A souper tale
A Scottish soup with a cheeky name and a little detour into Wellington food history.
When I was about 10, I got a new teacher called Mr Saunders. One morning, Mr Saunders, who was from Darwin and told us stories about crocodiles and the Dreamtime, asked us what we had for dinner last night. I really didn’t want to answer this question. My classmates all ate ordinary things, like meat and three veg, or boil-up, or spaghetti on toast. (Looking back, some of them probably didn’t have any dinner, which was maybe what Mr Saunders was trying to ascertain.)
I didn’t want to draw any attention to myself by saying that we’d had ‘King of the mountain’ soup, a clear broth with giant meatballs and vegetables in it, because this would be considered very weird. I knew that describing it as ‘like cazuela’ (a Chilean dish of chicken or beef and vegetables poached in broth), wasn’t the right answer either. So instead of just saying ‘soup’, I told him I couldn’t remember. For some reason, Mr Saunders wouldn’t let this go and it turned into a weird battle of wills that bizarrely culminated in my mother inviting him to lunch so she could make it for him.
Why am I telling you this story? It’s because I’ve been in a decluttering frame of mind that’s included examining my mother’s recipe clippings. Alas, ‘King of the mountain’ soup has not been among them. Maybe she tore it up to excise the trauma. Or maybe it wasn’t actually that good. Anyway, in the process, while thinking about broth-y soups, I remembered making this cheeky number for Frankie magazine a wee while back. There are no kings or mountains, just chicken, leeks, prunes and beef stock. It’s really good! But heaven help the kid who has to explain this to their teacher.
Cockaleekie
The ingredients for this may sound unlikely - prunes? - but together they make magic. This cheeky little number dates back to the 16th century, when it was apparently quite the thing in bonnie Scotland. It was also known as Auld Reekie, but I think you can see why that name hasn’t stood the test of time. Use really good quality beef stock and a happy chicken for best results.
2 litres (8 cups) best quality beef stock
1 whole chicken
3 large leeks
2 cups prunes
Put the stock in a very large pot and set over medium heat. Bring to a simmer.
While you’re waiting for it to heat up, prepare the leeks. Slice off the root ends and green tops, then slice each one lengthways. Wash under cold running water to remove any grit. Cut one leek into 1cm slices and set aside. Cut the other two into thirds and tie together with kitchen string (cotton, not blue plastic in the style of Bridget Jones).
When the stock is simmering, carefully put the chicken, breast-side up, and tied-up leeks into the pot. Cover and simmer gently for 40 minutes, then add the prunes. Cover and continue to simmer for another 30 minutes, until the chicken is cooked through.
Take the pot off the heat and remove the chicken to a large plate. Discard the leek bundles. Skim as much fat from the stock as you can (use a fat separator jug or skim it with a large spoon). Alternatively, chill the stock, then scrape the solid fat from the surface (this is the easiest way and the most satisfying). Remove the skin from the chicken, then shred the flesh and discard the bones.
When you are ready to serve, return the defatted stock to the heat. Add the chicken and the sliced leeks and cook for five minutes, until piping hot.
Good Things
What’s yours Dad? ‘Beef’
Speaking of childhood trauma, I still remember the horror of biting into a beef stock cube that I’d mistaken for a chocolate treat (it was square, covered in foil and on the top shelf of the pantry - I thought I’d hit the jackpot). Now most stock cubes give me the horrors for a host of other reasons. This widely available Gault’s stock concentrate is a far better option, not least because you’re unlikely to knock it back by the spoonful.
Capital of Kai
Warning: if you’re my age or older, the new Capital of Kai exhibition at Wellington Museum may be confronting. It’s a very charming look at how the city’s culinary scene has evolved over the last 100+ years, but I was surprised that scenes from (what feels like) the recent past are deemed historic enough to be in a museum. Lots of great photos (especially a lovely one of Lois Daish), paraphenalia and thoughtful storytelling.
‘Why are you the mayor of this town if you hate everyone so much?’
All Mayor Tom Loftis (Matthew Rhys) wants is for the island community of Widow’s Bay to get a little love from tourists to boost its economy and morale. Alas, a half-buried history of cannibalism, killer clowns, sea hags and other things that go bump in the night are in his way. Widow’s Bay (on Apple) is a clever mix of awkward interactions, jump scares and oddball characters that will make your neighbours seem really normal.
Hope you can make the most of the long weekend,
Lucy