Goulash at 2am: just the thing to revive flagging summer party guests

My parents (who live on a farm in East Sussex), along with some of their neighbours, decided to hold a summer party. The setting was to be a large, rectangular-shaped barn that has stood empty for years. The preparations began months ago. Meetings were convened, strategies formulated, responsibilities allocated. My job was to prepare the "2am goulash". Laying on a second meal after midnight is not normal practice, but it is hard to fault the logic of doing just that. By 2am, the spirits of even the most energetic guests are liable to be flagging. Extra assistance will be required if they are to make it to dawn.

I had never cooked goulash before, and so, in the week leading up to the party, conducted some research. Goulash may be the national dish of Hungary, but there is little agreement as to how it should be prepared. Depending on whom you consult, it should be made with either pork or beef. Some versions require potatoes, others don't. Delia Smith, in her Complete Cookery Course, includes both tinned tomatoes and green peppers; yet a woman of Austro-Hungarian descent named June Meyer, whose recipe I found on the internet, tells us that her family would "never consider tomatoes or green peppers".

In the end, I decided to adopt June Meyer as my guide. That her advice cut so cleanly across Delia's was one point in her favour, but I also liked the austerity of her recipe. In addition to lard, bay leaves, salt and black pepper, her "authentic" version consists only of beef, potatoes, onions, paprika and water. That's about as classic a dish of this kind as it can be. Take away the paprika, and you'd be talking Irish stew.

On the day of the party, in a huge saucepan hired for the purpose, I melted a pack of butter and fried approximately 20 finely chopped onions. Then I added roughly 15lbs of stewing steak, cut into one-inch pieces, and fried these for a while with the onions. Next, I added three jars of paprika (Meyer: "you can never use too much paprika"), eight tablespoons of salt, around three pints of chicken stock and eight bay leaves, and left it all to bubble for a good two hours. At this point I added 30 quartered potatoes. In another two hours, the goulash was ready.

Even so, the dish nearly didn't keep its 2am appointment. By 1am I was in no state to heat it up, let alone convey it from our neighbour's cottage to the barn. Rather amazingly, however, I - and my goulash - made it. Sleepy faces perked up at the sight of the cauldron being placed on the table.

A line soon formed, and in a gratifyingly short space of time the

saucepan was empty. I wouldn't go so far as to say that the appearance of the goulash injected a lease of life into the party, but I do think it helped postpone its ending by an hour or two.

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