didn’t answer. He couldn’t.
Chapter Seven
Mince Pies
If youdon’t make your own mincemeat, you might as well just buy mince pies from a shop. Using pre-packed mincemeat, you’re basically just putting stuff in an envelope. It isn’t difficult to make, and it is less expensive, and if you get some of those nice-looking fancy jars, you can give it away as Christmas presents, although make sure you give it to people who like stewed fruit and know what to do with it, otherwise they tend to look at you as if you’ve just given them a jar of fresh rabbit droppings, which is rarely a welcome gift unless you have a friend with a very very tiny garden to compost.
The nice thing about mince pies is that they can officially be made to taste utterly delicious by the officialworst baker in the world. They are as hard to mess up as peppermint creams. This is not one of those recipes where if you don’t use precisely the exact measure of butter you might as well throw the entire thing in the bin. These are going to turn out absolutely perfect and fine. Trust me. Also, make them on a Sunday, as you can hang around and read the papers whilst the kitchen starts to smell absolutely and utterly delicious. The only weird ingredient is suet. Yeah. It’s weird. Don’t enquire as to what it actually is too closely.
Mincemeat
200g small cubes of apple
200g raisins
200g sultanas
1 tbsp nutmeg
1 tbsp mixed spice
Juice and zest of one lemon
Juice and zest of one orange
250g suet, cut into small pieces
The night before you need the mincemeat, put all the ingredients in a big bowl and mix well. Leave overnight covered in a clean dishcloth. In the In the morning add brandy (I’ll leave it to your discretion how much) and then stick in the oven at 120ºC/gas mark ½ for three hours.
Let themincemeat cool and then pop into sterilised jars (to sterilise, dampen jar for one minute in the microwave). Cover with brown paper, then seal. It should keep for up to a year. If it keeps for up to a year, you’re probably giving it to the wrong friends.
For the pastry, rub 200g flour and 200g cold, chopped-up butter together. Add 100g of golden sugar, a pinch of salt and a little water until it is ready to roll out and cut. Pop in baking tins, spoon in mincemeat and put pastry lids on pies. Brush top with beaten egg and sprinkle a little more golden sugar, then 20 minutes at 180°C/gas mark 4, and … ta-dah!
Caroline stomped into the shop the next morning in high dudgeon. Issy looked at her with bleary eyes. She’d hardly slept a wink after speaking to Austin the night before and was on her third coffee. She felt so daft, but it was the unfairness of the whole thing that was getting to her. She’d finally got her life together; she finally felt like she was doing what she had always longed to do and had met a man she loved, and now it was all going horribly wrong.
On a deeper level too, she knew why she was so upset; why she was so bad at talking about all this to Austin. It being this time of year didn’t help … and now … No, she was catastrophising. Taking the worst possibleview of the situation. Surely London would give him another job and it would all be fine; he couldn’t possibly want to uproot what they had, how could he? Then she remembered something she hadn’t thought about for a long time: she was at church on Christmas morning, wearing a too-tight red dress, with Startrite shoes that gave her blisters at the back, holding hands with Gramps, who knew everyone, of course, and would have been liked by them even without a bag in his pocket full of gingerbread. A woman she recognised from the shop, posh and loud. She didn’t like her, although she didn’t know why. The woman was wearing a blue hat with a large peacock feather in it, and she leant forward to Gramps and said, ‘She couldn’t POSSIBLY want to leave at this time of year,’ and Grampa Joe hushed her, crossly, more cross than she’d ever seen
Chapter Seven
Mince Pies
If youdon’t make your own mincemeat, you might as well just buy mince pies from a shop. Using pre-packed mincemeat, you’re basically just putting stuff in an envelope. It isn’t difficult to make, and it is less expensive, and if you get some of those nice-looking fancy jars, you can give it away as Christmas presents, although make sure you give it to people who like stewed fruit and know what to do with it, otherwise they tend to look at you as if you’ve just given them a jar of fresh rabbit droppings, which is rarely a welcome gift unless you have a friend with a very very tiny garden to compost.
The nice thing about mince pies is that they can officially be made to taste utterly delicious by the officialworst baker in the world. They are as hard to mess up as peppermint creams. This is not one of those recipes where if you don’t use precisely the exact measure of butter you might as well throw the entire thing in the bin. These are going to turn out absolutely perfect and fine. Trust me. Also, make them on a Sunday, as you can hang around and read the papers whilst the kitchen starts to smell absolutely and utterly delicious. The only weird ingredient is suet. Yeah. It’s weird. Don’t enquire as to what it actually is too closely.
Mincemeat
200g small cubes of apple
200g raisins
200g sultanas
1 tbsp nutmeg
1 tbsp mixed spice
Juice and zest of one lemon
Juice and zest of one orange
250g suet, cut into small pieces
The night before you need the mincemeat, put all the ingredients in a big bowl and mix well. Leave overnight covered in a clean dishcloth. In the In the morning add brandy (I’ll leave it to your discretion how much) and then stick in the oven at 120ºC/gas mark ½ for three hours.
Let themincemeat cool and then pop into sterilised jars (to sterilise, dampen jar for one minute in the microwave). Cover with brown paper, then seal. It should keep for up to a year. If it keeps for up to a year, you’re probably giving it to the wrong friends.
For the pastry, rub 200g flour and 200g cold, chopped-up butter together. Add 100g of golden sugar, a pinch of salt and a little water until it is ready to roll out and cut. Pop in baking tins, spoon in mincemeat and put pastry lids on pies. Brush top with beaten egg and sprinkle a little more golden sugar, then 20 minutes at 180°C/gas mark 4, and … ta-dah!
Caroline stomped into the shop the next morning in high dudgeon. Issy looked at her with bleary eyes. She’d hardly slept a wink after speaking to Austin the night before and was on her third coffee. She felt so daft, but it was the unfairness of the whole thing that was getting to her. She’d finally got her life together; she finally felt like she was doing what she had always longed to do and had met a man she loved, and now it was all going horribly wrong.
On a deeper level too, she knew why she was so upset; why she was so bad at talking about all this to Austin. It being this time of year didn’t help … and now … No, she was catastrophising. Taking the worst possibleview of the situation. Surely London would give him another job and it would all be fine; he couldn’t possibly want to uproot what they had, how could he? Then she remembered something she hadn’t thought about for a long time: she was at church on Christmas morning, wearing a too-tight red dress, with Startrite shoes that gave her blisters at the back, holding hands with Gramps, who knew everyone, of course, and would have been liked by them even without a bag in his pocket full of gingerbread. A woman she recognised from the shop, posh and loud. She didn’t like her, although she didn’t know why. The woman was wearing a blue hat with a large peacock feather in it, and she leant forward to Gramps and said, ‘She couldn’t POSSIBLY want to leave at this time of year,’ and Grampa Joe hushed her, crossly, more cross than she’d ever seen
Similar Books
