Twice this week I’ve needed some hard boiled eggs.  Once for Kedgeree and once for sandwiches – so I’m taking that as a sign and here is how I do it.

Not surprisingly, it begins with the egg.  I buy free-range – always.  It’s more expensive but if you’ve ever seen the conditions battery hens are kept in you’ll understand why.  Within the EU, an egg labelled ‘free-range’ guarantees the hens have had continuous day-time access to outdoor runs ‘mainly covered in vegetation’.  An egg labelled ‘organic’ is automatically ‘free-range’.  That’s not ‘worldwide’ so you’d need to check if you live outside the EU.

Doing anything with an egg is much easier if you know how old your egg is.  If you buy eggs in a box which is stamped with the lion mark it will give you a best before date.  That date is 21 days after laying so you can do some calculations.

The other way to tell the age of an egg is to float it in cold water.  A newly laid egg will sink to the bottom of a glass and lay entirely horizontal.  This is because there’s no air pocket.  As the egg ages the porous shell will absorb air which will collect in the rounded end.  When you float an egg with an air pocket it will cause the egg to tilt upwards.  A egg which sits vertical is stale.

A newly laid egg will poach effortlessly and, really, anything else is best not poached.  It’s also better for fried eggs, scrambling, making omelettes and for any recipe which asks you to separate the yolk from the white.  When an egg is fresh the yolk is plumper and the white clings to it.

Not only does the porous shell absorb air it allows the natural moisture in the egg to evaporate.  As the egg ages everything becomes flatter and looser.  For peeled hard boiled eggs the optimum egg is one between 5-12 days old.  You can, of course, hard boil an egg of any age.  What you’ll struggle with is the peeling.  When the egg is fresh the inner membrane which surrounds the egg white adheres like glue.  As the egg ages that membrane becomes looser and the shell slips off effortlessly.

Start with your egg at room temperature.  That air pocket which settles at the rounded end – prick it.  Being a woman of limited interests, a gadget to do just that is what Father Christmas put in my stocking a few years ago.

Pricking the egg before boiling lessens the chance of the shell cracking.  Sometimes that matters and sometimes it doesn’t.

Use a saucepan which minimises the amount of space the eggs have to bounce about.  Again, that’s about not cracking the shell during cooking.

Place your eggs in the saucepan in a single layer and cover with cold water so it covers the eggs by 1cm/½”.

Bring the water up to simmering point – and set the timer for 7 minutes.  This will give you a set yolk.  If your egg is fresh, less than 5 days old, cook for 7½ minutes.

Overcooked eggs taste like rubber.  They are also the ones which tend towards having a dark line around the yolk.  The solution is to stop the egg cooking as quickly as is possible.  It no long matters if the shell cracks so tip it into a colander and run cold tap water over it.  Keep going until the egg is cool to hold.

Finish cooling in a bowl of iced water.

Tap the egg all over on your work surface and start to peel at the wider end (where the egg pocket is).  I always peel over the bowl and use the water to deal with any tough to peel bits.  If you’re really struggling to get the shell off cleanly then peel under a running tap.

Back into the iced water until completely cold.

A bowl of hard boiled eggs, kept in the fridge, is great for snacking on.

Eat.

Hard Boiled Eggs

• Eggs.  5-12 days old and at room temperature.

Prick the air pocket at the rounded end of the egg and place in a single layer in a saucepan.  Cover with cold water.  Bring to a simmer and then set the timer for 7 minutes (adding an additional 30 seconds if your egg is fresh).

Drain in a colander and rinse in cold water to stop the egg cooking.

Transfer to a bowl of iced water.  Once cool enough to handle, peel.  (If the shell is sticking, peel under cold running water.)  Return to the bowl of iced water until completely cold.

Eat.

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I don’t really know what to call this as I’ve heard it being given all kinds of names.  Presumably it’s something which varies between dialects.  In English I reckon ‘Crispy Fried Onions’ is as descriptive as I can get it.

Nor is it accurate to describe it as a garnish because it adds so much more than that implies.  I serve it when I make Khichdi, Biryani and the Anglo-Indian Kedgeree.  If you happen to have a stash in your freezer, it’s lovely on any kind of topped spicy flatbread.

I will confess it’s a bit of a labour of love.  That’s the bad news.  The good news is you can do it when you have the time and the inclination since it freezes perfectly.  Since the cooking of it does take a while it’s worth making in bulk.

First, peel and slice the red onions.  Thinly.  That’s important.  As thin as you can get it.  Take your time (use a sharp knife) and comfort yourself with the thought other people pay to go on courses to work on their knife skills.

By the time I’d prepared my onions I was left with a little under 1.5 kg.  (1.429kg if you want it exact ..!  I don’t normally weigh it.  Just a big pyrex bowl full.)

The secret to good fried onions, I think, is to use enough oil.  For my quantity of onions I used 750ml (roughly 3 cups) and I use the same sauté pan I use for risotto.  Heat the oil until it’s hot enough to fizz when you lower an onion crescent in.

Then, in with the rest of the onions.  Keep the heat on high and stir constantly.  This stage takes about ten minutes.  (I don’t add any salt, now or at any stage.  Although salt does encourage the onions to crisp up, I find it doesn’t store as well as if I don’t use it.)

Separate out all the onion crescents and keep stirring.

After ten minutes, turn the heat down to somewhere between medium to low.  From now on it needs a little less babysitting.  You do need to keep an eye on it and give it all an occasional stir.

After twenty minutes cooking time my onions look like this.

A further ten.  Give it another stir to make sure nothing is catching on the bottom of your pan.

Another ten minutes.

50 minutes.  Keep an eye on it now as it goes suddenly.

This was just over the hour.  It’s now ready to drain.

Place a large bowl on a heatproof mat and drain the onions in a sieve over it.

The fried onions now need to crisp up.  Lay them out on absorbent kitchen towel placed over large baking sheets.  I separate out the strands with a couple of forks.  Leave to dry for 10 minutes.

It’s now ready to use.  When the 10 minutes are up pop them in a sealed container.  Store in the freezer.  There’s no need to portion as you can use it straight from the box.

It’s lovely.  Eat.

Crispy Fried Onions – Indian Style

• Red onions, peeled and thinly sliced (1.5kg once prepared)
• 750ml sunflower oil (approximately 3 cups)

Heat the oil in a wide and deep sauté pan until it fizzes when a sliced crescent of onion is lowered in.  Add the rest of the onions.

Stir constantly over a high heat for ten minutes.

Lower the temperature to medium-low and continue to cook, stirring occasionally.  It takes between 50 minutes to an hour until the onions are cooked to a deep golden colour.

Set a large sieve over a bowl and drain the onions.

Line two large baking trays with paper kitchen towel and spread out the onions using two forks.  Leave to cool for 10 minutes.

Transfer to a sealed container and store in the freezer.

Eat.

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Curry Powder isn’t ‘one’ thing.  It’s a house mix and would seem to be a Western invention, but it’s a ready-mix which has been around for a long time.  It  was certainly available in London in the mid 1780s as there’s an advert for it in ‘The Morning Post’.  That  must have been powerful stuff because it promises “it contributes most of any food to an increase of the human race”.  I don’t make any such claims for mine … although I do have five children …

You can buy Hot, Medium or Mild, but your own will always be better.  Whole ground spices are more flavourful and zingy than anything you buy ready ground.  Plus, you can customise your mix to your own taste.

This is mine.  (If you happen to be one of my children – this is the curry powder I send you to university with to put on your spicy popcorn ..)

I’ve made choices.  If you buy it, depending on the brand you buy, you may find coriander, turmeric, curry leaves, cumin, fenugreek, chilli, ginger, garlic, asafoetida, fennel seeds, caraway seeds, cinnamon, cloves, mustard seeds, green cardamom, black cardamom, nutmeg or black pepper.  I think I spotted celery salt in one the other day.

This is my go-to mix.  Since the shelf life of ground spices is no more than 3 months at most I like to grind mine in small quantities.

Lightly toasting the spices does make the kitchen smell wonderful, but the real reason to do it is because it alters the flavour of the spice.  It’s not better, just different.  I like it for this.

For my curry powder I place coriander seeds, cumin, black mustard seeds, fenugreek, fennel seeds, black peppercorns and cloves  in a small cast iron frying pan.

Over a low heat, warm through until the spices release their aroma and they appear slightly darker.  Transfer to a bowl.  If they stay in the pan they might burn in the residual heat.  Leave to cool.

I’m sure a purist would opt for a pestle and mortar, but I keep a bamix dry blender for the purpose.  (Don’t even think of grinding coffee beans in what has become a ‘spice mill’ or they’ll taste peculiar!)

I add a few freeze-dried curry leaves and a couple of dried chillies.

And whiz.

A little turmeric.  Then, mix.

That’s it.  A fresh and zingy curry powder.  Eat.

Home-Made Curry Powder

• 1 tablespoon coriander seeds
• 1 tablespoon cumin seeds
• 1 tablespoon turmeric
• 1½ teaspoons black mustard seeds
• 1½ teaspoons fenugreek
• 6 freeze dried curry leaves, crushed
• 2 dried chillies, seeds included
• ½ teaspoon fennel seeds
• ½ teaspoon whole cloves
• ½ teaspoon of black peppercorns

Set the curry leaves, the chillies and the turmeric to one side.

Place the coriander seeds, cumin seeds, black mustard seeds, fenugreek, cloves and peppercorns in a small cast iron frying pan and place over a low heat.  (Don’t use a non-stick pan for this as the coating may smoke.)  Keep watching and shaking the pan as spices burn quickly.  You want everything to roast evenly.  Warm through until the whole spices have darkened slightly and an aromatic scent has filled your kitchen.  Immediately transfer them to a bowl to cool.

Once cool, add the crushed curry leaves and roughly chopped dried chillies.  Grind in a pestle and mortar or whiz in a spice grinder.

Add the turmeric and stir.  Store in a sealed container and use within weeks.

Eat.

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Kentish Cherry Batter Pudding is a close relative of Clafoutis.  So close I wouldn’t be remotely surprised to learn it made it’s way to England via some invading Normans.

Clafoutis comes from the Limousin region of France and is made with griottes, or sour morello cherries.  Traditionally, it’s a stone-in dessert.  The cherry stone contains amygdalin which is an active chemical in almond extract and keeping them in adds a little something.  Annoying, though.  I haven’t got the hang of spitting out cherry stones elegantly … and I’ve reached an age and stage where I’m worried about my teeth.

(Incidentally, if you make it with a different fruit you should called it flaugnarde.)  I have absolutely no idea why I retain that kind of information so effortlessly when working out how to use pdf on this blog is so entirely beyond me.

Kentish Cherry Batter Pudding is made with dessert cherries – which are much easier for me to get hold of.  It’s ‘Kentish’ not so much because batter puddings are a Kent thing but because it’s the county where the cherries are grown.  That’s Henry VIII’s fault.  A gluttonous monarch, he instructed cherry trees to be planted in Tenyham, Kent, in 1533.  Before the second world war there was something like 40 000 acres of beautiful cherry orchards in Kent, but the 12 metre-plus high cherry trees became uncommercial to harvest and 90% of the orchards vanished.

There were twenty tough years for the British cherry but now things are looking brighter, if not quite as photogenic.  Cherries are grown on dwarf shrubs and the short season has been extended by using polytunnels.  You can now buy British cherries from June to September – which is a source of great delight to my nephew, Josiah.

With the exception of the cherries themselves, a Kentish Cherry Batter Pudding requires store cupboard ingredients.

And a cherry stoner.  Unlike it’s continental cousin, it’s stone out.  I love my Westmark Cherry Stoner.  It works.

One the advantages of removing the cherry stones is that the cherry is now receptive to receiving a spike of something.  I steep my cherries in home-made cherry brandy.  Kirsch would be good.  Vanilla extract, I guess, would also be lovely.

Put the flour in a bowl, add the sugar and a pinch of salt.

Whisk the dry ingredients together.  Add a splash of milk and one of the egg yolks.

When that’s lump free, add the second egg yolk and another splash of the milk.  Whisk until there are no visible lumps.

Into the smooth mixture, add the remaining milk and melted butter.  Drain the cherries and add any leftover brandy.

Batter done.

I use a 26cm pie dish (1.5 litres) to cook my batter pudding.  Into the greased pie dish I place half the steeped cherries and give them 5 minutes in a hot oven.

Whisk the reserved egg whites to stiff peaks.

It’s easiest if you whisk in one third of the billowy egg whites before gently folding in the remainder.

Remove the pie dish from the oven and pour the soufflé-like batter on top.

Then, plop in the remaining cherries.  Back into the oven.

Want a peak?

Exact cooking times will depend on your oven and you may have to fiddle a bit.  In my conventional oven I bake for 20 minutes at 200ºC, then I lower the temperature to 190ºC/375ºF/gas mark 5 and cook for a further 20 minutes.  (My oven is truly hopeless and I have to use an oven thermometer.)

In my Aga I cook for 10 minutes on the rack on the floor of the Roasting Oven and then place on the rack on the floor of the Baking Oven for 20 minutes.  The depth of your dish will make a difference.  You are looking for your batter pudding to be puffed up and golden with the custard just-set but still having a seductive wobble.

Dust with icing sugar.

Serve warm or room temperature.  I like it warm best.  With a vanilla custard or with cold pouring cream.

Eat.

Kentish Cherry Batter Pudding

Serves 6

• 500g/1lb ripe dessert cherries
• 1 tablespoon cherry brandy (or kirsch/almond extract)
• 50g/1½oz plain flour
• pinch of salt
• 50g/1½oz caster sugar
• 25g/1oz unsalted butter, melted
• 300ml/½pint full-fat milk or single cream
• 2 eggs, separated

Stone the cherries.  Spoon over 1 tablespoon of cherry brandy and give the cherries a stir.  Set aside to allow the cherries time to absorb the alcohol.  (This can even be done the night before.)

Place the flour, salt and caster sugar in a bowl and whisk together with a balloon whisk.

Make a well in the centre and add one of the egg yolks, together with a splash of the milk/cream.  Using the balloon whisk, start to incorporate the flour and whisk until there are no lumps.  Add the second egg yolk and another splash of milk and continue whisking until you have a smooth thick batter.

Add the remaining milk, the melted butter and whisk together.  (If you wish to get-ahead with the batter, it will sit in the fridge perfectly happily.)

Grease a 1.5 litre pie dish and drop half the soaked cherries in the bottom.  Cook for 5 minutes in a 200ºC/400ºF/Gas Mark 6.  (Aga:  On a rack on the floor of the Roasting Oven.)  Drain the remaining cherries and add the brandy to the batter.

Whisk the egg whites until the stiff peak stage.  Whisk in one third into the batter and then, gently fold in the remaining two-thirds.

Take the hot dish from the oven and pour over the batter.  Drop the second half of cherries over the top.

Back into the oven for a initial 20 minutes.  (Aga:  I find 10 minutes is enough for the batter pudding to be golden and puffed up.)  Reduce the temperature to 190ºC/375ºF/Gas Mark 5 for a further 20 minutes.  (Aga:  Baking Oven for a further 20 minutes.)

Dust with icing sugar.

Eat.

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This academic year has been exam heavy and, in actual fact, by the official end of term the only person going to school was my husband.  Friday was the official finish – and this was supper.  I’d been to the supermarket to pick up milk (Seb drinks it by the pint – and I have no idea why we still buy milk in pints when we are supposed to be metric.  I’m disregarding the 2.272 litres labelling, as that’s just daft.) and they were reducing the seafood.

50p for this lot.

For all mussels are reckoned to be best eaten between November and April (aka when there’s an ‘r’ in the month), I can’t walk away from them at that price.  The only reason for the ‘season’ is that winter is when they are at their ‘meatiest’.  Personally, I tend to avoid mussels in the spring because that’s their traditional spawning time but I gather climate change is making it all more complicated.

Anyway, I swung my trolley round and picked up some cider and a crusty loaf.

Mine are rope grown in classified water – so I know they’ve not been affected by any toxic algae.  They come in net bags and should smell like the ‘seaside’.  Mine did.  When you get them home you need to cut open the bags and put them in a dish to collect any juices.  Don’t clean them until shortly before you plan on cooking them.  And, plan on cooking them quickly.  Mussels don’t have a long shelf life.  At 50p, my guess was mine needed using the day I bought them.

Don’t cover them with a lid – or put them in a bowl of water.  If you store them in freshwater they’ll die (being sea creatures) and if you use salted water they’ll use up all the oxygen .. and die.  I covered mine with a piece of damp kitchen towel and popped it all in the bottom of my fridge.

I have a number of issues with mussels.  The first being they are alive .. and I am of a squeamish disposition.  The second is the smelling ‘like the seaside’.  Intellectually, I know that’s a good thing but it’s not a smell I like when I open the fridge door.

My final issue is the cleaning of them.  I understand it’s better to buy them uncleaned because they have a longer shelf life if the ‘beard’ is still attached, but it’s a horrible job prepping mussels.  I do not consider them a ‘wonderfully quick and convenient thing to cook’.

My grandparents used to briefly soak their mussels in water and flour/oatmeal to ‘purge’ them.  In the UK you don’t need to do that any more as all commercially sold mussels have to be purified before they are sold.  So, that’s something in their favour.

My first job was to discard any with broken shells.  Even the slightest crack and it’s not worth risking the mussel being dead inside.  Chuck it away.

Next – and this is my top tip – delegate.  Always.  These are not my hands.

Scrape off any barnacles.  Give them a brush over.  Mussels grown on rope are not that bad.  If the shell is open, give it a sharp tap with your knife and it will slowly close shut.  If it doesn’t, chuck it away.

Now’s the time to pull off the ‘beard’ which are protein membranes the mussel uses to attach itself to a stable something rather than float off into the deep.  In my case, my mussels attached themselves to rope.  The other end is attached to them – which is why you pull this off shortly before cooking rather than prematurely traumatise it.  (Yes, I know I’m about to put it in a steaming pot, but this isn’t really for the benefit of the mussel.)

Meanwhile, I return to the clean end of the business.  Finely chop an onion.

My Grandad would never have done such a thing – but I add a chopped clove of garlic.  A little sugar.

Soften in rapeseed oil.  He used butter.

Again, I’m wilfully deviating.  A little kick of something is really tasty.  Cayenne pepper.

Stir.

I’m using one of my favourite ciders.  Go for something dry.

Add a tin of tomatoes and the cider.

This is something of a moral dilemma.  The rest of the cider could be considered ‘cook’s perks’ .. or you could motivate the person/perspons cleaning the darn things.

There they are – ready for the pot.  Give them a rinse under cold running water.

Give the sauce a little taste to check for seasoning.  A little pepper, maybe.  Don’t add any salt now as the juices the mussels release are naturally salty.  Get everything boiling.

Tip the mussels in the pot and cover with a lid.  Give everything an occasional shake – but the steam will cook the mussels on the top without too much worry.  Through the misty haze of my see-through lid I watched the mussels open.

There they are.

A little chopped parsley, as much for colour as anything else.  Curly was what my grandparents used and it makes me smile.

Give everything a stir and transfer to a big, warm serving dish.  If you spot any mussels which stubbornly remain closed, discard.  Don’t try prizing them open, it’s not worth it.

You’ll need some crusty bread to soak up all the juices and some bowls for the empty shells.  Use an empty shell as a pincer.  It’s all gloriously communal.  Eat.

Mussels in Tomatoes and Cider

Serves 4-7  (1lb of mussels is usually reckoned to be a portion, but I serve it with lots of crusty bread ..)

• 4lb/1.8kg mussels
• 1 onion, finely chopped
• 1 clove of garlic, finely chopped
• 1 teaspoon of sugar
• 2 tablespoons of rapeseed oil
• A shake of cayenne pepper
• ¼ pint/150ml dry cider
• 400g/14oz tin of tomatoes, chopped
• Fresh parsley
• Black pepper
• Lots of crusty bread to serve

Prepare the fresh mussels.  Discard any with cracked shells or any which do not shut when tapped with the back of a knife.  Scrape off any barnacles and pull of the ‘beards’.  Rinse under cold water.

Heat the rapeseed oil in a large pan and soften the onion, garlic and sugar.   Cook until the onion is soft and beginning to take on a little colour.  Add the cayenne pepper and stir.

Add the tomatoes, cider and a little black pepper.  Bring to a boil.

Add the mussels.  Cover with a lid and cook, shaking the pan occasionally.  3-5 minutes later the mussel shells will have opened.

Sprinkle with parsley.  Stir.  Transfer to a large, warmed serving dish and discard any mussels which remain shut.

Eat.

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