I had to apologise to Sternest Critic this week. When we were talking about making risotto he asked if red wine could be used at the start of cooking the rice, rather than the standard white. Out of prejudice rather than knowledge I said probably not. Days later I came across, by chance, a risotto recipe using red wine.
The picture accompanying that recipe was so strikingly colourful, and having some cooked beetroot (a main ingredient) to use up, I tried it, or my own version at least. The taste was good (infusing the oil for it with rosemary, sage, bay and peppercorns helped hugely), but the colour was amazing.
That beetroot was to hand as I'd made a sort of borscht the day before - The Dear Leader, clearly targeted by the GRU or CIA, strained her jaw eating corn on the cob several weeks back when we had a bunch of friends over for a mezze-type meal, so she's to avoid chewing until it's better. That too was vibrant, the trick being to simmer the raw veg various (beets, turnip, onion, the last of our summer squash) together, then when it is liquidised add a cooked beetroot. Followed by a leafy salad with tomatoes, roasted pumpkin, and avocado (guess which wasn't home grown) that was equally bright, it has been a good couple of days at the table for the eyes as well as the taste buds.
My pretend borscht wouldn't have suited one good friend of ours, who dubs beetroot 'the devil's vegetable', and dislikes soup as a concept. We could never have made a couple. Beet at a pinch I could forego; soup never. I'm not a big fan of chilled soups, maybe making them once or twice at most through the summer. But autumn, winter and spring in this household will see three or four a week served up.
Perhaps the problem with her dislike of soup, and we're back to the colour thing again, is that so often it can be murky brown, camouflage green, or vaguely red. In another post somewhere I have written about French hotel soup, delicious and economic (stock from the previous day's or days' meat leavings and bones, and veg a little past their best), something I love but which it has to be admitted is never a delight to the eyes. But it doesn't have to be that way, surely? So my tiny personal task over the next few weeks is to make Technicolour soups. First idea - avocado and green chili. We'll see.
Saturday, 6 October 2018
Thursday, 4 October 2018
Another Damn Glut
Quinces, apples, courgettes, beetroot, lettuce... and the latest in the line of our gluts is pumpkins. Not the ginormous ones really only good for carving at Halloween, and maybe for feeding the five thousand, but Uchiki Kuri, Turk's Turban and another whose name escapes me, though it may be Tom Thumb. The Uchiki Kuri in particular is just the right size, providing enough sunburst flesh for a dish for two to four people.
As with the other gluts, there's great pleasure to be had in making the best of the plenty while it lasts, though with pumpkins - for accuracy I should be saying 'winter squash' - they keep very well if dry and clean, lasting into the spring.
Their iron skin (especially Turk's Turban, which has all the give of a battle tank) is doubtless what keeps them from going off, but can be a hard slog to cut through to get at the good stuff inside. The cooked flesh, by way of contrast, is melting and delicate. Thus far into pumpkin season we have had pumpkin in soup, risotto, mixed roast vegetables, and tea bread with walnuts.
No repetition needed in the next few assaults on the orange stockpile, either, as I've made pumpkin curry and (an HF-W idea) pumpkin-centric salad in the past, and in the dim and distant pumpkin pie (which was delicious).
I can't help feeling virtuous when eating them, as they are chock full of fibre, beta carotene, and a spread of vitamins. But I trust that health remains a secondary, if important, consideration in my cookery. They are above all tasty. Sternest Critic, when visited at our flat in Trearddur last week, cooked us an absolutely superb mushroom and pumpkin risotto, roasting slices of an Uchiki Kuri we had taken with us, then cooking the flesh stripped from the skin down further in the rice until it was almost part of the stock, but not quite. The flavour was wonderful, and the mouthfeel very satisfying and sensuous. Healthy can be delicious.
A side-note here: much though I love mushrooms, I find their colour - that flat grey - somewhat dispiriting to look at. The pumpkin-flesh orange in that risotto, not in your face but a background to the dish, was far more pleasing. And given we're now being told to have a rainbow on our plates (will the gold at the end be a problem?) it covers the 'of' bit of the old spectrum jingle nicely.
I just counted up our resources, and there are 16 of the things left. Writing this has made me think I really need to cook another one tonight. At this time of year, and pretty much only this time, you don't need to grow your own to enjoy pumpkin. In Morrison's the other day they had bowls wood sized ones (so manageable) for, I think, £0.70p, which if they're anything like as good as ours is a bargain.
As with the other gluts, there's great pleasure to be had in making the best of the plenty while it lasts, though with pumpkins - for accuracy I should be saying 'winter squash' - they keep very well if dry and clean, lasting into the spring.
Their iron skin (especially Turk's Turban, which has all the give of a battle tank) is doubtless what keeps them from going off, but can be a hard slog to cut through to get at the good stuff inside. The cooked flesh, by way of contrast, is melting and delicate. Thus far into pumpkin season we have had pumpkin in soup, risotto, mixed roast vegetables, and tea bread with walnuts.
No repetition needed in the next few assaults on the orange stockpile, either, as I've made pumpkin curry and (an HF-W idea) pumpkin-centric salad in the past, and in the dim and distant pumpkin pie (which was delicious).
I can't help feeling virtuous when eating them, as they are chock full of fibre, beta carotene, and a spread of vitamins. But I trust that health remains a secondary, if important, consideration in my cookery. They are above all tasty. Sternest Critic, when visited at our flat in Trearddur last week, cooked us an absolutely superb mushroom and pumpkin risotto, roasting slices of an Uchiki Kuri we had taken with us, then cooking the flesh stripped from the skin down further in the rice until it was almost part of the stock, but not quite. The flavour was wonderful, and the mouthfeel very satisfying and sensuous. Healthy can be delicious.
A side-note here: much though I love mushrooms, I find their colour - that flat grey - somewhat dispiriting to look at. The pumpkin-flesh orange in that risotto, not in your face but a background to the dish, was far more pleasing. And given we're now being told to have a rainbow on our plates (will the gold at the end be a problem?) it covers the 'of' bit of the old spectrum jingle nicely.
I just counted up our resources, and there are 16 of the things left. Writing this has made me think I really need to cook another one tonight. At this time of year, and pretty much only this time, you don't need to grow your own to enjoy pumpkin. In Morrison's the other day they had bowls wood sized ones (so manageable) for, I think, £0.70p, which if they're anything like as good as ours is a bargain.
Tuesday, 2 October 2018
Quinces Galore
Anyone who has read a few of my posts will be aware that we grow a lot of our own food, and that the inevitable gluts that come along provide me with enjoyable challenges.
Maybe some of the gluts are not totally inevitable, with successional planting of veg etc, but big fruit trees suddenly yielding huge crops are another matter. The most interesting of these recent gluts has been the bumper harvest from a quince tree we planted about 15 years ago. Last year we got three fruits, the previous year we had a good haul, enough to give some to friends. This year is undoubtedly its biggest ever effort, with quite a few given to friends and our own diet enhanced by them.
What to do with quinces? I tend to think that membrillo is best left to the Spanish, pleasant though it is on occasion, and we don't use much jelly either. I have trawled through quite few cookbooks for ideas, and those that appealed most have been explored, along with old favourites from harvests past.
The most accommodating in terms of using up a lot of fat fruits (they are things of beauty btw, or our variety - name long forgotten - is; there's something very Beryl Cook about their plump pear shape and blowsy yellow colouring) has been to add cubes to a lamb braise, then 20 minutes before the end of the cooking time throw in a load of slices. The cubes perfume the juices, and thicken them as they dissolve, the carefully cored slices keep their shape and yellow hue (gaining a hint of orange to be totally accurate), looking very lovely when served on a plain plate.
That dish was a big success, and I'm sure the fruit would work well with pork, ham and maybe Guinea fowl.
We've also had several variations on the theme of quince slices poached in syrup, with cinnamon, allspice, pepper, nutmeg, and coriander and fennel seeds adding weight, as have one-at-a-time Marsala, white wine, and cider brandy. They've been stewed with apples (our variety cooks down as quickly as apples, contrary to the indications of most cookbooks) for breakfast, and even used - successfully - in a mixed vegetable stock for soup.
Again, contrary to several written sources, ours don't look like they'll store, though we have tried to keep them dry and separated. But that's part of the fun of the glut for the cook, making use of a fine ingredient while it lasts, and in many different ways so the rest of the family, while fed well with them, don't get fed up of them.
Maybe some of the gluts are not totally inevitable, with successional planting of veg etc, but big fruit trees suddenly yielding huge crops are another matter. The most interesting of these recent gluts has been the bumper harvest from a quince tree we planted about 15 years ago. Last year we got three fruits, the previous year we had a good haul, enough to give some to friends. This year is undoubtedly its biggest ever effort, with quite a few given to friends and our own diet enhanced by them.
What to do with quinces? I tend to think that membrillo is best left to the Spanish, pleasant though it is on occasion, and we don't use much jelly either. I have trawled through quite few cookbooks for ideas, and those that appealed most have been explored, along with old favourites from harvests past.
The most accommodating in terms of using up a lot of fat fruits (they are things of beauty btw, or our variety - name long forgotten - is; there's something very Beryl Cook about their plump pear shape and blowsy yellow colouring) has been to add cubes to a lamb braise, then 20 minutes before the end of the cooking time throw in a load of slices. The cubes perfume the juices, and thicken them as they dissolve, the carefully cored slices keep their shape and yellow hue (gaining a hint of orange to be totally accurate), looking very lovely when served on a plain plate.
That dish was a big success, and I'm sure the fruit would work well with pork, ham and maybe Guinea fowl.
We've also had several variations on the theme of quince slices poached in syrup, with cinnamon, allspice, pepper, nutmeg, and coriander and fennel seeds adding weight, as have one-at-a-time Marsala, white wine, and cider brandy. They've been stewed with apples (our variety cooks down as quickly as apples, contrary to the indications of most cookbooks) for breakfast, and even used - successfully - in a mixed vegetable stock for soup.
Again, contrary to several written sources, ours don't look like they'll store, though we have tried to keep them dry and separated. But that's part of the fun of the glut for the cook, making use of a fine ingredient while it lasts, and in many different ways so the rest of the family, while fed well with them, don't get fed up of them.
Tuesday, 4 September 2018
Nuts, Fruit, Blossom
One of the things I will miss most when we have given up our allotment will be the two cobnut trees planted (probably contrary to the rules) on the plot. It's not the trees themselves of course, elegant though one in particular may be, but the nuts they produce. At home we have planted a reasonably-sized sapling, the offspring of one of them, so it's to be hoped that we only have a brief gap between crops. We have a walnut tree in the garden too, though I could have counted the number we got this year on two hands and one foot. The rats with good PR got the bulk, as they generally do.
This year we've had a bumper crop of cobnuts, enough to make me feel it was right to give some to a friend and neighbour, a good cook who will accordingly have made good use of them. It's another glut, but an especially welcome one. Among other uses they have gone into pesto as a substitute for pine kernels (which weight-for-weight cost about as much as gold these days), chopped into a breakfast dish of apple puree (our own Bramleys) along with oats, honey and raisins, and as a simple salad ingredient teamed with cos lettuce, blue cheese and apple (yes, our own Discovery). I'm tempted to use those left in the basket (not the last of the year unless the squirrel bastards have had all those left on the trees) in a curry as an alternative to cashews - they are when still relatively fresh off the branch very like milky cashews.
Don't keep the shelled nuts in the fridge, btw, they sog rapidly. I've also learned to keep the stillin the shell nuts in a basket rather than a bowl, the latter home causing them to sweat and deteriorate, and to stir them about daily to keep them aired.
It is the productive trees in our (admittedly larger than average) garden that are dearest to my heart. We have a fine willow that is architecturally splendid, but other than gnawing the bark if post-Brexit times get so tough that aspirin is unavailable it has little practical, and no culinary, value. Not so the apples, quince (this should be the best year ever for them), pears, plums (admittedly they yield very little) and even in pots peach, lemon and lime. I am not a gardener - the Dear Leader (may her opponents dry to dust) is in charge of that side of things, merely assistant water carrier, third class - but they don't seem at all difficult, even the citrus trees are pretty robust, though they winter in a greenhouse or the conservatory. Trees are also great for the environment.
Free food, lovely blossom, help the environment... Shouldn't everyone lucky enough to have the space be planting more fruit and nut trees? There's also something very life-enhancing about venturing into the back garden and picking breakfast, lunch or supper, or at least major contributors to them. And it is life-enhancing too when what's picked, as is so often the case, tastes ten times better than anything you can buy from the supermarket. Our Discovery apples this year have been a revelation, their flesh tinged with pink, and eaten minutes after picking their taste clean and bright, unlike their dull imported cousins sold at the shops (even British-grown ones have probably been in storage and transit for weeks).
This year we've had a bumper crop of cobnuts, enough to make me feel it was right to give some to a friend and neighbour, a good cook who will accordingly have made good use of them. It's another glut, but an especially welcome one. Among other uses they have gone into pesto as a substitute for pine kernels (which weight-for-weight cost about as much as gold these days), chopped into a breakfast dish of apple puree (our own Bramleys) along with oats, honey and raisins, and as a simple salad ingredient teamed with cos lettuce, blue cheese and apple (yes, our own Discovery). I'm tempted to use those left in the basket (not the last of the year unless the squirrel bastards have had all those left on the trees) in a curry as an alternative to cashews - they are when still relatively fresh off the branch very like milky cashews.
Don't keep the shelled nuts in the fridge, btw, they sog rapidly. I've also learned to keep the stillin the shell nuts in a basket rather than a bowl, the latter home causing them to sweat and deteriorate, and to stir them about daily to keep them aired.
It is the productive trees in our (admittedly larger than average) garden that are dearest to my heart. We have a fine willow that is architecturally splendid, but other than gnawing the bark if post-Brexit times get so tough that aspirin is unavailable it has little practical, and no culinary, value. Not so the apples, quince (this should be the best year ever for them), pears, plums (admittedly they yield very little) and even in pots peach, lemon and lime. I am not a gardener - the Dear Leader (may her opponents dry to dust) is in charge of that side of things, merely assistant water carrier, third class - but they don't seem at all difficult, even the citrus trees are pretty robust, though they winter in a greenhouse or the conservatory. Trees are also great for the environment.
Free food, lovely blossom, help the environment... Shouldn't everyone lucky enough to have the space be planting more fruit and nut trees? There's also something very life-enhancing about venturing into the back garden and picking breakfast, lunch or supper, or at least major contributors to them. And it is life-enhancing too when what's picked, as is so often the case, tastes ten times better than anything you can buy from the supermarket. Our Discovery apples this year have been a revelation, their flesh tinged with pink, and eaten minutes after picking their taste clean and bright, unlike their dull imported cousins sold at the shops (even British-grown ones have probably been in storage and transit for weeks).
Monday, 20 August 2018
Odd Companions
I am not a fan of fusion cooking. Neither the imaginary version involving a nuclear-powered stove, nor the one where a chef tries to meld cuisines from radically different cultures and geographic locations. A bit of borrowing works, but pak choi with a red wine sauce and turmeric meringues doesn't. Nor am I one to experiment too radically with new (to me) combinations. But last night one (rather timid) attempt at introducing otherwise normally unconnected ingredients worked beautifully.
Pressed for time having returned from the cinema (The Equalizer 2 - not as good as the first one, but still a pleasing romp for a wet Sunday evening) we were to have the legs left over from the previous night's roast chicken - cooked by the Dear Leader no less (may her enemies shrivel like raisins) as I had been doing macho decorating stuff all day, and absolutely delicious - with a tomato salad, and needed something vegetal as a starter.
With kohlrabi aplenty at the moment I wanted to use some of that, so peeled and sliced two (raw) with a potato peeler into see-through circles (the secret is holding it with a fork so no blood is added involuntarily); cut thin slices of goat's cheese on top; crumbled some walnuts; and added a good handful of tiny basil leaves picked fresh from the plant. Dressed with walnut oil and cider vinegar, along with sea salt, it looked fabulous - which is a good start - and the four forthright flavours worked as well together as a string quartet.
That point about how it looked is important, more so for restaurants than the home, but still helpful in getting the gastric juices flowing. It actually looked good enough to cost £7.50 on a posh eaterie's menu. The dressing was not artfully drizzled in zig-zag patterns, there was no bloody silly lavender biscuit or similar to accompany it, but nonetheless looked fit for the commercial table. It also cost maybe £1 for two servings. When we arrived at the cinema around 6pm we passed a lengthy queue at the nearby McD's, where others were getting their treat of fat, sugar and carbs for rather more than that. Each to his or her own.
Pressed for time having returned from the cinema (The Equalizer 2 - not as good as the first one, but still a pleasing romp for a wet Sunday evening) we were to have the legs left over from the previous night's roast chicken - cooked by the Dear Leader no less (may her enemies shrivel like raisins) as I had been doing macho decorating stuff all day, and absolutely delicious - with a tomato salad, and needed something vegetal as a starter.
With kohlrabi aplenty at the moment I wanted to use some of that, so peeled and sliced two (raw) with a potato peeler into see-through circles (the secret is holding it with a fork so no blood is added involuntarily); cut thin slices of goat's cheese on top; crumbled some walnuts; and added a good handful of tiny basil leaves picked fresh from the plant. Dressed with walnut oil and cider vinegar, along with sea salt, it looked fabulous - which is a good start - and the four forthright flavours worked as well together as a string quartet.
That point about how it looked is important, more so for restaurants than the home, but still helpful in getting the gastric juices flowing. It actually looked good enough to cost £7.50 on a posh eaterie's menu. The dressing was not artfully drizzled in zig-zag patterns, there was no bloody silly lavender biscuit or similar to accompany it, but nonetheless looked fit for the commercial table. It also cost maybe £1 for two servings. When we arrived at the cinema around 6pm we passed a lengthy queue at the nearby McD's, where others were getting their treat of fat, sugar and carbs for rather more than that. Each to his or her own.
Friday, 17 August 2018
Numbers for Dinner
Do you find yourself at the end of the evening meal totting up the number of fruits and vegetables you have ingested that day? I all too often do, partly because I am far more aware of health matters these days than used to be the case, partly because of a residual sporting competitiveness.
The trouble is I get a bit confused about what counts, according to the official rules of the game. How much is a portion? Does a medium tomato count as one, or do I need (daftly) to suck up another couple of cherry toms to hit the tape? A few weeks back I ended up googling whether nuts (a frequent ingredient and my snack with post-prandial coffee) counted - as I recall there may be a committee working on it, though meantime the sane think of course they bloody do.
Another part of the game that bugged me was the smoothie dilemma. Not whether Hugh Grant should use Grecian 2000, but why a smoothie only counts as one, whatever you put in it - when the Dear Leader (may her enemies suffer watching reality TV for all eternity) is absent planning world domination my breakfast tends to be just coffee and a smoothie, with three or four good portions of fruit. Apparently it's because of the fruit sugars released, but given I process to a lumpy consistency does that apply?
I read yesterday that only one in four Brits reaches the five-a-day target, which is sad in health terms but also taste, and culture. Are we still brought up here to think meat and potatoes, or bacon and eggs, or fish and chips are good everyday? Nice on occasion, but missing out on so many great flavours in fruit and veg, so many options. And cheaper options too - we are not short of cash but I reel at the price for meat currently, or good meat anyway - you can buy cheap grey mince for example for not very much, except your long-term well-being.
On the competitive side, we hit eleven yesterday by my reckoning, ignoring the smoothie rule and counting ours as two, and (I'm not sure if this works according to Hoyle) counting the lettuce eaten at lunch and in the evening as two. Yet more bloody French beans were part of that total, as was kale with anchovies, boiled eggs, garlic and olive oil. Delicious. But yes, we did nail the duvet down.
The trouble is I get a bit confused about what counts, according to the official rules of the game. How much is a portion? Does a medium tomato count as one, or do I need (daftly) to suck up another couple of cherry toms to hit the tape? A few weeks back I ended up googling whether nuts (a frequent ingredient and my snack with post-prandial coffee) counted - as I recall there may be a committee working on it, though meantime the sane think of course they bloody do.
Another part of the game that bugged me was the smoothie dilemma. Not whether Hugh Grant should use Grecian 2000, but why a smoothie only counts as one, whatever you put in it - when the Dear Leader (may her enemies suffer watching reality TV for all eternity) is absent planning world domination my breakfast tends to be just coffee and a smoothie, with three or four good portions of fruit. Apparently it's because of the fruit sugars released, but given I process to a lumpy consistency does that apply?
I read yesterday that only one in four Brits reaches the five-a-day target, which is sad in health terms but also taste, and culture. Are we still brought up here to think meat and potatoes, or bacon and eggs, or fish and chips are good everyday? Nice on occasion, but missing out on so many great flavours in fruit and veg, so many options. And cheaper options too - we are not short of cash but I reel at the price for meat currently, or good meat anyway - you can buy cheap grey mince for example for not very much, except your long-term well-being.
On the competitive side, we hit eleven yesterday by my reckoning, ignoring the smoothie rule and counting ours as two, and (I'm not sure if this works according to Hoyle) counting the lettuce eaten at lunch and in the evening as two. Yet more bloody French beans were part of that total, as was kale with anchovies, boiled eggs, garlic and olive oil. Delicious. But yes, we did nail the duvet down.
Thursday, 16 August 2018
Gluts and Coping With Them
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.
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.
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