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One of the few things that I have lamented all these years of not having a Christmas Dinner, has been the absence of my Boxing Day treat – possibly one of my favourite meals of the year when I was younger. Now that I live in Scotland, Boxing Day is notable for its absence but that was not going to stop me.

All the leftovers from Tuesday’s dinner were mashed together, along with some extra potatoes and cabbage that I boiled up in the morning. I fried it off slowly in a heavy bottomed pan, using the goose fat reclaimed from Tuesday’s roast potatoes. I let the whole thing cook until it was crispy on the bottom, turning it over and repeating until the whole mass was full of lovely crusty black bits.

Boxing Day Bubble and Squeak – it may be common but, oh, it is sublime.

Continuing my season of daily experimentation, I asked Mr L what I should bake today and flung my bread books at him. I expected him to ask for Bagels or Croissants or something. No. He wants the Flamiche from one of the Bertinet books (off hand, I think it is the Crust one) for lunch today. So it’s a basic bread dough again, dressed up with some of the best things in life on top. (We shall have to make a  few adaptations – like substituting shallot for the leeks, local dry-cured smoked streaky bacon for the pancetta, and improvising the Gruyère element. I don’t think it matters – Richard has a Flamiche recipe here that barely resembles the one that we are using in his book.) Green salad on the side. Glass of white wine.

We’re going up in the world.

 

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