Cricket and corned beef.

When summer approaches here in the Southern Hem, my thoughts turn to cricket. I grew up with a mixture of fondness and resentment of cricket. I hated to admit to my brother that I liked it (and a certain Mr Kepler Wessels) because just occasionally it would have been nice to see what else was on TV. I was prepared to fight him – and would frequently – to change the channel. He usually won, which meant cricket on the TV for the whole of the summer holidays — that was MONTHS in those days. Wandering about the house the sound of cricket would follow me – the low murmur of the commentator, the satisfying ‘cluwk’ of the ball against the bat, or the cries and shouts of men (and my brother) claiming an LBW. It was on the TV and it was on the radio and still today hearing the commentary I am lulled into a gentle summer stupor (with a tinge of the ‘irrits’ remembering my inferior TV-remote-conquesting skills).

I did like it when, in between innings, Richie Benaud might offer up what was on his sandwich that day. Like Gabriel Gaté and Guillaume Brahimi serving up the ‘Plat du Tour’ every night during the Tour de France, I think all sport broadcasting should throw in a cooking segment – hot, one-handed food for the AFL (it’s always freezing), a barbecued item for the NRL. With cricket, it must be sandwiches.

In high school I had a friend who loved cricket and she and her mum lived near The Gabba. She convinced me to spend a whole day there in the boiling hot sun to watch Australia vs England. My friend was a tiny person, but she sure could put away the foodstuffs and occasionally we would often partake in our own kind of sport challenge – who could eat the most from the salad bar at Sizzler. On our cricket date, we met at her place and then carried between us a giant esky which I learned, once we found our bit of hill, was packed with ginger beer and about ten corned beef sandwiches. Ten! We ate them all of course, as there was nothing else to do but get sunburned and watch the cricket, an amazing team at the time even without the dreamboat Wessels.

CORNED BEEF SANDWICHES — RYE, PICCALILLI AND CHEESE

I went delving and learned that Irish Corned beef, particularly the beef of Cork, was a food traditionally eaten by the aristocracy. It developed into an important commodity in the mid to late seventeenth century when it was exported widely as provisions for British colonists and British and North American armies. It’s no wonder that it is married with preserved vegetables, conveniently portable and undeniably complimentary. Piccalilli, an English adaptation of a sweet Indian pickle, is a popular choice. Who first joined the two in a blissful union and put them between bread I cannot say. The irony is not lost on me that it is likely the colonisers of this country brought salt beef on their ships and we Irish descendants have been eating it ever since while watching English cricket under the burning sun.

For 4 corned beef and pickle sandwiches:

8 slices of rye bread, light or dark according to your preference, sourdough even better
8 slices of corned beef, thick or thin, it’s up to you
butter and/or mayonnaise 4 generous tablespoons
piccalilli (store bought or homemade, see below)
8 thin slices Swiss cheese
black pepper

Generously butter 8 slices of rye bread and I like a swipe of mayonnaise too. On four slices spread thickly with piccalilli. Pile on sliced corned beef, pastrami is also good. I like a big grind of black pepper now. Then a couple of thin slices of Swiss cheese and go! If you are after a Reuben, swap out the piccalilli for sauerkraut, swap out the mayo for mustard, butter the outside of the bread slices and cook in a non-stick pan over a low-medium heat, weighted with a plate and a tin of beans or something, flipping over until both sides are brown and crispy and the cheese has melted.

PICCALILLI (my recipe for piccalilli)

This recipe takes a couple of days but can then be eaten straight away. I like to soak the vegetables in salted water first, rather than just salting them as I find it helps to retain a bit of crunch. These quantities will make roughly four 250ml jars, keep a couple in the fridge and give a couple away to friends. Great also on a ploughman’s or simply with a good, hard cheese.

Makes roughly 4 x 250ml jars

DAY 1

1 small or ½ medium cauliflower, trimmed and broken into florets 1-2 inches in size
250 g white or yellow onions, peeled, halved and sliced
1 green or unripe red tomato, cut into 1-inch pieces
120 g kitchen salt

Put the cauliflower, sliced onions and tomato in a large stainless-steel pot. Dissolve the salt in 1½ litres of water and pour over. Stir to moisten all the vegetables and add a little more water so that they are mostly covered but not swimming. Cover and set aside on the bench until the next day.

DAY 2

1 or approx. 200 g cucumber, peeled if the skin is tough and cut into ½-cm slices
1 tablespoon capers, rinsed and drained
¼ teaspoon celery seeds
½ teaspoon salt

60 g butter
30 g flour
350 ml malt vinegar
1 heaped teaspoon turmeric
1½ tablespoons dry mustard
60 g sugar

After 12 hours or so, drain off the salted liquid and add the sliced cucumber, capers and celery seed and ½ teaspoon of salt. Add a litre of water to the pan and bring to the boil, stirring occasionally. Reduce the heat and simmer, uncovered for 10 minutes or until the vegetables are tender but retain a bit of bite. Drain through a sieve or colander and place the vegetables in a large glass or stainless-steel bowl.

Melt the butter in a small saucepan over a moderate heat, once the foam subsides add the flour and stir well to combine. Add the vinegar, stir constantly until the mixture has come to the boil and thickens. Lower the heat and simmer for 3-4 minutes, stirring constantly so it doesn’t catch. Add the turmeric, mustard and sugar and mix well until thoroughly combined.

Stir the mixture through the vegetable mix. Once cooled, cover and leave to rest on the bench overnight. The next day, eat at once or fill jars and cover well. Can be stored in the refrigerator for 4 weeks.