Numbers for Dinner

Do you find yourself at the end of the evening meal totting up the number of fruits and vegetables you have ingested that day? I all too often do, partly because I am far more aware of health matters these days than used to be the case, partly because of a residual sporting competitiveness.


The trouble is I get a bit confused about what counts, according to the official rules of the game. How much is a portion? Does a medium tomato count as one, or do I need (daftly) to suck up another couple of cherry toms to hit the tape? A few weeks back I ended up googling whether nuts (a frequent ingredient and my snack with post-prandial coffee) counted - as I recall there may be a committee working on it, though meantime the sane think of course they bloody do.


Another part of the game that bugged me was the smoothie dilemma. Not whether Hugh Grant should use Grecian 2000, but why a smoothie only counts as one, whatever you put in it - when the Dear Leader (may her enemies suffer watching reality TV for all eternity) is absent planning world domination my breakfast tends to be just coffee and a smoothie, with three or four good portions of fruit. Apparently it's because of the fruit sugars released, but given I process to a lumpy consistency does that apply?


I read yesterday that only one in four Brits reaches the five-a-day target, which is sad in health terms but also taste, and culture. Are we still brought up here to think meat and potatoes, or bacon and eggs, or fish and chips are good everyday? Nice on occasion, but missing out on so many great flavours in fruit and veg, so many options. And cheaper options too - we are not short of cash but I reel at the price for meat currently, or good meat anyway - you can buy cheap grey mince for example for not very much, except your long-term well-being.


On the competitive side, we hit eleven yesterday by my reckoning, ignoring the smoothie rule and counting ours as two, and (I'm not sure if this works according to Hoyle) counting the lettuce eaten at lunch and in the evening as two. Yet more bloody French beans were part of that total, as was kale with anchovies, boiled eggs, garlic and olive oil. Delicious. But yes, we did nail the duvet down.

More Autumnal Than Falling Leaves

Being able to cook truly seasonally is one of the big benefits of growing your own, though careful shopping can bring the same end - some things like decent culinary pumkins, Jerusalem artichokes and British apples are not always easy to find.

I just got back from spending a happy half hour of my lunchtime picking stuff from our allotment, the day job of writing magazine articles having taken up my morning. Conscience about getting back to it is nudging me gently in the ribs now. The three carrier bags of veg brought home hold turnips, beetroot, kale, apples, runner beans, parsnips, Jerusalem artichokes, leeks, the final pair of tiny pumpkins, and a load of courgettes and patty pan squash. The last two tell a tale perhaps about how our climate is changing: summer squash are now harvested through October and even into November if we're lucky.

Last night's main was venison sausages, potato-pumpkin-and-turnip-mash, roast onions and apple sauce. As autumnal as the brown and gold leaves carpeting sunny Fulwood. More so, as the leaves have been falling since late summer, possibly because it was unseasonably dry then. It may well be my imagination, but I feel more at one with the universe having indulged in something in keeping with our place and time than if I had eaten asparagus from Peru, for example. The Dear Leader lit candles in the dining room, we drew the curtains on the dark night, and the house had a sense and apple-rich scent of the season.

Tonight though the meal will be different the results will, I trust, be similar. Steamed kale with anchovies, garlic and pepper on toast as a starter, a thick vegetable soup with leeks at its heart as the main. To lower the tone somewhat (hugely), no Jerusalem artichokes till the weekend, as the DL is giving a workshop ("Death Rays and How Best to Develop Them," I think) tomorrow, and were she to fart loudly and repeatedly as she addressed her adoring audience of master criminals and dictators it would mean the gulag for me. Again.

Time's Cruel Quirks, and Kinder Ones

As I speed through the third decade of my thirties time, its benefits, passing and cruel jokes at our expense has begun to assume more significance than it did in my salad days (accompanied in the Sixties and Seventies of course by Heinz salad cream). With experience has come a reasonable knowledge of restorative beverages, and the money to pay for a decent standard thereof. But annoyingly once we are of a certain age the body's tolerance for alcohol reduces, so an evening of anything more than mild conviviality can leave one feeling delicate next day. Thus we try to drink well rather than lots.

A new quirk of maturity hit me recently. Enjoying a night's sleep a month or so back I began what seemed destined to be that very rare pleasure, a sex dream. I make no apologies for my subconscious. Several (it would appear said subconscious is decidedly ambitious) of my wife's former colleagues (attractive female ones) were seated around our table with the Dear Leader, all dressed somewhat inappropriately for the March weather, though despite them being seated at a round table I could only see their backs wherever I stood. I sported an apron, and nothing else.

Tragically the dream took a diversion. For their meal I was preparing pork sausages (way ahead of you Sigmund) fried then sliced on the bias and the flat faces browned, with apple juice added to the pan to caramelise and create a sticky jus. The dream had become culinary not carnal. I focused on what heat would be needed to keep the apple flavour but make a nice syrupy sauce to grace the meat, and if it needed herbs (I now, fully conscious, think a touch of sage). Even in the dream I felt this was missing the point, but was seduced by the simple recipe idea, rather than as might have been hoped the company.

Carpe diem seems very brusque, however rapidly time is racing. Whatever the latin for embrace in place of seize seems more inviting. We did that yesterday by planning for the promised sun. A lamb shoulder on a generous bed of sliced leeks (picked the day before on the allotment) and bruised garlic cloves went into a very low oven (110 celsius) mid-morning, a bottle of Christmas-leftover Babycham (the Dear Leader enjoys retro sometimes too) to keep it all moist. A lidded pot let the whole steam gently. When we ate in the garden mid-afternoon the sun shone, the meat fell off the bone, and the sweet mushy alliums and a big serving of steamed Red Russian kale were ideal partners. As was a half-bottle of Rioja. Should we regret not having the head anymore for a full midday Sunday bottle, or celebrate having the nous to construct such a pleasant hour?

Money for Nothing and Your Chick Peas for Free

Except we don't grow chick peas. No reason to spoil a good title for that though (it's a Dire Straits line).

This morning I started a project that will last a year, recording expenditure on growing food and the value of food grown. It seemed logical to start when I put in our annual seed order via our allotment association. We get 50 per cent discount from King's Seeds, but the food ones still cost just over £25.

Any editors out there wanting an article based on this, please get in touch!

That was done on Friday. On Sunday we spent two hours tidying up the plot, weeding and removing plants that are past it. But we still harvested a huge amount: 2 x giant parsnips; 2 turnips; 3 beetroot; a sugar-loaf chicory; about a dozen courgettes and patty pans; loads of runner and French beans; some apples; parsley; kale; a large kohl rabi. Enough for the veg for at least three days, though they'll be topped up with odd things from the garden - a few ripe tomatoes suddenly appeared this morning, and we have lots of small peppers left on one plant.

Also on Friday I did my regular run to the chicken man for a sack of layers' pellets and another of mixed seed to keep our two birds happy for five or six months, an outlay of £16.50. They provide on average 1.33 eggs per day through the year, which in Sainsbury's (medium sized organic eggs) are £1.90 for 6. So we get £150+ of eggs for £40 of feed and maybe £15 of bedding etc. A profit margin that I would have killed for in my industrial marketing days.

I was reminded of how good our eggs were when I bought a tray of 36 small ones for £1.50 from the chicken man (I wanted to do some baking and to go large on scrambled eggs at the weekend). His birds are kept in big sheds, free to run about but not as far as I can see to get out. The yolks are an insipid beigey-yellow. Our pair, frequently let out to eat grass, insect eggs, worms, dandelions, wood-lice, the occasional frog if we are not quick to intervene, and even once the decapitated body of a mouse left by the cat, give eggs with bright yellow to orange yolks. Even when we can't supervise them outside (we have foxes over the stream from us) they eat our leftover starches, veg peelings, and any fruit that has gone over. The chicken version of the good life/Good Life, as we on a small and partial scale enjoy the human equivalent.

Starter, Side, or Supper? (and Inadvertent One Flame Cookery)

I had some kale from our allotment to use yesterday, so fell back on something mentioned on a previous post - remove the stems, wash (very carefully in salted water, it often harbours scale insects and the occasional tiny slug, though supermarket stuff almost certainly just needs a quick rinse) and steam the leaves, then cut them fine and add a boiled egg or two, a tin of anchovies and their oil, some crushed garlic, and a good grating of parmesan. All this chopped together and mixed up is put still warm on hot buttered toast. The flavours are not exactly subtle, but on a damp November evening robust is good.

When I was planning our evening meal I had this in mind, and tried to think of how to turn it from what is a good starter or maybe a side dish, into a main course. Potatoes, rice or pasta would be inappropriate. Another veg in it would be too much, even finely diced onion. A vegetable with it seems weird. The only thing that tempted me was adding a fried mushroom or two (with hindsight perhaps steaming one or two briefly would be better), but even that didn't get my vote. The only way I can think of (any ideas gratefully received) to make this a main course would be to do lots of it, but good though it is...

So some things are perhaps not meant to be a full supper, or dinner, or tea,  depending on how you style your main meal. Pity, as it is cheap, tasty, nutritious, and just takes ten minutes to knock up. I ended up making a small amount of spaghetti with meat balls (three sausages to use up) and mushrooms and a simple tomato sauce to follow it. 

Though it was not what I had in mind when actually making it, if you boil the egg first this is another one flame cooking thing (provided you have a toaster, though good crunchy bread would be equally good), and a very healthy one too. And there is a minimum of washing up, always a plus. 

Creamy Austerity

There is no reason why austerity cooking shouldn't get a little luxurious lift every now and then, especially if it doesn't cost much. Last night we used as prime ingredients two vegetables from our allotment, the ever dependable kale and a whole bunch of small leeks - planted a bit late to make big fatties, but they haven't suffered and we still have loads to pick.

Luxurious kale? By adapting a Sara  Raven (and I think HFW) idea I cooked a rather delicious even if I say so myself first course: thick slice of toasted bread loaded with a mix of steamed kale, garlic, a tin of anchovies, boiled egg, and grated cheese, all chopped up together with a bit more cheese on top. Very robust flavours, and a feeling of virtue from that iron-rich greenery.

The main was leek and potato soup, with an onion, carrot, two big spuds and about 20 small leeks, sweated in a slick of butter then simmered with the water from cooking the kale, a small carton of double cream added at the end just to warm through before everything was zapped with the hand blender. More bread to dip and the meal was both enjoyable and filling. You don't need a protein-fest every day, though with the egg, anchovies and cheese (and grain in the bread) it wasn't without either.