by Baxter, John
As it was placed on the table, my brother-in-law, Jean-Marie, bent over the dish of sliced stuffing and carrot pudding, as if examining a new and puzzling creature found under an overturned rock. His grunt indicated a provisional acceptance.
In the kitchen, careful not to shatter the shell of bubbled deep brown crackling into which his skin had been transformed, I transferred Pascal from the board to my improvised dish of cork bark. Eyes closed, forefeet together, back legs curled under him, he appeared to bear no ill will for the way we had shortened his already brief life. An apple in his mouth would have been an indignity. Better to preserve his expression of resignation, even complacency.
And surely he would have been pleased at the roar of approval that greeted his ritual circumnavigation of the table before he was installed in the place of honour. It had been a short life, if not a merry one, but it would conclude by giving pleasure to others—a not ignoble end.
All seemed to be going well. Taking my place at the foot of the table, I gathered up the carving knife and fork and prepared to peel off the crackling before I cut into the succulent meat.
But then Cousin Natalie sniffed suspiciously.
“What’s that funny smell?”
“… erm, yes,” echoed Aristide. He cleared his throat. “Funny … er … smell.”
“Just a little spice,” I said.
“Spice?” The corners of Natalie’s mouth turned down. “Oh, I don’t know if I would care for …”
“No,” said Aristide. “Don’t care for …” He laid a pale, moist strangler’s hand on his ample stomach. “… Digestion …”
But Marie-Do was prepared. Better than anyone, she knew how to deal with people like these.
“Ah, but this is what they call Cajun cooking—which means, of course, ‘Acadian’.”
Natalie looked blank. Fortunately, my sister-in-law, Caroline, is an expert on the French colonisation of North America, and the author of several books on the subject.
In 1755, she explained, the British ejected five thousand French settlers from Canada. Many headed south, to join the French community in Louisiana started by the whores forcibly deported to the new colony to provide wives for the colonists. The new arrivals combined the tradition of French food with the exotic ingredients and spices of their new home to create a unique cuisine. Since they kept their original Canadian name—“Acadian”—they, and their food, became known as Cajun.
“And do you know,” she continued, “the Jesuits who went to Canada with the first settlers wrote out songs for the Indians, which have been lost or forgotten in France itself. Canadian archives actually contain pieces of music that we don’t even possess in France.”
“So …” asked Françoise pointedly, “it’s really French?”
“Oh, completely,” said Caroline.
I picked up the carving knife and fork and cut into Pascal with a delicious crunch of crackling.
“Who wants the first slice?”
“… erm …” With a nervous glance at Natalie, Aristide held out his plate.
It would be nice to tell you that I recall every instant of the meal that followed. Nothing would give me greater pleasure than to go over the reaction to each dish: the looks of appreciation, the frowns of doubt, the toasts and bons mots, the portions left half-eaten and the plates wiped clean …
But anyone who has ever served a big meal knows it isn’t like that.
Mostly, you’re too busy to eat, let alone watch. Bowls and dishes have to be ferried to and from the table, plates filled and passed, sauce boats replenished, extra bread brought, dishes explained, recipes summarised—not to mention arguments adjudicated, reminiscences patiently listened to, glances exchanged, eyebrows raised … all the choreography of a social event that no menu can possibly reflect. Every meal is a world of its own, from which we emerge, however subtly, changed.
It took the best part of forty minutes to dispose of Pascal, but when we began clearing the table for dessert, nothing remained except a pile of bones. Even the snout and tail had been eaten—probably by Aristide, who, with the help of half a dozen glasses of Bordeaux, had asserted himself furiously. Tucking his napkin into his collar, he’d launched himself at his dinner as if he wouldn’t get another for a week—which, from Natalie’s disapproving glares, was probably the case. But even she picked fastidiously at a slice and came back for more. Pascal had not died in vain.
Now it was time to see how they liked my dessert.
I took the wide flat ceramic dish out of the refrigerator and carried it to the table, draped in a fresh linen tea towel. Conversation halted as I laid it in the place formerly occupied by Pascal and lifted the cloth.
What they saw was some sort of fruit salad, covered in a layer of … what? Something brown, granular …
One could sense the feeling of disappointment. There was a general air of anticlimax—until I produced the butane torch.
“Stand back!”
I flicked the trigger. A jet of blue flame leaped out.
One of the young cousins squealed. Someone else swore; I didn’t see who because I was preoccupied with playing the roaring flame over the surface of the dessert. As I did so, the crushed palm sugar laid across the mixture of tropical fruit and mascarpone cheese melted into a translucent golden glaze.
Once all the sugar had liquified, I turned off the torch, waited a few seconds, then tapped the surface with a spoon. It gave back a reassuring tok tok.
“Fruits brûlés?” I asked.
The table erupted in applause.
28
Washing Up
’Tis the gift to be simple,
’Tis the gift to be free,
’Tis the gift to come down
Where we ought to be,
And when we find ourselves in the place just right,
’Twill be in the valley of love and delight.
—OLD SHAKER HYMN
To the victor, they say, go the spoils.
But to the victor of a big meal, unfortunately, goes the washing-up.
Of course, everyone tries to help. But a small kitchen can hold only so many people, and by the time you’ve explained that those plates don’t go in the dishwasher and that dish should be put in the fridge, it’s easier to do it yourself.
Also, a heavy meal takes its toll. Eating that much food, not to mention drinking so much wine, leaves a person relaxed. From the front bedrooms, thunderous snores soon indicated that at least two of the male guests were sleeping it off. The occasional creak and soft footfall from above my head suggested that one of the younger cousins and her boyfriend had discovered that narrow bed in the back room and were enjoying what the French call a sieste crapuleuse.
Almost everyone else had gone next door to the home of Françoise and Jean-Paul, the adults to gossip, the kids to watch TV.
Which left me to clean up.
Well, I didn’t mind, to tell the truth. It was a chance to unwind, to relive the high points of the meal, and of this Christmas.
I walked to the glass doors of the big dining room and looked out at the garden that fell away to the distant hedge marking the end of the family’s property.
The land meant a great deal to me now, since I’d become part of it—or it of me.
In earlier centuries, this had been a farm. During World War II, under the German occupation—if a feldwebel and two enlisted men billeted in the village really counted as “occupation”—it had become a kitchen garden, planted with beans, cabbage, and potatoes to feed the family. Forty years later, Marie-Do and I held our wedding reception there, and a few years later, we’d watched Louise and her cousins scamper on Easter morning, searching for eggs scattered by the bells returning from Rome.
My mother-in-law had inherited this land from her parents, as Marie-Dominique and Caroline would inherit it in time, then Alice and Louise, continuing a line unbroken for half a millennium. In this country, one didn’t possess land or houses, any more than you possessed a river. They own
ed you, and sooner or later, whether you liked it or not, they would coax you into the stream as they had coaxed me, involving you in their eddies and cataracts, carrying you on to the open sea.
How many other travellers had been welcomed into such families over the centuries? People like myself were the vagabonds of the world, distant descendants of the fugitive and dispossessed, the beggar monks, troubadours, scholars, and chronically footloose voyagers for whom generations of more settled householders had baked cakes, hiding a coin inside as a discreet gift to help them on their way. We came to the door at midnight, to be offered food, drink, money, and, if we were fortunate, the love of someone within that family, and the security and comfort of its table and hearth.
Not to be cast out, no longer to be a poor man and a stranger—what gift could be greater than that?
Appendix 1
Recipes
Cajun/Indian Dry-Rubbed Roast Pork
Ingredients.
A sucking piglet of about 16 lb. (A pig of this size serves about 18 people. The marinade can be reduced proportionately for a leg or shoulder, or a rack of chops. In every case, the meat must retain its skin.)
For the marinade.
3 or 4 cloves of garlic, peeled.
1 tsp cardamon seeds or powdered cardamon.
2 or 3 large dried chillis, depending on size and taste, including seeds.
1 tbsp dried paprika, smoked for preference.
10 peppercorns.
1 tsp sugar.
1 tbsp dry mustard.
1 tsp salt.
Olive oil.
2 or 3 pints Guinness stout.
Method.
With a very sharp knife, score the skin of the pork in parallel cuts about ½ inch apart, making sure you cut down to the underlying layer of fat but not into the meat.
Place the spices in a blender or mortar, and grind or pound until fine. Crush the garlic into the spice mix, and add enough oil to create a thick paste. Rub the paste into the meat, working it into the spaces between the cuts and, if using a whole pig, into the interior. Wrap the piglet well in shrinkwrap or foil, or a well-sealed plastic bag, and place in the refrigerator for at least 24 hours.
An hour before cooking, remove the piglet or joint from the refrigerator and unwrap. If using a piglet, stuff the cavity and sew up with twine. Otherwise, form the stuffing into a loaf or cylinder and wrap in well-buttered foil.
Pre-heat the oven to 350 degrees. Place the piglet on an oven rack with a deep pan below to catch drippings. Cook for 20 minutes per pound, i.e. about 5 hours. (Internal temperature should be 155 to 160 degrees.) Every hour, turn the piglet, basting it with its drippings, then with Guinness.
If serving roast potatoes, place them in the drippings about an hour before the pig is cooked. At the same time, if the stuffing is being cooked separately, place low in the oven. Also the compote.
Remove the pig from the oven and allow it to rest for about 30 minutes before carving.
Allow the drippings to settle, then drain off the fat. Deglaze the pan with Guinness, cook off the alcohol and reduce the sauce to the preferred consistency. Correct the seasoning.
The piglet can be carved at the table, but it’s often easier to display it to the guests, then return to the kitchen for carving. Remove the crackling and divide into portions. Slice the stuffing, or place it in a bowl. Carve the pork and serve on a warmed dish, passing round the sauce and compote.
For the stuffing.
1 large onion.
4 sticks of celery, with leaves.
1 clove garlic.
1 egg.
1 apple.
6 cups soft white breadcrumbs.
1 tbsp dried sage, crumbled, or 6 fresh sage leaves.
Salt and ground black pepper.
Method.
Peel and chop the onion. Peel, quarter and chop the apple, roughly chop the celery, including leaves. Place all ingredients in a food processor and blend. (The mixture should be dry and crumbly. The apple and celery will break down in cooking, providing any necessary moisture.)
For the apple compote.
8 apples, ideally Clochard or Chanticleer, but, if not available, Granny Smiths.
1 tbsp salted butter.
White pepper.
Method.
Peel and core the apples, and cut into eighths. Arrange them in a heavy-bottomed dish with the butter and pepper. Cover and place in the oven about an hour before serving. Check occasionally to see that the apples are not burning; this will depend on the amount of sugar in them. Ideally, they should be tender rather than mushy, and slightly caramelised.
Carrot Pudding
Ingredients.
2 lb carrots
1 egg.
1 cup cream cheese.
1 tsp ground cumin.
¼ tsp turmeric.
¼ tsp cayenne or chilli powder (if liked).
¼ tsp ground coriander.
Knob of butter.
Method.
Peel the carrots and steam until tender. Allow to cool, then place in a food processor with the other ingredients and process until smooth. Add salt and freshly ground pepper to taste. Place in a shallow dish, pattern the surface with a fork to create ridges, and bake in a medium oven for 30 minutes or until high points show some browning.
Baked Potatoes
Ingredients.
2 lb large, old potatoes (new potatoes of whatever size don’t lend themselves to roasting)
1 lb butter, beef or goose dripping, or other animal fat. (Don’t substitute oil, or the potatoes will be leathery.)
Method.
Peel the potatoes and halve or quarter them into chunks of roughly equal size. Place in cold water until needed. An hour before serving, steam or parboil them in salted water for about 7 minutes. They should be tender to a knife point for the first ¼ inch but still hard at the centre. Drain well. If cooking under a roast, place them in the pan, avoiding spatter from the water used in cooking. Otherwise, heat the butter or dripping until near smoking, then drop potatoes in one by one. They should be half immersed but not floating. Cook for about 20 minutes, turning frequently. Remove when evenly browned, and drain on absorbent paper.
Christmas Pudding
Puddings should be made well ahead of time; at least a month, though it’s possible to store them, under the right conditions, for more than a year.
Ingredients.
(makes two puddings, each for four persons)
1 lb unsalted butter.
2 cups raisins.
1 cup candied peel, finely sliced.
2 cups brandy.
2 cups white breadcrumbs.
1 cup ground almonds.
¼ cup soft brown sugar.
3 tbsp flour.
¼ tsp finely grated lemon zest.
¼ tsp finely grated orange zest.
Pinch ground cinnamon.
Pinch freshly grated nutmeg.
1 egg.
½ tsp dark treacle, molasses or golden syrup.
½ cup Guinness.
2 tbsp fresh orange juice.
1 tsp fresh lemon juice.
Method.
Soak the raisins in the brandy for an hour. Drain, reserving the brandy. In a large bowl, mix the raisins, candied fruits, softened butter, breadcrumbs, almonds, sugar, flour, zests, cinnamon, and nutmeg, using your hands if necessary to achieve an even and unctuous mix. Combine the egg and treacle/molasses/golden syrup in another bowl. Stir in the beer, juices, and brandy, add to fruit mixture, and mix into a gluey batter.
Puddings may be cooked in bowls or cloths.
If using cloths, boil two large cotton or linen squares, e.g. tea towels, allow to dry, sprinkle liberally with flour, and divide the batter between them. Gather each into sack form and tie tightly at the neck with twine.
If using bowls, butter two ceramic or glass bowls, divide the batter between them, cover each bowl with two layers of waxed paper, then foil, and secure with twine.
To cook, place the puddings
, whether in cloths or bowls, over boiling water in a large pot, cover, and steam for about 5 hours, topping up the water as needed.
Remove the puddings, allow them to cool, and store in a cool, dry place, or refrigerator. To reheat, steam for an hour, then turn out onto dish.
Traditionally, Christmas pudding is presented at the table doused in flaming brandy, and served with custard, ice cream and/or brandy butter, sometimes called hard sauce.
Brandy Butter, or Hard Sauce
Ingredients.
½ cup soft butter.
½ cups sifted icing sugar.
2 tbsp brandy.
Method.
Process all ingredients until blended. Form into a roll on foil, chill, and slice into small discs for serving.
Mary-Over-the-Road’s Italian Potato Salad
Ingredients.
1 lb waxy potatoes, e.g. Rosenval Reds.
1 red onion.
Olive oil.
Dried herbs – oregano, sage, or herbes de Provence.
Ground black pepper
Method.
Peel the potatoes, boil and allow to cool. While they are still lukewarm, cut them into thick slices or chunks, and mix with thin rings of onion. Drizzle with olive oil, salt, freshly ground pepper, and dried herbs. Toss lightly and serve lukewarm or at room temperature. If you need to refrigerate this dish overnight, allow it to reach room temperature again before re-serving, and refresh with a splash of olive oil. This is a good dish to show off an exceptionally fruity or fragrant oil.
