It’s the fat content of cream which determines its richness and whipping characteristics. Thus you need a certain minimum of fat in the cream or you won’t be able to whip it. The most common types of cream available are:

Double cream (48% fat): can be used as a rich pouring cream, whipped, or floated in coffee or soup.

Whipping cream (35%): will double its volume when whipped and is less likely than double cream to curdle (or turn to butter) if over-whipped.

Single cream (18%): can be used as a pouring cream or to enrich soups or sweet dishes.

UHT cream: double, whipping, or single cream is subjected to ultra-heat treatment to preserve it. There is a slight change in flavour but the fat content is unaffected.

The answer therefore seems to be that regardless of whether the cream is fresh or UHT, or of its origin, it’s the fat content that’s important. Look out for cream that’s at least 35% fat and you should be able to whip it. Hope this helps!

Update:

Since I first wrote this page, we now have a much more comprehensive set of articles about cream in the UK, US, and Australia on our sister site Not Delia:

Not Delia: Confused about cream?

Author: Kay McMahon

Kay has been an expat for over 20 years. She set up the British Expat website more than 10 years ago, whilst living in London and missing the expat life. These days she spends much of her time lugging computers and cameras around the world. (Dave gets to deal with all the really heavy stuff.)

I first spotted the Japanese Chef in Allders. There it was hanging up beside all the other Cooks & Co knives, its gleaming broad eight-inch blade inviting me to take a closer look. Who could resist?

I already have a good set of Sabatier knives – expensive, dependable, and perhaps rather dull. I’ve been tempted before to have the odd dalliance. My filleting knife, for example, would make Rambo look good, with its flexible retractable blade. The attraction paled a little after I almost lost a couple of fingers, but I’ve learned a bit more respect now and we get along fine. The trust has been lost forever though. And so, Sabatier has never really had any serious rivals for my affections. Until now.

Let me tell you more about the Japanese Chef. It may have an exotic name, but this is not your ultra-sophisticated, genuinely Japanese, Global knife. (You’d think that since you’re not paying for anything in the middle, them being hollow, that they might not be so frighteningly expensive.) No, the Japanese Chef, comparatively speaking, is built like a brickie’s labourer. This is a very heavy knife. The Sabatier 8-inch chef’s knife weighs 175g, the Japanese Chef is almost 100g heavier.

Holding it in the shop, waving it about, getting a good feel for it, I could see the shop staff looking nervously over. The Chef’s glory was still sheathed in its protective cardboard casing and I longed to rip it off and run my thumb against the sharp edge. I didn’t dare to. I thought of my already large collection of knives at home and told myself there was no way I could justify the expense of yet another. Such a beast would be too expensive. Much too expensive. It was a beauty.

Glad to have solved the problem, I investigated further, looking for the price tag. £20!!! Surely it couldn’t be any good at that price. But it was too late. I couldn’t help myself. I bought it. And barely noticed the shop staff clutching each other in relief as I gleefully danced out of Allders.

I couldn’t wait to unsheath it, but thought the other passengers might not like it if I started fondling such a glorious chopper on the bus. I controlled myself until I got home. The rest, as they say, is history.

I have committed culinary infidelity. The Sabatiers hang on the knife rack untouched while I favour the Japanese Chef. It cuts through the crunchiest carrots like the proverbial hot blade through congealed bovine mammary secretion (sorry, didn’t want to use a cliché and I couldn’t think of another word for “butter”).

So what’s so great about it? Well, a Japanese chef’s knife is a different shape from the traditional western cook’s or chef’s knife. Think aeroplane wing-shaped rather than the long thin triangular shape used in the western world. It’s a heavier duty instrument for chopping. I believe the extra weight, coupled with good sharpness, gives it more power. The Japanese Chef also looks good with a shiny chrome tip on its handle. Even if it was never used, it could be an attractive ornament on any kitchen knife rack.

But the real beauty of it is how it cuts, and how it feels when it cuts. Even my husband had a go with it and said that it was so smooth you’d almost think it had liquid inside it. When in full flow of the rocking action used in cutting, I found it to be poetry in motion. (Only amateurs make that woodpeckerish rat-a-tat racket when they cut.)

Oh wow, this is the best knife I’ve found in years and all for £20 too. I feel guilty for neglecting my old friends the Sabatiers, but the Japanese Chef is eight inches of pure pleasure.

Buy one today! (Note to self: try to find a way of flogging them on here.)

PS If anyone got the impression I’m a knife-wielding nutcase, I’m not. I think you’ll find that most chefs are passionate about their knives.

This article has been republished on our sister site Not Delia. There’s lots more on there for the foodie too, including various articles about types of knives and their uses.

Author: Kay McMahon

Kay has been an expat for over 20 years. She set up the British Expat website more than 10 years ago, whilst living in London and missing the expat life. These days she spends much of her time lugging computers and cameras around the world. (Dave gets to deal with all the really heavy stuff.)

Pare ‘em, an’ slice ‘em thin-kine.

Drap ‘em in a suppie watter, forbyes they micht gan’ broon.

Syne tak’ an ingin or twa, an’ peel an’ dice.

Noo, here’s the tricky bit. Y’see, history’s a wee bit contermashious. Some wad say stovies need a bit o’ beef. Ithers wad say, stovies wiz invented ‘cos there wiz NAE beef tae be had.

Noo, me, I sweer stovies shouldna hae beef. For the only reason we eat stovies, is ‘cos we were fair scunnnered o’ tatties in ony ither shape or form.

Bit if ye really wint tae gie yer stovies a wee bit o’ extra flavour, add a couple o’ rashers o’ smokey bacon. I ken it’s nae traditional, bit this is progress!

Okay, here’s fit ye dae.

Heat a pucklie ile in an aul’ pan. It his tae be an aul’ pan, ‘cos the stovies are only stovies if they’re welded tae the bottom. An’ ye widna want tae dae that tae a guid pan, wid ye?

It can be ony kine o’ ile ye like – olive, corn, whale, engine . . .

Syne cut up a bittie smokey bacon – posh fowk use lardons, fitivver they are. Hayve it in i’ pan, an’ fry a bittie. Syne hayve in i’ ingins, an’ fry a bittie mair.

Fan they’re a bittie birsled, hayve in i’ tatties, an’ rummle ‘em aroon’ for a whilie.

Noo it’s cheatin’ time.

We nivver hid stock cubes in the true stovie days. Bit a ham cube is movin wi’ the times.

Sae’s a dash o’ L&P.

Saut an’ pepper, a suppie bilin’ watter, an’ simmer for twa or three days.

Weel, ‘at’s a bit o’ an exaggeration. Probably twa ‘oors’ll dae.

As lang as they’re biled dry an’ welded tae the pan.

The scrapin’s are the best bit.

Serve wi’ oatcakes an’ beetroot, an’ a big gless o’ milk.

Syne a guid dram for efters.
(PS. Ma spellcheckers’s jist died a horrible death. A’ wid gie it the kiss o’ life, bit A’m feart o’ gettin’ electrocuted.)

© Mike Clark 2002

For more recipes, food news and reviews please visit our sister site:

Author: Mike Clark

Mike discovered the joys of horticulture when, as a small child, he overheard a neighbour say she'd dropped a sixpence in the tattie patch. He has been digging ever since, with the tenacity of a true Scot, hoping one day to find a fiver. Despite now running his own landscape gardening business, Mike claims to be permanently broke, due in part to his quest for fame resulting in writing gardening columns for free. He likes trees, Jack Russells, and 12 year old Glen Ord, but not necessarily in that order. Gifts of any of these can be sent c/o britishexpat.com, but he would like to point out that the third item is by far the easiest and cheapest to post. One of the highlights of his life was winning a toilet brush in a raffle. He persevered with it for ages, but he's back on the paper now... Mike approaches gardening and writing with exactly the same formula. Throw in plenty of manure, and something good will eventually spring up.

In 1804 he was a flour miller and decided to try his hand at the milling and packaging of mustard. Such was his success and such was the popularity of his product, that he was forced to expand, and became the largest maker of mustard in the country. Today it is prepared in very much the same way that Jeremiah Colman invented. They use two types of mustard seed, one white and the other brown. The seed is ground and sifted to remove the husks and thus form the mustard flour. After grinding and sifting, the two mustards are mixed together and packaged in the bright yellow tins that are familiar to everyone.

If the strength of a country were judged on its mustard, we in the UK would be International Supermen (and women). Take for example the Dijon mustards of France. They are very smooth, very sophisticated, but very WEAK. And what of the dark German mustard? Or the light coloured American mustard? Neither are what I would call mustard, in the real sense of the word. They are more of a relish, manufactured for those with a weak palate. Mustard should be HOT, it should clear your sinuses the moment you open the can, and should make your toes curl up if you slap too much on your ham sandwich.

Colman’s mustard is as English as the roast beef dinners that it enhances. I personally prefer to mix it fresh immediately before using it. Use cold water, mix slowly humming Rule, Britannia!, and stand for ten minutes as this gives it more of a “kick”. It is perfectly acceptable to use the ready mixed mustard that is more and more in use today, provided that it is Colman’s of course. I have actually seen jars with what is described on the label as “English” mustard, produced in Italy! As an aside, I can only comment that if in fact they had used English mustard themselves, they would probably not have lost the Roman Empire.

Colman’s mustard has of course many uses other than spicing up your Sunday roast. The following are a sample, which I have trawled from the Web. I cannot personally vouch for most of them, but intend to experiment as and when the occasion arises:

Some uses of mustard

For smelly dishes add a heaped tablespoon of Colman’s with the soap to remove odours like fish and onions.

Make a paste with Colman’s and spread it on the back of a loose tile to secure it to the wall. Acts like plaster!

Use as fertiliser for better coloured daffodils.

Sprinkle dry mustard inside shoes to prevent cold feet and frostbite.

Mustard and honey at bedtime for coughs, a pinch of mustard in a glass of water for hiccups.

Colman’s poultry mustard fed to chickens stimulates egg production.

To mend leaky car radiators temporarily, pour in contents of 2 oz tin of mustard while car is running.

Sprinkle over plants to rid them of insect pests.

Dry Colman’s rubbed into dog’s coat helps stop distemper. Cover dog with blanket.

Smear headlights with a dry Colman’s mixed with some water to drive in fog. Voilà, fog lights!

Stuffy nose? Make a paste, spread it generously over a cracker, and take a few bites. This clears it up in seconds!

Do you have trouble with ants? Sprinkle Colman’s mustard over their trail and they won’t cross it.

Hands smell like onions or garlic? Rub some Colman’s on your hand and rinse with warm water to remove the smell.

When using breadcrumbs on chicken or chops, add a tablespoon of Colman’s to the breadcrumbs.

Before cooking mussels, put them in a bucket of water with a few teaspoonfuls of dry Colman’s to make them spit out the grit and sand.

Make a paste and rub it on the sole of the foot and around the ear lobes. This is very relaxing and reduces stress.

Use a thin mixture of Colman’s and water to catch worms for fishing. You have to find a wormhole, and pour the mixture in. The worms wiggle out and then you need to rinse them off before putting them in your bait box.

Uses around your computer

Colman’s Mustard makes a great background colour for Web pages.

The nice mellow yellow colour relieves eyestrain.

Make a great looking paperweight out of the tin!

So that is Colman’s mustard for you, £1 – £1.30 for a jar or 75p or so for the famous tin. Far too strong for most countries….sniff….makes you proud to be British.

For recipes, food news and reviews please visit our sister site:

Ingredients

• 150g/6 oz self raising flour
• 75g/3 oz shredded suet
• salt and pepper
• cold water to mix

Method

Easy peasy! Bung the flour and suet into a mixing bowl, add a pinch of salt and a grind of pepper to season, add enough cold water to mix into a dough. Too much water will make it sticky and yukky to work with. If you do this by accident, add a little more flour to fix it. Using your hands form the mixture into golfball sized balls. You can make them bigger but they’re more difficult to cook through. Make them small and eat more of them without feeling guilty. Place the balls on top of your casserole or soup, cover the pot and leave for about 10 minutes. Result: lovely stodgy dough buoys! Perfect for sticking to your ribs on a cold day.

Cook’s tips

This is suitable for veggies as you can use veggie suet instead of beef suet, without any loss of flavour. I always use the veggie version on the basis of preference. Why use meat when the veggie equivalent is just as good? If you find it difficult to get veggie suet, I believe these can be made with baking margarine. I haven’t tried it but if anyone asks me to, I’ll have a go at adapting the above recipe for you.

Chopped fresh herbs, or even dried herbs, make these dumplings even tastier.

Food is fun – enjoy!

Update: April 2001

In response to a request from a reader, I had a go at making these without suet. By the way, even if you can’t buy shredded suet in packets like we do in the UK, it may be possible to get some beef suet from your local butcher. Suet is made by grating the hard white fat which surrounds the kidneys – you can always try asking for the fat and grating it yourself.

Here’s how I made suet-free dumplings. Use the same ingredients above but substitute cold hard butter for the suet (I expect you could use margarine but it wouldn’t taste so nice). Like in pastry making, the butter must be very cold. Try to make sure your hands are cold too. Cut the butter into small pieces and rub in to the flour using your fingertips. Otherwise use the method above.

The problem I encountered was that these dumplings are prone to breaking up. I overcame this by making sure the dough was a little drier than that with suet. I also let the balls stand for a little while to let them dry out further. Make them small because larger ones will break up more easily. When you pop them into the soup or casserole, put the lid on and leave them for at least 10 minutes. If you start prodding them, they’ll just break up. Urghh. I didn’t find this easy but I got there in the end. As you’d expect, they tasted buttery. All in all, this was a good substitute if you can’t get suet but, given the choice, I’d use suet every time. Good luck!

Update: December 2001

Alastair Gray in Switzerland wrote in with a useful tip:

“I noticed that you suggest using butter for dumplings. I have successfully used coconut fat (sold in solid form here in Switzerland in Migros) which produces perfect dumplings with no colour/texture/taste difference from suet. I kept it in the fridge and scraped it from the tub with a spoon to get very small fragments for the recipe.

“The next trial is to see if it works for suet puddings …”

For more recipes, food news and reviews please visit our sister site:

Author: Kay McMahon

Kay has been an expat for over 20 years. She set up the British Expat website more than 10 years ago, whilst living in London and missing the expat life. These days she spends much of her time lugging computers and cameras around the world. (Dave gets to deal with all the really heavy stuff.)