A Salad of Scotch Quails' Eggs in Straw-Potato Nests

I had never tasted a proper home-made Scotch egg until I married an Englishman*, and his mother Audrey Rayner made a clutch of them for a picnic. They were the shape of small rugby balls, crisp and golden, and inside the shells of spicy pork-sausage meat were whole eggs cooked to perfection, their yolks as yellow and fluffy as the centre of a daisy. This is a dish that takes a bit of effort and split-second timing. (And if you leave out the potato nests, these make excellent low-carb snacks.)

Scotch Quails' Eggs in Straw-Potato Nests

I was instantly smitten by this classic English picnic food and I ate three of them, with dabs of Mrs Balls Chutney, as I sat on on a tartan blanket on the slopes of Table Mountain, swigging warm tea from a (tartan-patterned) thermos flask. Audrey was probably a bit dismayed at how many of the Scotch eggs I wolfed that day, but I couldn't help myself.  They were very, very good, like all the proper English food that flowed from Audrey's kitchen, and I'm really sorry I didn't plague her for her secret formula before she passed away a few years ago. She would willingly have given me the recipe - really good and accomplished home cooks never mind sharing - but somehow I never got around to asking her.

I've done my best to recreate that delicious porky casing in this recipe. It's a daintier version of Audrey's one, using quails' eggs, newfangled salad greens and a nest of straw potatoes, and while it may not have the retrolicious appeal of cold Scotch eggs swaddled in tin foil and eaten while ants crawl over your legs, I promise there will be a few squeals of delight - from children, at least - when you bring the dish to the table.

I am interested to learn that the English department store Fortnum and Mason takes credit for inventing the Scotch egg in 1738.  I can't find any evidence online to back up this claim, nor any reference explaining why they are called 'Scotch'  eggs.  Wikipedia claims that the first printed recipe for Scotch eggs appeared in Maria Rundell's 1807 book A New System of Domestic Cookery, and here it is. Mrs Rundell's recipe is just five lines long, and uses anchovies or 'scraped ham' to flavour the forcemeat casing for the eggs, although it makes no mention of a breadcrumb coating.  'Fry of a beautiful yellow brown,' she says, 'and serve with good gravy in the dish.'

Quail's eggs, being so small, need to be cooked with some care so you don't end up with yolks like yellow bullets. For eggs with perfect centres, and no nasty green rings, exactly follow the cooking time I've given below. I have specified more eggs than you need to allow for breakages and other mishaps.

Salad of Scotch Quail's Eggs in Straw Potato Nests
20 quails’ eggs
12 good-quality pork sausages
6 fresh sage leaves, very finely minced
the finely grated zest of a lemon
a pinch of cayenne pepper (or more, to taste)
a pinch of allspice (optional)
a quarter of a whole nutmeg, very finely grated
salt and milled black pepper
2 eggs, lightly beaten
½ cup (125 ml) flour
1 cup fine dry breadcrumbs (Panko crumbs are ideal)
6 potatoes
sunflower oil for deep frying
2 bags of mixed green salad leaves, or enough for 8 people
a vinaigrette or salad dressing of your choice

Bring a large, deep pot of water to a gentle rolling boil.  Put all the eggs in a large metal sieve, immerse it very slowly in the boiling water, then very gently tilt the sieve so all the eggs roll out into the boiling water. (If you do this too quickly, the water will come off the boil and your timing will be ruined.) Boil the eggs for exactly two minutes and 20 seconds (set a timer!). Pour off the boiling water and fill the pot to the brim with cold water from the tap. Leave the pot under a trickling cold tap for 7 minutes, allowing the water to spill over the edges.

Drain the eggs, gently crack the shells and peel them. The shells should come away easily, but if they do not, peel them under cold running water. Pat the eggs dry and set aside.

Squeeze the meat out of the sausage skins and place in a mixing bowl. Add the sage, lemon zest, cayenne pepper, allspice and nutmeg, mix well, and season with salt and black pepper. Before you enclose the eggs, check the seasoning of the sausage meat by pinching off a marble-sized piece, flattening it into a patty and frying it in hot oil. Add more salt, pepper and spice, if necessary, and to taste.

Divide the sausage meat into 16 equal portions. Roll a portion into a ball, flatten it in the palm of your hand to make a patty and put a cooked quail’s egg on top.  Gently wrap the the meat around the egg to enclose it completely, pinching the mixture to close any gaps. Now roll the ball delicately between your palms to create a pleasing egg shape. Repeat with the remaining eggs.  Put the eggs on a plate, cover with clingfilm and chill for 30 minutes to firm up.

Place the flour on one large plate, the beaten eggs on another, and the breadcrumbs on the third plate. Roll the Scotch eggs in the flour and shake to remove the excess. Dip the eggs in the beaten egg yolk, then roll them gently in the breadcrumbs, patting down gently so that the crumbs stick.  Half fill a narrow-sided pot with sunflower oil and heat it to 165ºC. (If you don’t have a cooking thermometer, click here for deep-frying tips). Fry the eggs, four or five at a time, for four and a half minutes, or until crisp and golden brown. Remove and drain on kitchen paper.

Next make the straw potatoes. Using a mandolin or a very sharp knife, cut the potatoes – no need to peel them – into slices 3 mm thick. Place the slices in stacks and cut them vertically into very slim 'matchsticks'. Dry the matchsticks by squeezing them gently in a clean tea towel.  Heat the oil again and fry the matchstick potatoes, in three or four batches, for 2-3 minutes, or until they are golden and crisp. Drain well on several layers of kitchen paper and season generously with salt and pepper (or any highly seasoned salt you have in your cupboard).

To assemble the salad, arrange the leaves on a large salad platter. Pile the matchstick potatoes in a ring in the centre of the platter, and heap the warm Scotch eggs in the middle. Drizzle the vinaigrette over the leaves and serve immediately.

Serves 8. 

* My husband may have been born an Englishman, but actually he only lived in England for 8 years, and has been a South African for 43 years. The only trace of English about him these days is his ridiculous passion for Manchester United, and his fondness for steamed puddings and blackcurrants. Oh, and he also says 'yoggit' and 'tea towel' not 'yo-gert' and 'dish cloth'.

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Cape-Malay-Style Curried Lamb Kebabs with Apricots

A sosatie (so-sar-tee) is what South Africans call the full-size version of this succulent and highly spiced lamb or mutton kebab.

Drenched in a turmeric-yellow, sharp-sweet marinade, sosaties of this sort are usually threaded with chunks of raw onion, dried fruit and fresh bay or lemon leaves; traditionally they contained chunks of sheep fat, which helped keep the meat juicy.

My bite-sized version contains little fat, and the lamb is tenderised by a long marinating time and a small amount of plain yoghurt.

Welcome to the third in my series of delicious, easy football snacks with a South African flavour.

This is the sort of recipe that can bring tears to the eyes of a South African living away from home, so evocative is it of the lazy, woodsmoky scent of a traditional braai [barbeque].  This is one of the classics of South African cuisine, and is certainly - along with bobotie - the best-known of all Cape Malay dishes.

Some claim that the name 'sosatie' is derived from a combination of the words 'saus' [sauce] and 'sate', but the authoritative Dictionary of South African English on Historical Principles tells me that the Afrikaans/Dutch name 'sasaatje' comes from the Javanese word 'sesate', which means 'meat on skewers'.

The word first appeared in print, says the dictionary, in 1833.  So popular were these kebabs in the early days of the Cape, says that wonderful raconteur Lawrence Green in his book Tavern of the Seas, that many of the taverns of old Cape Town were known as 'Sosatie and Rice houses'.

Hildagonda Duckitt's "Where is it?" of Recipes, first published in 1891, gives a recipe for 'sasaties or kabobs' that does not differ substantially from a sosatie you might be offered at a family braai today, 120 years later.  As is the case with any hallowed recipe, every cook has his or her own closely guarded formula.

Sosaties are always cooked over hot coals. If you don't have access to a barbeque, you can cook them under a fiercely hot preheated oven grill. For an authentic taste, put the meat very close to the grill at first so that the edges of the meat and fruit just begin to catch and blacken. Then move the sosaties to the middle of the oven, turn down the heat and bake until the lamb is cooked through.

If you can't find lemon or orange leaves, use bay leaves (but citrus leaves are best, as they infuse the lamb with a wonderful perfume as it cooks). Ask your butcher for lamb from the leg or shoulder, or for some nice fatty mutton, if he has it.  You can add petals of raw onion to these kebabs, but be warned that they will retain a bit of raw crunch.

You will find all the ingredients below in a good spice shop.

Cape-Malay Style Curried Lamb Kebabs with Apricots

750 g lamb from the leg or shoulder, cut into large cubes
fresh lemon or orange leaves
24 dried apricots
melted butter for brushing

For the marinade:
40 g dried tamarind pulp
1 cup (250 ml) boiling water
4 Tbsp (60 ml) vegetable oil
2 onions, peeled and very finely chopped
3 cardamom pods
1 thumb-length quill of cinnamon
1 red chilli, seeds removed and finely chopped
2 Tbsp (30 ml) grated fresh ginger
3 cloves garlic, peeled and finely chopped
1½ tsp (7.5 ml) ground cumin
1 tsp (5 ml) ground coriander
1 tsp (5 ml) red chilli powder
3 Tbsp (45 ml) white wine vinegar
80 ml thick fruit chutney (Mrs Ball's Original, if you can find it)
2 Tbsp (30 ml) sugar
2 tsp (10 ml) mild curry powder
1½ tsp (7.5 ml) turmeric
½ cup (125 ml) water
salt and milled black pepper
the juice of half a lemon
½ cup (125 ml) plain white yoghurt

Put the tamarind in a small bowl and cover it with the boiling water. Set aside. Heat the oil in a pan and add the cardamom pods, cinnamon stick and onion. Cook, over a brisk heat, for 5 minutes, or until the onions take on a golden colour.

Add the chilli, ginger and garlic and cook for another minute or so, without allowing the garlic to brown. Stir in the cumin, coriander and chilli powder and allow to sizzle or two minutes, or until you have a rich golden paste. Now add the vinegar and chutney, turn down the heat and allow to bubble for three minutes.

Using your fingers, break up the tamarind pulp in the water. Tip the lot into a sieve set over a bowl, pressing down on the pulp to extract the juice. Discard the pulp. Pour the tamarind water into the pan and add the sugar, curry powder, turmeric and water.  Season with salt and pepper and simmer for 15 minutes.  Remove from the heat and allow to cool slightly.  Stir in the lemon juice and yoghurt.

Tip the marinade into a deep plastic or ceramic dish and add the lamb cubes. Stir well to coat, cover and place in the fridge for at least 24 hours, or longer if possible (you can make these three or four days in advance).

Pour some boiling water over the apricots and allow to soak for 5 minutes. Drain and set aside. Soak some slim satay sticks in water for 10 minutes. Cut the lemon, orange or bay leaves into pieces the size of a postage stamp.

Thread a piece of lamb onto a satay stick, then add a slice of lemon leaf, then an apricot, then another piece of lemon leaf, and finally a piece of lamb. Brush a little extra marinade over the sosaties. Grill, over hot coals, turning frequently, for 6-10 minutes, depending on the heat of your fire, or until the lamb is cooked right through (see my notes, above, about oven-cooking).

Brushing the kebabs with melted butter as they cook will give you a nice glossy finish. Serve piping hot. If you like, you can bring the remains of the marinade to the boil, simmer for 10 minutes and serve as a dipping sauce.

Makes about 24 snack-sized kebabs.


Like this soccer snack? Try my Mini Pita Breads with Spicy Meatballs and Hoummous, Mini Bunny Chow with Butter Chicken and Potato, Cheese and Chilli Phyllo Triangles

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Invent a Simba crisp flavour and get rich

As this blog has grown, so I've started to receive a steady trickle of press releases imploring me to feature various foodstuffs.  I scan these emails eagerly, hoping to find an attachment containing a bribe coupon to the value of at least R5000.  When no such inducement is offered, I delete the email with a hollow laugh.

But this particular press release caught my attention, and I share it with you here for two reasons: one, I think this competiton - What's Your Lekker Flavour? -  is a clever, original campaign (I love the funky artwork; see left). Two, I want to return a favour.

Let me start with the brand. I have a soft spot for Simba chips (crisps, actually: South Africans call potato crisps 'chips', and call French fries 'chips' too) because they were part of my childhood, along with all those other iconic South African brands: Mrs Ball's Chutney, Ideal Milk, Ouma's Buttermilk Rusks, Zoo Biscuits, and so on.  As a child, the trip from our smallholding in Muldersdrift to what was then Jan Smuts Airport (now O.R. Tambo Airport) seemed to drag on for hours, and I remember eagerly looking out for the huge Simba lion which stood (and still does) outside the Simba factory near the airport, because this was a sign that we were almost there.

I am also grateful to Simba for a special childhood memory. When I was ten or so, I sat down and wrote a letter to the company asking them how they made their chips. I have no idea what prompted me to do so (genuine curiosity, I like to think, but more likely opportunistic nosiness). Very soon I received a polite letter thanking me for my interest and inviting me - oh, joy of joys! - to visit the factory for a tour, and to bring along some friends.  This, to me, was akin to being given a golden ticket to Mr Wonka's Chocolate Factory.  A few weeks later, a gang of us piled into the back of my mom's station-wagon and headed off to the factory, where we spent a happy hour being led, open-jawed, around the factory, with its hissing cauldrons, its clanking conveyer belts and the heady aroma of salt and vinegar.  At the end of the tour, we were taken to the dispatch area, where - double joy! - our arms were filled with as many packets as we could carry.

Anyway, the idea behind the What's Your Lekker Flavour? compeition is that you come up with an original new flavour that is distinctively South African.  If you're the winner, you'll walk away with R200 000, plus 1 per cent of the future sales of your chips. This, says the company, could add up to a cool half a million rands a year.  So, what will it be?  Bobotie and Lemon Leaf?  Snoek Pâté and Chilli?  Waterblommetjie Bredie?  If you're going to enter the competition, you'll need to come up with something staggeringly original, as the campaign has already attracted over 78 000 entries. The panel of judges - which includes one of my favourite South African chefs, Reuben Riffel - is certainly going to have its work cut out.

You can enter online, by MMS, or by snail mail: www.lekkerflavour.co.za Print Friendly