Blue Cheese and Mangoes

Merry Christmas / Joyeux Noel

2011-12-25T11:20:00.000Z

We hope that you all have a wonderful Christmas, with food, family, friends and cheese!

We've been a bit busy these last couple of months and have let the blog slip - Sorry about that!
We're hoping to get back on top of it with all of our news and adventures in the new year.

Matt's been working in a cheese shop in the run-up to Christmas and has been given a HUGE box of cheese as a present...

Chilli Jam

2011-10-28T00:16:00.002+01:00

St Antonin is a smallish and rather picturesque town in the region. We dropped into the weekly market to see what the local producers had to offer. Amongst the large amount of excellent looking veg, cheese and charcuterie we spotted a stand of punnets of multicoloured chillis (picture below).

Without question, they demanded to be purchased and turned into some kind of rainbow chilli death jam.

The results were pleasing, although the end colour was a little more uniformly red than I had hoped for - guess we can't really call it rainbow death jam.

The chilli jam recipe was based rather heavily on Nigella's but slightly amended to up the heat. The use of jam sugar (with pectin added) makes the whole process fairly easy. There's an obvious question though, what exactly do you do with chilli jam? I'm not quite sure what the answer is, but we seem to have got through nearly all of it already. Try it with cheese, with burgers, with curry, just on toast or out of the jar - it's surprisingly moreish.

Ingredients:
125g chillis
125g red and green pepper
500g jam sugar
500ml cider vinegar (you probably won't need it all)
Enough sealable, sterilised jars to handle up to 750ml of jam

Method:

Make sure that you know what you're doing with your sterilised jars, they need to be ready about 30 - 45 minutes after you start.
Pick your chillis and roughly chop and deseed them. As tempting as it is to leave the seeds in, it will detract from the look of the jam (I know this to my cost). If you want to heat up the jam, change the ratio of the chilli to pepper.
Similarly chop and deseed the peppers and put them in a blender with the chillis.
Blend.
In a big pan, dissolve the sugar in 300ml of the vinegar over a medium heat, once dissolved, add the chopped chillis and peppers and put up the heat for a serious boil for 10 minutes or so.
Beware of this bit, it carries serious risk of tongue burning. Take some out on a spoon and let it cool (make sure it's cool!) now taste it. The sugar/vinegar balance needs to be right, when I followed Nigella with a 1:1 mix, it seemed overly sweet and needed a bit of a boost to the sourness. Add some vinegar to correct the balance. Potentially you could add some more chilli if you need to boost the heat.
Let the jam cool a little and jar it up.
When it's cooled completely crack open a jar and tuck in.

Matt and Jen are 3

2011-10-16T12:25:00.000+01:00

Today we have been together for three years. What better way to celebrate than eggs royale on the balcony, overlooking the river in the gloriously warm French sun.

Best wishes all!

Amelie's Foie Gras

2011-09-26T22:38:00.007+01:00

On Thursday we went to visit another local producer - Les Delices D'Amelie. This young couple have been making foie gras and other duck produce for 10 years.

I wasn't entirely sure what to expect when we pulled up outside Jean Luc and Amelie's little farm. Foie gras is one of those delicacies that insights a bit of an ethical furore. To be frank, I'm not certain what I think of it. From a purely gastronomic point of view, I find it very interesting (and delicious), but I am aware that the process by which it is made is not exactly pleasant for the birds.

I don't want to put forward an argument for or against foie gras here, but I would like to share what we learned from our visit to the farm, as it helped us to make a more informed decision about what it was we were buying and eating.

Firstly comes the question, in case some of you aren't sure, what exactly is this foie gras?

Foie gras is the fattened liver of a goose or duck. Goose foie gras is still available, but in France today it's mostly duck foie gras that is produced and consumed, for its richer, more complex flavour. There are strict rules that must be adhered to in order for the livers to be classified as bona fide foie gras. Livers that are too heavy or fatty, or not fatty enough don't make the grade, and instead are mixed together and emulsified to make something called 'bloc de foie gras', which is smoother and more buttery, but with slightly less subtlety. Livers that meet all the criteria can be sold raw, to prepare at home, or seasoned, cooked and jarred to eat with crusty bread and good company. These are known as ‘foie gras entier’, but, confusingly, buying a foie gras entier doesn’t mean you’re getting the entire liver, it could be a piece of liver.

Clear as mud? Good.

There are four stages to the production of foie gras. Firstly comes the elevage, or raising of the ducks. At Jean-Luc and Amelie’s farm, the ducklings are taken in at a very young age, and allowed to roam in large enclosures for fourteen weeks until they’re ready for the next stage.

Next comes the controversial bit. The ‘gavage’ or force feeding. The ducks are fed a large quantity of grain twice a day, every day for 15 days, to swell and engorge their livers before slaughtering. Foie gras gets a lot of bad press for making the birds ill during this process – rather like having cirrhosis forced upon a human. It was interesting to learn from Amelie that this is not actually the case. The ducks would, in the wild, eat an increased amount of food to fatten themselves up before migration, and this fat would all be stored around the liver. The swelling of the liver is also apparently completely reversible, so should you have a change of heart mid gavage and decide to let Mr Quack into the wild, as free as the wind, then his liver would soon return to normal size. So, however unnatural the process of gavage may be, at least the result is a natural one.

Once the ducks have completed their 15 days of gavage, they’re sent off to slaughter, then the livers are cooked, seasoned and prepared for selling.

We bought a small jar of foie gras entier, and, at Amelie’s suggestion, a small bottle of Sauternes to go with it. It was decadent and gorgeous. The foie gras was rich and meaty and had that metallic tang you’d expect from liver, with a real hit of sweetness behind it. The Sauternes was golden and honied and complemented the foie gras perfectly.

The main thing I learned from visiting Les Delices d’Amelie is that foie gras should be a special occasion food. It’s costly to produce, both financially and ethically.

If you do decide to treat yourself, search out the foie gras that is made by smaller producers, rather than the large scale industrial stuff. Just like battery farmed versus free range poultry, the huge industrial factories keep their birds in tiny cages during gavage, and feed the birds cornflour, which is cut with antibiotics and god knows what else. The smaller, traditional producers use ‘parcs’ during gavage, which, while not exactly palatial, allow the birds to walk about and stretch their wings. They are also fed on corn, which is more nutritious and more palatable for them.

It might take longer to find, or cost a bit more, but the traditionally produced foie gras is worth it – both for the depth of flavour in the end product, and the relative cleanliness of your conscience when buying it.

Jen x

Too many apples...

2011-09-21T19:28:00.001+01:00

This is the first of what we hope will be a number of posts detailing interesting local producers that we have visited and meals that we've arrived at subsequently.

One of our first visits was to Jangopom, a local apple grower that has been established for 20 odd years by a very friendly Dutch couple. I took a few photos for them and when we bumped into them again in the Gaillac village market, they recognised and thanked us for the photos. It was a first tentative step towards getting to know the locals. It felt good.

Of course we left with far more apples than we knew what to do with so a little searching on the internet turned up Smitten Kitchens apple cake, which tasted great despite falling apart on exiting our little loaf tin (we are, in our defence, operating with a minimally stocked kitchen - we haven't bought any baking paper yet). I halved everything and the cake fitted perfectly, next time I'll run some baking paper under it to ease the extraction.

It was a big hit though, perfect with a little cream. Follow the link and try it yourselves!

Bacon Ice Cream

2011-09-13T21:39:00.002+01:00

What with all the comings and goings over the last month (see the last post), I completely failed to complete this post. Now things are a little calmer and we're settling down nicely in Gaillac, I thought that I would finish and publish the details perhaps one of my proudest culinary achievements to date...

Yes, this is bacon icecream, and yes, it honestly is nice!

I had been wanting to do this for a long time and with Jen away for the weekend, and me having finished a massive work project the week before, the time seemed right to get bacony. If you like this post, I would recommend you having a look at my earlier bacon vodka post, the method in that one was good, but the subsequent use in making the bacon and coke jelly left a little to be desired...

There were a large number of influences in pulling this recipe together, and I've done my best to make sure that they are all listed:

A great meal at Jason Atherton's new restaurant/bar Pollen Street Social, finished with an amazing range of ice creams and sorbets, including a truely brilliant hay icecream, which for me beat the tarragon flavour into second place.
Jen's amazing spot was this brilliant bacon caramel recipe on not without salt (I am yet to try this but it's certainly on my to do list).
Heston of course has done his bacon and egg icecream but watching his explanation, I didn't want the eggyness that he was after.
A search for other bacon icecreams showed up this recipe with candied bacon in a vanilla icecream. This looked good but I wanted candied bacon in a bacon icecream.

My creation therefore was an amalgam of the above, the combination of bacon bits with sweetness in the caramels and icecream recipes, and the bacon permeated custard base inspired by Heston and Jason.

The result is quite special, and Jen honestly liked it (she actually ate a fair amount of it while I was out). For me, there was some room for improvement, it was a bit too sweet and rich, next time I would cut down the sugar by half and maybe cut the cream with some milk.

Ingredients:

12 slices of smoked, streaky bacon
1 pint of double cream
one teaspoon of vanilla extract
caster sugar for candying
3 oz sugar
3 egg yolks
more sugar for candying

Method:

Fry-off two thirds of the bacon to the well done but not completely crispy stage (use as little oil as possible for this as any that you use will end up in the ice cream). Just check first that the frying pan isn't too shallow to take the cream later.
Once the bacon is done, deglaze the pan with a pint of double cream and bring the cream and bacon up to the boil.
Once boiled, pour the cream and bacon mix into a suitable receptacle and store it in the fridge overnight. Maybe if you had more bacon, you wouldn't need to leave it overnight...
The next day, take the remaining bacon and lay it out on grease-proof paper, sprinkle liberally with sugar and grill. You will want to stay in the kitchen for this bit to whip out the bacon at the faintest smell of burning, it can go very quickly...
Once cooked and cooled and all bacon-and-sugary, pull apart the bacon and remove the fat. Now dice the sugared meat fairly finely. This stuff is seriously good, I suggest you save some for a special treat or gift for a loved one.
To make the custard, whisk the yolks and sugar until pale and light (ribbon stage) then pour into a non-stick sauce pan, pass the bacony cream through a sieve into the pan as well and heat gently.
Keep at a low heat and keep stirring, if you go to far and too fast, the custard will curdle. You can tell when it's ready when the spoon starts to pick up set custard off the bottom of the pan. Immediately turn off the heat and stir manically for a bit and leave to cool.
Transfer to a suitable container and place in the freezer. Stir with a fork once an hour until set. The first time you do this, drop in the chopped candied bacon and stir through (it will probably just sink to the bottom or float on top if you add the bacon bits sooner.
Enjoy!

Gaillac

2011-09-11T19:31:00.001+01:00

All my introductions recently seem to have started with an apology, and this one will be no different: I am sorry we have been silent (again) for such an age.

However, now we can share our reasons for it ...

WE MOVED TO FRANCE!!!!

Writing that as a fait accompli has just made me go all shivery. It's only just starting to sink in that we've left London behind us, and that we've got a whole new big, beautiful, bonkers country to make our home.

We're staying in Gaillac for a couple of months, trying to chase down that elusive Indian summer the weather forecasters have been talking about, before moving across country to Lyon - the French foodie's paradise.

Gaillac's a gorgeous, crumbly red-brick town in the south west of France, near Toulouse. We've only been here a couple of days, but already I love the colour of the houses as the sun hits them, and the sound of the river as it rushes past.

The food's already got us hooked. Even the tiny Sunday market (the smallest of 3 weekly markets that take place here) was bursting with juicy white peaches, squashes in every shade of orange imaginable, pink tinged and perfumed strings of garlic, compact little cheeses and fresh shellfish. We can't wait to get in amongst it all and cook up a storm.

This area is particularly well known for its wines - we had a sparkly little number with dinner this evening - and we're looking forward to venturing out among the vines and meeting some of the local producers.

So, I hope you can forgive us for having been absent for months on end. Recipes and ramblings with a French flavour will be more forthcoming from now on.

Jen xx

Summer Lovin'

2011-07-22T17:25:00.000+01:00

In lieu of a recipe, here are just a few of my favourite things, this changeable July:

Bright, ruby red nail varnish.

Indoor summer picnics when the weather fails us. Sitting on a slightly bobbly rug with friends scooping baked camembert out of its own creamy skin with hunks of warm baguette.

Dancing round the kitchen listening to my ipod. Tunes on repeat currently are: Lissie with Cuckoo, Eric Hutchinson with Rock and Roll, Regina Spektor with The Calculation and my old favourite-for-all-seasons, the very wonderful Delays with Hooray and The Lost Estate. These in particular are sunshine in a jar. Put them on loud and blow raspberries at the summer rain. Not to lower the tone or take away from their stunning music, but those Delays boys are pretty easy on the eye too *just saying*.

The fact that British-grown tomatoes are now easily get-at-able. Proper tomatoey tomatoes that smell like vines and greenhouses and the promise of a great gazpacho.

Seeing pictures of various friends and acquaintances pop up on Facebook looking beautiful as wedding season begins, and the pretty invitations that have started to come through my letterbox. Bring on the Indian summer weekends and weddings. Can't wait!

Finally discovering the perfect ratio of sugar to fruit to liquid to make a lovely, sweet, thick crust for my fruit drizzle cakes. Plums done. Nectarines next. Recipe to come before the summer's out. Shout at me if I forget.

Tell me your favourite summer things, foodie or not. Raindrops on roses and whiskers on kittens permissible, but discouraged!

Jen x

Quickie Sticky Lemony Chicken(y)

2011-06-26T21:51:00.000+01:00

And again, we must apologise for the lack of bloggage.

I hasten to add - for those of you who may be worried that we're wasting away - that we have not stopped cooking, or wanting to write about our foodie times. It's just that work and The Big And Exciting Project (which will be revealed and explained in more detail and with much squeaking in a future post) have kept us annoyingly busy.

This busyness has meant we've been honing our selection of quick and simple 'throw-it-in-a-pan-and-fling-it-down-your-throat' recipes, which frequently tend to be not very interesting. Every now and again though, we find one that surprises us.

I must confess that I am usually of the opinion that if a recipe calls for a load of spices/ truly bizarre vegetables / green tea powder that costs more than gold etc, then I'm likely to pass it by, or put a post-it on it for a rainy day. However, a quick stock check of our 'miscellaneous and slightly odd ingredients' shelf shows that we've built up quite an arsenal over time, and our spice rack, chillis and sauces selection is now something to be rather proud of. So this recipe was really very easy, and was do-able on a very wet Wednesday night using entirely stuff we had in the cupboards and the fridge. I do love it when things come together like that. It always feels so tidy!

The coating on the chicken kept it lovely and moist, and also added an extra stickiness to the sauce. Not only is it quick and easy, it's also pretty good for you as well, and will definitely be put on the 'arghit'salreadynineoclockandwe'venoteatenandwe'vebothgotamillionthingstodo' list. Near the top of said list, actually.

In fact, I may make it for dinner tonight.

Jen x

Wednesday Night Stress-buster Chicken
Adapted from a recipe for lemon chicken from ocado.com

I tweaked the levels of sugar, soy and chilli to give my version extra spice and saltiness. I also used a mix of lemon and lime juice, rather than solely lemon, as it gave the green beans some added zing (and because I appear to have bought enough limes to last until 2014...)

Serves 2

Ingredients:
2 skinless chicken breast fillets
1 egg
1 heaped tbsp cornflour
70ml chicken stock
1 lemon (juiced)
1 lime (juiced)
2 heaped tsps caster sugar
2 tsps dark soy sauce
2 tsps Chinese cooking wine
1/2 tsp groundnut oil
1/2 tsp chilli oil
1 clove garlic, finely chopped
2 dried birdseye chillies, chopped and seeds retained.
Enough dried noodles for 2
Fine green beans, topped and tailed.

Method:

1. Separate the egg white from the yolk. It's only the white you'll need for this recipe.
2. In a mixing bowl, stir the cornflour into the egg white, and mix until the mixture is smooth and frothy.
3. Dice the chicken into thin strips, and add them to the egg and flour mixture.
4. Stir well, so that all the chicken is nicely coated, then cover and leave in the fridge for 30 mins.
5. In a jug, mix together the lemon and lime juice with the stock, soy sauce, wine and sugar.
6. Heat the oils in a heavy-bottomed pan or wok. Add the chopped garlic and stir until it's fragrance hits your nose.
7. Add the chicken pieces to the hot pan. Don't tip them in all at once, or they'll stick together and cook unevenly. Put them in a few pieces at a time and keep stirring as you add them to make sure they're not sticking or burning. Then add the chopped chillies and stir again.

8. Stir fry the chicken for about 5 minutes on a medium heat, then pour over the lemon and stock mixture.
9. Steam the beans over a pan of boiling water.

10. Bring to a vigorous simmer, and cook for another 5 minutes, until the sauce has reduced and got nice and sticky.
11. Meanwhile, cook the noodles according to the instructions on the packet, then add them to the chicken with the steamed beans.
12. Stir everything together and serve.

Better (extraordinarily) late than never!

2011-05-25T18:06:00.000+01:00

So....

There is really no excuse for the enormous lapse between what I am about to write about happening, and my getting around to actually writing about it. I apologise profusely and shall try not to be quite so tardy in future!

Back in February (see....told you it was flipping ages ago), Matt and I visited a London foodie hotspot - or should that be coolspot? If you 're in the vicinity, I heartily recommend you go and pay these guys a visit, especially as the weather gets increasingly scorchio.

The place in question is ChinChinLabs, in Camden. You can spot the entrance from the swings outside. (Yes. They have swings. You like them already, I can tell). The laboratorists have created Europe's first Nitro Ice-Cream Parlour, where the ice cream is made with, you've guessed it, liquid nitrogen.

Not only does this make ice-cream making a spectator sport for probably the first time ever, as hissing clouds of freezing steam erupt from the mixer while your ice cream is expertly churned in front of you, but the immediate freezing properties of the liquid nitrogen eradicates the possibility of ice crystals forming, so the end product you get is fabulously smooth.

Vanilla and chocolate are the base flavours, which are available all the time. But don't be fooled into thinking that the lab plays it too safely with their flavours. A 'flavour of the week' is also available to try. When we visited it was Red Velvet Cake (pictured) This was very rich, realistic and delicious, and made using real red velvet sponge soaked in milk. Yum!

Other flavours which have popped up recently (and which make me wish I lived closer to Camden so I could try them all) include: Moroccan Mint Tea, Candied Pina Colada, Lemon Meringue, Queen of Puddings, Burnt Butter Caramel, Ceylon Coconut Curry. There isn't one of these that hasn't piqued my interest, and I can feel a return visit coming on very soon.

AND I haven't even mentioned the toppings yet. Forget boring sprinkles and sauces, you can have luminescent popping candy, caramelized pretzels, grilled white chocolate, crystallized rose petals, sugared bacon shards and many many more to top off your tasty treat.

Red Velvet Ice Cream with salted caramel sauce, chocolate popping candy and honeycomb shards.

Go. Go soon. Go before I get there and eat them out of house and home!

Jen xx

Tentation de Saint Félicien

2011-05-17T13:30:00.002+01:00

Matt here,

People who have met me know that I like cheese, a lot. I talk about it near constantly and probably give the impression of being a terrible cheese snob (I am by the way).

Tentation de Saint Félician

A question that I'm often asked is "What is your favourite cheese?" - A difficult question, I imagine akin to asking a parent which is their favourite child. The answer, as I imagine all good parents would acknowledge, is clearly dependent on mood, environment, time of day and whatever other food and wine is being, has been, or is about to be consumed at the time.

I do have favourites though, and one of those is Tentation de Saint Félicien. It's a ridiculous cheese, weighing in at around 70% fat.
St Félicien (not tentation) is fairly widely available, even in the UK, check out a French cheese stall in your local market and you'll probably find some. The Tentation however, is a rarer beast, it's the St Félicien recipe, au lait-cru naturally, with added cream, making it what the French call double crème (If you're after something even more outrageous, try some of the triple-crèmes, such as Brillat Savarin, Brillat truffé if possible).

Think of it as a savoury clotted cream, both in texture and wonderful bad-for-you-ness. Now don't get me wrong, the standard St. Félicien is a good cheese and sadly, it's all you are likely to find in most parts of the UK (I've searched pretty hard). Once you get to France however, if you are prepared to look, and luck is on your side, you can usually find the tentation (temptation).

Tasting wise, it's mild and buttery and has a beuatiful texture, less forceful than the standard St Félicien or the similar St. Marcelin (smaller, but packing an impressive kick). The taste is there though, a subtle pungency that is enough to cut through the creamy-ness, a little earthy with none of the tang associated with Camembert.

With a cheese like this, the texture is key and therefore, thought needs to be put into serving temperature. Depending on it's ripeness, you probably don't want to leave this cheese out too long before eating, I would say 15-20 minutes at most.
Generally when ripe, you will find a bit of variation in texture - some firmness in the middle whilst the exterior, just below the fragile and off-white skin, will be completely liquid. The residual chill helps to accentuate the difference between the two. Allowing a fine marriage on the (essential) crusty baguette. This is rather like butter for me, the optimum is neither fridge cold or room temperature.
If on the other hand, the cheese is a bit harder in the fridge (not yet ripe) get it out earlier and let it warm, it'll still be great.

Hope you manage to find some and enjoy it for yourselves...

Matt

By the way, the current favourites, in no particular order, are:

Stilton - Colston Basset, after much consideration, is the favourite
Comté - As long as it's over 18 months old
Vacherin - French or Swiss, both are good
Tentation de St Félicien, see above
Brillat Savarin - Cut in half and stuffed with truffle this becomes Brillat Truffé, a Matt and Jen favourite

I am intending at some point to write more posts about cheese, the above will inevitably get at least a post each dedicated to them.

Crumpets

2011-04-12T19:53:00.001+01:00

I had long wondered how to make crumpets (particularly how to get those little holes in) so I was very happy a few months ago when I stumbled over this article from Hugh.

I'm going to be honest here, I copied the recipe to the letter and it worked brilliantly so I won't re-write it out in this post, but suggest instead that you follow his wise words. I have taken a few pictures of the process though, which will hopefully inspire some of you to try this for yourselves.

The recipe uses an active batter which personally I found fascinating to watch (but I can appreciate that others might think differently), it's just so obviously alive! Once mixed, the yeast, flour, milk and water are left for a couple of hours until the yeast is visibly active.

The mixture is then boosted with baking powder, and salt is added, before pouring into the pancake rings on the bottom of a hot pan.

Watching the batter cook is just one of those immensely satisfying experiences, a bit like watching a cake rise, or a risotto come together - culinary alchemy.

The thick bubbly soup becomes recognisably crumpet-like in texture as it cooks through and the top dries out. If, as mine was, the mix is too stiff, a bit more water added to the batter seems to help the bubbles rise and form an open structure.

The crumpet is then tipped out of the ring and the top is browned off.

It becomes quite easy to set up a production line and before long you will have a pile of lovely fresh crumpets. Granted, it will take a little while to complete this recipe (took me 3 hours flour to crumpet, requiring my attention for 45 minutes...) but I am so glad I did. The crumpet fresh from the pan, slathered in butter is a thing of beauty. Toasted crumpets do not compare, who knew?

If I'm honest, once cooled and then toasted, the home-made versions aren't a huge improvement on the shop bought ones but you will have the satisfaction of giving Warburtons a run for their money.

Sausage and mash with marsala gravy

2011-02-25T23:31:00.001Z

Matt here,

This is a great weekday meal, it requires a bit of time - maybe an hour or so - but it's definitely worth the effort. Yep, I can say with some confidence that Jen would agree that it's worth the effort. I would caution though, that this is about as sweet as savoury food gets.

The inspiration for this was undoubtedly some amalgamation of the combined weight of my cookery book reading. I would say it rests in the Nigel Slater/Nigella Lawson camp though, mainly for the abuse of cream...
But the real driving force behind this meal was my nerdy fascination with frying onions, slowly, in butter. The sausages were just an excuse to justify taking time over turning onions from crunchy tear inducers to melt-in-the-mouth strips of caramel sugariness. The amount of marsala feels a little on the decadent side but it's essential for depth and richness.

Ingredients:
The best sausages that you can find (two per person)
One and a half onions per person
Butter
Olive oil
Marsala, a large glass full
Marscarpone (two large spoons), or an unhealthily large pouring of cream

And for the mash:
Enough potatoes
Mustard
More cream
More butter
Parsley
Salt and Pepper

Method:

Melt a slab of butter with some olive oil in a heavy based frying pan.
Get the sausages frying to give them a bit of colour
Slice the onions fairly thinly, about pound coin thickness and throw them in the pan.
Keep things stirring from time to time but let the onions stick a lttle
Stir some more, this probably takes about 30 minutes - if you like, you can move all the sausages to one side of the pan and all the onions to the other, this lets you get more colour on the sausages if you need to...
During this time get the potatoes boiling for the mash.
When the onions are browning nicely, and the sausages are cooked, remove the sausages to a plate and throw a full glass of Marsala into the pan, scrape up all of the bits stuck to the bottom of the pan, set fire to it if you like.
Turn the heat right down and add the cream or marscarpone and stir in. Check for seasoning.
Add back the sausages and give them a generous coating of the sauce. You can leave them like this for a few minutes while you finish the mash with lots of cream, butter and some mustard and freshly chopped parsley.
Pile the mash decoratively on a plate and then add the sausages and some sauce.
Enjoy!

Of Mice And Moles

2011-02-15T22:28:00.001Z

I was very saddened this week to learn of the death of Brian Jacques. He was the author of some of my favourite books, growing up - The Redwall Series, which chronicled a community of animals in Mossflower Woods and all centred around the hub of Redwall Abbey, inhabited by a brotherhood of berobed mice.

They're lovely books, and if you've never come across them before I highly recommend you check them out. I first read them years ago (when I say them, I mean the first 8 books. Jacques was an incredibly prolific writer and I think there are now 21 of them. I have some catching up to do!)

I can remember being struck by some of the brilliant character names - Cheesethief, Darkclaw and Ragear, bloodthirsty sergeants in the rat army of the terrible Cluny the Scourge; Asmodeus, the fearsome and sly adder; Basil Stag Hare, eccentric leader of the long patrol with a stiff upper lip and a voracious appetite; and Warbeak the feisty sparrow.

But what I remember most about the books, quelle surprise, was the food. These were mice and badgers and moles and squirrels who could really eat! Honeyed apples, nutbread, oatcakes, the Abbot's special trifle, meadowcream, October ale, otter's hotroot soup, cowslip cordial, a huge grayling caught from the Abbey pond and cooked to perfection by the affable and rotund friar Hugo. I'm getting hungry just thinking about it.

So, imagine my delight when I discovered that there is, in fact, a Redwall cookbook. This features a new short story from Brian Jacques and illustrations from Christopher Denise. The recipe below is a moley specialty, the very tasty 'Nunnymolers'. Here, they are introduced to Constance, the badger ...

'Constance looked around the trolleys. "Anything else the moles have thought up? I like molefood - it has a nice, homely taste to it." Pansy picked up a dumpy-shaped little pastry. "Try a Nunnymoler."

Constance scratched her great striped muzzle. 'A Nunny what?'

Friar Hugo broke the pastry in two and gave Constance half. "Molewives bake them for the little ones. They were supposed to be called Honey Moles, but in molespeak they're known as Nunnymolers."'

So now you know! Constance is not wrong, they do have a homely taste about them, and they're lumpy, inelegant little things, but they aren't half tasty. They're sort of a cross between a shortbread and a scone, with a fruity, honeyed centre. The Redwall Cookbook is an American title, so I've adapted these quantites into grams.

Nunnymolers
(Makes 12)

Ingredients:

300g plain flour
75g icing sugar
200g butter, cubed
12 raspberries
6 strawberries, halved
Honey
Berry jam or compote

Method:
1. Preheat the oven to 180C/Gas mark 4.
2. Mix together the icing sugar and flour in a bowl to form a fine powder.
3. Rub the butter into this mix with your fingertips until you've got a coarse, sandy mixture.
4. Sprinkle over four tablespoons of cold water and mix with your hands until a ball of smooth dough forms.
5. Line a baking tray with greaseproof paper, and divide the dough into 12 equally sized balls.
6. Flatten them into burger shapes with your palm and place them on the baking tray.
7. Spread each one with a thin layer of honey, and place a raspberry and half a strawberry in the centre of each one.
8. Fold the edges of the dough upwards and pinch them in to form a small, dumpy parcel with the fruit in the centre of it.
9. Put a small blob of jam in the top of each parcel.
10. Bake in the preheated oven for 25 minutes until golden and let cool on a wire rack before eating.

Raspberry pancakes

2011-01-30T22:20:00.002Z

Last night Jen and I went out on a date - Dinner at a lovely little family owned french restaurant (Savoir faire) - highly recommended, have the punchy mussels in pernod and garlic butter followed by the melt in the mouth boeuf bourguignon, both served with a perfect french accent. We followed a great (and good value) meal with fancy cocktails at the lobby bar in One Aldwych. A rare treat.

It was a great night out and the perfect way to finish a stressful week.

Hungover photography, not the best I know...

Anyhoo, yesterday I woke up feeling a bit bleary and keen for some breakfast (in my defence, the raspberries in the cocktails were very alcoholic). Alas, no bread, quelle catastrophe! I wasn't in the mood for getting sufficiently dressed to brave the glacial morning on a shopping trip, nor was I capable of waiting three hours or so for home made. Fortunately we had sufficient ingredients for pancakes - pretty much just store cupboard stuff. The recipe is borrowed from Rachel, a fellow foodie of the highest calibre.

This truly is simplicity in action, certainly manageable with a mild hangover. Make a pancake or two, eat, make some more and continue until full. The raspberries could be exchanged for anything really, use your imagination and the bottom shelf of your fridge.

Ingredients:
225g Plain flour
2 tsp baking powder
1 tsp salt
2 tbsp caster sugar
2 large, beaten eggs
300ml milk
30g butter
extra butter for frying
Raspberries or blueberries or otherberries (3 or 4 per pancake)

Method:

Weigh out the four, sugar, salt and baking powder into a suitably large bowl.
Melt the 30g butter in the frying pan you're going to be cooking in
Mix the eggs, milk and melted butter into the dry mix
Beat the mixture until smooth in consistency, then leave standing for 20 minutes - a good opportunity to make a decent mug of coffee
Heat up the pan back up (it should still have a decent covering of butter) and ladle in the batter (with a few raspberries or blueberries thrown in for good measure). Leave the batter until it has just about cooked through to the top and then flip
Cook the underside until it's browned
Remove from the pan and insert in face (you can dust with icing sugar if you fancy it)

Blue Monday

2011-01-22T15:47:00.001Z

Monday was not a good day. It was a stellar cocktail of pouring rain, less than waterproof shoes, missed driving tests, subsequent tears and rage at the instructor who overslept, tense meetings at work and a general feeling that both Christmas and Spring are about a million miles away.

Yuck.

But then I read that Monday was pretty terrible for the whole country. Almost like it was supposed to be a terrible day. Apparently, everyone woke up with a sort of grey, soggy feeling. It was, according to the BBC, the most depressing day of the year.

So, by rights, the rest of the year has to get better. And in celebration of this fact, on Monday night I made chocolate fondants.

Now, they weren't perfect. While they were melting in the centre, and they tasted really good, the centres were a bit gummy and gloopy rather than properly liquid and silky. I think this is because I halved the recipe, having decided that 2 each in one evening was probably a little too decadent. This meant the batter was pretty thick before they even went into the moulds.

This seems like a feasible explanation for them falling slightly short. However, I am going to heap all the blame on Monday. So ner.

Chocolate Melty Pick Me Up Puddings
Adapted from Eric Lanlard's Home Bake

(Serves 2)

This is the recipe halved, as I did it, which will give you a delicious and moist sponge, with a thick and gooey centre. Test them out this way, as a pud for two, and let's see if it really was the power of Blue Monday messing them up, or whether it's simply a case of kitchen chemistry.

Ingredients:

65g unsalted butter plus extra butter for greasing
1 tbsp cocoa powder
65g dark chocolate, bashed up into bits
30g caster sugar
1 large egg
1 large egg yolk
50g plain flour

Method:

1. Preheat the oven to 200C/gas mark 6.
2. Grease two ovenproof moulds of about 200ml thoroughly, then take a teaspoon of the cocoa powder and sprinkle it into the moulds. Shake the moulds from side to side until there is a light dusting of cocoa across the base of both of them.
3. Heat a small amount of water in a small saucepan, and place a heatproof bowl over the pan. The bottom of the bowl shouldn't be touching the water. Melt the chocolate and the butter together in the bowl, stirring all the time.
4. In a large bowl, whisk together the sugar, egg yolk and egg. The mixture needs to be frothy and pale, so use an electric whisk if you can, otherwise you'll have a painful arm!
5. Pour the melted mixture onto the whisked eggs and sugar, then sift in the flour and remaining cocoa powder over the top and fold it in with a metal spoon.
6. Spoon the mixture into the buttered moulds and place them on a baking tray.
7. Bake in the preheated oven for 8 minutes. By this point the outside of the puddings should be slightly crisp and firm to the touch, and should have started to pull away from the edge of the mould.
8. Gently loosen the edges of each mould with a sharp knife, and turn the puddings upside down onto a plate. The middles should be melting when you dig a spoon into them.

9. Serve with ice cream or a big dollop of creme fraiche.

A Glass Of Something Smoky

2011-01-11T23:43:00.001Z

My lovely aunt and uncle gave us the first series of MadMen for Christmas and we're now totally hooked. It's beautifully done - very witty and very sexy. It reminds me of a line in a song by croaky-voiced 60s chanteuse, Melanie, who my dad always loved and, as a kid, I always hated ... 'The Madison Avenue pink dream makers'... a brilliant line, and one that has been stuck in my head since we watched the first episode.

It also makes me want to take up smoking, using a spindly thin cigarette holder, and exhaling languidly with a pointedly raised eyebrow, and have a cut glass decanter filled with whisky sitting nonchalantly on the corner of my desk at work (and in fact on the corner of any table I happen to be passing by).

The smoking thing I shall quash. The whisky thing on the other hand ...

It was Matt who introduced me to whisky, and he had to endure several months of me making faces and squeaking 'urgh, it tastes like bacon' before I understood why anyone would drink it out of choice. But I'm glad I persevered.

Now, before we go any further, I should like to say that this is very much going to be a 'whisky for beginners' sort of a post. I feel certain that Matt, who is a) more of a connoisseur, and b) more of a chemist, will do a more in depth, less airy fairy post about his view of whisky at some point in the future. If you're really lucky he'll talk about parts per million phenol, feints, low wines and other quirks of the distillation process. Ooh er.

So, after a month or so of 'whisky training', I started to appreciate the flavour of the drink- its smoky, buttery sweetness. But, it was only after we went to Islay on holiday last summer that I became a proper fan.

Islay is known as the Queen of the Hebrides. It's a tiny island, home to some 3,000 people and nine massively productive whisky distilleries, including some of the most famous and highly thought of in the world. It's really rugged and very beautiful, but not exactly crammed with things to do - the whole heartbeat of the island is obviously its whisky production, and its visitors tend to be devotees of this smokiest of spirits.

The stunningly well stocked whisky bar at the Lochside Hotel, Bowmore

We managed three distillery tours while we were there - Bowmore, Ardbeg, and Laphroaig. We did tastings at each, and I was really surprised at the huge range of flavours you can get from small tweaks in the distilling and aging process. Put your spirit in a bourbon cask, you get burnt sugar and citrus notes, put it in a sherry cask and you get something much sweeter and rounder.

A Laphroaig peat fire. My hair smelt deliciously smoky for days afterwards.

It was Laphroaig that was the real stunner of the holiday, we stayed there for nearly 9 hours, and would have camped out on the little verge by the waterside if we could. It's nestled in its own little cove, and on the day we visited it was in brilliant sunshine, so the water was a deep, deep blue. Laphroaig means 'The beautiful hollow by the broad bay'. I love that so much meaning can be packed into one, lilting little word. The same applies to the whisky to be honest. At the tasting held by the lovely Rhona, we tried several drams, and she encouraged us to hold a mouthful on our tongues - one second for every year of aging. Some of them were a little too much for me, leaving me with a mouthful of slightly heathery smoke that made my eyes water, but there were some that were delicious. You couldn't help but let a long, slow grin spread over your face as you swallowed and managed to put a name to the flavours you'd got hits of. Peat smoke, honey, cinnamon, lemon, caramel, nuts and a salty, seabreezy tang.

In between drams, we mooched around the museum which charts Laphroaig's history. One story struck a bit of a chord with me.

Bessie Williamson came over to Islay from the mainland in the 1930s to work as a secretary at Laphroaig on a temporary contract for three months. While she was there, she became fascinated by the whisky making process, and the distillery's then owner, Ian Hunter, gradually showed her the tricks of his trade.

That 3 month temp job turned into 40 years at Laphroaig for Bessie, who eventually became manager and then owner of the distillery. Laphroaig's First Lady. She gave up her old life for that beautiful hollow by the broad bay; for mash tuns and great copper stills; for the dark bricks of peat and their bluish smoke; for heather and hardy, hearty island folk; for that last dram before bedtime; for night skies dripping with stars.

After only spending a week on Islay, I can begin to see why it was she stayed...

Happy New Year!!!

2011-01-02T00:21:00.001Z

Happy New Year everyone! It's quite exciting to think that our blog now transcends two calendar years.

On the first day of a New Year, I find (as I suspect most people do) that thoughts turn towards hopes and aspirations for the year ahead. Here are a few of ours, if you'd like to share your own, it would be great to hear your food related ambitions!

Improve the quality of our wine intake whilst cutting back a bit. That means less casillero del diablo and more hunting out local independent wine merchants. It also means a camping trip through the Loire valley (although Jen doesn't know it yet).
Take more time over food photography, normally I'm so eager to eat that I don't get around to taking a decent photo.
To have tried all of the french AOC cheeses (so far I've had 29 out of a total 44 - I'm pretty sure it's 44...)

And from Jen:
Be a smidge stricter about portion sizes, so that when we say 'oh, lovely, we've got enough for lunch tomorrow as well', we don't then go back and snarf it later that night.
Have a couple of unashamedly foodie weekend breaks to places we've not been before but that seem to be rising on the foodie radar (Sardinia is top of Jen's list at the moment).

This year our near and dear ones have been very generous and have provided a truly mountainous selection of cookery, wine and other foodie books which we can't wait to get into (I'm sure there will be many posts in the year ahead). In fact, there were so many that we couldn't carry them all back to London, so the monster wine encyclopedia is not shown below...

Dreaming of a blonde Christmas ...

2010-12-18T23:59:00.002Z

Apologies for having fallen off the face of the earth. December seems to have taken us rather by surprise in a 'butbutit'salreadyonlyaweektilChristmasandthere'sstillsomuchtodooooo' sort of a way. But, we have a tree, it is twinkling away in the corner, and there is a flurry of cards in the post winging their way across the country.

In honour of various Christmas parties and festive drinks, I have dragged myself to the hairdressers and am now sporting a rather sleeker, darker version of my usual frizzy mess. Last night, however, I was in the mood for something a little blonder and creamier (how's that for a tenuous segue?)

Now, let it never be said that I don't like dark chocolate. A couple of squares (oh alright, most of a bar) of some 70% cocoa chocolate and a glass of red wine of an evening, and I'm a very happy girl. Chocolate cake is something of another matter. It's not that I don't like it, it's just that, unless it's something really special, I always tend to veer away from it and towards a vanilla sponge, a layered angel cake or a lemon drizzle. It's the same with brownies. A good, sticky, dark chocolate brownie, with chunks of hazelnut, served warm with some cornish dairy ice cream is a gorgeous, gorgeous thing, but if you ask me, I think this is one case where blondies really are more fun.

This is my favourite blondie recipe (white chocolate brownie, for those who don't know). The blueberries take the edge off the white chocolate's sweetness, and the macadamia nuts give them a great crunch. The result is that, if you're me at least, it's very easy to make 30 largeish blondie squares, and, erm, even easier to eat them ALL in the space of two days. Whoops.

White Chocolate, Blueberries and Macadamia Nut Blondies
Adapted from Linda Collister's Divine Heavenly Chocolate book.

The main adaptation here is a damn sight more blueberries than the recipe suggests - I like the blondies to be liberally sprinkled with purplish juicy splodges.

Ingredients

200g white chocolate
200g butter, chopped into cubes
150g caster sugar
200g plain flour
1 tsp baking powder
50g macadamia nuts, roughly chopped
3 large eggs
200g blueberries

Method

Preheat the oven to 180C/Gas Mark 4 and grease and line 1 large square cake tin or 2 small ones.
Break 150 g of the chocolate into pieces and put them in a heatproof bowl with the chopped butter. Heat gently over a saucepan of water. Make sure that the bottom of the bowl is not immersed in the water or the chocolate may burn. Stir the mixture continuously until melted and smooth.
Take the mixture off the heat and leave it to cool until later.
In a large, clean bowl, whisk the eggs like a maniac until they're pale yellow and frothy.
Add the sugar and whisk vigorously again until the mixture is smooth and the sugar is combined.
Pour in the melted chocolate and butter mix and stir in until you've got a golden, viscous mixture.
Sift in the flour and baking powder and fold it in with a metal spoon until well mixed.
Roughly chop the remaining 50g chocolate into chunks and add this, along with the chopped nuts and half the blueberries to the mixture.
Pour the mixture into your prepared tin and smooth it into the corners with the back of a spoon.
Sprinkle the remaining blueberries over the top and bake in the oven for 25 minutes until risen and golden on top.
Cut into squares while still warm, then remove from the tin and place on a cooling rack.

Norfolk in the snow

2010-12-12T11:07:00.001Z

Last weekend we took a well deserved and much looked forward to four days in a National Trust cottage in Norfolk with two of our friends (reliable partners in food indulgence). A weekend of snow, cosy wood fires, food and drink.

There were many food related highlights, all of which would merit further blog attention: roast pork/fishfinger sandwiches from Roast at borough market; roast chicken; home baked bread, cookies and cupcakes; fish and chips and a massive amount of cheese - vacherin, stichelton, st marcelin and a brillat savarin stuffed with truffle (aptly nicknamed sex cheese).

But for me, the most interesting was a ready steady cook rematch. Set a budget, split into teams and decide who is going to cook which courses of a dinner - with four, we've found that two teams of two works well, with one team handling the main course whilst the other does starter and dessert.
Then, go out into borough market (or any other market) and buy exotic ingredients for the other team to play with. Once the ingredients have been exchanged, the cooking team will create something whilst the other team stay out of the kitchen - no cookbooks allowed.

We would strongly recommend that you try it sometime, the results range from the sublime to the vile, and it makes a great change from the tried and tested dinner party format. Duck a la chocolate orange anyone?

Let It Snow ... (but only if it's going to do it properly)

2010-11-30T22:01:00.001Z

It had to happen really. For days now there have been articles in the papers prophesying snowclouds of doom, and today they emptied their feathery, freezing little minions all over London.

Now, I am generally a big fan of snow. I never saw very much as a kid, but since moving to London I've had some brilliant snow days and made my very first snow angel. This time around, however, the snow has yet to settle, so we've got that lovely film of treacherous greyish slush on the pavements, and the snowflakes seem to be making a beeline for MY EYES, so I scuttle along blinking frantically like a bemused and shivery mole. In a hat.

Anyway, I do not wish to sound like a wintry Scrooge, I do genuinely love this time of year and am already starting to get very excited about Christmas. I am also excited by the recipe below.

I got back from a wonderful day in frosty Cambridge with friends on Sunday, having been for a walk to Grantchester along the river. I did take some pictures but they were all pants and don't do the scenery anywhere near justice, so am sulking and keeping them to myself. Some of the manlier (and frankly madder) members of the group went for a brief dip in the Cam, which involved breaking through a sheet of ice first. Bonkers, the lot of them! Having got back at a reasonable time on Sunday night, I decided to try out a recipe I'd stumbled upon on the truly scrumptious Foodbeam (if you don't already know it, check it out - the desserts Fanny comes up with are sure to make you drool.)

This recipe is for chocolate chip cookies, and it is, in my humble opinion, genius. It has wiped the floor with my previous failsafe cookie recipe, that's for sure. Its majesty lies in the fact that you bake the cookies in a muffin pan - something I'd never considered before.

You end up with deep, chewy sort of cookie-pies, which can cope with proper chunks of chocolate, rather than just chocolate chips. The addition of sea salt also gives them a really moreish bite, which unfortunately means that you can eat several of them in one sitting without them getting sickly. Oh well, there's always tomorrow to start dieting ...

Chocolate Chip Cookies
Recipe adapted from Fanny Zanotti at Foodbeam

The original recipe calls for a large quantity of muscovado sugar, which I find rather too treacly for my taste. I've adapted the quantities here to include demerara as well as muscovado. This does mean using slightly more sugar than the original recipe, but the end product is still delicious, and not too sweet.

Makes 12 cookies

Ingredients

90g butter, softened (or practically melted in my case having put it to warm in the oven and left it for rather too long) I used salted butter, and adjusted the quantity of sea salt to accommodate this.
40g caster sugar
20g dark muscovado sugar
150g demerara sugar
1 tsp vanilla extract
1 egg, beaten
100g plain flour
100g strong white bread flour
1/4 tsp baking powder
3g Maldon sea salt
80g dark chocolate, chopped into smallish chunks

Method

Preheat the oven to 180C (Gas mark 4)
With a wooden spoon, cream together the sugars and the softened butter until pale and fluffy.
Add the beaten egg and mix well.
Add the vanilla extract and beat again.
Sift in the flours, baking powder and the salt. Mix together until it's starting to look doughy.
Add the chocolate chunks, then get in amongst it with your hands and knead it.
Keep going until you've got a firm dough, and all the flour has been incorporated.
Lightly grease a muffin pan.
Roll the dough into balls between your hands - each one should be roughly satsuma sized.
Press them down into the holes in the muffin pan, and bake in the oven for 15 minutes.
Keep them in tupperware and try not to eat them all at once.

A Staple: Pasta, Bacon and Artichoke

2010-11-25T23:03:00.002Z

There's something immensely satisfying about making a really good dinner out of whatever you happen to have in the fridge and the cupboards. So, sometimes, I cheat, and make sure I have certain things lurking in the fridge, behind the jam, or in the cupboards behind one of Matt's 700 odd jars of Marmite (why one is not enough I will never know, not being a follower of the Marmitian faith.)

The items in question are jars of sundried tomatoes, and artichokes marinated in olive oil. Now, I'm aware that these would hardly be considered a staple food by many, but they are absolutely integral to one of my favourite dishes. This is a recipe of my mum's. It's really very easy, and it was probably (not counting the endless Victoria sponges and lumpy bread rolls I brought home from G.C.S.E food tech lessons) one of the first things I learned to cook.

When I left home to go to uni, I wasn't exactly a foodie, and could quite happily subsist on a banana, a couple of biscuits and a quarter of a packet of ready-made stuffed pasta a day (this was supplemented by about 1200 cups of tea. I'm surprised I wasn't found sticking to the ceiling in a weightless, over-caffeinated coma).

However, whenever I had people coming over for dinner, I would almost invariably bust out this recipe, and it was, almost invariably, a success.

Nowadays, it's a reliable fall back, and something we still throw together regularly. It's both salty and zesty, creamy and meaty, with a sauce that coats the pasta so it's nice and glossy, without feeling too soggy. One day, I will make my own pasta to go with it, but until my dreams of a shiny pasta machine come true, dried penne or fusilli is plenty good enough. When it's freezing outside, and there's an evening full of comfortable sofa and mindless TV ahead, this dish is the perfect accompaniment.

Mummy Jen's Simple Pasta Supper
Serves 2

Ingredients:

3 rashers of smoked bacon, cut into bitesized pieces
1 tsp olive oil
4 or 5 sundried tomatoes in oil, chopped (the oil itself has a lovely flavour, so don't drain them too much before adding them to the pan)
4 largish artichoke chunks in oil, chopped (as above)
1 small glass dry white wine
2 tbsps single cream
salt
pepper
a handful of torn basil leaves
125g dried fusilli or penne

Method:

Heat the oil in a large frying pan.
Add the bacon and fry until beginning to brown at the edges - keep stirring.
Add the chopped sundried tomatoes and artichoke and stir in.
Put the pasta in a saucepan, cover with water, salt generously and bring to the boil.
Add the white wine to the frying pan and turn the heat down so it's simmering, not bubbling too violently.
Wait until the pasta is just on the crunchy side of al dente (6 or 7 minutes), then add the cream to the frying pan and stir it in.
Leave for 2 mins, by which time the pasta should be done.
Drain pasta and amalgamate into bacony saucy pan. Stir it well.
Season with salt and pepper, and sprinkle over the basil leaves, then serve.

Easy roast lamb

2010-11-24T22:07:00.001Z

Matt again,

I've been meaning to finish this post for a while now, the meal happened a few weeks ago and I've been a little slow in getting it written up...

Jen was due back from Bristol at 7 on Sunday, and I wanted to have something nice for her to eat. This was perfect - easy, delicious and looks impressive. The whole recipe derives an extra sense of danger from cooking the meat direct on the oven shelf. Crazy.

The potatoes are brilliant, all crispy and lamby. Well worth a try if you can bear going without gravy...

The recipe is good for two or three with plenty left over for tasty lamb sandwiches the day after.

This is pretty close to a Nigel Slater recipe, although for me his cooking times seemed all wrong. In my book, lamb should be pink in the middle, not bleeding. His suggestion of 15 minutes per 500g was just too short. Sorry Nigel.

Ingredients:
1.5 to 2kg Leg of lamb
1 head of garlic
1 handful of rosemary
5 reasonably sized potatoes with the skin still on
olive oil

Method:

Pierce the leg with a small sharp knife and stuff rosemary and garlic into the holes. Liberally douse the leg in olive oil and dust with salt.
Using a food processor, slice the potatoes fairly thin and spread out on a roasting tin, throw in some slices of garlic, a few stems of rosemary and a glug or two of olive oil.
Place the roasting tin on a low shelf in the oven and then place the lamb directly onto the shelf above it (oven set at 230C). Make sure that the leg is well positioned to avoid a lengthy oven clean.
Leave well alone for half an hour before turning the heat down to 200C.
If you fancy turning the potatoes at this point, go for it but they'll probably fall to pieces.
As I mentioned above, cook for a total of about 25 minutes per 500g. If you're worried about over cooking, buy a meat thermometer they're a cheap way of making sure that you don't ruin a meal.
Remove the lamb and leave to rest (for me this means on a warm plate under some tin foil).

An autumnal syrup

2010-11-14T22:23:00.001Z

Apples tend to get overlooked in our house. I for one view them as a rather dull fruit, and will always plump instead for a peach, pear, plum or cluster of sweet, red berries. However, last week I discovered a new way with apples, which seemed to fit the time of year to a T.

The recipe comes from 'At Elizabeth David's Table', and is essentially apples sweated gently in a fruity, sugary syrup until they're just on the point of falling to pieces on your tongue. The dessert as a whole was lovely, lifted delightfully by a large scoop (ok...two...well...actually three) of cinnamon ice cream. But, it was the syrup that really made it.

It's gutsy and deep and zingy all at once, with a real earthy, smoky bite to it. It reminds me of bonfire night - going down to the furlong with parents and friends to watch the fireworks, wrapped in a horrifically itchy scarf, and munching on slightly burnt toffee apples from the little white van that was always lit up as brightly as any Christmas tree.

It undoubtedly worked when poured over the hot sliced apples, but I am plotting another outing for it. I think we might find that its true destiny lies as a glaze to a sweet vanilla loaf cake. Served slightly warm, I reckon it would be autumn on a plate.

Apple Sugar Syrup

Adapted from Elizabeth David

Ingredients

The peel, cores and pips from 4 apples, preferably Cox's
4 thick slices of lemon, including the rind
4 heaped tbsps caster sugar
Enough water to cover the peel (but not too much otherwise you'll be there forever)

Method

Put the apple remnants and lemon in a small saucepan.
Add the sugar (but don't put the bag back in the cupboard as you may need more later)
Pour in enough cold water to just about cover the contents of the pan.
Turn the heat up high and let the water come to a frothy boil.
Keep an eye on it, to avoid sticky spillages, but don't let it drop down to a simmer, it needs to keep a vigorous boil going.
Stir the mixture occasionally to test for viscosity. Once the syrup has reduced, and has taken on the rosy colour from the apple peel, pass it through a sieve and return it to the heat.
Add another spoon of sugar and keep the heat high, until you've got a lovely, pinkish, sticky syrup.

No apologies

2010-11-08T23:10:00.002Z

I have a hunch that our dear Nigel Slater might have some competition for the role of this little blog's favoured chef. At least for a while. Nigel, forgive us, you have done nothing wrong ... it's just that I have recently acquired this.

Now, I am aware that I am late enough to this particular party for it to be bordering on the ridiculous, but I have not really come across Elizabeth David until now. I mean, of course, I knew who she was, but I'd never read her food writing or tried her recipes. Which is, as I have quickly realized, a crying shame.

At Elizabeth David's Table is therefore the perfect game of catch up. There are enough recipes to fuel dinners and dinner parties all year round, plus snippets of Ms David's food writing (I don't feel we're on first name terms just yet) that give you a glimmer of her zest for life, her wisdom in the kitchen and her love both of travel and of the feeling of coming home and sharing what she'd learnt.

There's something very warm and personal about her writing. Take, for example, this snippet about her dream kitchen (a concept that I highly approve of as a subject for an article, and something that I'm now designing in my head every night before I go to sleep):

'All the colours in the dream kitchen would be much as they are now, but fresher and cleaner - cool silver, grey-blue, aluminium, with the various browns of earthenware pots and a lot of white provided by the perfectly plain china. I recoil from coloured tiles and beflowered surfaces and I don't want a lot of things coloured avocado and tangerine. I'll just settle for the avocados and tangerines in a bowl on the dresser.' pp 157.

She also makes for great bedtime reading at this time of year, when we're sprawled uncomfortably between fireworks and Christmas lights, and you can see your breath through the drizzle on the grey walk to work. Her pieces on the French wholesale markets at Cavaillon, or the dusky, sun-soaked fish markets in Venice can hoodwink you back to the summer, just for a few minutes.

So on to a recipe. We made her middle-eastern style pizza, and very tasty it was too. The dough is not what I'd call conventional pizza dough, it was rather dense and quite salty, but it carried the spiced meaty filling well, and added a further depth of flavour. The result is a fragrant, spicy Bolognese-via-Morocco sort of affair, which would probably be equally delicious on top of buttered spaghetti or tagliatelle.

We hardly adapted this recipe at all, apart from using fresh mint instead of dried mint, and adding about half a teaspoonful of hot chilli powder to give it an extra kick.

Pizza In The Middle Eastern Manner

Serves 5-6 as a starter, or 2-3 as a main course (with a crunchy salad on the side)

Ingredients

For the dough:

5g dried yeast
Approx 10 tbsps whole milk
250g strong white bread flour
2 tsps salt
1 whole egg
2 tbsps olive oil

For the filling:

1 onion, diced
1 tbsp olive oil
200g minced lamb (we used leftovers from a joint blitzed in the MagiMix)
2 cloves of garlic
4 large pinches of salt
1/2 tsp ground cloves
1 tsp ground cinnamon
1/2 tsp hot chilli powder
2 heaped tsps cumin
2 tsps black pepper
250g chopped tomatoes
1 tsp sugar
Small handful of shredded mint

First, make the dough. Mix the yeast together with the milk.
Warm the flour and salt in a large mixing bowl in the oven for a few minutes, then add the yeast mixture, the egg and the olive oil.
Mix well, using your hands pretty much straightaway, until the dough is elastic and smooth.
Make the dough into a ball, sprinkle it with a little more flour, place it in a covered bowl and leave it somewhere warm for 90 minutes until the dough has risen and feels puffy.
Meanwhile, heat the olive oil in a frying pan and fry off the onion until translucent.
Add the meat and turn the heat up until it starts to brown, then add the crushed garlic cloves, salt and spices.
Add the tomatoes and put a lid on the pan. Turn the heat down and let it simmer for about 15 minutes until the mixture has darkened and thickened.
Taste, and add more cumin and salt and pepper if necessary (it was necessary for us). Then add the sugar and mint.
Preheat the oven to 220C/Gas Mark 7
Once the dough has been left for the required time, spread it over a pizza stone or large, oiled platter, then leave it for a further 15 minutes.
Spread the meaty, spicy filling over the pizza, leaving a thick crust around the edge.
Put the pizza in the oven for 15 minutes, then turn the heat down to 190C/Gas Mark 5, cover the pizza with an oiled piece of greaseproof paper, to keep the filling from drying out, and bake for a further 15 minutes.
Eat while it's steaming hot.

Green park in autumn

2010-11-07T22:15:00.000Z

No food in this post I'm afraid, just some pictures we took in Green park today...

Adventures (and mis-adventures) in pork

2010-11-02T22:55:00.002Z

Hi all,

Jen was in Bristol this weekend leaving me to my own devices, and vices - in this case pork. I still haven't managed to persuade Jen that she's wrong not to like the stuff, consequently we don't eat very much of it.

So, when the cat's away....

Saturday night was a recipe from my head, but almost certainly stolen from the back catalogue of Mr Slater, although I don't know from which book - one of those recipes that just seep in through extended staring at desirable food.

Fried pork chops, roasted new potatoes with a make-in-the-pan sauce - tarragon, roasted garlic (odd choice perhaps but the oven was on, so why not) marsala, mascarpone and a squeeze of lemon. I also ate three uncooked, peeled carrots as an unconstructed salad. Tangy sauce beautifully complemented the pig and potatoes, matched of course with a fine bottle of becks. Cheese course was the majority of a goats cheese (La buche - available in Waitrose and Sainsburys, it's surprisingly good, get one that's near its sell by date). Dessert was Muller rice (another of Jen's hated foods).

If you read the earlier post on bacon vodka, you may be interested (or repulsed) to know that I have now filtered it and turned it into jelly - bacon and coke jelly to be precise.

My critical appraisal in two words? Intriguingly foul...

It's horrible, but you keep eating it. To be honest, I would never recommend this evil jelly recipe, the bacon vodka on the other hand is amazing and should definitely be prepared for the next house party you go to...

To filter, the trick is to throw the mix in the freezer and then pass it through coffee filters. If you don't rush it, you'll end up with a lovely clear yellow bacony vodka.

Pork dinner

Ingredients:
Enough pork chops for two people, flattened with a rolling pin
Some flour
New potatoes
Butter
Olive oil
Marsala
Mascarpone
Lemon
Tarragon
Carrots
Garlic

Method:

Preheat the oven to 180C or so.
Throw the potatoes in the oven with several cloves of garlic, drenched in olive oil and dusted with big crystals of sea salt
While waiting, flatten the pork with a rolling pan and dust with flour, season with salt and pepper. Peel the carrots and if necessary, cut into sticks
Once the potatoes are feeling mostly cooked to a knife point, 20-25 minutes, start frying the pork in butter with a splash of olive oil. Put some plates in the oven.
Once the pork is cooked - I'll leave this to you to judge - take out the warmed plates and decant the pork, cover with tin foil.
Now squeeze the garlic out into the frying pan and fry off for 30 seconds, throw in a load of tarragon leaves at the same time.
Drop a glass of marsala into the pan and scrape up the caramelized pork bits.
Reduce to a thick, smooth few tablespoons, then add a squeeze of lemon and some mascarpone, or cream. Season to taste and throw everything onto a plate.
Eat.

All grown up ...

2010-10-24T23:38:00.002+01:00

Yesterday was a bread baking sort of a day. Matt was out climbing, and I knew that on his way back he would most likely nip to the shops to grab some food for dinner, and that that food would most likely include a large block of cheese.

So, I decided to bake something to complement said cheese (I assumed we'd be talking stilton here...I was right). A fougasse maybe...perhaps a rosemary and sea salt focaccia...

But then it happened, as I was flipping through Richard Bertinet's book of contemporary bread, Dough. Now, granted, this isn't one of my most well-worn cookbooks (for one thing, it doesn't yet have splodges and greasy butter stains on any of its pages), but I thought I'd read it pretty thoroughly. Apparently not. Yesterday I discovered a WHOLE NEW CHAPTER at the back, about sweet dough, and all the beautiful things you can do with it.

Sad to say my cheese accompaniment went out of the window with this discovery, and I set about making chocolate brioche buns. Not so good with stilton, but pretty darn tasty with a cup of tea!

The dough is rolled with a chocolate creme patissiere and then sliced into swirly buns, glazed and baked. The finished product should look something like a pain au raisin, only - and this is crucial - without the raisins. Mine were a tad on the clumsy side, it must be said. In fact, they looked more like sophisticated zippy rolls than elegant French pastries.

'Erm....zippy what?' I hear you cry.

The zippy roll - a breakfast treat of my childhood, invented by my Dad. Cut the crusts off white bread and roll it out very thinly with a rolling pin. Spread liberally with nutella or other chocolate spread of choice and roll up. Slice into bite-sized chunks and hand to small daughter. Watch as small daughter inserts all of said bite-sized chunks into her mouth at once, until her face resembles that of a much-loved children's TV character:

Et voilà!

Pains-de-Zippy

Adapted from Richard Bertinet's 'Chocolate bun' recipe.

Makes 12-14 smallish buns

For the dough:

The original recipe makes 24 large buns, and calls for chocolate dough as well as chocolate filling. I've gone for an original brioche dough here, to get more of a contrast in the swirl.

125ml whole milk

7g yeast

250g strong white bread flour

30g unsalted butter (softened)

20g caster sugar

5g salt

1 egg

For the chocolate filling:

The original recipe includes chocolate chips in this. I have no reason for omitting them other than the fact I forgot, so, if you want yours extra chocolatey, then add 50-100g of chocolate chips after you've spread the filling on to the dough.

3 egg yolks

70g caster sugar

25g sifted flour

250ml whole milk

2tsps cocoa powder

Method:

First, make the dough.

1. Put the milk into a small, heavy-bottomed saucepan and heat gently until just warmed through, but not really hot.

2. Meanwhile, mix the yeast into the flour with your fingertips, then rub in the butter until your mixture has the consistency of coarse breadcrumbs.

3. Add the sugar and the salt and mix well, then add the egg and the warmish milk.

4. Mix all together by hand until it's cohesive enough to lift out of the bowl.

5. Lift the dough on to a very lightly floured work surface and knead for 10 minutes, until the dough is smooth and elastic, but not too sticky.

6. Put the ball of dough back into the bowl, cover it with a clean tea towel and put it somewhere warm to rest for 45 mins.

Now, make the gooey chocolate filling

1. In a large-ish mixing bowl, whisk the egg yolks together with half the sugar and the flour.

2. Put the other half of the sugar in a saucepan with the milk and the cocoa. Stir until the cocoa is all or at least mostly mixed into the milk.

3. Heat until it starts to bubble, then remove from the heat and pour into the egg mixture in 3 batches, whisking constantly.

4. Put the whole lot back into the pan, and bring to the boil, stirring all the time with a wooden spoon to stop it from sticking to the bottom.

5. As soon as it hits boiling point, turn down the heat and let it simmer for a few minutes, then put into a dish to cool down.

Now to put it all together.

1. Preheat the oven to 220C.

2. Once the dough has rested for 45 mins, and has nearly doubled in size, flour a work surface, and roll it out into a large rectangle.

3. Spread the chocolate filling out over it. (Yes, I know, mine looks gross. This is why you have to stir it all the time when heating it. It still tastes good though, despite its slight lumpiness.)

4. Starting at the long edge that furthest away from you, roll it tightly towards you until you've got one long sausage of dough, with the filling inside.

5. With a sharp knife, slice the dough into bits, about 2 cm thick, and place them on a greaseproof paper lined baking tray.

6. Beat an egg and brush each bun with it.

7. Leave the buns somewhere warm to prove for about an hour and a half.

8. Glaze them again with the beaten egg and pop them in the oven.

9. Turn the oven down to 180C and leave them to bake for around 15 minutes, or until dark golden and firm.

Rising and falling

2010-10-20T22:53:00.001+01:00

We have had a run of bad luck in the kitchen recently. First there was the apple cake that was ... erm ... accidentally grilled rather than baked (a delightful mixture of charcoal and raw cake mix ensued). There was the ill-fated batch of cornbread that was more like corn sludge - am still not sure how this happened, whether it was a bad recipe or, more likely, a bad chef (me) to blame. Then of course there was the unfortunate case of the curdled ginger ice-cream (the less said about that the better).

Then we come to Sunday night, and the sad tale of my cupcake tragedy. I had seen this recipe on the very lovely Smitten Kitchen and thought 'Good grief they look amazing.' This is because a) I have eyes and b) I am excited by cake.

Look at the link, go on. Then feel your mouth start to fill up unattractively with saliva! Are they cakes? Are they tiny tiny souffles? Does it matter when they're so amazingly light and filled with cream?

I wanted to know the answers to these questions and more, so I set about making them, and, fool that I am, I decided to adapt them without having tested the original recipe. Can you say rookie mistake? Instead of making dark chocolate cupcakes with mint cream, I thought I'd whip up a batch of white chocolate souffle cupcakes with raspberry cream.

I maintain that the flavours would have worked had I managed to get as far as combining them, (yes...it was that sort of a day in the kitchen). However, I was in a rush to get to a delightful cheese and wine evening laid on by the lovely Lydia, so I was cooking like a slapdash loon - and sadly it wasn't the kind of lunacy through which you can see flashes of genius.

First I burned the white chocolate, creating what can only be described as sweet scrambled egg, then I got so lulled into the false sense of security that the recipe provides (the souffles are supposed to fall in the middle) that I blithely used my cupcake tray rather than the larger US style muffin pan that was clearly needed. I got 22 cakes out of my mixture...the recipe states you should get around 9. Ah. To cut an already far too long story short, I ended up with sad little husks, cowering in the bottom of the paper cases and incapable even of holding the weight of the cream.

I refuse to be defeated (especially not by my own stupidity!) I will try these light little souffle-cakey-delights again, and this time, I shall read the recipe properly. Apologies to Deb at Smitten Kitchen for butchering it quite so spectacularly this time!

Thank you for bearing with me during that tale of woe - I needed to get it off my chest! The photos have, I hope, proved a balm to my whinging. Cupcake catastrophes aside, we had a wonderful weekend. We went to Hever Castle, where these photos were taken, and where autumn is really happening in style.

The rose gardens were in bloom and the air was heavy with their perfume; the sun kept bursting through the trees at us, turning the leaves brilliant orange and gold; there were swans gliding across the enormous lake, and creeping ivy up the castle walls - just beautiful! And I got to geek out over Tudor artefacts, especially the stunningly illuminated Books of Hours owned by the young Anne Boleyn, in which she had written 'le temps viendra'. How right she was.

Basil gnocchi with sage butter

2010-10-14T23:52:00.002+01:00

Matt here,

This was a mid-week, tag-team effort - I made the gnocchi, Jen made the sauce.

The night before last we had sausage and mash (with onion and marsala gravy) which I will modestly claim was excellent, but that's another story. Anyway, halfway through peeling for the mash, I was thinking about what I was going to do with the other half of the potatoes that I didn't really need. Normally what happens is that I cook far more than I can eat (but proceed to eat them all nonetheless) whilst leaving a small handful of potatoes to go green and plantlike because I can never be bothered to prepare such a small number of spuds...

The solution was simple, peel all the potatoes, cook them and then keep enough for the meal and put the rest in the fridge to have as gnocchi the following evening. I accept that we're not talking Einstein levels of genius here, but still...

Well, it turns out that gnocchi is really easy, oddly satisfying and tastes great when home made. This recipe was adapted from the top 15 search hits on googling "gnocchi recipe" - the most relevant was probably the one on the BBC site, it inspired the basil.

Ingredients:

500g pre-cooked potatoes

150g plain flour

1 egg

A handful of basil

Salt

Method:

Put a nice big pan of salty water over the heat.
Mash the potato as much as you can, add the flour and egg and mix it all together in a big bowl with your hands. Add salt to taste - if you don't fancy eating raw egg to find out, you should be thinking of adding about as much salt as you would to a similar volume of mash - a significant fraction of your daily allowance.
Prepare a baking tray with a handful of flour spread on it
Take your ball of dough and tear off a piece. Roll it into a snake about 2cm wide on a chopping board and then chop it into short lumps, 2-3cm. Put the lumps in the floured tray. Keep going until you've used all of the dough.
Roll the gnocchi in the flour and then remove the excess in a colander.
Drop the gnocchi into the simmering water and fish them out as they rise to the surface.
Once they've steamed off some of their water, cover them in a sauce and then eat.

Sauces to try:
Nutty sage butter (this is what we had)
Some kind of cream and blue cheese combination, poured over the top and then grilled (what I'd like to do next time)
Olive oil, parmesan, salt and pepper (what I will probably do next time)

Desert Island Foods

2010-10-10T14:41:00.001+01:00

I am frequently to be found accosting people I have recently met, and demanding to know the 5 books/films/songs that could sustain them on a desert island, should they be stranded there. (I'm aware that this is probably quite annoying, especially if in a party situation where I will undoubtedly be accompanying said question with wild gesticulating with a gin and tonic ...)

Anyway ... I really do find the answers fascinating, as they can give you a small snapshot of the way that person views the world - even if it's only a somewhat grainy polaroid of how they view the world at the particular moment I'm talking to them.

So...I wonder if the same applies to food.
Assume - and you'll have to indulge me with the lunatic scenario here - that you are stranded on a desert island. You're not allowed to spear fish from the tropical waters, or go foraging for nuts, berries or brightly-coloured fruit. You can't hunt wild pigs, or shoot birds from the trees with rudimentary whittled arrows. You can't light fires for cooking, or try sucking the nutrients out of seaweed in desperation.

Instead, you must rely on 5 food items, and only 5, to keep you going. These can be snacks, treats or full-on hearty fare, but they should be finished dishes rather than ingredients. They will be provided on tap on this island, by some mysterious-and-as-yet-unspecified benefactor.

What do you choose?

The Lizard peninsula in Cornwall, doing a fair impersonation of a tropical island.

Don't worry, your health will not suffer during your time on this island. Don't, therefore, approach this in a 'Well, goodness, I suppose I'd better choose representatives from different food groups to give me a balanced diet and help me to climb trees and swim in the sea and do other islandy things'. This is about favourites, about finding the five things that you honestly wouldn't mind eating every day for several months/years.

My five surprised me. I think it's something to do with having the fun and experimentation of cooking taken away. Needless to say, if you gave me a honking great kitchen full of gadgets, and enough ingredients to make any 5 dishes, the final selection would be very different.

Below are my (slightly embarrassing) desert island foods. Please do leave comments and add yours, I'd be really interested to see what you lot would chow down on, while gazing out across the shimmering turquoise waters and cursing me for stranding you there!

Fish finger sandwiches - I'm not talking about posh fish goujons here, I want fish fingers from the packet, on white bread, which is buttered on one side, and has tomato ketchup on the other. Optimum number of fish fingers per sandwich = 3.
Naan bread - steaming hot. If I'm allowed the odd bit of spicy mango chutney, or mint and cucumber raita to dip hunks of it in, then so much the better.
Nectarines - In one of my favourite books, the wonderful 26a by Diana Evans, nectarines are always eaten by the young twins while they make very important decisions. They sit on beanbags in their bright attic room, sharing nectarines and secrets and 'deciding'. Anyone else must knock before entering. I love the fact that nectarines are reserved for such a purpose, and since first reading 26a I can't eat one without a feeling of being in some whispery, secret club.
Vanilla ice cream - If ice cream is on a dessert menu, it's 90% guaranteed that that's what I'll go for. While I love exciting new flavours (cardamom and salted caramel being two new and tasty discoveries) I'll always come back to a really rich, creamy vanilla, I just don't think you can beat it.
Moroccan lamb pittas - Juicy lamb, cooked so it's nice and pink, liberally spiced with cumin, chilli and coriander and stuffed into hot pitta bread with peppery salad, a squeeze of lime and a dollop of sour cream. The kind of food you have to eat with your fingers, that gets you sticky and covered in juices and that wouldn't be out of place at a souk in Marrakesh.

Right, now I'm hungry. I may go for a combination of some of these five for dinner, desert island or no desert island!

Jen xx

The rain rain rain came down down down...

2010-10-03T19:02:00.001+01:00

It seems the times they are a-changing. Trainers have been swapped for snuggly boots, the central heating keeps turning itself on without being asked, food magazines are getting very pumpkin-centric, and you can spot the odd display of crackers, cards and Christmas lights in department stores (because apparently it does now take a full 3 months to prepare for Christmas....gah!) Summer and holidays really do seem a long time ago.

Especially, when the view from our living room window looks like this:

Any plans to go out yesterday evening were literally dampened, and we watched people scurrying around getting soaked to the skin. Two guys had obviously given up entirely and were ambling nonchalantly down the street looking like they'd been swimming in their clothes. Ah, October.

Thankfully, the latest issue of Delicious magazine provided us with a pudding that is the food equivalent of a roaring log fire on a night such as this. It comes courtesy of our dear Nigel Slater and is, in essence, pears made into the naughtiest of treats - hot and sticky, with a kick of alcohol and a caramel sweetness that stays on your tongue. It comes highly recommended for whenever the weather outside is frightful.

Jen xx

Baked Pears With Marsala

Adapted from Delicious Magazine

First, a confession. It is not inconceivable that I was watching X Factor whilst preparing this dish, and therefore *may* not have followed the recipe as carefully as I could have done. It is also, therefore, possible that my version of this dessert involves almost twice as much butter, sugar and booze as it technically should. Oops.

The quantities below are the recipe that I made. If you want to rein in the buttery, Marsala-flavoured juices, then go with between 10-15g of butter and 1 tbsp Marsala for each pear you use. This will give you a much stickier dish, with less sauce to pour over the baked pears.

In my defence, my extra unhealthy version is still very tasty, so if you're not on a diet, then go for it!

Serves 2-3

Ingredients

3 ripe pears

Juice of 1/2 a lemon

3 tbsps caster sugar

4 tbsps Marsala

50g butter (cold)

Method:

Preheat the oven to 200C/Gas Mark 6.
Fill a bowl with cold water, and squeeze the lemon juice into it.
Peel the pears but keep them whole, and put them in the bowl of water. This will stop them from turning brown before you've had a chance to get them in the oven.
Cut the butter into chunks and layer it in the bottom of a baking dish.
Sprinkle over the sugar and pour over the Marsala
Slice the pears in half and place them in the dish.
Bake in the oven for an hour. Turn the pears every 20 mins or so to make sure they're evenly covered in the juices.
When the pears are completely soft, and the sauce is bubbling away merrily, serve up and feel all warm and cosy.

Bacon vodka...

2010-10-03T13:31:00.000+01:00

Hi this is a really quick post to let you know about the first stage of a new jelly project.

The Bompas and Parr Jelly book previously mentioned has lots of great stuff in it, but naturally it was the bacon and cola jelly that really drew my attention. First step is to create bacon vodka, this is achieved through a process called "fat washing". There's an interesting thread on the possibilities of this technique here, apparently it takes at least two weeks so watch this space...

For efficiency, make this while cooking a bacon sandwich.

Ingredients:
200g Bacon (smoked and streaky)
200ml Vodka

Method:

Fry the bacon.
Transfer to a Tupperware container.
Pour over the vodka, close the container and leave in a dark cupboard for two weeks.
To be continued....

There are no pictures - it looks vile.

Playing with Jelly

2010-09-28T22:28:00.001+01:00

Jelly has gone through something of a renaissance recently, and partly this is thanks to the wobbly wizardry (not a phrase I ever thought I'd use) of Sam Bompas and Harry Parr. These two young guys have done for jelly what Heston Blumenthal did for gastronomy. They introduce science, they're not afraid to be a little bit mad, and they delight in the weird and the macabre.

To my mind, jelly was something relegated to kids parties - in a plastic rabbit mould and undoubtedly mashed with a 7-year-old's sugar-crazed delight into blocks of Cornish vanilla ice cream, or (and this is something I admit with my head bowed), eaten in cubes straight from the packet when my throat felt like it contained two spiky golfballs instead of tonsils.

However, the Bompas and Parr Jelly book has illustrated just how classy and inventive jelly can be. It makes really good reading, and has got both me and Matt really fired up about making jelly, not only the recipes featured in the book, but also creating our own. As Bompas and Parr note, anything liquid can be made into jelly. Take a moment and think about the implications of this. Your favourite cocktail - that can be jelly. Custard - yep, jelly. Any foodstuff that you can liquidise, you can then jellify. How flippin' exciting!

We've already been flinging such genius ideas as 'beer jelly' and 'gravy jelly' (!) around, with a maniacal glint in our eyes, but we decided not to run before we can walk, and started off with the delicious (and actually fizzy) lemonade jelly from the book.

Zingy, Fizzy Lemonade Jelly

Being jelly novices, we've stuck very closely to the recipe here. This jelly doesn't need to be left for a huge amount of time, as it is served in wine glasses, rather than being unmoulded and having to stand on its own.
Ingredients (serves 4)

3 lemons
100g caster sugar
100ml water (and then some more)
3 egg whites
4 sheets of gelatine
ice

Method

Zest and juice the lemons into a pan.
Add the sugar and water and heat to a simmer, hold at a simmer for 5 minutes.
Sieve into a measuring jug and make up the volume of liquid to 500ml
Cut up the gelatine (6-8 pieces per sheet) into a heatproof bowl and pour over enough of the liquid to cover, leave for 10 minutes to soften.
Place the bowl over a pan of simmering water and heat until the gelatine has fully melted.
Once melted, take off the heat and add the rest of the liquid.
Set up a new bowl inside an ice bath (a larger bowl with ice water in it) and add the egg whites to it.
Sieve the liquid into the egg whites and whisk the mix with an electric whisk. As the liquid cools, it starts to thicken and the whisking builds up a significant head of froth.
When coolish, to the inquisitive finger, split the liquid between four glasses and place in the fridge (for at least 3 and preferably 4-5 hours).
Eat fresh from the fridge and marvel at the fizz.

Il n'y a rien de plus beau... qu'un petit chevreau

2010-09-26T19:05:00.001+01:00

Fact.

Spectacular spectacular ...

2010-09-25T23:35:00.001+01:00

Margarine antelope from food sculptor Simon Smith

Today has been one of those days where living in London is brilliant. It started to feel like autumn is properly here (i.e crisp, blue sky, cold winds and turning leaves, rather than grey, grey, rain, rain, grey, rain, grey etc etc), the tubes weren't too crowded (unheard of on a Saturday) and we went to a fantastic foodie spectacular hosted by the Experimental Food Society.

I read about the event in the Guardian earlier this week. As, it appears, did most of the rest of London. It was absolutely packed - which is fantastic for all the exhibitors who undoubtedly deserve every bit of recognition they get, but slightly irritating nonetheless as you could barely move without getting elbowed or poked.

The Experiemental Food Society is a collective of outrageous foodies, chefs and creatives who strive to break food out of the confines of the kitchen and bring it into the spotlight in the world of art, science and performance.

Having battled our way through the crowds, there were some pretty jawdropping things to be seen and tasted. Including ...

Bizarre but delicious ice cream cones from Ginger's Comfort Emporium. Marmalade on toast flavour anyone? How about a Durian Fruit Choc Ice? We went for a 'Monkey's Gone to Heaven' - roasted banana, salted peanut, caramel and bitter chocolate, and a 'Dark and Stormy' - dark rum, lime and ginger. Yum!
Incredible edible sculptures, from cake to chocolate, to ... erm... margarine. Michelle Wibowo's glazed suckling pig cake, with ridiculously detailed sugar-craft lettuce, potatoes, apples and tomatoes surrounding it was a particular highlight.
The Marie Antoinette of macaroons, sporting a stunning dress studded, nay, BEJEWELLED, with tasty treats.
The wonderfully wacky Bompas and Parr, the undisputed kings of the jelly world. We were lucky enough to sample one of their wobbly delights (ooh er) at the Courvoisier History of Food earlier this year, where they made a huge 'dessert dome', including victorian ornament sugar sculptures in lurid colours, a jelly flavoured with orange and iris, served with an ambergris posset. Yes. That's whale vomit. Tasty stuff! Today, they were showcasing the world's first ether jellies, which glowed an eerie pale green.

All in all, a great day out. I love that food is blurring its cultural boundaries and messing with people's senses. We'll certainly be on the lookout for more events like this - they're as eye opening and impressive as a day at an art gallery, and you leave with a much fuller stomach.

AND...exciting news: We have now got our sticky little paws on Bompas and Parr's recipe book, which is full of quite frankly mental things to do with jelly. It might possibly be genius. Our first gelatinous attempts will appear here shortly. You have been warned.

Jen xx

Caprice des Dieux

2010-09-23T21:18:00.002+01:00

If you've met me, you'll know that I like cheese. I eat lots of it, buy lots of it, talk incessantly about it - I used my holiday allowance this year to live on a goat farm making (and eating) cheese. In fact, this blog was almost a cheese blog. In retrospect, it's definitely for the best that it isn't restricted to cheese and it's much more fun sharing it with Jen than it would have been going it on my own.

I do still want to write about cheese though, and this will be the first of many cheesy posts...

Caprice des Dieux is one of the few good mass produced French industriel (factory) cheeses that have made it across the channel to UK supermarkets (I found this one in a big Sainsburys). It's very recognisable in it's oval blue and white box. If you've been to France, you can pick these up all over the place, they aren't top of the range but they put a lot of the soft cheese found in our supermarkets to shame (I'm looking at you Le Rustique).

The piece that I photo'd is under-ripe, the softer cheese nearest the skin should be a bit more mobile and the harder centre a little less chalky. Rather against conventional dairy purchasing wisdom, when buying a cheese like this, you want to look for the one nearest it's sell by date. If there are a few, prod them to find the softest.

The cheese is soft, light and very creamy - they actually add cream to the milk when they make it. There's just a hint of bitterness and a fair amount of salt, to be honest, it's not that far from butter. The rind is papery and dry, it barely has a taste, I think 'floury' is the correct adjective. This is an incredibly accessible cheese, no pungency, no challenge, just soft, salty creaminess.

In terms of wine matching, I would suggest a light, sharp white, you don't want to hide the flavour, subtle as it is. Not having wine, I matched it with a bottle of Becks - not traditional but I'm making no apologies.

Mid-week curry

2010-09-22T21:16:00.000+01:00

Matt here,

Despite enjoying cooking immensely, sometimes, in the middle of the week, I don't really want to spend the whole evening in the kitchen. This was especially the case this evening as I'm celebrating the purchase of my first DSLR camera. I've spent most of tonight being frustrated with the complexity of it but I am very much looking forward to being able to take lots of good pictures in the future (and posting a few of them here).

I have attached a couple of pictures (from the 200 I took) to this post. Not great I know but it's a start and I still have a lot of settings to play with...

So yes, didn't want to spend too much cooking, but that absolutely does not mean that I don't want to eat nice food. The solution to this dilemma is Nigel Slater's 30 Minute Cook book. I've mentioned it before...

His quick lamb curry is a favourite of ours - quick, easy and delicious - it tastes homely but not basic and goes perfectly with a glass of red and something not particularly intellectually demanding on TV (the final of the Great British Bake Off on iplayer was tonight's offering - guilty pleasure...).

Jen actually knows the recipe by heart having cooked it so often - she does it beautifully. Tonight I fancied giving it a shot and the results were pretty reasonable, although I perhaps spent rather too much time photographing and too little time paying attention to the food.

Ok, I'm off to play with my new toy now :)

And I had such good intentions ...

2010-09-20T23:33:00.001+01:00

Walking past 'the fruit man' today at lunchtime, I think I must have been hit by some sort of tractor beam. My brain had just about managed to process the words 'Plums .... ooh' before I was being handed about 400 of them in a blue plastic bag.

They had been sitting in the one beam of sunlight that had pushed its way into Clapham today, and were so ripe that they were practically splitting their skins - I had several juicy casualties on the way home.

All afternoon, I was distracted by thoughts of plum pie. It was going to be juicy, crusty with sugar, with crumbly, fruit stained and undoubtedly wonky pastry. By the time 5.30 rolled around, it had been elevated in my mind to the King of Pies, a pudding so tasty that Matt and anyone else who came within 10 feet of it would be struck dumb with awe.

But then I had a driving lesson, and came home and did laundry, and chatted on the phone for a while, and then all of a sudden it was 9 o clock and I hadn't eaten and couldn't quite face making pastry.

So instead, I made nutty, garlicky, buttery mushroom pasta, spiked with parsley and parmesan. I had a beer and watched unashamedly trashy TV. Then, I sliced up the firmest of the plums, pan fried them in butter and brown sugar, until they had shmushed deliciously (shmushed being a technical term) and then ate them with a disgustingly huge blob of clotted cream. Healthy - not so much. Amazing - hell yes.

That's the way I've always heard it should be ...

2010-09-16T23:22:00.001+01:00

It has long been my opinion that any day is made better with the addition of some sort of baked good. This holds particularly true for Fridays. A healthy (or unhealthy) dose of something sweet and crumbly, frosted or cream-filled eases you into the weekend like nothing else.

So, in order to have a painless and floaty Friday in the office, I have devoted this evening to making cupcakes. They are sort of a good omen, stacked on their plate looking all tasty. They are promising me that tomorrow I will not spend the WHOLE day faffing around with spreadsheets as I did today. Sigh.

Speaking of omens ...

These cupcakes are made with peaches and cream. To me, those three words are as strong a proof as any of the poetry in food. Say them out loud - go on. Peaches and cream. Roll them around in your mouth like marbles, and let them fall slowly off the end of your tongue. Peaches. And. Cream. There now, don't you feel better?

I've chosen to make these particular cupcakes because my lovely colleague, Sally, is getting married very soon. It may seem silly, but for me, 'peaches and cream' suggests more than just a sweet, fuzzy, fruity richness. It has all kinds of connotations, lots of them not connected to food in the slightest, and all of them warm and happy.

It's waking up slowly to the sound of church bells.
It's the way that light filters green through leaves.
It's realising you've spent hours reading and it's now gone midnight.
It's the secret look you share with someone in the seconds after you've kissed.
It's the satisfied feeling of a job well done.
It's lots more besides ...

So, these slightly wonky cupcakes of mine are about more than just fruit and frosting.

To Sally and David. May your life together always be peaches and cream.

Jen xx

Peaches and Cream Cupcakes

(Adapted from The Hummingbird Bakery Cookbook)

For the cakes:

140g caster sugar

150g plain flour (the original recipe calls for 120g, but to me this makes a mix that is just that bit too sloppy.)

1 heaped tsp baking powder

40g butter (very soft)

120ml whole milk

1 egg

1/4 tsp vanilla extract

2 fresh peaches (the recipe goes with tinned, but I couldn't resist the lure of fresh peaches, and those that didn't go in this recipe were slurped and eaten over the sink. Juice still ran up to my elbows.)

For the frosting:

The original recipe uses a vanilla icing, but I've gone for a twist on the Hummingbird's cream cheese frosting, incorporating some clotted cream to give added richness. This does mean your frosting is slightly thinner than usual, but it's lovely and silky, and if you don't mind whacking the iced cakes in the fridge for half an hour or so before serving, then the difference in texture is negligible.

300g icing sugar

50g butter (softened)

90g cream cheese

35g Cornish clotted cream

Cake Method:

Preheat the oven to 170C / Gas Mark 3 and line a cupcake tray with paper cases. This recipe is enough for 12-14 cakes.
Put the sugar, flour, baking powder and butter in a bowl and mix together until you get a crumble-topping like texture. Rather than using an electric whisk, I favour a mixture of wooden spoon and rubbing in with my hands.
Add half the milk slowly, stirring all the time, until it's all mixed in.
In a separate bowl, stir together the egg, vanilla extract and the rest of the milk, then pour this into the flour mixture and stir it vigorously until you've got a smooth, quite wet mixture.
Peel your peaches. To do this, split them in half around the stone, and then slice them in half again. Carefully make an incision between the skin and the flesh at one end of each slice, and then, if the peach is ripe, the skin should peel off in one piece in your hand. This is ridiculously satisfying!
Slice the peaches into small cubes, and divide them between your paper cake cases.
Dollop the mixture on top of the peach layer until the cake case is about two thirds full.
Pop them in the oven for about 25 minutes, or until evenly golden.

Frosting Method:

Mix together the butter and icing sugar until they come together. Again, I start with a wooden spoon here, as my electric whisk appears only to have two settings (maim and annihilate), and using it here results in everything I have ever owned being covered in clouds of white powder. If you start to lose the will to live, add a splash of water to help.
Add the cream cheese and the clotted cream straight from the fridge, and beat with an electric whisk on a fairly high speed for a few minutes, until smooth, glossy and fairly thick. Don't beat it for too long though, or it will be too runny to stay put on your cakes.

When the cakes have cooled completely, put a generous dollop of frosting on top of each one, and place in the fridge for half an hour or so to set.

Risotto...

2010-09-14T23:19:00.002+01:00

Matt here,

Risotto is a favourite of ours and a regular, despite its rather long-winded preparation. It's very easy to experiment with and I've always found it to be rather forgiving. I really am very fond of risotto, the ingredients are so simple (stock + rice + stirring = lovely meal) and yet the result is so elegant. There's something comforting about the whole process, to me the stirring is never a chore.

I find that the recipe takes about an hour, from raw ingredients to plate, I suppose you could bash it out in 40 minutes but why not savour the process? Savour it with a glass of wine, throw a glass in the risotto if you fancy it (probably stick to a white wine for this).

This is a good example of how I generally make risotto. I suppose that it's based on a Slater recipe from his 30 minute cook (the first cookbook I bought myself I think, and a great introduction to getting highly edible results on a weekday evening). I've now internalised it and jigged it to my tastes. The chicken is my addition, and the quantities and method are a little meddled with. The thigh meat is important (it actually tastes like chicken) as is the large amount of butter. Don't skimp on the seasoning, it takes a lot, especially if you use the unsalted marigold. The only other thing I'd add is that the liquid take up of rice can vary, if the rice is ready, don't add all the stock. If you've added all the stock and the rice is still a bit too chalky, put the kettle on and keep going with water.

If you've never tried making risotto before, do it tomorrow.

Ingredients (serves 2, generously):
300g Arborio rice
50g Butter
500ml Chicken Stock (mid week, I can't be bothered with home-made stock, this was bought from Waitrose)
500ml unsalted Marigold vegetable stock (much cheaper than another 500ml chicken stock)
1 Onion
3 Chicken thighs (boned)
50g Parmigiano Reggiano
Some more butter (~10g)
More salt than you'd expect

Method:

Fry the chicken in butter until it is just about cooked through and nice and golden on the outside. Whilst doing this finely dice the onion.
Remove the chicken and leave to rest. Add the onion to the pan and soften (I've read recipes saying that you can do this in 5 minutes at a high heat but I think this is wrong, the bitter burnt onion taste carries through the rice and isn't pleasant. I say 10-15 minutes on a lowish heat. The real test is to try some and see if it is a) soft and b) has a sweeter taste and doesn't taste like raw onion).
Whilst the onion is cooking, set up a saucepan and pour in the stock, heat it to a simmer. Also, you can weigh the rice and clean up any mess.
Once soft, stir in the rice, making sure that it is all coated in the butter. Add two ladles of the stock and stir.
When the stock is taken up, add another ladle of stock and keep stirring. Keep going, tasting the rice every couple of minutes or so. I enjoy the process here, you can really feel the rice start to give up its starch and take on the flavour of the stock.
Once the majority of the stock has been added, slice the chicken into little bite-size lumps and grate the cheese.
Stir in the chicken when there are about two more ladlefuls of stock to go to heat it back up. Once the rice is nice - little nibbles of texture in a rich velvety sauce - cut the heat and add the cheese and some butter, lots of butter is also good.
Season (heavily) to taste.
Stir for all you're worth, then some more. Leave the risotto a few minutes (not sure why, everyone recommends it though).
Serve up, shave some cheese over and a little drizzle of good olive oil. You'll want two bowls with a third of the risotto in each. This leaves enough for respectable second helpings, very important!

Moule time

2010-09-12T14:44:00.002+01:00

Belgos is one of those restaurants where, no matter how long I spend dithering over the menu, I invariably end up going for the same thing - juicy plump mussels in a Thai broth. With chips, naturally.

Yesterday, I took it upon myself to try to recreate this dish at home, without relying on recipes. I love reading recipe books (whether I'm actually cooking or just wanting to lose myself in some tasty writing) but I do find that if I've committed to making such-and-such a meal, I tend to cling to the recipe, going back to check and recheck every step lest I let whatever I'm labouring over burn/collapse/go lumpy/have A.N Other disaster. In other words, I get The Fear.

Yesterday, I decided, The Fear wasn't getting a look in. We went down to Northcote Road to visit the lovely fish van (for me) and the cheese shop of untold delight (for Matt). Armed with a kilo of mussels, I hit the kitchen (with considerable force, if the mess I have left is anything to go by).

I knew I wanted the mussels to be in a fragrant broth, so I would need a very liquid base, and coconut milk seemed the obvious choice. Into this, I decided to whisk in a paste of ingredients which correspond to the eminent John Torode's '4 pillars of Thai food', which, I have no doubt, will be brought up on every series of Masterchef until the end of time. These four key components are sour, sweet, salty and hot. The coconut milk would provide a real sweetness, so I wanted to focus on the other three flavours in the paste I whizzed up.

Anyone who knows me and the way I cook will know that I am of the opinion that everything is made better with the addition of citrus fruit, so my Thai paste started with a big kick of lime and lemon. I also added a red chilli (bought from the market and much fierier than its smaller, supermarket-bought brothers), a clove of garlic, lemongrass, a lump of ginger (and then a second lump for good luck) and a big lug of Nam Pla fish sauce. All of this was blitzed together in the Magimix, then whisked into my coconut milk. More chilli was flung in at the last minute for some extra pizazz, and then the whole lot was poured over the mussels to cook.

Below is the recipe with quantites and the like. It is actually very simple, but I am nonetheless proud of it, as there was no burning or collapsing, no attack of the unexplained lumps, the flavours all came together nicely, and all the recipe books remained neatly on their shelf. From now on I shall try to conquer The Fear more often, trust in my palate, and experiment with recipes, rather than always following them religiously. There you go - a real September resolution for you.

Jen xx

Fragrant Thai Mussels
(Serves 2 as a large first course, or a main course with chips or a crunchy salad)

Ingredients:

1 stick of lemongrass
2 fiery red chillis (a lot of the heat infuses through the coconut milk, so you're in no danger of blowing your head off)
2 walnut sized knobs of ginger (peeled)
Juice and zest of 2 limes
Juice of 1 smallish lemon
1 clove of garlic
3 tbsps Nam Pla fish sauce
A small handful of coriander
500ml coconut milk
1 kilo mussels

Method:

Remove the tough, woody outer layer of the lemongrass and chop it roughly.
Chop the coriander, garlic, chilli and ginger and add these to your food processor with the lemongrass and lime zest.
Blitz together and slowly add the lime juice, lemon juice and Nam Pla.
Keep whizzing together until you've got a smoothish paste - add a splash of water if you need to.
Check over your mussels. If any are open, tap the edge of the shell sharply with your finger. They should slowly close of their own accord. If they don't budge, discard them.
If any of your mussels have dark greyish green fibres protruding from the side of the shell, don't worry. These are their 'beards', and while they're not exactly great eating, they are certainly not poisonous. Grab them in your fingers, or a pair of tweezers, and pull them sharply upwards towards the opening of the shell. It might take a bit of brute force, but they should come out!
Rinse the mussels quickly in cold water to remove any bits of sand or grit that might be on the shells, then put them into a large, deep saucepan or stockpot.
Whisk your nicely blitzed curry paste into the coconut milk until it's all combined. I use coconut powder, mixed with 500 ml almost boiling water. If your coconut milk is from a can, heat it in a saucepan and whisk in the paste while on the heat - don't let it boil though.
Pour this mixture over the mussels, turn the heat up high, cover with a lid and wait for the liquid to come to the boil.
Stir the mussels around in the liquid and turn it down to a gentle simmer.
Leave them covered for another 4 minutes, or until most if not all of the shells are open, then ladle them into bowl and pour the cooking liquid over the top.
Discard any closed shells as you eat them, and don't worry about getting hot broth all up your sleeves - getting messy is all part of the fun.

There is also a sandwich

2010-09-07T13:58:00.000+01:00

Matt here,

There are times where the excesses of a previous evening have left me not feeling in peak physical condition. These painful and distressing times call for special measures.

No measure is as special as The Sandwich.

I'm blogging about this superfood today as I had one again over the weekend – it was great. Its magnificence lies in combining the two great food groups (cheese and meat) with the practicality of a sandwich. The mustard is key in cutting through blearyness.

I thought about taking a photo, but a combination of its not-so-photogenic appearance, my desperation to eat it immediately and not wanting to pick up my camera with greasy hands intervened.

The sandwich is of a very specific construction and I will attempt to describe it below.

Ingredients:
Two slices of white bread
As much bacon as you have (if it's not smoked then the pig died in vain)
Lots of grated cheddar (should be fairly mature)
English mustard

Method:

Fry the bacon to your own taste of done-ness, but not too crunchy.
Whilst sizzling, lightly toast the bread and grate the cheese.
Spread mustard thickly on one slice of toast and add a small hill of grated cheese.
Transfer bacon onto cheese trying to make sure that not too much of the cooking fat is lost.
Put other slice on top and cut in half.
Devour in front of inane TV (maybe Dave) with a cup of coffee and feel slightly better ...

On Eggs As Forbidden Fruit

2010-09-05T22:28:00.001+01:00

In recent months, I have been having annoying digestive wobblings and tummy troubles, and on dr's advice have been searching for the things I eat that seem to trigger this off, in order to eliminate them from my diet.

So it is that for the last 6 weeks or so, eggs have been banished, and, actually, it seems to be working (touch wood).

Now, you'd think that having found a potential trigger and stopped nasty painful yuck-stomach in its tracks for a while would make me happy. But I am a contrary creature, and thus all it appears to have done is to place the egg on a shiny, glittering pedestal of utter deliciousness in my brain. To the point that whenever Matt asks the inevitable 'What shall we do for dinner?' question, I have to refrain from shrieking 'EggseggseggsEGGSeggsarrrrrgheggs!' at him.

Photo from Delia online

Give me poached eggs on toast, topped in smoked salmon.

Give me a full English with them buttery, bright yellow and scrambled, or fried and ready to burst and ooze gold with the first touch of a fork.

Give me hollandaise sauce to eat with a spoon; give me glossy mayonnaise spread thick on crusty white bread; I want creamy, peppery carbonara; I want the glorious mix of bearnaise and ketchup to dip my chips in (possibly frowned upon by other foodies, for which I apologise ...try it, non-believers, it's divine).

Deliver me a spicy pepper and chorizo omelette, the eggs stained pinkish orange from the meat juices; I want eggs en cocotte with earthy, and oh-so-indulgent morels; give me eggy bread, crusty with sugar and sticky with maple syrup and strawberries, and please, oh please, give me thick, sunny custard.

This has been cathartic. Thank you.

Jen xx

Matt vs. lentils

2010-08-31T23:12:00.001+01:00

Hi there,

Jen mentioned that we had puy lentils in the cupboard, tonight I cooked them.

If you'd asked me about eating lentils a couple of months ago I would have made wretching noises, but now I like them, a lot. This culinary U-turn was brought about through a visit to the Clifton Kitchen, where I was so hungry for the confit rabbit that I was prepared to overlook bunny sharing a plate with creamed puy lentils. In fact the rabbit was a bit dry and the least interesting component of what was otherwise a fantastic meal. The lentils were in a rich meat stock and had a hint of cream to them, like an earthy rich risotto. Since that meal, the last two restaurant visits have also had puy lentils prominently in the menu and they've been great.

So, how to cook them? The method below is adapted from the The Guardian, but, not having any grouse to hand, I used a griddle pan to crisp up some de-boned chicken thighs marinated in oil, lemon, chilli and coriander (de-boning chicken thighs is one of my favourite kitchen preparations, it makes me feel like a butcher). I was too rushed to buy any meat stock so I used Marigold.

Verdict:
Very nice, warming and filling, but perhaps lacking the richness of a chefy beef/veal reduction that we had been used to (or perhaps spoilt by). It was an easy preparation at ~30 minutes and made a nice change from the more standard carbohydrates. Definitely one to revisit! Chicken was tasty too...

The recipe is generous for four portions, don't be tempted to overdo it as it is VERY filling - as Jen found to her cost... cue much overstuffed groaning.

Ingredients:
250g Puy Lentils
1 carrot
1 onion
1 stick of celery
olive oil
2 rashers of smoked streaky bacon
1 tablespoon of nam pla fish sauce
750ml of Marigold based vegetable stock
100ml double cream

Method:

Coat the bottom of a sauteuse with olive oil (the 115ml suggested in the original recipe looks like a typo to me) and heat to medium heat. Slice up the bacon and drop it in the pan (maybe use another two rashers for a stronger taste).
While the bacon sizzles and gives up its flavour, chop the veg finely. Put veg in the pan and let it soften for 5 to 10 minutes.
As you stir occasionally to stop things sticking and burning, prepare the stock and wash the lentils.
Add the lentils and stir them in with the veg. Pour over the stock and bring to the boil - leave at a simmer for 20 - 25 minutes, checking done-ness and stirring from time to time.
When the liquid is mostly absorbed, and the lentils are no longer chalky in texture, add the fish sauce and cream and season with salt and pepper.
Bring the pan up to heat, stir, transfer to plate, then insert into face.

Paris - Tu Me Manques. (In which Jen bakes lots of madeleines)

2010-08-30T21:27:00.001+01:00

Today has been a bit of a wistful, thinky sort of a day. Probably it's because our holidays are over. I am actually quite looking forward to getting back to work tomorrow, but there's always that sadness of something ending - I feel the same on January 6th every year when the Christmas tree comes down and the room suddenly seems like it's just that little bit darker and emptier than it ever has been.

So, after a morning of fiendish flat cleaning, I shut myself away in the kitchen (which is looking lovely and organised, thank you Matt!) with Stacey Kent's stunning Raconte Moi album, and began Operation Madeleine.

Even thinking about madeleines makes me feel better. I first encountered them when I was a language assistant in a primary school near Nantes while I was studying for my A levels. I was there for 3 weeks, and remember being knocked sideways by homesickness. Every day after school, my host-mum had a cup of tea made with honey and a plate of madeleines waiting for me. These were shop bought, and a bit dry and cloying, but they nonetheless made me feel better.

When, a few years later, I moved to Paris for a year, I had to have serious words with my brain in order to keep me from flinging myself with gay abandon onto every tartelette, opera, religieuse and other cream-filled delight that I saw. Apologies for stating the bleeding obvious, but Paris does cake like no other. However, among all these marvels of the patisserie it was the humble, buttery little madeleine I turned to when I needed a pick-me-up.

My lovely friend and super chic Parisienne, Cat, bought me a book on madeleines for my birthday this year, and, unforgivably, it has languished on my bookshelf until today. I shall attempt to refrain from getting too Proustian on you with my madeleine inspired recollections, but after having consumed an alarming number of them today, my brain is soaked with Paris. I feel a list coming on ...

Mon Paris À Moi

Photo by the wonderful Robert Doisneau

Eating ice cream from Berthillon in the pouring rain. Pomme verte and cacao - perfection in two scoops.
That first view of the Eiffel Tower as you round a corner.
The sun catching the stones of the Louvre in the middle of Autumn and making them gold against the silver of the river.
Finally understanding why Monet's waterlilies are such a breathtakingly big deal at L'Orangerie.
The market on the Rue Mouffetard - dithering happily over goats cheese, and being almost hypnotised by rotisserie chickens dripping their amber fat onto the crispy little potatoes underneath.
Dancing at the Caveau de la Huchette with the only man I have ever seen wearing spats in a non ironic fashion.
Candelit Chopin in the freezing cold Eglise de St Ephraim, then hot chocolates afterwards..
Pizza in the office at midnight writing up the report on the first night of the Sarko/Sego election.
People watching at Bastille with a demi-peche.
Notre Dame's rose window. If I could have a tiny version to carry around with me and look at every day I would be a happy woman.

I will go back soon. I will.

So, back to the matter of the madeleine. Armed with my new, swanky silicone madeleine tins (good grief they make baking so much easier, I must invest in more of them) I embarked on a batch of lemon accented ones. They turned out really rather well, despite being a tad on the anemic looking side (patience being a virtue I do not possess at the best of times, least of all when baking something tasty).

I vow that by tomorrow night I will have eaten them all. I will also have listened to Stacey Kent some more. Ooh..and I will have had my hair cut (l-o-n-g overdue) so I can try to fashion it into some sort of chic Parisienne up do. I shall no doubt fail, but I shall damn well try!

Voici, the recipe, translated from 'Mini Madeleines' by Sandra Mahut. Bon appétit, tout-le-monde.

Jen xx

Ingredients (makes about 27 madeleines)

150g plain flour, sieved
125g almost melted butter
150g caster sugar
2 large eggs
2 tbsps milk
1 tsp baking powder
Juice and finely chopped zest of one lemon

Method

Whisk the eggs and sugar together until you have a pale yellow smooth paste.
Gradually add the flour and baking powder, whisking all the time.
Pour in the butter and the milk and stir in, then gradually add the lemon juice and zest.
Leave the mixture in the fridge for half an hour.
Preheat the oven to 220 C (Gas mark 7).
Blob one teaspoon of the mixture into each of your buttered madeleine shapes (I buttered my silicone tin too, to be on the safe side).
Put into the oven and cook for about 4 minutes.
Lower the temperature of the oven to 180 C (Gas mark 4) and leave to cook for another 4-6 minutes.
Once the madeleines are lightly coloured, take them out and immediately turn them out onto a cooling rack.
Enjoy on their own or dunked into a cup of tisane - be warned, may cause excessive reminiscing!

Blue Rhubarb And An Extravaganza Of Cake

2010-08-30T00:20:00.001+01:00

We're now back from holiday, back in our little flat, and incredulous at the sheer amount of laundry there is to do. Huge, teetering PILES OF IT. Gah! So, to take my mind of the constant whirry grumble of the washing machine, not to mention the horror of going back to the office, which lurks around the corner, I shall tell you all about our foodie adventures of the past couple of days.

On Friday evening we were in Clifton, staying with Matt's parents in their lovely new flat. To say thank you for putting us up (and putting up with us) on several occasions, we took them out to a newish restaurant just round the corner called Blue Rhubarb. Apparently it used to be a garage, but they've made very good use of the space inside, so it doesn't feel cold or industrial. The deep blue and purple velvet curtains hanging in swags, and the enormous and really-very-swanky-indeed chandelier give it a little bit of sumptuous, almost theatrical flair.

When I was handed the menu, I at first thought it was a bit of an oddity. Packed with British classics, it's obviously trying to give customers a fine dining experience. However, the choice of some of the ingredients and accompaniments seemed to me to be a little too hearty, and more at home on a pub or, dare I say it, a school dinner menu (although that might have something to do with my deep seated dislike of beetroot, swede and their ilk). But as soon as the starters came out, I realised how wrong I had been.

Matt and I love going out to eat, and while we're not connoisseurs of fine dining by any stretch of the imagination, we do like to treat each other to the odd posh meal for birthdays/anniversaries/just-because-it's-a-wednesday. It's funny how easy it is to pigeonhole menus or types of restaurants before you've taken a bite. I suspect I had subconsciously decided that in order for a menu to constitute a 'fine dining' experience, things had to be served in tiny or odd-shaped dishes, with emulsions and foams and other Willy Wonka-esque bits of showmanship. While these things are all undeniably great fun, and very tasty too, I think I need to be less of a menu jackdaw, who's distracted by the shiny, glitzy faff, and focus on the foundations of the dishes themselves.

So, my Blue Rhubarb starter was a welcome eye opener. Buttery soft pigeon breast came served simply but beautifully on a bed on puy lentils (a packet of which is consequently lurking in our kitchen cupboard, watch this space for lentil experiments). The meat was lovely and rare and was complemented perfectly by the sticky and warming lentils. The main courses followed in a similarly delicious vein. My wild mushroom risotto was full of flavour, with the special treat of a truffled marscarpone ball sitting and oozing gorgeousness through the middle of it. Matt had slow roast lamb shoulder served with lamb hash and a carrot and swede mash (which couldn't have been further from my middle-school recollections of hideous lumpy 'yuck swede'). Also at our table, and eliciting many yummy noises was moist and tender chicken breast with creamed cabbage, salty pancetta and saffron, and duck breast with pureed beetroot (a non vinegary, deep and sweet revelation - oh beetroot, how cruelly I have misjudged you!)

The portion sizes were so well judged that although we'd had a lot of pretty rich food, we were all up for pudding. My blueberry and rhubarb cheescake hit all the right notes of bitter, creamy, fruity and sweet, and a blackberry creme brulee was subtle and delicate. All in all, a highly recommended restaurant, serving classic food simply but with real style, and without the bumper price tag that you might be afraid of. Yum!

So then it was back to the Big Smoke, and what better way to get back into London than with an exhibition devoted to cake?!

This was Cake Britain, an entirely edible exhibition from Tate and Lyle and The Mad Artists' Tea Party. We caught it on the last day, and arrived just as the great and glorious 'smashing-everything-up-and-eating-it' part was beginning. Thankfully, we managed to get a good look at the installations before they were devoured by the clamouring hoardes. Each one was inspired by the word 'fair', to highlight Tate and Lyle's emphasis on Fairtrade.

So, we were confronted with this handsome stag made entirely of icing and texturised with brown sugar...

... this entirely edible and not-a-little-bit-sinister garden ...

... Captain Fairtrade, he sails the seas, made entirely of sponge cake and icing going 'Yargh' and 'Ahoy' ...

....and this 'Cloud Cuckoo Cake', which questions whether love is an unreachable ideal, with Brangelina on the top as an epitome of the unreal (ouch).

We watched the destruction of this one, and a strange shift came over the feeling of the exhibition. No frontiers of politeness were broken, but people did start to get a bit grabby as the portions were handed out, with bits of the meringue being broken off and stuffed into people's faces at alarming speed. It was fun to watch, but a little bit unnerving to see how quickly people had gone from calmly admiring the artwork, to chaotically grabbing bits of it and snarfing them.

I for one, am a fan of edible exhibitions, and would like to watch / taste / digest some more!

Tomorrow being bank holiday monday, and the weather promising to be awful I shall flee to the kitchen for a bake-a-thon. Any successes will no doubt make their way online soon. But right now, my snuggly bed is calling to me, so I shall bid you goodnight.

Jen xx

Profiteroles - Starting as we mean to go on...

2010-08-26T23:05:00.001+01:00

Hi, Matt here.

This week we’ve been house-sitting in Axbridge, providing us with a nice big kitchen to play in and a number of exciting new cookbooks to leaf through. We’ve also had the spare time to devote to some slightly more involved recipes that we wouldn't normally attempt mid-week. (Chicken risotto with home-made chicken stock, french onion soup and profiteroles were the highlights, pigeon and mash with red wine reduction was also very good).

Looking through James Martin's Desserts book (beautifully presented but seems to have received mixed reviews in terms of ingredients measurements - not sure if I'll buy this one for myself or not) I spotted a profiterole recipe. Profiteroles have always been one of my favourite desserts, but - and this is essential - only when they have a set chocolate coating. To me the resistance offered by the thick chocolate makes a world of difference from the otherwise soggy homogenous, but admittedly tasty, mess that results from the standard hot sauce presentation. When they're cold you can pick them up and eat them like chocolate eclairs, with a challenging explosive cream element, which to me is very important.

The recipe below is adapted from James, the deviations are discussed in the method. He says to serve with hot chocolate sauce, like so many others he is of course wrong. It's not how my mum makes them.

If you are of a strong enough constitution, they make an excellent addition to breakfast.

Choux pastry is a funny beast and I'm still not sure that I've got it quite right, I will definitely try again soon though and have made a mental note to check what Harold McGee has to say on the matter.
Our guests were impressed with the presentation and the fact that I'd attempted choux pastry, which was nice. Personally, I thought that they were a reasonable success, some were a touch over cooked perhaps, but plenty of cream and chocolate helped to cover that. Next time, I would use more chocolate and consider drizzling white chocolate finely over the tops (to set) and provide a bit more contrast.

Jen likes a chocolate sauce but demands an ice cream filling. I appreciate where she's going with hot and cold contrast, but it's the added texture that I'm after...

Ingredients:
200ml semi skimmed milk
50ml water
50g butter
150g plain flour
2g salt
5g sugar
3 duck eggs
300ml cream
200g dark choclate

Method:

Turn on oven to gas mark 7 (220C ish)
Pour water and milk in pan (was meant to be 125ml of full fat and 125ml water but I was lazy and we only had semi skimmed...) add the butter, salt and sugar and bring to the boil for a minute or so.
Sift flour onto greaseproof paper, take the pan off the heat and then dump in the flour whilst stirring madly (received wisdom is that the flour needs to go in fast - I think the paper trick comes from Delia).
Once flour is in the pan and you have a cohesive blob that pulls away from the sides of the pan, return it to the heat and keep stirring. The dough makes some odd soft popping noises as the water comes out of it, keep stirring for a couple of minutes.
Take off the heat and let the pan cool for 5 mins whilst cleaning up a bit.
Add the eggs one by one to the dough stirring as much as possible (it was four medium eggs in the recipe but 3 large free range duck eggs was all we had).
Once the eggs are in, grease a baking tray and then drop blobs of the mixture onto the tray (a little smaller than golf ball size). Keep them a little bit apart as they will expand when cooking. Mr Martin suggested using wet fingers to smooth the blobs - this seemed like a pointless faff to me, but it does stop any pointy bits from burning so perhaps is worth the effort.
Put tray in oven and then throw a mug of water into another oven tray at the bottom of the oven, apparently this is good for helping the pastry rise - This was also a JM suggestion, not sure it makes a difference but it was fun. After 20 minutes, or when the profiteroles are nicely golden, remove from the oven and turn them over.
Make a small hole in the bottom or side of each profiterole to let the steam out and hot oven air in and put them back in the oven for 5 minutes (my second batch got left in for 10 minutes at this point and suffered as a consequence - see the top one in the picture). I had to do 2 batches due to lack of trays, if I'd had the trays, I'd have done both at the same time.
Once the profiteroles are cooling on a rack, melt the chocolate in a bowl over simmering water. When the profiteroles are warm rather than hot to the touch, dip them in the chocolate and transfer them to a plate. Drizzle any extra chocolate over the profiteroles once each has had an initial covering. Transfer plate to fridge.
Whip the cream fairly stiff with a touch of sugar and put in the fridge.
Leave the lot for an hour and a half. When the chocolate is set, take each profiterole and slit it across one side, open it out and insert a generous teaspoon of whipped cream.
Pile profiteroles artfully and then insert into face. Leave some in the fridge and try one in the morning as a pudding after breakfast - amazing!

Hi there...

2010-08-25T21:24:00.000+01:00

Welcome to our blog. This will be the outpost for our culinary musings and we're both very excited about it. We promise to keep it updated as often as possible (I admit, I have been guilty of shameful neglect on a previous blog, as well as several diaries from my teenage years, but I'll do my damnedest to make sure that this one is a keeper!)

So...what's this blog all about?

We both love to eat, and to cook, to talk about cooking and then to eat some more. If you're looking for a healthy eating blog, this may not be your spiritual cyber home (I'm new to this technological jargon, can you tell?!) That's not to say that we'll eschew salads, spinach and superfoods for the sake of it, but you're more likely to find buttery, sugary, cheesy, boozy recipes that care less about the calories and more about the grin that spreads across your face as you take that first forkful.

I guess the name of our little blog sums it up quite nicely. Take a hunk of veiny, nutty stilton (let's say Colston Bassett if we're going for supreme tastiness), and a ripe, juicy mango. Neither of these are too hard to come by, nor do they cost the earth, but they're a treat. They make you feel indulgent. They make you smile, and that's what this blog is about. (Granted, if you hate blue cheese it may make you run for the hills, but bear with me. As for mango, I don't believe there is anyone who could possibly hate mango - it's like a sunset in your mouth). We want to write about what we love and what makes us smile, whether it's a tasty recipe, a gorgeous restaurant or a hilarious kitchen catastrophe. We hope you'll enjoy reading, and that some of our foodie scribblings will make you smile, too - or at least make you hungry. Tuck in!

Mango Man - William T Templeton