● Lady Percy moves me - might she move you? CLICK TO FIND OUT
● Plus my novels, stories, verse, vulgar interests, apologies, and singing.
● Most posts are 300 words. I respond to all comments/re-comments.
● See Tone Deaf in New blogger.


Wednesday 19 September 2018

Batter tested

We'd gone to Edwards Plaice, our favourite fish-and-chip shop, frequently mentioned here; grandson Zach had perversely chosen battered sausages. Nothing would have deflected me from my haddock but I was left curious.

Sausages in batter are not haute cuisine but they're fiddly. VR continues to be a good adventurous cook but I urge her towards simplicity; I don’t like her spending long hours in the kitchen. This would be the exception. I did what I could to help.

The chip pan was last used years ago, its place obscure underneath the stairs. On my knees I retrieved it. The sausages were deliberately modest; VR had doubts about the project and wouldn’t put high quality bangers at risk. They were pre-fried.

Oil temperature was crucial (180 - 190 deg C), even I had a foreseen that. An opportunity for my electric cooking thermometer, a birthday gift from grandson Ian, another cooking enthusiast. VR admitted that without the device she might have started cooking the batter in oil that wasn’t hot enough.

The sausages, rolled in flour to ensure adhesion, were dipped into batter (milk, flour, egg) and dropped into the chip pan. The perturbation was fierce and encouraging and the batter was bubbly and crisp within three or four minutes. Since the sausages could only be done two at a time, the pairs were transferred to a plate (with paper towels) under the grill on low.

Everything had been done according to the rules and the batter consistency was perfect. But the batter brought no extra flavour to the sausages. What could have been added? “The sausages are pork, so possibly sage,” said VR using her formal voice. But both of us seemed tacitly agreed that the project could well have been a first and a last.

9 comments:

  1. Well, if you two are feeling brave, may I recommend fried dill pickle chips? They are drained on kitchen towels (that's paper towels over here) then prepared as you did the bangers, until the coating is a golden brown.

    Salty as hell, but I understand they are great with fried fish and beer.

    ReplyDelete
  2. This is all fairly civilised and well, what would you expect from British cuisine etc. but then there are deep fried Mars bars which someone once tried to sell me as typically Scottish and when I baulked, switched to typically Irish then - which made matters worse.
    Bless your arteries, esp. the carotid.
    I have never shared a home with a chip pan. How do you get rid of all that oil?

    ReplyDelete
  3. Crow: Despite that final sentence we went on to one further experiment. Deep-fried Scotch egg. (hard-boiled egg thickly clad in sausage meat). First time round this proved to be an unmitigated disaster, the problem being: how to fry the sausage meat long enough to cook it but without burning its outer crust. The situation was retrieved by transferring the Scotch egg to the oven and baking it for half an hour at a lowish heat.

    The word "pickle" has different meanings on either side of the Atlantic. Whereas I'm an enthusiast for the tiny version (ie, the gherkin which I, of course, snottily call a cornichon), I can't get on with the larger ones which ominously begin to reveal their true origins - the cucumber. You cannot have read Tone Deaf without becoming aware of my deep antipathy towards this remarkably strong-flavoured vegetable. I applaud US ingenuity but I rather think our experimentation is at an end - possibly for good.

    Sabine: Yes, I realise I was providing an open goal for those who take a predominantly nutritional (as opposed to celebratory) attitude towards eating. But this was an experiment and should not be extrapolated into a general view of Robinson meal habits. Just for the record, my regular brunch on non-diet days consists of hummous and beetroot salad accompanied by an apple and an orange; on diet days my brunch (I don't do breakfasts and I'm well aware that that too is a cardinal sin) would be regarded as vestigial in Germany.

    Thank you for your ironic good wishes but at age 84 I think I may safely say I have the arteries I deserve. A Christmas market in Germany is planned for this year, as for the previous decade; would you really deny me access to potato pancakes? Life would be insupportable although I must confess that on two consecutive visits to Köln the big truly celebratory meal was taken at a Lebanese restaurant to which - had you been available - you would have been both welcome and satisfied.

    Ah, the contempt for the chip pan. As if you feared infection. You'll note I had to retrieve it from under the stairs, it may never have been used during the oughties. And I'm treating your question about oil as rhetorical. As to deep-fried Mars bars you will be aware that Scotland voted to stay in the EU and was only prevented from doing so by political finagling in Westminster.

    ReplyDelete
  4. My suggestion was tongue in cheek; didn't think you would fall for that! :)

    ReplyDelete
  5. Crow: You gotta remember you live in the country that voted in Joker Trump. For a time I thought that was tongue-in-cheek. Imagine my surprise when I discovered it wasn't. If someone offered me a slice of pickled Trump I'd accept however unlikely. Cannibalism, it's the only sin he hasn't committed. I'd chew gleefully, envisaging his sense of outrage.

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. You will, of course, invite to join you, yes?

      Delete
    2. Crow: Not only that but - out of pure love - I'll save you the best bits: the under-buttocks, the unspare ribs, the belly, and the milk-fed breasts. But what would we drink? Aren't you sort of TT?

      Delete
    3. Oh, yum! Prime cuts, all! Are the under-buttocks stuffed with anything edible? What goes with double-fat-ass?

      I wasn't always a TT, but since alcohol interferes with the bucket load of meds I'm on nowadays, I switched to tea (and good coffee) a few years ago.

      On the other hand, if I'm brave enough to chow down on Trumpus indelectus, I could probably enjoy a nice wine. What would you recommend, dear-heart?

      PS: is he to be baked, seared, broiled, or - what he so richly deserves - battered and fired? Uh, I meant fried.

      Delete
  6. Crow: Depends on whether you regard Mike Pence's toe-nail clippings as edible. As to drink I'd recommend a 1968 Chateau Latour. Check out the price on Google and we'll go halves on that. Whatever way we cook him he must be well-cooked.

    Not only do we have all those variants of pork in the UK, certain butchers, serving a clientele close to starving and with almost no dough at all, offer tails and ears. Though not pickled. Why not an extra spicy chutney from Mexico, mainly because he'd hate that?

    ReplyDelete