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
Friday, 19 February 2010
'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.
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.
Tuesday, 9 February 2010
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!
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!
Thursday, 4 February 2010
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/
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/
Monday, 25 January 2010
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
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?
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?
Friday, 15 January 2010
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!
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!
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