"Pub Lunch" Mushrooms
May. 9th, 2021 11:52 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
narya_flameBack in the 90s, garlic mushrooms were a staple starter in many English pubs. They came piping hot in a tiny individual casserole dish, often accompanied by thick slices of buttered toast and a wilting heap of cress and cucumber masquerading as a salad. It's a dish that's fallen out of fashion, but I loved it as a kid, and it holds fond memories of family birthday parties when we'd all gather around a long table in a function room, reminiscing, laughing and looking to the future.
As the pandemic hit, I sought comfort food. This was an obvious candidate to try and recreate, but annoyingly, I hadn't been able to get it right. When I cooked the mushrooms simply in butter, garlic and pepper, they lacked a little something. I seemed to recall the sauce being a dark creamy-grey rather than translucent, so I tried adding double cream (too rich), sour cream (too like a stroganoff – nothing wrong with a stroganoff but not what I was going for) and yoghurt (just no).
Eventually, frustrated, I rang my grandmother – my Dad's mum. She ran a pub of her own in the 80s and very early 90s, and she is a mine of sneaky cooking tips and unlikely recipes.
“Put milk in it,” she said, sounding bewildered that I'd needed to ask.
Milk? Milk? I screwed my nose up. She was losing it.
“And a tiny pinch of mustard powder.”
A bit of a kick. That sounded more sensible.
“Lots of butter and salt, as well. Lots and lots – much more than you think is good for you.”
That, too, seemed about right for the war generation.
“And proper bread, not that silly stuff with holes in it.”
Very on brand. I thanked her, shrugged my shoulders, and gave it one more go.
It was bloody perfect.
Serves One
Melt 50g butter in a small saucepan over a very low heat. Finely mince two garlic cloves and fry gently in the butter for a couple of minutes. Don't let them colour.
Meanwhile, cut one very thick slice of white farmhouse bread. Sourdough could work too, or “giraffe” bread or whatever Sainsbury's are calling it this week, but basically it needs to be something thick that will soak up sauce without falling to pieces, and it absolutely has to be white. Put into the toaster (easier than messing about with the grill, for one person) but don't pull the lever down yet.
Chop approx. 80-100g mushrooms into bitesize chunks, e.g. quarters, or thick slices. (I honestly wouldn't use chanterelles, girolles, oyster mushrooms etc. for this – they're very nice and I love them for other purposes, but for sheer 90s nostalgia, plain field mushrooms are the way to go.)
Add the mushrooms to the pan with lots of black pepper and a very generous pinch of sea salt flakes, and cook until soft and dark. The mushroom juices should mingle with the butter to form a dark, glossy sauce; put a small splash of whole milk into this (no more than you'd put in a cup of tea) and add ¼ teaspoon Dijon mustard (I didn't have mustard powder). Bring the sauce to a gentle bubble and put the toast on.
While the bread toasts and the sauce thickens, snip 4-6 chives into tiny pieces. Generously butter the toast (yes, even with the buttery sauce to come). Take the mushrooms off the heat, stir in about ¾ of the chives, then spoon it all onto the hot buttered toast. Add one more grind of black pepper, scatter over the remaining chives, and serve.
Apparently, Grandma still knows best.
As the pandemic hit, I sought comfort food. This was an obvious candidate to try and recreate, but annoyingly, I hadn't been able to get it right. When I cooked the mushrooms simply in butter, garlic and pepper, they lacked a little something. I seemed to recall the sauce being a dark creamy-grey rather than translucent, so I tried adding double cream (too rich), sour cream (too like a stroganoff – nothing wrong with a stroganoff but not what I was going for) and yoghurt (just no).
Eventually, frustrated, I rang my grandmother – my Dad's mum. She ran a pub of her own in the 80s and very early 90s, and she is a mine of sneaky cooking tips and unlikely recipes.
“Put milk in it,” she said, sounding bewildered that I'd needed to ask.
Milk? Milk? I screwed my nose up. She was losing it.
“And a tiny pinch of mustard powder.”
A bit of a kick. That sounded more sensible.
“Lots of butter and salt, as well. Lots and lots – much more than you think is good for you.”
That, too, seemed about right for the war generation.
“And proper bread, not that silly stuff with holes in it.”
Very on brand. I thanked her, shrugged my shoulders, and gave it one more go.
It was bloody perfect.
Serves One
Melt 50g butter in a small saucepan over a very low heat. Finely mince two garlic cloves and fry gently in the butter for a couple of minutes. Don't let them colour.
Meanwhile, cut one very thick slice of white farmhouse bread. Sourdough could work too, or “giraffe” bread or whatever Sainsbury's are calling it this week, but basically it needs to be something thick that will soak up sauce without falling to pieces, and it absolutely has to be white. Put into the toaster (easier than messing about with the grill, for one person) but don't pull the lever down yet.
Chop approx. 80-100g mushrooms into bitesize chunks, e.g. quarters, or thick slices. (I honestly wouldn't use chanterelles, girolles, oyster mushrooms etc. for this – they're very nice and I love them for other purposes, but for sheer 90s nostalgia, plain field mushrooms are the way to go.)
Add the mushrooms to the pan with lots of black pepper and a very generous pinch of sea salt flakes, and cook until soft and dark. The mushroom juices should mingle with the butter to form a dark, glossy sauce; put a small splash of whole milk into this (no more than you'd put in a cup of tea) and add ¼ teaspoon Dijon mustard (I didn't have mustard powder). Bring the sauce to a gentle bubble and put the toast on.
While the bread toasts and the sauce thickens, snip 4-6 chives into tiny pieces. Generously butter the toast (yes, even with the buttery sauce to come). Take the mushrooms off the heat, stir in about ¾ of the chives, then spoon it all onto the hot buttered toast. Add one more grind of black pepper, scatter over the remaining chives, and serve.
Apparently, Grandma still knows best.
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Date: 2021-05-09 01:35 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2021-05-09 01:44 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2021-05-09 01:58 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2021-05-09 02:03 pm (UTC)grandma always knows best and I regret a lot that I didn't get more tips from mine when she was still around.
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Date: 2021-05-09 02:07 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2021-05-09 02:08 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2021-05-09 02:08 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2021-05-09 02:09 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2021-05-09 02:49 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2021-05-09 03:14 pm (UTC)(I have no contact with one side of the my family for Very Good Reasons I'm not going into, but have heard that they are gone.)
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Date: 2021-05-09 06:40 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2021-05-10 02:13 pm (UTC)*grins*
Glad Grandma came through and you got your comfort food. :)
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Date: 2021-05-11 05:54 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2021-05-11 05:54 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2021-05-13 09:55 am (UTC)