spicy soup

KK made soup for lunch. She declared it was butternut squash and something about us 'weeping' it was so good.

Much to her annoyance, a spice lid accident caused it to end up Really Quite Spicy. But it was perfect for warming us on a damp day, and even the ginger two enjoyed it.

2 onions sweated in butter
I just ADORE saying that.
Add diced butternut squash (+ diced apple if it grabs you) & swish about for a few mins
Add 3 tbsp flour, 2 tsp curry powder, grate of nutmeg
Around 750 ml chicken stock, 375 ml milk, zest & juice of 1 orange. Simmer 20 mins or until veg is cooked.
Blend and season

Feed the masses.

perfect day

This is the kind of morning I envisaged, when I decided to make the most of living so centrally.

I literally bounced out of bed at 7am - the first time in months I have had such enthusiasm for the day - and after a few chores headed straight out into Covent Garden. The Christmas lights are so jolly this year and, unusually, they were on when I woke up, cheering the December gloom.

Neal's Yard cheese shop didn't have the customary out-the-door queue it has recently sported, but the 8 or 10 staff were all busy. So many people coming in for whole boxes of their pre-ordered Christmas cheese! And the counter was, as always, bulging with as yet untasted treasure. I don't think any of the men in my life will feel put out by knowing in advance that they have Stitchelton for Christmas gifts this year: in fact, I think it will only heighten their ardour for such a treat. It is made from unpasteurised milk and is a little more creamy, or sweet, than most blue cheeses.

The Stitchelton looked so good in one big piece, that I ordered a quarter of the whole cheese. More than 2.5 kg. Whilst it was being packed in a manger full of hay (ie packed in a box with straw, to help keep the temperature constant), I nipped round the corner to Monmouth coffee. Seven dials is an absolute delight right now; quite the prettiest corner of London! I digress... Monmouth was EMPTY which suited me very well: I chatted with a wonderful coffee-lady and we did a couple of tastings to help decide. There is possibly nothing finer than tasting coffees in the warm, on a dark, wet day, knowing an enormous cheese is waiting for you. Nothing. Finer.

I chose Fazenda do Serrado (Brasil) as it will suit best being drunk both with or without milk, and is more full bodied and chocolatey, which I think suits my family's taste better than the slightly more citrussy fellow I tried.

I swung by Neal's Yard to pick up my cheese, was charmed they remembered my name and order, then headed home to my cosy flat for the best breakfast of 2012 so far: Sobrasada toast with poached eggs and honey. I hear your consternation: yes honey! It was a tip from an esteemed foodie friend, and I just had to try it. The sobrasada was a generous gift from another good friend, who carts it back from Spain despite only having finite space for her own meaty needs!

It's beginning to taste a lot like Christmas.

late night Lilly

I have so much - SO much - food news to catch up on; some written on my phone app, some on scraps of paper. From an old school night at Mirabelle, to making and decorating a wedding cake, there has been heaps of cooking and much savouring.

I will make a start on it tomorrow. For now I seem to have momentarily stepped back to a life of rolling home late and eating pasta pesto out of a saucepan. Delicious as ever, and wonderfully sluttish in execution!

chick thighs 3 ways

A chicken thigh is an absolute staple in my home. Last week we bought a packet and this is how we used them.

The gent kicked things off with a glorious puy lentil and bacon mountain, a fat, roasted chicken thigh adorning the top. It was earthy and filling and wholesome. It was also sophisticated and accompanied by Nice Wine (Chateau Famey, Cahors).

You can see my desperation on the next night as I tried to upgrade 'unwanted' salad into merely 'left overs'. Salvaging the best of a cos lettuce and some baby tomatoes, I dazzled them with balsamic and excellent olive oil. The chicken was easy: rub in hot smoked paprika, salt and a dash of oil, roast 35-40 minutes. Some bread and dipping oil helped mop it all up.

Cold, ready-cooked paprika chicken made day 3 very easy. I just assembled jacket potatoes, shop-bought coleslaw, watercress and cherry toms onto plates. And poured a beer.

scorchio!

Phew, what a scorcher! I love blue-skied summer and long days as much as the next rain bedraggled English person, but I am resolutely, unglamorously Anglo-Saxon. Which means fair skinned, freckled and unable to process heat over 24 degrees.

And for someone who can, in colder months, tuck away steak and kidney pud, followed by Sussex Pond pud (fact, not boast), I am ever amazed at how appetite recedes in the heat.

Thank goodness then for the Gent's latest crush on morning smoothies. Like the best barman, glasses go in the freezer to chill whilst he mixes. It is icy cold and tastes like a dessert, whilst getting some actual nutrients in for the day.

Salads, croissant and limonata, that lovely San Pellegrino invention, sustain me until the air cools sufficiently to grow an appetite again.

Quick supper for one

I have to eat something 'proper' in the evening, however late it is, but for me a sandwich just doesn't cut it.

Until today, when I was desperately hungry and short of time.  I found these slim little steaks, fried them for 30 seconds on either side, then pushed 'em into a toasted sesame bun with English mustard and some lettuce. Actually it was two buns wodged together, as they looked too petite by themselves.  Just look at that juicy, rare steak!

A demi-feast, prepared in 5 minutes flat, which was exactly what I needed.

over the rainbow (trout)

Awful photo, but the best, last-minute meal.

My knives need sharpening so I didn't fillet the fellow before cooking; instead I pushed fat lemon wedges and thyme sprigs into the trout's cavity, added a splash of oil, then sealed in a baggy foil parcel. 25 or 30 minutes in a hot oven (180 degrees) was plenty.

I was amazed at how fragrant the fish had become, for so very little effort. The juices created kept everything wonderfully moist, making this potentially rather forgiving to being a little over cooked.

Accompanying this beautiful fish was a salad of fennel and chicory, dressed in just lemon, a little oil, an absolute dash of vinegar and a tumble of capers. Odd, but I think I got away with it.

Left over boiled potatoes from Saturday were transformed into sautéed tatties, and the gent cracked open a particularly gooseberryish Sauvignon Blanc.

I also discovered the gent makes a mean sidecar cocktail. Hidden talents from both him and the fish counter, tonight.

spears for supps

Asparagus, shining with melted butter, dipped in egg yolk. Some flakes of salt complete the dish.

Sunday supper for one.

London luncheon: quick snap

The lunch was such fun to make, and it was wonderful to see my family!
Here is a snap of the rhubarb pavlova - added quickly, before I start the mammoth, post-party washing up. Full report to follow...

London luncheon: prep

Oh dear, the world is against me!
The Neal's Yard cheese shop in Covent Garden is closed for refurbishment; and having instructed everyone to meet at Nelson's Column in Trafalgar Square, this area is now closed for the day! To top it off I couldn't find a lamb's shoulder or any cooking chorizo in the supermarket yesterday.

However the weather is smiling and the sunshine is so heart-cheering that I have decided to utilise it to the max. The Gentleman's Walking Bus will now take a detour. After collecting my ragamuffin family, he will conduct them to the Phoenix Garden where I will be waiting, in one of the many secret corners, with our first course of Oysters and hot chorizo sausages. Appropriately, given the Alice in Wonderland-esque gardens, I have asked my parents' to entertain us with a rendition of the 'Walrus and the Carpenter': I am certain the oysters in my bag will find a similar fate to those in the poem

Cooking for 9 in our tiny kitchen is a challenge, so I took a half day off work yesterday to shop, and prepare every last thing that could be done in advance. Potato salad; rhubarb and ginger to go on the pavlova; the meringue base; cheese plates ready; table laid... and of course putting every last piece of cutlery out. As you can see, there are no spare work surfaces to prep with!

On Saturday I was early to Borough Market. I bought lamb from the Ginger Pig (a last-minute panic on size made me buy a leg, rather than shoulder: I would always rather have too much), mini chorizo from Brindisa, and Colchester oysters from the oyster chap (I forget the name, but I got a bargain for buying a dozen!). The Monmouth coffee queue was uncharacteristically reasonable, so I had a quick cappuccino and crispy little something for breakfast.

Back at the flat I hastily threw together salads, prepped the lamb and put it in to cook, before packing the cold Oysters, hot chorizo and heading out into the sunshine.

London luncheon: menu

So the menu has been released, guests have confirmed and the Gentleman's Walking Bus is booked.

I will be at the Market as it opens tomorrow, in the hopes of securing meat and oysters!

the clumsy woman of szechuan

Oh pesky! Things have changed a little on this blogging software, so now if I sneak back and publish an old blog that I hadn't finished, it pops up as if it is the most recent thing I have written.  I have such a terrible memory I'll forever be wondering why the Gent's birthday came half way through Spring after we had moved from Soho.

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I laughed with everyone else in the audience, when Prue Leith told us that in years gone by women were not allowed to cook in a kitchen at certain times of the month, as they may curdle the milk. How archaic!

But this weekend I revised my opinion: I will henceforth stay clear of the kitchen on crucial days, for all our sakes.

After the frisbee-like seed cake (from a luscious recipe - how on earth did I get it wrong?), and somewhere between the freshly-ground coffee I threw across the kitchen, and the really awful coffee I made thereafter, the point was made. I am lucky to still have fingers.

I was planning to note down the various deliberations I went through choosing the right the recipe for the Gent's birthday cake - a seed cake - but the result isn't something I would intentionally cook again. Poor Gent! We covered it in creme fraiche and it went down nicely enough, but it is really quite dry, and his words rather say it all:
"Mmm, lovely! But ... is there any sugar in it?".

I avoided the old-fashioned recipe in my 'Good Housekeeping' from the 50's, on account of it looking a touch dry. Instead I used a lovely butter-heavy Madeira cake recipe and added 2 tsp of caraway seeds.

Notes to self: use self-raising flour, if it specifies this. It rarely works to guess at the flour + bicarb ratio, but ever still I try! Also, the loaf tin (or 'loaf silicone' as it would more accurately be described) is, after all, the best one for the job.

Avoiding further calamities, we ate out. The Gent's treat, he chose Szechuan at Barshu, fitted between watching 'The artist' at Soho Curzon and 'Crimes and misdemeanors' at the BFI. The pigs ear was spicy and knobbly (brave and somewhat thrilling, but I'm not sure I would order it again); the minced chicken with preserved mustard greens was aromatic and wonderful.  Prawns with cashew nuts is one of their 'most popular dishes' for a reason: we ate it with decreasing politeness towards each other.  The sure sign of a winning dish.



Written on the 15th January 2012: re-found in May and deemed suitable, after all.

Easter feaster

The fridge's be-clingfilmed bounty is the result of the Easter holiday. A few days at home in which to pick up some nice cheese from the terrific people at Neal's Yard, or choose a shoulder of lamb and then spend an afternoon prepping the roast. Things I don't have time for on a workaday week.

There was even time for a full-on clean of the flat, which always makes me want to stay at home and cook! With the flat finally unpacked, then, I make an Easter-themed Easter Monday roast for friends: eggs, spring lamb and chocolate.


Quail's eggs with celery salt
I boiled the eggs for two minutes then dashed cold water over them, about 5 minutes before eating so they were hard boiled, and still slightly warm. They were so beautiful that I kept them in their shell and just put out a little dish of celery salt to dip them in, once shelled. Prosecco is the only way to wash anything down, I'm beginning to think, so opened a bottle to go alongside.

A shoulder of lamb
...roasted up beautifully, flavoured with anchovies, rosemary and garlic - a la Hugh Fearnley-Whittingstall's 'Weeping lamb'. There wasn't a terrific amount of fat in the joint, but all the same it anointed the potatoes, carrots and onion beneath it, gifting them its flavour. For some reason I was every bit as excited about the cabbage (sort of steamily-fried in butter and a dab of water, lid-on) which was lovely and bitter.

Cheese I think we had a snip of cheese at this point, after our customary debate about whether to have it before, or after, dessert.

Chocolate fondant pudding, so often the graveyard of Masterchef contestants, didn't look hopeful at the start: after adding the melted chocolate the mix seized up, turning stiff and unfriendly. I was determined to make the attempt though, so forced the mix into the chi chi pastel ramekins gifted to me from Mrs I., covered them in clingfilm and deserted them in the fridge.

At this point I still hadn't tested the oven for baking (old, but new to me) however somehow the culinary gods smiled, and later that evening, after 10 minutes in a hot oven, they turned out perfectly. No, really, absolutely PERFECTLY. They were so rich and so soft in the centre, that I finally understood why they are called 'fondants' and was very surprised to find we could only manage one each. We had a dash of single cream to go with it, but that was more than enough.

The 'spare' chocolate pots were useful to experiment on, and I can report back that they were fine the next day, even, just cooked from the fridge again. The last I froze and had a week later. I would recommend defrosting it before cooking, although you would have had the smarts to do this automatically. I cooked it from frozen and it took about 40 ridiculous long minutes. But was still gorgeous.

I digress: I only had to finish by saying we surprised ourselves by having a postprandial cocktail - an 'Old fashioned'. A strong, caramel-tasting broad, and just the ticket.

My Mother likes a photo best of all, but I'm afraid I was (as often) too busy eating to remember the camera. So instead, here is my lunch the next day. Cold lamb and radicchio pitta, quails egg and cheese.

telling porkies

I am having such a good time I almost feel guilty. When I look at this photo I actually get jealous of myself:

The shops open so late on a Sunday that halfway around my walk the gent phoned to say he had been unable to find any bread or eggs, and the only solution was to pop to Cecconis for breakfast.

One duck egg with black truffle and hash brown later, becalmed by an Earl Grey tea, I had to pinch myself. Do people really live like this?  And, given that I felt like the Queen, shouldn't the prices be more queenly, too?

That evening I rolled up my sleeves and made good with the cleaning whilst the gent knocked up something or other.  You can see from the photo what that entailed: Dijon mustard mash, buttery cabbage and a pork belly roasted with thyme and salt.

There is no way to make modest of all this good fortune, so you will excuse me for just enjoying it! 

gordon bennet!

In a long relationship it can sometimes seem as if there are no more surprises.  And then, on a grumpy, drizzly, late, Thursday morning, it all changes.

After 8 years, the only fitting term for my Gordon’s Café habit is ‘long-term’.  My first memory of it was actually when it was a student bar and my colleague took me there for a stiff drink after my handbag had been stolen.  When it became a café, I was a fresh-faced, keen young thing who would, for a treat, arrive super-early to work, just so I could go in for a coffee first (and then only on a pay day!).

Of course I have had grand passions for all the swish new coffee purveyors nearby, and consider it money well spent on happiness (did you know that people who drink coffee are less likely to commit suicide?  FACT from Mr Jeffrey Steingarten’s book*); however Gordon’s was always my fall back guy.

I had a phase of visiting most days with m’colleagues Steve and Debora, and it has always been a firm haunt with Anun.  It has been the backdrop of grim early-to-work busy times, hasty application form-filling, and latterly, having cycled there together, breakfast a deux with the gent before going on to our various work places.

Now once I have tried most things in a place, I tend to stick with what I know is good.  I love the adventure of new things, but thereafter I am reluctant to waste a single meal on anything but enjoying myself.  In Gordon’s I thus eschew any pastry in favour of an almond croissant.  

Today, however, 8 years and 4 months into my Gordon's affair, these were lacking so I had to chose a second.  I can’t bear croissants with icing over - not for the first meal of the day - so chose the twisty, long ones.  Yes, those are the words I used to order them.  I was told they were a ‘chocolate twist’ but, far better than this, the folds were soft and eggy – akin to the best pain au raisin – with dried sour cherries throughout.  Surprisingly fresh and zingy.  

And it has quite revived my affections and made me look anew at my old stalwart café.  I think we may be in our second bloom.

My top 3 in Gordon’s

An almond croissant with a small latte (be eco and bring your own cup); the ‘Naughty but nicoise’ salad for lunch and a raspberry muffin for your handbag.  Just in case. 

* 'It must've been something I ate', in the chapter entitled 'Explaining Espresso'.

seedy delights

A recipe I can post with impunity, because I made it up. Creativity borne of realising I didn't have enough butter in the flat.  May I introduce my Citrus Poppy cake?

165g butter and sugar - creamed together. 3 eggs, zest of a lemon and lime, juice of the lime, enough poppy seeds*, then 220-240g self raising flour (I wasn't sure so just kept adding until it looked stiff enough for a cake batter). All scraped into my favourite, silicon loaf mould.

I am still getting used to my oven so the timing instructions read: not at all ready after 40 minutes, but fine after a shade under an hour. I actually forgot about the cake as it was cooling on the side, but happily noticed it in time to add the drizzle topping while it was still hot.

So into a small pan, over the heat, went the juice of the lemon (previously denuded of its zest) with some icing sugar (quantity: keep tasting and adding sugar until it is less blisteringly tart) - heated until melted. I traditionally use a chop stick to stab the cake top all over, before poring over the lemon sugar, ensuring it goes into the middle holes and doesn't just rush to the edges. Leave until cold in the tin: it is sticky to turn out and comes to no harm.

Easy peasy. And very moist. And it didn't last the day.


*lame I know: I just shook them out of the packet until I deemed the mix seedy enough.

Taro times

Taro Brewer Street surpassed itself again.
The soya broth in the gent's spicy ramen was light and almost meaty tasting. In the good way, of course.

My tempura udon had two generous prawns and great broth. When I first encountered this in Japan I speed-scoffed the crispy tempura, having a horror of the batter getting soggy. But I soon learned to relax and enjoy the dish as it should be eaten. I even adopted the noodle-slurp!

The pork ramen I had in Taro last time was quite possibly the best ramen I have tasted since visiting Japan.  Happily the gent has quite the obsession with miso soup at the weekend: long may it continue! 

Friday treats

However lovely your new flat is, and however much you love your work, there will always be grumpy weeks.  Not bad, not unhappy, just meh to the core.  I have different tactics - secret weapons that keep my head above water until the sun comes out again – and today I am going to share one with you.

In a mood slip-slide, getting up later creeps in and soon breakfast is off-menu.  Instead it is a coffee and pastry at the desk, and then after a while, even this doesn't seem exciting.  The only thing to do is get a grip and re-invent breakfast.

On a practical level, eating breakfast makes your morning 70% better*.  You have more energy, you are less grumpy, and less likely to eat only cake and flake bars for the rest of the day.  On an emotional level, this is one of the few times I feel again the thrilling, unsurpassable anticipatory excitement of Christmas Eve.  

A few weeks back I decided to celebrate Friday breakfast.  The night before I assembled all the dry ingredients for savoury muffins, so that the next morning (bouncing out of bed super-early with excitement) I just had to bung in the wet ingredients, scoop the batter into muffin cases and pop them in the oven.  At the same time I put a tray of chipolatas in to cook.  

Breakfast cooked itself whilst I had a shower and made tea, and then the lucky gent had breakfast in bed.  And I had a Friday morning feast which put a spring back in my step.

How to

The muffins are based on the recipe in Nigella Bites: I fiddled about with the flour a bit, but stuck more faithfully to the recipe than usual. 

I used chipolatas as they cook quickly, giving time for them to cool to a handling-temperature, whilst the muffins had their last 10 minutes in the oven.  I used sausages from the 'Good little' company, which I hadn't heard of before; I loved the idea behind them... and they were tasty, too.

*Recently invented statistic.

lazy Sunday

We were very generously gifted an amazing chunk of iberico chorizo. Neither salami nor cooking sausage, it is instead a hybrid of the two: a thin slice can be eaten immediately, or cooked in a stew etc.

The flavour is a surprise. As salami it is really earthy and resiny, lower on the bright pimento taste we were expecting.

With such a powerful flavour I fried only a few slices for brunch, releasing that lovely orange chorizo fat which I then fried quail eggs in. The chorizo discs were put on top of toasted baguette, with the quail eggs perched on top of the chorizo.

The eggs were gratifying to cook, needing only to have the edge of the white flipped over the yolk to make a perfect, soft yolked parcel. So neat and so quick.

Coffee is often the high point of the day and today's post-brunch cup was, in Mary Poppins' parlance, practically perfect.

'licious lunch (or ode to leftovers - again)

It isn't very photogenic, but my lunch today is just adorable.
Imagine, if you will, last night's coleslaw with a little salad, some slices of cold roast chicken and cold, roast beetroot. With the last pitta bread.

Heaven, heaven!

Which brings me on to last night's slaw.
Find one exhausted-looking radicchio lettuce; shred, tumble with finely chopped carrot (the nearest to 'shredded' I could get by knife). Mix about with Dijon mustard, red wine vinegar and mayonnaise. The taste is heavy on vinegar and mustard, low on the creamy mayo. The colour, as you can imagine is bright and cheering!

This was invented to be companionable to some amazing pulled pork - itself left-overs from our friends Gabe + Maria, gifted from their larder-of-dreams. I fried the sweet-fatty pork in patties and wedged it onto some fancy-pantsy artisan french stick; the slaw's sharpness undercut the pork perfectly.

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The roast chicken and beets were from a quick, basic roast to stave off post-Easter blues, and also to provide for a salad the next day. I think this is such a delightful combination, as the beets sweeten up, and r0se-tint, the chicken.

jolly cauli

My reason for setting up this blog, all those years ago, was to have one, custom-made, searchable place for my cookery notes.

If I want a particular recipe I have read or cooked, I can often remember precisely which recipe book it is in. If I am given tips from friends, or scribble down recipes from magazines or library books, then I shovel the bits of paper together (and with a Library Masters degree I can even shovel the papers into a reasonable order). However, each time I discovered something by happy accident - when I ran out of ground almonds so used ground hazelnuts in a cake instead, or was inspired to put a fried egg on my sobrasada toast - I would forget to note this down. I never remember the ad hoc, unofficial parts to kitchen experiments, which are so often the most fun.

So, hence, a blog. Now I can type 'pasta' into the search box and there is the little homemade supper I did back in Finsbury Park: happy memories plus notes on why to keep the garlic raw!

Today I am berating myself for being so silly as to have had a favourite dish for the past few YEARS for which I still lack notes. I recently tried to convert a friend to this soup, verbally, but really need to cook it for her as I wasn't myself swayed by the description. The thought of adding yoghurt to cauliflower soup wasn't in the slightest bit appealing until I tasted it. Thanks go to Jo for serving it up: I have been making it ever since.

This is the cauliflower yogurt soup from the Moro cookbook. If you are searching for this recipe in your lunchtime at work, because the book is at home and you need to shop for ingredients on your way back, then this time around I am talking about 'Casa Moro'. Every other last result on Google will include coconut milk and be from the Moro East book. One day I'll try it, but for now I can't get past this one. Both books are treasure troves, incidentally.

This soup amazes me every time. I quite like soup, but think of it as a practical way to use up
vegetables, or eat something with vitamins in. This however, is a world apart. The corriander seeds, so lemony when ground, plus the yoghurt partake in some wondrous alchemy to convert this to straight Food Of The Gods.

A note to my future self and also to Tamsin: once you have corriander seeds, cornflour and vegetable stock in your kitchen cupboard (and oil, butter + seasoning, but I am assuming you have those...) you only need to buy fresh:
1 or 2 cauliflowers, Greek yoghurt, an egg, garlic and onion.

Soften onion and garlic in oil and butter, and bash up the seeds in a pestle and mortar to throw in too: cook these three on a low heat for about 10 minutes until it burnishes and turns gold. Hack up the cauli, chuck in the pan, and heave in 300 ml stock. Add a lid and cook for 20 mins, mashing with a potato masher when it starts disintegrating. I only have a potato ricer, so instead have to squash it with the back of the wooden spoon, then semi-blitz it with a hand blender. Not to a puree, just so it loses the bigger lumps. Add another 450 ml stock and bring to a simmer whilst you do the yoghurt bit.

Mix the egg yolk with 1 tsp cornflour or plain flour: add in 400g yoghurt. This will prevent the horror you are expecting: curdled dairy. Somehow the magic works and you will be able to combine the yoghurt mix into the soup without drama.

The recipe also suggests fresh corriander stirred in at the end with burnt butter and chilli flakes atop. I didn't miss this. I did miss the toasted almond flakes which I used to sprinkle over, but forgot about because I didn't blog it: now it is engraved here in Georgia font, I will know for next time.

I chose not to photograph the soup as it looks as you can imagine. White and soupy. However, the kitchen dissection of the cauliflower was really beautiful! Now sit back and enjoy reading the Moro books, whilst eating this beautiful soup.

moving antidote

Of course moving house means decreasingly interesting food cupboards: each meal we try and use something else up until we have herbs, half a tin of tea and 27 grains of rice in the bottom of a packet.

I intended to make some pork with mustard, cider and cream (a scraping of dijon being the inspiration here) but the gent and I have been working late a bit so had missed the shops. I ask you: live in central London and you can't get a potato after 8pm!

So we headed to Antidote for a bavette steak and bottle of wine. The satisfaction of a good day at work, combined with relief at not having to create something out of 27 grains of rice and dijon mustard, made me appreciate this trip all the more. As we arrived a downstairs window seat came free and it turned out to be the same seat I had sat in by myself last summer, in the broiling heat, when this was La Trouvaille: charming serendipity.

And then as we enjoyed the glorious red wine (the gent's assessment: "funky"), and the anticipation of steak to come, it began to snow. It was easily one of the most magic evenings, partly because it was by chance, but also because it is so good to properly appreciate when you are living a charmed moment. We have had the opportunity to live in Soho, eat at some terrific places, and now to walk home in the snow - and not worry about tube delays or waiting, freezing at a bus stop. A perfect farewell, and the antidote to moving stresses.

The gent had bordelaise sauce (shallots, red, wine + stock) and I ate my steak with bernaise sauce. The jury is still out on which is better.

guestie: Bert

A mini guest-post from Bertie Blue. This is how my home-made recipe books look: print-outs of emails from friends of whole recipes, or just a few words about an ingredient. She writes:

"Say Roy, moving can be expensive, so here's my budget friendly tip of the week...Tom Yum Paste. Have a jar in the fridge, and a spoonful mixed with rice, a few veggies and some protein (a tin of tuna or salmon, some old chook or whatever) is wealthy man flavour for student prices." Then added "it's extra yummy if you can squeeze in a bit of lime juice, and a few drops of fish sauce."

Advice gratefully received: moving certainly is expensive and I have been too tired for proper cooking! It is goodbye to saucy, splendid Soho and hello to the blossom trees and birds of Covent Garden. Who knows, the new oven might even open up the world of baking again...

she stoops to conquer

I am sure I have eulogised this most wonderful of homely dishes elsewhere, but making it again today really reminded me how versatile this is.

Mrs I. calls it 'body soup' - her term for a very butch soup, at the mezzanine level, if you will, between stew and soup. When we were children it was almost always lunch on a cold, cheerless day when there were only three or four of us, and without fail was the most heartening, warming presence in the day. And from my Mother's point of view, an excellent housewifely way of using up odds and ends in the kitchen, and stretching a little mince a long way.

I made this today by sweating onion and garlic until soft, then adding a finely diced carrot and two celery stalks until these also began to soften. A dash of smoked paprika (why not?) and some ground cumin went in for a scant minute, before beef mince (an extravagant 500g) was stirred in until browned. Into this went a tin of chopped tomatoes, a good few tablespoons of concentrate tomato paste, enough water to make this very loose and soupy and a handful of thyme, stalks on.

This simmered away for 40 minutes until we were ready to eat, at which point I also slid in chopped, leftover kale and cavolo nero, and a tin of black eye beans. You don't need me to say that ANY beans or pasta or vegetables would be good in this - it's such a charm when you have too much dreaded swede hanging around.

Then all you need is heavily buttered bread, and a spoon.

wintry weekend winner

Well Allens of Mayfair was out of smoked ham hocks and knuckles, so I will be back next week, looking hopeful. The butcher was just terrific and explained that post-Christmas stock meant they were low on these parts. He also intimated how large the hocks were and said they were 'proper' which is a sure-fire way to clinch my custom.

I am looking forward to braising hocks in cider another day, however the real star of the show was to be the red cabbage recipe I found, and as such, a little roast gammon sufficed wonderfully as accompaniment.

The cabbage was very easy to assemble and made an enormous quantity - unimaginable from the modest, tightly-budded cabbage I began with! Into my casserole I chucked the hand-sliced cabbage (stalk removed), two diced cox's apples, half a cup of red wine vinegar, one or two cinnamon quills and about 8 cloves. It cooked for 2 hours on a low hob. I was a mother hen and kept peeking in to see it had enough liquid and indeed it was fine for an hour or so, after which it did need an extra slosh of vinegar and a little water.

Those with a chunky style of slicing (*cough* Posie!) should know that the cabbage retains its integrity marvellously and doesn't mush down at all, so don't be too inelegant because the end result won't be forgiving. The cabbage would come to no harm if cooked for another hour, too. It was flavourful with warm winter spices, but not quite as mellow as I thought it might be, so to counteract the sharpness of the cabbage I made the mashed potato rather buttery.

Elizabeth David does a similar red cabbage recipe in her 'French Provincial Cooking', which I would love to try another time.

The gammon was the easiest thing of all: it was a modest cut so only needed to cook for about an hour and a quarter. Ten minutes towards the end of cooking I sliced off the rind (taking care not take too much fat with it), scored the remaining fat, and rubbed over a very rough mix of about 2 tsp English mustard and some brown sugar (I honestly have no idea how much, I just mixed it into a nice paste). After pushing in some cloves it was returned it to the oven for the last ten minutes.

There was even a spare 45 minutes in the middle of this all, in which I took a leisurely shower, which surely is the best of multi-tasking. The gammon was a rave success, if I do say so myself, and I loved the wintry cabbage. The only change I would make is to rest the meat properly before carving - I was too impatient - and to count the cloves in and out! The clovey Russian roulette was a bit too exciting at times.

Detail: my lovely ham. Click on image to see the full glory.

long live the King!

To celebrate Epiphany – or ‘three kings day’ - I made a galette des rois.

I always thought it was very European to celebrate this festival; certainly the French and Spanish have a dedicated cake ('roscon de reyes' for the Spanish). However, after a visit to the Geffrye Museum I was delighted to discover the English have been celebrating this festival since the Middle Ages: Epiphany also coincides with the end of the pagan festival of Saturnalia, which generally celebrates the end of winter.

The English celebration involved an element of role reversal or misrule: whoever finds the charm hidden in the cake becomes King for the day, and in medieval times this meant a servant could find themselves being waited on by their master.

This year, a Mary Cadogan recipe was my blueprint:

http://www.bbcgoodfood.com/recipes/5078/galette-des-rois

...but inevitably I made changes. The ready-rolled puff pastry comes in boxes of 320g (or similar) so I just used one of those, and instead of cutting out circles, I cut the pastry in half to make a rectangular cake and popped it on a baking sheet.

I omitted the jam and made more of the frangipane (for no better reason than I had 130g butter left in a packet to use up): 130g of butter and almonds, and 110g of sugar. I also added a few drops of almond extract to enhance the flavour, and used a slosh of armagnac. The result was rather chunky and not nearly as elegant as in the photo of Mary Cadogan’s recipe, but this worried me not a jot: well worth the trade-in for extra frangipane!

It was so easy to make that I urged some of my friends to use it as a method of keeping their offspring entertained. Wonderfully, my sister completely re-invented it for her family's tastes and my 3 year old nephew helped make one with nutella and chopped roast hazelnuts 'for the nutty theme'. With all the hazelnuts this could easily be re-christened 'galette de Roy'! I love that they now have a new tradition.

And who was King for the day? I always take the galette to work and so my colleague Gabriela was the worthy King in our office. Very fitting as she is the one who can already see the imperceptible lengthening of days: the beginning of the end of winter.