COUNTRY MATTERS
With Lyn Hall 

Lyn Hall, esteemed food writer and brilliant teacher, living in the exquisite English countryside, shares the joys and trials of life in her Gloucestershire country home and kitchen, away from the hectic pace of London. 

Savour Lyn's comfort food to suit the mood. Daube de Boeuf, a classic red wine beef stew, and a smooth yoghurt mousse with tart raspberry sauce.

With my heart in my mouth, I leapt the gate, scrambled through nettles and down the gulley. The roar of the water dulled the sound of my boots sucked into the squelching mud and  the brambles tearing at my clothes. When across the ditch and up the wooden fence, I could see the stream, now the ‘mighty’ River Isbourne, had burst its banks and a hundred yards of foaming, torrential water, Zambezi-like, was tearing past our new house. We hadn’t completed on the purchase yet. Was it flooded like those of our neighbours? An utter disaster before we had bought it? 

No. The empty house was riding the storm like the elegant little lady she is. Soft rills were rolling up the lawn. All we received was a dressing of excellent top-soil from the woodland and gardens upstream.  Almost ashamed of our luck, I blessed her, and made my way more slowly into the town. Brown flood water was sliding into back doors and coming out of the front. Cars were submerged up to their bonnets: ancient Fiestas and new BMW’s alike. The water showed no mercy to class. The Vicar was calling to the members of the emergency services, advising them that the Church Hall would be open throughout the night for those stranded. It was cold, dark and raining interminably.

Well, this weather provokes longing for comfort food, even in summer. The store the next day, was worse than Christmas. Everyone was panic-buying, and not for bottles of water, to replace our water supply, which we lost for several weeks afterwards. Fragments of flood stories, in hushed Gloucestershire accents, kept us abreast of the devastation as we waited patiently for 50 minutes in the queue. 

"She got home at 5 am, had to swim at Stow-on-the-Wold."  

"Gave a truck driver some breakfast, and he was concerned we were eating our last loaf. But I showed him my bread machine, I can easily make another, and he cheered up."

"Van completely written-off fetching Rob from work. Took four hours! A forty minute journey…dunno how my Dad can work now…..his van is his livelihood."

"No-one could get into Winchcombe, they had to abandon their cars and Sam took them across on his tractor."

"‘I was quoted £3.5k to demolish our garage, it crumbled in the flood, all I need now is a skip."

"We lost our entire cookery library, as it was on the lowest shelf in the kitchen, the only book that survived was yours - you had just given it to us…"

Making this hearty French daube or red wine stew helped me through it all, and there was plenty for waifs and strays. It is the kind of food you cook in traumas like these, you don’t need a recipe. I didn’t have any stock to hand, so I bought a tin of consommé.

Well, it is true that most of our vegetables were pounded to death in the downpours, runner beans are the length of rulers, with just as much flavour, spinach is 60 cm high, and the succulents we were encouraged to plant in the arid summer of 2006, heralding the climate change of a hotter, drier England, are rotting.

But at moments like these I turn my mind back to our spring which was a miracle: day after day of warm sunshine. Just outside the kitchen door my herb garden, which had taken two year’s hard work, both in creation and maintenance, shot skyward. That well-rotted manure, lashings of loam and bag after bag of sharp sand to lighten the clay, finally paid off. And no pests!

There was no flea beetle in April which turns rocket leaves to lace. Thanks to a little mother hedgehog who frequently turned on the outdoor security lights as she trundled past my bedroom window, on her knowing way to the herb garden, there were no slugs. 

My heart was heavy when the head gardener, Kevin, found her whilst tidying the wood store, and took her and her tiny sucklings, still attached, in a shoe box to the Beckford Wild Life Sanctuary, or the dogs would have got her. And the tap, tap, tap on stone ‘anvils’ was the noise of a shy but diligent thrush family on a still evening, cracking the shells of the snails, and flicking out the contents for their favourite supper.

In joyous and lavish growth, I had to apply myself to cutting back: for I do believe that the best flavour of herbs is but 12 cm from the soil. And such a pleasant task, with all the fragrances flying past your nose as you crouch in the beds - and remaining persistently on your hands –  rue, chamomile, hyssop, lovage, sorrel, rosemary, marjoram, mint and lemon balm. Loaded with minerals and moisture, the clay soil supports huge tussocks of chives, and frequently I had baskets of chives, cut just before they flowered, to go on the compost heap so they would once again sprout fine, sweet leaves. This is a good recipe for using them up.

CHIVE OIL

Drizzle Chive Oil over beef burgers, grilled fish, barbecued meat, boiled pasta - or use it to begin cooking chicken breasts. It makes a fabulous salad dressing, a flavouring for mayonnaise, or as a dip for crusty bread and keeps for months in the fridge. Bring to room temperature before use. Or pour into a pretty bottle, label and give as a gift.

90 g chives
4 tsp crystal (sea) salt
700 ml extra virgin olive oil
(Makes approximately 800 ml)

In a large food processor bowl fitted with its chopping blade, mince the chives.  Add the salt and continue to pulse once or twice. With the motor running, add the oil in a thin steady stream, cupping your hand over the feeder tube to prevent the oil splashing upwards.

Strain through a fine mesh sieve into a large jug, rubbing well, to extract all the oil. Pour the oil through a funnel into a suitable glass bottle. Seal with a cork (corks from sherry bottles are excellent for this) and store in a cool dark place, or in the fridge.

Berries are indoubtably our favourite pudding in summer. But the trick is finding the perfect accompaniment. Mulberries, strawberries, blackberries, blueberries and raspberries are luscious with something wobbly and creamy. Trinity College Burnt berries Cream is perfect, but how can one be just a little more original?  Junket! Of course, made with rich Jersey milk, and a hint of Bourbon vanilla, sprinkled with the traditional silver and cut-glass sugar shaker which I picked up for a song in Lavenham, on our very English blue patterned china.

The frequency with which I had bought rennet (the lining of a calve’s stomach) in London, and the junket had never set, is too numerous to mention, so I was relieved to learn at last that you get rennet from the chemist. When I presented myself at the Prescriptions counter, I was told that only one person knew where to get the fresh rennet from, and she was on holiday. My guests were due the following night.

My search for rennet and curdling milk took me into making fresh curd cheese, which I also love, served in a little pat, perhaps rolled in parsley or chives, with Oat Biscuits. I learned that in Finland colostrum or beestings is used to curdle the milk. I had come across this when trying to revive one of my lambs born with swayback, a mineral deficiency: Pete Sidgwick, our nearest farmer had given me some in powder form. 

The newborn lamb, a forlorn bundle, was so floppy in limbs and neck, it could not stand to take the essential colostrum from my ewe. It worked like magic. The next day the lamb had clear eyes and an adorable curled white fleece. But the idea of using nettle stock to curdle milk really appealed to me. This seems a good use for the stingers which bristle around every pond, shady glade and hedgerow. 

For those who would like to try it, cook a strong nettle stock and mix it with salt: 2 parts of salt to 3 parts of nettle liquid. To make the stock, rinse young nettle leaves and boil them in barely water to cover. Process in a food processor. There is no exact recipe, the more leaves you use, the stronger the stock.

I decided on another recipe. The advantage of getting married, even at our tiny wedding and with an embargo on presents, we were given Sophie Conran’s Footed Drainer. From her mother, Lady Caroline, and her father, Sir Terence, Sophie’s inheritance of design and culinary knowledge is supreme. I had worked with Sophie in June, at The House and Garden Fair where she launched her new china range for Portmeirion. 

With a nod to Japanese serenity, and a wink at English eccentricity, her pieces have a limpid glaze and tender silhouette. A pretty china footed drainer or colander is ideal for the Yoghurt Mousse. There is no need to line it with muslin, and if you choose the set yoghurt, this dessert only takes minutes to make. Try to make it the day before - for the fluffiest texture. 

YOGHURT MOUSSE WITH RASPBERRY SAUCE

900 g/2 lb plain stirred yoghurt, or 500 g/1 lb 2 oz set or strained yoghurt
125 ml/4 floz/½ cup double (heavy) cream
4 tbsp castor (superfine granulated) sugar
4 egg whites

To serve:
vanilla sugar, sifted, for sprinkling 
300 ml/10 floz/1 ¼ cups whipping (heavy) cream 
200 g/7 oz/scant 2 cups fresh berries (optional)
8 sprigs of mint or lemon verbena
1 quantity Raspberry Sauce

You will also need:
6 - 8 perforated molds (optional) 
6 - 8 small squares of muslin (cheesecloth), or 1 large piece of muslin

Line a sieve with paper towel and set it over a mixing bowl. Add the yoghurt and leave to drain for about 3 hours if using set or strained yoghurt and measure out 400 g/14 oz to use in this recipe.

Place the drained yoghurt in a large mixing bowl and whisk in the cream and sugar. In a separate large bowl, whisk the egg whites until they form fairly stiff peaks, then lightly fold them into the yoghurt mixture.

Dampen the muslin squares and use them to line the perforated molds. Alternatively, line a medium-sized sieve with a large piece of damp muslin. Pile the mousse mixture into the molds or sieve and place in or on something to collect the moisture that will seep out. The mixture will sink slightly as the water from the egg whites drains away. Leave the mousses to drain overnight (if you have the time) or just for an hour or so in the fridge. 

To serve, turn out the mousses or mousse and serve with a bowl of vanilla sugar, a jug of cream, fresh berries (if using), a sprig of mint or verbena, and the raspberry sauce (see Lyn Hall's Cookery Course).  

Country Matters - 2007 © Lyn Hall