Gougere

Kenyan Gougere

This is a French recipe, yet it was best cooked by Mary Wanjiru Mugambi. This is her story.

Mary came to work for us when Cat and Jonny were just a few days older than 3 years. We’d moved to Nairobi from Nyeri without staff, and I knew I needed someone to help. So I asked the house worker of some acquaintances nearby. Mary arrived. Things didn’t turn out at all the way I thought they would: things did turn out far better than I thought.

I thought Mary was a friend of Dorcas’, but didn’t know until later that she wasn’t. She was so much more than that.

I’d wanted Mary to move into the servants’ quarters so that she lived on the compound. She wanted to stay living at home. She travelled for an hour each way, every day, so she could go home to her own children in the evening.
I worried for years that she would leave so late that she would be travelling, dangerously, after dark. So we started eating by 6pm every evening. Mary was never anxious, dismissing my fears. She still left us well before dusk, much to my relief.
I’d wanted someone who was quick and efficient at cleaning and washing. Mary wasn’t: I used to marvel how long it took her to wash the floors. It could have been partly because her method was to throw half a bucket of water down, then painstakingly – and scrupulously cleanly – mop it all up, on hands and knees, with a rag.
I wanted someone to speak Swahili to the children, to help them learn it. (My command of Swahili was dreadful and, in any case, it seemed false to me to speak to them in a language that was not my own.)
Mary preferred to speak English. She maintained that her Swahili was too bad.
I’d wanted someone who could cook. Mary couldn’t, really – not at first. She grew into it and blossomed.
I’d wanted a servant. I gained a housekeeper, a friend, a prayer warrior. I became acquainted with a generous heart and tremendously caring spirit. Mary became a trusted and much loved part of our family.
We still text each other. Occasionally, because we are busy. And because texts cost money.

So, Gougere – a French dish cooked superbly by a Kenyan – became Mary’s signature dish. The one she most liked to make. The one she would go out to the shops and the market to buy ingredients for, if we didn’t have them in the house. The one which would bring a smile to tired faces at the end of a busy day.

Gougere

Choux pastry:

Gently heat 2 oz (50g) butter/margarine with ¼ pint water (150ml) until the fat melts.

Bring to the boil, immediately tip in 3oz plain flour, beat quickly with a wooden spoon until the mixture forms a dough/ball and comes away from the side of the pan.

Leave to cool for a few minutes.

Gradually beat in 2 already beaten eggs, a little at a time, continue beating until the mixture is thick and glossy in texture.

Dop it round the edge of a greased ovenproof dish. Sprinkle with 1 ½ oz grated Cheddar if liked.

Bake at 200C Gas 6 until well risen and golden brown. (Underbake, and it will collapse like a deflated balloon once it is out of the oven. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.)

Stew together onion, garlic, courgettes, tomatoes to make a ‘ratatouille’, stir in cooked peas just before finishing. Pile into the centre of the gougere. I could give you exact quantities, but if you don’t know how to throw a ratatouille together by now, you probably shouldn’t be let loose in a kitchen.

Serve with cheese or tomato sauce if liked. I think a meat alternative could be chicken or beef stroganoff as long as the sauce was quite dry. Too wet, and the pastry goes soggy. Mary used to serve it with her signature bean stew: black-eyed beans, onions, garlic, and just enough chilli to make it bite back.

I like this dish. I must remember to make it again soon.