22 Aug 2023
Elena Hogg, founder of local culinary company FOOD by Elena has spread out the blanket and opened the picnic basket to unveil her latest culinary delights…
Positions, everyone! It’s time. What may well be the only remaining half-sunny weekend of August is approaching and we need to make the most of it. This all- too-familiar scenario brings forth in me a typically British, quasi-militant partaking of some al fresco eating.
Whether that be a picnic shoehorned into an otherwise fraught Saturday of DIY and child-ferrying, or perhaps an impromptu outdoor grilling session following the resurrection of last summer’s ‘BBQ at ours’ WhatsApp group, it’s all part of the ‘carpe solem’ philosophy. I mean, even some squashed sandwiches you packed for a long country walk counts.
Having already covered barbecues in issue 19, this time I’ll focus on picnics. For me, there exist only two picnic scenarios and they are polar opposites: the planned and organised kind, and the spontaneous, throw-something-together version. There’s no in-between. Even picnics that are scheduled far ahead enough to fall into the former category often end up slipping into the latter for reasons my husband would attribute to my inability to do anything at all in good time. I can’t argue.
One of the best picnics I ever went on was arranged with about 30 minutes’ notice. Because it’s impossible to prepare much in such a short time, the pressure comes off and inspiration flows more freely.
It’s a perverse cosmic law that effort is inversely proportional to success when pressure is thrown in as a constant. I know that’s probably nonsense, mathematically, but hopefully it makes my point: that occasion when it really doesn’t matter whether you impress anyone is the time you produce fabulous results.
Conversely, if you grind yourself into a drivelling wreck, spending every waking hour perfecting miniscule details, the whole thing can end up a bit lacklustre. It’s cruel, really.
I remember, during 30 thirty minutes that I had to amalgamate food items into some kind of picnic-esque spread, feeling bursts of creative thinking. The tin cupboard offered borlotti beans and tuna, which got decanted into a Tupperware box with some hacked-up bell peppers and pasta shells which had no time to cool, making the whole salad pleasantly warm and the olive oil I’d drizzled in all the more fruity.
Some strategic rummaging also unearthed one of those ready-to-eat pouches of ancient grains. I tipped the contents into another container and added the entirety of that shelf in everyone’s fridge where all the half-empty jars of deli- style veggies are nestled: olives, marinated artichokes, capers, anchovies, sun-dried tomatoes and so on.
This had the advantage of being ready-dressed and self-seasoned, given the oil, salt and pickling juices the veggies were steeped in prior to their reincarnation as a salad.
Just before leaving, I recall grabbing a pack of cherry tomatoes, some bresaola that had been hanging around and whatever cheese we had in, and shoved everything unceremoniously in a cool bag.
We bought a baguette en route to tear up, and that fact that we’d totally forgotten to pack any plates made no difference in the end. The sporks we found in the arm-rest storage of the car (that I think had been there for about four years) were all we needed to eat our tupperware salads, and everything else just sat on the picnic blanket to be picked at. Though cutting manchego with a spork was something of a challenge…
The other extreme is the fully planned and carefully executed picnic. While it lacks the carefree vibe of its spontaneous counterpart, the gastronomic potential is greater and there’s a heady sense of achievement in taking into the countryside what should be eaten at a proper table with non-bendy cutlery and all the many accoutrements conveniently nearby.
Moving hell and earth is a willingly accepted part of the gourmet picnic, much like how a gruelling stagger through an arid desert precedes a drink from the waterhole. The sundries alone require a comprehensive checklist: salt and pepper, butter, chilli flakes, mustard (wholegrain for the free-range applewood smoked ham and Dijon for the smoked haddock scotch eggs you made earlier on), chutneys for the array of cheeses, pickles and tapenades – the list is the culinary equivalent of over-packing for a holiday, but with an embarrassingly middle-class veneer.
A sure sign of a well-planned picnic is some kind of pastry-based offering. My go-to crowd-pleaser are mini tartlets – the buttery brown and uneven pastry looks suitably rustic and they’re robust enough to be stacked in a container and slung over the shoulder in a cool bag.
Just about any old cheese or veg you have lurking in the crisper drawer nearing the fermentation stage will suddenly seem very appetising roasted off and baked into an eggy savoury custard.
Puff pastry is also a loyal ally of the outdoor meal, though the picnic blanket needs a particularly energetic shake to rid it of the flaky crumbs that inevitably cascade the second your teeth sink in.
The ordinary sandwich has no place at a gourmet picnic. Wraps are passable, but only if filled with the likes of quinoa, kimchi, pine nuts or burrata.
And anything Scandinavian gets a big fat tick, too.
Think smoked salmon, beetroot, cornichons, dill, cream cheese, avocado – these are all stalwarts of the trendy picnic. You get extra points if you put any of it on rye bread and a Brucie bonus if it doesn’t fall apart in a crumbly heap before you’ve taken a mouthful.
Finally, picnic loaf is another way to disguise the vulgar sandwich. French boules or sourdough loaves are ideal for this purpose. You slice horizontally and scoop out most of the soft inside.
Butter the two halves and start layering in sliced cheeses and meats interspersed with soft things to hold it all together, like spreadable goat’s cheese, whizzed up cannellini beans loosened with lemon juice, or just your garden variety hummus.
You then press the two halves back together firmly, wrap and refrigerate – ideally for a whole day before consumption.
The cutting open of the loaf is something of a showstopper, revealing the tempting layers inside. Make sure you have deputised someone to capture the moment photographically; no posh picnic is quite complete without something to put on Insta, after all.
