Relais Routier as Touchstone

Much though I enjoy a wide variety of culinary cultures, like Brits many of my generation French remains the ne plus ultra. Of course French cooking covers another wide variety in itself: regional traditions; the haute cuisine of Escoffier and the like; cuisine bourgeoise; etc etc. But the sub-group to which I am drawn most is the cookery one finds (or at least used to find, my travels in France having been limited of late) in Relais Routier establishments.

The Relais Routier restaurant is a marvellously democratic institution. Along with the lorry drivers who form a significant percentage of their clientele you'll see lunch tables occupied by gendarmes, business travellers, maybe the local mayor being lashed up so he'll sign some permission or other; families en route to the coast, country or mountains. They're drawn to these places for several reasons, including that they offer great value for money; rapid turnover means the food is fresh; and the cooking is excellent (otherwise they fail and close). We counter these independent eateries with Little Chef. Worse, Little Chef after Heston Blumenthal stuck his mottie in.

I thought about Relais Routier yesterday because I cooked leeks vinaigrette, one of the great standbys of the RR buffet table. It's one of those dishes that needs no chefy spin. Good fresh leeks (in our case dug from the allotment an hour before they hit the pot) washed carefully of grit and dirt then boiled in salty water until tender; carefully drained, cooled (you can dip them in iced water to keep the green bits greener, but why bother when they get covered up anyway?), slit lengthwise and placed cut-side-up on a serving plate. Their surfaces are then given a liberal dose of chopped parsley followed by hard boiled egg grated over, and a very mustardy olive oil and red wine vinegar vinaigrette.

That buffet table would also include a regularly refilled dish of olives; cervelas or some similar charcuterie; lentil salad; tomato salad (made with tomatoes that taste of something more than water); potato salad; grated carrots squeezed until almost dry and mixed with herbs and salt; maybe salade nicoise. The list goes on, every entry on it both - relatively - cheap to make and delicious.

Time's Cruel Quirks, and Kinder Ones

As I speed through the third decade of my thirties time, its benefits, passing and cruel jokes at our expense has begun to assume more significance than it did in my salad days (accompanied in the Sixties and Seventies of course by Heinz salad cream). With experience has come a reasonable knowledge of restorative beverages, and the money to pay for a decent standard thereof. But annoyingly once we are of a certain age the body's tolerance for alcohol reduces, so an evening of anything more than mild conviviality can leave one feeling delicate next day. Thus we try to drink well rather than lots.

A new quirk of maturity hit me recently. Enjoying a night's sleep a month or so back I began what seemed destined to be that very rare pleasure, a sex dream. I make no apologies for my subconscious. Several (it would appear said subconscious is decidedly ambitious) of my wife's former colleagues (attractive female ones) were seated around our table with the Dear Leader, all dressed somewhat inappropriately for the March weather, though despite them being seated at a round table I could only see their backs wherever I stood. I sported an apron, and nothing else.

Tragically the dream took a diversion. For their meal I was preparing pork sausages (way ahead of you Sigmund) fried then sliced on the bias and the flat faces browned, with apple juice added to the pan to caramelise and create a sticky jus. The dream had become culinary not carnal. I focused on what heat would be needed to keep the apple flavour but make a nice syrupy sauce to grace the meat, and if it needed herbs (I now, fully conscious, think a touch of sage). Even in the dream I felt this was missing the point, but was seduced by the simple recipe idea, rather than as might have been hoped the company.

Carpe diem seems very brusque, however rapidly time is racing. Whatever the latin for embrace in place of seize seems more inviting. We did that yesterday by planning for the promised sun. A lamb shoulder on a generous bed of sliced leeks (picked the day before on the allotment) and bruised garlic cloves went into a very low oven (110 celsius) mid-morning, a bottle of Christmas-leftover Babycham (the Dear Leader enjoys retro sometimes too) to keep it all moist. A lidded pot let the whole steam gently. When we ate in the garden mid-afternoon the sun shone, the meat fell off the bone, and the sweet mushy alliums and a big serving of steamed Red Russian kale were ideal partners. As was a half-bottle of Rioja. Should we regret not having the head anymore for a full midday Sunday bottle, or celebrate having the nous to construct such a pleasant hour?

Feast, Cost and Value

I try to shop wisely, which is not necessarily to say cheaply. If cheap means tasteless, or past its best, or downright nasty, it's a waste of money. Last week I bought a 3kg ham for £12.50, quite an outlay but an absolute bargain:

Sunday lunch - the ham simmered with vegetables and herbs, plenty of thick slices in leek and cheese sauce.
Monday to Wednesday - an equally thick slice or two at breakfast for my son, who likes nothing better.
Monday lunch - ham in my sandwich.
Monday evening - some of the stock and about 250g of cubed meat used in a main course minestrone.
Tuesday lunch - a slice for my lunch with some cheese and pickles.
Tuesday evening - turkey salmi made with more of the stock enriched with Parmesan.

There is still enough for a sandwich this lunchtime and some end bits and scraps that will be added to a salad of some sort, or maybe saved to go on one of our Thursday pizzas, and more than enough stock for another soup.

The initial cooking took 160 minutes, actually more as I brought the ham to the simmer slowly and skimmed off the scum, so it was an investment in time. But the flavours that seeped into the meat made it easy to face so many times; such stock is a boon for any cook; and subsequent uses meant just minutes of prep, if that.

I saw an ad for KFC the other night. Family Feast (TM!) - 10 bits of sad chicken, various 'sides' that largely seemed to consist of the vaguely named 'fries' (are they potato or corn starch?), plus a few beans and some cobettes (what a vile word), and a bottle of fizzy drink. It cost significantly more than that ham.

The Hungry Gap Part 2

The hungry gap, the period when little or no new produce is available from the garden/allotment, is nearly over. We have new-growth sorrel for wonderful sorrel and potato soup; the first thinnings of salad seedlings for a tiny but tasty salad; and Welsh onion aplenty to brighten up a variety of dishes. But we also have the carry-overs from last year, namely the last of the leeks and a sudden glut of purple sprouting broccoli.

Both of those crops are expensive in the shops, the latter painfully so. But both are easy to grow if you have a bit of decent land. 

Leeks are one of the crops we major on, with several varieties grown to give different harvest times and a touch of flavour difference, though that should not be exaggerated. Yesterday's picking (with maybe three to go) made leek and potato soup bulked out with carrot and enlivened with our own parsley, another carry-over. 

Our PSB has done really well this year. The huge panful we enjoyed as a course on its own, served on toasted sourdough with chopped garlic and chilli oil, would have cost by my reckoning £6 in the shops if you could find it. Ours cost about £1 for the seeds and a bit of effort over the year. That is the third lot gathered so far, with another two of similar size on the plants already.

Growing your own food is not for everyone - health reasons and mobility exclude some, time commitments and travel make it awkward for others. There are of course many who have no opportunity, or can't be bothered, and sadly lots who give it a go and get put off when the weeds come back - I'd guess about one-in-three of those who get an allotment at our site only last a year or less. 

Those who stick at it gain in so many ways: fresh food, interesting varieties spurned by the shops, savings on the shopping, and even on gym membership - if you dig for an hour, or shift 30 barrow-loads of horse-muck, you don't need the rowing machine. 

Get Stuffing

Sunday's chicken was on the small side, so to bulk the protein out and complement it I made a quick stuffing.  This used half a pack of Sainsbury's Butcher's Choice Lincolnshire sausages, skins removed (they look a bit false but I prefer them for flavour to most of their Taste the Difference range), a big handful of white breadcrumbs, and a carrot and two small leeks zapped into tiny shreds in my 1980s food processor (it plays Duran Duran while chopping  stuff up and has massive shoulder pads). Moistened with a couple of teaspoons of olive oil and seasoned the mixture cooked in a separate dish alongside the chicken.

Even with the three of us having substantial helpings there was enough left to go in a chicken and stuffing sandwich for my wife's packed lunch, and the same for me. So you could say I gave my wife a good... sandwich today, if you were a comedian from when my processor was new.

The stuffing idea brings to mind a post I did on my Northern Eco blog a year or more ago, where something similar (then made with recipe bacon as the meat component if I recall correctly) was central to an austerity Christmas meal. If I remember I'll copy and paste that piece to this blog.

Cheap Cuts - The Cheek of It

One truism of economical shopping is that meat needing longer cooking will generally be cheaper than something you can flash fry. The savings on the meat have to be balanced with the fuel used over two hours and more in the oven, but with a little planning several dishes can be done at once.

Two days ago I cooked a stew of ox-cheek, meat purchased at Waitrose (not famed for cheapness, but this was a fairly thrifty £6.50/kg). With carrots, onions, and a leek there was the basis of something nutritious, and I added a bowl of mango chutney to the liquid (leftover from a party) plus some of our own dried sage and a tea-spoon of Bovril, a magical meaty ingredient in beef stews and gravies. Cooked very slowly in the morning and into the afternoon (for four hours at 120C actually, while I was out interviewing someone for an article) and then cooled it was kept to mature in the fridge overnight - stews pretty much always benefit from this, the flavours developing and melding.

The result when reheated next day was very tasty: the meat could be cut with a spoon, the juices were sweet and unctuous, and there was next to nothing left. I added a tin of Heinz beans when reheating it, as the meat needed some bulk other than carrots to balance it.

My planning was a bit off, the only thing I 'cooked' with it some lemon and lime skins. After they are juiced don't throw them away, believe it or not once dried out they make very effective firelighters.

Simple Savoury Pies

One of my fondest childhood culinary memories is of a great aunt who every time we went to stay with the family would produce what used to be called a plate pie - a shallow pie-dish filled with something savoury, like (her version) mince, onions, and tiny diced carrots, sometimes with small pieces of spud to bulk it out. This was covered in decidedly thick shortcrust pastry, so it was a filler-upper. And a very cheap supper.

Cow Pie

I felt a bit ashamed the other day using bought puff pastry (but it was Sainsbury's own, far cheaper than the big brand one and no damn different) to make something along those lines. I had three chicken thigh fillets to use, some scraps of cooking bacon (I say again, what is the other stuff for if not for cooking?) one of our big thick leeks sliced finely, and a few mushrooms. Each element was cooked separately in oil and butter, one after the next - a question of capacity and washing up - then mixed in the oval dish and the lot cooked in the fan-oven at 180C for about 25 minutes (not the 10 claimed on the packet). Served with beans and stovies it was a one course meal that warmed, filled and satisfied. At a rough guess the pie cost £3.50, and for something that substantial bought in packets I reckon we'd have paid £6 in the shops.

With the upsurge in interest in baking chi-chi cakes and muffins recently it is time we had a revival of the great British pie on TV (producers, please employ me to work on this). The cow pie pictured above, enjoyed at a Keswick pub-restaurant, shows the way forward.

Creamy Austerity

There is no reason why austerity cooking shouldn't get a little luxurious lift every now and then, especially if it doesn't cost much. Last night we used as prime ingredients two vegetables from our allotment, the ever dependable kale and a whole bunch of small leeks - planted a bit late to make big fatties, but they haven't suffered and we still have loads to pick.

Luxurious kale? By adapting a Sara  Raven (and I think HFW) idea I cooked a rather delicious even if I say so myself first course: thick slice of toasted bread loaded with a mix of steamed kale, garlic, a tin of anchovies, boiled egg, and grated cheese, all chopped up together with a bit more cheese on top. Very robust flavours, and a feeling of virtue from that iron-rich greenery.

The main was leek and potato soup, with an onion, carrot, two big spuds and about 20 small leeks, sweated in a slick of butter then simmered with the water from cooking the kale, a small carton of double cream added at the end just to warm through before everything was zapped with the hand blender. More bread to dip and the meal was both enjoyable and filling. You don't need a protein-fest every day, though with the egg, anchovies and cheese (and grain in the bread) it wasn't without either.