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.
Monday, 20 August 2018
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.
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.
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