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...