The bubble and squeak experiment went well. It’s hard to ruin this dish, to be fair, because it’s mostly a traditional English way to use up all the leftover crap from the Sunday dinner. Methodology: bung a load of leftover veg into a sizzling frying pan, pat it down into a pancake, stare at it for a while, turn it over, wait a bit more, serve proudly. I’m not entirely sure why it hasn’t caught on here in the US, but I intend to do something about it. Mostly by making people eat it, beginning with Hubby.
It gets rather browner, but this way you can count vegetables to fall asleep.
Every Brit has their own way of going about a bubble and squeak, largely because we all have different vegetable preferences for our roast dinners, but, to be honest, it doesn’t really matter what goes in, it’s still going to be tasty. Carrots, peas, corn, beans, swede – almost anything will do, as long it can hold up to a good sizzling. There must also be potato in there somewhere; roast are best, but if you’ve run out you can always boil up a pan. The finished fried deliciousness is served with cold meats, again left over from the roast, as well as stuffing or other roasty accoutrements and various pickles and sauces.
Most official recipes call for cabbage, but, in my opinion, that stuff tastes like shredded printer paper somebody peed on. I prefer Brussels sprouts, which add the same sort of tang without getting stuck in your teeth. This evening’s experiment was to see whether Hubby would eat his dinner without whinging about the sprouts, which he believes are the very worst the vegetable world has to offer.
It worked. Once he’d hoovered up everything on his plate, I asked whether he’d noticed them; he had not. “T0 be fair, though,” he added, “It all sort of combines to taste like one big vegetable. It’s the Omnivegetable.”
He makes an excellent point.
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