It is going to be a spherical type of dinner: the French-Canadian veterinary histopathologist with whom I live has pulled, at random, 3 cards, all of which feature round things stuffed with things that perhaps they should not be.
First up, Tomates au gratin, i.e. tomatoes with their insides taken out, mixed with breadcrumbs and (mild, pointless) cheddar and shoved in the oven, pulled from the "On a diet" section of the recipe cards. I broke the rules and added garlic, arguing that as garlic had only recently been invented in England by Elizabeth David at the time my recipe cards were written, there was a good chance that Mrs Patten might not have heard of it.
"Serves two for a light lunch with salad", writes Mrs P, "or as an accompaniment to grilled steak". She can use words like "light", "salad" and "grilled" as much as she likes, but I am not fooled: this is not diet food - it is made mainly of cheese and bread.
It is quite delicious. I shall make it again with stronger cheese and more garlic should I ever decide to have a 60s themed dinner party. (Highly unlikely - there is nothing less amusing than ironic food). Marks: 7/10.
Next up, Pommes farcies au jambon et aux poivrons. I do not like peppers (unless they are red and roasted), and I am afraid of ham, which can often be wet. This recipe tells me to dice ham, peppers and onions, 'lightly brown' them, stuff the resulting slop into the gaping maws of two stupid Granny Smith apples and bake the lot for 20 minutes.
It needs another 20 minutes but even imagining an apple that is softer, it is a pointless sort of food, that involves a relatively large amount of effort (I do not have an apple corer, for e.g., and do not intend to get one) for very little reward.
The final result, as you will see, looks like a tiny child has thrown up a pizza on a cheap beach ball, and it has no place in my kitchen. (It is however an excellent diet food, because you do not eat much of it.) Marks: 2/10
Finally, Paniers aux fruits, or Fruit Baskets. Some excitement involved in making meringue (despite it being a boring sort of meringue involving just sugar and egg white; no for e.g. vanilla); even more excitement involved in shaping said meringue into a 'basket' shape. Time passes; the meringues are put in the oven. I make stewed apple, as instructed by Mrs P. I whip some cream. And then, also following Mrs P's instructions, I add some green food dye. It looks like soft-scoop mint chocolate chip icecream.
It is OK, but not worth the effort. I eat half but only because I am hungry after the virtually inedible stuffed apples. Marks: 4/10.
And finally, the review from the French-Canadian veterinary research pathologist to whom, I would like to remind you, I am married. To be frank, I had no idea that he was such a sauce. Brace yourselves, friends.
"I don’t know much about this Marguerite Patten person, but one thing is becoming abundantly clear, from this entirely random sampling of her régime/diet and dessert recipes: the lady likes her some balls. Evidently here, the word ‘régime’ should be taken figuratively, as a ‘regimen’ of sorts, one that has actually little to do with food, but much more with the expression, or at the very least sublimation, of a very deep-seated, ravenous hunger.
Apparently Marguerite was a young cook in London during WWII, a time when, one can only surmise, there were very few tomatoes, apples, or able-bodied men to go around. Which, I’m sure you’ll agree, can only have led to the birth of an all-consuming fascination with balls. The actual food here is a secondary, unimportant detail – tomatoes with cheesy stuffing: yeah sure, an easy classic, done to death but always a crowd pleaser, she probably copied the recipe distractedly from The Joy of Cooking while gazing out the window and wisfully dreaming of real warm round things to fondle. Apples desultorily stuffed with incongruous peppers and ham, and barely cooked – this is immensely more disturbing, and must have originated at the darkest, bleakest hour of the Battle of Britain, a time when Marguerite surely believed she’d never again have a chance to grab some warm balls and stuff them in her mouth.
As for the dessert, well, the meringue and berries bear witness to a more hopeful, cheery state of mind, and must have been dreamed up when the war ended and the soldiers were coming home – the only possible reason for dying green some perfectly fine apple sauce being Marguerite, hormones frothing up, getting hypnotized by the returning tommies’ green uniforms, and the wondrous rounded pleasurelands hiding underneath."
I should like to point out that this juncture that it was the reviewer who 'accidentally' pulled out three ball-featuring recipes from the box, not Mrs Patten who forced him to choose them. I am just saying.
Pip pip!
* I fear the only use she had for olive oil was the type of olive oil that came in a little bottle from Boots for the loosening of earwax.
