My trip to the Chinese supermarket was a pleasant eye-opener, and even with my man-flu-ebola-dengue-fever virus (it would have killed a lesser man if you could have found one) it was a joy to smell the spices permeating the various rooms. For the austerity cook it showed that shopping around is worth it - noodles were about half the price of Sainsbury's for example, tins of bamboo shoots maybe 20% cheaper, and so on.
But for any cook interested in new stuff it was brilliant. I bought some tinned mushrooms that will add a touch of authenticity to a dish or two; dried chillis that I now thanks to Norman Musa at Ning know how to use correctly; shrimp paste; sweetened soy sauce; proper milky coconut milk; cassia bark; palm sugar...
So this evening's meal will be a Malay/Chinese mini-feast, trying to repeat what I did under careful supervision on Saturday. My hope is that the house smells a little like Ning after my efforts. And that the dishes tonight are as delicious as Saturday's.
Thursday, 28 February 2013
Tuesday, 26 February 2013
Malaysian Cooking
As part of my day job last Saturday I attended the Ning cookery school in Manchester's trendy Northern Quarter. For full details if anyone is interested check out Lancashire Life's April edition, and maybe their website in the fullness of time, but a couple of things were of particular interest to the austerity cook so I'll include them in this blog.
Firstly was how to use lemon grass. I had always thought that trimming and then bashing the moist core with the flat of a knife was the way, removing the fibrous bits after they had given up their flavour: not so as Norman Musa demonstrated. We trimmed the pieces are I had previously done, then cut them in short lengths and zapped them with water in a food processor. Wonderful smell, maximum flavour and fragrance, most bang for your ringgit.
The other was the power of toasted spice. I sometimes do this, in a hot dry pan with one whole spice. Norman had us measure decent quantities of several: cumin, pepper, cinnamon bark, cardamom and star anise (broken into small bits), then got us toasting them gently for a couple of minutes before grinding them finely. The mixture of spices again filled the room, and there was certainly more flavour imparted to the food because of this technique.
I'm off to my local Chinese supermarket tonight to buy some supplies. Fresh and relatively simple street food (this was for beginners) it was nonetheless delicious, and even in the Far East in my previous career I never smelled anything so mouth-watering.
Firstly was how to use lemon grass. I had always thought that trimming and then bashing the moist core with the flat of a knife was the way, removing the fibrous bits after they had given up their flavour: not so as Norman Musa demonstrated. We trimmed the pieces are I had previously done, then cut them in short lengths and zapped them with water in a food processor. Wonderful smell, maximum flavour and fragrance, most bang for your ringgit.
The other was the power of toasted spice. I sometimes do this, in a hot dry pan with one whole spice. Norman had us measure decent quantities of several: cumin, pepper, cinnamon bark, cardamom and star anise (broken into small bits), then got us toasting them gently for a couple of minutes before grinding them finely. The mixture of spices again filled the room, and there was certainly more flavour imparted to the food because of this technique.
I'm off to my local Chinese supermarket tonight to buy some supplies. Fresh and relatively simple street food (this was for beginners) it was nonetheless delicious, and even in the Far East in my previous career I never smelled anything so mouth-watering.
Thursday, 21 February 2013
Store-cupboard Necessities
Last night's main course made me think about what things are the absolute store-cupboard necessities in this household. That was because I was making fish pie, one component of which for me has to be smoked fish, tinned kippers the easiest way of doing that (cheap, no bones worthy of note, bags of flavour).
Tins of anchovies would have to be up there too: to make my own pizza or add to bought-in; in fish soups to give background; used in a stuffing for veg like peppers; and with discretion in salads. Baked beans another: tonight we are having a rib-fest, so a tin of Heinz with some spice and BBQ sauce will fill out the meal, but they are great added to stews at the end of cooking to sweeten and bulk out, and have numerous other uses though please not the 1970s thing of serving them cold as a salad. Bleaugh. Green lentils in a tin, however, do make a fine salad with some not very delicate slices of onion, a load of crushed garlic, and if to hand some tomato and cucumber, the lot doused in a mustardy vinaigrette.
And no cupboard of mine would ever be without pasta and rice, both the basis of rapid and good meals. In fact I have at least three of each so the changes can be rung.
Ah! and tinned tomatoes, how could I forget? The sauce (with a bit of fiddling) for that pasta, an enhancement to stews and curries, a topping (once reduced) for a pizza...
Some look down on tinned food, and of course fresh is very desirable. But on a wet Thursday when you have forgotten your fridge was nearly empty they are a godsend.
What would you not be without in the larder?
Tins of anchovies would have to be up there too: to make my own pizza or add to bought-in; in fish soups to give background; used in a stuffing for veg like peppers; and with discretion in salads. Baked beans another: tonight we are having a rib-fest, so a tin of Heinz with some spice and BBQ sauce will fill out the meal, but they are great added to stews at the end of cooking to sweeten and bulk out, and have numerous other uses though please not the 1970s thing of serving them cold as a salad. Bleaugh. Green lentils in a tin, however, do make a fine salad with some not very delicate slices of onion, a load of crushed garlic, and if to hand some tomato and cucumber, the lot doused in a mustardy vinaigrette.
And no cupboard of mine would ever be without pasta and rice, both the basis of rapid and good meals. In fact I have at least three of each so the changes can be rung.
Ah! and tinned tomatoes, how could I forget? The sauce (with a bit of fiddling) for that pasta, an enhancement to stews and curries, a topping (once reduced) for a pizza...
Some look down on tinned food, and of course fresh is very desirable. But on a wet Thursday when you have forgotten your fridge was nearly empty they are a godsend.
What would you not be without in the larder?
Necessity and Invention
For my wife's daily salad fix at work I too often rely on the easy green leaves, toms, walnut and cucumber with a tiny bottle of homemade dressing (as well as liking salad she is always - like all too many women - focused on her weight, and if you look at cheaty bottles from the shops they nearly all have sugar high on the ingredients list). Day before yesterday that wasn't an option, everything in the list bar walnuts having run out here, so I had to do a bit of quick footwork. Some leftover rice; slivers of ginger; orange segments sans skin; and a small amount of orange pepper: lovely colours, flavour enhanced with a knife-tip of cinnamon and some salt, the lot dressed with olive oil and a slice of lemon. How healthy.
I had a pie.
I had a pie.
Tuesday, 19 February 2013
One Flame Demitarian?
I heard someone from the World Food Programme (I think) this morning on Today, talking about the need to reduce our use of animal protein, indeed animal products, to slow our damage to the environment. He used the term 'demitarian', to convey the idea of cutting meat/milk/cheese etc consumption, but not stopping it. Not sure if I like the word, but the sentiment is good.
Other posts have covered how I am trying to reduce our meat usage. It is not hard, except in terms of breaking a habit - meal plan so often starts with a lump of protein. Last night's meal probably didn't quite fit the demitarian party line, but came close. It was a meal that de Pomiane would have smiled at too, ready in 20 minutes but with only five minutes' work involved. Good one for the student and austerity cook too, cheap and cheerful, one-pot cooking, and pretty healthy: first course a mix of hors d'oeuvres, second linguini with Parmesan and butter.
The idea for the hors d'oeuvre-fest came from the almost summery weather: grated carrot (squeezed to get rid of excess moisture, it makes it fluffier) with tiny rings of spring onion and flecks of Maldon salt; a tin of good sardines in oil; a few slices of salami; some olives; fingers of cucumber and yellow pepper, and a load of tiny tomatoes that wonder of wonders actually tasted of tomato, and they were only £1 for a bag at Sainsbury's, enough for three or four such servings.
Two large platefuls ready in three minutes, lots of colour and a feeling of virtue. It's a sociable course too, diners reaching over for a bit more of this or that, pass the mayo or pepper.
Two large platefuls ready in three minutes, lots of colour and a feeling of virtue. It's a sociable course too, diners reaching over for a bit more of this or that, pass the mayo or pepper.
Second course was cooking while we tucked into our starter, and again it is a friendly dish, twirling of pasta on fork and slurping of the dripping threads.
Grated carrot btw is one of my favourite standby things when a meal needs a salad. Last night two carrots was plenty, but another one or two, dressed with oil and lemon and crunchy salt makes a rapid salad on its own. The vibrant orange brightens any table too, and for pennies - about 20p I guess, with 5p for olive oil, and another 10p for a wedge of lemon.
When people say cooking is a chore, I wonder have they ever tried it. And how can anyone not have five minutes spare to do something fun in their day that feeds the family?
Monday, 18 February 2013
Like 1973 All Over Again
We just got back from a weekend in Scotland - not all of it at once of course, merely a little bit of Dumfries and Galloway. As the cottage we had booked was not near even a pub we took our food for the duration. With a three hour car journey this meant most of it was tins. And nothing wrong with that, if you go for the right stuff. On no account buy tinned carrots, ever - unless they are for someone you despise.
This took me back to our family holidays in the 1970s. It fits the austerity bill too, as my family was far from well off, my mother a teacher, my father a local government officer. The upside to those jobs, once my father had long tenure anyway, was that we had three week holidays generally spent abroad. In pre-credit card days, for them at least, that meant careful budgeting with the cash and travellers' cheques taken with us, and our caravan being packed with tins and dried foods that would last the trip.
For a couple of months before we left my mother would put away a few tins and packets every week. There were always a couple of tins of M&S chicken in white sauce; lots of pasta; the epitome of 70s supermarket cuisine Vesta curries and paella (curry good, paella awful); and tins of mince that would become a spag bol with a single onion and a tin of toms.
What was not spent out of the daily budget went into a fund for treats, which included the occasional meal out. We had great holidays.
I am not sure whether my choice of chicken in white sauce (from Sainsbury's this time) to take with us to the cottage was bought because of that heritage or not. But it worked as well as the stuff my mother used to make for us. Sunday's main meal was boil in the bag rice with a curry comprising that chicken, a tin of Bombay Potatoes, and another of vegetable curry, with a concession to fresh veg in the form of onion and lots of garlic fried before the rest was added and heated through. It was not at all hot spicy, and far from authentic, but like those meals in Interlaken and elsewhere in the dim and distant it was what we needed after a longer than expected walk (in the 70s that would have been a day on the lake in a blow-up boat, table tennis, and riding foldy-up bikes): it was moist, filling, tasty and nutritious. So you can more than get by on tins (and a bit of fresh veg).
Best not to do that every day, though I recall the story of an arctic adventurer who had to spend a winter in a hut somewhere in the frozen wastes. His food, other than what he could shoot or catch, was tinned. A flood of his store washed all the labels off these tins, and, no gourmet it seems, he then for simplicity and perhaps variety determined to simply take three tins at random and heat them in the same pan. Thus he enjoyed the likes of custard and mince and prunes on occasion. Which maybe puts my makeshift curry in a better light, if it needed to be. Which it didn't.
This took me back to our family holidays in the 1970s. It fits the austerity bill too, as my family was far from well off, my mother a teacher, my father a local government officer. The upside to those jobs, once my father had long tenure anyway, was that we had three week holidays generally spent abroad. In pre-credit card days, for them at least, that meant careful budgeting with the cash and travellers' cheques taken with us, and our caravan being packed with tins and dried foods that would last the trip.
For a couple of months before we left my mother would put away a few tins and packets every week. There were always a couple of tins of M&S chicken in white sauce; lots of pasta; the epitome of 70s supermarket cuisine Vesta curries and paella (curry good, paella awful); and tins of mince that would become a spag bol with a single onion and a tin of toms.
What was not spent out of the daily budget went into a fund for treats, which included the occasional meal out. We had great holidays.
I am not sure whether my choice of chicken in white sauce (from Sainsbury's this time) to take with us to the cottage was bought because of that heritage or not. But it worked as well as the stuff my mother used to make for us. Sunday's main meal was boil in the bag rice with a curry comprising that chicken, a tin of Bombay Potatoes, and another of vegetable curry, with a concession to fresh veg in the form of onion and lots of garlic fried before the rest was added and heated through. It was not at all hot spicy, and far from authentic, but like those meals in Interlaken and elsewhere in the dim and distant it was what we needed after a longer than expected walk (in the 70s that would have been a day on the lake in a blow-up boat, table tennis, and riding foldy-up bikes): it was moist, filling, tasty and nutritious. So you can more than get by on tins (and a bit of fresh veg).
Best not to do that every day, though I recall the story of an arctic adventurer who had to spend a winter in a hut somewhere in the frozen wastes. His food, other than what he could shoot or catch, was tinned. A flood of his store washed all the labels off these tins, and, no gourmet it seems, he then for simplicity and perhaps variety determined to simply take three tins at random and heat them in the same pan. Thus he enjoyed the likes of custard and mince and prunes on occasion. Which maybe puts my makeshift curry in a better light, if it needed to be. Which it didn't.
Wednesday, 13 February 2013
Upside to the Horsemeat Scandal
The good news from the horsemeat scandal is that butchers, properly trained old-fashioned stripy-aproned butchers, are seeing a boost in trade. The logic is inescapable: people know that major supermarkets, however much they protest, are about price, price price. We now have an example of where that leads. Processed food cannot it seems be trusted, so the alternative is for people to return to cooking for themselves. And for trustworthy ingredients I'd rather go to Jack Jones Butcher than any massive corporation.
Sadly I don't think this will last. There are people so lazy and incapable they keep a hopeful eye out for a microwavable boiled egg. And it seems MacDonald's have avoided any taint in this scandal, so the hordes of ready-meal addicts will doubtless make their way there more frequently. That vile ad campaign at present - 'Don't Cook, Just Eat' (I keep looking for the sub-title 'If you are sad, have no taste, wish to be spotty and obese and smell of rancid fat' but I keep missing it) - is a measure of things to come.
Sadly I don't think this will last. There are people so lazy and incapable they keep a hopeful eye out for a microwavable boiled egg. And it seems MacDonald's have avoided any taint in this scandal, so the hordes of ready-meal addicts will doubtless make their way there more frequently. That vile ad campaign at present - 'Don't Cook, Just Eat' (I keep looking for the sub-title 'If you are sad, have no taste, wish to be spotty and obese and smell of rancid fat' but I keep missing it) - is a measure of things to come.
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