December 21st- Brits Are Weird! by Curlew

A little story and a recipe.

“Hutch?” Starsky spoke without looking up from his book. Across the room, his partner, who had been assiduously practicing carols ahead of Kiko’s school concert, let his fingers fall on the piano keys in a discordant crash.

“Wow — welcome back, buddy. I thought you’d gone forever. You’ve been buried in that book for nearly two hours!”

Starsky put the book down on his lap, his expression apologetic. “I’m sorry. But you were practicing. And why didn’t you tell me that Dickens was this good? So funny and exciting!”

Hutch opened his mouth to speak, but decided not to tell his partner that he had never actually read the books. He had brought them from his parents’ house because his beauty-loving soul was enchanted by the glowing dark red leather binding, the gold edged pages so fine they were translucent, and the exquisite wood cuts, but when he tried to read one, the dense text and convoluted sentences had defeated him. His bookworm partner, on the other hand…

“What were you going to ask?”

“What are mince pies?”

“No idea. The Brits call ground beef mince-could that be it?”

“I don’t think so. They’re something you eat at Christmas and it sounds as if they’re sweet. You’ve been to England — why don’t you know?”

“I was ten, Starsk, and it wasn’t Christmas. Oh shit — I do remember something…” Hutch shuddered.

“What?”

“The family we were staying with — they were friends of  Mom and Dad’s from college — the kids had something called ‘Nursery Tea’ instead of dinner and…don’t snigger like that, they do things differently there. Anyway, every day they had these sandwiches. They were cut into triangles and they were made with this awful black really salty stuff. We had to eat four triangles before we could have anything else, and there was always very good cake, so I ate them. But one day I remember the cake had this super-bitter orange preserves in it. I felt so cheated — black stuff sandwiches then bitter cake.” Hutch frowned then smiled faintly remembering long ago disappointments.

“No jelly? No peanut butter?”

“No. Just this stuff. Every day for two weeks. It was disgusting, but they all loved it. I can’t remember what it was called. Yes, I can. Marmite, that was it. It was supposed to be full of vitamin B. And the orange preserves were marmalade.”

“Sounds terrible. I’ve always said Brits are weird — I don’t want to know what a mince pie is now. Anyway — I need to find out what happens next and I’m hungry. Fix me a PBJ while I carry on reading?”

Indulgently, Hutch headed to the kitchen, then paused. “I’ve remembered something else. You know what my sister did?”

Unhesitatingly, without looking up, Starsky said, “Mary? She stashed the sandwiches in her pocket and put them in the garbage later.”

“Why didn’t I do that?”

This time Starsky looked up with a smile of such love and sweetness Hutch’s heart seemed to skip a beat. “Because, mushbrain, it’s not in your nature.”

-end-

Author’s Note and Recipe: Hutch is so right about Dickens, but he is entirely wrong about Marmite. It’s the food of the gods, but I’ve never yet convinced an American. However, if you’d like to try mince pies, they are really good and here’s a recipe.

For the mincemeat.

2 cups of dried fruit– mostly raisins and sultanas, but at least half a cup of cranberries, dried pineapple, apricots — anything you like. You can use all raisins and sultanas, but I think that’s a bit dull. Chop the fruit until it’s all about the size of a half sultana. I give mine a very short blast in my food processor.

1 apple — the sharper the better, peeled, cored and finely chopped.(Did I mention my food processor?)

Quarter cup of butter.

Quarter cup of almonds finely chopped. (You can leave them out if you want.)

Half cup of brown sugar.

A teaspoon of mixed spice, and a half teaspoon of ground cinnamon, and a grating of nutmeg.

The juice and zest of 1 lemon.

Half cup of brandy, rum, or sherry. I use rum. You can use orange juice but the mincemeat won’t keep as long.

Put all the ingredients except the alcohol into a pan, and cook very slowly, stirring often, for 10 minutes. Let it cool, add the alcohol or juice then either use as soon as it’s cold, or put into a sterilized jar, seal, and keep for up to 8 weeks. It improves with age.

To make the pies, line the hollows of a greased tartlet tin with circles of thinly rolled shortcrust pastry. If you’ve got this far you probably know how to make pastry. Or use store bought. Three quarters fill each hollow with mincemeat and cover with another circle of pastry for a lid. Pinch the edges closed. Make a steam hole with a fork, then brush with beaten egg. Bake at 375 for about 20 minutes ’til golden brown then dust with powdered sugar. Best eaten warm.

You can make one big pie instead of little ones, but that’s Not The British Way. And, because you need to eat one pie a day between Christmas and January 6th to ensure a happy, lucky year to come, you want them small. (This message brought to you by The Mince Pie Manufacturers of the United Kingdom.)

If you find you like mincemeat, try stirring some through softened vanilla ice cream then refreezing.

Don’t get me started on Marmite. Or Dickens.