My trip to the Chinese supermarket was a pleasant eye-opener, and even with my man-flu-ebola-dengue-fever virus (it would have killed a lesser man if you could have found one) it was a joy to smell the spices permeating the various rooms. For the austerity cook it showed that shopping around is worth it - noodles were about half the price of Sainsbury's for example, tins of bamboo shoots maybe 20% cheaper, and so on.
But for any cook interested in new stuff it was brilliant. I bought some tinned mushrooms that will add a touch of authenticity to a dish or two; dried chillis that I now thanks to Norman Musa at Ning know how to use correctly; shrimp paste; sweetened soy sauce; proper milky coconut milk; cassia bark; palm sugar...
So this evening's meal will be a Malay/Chinese mini-feast, trying to repeat what I did under careful supervision on Saturday. My hope is that the house smells a little like Ning after my efforts. And that the dishes tonight are as delicious as Saturday's.
Thursday 28 February 2013
Tuesday 26 February 2013
Malaysian Cooking
As part of my day job last Saturday I attended the Ning cookery school in Manchester's trendy Northern Quarter. For full details if anyone is interested check out Lancashire Life's April edition, and maybe their website in the fullness of time, but a couple of things were of particular interest to the austerity cook so I'll include them in this blog.
Firstly was how to use lemon grass. I had always thought that trimming and then bashing the moist core with the flat of a knife was the way, removing the fibrous bits after they had given up their flavour: not so as Norman Musa demonstrated. We trimmed the pieces are I had previously done, then cut them in short lengths and zapped them with water in a food processor. Wonderful smell, maximum flavour and fragrance, most bang for your ringgit.
The other was the power of toasted spice. I sometimes do this, in a hot dry pan with one whole spice. Norman had us measure decent quantities of several: cumin, pepper, cinnamon bark, cardamom and star anise (broken into small bits), then got us toasting them gently for a couple of minutes before grinding them finely. The mixture of spices again filled the room, and there was certainly more flavour imparted to the food because of this technique.
I'm off to my local Chinese supermarket tonight to buy some supplies. Fresh and relatively simple street food (this was for beginners) it was nonetheless delicious, and even in the Far East in my previous career I never smelled anything so mouth-watering.
Firstly was how to use lemon grass. I had always thought that trimming and then bashing the moist core with the flat of a knife was the way, removing the fibrous bits after they had given up their flavour: not so as Norman Musa demonstrated. We trimmed the pieces are I had previously done, then cut them in short lengths and zapped them with water in a food processor. Wonderful smell, maximum flavour and fragrance, most bang for your ringgit.
The other was the power of toasted spice. I sometimes do this, in a hot dry pan with one whole spice. Norman had us measure decent quantities of several: cumin, pepper, cinnamon bark, cardamom and star anise (broken into small bits), then got us toasting them gently for a couple of minutes before grinding them finely. The mixture of spices again filled the room, and there was certainly more flavour imparted to the food because of this technique.
I'm off to my local Chinese supermarket tonight to buy some supplies. Fresh and relatively simple street food (this was for beginners) it was nonetheless delicious, and even in the Far East in my previous career I never smelled anything so mouth-watering.
Thursday 21 February 2013
Store-cupboard Necessities
Last night's main course made me think about what things are the absolute store-cupboard necessities in this household. That was because I was making fish pie, one component of which for me has to be smoked fish, tinned kippers the easiest way of doing that (cheap, no bones worthy of note, bags of flavour).
Tins of anchovies would have to be up there too: to make my own pizza or add to bought-in; in fish soups to give background; used in a stuffing for veg like peppers; and with discretion in salads. Baked beans another: tonight we are having a rib-fest, so a tin of Heinz with some spice and BBQ sauce will fill out the meal, but they are great added to stews at the end of cooking to sweeten and bulk out, and have numerous other uses though please not the 1970s thing of serving them cold as a salad. Bleaugh. Green lentils in a tin, however, do make a fine salad with some not very delicate slices of onion, a load of crushed garlic, and if to hand some tomato and cucumber, the lot doused in a mustardy vinaigrette.
And no cupboard of mine would ever be without pasta and rice, both the basis of rapid and good meals. In fact I have at least three of each so the changes can be rung.
Ah! and tinned tomatoes, how could I forget? The sauce (with a bit of fiddling) for that pasta, an enhancement to stews and curries, a topping (once reduced) for a pizza...
Some look down on tinned food, and of course fresh is very desirable. But on a wet Thursday when you have forgotten your fridge was nearly empty they are a godsend.
What would you not be without in the larder?
Tins of anchovies would have to be up there too: to make my own pizza or add to bought-in; in fish soups to give background; used in a stuffing for veg like peppers; and with discretion in salads. Baked beans another: tonight we are having a rib-fest, so a tin of Heinz with some spice and BBQ sauce will fill out the meal, but they are great added to stews at the end of cooking to sweeten and bulk out, and have numerous other uses though please not the 1970s thing of serving them cold as a salad. Bleaugh. Green lentils in a tin, however, do make a fine salad with some not very delicate slices of onion, a load of crushed garlic, and if to hand some tomato and cucumber, the lot doused in a mustardy vinaigrette.
And no cupboard of mine would ever be without pasta and rice, both the basis of rapid and good meals. In fact I have at least three of each so the changes can be rung.
Ah! and tinned tomatoes, how could I forget? The sauce (with a bit of fiddling) for that pasta, an enhancement to stews and curries, a topping (once reduced) for a pizza...
Some look down on tinned food, and of course fresh is very desirable. But on a wet Thursday when you have forgotten your fridge was nearly empty they are a godsend.
What would you not be without in the larder?
Necessity and Invention
For my wife's daily salad fix at work I too often rely on the easy green leaves, toms, walnut and cucumber with a tiny bottle of homemade dressing (as well as liking salad she is always - like all too many women - focused on her weight, and if you look at cheaty bottles from the shops they nearly all have sugar high on the ingredients list). Day before yesterday that wasn't an option, everything in the list bar walnuts having run out here, so I had to do a bit of quick footwork. Some leftover rice; slivers of ginger; orange segments sans skin; and a small amount of orange pepper: lovely colours, flavour enhanced with a knife-tip of cinnamon and some salt, the lot dressed with olive oil and a slice of lemon. How healthy.
I had a pie.
I had a pie.
Tuesday 19 February 2013
One Flame Demitarian?
I heard someone from the World Food Programme (I think) this morning on Today, talking about the need to reduce our use of animal protein, indeed animal products, to slow our damage to the environment. He used the term 'demitarian', to convey the idea of cutting meat/milk/cheese etc consumption, but not stopping it. Not sure if I like the word, but the sentiment is good.
Other posts have covered how I am trying to reduce our meat usage. It is not hard, except in terms of breaking a habit - meal plan so often starts with a lump of protein. Last night's meal probably didn't quite fit the demitarian party line, but came close. It was a meal that de Pomiane would have smiled at too, ready in 20 minutes but with only five minutes' work involved. Good one for the student and austerity cook too, cheap and cheerful, one-pot cooking, and pretty healthy: first course a mix of hors d'oeuvres, second linguini with Parmesan and butter.
The idea for the hors d'oeuvre-fest came from the almost summery weather: grated carrot (squeezed to get rid of excess moisture, it makes it fluffier) with tiny rings of spring onion and flecks of Maldon salt; a tin of good sardines in oil; a few slices of salami; some olives; fingers of cucumber and yellow pepper, and a load of tiny tomatoes that wonder of wonders actually tasted of tomato, and they were only £1 for a bag at Sainsbury's, enough for three or four such servings.
Two large platefuls ready in three minutes, lots of colour and a feeling of virtue. It's a sociable course too, diners reaching over for a bit more of this or that, pass the mayo or pepper.
Two large platefuls ready in three minutes, lots of colour and a feeling of virtue. It's a sociable course too, diners reaching over for a bit more of this or that, pass the mayo or pepper.
Second course was cooking while we tucked into our starter, and again it is a friendly dish, twirling of pasta on fork and slurping of the dripping threads.
Grated carrot btw is one of my favourite standby things when a meal needs a salad. Last night two carrots was plenty, but another one or two, dressed with oil and lemon and crunchy salt makes a rapid salad on its own. The vibrant orange brightens any table too, and for pennies - about 20p I guess, with 5p for olive oil, and another 10p for a wedge of lemon.
When people say cooking is a chore, I wonder have they ever tried it. And how can anyone not have five minutes spare to do something fun in their day that feeds the family?
Monday 18 February 2013
Like 1973 All Over Again
We just got back from a weekend in Scotland - not all of it at once of course, merely a little bit of Dumfries and Galloway. As the cottage we had booked was not near even a pub we took our food for the duration. With a three hour car journey this meant most of it was tins. And nothing wrong with that, if you go for the right stuff. On no account buy tinned carrots, ever - unless they are for someone you despise.
This took me back to our family holidays in the 1970s. It fits the austerity bill too, as my family was far from well off, my mother a teacher, my father a local government officer. The upside to those jobs, once my father had long tenure anyway, was that we had three week holidays generally spent abroad. In pre-credit card days, for them at least, that meant careful budgeting with the cash and travellers' cheques taken with us, and our caravan being packed with tins and dried foods that would last the trip.
For a couple of months before we left my mother would put away a few tins and packets every week. There were always a couple of tins of M&S chicken in white sauce; lots of pasta; the epitome of 70s supermarket cuisine Vesta curries and paella (curry good, paella awful); and tins of mince that would become a spag bol with a single onion and a tin of toms.
What was not spent out of the daily budget went into a fund for treats, which included the occasional meal out. We had great holidays.
I am not sure whether my choice of chicken in white sauce (from Sainsbury's this time) to take with us to the cottage was bought because of that heritage or not. But it worked as well as the stuff my mother used to make for us. Sunday's main meal was boil in the bag rice with a curry comprising that chicken, a tin of Bombay Potatoes, and another of vegetable curry, with a concession to fresh veg in the form of onion and lots of garlic fried before the rest was added and heated through. It was not at all hot spicy, and far from authentic, but like those meals in Interlaken and elsewhere in the dim and distant it was what we needed after a longer than expected walk (in the 70s that would have been a day on the lake in a blow-up boat, table tennis, and riding foldy-up bikes): it was moist, filling, tasty and nutritious. So you can more than get by on tins (and a bit of fresh veg).
Best not to do that every day, though I recall the story of an arctic adventurer who had to spend a winter in a hut somewhere in the frozen wastes. His food, other than what he could shoot or catch, was tinned. A flood of his store washed all the labels off these tins, and, no gourmet it seems, he then for simplicity and perhaps variety determined to simply take three tins at random and heat them in the same pan. Thus he enjoyed the likes of custard and mince and prunes on occasion. Which maybe puts my makeshift curry in a better light, if it needed to be. Which it didn't.
This took me back to our family holidays in the 1970s. It fits the austerity bill too, as my family was far from well off, my mother a teacher, my father a local government officer. The upside to those jobs, once my father had long tenure anyway, was that we had three week holidays generally spent abroad. In pre-credit card days, for them at least, that meant careful budgeting with the cash and travellers' cheques taken with us, and our caravan being packed with tins and dried foods that would last the trip.
For a couple of months before we left my mother would put away a few tins and packets every week. There were always a couple of tins of M&S chicken in white sauce; lots of pasta; the epitome of 70s supermarket cuisine Vesta curries and paella (curry good, paella awful); and tins of mince that would become a spag bol with a single onion and a tin of toms.
What was not spent out of the daily budget went into a fund for treats, which included the occasional meal out. We had great holidays.
I am not sure whether my choice of chicken in white sauce (from Sainsbury's this time) to take with us to the cottage was bought because of that heritage or not. But it worked as well as the stuff my mother used to make for us. Sunday's main meal was boil in the bag rice with a curry comprising that chicken, a tin of Bombay Potatoes, and another of vegetable curry, with a concession to fresh veg in the form of onion and lots of garlic fried before the rest was added and heated through. It was not at all hot spicy, and far from authentic, but like those meals in Interlaken and elsewhere in the dim and distant it was what we needed after a longer than expected walk (in the 70s that would have been a day on the lake in a blow-up boat, table tennis, and riding foldy-up bikes): it was moist, filling, tasty and nutritious. So you can more than get by on tins (and a bit of fresh veg).
Best not to do that every day, though I recall the story of an arctic adventurer who had to spend a winter in a hut somewhere in the frozen wastes. His food, other than what he could shoot or catch, was tinned. A flood of his store washed all the labels off these tins, and, no gourmet it seems, he then for simplicity and perhaps variety determined to simply take three tins at random and heat them in the same pan. Thus he enjoyed the likes of custard and mince and prunes on occasion. Which maybe puts my makeshift curry in a better light, if it needed to be. Which it didn't.
Wednesday 13 February 2013
Upside to the Horsemeat Scandal
The good news from the horsemeat scandal is that butchers, properly trained old-fashioned stripy-aproned butchers, are seeing a boost in trade. The logic is inescapable: people know that major supermarkets, however much they protest, are about price, price price. We now have an example of where that leads. Processed food cannot it seems be trusted, so the alternative is for people to return to cooking for themselves. And for trustworthy ingredients I'd rather go to Jack Jones Butcher than any massive corporation.
Sadly I don't think this will last. There are people so lazy and incapable they keep a hopeful eye out for a microwavable boiled egg. And it seems MacDonald's have avoided any taint in this scandal, so the hordes of ready-meal addicts will doubtless make their way there more frequently. That vile ad campaign at present - 'Don't Cook, Just Eat' (I keep looking for the sub-title 'If you are sad, have no taste, wish to be spotty and obese and smell of rancid fat' but I keep missing it) - is a measure of things to come.
Sadly I don't think this will last. There are people so lazy and incapable they keep a hopeful eye out for a microwavable boiled egg. And it seems MacDonald's have avoided any taint in this scandal, so the hordes of ready-meal addicts will doubtless make their way there more frequently. That vile ad campaign at present - 'Don't Cook, Just Eat' (I keep looking for the sub-title 'If you are sad, have no taste, wish to be spotty and obese and smell of rancid fat' but I keep missing it) - is a measure of things to come.
Friday 8 February 2013
Horse Meat Good News for MPs
Am I too cynical to conclude that the spate of (plate of?) scandals about horse meat and other contamination of processed foods will have MPs patting their tummies? The lobbying firms will now be in overdrive, and instead of the big hitters enjoying the big dinners, the largesse will have to pass lower down the political food chain.
Among those defending themselves will be supermarkets showing that it was nothing to do with their grinding downward pressure on suppliers that has led to corner cutting. Step forward too a crowd of the giants of the food processing world, out to demonstrate how it wasn't anything to do with them, guvnor, they thought the extraordinarily cheap meat they were buying was kosher - bad choice of words - fine then. The inevitable conclusion must surely be the third plea in Scottish law: 'A big boy done it and ran away.'
It will not just be MPs at the trough, either. Their parties (and it will be all the major parties) will have a boost to funding from some of the big food fish, by which I don't mean halibut. Halibut smells better. So the result of the debate will be 'It's a bit of a pity but we are sure it won't happen again. Honest. Delicious foie gras by the way. And the Yquem with the brulee was wonderful.'
My approach to processed food is - by and large - avoid it. Fresh meat needs care too - I try my damndest to buy from sources I trust, which includes a local Aberdeen Angus farmer, top man Henry Rowntree, for a regular delivery of meat that tastes great, is from beasts that enjoyed a good life, has not been up and down the country to save 2p per animal on slaughter fees, has been hung properly, is tender, and is actually at a very good price as the middle man has been cut out. Of course that means I have to cook it and turn it into ragu etc myself, but as cooking is one of life's great joys why would I want someone else to do it (badly) for me? Why would I indeed get someone to charge me for removing a pleasure from my life? I don't hire someone to drink my wine for me and tell me how good it was.
Among those defending themselves will be supermarkets showing that it was nothing to do with their grinding downward pressure on suppliers that has led to corner cutting. Step forward too a crowd of the giants of the food processing world, out to demonstrate how it wasn't anything to do with them, guvnor, they thought the extraordinarily cheap meat they were buying was kosher - bad choice of words - fine then. The inevitable conclusion must surely be the third plea in Scottish law: 'A big boy done it and ran away.'
It will not just be MPs at the trough, either. Their parties (and it will be all the major parties) will have a boost to funding from some of the big food fish, by which I don't mean halibut. Halibut smells better. So the result of the debate will be 'It's a bit of a pity but we are sure it won't happen again. Honest. Delicious foie gras by the way. And the Yquem with the brulee was wonderful.'
My approach to processed food is - by and large - avoid it. Fresh meat needs care too - I try my damndest to buy from sources I trust, which includes a local Aberdeen Angus farmer, top man Henry Rowntree, for a regular delivery of meat that tastes great, is from beasts that enjoyed a good life, has not been up and down the country to save 2p per animal on slaughter fees, has been hung properly, is tender, and is actually at a very good price as the middle man has been cut out. Of course that means I have to cook it and turn it into ragu etc myself, but as cooking is one of life's great joys why would I want someone else to do it (badly) for me? Why would I indeed get someone to charge me for removing a pleasure from my life? I don't hire someone to drink my wine for me and tell me how good it was.
Tuesday 5 February 2013
Salad for the Family or a Chocolate Bar? Full Stomach or Gold Medal?
Tonight before our main course we had a small salad. This in the main came from a bag that I think cost £1.19 at Booth's. I had already used a handful of the leaves in my wife's packed lunch, with a few different bits and bobs added to that and the evening version to make sure she didn't feel she was getting the same thing twice.
Factor in the half a chicory head, few slices of cucumber, and a grated beetroot (plus a few drops of dressing) this evening and it would still not have set us back anywhere near £2. A chocolate bar each would have cost more by my reckoning, and we're not talking Green and Black's 70% cocoa either.
That bag is in fact a bit lazy, and even in proper austerity terms an extravagance, a lettuce going further.
Of course in about three months we will be back on our own salad ingredients. Growing your own salad provided you have a little patch of ground, or even a sunny windowsill, is ridiculously easy, incredibly economical, and provides you with leaves and roots that put supermarket or even greengrocer stuff in the shade.
I still keep turning over in my mind the relative health benefits of the Olympic Games which cost £13 billion, and say spending a third of that on land to provide allotments. So that's £4.3 billion. Arable land costs £6,500 per acre, being generous. The £4.3 billion would buy 660,000 acres, again erring on the safe side. An acre would give a manageable plot (125m2, half the normal size of an allotment if there is a normal size) to 32 families or individuals (you can tell I'm not a politician, I didn't say 'hard working families). Say you lost a whopping 25 per cent of usable space for access, paths etc. That still leaves more than 15 million allotment plots. Allotments, btw, are more productive than commercially farmed land as there is no need for tracks for machines, you can intercrop more easily, have quick crops like radishes while slower ones like spuds are on the way, etc etc.
Of course farmers may not want to sell all that land, and arable land tends to be away from the centres of population. And it is unlikely that 15 million families would want an allotment suddenly. But I bet you could get a million interested at the drop of a hat. Give them the full-size plot and let them build a summerhouse shed on it so the kids can play and have shelter, and it becomes a British dacha. If my sums are correct, you could give (lease or rent for a small amount is more practical, so people don't sell them on instantly) a million families healthy food and exercise for less than £600 million.
Instead of which we make national heroes of a very few people who can swim backwards fast, jump quite a long way, throw pointed sticks, and not bomb when they dive into swimming pools. We got lots of goldish medals though. Try eating them in a few years' time. Or another comparison: we intend spending £33 billion making it a bit quicker to get between London and Manchester by train (and Birmingham, and Leeds...). We know that our food security will be affected by climate change; is almost certain to be threatened by political events around the globe; by population growth; and by the growing demands (quite reasonably) of developing nations. Have we got our priorities right?
Factor in the half a chicory head, few slices of cucumber, and a grated beetroot (plus a few drops of dressing) this evening and it would still not have set us back anywhere near £2. A chocolate bar each would have cost more by my reckoning, and we're not talking Green and Black's 70% cocoa either.
That bag is in fact a bit lazy, and even in proper austerity terms an extravagance, a lettuce going further.
Of course in about three months we will be back on our own salad ingredients. Growing your own salad provided you have a little patch of ground, or even a sunny windowsill, is ridiculously easy, incredibly economical, and provides you with leaves and roots that put supermarket or even greengrocer stuff in the shade.
I still keep turning over in my mind the relative health benefits of the Olympic Games which cost £13 billion, and say spending a third of that on land to provide allotments. So that's £4.3 billion. Arable land costs £6,500 per acre, being generous. The £4.3 billion would buy 660,000 acres, again erring on the safe side. An acre would give a manageable plot (125m2, half the normal size of an allotment if there is a normal size) to 32 families or individuals (you can tell I'm not a politician, I didn't say 'hard working families). Say you lost a whopping 25 per cent of usable space for access, paths etc. That still leaves more than 15 million allotment plots. Allotments, btw, are more productive than commercially farmed land as there is no need for tracks for machines, you can intercrop more easily, have quick crops like radishes while slower ones like spuds are on the way, etc etc.
Of course farmers may not want to sell all that land, and arable land tends to be away from the centres of population. And it is unlikely that 15 million families would want an allotment suddenly. But I bet you could get a million interested at the drop of a hat. Give them the full-size plot and let them build a summerhouse shed on it so the kids can play and have shelter, and it becomes a British dacha. If my sums are correct, you could give (lease or rent for a small amount is more practical, so people don't sell them on instantly) a million families healthy food and exercise for less than £600 million.
Instead of which we make national heroes of a very few people who can swim backwards fast, jump quite a long way, throw pointed sticks, and not bomb when they dive into swimming pools. We got lots of goldish medals though. Try eating them in a few years' time. Or another comparison: we intend spending £33 billion making it a bit quicker to get between London and Manchester by train (and Birmingham, and Leeds...). We know that our food security will be affected by climate change; is almost certain to be threatened by political events around the globe; by population growth; and by the growing demands (quite reasonably) of developing nations. Have we got our priorities right?
Monday 4 February 2013
Crackling Good Value
On the general theme of getting something for next to nothing, and making the most of ordinary ingredients.
For years I struggled to make decent crackling. My secret (or not in fact) shame. My late mother-in-law was not a very good cook, but when she roasted pork it came with skin that snapped between the teeth like a Crunchie bar. It pleased and annoyed me every time.
I still cannot do crackling on the joint, but have learned from seeing friends in Sheffield who took the pre-crisping crackling off the joint when the meat was done and off to have a good lie down, then returned the basted skin to a very hot oven. Sunday's joint was done this way, and again it worked. There is a bit more to it than that of course - it is dried and scored before cooking, with an unhealthy amount of salt rubbed into the surface, and is basted at least once while still on the joint.
Little things that make a difference. It turned a good meal into a more enjoyable one, with that extra dimension.
I have on occasion bought from Morrison's sheets of skin to make into crackling (Morrison's the only supermarket that I have yet found that does this, but as I avoid Asda on personal ethical grounds I can't vouch for them). For about 75p you get a couple of rolls of skin that are really easy to make into massive amounts of crackling. If there were a way of comparing fun per penny values in food, that would rate alongside cracking the surface of proper creme brulee or crema catalana (I still can't do accents on Blogger) and biting into a really fresh and very crusty French stick. What is it about that snapping/cracking sensation that makes it pleasurable?
For years I struggled to make decent crackling. My secret (or not in fact) shame. My late mother-in-law was not a very good cook, but when she roasted pork it came with skin that snapped between the teeth like a Crunchie bar. It pleased and annoyed me every time.
I still cannot do crackling on the joint, but have learned from seeing friends in Sheffield who took the pre-crisping crackling off the joint when the meat was done and off to have a good lie down, then returned the basted skin to a very hot oven. Sunday's joint was done this way, and again it worked. There is a bit more to it than that of course - it is dried and scored before cooking, with an unhealthy amount of salt rubbed into the surface, and is basted at least once while still on the joint.
Little things that make a difference. It turned a good meal into a more enjoyable one, with that extra dimension.
I have on occasion bought from Morrison's sheets of skin to make into crackling (Morrison's the only supermarket that I have yet found that does this, but as I avoid Asda on personal ethical grounds I can't vouch for them). For about 75p you get a couple of rolls of skin that are really easy to make into massive amounts of crackling. If there were a way of comparing fun per penny values in food, that would rate alongside cracking the surface of proper creme brulee or crema catalana (I still can't do accents on Blogger) and biting into a really fresh and very crusty French stick. What is it about that snapping/cracking sensation that makes it pleasurable?
Saturday 2 February 2013
Nearly Vegetarian III
On Thursday I did another vegetarian meal. Nearly vegetarian. As the intention is to cut down on meat rather than cut it out, it passes my personal test.
This, a cheaty mushroom tart, was one of the best things I've done in a while. Even SC said it was not at all bad, a paean of praise from him. Some bought puff pastry rolled out to fit my flat griddle pan, which cooks pastry nicely, was covered with a grated mozzarella, a couple of slices of Parma ham in thin ribbons, about 75p of mushrooms (and given they were bought from Morrison's this meant a lot of mushrooms) previously cooked in a little butter and a lot of garlic, then drained to keep the sogginess to the minimum. The whole thing was covered in grated Parmesan, and cooked in a hot oven (220C) for about 15 minutes.
What made it look nice was having the filling inside a margin about 2cm from the edge, the surface of the puff pastry barely cut through with the tip of a sharp knife. This rises up to make a neat wall that keeps the filling from spilling out at all.
Served with a green-ish salad (strips of red pepper perked up the colour) it was at least three of our five a day. Five minutes of prep, five to cook the 'shrooms, 15 to cook the pastry itself. It would have taken that to do a packet pizza, which for anything half-way acceptable would have cost the £4 that I reckon that set us back. And packet pizza would not have tasted half as good.
This, a cheaty mushroom tart, was one of the best things I've done in a while. Even SC said it was not at all bad, a paean of praise from him. Some bought puff pastry rolled out to fit my flat griddle pan, which cooks pastry nicely, was covered with a grated mozzarella, a couple of slices of Parma ham in thin ribbons, about 75p of mushrooms (and given they were bought from Morrison's this meant a lot of mushrooms) previously cooked in a little butter and a lot of garlic, then drained to keep the sogginess to the minimum. The whole thing was covered in grated Parmesan, and cooked in a hot oven (220C) for about 15 minutes.
What made it look nice was having the filling inside a margin about 2cm from the edge, the surface of the puff pastry barely cut through with the tip of a sharp knife. This rises up to make a neat wall that keeps the filling from spilling out at all.
Served with a green-ish salad (strips of red pepper perked up the colour) it was at least three of our five a day. Five minutes of prep, five to cook the 'shrooms, 15 to cook the pastry itself. It would have taken that to do a packet pizza, which for anything half-way acceptable would have cost the £4 that I reckon that set us back. And packet pizza would not have tasted half as good.
Austerity and Horsemeat
Recent events have pointed to the fact that there are two ways to be economical in the kitchen: the first is to buy cheap rubbish; the second to devote some time to making the best of basic ingredients.
It is not a massive shock that processed foods at the very bottom end of the market should be the ones where inexplicably horsemeat has been discovered. The explanations that spring to mind are that somewhere in the chain there was a genuine error; or that in that same chain someone did it deliberately. It is hard to imagine circumstances in which 29 per cent of a burger could be horsemeat by accidental contamination, but you never know.
Behind that, however, is the fact that the continual downward pressure on suppliers by supermarkets is likely to end in some sort of error: if your prices are shaved to the bone you cannot afford the very best monitoring systems, best people, most reliable suppliers of your own raw materials, the numbers on duty you would want, etc. So the supermarket buyer filling the trolley with the very cheapest stuff is not - generally - getting the best and purest - big shock.
With burgers, the product that has caused the furore, it is pretty easy to make your own for not very much, and to enjoy the process rather than the processed. Buy some mince from a reliable supplier; use some stale bread to make breadcrumbs; chop an onion finely; mix together with an egg for binding and seasoning to taste, then form the burgers in your floured hands and grill or fry them.
I started this post saying it was economical buying rubbish, but that is not really true. As Elizabeth David once wrote, a bad meal is expensive at any price.
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