Last night, because we're having some work done in the kitchen, and The Dear Leader (all hail The Dear Leader) got back from a work trip late on, I decided to make a rare foray to the local Indian (actually Bangladeshi) takeaway. The curries are good, you can watch them being cooked, but given the walk there and back (I refuse to have anything to do with Just Eat etc) and their cooking time, it was not fast food. Enjoyable, but not quick - from decision to eating a good 30 minutes. And two curries, one rice, one naan cost £16.
Compare that with a recent meal praised by The Dear Leader (may her enemies shrivel in shame) when again she returned late-ish, and I made a rapid (and filling) noodle dish. It took perhaps 15 minutes, the various veg prepped while the noodles were simmered prior to joining the stir fry. Using a load of the fresh ginger we both love, lots of different fresh vegetables (and one tinned), and some mushrooms, two platefuls cost at most £3 (the tinned bamboo shoots accounting for £1 of that).
I worry that with the inexorable rise of Just Eat and its rivals even something as basic as a stir fry will seem onerous to some families. Add to that the trend for cooking to be seen as drama, or even a spectator sport (the rise of the celebrity chef, Masterchef, GBBO and so on) rather than a basic life skill, and the concern deepens. I'm delighted that Sternest Critic has developed (inherited?) a love of cooking, and curiosity about new ingredients and dishes. It will serve him well, and save him a fortune.
Friday 27 September 2019
Tuesday 10 September 2019
The Feelgood Factor
There is something strangely addictive about rubbish food. Since changing careers I've spent less time driving around the country (and the continent), and eat far less manufactured pappy crappy food. In fact our diet is extremely healthy. Yet still I can be tempted by what I know in advance will be, say, a tasteless and hugely over-priced sausage roll (I ate one at lunchtime yesterday on what proved to be a painfully long car journey).
For a minute, however, it's enjoyable. Same with chocolate and sweets. But the sugar or salt or fat rush is inevitably followed by a down. A down that I know is coming.
By way of contrast, the fruit- and vegetable-rich regime we enjoy - and enjoy is the word - normally does not give that very brief intense high, but makes me feel good through the day. It's even more noticeable the morning after on the rare occasions when I'm too tired to cook, and so buy us a takeaway. Next day I feel hungover, regardless of whether I had anything to drink with the meal or no. Too much salt, too much saturated fat, and heavens know what additives and preservatives.
I'm reminded of something I read years ago about a simple test that predicted a child's future success: put a sweet on the table in front of them, and say they can eat it now, or if they leave it for five minutes you'll give them another so they can scoff two. Bright kids (who followed up later in life had bright futures) waited. But too many of us can't control our impulses, and our need for instant gratification. People still smoke, knowing how bad it is for them. I still enjoy a drink - at a level that even ten years ago would have been thought abstemious, but that now is more than doctors recommend (I read recently that just seven units a week is considered alcohol abuse by some health professionals now).
Maybe it is growing maturity - about time some may say - but my drift is towards the longer-term feelgood factor. One major problem remains - jelly sweets. I have asked The Dear Leader to keep me away from them, and them from me. But I will miss them.
For a minute, however, it's enjoyable. Same with chocolate and sweets. But the sugar or salt or fat rush is inevitably followed by a down. A down that I know is coming.
By way of contrast, the fruit- and vegetable-rich regime we enjoy - and enjoy is the word - normally does not give that very brief intense high, but makes me feel good through the day. It's even more noticeable the morning after on the rare occasions when I'm too tired to cook, and so buy us a takeaway. Next day I feel hungover, regardless of whether I had anything to drink with the meal or no. Too much salt, too much saturated fat, and heavens know what additives and preservatives.
I'm reminded of something I read years ago about a simple test that predicted a child's future success: put a sweet on the table in front of them, and say they can eat it now, or if they leave it for five minutes you'll give them another so they can scoff two. Bright kids (who followed up later in life had bright futures) waited. But too many of us can't control our impulses, and our need for instant gratification. People still smoke, knowing how bad it is for them. I still enjoy a drink - at a level that even ten years ago would have been thought abstemious, but that now is more than doctors recommend (I read recently that just seven units a week is considered alcohol abuse by some health professionals now).
Maybe it is growing maturity - about time some may say - but my drift is towards the longer-term feelgood factor. One major problem remains - jelly sweets. I have asked The Dear Leader to keep me away from them, and them from me. But I will miss them.
Wednesday 4 September 2019
The Charm of Culinary Chance
I wish I had invented the term 'clean eating.' Since The Dear Leader (may her enemies be forever cursed) and I became an item in the late 1830s I've been doing what I'd term cooking from scratch - buying, or increasingly now growing - good ingredients, and making them into what I always hope will be successful meals. And unlike those zealots who communicate clean eating's precepts as a near fascist ideology, I love food.
Say it though I shouldn't, over more than three decades I've developed some skill. But it is one of the many charms of such cooking that things can go wrong, to varying degrees, or if you're lucky, they go very very right. Different atmospheric conditions; the age of ingredients; slight variations in measurement; the power reaching the oven...
Last weekend I made some bread, using my patent recipe, an amalgam of HF-W's magic bread dough and Ursula Ferrigno's biga starter/enhancer. It is consistently good, but for some reason - our new oven perhaps - this time the three loaves came out crustier and lighter and tastier. Same yeast, same flours, different result. Sternest Critic often takes me to task about my inability to bake crusty bread. This came out crusty, remained crusty, even defrosted crusty. SC is currently 2000 miles away, so presenting him with the evidence was impractical. I was so proud I gave one of the three to a friend eating with us that evening.
Last year I was obsessed with making gnocchi and similar creations. The first effort, a dough rich in ricotta, was stunningly good, little pillows of deliciousness, so good I tried to repeat the exercise a few days later when a friend (by coincidence the same one) was with us. Same ingredients, same recipe, same method, but the gnocchi were that bit tougher and denser. Tasty, but not as fine. A third effort months later was in-between.
I celebrate such unpredictability. Naturally I'd prefer it to be degrees of wonderfulness, but I don't want production line soulless regularity. As I write a batch of dough is rising in the warm conservatory. The bread it will produce later today will almost certainly not be as crusty as the previous stuff. But maybe it will be richer; or with larger bubbles; or somehow more savoury. As long as the results are not downright bad, I'll be content, and if they are excellent I'll be delighted.
Say it though I shouldn't, over more than three decades I've developed some skill. But it is one of the many charms of such cooking that things can go wrong, to varying degrees, or if you're lucky, they go very very right. Different atmospheric conditions; the age of ingredients; slight variations in measurement; the power reaching the oven...
Last weekend I made some bread, using my patent recipe, an amalgam of HF-W's magic bread dough and Ursula Ferrigno's biga starter/enhancer. It is consistently good, but for some reason - our new oven perhaps - this time the three loaves came out crustier and lighter and tastier. Same yeast, same flours, different result. Sternest Critic often takes me to task about my inability to bake crusty bread. This came out crusty, remained crusty, even defrosted crusty. SC is currently 2000 miles away, so presenting him with the evidence was impractical. I was so proud I gave one of the three to a friend eating with us that evening.
Last year I was obsessed with making gnocchi and similar creations. The first effort, a dough rich in ricotta, was stunningly good, little pillows of deliciousness, so good I tried to repeat the exercise a few days later when a friend (by coincidence the same one) was with us. Same ingredients, same recipe, same method, but the gnocchi were that bit tougher and denser. Tasty, but not as fine. A third effort months later was in-between.
I celebrate such unpredictability. Naturally I'd prefer it to be degrees of wonderfulness, but I don't want production line soulless regularity. As I write a batch of dough is rising in the warm conservatory. The bread it will produce later today will almost certainly not be as crusty as the previous stuff. But maybe it will be richer; or with larger bubbles; or somehow more savoury. As long as the results are not downright bad, I'll be content, and if they are excellent I'll be delighted.
Monday 2 September 2019
The Opposite of Glut
I've written here before about how the kitchen gardener copes with gluts. Last year one of those, for us at least, was quinces, used with apples in pies and breakfast purees, added to lamb stews, poached in sweetened wine, baked... But sometimes the opposite happens, with a crop failing, as indeed is the case in 2019 with.. quinces.
Our tree had a few small fruits visible in early summer, but one by one they've dropped off, or more accurately been washed off by the heavy and all too frequent showers of August, or been blown away by this summer's equally prevalent gales.
It's not disastrous, as quince is hardly an essential in the kitchen. But one of our major reasons for kitchen gardening is growing things that are either absent from the shops, or rarely seen and very expensive. Things that improve our quality of life; fruits and vegetables that make cooking and eating a pleasure.
My apologies for widening this out, but our agriculture is fragile: weather extremes happen all too often; industrial farming is weakening the soil; the B word threatens to hit the sector from all sides. The British Retail Consortium just said Michael Gove's statement that Brexit would not bring any fresh food shortages was categorically wrong. We may find that the opposite of glut is not just a gardener's problem soon.
Our tree had a few small fruits visible in early summer, but one by one they've dropped off, or more accurately been washed off by the heavy and all too frequent showers of August, or been blown away by this summer's equally prevalent gales.
It's not disastrous, as quince is hardly an essential in the kitchen. But one of our major reasons for kitchen gardening is growing things that are either absent from the shops, or rarely seen and very expensive. Things that improve our quality of life; fruits and vegetables that make cooking and eating a pleasure.
My apologies for widening this out, but our agriculture is fragile: weather extremes happen all too often; industrial farming is weakening the soil; the B word threatens to hit the sector from all sides. The British Retail Consortium just said Michael Gove's statement that Brexit would not bring any fresh food shortages was categorically wrong. We may find that the opposite of glut is not just a gardener's problem soon.
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