Heaven only knows how old my glass jar in the larder is) and rosewater.
The Good Housewife’s Jewel by Thomas Dawson (1598) tempts its readers with a recipe using deer offal (the ‘umbels’ that gave their name to the phrase ‘to eat umble pie’), salt, cloves, currants, almonds, dates and fat. The mince is baked, then boiled with sugar and spices. A long way from the syrupy jam in the present-day Robertson’s jar.
Mincemeat takes a turn away from its savoury route in the seventeenth century. The writer and poet Gervase Markham, whose most famous work is The English Huswife Containing the Inward and Outward Virtues which ought to be in a Complete Woman (a title for which he surely deserves a bat round the head with a frying pan), has a recipe that is almost entirely devoid of meat. As the preserve continues its journey, it ditches not only the mutton, beef and salt, but also the passing whiff of the Middle East.
By the beginning of the twentieth century the minced meat had departed from most recipes, but the practice of adding beads of grated suet lives on to this day, though most used in commercial preparations is made from hydrogenated fat. As sugar becomes less of a luxury, the filling gets steadily sweeter until we arrive at today’s sugar-laden, glistening goo. Most modern recipes have even ditched the tiny pearl-like nuggets of suet that twinkled in their dark, syrupy depths.
For those of us making our own mincemeat, the difficulty is getting our hands on a decent lump of fresh suet to grate. (Go for the whitest, creamiest beef fat your butcher can offer you.) My feeling is that if you use the packet stuff, creamy white specks in a nostalgic blue, red and yellow box, you might as well buy your mincemeat ready-made.
A classic brandy mincemeat
Today, November 10, I make this year’s batch. It’s a bit late, according to Mary Berry, who recommends a maturing time in the jar of six months. (Delia has kept hers for three years with no ill-effects, as I’m pretty sure my mum did.) Six glistening jam jars sit on the counter, each having had a ride in the dishwasher, then ten minutes in the oven at 180°C/Gas 4 to sterilise them. Their labels are already written, in fountain pen, waiting patiently for my Christmas jam.
Despite the long ingredients list, mincemeat is a doddle. I spend more time weighing the dried fruits, spices and sugar than I do cooking. Even then, the task takes barely an hour. I spin it out because I like the smell that is filling the kitchen. The scent of Christmases, past. Better than that, of Christmas to come.
Makes about 1.5kg, enough for 36 (ish) mince pies
shredded suet – 200g
dark muscovado sugar – 200g
sultanas – 200g
currants – 200g
prunes, stoned – 200g
dried apricots – 200g
cooking apples – 750g
skinned almonds – 50g
a lemon
ground cinnamon – 1 teaspoon
ground cloves – ½ teaspoon
nutmeg, grated – ½ teaspoon
brandy – 100ml
Put the suet, sugar, sultanas and currants into a large saucepan. Roughly chop the prunes and apricots and stir them in. Peel and core the apples, cut them into small dice, then add them to the other fruits. Place over a moderate heat and bring to the boil. Finely chop the almonds, finely grate the zest of the lemon, then stir both into the fruit with the cinnamon, cloves and nutmeg. Squeeze the lemon juice into the mixture and continue cooking for about fifteen minutes. Allow to cool, then stir in the brandy.
Spoon the mincemeat into the sterilised jars, seal with a tight lid and label.
Quince and cardamom mincemeat (without suet)
I feel a little sorry for those impervious to the charm of a mince pie. I want to offer them something. Calling the recipe that follows ‘mincemeat’ is stretching it a bit, but it still contains the fruits and spices of the original (many early recipes include quince in place of apple), and it smells like the classic as it cooks. But it has another appeal, that of no suet, or indeed fat of any kind. Think of it as Christmas jam. The colour is gold rather than black. It is rather good with cheese too, in the way a slice of Cheshire is good with fruit cake. Oh, and can I suggest grinding the cardamom seeds at the last minute – the ready-ground stuff loses all its magic.
Makes 3 × 400g jars
caster sugar – 100g
water – 1 litre
the juice of a lemon
quinces – 500g
green cardamom – 8 pods
mixed spice – 1 teaspoon
ground cinnamon – ½ teaspoon
golden sultanas – 200g
raisins – 200g
currants – 200g
dried apricots – 200g
light muscovado sugar – 100g
brandy or quince liqueur – 100ml
You will also need 3 × 400g jam jars, sterilised.
Put the caster sugar into a medium-sized saucepan, add the water and bring to the boil. Pour the lemon juice into the syrup. Peel the quinces, cut them into quarters, remove the core, then lower them into the pan. As soon as the syrup comes back to the boil, lower the heat to a simmer, partially cover the pan with a lid and leave for forty minutes, or until the quinces are soft but far from collapsing. Take off the heat.
Break open the cardamom pods, scrape out the seeds and crush them quite finely, using a pestle and mortar or spice mill. Put them into a capacious saucepan with the mixed spice and ground cinnamon. Add the golden sultanas, raisins and currants, then roughly chop the dried apricots and stir them in. Pour in 400ml of the quince cooking liquor and add the brown sugar. Simmer, stirring from time to time, for twenty minutes. Cut the quinces into small dice and add to the mincemeat. Pour in the brandy or liqueur, simmer for a further five minutes, then spoon into sterilised jars and seal.
11 NOVEMBER
Martinmas, a ham dinner and a citrus cake
For centuries this has been a feast day. The date marked the end of the agricultural year, the harvest was well and truly in, the livestock were ready for slaughter, wine was ready for drinking. It is officially the beginning of winter. In medieval times, such an important feast was celebrated by eating a goose for those who could afford it, duck or chicken for those who couldn’t.
The celebration began in France, then spread to the Low Countries, Eastern Europe and then to Britain. It is still celebrated in Germany, with goose, dumplings and red cabbage. In parts of Scandinavia too, though to a much lesser extent, with lantern processions and singing, church services and, of course, feasting. In Britain we have traditionally eaten our goose on Michaelmas Day, September
