Waiting for the Hogfather: English Pork Pies

After a night spent drinking my homemade (and very alcoholic) eggnog and wrapping Christmas presents, it only seems appropriate that the first official Christmas post go up.  And by Christmas, I mean Hogswatch.

As I mentioned in my first blog post, I love Terry Pratchett's Discworld, along with the plethora of food mentioned throughout the Discworld series.  And so when I began my Christmas reading earlier this month, I knew I had to reread Hogfather, Pratchett's wonderful satire of Christmas.  Instead of Christmas, the children of Ankh-Morpork celebrate Hogswatch, when the Hogfather rides his sleigh around the Disc, delivering children to all the good boys and girls.  This Hogswatch, though, the Hogfather has been targeted for elimination by the Discworld's craziest Assassin, and so Death himself takes up the red robe, the beard, and the "HO HO HO" to save the Hogfather and the belief of children everywhere.

I'd say it was one of my favorite Discworld books (and it is), but I could say that about so many Discworld books that it would grow repetitive.  Quickly.  It was the third book I read, and the first that featured Death (one of my favorite characters) and his granddaughter Susan.  Susan aptly sums up this spirit of Hogswatch thusly: "This is Hogswatch!  It's supposed to be jolly, with mistletoe and holly, and--and other things ending in olly!  It's a time when people want to feel good about things and eat until they explode!"

Like our Christmas, Hogswatch is a time of traditional foods.  And while I left out milk and cookies for Santa, well... things on the Discworld are different.  On Hogswatchnight, it is tradition to leave out a pork pie and a glass of sherry for the Hogfather, and turnips for the boars that pull his sleigh (Gouger and Tusker and Rooter and Snouter).

Meat pies are something I can get behind.  I've been making meat pies since I bought the Unofficial Harry Potter Cookbook several years ago.  They're both extremely delicious and work excellently as a bargaining chip (i.e. "if you do this for me, Alec, I'll make meat pies.").  Works every time.

So it was clear what I was going to be making for Christmas.  Hogswatch.  Whatever.

Pork pies.

Meat pies are a classically British thing.  Think Sweeny Todd, minus the cannibalism.  I don't know why they haven't worked their way more into American cuisine.  They're amazing.  They're meat made portable in a golden, flaky pastry.  Nothing can go wrong with meat pies, well, with the exception of Sweeny Todd.

This recipe is a bit complex, and involves pig's feet.

But never fear! You don't actually eat the feet (this time!  But I do have 3 still in the fridge that I'm intrigued by...).  Instead, you boil them to make a jellied stock that goes into the pies after baking.  One of the recipes I read said that instead you could use a combination of powdered gelatin and pork bouillon, but where's the fun in that?

These meat pies are delicious.  And, as Albert says in Hogfather, "They're a treat with mustard."  Use English mustard if you have it, but I found spicy brown worked well.  And, if Gouger and Tusker and Rooter and Snouter don't eat all the turnips you leave out, you can make mashed turnips to go with your leftover pork pies.  Though there may not be any.

English Pork Pies

(serves 4-8, depending on appetite and size of pies)

adapted from Saveur and Really Nice Recipes

For the Stock

1 lb pig's feet

8 oz pork bones (can use neck bones or the bone from pork shoulder)

6 whole black peppercorns

1 yellow onion

1 large carrot

1 rib celery

1 bunch parsley

3 qt water

For the Filling

2 lb pork shoulder, trimmed and cut into 1/4" cubes

8 oz pork belly, cut into 1/4" cubes

8 oz bacon, cut into 1/4" cubes

1 1/2 tsp salt, to taste

1/2 tsp freshly grated nutmeg

1/2 tsp ground mace

1/2 tsp ground black pepper

1/2 tsp ground white pepper

For the Hot Water Pastry

6 oz lard

2/3 c. water

3 c. flour

1/2 tsp salt

1 egg

Chop the onion, carrot, celery, and parsley.

Place all the ingredients for the stock in a 6 qt. saucepan and bring to a boil.  Lower temperature and simmer for about 4 hours.  Strain into a large bowl.  Return stock to saucepan and boil until reduced to approximately 2 cups.  Remove from heat and let cool.

For the filling, toss all ingredients together in a large bowl.  Set aside.

Preheat oven to 350F.

Pork pies require a hot water pastry dough.  You could go with a normal pastry crust, but this crust is so good that I wouldn't if I were you.  Go find some lard and make this dough.  I'm going to switch to using this recipe for my other meat pies from now on.  It's just worth it.  With a hot water pastry dough, you can hand shape pies and they will hold their shape as they cool.  I used springform pans for this recipe, but will try handforming next time.  After baking the pies, the crust becomes fairly water-resistant, which allows them to be filled with the jellied stock.

Note: I found lard at one of the Schnucks nearby, though it's not at all of them.

Whisk together the flour and salt, and make a well in the center.  Crack the egg into the well, and then use a spoon to cover the egg with some of the flour mixture.

Cut the lard into pieces and put in a medium saucepan with the water.  Heat over medium until the lard has melted and has almost reached the boiling point.

Pour the lard mixture around the outside of the flour mixture, then cut it into the flour with a knife until combined.  If it looks very wet, add a little more flour.  It will be a wetter dough.

Cover with a damp towel or clingwrap and let sit for 10 minutes to rehydrate.

Roll out to 1/4 inch thickness.

As I said, I used 4.5" springform pans for these pies.  You can also make them in large muffin tins.

Use the bottom of the springform pan to cut out the bottom of the dough.  Press into the pan.

Cut out a strip for the sides of the pan, and press into the pan and seal along the bottom.

Fill with the pork filling.  Really press it in there.

Briefly beat together 1 egg mixed with 1 tbs of water.  Brush the tops of the dough with the egg mixture.  Cut out the top circle of dough, place over filling, and crimp to seal together

Using a funnel, make a hole in the middle of the crust.  This will allow you to fill it with the jellied stock after baking.

If desired, you can decorate the top with the traditional triangles of scrap dough.  Glue them on with the egg wash, then brush the wash over the entire crust.

Bake in preheated oven for 30 minutes.  Reduce heat to 325F, and bake for another two hours.  Let pies cool, then gradually pour the jellied stock into the hole on the top of each pastry, waiting as it distributes through the pie.  If it starts to leak out, just wipe it off and stop filling.  Chill pies in the refridgerator to set the jelly.  Serve cold, with mustard if desired.

Happy Hogswatch!

A Hungry Girl in Discworld, and an Introduction

I have two truly great obsessions in life.  Books.  And food.  The first is a long-time love affair, while the second is a more recent, and more fattening, devotion.  As many things in my life seem to, these two loves go excellently together.  Perhaps I've only really begun to notice it this year, but there is a helluva lot of food in books.  I'm not complaining.  Far from it.  This year in particular, the food and drinks that are appearing in the books I've been reading (I aim for at least 50 books a year) have been greatly affecting me.  The Great Gatsby got me to drink gin.  Game of Thrones makes me crave meat and mead.  A Year in Provence had me practically packing my bags for France just so I could drink wine for breakfast, hunt for truffles, and cook all day long.

And that's what this blog is going to be about.  The books I read, the appetites they inspire, and the food I cook because of it.  Welcome, and enjoy!

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Next to Julia Child, Terry Pratchett is my favorite food writer.  If you think those two don't go together, then you haven't been reading enough Pratchett.  Take, for example, this exquisite description of, well, diner food, in Guards! Guards!: "...the food was good solid stuff for a cold morning, all calories and fat and protein and maybe a vitamin crying softly because it was all alone."  Beautiful, isn't it?  Doesn't that just make you want to go straight out to your favorite greasy spoon and absolutely drown yourself in fried food?

As a confirmed food lover, the sheer presence of food in the Discworld novels caught my interest shortly after I began reading them.  I'm absolutely convinced that Sir Terry Pratchett loves food about as much as I do, particularly the food of the common people, or street food.  The references to "hot grease" in some books are mouth-wateringly numerous.  I would almost go so far as to say that Pratchett sees food as the great equalizer, but that is truly a subject for a dissertation.

For now, let's stick with the food itself.  With the notable exception of the wizard-centric novels, few other groups in the Discworld seem to encounter as much food as the Night Watch (if you ask me, this is a direct correlation to the above-mentioned prevalence of street food).  The Night Watch is made up of the common man (and dwarf, and zombie, and werewolf, and troll, and etc.), after all.  They live and work among other common men, et al, where food is bought and made and sold.  Wives cook breakfast, bakeries bake bread. There are eateries and street vendors (namely Cut-Me-Own-Throat Dibbler).

Pratchett never misses a chance to use food as a wossname, metaphor.  A character's food preference is usually a commentary on their character.  The Patrician is known for dining on boiled water and dry bread, whereas other rulers are famed for eating with their knives and throwing half-masticated chicken legs over their shoulders.  And you always know who's been around when a peanut shell floats to the ground.

It should be little wonder by now that I've chosen a Discworld novel, Guards! Guards!, the first Watch book, for my first entry.  And for the very first Discworld delicacy, I've chosen a food with seemingly multiple definitions: the humble figgin.  It first makes its appearance in Guards! Guards!  Pratchett defines the figgin in a footnote as being "a short-crust pastry containing raisins."  Nobby and Sgt. Colon later go to a bakery to get some figgins.  But that isn't the extent of it.  Pratchett's definition comes only after the use of the word "figgin" in the sacred rituals of the Elucidated Brethren: "And it be well for an knowlessman that he should not be here, for he would ... [have] his figgin placed upon a spike."

This certainly implies a much more... intimate definition of the word.  Brother Fingers runs away screaming later in the book when Nobby asks if he would like his figgin toasted.  Also, a former ruler is "hung up by his figgin," and I have a hard time believing that he was merely clinging to one end of a particularly sturdy pastry.

Regardless, we will be sticking to the culinary version of the figgin.  It appears to be similar to a Chorley cake, popular in Lancashire.  A Chorley cake is traditionally made with currants, sandwiched between two layers of short crust pastry, but can also be made, like the figgin, with sweeter raisins (sultanas).  They are often served with butter or a slice of cheese and may be, as Nobby suggests, toasted.

I very much enjoyed learning about and making figgins. Chorley cakes.  Whichever.  My technique may need a bit of work, but there's no arguing with the end result, which is a light, just-barely-sweet pastry perfect for a tea-time or on-the-go snack.

Figgins (Chorley Cakes)
(makes 12-15)
adapted from Butcher, Baker

1 1/2 c. flour
1 stick unsalted butter (8 tbs), cold and cut into pieces
Pinch salt
1/2 c. ice cold water
--
2 tbs butter
Pinch nutmeg
1 c. raisins and currants
1 egg, beaten

Preheat oven to 400 F

Sift together flour and salt in a large bowl.  Add the 8 tbs butter into the bowl and either cut into the flour with a pastry cutter, or rub in with your fingers, until the mixture looks resembles sand and there are no pieces larger than a pea.

Add in water 1 tbs at a time, tossing the mixture with a fork, until the dough comes together and does not flake apart when squeezed.  Knead lightly to form a ball.  Flatten into a disc and wrap in plastic wrap.  Chill the dough for 1 hour.

To prepare the filling, melt the 2 tbs butter and mix in the nutmeg and raisins/currants until coated.

When the dough has chilled, generously flour your work surface.  Don't ever worry about over-flouring.  You can always dust off flour, but it's far more difficult to peel sticky dough off the counter.  Trust me.  Place the dough on the floured surface, and flour the top of the dough.  Roll it out to between 1/8-1/4" thickness.  Cut out 3" rounds in the dough, as many as you can get (around a dozen).

Put 1 tbs filling in the center of each disc. Fold the outside edges of the disc up over the filling to cover.  Flip the pastry over so the seam is facing down, and roll lightly over the pastry with a rolling pin to flatten.  The raisins will begin to press through the dough.  This is what you want to happen.  Place on a baking try lined with parchment paper.

(Note: next time I make these, I would flatten them even more.)

Repeat with the other rounds.

Brush with the beaten egg (this will add color to the pastry as it bakes), and bake in preheated oven for 10-15 minutes, until golden brown.

Enjoy warm from the oven, either plain or with butter or cheese.  These keep for several days in an airtight container.  You can heat them up again later, if they last that long.