Quite a few days after St. Patrick's Day I made a Shepherd's Pie. Only time I've eaten one, or two, was when I've visited Irish pubs. The first was in Wilmington, NC and the next was in Nashville, TN. I've been to other Irish pubs, but don't regularly get the Shepherd's Pie. Each week I receive the Epicurious mailer in my inbox. Right prior to St. Patty's Day, which is my wee lass of a sister and my's favorite holiday, the mailer included a recipe for Shepherd's Pie. Naively I decided to make this dish for Ian and me the Sunday after the celebratin' of the green. I'll not include the recipe written out like, but shall point you to the proper place for it.
Mostly I've got to complain. First, I didn't read the recipe through, so I had no idea how complex and time consuming the preparations for this dish were. It took at least three big pots to cook it in. First I prepared the meat. That had to cook an hour and a half. I didn't have venison or a pork shank. Neither were found at my grocery. I used stew meat instead. The few pounds of venison cube steaks I have courtesy of my Papaw, are not fit for eating. They've lodged in my freezer for going on two years, maybe three. Can't bring myself to throw them out though. Otherwise, it'd look like I have nothing in there.
While the meat cooked I worked on roasting a garlic clove. It wasn't a whole garlic clove. As I readied my garlic for the meat stage I realized that most of my cloves, but virtue of hanging out at room temperature, had sprouted. The potatoes boiled. Yet, I had no curds to add to them. Days earlier with grocery list in hand, I contemplated a cottage cheese substitution in the dairy aisle, but declined. In the end, I added about 3 ounces of asiago cheese. That is not all with the potato mess. I don't have a ricer. I could have done without and used my traditional potato masher. But I thought pressing the roasted garlic and potatoes through a sieve would work. It might be more authentic, more in the spirit of a true Shepherd's Pie, perhaps. It quickly grew odious. I called to Ian for help. He has upper body strength, you know. He worked at it about ten minutes until I said it would be fine. I've sought potato ricers on several occasions now, just so I'm never without appropriate kitchen equipment again, but have not found one. It's not at Quest proportions yet; mostly I browse a store's kitchen section only if I think to do so. Ironically, I searched for one early tonight at Target, but none hanged on their shelves. Yet, in searching for image of potato ricer, one appears from Target. How can that be? Another problem: we were out of milk. I was supposed to add it to either the potato or corn mixture, or both (wait for it, it's coming up). Ian drank all the milk, but I didn't think he told me. He did a few days prior. It slipped my mind. He offered to dress and drive out for a quart (this was Sunday about 2 p.m. he was still in his robe playing half-life 2 or some such on Xbox). I told him no. I used whipping cream and half & half. It would do.
Then I arrived at the corn mixture. Alas, I had no more cloves of garlic. Silently cursing, I stomped through the kitchen to the den and informed Ian I'd have to go to the store, did he want anything? I bought the needed garlic cloves and a few other things like Bachelor's Buttons, my favorite cookie. Plus, I picked up one of those dreadful already-prepared boxes of chicken tenders from the deli. Ian needed a snack because I told him we wouldn't eat until close to 5 p.m. My preparations for the pie began around 1 p.m. I came home and unloaded my grocery bounty.
Finally, to the corn mixture: More onions? I didn't get any at the store. I forgot the onions and prepared my garlic. Dry white wine? Do I have dry white wine? There was Hogue chardonnay on hand. My corkpops didn't remove the cork. I called for Ian. It's not that I couldn't woman-handle the thing myself. I'm all about self-preservation. If my corkpops was gonna blow, I didn't want it to blow on me. Isn't that the spirit? He thought it might not work because the "cork" wasn't cork, but that faux cork. I think the gas fizzled out and needed replacing. I dug around in the drawer for a sad corkscrew, the kind attached to a can-opener with a magnet on back that you can keep handy hanging on the fridge door? So then, there was all this reduction of the white wine and garlic. My patience wore thin. Then the other ingredients were added, including the last of the half & half and maybe a bit of the whipping cream. The rest went well. But, there was more waiting as the creamy corn sauce reduced. After removing the rosemary twigs I dug out the blender, poured the hot liquid into the the glass part, stuck the lid on, and liquefied the mixture.
The meat awaited the toppings in the casserole dish. This was the easy part. Pour corn mixture over meat. Then those potatoes I kept warm on the back burner were spooned atop that. I added a dash of paprika so the dish featured at least two colors of the Irish flag, sort of. In hindsight, I would have tinted tinted the potatoes green with food coloring to affect a more aesthetic and festive appearance. It cooked the appropriate amount of time. I liked it. I had seconds. Was it worth all the effort? Ian rather spoiled my sense of accomplishment though; he doesn't like rosemary. It tasted too much of rosemary. Sadly, I thought he'd love this dish. At least I don't ever have to make it again because he loved it so.
The offending bottle of chardonnay and corkspops.
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