Sunday, 9 January 2022

James’s egg mayonnaise

My uncle James used to make this every Boxing Day and bring it from Orpington, where he lived (and lives) with his family to East Dulwich, where we lived. He would bring it in a patterned brown rectangular pottery dish with a lid. The eggs with their mayonnaise coating, stained with paprika on top. Unctuous and delicious.The recipe came from Delia Smith. Unlike me, James would make the mayonnaise in a blender. One year my grandmother told us darkly on arrival that there had been problems with the mayonnaise that morning. It had curdled - possibly more than once. But when James arrived, he came with the usual brown dish and the eggs mayonnaise were as good as ever. The last time I recall his making it was when I was unwell in hospital and he brought a dish of it for me to sample. It did the trick.

I have not found Delia’s recipe, as such, but she describes what is required. “But oh, the real thing! Eggs boiled not quite hard but still a little creamy, and a proper home-made mayonnaise flavoured with garlic and looking like thick glossy ointment - there’s a rare luxury indeed. Serve the halved eggs, 1 or 1 1/2 per person, on a bed of sliced pickled dill cucumber and garnish with thin strips of anchovy and small black olives.” I am not convinced by the bed, with its additions, and James did not bother with them. Here, though, is the mayonnaise recipe.

INGREDIENTS

2 large egg yolks

1 clove garlic, crushed

1 heaped teaspoon dry mustard powder

1 level teaspoon salt

Freshly milled black pepper

10 fl oz groundnut oil  (275 ml)

White wine vinegar


METHOD


Mix the egg yolks, garlic, mustard powder, salt and pepper. Add the oil, to begin with, drop by drop, either in a mixer or do it by hand (my preference). Add the vinegar towards the end, and you can, as the mixture thickens, add the oil in a steady stream. Keep it looking yellow, my mother would always say.




Thursday, 6 January 2022

Crustacea

I have never quite understood the difference between a shrimp and a prawn. "I'm not a shrimp” a character called Jimmy Brown said indignantly in one of Enid Blyton’s Circus books. "Well maybe you're a prawn then.", replied the circus man, quick as a flash, demonstrating, in Blyton’s world, the ready wit of circus folk. Blyton knew the difference, but I still don’t. And what are Dublin Bay prawns? And scampi? And what is the singular of scampi? Apparently, it’s scampo. I used to eat scampi out of a basket in pubs in the late 1970s. Here, though, are two plates of deliciousness from about thirty years after that. An oasis in East London. Red wine, not white.