A major benefit of growing your own food is that it brings you closer to natural seasonality - for me that being the sort defined by things appearing ready to eat in the kitchen garden, rather than the new series of some reality TV programme starring the tattooed brain dead, or the first fixture of a sporting calendar. It is a more nuanced seasonality than Winter, Spring, Summer and Autumn (I actually prefer the more descriptive word Fall, once general in Britain).
Among the more notable dates of the produce seasons is New Potato Day, when the very first tiny new spuds are rushed from soil to pot with the minimum delay between. I've noted elsewhere here, I'm certain, that there is no comparison between such sprint-to-table potatoes and even the very best the shops or market can provide. It is - for me at least - interesting that the gardener can influence seasonality in this regard: we grew two huge black plastic potfuls (filled with our home-made compost) of spuds in a greenhouse, so that New Spud Day was at the very end of May, while the ones grown in the kitchen garden proper were only ready in the second half of June. An admission: the flavour of the ones grown in the kitchen garden was notably superior.
Other such events are First Strawberry Day, and First Courgette Day - that latter a week ago, though it was first two courgettes day, as two were ready together (used in a veggie sauce for pasta). There are less joyous seasonal dividers too, such as when we say goodbye to the last of many crops, but there again we can influence things a bit in our favour: by protecting some courgette plants we managed to have the last of them in early November one mild year, and not under glass either.
Hard though we try, however, there is much beyond our control, and that makes it all the more engrossing (again, for me). Two months ago I prepared a 1m x 1m patch to grow, fingers crossed without much hope of success, morels. A blend of sand, home-made compost, bonfire ash courtesy of a kind neighbour, decayed and decaying fragments of wood, chips of charcoal, rotting leaves, and some morel stuff bought from a reputable supplier, was mixed together and used on a square of ground beneath our oldest apple tree (morels are said to grow best in apple orchards, on ground where there has been a recent bonfire). I have kept the patch weeded if not overly so, moist to ensure the spores or seeds or whatever they be are not dessicated, and put the odd fallen young apple on there too. In May, we can but hope, we could just have our First Morel Day.
Showing posts with label courgettes. Show all posts
Showing posts with label courgettes. Show all posts
Monday, 15 July 2019
Thursday, 6 June 2019
Is It My Imagination, or...
Two weeks ago we ate our first home-grown new potatoes of the year, rushed from the pot in the greenhouse that had protected and warmed them to the pot in the kitchen where they were simply boiled. Some things need nothing fancy doing to them, indeed are better off served as simply as possible. Yesterday we ate our first new potatoes fresh from the kitchen garden, same speed of processing. Unless my taste-memory is playing tricks, or I'm simply imagining it, yesterday's were vastly superior in flavour.
I guess the difference is the growing medium. The ones grown under glass (well, polycarbonate) were in compost with a tiny bit of soil, the ones in the kitchen garden enjoyed a richer environment with plenty of manure and topsoil. When we buy lettuce (not from the start of May to late October) it is stuff raised in industrial polytunnels, in industrial growing media, and while welcome then it cannot hold a candle to our own for crispness and taste.
Some crops, however hard we try are not actually as good as the best (generally organic) locally grown stuff, tomatoes a case in point. But for the majority of things we can grow without major problems the effort is repaid on the plate, if not always in the purse. Too often, however, what is grown for its shelf-life and yield, and how it performs under glass and in compost, is third rate.
Along with the small picking of spuds yesterday we had our first broad beans of the year, pods no thicker than my middle finger, and only an inch or so longer. Too good to cook, the minute beans were eaten raw, with all that's best and sweetest about them to the fore, and almost none of the bitterness that like the rest of us they'd inevitably succumb to when more mature.
A cook's daily task is helped enormously by having even a few freshly dug/picked/cut veg to hand every evening - choose what is at its best and prepare it in a way that plonks its charms front and centre. It can only be a week or two before the first tiny courgettes are begging to be eaten. And they, more than anything else, prove that home-grown in good rich soil outdoors, and on the table within an hour of being harvested, is so much better in most cases than the supermarket can ever provide. These days you can, sometimes, find small courgettes in the supermarket, worth it if you don't have your own. Forget their swollen, watery, leather-skinned brethren, however. At least you would if you had ever tasted how good a small courgette, cooked within minutes of being cut, actually can be. Sad that only a small percentage of the population will ever know that pleasure.
I guess the difference is the growing medium. The ones grown under glass (well, polycarbonate) were in compost with a tiny bit of soil, the ones in the kitchen garden enjoyed a richer environment with plenty of manure and topsoil. When we buy lettuce (not from the start of May to late October) it is stuff raised in industrial polytunnels, in industrial growing media, and while welcome then it cannot hold a candle to our own for crispness and taste.
Some crops, however hard we try are not actually as good as the best (generally organic) locally grown stuff, tomatoes a case in point. But for the majority of things we can grow without major problems the effort is repaid on the plate, if not always in the purse. Too often, however, what is grown for its shelf-life and yield, and how it performs under glass and in compost, is third rate.
Along with the small picking of spuds yesterday we had our first broad beans of the year, pods no thicker than my middle finger, and only an inch or so longer. Too good to cook, the minute beans were eaten raw, with all that's best and sweetest about them to the fore, and almost none of the bitterness that like the rest of us they'd inevitably succumb to when more mature.
A cook's daily task is helped enormously by having even a few freshly dug/picked/cut veg to hand every evening - choose what is at its best and prepare it in a way that plonks its charms front and centre. It can only be a week or two before the first tiny courgettes are begging to be eaten. And they, more than anything else, prove that home-grown in good rich soil outdoors, and on the table within an hour of being harvested, is so much better in most cases than the supermarket can ever provide. These days you can, sometimes, find small courgettes in the supermarket, worth it if you don't have your own. Forget their swollen, watery, leather-skinned brethren, however. At least you would if you had ever tasted how good a small courgette, cooked within minutes of being cut, actually can be. Sad that only a small percentage of the population will ever know that pleasure.
Tuesday, 24 July 2018
Two New Flexible Favourites
In my last post I mentioned Ursula Ferrigno as my latest hero. Heroine? What is PC? Her books are both interesting for the Italian cultural and heritage side, and full of very cookable recipes, unlike the vegan tome the Dear Leader (eternal damnation to her enemies) kindly bought me recently, where each recipe has about 20 ingredients, some of them rarely seen in this part of Lancashire. And yes, the author looked exactly as you'd expect him to look, though as Al Gore and Bill Clinton are both vegans now, they don't all look the same. But most do. I like some vegan food, but not because it is vegan, if that makes sense. I like good food, and if it happens to be vegan, alright.
Two of Signora Ferrigno's dishes have now entered my regular repertoire. A vegetable tian, and a potato cake. Both are the sort of dishes I like - easily adapted to use alternative ingredients while sticking to the principle of the thing.
The essential tian is made with courgettes trimmed, boiled for about 12 minutes, then mashed to bits in a bowl when slightly cooled. Some short-grain rice is boiled, again cooled slightly, and added to the bowl. In too go plenty of Parmesan, a beaten egg or two, and some shredded spinach. She fries an onion and some garlic, I just bash some garlic. The Dear Leader's darkest dungeons are full of those who used three pans in cooking one thing. Mixed together, the mushy mass is seasoned and added to a flattish Le Creuset dish, topped (my touch) with more Parmesan, then baked at 180C for 35 - 45 minutes depending on how watery it began life. Fab and healthy, and with a glut of courgettes currently it is one to feature weekly for a while.
The potato cake is equally good, equally cheesy. And not vegetarian. Leftover boiled spuds are made into a sloppy mash with milk and melted butter, a Mozzarella chopped and added, plenty of grated Parmesan, and some chopped salami, along with just-cooked cubes of Pancetta. A veggie version with fried cubes of courgette (so many bloody courgettes) worked well too. In a greased pan or fireproof dish the bottom is lined with breadcrumbs, the mash etc added and flattened gently, and more breadcrumbs patted into the top. Baked for 40 minutes or so at 200C it comes out nicely browned. Put a plate over the pan, tip it up, and the cake comes out more or less intact. And it is delicious, a filler-upper that if ever it were allowed to go cold (and this would probably merit more egg in the recipe) would, cut into squares, make a fine nibble with drinks. The thought does strike one, however, that almost anything with tons of cheese, bacon and salami is likely to be a winner.
A general point from this. Dishes that are flexible are the lifeblood of the home cook. Not molecular cuisine, not painstaking measuring of precise quantities of ingredients, but an idea that will work with a snip and a tuck here and there. HF-W, another of my heroes, does tend to include variations on a theme in his books, and not be over-worried about fractions of a gramme; not really so the blessed Delia, which may be why I only turn to her at Christmas.
Two of Signora Ferrigno's dishes have now entered my regular repertoire. A vegetable tian, and a potato cake. Both are the sort of dishes I like - easily adapted to use alternative ingredients while sticking to the principle of the thing.
The essential tian is made with courgettes trimmed, boiled for about 12 minutes, then mashed to bits in a bowl when slightly cooled. Some short-grain rice is boiled, again cooled slightly, and added to the bowl. In too go plenty of Parmesan, a beaten egg or two, and some shredded spinach. She fries an onion and some garlic, I just bash some garlic. The Dear Leader's darkest dungeons are full of those who used three pans in cooking one thing. Mixed together, the mushy mass is seasoned and added to a flattish Le Creuset dish, topped (my touch) with more Parmesan, then baked at 180C for 35 - 45 minutes depending on how watery it began life. Fab and healthy, and with a glut of courgettes currently it is one to feature weekly for a while.
The potato cake is equally good, equally cheesy. And not vegetarian. Leftover boiled spuds are made into a sloppy mash with milk and melted butter, a Mozzarella chopped and added, plenty of grated Parmesan, and some chopped salami, along with just-cooked cubes of Pancetta. A veggie version with fried cubes of courgette (so many bloody courgettes) worked well too. In a greased pan or fireproof dish the bottom is lined with breadcrumbs, the mash etc added and flattened gently, and more breadcrumbs patted into the top. Baked for 40 minutes or so at 200C it comes out nicely browned. Put a plate over the pan, tip it up, and the cake comes out more or less intact. And it is delicious, a filler-upper that if ever it were allowed to go cold (and this would probably merit more egg in the recipe) would, cut into squares, make a fine nibble with drinks. The thought does strike one, however, that almost anything with tons of cheese, bacon and salami is likely to be a winner.
A general point from this. Dishes that are flexible are the lifeblood of the home cook. Not molecular cuisine, not painstaking measuring of precise quantities of ingredients, but an idea that will work with a snip and a tuck here and there. HF-W, another of my heroes, does tend to include variations on a theme in his books, and not be over-worried about fractions of a gramme; not really so the blessed Delia, which may be why I only turn to her at Christmas.
Tuesday, 5 August 2014
Mother Knows Best
My son will learn his cooking from his dad, as I am the one who lives in and for the kitchen. I learned some of what I do from my mother, though far more was gleaned from books and (hard to admit) TV chefs, and from business and holiday travel. That imbalance means that I can sometimes be guilty of thinking we've moved beyond what my parents' generation did - and there are some horrors that reinforce that idea (Christmas turkeys weighing as much as Venus, for example). But often what she did is just how things should be done.
Take for example runner beans. I've tried various sexy ways to handle our glut, and with no great success. So at the weekend I did what she did, put them through a slicer lengthwise, steam, and serve with a dab of butter. They were superb, a vast quantity of them shifted with the beef.
As we don't manage to get to the allotment every day we end up with a rogue giant marrow now and then - the buggers can double in size if you turn your back for a minute. I've been feeling guilty about chucking them on the compost heap, as they don't fit in with any of the ways in which I do courgettes. So maybe it's about time I did the dedicated marrow dishes she used to bring to table. One method was to stuff and bake the marrow, the stuffing making up for the marrow's watery flavour; the other was steamed in cubes and served with a light and simple white or cheese sauce.
What a pity that for some kids now their memories of how mum 'cooked' will be limited to re-heating ready-meals and ringing for take-out, doing oven chips and micro-waving burgers.
Take for example runner beans. I've tried various sexy ways to handle our glut, and with no great success. So at the weekend I did what she did, put them through a slicer lengthwise, steam, and serve with a dab of butter. They were superb, a vast quantity of them shifted with the beef.
As we don't manage to get to the allotment every day we end up with a rogue giant marrow now and then - the buggers can double in size if you turn your back for a minute. I've been feeling guilty about chucking them on the compost heap, as they don't fit in with any of the ways in which I do courgettes. So maybe it's about time I did the dedicated marrow dishes she used to bring to table. One method was to stuff and bake the marrow, the stuffing making up for the marrow's watery flavour; the other was steamed in cubes and served with a light and simple white or cheese sauce.
What a pity that for some kids now their memories of how mum 'cooked' will be limited to re-heating ready-meals and ringing for take-out, doing oven chips and micro-waving burgers.
Tuesday, 8 October 2013
Specialist Subject - Courgettes
If I ever get to go on Mastermind (too scared to ever try sadly) I have a choice of specialist subjects: Maigret; Wodehouse especially the Blandings novels - I have on my LinkedIn profile that I am the founder and Life President of the Sir Gregory Parsloe-Parsloe Society, something that is nearly true - John Buchan, and bloody courgettes.
The courgettes one is a bit narrow, as it concerns ways to cook them. I love their fecundity, a good healthy plant producing maybe 30 fruits in a season. Look away and a twee little tube the size of a pencil is suddenly a marrow, flavourless and to my mind almost useless in culinary terms, but keep an eye on them and you have lots of healthy and tasty material to work with in the kitchen.
This year I have done plenty of sweet and sour versions, both Sicilian and Chinese. Last night we had courgette and cheese quiche (actually cheese and courgette the way it worked out, went a bit bonkers with the grater). I get requests for 'courgette muck', the sliced fruits cooked down in olive oil till they are a mush, then loads of garlic added for a minute or so before the lot is served on thick toast. They go on pasta either as the aforementioned muck, or cooked with chopped toms from a tin. Courgette soup is easy. Little ones straight from the plant slice well raw for salads. I've made courgette and apple cake. Courgette omelette. Ratatouille. Steamed whole they make a good vegetable course with soy sauce and sesame oil as part of a Chinese meal. Cooked with chopped apple in apple jelly and cider vinegar with a tsp of sugar to make a rapidly prepared relish to go with sausages. If all else fails they can be simply fried in slices and served as a vegetable accompaniment to a lamb chop.
The point of this post, if there is one, is that with such plenty you need to use imagination (and some good cook books) to get the most from your glut without driving yourself and those eating with you mad. It has been such a good year for courgettes, however, that I'm now reasonably convinced I am Napoleon.
The courgettes one is a bit narrow, as it concerns ways to cook them. I love their fecundity, a good healthy plant producing maybe 30 fruits in a season. Look away and a twee little tube the size of a pencil is suddenly a marrow, flavourless and to my mind almost useless in culinary terms, but keep an eye on them and you have lots of healthy and tasty material to work with in the kitchen.
This year I have done plenty of sweet and sour versions, both Sicilian and Chinese. Last night we had courgette and cheese quiche (actually cheese and courgette the way it worked out, went a bit bonkers with the grater). I get requests for 'courgette muck', the sliced fruits cooked down in olive oil till they are a mush, then loads of garlic added for a minute or so before the lot is served on thick toast. They go on pasta either as the aforementioned muck, or cooked with chopped toms from a tin. Courgette soup is easy. Little ones straight from the plant slice well raw for salads. I've made courgette and apple cake. Courgette omelette. Ratatouille. Steamed whole they make a good vegetable course with soy sauce and sesame oil as part of a Chinese meal. Cooked with chopped apple in apple jelly and cider vinegar with a tsp of sugar to make a rapidly prepared relish to go with sausages. If all else fails they can be simply fried in slices and served as a vegetable accompaniment to a lamb chop.
The point of this post, if there is one, is that with such plenty you need to use imagination (and some good cook books) to get the most from your glut without driving yourself and those eating with you mad. It has been such a good year for courgettes, however, that I'm now reasonably convinced I am Napoleon.
Monday, 7 October 2013
Autumn Plenty
Keeping my journal of costs of growing stuff against value of what is grown has opened my eyes a little to the plenty we enjoy at this time of year - early October that is. On Sunday we had a harvesting session at the allotment that yielded a load of cooking apples picked with our stick of ultimate power (a telescopic thing with grabby fingers and a bag beneath them for picking fruit from tall trees), beet, kohl rabi, parsley, beans various including a second flush of broad beans, destined for pretend hummus; loads of courgettes, two massive and as it turned out sweet parsnips (typically we are not sure which of the three types planted they are), Swiss chard and a real bonus, a small punnet of very ripe raspberries.
Those berries joined some apples in a pie that was a real treat. The beans and parsnips went with roast chicken, and the courgettes filled a quiche rich with cheese that we'll eat tonight with a sharp salad made from some of the other produce. Veg soup beckons too when the chicken carcase becomes stock.
For the value I tentatively put down £10 the lot, a bit on the conservative side. And I left out of my calculations a massive pumpkin (about 30lb I'd guess) that is now drying in the garden greenhouse, safe from - we hope - robbers and vagabonds. The latter had visited our allotment shed, and those of many neighbours, but only a hunting-style knife had gone from one of them as far as we know. Per the police they are looking for petrol driven tools and booze. Happily we had decided against keeping our fine wines in the allotment shed this year.
As similar gits nicked a friend's prize pumpkin a few years back we picked ours for safety. It will have a fitting end too, both decorative and culinary for our Halloween/Bonfire Night party. How many pumpkins here are just for show? A sad waste as the flesh bulks out stews sweetly, and makes a particularly thick custardy filling for pies. The little ones are best for cooking, but we'll do justice to the giant one when we feed friends at the firework gathering. Having seen Sainsbury's selling pumpkins a tenth the size for £3 I don't think £10 would be far off, though feeding friends is pretty much priceless.
Those berries joined some apples in a pie that was a real treat. The beans and parsnips went with roast chicken, and the courgettes filled a quiche rich with cheese that we'll eat tonight with a sharp salad made from some of the other produce. Veg soup beckons too when the chicken carcase becomes stock.
For the value I tentatively put down £10 the lot, a bit on the conservative side. And I left out of my calculations a massive pumpkin (about 30lb I'd guess) that is now drying in the garden greenhouse, safe from - we hope - robbers and vagabonds. The latter had visited our allotment shed, and those of many neighbours, but only a hunting-style knife had gone from one of them as far as we know. Per the police they are looking for petrol driven tools and booze. Happily we had decided against keeping our fine wines in the allotment shed this year.
As similar gits nicked a friend's prize pumpkin a few years back we picked ours for safety. It will have a fitting end too, both decorative and culinary for our Halloween/Bonfire Night party. How many pumpkins here are just for show? A sad waste as the flesh bulks out stews sweetly, and makes a particularly thick custardy filling for pies. The little ones are best for cooking, but we'll do justice to the giant one when we feed friends at the firework gathering. Having seen Sainsbury's selling pumpkins a tenth the size for £3 I don't think £10 would be far off, though feeding friends is pretty much priceless.
Tuesday, 9 July 2013
It's All Kicking Off
From despair at how slow everything was in the kitchen garden and allotment to a sudden abundance in just two weeks. With the summer weather (worth noting again, summer weather) we are having to water lots of the crops, but that's a small price to pay for within the last two or three days a glut of strawberries and redcurrants - now seven jars of jam; the first small courgettes, tender enough to eat raw; loads of tiny turnips, our most under-rated vegetable; more lettuce than we can handle, so the chickens are happy; a pick of little artichokes for a starter; handfuls of spring onions nothing like the hard ones you get from supermarkets; and reasonable pickings of broad beans, again picked when small and tender and sweet. And above all, lots of new spuds.
We are not vegetarians by any means, but when you have veg that good there is less call for big lumps of meat.
We pick things young and tender, whereas commercial growers and outlets want to maximise the weight. Take those turnips: we have four varieties, each with their own characteristics. The purple top Milan are my favourites. Great raw in crunchy salads; as half-starch half-flavouring in last night's chicken dish; as a soup (creme a la vierge, lovely with small sweet roots, horrid with overgrown woody things that smell like school cabbage when cooked), or glazed to accompany a little lamb chop.
It's nice to have your menu dictated by the season too. A Navarin of lamb is now called for, with the broad beans instead of peas, and those little turnips stewed gently with new potatoes. Salads various, but the plain green (for which read green, red, bronze and pink with the different lettuces we grow) at least every other day. There is no reason to limit yourself to one salad with a meal when the crops are so full of flavour.
We are not vegetarians by any means, but when you have veg that good there is less call for big lumps of meat.
We pick things young and tender, whereas commercial growers and outlets want to maximise the weight. Take those turnips: we have four varieties, each with their own characteristics. The purple top Milan are my favourites. Great raw in crunchy salads; as half-starch half-flavouring in last night's chicken dish; as a soup (creme a la vierge, lovely with small sweet roots, horrid with overgrown woody things that smell like school cabbage when cooked), or glazed to accompany a little lamb chop.
It's nice to have your menu dictated by the season too. A Navarin of lamb is now called for, with the broad beans instead of peas, and those little turnips stewed gently with new potatoes. Salads various, but the plain green (for which read green, red, bronze and pink with the different lettuces we grow) at least every other day. There is no reason to limit yourself to one salad with a meal when the crops are so full of flavour.
Sunday, 30 September 2012
Sweet & Sour Power
Those neat little packets of sauce are so tempting: sweet and sour, black bean, Thai green curry... But a look at the ingredients list often reveals one reason not to buy, and the price for what you get is another - 99p, £1.25, for something you can whip up in seconds.
Last night we had a Chinese banquet, big on veg from the allotment - braised beef with our turnips, steamed kale with chilli and soy sauce, braised courgettes in a simple thickened sauce made with stock, and sweet and sour chicken. The last item was made because I overdid the quantity of sauce for the courgettes (cheaty vegetable stock powder with soy sauce, plus some cornflour to thicken it). A dollop of Heinz, a tablespoonful of sugar, and a big dash of red wine vinegar and it had changed character, coating the stir-fried chicken and red pepper strips deliciously.
The Chinese food we eat here (except in a few restaurants) is for obvious reasons very anglicized, which tends to mean meat-based dishes predominate. When I travelled for work in China and Taiwan banquets and business meals had plenty of vegetable dishes: simple steamed greens, braises, some stir-fried mixes. For a meal at home it is very easy to prepare such things, and healthy, and it means you end up with more dishes on the table so it feels like a feast. The extra colours don't hurt either. Taste and colour highlight for me yesterday was (a tin of) bamboo shoots cut into matchsticks, stir fried till they began to turn light gold, then braised with soy, sugar, a slug of sherry and boiling water until the liquid all but disappeared. Left until cool they were so tasty. A special touch for well under £1, when a packet sauce would have cost more.
Last night we had a Chinese banquet, big on veg from the allotment - braised beef with our turnips, steamed kale with chilli and soy sauce, braised courgettes in a simple thickened sauce made with stock, and sweet and sour chicken. The last item was made because I overdid the quantity of sauce for the courgettes (cheaty vegetable stock powder with soy sauce, plus some cornflour to thicken it). A dollop of Heinz, a tablespoonful of sugar, and a big dash of red wine vinegar and it had changed character, coating the stir-fried chicken and red pepper strips deliciously.
The Chinese food we eat here (except in a few restaurants) is for obvious reasons very anglicized, which tends to mean meat-based dishes predominate. When I travelled for work in China and Taiwan banquets and business meals had plenty of vegetable dishes: simple steamed greens, braises, some stir-fried mixes. For a meal at home it is very easy to prepare such things, and healthy, and it means you end up with more dishes on the table so it feels like a feast. The extra colours don't hurt either. Taste and colour highlight for me yesterday was (a tin of) bamboo shoots cut into matchsticks, stir fried till they began to turn light gold, then braised with soy, sugar, a slug of sherry and boiling water until the liquid all but disappeared. Left until cool they were so tasty. A special touch for well under £1, when a packet sauce would have cost more.
Wednesday, 19 September 2012
And Even More Bloody Courgettes
Though the title of this post suggests otherwise, we're still grateful for the continued cropping of our allotment courgettes. And I'm still trying to find different ways to use them. With four tennis-ball sized Ronde de Nice fruits in the fridge needing to be used I tried a take on moussaka last night.
The bechamel was made properly too, milk heated with various flavouring veg, bay leaves and nutmeg, then left to steep for several hours. It makes all the difference, that pasty flour taste you can get hidden away behind more interesting stuff. A fairly dry ragu made with beef mince was then layered with the very thinly sliced courgettes and the sauce, ending with a thick layer of sauce topped with plenty of Parmesan. Even though the ragu was pretty dry the end result was on the sloppy side, but the taste got the thumbs up (with the proviso from my son that he still prefers lassagne if there's a choice).
That Parmesan from the press trip to Parma is still keeping perfectly (wrapped in clingfilm in the fridge), and still bears an occasional sly sniff - the technique of breaking a lump beneath the nose as demonstrated by Igino Morini during the dairy visit maximising the aroma.
The bechamel was made properly too, milk heated with various flavouring veg, bay leaves and nutmeg, then left to steep for several hours. It makes all the difference, that pasty flour taste you can get hidden away behind more interesting stuff. A fairly dry ragu made with beef mince was then layered with the very thinly sliced courgettes and the sauce, ending with a thick layer of sauce topped with plenty of Parmesan. Even though the ragu was pretty dry the end result was on the sloppy side, but the taste got the thumbs up (with the proviso from my son that he still prefers lassagne if there's a choice).
That Parmesan from the press trip to Parma is still keeping perfectly (wrapped in clingfilm in the fridge), and still bears an occasional sly sniff - the technique of breaking a lump beneath the nose as demonstrated by Igino Morini during the dairy visit maximising the aroma.
Sunday, 9 September 2012
And Yet More Courgettes
Well into September and the courgettes keep coming, and I have to find different ways to serve them.
Our favourite way of using them is as what is impolitely termed by my wife and son 'courgette muck'. This simply involves slowly cooking sliced or chunked courgettes in plenty of olive oil, then when they are soft enough bashing them with a wooden spoon or potato masher, depending on what texture you're after, and adding salt and crushed garlic (lots of crushed garlic) to boost the flavour.
It is something that can be used in a variety of ways (btw HF-W does something very similar), including last night's effort of a pasta course (little tubes) with nine skinned tomatoes (Spanish, from Lidl) and a dollop of Heinz tom sauce to sweeten it a bit, plus a half teaspoon of cayenne to give it some zing. Moist, loads of flavour, and a teeny bit virtuous into the bargain.
Having an allotment (and maybe nine courgette plants) means we can afford to pick baby courgettes: they are good just cleaned and thinly sliced in salads or dressed as a salad in their own right; or boiled whole for three minutes then served as a vegetable accompaniment or sliced warm and dressed with olive oil, salt and garlic. Raw or boiled these little ones are also nice grated and enlivened with oil and lemon.
The ones we miss and then discover as proto-marrows tend to go into soups to bulk them out, or if they are too huge onto the compost pile, the rule being that the bigger the courgette the poorer it tastes.
Large ones in need of something to sharpen them up are good sweet and sour (Italian cookbooks and various Middle Eastern ones have something along these lines). Thick slices of courgette are cooked slowly in olive oil for a couple of minutes, then sweet and sour elements added to cook for a few minutes longer. Wine vinegar works better than lemon juice for the sour, and just a couple of teaspoons of sugar (the books always say Demerara but white granulated works better for me), plus some spices and herbs according to your palate and needs round it off. A few chopped anchovies changes it again, garlic is always a good partner, and additions like sultanas, finely chopped red chilli peppers, and pine kernels make the dish prettier and more substantial.
To peel or not to peel? Given much of the goodness is in the peel or near to it, if they scrub up nicely then intact is best. But if they have become too muddy to wipe clean then I peel them as thinly as possible and use the peelings cut up with scissors for a nutritious treat for the chickens.
The plan this year is to transfer one courgette plant deliberately started late into a big pot and as the weather cools transfer it to the greenhouse. Potting it on is this afternoon's task: though the days currently are warmer than most of the summer, the chilly early mornings herald the first frosts soon.
Friday, 7 September 2012
Cheap and Exotic - Spicy Meatballs
Cheap and Exotic
A recent fascination with food from the Middle East has led to some spicy little efforts in the kitchen, one of the most successful last night's lamb and rice meatballs. I had some leftover rice to use up, and was making a meze for our evening meal, so gave it a go via the general principles route rather than following a set recipe.
Starting with a spice mix I ground cumin, pepper, rock salt, and fennel, added some ground chilli pepper and sumac, and when all that was mixed zapped it again with some onion tops. For 500g of minced lamb about 250g of boiled white rice was incorporated, plus the spices and two eggs to bind the lot together.
Formed with wet hands into 12 substantial meatballs, with the oven preheated to 175 Celsius, they needed 35 minutes of cooking. During that time a lot of the lamb fat melted out, and was easily poured off to make us feel virtuous.
The results were nicely spicy without any real heat, and provided us with a protein basis for the meal at £3 for the mince and pennies for the rest (eggs from our own hens).
These meatballs went well with a Greek-style dish of green beans: beans (from the garden) boiled for six minutes then added to a pan where a chopped onion had been sweated before a 37p tin of chopped tomatoes was added, with more sumac and loads of pepper. The pan of beans and toms was left to simmer while the meatballs baked.
The vegetable side of things was finished off with a big pan of chopped courgettes (zucchini) slowly fried in olive oil for ages, stirred regularly to keep from catching, the courgettes bashed with a wooden spoon and salted near the end of cooking, when four cloves of crushed garlic were added and given a minute or two to cook. It looks messy, but tastes great - good on bread too.
Anyone with a garden should have at least one courgette plant: in the shops you pay maybe £2 for a sad pack of three picked days ago. We have I think eight plants on our allotment, at least four different varieties, and from July to (with luck) mid-October will have as many as we can cope with. The different shapes and colours - last night yellow, dark green and the almost grey-green Lebanese - make for bright dishes too.
A recent fascination with food from the Middle East has led to some spicy little efforts in the kitchen, one of the most successful last night's lamb and rice meatballs. I had some leftover rice to use up, and was making a meze for our evening meal, so gave it a go via the general principles route rather than following a set recipe.
Starting with a spice mix I ground cumin, pepper, rock salt, and fennel, added some ground chilli pepper and sumac, and when all that was mixed zapped it again with some onion tops. For 500g of minced lamb about 250g of boiled white rice was incorporated, plus the spices and two eggs to bind the lot together.
Formed with wet hands into 12 substantial meatballs, with the oven preheated to 175 Celsius, they needed 35 minutes of cooking. During that time a lot of the lamb fat melted out, and was easily poured off to make us feel virtuous.
The results were nicely spicy without any real heat, and provided us with a protein basis for the meal at £3 for the mince and pennies for the rest (eggs from our own hens).
These meatballs went well with a Greek-style dish of green beans: beans (from the garden) boiled for six minutes then added to a pan where a chopped onion had been sweated before a 37p tin of chopped tomatoes was added, with more sumac and loads of pepper. The pan of beans and toms was left to simmer while the meatballs baked.
The vegetable side of things was finished off with a big pan of chopped courgettes (zucchini) slowly fried in olive oil for ages, stirred regularly to keep from catching, the courgettes bashed with a wooden spoon and salted near the end of cooking, when four cloves of crushed garlic were added and given a minute or two to cook. It looks messy, but tastes great - good on bread too.
Anyone with a garden should have at least one courgette plant: in the shops you pay maybe £2 for a sad pack of three picked days ago. We have I think eight plants on our allotment, at least four different varieties, and from July to (with luck) mid-October will have as many as we can cope with. The different shapes and colours - last night yellow, dark green and the almost grey-green Lebanese - make for bright dishes too.
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