Cock-a-leekie, the monarch of the pot

Press, 24 September 1983, Page 12

Cock-a-leekie, the monarch of the pot

by

David Burton

Food & Fable

In some ways the frugal Scots might be accused of having the rubbish bin approach to soup-making; so many of their national. recipes seem to call for bits and pieces and scraps of almost every imaginable (and sometimes unmentionable) meat and vegetable.

Not so with cock-a-leekie, which consists of water, beef, chicken, leeks, prunes, salt and pepper. Nothing more. This may seem an unlikely combination if you have never tried it, but before you pass judgment, read the opinion of the great chef Soyer: “I will always give preference in the way of soup to their (the Sdbts’) cock-a-leekie, even before their inimitable hotch-potch.” Others have been even more extravagant in their praise: “I could live on Scotch broth and cock-a-leekie forever. These supreme soups, the absolute monarchs of the stock-pot, are unparellelled elsewhere in the world. They are the food of the gods.” (H. V. Morton “In Search of Scotland”.)

Cock-a-leekie has been served up throughout Scotland for centuries, although it has been suggested that it might be of Welsh origin. An 1867 book of Welsh recipes by Lady Llanover, for example, lists an almost identical recipe. However, as long ago as 1598 a certain Fynes Moryson described a dinner given by a Scottish country knight, at which the lower table had broth with a little stewed meat, while the “upper messe, insteede ... had a pullet with some prunes in the broth.”

The soup appears to have been particularly popular in Edinburgh, as this annoy-

mous piece of doggerel suggets: . I’ve supped gude bree i’mony a howff Wi’in Auld Reekie, But nane wi’ siccan a gusty gowff As cock-a-leekie. Translated, this reads: I’ve supped good soup in many a tavern, Within Auld Reekie (Edinburgh) But none with such a savoury taste, As cock-a-leekie.

(Edinburgh earned the nickname of Auld Reekie because of the factory chimneys which formerly spewed forth in the city, creating a serious smog problem.) The name cock-a-leekie implies that it originated as a means of using an old cockerel. In the days of cock-fighting, cock-a-leekie made from a vanquished bird was a popular lowlands dish on Fastern’s E’en, the evening before the first day of the Fast of Lent. Up until the eighteenth century cock fights were commonly held in the parish schools to celebrate the festival. Since the fowl is to be eaten, it is preferable to use a proper roasting chicken rather than an old pot boiler (which is ideal for making a stock but which is often discarded afterwards). If you do use an old boiling fowl, add it to the pot at the beginning of cooking along with the beef.

Cock-a-leekie

Ikg piece gravy beef, or

shin beef I.skg leeks 1 Ikg chicken 250 g prunes (no need to soak first)

Salt and pepper Place the whole piece or pieces of beef in a large pot with two-thirds of the leeks. Cover with water, bring to the boil and simmer at least three hours, preferably four. An hour and a half before the end of cooking, add the chicken, breast down. (With most modern supermarket chickens it will be necessary to first cut and pull away excess fat, particularly around the tail and neck ends.) Thirty minutes before the end of cooking add the stoned prunes. Towards the end of cooking remove the leeks and place in a sieve held over the pot. Press with the back of spoon to

extract all the moisture, then discard them. (Meg Dods, the author of “The Cook and Housewife’s Manual,” 1826, tells us: “The soup must be very thick of leeks, and the first part of them must be boiled down into the soup until it becomes a lubricous compound”)

Skim as much fat off the surface as possible, then slice the remaining uncooked leeks and add about five minutes before the end of cooking, so that they remain slightly crisp. Season to taste with salt and pepper. If the soup still seems a little watery at the end of cooking you might add a little chicken stock powder, but be careful not to overdo it.

There are two ways of serving the soup: either slice the chicken and beef into chunks and put them back into the soup, or serve the broth with just the prunes and a few of the leeks as the first course, and then eat the chicken and the rest of the leeks as the main course.

The chicken is very nice with caper sauce, made by pressing a dessertspoon of flour into 125 g of butter cubes, stirring this with a wineglass of cold water over a moderate heat until melted and blended, then adding 3 dessertspoons of capers, a tablespoon of anchovy sauce and a little salt and pepper. The beef can be reserved in a little of the broth to eat the next day. The soup will serve six to eight people. Like all national dishes, cock-a-leekie has sprouted numerous variations. For reasons of economy, some modern recipes drop the beef, but it is better to Use beef stock cubes than just' plain water. Some recipes suggest adding a bouquet garni, or a pinch of tarragon, or a teaspoon of mace, or 2 tablespoons of parsley at the end. Potato is called for in some versions, but this tends to destroy the clear nature of the soup.

The biggest argument centres on the prunes: “Shepherd: Speakin’ o’ cocky-leekie, the man was an atheist that first polluted it with prunes. “North: At least no Christian.

"Shepherd: Prunes gie’t a sickenin’ sweetness till it tastes like a mouthfu’ o’ a Cockney poem.” — Christopher North, “Noctes Ambrosianae.”

Tallyrand, the great French foreign minister, who was as much a gastronome as a diplomat (he even employed Careme as his personal chef for a time) once asked at a formal banquet given by Lord Holland if prunes were indeed essential to cock-a-leekie.

Failing to receive a satisfactory answer, Tallyrand came up with his own typically diplomatic solution: include the prunes by all means, but remove them before the soup is taken to the table. This seems a waste of good prunes to me; I like the mild sweet tinge they add to the soup.