A week or two on from enjoying salads made with the thinnings from our salad beds and the results of a task well done are clear to see: luscious growth of mizuna, lettuce, pak choi (I think) and mustards various. So last night we had the polar opposite of that earlier offering, a load of mature greenery, so mature that I decided to cook it.
Actually Ruth steamed it, having followed the noise to find out where the kitchen is. Dressed with salt, olive oil and garlic (the greens, not Ruth, though...) and served as a course in itself warm rather than hot they were excellent, though next time the stems will need to be trimmed.
Yet again this is something that would be hard to duplicate if the supermarket was our only source of veg, or even the market. Yet again I wonder what the health benefits could have been of spending one tenth of the money used for London's Big School Sports Day on buying land for allotments.
Thursday, 6 June 2013
Tuesday, 4 June 2013
The Other Benefit of Good Food
My English reticence fights against what I want to say here, but the topic is one worth mentioning, so apologies and onwards.
Good food isn't just about the minerals and vitamins that it puts into our bodies, but the way it helps take out the unwanted stuff.
On the Michelin-starred restaurant trip last week we ate some very creative and superbly cooked food, drank excellent Gaillac wines, and lived well. Except that my innards felt left out of the fun, and though they didn't strike they certainly worked to rule. No wonder, as though I was eating perhaps 15 different fruits and vegetables a day, one leaf or a paper-thin shaving of asparagus doesn't hack it on the fibre front.
Yesterday I calculated our evening meal alone - Salade Nicoise of a sort, and fish baked in a crumb and Parmesan crust - had seven full portions of good f&v. French beans, lettuce, peas, sweetcorn (ok it's a grain, but...) tomatoes, peppers, cucumber and a few other salad leaves into the bargain. The plates did not resemble late period Monets, but they did satisfy stomach, soul and my digestion.
It isn't just the posh plates that lack fibre. On a long airport bus trip in Florida in 2007 we were horrified by an early morning phone-in programme. A 'nutritional expert' was promoting his expensive wonder-tablets for American women who only troubled the sewage-system once a week.
This chap's pitch was the miracle drug would solve all their problems. Having watched such women eating nothing but meat, starch and sugary stuff during our stay in the sunshine state it was clear they actually needed an occasional piece of fruit, or a salad worthy of the name. If they'd only opened their minds it would have opened their bowels. And it's all in the best possible taste, as Kenny E used to say.
Good food isn't just about the minerals and vitamins that it puts into our bodies, but the way it helps take out the unwanted stuff.
On the Michelin-starred restaurant trip last week we ate some very creative and superbly cooked food, drank excellent Gaillac wines, and lived well. Except that my innards felt left out of the fun, and though they didn't strike they certainly worked to rule. No wonder, as though I was eating perhaps 15 different fruits and vegetables a day, one leaf or a paper-thin shaving of asparagus doesn't hack it on the fibre front.
Yesterday I calculated our evening meal alone - Salade Nicoise of a sort, and fish baked in a crumb and Parmesan crust - had seven full portions of good f&v. French beans, lettuce, peas, sweetcorn (ok it's a grain, but...) tomatoes, peppers, cucumber and a few other salad leaves into the bargain. The plates did not resemble late period Monets, but they did satisfy stomach, soul and my digestion.
It isn't just the posh plates that lack fibre. On a long airport bus trip in Florida in 2007 we were horrified by an early morning phone-in programme. A 'nutritional expert' was promoting his expensive wonder-tablets for American women who only troubled the sewage-system once a week.
This chap's pitch was the miracle drug would solve all their problems. Having watched such women eating nothing but meat, starch and sugary stuff during our stay in the sunshine state it was clear they actually needed an occasional piece of fruit, or a salad worthy of the name. If they'd only opened their minds it would have opened their bowels. And it's all in the best possible taste, as Kenny E used to say.
Monday, 3 June 2013
Austerity Feast
Wonderful weather prompted us to invite a few friends over for a mid-afternoon meal to be eaten in the garden on Sunday. The same weather had kept me from shopping, so I had to improvise with stuff from the garden and stores. Not exactly an austerity feast, but we resisted the temptation to rush out and buy a ton of ingredients to feed the five thousand - well, seven.
Last of the Swiss chard made a good soup with a couple of onions, some potatoes to thicken it, and liquid from a roasting chicken (defrosted from our intervention stock the day before). Same chicken (covered and stuffed with herbs to lift it) with a load of lettuce and other leaves fresh from the garden went farther as a salad than it would have as a chunk of meat each. And in between those courses three pizzas with different toppings, cut into slices and presented on a huge plate, filled stomachs and interested palates (especially the anchovy and chilli one, hot hot hot).
On a perfect sunny afternoon you can get away with a lot. No pudding - just cheeses - met with approval instead of violence, as we could cut and nibble away while talking. Maybe we are going to have the first proper summer for about six years. The sunshine makes a huge difference. Our guests brought some good wines, we added to the list, made sure everything was well chilled (only whites and roses in evidence) and the warmth turned them into something special.
One more 'course' preceded the above, a cheap and cheerful Cava chilled to death and made into rhubarb bellinis. Hugh F-W's idea, 500g of rhubarb stewed with sugar and orange juice for 15 minutes then the syrup (once chilled) sieved off and used 1:4 with the fizz. Surprisingly it was absolutely lovely, but then again we did have that sun.
Wednesday, 29 May 2013
Austerity and Aligot
Last week I was on a press trip to the Midi-Pyrenees region of France, and very enjoyable too. During the four days we visited six Michelin-starred restaurants. This was a privilege, though the urge to be different produces such horrors as foie gras with raspberry sauce alongside works of perfection like a coddled egg in an asparagus crust, the yolk when cut oozing unctuously into a morel sauce.
But that is clearly not austerity fare (though a variation on that egg dish, effectively a subtle scotch egg, could be). Aligot, however, most certainly is. At the market in Rodez we tried this local speciality, which is simply very smooth mashed potato blended with melted cheese (young Tomme d'Aguiole or Cantal) and garlic. Happily the last Michelin-starred place we visited served some with a beautiful piece of lamb, a real bow to culinary tradition. That I think had a bit of cream in it, not a heresy but a variation, perhaps a refinement, and still traditional. They matched perfectly, unlike the foie gras and raspberry car-crash.
A bit of research shows that the proportions potato to cheese are 2:1, with garlic to taste and likewise seasonings. An acceptable-ish substitute for the Tomme would be Mozzarella, or a mixture of that and a harder cheese like cheddar, melted before marrying. I will be making some soon, either to eat on its own (now that is comfort food Nigel) or to accompany lamb. It forms strings as you try to fork it up from the plate. Huge quantities are not needed, such is its richness.
But that is clearly not austerity fare (though a variation on that egg dish, effectively a subtle scotch egg, could be). Aligot, however, most certainly is. At the market in Rodez we tried this local speciality, which is simply very smooth mashed potato blended with melted cheese (young Tomme d'Aguiole or Cantal) and garlic. Happily the last Michelin-starred place we visited served some with a beautiful piece of lamb, a real bow to culinary tradition. That I think had a bit of cream in it, not a heresy but a variation, perhaps a refinement, and still traditional. They matched perfectly, unlike the foie gras and raspberry car-crash.
A bit of research shows that the proportions potato to cheese are 2:1, with garlic to taste and likewise seasonings. An acceptable-ish substitute for the Tomme would be Mozzarella, or a mixture of that and a harder cheese like cheddar, melted before marrying. I will be making some soon, either to eat on its own (now that is comfort food Nigel) or to accompany lamb. It forms strings as you try to fork it up from the plate. Huge quantities are not needed, such is its richness.
Wednesday, 22 May 2013
Got Soul
An expedition to Kendal last week prompted thoughts on the way the world is going in terms of character, or lack of it. At lunchtime I went into a little cafe and sandwich bar where I got served immediately, enjoyed a nice piece of clearly homemade Bakewell tart at a very reasonable price, and was smiled at. There were only a couple of other customers. Next door was a soulless Caffe Nerobucks, charging pounds for (in my view) not great coffee, and silly money for plastic-wrapped snacks. It was packed.
From a marketing background I understand this - brand power, the knowledge that quality is never bad,though equally you'll never be surprised or delighted. But given the difference in price, how are they thriving in such times when cheaper independents struggle?
There are rays of hope. In my home city of Preston Bruccianis, an art deco-ish survival where food and coffee are good, is generally full. It has soul. In Kendal I interviewed the manager of Farrer's, a tea-room and coffee house since 1819, the very walls imbued with coffee oils after two centuries of operation. They too were doing nicely, though not as well as the Starnero I saw later.
So it can be done, the little guy can stand up to the corporate bully. Even if the little guy is paying a far higher percentage of his turnover in tax than the giant backed by armies of tax specialists. From managerial days too there is another gleam of hope: such organisations tend to go through various predictable phases, one being departmental empire building. We can look forward to those tax accountants, process facilitators and internal consultants adding PAs (whatever happened to secretaries?), deputies, researchers, administrators, team leaders, IT support and so on until with the centre stuffed with staff black hole-like it implodes back into nothingness. The sooner the better.
From a marketing background I understand this - brand power, the knowledge that quality is never bad,though equally you'll never be surprised or delighted. But given the difference in price, how are they thriving in such times when cheaper independents struggle?
There are rays of hope. In my home city of Preston Bruccianis, an art deco-ish survival where food and coffee are good, is generally full. It has soul. In Kendal I interviewed the manager of Farrer's, a tea-room and coffee house since 1819, the very walls imbued with coffee oils after two centuries of operation. They too were doing nicely, though not as well as the Starnero I saw later.
So it can be done, the little guy can stand up to the corporate bully. Even if the little guy is paying a far higher percentage of his turnover in tax than the giant backed by armies of tax specialists. From managerial days too there is another gleam of hope: such organisations tend to go through various predictable phases, one being departmental empire building. We can look forward to those tax accountants, process facilitators and internal consultants adding PAs (whatever happened to secretaries?), deputies, researchers, administrators, team leaders, IT support and so on until with the centre stuffed with staff black hole-like it implodes back into nothingness. The sooner the better.
Sunday, 19 May 2013
Austerity Tart and Student Survival
The title refers to a dish rather than me. Not that I am a dish, clearly.
Circumstances dictated lunch was today's family gathering, the boss off to Ireland later. Travel for her and stuff to do for the rest of us meant something fairly light, so I made a cheaty tart with a pack of mushrooms, three onions, some not great cheddar and a block of Sainsbury's ready-made puff pastry.
It looked great (I must remember to take some food images again), with the cheese browning and the edges, the surface just cut through to make a border, rising to hold in the ample filling. It could have fed six, but didn't. The meal was made for its taste not price, but afterwards I worked the cost out at around £2.75.
I told SC that it's a dish worth remembering for when he's a student - it would make the main for four yoots, and bulked out with chips in the same oven (we virtuously had salad), or boiled spuds, would still come in under the £1/head mark. Especially useful if feeding vegetarians.
Back in my own student days vegetarians were rarer animals, not perhaps the most appropriate description. A couple I knew lived (very badly) on baked potatoes, and were unhealthy because of it. And not even baked potatoes with. Just BP. Basically they'd removed the meat from the already unhealthy meat and potatoes regime. Even at that time people thought they were daft, lazy and unimaginative.
It is the 'with' bit that makes the difference. Reading about Tuscan peasant cookery of a couple of generations back brought up the description of most evening meals as pan e companatico, bread and something that goes with bread. Filler and variation. Starch and vegetable matter, or on good days protein. Things would have to be really extreme in our times for the companatico to be absent. The only excuse today for a carbohydrate-only diet would be the direst poverty, though variation would be possible even on a really tight budget: lentils, onions, garlic, beans, chilli peppers, all cheap and if not cheerful then certainly not cheerless.
Circumstances dictated lunch was today's family gathering, the boss off to Ireland later. Travel for her and stuff to do for the rest of us meant something fairly light, so I made a cheaty tart with a pack of mushrooms, three onions, some not great cheddar and a block of Sainsbury's ready-made puff pastry.
It looked great (I must remember to take some food images again), with the cheese browning and the edges, the surface just cut through to make a border, rising to hold in the ample filling. It could have fed six, but didn't. The meal was made for its taste not price, but afterwards I worked the cost out at around £2.75.
I told SC that it's a dish worth remembering for when he's a student - it would make the main for four yoots, and bulked out with chips in the same oven (we virtuously had salad), or boiled spuds, would still come in under the £1/head mark. Especially useful if feeding vegetarians.
Back in my own student days vegetarians were rarer animals, not perhaps the most appropriate description. A couple I knew lived (very badly) on baked potatoes, and were unhealthy because of it. And not even baked potatoes with. Just BP. Basically they'd removed the meat from the already unhealthy meat and potatoes regime. Even at that time people thought they were daft, lazy and unimaginative.
It is the 'with' bit that makes the difference. Reading about Tuscan peasant cookery of a couple of generations back brought up the description of most evening meals as pan e companatico, bread and something that goes with bread. Filler and variation. Starch and vegetable matter, or on good days protein. Things would have to be really extreme in our times for the companatico to be absent. The only excuse today for a carbohydrate-only diet would be the direst poverty, though variation would be possible even on a really tight budget: lentils, onions, garlic, beans, chilli peppers, all cheap and if not cheerful then certainly not cheerless.
Thin Pickings
The title could suggest bad times, but it really refers to using salad thinnings. One of many gardening disciplines we have not been good at is thinning crops out early. Do so and the remaining plants thrive; delay and they are weakened by the competition (an interesting thought for free market dogmatists).
There's a second good reason for the task, as far as salad-stuffs are concerned anyway, and that's the small plates of tasty leaves it produces. Yesterday we had a starter that used such greenery picked and washed minutes before we ate it.
Much though I shrink from the modish 'micro-crops' espoused by Raymond Blanc, who makes claims to the effect that they offer the essence of a plant, they are undoubtedly good to eat. Dressing could be oil and salt alone. Last night I added a few slices of cucumber and a handful of little (cheap) prawns with a pinch of paprika, cooked in butter with a bit of chopped apple, the two then flambeed with a spoonful of apple brandy. In the spring and summer I probably cook with spirits more than drink them. The juices formed the dressing, good enough to be mopped up at the end.
That starter for three cost at most £1.50. It not only tasted good, but with red and green leaves, pink prawns and orange-brown paprika it brightened the table and on a miserably wet day was cheering. Austerity cooking need not - should not - be dull.
There's a second good reason for the task, as far as salad-stuffs are concerned anyway, and that's the small plates of tasty leaves it produces. Yesterday we had a starter that used such greenery picked and washed minutes before we ate it.
Much though I shrink from the modish 'micro-crops' espoused by Raymond Blanc, who makes claims to the effect that they offer the essence of a plant, they are undoubtedly good to eat. Dressing could be oil and salt alone. Last night I added a few slices of cucumber and a handful of little (cheap) prawns with a pinch of paprika, cooked in butter with a bit of chopped apple, the two then flambeed with a spoonful of apple brandy. In the spring and summer I probably cook with spirits more than drink them. The juices formed the dressing, good enough to be mopped up at the end.
That starter for three cost at most £1.50. It not only tasted good, but with red and green leaves, pink prawns and orange-brown paprika it brightened the table and on a miserably wet day was cheering. Austerity cooking need not - should not - be dull.
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