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This toad in the hole was a full week in the making. It had been a very meat and dairy heavy late afternoon run through the late winter greenmarket. I had enough apples, roots and tubers to do me at home already, and while greener things are starting to peek through, they were long gone by the time I finished with oversleeping, gym, chores, and generally faffing around.
When it snows, I dig in and get even more committed to greenmarket. It’s easy to greenmarket when the weather is balmy and the stands are overflowing with florid produce. It is not quite as effortless to get excited about potatoes, turnips, rutabagas and slightly softening cellared apples for the 13th week in a row. You love your seasons, but they really try you. (Weirdly enough, somehow I never lose enthusiasm for kohlrabi through spring.) At this point of the year though you can often find some deals on the meats, and I try to take advantage and stock the freezer with steaks and sausage.
On the most blustery days I remind myself that I’m lucky to have such ready access and that I’m able to spin through on my way to the office, or the train. Both of which are warm and dry. The farmers and vendors do not have the luxury of rolling over under the duvet for the umpteenth time and lolling about in a warm coffee shop reading uppity aspirational shelter magazines while they psych themselves up for a shop. They are there all day long. In the snow. At my first stop I picked up a duck sausage and a pot of rich rillettes, a baguette to smear them on. Next stop some ground bison and bison sausages. Some sheep’s milk camembert and ground lamb. Buttermilk and mozzarella. Logs of chèvre rolled in garlic and rosemary. Ground grass-fed beef. Some merguez sausage. You get the theme here, right? My last stop was for seafood for that night and just as I approached, the last fish fillet was being sold. Which gave me enough mad money to stop at Flying Pigs Farm for yet more sausage, some of their delicious chorizo. As he was digging out my pack from the cooler, he asked hopefully if I wanted anything else and pointed out the egg sale they had going on. On the coldest days I’m a super easy touch, so of course I added a dozen eggs to my order. The plan for toad in the hole came together on the way home, as I surveyed my purchases. Toad in a hole, a traditional British dish, is my dream comfort food — a combo of sausage, which if you have been following along, I’m fairly fond of, and Yorkshire pudding, which was my favorite dish of my mother’s. The batter billows up to be crispy on top and dense and moist under the sausage. It’s amazing. The name may come from the fact that the sausage peeking out through the batter resemble toads hiding in their burrows, ready to pounce on any passing insect. Not an appetizing image, but a delicious dish.
Night 1 of this toad quest all of the various sausages were still frozen, so the chorizo was left in the fridge to thaw for the next day. Night 2 we had snacked our way through the rillettes and chèvre and weren’t hungry for proper dinner. Night 3 I was on deadline and dinner was a nearly expired yogurt eaten while I proofread. Night 4 was going to be the night, but I let it go too long and spaced on the fact that the batter should rest, so one of the chorizo was sacrificed — I cut it out of the casing and sauteed it into some scrambled eggs for a quick tasty meal. Night 5 was going to be it, but circumstances got in the way again. Night 6 we were not to be denied. Late afternoon, I stepped away from the computer long enough to mix together 1 cup of flour, 1 teaspoon of pepper, and a generous pinch of salt. In a separate bowl went 4 large eggs, and 1 cup of whole milk which I whisked until blended and a little frothy. The wet mixture got poured over the dry and gently mixed until everything was blended and then set it aside for about an hour. You can use the batter right away, but anecdotally at least, letting it rest makes for a better rise.
The sausages got pricked and placed in a roasting pan in a 405 degree oven for 30 minutes. I pulled the pan out and made sure that the bottom was coated with spicy, slightly sizzling oil from the chorizo. I then quickly ladled in the batter – if it doesn’t sizzle when you add the first spoonful, take the sausage out and put the pan back into the oven until it does.
Everything went back into the oven and cooked for 23 more minutes until the batter was well risen into billowing, buttery, undulating poufs, and was toasty golden in color. (Do not be tempted to open the door until the pudding is peaked and bronzed, because the batter will sink.)
