mincing one's words

Last week I - belatedly - made my mincemeat.

I absolutely adore suet and would never say a word against it, however I think a mince pie only really benefits from suet when eaten hot. Perhaps I imagine it, but when cold I feel there is a slightly claggy, mouth-coating sensation that I don't think necessarily enhances my enjoyment. It should also be added that I have never said no to a mince pie, so my pedantry is merely whim-shaped; for the sake of doing something *exactly* as I like it. And as I librarian, I don't feel the need to apologise for this.

Well, there are my prejudices - for this year at least - and the justification for a wonderful suet-free version. Nigella's, in fact.

Having rather poo-pooed* the idea of making mince pies in 'How to eat'**, Nigella then does a volte face in her next book, ('Domestic goddess') putting the mincemeat recipe second as "I thought I'd make you want to have it". Interestingly, the pastry recipe is the same in her later 'Feast' - so good it needs no update. I agree.

(For completists: despite having devoured every book the lady has written, I drew the line at her Christmas book so can't vouch for any mince pie polemic therein.)

I thoroughly enjoyed making the pastry - no doubt unconsciously looking every bit like my mother, Mrs I., as I banged about with flour and rolling pin - feeling like a woman fulfilled as I used the homemade mincemeat. And I hope my lovely colleagues enjoy the rich, nutty, alcohol-tinted result, in their raggedy carriage of pastry.

In other culinary Christmas news, here is a link to an article about deep fried Christmas cake, courtesy of Bertie Blue. Would I eat this? Absolutely!
Would you?



*this term looks strange typed out: if it is the spelling that is wrong, please correct me - however, the word itself stays. It feels both comedic and appropriate.

** "Mince pies, I feel, are a bit like Christmas pudding: you may as well buy in." p.68 'How to eat'.

soho dreams

There are a couple of coffee shops on my soho-places-to-visit list. And I like nothing better than striking items off a list.

Milk bar (sister to flat white - excuse me feminising the inanimate) on Bateman street calls its siren song.

One of my Soho fantasies is taking breakfast at Maison Bertaux on Greek Street - possibly wearing a cloche hat, certainly reading something by one of the Bloomsbury set. Yes, I mock; no, I repent not.

With less romance, Fernandez and Wells on Beak street is also luring me in with its sweet coffee arms and the tidy, clean lines of its decor. There are three establishments in all: may I suggest that the completists amongst us visit the full set?

And as if Soho wasn't full enough already, now Ottolenghi is opening an eaterie there. It is their fifth, due to debut early next year and sounds excitingly concept-heavy and lacking in finer detail. Exciting for us, perhaps fairly terrifying for those working to complete it right now! Take a look at the delicious foods they are testing:
http://ottolenghi.tumblr.com/

North road

The wonders of modern technology means that sometimes you don't have to follow hot new restaurants... they follow you.

Having visited Fig in the summer, the gent was added to their email list. A couple of weeks ago they emailed the news that they were opening a new restaurant in Farringdon / Clerkenwell: we went to a drinks reception in the paint-fresh new venue. Then came a missive bearing the irresistible news of 50% off food and wine for their opening week.

The North road menu wasn't online when we booked, but a few days later we were able to peep at the Scandinavian-inspired list of deliciousness - although we questioned just how 'Nordic' it really was. We were accompanied by a couple of friends who had also experienced Fig and were keen to see the bigger, shinier brother.

I gorged on wonderful ox cheeks with pear, Jerusalem artichoke and endive. Then launched into mutton: I will confess my ignorance and admit I thought mutton would only be good in a long, slow-cooked situation. I was wrong. This was mutton loin cooked outside, dark velvety red within and utterly... utterly. To give the full description it came with 'onions in textures, wild cabbage and broth'. It was at the fancy-pantsy end of the scale but cor lummy was it tasty.

I paused, briefly, to taste the gent's scallops and very much enjoyed his 'Norfolk deer' - plus the ensuing, inconclusive debate over why it wasn't called venison. The only complaint around the table was that the food was very slow coming out of the kitchen: we were there about an hour and a half before the main meals arrived (did I get that right, gent?!).

Despite the deliciousness, and the sophisticated tastebuds of our dining companions, we were all frankly frightened by the dessert menu. Paul spoke for us all when he declared he wanted neither another vegetable course, nor breakfast*, and so three rounds of B&BP** and the caramel and liquorice 'in textures' were ordered. Next time I would be braver, or order the cheeses, which were wonderful at Fig.

The decor was fresh and minimal, the lights a bit mesmerising; the bathrooms trendily uni-sex cubicles. I know, it's uncouth to mention such things, but you can tell how far from Hoxton you are by the uni-sexness of things.

I was reminded of Texture in the (slight) Nordic influence; the crisp skin starting nibbles, and of course the all those 'textures' in the menu! Fancy-pantsy would be my final word. Perhaps a little too much 'burnt hay' and 'texture' for my personal liking, and for this reason I preferred the little sister Fig Bistro. But each to their own, and now there is more Fig to go round.

*******************************

After all that talk of rich food, you might be in need of a digestif. And to go with your post-prandial coffee how about a peruse of the latest edition of Fire and Knives? I just spotted Tim Hayward tweeting about this - what a social media day it has been! - and now I am trying to find out where I can get my hands on a copy...



Unnecessary notes:
* Jerusalem artichoke and sunflower seeds; organic sheep milk yogurt, scent of fir pine and muesli. There was also 'flavours of woodland'

**as dear Agnes used to call it, in my youth. Bread and butter pudding to those less familiar with my grandmother's household.

sacred times

Sacred continues to top the coffee charts for me. It is something about the coffee, something about the chat, and a little bit of high convenience thrown in. I begrudge not a penny of the extra money it costs.

This week Michelle is in the kiosk and I find it amazing how, using the same ingredients and machine, and with the same training, coffee can taste ever so slightly different when made by a different person. Incidentally, I struggle with the right word for the person who makes coffee. I believe 'barrista' is the Costabucks term but I shy from using it to the experts - nay, magicians! artists! - that craft beans into heaven.

I always want to ask a new coffee purveyor where they trained as a [coffee-magician / bean-artist / insert your own term]? So my regular question is 'where did you learn to make coffee like this?'. It needs sharpening up, I'll admit, but it does. Never is there an easy 'two days at company x' answer: always a story ensues - which is why I ask, of course. My favourite stories start with 'back in the day...' and relate to travelling or Saturday jobs, or a lifetime in the catering trade - one even contained the words 'Melbourne coffee guru'.

So if you want to make the very best coffee, it seems it can't be taught in a day: years of practice are needed to hone the craft. And, just perhaps, a little help from a guru.

figs and honey

Grey skies, dark morning, a chill in the air: all counteracted by a ray of the Mediterranean for breakfast.

Fat figs, split open, flesh bursting forth, under a hot grill with a dab of brown sugar for a couple of minutes. Then drizzled with 'caerlaverock honey' (not for sale yet, people, but take a look at the bee-keeper's book) and indulged in. The gent, living up to his name, spooned the seedy flesh up, whilst I became sticky of finger and juicy of face.

There was a small dish of plain yoghurt each, and a pert espresso of Monmouth coffee to wake our senses.

Then away on our bicycles, like a two-man fleet of earnest Londoners, sweeping south across the city, to work.

two-stage breakfast

First, 'pomegranate infused granola' (no, I didn't invent that) with Greek yoghurt and raspberries. Then a pause whilst the gent fetched newspaper and bread, then onto the second stage: sausage sandwiches with plastic bread and tomato ketchup. It is my ongoing battle to resist understanding the term 'Tommy K'.

Coffee was Monmouth - as ever - and in my yellow tea-cups. Strictly speaking not the right vessel, but the canary yellow can't help but make me feel wonderful. Sort of queenly combined with headmistressy, but with a sausage buttie in hand.

And my laptop arrived this week: I'm back online! Ketchup all round.

sacred coffee

My coffee of choice these days is made and poured (or rather, crafted and sculpted with panache) by the friendly Umberto at Sacred.

I had been to this coffee stall a few times over the years and thought it good, but was often with a friend and in need of a seat. Most usually, a seat out of the wind, rain or snow. However this summer has been glorious, the flat white has sprung up all over London - even in the dark recesses of corporate brands like Costa - and one fine day Melly Bo took me back to Sacred... and I got hooked on their perfectly balanced, strong coffee.

For those who like to sit down, maybe have a muffin with their coffee, then Sacred also have drink-in cafes; I have noted their location and am reassured that should I be persuaded to the Westfield centre, then at least I can get a good coffee to keep my spirits up!

cold war stores

It is always the least glamorous foods that get to me. My new fad? Tinned tuna.

Last week I had it in oil (which I didn't drain off, just lifted it, dripping, onto the plate) with olives, avocado, a squeeze of lime, and salad from the veg box - a little stump of cucumber, a few leaves of curly lettuce. This week's version is tuna in brine, as it's shopping basket neighbours were sweetcorn and mayonnaise: this combo can be a bit greasy with tuna in oil, but perfect when from brine. The addition of baby gems and avocado takes it to the passe side of retro - but also raises the nutritional value, too.

Of course when I say sweetcorn, I mean tinned ... in fact, my bag was pretty heavy as there were also cannellini beans in there. I don't mean to start a rush on tined goods, but the stack next to my work desk makes it look like I have received notice of a possible 3-minute warning - as my Mother recalls it, from the fifties or sixties.

But we live in more peaceful times and can enjoy tinned food on its own merits. Humble, yes, but very delicious.

morsels

So much to say, so little time, such a broken lap top!
So a lunch-break blog, squeezed in. This will do the past week no justice, unfortunately, but...

Felicity Cloake was talking about chocolate mousse recipes on the Guardian 'Word of Mouth' recently: a satisfyingly thorough exploration of different recipes, concluding in Elizabeth David's being crowned the winner. Must remember to pass on the vegan-friendly recipe for Liz - or even better, cook it for her.

I am trying to catch up on reading all the new blogs I find at the 'UK Food Bloggers Association' (UKfba to make life easier) - of which I am now a member. I have no home computer at the moment so am frustrated in this effort. I love blogs and the window onto other peoples lives they offer: so many industrious people out there, running pubs, raising families, selling ham - and all finding time to write about it. As soon as I am back online properly I will post links to some!

Excellent food in my 'summer house': I am being kindly put up by three men for the summer and my goodness they have a good time! Post-work Monday evening saw Prosecco, hummus and bread, fried chorizo... then chicken fajitas and, my offering, passion fruit pavlova. All this and it was only Monday - imagine what meals will be like come the weekend!

A wonderful meal at 'Fig' in north London with friends. Cosy, charming with lovely staff and great food. I recall, only sketchily: smoked scallop with gooseberry jelly, burnt butter sauce and some herb (the gent won out with heavenly sweetbreads) ; then we all had the stuffed quail (?) with girolles, a paste of roasted onions and divine bits and bobs. We should really have thought to order some sides of vegetables and potatoes; instead the gent and I were left with room for both dessert (meringue, strawberries, ice cream - all delicately put together) and a cheese courses. The cheese was really wonderful - two from Sussex, which warmed my heart - and the big debate was whether to have cheese before or after dessert. What would you do? The gent and I chose differently according to our own taste. The waitress allied herself with my view, but my sister, more kindly, suggested the gent preferred the 'French style'. The boys chose a really excellent wine, I would trust them with the wine menu any day.

A seminar on trends in the food industry, held at the ever-superb British Library (this time in the IP and Business centre). I wrote pages of notes and whipped myself up into a frenzy of enthusiasm for starting a business. Most encouraging was that if asked what I thought beforehand, I would have loosely been along the right lines in predicting trends, and I also knew of many of the businesses and Web 2.0 technologies that were talked about. A bit more clued up than I thought - phew. My only furrowed brow came about dropping trends: there was no mention about arriving late and getting in on something already oversubscribed. Many of the trends mentioned - locally sourced foods, novelty or pop up restaurants / bars / etc. have already gone mainstream making the small, unpolished late-start-up less likely to thrive. In my completely uninformed opinion -!


22nd July 2010

feast day

Being brought a cup of tea in bed is simply the most luxurious thing.

I no longer do a slow waking procedure in the morning - tea in bed listening to John Humphreys harangue some soul on the radio - although I must have done in the past. Anyway, I took the day off for birthday reasons and very much enjoyed the leisurely morning slot, followed by a breakfast of cherries (picked the day before from my sister's tree) and a plain slab of sponge cake - made by my mother for my nephew's birthday.

Thence to the rose garden in Regent's Park to meet HG for a cheesecake-off. She made the chocolate version, and I the plain vanilla. I baked mine the day before so it would be maximally delicious, but I must admit that hers was the finer example. Exquisite is how I would describe it, if pressed. The crumb of the base was just so; the centre that perfect firmness of something like semi-soft butter, on which the retreating knife leaves a small swirl. The first time HG and I made chocolate cheesecake it was with frowns of disbelief, however I must urge you to try it: it retains that slight sour note you hope for, and somehow fails to taste chocolate-ey - instead becoming transcribed into, I fancy, a flavour-cousin of chocolate.

HG let on that, having always used Green and Black's, she had converted to the Divine dark chocolate (and in this instance to Lindt), for the slightly less gritty texture. I completely concur. I also moved away from G&B, towards Lindt, and thence to any old supermarket chocolate with 70% or more cocoa solids. For this cheesecake, or brownies, I would use the better chocolate too, though.

Anyway, for the first time ever, water from the water bath Houdini-ed into my foil-wrapped tin and the base became soggy. I was making two cakes at the same time, in different sized tins, with the result that the tall one I took my nephew was undercooked, and the HG version was rather shorter and a smidge overcooked. I was disappointed, but no one else seemed to know what I was grousing about.

Dear, dear: I meant this post to be about the wonderful chateaubriand the gent treated me to that evening, but I have written too much already. Both cheesecake recipes are found in Nigella Lawson's 'How to be a Domestic Goddess', with the amendment on HG's part of doubling the biscuit base quantities for the chocolate version.

kohlslaw

Kohlrabi is back in the veg box. It is a vegetable that takes slightly more effort to prepare - unlike salad, spinach or tomatoes, for example, which can be quickly washed and thrown into something. There are also those extra moments one's brain takes to think of which dish precisely it could be made into... and another minute trying to decide if you actually want to eat that particular dish.

Seeing two huge examples of this vegetable sitting on a bunch of carrots, I made a snap decision to coleslaw them. I was inspired by my Mother who always seems to make the slaw, but quite differently to that you can buy. Firstly, it is always to 'use up a cabbage' from her garden; secondly she enjoys the addition of some very finely shredded onion; thirdly she shreds it all by hand with a knife ,and her chopping is a work of art, honed by decades of cooking for her brood; finally she makes a very thin sauce - a skerrick of mayonnaise with generous amounts of vinegar.

Children never appreciate anything: I used to think it was altogether too wholesome without the loading of mayo. Let me assure you, it lacks nothing and is wonderfully astringent and crunchy.

My curiosity to use kohlrabi instead of cabbage - an obvious replacement, given their close cousinliness - overrode my innate aversion to hand-grating anything other than cheese. Like taking medicine, the best way is to jump straight in without thinking and soon I had reduced my washed, peeled carrots and half a kohlrabi to a bright jungle, to which I added white wine vinegar, mayonnaise and a pinch of salt.

I discovered, and fried, the last, lonely pork loin chop in the fridge to sit next to my kohlslaw* and a few cold, boiled new potatoes from another part of that fruitful, but crammed fridge.

For a collection of unwanted food stuffs, it was remarkably good: henceforth it will be one of those meals I go out of my way to buy ingredients for. Although next time I absolutely must do mashed potato to go with it - heaven!



* I was inordinately proud of this ridiculous term I thought up. Of course, on 'googling' it to check, I was reminded that there is no such thing as an original thought. My hopes hadn't been so dashed since the day I discovered several websites dedicated to gloves found in the street...

pork tales

I rarely buy meat in the week as I don't get to the butchers or even a big supermarket. Often I don't miss eating meat, but just occasionally I get an urge for something specific. Yesterday I decided I couldn't get through the night if I didn't have a pork chop, even if it meant going to one of those small 'Metro' supermarkets in which vegetables look so limp and sad, and meat, suspiciously pink.

There were no chops of course, however I did get the very last packet of pork loin. Loin is much less fatty (hence my favouritism towards the chop) however it still made a really nice, quick meal: definitely one to note down for tired week-nights. Here's how I did it:

Fry the chops or loin in a little oil on a medium heat, aiming to brown the edges and crisp the fat. Keep turning to bronze both sides, like a teenager browning in the sun - then remove to a plate and turn the heat up under the empty frying pan. Throw in half a glass of wine and a teaspoon of grainy mustard and swirl about. When it has reduced a little, add double cream and heat through.

As you see it is really not sophisticated, however the sauce somehow tastes much better than it's component parts might suggest; more piquant than creamy, to cut through, and compliment, the fatty pork.

I served it with baby new potatoes and savoy cabbage, and some very mediocre white wine.

eurohol

Three whole weeks of holiday! I had a wonderful time travelling south from Paris by train: through France for a week, then Italy for a week, finally ending on an island in the bay of Naples.

My only regret was not having a computer to hand to blog whenever the whim took me, so I resumed a pen and paper (from whence this habit came) and wrote down my best food moments. Some highlights:

In Beaune we ate like kings - the coq au vin was a revelation: did you know it is really dark and meaty? The gent thought they had brought me beef by accident, but it was just proper cockerel which looks nothing like chicken. And I think I had a ham hock. The gent translated it as 'shin of pig' and then, before it arrived, said 'I hope it didn't mean trotter...' but it was delicious. Unctuous. Dark and sticky.

In Dijon, most unexpectedly, there was a bi-valve epiphany. Oysters! I finally understood the fuss and ordered half a dozen. As I will do any time I see them on a menu and suspect the purveyor of extreme freshness and quick turnover.

Best dish award goes to the antipasti we had four or five times from 'Caracale' on the island of Procida: saute vongole and mussels in butter, garlic and a bit of wine. I can be a bit creepy about shellfish but this was wonderful: it must have been super-fresh and perfectly timed. Also, one dish was big enough to satisfy the two of us: I love a generous portion.

To come:

• recipes to research then cook repeatedly, until excellent
• when not to do as the Romans do (being superior about carbonara)
• enoteca
• and of course, photographs

In the meantime the British weather is doing admirably well at matching that on the continent. It makes me want to settle into a plate of oysters and open a crisp white wine...

ode to HG

My dear friend HG is leaving town.

She is moving from the day-job side of the fence to the more artistic side, and leaving London to achieve this. HG and I met at library school where we were also allocated the same flat -perhaps the college administrators were amused by our matching first names and so put us together. HG is also the reason I am called Roy (one for the Australians).

We moved to London at the same time and lived in Wimbledon, eating home made cheesecake at 3am in the queue to see the tennis, becoming late-night regulars at the chip shop, having an intense brownie bake-off to find the best recipe. Next we lived in Willesden where we discovered 'Deliverance' for great take-outs, and always had gin and tonic at the ready. More recently we have lived in different places, but still meet up for hot chocolate (HG) and coffee (me) and cake or breakfast.

HG doesn't love food, not in a fetishistic way. She doesn't photograph it or write about it or have bookshelves full of recipes: mostly for her, I think, food is divided into fuel and cake. But I have plenty of food memories which involve her and I am going to indulge in a few now - a good luck-card of a blog post, if you will.


A starter of HG-isms:

• Peanut butter on unsalted rice cakes, with segments of satsuma balanced on top
• Cold porridge from the fridge
• Sunflower seeds stashed in one's bag
• Sea breeze cocktails

Primo: conversions

• 2 or 3 years into our acquaintance, HG ate aubergine - a former, passionate, hate - in the form of aubergine rolled around a mint, cheese filling and baked in passata ('Involtini' to Nigella sympathisers. Just make sure you do the GOOD one, there are variations in different books...)
• after 3 or 4 years she succumbed to butternut squash risotto

Secondo: HG-specials

• HG-made vegetarian lasagne: done in such a particular way (with plenty of cheese!) that I am sure I could identify it in a blind-taste test
• Pizza with just cheese and tomato

Dessert

... is, naturally, cake. And what cake! The cake-party in Loughborough! And my birthday when she baked a 'Grassmere' fruit cake for me, knowing I would love it, and a chocolate cake so she could celebrate too, as fruit cake is something like the devil's own face to her.

There was malteser cake, a chocolate yule log and fairy cakes... and the time we baked both plain and chocolate cheesecakes, solemnly declaring it was much better to have a slice of each as they complimented each other. The brownies were still our finest moment though: I almost never give that recipe away.

Amigo, I salute you! And look forward to meeting you in Boston's for a coffee ;)

phd meals

Solo meals are, in my head, referred to as 'phd meals'. The gent has been immersed in his study pretty intensively recently, digging in his spurs as he nears the home run. Which, necessarily, is uphill, in the rain and the horse has a wall eye and a gammy leg. So seems to be the consensus amongst those who have passed the finish line.

I envisaged cooking up a storm whilst he wrote his thesis, he pausing only to refresh his senses on the delicious stews and lightly spiced curries before heading back into the slough of despond (Pilgrim's Progress is providing me with some choice phrases at the moment). In reality this just turned into another distraction for him, so he is banished to eternal pasta 'n' pesto, and I am re-living some of my favourite single-girl meals.

You wouldn't really match that phrase with the meals though. Tonight I have a chorizo-less version of the chicken and chorizo stew I often make*, and I reckon it could modestly feed 4 or 6 people, if served with couscous or rice.

The long daylight, though delightful, tricked me into missing the butchers on my way home, but I stubbornly felt that there was still some joy to be had of this dish, even without chorizo. It retains the smoky paprika base with onion and garlic, (and some unnecessary fresh green chilli that I just can't leave alone) but is then ratatouille-ed up with courgette, carrot and lots of tomato. As the clock neared 10pm two cans of chickpeas went into the pot, to save me pulling another pan out of the cupboard for cooking potatoes or similar.

The result? Well, it is much fresher-tasting than than its predecessor, making it unintentionally, but appropriately, summery. And having just chickpeas makes it light on the stomach, much better for eating late, although I hadn't thought of that. Altogether, it was one of the many happy culinary results I am sure everyone has, where you can't quite decide if it was coincidence or some subconscious instinct that pulled the right things together.

I think John Bunyan would think it was, if not Celestial city, then certainly something like the Delectable mountains.



*type 'chorizo' in the search box at the top left of this page to see the various mentions...

yoghurt is not a breakfast

Note to self: it might be easy and quick, and appropriate for a dodgy tum, but yoghurt most definitely is not a breakfast. It is rather mean and unloving - not just because of its 80's diet connotations, but its complete lack of substance and any good flavour. What was I thinking?

Nurse yoghurt, I will eat you no more!

nut curry #2

I have just made the nut curry again and found a few interesting things.

• making the spice paste is much quicker and easier the second time round
• chillies vary an enormous (for which read 'frustrating') amount: I used more green chilli the second time, yet it was less spicy than before
• my choice of a Gewurztraminer was a pretty good match! Given my haphazard choices with wine, I was really delighted with myself. Something from the Australian vineyard tour obviously sunk in!
• the cashew version is also very good

Earlier today I made some super-quick leek and potato soup (just leeks and garlic sweated in oil, then diced potato added, with some Marigold stock and hot water). It is possibly the cheapest and easiest thing to do, and repays tenfold in terms of starchy comfort.

Finally, to complete my afternoon of kitchen pottering, I made some cocoa biscuits. Like the soup, they are minimal on ingredients - although much more demanding, as you work up an arm-achingly stiff dough. They taste far better than you think possible from the source ingredients, and are utterly more-ish. If you are interested in improving your biceps, or having a delicious nibble, then the recipe is from Nigella's Domestic Goddess book, and entitled 'Granny Boyd's biscuits'.

And then I indulged in a leisurely moment on the sofa, reading more of that lady's work and harvesting some super ideas about grouse. And lamb. And scones...

nut curry

I know I shouldn't jot these thoughts down without a proper reference to the source - however, if finger does not hit key right now it will go the same way as the almond madeleines (gorgeous, by the way, just gorgeous... what a pity I don't remember the recipe I invented!).

Last night I made a curry from scratch. It is fairly labour-intensive on the preparation, but once cooking I could clean up the kitchen and catch up on the news. I was really surprised at how decently it turned out, too. It looked creamy and nutty but actually had a nice, fresh taste and a spicy pinch to the lips. I needed something to lift me from being out-of-sorts, and I found it.

In a lightly oiled pan, fry until they pop: 1 tsp coriander seeds, 2 cloves and a few black peppercorns. Tip these onto:
30g fresh ginger chopped, 2 chopped cloves garlic, 1 green chilli, 80g ground almonds, 125 ml water, 1 tsp turmeric.
... and whizz with a blender into a bright ochre paste.

Brown chicken pieces (I like thighs the best) then set them aside. Add two medium onions, sliced, to an oily saucepan until coloured. Return the chicken to the pan and add the paste and 225 ml water. Simmer for 45 minutes. Add 125 ml natural yogurt and heat through.

Serve with cardamon rice, and the following scattered over the top: fresh coriander, one green chilli sliced finely, and toasted almonds. The recipe intends it to be cashew nuts, however I only had almonds to hand and didn't regret the switch.

Just... don't rub your eyes after chopping chillies!

weekend of eating!

What an unbelievably good-tasting weekend! A visit to the green hills of Macclesfield rendered some wonderful food, charming company and at least two new food-obsessions for me. In fact, there was so much food I barely have space to detail it - it won't do it justice, but I hope a little of its deliciousness is conveyed in this bare-skeleton run down:

Friday evening we were treated to a home meal of:

• Asparagus and rocket with bresaola, parmesan shavings and a dressing
• Fish pie with salmon, prawns etc. yum etc. and a rosti topping - in which I noticed some delicious capers
  
• Pear and almond sponge with creme fraiche
  

Saturday got off to an excellent start, when bacon and egg on toast extended to black pudding and sausage too, with OJ and tea. Later, there was space for apple tart and ice cream, with a cappuccino in Arighi Bianchi - a department store with a formidable cake selection in the cafe. Then tea and biscuits with Grandma Miles, before visiting the Lord Clyde pub

What a gem of a place! A G&T whetted my appetite for scallops with black pudding and pea puree. It made me want to eat it every day of my life. Some lovely red wine (gent, can you recall?) accompanied the pork three ways: pork cheek on creamed cabbage, with some specs of carrot in; roast belly pork on mashed potato; loin of pork rolled in pancetta with sage leaves entrapped between the two, on apple puree.

Three scoops of ice cream: two amaretti, one vanilla and an espresso finished a perfect evening.

On Sunday we breakfasted on smoked salmon and scrambled eggs on toast, with OJ and tea. Then a cappuccino in Buxton; sweet-spicy nuts, parmesan biscuits and pistachios to keep us going until a Sunday feast of:

• Potted shrimp with bread
• Wholegrain tagliatelle, underneath pork baked in a beautiful creamy sauce, topped with crispy-melted mozzarella. I wish I had asked for the recipe now, I really want to make it!
  
• Delia's very lemony lemon tart, with cream

Well that was the short version and I didn't even touch on the breads! My two resulting obsessions are beautiful, savoury black pudding and potted shrimps. Items I have been tentative with before, but won't be now I have tasted the good stuff!

coffee continues...

More coffee spots, courtesy of a Time Out article from February this year.

The gent and I have been cycling to work every day. In a delicious turn for the even-better, this morning we parked up our two-wheeled steeds and had a coffee together. Well, if you save 20 minutes on your journey by cycling, then you can afford such Monday morning treats! Lovely as my regular coffee haunt is, I had been thinking of alternative spots to keep things lively, and this list provides great riches. It is also good for just reading the delicious descriptions - how beautifully they describe their espressi et al!

I noted down some spots near work... and also near home... and then a few for when I am caught in an unfamiliar part of town and don't want to risk a lousy coffee! Hope you enjoy it too.

cold cuts #2

Are you in London with a moment to spare this weekend? Then head to Kings Cross and the Food Junctions festival: free, foodie, and looks very fun. I especially like the look of the 'Hot stuff' talk on spice, the Urban bees, and hearing Kathleen Burk talk about wine.

Food Junctions is on from 24, 25 and 28th April, and 1 and 2nd May.

I meant to say more about my addition to Masterchef, I was thoroughly hooked by the last week. I love how suddenly the contestants are stretched to their creative limit and have the most amazing tasks to complete! I had a little browse of Alex's blog (one of the finalists). I read just about any food blog I can find, however his is most adventurous so is especially nice to dip into.

And finally, my top tip for transporting food to work. After many years of soup-in-handbag spillage incidents, permanently be-crumbed clothes not to mention the salad dressing drama, I thought I had all the tricks for keeping food in the tub on a commute. However, my journey this week has been by bicycle, presenting a whole new challenge! A vegetable madras with rice was frozen overnight, wrapped in a plastic bag, then some fabric to alleviate the cold, and chucked into the flimsiest of backpacks. No spillage. Until I get a bicycle basket, long live the freezer-method!

cold cuts : bits and bobs

How naive! How I walked into that one!
After sweepingly declaring that I could probably make the River Cafe's 'Chocolate Nemesis' at home, and adding the RC's cook books to my Amazon wish list, I stumbled across this, from Julian Barnes:
http://www.guardian.co.uk/books/2003/mar/29/julianbarnes.houseandgarden
Oh dear. Nemesis by name, nemesis by nature, it seems. And written seven years ago, too! Very old news.

In cauliflower news, I urged both my sister and Bert to make the Moro cauliflower soup which is so dear to my tastebuds, but couldn't find any mention of it on my blog to direct them to. Very remiss of me: it is the most wonderful yoghurt soup flavoured with coriander seed, first made for me by Jo, and worth buying the book 'Casa Moro' for alone.

And finally, a mention of the gent's roast lamb. He made it for me just over a year ago and it has sentimental as well as taste merits. He made it recently for a few of us and this is how he did it:

• Take one huge shoulder of lamb, spear the fat with a knife, at a 45 degree angle, making a hole in the surface. Repeat, many times. Fill each mini-pocket with a sliver of garlic, bit of rosemary and about 1/4 of an anchovy fillet.
• Roast about 2 hours, depending on weight.
• It is sublime with anything you choose to serve, but this time it's supporting act were be-almonded cous cous and rocket.

It is amazing how much flavour this gave to the lamb fat: my vanity had left the building, beaten back by the first mouthful, so I snapped up all the semi-crisp globs of fat like a greedy gannet. Absolute heaven. Just for purposes of note-keeping though, a good reason not to binge-eat lamb fat could be heard at midnight, in the whimper: 'I feel really sick: please don't let me do that again!'.

january gaps

Some photos and some mid-afternoon leafing through my cook books, reminded me of things I meant to keep a note of.

New Year's Eve saw us imbing the most gorgeous half-bottle of rioja (Monte real 2003) and finishing a particularly warming chicken and chorizo stew. I hope I made mention somewhere of how much better the 'hot' paprika is than the 'sweet' version in this warm-spicy dish.

The next morning, after some preparatory cooking, we took a brisk walk on the heath. There was powder snow, hard ground and hundreds of people out walking their dogs and children. We were back home at the time of light fading for an early evening meal of lamb shanks with figs and honey: a real feast, albeit a little too sweet for my liking. I would love to re-make it in a different way, however if it doesn't improve then it will be relegated to the bench. The gent paired it with this wine, pictured, a very special 1978 vintage (not just a good year for wine - !). Although I was terrifically excited to have the chance to try such a wine, it wouldn't be top of my list to buy again.


Epiphany is an occasion I don't have a family blue-print method of celebrating, food-wise, so I borrow without shame from other countries. Here is the galette des rois I made to mark the day:
A twenty pence piece took place of the charm, hidden inside the frangipane. Perhaps it is just me, but I felt the office momentarily forgot it was post-Christmas January and were genuinely intrigued. Lesley was King for the day and wore the crown for longer than the mere polite person would. Good egg! Anun H-C sent a message to say that next year I should try the Spanish 'Roscon de Reyes' - something I already look forward to.

Another high point in January is the gent's birthday. This is the Guiness cake I made:











We took a long, cold, birthday-related Saturday walk, taking in disused spa-fields, the TV-residence of Poirot and the Barbican. Afterwards we were cold and hungry and this miso, chilli noodle soup spiced us up very well:

river cafe

Have you ever had a gift so generous and perfect, that you are not sure the words 'thank you' cover your bosom-swelling gratitude? Yesterday I used a voucher that HG and Anj gave me for my last birthday. It was incredibly thoughtful in that I was mid-moving house (yet again) so had nowhere to house any new objects: the slip of paper was very convenient and a delicious promise of a treat to come. It was vastly generous in that it was a voucher for the River Cafe : somewhere I imagined only celebrities would frequent, and Roys not at all. I have been reading about the river cafe - its food, owners and various famous alumni - for years; I couldn't have been more thrilled.

So yesterday lunchtime found me in a state of tremulous excitement, hurrying along the Thames with the gent and an umbrella, to the much-photographed warehouse building in Hammersmith - refurbished after the fire in 2008. It was as light and minimal as the photographs you will have seen and the peasant-bloused staff as helpful as described by the heavyweights of the restaurant critic world (for example...) - always in glowing terms.

I saw both Ruth Rogers and Rose Gray speak at the Hay-on-Wye festival about five years ago and I was school-girlishly excited to see Ruth Rogers yesterday in her whites, chatting to some customers.

Back to the food. There was a fantastic winter menu lunch offer and from it I ate:

Fusilli con cavolo nero e pinoli - a very tightly-screwed fusilli which made many ridges for scooping up a maximum amount of the pesto-like sauce the cabbage was made into. Not at all what I expected and completely delicious. The gent had 'Calamari ai ferri': chargrilled squid with some fresh chilli. A generous amount came my way and wolfed down - reminding me again how bad I am at cooking shellfish and how wonderful it is when done well.

Then came 'Spiedino ai ferri': chargrilled scallops and monkfish on a rosemary skewer, very soft inside, served with castelluccio lentils, salad leaves and a chilli and parsley sauce. I paused only to take a bite of the gent's 'coniglio in tegame' which was the most beautiful, moist rabbit, pot-roasted in soave (served with polenta). A rare moment where I couldn't decide who chose the best.

The gent's pear and almond tart was probably the winner at the Dolci course - although he triumphantly declared the pear was 'more ozoney' than in the version he made recently, rendering his baking the best. Quite a boast: I'm happy to say I have eaten both. I don't normally choose chocolate desserts (however delicious, they all taste of... chocolate) but I didn't regret my chocolate nemesis for a moment. It almost brought me back into the chocolatey fold, and certainly fired me to re-create it somehow at home.

We drank ... well, as is tradition, I hand over to the pastry chef on this matter. It was bianco, almost fizzy with sherbet, almond or lemon undertones and we will ONLY drink this going around Italy ... but I don't remember the name. Would you be so kind?

I have decided to try and re-create one or two of these dishes at home for my generous friends, as a thank you. Armed with magazine clippings from the last ten years I can only try. And I know they won't mind me practising a chocolate dessert on them!

This is Roy signing off, from cloud nine.

popcorn

One Saturday afternoon when taking the gent to the cinema to see a documentary on Philip Glass, I wondered if I should take something for us to eat. Inspired by my flatmate, I heated some oil in a saucepan (I would love to say 'heavy bottomed' as the cook books do, but mine are actually pretty dreadful) and added popcorn kernels. Or is that just 'corn'? Pre-popped popcorn, anyway. In the flush of genius that being in a hurry sometimes engenders, I used a pan with a glass lid.

I have never made pop corn by myself and have never had the benefit of a transparent lid through which to watch the process. I thoroughly recommend it.

I was rendered child-like with amazement that such a tiny, unyielding little seed should explode into such a delicate, perfectly rounded puff. Completely agog I watched them all. I had underestimated their might and added too many, so the lid was eventually pushed up on a sea of white mushroom-topped corn. I am not sure of the proper process here, but I melted butter in another pan, poured it over the corn, mixed it about with my hands and added liberal amounts of salt. It was rather good.

three's a crowd

... or 'playing the gooseberry'.

Have you ever wanted to bottle something intangible? Sitting on your back doorstep in the first proper sun of summer; that feeling when your tooth is very lose and squelches when you agitate it; Christmas lunch - any lunch?

In the morning my single squirt of perfume brings a moment of glamour for the day: my spirits lift, I immediately stand taller. It is a serious day when I need two squirts. I think of this perfume as bottled energy, invisible armour that can be dipped into as needed.

This evening I had some toast spread with Auntie Cyn's gooseberry jam. It was a Christmas gift, and came paired with a jar of marmalade - the very same that adorned this morning's breakfast toast. This morning the bright citrus taste in a just-set jelly reminded me of bottled sunshine and I imagined myself in Spain. This evening with the gooseberry jam though, I felt that a little of my childhood home had been preserved and came alive again in my London kitchen.

Auntie Cyn lives next to my parents, so it is no leap at all to remember the gooseberries they grew (still grow) in both their gardens, the singular smell of blackcurrant bushes behind them : I have a multitude of memories from those gardens. Eating jammed gooseberries this evening made me feel as if I were right there, lifting the lid of the rhubarb forcer to see the frogs, stealing peas, jumping over the row of daffodils. It was not a misty-eyed nostalgic moment, but instead, terribly comforting. The gooseberry jam, like my perfume, preserves something intangible - not just last summer's fruit.

weekday lunch

After 10 hours at work on Monday I wasn't at all in the mood too cook, let alone make lunches. I immediately put a fistful of spaghetti on to boil, to which I added cabbage for the last two minutes, and torn, wild garlic about five seconds before draining. Oil, parmesan, a squeeze of lime and a handful of toasted pine nuts - along with seasoning - were chucked over, stirred about, and was just perfect. (As always when hungry, I cooked too much pasta: after five minute of solid eating my dish didn't look any different!).

Inspired by the beetroot at my friend's house last week, I was delighted to espy some in our veg box. Whilst the pasta was cooking I speedily chunked up carrots, onions and a beet and put them in the oven to roast. After I had eaten and watched Masterchef - to which I am thoroughly hooked, again - I made some couscous with a dash of cinnamon and turmeric, and some vegetable bouillon. Once the grain had swelled I fluffed them with a fork and added seasoning, extra virgin olive oil, lime juice and toasted pine nuts. When cool, the couscous went into one big tub, the roasted veg into another and everything in the fridge to take to work the next day. I only needed to buy a little log of goat's cheese and I had three super lunches ready to hand. The only difficulty on the horizon is finding a spare moment to take a lunch break in!

winter's end

More glorious, otherworldly sunshine today: blue skies ablaze, even some spring coats on show in the streets. Only a matter of time until the bare legs (rumoured to be sported in a certain Sussex village this week) are seen on display further north - rising up the country like the cherry blossom front in Japanese weather reports!

My nearest supermarket was as uninspiring as ever for foraging a lunch today. For the first time in months I didn't feel like my fall-back regulars (soup or curry) and nothing salad-like is in season. I was half-heartedly settling for a vegetable samosa with carrot soup, when some watercress from the UK caught my eye, quickly followed by mackerel pate. Delight! I have a stash of oatcakes in my desk, so from just £2 I will reap two or three meals. Two or three meals of iron-ey, hot, fresh watercress against creamy, salty mackerel pate. After last night's over-indulgence there is also a wonderful, healing pleasure in eating something healthy: the protein will keep me going, and the greens and oily fish (I like to imagine) are already repairing me inside and out.

What happened last night? Dinner with the North London Ladies, Hammersmith branch. And, to be more accurate it was the rum and coke and red wine that are to blame for any residual fragility - my fault entirely: the meal was a complete delight. We chatted to an accompaniment of manchego cheese and salted, roast almonds; olives and artichokes in oil; roast beetroot with goats cheese, and some bread and a delicious savoury red paste called sobrassada.

Then we moved on to a beautiful venison stew with roasted squash and foil-baked potatoes. It was a celebration of the end of winter, with carrots, onion and the sweet squash all having a last dazzle before retiring gracefully until next autumn. I have not had venison in a long time and had forgotten how lovely and red-meaty it is - it produced a wonderful gravy to mop up with the squash. We finished with soft chocolate puddings, raspberries and ice cream - perhaps a hint of the summer to come? A lovely, relaxed evening with great food and company that held us until that time of night when one worries what time the last tube actually is!

I am now fairly obsessed with manchego. My friend explained that she buys a whole cheese and, when fresh and unripe it tastes milky and soft, but when it has matured a little, the taste changes - which explains why it tastes so different to when I have had it before. It was a beautiful combination with the almonds and I am set on finding some for my own fridge very soon!

The venison stew was based on this abel and cole recipe but with one or two adjustments to the cooking method.



Tuesday 16th March 2010

hurry for your curry!

When Slummy Mummy invited us over for dinner in honour of my birthday-last-year, I thought it was an excuse for a catch up. How wrong I was: there was no doubt that food was the star of this show! With five of us crowded round her wipe-clean table-clothed table, and my younger sister perched in the toddler's chair, we struggled to fit all the dishes on the table!

There were four main curry dishes (Beef and coconut Madras, soya mince curry, fish tenga and lamb curry); side dishes of Taka Daal and Sag Aloo, and everything served with Naan bread, chapattis, plain basmati rice... not to mention poppadoms, onion salad, raita, chutney... you get the idea.

All dishes were eaten in the first round, delicious surprises including the very sweet lamb and the soya dish, but by the inevitable second-helpings I had narrowed my favourites down to the beef madras, sag aloo and daal. Then I had a third course of beef, to celebrate: incredibly tender and spicy, but not fierce - the coconut milk lending a little sweetness to the dish. Somehow we still had an appetite for the grilled pineapple basted with rum, sugar and cinnamon, served with ginger and lemongrass sorbet. Rarely have I been so full and yet not regretted a single mouthful!

There was suspense and excitement too: names of six chefs / food writers that these recipes could have come from were provided, and we had to match the dish to the chef. Apparently one Gordon Ramsay was to thank for the Madras.


There is a coda. Back home I couldn't stop thinking about the beautiful Madras, so last night I bought some ready made paste (thank you, Mrs Patak) and made a rough-and-ready vegetable version. Swede, leek, celery, onion and carrots were sweated in oil. Nervous of the heat, I added only 2 large tablespoons of the Madras paste - about 1/4 of the jar - to cook into the vegetables. After a few minutes I added 1 or 2 cans of chopped tomatoes (in fact, they were cartons which are much lighter to carry) and some water, then simmered for 40 minutes. I threw in chopped kale for five minutes, then a slug of coconut milk and a couple of cheeky hard boiled eggs. Happily, the heat was spot-on: gorgeously warming on a chill, dark March evening.

It is still the tastiest way of using your less-favoured veg - swede and the 'prickly kale' in our household - and has the immense advantage of being something to pair with lime pickle. I am obsessed with lime pickle all over again! I won't rest until I find a good recipe and a crate of unwaxed limes. Any recommendations would be much appreciated!

deli-coffee delights

Today has felt like I am acting in a film called 'My wunnerful Islington life'. After 6 weeks of concentrated frugality, making such memorable meals as 'brown soup' (vegetable and lentil soup dyed a dramatically unappetising colour by the addition of red cabbage), 'average risotto' and 'pitta stuffed with the remnants of fridge contents' I am finally making headway. Both with finances, and with getting into the habit of setting aside a couple of nights a week to cook batch lots of lunches and suppers - all of which put me in celebratory mood.

I frisked along Upper Street, smiling through the rain, purchased a beautiful cardigan (much, much more exciting than it sounds) with Christmas money from about 4 years ago, marveled at my former self-restraint, then went for a coffee.

My bag of Monmouth coffee, which has largely kept me away from coffee shops, recently ran out. The replacement bag of supermarket coffee just isn't cutting it, so I allowed myself the luxury of returning home via Ottolenghi. The taste of dark, rich coffee was already anticipated - then I saw the queue and, without pausing, walked past. I could have got one 'to go', as they say in the states, but I can't bear to walk around carrying a paper cup - and certainly not with my sacred Saturday Coffee, and when I had a newspaper and time to read it, too!

My unreliable memory saved me this time, when I recalled seeing a shop on Cross Street with an outside sign declaring 'Delicious coffee!'. There was, and it was.

It was not too busy and the staff charming. They greeted everyone in Italian and a surprising number of customers replied in kind. One of my tasks for our upcoming holiday ('Eurohol') is to learn Italian. Even with Michele Thomas as a teacher, I fare very poorly as a student: perhaps frequenting this pretty, friendly place would improve my language skills? Or perhaps that is just an excuse. My cappuccino froth was marshmallowey in texture, a phenomena I had forgotten but now recalled with an almost Proustian delight. The place is also a deli and, I realised, not only full of good things but within walking distance.

I didn't think to look for the cafe's name, but the sign outside will surely tempt me in again soon!

Stew, glorious stew

Nothing brings back my cooking mojo as much as cooking for friends on a week night and I had the perfect boost on Wednesday when two friends of the gent came round.

Whilst I peeled the potatoes with the demented veg peeler, the gent mashed avocado with lime and drizzled chilli oil over. He somehow made the toasted pittas into a visual feast, arranged around the guacamole as artfully as a fashion guru ties a scarf. I swear he could scatter cushions like a pro, given half a chance.

Instead, he was put to more macho use, opening wine. And what a wine! From Berry Bros and Rudd, even the tissue paper and bag looked luxurious. The bottle itself was so big and heavy it looked as if it must have carried more than the regular amount. I will invite the gent to uncover the mystery as to what it was, and how it tasted. After this, we mellowed just a little more in the company of a perfectly charming Rioja.

I cooked my occasional-staple favourite stew - beef and anchovy in red wine - which, in a fit of organisation, I cooked the night before so just had to re-heat and make horseradish mashed potato. Previously I used a horseradish root, grated, but this time I bought a jar with the highest horseradish content I could. Mixed imperfectly into the potato it gave shooting wasabi-like nasal pains of pleasure when a small pocket was stumbled across - heaven when coupled with the rich stew.

The evening ended with ripe mango and papery physalis (cape gooseberries) to dip into hot chocolate. I confess I had no recipe, just heated up double cream (the 170ml size pot) with nearly 200g dark chocolate, a splash of milk and a spoon of golden caster sugar to taste. Poured into two rather camp, white-glass ice cream dishes, it was then between the couple to fight over who got the most. Actually, it was pretty good: I would do this again any day.

The rest of the stew became a wonderful packed lunch for work the next day, served with a homemade foil parcel of cornichons and, somehow, twice as delicious. I always make too much as I would feel hard done by without my next-day portion!


19/2/10

'It's not worth cooking for one'

After a breakfast of a 'Duchy original' lemon chocolate truffle and some sesame grissini sticks - eaten with one hand, whilst the other applied mascara - I ruminated on food habits all the way to work.

Formerly, I was a breakfast devotee. Not a faddist, but it was as essential as going to bed in the evening and I would never consider skipping it. Moreover, it was always a good breakfast: a whole phase of creative porridge making, that blissful time I lived in Cardiff (not because of Cardiff, you understand -!) and discovered 'cold porridge' in a health food book - later re-invented as 'pukkola' by Jamie Oliver. My favourite variation was with roasted slithered almonds, fresh peach and yoghurt or cream on top. Weekend breakfasts, naturally, are a completely different feast.

My other firm belief was that I should always cook proper food, even though I mostly cooked just for myself. As I student I made stews, soups, bread, delicate chicken and pearl barley broth - always there was something good. Living by myself years later I would roast a whole lemony chicken for one - already planning the 5 other meals to squeeze from the carcass. I baked soft loaf-cakes and zesty muffins to glut on, then the rest went in the freezer so each day I could take something good to work.

But now I seem to have turned into one of *those* people. You know, they miss meals if there is no one to eat with, know the best dish on the take away menu and can't think beyond pasta. I haven't gone quite so far as to say, as my grandmother before me did, 'It's not worth cooking for one': it is the very reason I would cook for myself, and just thinking of it makes me turn to the stove!

On Tuesday the cupboard was bare. I didn't even have the ingredients of pancakes, and was so low on energy and enthusiasm that going to the shop for milk wasn't an option. Instead I gently revived my spirits with a leek and courgette omelette. I added shavings of Pecorino before folding it in half, waiting until it was perfectly soft - but not runny - inside before sliding it onto a plate. Necessity being the mother of invention (no bread or easy-cook carbs in the house) I heated half a tin of butter beans, made some garlic oil, then mashed the drained beans into the oil. Hot garlicky butter bean mash.

It was the best thing to happen that day.

Disasters, frugality and coffee

I have had a few disasters recently. The stove-top rice pudding, made using risotto rice? Never again! The rice took so long to cook that it completely defeated the point of a getting to eat quickly. And to be accurate, it never properly cooked so the texture was somewhat chalky and the grain spent the night expanding inside me. Enough said.

A recent favourite has been noodles in miso, with vegetables and chilli. Last night, after starting the whole process I realised we had no noodles, fish sauce or proper soy sauce. Instead I used wholewheat spaghetti and low-something (salt?) soy sauce. It was actually not too bad - what a resourceful cupboard we have! - but on the whole I prefer noodles in soup, and the pasta with sauce. The gent sent me into a frenzy of envy with the news he is making Puttanesca this week. How delicious!


As I type, I am drinking lukewarm coffee from a flask and eating re-heated chicken korma from the bacteria cabinet at Sainsbury's - with sweetcorn thrown in for good measure. It is just what I wanted: this is the life! The frugal life, to be precise. February is my designated month for catching up on finances. I am taking a flask of coffee in to work: at £5 or 6 a bag, the Monmouth coffee is a wild extravagance - but far cheaper than drinking in a cafe. A flavour investment.

My Monday supermarket raid is turning up lunches from pate and rocket, to lentil soup with parmesan shaved on top. Parmesan is another item which is expensive yet has a big flavour and lasts a long time. This all supplements the days when I don't bring into work a little tub of home made Thai curry and rice, or stew from the night before. The ready-made, already-hot korma is a wild treat at more than £3 per tub.

Next on the menu this week: piles of potatoes and carrots from the veg box. The Moro 'carrot hummus' recipe will be employed for lunches, and I have rather a craving for mashed potato. With sausages - or, really, just with butter and cheese mixed through, and some pepper and salt.

More on coffee. El gentino and I had a wonderful lahmacun moment in Dalston recently (to my dismay I forgot the website url). Meandering home through the backstreets we passed this place and half-registered it as somewhere to try:
http://www.tinawesaluteyou.com/
Closer inspection yields that it uses suppliers such as Brindisa and Neal's Yard, so now it is with some urgency that we need to visit!

It also mentions another purveyor of fine coffee in London which I had previously made a mental note of, Square Mile Coffee - this is their blog.

For good measure, another wonderful-looking place to visit:
www.tasteofbitterlove.com


Hurry up March, I need some sweet mullah to carry me forth on a wave of coffee tasting!

London love affair

8am on a dark February morning can be redeemed by few things. But one of them must be meeting the gent in the rain of Fitzrovia for a flattie and an over-sized bacon sandwich in a charming bijou cafe.

To be precise, bacon that has been cooked to the perfect point of crisp - not glassy shrapnel, not chewy - curled up between small blobs of tomato ketchup. And oozing its bacon fat all over the lightly toasted sourdough bread, then out of the giant holes to grease up the plate.

We both agreed that although, like Mary Poppins, the flat white was practically perfect, it could have been just a bit stronger. A minor thing really: my taste-buds are probably warped by the 3-shot espresso machine I use by myself in the morning. My top London coffee is still Monmouth.

I have just found the owner's blog and she writes beautifully. She recently posted about food bloggers, and how she reads reviews of her establishment but can't spot them whilst they are eating. Well I was the librarian-looking one covered in bacon grease. And I'll be coming back!


http://www.lantanacafe.co.uk/

PdT

I am still on a cloud from eating out on Friday night at a well known, two starred restaurant on Charlotte Street.

The gent knows the Head chef, and also that he is leaving at the end of the month, hence our hurry to eat here this month. The magic started with being sent a glass of champagne, compliments of the chef. And didn't stop. We chose the tasting menu of 9 courses with the 'Decouverte' choice of wine matched with each course.

I made a big decision beforehand: I remember things so much better if I make a few notes and take photographs - and I really wanted to remember every bite of this. However, I also find it distracting to document sensations, it rather impedes enjoying them. So I left my camera at home. Although I have impressions of it all, the details are already fading. Here are some of the highlights.

Before we ordered anything, three or four tiny, delicious things were presented on a glass tray - including a filo-pastry and foie gras sandwich, balanced in the prongs of a silver, handle-less fork. A siren bread-boy kept trying to seduce us with his wares: luckily we had been warned that the bread was so delicious it would fill us up too soon, so we stopped our ears with beeswax and waved the boy away. The minx.

From the menu description I was sure I would like the fallow venison best. Or the yellow fin tuna. After the scallop and chicken oyster dish I was sure that was the best of the night ... but in the end, it was the pan fried foie gras that took my breath away. Yes, I realise I am gushing, but I think it the only reasonable response.

Before each course came a glass of wine. Where the food was described as the waiter placed it before us, the wine was presented only with smiles. We tasted, we speculated, the gent made educated guesses. Then, after the food was cleared, a Val Warner-alike advanced with the wine bottle and revealed its true identity, along with some choice descriptions and why he thought it complimented that particular course.

As we sipped an espresso, our senses bedazzled and overwhelmed - taking solace in a rack of petits fours - a waiter carried a chair to place next to our table and Chef himself came to see how we had liked the meal. He will be next at a certain restaurant in Bray, Berkshire for two weeks, then off traveling. Just as well, I was trying to work out how I could afford to come back to eat here every month. After 10 glasses of wine I might be excused such an idle thought.

An aside. One of my ongoing mini-obsessions on enjoying a meal, is what to wear. Not in the fashion sense, but rather, what enables you to enjoy eating to the maximum? I blush deeply to admit to my former, trouser-top-button-loosening (which I thought a discrete manoeuvre until more than one person mentioned it), and am trying to move on from HG's 'eating pants' reference to my restaurant-dressing. I have now firmly pledged my allegiance to the roomy frock. Friday night's was a particular success with the gent and, my vanity is pleased to report, he didn't see the beautiful draping as tummy-concealers, nor the soft jersey fabric as comfortably stretchy to allow the waist to expand with each course. In short, I think I got away with top comfort whilst, crucially, not being reduced to undressing in public.

I believe the other option is to leave a little food for Mr Manners on your plate. I can't imagine that happens often at Pied a terre


http://www.pied-a-terre.co.uk/
Head Chef, Nino Brullmann
Chef Patron, Shane Osborn


25/01/10

Persian orange chicken stew #2

The Persian stew rematch was set for 19th January, and Seville oranges bought. The result? A subtle difference, which I entirely agreed with, however next time I think it would be better to add in the segments of another orange. Although a slightly sharper edge, it was not quite as orange-tasting as I remembered. Seville's are so full of pips that it was almost impossible to free the segments intact from the pith, pips and skin: instead I had a mush of tiny pieces. It also seemed to result in less orange and juice than when we did this with sweet oranges.

The preparation was less jolly with no gent to chat to, however I prepped a fair amount the night before so that the next night there was just the fine slicing of carrots - and the rest of the stew is downhill after that! It was, as before, a lovely light, sustaining combination and seemed to go down well with my 'North London girls' who were as appreciative as they were cheerful and chatty. Perfect guests.

We followed this with some Seville orange ice cream I had made, which is possibly the least effort you can make whilst reaping maximum rewards. That the tub is now empty, barely a week later, with only one un-careful lady owner, speaks for itself.

What else can I do with these beautiful, bitter oranges?

How the Gouda tasted

Is 265g Gouda cheese in 24 hours, too much? I just ate a whole block in two sittings and am not sure of the health benefits or drawbacks. Lots of calcium long term, weighed against a mucousy short term future. The taste benefits I can testify to, though. Yesterday I paired it with a sharp little British Braeburn apple and some shortbread: today, eyes glazed, I just ate it slice by slice. The warmer it got, the better it tasted.

Last night I was surprised to come across 'Kombu' in my local supermarket: a Japanese ingredient of dried kelp, with which 'Dashi', a kind of stock, is made. My younger sister lived in Japan and she told me about it when I visited her there. I didn't purchase any, but instead came away with some sweet miso, which I mixed with water and simmered, then dropped in noodles, then the following, thinly sliced: chestnut mushrooms, leek and sprouts. After just a few minutes I decanted it all into a large bowl, added soy sauce and chilli flakes and lowered my face into the magic. It wasn't udon, there was no tempura or dancing fish flakes... but it was pure Japan on my tastebuds. Oishii!