my Yule-themed blogpost in 2014, I have never really celebrated today on its own, because there is always so much else going on. Were I able to…

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Today, the schools in Glasgow broke up for the Christmas holidays. The screams you can hear resounding through the city tonight are a combination of teachers, librarians, technicians, and so on screaming in joy, and parents screaming in horror. It’s been a very busy term, even without the extra problems created by broken bones, and a mostly enjoyable one. I’m very happy to be having two weeks…

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Hetty Feather, by Nick Sharratt. Source: Jacqueline Wilson Wiki. This is the blog post that I would have written yesterday had I not been out seeing The Last Jedi until rather late. Do not fear, you can keep reading; there are no spoilers here. I really ought to write another post about said film, but probably won’t be able to get to it until after Christmas, as tomorrow is our last day at…

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17 December 2017: “The air is full of spices”*

Today, I attended a rather large, and decidedly wonderful, family party. En route, we passed a road sign for “Hansel” **. Curiouser and curiouser, and, despite keeping my eyes peeled, I saw no sign for “Gretel”. Harrumph. Nonetheless, my mind was in a fairytale place, and so I came up with the idea for today’s blogpost. The name “Hansel” being synonymous with the gingerbread house, I decided to…

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Jane Austen, by Cassandra Austenpencil and watercolour, circa 1810. 4 ½ in. x 3 1/8 in. (114 mm x 80 mm). Purchased with help from the Friends of the National Libraries, Primary Collection NPG 3630 My lunch today consisted of the decadent Full Elvis French Toast Stack – thank you, McPhabbs! – which truly was a feast in itself. I may, just possibly, be a little bit disgruntled that I couldn’t…

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Tomorrow is the last brunch of 2017 for the Glasgow Chapter of Geek Girl Brunch! Our theme is Christmas Films, and tonight I’ve been putting the final touch to brunch activities. So how can I not write today’s Christmas Feast blogpost about the food in Christmas films? I’ve already written one post on the four food groups in Elf, so today I thought I would look at something grittier, if you can imagine that adjective been applied to a Christmas film, but still funny. Hello, Trading Places (1983)! If you haven’t seen it, it’s very funny, rather clever, but also difficult to watch in places. To avoid potential spoilers, here’s the film poster to provide a buffer.

The film takes a good look at racism, and some scenes are genuinely horrifying. Having watched the film again a few days ago – it’s on the Sky Christmas film channel a lot at the moment – the rich white men in their members’ only club, refusing to help the homeless Billy Ray Valentine as one of their own falsely accuses him of theft, as police surround him and point their guns at him, could easily happen now, and could easily become a murder, in Trump’s America. Such scenes make Dan Akroyd’s blackface disguise on the train a really strange choice, at best. While disguises chosen by the other characters are inexplicable, and Jamie Lee Curtis’s ridiculous Austrian/Swedish ‘milkmaid gone backpacking’ outfit almost as infuriating, the blackface is the worst, and is completely unjustified by the plot. There’s no excuse (or for the aforementioned milkmaid, to be clear). I recommend reading Hadley Freeman’s discussionof Trading Places as her guilty pleasure.

Having just written that paragraph, I feel incredibly superficial in returning to my original theme. Is the more serious issue trivialised by my continuing to write about delicious food? The latter was all I initially intended to discuss today. I will try to get back to that thread, and hope that it is not too jarring.

I’ve created a Trading Places feast using recipes from the BBC’s excellent collection. If you are stuck with an odd assortment of food, and don’t quite know what to make with them, use the Ingredients A to Z to see what comes up.

Coleman will bring hors d’oeuvres and mimosas (made from champagne and orange juice, popular drinks for different reasons in the story), as you settle down in front of a roaring fire. Then, given that the stock market value of different foods and drinks is also an important part of the plot, the meal proper will start with ‘Christmas Pâté with Pistachios’, which contains pork belly and liver (not that of cattle or hog, unfortunately, merely that of the humble chicken, but we must endure).

Christmas pâté with pistachios

Preparation time: less than 30 mins
Cooking time: 1 to 2 hours
Serves 8

A rich make-ahead pâté that’s perfect party food or makes a great starter – delicious with pickled onions, toast and salad. By Michel Roux Jr, from Christmas Kitchen with James Martin
Equipment: You will need a 1.5 litres/2½ pints terrine mould.

Ingredients

3 corn fed chicken breasts, skin removed
100g/3½oz chicken livers
180g/6oz pork belly, minced
1 tsp salt
2 tsp freshly ground black pepper
1 unwaxed lemon, zest only
2 shallots, finely sliced
2 sprigs lemon thyme, leaves picked
50g/1¾oz pistachios, blanched
20 thin slices streaky bacon

Method

1. Preheat the oven to 180C/350F/Gas 4.
   Cut each chicken breast into three big slices and set aside.

2. Mix the chicken livers into the minced pork and season with the salt and pepper. Add the lemon zest, shallots, thyme leaves and pistachios.

3. Line a terrine mould or loaf tin with the bacon, leaving enough overhanging to cover the top when filled. Press in the mince and chicken pieces and cover completely with the bacon.

4. Place the mould in a roasting tin filled with enough water to reach half way up the side of the mould.

5. Bake in the preheated oven for 1 hour 15 minutes.

6. Allow to cool for 24 hours in the fridge then slice. Serve with pickled onions or gherkins, toast and salad leaves.

The main course in a Trading Places feast has to be created around a whole salmon.

Source: A Dash of Cinema

If you wish to steal yours from your former employer’s staff Christmas party, then eat it on the bus, more power to you, but I’m looking to create a fancier dish as befits a proper feast. Roasting the whole salmon seemed like a wonderful idea.

Preparation time: less than 30 mins
Cooking time: 30 mins to 1 hour
Serves 12

A classic dish good at buffets and for large number of guests. Can be prepared in advance.

Ingredients

1 whole salmon, 3-4kg/6.5-10lb in weight, gutted and cleaned
4 sprigs fresh parsley
½ lemon, sliced
2 bay leaves
150ml/5fl oz dry white wine
2 tbsp vegetable oil

Method

1. Heat the oven to 190C/375F/Gas 5.

2. Take 2 large sheets of foil and place on top of each other in a roasting tin. Spread the oil on the foil and place the salmon on top.

3. Put the parsley, lemon slices and bay leaves into the body cavity. Fold the edges of the foil together but just before sealing, pour in the wine.

4. Bake the fish for 50-60 minutes.

5. Serve hot or cold. If you want to serve it cold, allow the fish to cool in the parcel and then gently peel off the skin and garnish with thinly sliced cucumber and watercress.

I would choose to serve it with charred asparagus tips and baked potatoes with wonderfully crispy skins. Doesn’t that sound fantastic?

In the film, Coleman prepares crêpes Suzette at the dinner table as Winthorp and Penelope are eating their main course. I couldn’t resist using James Martin’s recipe which involves a “sticky orange sauce and a creamy citrus syllabub”, once again because of frozen orange juice’s starring role.

Ingredients

For the syllabub

250g/9oz mascarpone
1 heaped tbsp icing sugar
400ml/14fl oz double cream
2 clementines, 1 juiced, 1 sliced
200g/7oz ready-made orange or passion fruit curd
2 sprigs fresh mint

For the crêpes

125g/4½oz plain flour
1 free-range egg
300ml/10½fl oz milk
25g/1oz butter

For the sauce

75g/2¾oz caster sugar
50ml/2fl oz brandy
4 clementines
1 lemon, juice only
25g/1oz unsalted butter

Method

1. For the syllabub, whisk the mascarpone and icing sugar together in a large bowl until smooth. Gradually pour in the double cream, whisking continuously until the mixture is pale and thick.

2. Fold in the clementine juice and orange or passion fruit curd to create a ripple effect.

3. Spoon the syllabub mixture into a piping bag and pipe it into glass serving dishes. Top each with a slice of clementine and a sprig of mint. Chill in the fridge until ready to serve – the syllabubs will keep in the fridge for 3-4 days, covered.

4. For the crêpes, whisk the flour and egg together in a large bowl. Gradually add the milk to form a smooth batter with the consistency of double cream.

5. Heat a little of the butter in a frying pan over a medium heat. Add a ladleful of the crêpe batter to the pan and swirl to coat the bottom evenly. Fry for 1-2 minutes, then flip the pancake and cook for a further minute, or until golden-brown on both sides. Remove the crêpe from the pan and place on a sheet of greaseproof paper. Keep warm.

6. Repeat the process with the remaining butter and crêpe batter, stacking the crêpes between layers of greaseproof paper.

7. For the sauce, heat the sugar in a frying pan over a medium heat until the sugar melts and caramelises. Add the brandy and set alight with a match. Allow the flames to flare up and die down. (Caution: Keep the flames away from your eyes and face and make sure the extractor fan is not turned on). Stir in the juice from 2 of the clementines, the lemon juice, and the zest from 1 clementine, then segment the last 2 clementines and add them to the pan. Finally, stir in the butter until it has melted and the sauce has thickened.

8. To serve, fold the crêpes into quarters and arrange on serving plates. Spoon over the warm orange sauce. Serve the syllabub alongside.

Would you like a coffee and eggnog, back in front of the roaring fire, to finish your evening?

This post is brought to you by BBC2’s The Sweetmakers at Christmas, which was on in the background while I was writing. Even with only one eye on the TV, it was fascinating, and very timely for my Christmas Feast blogging series. Quick! To the iPlayer!

When thinking about what to write about today, I decided to have a look at Wikipedia’s “Born on this day” feature to see if there was anybody food-related on the list. Happy 49th Birthday, Yotam Ottolenghi! And thank you for being born on this day; this blog post wouldn’t exist without you. I’d never heard of him before – I’ve had quite a few years away from doing any real cooking, so haven’t been adding to my recipe book collection.  His food looks gorgeous, really rich and magical, perfect for a feast. Consider the examples below, from Ottolenghi’s own Pinterest boards (click on the images to see what the dishes are called):

Roasted aubergine with ajo blanco, gooseberries and dukkah.

Pork belly with orange and star anise

Basil and pistachio strawberry tart

They would make a really lovely meal, don’t you think? There are also several dishes which look as thought they would fit perfectly in a feast of crystallised fruits and flowers, alongside the sugar-plums from my post from two days ago. For example:

Cinnamon rice pudding with cherry compote and pistachios

Lemon and mascarpone mille-feuille

Meringue roulade with rose & morello cherries

Again, just click on each picture to see what they are.

However, the dish that I love most of all of Ottolenghi’s that I have seen today takes me back to a favourite book, and a really interesting undergraduate assignment. My undergraduate degree is an M.A. in French and Hispanic Studies from Glasgow University. One of the most interesting Spanish modules was Methodologies of Translation, taught by the wonderful Professor D. Gareth Walters, who sadly is no longer at Glasgow University – I’m not sure where he teachers now. Our main project was to translate two extended pieces of literature of our own choosing, and to compare and contrast the pieces and the process. I chose Bodas de Sangre by Federico Garcia Lorca and Como Agua para Chocolate by Laura Esquivel. I have loved one chapter in Esquivel’s book more than any other, since I first read it. Each chapter is built around a particular recipe, and I chose to translate my favourite chapter, in which Tia makes a dish of quails in rose petal sauce. Hmm, that reminds me that I really should try growing my own flowers next year for use in cooking – it’s always been one of my dreams to have a ready supply of edible flowers.

Anyway, I’ve still never made quails in rose petal sauce, but any recipe mentioning either of these ingredients will catch my attention. You can guess what happened, can’t you? While searching for some biographical information about Ottolenghi, I came across a recipe of his which features both rose petals and quail. Be still, my heart (and stomach). In an article in the Guardian published in time for a Christmas five years ago, the chef suggests cooking quail instead of turkey at Christmas dinner. I’m not sure that I am quite ready for such a bold move, but it’s a beautiful looking dish.

Lamb- and rose-stuffed quails with harissa and apricots

Tiny quails may not seem as impressive as a mammoth turkey, but there is something refreshing about a spread of individual birds on the Christmas table.You can also use chicken or guinea fowl. Serves six.

150g dried apricots
400g minced lamb
150g fresh white breadcrumbs  
2 tsp ground cinnamon
2 tsp grated lemon zest
4 garlic cloves, peeled and crushed
20g chopped parsley
40g chopped coriander
3 tsp dried rose petals
Salt and black pepper
12 medium-sized quails
1 tbsp olive oil
3 tbsp harissa paste
2 tbsp rosewater
2½ tbsp lemon juice
2 tbsp honey

Finely chop 30g of the apricots and put them in a bowl with the lamb, breadcrumbs, cinnamon, lemon zest, garlic, parsley, half the coriander, a teaspoon of rose petals, a teaspoon of salt and plenty of black pepper. Mix well and stuff into the quails.

In another bowl, mix the oil, harissa, rosewater, lemon juice, honey, three-quarters of a teaspoon of salt and some pepper. Rub this all over the quails and marinate in the fridge for at least two hours, and preferably overnight.

Heat the oven to 200C/390F/gas mark 6. Put the quails breast side down in a roasting tray large enough to hold them snugly. Pour over any marinade and 150ml water, cover with foil and roast for 25 minutes.

Meanwhile, cut the remaining apricots into 0.5cm-thick slices and, once the 25 minutes are up, add to the pan. Turn over the quails, return to the oven uncovered, and roast for 20-30 minutes more, until cooked. Remove the quails from the pan and keep them covered in a large bowl.

Tip the sauce from the tray into a medium saucepan and simmer for three to five minutes, until thick. Pour over the quails, add the rest of the coriander and stir to coat. Place the birds on a platter, sprinkle with the remaining rose petals and serve.

Source: The Guardian

Now to decide what dishes should be served with these beautiful golden quails! Unfortunately, Yotam, I hate beetroot so passionately that I cannot contemplate your suggested dish of Sweet and Salty Brussel Sprouts and Beetroot (although I would consider trying the sprouts without the taint of the devil’s vegetable – ). But I’m sure that this won’t ruin your birthday. Now, which of your recipe books should I request in my letter to Santa?

It’s only since I started working on this post that I realised I didn’t do a blogging project in December last year; it’s lovely not having to be hunting for a new flat in cold weather like I was doing this time last year. I first started December blogging projects in 2014, the theme being Light, followed by 2015’s theme of Christmas Literature. December 13 is the feast day of Saint Lucy, and she was a perfect fit for both themes – you can read the 2014 entry here, and the 2015 entry here. Happily, she is am equally perfect fit this year, as my reading today has produced recipes and rituals galore.

Lucy’s name comes from the Latin lux. which means ‘light’. Her feast originally fell on the shortest day and longest night of the year (Northern hemisphere only), commonly known as the Winter Solstice, under the Julian calendar, thus casting her as a light in the dark. The Wikipedia entry, in which she is primarily called Lucia, makes reference to her visiting her fellow Christians who were hiding from persecution by the Roman Emperor Diocletian, to give them food and drink. In order to free up her hands to carry as much as possible, she wore a wreath of candles around her head, literally turning herself into a light coming through the dark. I know that I’ll need to look for more information on this, but isn’t that a wonderful image?

Despite the shortest day now falling on 21 December, under the Gregorian calendar, Lucy is still celebrated as this light. In my part of Scotland, living reasonably far north, our nights begin to drawn in around 3pm, and the day dawns after 8am. In Orkney, where I spent Hogmanay one year long ago, there were perhaps 3 hours of daylight.  In Scandinavian countries, which, like Orkney, have roughly 4 hours of daylight by midwinter, the feast of Saint Lucia is very popular. The eldest daughter of the family, wearing a white robe and a red sash, with a crown of fresh green lingonberry branches surmounted by candles, traditionally wakes her family, serving them lussekatter (literally, ‘Lucia cats’ because they twist like a cat’s tail), and coffee.

Here’s one of the many recipes available online:

Lussekatter/Lucia Bun Recipe

1 packet of dry yeast
(note: sweet dough yeast is best to use)
150 grams butter
500mls of milk
1 gram of saffron (or half a teaspoon of turmeric)
150 grams of sugar
½ teaspoon of salt
2 teaspoons of cardamum
about 1.3 litres of plain flour (measure in a water jug)

For decoration:
1 beaten egg for glazing
Raisins

Method

Melt butter in a pot. Cool a little and then add the milk.

To break up the saffron, put it into a bowl or mortar, and with a little of the sugar, crush together.

Mix the flour, yeast, sugar, salt, cardamum and saffron in a bowl.  Create a well and pour in the milk mix.  Mix until the dough forms.  It is easier with dough beaters.  Add in a little extra milk or flour if needed.

Cover the bowl in plastic wrap and let it raise until double the size – a warm room helps.

Sprinkle some flour on the kneading area and knead the dough well. Roll into a loose log to cut dough into bun sizes.  Roll them out into long finger thick sausages. Shape them into the famous Lussekatter double spiral – julegris – or other designs.  Place the buns on a baking sheet and cover in plastic.  Allow them to raise for 15 minutes. Glaze well with beaten egg and decorate with raisins (usually one raisin in each eye of a swirl.)

Bake at 225°C for 5-8 minutes (depending on size). Let them cool on a rack.  Eat fresh with coffee or hot chocolate.

Source:My Little Norway

The small domestic celebration mentioned above also happens as a larger parade in towns and churches throughout Scandinavia. In both the domestic and the public spheres, younger girls may participate, in white robes and tinsel crowns, as may boys, known as starboys, wearing white robes, conical hats decorated with stars, and star-tipped wands. I would say that I’d love to see the parade, and that would be true, but mostly I want to swan around (carefully!) in a crown of candles. As I’ve just told Mum about this tradition, and apologised for not being up early this morning, I may well have just talked myself into this for next year. So the swanning about may yet come to pass.

I found several recipes for Pepparkakor, a spiced gingerbread biscuit, which some recommend served with a mulled drink called, wonderfully, Glögg.  But as we must now travel south, you must read about these for yourselves at the links immediately above.

The story of Saint Lucy says that she was born in Sicily, living and dying in the town of Syracuse. She was buried there, and apparently lay undisturbed for some 400 years before being taken to Constantinople to the Empress Theodora. In 1204, the then Doge had her taken to the Monastery of Saint Jeremiah in Venice, where she has stayed, with the exception of some relics returned to the Basilica Santa Lucia al Sepolcro in Syracuse. Some rib bones are contained within a statue paraded through the town on 13 December every year. The Cathedral in Syracuse has the veil, robe, and shoes worn by the saint when her body was taken to Constantinople (source). The scene thus set in terms of Lucy’s strong bonds with Sicily, how, besides the parade, do the people celebrate? What food do they eat?

The main dishes eaten at this time are called cuccia, panelle, and arancine,whose origins lie in a miracle attributed to Saint Lucy.  In 1646, the people of Palermo, and so probably the people in the surrounding area, were starving. The famine was taking many lives, and the people began to pray to Saint Lucy as their beloved local saint. A ship, or two ships, filled with wheat or corn sailed into port to save them all before it was too late for everyone; I’ve seen several variations on the story today. But all versions agree that the people were so hungry that they ate the wheat/corn without any great amount cooking, simply with the addition of some olive oil, or plainly boiled. Over time, this has become the dish cuccia. There are so many different recipes, so I’ll post one that I found particularly tempting, and let you all seek out your favourite. If, like me, you’re not sure what skinless wheat or wheatberries are, some pictures of plain cuccia looked very like a bowl of porridge.

Ingredients:

• 2 lb. of skinless wheat [wheatberries]
• 4 oz. unsalted butter
• Pinch of salt
• 1 bay leaf

 Preparation
Place a small amount of wheat in a large and shallow pan and inspect it, a little at a time, for any small stones or foreign particles.
Soak the wheat overnight, changing the water and rinsing it a few times.
In a large pot place the wheat, butter, bay leaf, and salt, add enough water to cover it then add an additional 2 quarts of water. Bring it to a boil over a medium heat, lower flame and simmer until it is cooked, about 1 hour and 15 minutes. Stir it occasionally; keep a small pot with hot water on the side to add in case the wheat absorbs all the water before it is cooked.
When wheat is cooked, if the water has not been absorbed, drain the excess water, remove bay leaf, cool it, cover and refrigerate.
This is the Cuccia.
It is advisable to cook the wheat a day ahead. Because a skin forms, before using it, scrape the dry wheat on top.

[Once this basic version is made, you can sweeten it up as you see fit]

Cuccia with Ricotta 
(“Cuccia alla Ricotta”)

Serves 4 to 5

Ingredients:

• 1 cup of ricotta
• 4 tablespoons of sugar
• ½ cup of assorted candied fruits
• ¼ cup chopped chocolate or chips
• 2 drops vanilla
• zest of ½ orange
• 3 cups of Cuccia
• 1 teaspoon of sugar mixed with a pinch of cinnamon powder

Preparation

Combine the ricotta, sugar, half of the assorted fruits, chocolate, zest of orange and the vanilla, blend the ingredients thoroughly: add the cuccia and keep mixing until smooth and creamy. If it is too dry add some milk and adjust the sweetness by adding sugar to your taste.
Place in a serving dish, garnish with remaining candied fruits and a dusting of sugar and cinnamon.

Source:Sicilian Cooking Plus