This Side of the Pond

We never have arguments about the things you’d expect in this office. It’s not current events or politics, philosophy or even sports, because that would make this a normal place to work, populated by normal people.

Last Tuesday, smack in the middle of getting the week’s issues ready for print, we had a knock-down, drag-out fight. It was about dried fruit, and for the record: I was right.

It began when your newspaper editor announced that he was planning to make a “mincemeat pie.” I think he was expecting this benign statement to be received with “oh, ok” and a waft of silence, but he forgot who he was dealing with.

I had questions. Specifically, I wanted to know what he meant by a “mincemeat pie.”

Was this to be a mince pie of British holiday tradition; a mincemeat pie as introduced by knights returning from the Crusades; or some American concoction I’d yet to encounter?

We dismissed the third possibility quickly, because he was adamant this was something my people invented. However, there’s still a big difference between the first two possibilities.

The key is in the “meat” part of the equation. Was there actually to be meat in this pie?

I can understand where the confusion comes in: mincemeat is a silly name for a recipe that contains dried fruit, spices and not a single morsel of meat.

But it didn’t used to. The mince pie is believed to date all the way back to the twelfth century, when a recipe was brought back from the Middle East by the Crusaders. It was a mix of spices and occasionally fruit that was used to make meat dishes and preserve meats.

Mince pies quickly became a familiar dish in England. They even appear in one of the oldest known cookbooks, although they were called “tarts of flesh,” which sounds much less enticing.

The recipe included all sorts of ingredients that were rare and expensive at the time, so it became a festive tradition for the wealthy to include them in feasts to show off how important they were.

Some historians claim their link to the festive season also comes from the ingredients. The three main spices – cinnamon, cloves and nutmeg – are said to represent the Magi, while the 13 total ingredients represent Christ and his apostles. They were originally oval, allegedly to represent the manger.

Those who could afford it ate mince pies daily throughout the 12 days of Christmas, a tradition that was said to ensure you would see happiness for the next 12 months.

England experienced a mince pie prohibition when it came time for our civil war. Oliver Cromwell – who is often accused of cancelling Christmas, though the truth is a little more complicated – was a Puritan who believed the birth of Christ should be a solemn occasion.

He cracked down on “gluttonous treats,” including mince pies. This went down about as well as you’d expect. The people were relieved to see Charles II win back his throne, because it meant they could get back to feasting.

Hundreds of years after they became part of the Christmas tradition, in the era of the Victorians, the meat began to disappear from the recipe. Today, it only exists in the form of suet.

Now, you might think of the Victorians as a repressed bunch in starched suits and top hats who used little houses on wheels to deposit women in swimming pools, lest a gentleman catch a glimpse of a female ankle and promptly expire from the shock. This is true, but the Victorians were something of a contradiction and it seems they got up to all sorts behind the façade of the stereotype.

It’s therefore not as surprising as it seems that the Victorians added their own ingredient to the recipe: a hearty helping of alcohol. A recipe included in Mrs. Beeton’s 1888 Book of Household Management calls for an impressive half pint of brandy.

And so there we have it: on the one hand, a pie containing mutton, lamb, pheasant, pigeon, hare or virtually any other meat you can think of, and on the other a dainty tart filled with spiced fruits and booze. If he hadn’t said “mincemeat” instead of “meat”, I’d have simply assumed he meant the latter.

He didn’t seem to know, and still doesn’t, though I can confirm there appeared to be some sort of animal product in the recipe he was using. This was disappointing, because I miss my mince pies.

I seldom have the time to make my own, but if you’d like to give it a try, here’s how: combine one pound of Bramley apples (chopped small), 2 oz slivered almonds, 4 level teaspoons of mixed spice, half a teaspoon of ground cinnamon, a quarter teaspoon of freshly grated nutmeg, 8 oz shredded suet, 12 oz raisins, 8 oz each of sultanas, currants and whole mixed candied peel (finely chopped), 12 oz of soft dark brown sugar and the grated zest and juice of two oranges and two lemons.

Cover the bowl with a cloth and leave in a cool place overnight for the flavors to develop. Then replace the cloth with foil and place the bowl in the oven for three hours at 250 degrees Fahrenheit.

When you remove it from the oven, it will appear very fatty. Stir it every so often as it cools and the fat coagulates. Once cold, stir in six tablespoons of brandy, then pack into sterilized jars and seal.

If this seems like a whole lot of effort, you can also purchase ready-made mincemeat online. When it comes time to make the pies, sift 12 oz of plain flour into a mixing bowl and rubbing 2.5 oz each of lard and butter unto it until the mixture resembles crumbs. Add just enough cold water to make a dough that leaves the bowl clean, then rest the pastry in the fridge in a bag for up to half an hour.

Roll half the dough out as thinly as possible and cut out 3-inch rounds. Grease cupcake tins and line them with the pastry, then fill with mincemeat to the edges.

Roll out the second half of the pastry and cut 2.5-inch rounds, to be used as lids. Seal the edges, brush the lids with milk and use scissors to make three little cuts in the top to let the steam escape.

Bake at 400 degrees for up to 30 minutes until golden brown. Dust with icing sugar, then serve to your guests – hopefully, none of whom will be expecting to bite down on a mouthful of mutton.