Arundel’s Pub

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One of the biggest changes we noticed last summer in Ahakista was the sprucing up of Arundel’s Pub. It is now being run by Paddy and Mary’s son Shane and his wife, Fiona. It still works as a pub and the fishermen are still there late on an afternoon drinking their cider and Murphy’s and the change still gets pushed over the wooden bar but all the lights are on now in the evening and the tables are full of people eating food.

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Here is a small memory of a drink I had there one summers day a few years ago.

Mary – carefully pouring more pints of Murphy’s for me than I care to remember. In my mind some debate as to who pours the best pint – Mary or Paddy? Paddy’s pints are poured more slowly and he uses an old knife to tidy the pint, but Mary is more careful, paring off the foam at the top and giving the glass a gentle wipe with her fingers, passing it onto the drip tray for a minute before putting it onto a beer mat in front of me.

Mary and Paddy are the proprietors of Arundel’s Pub, fifty yards up the road and the trip that is usually taken two or three times a day.

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I had been to the pub and met a farrier who explained how it had been suggested to him that you could cook mackerel in the microwave. He had been sceptical at first but having tried it he said it was the perfect way to get the best out of their absolutely fabulous flavour. Put the gutted mackerel on a plate and put another plate on top and then cook it for 2 blasts of 2 minutes each. He said there was no better way of preserving the full flavour of the sea with the fish.

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The farrier had something of the Hwyel Bennett, in Malice Aforethought, about him, tight round glasses and an eager red face shaped around the glasses.

He went on to say that he had been fishing for mackerel off the pier at Union Hall some two weeks before and had been talking to someone and then heard someone else talk of how they cooked mackerel stuffed with rhubarb. He had wanted to ask how they did it but by the time he had turned to ask for the recipe the person talking about it was gone.

Talking it through with Mary he thought that perhaps rather than splitting the full length of the belly to pull out their guts a smaller hole was made and the guts pulled out through that. Pieces of rhubarb were then stuffed in the belly. He went onto suggest that perhaps this could also be cooked in the microwave.

That year I had brought with me to Ireland half a dozen sticks of rhubarb I had taken from the garden just before we left home. The original rhubarb plants had been bought a couple of years previously in pots from Bantry Market. I had made a rhubarb sauce to go with mackerel taken from Alan Davidson’s North Atlantic Seafood. So we talked on this and the cooking of gooseberries to go with mackerel.

There was then a brief discussion on the cooking of crab claws. They were good thrown onto an open fire and pulled out with a pair of tongs. Mary said that scallops could be cooked the same way, whole in their shells, and they cook in their juices. She will only do 2 at a time when she is able to get them from the fishermen who take them out of the bay between November and March. They are placed on the fire whole in their shell, curved side down, flat on top, so the juices are caught in the shell. The flavours are beautiful.

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The farrier then talked of how his grandfather had salted mackerel, splitting them on the bone and laying them flat in a plastic barrel and covering with coarse salt, layer after layer, put aside for 6 weeks and then all liquid being poured off and then being re-salted, after the barrel had been cleaned. Left for three months before more salt was  added and left again until ready to be eaten. The salt purged the blood and badness from the fish and the third salting was necessary to make sure that no blood should be left to rot away at the fish. Left like that salted mackerel had fed people for hundreds of years.

Small mackerel are better than the big fish, he said, and I think there is some truth in that. On a big fish the flesh can become heavy and solid. The smaller fish are lighter to eat and I would say it is easier to eat down 3 small to medium sized mackerel than one big one. One big mackerel is very much a meal in itself whilst a few smaller ones will do for a snack.

I asked him how best to cook pollock and was told to wrap it in foil with butter and flavouring; salt and pepper, and then leave it to bake in the oven. And with that he was gone, slipping into his black van parked on the gravel outside the pub and off up the peninsula. Mary confessed that she had not met him before and did not even know his name.

A RHUBARB SAUCE FOR MACKEREL

Not really a recipe, more an application of common sense.

You will need a pound or so of good rhubarb. Chop it up finely and put in a pan with a drop of water and a tablespoon of sugar. Squeeze in lemon juice and allow to simmer until the rhubarb has collapsed. Use a wooden spoon to push the rhubarb through a fine sieve. Taste for sweetness and add more sugar if needed but remember you will need it sour to cut through the oil of the mackerel. Eat with fillets of mackerel lightly fried in flour.

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Beet stained salmon

Earlier today I stole a couple of hours out in the garden, cutting back the buddleia in the wall, clearing out the beds clogged up with leaves and dead growth and finally emptying the greenhouse of the slightly disappointing tomatoes. Before I started I sawed up a bagful of logs for  the fire. I keep thinking I need a chainsaw for this, then last week I read the poem Galen is going for his English GCSE, Out Out, by Robert Frost about a boy sawing wood who is distracted by his sister’s call in to dinner and loses his hand. Given the damage I have done to myself over the years with just an ordinary saw I am probably safer with that.

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Grubbing around in the beds I found the emerging shoots of next Springs growth although there was no sign of the hundred or so Snowdrop bulbs I planted earlier in the year.

Back inside I started on making some Beet Cured Salmon for the next meeting of the music group on Thursday evening.

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There is a perverse pleasure in grating raw beetroot watching your hands stained blood red by the ineluctable juice. The grated beetroot was then mixed with a good handful of salt and sugar, chopped orange peel, crushed pepper corns, a glass full of vodka and a great bunch of dill.

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Half this mixture was spread on the bottom of a plastic container, a skinned salmon fillet was placed on top, and the rest of the mixture was spread over. I laid the stalks from the dill on top and then weighted it down. My best weight is a lump of pig iron taken from an old lawn mower that was heading for the tip. That all went into the fridge for two days.

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We will eat with creamed horseradish from the garden. I pulled out two crooked roots this afternoon. I suspect that next year it will be out of control and will have taken over its corner of the veg patch.

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This evening I have been making more quince paste.

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They are in the big pan on the oven having been boiled for three hours in water until they collapsed and then through two sieves and mixed back with almost its own weight in sugar.

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Jane Grigson in Good Things  suggests that at this stage, when stirring, you should wrap your hand in a tea towel before taking the wooden spoon so the molten hot sugary paste doesn’t spit at your skin.

Late lunch/supper was roast chicken in goose fat, carrots with honey and cumin and roast potatoes. The oven was full for a while.

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Listening to Bill Callahan’s Apocalypse – his slow taking apart of the spaces of the Old West.

Chicken, cheese, Big Star and a Christmas Tree

Another Saturday morning spent doing the rounds of Birkenhead. First off to the Wirral Farmer’s Market in New Ferry to pick up a chicken for lunch tomorrow and cheese for Christmas, a pound each of Mrs Bourne’s Clothe Wrapped Cellar Matured Cheshire and Mrs Kirkham’s Lancashire.

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I will leave the cheese tucked and hidden in the back of the fridge to be brought out on Christmas Day to be eaten with the quince paste I made last week. I picked up a second chicken to throw into the freezer for next week on Sunday, we will have with preserved lemons and crusty rice.

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A child’s choir was singing carol’s outside and it was busier than usual, there were people wearing Santa hats, almost enough to throw of the Bah Humbugs.

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The back home for a cup of coffee before the journey to Birkenhead town centre. First sto was The International Store for a large tin of Virgin Olive Oil and to ask after a Saturday job for Galen stacking shelves. They will call back in the week.

Then on to Skeleton Records for a cheap but worthwhile gift to throw into the pot for the Music Group meet next week. I was pleased to find that they had almost all of Big Star’s backlog on CD although that then gave rise to the difficulty of what to choose . No1 Record or Radio City – eventually I went for No 1 Record – mostly because it had Thireteen on it – although in todays climate even owning it might get you arrested. Turned out the bloke behind the counter is a big Alex Chilton/Big Star fan. He had seen alex Chilton play in the Duchess of York pub in Leeds sometime around 1990. He’d spoken to Alex Cholton after the gig and found him to be quite friendly although that was perhaps by him confessing that he had named his son after him.

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I confessed that I had only heard of Alex Chilton after The Bangles had covered September Gurls on the second album but I had seen him in concert playing as Big Star with Jody Stephens and two members of The Posies.

It was the longest conversation I had had in Skeleton records.

It was then on to Wards for haddock, salmon and to order the Christmas capon and a dozen oysters. Christmas is falling on a bad day for them this year with the weekend before disrupting the deliveries they would normally expect and the Sunday taking away a day of good trade. Simon complained about the odd orders that were phoned in at this time of year including  a lady who insisted that they should have a dozen razor clams for Christmas.

After Wards it was a walk back up the hill to the grocers where they had another box of quince so I can fill the house tomorrow with their smell as I boil them down. They had great bunches of dill and dirty beetroot. I will use that with the salmon. Kazim and I exchanged tales about quince and he told me how they grow in Iran.

After lunch it was out again to buy a Christmas Tree. we went to Church Farm sat on the side of the hill near Thurstaton looking out over the washed out colours of the Dee. Cora walked round the trees stroking her chin before we picked one and took it home. It is standing now in a bucket of water outside. We will bring it in and decorate it next week.

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Now there’s a fire on the kettle is boiling for tea.

Partridge, quince and old cemeteries

This is I believe my one hundredth post. For those who are reading I hope that you have enjoyed these odd jottings about food and music. If you have enjoyed please feel free to add a comment and/or pass on the web address to others who may be interested.

Last night I drove with Paul to Manchester to watch Mark Mulcahy at the Night & Day Cafe. It was a pig of an evening, sleet and rain swirling around the motorway and coming down in great wet gobs. The Night & Day Cafe was on old pub with a long bar, giant moose head hung on the wall and a small stage at the end. They were selling Wainwright Bitter and I regretted the decsion to drive.

Mark was wearing an ill-fitting red suit and pink shirt and he was joined by a bass player and a key board playing drummer. As I said to Paul it must require some kind of special coordination to play a drum kit with one hand and your feet and use your spare hand to play the keyboard.He must have been good at rubbing the top of your hand and your chest.

They played a mixture of songs going back to Mr Mingo from Surprise Surprise. I shouted out for All For The Best but as Mark said, “That was greedy”. Throughtout the hour and a half he was on stage it was his voice that held it, moving from a soft growl to falsetto all in the same song. Sometimes it was just Mark on stage with his guitar and they then moved onto (almost) foot on the monitors powerpop. There was a nursery ryhme simplicity to some of it, with lyrics going through the letters of the alphabet and animals escaping from a zoo, breaking down to band and audience making random animal noises.

I am pleased to say that he stuck to the one guitar rule, although there was a second guitar at the back of the stage that did not get touched. The quieter moments were perhaps the highlights especialy at the end when he took us through Hey Self Defeater – the song Nick Hornby wrote about in 31 Songs.

After the show there were no t-shirts but I was able to pick up a couple of CDs I didn’t have and Mark came round and shook my hand and signed his new 7 inch single.

We have been listening to the CD’s this evening.

As anticipated I had partridge again to eat. When furtling around a week or so ago trying to find a suitable recipe for quince I came across a book by Christopher Lloyd that Julie gave me a few years ago, Gardner Cook, and amongst the good things he had to say about quince there was a recipe for Stewed Chicken and Quince. It was from Jane Grigson’s Good Things  and in the margin he’d noted ‘so good and easy’. It looked readily adaptable for my partridge.

Given my day at work I fully anticipated that the partridge, taken out of freezer last night to de-frost, would have been found by a cat and eaten. But it was still there and ready for cooking.

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I heated some oil in a cast iron pan and threw in the partridge to brown. An onion was finely chopped and thrown in, followed by some ginger and garlic. Once that had cooked through it was seasoned well with salt, pepper and hot paprika. That then cooked through before a glass of water was added and brought to the boil. At this point the Jane Grigson recipe said that the chicken should be cooked for an hour before adding the quince that should have been fried off in butter. I departed from that I simply added the quartered quince to the pan which was covered and all went into the oven for 40 minutes.

By then the quince was collapsing and the partridge cooked through.

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I have cooked a partridge three times now over the the last five or six weeks and it is difficult to tell which was the best. Perhaps that is because of the bird. There is good meat on it and once it has been done over with a knife and fork the small bones and carcass lend themselves to being picked over with fingers and teeth.

 

After all that perhaps worth finishing with a quote from the book I am reading on the moment:-

When things get too much for me, I put a wild-flower book and a couple of sandwiches in my pockets and go down to the South Shore of Staten Island and wander around awhile in one of the old cemeteries down there.

Joseph Mitchell –  it would be nice to do it as well as he does.