When I was a child, my grandmother Valentine told me that we were both named after another Valentina, our mysterious Russian ancestress. How we were related to her was a mystery – my Nonna did not even know her full name – but I nevertheless revelled in stories about her. Valentina was wild, spirited and died young, and those facts alone had the power to thrill, with their suggestion of adventure, rebellion, romance and tragedy.
There was always a hint of scandal in Nonna's stories about Valentina. As one might expect from her passionate and wayward nature, she loved to flirt with men and, delighting in their company, was prepared to flout convention and dispense with the formality of having a chaperone whenever she felt like it. Although such behaviour would have shocked the more upstanding members of Russian society in the 1700s, there were still plenty of people who flocked to her sumptuous banquets. Valentina, a lively hostess, was nothing if not generous, and the feasts she laid on were reputed to be truly fabulous. She would serve sparkling platters of shattered ice topped with pearly grey caviar and piles of soft, warm blini; tender, succulent shashlik served on long, sword-shaped skewers; poussins roasted in a type of soured cream; plump piroshki (small Russian pies); marinated fish with pickles; and smoked meats. There were two dishes, apparently, that were always served at her parties and known to be her favourites: braised duck with cinnamon, and a plum and nut tart.
My Russian ancestress loved eating game, especially if she had bagged it herself. She frequently rode out hunting, accompanied by her adoring companions. Dazzlingly elegant in a beautifully cut riding habit, Valentina galloped side-saddle across the Russian countryside for hours on end. She was renowned as a fearless and accomplished horsewoman.
I am certain that the story of Valentina’s unhappy demise has been embellished over the years. My grandmother, who loved to recount the tale, may well have been one of those who did so – not that it mattered to me. It happened on a very cold winter’s day. The determined and courageous Valentina set out for a long day’s duck shooting with a group of male companions. Warmed by copious amounts of vodka, which they consumed to protect them against the chill, they galloped across the flat, frosty landscape, and for the first few hours all went well.
Then Valentina started to feel very unwell. She had no lady-in-waiting with her whom she could call on to unlace her complicated bodice – or, indeed, anywhere private in which to do it – so, although she felt breathless and faint, Valentina rode on. While the men happily called a halt from time to time, dismounting to relieve themselves behind a tree, Valentina stayed mounted throughout, never once betraying the extreme discomfort that she was feeling.
If she could only have got home sooner, Valentina might have survived. Instead, her companions, wishing to work up an appetite for the evening’s feasting ahead, were keen to carry on riding for several hours longer. It was said that Valentina continued to smile and toss her head, exchanging jokes and shouts of delight with her fellow horsemen, although, by now, she was gravely ill. She remained on her horse until the bitter end; and it was only when she dismounted that she collapsed. She died in the arms of one of her male companions.
I think about Valentina, the Russian ancestress, from time to time. There is not a single picture of her anywhere among the family memorabilia, and I would love to find out more about her, but, without anything more than a first name to go by, I know my search would be fruitless. One item of hers does remain, however, and it is very precious to me. As a child, I was given a little gold pin that Valentina was wearing, reputedly, on that fateful day. It is one of those long, slender brooches that are used to hold the frills of a lace stock in place, and from it hangs a tiny Russian bear. I wear it often, to remember the woman who gave me my name – and, quite possibly, my rebellious streak. I also attribute my passion for caviar, which I must surely have acquired from someone, to Valentina.
Three generations, Nonna Valentine, me and my mother, Fiammetta, on Christmas day.
This dish was created by my mother. She called it “alla Valentina Russa” in memory of our ancestress, because she felt it had a Russian feel. Perhaps she was right, and it is similar to the braised duck that Valentina may have served.
Serves 4
Preparation time: 15 minutes
Cooking time: 2½ hours
1 tsp sea salt
1 large oven-ready duck, about 1.8kg/4lb, jointed
2 tbsp pear liqueur (Poire William)
225g/8oz firm pears, peeled, cored and chopped
1 tsp ground cinnamon
1 onion, finely chopped
200ml/7fl oz/scant 1 cup white wine
freshly ground black pepper
braised peas, roast potatoes, buttered carrots and a little finely grated orange zest, to serve
Caramelized pears:
25g/1oz unsalted butter
2 small Rocha pears, skin left on, cored and cut lengthways into wedges
1 tsp demerara sugar
2 tbsp pear liqueur (Poire William)
Preheat the oven to 170°C/325°F/Gas 3. Rub the sea salt over the skin of the duck. Heat a large casserole over a high heat until very hot. Add the duck, skin side down, and fry for 5 minutes, or until sealed and browned. Pour off the excess fat, then turn the duck over and brown the other side. Add the liqueur and bubble for a few minutes until evaporated. Remove the duck from the pan and leave to one side.
Add the chopped pears to the remaining duck fat in the pan, sprinkle with the cinnamon and cook over a medium heat for 5 minutes until just golden. Add the onion and fry for a further 5 minutes. Return the duck to the pan, season with salt and pepper and add the wine. Cover and bake for 2 hours, or until the duck is cooked through.
Just before the duck is ready, make the caramelized pears. Melt the butter in a frying pan over a medium-high heat. Add the pear wedges and cook for 5 minutes, turning frequently until softened. Sprinkle with the sugar, and, once it has dissolved, pour the liqueur over and allow to bubble for a few minutes until the pears have caramelized. Serve the duck with the pan juices, caramelized pears, braised peas, roast potatoes and buttered carrots, sprinkled with a little orange zest.
This was one of my grandmother Valentine’s favourite dishes, which she always associated with the famous Russian Valentina. Cooked in this way, the poussins become deliciously tender and the creaminess of the whole dish makes it really comforting and luxurious on a cold winter’s night. We were always served this dish with braised red cabbage spiced up with a little cinnamon.
Serves 4
Preparation time: 20 minutes
Cooking time: 45 minutes
4 oven-ready poussins
600ml/21fl oz/scant 2½ cups soured cream, plus extra if needed
2 bay leaves
45g/1½oz unsalted butter
4 potatoes, peeled and cut into paper-thin slices
sea salt and freshly ground black pepper
grilled polenta (optional), to serve
Preheat the oven to 180°C/350°F/Gas 4. Bring a large saucepan of water to the boil, then lower in the poussins and cook for 5 minutes over a medium heat. Drain well, then transfer the poussins to a deep, ovenproof dish.
Pour the soured cream over, add the bay leaves and season with salt and pepper. Cover with a lid or foil and bake for 30 minutes, or until tender, adding more cream if necessary.
Meanwhile, melt the butter in a large frying pan over a medium-high heat. Add the potatoes and fry, turning frequently, until golden and cooked through. Season with salt and pepper.
Remove the poussins from the oven and transfer them to a large plate, then add the cooked potatoes to the ovenproof dish. Stir them into the cream and juices from the poussins, then return the birds to the dish. Bake for a further 10 minutes, or until the juices from the poussins run clear when the thickest part of the meat is pierced with the tip of a sharp knife. Discard the bay leaves and serve with grilled polenta, if liked.
In my Nonna’s garden there grew the loveliest, tangiest little plums, called susine in the local dialect. They were perfect for this fruit tart, which I’ve always thought had a slightly Russian feel.
Serves 4
Preparation time: 35 minutes, plus 30 minutes chilling
Cooking time: 30–40 minutes
Pastry:
220g/7¾oz/heaped 1¾ cups plain white flour, plus extra for dusting
100g/3½oz chilled unsalted butter, cubed, plus extra for greasing
4 tbsp soured cream
Filling:
50g/1¾oz unsalted butter, softened
50g/1¾oz/scant ¼ cup caster sugar, plus 2 tbsp for sprinkling
2 eggs, beaten
115g/4oz/scant 1 cup ground almonds
Topping:
6 large, ripe plums, quartered and stoned
4 tbsp slivered or flaked almonds
8 tbsp plum jam
1 tsp fruit-flavoured vodka or vodka, for sprinkling (optional)
First, make the pastry. Sift the flour into a mixing bowl and rub in the butter with your fingertips until the mixture resembles fine breadcrumbs. Stir in the soured cream and combine to form a soft dough. Wrap the pastry in cling film and chill for 30 minutes.
Preheat the oven to 200°C/400°F/Gas 6 and lightly grease a baking sheet with butter. To make the filling, cream together the butter and sugar in a mixing bowl until light and fluffy. Mix in the eggs, alternating with the ground almonds.
Roll out the pastry on a lightly floured work surface into a 30cm/12in circle. Put it on the greased baking sheet and spread the almond mixture over, leaving a 4cm/1½in border all the way around the edge. Top with the plums, then turn in the pastry border to form a raised edge. Bake for 30–40 minutes, until the plums are tender and the pastry is light brown.
Meanwhile, put the almonds in a dry frying pan over a medium-low heat and toast for a few minutes, tossing the pan occasionally, until just golden. Leave to cool.
When the tart is cooked, slide it onto a wire rack. Put the plum jam in a small pan and warm through, then press through a sieve into a bowl. Brush the jam over the top of the tart, then sprinkle the vodka over, if using, the extra sugar and the toasted almonds. Leave to cool.
Top: Grandpa Gerard Scott, second from left, and Rose, centre, with some of their children and friends. Above, from left: Grandpa Gerard, Leonora, Paula, Howard, Rose, Peter and Gerard.
