Oeufs Drumkilbo: TOM PARKER BOWLES: What do Prince Charles and Madame Vodka have in common? They're

Published: 17:00 EST, 15 September 2012 | Updated: 17:00 EST, 15 September 2012 View comments They called her Madame Vodka. An accomplished cook, running the kitchen at Drumkilbo, a white and handsome house in the depths of Perthshire, Scotland.

What do Prince Charles and Madame Vodka have in common? They're both fans of Oeufs Drumkilbo

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They called her Madame Vodka.

An accomplished cook, running the kitchen at Drumkilbo, a white and handsome house in the depths of Perthshire, Scotland.

It wasn’t her real name, of course.

I first tried Oeufs Drumkilbo a few weeks back and while it's not the daintiest of delights, it's a feast in every sense

I first tried Oeufs Drumkilbo a few weeks back and while it's not the daintiest of delights, it's a feast in every sense

But she was of Polish extraction (rather than an enthusiastic imbiber of clear spirits), and the moniker seemed to stick.

One night, back in the Fifties, some guests arrived late, long after dinner had been cleared away.

And Lord Elphinstone, whose house it was, asked Madame V to whip up a little midnight snack.

So she rootled through larder and icebox and found a few chunks of leftover lobster (this was a grand house, after all), a pair of hard-boiled eggs, a handful of prawns and some diced tomato.

With a dash of anchovy essence for depth, and a few jigs of Tabasco, she mixed her booty into fresh mayonnaise.

This meeting of seafood cocktail and egg mayonnaise was pretty good as it stood.

But she went one step further, melting aspic into a soupçon of seafood stock, adding this to the melée, then topping it all with a thin layer of jelly.

Oeufs Drumkilbo was born.

Claudia Roden is one of the true legends of the food writing world, and her tome on al fresco eating, Picnics And Other Outdoor Feasts (Grub Street, £15), is every bit as elegant and exhaustive as you’d expect. She moves from the Middle East to Japan, by way of England, tea on the lawn and street food. The only book you’ll ever need on eating outdoors.

Now, in normal circumstances, the story would have ended there, a fairly intricate, if enticing, country house curio, to be wheeled out at various weddings, balls and wakes.

But Lord Elphinstone happened to be the Queen Mother’s nephew.

And after one bite, Her Majesty was not only amused, but gave the recipe to her own chef too.

HRH The Prince of Wales (who, in the interests of disclosure and all that, is my stepfather) loves the dish.

And told me the tale of Madame Vodka.

‘It was one of my grandmother’s favourites’, he says. And it’s still a regular fixture on the Prince’s menus.

These days, though, anything jellied and savoury is hardly an easy sell. People are quite happy to slurp lurid fruit versions.

But exquisite dishes such as jellied consommé and oeufs en gelée, the French bistro classic, have all but disappeared.

Even that piggy jelly poured into proper pork pies seems to have more foes than fans. It must be a simple question of texture.

   

More from Tom Parker Bowles Event for The Mail on Sunday...

 

But oeufs Drumkilbo is a magnificent dish, combining Scottish hearty with haute cuisine, a feast where Monarch of the Glen meets Marie Antoinette.

I first tried it a few weeks back and while it’s not the daintiest of delights, it’s a feast in every sense.

Fat chunks of sweet lobster (you can use langoustines too) wallow alongside soft-boiled eggs, while small cubes of tomato add much needed tang.

The sauce itself, thick and decadent, won’t be winning any beauty prizes (the anchovy essence stains it a dull brown).

But even the aspic averse can’t fail to be impressed, and the layer of amber jelly on top is thin and rather fetching.

Served with copious amounts of fresh brown toast, you need no more than a few mouthfuls. But it’s a true starter of champions.

The Goring Hotel in London makes a  fine version, in honour of the late Queen Mother, a regular guest.

And you can  find the recipe in A Taste Of Mey, a wonderful tome that brings together a collection  of recipes served up at the Castle of Mey.

Although in this book, the recipe is credited to a Mrs Cruickshank, rather than the more romantic-sounding Madame Vodka. Perhaps they are the same person.

As with the genesis of many great dishes, the truth remains opaque. No matter. It’s the sort of creation that warrants a proper Edwardian appetite.

But if it weren’t for the tardy arrival of those guests at Drumkilbo, over half a century back, this beautiful concoction would never have been born.

Sometimes it pays to be late.

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