24 September 2007
Autumn Food
For all that I cook happily year-round, there’s something about autumn that makes me want to cook more. I think it’s probably to do with being brought up in the country, for one thing, when you could actually see harvests coming in. Sure, in Wexford it was grain, sugar-beet, and sometimes potatoes, and not a lot else, but you’d see people picking apples in orchards too, and blackberries and crab apples from hedgerows, and the rare white damsons from the secret places where a few people knew they grew. And with harvest festivals and nature tables in school, there was more of a consciousness of food being brought in.
Pork is very much a seasonal food for me. I’m pretty sure that traditionally, pigs wouldn’t have been brought in until late October, when they’d stuffed themselves on acorns and anything else they could find, but from September onward, pork and apple sauce commend themselves greatly. Some say gravy and apple sauce is overdoing it; I disagree. You want apple sauce for the pork, and gravy for the mashed potatoes.
And pigeon. I know pigeon’s not commonly eaten any more, except in really classy restaurants and in very rural areas - a divide which amuses me greatly. My father used to go pigeon-shooting after the grain fields were cleared. When I was old enough, I went along, and got to go on decoy duty, which is where you belt out after a shot takes down a bird, and arrange it on the field so that it looks like it’s feeding, and lures in more pigeons. City pigeons are flying rats, and in respect of what they do, country ones are similar scavengers. Loose grain makes for far finer birds than stray rubbish, though, and we sometimes brought home twenty, thirty, forty birds in an evening. Oddly, though I recall the taste perfectly, I can’t remember how it was cooked.
In line with that, I’m planning to go sea-fishing with my brothers next weekend. Last time they were out, they got a good selection of fish, mostly mackerel, alongside a few others, and they report that it’s a zero-skill matter, unlike fly-fishing, which I’ve never quite had the patience to learn. We’re going out from Kilmore Quay at an early hour, so it’ll be a bit of an expedition from Dublin.
Nina and I picked blackberries in Bushy Park last weekend - not many, a couple of handfuls each, eaten on the spot - but enough to show that they’re out there. We may have to go hunting for more. I last made blackberry jam in 2005, and due to my over-enthusiasm for getting a good set, it was like rubber. This year, if we get enough to make jam, I’ll barely bring it to the boil before I bottle it up - blackberries are clearly not lacking in pectin.
When I’m down in Wexford, I might wander down to that secret white-damson patch, and see if there are any there still. I can’t for the life of me recall the picking season for the things, but I do remember damson jam as being excellent; a midway point between the tartness of rhubarb and the sweetness of plum.
Something we never had when I was a kid was venison, but my family are in touch with someone who can get it. So if things work out well, this autumn’s menu may also involve that. Last time we had it, we roasted it, having marinaded it overnight in a bottle of shiraz and more herbs and spices than you could shake a cinnamon stick at. I’m minded to try grilling next time, and maybe a casserole or the like. Or game pie, if I can get some more kinds of game…
Yum. My mouth is watering!