“When the crab arrives, I realize I've barely given any thought to Ann and her ministrations. To my surprise she has added a few finishing touches of her own. The crab sits snugly in its pink shell, beside a neat mound of delicately green mayonnaise. How has she colored it green? "This could be made into a curry," pronounces Mr. Arnott. "In Madras, curried sea oysters are considered the pinnacle of fine food. Anything can be curried... fish, fowl, even eggs." "Eggs?" Again, he has intrigued me. "Indeed eggs," he says. "Hard-boiled and placed in a hot curried gravy, they are quite delicious." I taste the mayonnaise, trying to fathom how Ann has greened it. Simultaneously I try to commit Mr. Arnott's recipe for curried eggs to memory, while also checking the seasoning in the crab. "Do you think the crab would benefit from a little more lemon juice?" I ask. "Or perhaps chili vinegar should have been used." "It is certainly fresh." He slowly savors the crab upon his tongue. "It tastes of the sea.” GreenFood For ThoughtEggsCurrySeasoningMayonnaiseCrab Book:Miss Eliza's English Kitchen Source: Miss Eliza's English Kitchen
“My thoughts swerve back to swans' eggs. Such splendid things---their whites are purer, more translucent than those of any other egg. Perhaps their boiled yolks might be mixed with firm fresh butter, essence of anchovies, minced herbs, even a chopped shallot. And then returned to their hardboiled whites in softly beaten mounds. A swan's egg en salade, I think, smiling.” Food For ThoughtEggsSaladSwansSeasoningsEgg White Book:Miss Eliza's English Kitchen Source: Miss Eliza's English Kitchen
“Pigeons wrapped in the leaves of vines. Oysters in crisp pastry cases. Whole Gloucester salmon in aspic. Yarmouth lobsters cooked in wine and herbs. Glazed tarts of pippin apples. Paper-thin layers of buttery pastry spread with greengages, apricots, peaches, cherries, served with great gouts of golden cream. "Well," I say, "it's gruel for us tonight, with a smidgeon of salt and pepper." Whereupon he reaches into his pocket, pulls out a twist of greased paper, and opens it. Immediately I smell the tang of heather honey. "For you, Ann." In his grimed palm sits an oozing chunk of honeycomb as big as a plover's egg. I clap my hands in delight, my tongue waggling with greed. As we eat our gruel I make the clots of chewy wax last as long as possible, pushing them around and around my mouth, pressing them against my molars, sucking on them 'til they slip sweetly down my throat.” Food For ThoughtSeafoodPastriesSavoringHoneycomb Book:Miss Eliza's English Kitchen Source: Miss Eliza's English Kitchen
“My mind veers back to roasted pigeon. And from pigeon, I travel effortlessly, unrestrainedly back to France...the pots of rillettes fragrant with garlic, the boned forelegs of ham yellowed with bread crumbs, the blood puddings curled up like snakes, the terrines and pâtés, the sausages from Lyon and Arles, the jowls of salmon cooked à la génoise, the hundreds of cheeses resplendent beneath their glass bells, the perfumed melons and honeyed apricots” Food For ThoughtFrench Cuisine Book:Miss Eliza's English Kitchen Source: Miss Eliza's English Kitchen