Pastry is as pastry does, and other tactics of avoidance

[desperance]

One of the pleasures of being from home is how life is suddenly various. I am a creature of habit who enjoys changes, so long as I don't myself have to make them. I am not a natural volunteer; I like having stuff thrust upon me.

Last weekend, staying in Cambridge, I was totally cooked for, by a Marquis who clearly loves to cook and does it very well indeed. Love that. This week, staying in Henley, I have been totally the cook in the household. It makes sense, as both Helen and Mark work late most days and get home later; and I love this too. It's very different from cooking at home, though: all-new meals, mostly from recipes, in an unfamiliar kitchen.

It's regatta week in Henley, and on Thursday we took a picnic down the river. I've never catered a picnic before. Cold food far from home, with a minimal provision of comforts, condiments and fall-back positions? Hmm. So not what I do.

It did work, though, so I'm chalking that up on the repertoire: Chaz now offers Picnics. Chicken and rice salad with chickenskin crackling (the best bit: I made that up), chorizo and mushroom tart, beef rolls, raspberries with maple cream and shortcake. I forgot the olives, but that was not catastrophic.

The beef rolls were stuffed with breadcrumbs, pecorino, parsley and pine nuts: maddening as a recipe ('spread the mix on the steak', it says, but how do you spread something so entirely dry and disintegratory?) but nice as a mixture. And there was lots left yesterday, so I reinterpreted it as a tuna tart. Which was entirely easy - add tin of tuna including oil, add half a carton of creme fraiche, sloop it all together and bake in a pastry crust - and entirely cheating, because the pastry came from Waitrose.

It's not my fault, guv. Pastry is my weak point. Which makes me bleed inside, because I read once that no man can consider himself a good cook unless he is a good pastry-cook, and I'm just not. It's the rub-the-fat-into-the-flour bit that troubles me; I was never good at this, and these days it actively hurts my fingers, so I tend to avoid it. At home I let myself use the food processor, as legitimate pain-avoidance that produces a competent result, but there isn't one in this house. Hence, Waitrose. I did at least buy baking-beans and do proper blind baking, which makes me feel a little better, but still. Bought-in pastry.

I'm trying to put it down as another factor in the variety, and hence a good thing. But I'm still blushing.

Also, it's all avoidance. I spent lots of time yesterday considering how to rework a bowlful of breadcrumbs and cheese, mostly because I'm barely getting any work done. I have started three stories, and can finish none of them; I can't even think about the novel. Long walks along the river are no substitute; nor are young godlings in boats or out of them, with loud posh laughs and silly blazers.

Still, I have finally read "The Princess Bride", so that's something achieved at last; and now I'm reading Patrick Gale (with thanks to la_marquise_de for both) - and see how swiftly, how deftly I turn away from the subject of the work I am not doing? It's like that in my head too. As is this whole damn long entry, chuntering on about other stuff, heaping a haystack over the needle lest it prick me again.

Ouchie.

Comments

[http://users.livejournal.com/la_marquise_de_/]

It is to be observed that most major chefs are not pastry chefs. That is a separate specialty. So the notion of the perfect all-rounder is in the teeth of the profession. If it hurts, then there is no honour lost in avoiding it.

[desperance.livejournal.com]

Umm. I think there is a necessary separation between the professional, who may specialise, and the amateur. Who ought to be an all-rounder, so that all types and kinds of food may emerge from his solo kitchen.

Also, my mum used to make fabulous pastry. I feel I ought to have inherited that; I resent the lack of it. The pain is real, and makes a sufficient excuse, but it is an excuse. I made bad pastry before my hands ever started hurting. *beats himself*

[http://users.livejournal.com/la_marquise_de_/]

Well, if it is any comfort, my mother -- who is another maker of fine pastry -- says that the rubbing in stage is far less important to the final product to the rolling, and that most problems are due to over-rolling and over-handling. Which is usually down to hands and board being too warm -- a marble slab helps immensely.

[pennski.livejournal.com]

I have a theory that people can either do cakes or pastry. My Mum makes great pastry. Her cakes never rise. Chris' Mum made wonderful cakes and could never do pastry, although she hasn't done either since I've known her.

[mizkit.livejournal.com]

I would be the exception to prove your rule, then, as I make brilliant pastry and cakes alike. :)

[desperance.livejournal.com]

Beware, or I will come and demand lessons...

[mizkit.livejournal.com]

After the end of July, you're most welcome to. :)

Pastry

[(Anonymous)]

What I do is cheat.

I use butter, soften it to almost a liquid in the microwave (20 seconds or so). I lob in the flour (even though I have Proper Scales, pastry has always been more intuitive). I then use the knife I have cut the butter off the block to stir in the flour to the butter. Magically, miraculously, within a brief minute of mixing, it has reduced to that breadcrumby texture. I add a little water, and equally miraculously, it all starts to stick together. Too loose, add a touch more water. Too claggy, add a little more flour. You have to use your hands for the last bit, which is just kneading it into a ball.

Cover bowl and fridge it for at least half an hour, preferably longer. Sorted.

Simon

[owlfish]

My hands are too warm for making pastry by hand. I use a pastry blender. Warm hands are, however, good for putting smoothing off handmade truffles.