Strange Pairings

Earlier in this blog I mentioned the combination of steak and blackcurrant sauce, until recently the strangest pairing I've ever come across. And no, it didn't work. It was in fact a waste of a good piece of meat, and for that matter of good berries. Last week on holiday in Santa Maria, Cape Verde I (again unwittingly) sampled something far weirder, or at least to my mind it was. 

Seeking some local foods rather than the largely 'international' fare served at our hotel I opted for wahoo (a meaty fish related to mackerel, though with a more delicate taste and firmer flesh) with banana. That more or less worked, but intriguingly it was served with - Brussels sprouts. The mini cabbages were well cooked, not soft, not hard, and may even have gone with the fish had it been unadorned. But - and this may not come as a huge surprise - sprouts and banana did not prove a winning combination. In a strange way, however, I was pleased to find something so unusual. But I still left all bar a few of the green things untouched. 

I cannot believe that sprouts are grown in Cape Verde, but stand to be corrected. And I cannot fathom why they should have been seen on menus there. As a former Portuguese colony that connection doesn't explain it either. And how did the chef think they would work? 

Equally out of place, but marvellous, were the strozzapreti eaten at a restaurant - Valeria's - recommended to us by fellow guests. It was so good we dined there three times. Why there should be what proved to be a superb if (because?) simple Italian restaurant in a stand of shops between hotel and town in this African backwater is hard to imagine. Strozzapreti (it means priest stranglers, so a good start as all right thinking people would agree - if not, check out how parts of the US Catholic church have been fighting changes to statute of limitations changes relating to child rape over recent years, and wonder why) are sort of gnochi/dumpling things. Badly made such foods are like lead, well made they are sublimely toothsome. These were terrific, and the creamy courgette and prawn sauce lubricated them to perfection. 

The one actually (I think) local dish that stood out during our stay was octupus and potato stew. It, like anything fishy, was helped down by the Cha de Fogo white wine from another of the Cape Verdean islands. I cannot understand why the airport duty free shop sold the usual inspid spirit brands, and loads of Aussie plonk, but not that, something the country should be very proud of. 

I was a Norfolk Dumpling

I may have been born in Lancashire, and returned here in my twenties to work, but brought up in Norfolk I still feel that is my spiritual home. Thus the national dish of the Norfolker (say that in a hurry and cause consternation) is one to which I return as regularly as mutinous family and culinary pride will allow. That dish is of course the Norfolk Dumpling.

Dumplings of all sorts are definitely austerity fare: filling, cheap, and essentially satisfying. They are rarely subtle, though if you give them a French or Russian name they can seem a bit more exotic. Few words can be as demotic as dumpling, although if you think of the word as the gerund of the verb to dumple, which it isn't, some interest could be engendered.

The Norfolk Dumpling (which merits capitals) is very simply made if you have a bread-maker, which I do, as it is just bread dough allowed to rise then dropped into salted boiling water to bobble about and cook for 15 to 20 minutes. They are rarely light, for which read never, the surface takes on the appearance of wallpaper paste, and even if you include a flavouring like yesterday's dried sage they still taste predominantly of being full. But as that is their point, job done.

In my hometown, the seaside resort of Great Yarmouth, clever and careful guest house landladies would serve them at least three times in a week's stay, anything more frequent risking violence. A few pence worth of flour, a bit of fat, some yeast, salt and sugar, and plenty of elbow grease was/is what they cost.

Yet they enhance a stew wonderfully, once broken into soaking up the gravy like a sponge. Or like the bread they are. And the secret to them is not to cut the things, which crushes them and creates a lump of goo, but to pull them apart with two forks. Simple, as is the dumpling.

Elegance for Pennies - Floaty Cheese Dumplings

This post harks back to the whole austerity cooking thing of buying the most bang for your buck, as yesterday I made some very pretty little cheese dumplings with Parmesan. Any well-flavoured hard cheese would do, but Parmesan was to hand so I used it. A cheese with little flavour would have been cheap compared to Parmesan, but more would have been needed which balances it all out. You gets what you pays for. And for the same flavour cheap cheese would have meant eating much more fat.

The cheese was in fact free to be honest, as I just returned from a press trip to Parma with a suitcase weighed down with some wonderful samples, gratefully received, though I had some in my fridge anyway and it is what I would have reached for.

In the morning I had made some chicken stock with the carcase of a bird roasted at the weekend and a few pot vegetables - turnips past the first flush of youth, a carrot, sage, onion, garlic, leeks, par-cel and bay all from the garden or allotment, and a half chilli looking sad and unwanted. To make it more substantial as a first course and to use up a dried-out bread roll I later made some dumplings to poach in the stock.

Bloke cooking means no precise measurements were made, but in rough terms I used about half the crumbs from the roll, added the yolks of two eggs, some seasoning, and maybe three or four tablespoons of finely grated Parmesan. The egg whites were beaten till stiff-ish, a little stirred into the crumb/cheese mix to loosen it, then the rest incorporated as lightly as possible. More crumbs were needed to make a consistency that would hold together. In wet hands I formed the resulting mix into big marble shaped and sized pieces, and dropped them into the simmering stock to poach for about five minutes.

The results looked and tasted so good - they were really light and soft, (very different from my usual efforts in meat stews) that they were served out of the stock with more cheese grated on them, the stock served as a consome after them.