I love a mince pie - that tiny, tender tart that somehow manages to hold the very essence of Christmas in its crust; the flavours, scents and spices, the luxury and richness of it all. Like sugared almonds and Turkish delight, a mince pie is an offer I can never refuse.
Surely this is the richest sweetmeat of all, with its crumbly butter pastry and filling of vine fruits, sugar, candied citrus peels and alcohol. The very best mince pies have pastry so fragile that it collapses in the palm of your hand, and a stuffing so hot you have to jiggle it round your mouth as you eat.
What amazes me is just how bad some of our little Christmas pies are. You must have had them: dry and hard with a filling that is sour and mean, like a tight little smile. The fault is almost always down to a tight- fisted cook. Like ham sandwiches, mince pies bring out the Scrooge in some people, who seem to get off on seeing how little butter they can put in the pastry and how far they can make the mincemeat go. It would help if they hadn't also gone for the cut-price mincemeat.
There is only a matter of pence between a good mince pie and a bad one. I make a very short pastry, so full of butter it takes a gentle hand to pick it up. I take it as something of a personal challenge to see how much filling I can squeeze into the pastry case rather than how little I can get away with. Sometimes I make my own filling, but more often than not I buy good-quality commercial brands. Not for me the real medieval McCoy with its minced steak, suet, rosewater and mace, but the sweet modern version with raisins, currants, lemon and nutmeg. History buffs might like to note that sometimes things go out of fashion with good reason.
To me, the little round tart dusted with icing sugar is the only one that really feels right. That said, I also like the idea of a mince pie the size of a plate, with an open top and latticed with curls of pastry across the surface in the style of a 50s American cook. The pastry will have to be a wee bit thicker, of course, and there may even be custard or cream, too. Those old American pie plates with a shallow dip are good for such open tarts. I don't think we want the filling too thick here.
But it's the little ones that tempt me the most. There must be at least one Great New Way with a mince pie each year. I remain unconvinced. Why fiddle around with wacky patterns and shapes when the classic little pie is so charming? All you really need is to get the pastry perfect. Nothing will convince me of the need for sugar in the pastry. Modern sweet pastry made with icing sugar and egg yolks is fine for sharp fillings like lemon, but is just overkill with something like this.
And so the big question is really: shortcrust or puff? Look, I'm not going to grumble at either after a couple of glasses of mulled wine, but unless the puff pastry has come straight from the oven, I'd rather have mine made with rich shortcrust. The latter is crumblier and it reheats better than puff. I will hear the case for both.
One year I made mincemeat muffins instead, stirring a few spoonfuls of mincemeat into a standard muffin mixture. They went down well but I couldn't help feeling I had broken some ancient Yuletide law and that it would bode ill for the year that followed. With things the way they are in the world right now, I'm not taking any chances.
Mince pies
A classic, made with rich shortcrust and eaten warm. After trying every new-fangled version, I reckon it is pretty much the perfect mince pie. Makes 18 small pies.
For the pastry:
150g unsalted butter
300g plain flour
1 egg yolk
a little cold water
375g good-quality mincemeat
icing sugar for dusting
You will also need a 12-hole tartlet tin, each hole measuring 6cm x 2cm deep. It is best to bake the pies in one batch of 12, then a second one of six.
Cut the butter into small pieces and rub it into the flour with your fingertips until you have what looks like coarse, fresh breadcrumbs. If you do this in the food processor it will take a matter of seconds. Add the egg yolk, then mix briefly with just enough water to bring to a smooth dough. You will probably need just 1 or 2 tablespoons. Bring the dough together into a firm ball, then knead it gently on a floured board for a couple of minutes until it softens. Reserve half of the dough, then roll the remainder out thinly. Set the oven at 200°C/gas mark 6.
Using cookie cutters or the top of an espresso cup, cut out 18 discs of pastry. (There may be a tiny bit left over.) Place 12 discs of the pastry in the tartlet tins, smoothing them up the sides so the edges stand very slightly proud of the tin. Fill each one with a dollop of mincemeat. A level tablespoon is probably all you will get into them, unless you have especially deep tins. Be generous. Roll out the remaining pastry and make a further 18 discs of pastry, reserving 6 of them for the second batch. Slightly dampen each of these round the edge with cold water then lay them over each tart and press firmly to seal the edges.
Cut a small slit in the centre of each pie and bake for 20 minutes till golden. Let them calm down for a few minutes, then slide them out of their tins with a palette knife and serve warm, dusted with icing sugar. Repeat with the remaining pastry and mincemeat.
Christmas tarts
It seems unfair that those who have an aversion to mincemeat don't get a little tart to eat when they come back from midnight mass. These open-topped versions smell like mince pies but have a filling that is chewier and sweeter and somehow even more fragile. A modern version, and one I think worth trying. Makes 24.
150g unsalted butter
295g plain flour
a little cold water
For the filling:
200g golden syrup
75g sultanas
50g candied peel
a pinch of mixed spice
25g butter
4 soft amaretti di Saronno or 4 tbsps plain, soft cake crumbs
1 large egg, beaten
You will also need a 24-hole tart sheet or 24 small tart tins with a width of 4cm and a depth of 1cm.
To make the pastry, cut the butter into small chunks and rub it into the flour with your fingertips. It should resemble coarse, fresh breadcrumbs.
I sometimes add a pinch of salt, but it is up to you. Sprinkle a little cold water over the crumbs and bring them together with your hands to form a soft, but not sticky, ball. Pat the dough into a sausage the same diameter as your tart tins and chill in the fridge for half an hour.
Preheat the oven to 190°C/gas mark 5. To make the filling, warm the syrup in a saucepan with the dried fruit, mixed spice and butter, then stir in the amaretti or cake crumbs. Remove the pan from the heat, then stir the beaten egg into the mixture. Cut the roll of pastry into 24 thin slices, then use each to line a tart tin. Trim the edges with a small knife. Divide the filling between the tarts, but don't overfill them, then bake till golden and bubbling - about 15-20 minutes.
As the pastry is very rich, the finished tarts are very fragile so let them cool in their tins for 8-10 minutes before removing them.
