good cateress newsletter, May/June 2009

As we move further into Spring and Summer, I start to revisit the various farmers market on a regular schedule. I have learnt over the years the various stall holders at the markets whose produce I prefer and where they are. Many times it is not just the produce that draws me in, but the farmers and their helpers, who I trust and don’t. Some of the produce is interchangeable. I have particularly strong feelings about who I buy my local fish from. During the winter I happened to be in the Union square area one wednesday, and went looking for some fish only to find that the Mattituck boat people were not in their usual spot, instead a boat and owner that I don’t care for was in their place. So two weeks ago, when I went down I was delighted to find the Mattituck boat back in the market. The Saturday fish people are unquestionably the best of all.
On the subway ride down to Union Square on Saturday, it crossed my mind that the first local strawberries might very well be on sale. The weather had been right, all that rain two weeks ago had fallen as the fruit would have been forming and then the sunshine this week would have ripened them. And yes, as I began my walk through I caught sight of the crimson berries glistening in their green punnets. Walking through the market, dinners for the the weekend began to form in my mind. Fish, asparagus, greens, baby turnips, rocket, radish.
I thought some of the asparagus I would turn into a quiche with gruyere cheese, to eat with the rocket and radish salad. When I came to America the book “Real men don’t eat Quiche” was popular and much talked about. I have to admit I never entirely understood what the story was there. Quiche was one of the only eggy items I ate. I love a warm quiche; in winter leeks and frozen artichoke, or bacon, onion, mushroom, cheddar cheese tart. Easy to make in a bought frozen tart shell, although I like to make my own pastry.
Local strawberries, an entirely different breed from the increasingly huge strawberries from California that are now the size of a small apple. I could smell the strawberries in my bag on the subway ride back uptown. Strawberry shortcake was a possibility. I like it many different ways, with a slice of plain pound cake; whipped cream. My friend Kay, introduced me to it with Angel Food cake, something I did not know until I came to America, and quite lovely. However, when I have egg whites my first inclination is to make meringues, very english, I like the sugary crisp of the meringue with that tangy strawberries and sweet whipped cream.
Even the weather this weekend has felt particularly like an English late Spring. I feel sure the Elderflower is in bloom; Janette, my aunt, will be picking hers to make Elderflower cordial, which I will look forward to drinking later in the summer on a visit. I used to make an elderflower cleanser for my face, when I lived on the Island. Bluebells will be carpeting the floors of woods and copses. A cuckoo will call; you stop for a minute thinking, was that a cuckoo, and there will be the second call confirming, yes, that was a cuckoo! I would then try not to think of the cuckoo kicking eggs from another birds nest and leaving it’s own for the nest owner to bring up, desperately trying to feed the ravenous cuckoo chick, neglecting its own chicks. This one of our first nature lessons at school.
My train of thought continued; strawberries; beautiful late spring days; tea on the lawn air thick with the scent of lilac, May flowers, roses; bees heavy with pollen; women in white; tennis played on grass, Rupert Brooks Old Vicarage, Grantchester - stands the clock at ten to three, and is there honey still for tea; square Norman church towers; the hymn “Jerusalem” did those feet in ancient times walk upon England green and pleasant land; shrimping in cold Northern seas; crab and prawn teas/Mrs Holbrooke; falling asleep late afternoon on a green lawn filled with english daisies, sun warm upon me and nothing biting me. An England long gone, dead and buried, or is it? I think remnants still remain.
Berries. Raspberries warm from the sun. Loganberries, I don’t remember the last time I ate one, but I can remember their distinct flavor. A choux ring filled with berries and whipped cream. In France it would be a creme patisserie, but good whipped cream, think organic or small farm cream in a thick glass bottle, is my preference.
One of my earliest memories of berries is wild blueberries. We were living in Fallingbostel near the town of Celle in Germany. I think it was 1960 or so. Across the road from the flats that we lived in, was a wood. There were still so few cars then that the road was quite empty and so we children could safely cross into the woods, something we children did when the berries were ripe. There was a warm day, when we all went in and there were ripe blueberries everywhere. We started to pick and eat them. Simon and I decided that we would pick enough to take home for mum to make a pie, Simon’s favorite. I was wearing a pale dress, might even have been white, I pulled up the skirt and started filling it with berries. Simon did the same with his t shirt. When we thought we had enough, we excitedly walked back across the road with our purple loot to show mum. Mum loved the berries was not so happy about the purple clothes. The pies were delicious; I have tried many times to replicate them, but the berries seem to never have the right flavor.
I have one other favorite memory from this time. I think, in the town of Walsroder, there was a favorite shop, a feather shop. The shop was old, probably been in the same family for centuries. The shop had wooden stalls all around it, and each stall had different quality feathers. From rough feathers, to fine feathers, to the pure white eider down. I think there must have been about 15 - 20 different stalls. You picked your feathers and had them make up pillows, duvets, quilts. It could very easily have been in a Fellini movie. I often wonder if these old shops still exist. I hope so.
Finally, on Memorial Day, much honor to all those who fight for freedoms around the world. My family have done so for generations, Military men on the McQueen-Mason side; Naval seafarers on my mothers side. I would like to believe that one day there will be no more wars and we can live in peace.

Asparagus Quiche

Easy shortcrust pastry, enough for one tart.
1 cup of all purpose flour - King Arthur preferably
1 stick of butter
teaspoon of salt
ice cold water
Place top four ingredients in food processor and process until the mix looks like fine breadcrumbs. slowly add cold water until pastry binds together.
Blanch one bunch of asparagus.
4 eggs, 225 ml of heavy cream
4 oz Grated gruyere or 4oz soft goat cheese

Roll out pastry to fir quiche tin or defrost a ready made pastry shell.
Chop asparagus into 2 - 3 inch pieces and lay on top of pastry. Beat together the eggs and cream with salt and pepper. Pour over asparagus until the case is quite full. Sprinkle either of the cheeses.
Bake in preheated 375 degree oven for 30 minutes or until golden brown. serve warm

Eton mess
Bag of frozen raspberries - pushed through sieve, discard the seeds. Add 2oz of fine sugar and 2 tablespoons raspberry liqueur.
Meringues - broken into pieces
Clotted cream or whipped, sweetened organic heavy cream
Mixed fresh summer berries
Fold the cream gently into the broken meringues. Fold the mixed berries into the meringue cream mixture. Put the mixture into pretty glasses, and generously drizzle raspberry sauce over the mixture. Serve with a sprig of fresh mint