Home Forums Hunting & Shooting Food, Cooking, and Game Preparation Scotch Eggs

Never heard of 'em, and stumbled on them while looking for something on the web. Had to give it a try, and they're damn good!

1 pound breakfast sausage(I used moose breakfast sausage)
6 hard boiled eggs
flour
breadcrumbs
1 raw egg

Peel the hard boiled eggs, and dust with flour, while they're still wet.

Roll out the sausage, so its a little thicker than you would pie crust.

Wrap/encase the eggs, in a layer of sausage.(keep the sausage chilled until right before you wrap, as the fat will begin to melt, and make it a bitch to wrap the eggs.)

Beat an egg, give the sausage covered eggs a wash, and roll in the breadcrumbs.

Now here's where we deviated from "tradition". These things are normally fried in oil. Thought that was a bit much, and we chose to bake.

Put the eggs on a cookie sheet, give them a light spray of oil, and into the oven, preheated to 400. Bake for about 35-40 minutes.

That's it. Something different. Set a few aside to try chilled later, as they were traditionally a food for farmers to take to the field.

Jeff

That does sound good, I'll give it a whirl this week.

Jeff,

I usually let them sit at room temperature for 15 mins or so minutes after they come from the fridge. They have a richer fuller flavour than if served cold.

I have always deep fried my scotch eggs as did my Grandmother, but I will try the baking method that you did and see how it turns out. Definitely always looking for a healthier alternative.

Thanks,

Lynn

might have to try those this week!

Thought there'd be scotch in the recipe somewhere. Don't like scotch but figger'd bourbon might sub ok. Not the first mark I've missed.

1flier

I usually let them sit at room temperature for 15 mins or so minutes after they come from the fridge. They have a richer fuller flavour than if served cold.

Thanks for the tip!

Jeff

I have always thought that they were sent in lunch buckets of coal miners, down in the mines. Mostly always fried, though. Your recipe sounds good.

That recipe is old as the hills, but I've never thought well enough of the idea to try it.

Fixed it for you.

The Lion and Rose in San Antonio serves them and I've made them before. I could eat a bucket of them.


Travis

That would be a Pasty (pronounced /p�sti/ Cornish: Hogen; Pasti), known in (West) Cornish dialect as tiddy/teddy oggy/oggin, and sometimes as pastie in the United States, it is a filled pastry case, commonly associated with Cornwall, in the south west of England, UK. It differs from a pie as it is made by placing the filling on a flat pastry shape, usually a circle, and folding it to wrap the filling, crimping the edge to form a seal. The result is a raised semicircular package. The traditional Cornish pasty, which has Protected Geographical Indication (PGI) status in Europe, is filled with beef, sliced or diced potato, swede (also known as a rutabaga) and onion, and is baked. Pasties with many different fillings are made; some shops specialise in selling all sorts of pasties. For a pasty to be considered authentic, the filling ingredients must never be cooked before they are wrapped in the pastry casing.

The exact origins of the pasty are unclear, despite the modern pasty's strong association with Cornwall. It became popular in Cornwall during the 17th and 18th centuries, where miners and other workers adopted it due to its unique shape, forming a complete meal that can be carried easily and eaten without without cutlery. Traditionally, tin miners would keep their pasties hot in large ovens at the surface, each marked in pastry with the miner's name before baking. The miner could then eat the pasty holding the thick edge, which ensured that his dirty fingers (possibly including traces of arsenic) did not touch food or his mouth. Any excess pastry was left for the knockers, capricious spirits in the mines who might otherwise lead miners into danger.

There is also a traditional belief that the pastry on a good pasty should be strong enough to withstand a drop down a mine shaft. The pasty's dense, folded pastry could stay warm for 8 to 10 hours and, when carried close to the body, could help the miners stay warm. Traditional bakers in former mining towns will still bake pasties with fillings to order, marking the customer's initials with raised pastry. This practice was started because the miners used to eat part of their pasty for breakfast and leave the remainder for lunch; the initials enabled them to find their own pasties.

NOTE: *All Pasties I have ever eaten (and there have been many) both in Canada and the UK have been baked as opposed to fried.

Tidbits about Scotch Eggs:

A hard-boiled egg wrapped in sausage meat, dipped in breadcrumbs and deep-fried - it couldn�t sound more Scottish if it tried.

But according to food historian Alan Davidson, the Scotch egg actually hails from India - brought home by returning soldiers of the British Empire. It is a descendent of the Indian dish nargisi kofta, which consists of eggs covered in minced lamb and cooked in curried tomatoes.

It wasn�t until the early 19th century that the first written reference to Scotch eggs popped up (with the recommendation that they be eaten hot with gravy) in the Cook And Housewife�s Manual, thought to be secretly penned by Ivanhoe author Sir Walter Scott. Perhaps they should have been called Scott�s eggs?

I always make a dozen for the camp on opening day. A Scotch egg, some Texas Pete and a cold Colorado coolaid makes a pretty good brunch.

Gotta love that health food!

John

Thanks for the history lesson Lynn! Part of the pleasure I get out of cooking, is the story behind the origin of a dish.

I had my first pasty in a little diner in rural MT, while having lunch with a certain gunwriter and his wife, a few years back. Guess they(pasty's) came to MT via the miners back in the day. Have not tried making them at home, but need to. My wife makes killer crust, and would make for a great pasty. Gonna have to do a recipe search.

Jeff

The first time I ever heard about or ever tried a pasty was way back, in my younger days on my trip through Europe, on one morning passing by a butcher shop in Wales that started their day by selling pasties.

It reminded me of a chicken pot pie.

--------------------------

Miss Lynn,

I'm lookin' at you're avatar and thinking of pasties.

Just sayin'.

Sorry.

Your so cute I am just going to take that as a compliment



Btw, my first "pasty" was also in Wales.

A lot of the dishes eaten in the British Isles had their origins elswhere in the Empire. I am pretty sure Haggis is a true Scot;s dish. No ome else is claiming it at any rate. I am rather fond of same and have thought of raising sheep so I would have a supply of bladders.

Randy

Haggis is not something I have ever taken an overwhelming love to, though each year I come to like it a little bit more. I hold an Honorary Membership in The Black Watch (Royal Highland Regiment) of Canada, and am invited to, and attend many of their dinners. Haggis is of course served, most especially at the Robbie Burns Dinner. The tradition of the address to the Haggis is of course one of the main events of the evening, and something that I am honoured to have witness.

Address To The Haggis:



The Translation:

Fair is your honest happy face
Great chieftain of the pudding race
Above them all you take your place
Stomach, tripe or guts
Well are you worthy of a grace
As long as my arm

The groaning platter there you fill
Your buttocks like a distant hill
Your skewer would help to repair a mill
In time of need
While through your pores the juices emerge
Like amber beads

His knife having seen hard labour wipes
And cuts you up with great skill
Digging into your gushing insides bright
Like any ditch
And then oh what a glorious sight
Warm steaming, rich

Then spoon for spoon
They stretch and strive
Devil take the last man, on they drive
Until all their well swollen bellies
Are bent like drums
Then, the old gent most likely to rift (burp)
Be thanked, mumbles

Is there that over his French Ragout
Or olio that would sicken a pig
Or fricassee would make her vomit
With perfect disgust
Looks down with a sneering scornful opinion
On such a dinner

Poor devil, see him over his trash
As week as a withered rush (reed)
His spindle-shank a good whiplash
His clenched fist.the size of a nut.
Through a bloody flood and battle field to dash
Oh how unfit

But take note of the strong haggis fed Scot
The trembling earth resounds his tread
Clasped in his large fist a blade
He'll make it whistle
And legs and arms and heads he will cut off
Like the tops of thistles

You powers who make mankind your care
And dish them out their meals
Old Scotland wants no watery food
That splashes in dishes
But if you wish her grateful prayer
Give her a haggis!

Still can get pasties up here at a few restaurants, and my mom has made them since I was a kid...