This year's great glut - greatest glut, we have had several including globe artichokes (not something to decry) and courgettes (as ever) - is French beans, so called because they come from South America. Coping with that involves freezing some, as they are ok for a few months like that, but also a bit of creativity and some delving into cookbooks.
French beans, btw, as opposed to the 'fine beans' ubiquitous in supermarkets now, which it seems are actually a type of runner bean. To my palate 'fine beans' have more than a hint of stewed tea, or had the last time I bothered to buy some, several years ago.
Salade Nicoise is a good starting point, especially earlier in the season when our new potatoes were at their best. There are (a link to the last post) many variations on that theme possible with little effort. More toms no spuds. Substitute pancetta cubes for the anchovies. Fried or grilled courgette instead of the cucumber and/or tomatoes. Beyond that I came across an idea for a sort of sauce in the Moro cookbook that took my fancy, though it was intended there to go with asparagus and I think globe artichokes. It used a lot of chopped boiled egg, plenty of herbs (we've had gluts there too, happily, even of basil), some pine-nuts, along with garlic, olive oil and perhaps a few other odds and sods. It made a main course of the French beans, boiled to retain a bit of squeak, and had the virtue of requiring a lot of them but not feeling like it in the eating.
As we're giving up our allotment the need to be less cavalier about planting, one of the reasons for the gluts, is in our minds now, with plans for successional planting and reducing quantities (do we really need five sorts of summer squash?) to the fore. But as a cook it is actually quite fun finding ways to use such bounty, without the Dear Leader threatening to declare me an enemy of the state.
Thursday, 16 August 2018
Tuesday, 24 July 2018
Two New Flexible Favourites
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.
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.
Tuesday, 17 July 2018
End of the Allotment
Now, where was I? The answer to that is in a rather more (but by no means strictly) vegetarian place than before.
For health reasons more than economy (though I love a bargain), and because we produce a lot of our own fruit and veg, I have over the last two or three years cooked far fewer meat-based dishes than used to be the case. I have a new hero too, the cookery writer Ursula Ferrigno, who appears to be of a similar mindset given I have two books of hers that are solely vegetarian, and a third on trattoria cooking that has plenty of meaty stuff in it.
As the Dear Leader (may her enemies perish in despair) and I near our second 30th birthdays anno domini looms far larger in the imagination, so we pick up more readily on the health-page articles than previously, and getting five-, seven-, ten-a-day is a fixation there, and thus now with us. We have also both made successful efforts to lose weight, part and parcel of the new view of our diet.
The big thing, however, as ever as far as I am concerned, is taste and pleasure. The two big things. Amongst our weaponry. It is now mid-July, our soon-to-be abandoned allotment (fed up with people nicking stuff, have lost strawbs, broad beans and blackcurrants this year already) is producing loads of wonderful and next-to-free produce, and our garden likewise. The broad beans (we have still had the majority of what we grew, but I hate being abused by thieves) are picked small and some eaten raw they are that good. Our fennel, likewise picked when tiny, is packed with more flavour and of a texture that is silk to supermarket worsted.
There are gastronomic possibilities too in growing your own that are pretty near impossible in this country otherwise. We have for example had lots of artichokes already, again taken small and sweet. And for the first time ever we have beaten those far more relentless produce-thieves, the squirrels, to our walnut crop, still only perhaps a dozen picked green, but now macerating in a Kilner jar with spices and a bottle of unwanted clear spirit, nocino for Christmas 2019.
The Dear Leader (may those who fail to bow before her suffer endless agonies) is expanding our kitchen garden, already quite a size, we spent a happy Sunday last week building a second small greenhouse (my how they laughed at the instruction book, apparently a surrealist statement of merely possible realities) and we have plans for more trees - this morning's smoothie contained three of our homegrown plums - to add yet more unbuyable varieties to our basket. We seem to be looking forward to the best ever quince harvest too.
I will miss the allotment, and wish the two users who will inherit our ground (and trees, and artichokes, and fruit bushes, and...) well of it. But I fear that as we head into uncertain political times, and very probably poorer economic conditions thanks to a generation of politicians of all stripes who couldn't organise a fart from a can of beans, we will see more and more desperate people reduced to raiding allotments to keep from hunger. I'd prefer it if they had an allotment of their own though.
In case anybody thinks I'm a heartless sod begrudging food to the desperate, I regularly donate a bag of tins and packets to the Sally Army. I do wonder if those stealing things are desperate, or just greedy idle bastards - a while back the plot next door lost a giant pumpkin just before Halloween; and another guy had an entire row of spuds dug up.
For health reasons more than economy (though I love a bargain), and because we produce a lot of our own fruit and veg, I have over the last two or three years cooked far fewer meat-based dishes than used to be the case. I have a new hero too, the cookery writer Ursula Ferrigno, who appears to be of a similar mindset given I have two books of hers that are solely vegetarian, and a third on trattoria cooking that has plenty of meaty stuff in it.
As the Dear Leader (may her enemies perish in despair) and I near our second 30th birthdays anno domini looms far larger in the imagination, so we pick up more readily on the health-page articles than previously, and getting five-, seven-, ten-a-day is a fixation there, and thus now with us. We have also both made successful efforts to lose weight, part and parcel of the new view of our diet.
The big thing, however, as ever as far as I am concerned, is taste and pleasure. The two big things. Amongst our weaponry. It is now mid-July, our soon-to-be abandoned allotment (fed up with people nicking stuff, have lost strawbs, broad beans and blackcurrants this year already) is producing loads of wonderful and next-to-free produce, and our garden likewise. The broad beans (we have still had the majority of what we grew, but I hate being abused by thieves) are picked small and some eaten raw they are that good. Our fennel, likewise picked when tiny, is packed with more flavour and of a texture that is silk to supermarket worsted.
There are gastronomic possibilities too in growing your own that are pretty near impossible in this country otherwise. We have for example had lots of artichokes already, again taken small and sweet. And for the first time ever we have beaten those far more relentless produce-thieves, the squirrels, to our walnut crop, still only perhaps a dozen picked green, but now macerating in a Kilner jar with spices and a bottle of unwanted clear spirit, nocino for Christmas 2019.
The Dear Leader (may those who fail to bow before her suffer endless agonies) is expanding our kitchen garden, already quite a size, we spent a happy Sunday last week building a second small greenhouse (my how they laughed at the instruction book, apparently a surrealist statement of merely possible realities) and we have plans for more trees - this morning's smoothie contained three of our homegrown plums - to add yet more unbuyable varieties to our basket. We seem to be looking forward to the best ever quince harvest too.
I will miss the allotment, and wish the two users who will inherit our ground (and trees, and artichokes, and fruit bushes, and...) well of it. But I fear that as we head into uncertain political times, and very probably poorer economic conditions thanks to a generation of politicians of all stripes who couldn't organise a fart from a can of beans, we will see more and more desperate people reduced to raiding allotments to keep from hunger. I'd prefer it if they had an allotment of their own though.
In case anybody thinks I'm a heartless sod begrudging food to the desperate, I regularly donate a bag of tins and packets to the Sally Army. I do wonder if those stealing things are desperate, or just greedy idle bastards - a while back the plot next door lost a giant pumpkin just before Halloween; and another guy had an entire row of spuds dug up.
Monday, 19 September 2016
Strange Pairings
Earlier in this blog I mentioned the combination of steak and blackcurrant sauce, until recently the strangest pairing I've ever come across. And no, it didn't work. It was in fact a waste of a good piece of meat, and for that matter of good berries. Last week on holiday in Santa Maria, Cape Verde I (again unwittingly) sampled something far weirder, or at least to my mind it was.
Seeking some local foods rather than the largely 'international' fare served at our hotel I opted for wahoo (a meaty fish related to mackerel, though with a more delicate taste and firmer flesh) with banana. That more or less worked, but intriguingly it was served with - Brussels sprouts. The mini cabbages were well cooked, not soft, not hard, and may even have gone with the fish had it been unadorned. But - and this may not come as a huge surprise - sprouts and banana did not prove a winning combination. In a strange way, however, I was pleased to find something so unusual. But I still left all bar a few of the green things untouched.
I cannot believe that sprouts are grown in Cape Verde, but stand to be corrected. And I cannot fathom why they should have been seen on menus there. As a former Portuguese colony that connection doesn't explain it either. And how did the chef think they would work?
Equally out of place, but marvellous, were the strozzapreti eaten at a restaurant - Valeria's - recommended to us by fellow guests. It was so good we dined there three times. Why there should be what proved to be a superb if (because?) simple Italian restaurant in a stand of shops between hotel and town in this African backwater is hard to imagine. Strozzapreti (it means priest stranglers, so a good start as all right thinking people would agree - if not, check out how parts of the US Catholic church have been fighting changes to statute of limitations changes relating to child rape over recent years, and wonder why) are sort of gnochi/dumpling things. Badly made such foods are like lead, well made they are sublimely toothsome. These were terrific, and the creamy courgette and prawn sauce lubricated them to perfection.
The one actually (I think) local dish that stood out during our stay was octupus and potato stew. It, like anything fishy, was helped down by the Cha de Fogo white wine from another of the Cape Verdean islands. I cannot understand why the airport duty free shop sold the usual inspid spirit brands, and loads of Aussie plonk, but not that, something the country should be very proud of.
Wednesday, 24 August 2016
A Deer Friend
We are not on, but occasionally do, the 5 - 2 regime, reducing our calorie intake on two days in a week to just 600.
I first tried this in 2014 I think, having watched a programme (by the ever excellent Michael Mosley) that recommended it more for its anti-cancer etc properties than for any help it gives in reducing weight, though that has been of value too. That time I gave it a go when the Dear Leader and SC were away diving in Egypt. Foolishly I did the two days together, and on one of them decided it was a good idea to use up my calorie allowance in one giant bowl of coleslaw, munched through the day. A box set of party political broadcasts would bring more pleasure.
Since that time I've learned how to make the 600 calories more enjoyable and more filling, or capable of fooling our systems into believing we are fullish. Last night I made SC and myself (the Dear Leader away in the Galapagos Islands ostensibly diving, though probably scouting out another secret submarine base for her evil empire) a dinner that included a small sirloin steak of venison. It had to be cooked far longer than we would beef (nearing 10 minutes), but with a seared surface and a bit of pinkness left in the middle, and having been given five minutes resting time, it was delicious - and as the packaging claims each 100g steak is just 106 calories it allowed us to have various steamed veg (asparagus in particular being low calorie and gustatorily rewarding), and a starter of samphire (again, loads of flavour for stuff all calories) with chili, garlic and brown shrimps and a squeeze of lemon, with a banana for pud, and still fall within the 300 calories we had left for the meal.
That is, I have to admit, the first time I have ever cooked venison and really enjoyed it. Stews various have been ok, but never memorably good or even any sort of a match for beef. The seared steak was meaty and slightly gamey and very tasty however, and having something to chew and savour for a few minutes made the glum fact of our reduced intake fade into the background.
What I would love to try as regards deer meat is their kidneys, of which I have read great things. As an offal lover (perhaps that's why the Dear Leader is more than one ocean away) lamb kidneys are near the top of my ultimate breakfast wish list, and venison kidney is supposed to be superior to them. Having failed to source them from butchers previously my new plan is to win the lottery, buy a Scottish shooting estate, get a rifle licence, learn to shoot, stalk and kill a stag, let a minion do the gralloch, and then while the kidneys are still warm pop them in a buttered pan and have them minutes later on toast. If only every ambition were so simple.
I first tried this in 2014 I think, having watched a programme (by the ever excellent Michael Mosley) that recommended it more for its anti-cancer etc properties than for any help it gives in reducing weight, though that has been of value too. That time I gave it a go when the Dear Leader and SC were away diving in Egypt. Foolishly I did the two days together, and on one of them decided it was a good idea to use up my calorie allowance in one giant bowl of coleslaw, munched through the day. A box set of party political broadcasts would bring more pleasure.
Since that time I've learned how to make the 600 calories more enjoyable and more filling, or capable of fooling our systems into believing we are fullish. Last night I made SC and myself (the Dear Leader away in the Galapagos Islands ostensibly diving, though probably scouting out another secret submarine base for her evil empire) a dinner that included a small sirloin steak of venison. It had to be cooked far longer than we would beef (nearing 10 minutes), but with a seared surface and a bit of pinkness left in the middle, and having been given five minutes resting time, it was delicious - and as the packaging claims each 100g steak is just 106 calories it allowed us to have various steamed veg (asparagus in particular being low calorie and gustatorily rewarding), and a starter of samphire (again, loads of flavour for stuff all calories) with chili, garlic and brown shrimps and a squeeze of lemon, with a banana for pud, and still fall within the 300 calories we had left for the meal.
That is, I have to admit, the first time I have ever cooked venison and really enjoyed it. Stews various have been ok, but never memorably good or even any sort of a match for beef. The seared steak was meaty and slightly gamey and very tasty however, and having something to chew and savour for a few minutes made the glum fact of our reduced intake fade into the background.
What I would love to try as regards deer meat is their kidneys, of which I have read great things. As an offal lover (perhaps that's why the Dear Leader is more than one ocean away) lamb kidneys are near the top of my ultimate breakfast wish list, and venison kidney is supposed to be superior to them. Having failed to source them from butchers previously my new plan is to win the lottery, buy a Scottish shooting estate, get a rifle licence, learn to shoot, stalk and kill a stag, let a minion do the gralloch, and then while the kidneys are still warm pop them in a buttered pan and have them minutes later on toast. If only every ambition were so simple.
Friday, 19 August 2016
Donald Trump and the Truth About Soup
The wise, lovable, thoughtful and humble Donald Trump, unknown to many commentators from the biased liberal pinko lefty America-hating political elite scumbags of the biased liberal pinko lefty America-hating political elite media, owes so much to soup. We can reveal the top 10 totally fictitious facts about Trump and his debt to potage.
- He will, at some future date, publish his favourite Trump soup recipes, though the Trump time is currently not right to do so, quite understandably.
- It is not known if Trump borscht features on his Trump list of favourite Trump soups, and it is of little Trump consequence if it does.
- Many Trump experts, or more probably none at all, have wondered if his Trump trademark hairstyle is achieved with the aid of spray-on ultra-sticky Trump chicken soup, binding those central Trump whisps at the Trump molecular Trump level.
- When tasked about why fewer and fewer Americans are enjoying Italian white bean soup he is thought by nobody at all to have explained it is down to not using Parmesan - he wants to make America grate again. Incidentally, given the effects of the soup, wouldn't it be fitting to call it Trump Soup? Or Trump Trump Trump Soup?
- At Trump Tower you may be able to enjoy said Trump Trump Trump Soup in the Trump Restaurant using a Trump Spoon sitting at a Trump Table. Or not.
- There is no truth in the story that his latest Trump wife has borrowed whole sections of Elizabeth David's recipe for tomato soup and used them in her speeches supporting the great Trump man.
- On an earlier post we noted Mr Trump is rumoured to have Trump promised to ban Potage de Crecy for being too French. His campaign managers have backtracked slightly on this, saying it may be renamed Freedom Carrot Soup.
- When asked about how he got his start as a brilliant Trump amateur Trump gourmet Trump chef, Trump said that it was only helped slightly by a Trump loan of 10,000 gallons of excellent Trump beef Trump stock from his Trump father.
- He has promised to end the nightmare of people being burned by hot soup on his first day as Trump President in the Trump White Trump House, though how this is to be Trump done is not yet clear.
- In his Trump honour the celebrated Mexican Muslim chef Pancho ZB Ali has developed a soup that uses bitter gourd, duck bile, a lot of fat and angel hair, served topped with a foam that when pricked with a fork disappears magically.
You've got to love him, haven't you?
Wednesday, 17 August 2016
Old but New
I was lucky enough to be paid for many years to travel to places most Brits will never get to. There was work involved, but far more interestingly there was contact with different cultures and cuisines. Far more interestingly.
My favourite memories of those times are of Indonesia, where I worked with the wonderful Agus Sutono (sadly I lost contact when my job change coincided with his rapid departure from the country during one of its regular anti-Chinese spells). The food was a revelation, from street fare to very posh places. Common to both was satay, probably the flavour that I most associate with the country. Last weekend, in need of a quickly made starter, the freezer yielded jumbo prawns, and a quick scan of the fridge prompted the idea of trying to replicate a simple satay sauce to go with them. It proved easy and delicious.
Defrosted prawns were fried in sesame oil, with the juice and zest of a lime added along with two tablespoons of unsweetened smooth peanut butter and a dash or two of soy sauce. The cooking took at most three minutes, as was generally the case with roadside places where we'd stop for a lunchtime bite. The flavour took me straight back to Jakarta, Medan and Surabaya. It was a hit with the Dear Leader too, may her enemies perish in intriguing ways.
I never cease to be amazed at how easily memory is triggered by taste, but was my enjoyment of those prawns greater because of it, or the same as DL and SC experienced? There is no objective measure of enjoyment, but I tend to think that having a backstory on a dish or a flavour adds to the pleasure - unless that backstory is of the Dear Leader and the French oysters variety, that with hindsight can only be seen as an attempt by filthy foreign powers to nip her nascent dictatorship in the bud.
My favourite memories of those times are of Indonesia, where I worked with the wonderful Agus Sutono (sadly I lost contact when my job change coincided with his rapid departure from the country during one of its regular anti-Chinese spells). The food was a revelation, from street fare to very posh places. Common to both was satay, probably the flavour that I most associate with the country. Last weekend, in need of a quickly made starter, the freezer yielded jumbo prawns, and a quick scan of the fridge prompted the idea of trying to replicate a simple satay sauce to go with them. It proved easy and delicious.
Defrosted prawns were fried in sesame oil, with the juice and zest of a lime added along with two tablespoons of unsweetened smooth peanut butter and a dash or two of soy sauce. The cooking took at most three minutes, as was generally the case with roadside places where we'd stop for a lunchtime bite. The flavour took me straight back to Jakarta, Medan and Surabaya. It was a hit with the Dear Leader too, may her enemies perish in intriguing ways.
I never cease to be amazed at how easily memory is triggered by taste, but was my enjoyment of those prawns greater because of it, or the same as DL and SC experienced? There is no objective measure of enjoyment, but I tend to think that having a backstory on a dish or a flavour adds to the pleasure - unless that backstory is of the Dear Leader and the French oysters variety, that with hindsight can only be seen as an attempt by filthy foreign powers to nip her nascent dictatorship in the bud.
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