It Was the Best of Pies, It Was the Worst of Pies - Anticipation as Appetiser

Our healthy eating programme has been very successful, to the extent that I've overshot my target and am sneaking the occasional treat to rebalance things.

Like all right thinking people I love pies. I had not eaten one in over two months when I bought a Holland's steak pie the other day. It looked incongruous in a trolley of lean meat and fresh fruit and veg, the contrast no doubt adding to its allure. Once heated its aromas wafted through the kitchen, demanding instant consumption. Thoughts of finding the pie of my dreams flooded my little brain.

The rarity value gave me a bit of a thrill, as the only pie indulgence for months it had to be welcome. But it served as a reminder of just how poor so much 'shop-bought' food is. Meat in small pieces, pastry floppy, gravy all mouth and no trousers. It was then the best of pies (in recent times) and the worst of pies (likewise, and because it was a major let-down). 

Culinary anticipation is not always rewarded with the supreme pleasure hoped for. I went on a tour of Michelin-starred restaurants in Southwest France last year (life is hell etc), the food in one was superb, in two pretty good, and the others disappointing (in one the food was actually nasty except for the cheese that was bought in). That may have been because of the power of that star. Time and again I have eaten venison with images of Friar Tuck and medieval feasts in mind, only to find it has been dry, chewy and lacking in flavour (whether I or a chef has cooked it). Years ago I was given Durian in Malaysia, Durian being the fruit that smells, to put not too fine a point on it, like crap. Promised a marvellous experience if I could get past that I found the actual taste was a bit like mucal mango, but not as good as that sounds. 

However often I'm disappointed I hope that I still have such anticipatory experiences to come. It's like Christmas morning as a kid, the moment before the presents are opened is generally better than the presents turn out to be, but if you think about it that still means the morning is hugely pleasurable. I will eat steak tartare one day (if courage doesn't fail me yet again). Maybe fugo too, though I have heard the taste is as exciting as whiting. And maybe I will meet two personal needs and find a venison pie that would have made Tuck beam. 

White Supremacy - Except for the Other Colours Being Great Too

Back to the question of colour in food. Not food colouring, something almost always to be avoided, but the colours on our plates. And the wonders of raw food.

For the hard of reading I should start taking photos again, it would help with posts like this.

Yesterday, prompted by a remark by the Dear Leader earlier in the week (I follow behind with a notebook to jot down every word of her infinitely wise remarks), we had raw cauliflower as part of what our American cousins would call a 'dinner salad'. I've also heard the phrase 'garbage salad' used for something similar, though there is a notable difference between them - the former more refined and planned, the latter a way of using anything and everything (within reason) to hand.

The cauli was bought that day, was a fine shining white, and looked beautiful on the plate - thanks in particular to the contrast with red pepper and cherry toms, and the green mixed leaves. It was superbly crunchy and crisp, and had all the flavour without that unpleasantly lurking reek of the cooked version. As we don't grow caulis (too much faffery) we don't eat many, but when we do I love them raw like that, something I first came across in a mid-range restaurant in the USA (California if I'm not mistaken, spiritual home of the big salad).

It is not the only vegetable that I prefer raw. Give me coleslaw instead of cooked white cabbage (memories of school dinners) any day. Grated carrot rather than boiled (though I do like glazed carrots). Raw beetroot over boiled or baked. Crisp uncooked celery sticks instead of soft casseroled chunks. The purity of flavour is one part of those preferences, but the brightness of colour is as significant.

White - rather than very pale green, or dull gray/grey - is a rare thing in the kitchen unless significant quantities of dairy fat are involved. That scarcity made the raw cauli all the more enticing. But in case anyone wants to draw a point of political philosophy (or bigotry) out of that, alone it looked boring, only coming to life when set beside the vibrant red tomatoes and pepper.

Healthy Austerity?

I have of late posted little that would qualify as austerity cooking, partly as much of what we are eating is so simple - griddled meat, lots of salads, steamed veg - that it hardly qualifies as cooking (though Jamie Oliver could probably get a book out of discovering griddling as a fantastic new technique and teaching the mindless about it).

Yesterday I made one dish that definitely fits the bill as cheap and cheerful, and decidedly healthy to boot. It also reminded me of (and was inspired by) happy times driving around France on business in my past life (not the one where I was an Egyptian princess). I made a point of eating in Relais Routier restaurants or similar places, rather than as I could have done heading to posher and fancier spots: stuff the foam I'll have tete d'agneau. A frequently encountered starter was mackerel in white wine served with potatoes, a take on which I served up as an hors d'oeuvre yesterday.

Ingredients to hand suggested the dish anyway - some leftover steamed new potatoes and a tub of Scottish pickled herring (£1.09 from Booth's, so much flavour for not very much dosh). Slice the spuds, add very thinly sliced raw onion, the herrings cut into bite-sized bits, and a mustardy dressing, and the starter was done in three minutes. It met the current health regime requirements too, as the dressing was lo-cal with a bit of extra mustard, the spuds were in their skins so low GI with raw (vitamin rich) onion weighing in on that side too, and the fish was of a so-jolly-good-for-us oily variety.

The French tend to serve the classic version warm, but my dish did not lack flavour for being cold. It was in fact delicious.

It struck me too that this would be another good student standby for communal weekend eating - three of us had two helpings, so for a single plate for six (with a few more spuds, and they don't need to be new ones either) I can't see it costing more than say 25p - 30p a head. Which along with the excellent flavour and quick prep is another reason why Relais Routier cooks serve it so often. With the carbs taken care of too it means the main can be as ours was yesterday protein and veg (griddled turkey breast steak, griddled mushrooms and steamed mange tout). Pukka (go away Mr Oliver).

Smooth and Delicious

There is not enough written about breakfast. Look at the food sections in your Sunday papers and the foods discussed are almost invariably at home in lunches and suppers - especially on-trend (vile vile phrase, individuality is precious) suppers (darling everybody in London is going mad for Herzogovian these days). Given we all trot out the cliche about breakfast being the most important meal of the day, that seems somewhat odd.

I have a small collection of books about breakfasts, none of recent vintage however, so their ideas tend towards the heavier and the more complicated. Of late we, by way of contrast, as part of our sickeningly successful health regime (for which read pre-hols weight-loss regime), have gone pretty simple - wholemeal toast with some protein and/or preserves, coffee, and either a fruit yogurt plus a fruit platter, or the last two combined in a smoothie.

When did the smoothie hit these shores? Not milkshakes with a bit of fruit, but the full-on smoothie (a delightful misnomer given any interesting ones have bits aplenty in them). My wife, not normally allowed in the kitchen, made a wonderful new variant the other day without any milk, the flesh of a sizeable slice of watermelon providing the liquid. The rest was a load of grapes and one peach yogurt. The result was runnier than normal, but down-in-one delicious.

On the GI front that would be a bit frowned on, as strangely watermelon is high GI, and blending fruit breaks down the fibre so moves everything up the scale regardless of where it starts. But the toast and protein balance it out, and anyway I wouldn't care as it tasted great and provided at least one of our 103 each a day. These things are complicated though: watermelon per an article noticed the other day helps speed fat through ones system (though not with the occasional distressing effects of certain tablets if the stories are true). I'd rather eat watermelon than take tablets. Especially if it tastes as good as that smoothie did. And anyway, I'd rather watch Ipswich than use tablets like that.

The Egg Bonanza Dilemma

Two egg bonanza dilemmas actually.

We have a somewhat deranged chicken called Steve, named after the star of The Great Escape (Donald Pleasence - she's that strange). She has no motorbike that searches of the chicken hutch have yet revealed anyway, and since we took away the pot-bellied stove that hid their tunnel entrance that route has not been a problem, but Steve escapes from their compound on an almost daily basis. They have a nice sturdy Omlet run for night-time security, and during the day roam inside another Omlet product, a great big net/fence that gives them room to wander, peck, and take time out from their hectic lifestyles. We have pegged the net carefully, so figure she launches from the roof of the hutch to get over the wire, as it were. Wasn't there an episode of Colditz about building a glider in the castle? I knew letting them have the box-set was mistaken.

Yesterday when searching for her in the garden I discovered she had made a nest of sorts under bags of wood in a little lean-to behind our shed. When I moved the bags I found nine eggs. Dillemma one: how to tell they are fresh? The old trick of putting them one by one in a glass of cold water is neat and simple: if they remain horizontal they're fresh. If they tip up a bit - not so fresh. Stand upright - downright stale. Easy peasy squeezy lemons.

Six turned out to be fresh, three stale - we have chickens so our eggs will be fresh and lovely, so very unpeasantly I threw out the three past their best.

Now comes the second dilemma: how best to use a sudden eggy glut? My immediate thought was scrambled eggs for breakfast tomorrow, but as the Dear Leader is taking a train before six even her most devoted underling (me) is unwilling to cook them at five. Next thought was a big Spanish omelette tonight, something that appeals for getting them used rapidly and as it's a fine dish. SC is a big fan of egg mayonnaise, rather perversely given he is not keen on boiled eggs and on other foods shuns mayo. Another Spanish dish, onions, peppers, beans and garlic with halved boiled eggs on top (or for the bold eggs broken into hollows in the top then cooked in the oven) also appeals. Other suggestions gratefully received.

ps I'm not sponsored by Omlet. Though if they'd like to I'd not say no.

Intravenous Pies

Two months ago we started on what was euphemistically dubbed our Alternative Eating Programme, having determined en famille that we all needed to lose a few kilos.

There were in my case numerous reasons to think it necessary to do so - in no particular order: 

1. Some Type 2 Diabetes in the family history; 
2. My father, whom I resemble in many ways, is nowadays significantly overweight, and I have started to think about such long-term health issues; 
3. I was developing a belly that same father told me once begun could never be lost;
4. A friend, a year younger than I, died suddenly last year;
5. We are heading for the Indian Ocean this summer: surfer shorts with beer-gut  - not a good look.

I read around the subject, and it made sense to follow GI dietary guidelines, i.e. reduce fats and oils in cooking, go big on fresh fruits and veg (with exceptions - no dates, no big loss, beetroot and broad beans, more of a blow); all starches to be wholemeal; no frying unless unavoidable; grill meats. Add to that the use of plenty of chilli (it supposedly speeds the metabolism); plus zero-fat yogurts (calcium helps bind fats and rushes them through the system).

We have eaten really well since this began: no missed meals, Friday still brings plebean (alternative spelling to irritate Ms B) steak night, puddings aplenty (but fruit-based). In austerity terms it has cost more (though had we been doing this between June and September it would have been far cheaper, our allotment and garden providing masses of F&V then). I felt a bit hungry on two occasions at the day's end, but otherwise no lethargy (important given SC is entering exam period) in fact quite the opposite, no stomach complaints, nothing much to report. We feel reasonably full, our diet is balanced and varied, calorific intake probably a couple of hundred below the norm (if there is such a thing). But the weight has dropped off.

Actually I have overshot my target and am considering using pies intravenously to rebalance things. 

Apparently women do reduce more slowly than men, but The Dear Leader - less in need than her subjects - has likewise clearly slimmed down (for reasons of state security her weight is kept secret from us). Which all makes me wonder: how come slimming is such a massive industry? Is it a similar thing to processed foods - there because so many are incapable of doing the work themselves?

Gray (or Grey) is not the New Red

I've written here before about the positive aspects of colour, but yesterday I produced something that, while delicious (even if I say so etc) was not a delight, as it was gray. The gray of John Major's skin in Spitting Image. The gray of a naval vessel too long without a re-coat.

Doubtless whole bookshelves of scholarly stuff must exist on why we react as we do to colour (I wonder if it is the same, as regards food anyway, across cultures?). Gray is so unappetising.

The colour came about as I used the insides of a previously roasted aubergine (now there is a beautiful colour) along with a tin of anchovies, plus garlic and red chilli, zapped in our smoothie maker with stock as the basis of a fish soup. Basa fillets poached in it remained pleasingly white. Large prawns added some vivid coral. More chilli cut into rings flecked it with bright red. But the whole was inescapably gray.

That said, the flavour was deep, and the aubergine did the job I wanted of thickening the soup without the need for cream or carbs. It was moreish enough for two bowls apiece to disappear before it had cooled beyond the tongue-burny. But our conversation, just like this piece, was littered with the word 'gray'.

I tried to think of other gray foods, and only really came up with coley, not the most enticing of fish, and mushroom soup (not mushrooms raw or cooked, just the result of mixing the dark fungi with white cream), though acceptable enough not the favourite of many I'd hazard.

So negative was the reaction to the aubergine-enriched potage that next time I do something along those lines I'll have to add to the stuff to be blended tomato, or more chillis, or maybe some orange or red peppers. Contrary to Spike's assertion in Notting Hill, chicks don't like gray, and nor do chaps.

Allotments and Pickles

Our allotment association just sent a mail around warning us that Eric Pickles is considering removing the obligation for councils to provide allotments. Were that to come about cash-strapped local authorities would leap at the chance to grab back urban land to sell for development. End of a wonderful British tradition. Start of a few more superstores. The relevant department has since denied that any such plans exist. I wonder still, though the idea of governments not telling the truth is clearly ridiculous.

Mr Pickles of course looks like he deep fries lettuce and serves it with a cream sauce, so perhaps his personal agenda pays little heed to healthy eating. But government agencies are continually sending us warnings that unless we eat vegetables constantly we will all die horrible and imminent deaths. For hundreds of thousands of [cliche alert] hard working families allotments provide fantastic fruit and vegetables for a small rental, a few pounds for seeds, and (as per the group label) some hard work.

I wrote a piece for Hortus a while back on George Orwell and his belief in the practical values of allotments: he once suggested they would help the dispossessed of his day feed themselves. That has not changed. I've written here previously about how spending a small percentage of the billions that went into the Olympics on providing more allotments would have done a great deal more for our national health than watching fat blokes throw lumps of lead. And the benefits would have lasted generations not weeks.