I have always found something curiously sedative about the sound of raindrops on a roof. I often dream of sitting out on the veranda of an old Tuscan farmhouse in my twilight years as a storm rolls in, the hammering of the raindrops on the old tin roof softening the gentle blows of life. It is just as well really, for since I woke up five minutes before the alarm this morning, that is pretty much all I have heard. It has pissed down all day long, and shows no sign of abating.
Having made a main course yesterday I am doing a starter and dessert today, amongst other things. To start with I am making Shrimps on Brown Bread with Mayonnaise. For this I will need, er, shrimps, brown bread and mayonnaise. The shrimps arrive first thing, so I just need to make my own bread and mayonnaise. I knock up my first ever yeast bread, a quick, once risen, no kneading recipe with black treacle and wholemeal flour.
I also make my first ever mayonnaise. No on uses the H-Word around here, preferring to refer to it as the leading brand. Making your own is piss easy and far, far superior. I will break copyright here and tell you how it’s done. You need a pinch of salt, a pinch of mustard powder, a tablespoon of white wine vinegar and two egg yolks in a bowl. You then need a measuring jug with 6 fl oz of vegetable or groundnut oil and 2 fl oz of olive oil. With a whisk in one hand and the jug in the other you whisk the egg yolks and slowly pour in the oil at the same time. This way it gradually emulsifies. When the oil is all in, you are finished: mayonnaise.
But wait. Something is wrong. Something is seriously wrong. You must have fucked up: it is yellow. It looks disgusting. Mayonnaise is white, just like the leading brand. Er, no it isn’t: it’s yellow. Wanna make it white? - slowly add water and whisk. There you have it - mayonnaise with water added for no other purpose than to change its colour. Just like the leading brand.
Now I think a plate of boiled shrimps (they’re tasty but not exactly bursting with flavour) on a neutral (but expertly baked) brown bread needs something to lift it from obscurity. When we tried the shrimps in demo I felt like I was noticing something that wasn’t there rather than something that was. Like there was a window of opportunity for something else to add flavour and make it stand out. I add paprika to my mayonnaise. It looks different - it looks cool. And it is feisty, but without taking over. Innovation is not normally rewarded in this place, because their way is the right way.
Later on I make some simple biscuits to which I add orange and cardamon. I also have to make a Fluffy Lemon Pudding but am keeping this back as late as possible to preserve its flavour and texture. The components of my shrimp starter are made and waiting and all I have to do is assemble it. Except I have overlooked how long it takes to peel the little bastards, so a tricky job is waiting for me right when I have the least time.
As well as all this, my partner and I are making Tomato and Apple Chutney. Chutneys are a great way of preserving things that are about to go out of season, so we use fresh tomatoes and apples and pile on the sugar and vinegar to enable them to keep for months. We are making a recipe that will yield about half a dozen jars.
There is another angle to this, much discussed around the school and worthy of mention here. There are 60 people on the course, and we cook four mornings a week. We produce shitloads of food. Some of it goes to the hens because it is rubbish. Some of it we eat. Some of it, well, it gets taken away. Quietly, secretly, surreptitiously. Then it reappears in other places, with labels on it. And the labels, they start with a mysterious sign, like a strange character from some ancient alphabet: €.
You like my scones - great. I can take a few home - brilliant. The rest? - they’re 80 cents each in the shop. Farmers Market on a Saturday? €7 for a tub of Mushroom a la crème. That Crab and Ginger Tart was good. €4 a slice. Jar of Tomato & Apple Chutney? Not sure? €3? €4? Now then, I don’t object to this in principle, but there is an issue with transparency. Everyone knows it’s happening but no one’s telling us it’s happening.
I weigh out my 4lb of tomatoes for the chutney. They need skinning and chopping. 4lb of tomatoes. That is a lot of tomatoes. I feel a bit like I am being drafted into a sweatshop. I think of Happy Gilmore and Ben Stiller’s sinister character talking the to the old dears in the nursing home making patchwork quilts for him to sell: “Good news: we’re extending arts and crafts time by four hours today.” I understand how the world works, and that this is a school and a business. But I came here to learn, and I already know how to chop tomatoes.
I plead with them: who cares about using fresh tomatoes when a ton of sugar and vinegar is going in the pan? I am missing the point. We are preserving. They have to be fresh or here is nothing to preserve? I mellow out a bit later on, when I taste the chutney. It is extremely vinegary, of course - it needs a couple of weeks in the jars for that to subside. But beneath that, the flavour is sublime. And chopping tomatoes - it’s not like I’m sewing Man United kits seven days a week, now is it?
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