
Chef Thomas
A Proper Ploughman's Board
A board of good cheddar, thick ham, proper pickle, hard-boiled eggs, and crusty bread. Not cooking so much as assembling with conviction, and one of the finest lunches the English kitchen has ever produced.
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Chopped beef steak, onion, and suet in a horseshoe of pastry, baked until the kitchen smells like a Saturday in Angus. Two holes in the crust. No potato. Noargument.
January rain on the windows and the oven already warm. That's when a bridie makes sense. Not a pasty, not a pie, not a sausage roll. A bridie. From Forfar, in Angus, where they've been making them long enough to have settled every argument about what goes inside.
The filling is chopped beef steak, onion, and suet. That's it. No potato, no swede, no carrot. If you put potato in a bridie, you've made a pasty and someone from Forfar will tell you so. The meat is chopped, never minced. This matters more than you'd think. Chopped steak has grain and texture; mince has neither. The suet melts through as it bakes, keeping everything rich and damp inside the pastry. Two holes in the crust means there's onion. One hole means plain. I've never understood the plain ones, but there it is.
The pastry is short, buttery, and wants to be rolled out without fuss. The shape is a horseshoe, crimped along the top, not folded along the side like a Cornish pasty. Every region has its geometry and Forfar's is this: a curved thing, golden brown, warm in the hand, deeply satisfying eaten standing up in a cold kitchen or wrapped in paper for a long walk.
I wrote it down in the notebook after the first time I made them at home: beef, onion, suet, pastry. Cold day. Good.
Quantity
450g
trimmed of sinew, chopped into small pieces
Quantity
75g
shredded
Quantity
1 medium
finely chopped
Quantity
to taste
Quantity
to taste
Quantity
1 tablespoon
Quantity
350g
Quantity
pinch
Quantity
175g
cubed
Quantity
4-5 tablespoons
Quantity
1
beaten, for glazing
| Ingredient | Quantity |
|---|---|
| rump steaktrimmed of sinew, chopped into small pieces | 450g |
| beef suetshredded | 75g |
| onionfinely chopped | 1 medium |
| fine sea salt | to taste |
| black pepper | to taste |
| cold water | 1 tablespoon |
| plain flour | 350g |
| fine sea salt (for pastry) | pinch |
| cold unsalted buttercubed | 175g |
| ice-cold water (for pastry) | 4-5 tablespoons |
| eggbeaten, for glazing | 1 |
Put the flour and salt in a large bowl. Add the cold butter and rub it in with your fingertips until the mixture looks like rough breadcrumbs with some larger, flattish pieces of butter still visible. Those pieces are what give the pastry its flake. Add the ice-cold water a tablespoon at a time, cutting it through with a knife, until the dough just holds together when you press a handful. Don't overwork it. Wrap in cling film, press into a flat disc, and rest it in the fridge for at least thirty minutes.
Chop the steak by hand into small pieces, roughly the size of your little fingernail. Not minced, chopped. This is the difference between a bridie and something lesser. The texture of chopped beef in a pastry is entirely different from mince: it has bite, it has grain, it has the feeling of proper meat. Mix it in a bowl with the chopped onion and the suet. Season generously with salt and pepper and add a tablespoon of cold water to help the filling steam inside the pastry as it bakes.
Set the oven to 200C/180C fan. Roll the pastry out on a lightly floured surface to the thickness of a pound coin. Cut four rounds, each about the size of a dinner plate. Divide the filling between the rounds, spooning it onto one half and leaving a good border. Fold the uncovered half over to make a horseshoe shape, not a half-moon. The straight edge is the top and you crimp it by pressing and folding the pastry over itself with your fingers. It doesn't need to be beautiful. It needs to be sealed. Poke two small holes in the top of each bridie. Two holes means onion inside. That's the tradition.
Brush each bridie with beaten egg. Place them on a baking tray lined with parchment. Bake for thirty to thirty-five minutes, until the pastry is a deep, confident gold and the kitchen smells of butter and beef and something you want to eat immediately. The pastry should feel firm when you tap it, and the colour should be even, darker at the crimped edges where the layers have browned. Let them rest for five minutes before eating. The filling inside is scalding.
1 serving (about 280g)
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