My wife recently observed, and not perhaps without some small justification, that I make the same six meals continually (and that six, is being kind).
This dreary monotony is relieved by that fact that we do occasionally order in, and more so, by the fact that my wife herself is a superb cook and baker, although also a strict vegetarian.
I was told a few days ago, as she left for work, that she had a generous portion of her own cooking left over, and I only needed to cater for myself and the boys.
My initial reaction was to consider Pie and Mash. Simple, ever acceptable to teenage palates, and highly suitable Autumnal fare… however, mindful of previous reproaches, and aware that we have Pie (almost ) every week, I looked for some easy, but less usual option.
Lasagne, a beef lasagne!
This is not a dish which occurred natively in my homeland of 1980. Indeed I think it would be fair to say that I was raised on a narrow and rather parochial diet, heavily involving chips, actually fried in a pan. I can still recall an Aunt making pasta and Bolognaise for us for the first ever time, (I would have been 11 or 12?). Prior to that I think our closest encounter with the cuisine of Italy was probably a tin of spaghetti hoops.
In fairness, my parents did adopt that particular dish and we would eat many more dinners of Spag-Bol, all made to the very letter of that hand written recipe. Lasagne or indeed pasta of any bizarre shape did not cross my plate until I was a student fending for myself.
Now it is my privilege not just to be wed to an excellent cook, but to be close friends with many, all of whom have fed me with exquisite pasta dishes, often including delicious Lasagne in many guises.
I intend no slight to any of these people, but sadly, when the word “Lasagne” is used, the initial image conjured up in my mind is not one of these lovingly home-cooked dishes.
No, my mental picture predates these fabulous offerings and was more rudely established in earlier days …what I see, is a Frozen Findus Lasagne.
It is not my purpose to discourse on the lack of value, nutritional or otherwise, of budget freezer food from the 1980’s. Nor indeed to debate on the presence or absence of horse-meat in any dish (I have no real objection, but I do want to know!). The point is simply that if I am asked to picture a Lasagne, particularly a beef Lasagne, that is what I see.
Red sleeve. Small Tin tray, 4 or 5 layers of pasta with a mince based tomato sauce in between, and a thin white sauce on the top only, which could be readily augmented by adding a few slices of cheddar before placing in the oven.
Yes, even I have grown beyond this picture, but somehow the idea that Lasagne is a kind of flat Bolognaise, has never really left.
So when I was contemplating dinner for the boys, it was as simple as mince in a tomato sauce, layered with sheets, top with something cheesy, and bunged in the oven. Experience has shown that all these ingredients can be presented in almost any order and they’ll still be acceptable to my remarkably fussy sons. (I have none to blame but myself…).
Having painted myself in a rather poor light, I should say that I’ve never had any pretensions to culinary skills. If I feed you, you’ll get Gusto, Bon-hommie and wine in equal parts, and hopefully won’t go hungry. (If my wife is feeding you, you’ve come to a very different class of establishment).
I do in fact make a Veggie Lasagne courtesy of a Delia book 1, which is very popular even with Chris, but it is – in my mental menu – a different animal. I meticulously go to the much splattered page, every single time for each step.
I proceed to go shopping to buy mince and pasta sheets. My eldest I employ in making the Tomato sauce, This is not a mistake, he’s good at it and its almost the only kitchen task he’ll actually undertake, so I don’t look a gift horse in the mouth. I will need a little white sauce for the top, but… I can steal that from Delia where it’s a major constituent of her Cheese based veggie dish.
My next hurdle is that the local Lidl has the choice of a giant economy sized container of beef mince (Feed the whole Regiment!), or one, just one, small – almost single person – portion. However I recall that earlier this year I was treated to a particularly tasty dish by a friend (the one who works as a chef in the Italian restaurant), and part of the “secret ingredient” was a combination of beef AND pork. Solution, one pack pork mince – one pack beef mince… ta-dah!
So far so good, and while this is not meat fresh from a butchers, it is at least packets of actual meat and not the tinned mince on which I grew up.
However by the time I return home, I realise that my wife will be back shortly, almost certainly looking to make some (late) lunch. Rather than confront her with the carnivorous aroma of browning meat, I wait.
This allows time for my purchases and mild preparation to be scrutinised.
I cannot – it seems- brown my mince and then add the diligently made Tomato sauce…and where is my sofrito? A vague bell rings and I recall some detail from the professional chef about onion and carrot and, and, and celery! Well of course I was going to chop some onion. And Yes, I imagine there will already be onion in the Tomato sauce…so apparently I am to save the sauce for another night and carry on with the recipe …what recipe?
I undertake to finely chop (I remember that much) an onion, a rather sad end of celery and grate in one carrot. I have no idea what proportions this should take or how much there should be in relation to the mince, so I opt for the seemingly safe “about the same of each” which is then dictated by the small amount of celery to hand. Anticipating adding the mince, I cook this in “my” pan (the one I’m allowed to use for meat).
This progresses and I start on the Deliah white sauce, of which I’m now going to need a lot more. How much more. I can do this. It’s the same Lasagne dish I use for the Veggie meal so, I’ll need the same amount of sauce – it rather belated occurs that I have no easy way to check, other than by my unpractised eye, whether I have enough mince for this dish, especially as it is not in a runny Tomato sauce.
I am quite practised at the white sauce, but I do always make it in my “expendable” pan, and this is currently in use, so I select the next likely candidate, which is unfortunately a “legacy” pan (think heirloom). I have been strongly conditioned that a must not use any metal utensil near this lest I scratch the non-stick. Now the white sauce requires a constant whisking to avoid the sin of lumpiness, this is done with a steel whisk, so I exercise infinite care to stir the liquid and not touch the sides or bottom of the pan.
“What stock are you using?”
“Stock?”
“Are you planning to use just dry mince?”
“eh No!” (in the manner of -”of course not”)
I was planning to use mince in a Tomato sauce. I am now in uncharted waters. Boil the kettle, find a measuring jug, find some stock powder (even if I was inclined and able, I no longer have time to contemplate making a stock).
Still stirring – I ponder how much stock? 1 litre? a cup full? a cap full? the mince although mixed and colouring nicely does look kind of dry.
I have a half litre jug so I settle on that, which immediately turns out to be waay too much and I now have mince soup.
Right I turn up the heat on the mince to reduce the liquid and keep stirring. My white sauce is beginning to bubble so I take it off, add the grated cheese and stir that in with a wooden spoon. I also have to keep the other pan moving or things start to burn while the stock bubbles furiously.
It occurs to me that this is may not end well…I plough on.
My wooden spoon is revealing that while I successfully avoided all contact with the surfaces of the legacy pan, I created an opportunity for an unappetising skin to burn on the bottom, and the sides. Since the sauce is still hot as lava it’s no easy matter to try and separate this disgusting goo.
In the end I rescue maybe half the sauce at the price of a few mild burns.
The mince is still too watery but now over cooked (I guess), however I will employ my secret weapon, and ladle it into the dish with a slotted spoon.
Layer of sauce (still some bits), layer of mince, layer of lasagne.
And again.
and I run out of mince about half way through layer 3 and sauce (now the merest scraping )by its end.
A final topping of dry sheets?
Well I can grate cheese over them! However the oily packets of Galloway cheese that existed only in my youth, have been replaced in my life by a selection of dry and very tasty Cheddars, ideal for use on oatcakes, but imparting very little in the way of liquid when put in the oven.
I make some salad (a legal requirement) , tidy up, and wait.
My youngest boy I think said it best (speaking of the topmost layer)
“I see you’ve invented Pasta Crackling” which might be kindly said of the few edible corners.
The bulk of the dish was…well, you could eat it, if you were hungry enough, and to be fair they were.
We saved the other half in the freezer in case….I’m not really sure what emergency would qualify, possibly one involving patching walls?
I have told this sad, and hopefully salutary tale, not in search of remission or sympathy, but so that I can share my expensively learned lesson with you…
….buy a pie.
Tony Luckydog Wilson 23/10/20
Dalmallyfest the Asylum 