As a child, I was never much of a one for delayed gratification. Particularly in the kitchen. I liked recipes that could be consumed within minutes of being finished. Or, better still, within seconds of being started.
Peppermint creams were best. The icing sugar and egg white could be worked to a paste in less than a minute - at which point you had minty, edible playdough. When I'd eaten so much of this that I felt sick, I would hand the remaining scraps over to my sister, who would patiently form them into a ball, dust it with more icing sugar, roll it out, and stamp out neat little rounds. By which time I'd recovered from the first sickening sugar rush, and was ready to devour all the trimmings from the first rolling, and most of the still warm patties, before they could be got to the fridge to set and dry. In our house, a pound of icing sugar made about seven peppermint creams.
Whenever I made a cake with my mum, I could barely see the point of putting the cake mix in the tin, let alone in the oven. It tasted great to me, just as soon as the sugar, butter eggs and flour had all been mixed up. In fact, come to think of it, it was already pretty irresistible when just the first two ingredients, the butter and the sugar, had been creamed together. My mother must have added an extra ounce of each, to allow for the 'piggling' - which was our family word for the much indulged crime of premature guzzling of food one had not yet been formally offered.
I've mellowed with age. It's not that I can wait for a tray of brownies to be below scalding temperature before I attempt to lever the first one out of the tray. I can't. But I do also enjoy the kind of cooking where something is not merely rustled up for immediate enjoyment, but laid down, for future enjoyment, after long and steadily mounting anticipation. And, I'm delighted, if a little surprised, to say, so do my kids.
Curing our home-made pork - for which a weekend is set aside in a few weeks' time - is the best example of this. What's so beautiful and satisfying about the pig is that it offers gratification along a whole timeline that can be measured in minutes, days, weeks, months and even years. The blood and offal are collected on the day of slaughter, and dinner that first night (midweek) is home-made black pudding and very thin slices of fresh liver - usually served with mashed potatoes and fried slices of apple from the garden. And it's not just an adult affair. Freddy in particular loves the black pudding, which he calls chocolate sausage.
The carcass is collected early on Saturday morning, and the hard graft begins, all family hands to the pump. One leg goes into an apply, treacly brine, for a traditional British ham that is hung for month or so, and then soaked, boiled, glazed and baked for Christmas. The other leg goes into a box of dry salt for around 25 days, and is then hung for at least eight months (a year is even better) to make our Dorset air-dried prosciutto. The bellies are dry-salted, with brown sugar, bay leaves and juniper, for 4-5 days. The resulting bacon will be ready in a week, and will last for three months. We also make salamis, chorizos and cotechinos, whose combined lifespan will be between three and six months. And much as Oscar loves the salami, he has even been heard to say, on squeezing one after it's been hanging a few weeks - 'still a bit soft, Daddy. Probably needs another couple of weeks.' I can only assume he gets that from his mother.
Rearing and curing your own pork is obviously a commitment that not everyone has the time and space to make - although, as I am constantly urging those who come to one of our Pig in a Day courses in Dorset, it may not be as impractical as you first assume. But anyone can have a pig weekend like ours, or a mini version, by buying a good, free-range animal, or half a one, from an enthusiastic small producer.
Admittedly, there are simpler ways to explore the deep and lasting satisfaction that comes from the laying down approach. And among the best of them is making your own home-made jams, jellies and pickles. Now is the perfect time to convert gluts of overgrown courgettes and windfall apples into a tangy chutney that could, if you make enough of it, see you through a year of cheese sandwiches and pork pies. Nor is it too late to plunder the last of the hedgerow fruits - sending out the kids armed with colanders and old ice cream cartons - so that you can preserve the ripening sunshine of a whole summer. With the opening of each jar, in the months to follow, comes a memory of the picking and plundering, the stirring and boiling, the ladelling and labelling. It's followed by a taste that may well be the distilled essence of a perfect family day.
My recipe for bramble jelly
For a home-made teatime treat, just add scones and butter.
Traditionally, the old wives have it that the devil pisses on the blackberries at the end of September. But this year, he appears to have suspended this nasty habit. Or, to look at it from a more meteorological, less folksy angle, the unusually dry September we have had has extended the season by a week or two. This weekend - today, in fact - may be your last chance of the year. Even if they look a bit wet and soggy, they'll still be good for a classic bramble jelly. There's no better fruit preserve I know of - and you could be enjoying the very first jar just a few hours from now. Not that that's the point, of course.
Pick as many blackberries (absolute minimum, one kilo) as you possibly can! Weigh them, put in a large heavy pan, and for every kilo add a chopped apple (including skin, pips and core), the juice of a lemon, and 250ml of water. Bring to the boil and simmer gently until the fruit is very soft and pulpy. Mash to extract maximum juice. Strain through a jelly bag (do not force through, but allow to drip - takes ages!)
Measure the resulting juice and add 750g organic granulated sugar for every litre. Return to a low heat, stir to dissolve sugar, then bring to a fierce boil.
Boil hard until setting temperature is reached (112...#730;C) - or until a little of the mixture, dropped onto a chilled plate, sets with a slight wrinkle.
Pour into still-hot sterilised jars. Allow to cool slightly and start to set before topping with a disc of waxed paper (if you like) and screwing on the top.
This is delicious on scones or freshly baked bread, still hot from the oven, so the butter melts before the jelly goes on.
· Signed copies of The River Cottage Family Cook Book, and Hugh's new Pig in Day DVD are available at www.rivercottage.net
