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. 

Deposits in My Taste Bank

We breakfast like kings, though with a better conscience. Nearly every such meal includes a home-made smoothie to get a flying start on our intake of fruit and veg, and because is it thoroughly enjoyable. As I took the first sip of this morning's version I was transported back to the 1970s, or even the 1960s - time travel by food - as the flavour of Vimto coursed through my system.

I'm not sure what actually flavours Vimto (natural or otherwise), but I am reasonably certain it's not a combination of blueberries, banana, peach, plum, and grapes, with lime and satsuma juice, almond milk and yakult to render it more liquid. But those ingredients combined to a moment of adult Vimto awareness.

However grown up we feel, or our roles dictate we should feel, deposits made in ones childhood taste bank are central to our experience of the world of food, at whatever age. I will confess that the flavour of bubble gum, something I have not actually eaten/chewed for decades, is very important to my appreciation of one of life's greatest pleasures, beer - it is significant in Leffe, Chimay, any wheat beer, Traquair, and many others. 'Ah, bubble gum, we love bubble gum,' says my brain (which now I notice it, sounds a tad schizoid).

Similarly with wine. Many grapes and wines hold a hint of Bazooka Joe, but the one where it is/was front and centre is/was Beaujolais Nouveau. Whatever happened to wines en primeur? Whatever happened to the pleasure of Beaj Nouveau, once raced from France to England to minimise the delay between its readiness and our drinking? Some was as rough as a Mohicanned badger's arse, of course; but every year as we took our first sip of the stuff we'd note the bubble gum (and to be accurate, the bananas too) and as jolly advanced nine-year-olds whatever our true age, we'd smile.

Parson Woodforde and the Great British Pie

Not that I am stuck in the past, but my new reading is Parson Woodforde's diary, or at least the Folio Society's selections from it. Somewhat less than brilliant observations: how did the middle classes and above actually manage to stand in the 18th century? The good parson drank vast quantities of wine, cider, beer, arack, punch, rum and brandy, yet it was his brother Jack who was the sot. And what did it do to their livers? One wonders if the frequent reports of deaths of apoplexy were the terminal points of organ damage caused by alcohol.

From the foodie point of view (or has foodie become as unacceptable and derogatory as luvvie now?) there is much to be gleaned from the pages of his journal. He lived well, and his guests could generally rely on a table laden with several major main-course components - a fowl, boiled pork, rost (his spelling) beef, perhaps a leg of mutton.

Somewhat inspired by this at the weekend I served visiting friends a roast chicken and a venison and beef pie, along with vegetables various. Not unsurprisingly the pie was the hit - everybody loves a pie. Please someone commission me for that TV series/book/world pie-tasting tour. Venison from Lidl, beef from Henry Rowntree, both meats cooked together in a low (125C) oven with bay, thyme, carrots and onions for two and a half hours, then freshly cooked onions, carrots and turnips added and the lot covered with cheaty Jus-Rol puff pastry. I am a fan of own brands, but for some reason the Jus-Rol stuff seemed better than the last lot of Sainsbury's I used - though they may be made together for all I know. The juice from the oven cooking was reduced and thickened with cornflour (how terribly unfashionable) then half of it spooned into the meat and veg before the pastry lid went on. About 30 minutes at 180C finished the thing off, the puff pastry lifting clear of the filling at the end. This was a pie, a Great British Pie.

The Juice on Jus - Maxing One Flame Flavour

An aspect of the post yesterday about cooking a steak or a lamb chop set me to thinking about how much flavour can be won or lost after the meat has been lifted from the pan. Unless you have cooked it too long you are likely to have some of the juices glistening in the skillet in front of you, and maybe some scraps adhering to the surface where the flesh caught briefly. The austerity cook, or any decent cook really, wants to make the most of these, and with just a tiny effort you can capture them in a simple sauce to accompany the meat. My apologies to anyone for whom this is second nature.

The first method is deglazing: add a good dash of alcohol to the hot pan, scrape the bits up and stir in the juices, then reduce for a second and pour over the chop. Wine is ideal, white or red, if you have some on the go, or the dregs of a bottle saved with a Vacuvin. Cider is good, and suits say thin pork escalopes done this way. From reviewing I have loads of brandies and rums that I find useful for this, though only a small amount is needed, the flavour being powerful - and take care you don't inadvertently flambe yourself. Best of all is dry vermouth with the bonus of herby notes. The resulting liquid can be thickened with butter, a dab of French mustard, a slurp of ketchup - tomato or mushroom - or a slurp of cream (not creme fraiche for me). If no suitable alcohol is to hand water's ok, but you gain no taste.

Bunnahabhain Distillery

Alternatively a pat of butter or some cream will mix with the juices, but be conservative as otherwise you'll not taste anything else, and here the pan must not be too hot or you'll waste juice and all.

It doesn't have to be just meat. During a press trip on Islay chef Francois Bernier seered locally dived scallops in a dry pan, then used Bunnahabhain whisky to stretch the juices, and in that case to flambe the scallops, with if memory serves a spoon of butter to bind the results together. This was one of the best things I have ever eaten, and with all due respect to Francois, so simple. He, by the way, was using a single Calor Gas burner to cook at the distillery.