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.

cooking away the grey

Transferring dates from my 2011 diary into my new one, I found a scribbled recipe at the back. I spent a brief 2 month summer spell living with the gent and his two friends and flatmates. One of them sometimes talked about his grandmother’s amazing cooking and as he described her slow-cooked red cabbage dish I dashed down the following notes. I’m not sure I captured it very accurately but it still looks promising:

• Oil, 6-10 cloves, cinnamon stick
• 2 apples chopped
• 1 red cabbage
• 1 cup red wine vinegar
• Cook for 2 hrs on slow

I am a bit grumpy with January – being grey and dark and not yet having got my teeth into anything new – so have decided to cook my way through the grey. I think this braised red cabbage would sit very well next to a slow-cooked pork or lamb roast. And this in turn really invites itself to be followed by rice pudding - do I mean a coconut rice pudding? Quite possibly I do.

And for sure I think this is the weekend to try it!