I’ll be the first to admit that my family does have some rather odd traditions.
For instance, when my sister and I each left the proverbial nest, we’d invariably guilt my mom (a now-retired professional chef) into making our favourite Trinidadian delicacies whenever she’d pop by for a visit, which in my case meant the labour-intensive but delicious dhalpouri roti. Or on my dad’s side of the family, there’s a yearly Kris Kringle exchange that is more like ultimate gift fighting, with the intent being to steal as many gifts from the people who want them as possible.
Of course, this is nothing in comparison to the Everyman’s family’s tradition of celebrating Festivus “feats of strength” more often than I care to remember.
But, there are no traditions that hold stronger in my family than the yearly batch of Perreault mincemeat, earmarked for Christmas pies. For those of you not in the know, mincemeat is a sweet ground fruit pie filling that’s usually comprised of a mixture of raisins, minced peels, apples, etc and cooked down until thick and syrupy. As a foodstuff it’s full of various components that I can’t individually stand, but somehow, when you put them together, it just seems to work.
My grandmother, Antoinette Perreault, prepared her homemade mincemeat filling for close to 50 years, always making mammoth batches in the early fall and then fermenting them for a few months before packaging it up to be shipped across the country to her dozen far-flung children. Because of this, when I was a child it wasn’t considered Christmas until grandma’s batch of mincemeat arrived in the mail and my had dad picked up a few Tenderflake crusts from the grocery store.
But, times have changed. Grandma lives in an old folks home now, and no longer has the capacity to produce anything on such a grand scale. As for me, I’ve all but outgrown my taste for mincemeat, but my father hasn’t, so every year without fail, I whip up a batch to send to him at Christmas, for nostalgia’s sake.
Honestly, I really didn’t think our mincemeat was all that different from the way anyone else made mincemeat, until the day an old coworker of mine enquired about the contents of the package I was taking to the post office to ship to my dad. In something akin to the Friends episode where Rachel accidentally combines trifle and shepherd’s pie recipes, I went through the list of ingredients and she seemed intrigued. Until I got to the meat. Yes, meat. Not just suet either, but actual boiled, minced beef. At which point my friend started retching and backing away from my desk rather quickly. Which was around the time that I realized that perhaps our version of mincemeat wasn’t quite so normal after all. Since then, I’ve often wondered whether our recipe was somehow mistakenly combined with one for tortiere, but my dad insists that this is a traditional method somewhere.
Since then, I’ve made the mincemeat many times. And in general, it’s pretty much the Everyman’s least favourite time of year. Every year I say I’m going to start a little earlier, but it seems that my preparation has gotten consecutively later over the last 5 or so years. It’s always a combination of disgusting tasks (boiling ground beef) and hard manual labour (grinding dried fruits and candied peels). For the most part, I’ve typically soldiered on using the aforementioned food mill, but this year it occurred to me that the meat grinding attachment on my stand mixer would be just the ticket. 5 minutes into the process, I was mentally kicking myself for not thinking of this sooner, but hindsight, as they say, is 20/20.
After making short work of the grinding process, the melange of meats and fruits were combined in a heavy-bottomed pot with some sugar, vinegar and spices, and the long, slow simmer began. After what felt like an eternity, the mincemeat came together and formed that slightly gelatinous paste that is the mark of a well made batch. Removed from the heat, it is scooped into reusable containers (depending on your shipping method, either glass canners or tupperware tubs are fine options). It ferments and settles in the back of the fridge for a few months, then come Christmastime, it’ll be spooned into pie shells or tart forms for a sweet and savoury taste of home. Enjoy!
Grandmere Perreault’s Famous Mincemeat Pie Filling
1 c. boiled minced beef
0.5 c. suet (beef fat)
1 c. sugar
4 c. apples, chopped (about 5 to 7)
2 c. raisins
1 c. minced candied peels
0.5 tsp salt
1 tbsp allspice
1 tbsp cinnamon
0.33 c. vinegar
0.66 c. water
Boil beef in a small pot of water until cooked through, remove from liquid and set aside. Run all fruit and meat through a food mill or meat grinder until a mostly smooth consistency is achieved (2 passes of the mill vs 1 for the grinder). Combine all ingredients in a heavy-bottomed pot and cook over low heat, stirring occasionally to prevent scorching. Continue to cook until mixture becomes thick and jammy. Remove from heat and put in sterilized sealers if canning, or reusable plastic containers if not. Refrigerate and allow to ripen for 6 to 8 weeks. May be frozen after ripening until ready to use.
Makes enough to fill 2 pies. Best served in a full lard crust.
Until next time…
Tags: apples, Baking, beef, Cooking, mincemeat, Preservation, raisins, Recipes
[...] a dried fruit I hate with a passion. The only dessert my family ever went batshit crazy for was mincemeat, and that was really only once a [...]
[...] living in Little Italy. A copy of her family's cherished mincemeat recipe can be found at Foodie and the Everyman. addthis_url = [...]