I apologise in advance to Mrs Patten, but cannot excuse the grapes

In the night, the dark thoughts come. Why am I in Canada? Why haven't I got a pony? What am going to do when I grow up? Why aren't I going grey (on my head)? What have I done with my English cheque book, why don't pedicures last, and why does my left heel hurt so very, very much?

But all this is as nothing compared to the new dark fear that gnaws at my toes whilst the pathologist slumbers: what if Marguerite Patten is super-'on it' with the internets? What if Marguerite Patten is bored one day and decides to Google herself? What if Marguerite Patten, author of 170 cookbooks which have sold millions and millions of copies across the world, television star, advisor and friend to many British housewives during the war and after it, reads my blog and is offended?

Mrs Patten, if by any chance you are reading this (you will be my fifth reader ever!!),  I admire you very much. If I am rude about your recipes, it is not you: it is, or was, the food of the times (i.e., 1967) that we are being rude about. Your sausagey rolls are magnificent; the fruit with fish, not so. Margarine was king and garlic was not freely available anywhere when you were writing the recipes that crept onto my cards. Mrs Patten, the inevitable day will come with the pathologist plucks "Kidney Soup" out of the box. I will cook it, and I will eat it, Mrs Patten, and I will salute you with my spoon.

Interesting side fact about Maguerite Patten: the recipe cards I have are in American measures (i.e., cups), but are in French. That means that there was an entire edition made for Quebec only. I think this is quite impressive and probably quite a good indication of how famous she was. Or how terrible food was in Quebec as well in the late 60s. Maybe both.

But to business! What have we here? We have a strange evening, full of joy (sausagey rolls!), fear (sole poached for 15 minutes in white wine with grapes!), and finally confusion (a cake that does not taste as it looks).

Cooking by me, photography and commentary by the pathologist (transcribed word-for-word, as usual). Me, I speak in the italics. Here goes!!!

Roulés au jambon et au porc, aka ham and pork rolls
Imagine the most delicious sausage roll you have ever eaten, and this is what these are. I will give out the recipe if you want it. Easy if you can mince your own ham; not if you cannot. I can, because I am very fortunate. I would invent pique-nique opportunities just to eat these.

"They're delicious. What else is there to say?"





























Sole Véronique, aka Sole Veronique
It is rare that I spit food out. It is also rare that you can poach any fish in wine in a hot oven for 15 minutes without doing it serious damage. If you do that to sole under which you have tucked some grapes, you should be arrested.

"You can chew it with your tongue. It’s sort of disintegrated. How long did you leave it? 15 minutes? Let’s try it with a grape. The grapes are firmer. You can just eat the grapes. What kind of sauce is that? It feels a bit like you’re eating fish Jello but it’s actually softer than Jello. [Squelching sound] I’m enjoying my old person’s meal. My no-denture-needed …. The grapes with it are just vile. Incomprehensible. If there is one word to define this dish, it is: incomprehensible. Or, if you’re more concise, just: why?
[Starts to sing]
“Pourquoi, Vénoronique? Pourquoi tu m’as fait ça?
[I ask if this is a song of Quebec.]
No. I just made it up.

At least you didn’t put too much work in it. Once again I must empathise with the poor fish who gets taken out of his depths thousands and thousands of miles away to end up in a plate that only inspires disgust. It’s very sad for the poor sole. I wasn’t thinking about the soul soul, I was thinking about the sole. Make of that what you want.

Reminds me of my aunt’s cooking."


























Gâteau Renversé, a.k.a. upside down cake
Easy to make and what's not to like about making flowers out of dates and glacé cherries? Exactly.  Sadly, however, all was not as it seemed.

“Might be extremely dry. Has that gritty feel under the knife. Oh dear. Reminds me a bit of last week’s adventure.   It’s like there’s not enough fat or something in it.  Maybe with a lot of milk. A LOT of milk.  You cooked it upside down?  It has a nice … um… how do you say … scrubbing action on the throat. It’s like if you’ve got any phlegm in there it’ll just brush it as you swallow.

I’ve got to have some milk. It’s not far from being OK, it’s just like she forgot one thing … one missing ingredient that’s supposed to make it into a cake … it’s a collection of very dry ingredients.

Imagine if it was the thickness she made. Did you do half the recipe? [No.] Then why is hers so high? It’s a mystery, isn’t it. Maybe you could write to her. She’s still alive, isn’t she?   [I ask him why he is eating a second slice when it is so horrible.] I don’t know.  It’s like a moth to the flame.  I’m strangely attracted by its dryness. It’s like a black hole of fluid. It sucks away all fluid around it.  A dryhole.  That’s a bit dirty.  It’s my self-destructive streak. Marguerite is bringing out my suicidal tendencies.”





























When we have recovered, we will pick next week's recipes. I must confess I am looking forward to "getting down to it" with aspic. Fingers crossed!!!

Pip pip

NWM (and the Pathologist)