What a week.
Even if I put Christmas aside for a moment, there has been quite some memorable eating. My first taste of foie gras, with the perfect accompaniments of crusty bread, maldon salt and 5 year old tokay - courtesy of Mr J. A beautifully-wrapped rectangle of foie gras, topped with a thick layer of butter (-?) it was something more exquisite than, but of course similar to, a liver pate; melting on the tongue it was soft, delicate. The sweet wine cut across the salty offal in the perfect act of companionship. I felt the extravagance and sense of occasion somehow contributed to the taste - certainly the experience.
I know I absolutely can't do justice to this word-wise, but if there was a photograph of my face as I ate, it would show something short of bliss and that is the way I will remember it.
Then there was champagne at the Tempus bar in Hotel Russell. I'm not sure how it isn't everyone's favourite place but it is now mine. Old fashioned, nooks and corners and the most elegant staff to ever take an order for two drinks from a companion-less girl in trainers, without flinching.
But the beef. The reason I have motivated myself away from the brand name cheap after eight mints, and TV 'special' drama, is to make a note of today's roast beef. A topside of Aberdeen Angus which my mother roasted to a point where it looked cooked outside - but was delightfully bloody inside. Ridiculously good. Hot horseradish, goose fat-roasted potatoes... etc. You get the picture. Whilst washing up, Rose and I snuck a couple of lukewarm slices, trailed through the blood and dripped in our mouths.
Supper was the completion of the meat: cold, over-pink slices flopping, velvet, next to jacket potato, coleslaw and pickles. I just had to get that off my chest.
Other good things:
The Pret Christmas Sandwich; Katie's Christmas pudding (made in February each year); every last sprout; smoked salmon on Christmas eve; blue Stilton, white Stilton with apricots and Stilton with ginger (repeat on rotation); sneaky slices from the turkey under pretence of making sandwiches; stealing a sausage-in-bacon from the fridge to kick-start breakfast.
Sunday 28 December 2008
Sunday 30 November 2008
praise be! or... give thanks!
Being as entirely Anglo Saxon as a girl could possibly be, I celebrate bonfire night, christmas, easter ... the usual conventional British festivals. Being as greedy as a girl could possibly be, I have wised up to stealing other celebrations. Which is why last night saw me in a gentle fuss of preparation for a belated, bastardised, spur-of-the-moment Thanskgiving meal. I wore a new apron for the occasion, a Portugal souvenir from my Mother, which had the good sense to have pockets to hide marshmallows in. A cook needs treats to keep her going.
The photos don't do it justice so I won't post them, instead I will invite you to imagine the scene of a juicy - if tiny - organic chicken, prepared in what has morphed into my 'usual' way, which is to say, half a lemon up its bum, plenty of butter pushed between the breast and skin, skin oiled like a soho go go dancer and covered in maldon salt. Baby red onions nestled around the chicken, caremalising and becoming beautiful. Then there was stuffing (Paxo, doctored with walnuts, lemon juice, mixed spice and dried cranberries), and pigs in blankets (bacon wrapped sausages), and cabbage and broccoli.... and lemony pan juices masquerading as 'gravy'.
Between you and me it was much like an ordinary roast, however the addition of marshmallow-topped sweet potato mash really took it into the realm of thanksgiving. And we did indeed give thanks for this dish: I am completely converted to sweet potatos, but don't eat them more on account of our never-dwindling potato backlog from the veg box. When I do give in and buy the sweet ones, I roast them in foil bundles with oil, then peel and mash them. Adding garlic to the packet makes a garlicky oil to pour into the mash.* Divine. Of course my inspiration was Nigella and under her tutelage the sweetness of the mash was tempered by adding lime juice, a little cinnamon too, and the result happily delighted my flatmate Jo. The marshmallow topping sounds bizarre, but some magic happens and the dish looks like it is covered in burnished, smooth buttons - you'll just have to try it and see.
We were too full for the planned dessert, so the sweetened chestnut puree is out on the sideboard, ready for today. Next to a lot of leftovers... I'm already planning bubble and squeak, cold chicken and maybe some maple roast parsnips. And sandwiches of stuffing, chicken and pigs in blankets... with a dollop of mayo. In fact, I'm all alone in the kitchen, maybe I'll just have a pre-breakfast snack...
* For some reason this garlicky sweet potato mash goes well with the beef and anchovy stew.
The photos don't do it justice so I won't post them, instead I will invite you to imagine the scene of a juicy - if tiny - organic chicken, prepared in what has morphed into my 'usual' way, which is to say, half a lemon up its bum, plenty of butter pushed between the breast and skin, skin oiled like a soho go go dancer and covered in maldon salt. Baby red onions nestled around the chicken, caremalising and becoming beautiful. Then there was stuffing (Paxo, doctored with walnuts, lemon juice, mixed spice and dried cranberries), and pigs in blankets (bacon wrapped sausages), and cabbage and broccoli.... and lemony pan juices masquerading as 'gravy'.
Between you and me it was much like an ordinary roast, however the addition of marshmallow-topped sweet potato mash really took it into the realm of thanksgiving. And we did indeed give thanks for this dish: I am completely converted to sweet potatos, but don't eat them more on account of our never-dwindling potato backlog from the veg box. When I do give in and buy the sweet ones, I roast them in foil bundles with oil, then peel and mash them. Adding garlic to the packet makes a garlicky oil to pour into the mash.* Divine. Of course my inspiration was Nigella and under her tutelage the sweetness of the mash was tempered by adding lime juice, a little cinnamon too, and the result happily delighted my flatmate Jo. The marshmallow topping sounds bizarre, but some magic happens and the dish looks like it is covered in burnished, smooth buttons - you'll just have to try it and see.
We were too full for the planned dessert, so the sweetened chestnut puree is out on the sideboard, ready for today. Next to a lot of leftovers... I'm already planning bubble and squeak, cold chicken and maybe some maple roast parsnips. And sandwiches of stuffing, chicken and pigs in blankets... with a dollop of mayo. In fact, I'm all alone in the kitchen, maybe I'll just have a pre-breakfast snack...
* For some reason this garlicky sweet potato mash goes well with the beef and anchovy stew.
Monday 24 November 2008
Isarn
Last Monday morning, with bad weather and November blues; with a bank statement reminder that I've spent all my money, and a petulence about not hearing back from a job interview the previous week, I went for a walk. Ostensibly to pick up a parcel, I quickly detoured to those cheering shops on Upper Street, Islington, which warm one's heart. Though the street was deserted and rain-sodden, Ottolenghis was surprisingly busy with people queuing to buy lunch: I could almost taste their salad box which I last caved into in the summer, however I hardened my heart, remembered my wallet and walked on. Fig and Olive was similarly busy and looked warm, cosy and tasty, but again I faced the drizzle and didn't stop.
http://www.ottolenghi.co.uk/
This was the weakened state I was in when I walked past Isarn. I mentioned it a few weeks back as an establishment with a tempting lunch set for £6.50 and alluded to credit-crunched Islingtonites. I decided to go undercover and pretend to be one of them. Plus, I couldn't contain my greed any longer.
Only two other tables were occupied and I cheerfully took my seat on a woven leather bench, facing cowprint chairs, and took in the strange foreign musak and Islington Couple, who were talking about The Arts.
I absolutely adore a set menu, most certainly a happy memory from Japan, or France... or even the greasy spoons that do them. Brilliant. I set about the only vegetarian option: a green vegetable curry set. It being absent from the menu I asked if there was any tea? My waiter pointed to the iced tea on the menu. I couldn't be bothered to protest so had that... but I can't believe they had no green or jasmine tea.
Between ordering and being served, I found out I had got the job from the previous week after all and was heady with delight. Imagine! Now lunch could be called a celebration and not a squandering of cash I don't have!
The set arrived in a red and black lacquered box, akin to the Japanese bento boxes, with little segments for each bit of the meal: two crunchy little spring rolls, chilli sauce, green curry, rice and a chunk of watermelon all in their own compartments. I was genuinely surprised by the lack of chopsticks, but again, extreme laziness and pre-occupation with conversation between Islington Couple led me to just use the fork and spoon provided.
The curry was entirely good and and filled with a variety of vegetables, including those alien baby aubergines - not rich and velvety like the large purple ones, but almost watery and crunchy. In a good way. The curry was as hot as it could be without needing to have this in the menu description. In fact, Islington Couple had a moment with a chilli ("burnt my mouth off! hottest chilli I've ever eaten!") which made me avoid any in my curry.
Fruit was a nice idea, but it seemed a pity not to utilise the wonderful fruit denuding techniques they use in thailand, to have spirals of pineapple or fans of mango. Fussy, fussy! The lychee iced tea came with a pretty flower hanging over the edge of the glass, and eyeballs in the bottom. Oh all right, they were peeled lychees.
The Islington Couple continued loudly in their conversation, ("remember the guy in the dress at the Donmar? You went to The Ivy place with him and - whatsername? - he only played gay parts.") so I made a little note to remember the meal by, paid and left. Here is my note:
nice environment, wellbeing, tingly lips, warm face.
http://www.isarn.co.uk/
I sauntered home, accidentally inventing the game of estate-agent-baiting on the way: looking at house prices in the shop window, seeing estate agent faces peeping at me suspiciously... then with growing hope... then half-rising out of their seats, before I hastily retreat. Isarn didn't break the bank, and gave me a warm glimpse of Islington life, but I'm still not in any place to look at the luxury pads of this area!
http://www.ottolenghi.co.uk/
This was the weakened state I was in when I walked past Isarn. I mentioned it a few weeks back as an establishment with a tempting lunch set for £6.50 and alluded to credit-crunched Islingtonites. I decided to go undercover and pretend to be one of them. Plus, I couldn't contain my greed any longer.
Only two other tables were occupied and I cheerfully took my seat on a woven leather bench, facing cowprint chairs, and took in the strange foreign musak and Islington Couple, who were talking about The Arts.
I absolutely adore a set menu, most certainly a happy memory from Japan, or France... or even the greasy spoons that do them. Brilliant. I set about the only vegetarian option: a green vegetable curry set. It being absent from the menu I asked if there was any tea? My waiter pointed to the iced tea on the menu. I couldn't be bothered to protest so had that... but I can't believe they had no green or jasmine tea.
Between ordering and being served, I found out I had got the job from the previous week after all and was heady with delight. Imagine! Now lunch could be called a celebration and not a squandering of cash I don't have!
The set arrived in a red and black lacquered box, akin to the Japanese bento boxes, with little segments for each bit of the meal: two crunchy little spring rolls, chilli sauce, green curry, rice and a chunk of watermelon all in their own compartments. I was genuinely surprised by the lack of chopsticks, but again, extreme laziness and pre-occupation with conversation between Islington Couple led me to just use the fork and spoon provided.
The curry was entirely good and and filled with a variety of vegetables, including those alien baby aubergines - not rich and velvety like the large purple ones, but almost watery and crunchy. In a good way. The curry was as hot as it could be without needing to have this in the menu description. In fact, Islington Couple had a moment with a chilli ("burnt my mouth off! hottest chilli I've ever eaten!") which made me avoid any in my curry.
Fruit was a nice idea, but it seemed a pity not to utilise the wonderful fruit denuding techniques they use in thailand, to have spirals of pineapple or fans of mango. Fussy, fussy! The lychee iced tea came with a pretty flower hanging over the edge of the glass, and eyeballs in the bottom. Oh all right, they were peeled lychees.
The Islington Couple continued loudly in their conversation, ("remember the guy in the dress at the Donmar? You went to The Ivy place with him and - whatsername? - he only played gay parts.") so I made a little note to remember the meal by, paid and left. Here is my note:
nice environment, wellbeing, tingly lips, warm face.
http://www.isarn.co.uk/
I sauntered home, accidentally inventing the game of estate-agent-baiting on the way: looking at house prices in the shop window, seeing estate agent faces peeping at me suspiciously... then with growing hope... then half-rising out of their seats, before I hastily retreat. Isarn didn't break the bank, and gave me a warm glimpse of Islington life, but I'm still not in any place to look at the luxury pads of this area!
Monday 10 November 2008
saturday scraps
I worry that I rely too much on living vicariously through the Guardian's 'Weekend' magazine. Last night I made Mel read Victoria Moore's column, mostly for the wisdom and because I love to read her writing, but also for this comment: 'Roald Dahl once wrote that "to drink a Romanee-Conti is like having an orgasm in the mouth and nose at the same time" '.
Make mine a Romanee-Conti please, this I have to try...
I also realised that I have gone beyond the food when reading food columns: I feel like I'm catching up on an old friend and listening to their weekend news when I read Matthew Norman and Hugh F-W. Anyone who also enjoys a 'seaside caff, out of season, luxuriating in the melancholy' is someone I would spend time with. And quite often I just bask in the lovely writing. Try this from Matthew N:
'the spare ribs were just the nobbly, gristly little buggers you'd expect for £2.10, and necessitated an emergency request for the fleshier ribs that come suffused in mandarin sauce, albeit the quality of the late pig posing too high a hurdle for an indistinct sauce.'
Happily, Mel was the cure for a day spent reading about food and not eating it. She sweetly dropped a cake tin back to me, and I lured her into staying for tea and welsh cakes. The recipe is one that Rose and I sent to our female parent, on a postcard from Cardiff, when I lived there. My mother often tells me how good they are but I had never made them. They are easily one of the best tea-time things to make, being quick, requiring rolling pin action and cutting out circles of dough with a wine glass. You fry them in a pan (or griddle them, if you prefer to be picturesque) and I chose to spread butter over them, though I don't think that is very Welsh.
Before we knew it, it was time for something more substantial. Despite Mel's protestations that she couldn't eat 'anything ever again', we managed make good inroads on a quick mushroom risotto, with greens on the side.
The most boring of store-cupboard recipes: onion, two cloves garlic and celery sweated down; risotto rice, a panic there wasn't enough, so some pot barley too; marigold stock; dried porchini mushrooms re-hydrated in warm water - chopped up and added half way through, and the soaking juice added too; fresh mushrooms chopped in at the same time. Parmesan cheese, a little chilli, and forgot the parsley and lemon. Warm and yum and one very appreciative Mel made happy.
Now I'm going to eat the leftovers on this miserable, wet afternoon, and think about where to drink cocktails this evening. It's a good life.
Make mine a Romanee-Conti please, this I have to try...
I also realised that I have gone beyond the food when reading food columns: I feel like I'm catching up on an old friend and listening to their weekend news when I read Matthew Norman and Hugh F-W. Anyone who also enjoys a 'seaside caff, out of season, luxuriating in the melancholy' is someone I would spend time with. And quite often I just bask in the lovely writing. Try this from Matthew N:
'the spare ribs were just the nobbly, gristly little buggers you'd expect for £2.10, and necessitated an emergency request for the fleshier ribs that come suffused in mandarin sauce, albeit the quality of the late pig posing too high a hurdle for an indistinct sauce.'
Happily, Mel was the cure for a day spent reading about food and not eating it. She sweetly dropped a cake tin back to me, and I lured her into staying for tea and welsh cakes. The recipe is one that Rose and I sent to our female parent, on a postcard from Cardiff, when I lived there. My mother often tells me how good they are but I had never made them. They are easily one of the best tea-time things to make, being quick, requiring rolling pin action and cutting out circles of dough with a wine glass. You fry them in a pan (or griddle them, if you prefer to be picturesque) and I chose to spread butter over them, though I don't think that is very Welsh.
Before we knew it, it was time for something more substantial. Despite Mel's protestations that she couldn't eat 'anything ever again', we managed make good inroads on a quick mushroom risotto, with greens on the side.
The most boring of store-cupboard recipes: onion, two cloves garlic and celery sweated down; risotto rice, a panic there wasn't enough, so some pot barley too; marigold stock; dried porchini mushrooms re-hydrated in warm water - chopped up and added half way through, and the soaking juice added too; fresh mushrooms chopped in at the same time. Parmesan cheese, a little chilli, and forgot the parsley and lemon. Warm and yum and one very appreciative Mel made happy.
Now I'm going to eat the leftovers on this miserable, wet afternoon, and think about where to drink cocktails this evening. It's a good life.
Baking notes
I made three cakes this week and just wanted to add some notes for myself about them.
Apple cake was for Debora's birthday, and taken from an Anna del Conte recipe ('torta di mele') which uses oil instead of butter; this and the apple made it similar to making a carrot cake. I soaked the sultanas not in warm water, but warmed brandy; and did not add quite as much flour as suggested - perhaps using 10 instead of 12 ounces. It was a stout and hearty cake, perhaps marginally too healthy-tasting: next time I will try skewering and drizzling brandy over whilst the cake is still hot ... and a crunch top layer of demerara sugar would be good too. It improved over the next day.
Next came Nigella's chocolate fudge cake 'serves 10 or one with a broken heart' (or as an incentive to attend a work meeting...). I am still not quite comfortable with the oven and find the heat a little uneven - the two cakes rose so much that the bottom cake touched the cake tin above - but at least they cooked at the same time. I normally even the cakes out so they stack on top of each other neatly, but this time I just sandwiched them, with the filling oozing out, and covered it in a mudslide of the icing. Even in my big cake tin, the lid touched the cake - never have I made this one so tall!
By lunchtime I realised I had chocolate over my jeans and hands, and icing sugar dust coating my glasses. Back home, I had to wipe my computer keyboard as the icing sugar had blanketed this too... note to self: good cake, but use your ipod in the kitchen!
For all that the oven seemed too hot with the fudge cake, it turned petulantly cool with the cheesecake I made on Saturday, which I left in for about 20 minutes longer than normal. It showed: the centre was perfect, but the outside had the slight, spongy crust of being cooked too long. It was my contribution to a cheese party, hosted by Phil.
There was a fondu which we all gathered around, vulture-like. Everyone had contributed cheese on cheese (stilton, manchego, wine washed rind cheese, Port Salut, um emmental... and more), olives, crackers, fresh bread, chutney, tricolore salad ... endless amounts of beautiful food. Only after I had eaten too much did I recall that that was supposed to be a starter - and out came the fantastic macaroni cheese, lasagne, halloumi salad, baked vegetables with cheese, and pizza. It is testament to everyone's enthusiasm that we managed cheesecake as well.
Anna Del Conte, 'Amaretto, Apple Cake and Artichokes: the best of Anna Del Conte' (Vintage, 2006)
Nigella Lawson, 'How to be a domestic goddess...' (Chatto & Windus, 2000)
Apple cake was for Debora's birthday, and taken from an Anna del Conte recipe ('torta di mele') which uses oil instead of butter; this and the apple made it similar to making a carrot cake. I soaked the sultanas not in warm water, but warmed brandy; and did not add quite as much flour as suggested - perhaps using 10 instead of 12 ounces. It was a stout and hearty cake, perhaps marginally too healthy-tasting: next time I will try skewering and drizzling brandy over whilst the cake is still hot ... and a crunch top layer of demerara sugar would be good too. It improved over the next day.
Next came Nigella's chocolate fudge cake 'serves 10 or one with a broken heart' (or as an incentive to attend a work meeting...). I am still not quite comfortable with the oven and find the heat a little uneven - the two cakes rose so much that the bottom cake touched the cake tin above - but at least they cooked at the same time. I normally even the cakes out so they stack on top of each other neatly, but this time I just sandwiched them, with the filling oozing out, and covered it in a mudslide of the icing. Even in my big cake tin, the lid touched the cake - never have I made this one so tall!
By lunchtime I realised I had chocolate over my jeans and hands, and icing sugar dust coating my glasses. Back home, I had to wipe my computer keyboard as the icing sugar had blanketed this too... note to self: good cake, but use your ipod in the kitchen!
For all that the oven seemed too hot with the fudge cake, it turned petulantly cool with the cheesecake I made on Saturday, which I left in for about 20 minutes longer than normal. It showed: the centre was perfect, but the outside had the slight, spongy crust of being cooked too long. It was my contribution to a cheese party, hosted by Phil.
There was a fondu which we all gathered around, vulture-like. Everyone had contributed cheese on cheese (stilton, manchego, wine washed rind cheese, Port Salut, um emmental... and more), olives, crackers, fresh bread, chutney, tricolore salad ... endless amounts of beautiful food. Only after I had eaten too much did I recall that that was supposed to be a starter - and out came the fantastic macaroni cheese, lasagne, halloumi salad, baked vegetables with cheese, and pizza. It is testament to everyone's enthusiasm that we managed cheesecake as well.
Anna Del Conte, 'Amaretto, Apple Cake and Artichokes: the best of Anna Del Conte' (Vintage, 2006)
Nigella Lawson, 'How to be a domestic goddess...' (Chatto & Windus, 2000)
Monday 3 November 2008
pass the runcible spoon!
I haven't made it to the market recently, so haven't bought any more quince (quinces -?). This is a real pity as I had an epiphany with the last two I had in the house: they must have been more ripe as their delicate, seductive perfume suddenly became obvious to me and I am utterly hooked.
Now my eyes have been opened, I can't open a cook book without finding another recipe. I knew of the quince cheese or jam - a smear of fragrant preserve, eeked out of pounds of fruit - but the only other recipe I had formerly come across was Nigella's quince brandy. Having made a few jars of this for Christmas gifts I felt I had preserved the spirit of autumn, however I am now feeling increasingly urgent about finding more fruit to try the new recipes, as the season is most probably over already... please tell me if you know of anywhere in London that still sells them!
The book 'The legendary cuisine of Persia' by Margaret Shaida (Grub Street, 2006) has some beautiful quince recipes. I hoped to find a chutney or preserve, and indeed found 'quince jam' but then was thrilled to find quince stew with lamb and split peas. I can't imagine anything more exciting than being able to try quince more directly: it is such an unapproachable little thing. I'm quite sure it doesn't wish to be eaten.
I quote from Shaida: "it is difficult to decide which delectable dish to make with it, whether to stew it with lamb and split peas, or whether to stuff and bake it, or whether, after all, to make a simple sherbert." She also supplies instruction on making quince and lime syrup, which sounds at once refreshing and aromatic, no?
I also read that quince used to be used to perfume the house, and could be studded with cloves and left in a linen cupboard, just as an orange is at Christmas.
Quince brandy from Nigella's 'How to be a Domestic Goddess': like any other fruit spirit: just chop up the fruit and add the alcohol and leave to steep - in this instance for three months. No sugar is used this time, but cinnamon quills and star anise are added. I have used fat little kilner jars as I think it will be more of a novelty, rather than something to savour over the year. Except for my jar, of course, which will be large and savoured - and, I hope, cooked with too!
Notes:
1 As a librarian I really shouldn't point towards such a website, however for quick reference (NB not guaranteed to be written by a reputable source) then here is wikipedia's take on quince. I loved seeing pictures of the plants, and also Plutarch's reportage of Greek brides taking a bite of quince on their wedding night, to perfume their kiss. The saucepots.
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Quince
2 The title of this blog was, of course, taken from Edward Lear's The owl and the Pussycat: 'they dined on mince, and slices of quince, Which they ate with a runcible spoon'. Nothing like a bit of literature with your food.
Now my eyes have been opened, I can't open a cook book without finding another recipe. I knew of the quince cheese or jam - a smear of fragrant preserve, eeked out of pounds of fruit - but the only other recipe I had formerly come across was Nigella's quince brandy. Having made a few jars of this for Christmas gifts I felt I had preserved the spirit of autumn, however I am now feeling increasingly urgent about finding more fruit to try the new recipes, as the season is most probably over already... please tell me if you know of anywhere in London that still sells them!
The book 'The legendary cuisine of Persia' by Margaret Shaida (Grub Street, 2006) has some beautiful quince recipes. I hoped to find a chutney or preserve, and indeed found 'quince jam' but then was thrilled to find quince stew with lamb and split peas. I can't imagine anything more exciting than being able to try quince more directly: it is such an unapproachable little thing. I'm quite sure it doesn't wish to be eaten.
I quote from Shaida: "it is difficult to decide which delectable dish to make with it, whether to stew it with lamb and split peas, or whether to stuff and bake it, or whether, after all, to make a simple sherbert." She also supplies instruction on making quince and lime syrup, which sounds at once refreshing and aromatic, no?
I also read that quince used to be used to perfume the house, and could be studded with cloves and left in a linen cupboard, just as an orange is at Christmas.
Quince brandy from Nigella's 'How to be a Domestic Goddess': like any other fruit spirit: just chop up the fruit and add the alcohol and leave to steep - in this instance for three months. No sugar is used this time, but cinnamon quills and star anise are added. I have used fat little kilner jars as I think it will be more of a novelty, rather than something to savour over the year. Except for my jar, of course, which will be large and savoured - and, I hope, cooked with too!
Notes:
1 As a librarian I really shouldn't point towards such a website, however for quick reference (NB not guaranteed to be written by a reputable source) then here is wikipedia's take on quince. I loved seeing pictures of the plants, and also Plutarch's reportage of Greek brides taking a bite of quince on their wedding night, to perfume their kiss. The saucepots.
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Quince
2 The title of this blog was, of course, taken from Edward Lear's The owl and the Pussycat: 'they dined on mince, and slices of quince, Which they ate with a runcible spoon'. Nothing like a bit of literature with your food.
Sunday 2 November 2008
The Ivy Bubble
Sitting in primark pyjamas, eating fried egg and field mushrooms on toast, I recalled a comment made last night about the beauty of the rose being also in the thorns, and not just the flower. There were both thorns and flowers last night, creating a fully-rounded - and very delightful - experience. But my thoughts led me to wonder if my evening at The Ivy could be called beautiful... given the worrying lack of thorns?
It should, perhaps, more accurately be called 'The Ivy Bubble'. From the moment the top-hatted doorman ushered us inside, (my heart jumping at the mere sight of the famous ivy stained glass!) we were encased in the kind of warm aura that I suspect is also known as 'money'. Someone took our coats, another person sat us down, a third swiftly concocted very fine gin and tonics, should we be parched from our walk to the table.
It gets no worse, so I will whisk you past the entirely charming waiting staff, who wouldn't let you sit down but that they pulled a table discretely aside, past the amount of sequins worn by celeb-spotters at the surrounding tables... and head straight for the food.
My duck and watercress salad was stickily, darkly dressed and be-sessame seeded. Rose had a prosciutto, fig and rocket salad, with provlone cheese - every bit as good as it sounds. I next had monkfish cheeks with chickpeas, chorizo and padron peppers. I don't really remember the padron peppers, they were lost on me but the monkfish cheeks were tasty nuggets, despite their slightly sinewy covering; the chorizo pulled the dish together and gave it a perfect amount of flavour. Rose had a beautiful tuna steak, with that lovely smoky, chargrilled flavour that should accompany such impressive black stripes: her only gripe was that she should have ordered it rare. It was still beautiful.
We drank Limoux Chardonnay (Chateau d'Antugnac 2007 France), recommended by the sommelier, a man I could easily take shopping with me, so user-friendly was he. To ensure we didn't go hungry we accompanied this feast with champ, parmesan-fried courgettes and buttered spinach. We finished with baked alaska, flamed at our table in the most satisfyingly extravagant manner, served with the most alcoholic cherries known to man, and a coffee. The Ivy bubble made everything feel like heaven.
I was a little surprised at how eclectic the menu was - I rather expected something more tightly selected. Instead, bang bang chicken sat next to kingfish sashimi and steak tartare. Rump of saltmarsh lamb nestled alongside the ivy hamburger and the ubiquitous thai green curry. 'Peas and heritage carrots with chervil' make it to my top 10 favourite poncy dishes. Heritage carrots!
I have the receipt as a memo of the food we ate, and the first item is two G&T's priced £15: as it was a birthday gift to me, I think my sister was the beneficiary of the 'thorn' of the evening! The rest really was all roses.
http://www.the-ivy.co.uk/
It should, perhaps, more accurately be called 'The Ivy Bubble'. From the moment the top-hatted doorman ushered us inside, (my heart jumping at the mere sight of the famous ivy stained glass!) we were encased in the kind of warm aura that I suspect is also known as 'money'. Someone took our coats, another person sat us down, a third swiftly concocted very fine gin and tonics, should we be parched from our walk to the table.
It gets no worse, so I will whisk you past the entirely charming waiting staff, who wouldn't let you sit down but that they pulled a table discretely aside, past the amount of sequins worn by celeb-spotters at the surrounding tables... and head straight for the food.
My duck and watercress salad was stickily, darkly dressed and be-sessame seeded. Rose had a prosciutto, fig and rocket salad, with provlone cheese - every bit as good as it sounds. I next had monkfish cheeks with chickpeas, chorizo and padron peppers. I don't really remember the padron peppers, they were lost on me but the monkfish cheeks were tasty nuggets, despite their slightly sinewy covering; the chorizo pulled the dish together and gave it a perfect amount of flavour. Rose had a beautiful tuna steak, with that lovely smoky, chargrilled flavour that should accompany such impressive black stripes: her only gripe was that she should have ordered it rare. It was still beautiful.
We drank Limoux Chardonnay (Chateau d'Antugnac 2007 France), recommended by the sommelier, a man I could easily take shopping with me, so user-friendly was he. To ensure we didn't go hungry we accompanied this feast with champ, parmesan-fried courgettes and buttered spinach. We finished with baked alaska, flamed at our table in the most satisfyingly extravagant manner, served with the most alcoholic cherries known to man, and a coffee. The Ivy bubble made everything feel like heaven.
I was a little surprised at how eclectic the menu was - I rather expected something more tightly selected. Instead, bang bang chicken sat next to kingfish sashimi and steak tartare. Rump of saltmarsh lamb nestled alongside the ivy hamburger and the ubiquitous thai green curry. 'Peas and heritage carrots with chervil' make it to my top 10 favourite poncy dishes. Heritage carrots!
I have the receipt as a memo of the food we ate, and the first item is two G&T's priced £15: as it was a birthday gift to me, I think my sister was the beneficiary of the 'thorn' of the evening! The rest really was all roses.
http://www.the-ivy.co.uk/
Monday 13 October 2008
81 days
i look like rosy-fingered dawn of greek mythology right now, after a breathtakingly lady macbeth moment with some beetroot. what do you think about the pronounciation: beet_root or bee_troot?
as always i have had some beautiful meals recently, but instead of taking notes i have fully indulged in enjoying the moment and forgotten the detail. those that do have notes are sitting quietly in my notebook for an evening when i have time to write up.
81 days since i last kissed someone and though i am master of the dry spell, for some reason the loneliness weighs heavily today. carbs and busy baking are today's prescription. jo and i filled the kitchen with the heavenly smells of two bubbling dishes of potato dauphinoise, the top layer crisp, and curling up like a cherub's kiss curls. then i made chocolate and beetroot loaf cake, turning the kitchen and myself into a bloody murder scene as a result of grating beets. very satisfying.
i found several recipes on the internet (having been told by my two librarian-cake-friends that they definitely didn't have a recipe for it, let alone a conversation about it with me..). one was rather too glamorous - all cream cheese filling and ganache topping*. the second i looked on with optimism, however it used cooked beetroot and also looked like a straight borrow from a carrot cake, replacing the orange root with the magenta**. the third, as in all fairytales, was the best: the national trust beetroot and chocolate loaf. a 'tip' suggested that raw beet was better than cooked for this recipe, which confirmed it as the winner for me. see the link at the side for the recipe.
the mix worried me as it was ever so dry, so i added in a few spoons of milk until it eased up into a stiff batter. it took nearly the full hour to cook and turned out perfectly... will have to make a note of how it tastes when it has cooled enough.
tomorrow we will have packed lunch of potato dauphinoise, grated beet salad, and chocolate beet loaf, as well as pears from our veg box. what a feast! a little love packed in a plastic box, for when real love is thin on the ground.
* nell nelson, uktv food website. (also - i now can't help thinking of ganesh when i see ganache - a la damien!)
** times online
Wednesday 24 September 2008
date food
No, not the sticky, dead locust-looking dried fruits, but the kind of dates where you meet a person with romatic possibilities. The lottery of the night out, where you feel lucky if you come away having had the person (a) turn up (b) not try to molest you (c) not try to convert you to their religion, politics or favourite brand of shampoo.
At some point you will eat together and this is known as a First Date Meal. Almost always suggested as 'grabbing something to eat' so as not to look uncool. I'm going to go ahead and use the D-word, so look away now if you're scared of it. Eating corn-on-the-cob last night, with fingers and chin shining with butter, my flatmate informed me, corn between her teeth, that this was not a good First Date Meal. As always, when tickled by the muse, I felt a list coming on... thanks to those who were quizzed for contributions.
Things To NOT Eat On A First Date
Smelly: garlic / onion related. But less offensive if you both indulge.
Smelly 2: if you are imagining stretching the evening for more than a couple more hours, it would perhaps be advisable not to eat chick peas, baked beans, lentils... you get the picture.
messy: spaghetti / linguini, or anything that might whip puttanesca sauce round your chin.
messy 2: lobster, crab, escargots - anything you could accidentally flip onto the next table. Which usually brings on my story about performing silver service, french fries and the man's suit... another time, perhaps.
messy on your looks: spinach, poppy seeds, indeed anything that gets caught in the teeth.
messy on your looks (subsection: colour): blueberries, beetroot juice and, I'm sorry to say it, red wine. Blue, purple or red lips, teeth and tongue are comic, but not sexy. NB almost everyone of my acquaintance preferred red wine over vanity and would drink red wine despite spooky blue teeth. Candle light has possible softening effects.
messy on your ethics: foie gras, veal... or, if eating with a vegetarian, even eating a bloody steak can look insensitive and, thus, offputting. Possible remedy: if vegan, eat with vegans. If omnivorous, don't date vegetarians. Look, what do you prefer - food or a stranger?!
messy on your squeam: proposed by Bert. She said she couldn't kiss anyone who had put offal in their mouth. Just passing it on...
Other meal time faux pas:
Coda
But. I wrote all this before a First Date Meal last autumn, in which I ate with a vegetarian who was a bit insipid on the decision front. I chose red wine for both of us, because I like it, and short pasta with bacony chicken and cream sauce, because it wasn't long pasta. And thus not ugly to eat. And didn't have any spinach or garlic in... but which was a bit strange with the wine. I was following the advice of friends, as outlined above, but it felt a bit uptight.
At the next First Meal a deux I had a fat Eds Diner burger and peanut butter milkshake, with an Irishman, in a two-fingered gesture to being considerate and attractive. My only regret was not having extra bacon and cheese.
In true story telling fashion, the third new gentleman friend I had a first meal with was 'treated' to mediocre linguini carbonara, eaten messily and greedily, with second helpings, listening to Tom Lehrer. So after all that my outcome would not be advice on what to avoid eating, but to ingest the food you like most, and take it in the best company you can find. People who like food are preferable to people who like dates. Both the activity, and the dried fruit.
At some point you will eat together and this is known as a First Date Meal. Almost always suggested as 'grabbing something to eat' so as not to look uncool. I'm going to go ahead and use the D-word, so look away now if you're scared of it. Eating corn-on-the-cob last night, with fingers and chin shining with butter, my flatmate informed me, corn between her teeth, that this was not a good First Date Meal. As always, when tickled by the muse, I felt a list coming on... thanks to those who were quizzed for contributions.
Things To NOT Eat On A First Date
Smelly: garlic / onion related. But less offensive if you both indulge.
Smelly 2: if you are imagining stretching the evening for more than a couple more hours, it would perhaps be advisable not to eat chick peas, baked beans, lentils... you get the picture.
messy: spaghetti / linguini, or anything that might whip puttanesca sauce round your chin.
messy 2: lobster, crab, escargots - anything you could accidentally flip onto the next table. Which usually brings on my story about performing silver service, french fries and the man's suit... another time, perhaps.
messy on your looks: spinach, poppy seeds, indeed anything that gets caught in the teeth.
messy on your looks (subsection: colour): blueberries, beetroot juice and, I'm sorry to say it, red wine. Blue, purple or red lips, teeth and tongue are comic, but not sexy. NB almost everyone of my acquaintance preferred red wine over vanity and would drink red wine despite spooky blue teeth. Candle light has possible softening effects.
messy on your ethics: foie gras, veal... or, if eating with a vegetarian, even eating a bloody steak can look insensitive and, thus, offputting. Possible remedy: if vegan, eat with vegans. If omnivorous, don't date vegetarians. Look, what do you prefer - food or a stranger?!
messy on your squeam: proposed by Bert. She said she couldn't kiss anyone who had put offal in their mouth. Just passing it on...
Other meal time faux pas:
- eating too much and thus looking greedy
- eating very little, for some reason a bit uncomfortable in a fellow diner
- eating your companion's food, uninvited
- turning up late: don't keep a hungry person waiting.
- drinking too much, you lush
- the paying debacle ... eek! a whole other subject altogether
Coda
But. I wrote all this before a First Date Meal last autumn, in which I ate with a vegetarian who was a bit insipid on the decision front. I chose red wine for both of us, because I like it, and short pasta with bacony chicken and cream sauce, because it wasn't long pasta. And thus not ugly to eat. And didn't have any spinach or garlic in... but which was a bit strange with the wine. I was following the advice of friends, as outlined above, but it felt a bit uptight.
At the next First Meal a deux I had a fat Eds Diner burger and peanut butter milkshake, with an Irishman, in a two-fingered gesture to being considerate and attractive. My only regret was not having extra bacon and cheese.
In true story telling fashion, the third new gentleman friend I had a first meal with was 'treated' to mediocre linguini carbonara, eaten messily and greedily, with second helpings, listening to Tom Lehrer. So after all that my outcome would not be advice on what to avoid eating, but to ingest the food you like most, and take it in the best company you can find. People who like food are preferable to people who like dates. Both the activity, and the dried fruit.
Monday 22 September 2008
Fiesta! Fiesta!
...today's the day of fiesta! As Joyce Grenfell once sang. It wasn't so much a fiesta as a food festival on the South Bank, and it was on Saturday 20th September rather than today, but what is such poetic liberty between friends?
The nice curry man only had four dishes on the menu, which was perfect: two starter-type dishes (one chana chat, another pancake-like which I vaguely recall utilised sweet potato) for around £3-4, a vegetarian green curry with coconut sauce (£5) and the butter chicken at £6. Yes Mother, it was extravagant to chose the most expensive. Happily, the very beautiful, pale sauce was spicier t
han I anticipated, which was very welcome: about six choice pieces of chicken in the mouth-tingling sauce, with a small cup (timbale?) of rice moulded next to it, was the perfect amount. I even loved the plate, which looked eco-happy and made of cardboard or somesuch. I don't like photographs of myself, especially when ill, but these show how happy the food was so I make an exception!
Back at the mushroom stall, run by two super-laid back dudes, the queue had progressed a little, thanks to one of the dudes returning with 'refreshments' (ale) for the two of them. With two people on board, the cleaning, chopping and frying of some frankly amazin
g-looking fungi continued and a few more people were fed. It must be good food to keep the punters there, despite the wait. HG finally joined me with her mushroom 'burger' and despite not being a fan of mushrooms 'if they taste too much like mushrooms' she was pretty enthusiastic about her lunch. It consisted of a chewy, crusty, white baguette filled with fried oyster mushrooms, into which a generous amount of green herb mix had been added, with parmesan shaved freeform over the top. It didn't taste at all of garlic and was in lots of oil or butter. My verdict: 'bluddy yums'. HG commented approvingly that it was 'not slimy', from which I understand that she meant the mushrooms weren't overcooked - indeed, had quite a nice bite to them.
Purchases of cooking apples (HG, for a crumble) and a pumpkin (me, for goodness knows what) made, we headed back to the cakes. HG and I bought matching chocolate cupcakes with a blackberry decoration from an utterly charming stall - The Cupcake Boutique - with a sweet lady who let me take this photo. HG and I agreed that we have made better cakes ourselves, these being unfortunately dry (perhaps being out on a hot day?), but ate every last bit appreciatively and, perhaps, with a slight smug superiority.
HG drew this one to my attention and endured the Saturday crowds with me, despite food not being her number one entertainment. A good friend indeed. We began by ogling the cake stalls, then moved round the back of the Hayward, following round curry stalls, a kids fun! tent, rustic-looking fruit and veggies, coffee, ice cream, oyster mushroom sandwiches, cooking demonstrations, chorizo hot dogs and much more.
'Mushroom Table' had the smart idea to write 'Vegetarian friendly' on a blackboard, the advertising proved itself by the queue that ran away from the stall. Unhappily, the queue didn't move for five or ten minutes, so I left HG in the unexpectedly hot s
unshine and foraged for something to complement a cold. I had had the remainder of a potato and onion curry for breakfast, so erred on the side of protein and delighted in 'butter chicken and rice' from a nice curry man whose company name I forget. I blame the cold.
unshine and foraged for something to complement a cold. I had had the remainder of a potato and onion curry for breakfast, so erred on the side of protein and delighted in 'butter chicken and rice' from a nice curry man whose company name I forget. I blame the cold. The nice curry man only had four dishes on the menu, which was perfect: two starter-type dishes (one chana chat, another pancake-like which I vaguely recall utilised sweet potato) for around £3-4, a vegetarian green curry with coconut sauce (£5) and the butter chicken at £6. Yes Mother, it was extravagant to chose the most expensive. Happily, the very beautiful, pale sauce was spicier t
han I anticipated, which was very welcome: about six choice pieces of chicken in the mouth-tingling sauce, with a small cup (timbale?) of rice moulded next to it, was the perfect amount. I even loved the plate, which looked eco-happy and made of cardboard or somesuch. I don't like photographs of myself, especially when ill, but these show how happy the food was so I make an exception!Back at the mushroom stall, run by two super-laid back dudes, the queue had progressed a little, thanks to one of the dudes returning with 'refreshments' (ale) for the two of them. With two people on board, the cleaning, chopping and frying of some frankly amazin
g-looking fungi continued and a few more people were fed. It must be good food to keep the punters there, despite the wait. HG finally joined me with her mushroom 'burger' and despite not being a fan of mushrooms 'if they taste too much like mushrooms' she was pretty enthusiastic about her lunch. It consisted of a chewy, crusty, white baguette filled with fried oyster mushrooms, into which a generous amount of green herb mix had been added, with parmesan shaved freeform over the top. It didn't taste at all of garlic and was in lots of oil or butter. My verdict: 'bluddy yums'. HG commented approvingly that it was 'not slimy', from which I understand that she meant the mushrooms weren't overcooked - indeed, had quite a nice bite to them. Purchases of cooking apples (HG, for a crumble) and a pumpkin (me, for goodness knows what) made, we headed back to the cakes. HG and I bought matching chocolate cupcakes with a blackberry decoration from an utterly charming stall - The Cupcake Boutique - with a sweet lady who let me take this photo. HG and I agreed that we have made better cakes ourselves, these being unfortunately dry (perhaps being out on a hot day?), but ate every last bit appreciatively and, perhaps, with a slight smug superiority.
No doubt the pumpkin will taste all the better for having been carried round all day, and on to the theatre in the evening! Note to self: I have never had churros and chocolate... do this at the next opportunity!
The Monday review: autumn equinox
It has just come to my attention, courtesy of Google, that today is the autumn equinox. I'm thrown into quite the panic about how to celebrate... given the beauty of the battered orange pumpkin I bought at the South Bank food festival on the weekend, and the dearth of other tasties in the house, I can only conclude that the pumpkin is for the chop!
Anyway, more on that later, I'm sure. Today I am reviewing .... my lunch! Now working a four-day week, I find my finances even more pickly than usual, so I tore my pleading eyes away from the Thai on Upper Street (lunch menu for £6.50 - perfect for credit crunched-out Islingtonites) and headed to the bakery. Initially charmed by the tall squares of coffee and walnut cake; then the apple crumble; then the cream split, I realised I had no proper food in the house, so instead bought a big sunflower seed, brown tin loaf. For some reason I felt like a grown up waving aside the small round one: let's not play about here, I mean business! And, I mused, re-housing coins in my 'Bertie Blue Shoes' purse, at £1.55 it is cheaper than my old favourite the Tesco oat loaf. Far tastier too ...
I intended to have tuna mayo, my slightly-disgusting favourite which I don't like admitting to, but then I espied anothe
r two tiny tomatoes on the plant in our garden. Together with the two already picked, this made four miniscule, baby tomatoes. Plenty. On the way back up the steps I became completely decadent and plucked three rocket leaves: the salad plants died long ago, however two weedy stragglers self-seeded, and from these I took my lunch greens.
Look at these beautiful ingredients, and the delight it compiled into. Perhaps, a triumph of compromise for the indecisive lunch-maker -? Doesn't it look good? I sat outside and the September air - with its teasing dash of sunshine - was like an added ingredient or extra seasoning to complete the dish!
The tomato slice had a spread of unsalted butter, halved or thirded cherry tomatoes squished into the bread; delightfully heavy-handed with the salt, a grind of pepper, and fiery, youthful rocket pepping through at the fore. Each mouthful clean and redolent of late summer. Well, if you close your eyes and wear a jumper, it works!
Entirely gorgeous bread, by the way. Dense so it didn't tear as I pulled butter across, and that slightly flaky crust that tastes a little nutty. Seeds all through the bread but, as the crowning glory, sunflower seeds encrusting one side and the top, burnished by the
oven. Just opening the bag reminded me of hot Saturdays working in a bakery, as a teenager.
But then, the most difficult decision of all: which 'mouthful to end on'? as my sister Rose puts it. The last mouthful should be the best, as it lingers longest...
Anyway, more on that later, I'm sure. Today I am reviewing .... my lunch! Now working a four-day week, I find my finances even more pickly than usual, so I tore my pleading eyes away from the Thai on Upper Street (lunch menu for £6.50 - perfect for credit crunched-out Islingtonites) and headed to the bakery. Initially charmed by the tall squares of coffee and walnut cake; then the apple crumble; then the cream split, I realised I had no proper food in the house, so instead bought a big sunflower seed, brown tin loaf. For some reason I felt like a grown up waving aside the small round one: let's not play about here, I mean business! And, I mused, re-housing coins in my 'Bertie Blue Shoes' purse, at £1.55 it is cheaper than my old favourite the Tesco oat loaf. Far tastier too ...
I intended to have tuna mayo, my slightly-disgusting favourite which I don't like admitting to, but then I espied anothe
r two tiny tomatoes on the plant in our garden. Together with the two already picked, this made four miniscule, baby tomatoes. Plenty. On the way back up the steps I became completely decadent and plucked three rocket leaves: the salad plants died long ago, however two weedy stragglers self-seeded, and from these I took my lunch greens.Look at these beautiful ingredients, and the delight it compiled into. Perhaps, a triumph of compromise for the indecisive lunch-maker -? Doesn't it look good? I sat outside and the September air - with its teasing dash of sunshine - was like an added ingredient or extra seasoning to complete the dish!
This is how it tasted: the tuna one first. Tuna mayo exactly as I always make it: a squeeze of lemon, half a tin of tuna (it was left over from the cats' lunch yesterday!), an afterbite of black pepper, sloshy with mayo. And the classic move of being too lazy to buy scallions or cut onions into it, which would have made it even more tasty. No butter on the bread, as I like the mayo to seep into the bread a bit. This bread was strong enough to take the challenge and didn't sag or split. 
The tomato slice had a spread of unsalted butter, halved or thirded cherry tomatoes squished into the bread; delightfully heavy-handed with the salt, a grind of pepper, and fiery, youthful rocket pepping through at the fore. Each mouthful clean and redolent of late summer. Well, if you close your eyes and wear a jumper, it works!
Entirely gorgeous bread, by the way. Dense so it didn't tear as I pulled butter across, and that slightly flaky crust that tastes a little nutty. Seeds all through the bread but, as the crowning glory, sunflower seeds encrusting one side and the top, burnished by the
oven. Just opening the bag reminded me of hot Saturdays working in a bakery, as a teenager. But then, the most difficult decision of all: which 'mouthful to end on'? as my sister Rose puts it. The last mouthful should be the best, as it lingers longest...
Thursday 11 September 2008
Vintage cook books
Just found this 'Vintage Cookbooks' page on Flickr:
http://www.flickr.com/groups/vintagecookbooks/
I always harboured a bit of a dream for a cook book shop, until I realised it already existed in 'books for cooks' in West london. Seeing all those vintage books makes me want to at least increase my own collection.
I need to go back and have a look at it... and some of the many related topics such as this vintage kitchen goods group. I have a weakness for kitchen items and have been keeping out of ebay so I don't end up with things like this, as I have no space for it:
http://www.flickr.com/groups/thevintagekitchen/pool/
...and when I have a moment I really should think about joining the 'mid century supper club' - !
http://www.flickr.com/groups/midcenturysupperclub/
http://www.flickr.com/groups/vintagecookbooks/
I always harboured a bit of a dream for a cook book shop, until I realised it already existed in 'books for cooks' in West london. Seeing all those vintage books makes me want to at least increase my own collection.
I need to go back and have a look at it... and some of the many related topics such as this vintage kitchen goods group. I have a weakness for kitchen items and have been keeping out of ebay so I don't end up with things like this, as I have no space for it:
http://www.flickr.com/groups/thevintagekitchen/pool/
...and when I have a moment I really should think about joining the 'mid century supper club' - !
http://www.flickr.com/groups/midcenturysupperclub/
Monday 8 September 2008
Four day week celebrations
Today is my first four-day week for the next three months, and I celebrated by making JoJo blueberry pancakes for breakfast. I completely smudged a batter recipe (putting in a third of the flour, which was self-raising not plain, omitting the butter etc. etc) but it turned out ok. Batter always turns out ok! I was aiming for a thicker batter so the little cakes were fat and small, and then dropped blueberries on top: when flipped over, the berries popped or squished.
On the plate, the squished-berry side was half covered in greek yoghurt, more blueberries and the maple syrup that Deb brought me from Canada... pancake folded over: yum. I am having to write this blog and do desk-things rather than go swimming now as intended, because I ate everything that Jo didn't and am afraid of sinking :/ I'll wait until after Stephen Fry on Radio four, and then get my cozzie.
Last night's news was about a chicken and chorizo stew, which I must have mentioned before. I was in Selfridges food hall - intending only to look, as always - when I remembered this stew and that my butchers isn't open on a Sunday. So I availed myself of the chorizo man, bought six hot cooking chorizo sausages, and also came away with a lump of 75% reduced of the eat-me-now type of choirzo. Sales patter is lost on me, I just say yes.
So I browned three legs and three thighs of chicken, removed them to a plate, then in the same pan sweated three chunkily cut onions, added in four chopped up garlic cloves, several carrots (to finish the end of the veg-box-carrot saga), an oversize courgette and two tablespoons of smoked paprika. At this point I admitted to myself that I really did have too much oil in the pan, but never mind. Then in went a tin and a half (left overs, again) of chopped tomatos, some water, a couple of handfuls of pot barley (I don't know the difference between this and pearl barley, but I suspect it is organic naming shenengans as it looked and tasted the same...) and a tin of aduki beans. For some reason I thought I had a tin of canelleni beans in my hand, so it was a bit of a surprise to see tiny red aduki; and it was all because we didn't have my first choice of chick pea anyway.
I returned the chicken to this mix, slipped in the chorizo, and after an hour in the oven, with the lid off for the last twenty minutes to let it thicken, it was perfect. Jojo was my taster and said FOUR times how much she liked it.
I even did knubbly new potatos and cabbage with it... with the result that I have at least four more portions left of it. Happily, I don't think I could get bored of something so rich, spicy and unctious... I am just pondering what else to do with this smoked paprika.
On the plate, the squished-berry side was half covered in greek yoghurt, more blueberries and the maple syrup that Deb brought me from Canada... pancake folded over: yum. I am having to write this blog and do desk-things rather than go swimming now as intended, because I ate everything that Jo didn't and am afraid of sinking :/ I'll wait until after Stephen Fry on Radio four, and then get my cozzie.
Last night's news was about a chicken and chorizo stew, which I must have mentioned before. I was in Selfridges food hall - intending only to look, as always - when I remembered this stew and that my butchers isn't open on a Sunday. So I availed myself of the chorizo man, bought six hot cooking chorizo sausages, and also came away with a lump of 75% reduced of the eat-me-now type of choirzo. Sales patter is lost on me, I just say yes.
So I browned three legs and three thighs of chicken, removed them to a plate, then in the same pan sweated three chunkily cut onions, added in four chopped up garlic cloves, several carrots (to finish the end of the veg-box-carrot saga), an oversize courgette and two tablespoons of smoked paprika. At this point I admitted to myself that I really did have too much oil in the pan, but never mind. Then in went a tin and a half (left overs, again) of chopped tomatos, some water, a couple of handfuls of pot barley (I don't know the difference between this and pearl barley, but I suspect it is organic naming shenengans as it looked and tasted the same...) and a tin of aduki beans. For some reason I thought I had a tin of canelleni beans in my hand, so it was a bit of a surprise to see tiny red aduki; and it was all because we didn't have my first choice of chick pea anyway.
I returned the chicken to this mix, slipped in the chorizo, and after an hour in the oven, with the lid off for the last twenty minutes to let it thicken, it was perfect. Jojo was my taster and said FOUR times how much she liked it.
I even did knubbly new potatos and cabbage with it... with the result that I have at least four more portions left of it. Happily, I don't think I could get bored of something so rich, spicy and unctious... I am just pondering what else to do with this smoked paprika.
Sunday 24 August 2008
Saturday food
It was a funny thing: Friday lunchtime Mello Bo and I were eating Pret 'Meatballs' - a paper cup of mince with half a meatball hidden therein - and I mentioned it was similar to one of my favourite Saturday foods, a mother-concoction named 'Stoop'. Stoop is half soup, half stew, and was made to stretch a little bit of mince with a lot of vegetables, in the name of economy and feeding six people. Saturday food is, of course, the thing you eat on cold, mizzley weekend days when nothing much is happening and you need a bit of succour. I think there is a recipe called something like 'Mary's Saturday Stew' in a Jamie Oliver book. If I wasn't so lazy I'd put my laptop down and walk over to the shelf to check it out... I can tell you that it looks utterly gorgous, but has okra in. One of the few things I keep trying but never enjoy.
Oh dear, off track already, to resume: it was funny that Melly Bo and I talked about Saturday food, because the next day was a Saturday and I had good food. Here's what.
My post-yoga coffee at the Front Room is an institution, but I honestly can't remember if it was a great coffee, I think I just love that place. We will pass over the white americano and pain aux raisin, the dude waiter pointing out the chalk board had been advertising 'porni mushrooms' rather than the more usual porchini, and move on to lunch. I forgot how good it can be to forage for salad bits, unthinkingly putting together mixed leaves (from our organic veg box), cherry tomatos, cucumber from my mum's garden and decorating with balsamic vinegar, oil, salt, mixing it with fingers, and tearing milky mozarella over. Or how good it is to sit on the doorstep in the almost-sun, pulling basil off plants to add in the mix, and eat it all.
The evening looked good as I had two fat lamb chops from the butchers waiting for me. I used a pestle and mortar to bash together two small cloves of garlic, rosemary stripped
off the branch and salt; then added lemon and virgin oil, and poured this over the chops to marinate. I quickly boiled new potatoes, fried yellow and green courgette (from mothers and Lesley's gardens, respectively) and flash-fried cherry tomatoes and beet leaves I had just picked. Realising the size of them, I cooked only one chop: frying it on both sides, and holding it round to sizzle the fat up. It was entirely good, but I must admit Melly Bo's grilled chops were much better: the fat was more crispy. I was afraid that grilling would loose some of the fat, but in the end I went just a bit too crazy with the fat this time, and it ended tasting a little greasy. (Please note, the photo is of a serving plate as I couldn't fit it all on a dinner plate!)
Moral of the story: you CAN have too much fat in the pan. Although I dipped left over potatoes in it, and it was pretty glorious so nothing got wasted.
Oh dear, off track already, to resume: it was funny that Melly Bo and I talked about Saturday food, because the next day was a Saturday and I had good food. Here's what.
My post-yoga coffee at the Front Room is an institution, but I honestly can't remember if it was a great coffee, I think I just love that place. We will pass over the white americano and pain aux raisin, the dude waiter pointing out the chalk board had been advertising 'porni mushrooms' rather than the more usual porchini, and move on to lunch. I forgot how good it can be to forage for salad bits, unthinkingly putting together mixed leaves (from our organic veg box), cherry tomatos, cucumber from my mum's garden and decorating with balsamic vinegar, oil, salt, mixing it with fingers, and tearing milky mozarella over. Or how good it is to sit on the doorstep in the almost-sun, pulling basil off plants to add in the mix, and eat it all.
The evening looked good as I had two fat lamb chops from the butchers waiting for me. I used a pestle and mortar to bash together two small cloves of garlic, rosemary stripped
off the branch and salt; then added lemon and virgin oil, and poured this over the chops to marinate. I quickly boiled new potatoes, fried yellow and green courgette (from mothers and Lesley's gardens, respectively) and flash-fried cherry tomatoes and beet leaves I had just picked. Realising the size of them, I cooked only one chop: frying it on both sides, and holding it round to sizzle the fat up. It was entirely good, but I must admit Melly Bo's grilled chops were much better: the fat was more crispy. I was afraid that grilling would loose some of the fat, but in the end I went just a bit too crazy with the fat this time, and it ended tasting a little greasy. (Please note, the photo is of a serving plate as I couldn't fit it all on a dinner plate!)Moral of the story: you CAN have too much fat in the pan. Although I dipped left over potatoes in it, and it was pretty glorious so nothing got wasted.
Thursday 31 July 2008
texture
Melly Bo's excellent influence again: a special deal found on Toptable enabled us to go to this beautiful place for a 3 course set menu and champagne cocktail at a special price (go on then, I will be vulgar - £29.50). http://www.texture-restaurant.co.uk/
I am not used to such modern food, unless reading about it, and thought the whole thing was terrific fun. The different plates alone delighted me, from the large bowl with massive, non-glazed rim, ridged like an old LP and small dimple of a bowl in the centre, to the glass conical palette cleanser dish, which sat in a bowl of dry ice, steaming mysteriously.
These few words aren't going to do it justice, but I just want to post some descriptions and photos, at least, to remind me for when I find my notes!
I am not used to such modern food, unless reading about it, and thought the whole thing was terrific fun. The different plates alone delighted me, from the large bowl with massive, non-glazed rim, ridged like an old LP and small dimple of a bowl in the centre, to the glass conical palette cleanser dish, which sat in a bowl of dry ice, steaming mysteriously.
These few words aren't going to do it justice, but I just want to post some descriptions and photos, at least, to remind me for when I find my notes!
Pea and mint texture (iced, olive oil).
Herefordshire asparagus and parmesan (with 'snow', olive oil dressing and pea shoots) Everyone has been talking about pea shoots this year in the weekend suppliments. Talk about trendy!
Lancashire old spot pig (braised belly, squid, cooking juices): the most soft, fatty, beautifully braised belly pork, lined up and overlapping. Squid and 'cooking juices', with what looked and tasted like a sheet of gravy cellophane - very intense flavour, unusual ...um...texture! I have never enjoyed a piece of pork more, this really made me look at it in a different light.
pre-dessert palette cleanser of rhubarb granita over dry ice ...
'Gariguette strawberries' consisiting of yoghurt ice cream, granita and olive oil.
Petit fours with coffee. I started with the fisherman's friend-flavoured treat, the one that looks like a white disc-shaped meringue on a stick. The madeleines were beautiful and moist - passion fruit and something; chocolate sticks, rich truffles, macaroons...
Sunday 8 June 2008
Bath
Saturday the seventh of June was a trip to Bath Spa.
Due to my lateness in booking, and a recent letter from my bank, I ended up on a 7 am train (the very cheapest) out from Paddington - too early for a Saturday start. Naturally, after a marmite sandwich and a snooze, my first thought on arriving in the city of Bath was where to have a coffee? The first coffee is always the best of the day and I was anxious not to ruin it. It is no compensation to have a good coffee after a bad coffee: there is only one bite at that particular cherry.
Indulging myself, I took my favourite approach to a new town and ambled about without a map. I rounded a street corner to see the Abbey in its full splendour and sat in the sunny square, contemplating it. After heading up a main street and down several backstreets, acquiring the newspaper essential for browsing with the coffee, I chanced upon the Boston Tea Party http://www.bostonteaparty.co.uk/
So serendipitous that I had no choice but to go in and order homemade museli with banana and yoghurt and a Boston latte. In a way it was the lazy choice, as I adore the Exeter branch of this company, and could still allow myself to be snobbishly righteous about not using Costa, Starbucks et al. But I do love to compare.
A waiter carried my museli past while I still stood in the coffee queue, so I had to shout out to him and then stand in queue, holding my meal. Lucky it wasn't a hot breakfast. The coffee was as good as I remember from the Exeter branch, so I was happy. The newspaper looked promising - an article on sorrrel by Hugh F-W - and Andrea was on her way to find me. Sadly, the museli was less promising. Very dry, I tried to mix it with the yoghurt, however the bowl was so full that I couldn't move the spoon without the museli-sawdust flipping out of the bowl and breathing over my sleeve. I had to asked Andrea to fetch me some milk when she went in for her coffee. There were nice nuts and the yoghurt was nicely sour - one of those set yoghurts that look a bit lumpy when you spoon them out. I would have prefered it with something like Yeo Valley's full fat plain yogurt, and also some honey on top. And having maybe granola or Bircher museli underneath.
After the amazing spa, with its four flavours of steam room, foot spas, hot tub on the roof etc., I was hungry again. Our friends met us back at the Boston tea party for lunch where I ate delicious fritters of grated courgette, feta and pine nuts, with a minty, yoghurt dressing, on a salad. The salad was good and substantial enough, but the potatoes had perhaps been re-heated in a microwave as they had that slightly wrinkly, dry edged look. But they were covered in butter, and I was starving. On the whole I didn't go a bundle on their food, but the fritters rather inspired me to do something similar at home.
After a walk in the Botanical gardens we stopped at the Jazz Cafe, mere metres away from the Boston Tea Party. Although they didn't serve 'proper cake' and tea, as we had hoped, they did do desserts. The other three chose chocolate torte, which I hope you can see from the photo was similar to chocolate cups put over a biscuit base. Beautiful. It even had the sort of grain marks from the knife slicing through, and lifting away, from the chocolate. It tasted a little more creamy and a little less grainy than the chocolate pots I made, and perhaps slightly less dark. Each slice was vast, and too much for two out of three of my friends; quite a bit was left on plates. More than Mr Manners requires, anyway.
My lemon cheesecake was the winning bullet in the russian roulette that is eating shop-bought cheesecake. HG and I agree we make the best cheesecakes known to man (egos aside), and are invariably dissapointed by shop bought versions. Sometimes shop cheesecake is even quite horrible. So imagine my delight at a Proper Cheesecake - so obviously home baked, with its uneven browned edges and raised sides, with a moat of sunken cake inside. There was a crumb base to please HG who abhors 'pastry-stuff' as as a base and it was beautifully lemony.
The slightly less exquisite elements were a scoop of ice cream - a bit too sweet and not needed with my lemon cheesecake - and the phallysis fruits on each plate. I like to eat them, but somehow they seem a bit naff.
p.s. I have no illusions about the sophistication of my tastebuds or opinions: I wrote this whilst eating straight out of a 400g bar of Cadbury's Dairy Milk!!
Due to my lateness in booking, and a recent letter from my bank, I ended up on a 7 am train (the very cheapest) out from Paddington - too early for a Saturday start. Naturally, after a marmite sandwich and a snooze, my first thought on arriving in the city of Bath was where to have a coffee? The first coffee is always the best of the day and I was anxious not to ruin it. It is no compensation to have a good coffee after a bad coffee: there is only one bite at that particular cherry.
Indulging myself, I took my favourite approach to a new town and ambled about without a map. I rounded a street corner to see the Abbey in its full splendour and sat in the sunny square, contemplating it. After heading up a main street and down several backstreets, acquiring the newspaper essential for browsing with the coffee, I chanced upon the Boston Tea Party http://www.bostonteaparty.co.uk/
So serendipitous that I had no choice but to go in and order homemade museli with banana and yoghurt and a Boston latte. In a way it was the lazy choice, as I adore the Exeter branch of this company, and could still allow myself to be snobbishly righteous about not using Costa, Starbucks et al. But I do love to compare.
A waiter carried my museli past while I still stood in the coffee queue, so I had to shout out to him and then stand in queue, holding my meal. Lucky it wasn't a hot breakfast. The coffee was as good as I remember from the Exeter branch, so I was happy. The newspaper looked promising - an article on sorrrel by Hugh F-W - and Andrea was on her way to find me. Sadly, the museli was less promising. Very dry, I tried to mix it with the yoghurt, however the bowl was so full that I couldn't move the spoon without the museli-sawdust flipping out of the bowl and breathing over my sleeve. I had to asked Andrea to fetch me some milk when she went in for her coffee. There were nice nuts and the yoghurt was nicely sour - one of those set yoghurts that look a bit lumpy when you spoon them out. I would have prefered it with something like Yeo Valley's full fat plain yogurt, and also some honey on top. And having maybe granola or Bircher museli underneath.
After the amazing spa, with its four flavours of steam room, foot spas, hot tub on the roof etc., I was hungry again. Our friends met us back at the Boston tea party for lunch where I ate delicious fritters of grated courgette, feta and pine nuts, with a minty, yoghurt dressing, on a salad. The salad was good and substantial enough, but the potatoes had perhaps been re-heated in a microwave as they had that slightly wrinkly, dry edged look. But they were covered in butter, and I was starving. On the whole I didn't go a bundle on their food, but the fritters rather inspired me to do something similar at home.
After a walk in the Botanical gardens we stopped at the Jazz Cafe, mere metres away from the Boston Tea Party. Although they didn't serve 'proper cake' and tea, as we had hoped, they did do desserts. The other three chose chocolate torte, which I hope you can see from the photo was similar to chocolate cups put over a biscuit base. Beautiful. It even had the sort of grain marks from the knife slicing through, and lifting away, from the chocolate. It tasted a little more creamy and a little less grainy than the chocolate pots I made, and perhaps slightly less dark. Each slice was vast, and too much for two out of three of my friends; quite a bit was left on plates. More than Mr Manners requires, anyway.
My lemon cheesecake was the winning bullet in the russian roulette that is eating shop-bought cheesecake. HG and I agree we make the best cheesecakes known to man (egos aside), and are invariably dissapointed by shop bought versions. Sometimes shop cheesecake is even quite horrible. So imagine my delight at a Proper Cheesecake - so obviously home baked, with its uneven browned edges and raised sides, with a moat of sunken cake inside. There was a crumb base to please HG who abhors 'pastry-stuff' as as a base and it was beautifully lemony.
The slightly less exquisite elements were a scoop of ice cream - a bit too sweet and not needed with my lemon cheesecake - and the phallysis fruits on each plate. I like to eat them, but somehow they seem a bit naff.
p.s. I have no illusions about the sophistication of my tastebuds or opinions: I wrote this whilst eating straight out of a 400g bar of Cadbury's Dairy Milk!!
Saturday 24 May 2008
Summer meal
The friday night before a bank holiday is surely the best time to have a summer meal.
I intended to defy the weather, regardless of the reality outside the window, and planned to re-create summer via the medium of food: lots of lemon, mint and beautiful fruits. And - if necessary - the heating turned on so we could really relax. The original menu was beautiful in concept, but given that broad beans, peaches and other summery delights aren't naturally available just yet, the scheme began to pale. And then I went out every night that week, so my energy flagged and I had no food in the house, and the preparation would have been too big a job for one person... in all, the grand schemes flopped.
I'm so glad it did, because what happened was much better.
Arriving home at 5, in a panic, with bags of Sainsbury's plastic bags, I felt fraught and unethical. However, washing deep mauve aubergines almost immediately soothed my spirit, as did the arrival of HG with the most beautiful bouquet of pink peonies - and from then on, everything slipped into a natural pace. HG fried aubergine slices and stirred chocolate sauce, Jo fixed a salad and dressing, Anun and HG poured the chocolate into magestic espresso cups, and I stuffed and rolled the aubergine. What with the prosecco and good company the meal arrived in no time.
What started out as disorganised and fraught, ended up as the most relaxed, and relaxing, evening I have had in a long time. I think this is in no small part due to my generous spirited guests, who I know would have been happy had I served up take away curry ... and also to Jo, always helping in the background, finding vases for the froth of peach roses from Anun and Gordon, starting conversations and opening wine. In the end, it was less a witty concept, and more about the food bringing together some of my favourite people, and talking and laughing. Which really is what food should be about.
This is the rustic dish that did it for us:
The beginning: olives from the corner shop, stale pringles and prosecco in champagne saucers
The middle: Involtini mostly from Nigella's 'Feast' version (which makes me laugh for the line 'this was the vegetarian option at my last Christmas meal') and I utilised cous cous instead of breadcrumbs, as we had not a crumb left in the flat. Baby spinach and rocket leaves with Jo's special dressing (squashed garlic clove, oil, lemon, seasoning)
Red wine, white wine or G&T, depending on your favourite.
The end: Chocolate pots: double the quantity and with 4 tbsp brandy. Next time I'll add the full quantity.
Post script: although I love food to bring people together, I don't mean this to overrule its function as one of the most hedonistic pleasures: after eggs and toast the next morning, I snuck outside to delight in a chocolate pot, sitting in the sun. Unbelievably good.
I intended to defy the weather, regardless of the reality outside the window, and planned to re-create summer via the medium of food: lots of lemon, mint and beautiful fruits. And - if necessary - the heating turned on so we could really relax. The original menu was beautiful in concept, but given that broad beans, peaches and other summery delights aren't naturally available just yet, the scheme began to pale. And then I went out every night that week, so my energy flagged and I had no food in the house, and the preparation would have been too big a job for one person... in all, the grand schemes flopped.
I'm so glad it did, because what happened was much better.
Arriving home at 5, in a panic, with bags of Sainsbury's plastic bags, I felt fraught and unethical. However, washing deep mauve aubergines almost immediately soothed my spirit, as did the arrival of HG with the most beautiful bouquet of pink peonies - and from then on, everything slipped into a natural pace. HG fried aubergine slices and stirred chocolate sauce, Jo fixed a salad and dressing, Anun and HG poured the chocolate into magestic espresso cups, and I stuffed and rolled the aubergine. What with the prosecco and good company the meal arrived in no time.
What started out as disorganised and fraught, ended up as the most relaxed, and relaxing, evening I have had in a long time. I think this is in no small part due to my generous spirited guests, who I know would have been happy had I served up take away curry ... and also to Jo, always helping in the background, finding vases for the froth of peach roses from Anun and Gordon, starting conversations and opening wine. In the end, it was less a witty concept, and more about the food bringing together some of my favourite people, and talking and laughing. Which really is what food should be about.
This is the rustic dish that did it for us:
The beginning: olives from the corner shop, stale pringles and prosecco in champagne saucers
The middle: Involtini mostly from Nigella's 'Feast' version (which makes me laugh for the line 'this was the vegetarian option at my last Christmas meal') and I utilised cous cous instead of breadcrumbs, as we had not a crumb left in the flat. Baby spinach and rocket leaves with Jo's special dressing (squashed garlic clove, oil, lemon, seasoning)
Red wine, white wine or G&T, depending on your favourite.
The end: Chocolate pots: double the quantity and with 4 tbsp brandy. Next time I'll add the full quantity.
Post script: although I love food to bring people together, I don't mean this to overrule its function as one of the most hedonistic pleasures: after eggs and toast the next morning, I snuck outside to delight in a chocolate pot, sitting in the sun. Unbelievably good.
Tuesday 20 May 2008
Ottolenghi
With shame have I left this write up so long. So long, in fact, that the third salad is now hidden to my memory and I have no notes on the taste of anything. Bad times :(
Still, like the woman in the song 'After the ball was over', I limp along with decreasing body parts. Actually, I'm not sure how well that analogy will work, but here goes...
My plate sported:
Fat slices of some cut of cold beef, quite possibly marinaded or something (she took out her glass eye)
broad bean, pea and fennel salad with pink peppercorns
roast sweet potato and red pepper salad
another utterly delicious salad that escapes me (put her false teeth in the water)
Cornbread! I definitely remember the corn bread that Phil was determined to have all to himself out of the selection of breads. Happily, they let us have all corn bread so Mel and I also tasted the bread of heaven, dipped in some verdant virgin olive oil.
I have a better desert memory. Mel had a beautiful lemon polenta cake; Phil declined elegantly... then opted for the biggest banana toffee bundt known to mankind; I had a saucy little lemon and marscapone tart. The pastry was crispy and almost gritty, making me think it could have been made with polenta. The middle created tears of real joy: I love lemon done right.
There was coffee and it probably tasted nice, I was too happy and full to really notice. And then there were the bathrooms. Girls and boys, I won't ruin the surprise, but my advice would be as my Mother's always was: remember to go before you leave home. Super modern the bathrooms may be, but super impossible it is to have a pee without blushing. If you have any modesty don't use 'em.
I don't remember the price of our meal (shook from her hair the dye), but I do remember that there were so few of the dishes we asked for, that the utterly lovely waitress only charged us for two salads instead of three, each. I also remember laughing a lot and being lulled into a baby-like state of contentment after such a beautiful meal.
That's it: the inaccurate impressions that don't do justice to a gorgeous meal. A good reason to go back again.
Then what was left went to bye byes ... after the ball.
Still, like the woman in the song 'After the ball was over', I limp along with decreasing body parts. Actually, I'm not sure how well that analogy will work, but here goes...
My plate sported:
Fat slices of some cut of cold beef, quite possibly marinaded or something (she took out her glass eye)
broad bean, pea and fennel salad with pink peppercorns
roast sweet potato and red pepper salad
another utterly delicious salad that escapes me (put her false teeth in the water)
Cornbread! I definitely remember the corn bread that Phil was determined to have all to himself out of the selection of breads. Happily, they let us have all corn bread so Mel and I also tasted the bread of heaven, dipped in some verdant virgin olive oil.
I have a better desert memory. Mel had a beautiful lemon polenta cake; Phil declined elegantly... then opted for the biggest banana toffee bundt known to mankind; I had a saucy little lemon and marscapone tart. The pastry was crispy and almost gritty, making me think it could have been made with polenta. The middle created tears of real joy: I love lemon done right.
There was coffee and it probably tasted nice, I was too happy and full to really notice. And then there were the bathrooms. Girls and boys, I won't ruin the surprise, but my advice would be as my Mother's always was: remember to go before you leave home. Super modern the bathrooms may be, but super impossible it is to have a pee without blushing. If you have any modesty don't use 'em.
I don't remember the price of our meal (shook from her hair the dye), but I do remember that there were so few of the dishes we asked for, that the utterly lovely waitress only charged us for two salads instead of three, each. I also remember laughing a lot and being lulled into a baby-like state of contentment after such a beautiful meal.
That's it: the inaccurate impressions that don't do justice to a gorgeous meal. A good reason to go back again.
Then what was left went to bye byes ... after the ball.
Thursday 17 April 2008
Top tip restaurant...
A top tip from Debora: the meat eater's haven and paradise that is 'St. John' in Smithsfield. Apparently Greg Wallace of Veg Talk fame was eating there that night, so twice recommended!
Thursday 10 April 2008
Pret saves the day
Pret chicken and avocado salad is possibly my all time favourite. Maybe it is the comfort of knowing it is always exactly the same, but with a really stressful morning I found positive succour behind Pret doors. I had a medical appointment I was nervous about; I arrived early, so sat with a latte and cheese and bacon croissant (note to Pret: I'm not sure it needed the tomato in there too. It made me a little bit queasy, like putting orange pieces on a milk pudding - but maybe that's just me). If I want to gain weight then I can see the savoury croissant is definitely the way forward - yum!
Then, after the appointment, I was so emotionally drained that I just went back to the same Pret and got the chicken salad and some apple juice. My brain was completely awol and I kept staring off into the distance, but the avocado called me back every time. Good salad! Good Pret!
Then, after the appointment, I was so emotionally drained that I just went back to the same Pret and got the chicken salad and some apple juice. My brain was completely awol and I kept staring off into the distance, but the avocado called me back every time. Good salad! Good Pret!
Monday 7 April 2008
Inaugural Angel dinner
First the Waitrose mixed olives and gin and tonics, waiting for people, talking, and watching Steve nobly chopping the chillies. My guests: Steve and Jen, the lovely Debora, Guy and Simona, Jo and myself. All came bearing wine or flowers, which was too too delightful. I don't think I have ever felt so grown up.
Then came the 'light main' of fish curry, intended to be savoury and assague hunger in anticipation of the desserts. The recipe as per the Newcastle fish curry, but this time with fish from Hatt's on Essex road: salmon, cod and clams. Making rice for seven intimidated me so I made cous cous with toasted pine nuts, dried apricots, tumeric, cinnamon, lemon and oil, presented in one of Jo's beautiful ceramic dishes. It went down surprisingly well with the guests, with everyone being so lovely and complementary - and the boys happily accepting second helpings. I charged Jo and Steve with keeping glasses full, then pulled out the following:
Chocolate pots (Jamie recipe) with frangelico added instead of whatever alcohol he suggests - and left as dense chocolate rather than whisking in egg whites to make a mousse. Served with a shot of Frangelico.
London cheesecake (Nigella) - perfectly cooked, but sadly the base was a little soggy. Dang!
Apple crumble and cream to finish and to my great honour, Simona asked for seconds! The apple crumble was somewhat of a trial: it was supposed to be rhubarb however the shops let me down at the last moment so I got three bags of the tiniest cox's I have ever seen and fretted for 35 minutes trying to peel, core and chop them in record time. I was so relieved to finish that I made a really stupid mistake and put the crumble topping on top - three hours before it was needed! I quickly made some extra topping (dispensing with the faffy measuring stage this time) to put on at the last moment.
I must have had the best guests in all the world because they were so excited and complimentary of all the courses, and genuinely seemed happy to be fed so much - although it took a bit of psyching up to get the third pud down!
Then came the 'light main' of fish curry, intended to be savoury and assague hunger in anticipation of the desserts. The recipe as per the Newcastle fish curry, but this time with fish from Hatt's on Essex road: salmon, cod and clams. Making rice for seven intimidated me so I made cous cous with toasted pine nuts, dried apricots, tumeric, cinnamon, lemon and oil, presented in one of Jo's beautiful ceramic dishes. It went down surprisingly well with the guests, with everyone being so lovely and complementary - and the boys happily accepting second helpings. I charged Jo and Steve with keeping glasses full, then pulled out the following:
Chocolate pots (Jamie recipe) with frangelico added instead of whatever alcohol he suggests - and left as dense chocolate rather than whisking in egg whites to make a mousse. Served with a shot of Frangelico.
London cheesecake (Nigella) - perfectly cooked, but sadly the base was a little soggy. Dang!
Apple crumble and cream to finish and to my great honour, Simona asked for seconds! The apple crumble was somewhat of a trial: it was supposed to be rhubarb however the shops let me down at the last moment so I got three bags of the tiniest cox's I have ever seen and fretted for 35 minutes trying to peel, core and chop them in record time. I was so relieved to finish that I made a really stupid mistake and put the crumble topping on top - three hours before it was needed! I quickly made some extra topping (dispensing with the faffy measuring stage this time) to put on at the last moment.
I must have had the best guests in all the world because they were so excited and complimentary of all the courses, and genuinely seemed happy to be fed so much - although it took a bit of psyching up to get the third pud down!
Thursday 3 April 2008
Just like Mumma would make (if she was Caribbean)
Goat curry from Soul Food, N1.
I had a freak out yesterday and just walked out of work: I think Bert would define it as my brain 'going for a smoko' and the only plan I could make was to came home. Even in my spooky state I realised I should eat something - my body needs to keep going even if my brain is giving up - so I took my purse to 'Soul Food' on Essex road.
There was no menu in the window and the counter consisted of covered canteen-esque dishes. I asked the super-nice lady what kind of food they served. She picked up the first cover to reveal an unctuous stew with vegetables and beef poking out 'beef stew' she said; the second was a more yellow-green colour 'goat curry' she said. I stopped her there and chose that - she even offered some for me to taste before buying, which is a brilliant idea. I had it with 'rice and peas' where the peas were acutally kidney beans. £5.95.
At home I re-housed it from its plastic tub onto a plate and realised there was heaps: yum yum. The spices and heat reminded me of the South African dish 'Bobotie' which I made once with my sister. The goat was just a tasty meat, and my only gripe would be that I wasn't fond of the bones I found in there, and I prefer more vegetables. But on the whole I loved it: I hoped that 'soul food' would somehow feed my rather poverty-stricken soul and indeed found comfort and mother-like love in it. I fell into a deep sleep and was woken by Eddie Mair presenting PM on radio four.
I had a freak out yesterday and just walked out of work: I think Bert would define it as my brain 'going for a smoko' and the only plan I could make was to came home. Even in my spooky state I realised I should eat something - my body needs to keep going even if my brain is giving up - so I took my purse to 'Soul Food' on Essex road.
There was no menu in the window and the counter consisted of covered canteen-esque dishes. I asked the super-nice lady what kind of food they served. She picked up the first cover to reveal an unctuous stew with vegetables and beef poking out 'beef stew' she said; the second was a more yellow-green colour 'goat curry' she said. I stopped her there and chose that - she even offered some for me to taste before buying, which is a brilliant idea. I had it with 'rice and peas' where the peas were acutally kidney beans. £5.95.
At home I re-housed it from its plastic tub onto a plate and realised there was heaps: yum yum. The spices and heat reminded me of the South African dish 'Bobotie' which I made once with my sister. The goat was just a tasty meat, and my only gripe would be that I wasn't fond of the bones I found in there, and I prefer more vegetables. But on the whole I loved it: I hoped that 'soul food' would somehow feed my rather poverty-stricken soul and indeed found comfort and mother-like love in it. I fell into a deep sleep and was woken by Eddie Mair presenting PM on radio four.
Wednesday 30 January 2008
Good website
Look! Rosie's friend Paul found this. Any site with an article with the term 'waistline neutral' is going straight to my top ten. What am I saying?! Any site dedicated to tea, cake and biscuits is in the top ten. They even have a taxonomy of biscuits. To a librarian that is just the icing on the cake. That is like finding out that your perfect man was actually a chef for the last ten years and wants nothing better than to cook for you every um minute.
Enjoy...
http://www.nicecupofteaandasitdown.com/
Enjoy...
http://www.nicecupofteaandasitdown.com/
Sunday 13 January 2008
Not a good filling
After my first swim at the Mereweather baths I was starving hungry and got a quick sandwich to eat while Verity was with her visitor. In hindsight, eggplant dip and cheddar cheese wasn't really the greatest combination. I just wanted to make a note of that to guide me, incase I had another lapse of judgement at some point in the future.
Please don't try this at home, kids!
Please don't try this at home, kids!
Saturday 12 January 2008
Larb moo
Bert made us this lovely Asian dish: it was really delicious and summery, and also relatively quick to put together.
Served with rice. To garnish, there were little pots of cucumber and toasted, ground rice.
Made on 8th January, Newcastle, NSW.
- Garlic, chilli and lemongrass, softened in oil
- Add in minced pork and cook
- Add in chopped veg of choice (carrot, green pepper, baby sweetcorn, green beans)
- When the veg is cooked add in beansprouts...
- ... then fish sauce, lime juice and mint.
Served with rice. To garnish, there were little pots of cucumber and toasted, ground rice.
Made on 8th January, Newcastle, NSW.
Thursday 10 January 2008
Newcastle fish curry and chocolate cups
I really wanted to cook something for Bert and Jim and turned to Nigel Slater for help. I adore Nigel's recipes but don't own any of his books, so it was especially delightful to open up 'Appetite' like a new adventure. I spent too, too long reading all about soups and things to do with tomatoes, so it was a hasty impulse that led me to 'a fresh tasting and really quite spicy fish curry'. I didn't stick to the recipe very well, so here is what I did instead:
First stage:
Turn left out Bert's house, walk to the river, take a right and stroll along until you come across the Fish Co-op. Here, buy salmon, white fish and shellfish. I got a big fillet of Atlantic salmon, half a Hoki fish from New Zealand waters, and more than 200g raw King prawns from somewhere local - I forget precisely where. They were beautiful and grey and long-whiskered.
Second stage:
Chop up two white onions and soften in a pan in oil.
When soft, add in a teaspoon of brown mustard seeds (I couldn't find black) and cook for a couple of minutes. Chuck in four small-medium red chillies chopped - sans seeds - two teaspoons garam masala, one of ground tumeric and let this all cook for a minute or two until it smells beautiful.
Rough chop four or five tomatoes and add to the pan; dice up one yellow zucchini (we are in Australia!) and a handful of mini sweetcorn and also add in. Let this cook for about five minutes until the tomatoes break down.
Pour over vegetable stock (I used about 375ml of ready made and added in a dash more of water - any point up to about 500ml) and, when boiling, pop in the diced up fish and prawns. I cut the fish into a pretty chunky size so it would take about five minutes to cook through - and match the prawns' cooking time. Clap on a lid and, when the prawns are pink, pour in 150-200ml coconut milk. I forgot to season, but put salt and pepper on the table.
Served with rice. And lots of chat about Thai food.
Next course...
Berto had shown me the Australian food writer Stephanie Alexander and I was reading her book 'The cook's companion' whilst watching an Aussie daytime tv show where they made very rich looking chocolate desserts - much like the chocolate pots (probably a Jamie recipe) I made, using my Hay-on-Wye espresso cups. I digress. The tv recipe looked great but, once looked up online, proved to have about a hundred egg yolks in which seemed too extravagant, so I found a Stephanie Alexander alternative - including the whites this time, to make it more moussy and light. She calls it 'Fudgy Chocolate Mousse' and after her scathing comments about the European way of cooking scallops, I didn't dare mess her recipe around, other than to change the order and specify Lindt. And the way to fold in egg whites... :
Melt 200g Lindt 70% chocolate; add in 100g soft, unsalted butter until melted; beat in four egg yolks, one at a time.
Whip four egg whites until soft peaks form; sprinkle over 2 teaspoons caster sugar and whip until 'satiny'. Fold a big spoon of egg white into the chocolate mix; when combined, mix in the rest of the whites 'quickly but thoroughly'. Spoon into Verity's ever so stylish espresso cups with brown vertical stripes and put in fridge.
Normally you should bring them to room temperature before serving, but it is so darn hot this Australian summer, that I didn't. I did, however, serve them alongside half a sliced mango, fanned over a matching plate, with the chocolate cup sitting in the half-crescent.
Post Script: We had them again the next night and although still pretty tasty, I think they were better eaten on the day. High praise from me: I think this is one of the best uses for chocolate. High praise from Jim: he didn't have a beer after football so he could save his tastebuds for the chocolate pot. That is the biggest compliment my cooking has ever received!
'Appetite' by Nigel Slater, Fourth Estate, 2001 (ISBN 1841154709)
'The cook's companion : the complete book of ingredients and recipes for the Australian kitchen' by Stephanie Alexander, Viking [Penguin Books Australia], 1996 (ISBN 0670863734)
9.01.08
First stage:
Turn left out Bert's house, walk to the river, take a right and stroll along until you come across the Fish Co-op. Here, buy salmon, white fish and shellfish. I got a big fillet of Atlantic salmon, half a Hoki fish from New Zealand waters, and more than 200g raw King prawns from somewhere local - I forget precisely where. They were beautiful and grey and long-whiskered.
Second stage:
Chop up two white onions and soften in a pan in oil.
When soft, add in a teaspoon of brown mustard seeds (I couldn't find black) and cook for a couple of minutes. Chuck in four small-medium red chillies chopped - sans seeds - two teaspoons garam masala, one of ground tumeric and let this all cook for a minute or two until it smells beautiful.
Rough chop four or five tomatoes and add to the pan; dice up one yellow zucchini (we are in Australia!) and a handful of mini sweetcorn and also add in. Let this cook for about five minutes until the tomatoes break down.
Pour over vegetable stock (I used about 375ml of ready made and added in a dash more of water - any point up to about 500ml) and, when boiling, pop in the diced up fish and prawns. I cut the fish into a pretty chunky size so it would take about five minutes to cook through - and match the prawns' cooking time. Clap on a lid and, when the prawns are pink, pour in 150-200ml coconut milk. I forgot to season, but put salt and pepper on the table.
Served with rice. And lots of chat about Thai food.
************
Next course...
Berto had shown me the Australian food writer Stephanie Alexander and I was reading her book 'The cook's companion' whilst watching an Aussie daytime tv show where they made very rich looking chocolate desserts - much like the chocolate pots (probably a Jamie recipe) I made, using my Hay-on-Wye espresso cups. I digress. The tv recipe looked great but, once looked up online, proved to have about a hundred egg yolks in which seemed too extravagant, so I found a Stephanie Alexander alternative - including the whites this time, to make it more moussy and light. She calls it 'Fudgy Chocolate Mousse' and after her scathing comments about the European way of cooking scallops, I didn't dare mess her recipe around, other than to change the order and specify Lindt. And the way to fold in egg whites... :
Melt 200g Lindt 70% chocolate; add in 100g soft, unsalted butter until melted; beat in four egg yolks, one at a time.
Whip four egg whites until soft peaks form; sprinkle over 2 teaspoons caster sugar and whip until 'satiny'. Fold a big spoon of egg white into the chocolate mix; when combined, mix in the rest of the whites 'quickly but thoroughly'. Spoon into Verity's ever so stylish espresso cups with brown vertical stripes and put in fridge.
Normally you should bring them to room temperature before serving, but it is so darn hot this Australian summer, that I didn't. I did, however, serve them alongside half a sliced mango, fanned over a matching plate, with the chocolate cup sitting in the half-crescent.
Post Script: We had them again the next night and although still pretty tasty, I think they were better eaten on the day. High praise from me: I think this is one of the best uses for chocolate. High praise from Jim: he didn't have a beer after football so he could save his tastebuds for the chocolate pot. That is the biggest compliment my cooking has ever received!
'Appetite' by Nigel Slater, Fourth Estate, 2001 (ISBN 1841154709)
'The cook's companion : the complete book of ingredients and recipes for the Australian kitchen' by Stephanie Alexander, Viking [Penguin Books Australia], 1996 (ISBN 0670863734)
9.01.08
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