Austerity and Healthy Food

Over recent years one of the regular excuses voiced about poor eating habits is that healthy food costs more than unhealthy. Since we decided on our alternative eating programme [yes there is a deliberate hint of silliness in the name] I have made one major discovery in that regard: by spreading butter thinly, and almost banning it from cooking, one uses less and thus spends less. Who knew?

Same applies to oils and dressings. I think a general rule can be discerned here: if you use thus buy less of something, it is cheaper than buying and using lots.

As we are eating less meat and more veg, the sums are in our economic favour there too.

Last night's meal was pork tenderloin marinated in ginger, cumin, pepper and cassia bark all ground up, the six little slices (£3.15 for the piece) popped in a sealable bag with that mix and some scrunched up bay leaves and lime leaves from our own trees, then left in the fridge for about seven hours before being beaten with a mallet and griddled. Result: loads of flavour to make up for the relatively small amount. It was as the divine HFW says 'meat as spice.'

What was more important to the meal was the brown rice (I used to hate it, but this stuff is almost perfumed - and I swear it used to be browner, but then Wagon Wheels used to be bigger, and all this used to be fields too) served mixed in with a pile of lightly steamed veg - carrot, mange tout, frozen broccoli, ditto peas, ditto okra, doused in soy sauce and pepped up with five-spice. Say 35p for the rice, £1.65 for the veg and soy, so the meal for three of us £5.15. Not cheap, not dear.

I'll do the same thing without the meat next time, but adding a few mushrooms and more veg - a pepper, and definitely garlic. The substitutions would bring the cost down to about £3. Which to fill three stomachs healthily (three people rather than one ruminant - or do they have four?) seems like a bargain.

Just Imagine - Meat Free Christmas?

I am working on an article for Lancashire Life about the vegetarian alternative at Christmas. Imagine the impact in most British homes of the suggestion that this was to be a meat free Christmas. My son would be devastated, my father (if, contrary to his habitual threats, he makes the trip up here again this year) would pack his bag and return to Norfolk. My wife, however, would probably welcome the change and the implicit health benefits of cutting down on animal fats. But then she also welcomes my plan to buy in a whole air-dried ham as part of our festive fare this year.

The imagination requested in the title means more than those reactions though. The two chefs interviewed thus far have offered some clever ideas, and not just theoretical ones but dishes they cooked last year or plan to cook this year. A raw pudding; Christmas (veggie) lasagne; a wild mushroom and Stilton strudel...

My conscience is regularly pricked by the knowledge that we here eat too much meat - in the West in general, and this household in particular. When I cook vegetarian or near vegetarian dishes we are no less satisfied, our systems don't collapse (far from it in terms of what euphemistically we'll call digestive health), and we enjoy them.

Last night the bulk of our main course came from a huge range of veg, home grown and bought in, this being a vegetable soup along minestrone lines (though the stock was chicken from the carcase of Sunday's roast bird). For the first time in weeks I made my own bread, so that accompaniment had flavour. It didn't have imagination though, something that I clearly need to work on if I am crowbar more vegetarian food into our diet.

To fire that imagination I'm going to have to buy some veggie cookbooks - though anything that features brown rice or wholewheat pasta is banned - and visit a veggie restaurant or two, something that apparently today will be less painful than the last time I did so. That was in Germany on business, so quite a while back. The menu was dismal, and the least offensive offering was pasta with pesto. The pasta was in that state of soggy rigor mortis that comes when it has been poorly drained and left at one side for five minutes before serving; the pesto had no zing to it (I suspect it was from a long-open jar not freshly made). I was dining there because a week of large lumps of boiled pig (roughly how I'd define Germany's national cuisine) with boiled spuds had fired me with a need for something else. The pasta and pesto inspired a return to boiled pig.

Crackling Good Value

On the general theme of getting something for next to nothing, and making the most of ordinary ingredients.

For years I struggled to make decent crackling. My secret (or not in fact) shame. My late mother-in-law was not a very good cook, but when she roasted pork it came with skin that snapped between the teeth like a Crunchie bar. It pleased and annoyed me every time.

I still cannot do crackling on the joint, but have learned from seeing friends in Sheffield who took the pre-crisping crackling off the joint when the meat was done and off to have a good lie down, then returned the basted skin to a very hot oven. Sunday's joint was done this way, and again it worked. There is a bit more to it than that of course - it is dried and scored before cooking, with an unhealthy amount of salt rubbed into the surface, and is basted at least once while still on the joint.

Little things that make a difference. It turned a good meal into a more enjoyable one, with that extra dimension.

I have on occasion bought from Morrison's sheets of skin to make into crackling (Morrison's the only supermarket that I have yet found that does this, but as I avoid Asda on personal ethical grounds I can't vouch for them). For about 75p you get a couple of rolls of skin that are really easy to make into massive amounts of crackling. If there were a way of comparing fun per penny values in food, that would rate alongside cracking the surface of proper creme brulee or crema catalana (I still can't do accents on Blogger) and biting into a really fresh and very crusty French stick. What is it about that snapping/cracking sensation that makes it pleasurable?

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.