The Good Life - Approaching the end of September

The greenhouse at Ardgillan Castle in north County Dublin

It was yet another dry and warm weekend. Cloud would gather in the sky and suddenly break up bringing warm spells of bright sunshine. In the hedgerows damsons or bullace plums had spent a number of weeks ripening in clusters their under leafy cover and were now ready to be bagged for gin and jelly. The last two evenings have been spent washing and cleaning these tart little fruit in order to stew them and extract the rich claret coloured juice. I have promised some friends a jar or two to taste and may try and force them to take a jar of my experimental blackberry and elderberry jelly as well.

In the allotment on Saturday afternoon we dug a small trough in the ground and filled it with charcoal and surrounded the earth oven with bricks. We had prepared a little salad and brought some wine to drink (Cotes du Jura Port Lesney by Domaine de la Pinte 1999), and then proceeded to cook beef, corn and fennel on a cheap cake stand which had been quickly reengineered as a grill. While we were eating I set about cooking a fillet of pork for Sunday's evening meal. After seasoning and rubbing in some herbs de provence and a little olive oil, I placed freshly cut branches of mint and thyme by the fillets. The fillets were then covered with heavily scented fronds of fennel. Occasionally turning the meat I replaced the mint and fennel with a fresh batch setting the spent and dried coverings on the coals causing it to smoke the meat above. Normally I burn meat on a BBQ but this really worked well; it took about 40 minutes to cook and it looked as if it had just come out of a wood fired oven. This was just at the right time because the mosquitos were beginning to arrive in force for their own evening meal.

The pork, which had an good strong herb and smokey flavour, was sliced and served with some homemade coleslaw and a melange of broad beans, garden peas, borlotti beans and french beans. These were the spoils from clearing a few of the raised beds. They were lightly boiled together and then strained only to be fried in a parsley and garlic butter. We finished the meal with a seasonal apple and damson cobbler. It is now inevitable I will be forced to take to my bike in the coming weeks to counteract the weight gain!

September has always been the most reliable month in Ireland but this year it has certainly been exceptional. It has almost been too dry and the ground is now dry and hard. The birch forests are finally losing the green colouring of their foliage passing quickly but not uniformly into a golden phase, turning these forests into a mosaic of colour when the low sun beams its rays deep into the woods. The other deciduous trees will follow their lead and then the countryside will plunge irreversibly into the last days of Autumn and Winter.

The caterpillars have stopped eating the broccoli!

The Good Life - Indian Summer

Last weekend was spent digging, planting seedlings for the coming months, and picking over what was available in the allotment. The good weather finally arrived as promised and we were basking in the sunshine all weekend. Unusually, there were not many mushrooms to be found. A number of people are walking through and clearing the small birch forests so their growth could be affected. To counteract this disappointment, a number of damson trees close to the allotment are almost ready to harvest; the small deep purple/blue fruit are softening as they ripen through September. Elsewhere we have found hazelnuts and have begun to hang a few small bags to dry them although they are particularly nice when fresh. We decided to limit our take from the allotment this weekend and only picked a courgette, a young injured pumpkin and some sweet corn.

Sunday evening was set aside for a special task. We picked raspberries while killing some time before paying a visit to an orchard just before sunset. The orchard is a feature on a local golf course and many of the trees are not in the best of health and in some cases clearly need attention. We take it upon ourselves every year to collect a few bags of apples rather than having them rot into the ground. They are generally the cooking or bramley apples, but one or two of the trees produce a small eating apple.

The orchard is not easy to get to. You have to trudge through damp fields and steep ditches, and all this in failing Autumn light to avoid the attention of the golfing community. The still evening sunlight cast just enough light for a few minutes when we reached the orchard, but quickly faded and before long it was time to retreat. We returned by a different route through fields of low lying mist making our way up onto a country path above which the evening sky was still tinted with shades of salmon and grey by the sun which had long disappeared over the silvan horizon. In the forests only the darkest of green hues were visible and the pasture field to our left was full of a dense misty fog which spilled over the fencing much like water overflowing from a bath as the track ahead of us was slowly enveloped.

Back at home I set about cooking a large cake and decided to make a bakewell tart in a large square cake tin I acquired some months ago. This was partially inspired by a slice of bakewell tart my father had brought to me the week before, but I still craved for the rich combination and contrasting flavours of fresh raspberries and a rich almond frangipane. There was to be no half hearted thin layer of tasteless red jam and pale stodge for a frangipane which all too often carries a distinct lingering smell of almond essence.

For the pastry I decided to use a short crust type using a 2:1 ratio flour to butter but also added a desert spoon of almonds and a similar amount of icing sugar. The frangipane was quite rich with 150 grams sugar, 150 grams butter, 150 grams ground almonds, 3 eggs and one egg yolk, some grated lemon zest and a heaped tablespoon of flour with flaked almonds to scatter over the top. (I describe the basics of my simple guide to pastry and frangipane here). Essentially you just spread two or three tablespoons of raspberry jelly on the pastry and scatter the raspberries over the jelly. cover with the frangipane and cook.

I must acknowledge the source of the raspberry jelly which was made by Marie Claire Paillard, a friend of Corinne's from Franche Comte. Marie Claire and her husband Michel pick the wild raspberries, blueberries and strawberries from the forests, pastures and bogs close to where they live in Frasne. On a recent visit I managed to scoop her recipe for the raspberry jelly which read with the rhythm and simplicity of an iambic pentameter, but as usual my English has bludgeoned some of the vibrant life from it.

Here is the recipe for Gelee Frambois

Chauffer les fruits, Heat the fruit
Ensuite les presser ou serrer le jus Then press or strain the juice
mettre poids egal de sucre Add an equal weigh of sugar
Cuit environ 10 a 15 min Cook for 10 to 15 minutes
mettre au pot Place in the pot

I normally add about 100mls of water for every pound of fruit to prevent scorching and then strain the cooked fruit in a muslin bag over night. As regards sugar, Marie Claire's recipe adds slightly less sugar than I would typically add. My ratio is generally 450 grams to 600 mls of juice. Finally, although Marie Claire does not mention it, the jars or pots should always be sterilised. I took the time to try this reduced sugar method with some elderberries and blackberries I picked: it was a soft set jelly with an excellent and strong flavour.

Monday morning was a somewhat rushed affair and I found that every surface was covered with unwashed pots and bowls just as I had abandoned them the night before. Two large bags of apples formed an early obstacle to the day but I eventually sat down to a cup of freshly ground coffee and a large indulgent, and undeserved slice of bakewell tart, while I refused to raise a eye to the clutter of pots and pans.

The Good Life - Harvest on the 5th September and hunting for forest fungi

The harvest this weekend was a real mixed bag as we rescued many veggies from the clutches of the voracious jaws of millions of slugs that have now arrived on site. These little guys are far from cute and are over motivated for my liking; the infestation is almost out of control. They are quite attached to the haricot beans and large courgettes have been reduced to an unrecognisable pulpy mass - It's time for the pellets!

A great example of a Leccinum Scabrum in its natural environment

I did a little mushroom hunting as well over the weekend finding a few prize examples of Leccinum Scabrum or brown birch bolet. I decided to explore a small patch where some young oak and hazel were growing and found a good quantity of Lepista Nuda or wood blewits. A good number of examples were spread all over the forest floor. All were at various stages of growth; the older examples curling their caps having spread their spores before retreating back to the forest floor, and the pale and violet caps of the younger lepista nuda bursting through the mossy forest floor.

Lepista Nuda cut and ready for the pot

GIn the same forest, probably more correct to describe it as a copse, I found a large quantity scleroderma verrucosum or scaly earth ball. These diminutive puffball mushrooms are not perfectly round but appear somewhat flattened, and are generally less than 4 cms in diameter with a small foot or stem. They are generally light ochre yellow brown in colouri with a scaly appearance to the surface of the mushroom. The younger fungi are solid with a black center; the older and slightly larger examples are soft and will burst easily releasing the spores. They are said to be toxic and should not be eaten or picked and mixed with other fungi that you intend to eat.

Scleroderma Verrucosum

A weekend trip to France

Figs and Mirabelles

The last post was complicated by issues with my Irish fraudband but thankfully I have been upgraded to intermittent poor service and can now type and save without too much difficulty. Last weekend I went to France to be with Corrine to help her out. Having arrived in Paris, I had a few hours to occupy before catching the TGV to Frasne not far from the Swiss border. I normally try to visit a small street market called the Marche de Ternes situated close to the Rue de Ternes and Porte Maillot. A good breeze coming up the Seine meant that the temperature would never be too stifling and I could walk around in comfort. The market is quite compact and occupies a portion of two small streets that radiate from a "v" shaped intersection. Street traders operate from stalls in front of an array of specialist shops and stores selling an assortment of produce including fish, meat, cheese, green grocers and fruit merchants.

Girolles

Turning the corner and arriving at the market with damp cobbles under foot I was confronted with a scene of busy preparation as the last additions were being placed on elegantly prepared displays of seasonal shellfish and fruit. Large tables of cool yellow girolles required little immediately caught my eye before it quickly travelled to the vast quantities of diminutive blushing golden mirabelles, adjacent to plums and gages and ripe figs. Bunches of opalescent pale chasselas grapes signalled the early season harvesting of grapes. In Dublin we are still picking artichokes and I thought the European crops had come ot an end by the early summer but I spotted an enormous variety of artichokes with large fleshy leaves dwarfing bunches of suedes and cauliflowers.

Artichokes and suedes

August is also one of the best months of the year for shellfish and despite the annual evacuation of the Parisians at this time of year to the South of France and Guadeloupe a great variety of shellfish was set out in well crafted icy displays grouping together vast mounds of langoustines, amandes and cooked shore crab.

Quite close by is one of my favourite places in Paris; Maison Pou on Rue du Ternes is not Fauchon, and never will be, but it essentially does the same thing cooking and preparing classic meals, dishes, meats and pates causing the havoc with the decision making skills of the hungry Parisian. The shop's style shirks the modernity and the crisp neat shapes and abstract forms that one might expect from Fauchon. The cooking and presentation of the food is easily recognisable as what I would consider to be classically French.

Delicacies of Maison Fou

I purchased my tickets in Gare de Lyon and wandered about for a while trying to find somewhere to eat. Eventually, I happened upn a neighbourhood restaurant of Reu Didertot and was put through my paces with the chef's foie gras to start, Lapin au moutard for main course and mirabelle clafoutis to finish. By this time the warmth of the sunshine needed to be suppressed and I allowed myself a refreshing glass or two of rose from the Pays du Gard.

I awoke the next morning in the small village of Couvieres. With warm sunlight flooding in through an open window that also allowed a comforting breeze circulate the room I breakfasted on coffee, toast with a reine claude plum jam and peaches fresh from the tree. Courvieres is immediately surrounded by pastures where the Monbelliard cattle graze and horses roam. The pastures are bounded all around by vast forests of tall straight powerful pine trees.

Horses near Couvieres

On Sunday morning we went for a short walk in the forests to hunt down a few mushrooms. There had not been much rainfall in the past few weeks in Courvieres, and we did not expect to find much. However, through one stretch of forest we doscovered a proliferation of Phallus Hadrian or stinkhorns; some spent and fallen down on the ground from where they literally hatched, others still proudly standing to attention freshly emerged from their embryonic sack with pitted and ribbed caps at the tip. If and when the rains arrive there may by a mycological explosion but it will not last long because the frosts will begin to become quite severe at 850 meters above sea level by the middle of September.

Phallus Hadriani emergging from the forest floor

Reading the newspapers it is difficult to escape the difference in the news reporting; the Irish media dwells upon one crisis followed by another where we have apparently been the author of our own misfortune (in reality a series of disasters created by a select few). In contrast the L'Est Republican carried a front page story on the announcements of various wine producers that they were in the last throws of preparing for the start of the vendage, or the picking of the grapes for their annual wine production. Elsewhere in the paper, my eye was caught by this full page add heralding the arrival of the Mont D'Or cheese. This cheese available during the Autumn and Winter months is one of my personal highlights of the year and launches me into new world of goumandises and a few weekends of gluttony.

The arrival of the iconicly seasonal Mont D'Or cheese

The Good Life - Harvest on the 31st August