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.

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

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'.