Quit laughin' at my food, OK? Believe me, I am fully aware that my latest jaunt into the woolly wilds of England's cuisine turned out to be queasily reminiscent of a scene from one of her most beloved authors' books. If you tossed the One Ring into the middle of this dish, you wouldn't be even slightly surprised to see the scorched crust gloop up, swallow the ring, and subside in a coruscating swirl of lava.
Know what, though? It was yummy.
Here, see if this helps a bit:
Well, maybe not so much, but believe me, this is one I'll make again. Tonight I crossed off one more recipe for Item #8, and decided to continue with the theme of "foods I have never made before because they are usually eaten in places I would love to visit but probably never will because it costs a zillion dollars to go there unless you know somebody there already that you can stay with and mooch off of". (It's not exactly ... classic, as far as themes go, but it guarantees some interesting recipes.) I'd read about Yorkshire pudding in books like "A Little Princess" and the Beatrix Potter series, but had not the faintest idea what it was. It seemed like it was often served with roast beef, which would mean that it was neither a) pudding like Americans think of it (bowls full of wobbly chocolate goo), nor b) pudding in the common British sense (dessert). Because if we're talking about bowls full of wobbly beefy goo, you lost me at hello.
A little searching through my Joy of Cooking book provided me with the information that Yorkshire pudding is in fact a custard-like dish quite similar to a Dutch baby, except that it is cooked with beef drippings instead of butter, and served with the roast beef instead of with fruit or sweet toppings. The more I read, the more evident it became that roast beef was, alas, not an optional ingredient in this process, so I was going to have to make a roast as well. It turned out surprisingly well, although I would suggest not using yellow-green cotton yarn to tie up the roast - nothing bad happens, but it looks positively disgusting when the roast is done.
I found that the Joy of Cooking authors should be ignored when it comes to required baking times. The Yorkshire pudding should have come out at least 10 minutes earlier (hence the lava-like burnt crunchy bits on the edges), and the roast ... well, if you ever read a recipe from that cookbook which says "20-30 minutes per pound", laugh loud and long, and then cross that bit out. Nobody died of hunger while it was cooking, but it was a close shave there for the youngsters. It was, however, entirely worth the wait, even with the lessons learned along the way of things to do differently next time.
The one real drawback to this sort of project is that you get up from your lovely, satisfying meal, to find this:
Next time: Beef needs more time. Pudding needs less. Brenda needs a maid.
Unwaxed (and unflavored) dental floss is wonderful for tying roasts, slicing cinammon rolls, and all other sorts of kitchen needs. As a bonus it's cheap so when you can't find the tiny, stinkin', #@#@ container that you know you bought, you can just get another one (or call me, I think I have three or four laying around).
ReplyDeleteWell done for trying Yorkshire Pudding! As a Yorkshireman ( and as we all know Yorkshiremen know everything about everything - and what they dont know, they make up ) it is a very fine art to perfect. My mother used to be dished it up only on very special occasions - when they could eat no more bread and dripping - but certainly never had any beef with it - that only happens post 1950 , when people could actually afford beef (in Yorkshire anyway). In reality Yorkshire Pudding was fed as a cheap(er) substitute that filled stomachs when one could afford nothing else. My grandmother served me a proper Yorkshire which was the size of a dinner plate and floating with gravey ( no beef ). I made the appropriate commendations. Enjoying your blog - but (yawn) its past my bedtime ( see item #16 ). night night.
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