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.
Showing posts with label Hugh Fearnley-Whittingstall. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Hugh Fearnley-Whittingstall. Show all posts
Tuesday, 24 July 2018
Wednesday, 21 October 2015
Eggs! Eggs! Damn All Eggs! (But Not All Cookery Writers)
So, as regards the eggs, said Lord Worplesdon, as all right thinking people will be aware. The title is prompted by the number of eggs now in our kitchen, seemingly increasing whenever my back is turned, and how to make the most of them.
For a cook it's actually quite a nice problem to have, if it qualifies as a problem at all. We breakfast on them every two or three days, and have enough for scrambled eggs to be served up as more than a small yellow stain on toast. An omelette or fritatta appears on the dinner menu about once a week; egg mayonnaise sandwiches occur at lunch with the same frequency; eggs boiled or poached are added to green salads with lardons and walnuts. The list of favourites goes on, but it's good to add new ways to use them up.
I was drawn to refer to Elizabeth David for eggy ideas recently. Inevitably an excellent one was rapidly found, and it suited another of our gluts - tomatoes ripening on the conservatory windowsill. Every cook has his or her favourite writers, Ms David one of my sacred quartet along with Jane Grigson, de Pomiane, and HF-W. I am pushed to ponder here, rather appositely, a chicken and egg question: have I chosen those four because they suit my cooking and tastes; or did they create my cooking and tastes?
David and Grigson were the first food writers who entranced me as a callow twenty-something, by which time, however, I was already fascinated by and reasonably adept at cookery; de Pomiane came to my notice rather later; and HF-W is younger than I, which points towards them fitting what I look for in a food writer as the correct answer to the above query. That they write well, or extremely well, comes high up the list; that they are rooted in French, Italian and British cookery before other styles is also important; and that their dishes are about making the most of ingredients, not making a show of them, is vital too.
The Elizabeth David dish by the way (from that holiest of texts, French Provincial Cookery) was an hors d'oeuvre of thinly sliced toms layered in a shallow dish with sliced boiled eggs, each layer of tomatoes seasoned as you go, some finely chopped onion strewn on top, the lot dressed with oil and vinegar. So simple, but so satisfying and tasty. It could be tarted up with chopped parsley, gherkins, capers, or olives and not suffer (though it would be wrong to add more than one or two of these).
For a cook it's actually quite a nice problem to have, if it qualifies as a problem at all. We breakfast on them every two or three days, and have enough for scrambled eggs to be served up as more than a small yellow stain on toast. An omelette or fritatta appears on the dinner menu about once a week; egg mayonnaise sandwiches occur at lunch with the same frequency; eggs boiled or poached are added to green salads with lardons and walnuts. The list of favourites goes on, but it's good to add new ways to use them up.
I was drawn to refer to Elizabeth David for eggy ideas recently. Inevitably an excellent one was rapidly found, and it suited another of our gluts - tomatoes ripening on the conservatory windowsill. Every cook has his or her favourite writers, Ms David one of my sacred quartet along with Jane Grigson, de Pomiane, and HF-W. I am pushed to ponder here, rather appositely, a chicken and egg question: have I chosen those four because they suit my cooking and tastes; or did they create my cooking and tastes?
David and Grigson were the first food writers who entranced me as a callow twenty-something, by which time, however, I was already fascinated by and reasonably adept at cookery; de Pomiane came to my notice rather later; and HF-W is younger than I, which points towards them fitting what I look for in a food writer as the correct answer to the above query. That they write well, or extremely well, comes high up the list; that they are rooted in French, Italian and British cookery before other styles is also important; and that their dishes are about making the most of ingredients, not making a show of them, is vital too.
The Elizabeth David dish by the way (from that holiest of texts, French Provincial Cookery) was an hors d'oeuvre of thinly sliced toms layered in a shallow dish with sliced boiled eggs, each layer of tomatoes seasoned as you go, some finely chopped onion strewn on top, the lot dressed with oil and vinegar. So simple, but so satisfying and tasty. It could be tarted up with chopped parsley, gherkins, capers, or olives and not suffer (though it would be wrong to add more than one or two of these).
Tuesday, 26 May 2015
Squash - not the Robinson's Sort
Diversity being my watchword, I've determined of late to explore the wonderful world of the squash, as few if any vegetable families match it for the range of shapes, colours and tastes. Actually for pedants like me it's one of those annoying vegetables that taxonomically is a fruit. E.L. Wisty had a similar dilemma with the banana, which he pointed out is in fact a whale. Such matters aside, the squash offers the intrepid cook (and cultivator) great opportunities to explore new worlds of flavour.
We have grown the giant pumpkin of Halloween fame for many years, and while some have been sacrificed to lantern use, others have ended up as pie, custard, soup, mash and curry. Sadly the big pumpkins tend to have a rather dull flavour, a bit earthy, pleasantly savoury, but not exciting, so we have branched out into more exotic options. Some - the Turk's Turban for example - is a bit more interesting on the flavour front, and much more as a gardening status symbol. The patty pans we've given a go have been hugely prolific, and rather sweet and green on the palate, to date no disappointments there.
This year the greenhouse and conservatory are nurturing perhaps 20 different plantlets, all grown from seed. We'll be stuck for space, even with an allotment, as they tend to spread far and wide, but if we can select and raise say 10 of the healthiest among them I'll be happy. If I remember I'll report later in the year on the culinary worth of whatever squashes we grow and cook.
The supermarkets appear to be getting in on the act too. Last night we ate a squash, red lentil and chickpea soupy-stew (based on an HFW recipe with plenty of amendments), using a squash that while similar in appearance to the butternut was a different flavour - think marrow with a touch of new potato. Very enjoyable, and as part of our partially reinstated alternative eating programme (all having slipped a pound or three upwards since Christmas) a filler-upper with few calories. It was a one-flame dish too, cooked in phases - onion 5 mins; spices and garlic 5 mins; squash, tin of toms, stock, red lentils 25 mins; orza pasta 10 mins. No need for late-night snacks after such a dish. I leave it to the reader's imagination, however, to contemplate the other night-time consequences of a squash, lentil and chickpea combination.
We have grown the giant pumpkin of Halloween fame for many years, and while some have been sacrificed to lantern use, others have ended up as pie, custard, soup, mash and curry. Sadly the big pumpkins tend to have a rather dull flavour, a bit earthy, pleasantly savoury, but not exciting, so we have branched out into more exotic options. Some - the Turk's Turban for example - is a bit more interesting on the flavour front, and much more as a gardening status symbol. The patty pans we've given a go have been hugely prolific, and rather sweet and green on the palate, to date no disappointments there.
This year the greenhouse and conservatory are nurturing perhaps 20 different plantlets, all grown from seed. We'll be stuck for space, even with an allotment, as they tend to spread far and wide, but if we can select and raise say 10 of the healthiest among them I'll be happy. If I remember I'll report later in the year on the culinary worth of whatever squashes we grow and cook.
The supermarkets appear to be getting in on the act too. Last night we ate a squash, red lentil and chickpea soupy-stew (based on an HFW recipe with plenty of amendments), using a squash that while similar in appearance to the butternut was a different flavour - think marrow with a touch of new potato. Very enjoyable, and as part of our partially reinstated alternative eating programme (all having slipped a pound or three upwards since Christmas) a filler-upper with few calories. It was a one-flame dish too, cooked in phases - onion 5 mins; spices and garlic 5 mins; squash, tin of toms, stock, red lentils 25 mins; orza pasta 10 mins. No need for late-night snacks after such a dish. I leave it to the reader's imagination, however, to contemplate the other night-time consequences of a squash, lentil and chickpea combination.
Wednesday, 18 March 2015
Bacon and Cream Make Everything Better
I was reading the excellent 'Edible Seashore' book by John Wright the other day (it's one of the River Cottage series), and was amused by his comment about (if memory serves) a cockle recipe which included bacon, cream and garlic, making the entirely sensible point that with those additions, pretty much everything tastes good. Looking over one of Nigel Slater's tomes shortly afterwards, it was clear that the fringed fop has built much of his style on that very thought. [I enjoy his ideas, but his writing style can be a trial - not everything is comfort food for goodness' sake - though why goodness and rice wine should be linked I have no clue]. Nigella Lawson, it could be said, did the same with buckets of thick cream (and a considerable cleavage).
With our now well-established healthy approach to matters culinary cream is a rare treat, but I had a hankering for lardons during a visit to Aldi for fruit bushes (£2.49 for three, and they're in very good nick, top bargain), and incorporated the pack in what would normally be a vegetarian warm salad, bacon replacing mushrooms. Naturally it worked, the other ingredients of blue cheese, rocket, roasted butternut squash (yes, it's a take on an HF-W recipe) greeting the salty stuff with open arms. As I had the oven on for the squash I cut large toms into thick slices and roasted them too for 20 minutes, half the time the squash got, and included a handful of bashed unpeeled garlic cloves, which roasted to nearly burnt brown were the most garlicky thing I've had in weeks. Cold the same toms are tastless; cooked and warm they are sharp and pleasing, a nice balance to the rest of the dish. Some walnuts warmed in with the bacon proved a bit superfluous.
The question is, would the dish have been, though clearly different, as good or even (whisper it quietly) better without the lardons? I actually think that as they were the overly dominant flavour (the slightly caramelised squash and the garlic equal second), taking a bit of limelight away from the veg, this was something that actually would have been better without bacon. My world view is shaken to the core.
With our now well-established healthy approach to matters culinary cream is a rare treat, but I had a hankering for lardons during a visit to Aldi for fruit bushes (£2.49 for three, and they're in very good nick, top bargain), and incorporated the pack in what would normally be a vegetarian warm salad, bacon replacing mushrooms. Naturally it worked, the other ingredients of blue cheese, rocket, roasted butternut squash (yes, it's a take on an HF-W recipe) greeting the salty stuff with open arms. As I had the oven on for the squash I cut large toms into thick slices and roasted them too for 20 minutes, half the time the squash got, and included a handful of bashed unpeeled garlic cloves, which roasted to nearly burnt brown were the most garlicky thing I've had in weeks. Cold the same toms are tastless; cooked and warm they are sharp and pleasing, a nice balance to the rest of the dish. Some walnuts warmed in with the bacon proved a bit superfluous.
The question is, would the dish have been, though clearly different, as good or even (whisper it quietly) better without the lardons? I actually think that as they were the overly dominant flavour (the slightly caramelised squash and the garlic equal second), taking a bit of limelight away from the veg, this was something that actually would have been better without bacon. My world view is shaken to the core.
Saturday, 19 July 2014
I Wish to Register a Complaint
Hugh Fearnley-Whittingstall is one of my heroes, as I have said previously in this blog. That comes with a few caveats - for what I am sure are good-hearted reasons he has a habit in his TV programmes of being rather condescending to, as it were, the lower orders: wouldn't it be good if the world's workers discovered vegetables, for example?
That said, I admire his food and food ethics, love his writing style, he seems like the sort of bloke you'd enjoy a pint with (the highest of praise) and I have found his methodical approach with things like meat timings to be spot on. But. I recently tried his sourdough loaf recipe, making a starter with enormous care, feeding it, scooping the right amount off to make a loaf, kneading as per instructions etc etc. The results were uniformly disappointing, no great flavour, a sad waste of high-grade flour, and rubbish texture however carefully kneeded and risen the loaves were.
So I gave that up, and reverted to my standard method. Unfortunately I took his word as gospel that you can't make bread unless you bake it at a very high temperature, so I ruined another two loaves that were not burned but developed a leathery crust and unpleasant dryness.
When I went back to baking at 180C or 200C depending on style, it worked again. Good bread.
This had me thinking about how much we trust such experts, thinking that when things go wrong with their recipes it must be us/our ingredients/our equipment. The blessed Delia is not without the occasional fault (apparent lack of humour aside), as I twice tried an oxtail and bean dish in one of her books, convinced I must have erred the first time when it failed, only to find it was equally unpleasant the next however great the care with which her fiats were followed.
Other than on certain holidays and business trips (time was) I have cooked daily for more than 30 years. Really I should have the confidence to stick to my own ideas and recipes. There is one major reason why I continue to follow their strictures on occasion, and that is the desire to try new stuff. Left to myself I'd cook many different things, but they would be familiar favourites. So I'll continue to trust HFH and TBD, and if I can get past his annoying writer's tics Nigel Slater too who churns out excellent ideas, along with new demigods to be discovered. But not Jamie Oliver thanks. Nor Nigella Lawson.
That may well be the legacy of the age of the TV cook. Those of us who actually do cook frequently have added to our repertoires, while those who live on ready-meals and takeout limit themselves to enjoying cooking vicariously on TV (and via pristine coffee table tomes).
That said, I admire his food and food ethics, love his writing style, he seems like the sort of bloke you'd enjoy a pint with (the highest of praise) and I have found his methodical approach with things like meat timings to be spot on. But. I recently tried his sourdough loaf recipe, making a starter with enormous care, feeding it, scooping the right amount off to make a loaf, kneading as per instructions etc etc. The results were uniformly disappointing, no great flavour, a sad waste of high-grade flour, and rubbish texture however carefully kneeded and risen the loaves were.
So I gave that up, and reverted to my standard method. Unfortunately I took his word as gospel that you can't make bread unless you bake it at a very high temperature, so I ruined another two loaves that were not burned but developed a leathery crust and unpleasant dryness.
When I went back to baking at 180C or 200C depending on style, it worked again. Good bread.
This had me thinking about how much we trust such experts, thinking that when things go wrong with their recipes it must be us/our ingredients/our equipment. The blessed Delia is not without the occasional fault (apparent lack of humour aside), as I twice tried an oxtail and bean dish in one of her books, convinced I must have erred the first time when it failed, only to find it was equally unpleasant the next however great the care with which her fiats were followed.
Other than on certain holidays and business trips (time was) I have cooked daily for more than 30 years. Really I should have the confidence to stick to my own ideas and recipes. There is one major reason why I continue to follow their strictures on occasion, and that is the desire to try new stuff. Left to myself I'd cook many different things, but they would be familiar favourites. So I'll continue to trust HFH and TBD, and if I can get past his annoying writer's tics Nigel Slater too who churns out excellent ideas, along with new demigods to be discovered. But not Jamie Oliver thanks. Nor Nigella Lawson.
That may well be the legacy of the age of the TV cook. Those of us who actually do cook frequently have added to our repertoires, while those who live on ready-meals and takeout limit themselves to enjoying cooking vicariously on TV (and via pristine coffee table tomes).
Thursday, 11 April 2013
Improve Your Pizza
The blessed Hugh of crackling fireplace in every room including the loo fame is actually one of my favourite food writers - certainly of contemporary exponents of the art he is in my opinion the best, not least for his ethical stance which it is clear is not a marketing-man's afterthought.
I frequently refer to HFW's books for tips and enjoyment. Browsing through The River Cottage Fish Book looking to glean a few ideas for my smoker project I noticed two ways to improve my homemade pizzas: a 50/50 mix of plain and bread flour (I've used all bread flour previously), and pre-heating the pan in the oven. The results were definitely far less soggy in the centre, and the edges were beautifully crisp (but then I do make them very thin).
Other posts have sung the praises of homemade pizza but the message bears repeating. Setting aside the fun of making them... no, I won't, that really should be a big part of cooking. Putting together your toppings, watching and smelling your creations progress, all adds to the joy of snacks (yes I know Terry Pratchett got there first). And for the austerity cook they're a boon, and I'll dare say far healthier than shop-bought options. Last night we had plenty of onion, a whole red pepper, a drained tin of chopped toms and half a pack of mushrooms incorporated in the toppings, along with a head of garlic. The protein was largely oily fish too, viz a tin of boneless sardines and another of anchovies.
Back-of-the-envelope calculation has the cost of three pizzas and one big garlic bread yesterday at under £5. You could buy very nasty supermarket cheapies for less, but shame on you for doing so unless absolutely forced by circs, or you could buy half-decent ones for twice that (four times if you go for delivered-to-your-door-and-god-have-mercy-on-your-soul). But you'd miss out on all the fun.
I frequently refer to HFW's books for tips and enjoyment. Browsing through The River Cottage Fish Book looking to glean a few ideas for my smoker project I noticed two ways to improve my homemade pizzas: a 50/50 mix of plain and bread flour (I've used all bread flour previously), and pre-heating the pan in the oven. The results were definitely far less soggy in the centre, and the edges were beautifully crisp (but then I do make them very thin).
Other posts have sung the praises of homemade pizza but the message bears repeating. Setting aside the fun of making them... no, I won't, that really should be a big part of cooking. Putting together your toppings, watching and smelling your creations progress, all adds to the joy of snacks (yes I know Terry Pratchett got there first). And for the austerity cook they're a boon, and I'll dare say far healthier than shop-bought options. Last night we had plenty of onion, a whole red pepper, a drained tin of chopped toms and half a pack of mushrooms incorporated in the toppings, along with a head of garlic. The protein was largely oily fish too, viz a tin of boneless sardines and another of anchovies.
Back-of-the-envelope calculation has the cost of three pizzas and one big garlic bread yesterday at under £5. You could buy very nasty supermarket cheapies for less, but shame on you for doing so unless absolutely forced by circs, or you could buy half-decent ones for twice that (four times if you go for delivered-to-your-door-and-god-have-mercy-on-your-soul). But you'd miss out on all the fun.
Monday, 14 January 2013
Good Filla for Good Fellas
We are in culinary winter mode, the threat of a chance that there may possibly be the potential for snow ("Britain Doomed to Snowy Hell" - The Daily Wail) meaning we stoked up the multi-fuel stove, lit a rare fire in the living room (in the fireplace rather than just generally somewhere in the room) and have been upping the solidity of our evening meal. Tonight's was particularly robust, a simplified version of pasticcio.
The simplification only came in the layering - instead of the cookbook version that cut through resembles a sedimentary cliff face this was just penne and cheesy bechamel, tomato sauce and meatballs, penne and bechamel and a good layer of cheese on top.
This was another Monday night supper inspired by Sunday's roast, a way of using some of the remaining beef rib in the meatballs, and doing a bit more fridge clearance with three uncooked pork sausages that were disdained on Sunday morning, and about a third of a pack of 'recipe' bacon (another third became the stuffing served at the same Sunday afternoon meal). Hugh F-W was the source of the idea. In matters of meat I tend to refer to his books, which mix sound sense, culinary knowledge, and environmental awareness. It was he too who called pasticcio Mafia food.
How many Monday meals are dictated by the weekend's feasts? The rib of beef was not as extravagant as it sounds, reduced at Waitrose, and I have a feeling the girl behind the butcher's counter made an error, as a hefty 1.7kg two-rib joint only (only) cost £13. Given it did the Sunday roast, today's meatballs, and the rest will make a salad (with the bones destined to become the heart of a stock) or maybe a spicy Chinese soup tomorrow, that is not bad value.
Another spur to making the pasticcio was our new food processor. Toys need playing with. I'm still in mourning for the old one, about to be tipped. It was a present on our engagement, so not far off 30 years old. Fittingly, rather poignantly, it merely seemed to die of old age: no bangs or rattles, no distasteful smell of burning, one minute it was working, the next gone. It would have wanted to go that way. The new one has variable speeds and more attachments than James Bond's cigarette lighter, but I am willing to bet it won't last five years, let alone 30.
The simplification only came in the layering - instead of the cookbook version that cut through resembles a sedimentary cliff face this was just penne and cheesy bechamel, tomato sauce and meatballs, penne and bechamel and a good layer of cheese on top.
This was another Monday night supper inspired by Sunday's roast, a way of using some of the remaining beef rib in the meatballs, and doing a bit more fridge clearance with three uncooked pork sausages that were disdained on Sunday morning, and about a third of a pack of 'recipe' bacon (another third became the stuffing served at the same Sunday afternoon meal). Hugh F-W was the source of the idea. In matters of meat I tend to refer to his books, which mix sound sense, culinary knowledge, and environmental awareness. It was he too who called pasticcio Mafia food.
How many Monday meals are dictated by the weekend's feasts? The rib of beef was not as extravagant as it sounds, reduced at Waitrose, and I have a feeling the girl behind the butcher's counter made an error, as a hefty 1.7kg two-rib joint only (only) cost £13. Given it did the Sunday roast, today's meatballs, and the rest will make a salad (with the bones destined to become the heart of a stock) or maybe a spicy Chinese soup tomorrow, that is not bad value.
Another spur to making the pasticcio was our new food processor. Toys need playing with. I'm still in mourning for the old one, about to be tipped. It was a present on our engagement, so not far off 30 years old. Fittingly, rather poignantly, it merely seemed to die of old age: no bangs or rattles, no distasteful smell of burning, one minute it was working, the next gone. It would have wanted to go that way. The new one has variable speeds and more attachments than James Bond's cigarette lighter, but I am willing to bet it won't last five years, let alone 30.
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