Tuna & yoghurt quiche
Today, Louche Gastronomique commends to you: school dinners from 1980s Darlington.
No, wait - come back. I can explain.
Before some scholarships and very lucky breaks turned my educational history into the kind of sub-Harry Potter shit that Americans are sometimes bemused to discover actually happens, I went to one of those falling-apart-but-really-trying council estate primary schools. Committed teachers desperately doing what they could for kids who the world at large - and eighties Thatcherism in particular - essentially viewed as structural unemployment futures.
I didn't like it very much. I would turn out to like expensive private schools run by bloviating Tories and ruthlessly nurturing a culture of toxic masculinity even less, but that would have been quite a lot to explain to me in 1993, and also has relatively little to do with quiche.
The food was only marginally nicer than the bullying, and I dreaded lunch each day because it meant a big sloppy helping of both. But every couple of weeks they served something I actually liked: a tuna quiche, served just warm, with a slightly sharp edge from being made with yoghurt.
My mum, who would ask me about the food so we at least had something to talk about that didn't make me cry, was incredulous. It did not sound like a good time. But it was the only thing they served that I would eat with anything you could squint and call gusto.
One day she decided to make it "to see if it could be nice".
It was. I have no idea if this is close to her recipe - her old notebooks are hundreds of kilometres away, and in any case this is instantly disqualified by including spring onions and fresh herbs. But it tastes good and it captures the mood.
Cheers, [Redacted] Primary - you probably didn't damage me any more than the public school system, but unlike them you baked me a tasty quiche.
Ingredients:
Fills the loose-bottomed 25cm quiche tin pictured.
Quiche filling
Tuna, 1 can (about 100g drained weight and the best you can lay your hands on)
Greek yoghurt, 200g
Single cream, 150ml
Eggs, 3 medium
Spring onions, 2
Fresh dill, a couple of sprigs (about 1tbsp chopped)
Mature cheddar, about 40g
Salt and pepper
Also pastry: a 500g pack or make it as below, and a tin (25cm, shallow in this case)
Pastry
Plain flour, 300g
Butter, 150g
Salt, 1/2 tsp
Milk, 3-4tbsp
Instructions:
If you're making the pastry, do that first. It'll take about 45 minutes (elapsed) and I will not judge you if you can't be arsed.
If you can, well, half the internet can tell you how to make shortcrust pastry better than me, but briefly:
Pastry
Add the salt to the flour. Cut the butter into chunks. Rub it into the flour between your fingertips until the whole thing "resembles fine breadcrumbs" as cookbooks say. I don't think it looks much like, but you'll know it when you see it.
Add the milk and stir it in, working everything together quickly until it starts to form clumps, and then smoosh it together. The more you work it, the more gluten develops and in this case that's bad. It causes shrinkage when you bake and a crappy texture. So work it as little as possible.
Manhandle it into a ball, and rest it in the fridge for at least half an hour.
If you can cope with his shtick, Jamie Oliver’s (sweet) shortcrust video is a pretty good tutorial.
If you bought your pastry, jump in now.
Blind bake
Heat the oven to 170c
Grease your tin, roll out the pastry to a little under half a centimetre thick, and lay it into the tin. Prick the bottom to help prevent bubbles.
Line it with some baking paper and fill it with baking beads or something appropriate. I use the lentils I absolutely did not panic buy at the start of lockdown. In his (pretty good) book, James thingy off Bake Off uses pocket change. But it’s 2021 and come on - you haven’t handled physical cash in at least six months, but you totally have that kilo of dried cannellini beans you’re going to use soon, honest.
Bake for 20 mins, then remove the paper and beads/lentils/whatevs, returning to the oven for a final 10 to firm up the base.
The whole purpose of all this buggering about it to ensure the pastry is cooked, because we're going to bake the quiche slow and low, so it otherwise risks the dreaded "soggy bottom". I used to just not bother, and cook the quiche slightly longer and higher. But this actually is nicer if you have the patience. If you look at mine carefully, it’s still a little under-baked, which is almost certainly because I mistakenly had the oven too low.
Take it out, and let it cool for at least fifteen minutes.
If you bought a pre-made pastry base, you're up.
Making the actual quiche
Roughly chop the dill. Finely slice the spring onions. Separate one of the eggs, keeping only the yolk. Grate the cheese. Get the oven to 150c.
Mix together the yoghurt, cream, two eggs and the yolk, and a little salt and pepper. Beat together thoroughly. Flake in the tuna, add the spring onion, dill, and grated cheese, and stir it all together gently.
Pour this into the pastry case and bake for about 40 mins, or until just turning gold on top.
If the top cracks, that's not overcooked, it's "wabi sabi" and you can tell anyone I said so.
Remove from the oven and let it cool. Don't serve it hot - let it set a bit and let the flavours come together.
There’s no ducking the fact that it’s a bit heavy. But the flavour stays fairly bright as the yoghurt and dill give it some sharpness, so it serves well with a light salad. If in doubt with quiche I do something with crushed baby potatoes, tomatoes, and green beans. I reckon a seared wedge of cabbage would go a treat.
There you go. You now know more about my pre-boarding-school childhood than anyone I've talked to in at least two decades. You also know how to make a tasty but very filling quiche.
Don't worry - I won't be adding later childhood recipes from the heart of Britain's class-war radicalisation camps. But yes, there was exactly as much steamed pudding as you think.