“You think the man Young Ian followed has something to do with Sir Percival’s warning?” I lifted a cover on the supper tray that had just been delivered and sniffed appreciatively; it seemed a very long time since Moubray’s stew.
Jamie nodded, picking up a sort of hot stuffed roll.
“I should be surprised if he had not,” he said dryly. “While there’s likely more than one man willing to do me harm, I canna think it likely that gangs o’ them are roaming about Edinburgh.” He took a bite and chewed industriously, shaking his head.
“Nay, that’s clear enough, and nothing to be greatly worrit over.”
“It’s not?” I took a small bite of my own roll, then a bigger one. “This is delicious. What is it?”
Jamie lowered the roll he had been about to take a bite of, and squinted at it. “Pigeon minced wi’ truffles, “ he said, and stuffed it into his mouth whole.
“No,” he said, and paused to swallow. “No,” he said again, more clearly. “That’s likely just a matter of a rival smuggler. There are two gangs that I’ve had a wee bit of difficulty with now and then.” He waved a hand, scattering crumbs, and reached for another roll.
Diana Gabaldon, Voyager, (Seal Books, 1994)
(Originally published December 2010. Revised June 1, 2016)
I have always been a ravenous reader, thanks to my Mom, who read to me in the cradle. All through my childhood and teens, I read pretty much read everything I could get my hands on. Then, as I flew my parents’ coop and struck out on my own, travelling around the world and working at jobs only the young and idealistic take, my books came with me.
But suddenly, in the blink of an eye, I grew up. A “real” job came knocking — one too good to pass up. I couldn’t understand it at the time, but that middle management job at a huge, well-oiled corporation, with it’s downtown office and big salary was a soul killer — for me at least. I searched for satisfaction while ensuring the safe, overnight transportation of thousands of packages. I had a stable job, a growing financial portfolio, but I had totally lost myself. And my books.
Eventually I gathered my courage and threw that job away, as well as the stress, the grief and the cell phone that came with it. I began a daily yoga practice, remembered how to breathe deeply, relearned the art of relaxation and walked into a bookstore for the first time in years. And that’s when I met Jamie, Claire and their creator, Diana Gabaldon.
Diana is hard to peg to one (or even two) particular genres. Romance, fantasy, adventure, time-travel, history, sci-fi — her Outlander series hits a number of (my) buttons, solidly and with a healthy dose of intelligent humour. I love them.
And I’m not the only one. There are legions of fans and dozens of sites devoted to her and her characters, particularly James Alexander Malcolm MacKenzie Fraser. Did someone order a towering, broad-shouldered, red-headed warrior Scotsman? Diana delivered — and he’s well-mannered to boot.
Voyager, the third book in the series, is my favourite. Heck, I cry watching reunions in the Arrivals Lounge at the airport, so what do you think happens when I read about 2 soul mates, separated by centuries of war and strife, finding each other again after 20 years apart? It wasn’t pretty.
The meal of hot rolls stuffed with minced pigeon and truffle that Jamie and Claire, and eventually Jamie’s nephew, Young Ian, share at the beginning of Chapter 28 in Voyager is, for me, the most memorable of the dozens of meals that I have savoured while reading Outlander and its 6 sequels. From the royal table of Louis XV, to a barbecue for hundreds on the expansive lawn of a North Carolina plantation, Jamie and Claire have literally eaten everywhere.
But those exotic locations with food to match don’t capture my attention like that tray stacked with rolls in Jamie’s small bedroom at Madame Jeanne’s brothel. The scent of freshly baked bread seems to rise from the page and mix with earthy wafts from the unusual filling — hot out of the oven they would be irresistible — especially if you were tired and hungry. Time travelling burns calories, no doubt.
But before we get to the recipe, I have a surprise! I had a brainstorm while walking the dog one morning — “Interviews with the authors! Yeah…well…it’s worth a shot anyway.”
So I fired 5 quick questions and an interview request off to Diana via her Canadian publicist, and much to my surprise (and immense pleasure), I had an affirmative response by the end of the day! Sometimes, all you need to do is ask.
Many thanks to Diana Gabaldon, for responding to this email interview during the busy holiday period. There is no doubt this woman loves good food (pine nuts and pomegranates? yes please!), and I am touched by her thoughtful and ever funny responses.
If I thought it would make it through Customs, I’d send her my last jar of Blueberry Gin in thanks.
1. Just the idea of warm rolls stuffed with pigeon minced with truffles puts my senses at the ready. How do you get ideas for the food in your fiction?
Kind of a combination of reading 18th century cookbooks (which I do for research all the time, so as to know what ingredients might be obtainable, plus things that were commonly used—like pigeons—that aren’t so common now) plus a culinary imagination. <g> You’ll know what that is, of course; it’s why some people can stare at a refrigerator full of food and be at a complete loss as to what to eat, while others start thinking idly of what you could do with 300 pomegranates (I have a tree that bears abundantly, and only six friends who Really Like pomegranates) and end up choosing between rosemary roast pork in a pomegranate reduction or chicken satay with spicy peanut sauce followed by pomegranate sorbet.
2. What is your favourite dish/meal to cook for yourself?
Man, hard to choose. At the moment, though, it’s my take on garlic chicken with pine nuts (pounded, minced chicken breast sautéed with a _lot_ of garlic in hot oil with a honey-ginger-chile sauce (jazzed up with Schezchuan chile paste), then mix in about half a pound of pine nuts and serve over rice with a hot-ginger soy sauce).
3. What is your favourite dish/meal that someone else makes for you?
Used to be my dad’s tamales. Since he died, though, nobody really cooks for me—not in the way of making special dishes that one has over and over, I mean. I inherited the ancestral recipes (which don’t exist on paper—only in that I can make anything I saw my dad make), so I make the tamales, enchiladas, machaca, green chile, etc. for the family feasts now.
4. The after-dinner dishes: wash or dry?
My husband I made a deal when we got married thirty-three years ago; I shop and cook, he cleans up and does dishes. Both of us think this is a great deal, especially at Thanksgiving. (I Deal with the turkey, from slicing to carcass-picking, and the yams sautéed in butter with garlic powder and soy sauce (people tend to think these are maple-glazed carrots, weirdly enough); he Deals with forty-six wine goblets, the roasting pans, a dozen dirty napkins, the stained tablecloth, and the whereabouts of the good silver.)
5. Where is your favourite island?
When dealing with historical food, especially food conjured in the mind of a particularly imaginative author, certain assumptions and disclaimers should be made clear up front. Why I chose the ingredients I did, how I decided what the dish would look like, that sort of thing.
Madame Jeanne is described as petite, elegant and completely competent in her business dealings as a French madam running a better than average establishment. I imagine her to have a French cook, using quality ingredients, not only to satisfy the clientele, but also to keep her cadre of jeunes filles well fed and content. Anorexia just wasn’t fashionable back then.
I also think that Jeanne’s obvious reverence for Jamie as a business partner and gentleman would have ensured he got only the very best during his stays. Soft linens, milled soap and rich bread rolls made with the finest flour and filled with expensive ingredients, for a start.
Which leads us to the truffles. I didn’t go out and procure hundreds of dollars worth of fungus — not even for my blog. Sometimes, the wallet trumps authenticity and you have to go for the next best thing, which in this case is a combination of truffle oil and dried mushrooms.
And another thing: short of hanging out at the ferry terminal with a BB gun, there wasn’t much hope of me getting a pigeon here on Pender. More commonly now known as squab, I was also unable to find any on a recent (and very brief) stop in Vancouver. I did come across some quail, however, which are slightly smaller than squab, but definitely comparable.
My interpretation of the filling is classically French. Shallots are eternal in French cuisine, thyme is always paired with both mushrooms and poultry, and pork fat would have most certainly been added to make up for the leanness of the pigeon. The French have always embraced fat. They know it equals flavour, especially when it comes to sausage.
As for the look of rolls, the clues in the text are what led to the final “design.” Claire knew, by observation only, that the rolls were stuffed. Does that mean she could see the stuffing? Jamie finished his first roll in two bites. He’s a big man — I translated that into 3 large bites for an average adult, or a sausage roll about 3″ long.
I used a brioche recipe (a french bread enriched with eggs, butter and milk) originally, but I wanted to simplify the recipe for the cookbook, so updated it to use flaky pastry instead. The result is a crunchy, buttery wrapping around the savoury sausage. Very tasty.
I understand that my use of a food processor is (ever so slightly) anachronistic. I started off by hand chopping everything, but warning twinges from my right “carpal tunnel” wrist sent me running for my KitchenAid. Keep in mind though, that 18th century chefs/cooks like the one employed by Madame Jeanne would have had a few “kitchen aides” at their disposal. And I think it’s safe to say that my food processor is better treated and much cleaner than your average scullery maid.
(Click on the title below for a printable version of the recipe.)
Fragrant and savoury rolls made by Madame Jeanne’s undoubtedly French cook to satisfy the clientele of her fine establishment. I’ve replaced the pigeon with more accessible chicken thighs and the truffles with less-expensive dried mushrooms, but the shallots and thyme are eternal in French cuisine, and pork fat would have most certainly been added to make up for the leanness of the pigeon. The French have always embraced fat – they know it equals flavour – especially when it comes to sausage.
Makes eighteen 2-inch sausage rolls
- ½ ounce (15 grams) dried morel or porcini mushrooms
- 1 pound (450 grams) boneless, skinless chicken thighs, chopped
- 2 strips bacon, chopped
- 1 large celery stalk, chopped
- 1 large shallot, chopped
- 1 tablespoon chopped fresh thyme leaves
- 1 tablespoon olive oil or truffle oil
- 1 teaspoon kosher salt
- ½ teaspoon freshly ground pepper
- ¾ cup Panko-style bread crumbs
- 1 recipe Short Crust Pastry, chilled
- 1 large egg
Cover and soak the dried mushrooms in boiling water for 5 minutes. Lift the mushrooms from the water with a fork to leave the grit at the bottom of the dish. Press down on the mushrooms in a small strainer to remove as much moisture as possible. Chop coarsely.
Combine the mushrooms, chicken, bacon, celery, shallot, thyme, olive oil, salt, and pepper in the bowl of a food processor. Pulse 8 to 10 times until the mixture is well combined and the texture of sausage meat.
Scoop the sausage mixture into a bowl and add the breadcrumbs. Mix together with your hands until well combined.
Spread a piece of plastic wrap at least 24-inches long on the counter. Form half of the mixture into a long 18-inch sausage on top of the wrap and roll the meat tightly in the plastic. Turn the ends of the wrap in opposite directions until very tight and secure with tape if necessary. Repeat with another piece of plastic wrap and the other half of the sausage mixture. Freeze both sausages for 15 minutes while you roll out the pastry.
Move the rack to the lower-middle position and heat the oven to 425°F.
Beat the egg with 1 teaspoon water to make an egg wash.
On a lightly floured board, roll out the pastry into a rectangle 10 x 18-inches Cut the pastry in half lengthwise so that you have 2 pieces measuring 5 x 18-inches. Unwrap one of the chilled sausages and place along the long edge of the pastry. Brush the edge furthest from you with the egg wash then roll the sausage in the pastry leaving about a ½-inch overlap. Pinch the join firmly closed, then roll the seam to the counter and rock the sausage gently to flatten and even out the join. Repeat with the other sausage and remaining pastry.
Brush the tops and sides of the pastry with the egg wash. Using a sharp knife, cut each sausage into nine 2-inch pieces, and place seam side down on a parchment lined baking sheet. Bake until golden brown, 25 to 30 minutes.
Cool at least 15 minutes on a rack before serving.
Store leftovers in the fridge for up to 3 days. Warm slightly in a 300°F oven to recrisp the pastry.
- Freeze the assembled, unbaked rolls for up to 1 month. Thaw overnight in the fridge before baking as directed.
- Any dark poultry meat works – duck, game hen, quail, or even actual pigeon – look for squab, which is the common culinary name for farm-raised pigeons less than 4 weeks old.
© 2011 Outlander Kitchen/Theresa Carle-Sanders. All rights reserved. Don’t Steal — Karma’s Real.