
Chef Thomas
Cauliflower Cheese
A whole cauliflower blanketed in strong, mustardy cheese sauce, baked until the top blisters gold and the kitchen smells like the kind of evening where nothing else needs doing.
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Created by Chef Thomas
A West Country farmhouse pie of lamb layered with Bramleys, onions and prunes under a golden shortcrust lid, the sweet-savoury balance so quietly right it makes you wonder why it was ever forgotten.
October rain on the window. The Bramleys are in, the last of them, pulled from the tree at the bottom of the garden where they've been dropping into the grass all month. This is their best use, I think. Not a crumble, not a sauce, but here, layered with lamb and onion and dark, sticky prunes inside a pie that most people have never heard of and Devon is in danger of losing altogether.
Devonshire squab pie has nothing to do with squab. No pigeon. The name is old and the reason for it is lost, which feels about right for a dish this unassuming. It's lamb and apples under pastry. That's all. But the balance of sweet and savoury is quietly remarkable, the kind of thing that makes you put your fork down after the first bite and look at the plate properly, because something is happening that you didn't expect. The apple melts into the lamb juices. The prunes go soft and almost jammy. The nutmeg, grated generously, ties it all together without announcing itself.
I found this recipe years ago in a second-hand bookshop in Totnes, in a little paperback of West Country cooking that cost fifty pence and smelled of damp. I wrote it down in the notebook and have been making it every autumn since. It's the kind of pie that belongs to a particular sort of evening: cold outside, warm in, nowhere to be. Right food, right evening.
There are few better feelings than putting a warm pie in front of someone on a night like that and watching them come back for a second slice without being asked.
Quantity
300g
Quantity
150g
cubed
Quantity
pinch
Quantity
3-4 tablespoons
Quantity
700g
cut into thick slices
Quantity
2 large
peeled and sliced into rings
Quantity
2
peeled, cored, and thickly sliced
Quantity
12
Quantity
for grating
Quantity
a few sprigs
Quantity
to taste
Quantity
200ml
Quantity
1
beaten, for glazing
| Ingredient | Quantity |
|---|---|
| plain flour | 300g |
| cold unsalted buttercubed | 150g |
| fine sea salt | pinch |
| cold water | 3-4 tablespoons |
| lamb neck fillet or boneless shouldercut into thick slices | 700g |
| onionspeeled and sliced into rings | 2 large |
| Bramley applespeeled, cored, and thickly sliced | 2 |
| pitted prunes | 12 |
| whole nutmeg | for grating |
| thyme | a few sprigs |
| fine sea salt and black pepper | to taste |
| lamb or chicken stock | 200ml |
| eggbeaten, for glazing | 1 |
Tip the flour and salt into a large bowl. Add the cold butter and rub it in with your fingertips until the mixture looks like rough breadcrumbs. Some pieces of butter should still be visible, flat little shards that will make the pastry flaky. Add the cold water a tablespoon at a time, cutting it through with a knife, until the dough just comes together. Don't overwork it. Gather it into a flat disc, wrap in cling film, and put it in the fridge for at least thirty minutes. The pastry needs to rest. So do you.
While the pastry rests, lay the lamb slices out and season them well with salt, pepper, and a good grating of nutmeg. Be generous with the nutmeg. It's the quiet backbone of this pie, the thing that ties the meat and the fruit together without anyone quite being able to name it.
Find a deep pie dish, about 1.5 litres. Start with a layer of lamb on the bottom, slightly overlapping. Follow with a layer of onion rings, then a layer of apple slices. Tuck four or five prunes in amongst it all and scatter over a few thyme leaves stripped from their stalks. Another grating of nutmeg. Repeat the layers until everything is used, finishing with a final layer of lamb and onion. The apples will cook down to almost nothing, sweet and yielding, holding the whole thing together. Pour the stock in slowly at the side of the dish. It should come about halfway up.
Set the oven to 180°C/160°C fan. Roll the pastry out on a floured surface until it's a little larger than the top of the dish, about the thickness of a pound coin. Wet the rim of the dish with a little water or beaten egg. Lay the pastry over the top, pressing the edges to seal, and trim the overhang with a knife. Crimp the edges with a fork or your fingers, whichever feels natural. Cut a small slit in the centre to let the steam out. Brush the top with beaten egg. The glaze is vanity, but earned: it gives the crust that deep, conker-brown shine that makes the kitchen feel like the right place to be.
Put the pie on a baking tray (to catch any runaway juices) and bake for about two hours. After the first thirty minutes, turn the oven down to 160°C/140°C fan if the pastry is colouring too quickly. You can lay a sheet of foil loosely over the top if it needs protecting. The pie is done when the pastry is a deep golden brown, the filling is bubbling up through the steam hole, and the kitchen smells of lamb and apples and thyme and something you can't quite place, which is the nutmeg doing its work.
Let it sit for ten to fifteen minutes before you bring it to the table. This isn't optional. The filling needs to settle, the juices to thicken slightly, the first frantic heat to ease. Serve it with mashed potatoes and something green. Steamed cabbage with butter. Purple sprouting broccoli if it's the right time of year. Nothing complicated. The pie is the thing.
1 serving (about 300g)
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