What Do You Cook?

At a social gathering some time back it came out that I am the family cook. Someone of the female persuassion very patronisingly thought that meant I'd mastered one or two dishes for when The Dear Leader was taken up with plans for world domination and didn't have time to fend for us. This person asked the stupid (in the circs) question: 'What do you cook?' Inevitably my reply was sarcastic, but a more considered one would have been that I cook from a repertoire learned over years, to which new things are occasionally added.

Yesterday's main meal was from the tried and tested list, stuffed cabbage Troo style (there should be a circumflex over the first 'o' btw, but I can't figure out how to do them on this). Slice a savoy or similar across as thinly as possible, plunge the greenery into boiling salted water for five minutes, drain, then layer cabbage, sausagemeat, cabbage, sausagemeat, cabbage in a buttered casserole with a good lid and cook at 140C - 150C for 120 - 150 minutes. Each layer of cabbage is seasoned; I add a clove or three of garlic; and the top is dotted with butter before cooking. But it is essentially simple (thank you the late great Jane Grigson).

Such dishes allow me, immodestly, to consider myself a cook (and specifically for that one, an austerity cook once again). In that case it is justified by the making of something really good (there are never any leftovers) for a small outlay (£2 for Sainsubury's Toulouse-style sausages, carefully skinned, 69p I think for the cabbage, pence for the butter and garlic. Cookerhooddomness is reniforced by the fact that I only make it once a year, or even every other year - contrary to that lady's thought, my repertoire consists of hundreds (thousands? I never counted) of dishes. It's something that satisfies in more ways that one - quite filling, but also (contrary to what might be expected of slow-cooked cabbage) enticing beforehand, the savoury sausagey smell filling the ground floor.

It's good, and healthy, to add new stuff to the list too. Midweek I made us something that definitely gets added to the roll of honour for repeating. It was essentially a salad, with rocket as the leaf, plus toms, spring onions, and yellow pepper to bulk it out. To make it more fillling and interesting I added little scallops fried in salty butter, and chunks cut from half a Galia melon. Dressed with lime juice and olive oil, and seasoned with the emphasis on pepper, it was delicious, the salty seafood and sweet melon a lovely match. Not exactly an austerity plateful, though the melon and rocket needed using up and the bag of frozen scallops set up back £4, cheaper than a burger meal for one. And, perhaps because it was so flavoursome, we needed nothing else afterwards.

One Flame Cooking - Vegged-up Style

Vegged-up. Gosh, how demotic as a good friend would probably say.

My one flame cookery has tended to be a meat-centred thing, but inspired it has to be said by HF-W's veg book, and for reasons explored in another recent post, we've cut down on meat (not cut it out) and pushed the veg quota here. I'm a big fan of what our American cousins would call the dinner salad too, so put those factors together with the one flame idea and you end up with some substantial meatless feasts.

Best of those has to be the lentil-centric salad (lentil-centric being like London centric, but different in that one is concerned with a lot of rather greyish vegetables all looking alike with no space between them, the other has lentils. Boom-tish, I'm here all week).

In the trusty Le Creuset cast iron pan a chopped onion is fried gently, with a chopped red pepper for colour, some garlic sliced, then a posh sachet of lentils. Had some been available I'd have added a few cubes of bacon or slices of chorizo (people who pronounce that cho-ritz-o now quite high up my list of those due to die horribly when I rise to supreme power). So long as the onion and garlic are cooked it's just a case of warming the rest through, not even getting them hot (how very continental), as you eat this warm.

Lettuce or rocket or lamb's lettuce on the plate the lentil mix is added, some Parmesan shavings and walnuts put on top (with enough time then for the oil in the nuts to warm through a bit - I am not a fan of toasting them), and the lot dressed with a vinaigrette. It's the basis for further experimentation (adulteration?) - goats cheese or blue cheese are good, tomatoes go nicely, black olives and hard-boiled eggs fit in too. So long as there are not too many ingredients (in which case it evolves into another nice Americanism, the garbage salad) it remains a good solid filler-upper, and one that can be on the table in 15 minutes.

Does this count as austerity cooking? As Merchant Gourmet lentils (for 'tis he) only cost about £1.50, and the rest if no bacon or chorizo used would add another £1.50 tops, that's dinner for two or three for £3.

Now, where was I?

For many reasons I have not written anything on this blog for some considerable time. Blame in no logical order a) writing a contract magazine; b) too many holidays (I can feel the wave of sympathy already); c) finding there are many great English comic novels on Kindle for free (Surtees, HH Munro, the less well-known Jerome K Jerome stuff...); d) seeing Sternest Critic off to university (where he continues to prosper).

As this blog is ostensibly about food and its joys the first post (like the last post but not anywhere near as sad) of this new era (with new title suggested by a friend wise to the ways of the modern world) will be about the thing that has brought most culinary joy to the household of late, and we are convinced it is good for us. As so often, I need to take pictures - will do so the next time I make the simple but delicious dish/course - salade de crudites, which even without the accent sounds better than raw veg salad.

We grow a lot of beetroot, this year three varieties and in good quantity. Some is used in soups and stocks to give body and colour (especially if a little grated beet is added to a stock near the end of cooking, so the colour stays fresh and purple. Most is eaten raw in salads. Needing a first course to serve to some friends round for pot-luck, and with beet, carrot, red onion, a few leaves of rocket, one tomato and a kohl rabi to hand I thought about a plate of crudites (I wish yet again I could do the accent on this thing), then with a bit of a nudge from HF-W tried my hand at using different textures and a nice arrangement to prepare a pretty plateful. It worked well on that level, and was delicious when mixed up: kohl rabi peeled and sliced into discs piled at the bottom centre of the shallow bowl; strips of carrot peeled lengthwise and piled on top of the former; a rim of rocket leaves on which small chunks of tomato were placed, then coarsely grated beet of two varieties, one purple one pink and white rings, dropped on the carrot and similarly treated red onion atop the tomato. It was a little flower-arrangement of a thing that brightened the table beautifully, then when mixed and dressed with a mustardy vinaigrette tasted fresh and bright and healthy.

Variations on the theme have been eaten several times since then, with ingredients like avocado, little gem lettuce, boiled egg, and cucumber appearing and others like rocket if not to hand disappearing. It's just a salad, but the presentation (that takes mere seconds longer than lobbing everything together) makes it more special, and when mixed up in serving the textures remain as a reminder of the tiny bit of extra care and imagination.

This is now - until the debt mountains around the world bury us beneath an avalanche of demands for payment - a post-austerity blog. But that dish suits either tough times or good, costing pennies but looking like pounds.

Healthy Austerity?

I have of late posted little that would qualify as austerity cooking, partly as much of what we are eating is so simple - griddled meat, lots of salads, steamed veg - that it hardly qualifies as cooking (though Jamie Oliver could probably get a book out of discovering griddling as a fantastic new technique and teaching the mindless about it).

Yesterday I made one dish that definitely fits the bill as cheap and cheerful, and decidedly healthy to boot. It also reminded me of (and was inspired by) happy times driving around France on business in my past life (not the one where I was an Egyptian princess). I made a point of eating in Relais Routier restaurants or similar places, rather than as I could have done heading to posher and fancier spots: stuff the foam I'll have tete d'agneau. A frequently encountered starter was mackerel in white wine served with potatoes, a take on which I served up as an hors d'oeuvre yesterday.

Ingredients to hand suggested the dish anyway - some leftover steamed new potatoes and a tub of Scottish pickled herring (£1.09 from Booth's, so much flavour for not very much dosh). Slice the spuds, add very thinly sliced raw onion, the herrings cut into bite-sized bits, and a mustardy dressing, and the starter was done in three minutes. It met the current health regime requirements too, as the dressing was lo-cal with a bit of extra mustard, the spuds were in their skins so low GI with raw (vitamin rich) onion weighing in on that side too, and the fish was of a so-jolly-good-for-us oily variety.

The French tend to serve the classic version warm, but my dish did not lack flavour for being cold. It was in fact delicious.

It struck me too that this would be another good student standby for communal weekend eating - three of us had two helpings, so for a single plate for six (with a few more spuds, and they don't need to be new ones either) I can't see it costing more than say 25p - 30p a head. Which along with the excellent flavour and quick prep is another reason why Relais Routier cooks serve it so often. With the carbs taken care of too it means the main can be as ours was yesterday protein and veg (griddled turkey breast steak, griddled mushrooms and steamed mange tout). Pukka (go away Mr Oliver).

How Hot Are You?

My palate is definitely changing as I speed through the third decade of my thirties. It's clear that my taste buds are not as sensitive (and discerning?) as once they were (and I believe they are not as numerous, which somehow seems weird). Yet at the same time they appear less able to bear spicy heat.

That's not to say that I have abandoned hot foods. I hope that day never comes, as I've always loved foods with bite. Not, however, in the macho show of strength that some feel necessary - years ago I watched with awe then amusement as a very dear friend and another acquaintance ordered Phal with extra chillies. Or is that Fal? Or Phall? Or Phaal? Transliteration is a bugger. They ordered Phal. With extra chillies. After two bites their faces were purple, foreheads beaded with sweat, and within minutes you could actually see lips blistering.

In my business travel days I ate some very hot foods - soft-shelled crabs in Ipoh was one memorable feast; a Shabu Shabu in Taipei another (the stock was bright pink with chillies). That chilli heat is for me life-enhancing, a jump-start for the entire body. Which is why I never want to give it up.

The spices in your cupboard are a wonderful austerity tool. The curry about which I posted the other day proved delicious, thanks largely to the spices in it: cardamom and cumin to perfume; fenugreek and coriander seeds as a solid foundation and cassia something subtle in the background; and of course lots of pepper and some chilli for the warmth that lifts a dish and the spirits. If the lot cost 10p I would be astounded. Yet they transformed what could be extremely bland ingredients (the bulk was white fish, rice, coconut milk, onions) into something so good plates were scraped clean.

Austerity cook hat (toque - I don't think so) on: the supermarkets have shelves full of packet mixes that on a good day are 50p, generally more than £1. Schwarz keep playing tunes with pots of this, packs of that, thimbles of the other, again around the £1 mark or worse. It's a small investment to buy from the ethnic shelves half a dozen packs of whole seeds (so they will have more of their aromatic oils remaining than ground stuff) that will last a year or more, cost perhaps £6, and do 50 meals plus - you do the financial comparison. Yes you have to grind them one way or another, and it may take a few goes to get the feel of things (I still sometimes overdo pepper) but it is well worthwhile. And can be adjusted to individual dishes, and your own palate as it changes.

Creative Austerity

Is it possible to be both creative and economical? Stupid bloody question really, as some of the world's great dishes are peasant in their roots, and thus made using the simplest ingredients. The mushroom lasagna I cooked the other night was not exactly simple, but it was economical, and it was the tastiest thing I have put on the table in months.

Mushrooms in place of a meaty ragu was an idea I'd been mulling over for a while, partly because I've committed to doing more vegetarian dishes. An interview with a vegetarian chef (she was making Christmas dinner lasagna) was another spur. Even plain button mushrooms are moist enough to help with cooking the pasta, a nice protein boost, and both cheaper and healthier than using beef. 

The milk for the bechamel was flavoured as ever with onion, carrot, pepper and herbs - bay, thyme and sage - so was packed with flavour already. I made the sauce, though, with about 50g of Stilton. Blue cheese goes well with mushrooms, and this made the sauce - stiff as behoves bechamel for lasagna - really special. 

The market-bought 'shrooms were just sliced and sweated in vegetable oil (plus a teeny bit of truffle oil from a bottle someone kindly bought for us last Christmas), then the lasagna was layered sauce, pasta, sauce, fungi, grated cheddar, pasta, sauce, fungi, cheddar, pasta, sauce, grated Parmesan. 

It cooked to cheesy brownness in 40 minutes at 180 Celsius, filling the bottom two floors of the house with appetite-inducing aromas, within which the few drops of truffle-oil played a surprisingly big role. Ruth was out at a leaving do (plenty of those at the university currently), but SC and I, having already prepared a plea in mitigation with a tomato and cucumber salad, finished all bar a mouthful, both of us tempted to seconds and thirds.  

Back-of-the-envelope calculations make the cost well under £3, and it was good enough and solid enough (unlike my ragu version) to have graced at least a gastro-pub table, if not somewhere more upmarket. It would have fed four with ease too. 

So yes, sometimes you can be creative and economical. Long-winded answer really. 

Foams, Flutes and Filling Up

Yesterday we had as a separate course a plain green salad fresh from the garden. Except that it wasn't green or plain. Plenty of green in there, but with oak-leaf and other lettuce varieties included it had brown and purple too.

There can be few simpler or more perfect combinations than fresh lettuce and a sharp vinaigrette, the crispness of well-grown lettuce resisting any descent into sogginess. Yet which name chef these days would have the courage or humility to put them together without further adornment?

This prompts the further question, what do we actually want when eating out? Are we in a restaurant to be amazed at innovation, dazzled by technique, or to enjoy really good food perfectly prepared? There are other reasons for going to specific restaurants: fashion, being seen, bumping into the rich and famous and watching them assault their wife, to name but three.

Not forgetting the fuel aspect of the whole thing. Except plenty of chefs plainly do. On my recent Michelin-starred tour of Midi-Provence I only felt really replete at breakfast - nobody buggers about with that - and after the last meal of the trip, which also happened to be by far the best, and after lunch at an un-starred place. Though I am undoubtedly a bloody peasant, I am not solely concerned with filling up. But it should be part of the deal, part of the chef's skill and judgement. Diners should be satisfied with the standard, freshness, interest, tastes, combinations, contrasts, variety and volume of food.

Missing out quantity in a main meal seems like an orchestra without the brass and the percussion. Personally I can do without the flute (it's just a personal prejudice) which I'd equate to the stupid foams decorating cheffy dishes these days. I'd not be sad never to hear another twittering flute piece for the rest of my life, or to forego those foams forever.

And in case that seems to have nothing to do with austerity cooking, our massive homegrown lettuce and vinaigrette course maybe cost us 15p for the oil, vinegar and mustard.

How Much for a Memory?

Anyone who has read a few of the posts here will realize that we are not living austerely. We try to make the most of what we have, which is plenty; to reduce waste; to grow many of our own vegetables; and to eat fresh foods freshly cooked, rather than rely on cook-chill crap. I cook and shop carefully because that is the way I'm made, not because we are skint. But when we feel the need to do so we push the boat out, and Friday was one such occasion.

Last year we didn't have a single BBQ as far as I can recall. The weather for the last two weeks has been so good that we have eaten half our evening meals outside, and on Friday I thought it was time to fire up the charcoal. We don't have a good butcher nearby, though Booth's supermarket is not at all bad. I headed instead for a farm shop about five miles away, knowing they would be likely to have T-bone steaks. They did.

If there is anything that cooks better on a BBQ than T-bone I have yet to find it. It helps that the fillet is tender to start with; the bone somehow keeps the meat moist; and the fat around the sirloin caramelizes superbly. You may start with knife and fork, but unless you are totally po-faced you end with fingers, gnawing at the bone.

Behind the extravagance was the thought that this was buying a special moment for us and our son. I have a terrible feeling that our climate has changed, with a mild wet season having replaced summer as it used to be. Let's hope that is wrong, but meanwhile nothing is lost by surfing this heatwave, beyond a rather eye-watering £34 for three huge steaks. Which is still cheap for a memory. 

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.

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.

One Flame Cooking

A recent comment about having to cook on one burner while kitchenless made me think about my year living in France during my degree course - living in a disused school accommodation block at the Lycee next to the one where I worked, and cooking on a single calor-gas burner (with a kettle too). Youth of course made it easier to accept a restricted diet - often wine, cheese,  and fabulous French bread from a bakery 200m distant - but I learned a huge amount about food and cooking in that year. Austerity, restrictions, can teach us coping strategies and the value of what we have. Variations on beans with big thick smoked pork sausages when it was cold were great, the sausages already cooked, but benefiting from the heat, their flavour enhancing the beans (not at that time Heinz in France, but some sort of cassoulet flavoured versions, often with chunks of petit-sale in them.

The big thing that I learned there was the value of great bread. Sadly it is still, 30 years later, almost impossible to find really good bread in this country. Waitrose makes an effort, Booth's sadly has very expensive stuff without a hint of crispy crust, and Sainsbury's is a disaster zone. So I make my own when moved to do so, which at least is free of additives, and for a brief moment has a crust worthy of the name.

It is totally impossible to find good French sticks here. They need a Vienna oven, and should have both crispy crust and a very holey interior. Not one that supermarkets go for as they are stale within three hours at most, but when fresh there is IMHO no better bread anywhere. The stuff I bought when living in France was inevitably nibbled on the short walk home, nobody could resist that aroma surely?