Even the most confident cooks are scared of cooking for a crowd. I have to admit that there are actually a fair few Vicars’ wives who would rather eat their own heads than entertain for 30. And, quite frankly, I used to feel the same way. All that chopping; all that standing at the stove; all those plates; all those knives and forks: why not just order pizzas? However, over time I’ve discovered there is something very lovely about feeding a big gang of people. In they all troop, shedding bags and coats and hats, and suddenly the house is alive and filled with warmth. I love to watch as they all sit round – on chairs, couches or even on the floor – feasting on plates of homely fare and laughing and talking. It feels almost tribal.
My first introduction to cooking for a crowd was in 1997. The Vicar had taken over the running of a teenage summer camp and, suddenly, when we had a Camp Reunion in frozen January, 40 leaders were coming for supper. The food had to be hot; it had to be tasty; and it had to be cheap. For me, it was, as is the phrase, a baptism by fire. I confess I was pretty daunted, but, on the night, seeing people relax and have a chance to catch up with each other after a day trawling round London in the freezing cold was in itself a pure delight. However, the fact they were doing so over plates of steaming grub I’d made myself was what really did it for me. Quite frankly, I felt like a deliriously happy Mother Hen who could barely keep herself from clucking.
It was this maternal pleasure that eradicated my fear of cooking for numbers. Yes, it is physically hard work; yes, it takes time, thought and organisation, but there’s no magic about it. So, if someone like me, who is neither especially strong, nor particularly organised, can do it, I assure you so can you. And you might – honestly – even enjoy it …
For me, summer get-togethers mean one thing: eating outside. Of course, the British summer being as it is, this luxury isn’t always possible, and so there have been a fair few meals at our house that have had to be carted back indoors when the rain started to pour. However, it’s always worth being optimistic and to at least plan to eat in the open air. Maybe because we do it so rarely, it inevitably feels so terribly special, and not only does everything taste better, but even the most melancholy of people seem happier, brighter; excited even.
My own memories of meals under sunny skies are invariably pleasant ones: a birthday barbecue in the garden of our old house followed by an impromptu game of rounders; a sit-down dinner of Spanish fare in our present home, a celebration on the terrace with baked asparagus and artichoke and lemon butter – all these meals conjure up feelings of joyful, and almost tearfully fond, nostalgia.
If there is anything that proves the British have a fighting spirit, it is their loyalty to the barbecue. Despite the fact the sun often fails to shine; despite the fact the meat turns out either raw or burnt, we soldier on, and every year, come a hint of warmth, we enthusiastically ask friends round to crack open a beer and hover round the smoking coals.
The Australians, of course, are a dab hand at ‘the Barbie’; for them it’s second nature. In the hot summer of 2006, our Aussie former neighbours used to light up their barbecue every night as a matter of course, and there was not one sniff of carbon nor one instance of Salmonella. So what are the tricks to a successful barbecue that will actually produce food worth eating? I have to say that I never get involved in it: it’s the one time the Vicar takes a turn at the stove. A logical, measured sort, he may not always produce perfectly cooked meat, but he certainly plans to.
Here are a few of his sensible tips to help you on your way:
‘Light the barbecue at least an hour before you want to start cooking. I would do it before guests arrive, because once they are there it’s easy to get involved in pouring drinks and chatting.
‘Position the barbecue in a gentle draught not too near where people are standing, because it’s not fun getting smoke in your eyes and Elisa will only start fretting about the state of her mascara. Place a table next to the barbecue on which to place the food to be cooked, your tongs, a water spray to banish any bursts of flame, and some oil and a brush to anoint both the grill and the meat (this prevents the meat from sticking).
‘First arrange some firelighters in the bottom of the barbecue and then arrange the charcoal in a pyramid shape over the top, to a height of about 5cm or so. Light the firelighters and leave the fire to get going – it is ready when the coals are covered in whitish ash (in daylight), and at night you will see them glowing red, but there should be no flames. Spread out the charcoal, put on the grill and add more charcoal round the edges from time to time to keep the barbecue at a steady temperature.’
Thanks, Vicar. Now, may I make a suggestion? If you know the people who are coming reasonably well, why not ask them to bring something to throw on that barbecue? Perhaps enough to share with another person? Not only will this save you money and free you up to think about the accompaniments, it will also be a way of uniting the party. You could get the joys of people bellowing: ‘Who wants one of my venison burgers?’ or maybe there’ll be jostlers for the Argentinian steak. At one barbecue at our house, my lovely, well-brought-up friend, Sarah K, arrived with swordfish. A physical fight nearly ensued and we all made do with two bites each.
For pudding post-barbecue, I suggest you play it simple. How about serving frozen berries with a white chocolate sauce? It is a doddle to make, but also indescribably irresistible.
STEAKS, FISH, OR WHATEVER OFFERINGS YOU ARE GIVEN
A NICE PASTA SALAD (I PROMISE!)
FROZEN BERRIES WITH WHITE CHOCOLATE SAUCE
When I made this for the very first time, my lovely neighbours did a taste test. And then they moved straight back to Australia. Thankfully, the slaw wasn’t the issue, and neither was our neighbourly friendship. Nervous by disposition, I was on edge when we moved in here, as their roof terrace was right next to ours. What if they turned out to be axe-murderers? Thankfully, the only butchering they were interested in is what preceded their regular barbecues. It was they who suggested this salad would go well with a steak – barbecued, of course. Liz and Drew – this is for you.
Get out your food processor for this recipe. If you haven’t got one, you could chop all this by hand. Disadvantage: it won’t be so uniform; advantage: it will be good for your arm muscles (I’m not sure which ones).
1 small red cabbage, outer leaves and base removed
4 carrots, peeled
2 red onions, peeled
about 150g Stilton cheese
For the dressing:
12 tablespoons extra virgin olive oil
3 tablespoons red wine vinegar
4 teaspoons French mustard
2 garlic cloves, peeled and crushed
6 dessertspoons single cream
Fit the slicing attachment to your food processor and push the vegetables through it so it all looks grated up (or whichever of your attachments suits this best). Tip the contents out into a large serving bowl and crumble in the Stilton in tiny chunks. Whisk together all the dressing ingredients, pour it over the salad and toss to combine, then chill in the fridge until needed.
Pasta salad is a strange beast: hot pasta needs very little lubricant to make it shine – just add a good bit of butter, some Parmesan and lots of salt and pepper and you are rewarded with a surprisingly good feast; cold pasta, on the other hand, is a very different matter. There are some who think it is just plain wrong to eat it this way and, having tasted my own fair share of damp, tasteless offerings at churchie get-togethers, I do sympathise with that sentiment. However, if pasta is dressed whilst it is still hot, and all worries about calories are thrown to one side, it is possible to make a pasta salad that sings.
This one may seem packed to the gills with ingredients, but they all blend together beautifully. Like the red cabbage slaw, it’s a dish you’ll have to force yourself to stop eating. When I served it at one particular summer get-together, I found one enthusiastic guest eating it for breakfast when I came down the next morning.
1 red pepper, core removed
1 yellow or orange pepper, core removed
large courgette or 2 small, grated
6 spring onions, chopped
250g pasta (conchiglie is good, as the shell shapes fill with the tasty dressing)
150g feta cheese
120g Cheddar cheese
2 tablespoons basil leaves, shredded
1 tablespoon raisins (optional, but I think their little hit of sweetness is rather pleasing)
1 tablespoon pine nuts, toasted until golden
For the dressing:
150ml olive oil
50ml white wine vinegar
2 teaspoons Dijon mustard
a pinch of sugar
5 tablespoons fresh pesto
salt and pepper
1–3 tablespoons good-quality mayonnaise (optional)
Put the kettle on and make yourself a nice cup of tea. Well, you can if you want, but actually, the boiling water is needed to cook the pasta in a bit. Preheat the grill to high, then halve the peppers and put them, skin-side up, underneath it. When the skins are black and charred, remove the peppers from the grill to cool. In a big salad bowl, throw in the grated courgette and the spring onions.
In a pan of boiling salted water, cook the pasta according to the instructions on the packet. Meanwhile, once the peppers have cooled, pull off their skins and snip the flesh into strips with kitchen scissors, and add them to the courgette and spring onions.
Now make the dressing: whisk together the oil, the vinegar, mustard, sugar and pesto, and season with salt and pepper. Once the pasta is cooked, drain it, return it to the pan and pour the dressing straight over. Add the pasta to the salad bowl, crumble in the feta and throw in the grated Cheddar and basil. Give everything a good stir and taste for seasoning.
At this point you can decide whether you want the pasta to be more unctuous still by stirring in some mayonnaise. I always do, and I’ve had no regrets. Add the raisins, if wished. Give it one last stir and, finally, scatter the toasted pine nuts over the top. Let the whole thing cool down, but I think it’s nicer served not too icy cold.
For the salad:
1 little gem lettuce, chopped
80g watercress
¼ large cucumber, thinly sliced
2 handfuls of baby spinach
For the dressing:
3 tablespoons olive oil
1 tablespoon lemon juice
1 teaspoon Dijon mustard
salt and pepper
In a small bowl whisk together the ingredients for the dressing. Tip all the greenery into a large bowl and pour in enough dressing to coat each leaf in a lovely, glossy kiss.
How can something so easy taste so devilishly good?
600g white chocolate
600ml double cream
1kg frozen berries (bag of frozen ones is fine, if you take out any strawberries)
Break the chocolate into a heatproof bowl with the cream. Place it over a pan of barely simmering water and allow the chocolate to melt into the cream to make a smooth and silky sauce – this should take 20-30 minutes. About 5-10 minutes before you are ready to eat, take the berries out of the freezer and divide them among 8 plates. Transfer the sauce into a big jug and pour generously over each plate of fruit.
I love Spain. Every year, once winter has even half-promised to say its goodbyes, the Vicar and I head to our favourite Spanish city. I first stumbled on it as a student backpacker, fresh from a split with a boy. Its maze of higgledy-piggledy streets bewitched me. I stumbled around over the cobbles, delighted and entranced by men playing cards in the twilight, the sight of plant-filled courtyards and the sniff of garlic-scented dinners. And then I was lost. Thank goodness, then, that this place is a peninsula and the space between land and sea is somewhat sparse. Within two minutes I came upon the sea and a sunset – and music and flamenco dancing. Men stomped with more pride than the English could muster on a match day, and the women swirled against the backdrop of an orange sun, duly proud of hips and curves we Brits would long to cover in spandex.
As I watched I felt almost tearful: such a vivid, wonderful sight, and no one to share it with. Thankfully, the Vicar now loves this place, too, so every year we savour the sights and smells together and amble round little bars, grazing on tortillas and calamari and deliciously fresh prawns. The menu below is an attempt to capture some of that. Throw in some Rioja and some Spanish music, and you may even get people dancing. (Castanets optional.)
PLATTERS OF FRESH ANCHOVIES, CHORIZO, OLIVES, SERRANO HAM AND MANCHEGO CHEESE
The fresh anchovies, meats and cheeses for the platters can be bought from a deli. Allow each person around 4 fresh anchovies, 4–5 chunks of chorizo, 3 slices of Serrano ham and a few pieces of Manchego. Buy good, juicy olives (not the slimy ones in a tin).
This is so utterly simple it seems impossible for it to taste so good. I was told about it years ago by Doctor S, who had just got back from a stay in Barcelona. I often make it to serve as an appetiser with drinks, especially if dinner is taking longer than I’d intended.
1 large, coarse, rustic loaf
2 garlic cloves, halved
8 ripe tomatoes, halved
extra virgin olive oil
salt
Cut the loaf into medium slices, then either toast them or bake them in the oven at 200°C/Gas Mark 6 for about 5 minutes until the bread is golden and crisp. Taking the cut side of the garlic, rub it over each slice of bread to release some of the garlic juice. Move on to a fresh garlic half when you have worked the best out of the old one. Next, take the tomatoes and rub those over the bread, squeezing out tomato juice as you go. If you wish, dice the tomato skins and sprinkle those on top. Finally, drizzle with the oil and, with a generous hand, grind over the salt. Eat as soon as possible.
Tasty little numbers, these. This recipe makes enough for everyone to have 4 or 5 prawns each.
400g Serrano or Parma ham
48–60 large raw prawns, peeled
black pepper
2 tablespoons olive oil
3 lemons, cut into quarters, to serve
Soak 12–15 long wooden skewers in water for about 3 minutes before using – this will help them to stand the heat of the griddle. Cut the ham into slices big enough to wrap round the prawns. Each slice of ham should give you about 3 pieces. Wrap up your delicious seafood and, taking the skewers out of their water, slide on the prawns, making sure the ham is firmly fixed around them. Season generously and drizzle with the oil.
Heat a griddle pan until it is smoking hot and pop on the skewers. It should take 2–3 minutes per side for the prawns to cook and the ham to go crispy. Season with black pepper and serve immediately, offering the lemon wedges for squeezing over. Oh, and don’t forget the napkins.
That’s kebabs to you and me.
5 garlic cloves, peeled and finely chopped
2 teaspoons salt
3 teaspoons mild curry powder
1 teaspoon coriander seeds, crushed
2 teaspoons pimentón (smoked Spanish paprika – it comes either sweet or with more of a kick)
½ teaspoon dried thyme
black pepper
5 tablespoons olive oil
2 teaspoons dried oregano
2 tablespoons lemon juice
1kg cubed pork
In a mortar, crush the garlic with the salt using a pestle, then simply mix with all the other ingredients in a large bowl. Leave to marinate, covered, in the fridge for at least 2 hours. Meanwhile, soak 12 wooden skewers in water for about ½ hour. Remove the skewers from the water just before you are ready to cook, and push the cubes of pork onto them (about 4 per skewer). Pop them on a baking tray and cook them under a hot grill – about 3 minutes should do it. Get them round the guests fast so they can eat them while they’re good and hot.
Everyone has to partake of this nibble, otherwise there will be some present who reek of garlic, and others who don’t; and that’s just not fair.
175ml olive oil
1kg small chestnut or button mushrooms
20 garlic cloves, peeled and chopped
12 tablespoons dry sherry
juice of 2 lemons
1 teaspoon pimentón (see page 273)
salt and pepper
6 tablespoons parsley, chopped
Heat the oil in a large pan and saute the mushrooms over high heat for about 2 minutes, stirring constantly. Lower the heat to medium and add all the remaining ingredients, bar the parsley. Cook for about 5 minutes or until the garlic and mushrooms have softened. Remove from the heat, sprinkle with chopped parsley and serve with lots of white bread for dunking.
A rare thing: a blistering day in the heart of summer. That’s worth a celebration in itself. The fact that it was also the Vicar’s birthday doubled the need for a large dose of merriment and jubilation. I’d laid the table in the garden with good china and bowls of headily-scented white roses and it looked, if I say so myself, the epitome of the particular beauty of an English summer. The Vicar had even mown the lawn. We drifted through the meal, made dreamy by afternoon wine, revelling in the meal’s fresh, light flavours and the company of good friends. It was one of those days you never want to end.
LOBSTER, KING PRAWN AND MANGO SALAD WITH LIME AND CORIANDER
Per glass:
40ml fresh lime juice (about 2 limes)
50ml tequila
1 tablespoon orange Curaçao
ice cubes, for mixing, or crushed ice, to serve
This is easiest made in a cocktail shaker, so make one drink at a time. Measure out and mix together the lime juice, tequila, and the orange Curaçao. Shake with ice or pour it over crushed ice. Before pouring out the drink, feel free to tip the damp rim of the glass into salt for a fancy effect. Then repeat the process for the rest of your thirsty friends.
For a really summery take on this drink, mix in a little puréed strawberry. Yum.
I don’t really go for cold soups, but this one is an exception to my own personal rule. Punchy, yet refreshing, it is bursting with Mediterranean flavours. It’s also a sight to behold.
This recipe makes enough for twelve people, which gives you the option for seconds, or to have leftovers for another sunny day.
4 large red peppers
1.8kg ripe, vine-ripened tomatoes
2 cucumbers
1 ciabatta loaf
8 tablespoons sherry vinegar
2 garlic cloves, peeled and crushed
300ml olive oil
2 teaspoons caster sugar
Maldon salt and white pepper
For the garnishes:
2 tablespoons extra virgin olive oil, plus extra to serve
4 vine-ripened tomatoes, skinned, seeded and cut into small dice
½ cucumber, peeled, seeded and cut into small dice
8 spring onions, trimmed and thinly sliced
4 hardboiled eggs, peeled and cut into small dice
about 24 ice cubes, to serve
Preheat the oven to 220°C/Gas Mark 7. Roast the red peppers, whole, for about 25 minutes, turning now and then, until the skins are quite black.
Meanwhile, skin the tomatoes by popping them in a bowl filled with just-boiled water for few minutes, then remove them from the water carefully and peel away the skin. Cut each tomato into quarters and scoop out the seeds into a sieve set over a small bowl. Roughly chop the flesh and press the juices from the seed pulp through the sieve. Peel the cucumbers using a vegetable peeler or a sharp knife, cut them in half lengthways, scoop out the seeds with a teaspoon and roughly chop the flesh. Cut 4 thin slices from the ciabatta and set aside for the garnish. Remove the crusts from the remainder of the loaf and whizz into breadcrumbs in a food processor. You need about 100g in total.
Remove the roasted red peppers from the oven and leave them to cool. Once cool enough to handle, break them open, peel off the black and blistered skin with your fingers and pull out and discard the stalks and seeds. Roughly chop the flesh and turn the oven down to 200°C/Gas Mark 6.
In a liquidiser or food processor, blend the red peppers, the tomato flesh and strained juice, the cucumbers and the breadcrumbs with all the other soup ingredients. Whizz together until smooth, tasting for seasoning. (You will probably have to do this in quite a few batches, depending on the size of your liquidiser.) Pour the blended mixture into a large bowl and thin the soup to the required consistency using cold water. I’m afraid it is difficult to give an exact amount of water needed to thin down the soup, as this will very much depend on the water content of your tomatoes and cucumber. So, add it gradually and use just enough for it to lose that porridge-like look, but so that it’s not too watery – you might need anything up to 600ml. Cover and chill for at least 2 hours or until very, very cold.
For the croûtons, tear the 4 reserved slices of bread into small, rough pieces and, in a small bowl, toss them with the 2 tablespoons of oil until well coated. Spread the pieces over a baking tray and bake in the oven for 4–5 minutes or until crisp and lightly golden. Remove and leave to cool.
To serve, put all the garnishes into separate small bowls, except the ice cubes. Ladle the soup into chilled bowls, drizzle with a little olive oil and add a couple of ice cubes to each. Leave everyone to garnish their own soup with whatever they like, as it is quite fun to ‘prettify’ your own food.
This is treat food of the highest order. It is highly unlikely to happen, but if the Queen popped round one day, I’d be happy to serve this up. On my best china, of course. I’m sure Her Majesty would approve.
3 × 750g cooked lobsters (1 × 750g lobster will yield approx. 275g meat)
150g sugar snap peas
800g Jersey Royal potatoes, to serve
400g cooked tiger prawns, peeled
2 medium mangoes, peeled and thickly sliced
1 bunch spring onions, trimmed and thinly sliced
3 tablespoons coriander leaves, roughly torn
1 red chilli, de-seeded and finely chopped
salt and pepper
For the lime dressing:
4 tablespoons light olive oil
3 tablespoons fresh lime juice (about 3 limes)
salt and pepper
Cracking lobsters can seem daunting, but it’s fine, I promise. First, twist off the claws and legs (the latter can be discarded), then break the claws into pieces at the joints. Crack the shell with the back of a knife or a heavy rolling pin. Once you are in, remove the yukky grey roe and the weird hard tentacle that runs head to tail. Then, try to remove the meat in as large pieces as possible. Cut the lobster in half lengthways; lift the meat out of the tail and slice it across into thin slices. Put the slices into a bowl and allow it to come back to room temperature about 30 minutes before you want to serve it.
For the dressing, simply whisk the ingredients together in a bowl with ¼ teaspoon of salt and a little pepper.
Meanwhile, drop the sugar snap peas into a pan of boiling salted water, bring back to the boil until cooked, drain and refresh under running cold water. Drain well and set them aside. Shortly before you want to serve the salad, put the new potatoes into a pan of well-salted water, bring to the boil and simmer for about 15 minutes or until just tender.
Whisk the dressing briefly and toss 3 tablespoons of it with the lobster. Set it aside to lightly marinate.
Place the prawns and mango in a large, shallow salad bowl, add the sugar snap peas, spring onions, coriander, chilli, salt and pepper and the rest of the dressing, and toss together. Add the lobster at the end, and toss gently once more. Serve straight away with the hot potatoes in a separate bowl.
The perfect finale to this summer spectacular. After two light courses, it’s only right to indulge in something rather richer: and, of course, it has to be chocolate. This torte serves eight to ten people, so it might leave you a slice or two for another day – if you’re lucky!
This dessert needs to be made ahead, which means you can bask in the sunshine at the banqueting table and enjoy your day.
For the biscuit case:
50g plain chocolate (at least 60% cocoa solids)
2 tablespoons cocoa powder
50g butter
175g digestive biscuits
2 tablespoons golden caster sugar
For the filling:
1 teaspoon instant coffee granules
150g plain chocolate (at least 60% cocoa solids)
3 large fresh eggs
1 large egg yolk
1 teaspoon vanilla extract
4 tablespoons brandy or rum
3 tablespoons golden caster sugar
For the topping:
450ml double cream
1 tablespoon caster sugar
1 teaspoon cocoa powder
Remove the base from a 20cm clip-sided tin and lightly butter the ring. Place it directly onto a flat serving plate, upside-down, holding it in place on each side with a small piece of Blue Tac. Line the sides with a strip of non-stick baking paper.
For the biscuit case, break the chocolate into a heatproof bowl and add the cocoa powder and butter. Place it over a pan of barely simmering water, but not touching the water, and leave until melted, then stir until smooth. Put the digestive biscuits and the sugar into a food processor and blitz until you get fine crumbs. Stir them into the melted chocolate mixture, then tip them into the lined ring and, using the back of a dessertspoon, press the crumbs firmly onto the base and at least 4cm up the sides in a thick, even layer. Chill in the fridge while you make the filling.
Dissolve the coffee in 4 tablespoons of boiling water. Put the coffee and the chocolate into a large heatproof bowl, pop it over a pan of hot water (as above) until it is glossy and melted, then stir until smooth. Separate the eggs into two bowls. Add the 1 egg yolk to the bowl with the other yolks, then add the vanilla extract and mix together well. Stir into the chocolate and coffee mixture thoroughly and then stir in the brandy or rum.
Whisk the egg whites in a bowl until they are just beginning to show signs of stiffening, then gradually whisk in the sugar to form a floppy meringue. Gently fold it into the chocolate mixture, then pour the whole thing into the biscuit crumb case and chill for at least 4 hours, or overnight, until firm.
To serve, carefully remove the sides of the tin and peel away the paper. Softly whip the cream with the sugar until only just stiff, then spoon over the top of the torte and swirl with the back of the spoon. Dust with the cocoa powder and serve, cut into wedges. A bowl of strawberries on the side would be nice.
Okay, cooking for a big gang does make you feel a bit queasy, and, I won’t lie to you, it does take a little thought and effort, and costs a fair bit, too. These days, especially if you want meat or fish in the mix, cooking for under £3 a head is hard to pull off – unless the butcher or fishmonger is the person lying next to you at night. Here, unnatural to me though it is, I’ve put my sensible head on and I’m going to offer you a few tried-and-tested tips as to how to keep the panic levels down. The Vicar will be proud of me …
When it comes to food and eating, most people like to have a choice. I know cooking more than one thing feels like it doubles the burden, but in some ways it does actually make the cooking preparation less boring and the quantities (and the stirring of them) more manageable. If I am cooking for 40 people, I’d do something for 20–25 in one of my cauldrons and make it the day before so I can reheat it on the day. I would also, on the day itself, make something for the same number that can be cooked in the oven. It’s also a good idea to offer a meat-free alternative for about six to eight people (even non-vegetarians can be tempted to shun the farmyard at times). However, if this all feels too ambitious, go for one big dish: no-one has ever knocked a well-made lasagne, or a creamy macaroni cheese jazzed up with wholegrain mustard, leeks, or cherry tomatoes.
You might feel you need someone you trust to give you a hand, maybe even to help you cook. To be honest, I love cooking alone. I am a crazily up and down little soul and the calm solidity that cooking brings is something that I need. (And something my kind and quiet Vicar is grateful for, having the loopy wife that he does.) However, I do need a trusted friend when it comes to serving it all up. Getting a hot dinner out to a big crowd when you aren’t used to it is quite something; you have to be utterly charming and briskly efficient at the same time. So, do yourself a favour and get yourself an extra pair of hands. Phone a friend. NOW!
If you are cooking a dish for 20 people on the top of the stove, you do need the vast cauldron-type-thing that I have constantly raved about through this book. If you are serving rice or pasta, you will need two. I am a big fan of preparing couscous for big groups, because as it only needs boiling water poured over it, you can make it in the bowl you intend to serve it in. Or just buy lots of good bread and offer that as the starch-provider. Baked potatoes are also easy, but remember that the more stuff you put in the oven, the more time things will take to cook.
If you are cooking something, or things, in the oven, you need a big baking tray or roasting tin – or use two if you have to. I know serving things from a big metal dish isn’t exactly elegant, but people will forgive you once they have tasted the contents.
Count up your cutlery, plates and glasses. If you haven’t enough, introduce yourself to your neighbours and beg for ones they don’t treasure, or go to Ikea and stock up on cheapies. If you are buying wine for your meal, many places offer free glass hire or, again, borrow or buy inexpensive stuff.
Plan the menu at least a week in advance, if possible. Find out numbers and ask your guests if they don’t like red meat or are vegetarians. If you want to keep costs down but want to serve meat, go for recipes that require cheaper cuts or use mince, which can be bulked up with a tasty sauce. If you are making more than one dish – something with red meat, something with chicken or fish, and maybe a veggie option, too – try to make sure that the accompaniments go with each main.
Write out a detailed shopping list and check it for quantities. If you are serving salad, remember that in the old days bags of salad didn’t exist, and also that whole lettuces stretch further and are cheaper. Remember to include olive oil on your list, and bear in mind that you might be using it both for cooking and for dressing salads. Don’t forget the napkins and a tablecloth – if you are happy with using a disposable table cover and paper napkins, write them down on your list of things to buy.
If you know the people who are coming well and it is to be a relaxed affair, don’t feel embarrassed about asking a few people to bring a pudding. Tell them how many you need it to feed and assure them they can feel free to buy if they don’t like cooking (or just ask for puds from those guests who do). As for wine, I wouldn’t dare assume I know how much (or little) your friends drink. The average bottle serves six small glasses (although these days most places seem to serve wine in large vats). Remember that some people will be driving or just not drinking, so make sure you also provide juice and water – both still and sparkling. (I don’t think I could live without sparkling water, I positively twitch with panic if I have none in the house.)
If you are ordering the food online, arrange for it to arrive two days before the event. Then, if there is something missing you have time to get it. As you will be delivered a vast quantity of produce, plan to have an empty fridge for when it arrives: no stocking up beforehand – live on beans on toast for a few days if you have to. If you are shopping for the food yourself, I would still go two days before. As efficient as I am sure you are, it is still possible to forget something. Bread is the only thing you want to run out for on the big day – or send that nice friend of yours to get it.
Make anything that can be happily (and safely) reheated on the day. This especially applies to any meat braises or stews, which benefit from being given time to settle down and for the ingredients to relax together. Incidentally, cutting up meat for stews for groups can take an awfully long time, and doing it is very, very dull. So, if you are buying the meat from a butcher, ask them to do it for you; that’s what they are there for.
Other jobs to do the day before include: making the salad dressing, if you are serving salad; gathering together plates, cutlery and glasses; tidying and cleaning the house and making sure there is clear space somewhere for people to dump their coats, bags and other stuff.
Prepare any main course that will need to be made fresh up to the point that it goes in the oven. Start this in the morning, as cooking in bulk will take more time than your usual meals. When that is done, prepare your house. Arrange chairs for people to perch on, scatter cushions around the floor and decide on lighting (if it’s an evening event). Provide side tables on which people can abandon stray plates and glasses, and think about music, mentally noting to get someone to play DJ once the ‘do’ kicks off.
Get your serving area ready. You will need a big table with enough space to serve your lovely food; mats on which to put your cauldron, baking dish, or whatever; serving spoons; and space to stand behind the table to serve up. You could let people serve themselves, but people can get too dithery/greedy this way and you (and the trusted friend) can move them on and get everyone sorted before those who are still hungry can come back to help themselves to seconds. I generally put the stack of dinner plates (with napkins interlaced between them) on the corner of the first table that people encounter, or else on a small table just before the one at which I am serving.
It’s a good idea to put the drinks and glasses somewhere else away from the food serving area. When people arrive, encourage someone who is shy and loves being given a job to pour people a drink or else beckon people to help themselves. If you are serving nibbles, don’t put them on this table or else you will end up with many gutsy friends standing around and chowing down, making it harder for others to get a drink. Instead, scatter them (I mean in bowls, not like rose petals at a wedding) around the house. Whew, that’s the sensible bit over. Let’s get back to the fun stuff.
Despite the fact that I obsessively love sunshine and the crisp delights of summer food, I embrace the change in our seasons. Yes, I detest feeling cold and am pretty miserable when the house begs for warmth and the joy of central heating (apparently, I have to wait until November before it’s turned on). However, the fact that our soil and animals produce exactly what someone in need of bone-warming succour wants to eat is something that never ceases to amaze me. It helps me cope with icy radiators no end. The vegetables are earthy and full of comfort, and cheap cuts of flavoursome meat lend themselves to heady stews that fill the house with the soothing smell of contented warmth.
All this means that entertaining in the winter is really rather wonderful. Fires can flicker; the candles can be lit, endowing even the grimiest of homes with a dreamy feel. On the stove, or in your oven, will be something which will entice your guests into the kitchen, plates at the ready. Winter food – utterly consoling, gentle and comforting – is the perfect medicine for the bite of a chilly day. Adding to its appeal is the fact that it is cheap, too. Price check a plate of lamb stew next to a summery dish of salmon and asparagus and you have enough money left over to invite more friends over than you ever thought …
Some friends asked to borrow our lounge for a meeting. It suited us fine, as we were going out and it meant we had twenty free babysitters. Shame we couldn’t have spread them out over twenty evenings of nights out on the town, but you can’t have everything. As the twenty people concerned were journeying from all over the place to camp at ours for the evening, I thought I’d cook something for tired travellers: my richly exotic Bedouin lamb followed by honey-heavy baked plums. Food fit for nomads.
This dish is heady and mysterious and has a huge depth of flavour, while the dates lend a delicate touch of sweetness. Ideally, you should prepare it in advance and reheat it gently on the day you want to eat it.
When I first made this dish, in the first week of January 2003, that’s exactly what I did. We had a massive crowd coming for dinner the next day, so I cooked the night before the party. However, as I’d only had my daughter on Christmas Eve, I asked the Vicar if he minded if I took myself to bed early (as I knew I’d be up in the middle of the night feeding our new, hungry little scrap), and could he please turn the lamb off later and cover and leave it to cool? It was around 4 in the morning, and feeding time well behind me, when I woke again, roused by a very strong smell emanating from the kitchen. I ran down to find the pan still on the stove and the lamb was all gone, thick carbon having taken its place. I was found sobbing bitterly on the stairs outside the kitchen some time later by the (very apologetic) perpetrator of the crime. Needless to say, the flowers he bought me the next day were a particularly large bunch …
4.5kg leg or shoulder of lamb, cut into 2cm cubes
seasoned flour
20 tablespoons olive oil
5 onions, peeled and sliced
10 garlic cloves, peeled and crushed
30 cloves
3 teaspoons fresh ginger (or use ‘Lazy Ginger’ from a jar), grated
6 teaspoons ground cinnamon
3 teaspoons ground coriander
2 litres lamb stock (fresh, or use a good-quality liquid bouillon)
1 bottle red wine
250g stoned dates
large bunch of coriander, chopped
2 × 400g tins of chickpeas
salt and pepper
The most time-consuming part of preparing this dish is cutting up the lamb, so if you have bought the meat from your butcher you will save yourself a lot of bother if you ask him, or her for that matter, to do the job for you. If you can face the task of doing it yourself, do feel free to have those kitchen scissors on hand to help. I know I have constantly mentioned how useful they are, but many people don’t have great knives, or even if they do, they aren’t sharp enough, and not all of us have knife skills that are exactly speed-of-light. So, swallow your pride and wield those scissors.
Once the lamb is in chunks, toss it in the seasoned flour and heat 5 tablespoons of the oil in a very large pan (I used my cauldron). Brown the lamb in batches, restraining yourself from overcrowding the pan. Add more oil in between each batch – another 5 tablespoons or so – and remove the browned lamb to a large dish or roasting tin. Pour the rest of the oil into the pan, add the onions and garlic and fry until soft. Now throw in all the spices and stir them round for 1 minute or so, then chuck all the lamb back into the pan. Add the stock, the wine, the dates, and 1 tablespoon of the chopped coriander. Bring everything to the boil, turn the heat down and simmer for about 2–2½ hours, or until the lamb is tender. Add the chickpeas 20 minutes before the end of the cooking time.
If you haven’t got a massive pan, just brown the lamb in batches in the biggest one you’ve got, then remove the meat to a really big roasting tin. Fry the onions and garlic in the pan, add the spices, the stock, the red wine and the dates, and bring to the boil. Then put the roasting tin on the top of the stove, add the mixture from the pan and all the rest of the ingredients, and bring it back to the boil. Finally, pop the tin in an oven preheated to 150°C/Gas Mark 2 for around 2½ hours. Add the chickpeas 20 minutes before the end of the cooking time.
Season the dish with salt and pepper and either sprinkle the rest of the coriander into the pan or tin and stir it in gently, or scatter it on top of each individual portion when served up onto plates. Eat with couscous and a big green salad.
This recipe is effortless, and it’s a good way of using plums and bringing out their beauty. Served with Greek yogurt, they make a light, yet satisfying, end to this warm winter feast.
40 plums, halved and the stones removed
2 cinnamon sticks, snapped in half
250ml red wine
8 tablespoons runny honey
Simply put the plums in 1 or 2 roasting tins or a shallow baking dish and arrange the pieces of cinnamon sticks amongst them. Splash over the red wine evenly, then drizzle over the honey so that each plum gets a little anointing. The plums need to be cooked for around 30–40 minutes at 190°C/Gas Mark 5. Check on them every now and then and add a splash of water if they begin to dry out and stick to the dish. I think they are best served warm, not hot, so wait for them to cool a little before serving. Offer them with some good-quality vanilla ice cream.
A friend had bravely offered to cook for ‘special diets’ on a children’s camp and found herself faced with, among other challenges, a gluten-free vegetarian and a limited range of storecupboard ingredients. This was her solution to the problem.
CHEAP AND CHEERY CHICKPEA CURRY
This is adapted from a recipe my friend found on www.veganfamily.co.uk. It’s cheap as chips (even cheaper if you pop to a cash-and-carry, or the like, and get catering-size tins), but tastier and better for you.
7 onions, peeled and very finely chopped
100ml olive oil
20 garlic cloves, peeled and crushed
7 tablespoons curry powder
7 apples, peeled and finely chopped
1 × 2.5kg tin tomatoes
7 peppers (feel free to use a mixture of colours), cores removed and finely chopped
1 bag raisins (approx. 500g)
1 small bag desiccated coconut (approx. 250g)
2 × 2.5kg tins chickpeas, drained and rinsed
1kg frozen peas
salt and pepper
600g young leaf spinach
This recipe requires 7 chopped onions, so I’d recommend getting your food processor out and putting in its chopping attachment. Heat the oil in a very large pan (yes, you guessed it, my cauldron is out again), and fry the onions and garlic for around 10 minutes on a low heat to soften. Add the curry powder and apples and stir for 1–2 minutes. After that, slop in the tomatoes and add the peppers, raisins and coconut. Cook for approximately 15 minutes, then pour in the chickpeas and cook for a further 10 minutes (stir it all diligently and keep the heat low, or it will stick to the bottom). Add the peas and cook for a further 5 minutes, before seasoning to taste. Shortly before serving, add the spinach and cook until it wilts. Serve with basmati rice (you will need about 1kg for this number of people), about 15 big naan breads (which can be torn up and shared amongst them), and a selection of chutneys, such as lime pickle or mango chutney.
1 small cucumber (approx 400g)
1.2 litres Greek yogurt
4 garlic cloves, peeled and crushed
salt and pepper
a few big handfuls of fresh mint leaves, shredded
cumin seeds, to serve
Finely grate the cucumber into a colander lined with kitchen towel, which will help to drain off some of the water. When drained, tip the grated cucumber into a large bowl and mix with the rest of the ingredients (except the cumin seeds). Leave to chill in the fridge, then scatter with cumin seeds just before serving.
Until recently, I’d always assumed kulfi was a drink: I must have been confusing it with lassi. Kulfi is an Indian-style ice cream, a perfect dessert to follow the chickpea curry. Real kulfi is made with milk and is simmered for an age until it takes on a deliciously rich and creamy consistency. Here the cooking time is speeded up by using what my mother calls ‘evap’ instead of normal milk.
6 tablespoons cornflour
3.6 litres evaporated milk
150g caster sugar
6 ripe mangoes
1 teaspoon ground cardamom
900ml single cream
Blend the cornflour with 6 tablespoons of cold water and set aside. In your large pan, quickly bring the evaporated milk to the boil then add the cornflour mixture and simmer for 2 minutes or until it is the consistency of pouring custard. Stir in the sugar over the heat until it has all dissolved, then pour the mixture into a big bowl, or a couple of bowls, and leave it to cool.
Peel the mangoes and slice the fruit around the stone into the bowl of a food processor, then blend it to a smooth purée. Stir this sticky purée into the cooled custard mix, add the cardamom and cream and then press the whole lot through a sieve into a clean bowl. At this point, you can either churn the mixture in an ice cream maker or, if you don’t have an ice cream maker, do the job by hand. Pour the mixture into a few large plastic containers and cover with lids, then freeze until firm, but not rock solid – a few hours should do it. After this time, remove the containers, transfer the contents to a food processor and blend until smooth, then return to the containers and freeze for another hour or so. Repeat this process twice more until you get the right consistency. Spoon the kulfi into 36 tall, freezer-proof moulds (washed-out small yogurt pots are ideal). Freeze for at least 8 hours or until firm and hand them to your guests to eat with teaspoons.
Alternatively, if you want an easier life, serve the melon with ginger as described here as the dessert. Or you could even buy in some lemon sorbet and drizzle it with the Italian liqueur, limoncello. To keep things even cheaper and delightfully cheery, why not hand out ice cream cones, complete with their very own chocolate flake?
I think New Year’s Day is one of my favourite days of the year. I know it’s silly, but somehow I always feel that the slate has been wiped clean and there’s a sense of anticipation and curiosity about the year to come. Traditionally, we Beynons celebrate by holding an all-day party. I don’t really like the night before, as there is so much pressure to have a fabulously magical time that it is often hopelessly disappointing.
However, the first day of the year holds no such expectations. People are usually tired, but keen to cling on to the holidays and evade the grim reality of the hard graft to come. All this makes it the perfect day to have friends over for soothing sustenance, delicious drinks and perhaps some quiet music or an old film. This brunch is ideal for a crowd because you can prepare the bubble and squeak and the rich tomato sauce the day before, and then on the day put the sausages in a low oven and just cook everything else to order. Or get someone else to do it for you, as I did.
SAUSAGES
POACHED EGGS
RICH TOMATO SAUCE WITH HARISSA
I don’t think I need to explain to you how to cook sausages or poach eggs, so all I will say is that you should try to buy good, meaty sausages. You should allow 30–40 minutes for them to cook in a low oven at 150°C/Gas Mark 2. The poached eggs should take 5 minutes when cooked in one of those poaching pans. Do them in batches of however many your pan will hold. Everyone seemed happy enough with one of everything – although some people did have seconds, too.
5kg floury maincrop potatoes, such as King Edwards or Maris Piper
2 green cabbages
350g butter
1.2kg smoked bacon lardons or smoked streaky bacon, chopped
1 × 284ml tub double cream
salt and pepper
Peel the potatoes (preferably with a friend, as 5kg is an awful lot of potatoes; the Vicar nobly got stuck in with me) and cut them into medium-sized chunks. Put them in a huge pan, or a few pans if you don’t have one big enough, of boiling, liberally salted water and cook for about 20–25 minutes or until soft. Meanwhile, shred the cabbages and fry in batches, using around 50g of butter at a time, until the cabbage has softened and browned slightly. In another pan, fry the bacon pieces until cooked but not crispy (you don’t need to use any oil) and heat through the cream and the rest of the butter in another pan.
When they are ready, drain the potatoes well in a colander, wait until the steam dies down and then return them to the pan and mash them thoroughly. Add the rest of the ingredients, not forgetting the seasoning. Chill in the fridge for an hour or two, or overnight if you’re making this in advance. When you are ready to cook, form the bubble and squeak mixture into patties, either using a cake cutter or a ramekin. Fry to order in about a tablespoon of olive oil: they will take around 7–10 minutes to cook and should be flipped over halfway through.
If you have any of this sauce left over, please don’t fret; it is lovely with pasta or you can thin it out with water and eat it as a soup.
3 tablespoons olive oil
8 onions, peeled and finely sliced
2 garlic cloves, peeled and crushed
6 × 400g tins chopped tomatoes
1 generous teaspoon harissa paste (more if you are brave)
salt and pepper
Heat the oil in a pan and fry the onions and garlic until softened, then chuck in the tomatoes. Let it all bubble away and reduce a bit before adding the harissa and some seasoning, to taste. Serve a couple of tablespoons per person, alongside the bubble and squeak patties.
Let’s face it, food and funerals are not easy bedfellows. Death tends to put you off a slap-up dinner even more than a trip to the dentist; and yet, because people may have travelled from afar, it is only right that you offer them something to keep their strength up or to just hold their hunger-driven hysteria at bay. Not only that but, if the funeral is of a loved-one, preparing the food gives you something useful to do.
I can vividly remember how, at my father’s do, my mother and sister went into a sandwich-making frenzy. I kid you not, by the time they’d finished there was no bread left anywhere in Pembrokeshire. The whole occasion was, if I’m honest, somewhat surreal. The Vicar, a mere boyfriend at the time, had come home with me in loving support. Unfortunately, it was all very last-minute and he had nothing to wear for the big day. At the time, it didn’t strike my mother or me as particularly strange to dress him in my dead father’s clothes, but thinking back, we can now both see that it was wrong. Especially because, despite my mother’s assurances that he looked really rather nice, they did not fit him awfully well, what with the sleeves being halfway up his arms, and all. Then there was the memorable burial. Standing on a Welsh hill in a howling gale, my tiny little mother moved forward to peek at Father’s descending coffin – a touching scene – except for the fact that the wind picked up exactly at that moment and she had to be snatched from joining her husband in an early grave.
This little lot here makes enough for fifty guests, with each person allocated 1 sandwich (that’s 2 slices of bread). At our church, we have often had sandwiches inside the church for everyone, before closer friends and family head off for a smaller gathering elsewhere. If it is to be an intimate do, just halve everything, or whatever, and if making a truckload of sandwiches feels all too much, there’s always the option of buying in.
The quantities listed below should make 12 each of egg mayonnaise and cress; Cheddar and mango chutney; chicken mayonnaise and bacon, and 14 of the ham with Dijon mustard. Believe me, if you ever have to prepare this little lot you may never want to look at a sandwich again.
Please don’t think me condescending to be telling you how to make a simple, unfancy sandwich; it’s just that quantities like this can be rather overwhelming and there are times in life when we actually want to be bossed about and told exactly what to do. The funeral of a loved-one can be one of them. However, I will leave it up to you to decide if you want to remove the crusts: it would certainly feed a lot of birds!
To make this many sandwiches you will need 3 loaves of brown bread and 3 of white – buy it sliced to make life a little easier.
CHEDDAR AND MANGO CHUTNEY SANDWICHES
CHICKEN, MAYONNAISE AND BACON SANDWICHES
HAM WITH DIJON MUSTARD SANDWICHES
12 large eggs
250ml good-quality mayonnaise
salt and pepper
2 punnets of cress
Make sure the eggs are at room temperature and not coming straight from the fridge, then divide them between 2 big pans. (It’s important not to crowd the pans so that all the eggs will cook properly.) Cover the eggs with cold water and turn on the heat to high. When the water reaches boiling point, turn down the heat and cook for 7 minutes. Once the time is up, remove the eggs and plunge them straight into cold water.
Peel them (a job I loathe, so, funeral it might be, but I’d have some jolly music on to keep me from going mad), then roughly slice them before mashing them with the mayonnaise. Season with salt and pepper and gently stir in the cress. Spread this mixture between 24 slices of brown bread to make 12 sarnies. Cut into triangles and cover, chilling until needed.
290g butter
150ml good-quality mango chutney
75g salad leaves
400g Cheddar cheese
It’s up to you as to whether you want to slice or grate the cheese here; but if you go for the slicing option, the cheese needs to be even, so I’d play safe and go for grating. Butter 24 pieces of brown bread and spread over a little mango chutney and a layer of salad leaves. Sprinkle over the cheese, but don’t do as I do and overstuff – you will only end up with grated cheese on your carpet. Put the other slices of bread on top, cut into triangles and cover, chilling until needed.
7 chicken breasts
salt and pepper
14 rashers of smoked streaky bacon
250ml good-quality mayonnaise
Preheat the oven to 180°C/Gas Mark 4. Place the chicken breasts in a large, oiled roasting tin and season with salt and pepper. Cook them in the oven and check them after 30 minutes: they are ready when the meat feels firm to the touch and the juices run clear when pierced with a knife. Whilst they are cooking, grill the bacon in batches until fairly crisp. Allow both the bacon and the chicken to cool, then snip the bacon into thin slices using kitchen scissors and cut the chicken into small, bite-sized chunks.
Mix them together with the mayonnaise, season and divide the mixture between 24 slices of white bread to make another 12 sandwiches. Cut into triangles and cover, chilling until needed.
335g butter
1⁄3 × 180g jar of Dijon mustard
85g salad leaves
14 slices of good ham
An easier one, this. Butter the rest of the white bread and smear 14 slices with a smidgen of the mustard. Scatter over some salad leaves, lay over a slice of ham per sandwich and slap the other piece of bread on top. Whew, done. Cut into triangles and cover, chilling until needed.
The jury’s out on canapés; they are so pretty, but they are also in danger of looking prissy and never, ever filling you up. There are many who would hurl those smoked-salmon mini bagels and their brie and cranberry parcel friends out of the window and head straight for a good, solid, sit-down dinner. However, I think canapés do have their place. At the wedding where the photographs are taking just too long and you are loitering around on the grass, running out of things to say, the arrival of a plate of frivolous little mouthfuls perks everyone up. Suddenly everyone is, ‘Oooh, have you had that one?’ ‘Mmmm, that one’s really nice.’ If the Vicar’s at the bash, he does have a tendency to go a bit canape crazy, behaving as though each proffered mouthful could be his last. He either insists on moving position so he can pounce on the poor waitress as soon as she enters the room, or he engages the young thing in light-hearted and charming conversation whilst hoovering his way through the plate. He even ropes me into his filthy practice, nodding meaningfully at his favourite morsels so he can partake of my booty as well as his own. What a delicious villain!
While being served pretty little mouthfuls at a wedding is one thing, making them yourself is quite another. Surely no one in this day and age, when it’s hard enough to get dinner on the table, would bother with all that fiddling about? They’d have to be out of their minds …
Well, I admit it: I am, for I do make canapés. I make them because they are fun and a talking point and they bring people together. I make them because, whilst I am a London girl who laps up the cocktail of experience that going out in the capital offers, I sometimes want to re-create a sense of opulent, festive glamour in my own home. And canapés can provide that: those delicate little bites exude the very essence of decadence and elegant celebration.
The antithesis of hearty fare, they also provide men with the challenge of demolishing as many as possible, and weight-conscious women the chance to fool themselves into thinking that something so small is virtually calorie-free.
It does have to be said, though, that these heavenly little eats that disappear in a moment, can take a devilishly long time to assemble. Professional party caterers suggest providing 12–16 canapés per person for a full, proper feed-up. To prepare that number for twenty people is definitely a whole day’s work, without factoring in the shopping for ingredients. I once did a drinks party and allowed for 9 canapés a head, however, I did also provide a big deli platter of good bread, cheeses, olives and hams. Not quite as elegant, maybe, but it stopped people leaving early and gave them something to soak up the cocktails.
You will need in the region of 200 canapés to serve twenty guests, more if you can face the work. Plan to offer a mixture of cold and hot nibbles, because it would be nice to be able to actually talk to your guests as well as put your head in and out of the oven.
Remember, people often find a particular canape they like, so there is no need to make lots of different kinds. Smoked-salmon-based ones are always popular, as are anything with prawns or little sausages. There should be some vegetarian numbers available, too, but I have never found they go down a storm with a whole party. Do yourself a favour, though, and don’t be too ambitious: whilst dinky miniature Yorkshire puddings with rare beef and horseradish are just to die for, you do have at least 200 canapés or so to get sorted and then at least try to look serene and vaguely welcoming to your dear guests as they arrive.
Possible options:
CREAMY AND CHEESY OR FRAGRANT THAI CRAB CANAPÉS
CROSTINI WITH PRAWNS AND SWEET CHILLI SAUCE
SMOKED SALMON BLINIS WITH SOURED CREAM AND CHIVES
HONEYED SAUSAGES WITH MUSTARD MAYONNAISE
ASPARAGUS SPEARS WRAPPED IN PARMA HAM AND SERVED WITH A CHEESE FONDUE DIP
You could make two sorts of these: one creamy and cheesy with a cayenne bite; the other, rather more fragrant. You will need some of those Rahms mini croustades, which are sweet, ready-made, baby pastry cases. Oh, and tinned crabmeat is fine here.
Whichever canape you make, force yourself to cool these delectable little bites just slightly before consuming with appropriate avarice.
2 × 170g tins white crabmeat
6 tablespoons double cream
4 tablespoons Parmesan cheese, finely grated
juice of 2 lemons
salt and pepper
24–32 Rahms mini croustades
cayenne pepper
Preheat the oven to 190°C/Gas Mark 5. Empty the tins of crabmeat into a sieve to drain them of their water. In a small bowl, combine the crabmeat with all the other ingredients except the cayenne pepper (and the mini croustades!) to form a gloopy mess. Using a teaspoon, fill the mini croustades with the mixture. Sprinkle a smidgen of cayenne pepper on top, then place them on a baking tray and cook for 8 minutes or until the pastry is crisp and its contents are bubbling.
2 × 170g tins white crabmeat
2 red onions, peeled and finely chopped
juice of 2 limes
2 tablespoons coriander, chopped
6 tablespoons good-quality
mayonnaise
about 6 drops Tabasco sauce
teaspoons Thai fish sauce
24–32 Rahms mini croustades
Preheat the oven to 190°C/Gas Mark 5. Empty the tins of crabmeat into a sieve to drain them of their water, and combine the meat well with the other ingredients (again, except the mini croustades). Using a teaspoon, carefully stuff the cases, then place them on a baking tray and cook to perfection for 8 minutes.
These are very easy to make and, if you are as greedy as me, you will find them exceptionally easy to eat, too.
40 chestnut mushrooms
13 baby plum tomatoes
1 Chaource cheese, or similar
40 sprigs of thyme
black pepper
I currently adore Chaource cheese, with its beautiful milky whiteness and earthy, almost mushroomy undertones. If you can’t find this (but I exhort you to try, and I know Waitrose sells it), then use some white goat’s cheese or Camembert instead. Take out the mushroom stalks and chop them finely. Then slice the baby plum tomatoes into 3 and pop one of the thirds into the base of each mushroom.
Top with a slice of the delicious cheese – not too much as you want it to fit inside the mushroom. Cover this with a sprinkling of mushroom stalks, a little sprig of thyme and some freshly ground black pepper. Slide them onto a baking tray and put them in the oven at 200°C/Gas Mark 6 for 10 minutes. Then stuff that gooey, molten mushroom in your mouth.
When I made these they went down an absolute storm. It’s hardly a recipe; it’s merely a suggestion of how to imitate your local Vietnamese; cocktail-style. You could also make these as bigger, lunch-sized sandwiches. But, as far as I am concerned, diminutive and dinky has a particular appeal.
1 organic duck
7 packs soft tortilla wraps
2 × 150ml jars hoi sin sauce
8 spring onions, finely sliced into 3cm lengths
1 head of celery, thoroughly cleaned and finely sliced into 3cm lengths
A word of advice: if you are a make-up wearing sort of person, cook the duck before putting your slap on. A duck in the oven produces some smoke in the kitchen. Not good if you are wearing non-waterproof mascara. I’d still opt for cooking one over buying one ready-made. But if you fancy the easy option of buying in a duck all done and dusted, do feel free to do that. If you are cooking from scratch, place ducky on a rack over a roasting tin. You may want to pop some potatoes in the tin to gobble as a sneaky treat. But you will still need to drain off some fat, which will be wonderful for roasting future potatoes and parsnips for all your vegetarian friends. (Sorry, that just slipped out and I heartily take it back. Bad Elisa, bad Elisa …) A duck of around 2.5kg should take about 1½ hours at 200°C/Gas Mark 6.
Anyway, once the duck is cool, shred it and put the meat in a bowl. You won’t need the skin, but if any of it is nicely crispy I won’t look if you have a little nibble. Warm the tortillas as per the instructions on the packet, and now it’s simply an assembly job. Smear the wrap quite thinly with some of the sauce (you don’t want it oozing out and you probably won’t use all of it). Now sprinkle about a tablespoon of duck meat in a horizontal line in the middle of the tortilla. Scatter with some of the spring onion and celery, remembering you have 7 tortillas to fill. Now roll up the tortilla from the bottom and wrap the top over to get a tight, long roll. Cut the tortilla into about 7 bite-sized pieces, discarding the ends if they have missed out on filling. Arrange the wraps standing upright, so their contents are enticingly on display.
Ideally, you want to use a baguette called a ficelle here, which is very skinny and makes far daintier croûtes than the normal-sized versions. If you can’t find any, just get hold of the skinniest baguette you can find. A ficelle will make around 30 crostini, depending on the length of the loaf.
1 ficelle or similar thin baguette
olive oil, for brushing (optional)
1 × 200ml pot crème fraîche
60 large freshwater prawns, cooked
1 × 150ml jar sweet chilli sauce
Preheat the oven to 200°C/Gas Mark 6. Cut the bread into slices around ¾cm thick until you get 30 pieces. In fact, do prepare them the day before the party, or even before that, to save yourself a bit of time. Brush the bread with a little olive oil, if you wish (I didn’t bother), place them on a baking sheet and pop them in the oven. Check them after 5 minutes, and don’t leave the kitchen. You want them crisp and golden and not at all singed. Feel free to use the whole loaf, as the crostini can be stored in an airtight box. Leave them to cool and, shortly before the party kicks off, pile each crostini with a ½ teaspoon creme fraîche (or maybe more, depending on the size of the bread), a couple of prawns and a dab of the chilli sauce. Engagingly simple, they look a real treat.
Other ideas for crostini
Houmous topped with a slice of black olive (see the recipe for houmous here).
Guacamole topped with lightly cooked tuna steak (see the recipe for both here).
You could make your own blinis, but, frankly, I wouldn’t.
200g smoked salmon
40 ready-made cocktail-sized blinis
1 × 200ml pot soured cream or crème fraîche
black pepper
small bunch of chives (about 3–4 tablespoons), finely chopped
Cut the salmon into squares just slightly bigger than the blinis. Heat the blinis through, according to the instructions on the packet, then fold a salmon square on top of each one when warm. Top with a little dollop of the soured cream or crème fraîche, a grinding of black pepper and a little sprinkle of chives.
Other ideas for blinis
Soured cream with salmon keta or caviar (real or otherwise).
Flaked hot-smoked trout mixed with horseradish cream (see here – just serve the trout cold and top with finely chopped chives).
Chopped herring with mayonnaise mixed with chopped dill.
Here’s an easy way of providing hot and tasty fare with little trouble. These sausages are also somehow more filling than some of the other offerings. The Vicar always has an inbred need for hot food on any occasion, and if he were at your lovely do, he’d certainly be grateful for some of these.
60 good-quality cocktail sausages
enough runny honey to coat
4 garlic cloves, peeled and crushed
1 × 180g jar good-quality mayonnaise
½ × 180g jar wholegrain mustard
Preheat the oven to 160°C/Gas Mark 3. Put the sausages in a large roasting tin and drizzle over the honey. Mix in the crushed garlic and put the tray into the oven for about 30 minutes – but do check them as it’s hard to be precise as to how long they will take, there being so many of them. Meanwhile, in a small serving bowl, mix the mayonnaise with the mustard and put it in the middle of a big round platter. Surround with the sausages, speared with cocktail sticks.
Do serve some breadsticks with this, too, to dip in the cheese fondue. (The recipe for the cheese fondue dip is here.) Wheel this one out at the start of the evening, as the fondue needs stirring until it is ready and then needs to be eaten – fast.
40 baby asparagus, or thin asparagus spears, trimmed
40 slices of good Parma ham
salt and pepper
1 packet breadsticks
Steam or boil the asparagus spears for 3–5 minutes, depending on the thickness of the spears. You don’t want them to be crunchy crisp, nor soggy, but just to have a little ‘bite’ to them. Drain and leave until cool enough to handle, then wrap each spear in a slice of Parma ham (just use half a slice if it looks too thick) and season well. Serve the fondue in a warmed bowl set on a platter with the asparagus and the breadsticks surrounding it.
And now, pop the Champagne: the party can begin …