Does anyone have the time to peel potatoes?
I don't.
I love eating them in many different ways but I really can't use the peeler on them and certainly not a knife. I have until now blamed this on my left-handedness, but with hindsight and a bit of maturity I think it may be something to do with prioritisation...
Would I rather peel potatoes or stroke my cat/read my book/walk my imaginary dog/poke around in my garden/read Grazia magazine/recharge my ipod/fill my car with petrol (god I love the smell of petrol)/water my chilli plants/take pointless photos on my mobile phone/count the spiders' webs in my kitchen/stroke my cat etc. etc.?
When I really really do have to peel them for a special recipe I'll usually boil them in their skins and then use my asbestos fingers to peel them while they're hot. That's how I make my tortillas. And very tasty they are too. Or so my imaginary friend Pablo says.
But the thing I eat most often is dirty mash. You just find some lovely small and waxy potatoes, put them in cold water with lots and lots of rock salt and bring them to the boil and cook them for 15 minutes. Then you get one of those appliances that is like a mouli (my one is called a potato ricer) and squeeze them through. It is really quick and very satisfying and all you have to do is to clear the really bad debris from the holey round disc now and then. A few pieces of potato skin really won't make any difference and in fact a few bits here and there will add lots of flavour to your lovely mash.
Then you add butter and milk (heated for best results) and lots of salt and pepper. Whip it all up with a rubber spatula. Then the fun starts tasting it for seasoning. I have realised that I have to make twice as much as any recipe states because I always end up eating half of the quantity getting it seasoned properly. But is it worth it? Of course it is. And it's fun because it's dirty mash and good clean fun was always one of those concepts that doesn't quite work in reality, n'est-ce pas?
Sunday 22 October 2006
Saturday 21 October 2006
Meat
I have a somewhat complicated relationship with meat.
I always loved the taste of it as a child. My mother’s mince yum yum (fried mince, onions and garlic, well seasoned with tomato ketchup and an enormous splash of Worcester sauce, served with rice) was, and still is, one of my favourite meals.
But I was extremely sensitive and sentimental about animals and as soon as my teenage rebellion was in full swing I became vegetarian, much to the exasperation of my stepfather, who saw it as
a. confirmation of my communist tendencies and
b. the insidious influence of my father’s girlfriend, who did not eat meat herself and served up nut roast instead.
I soon moved to France, where vegetarianism was not very common. Indeed, most of the French people I met could not even grasp the basic concept. Animals were functional; they supplied affection, fur, home security and meat and that was that.
Somehow (mainly thanks to my fabulous surrogate Lebanese grandmother-of the-time who made me fantastic taboule every day), I managed to survive happily in France for another ten years or so without eating meat. Then, I moved back to England.
One day I found myself in a first class seat on a plane to Frankfurt. In the seat next to me was a middle-aged man, quite obviously of German descent, who had a noble air about him (he turned out to be a baron - it was the tweed and leather lederhosen that gave him away). He started talking to me as soon as the champagne was being served. I think he wished to establish that I was seated in the correct part of the plane.
He told me that he was on his way back from a visit to a Scottish estate where he had been hunting, shooting and fishing. He seemed oblivious to my rising hackles and proceeded to eulogise about the excitement involved in deer stalking and the fascinating and cunning mental games that exist between the hunter and hunted. The main thing that struck me was that he seemed to have genuine respect for the animals he hunted. I thought of my favourite hunter, Hemingway, and it all started to make sense. Despite my best intentions, I started to become seriously aroused, not in an overtly sexual way, but certainly in a carnivorous way. I suddenly fancied meat very much indeed.
This was very good timing as the people I had been sent to meet in Germany didn’t seem to have a relationship with vegetables at all. The only one that shared the table with 225 varieties of sausage and cured meat was, of course, the potato.
So, I took the plunge and tasted meat for the first time in about 14 years. I spent the next 3 days eating every single variety of animal that I could lay my hands on. I was in meat heaven! I realised how bored I had been with food and how many new taste sensations were now open to me.
Since then there has been no going back. I feel, ironically, more connected to nature now that I understand the relationship between man and meat.
As we're now in the game season and if you like your flesh lean and tasty, here’s a recipe courtesy of Hugh Fearnley-Whittingstall – I’ve just made it for supper and it’s very nice indeed.
Stewed venison
You can vary this according to the cuts of venison available. Even larger cuts that are still on the bone, such as shanks and neck, are good, not least as the bones will enrich the liquor as the stew cooks, so you probably won't need any extra stock. Another nice variation is to use chunks of spicy chorizo instead of pancetta, and/or little venison meatballs made from the burger mix (see recipe below) - in both cases, fry gently and add for the last 45 minutes of cooking. Serves six.
1 tbsp oil (or dripping)
250g salted pork belly or pancetta, cut into chunky cubes
1.5kg venison neck and shoulder meat, cut into large chunks
2 onions, peeled and finely sliced
2-3 large carrots, peeled and cut into big chunks
2 sticks celery, sliced
2 bay leaves
1 sprig thyme
150ml red wine
500ml-plus beef or game stock
Salt and black pepper
Heat the oil in a large, heavy frying pan. Add the pork and fry gently until it is lightly browned and the fat runs. Transfer the pork to a casserole, but leave the pan and bacon-flavoured oil on the heat. Now brown the venison, in batches, transferring it to the casserole as soon as it is lightly coloured.
Add the onions to the pan and sweat until soft but not brown. Transfer to the casserole, then add the carrots, celery, bay leaves and thyme to the pan. Deglaze the pan with wine - allow it to bubble for a minute, to evaporate some of the alcohol. Pour over the meat, along with the stock and a little water if needed: the meat should be covered by a good couple of centimetres. Season sparingly with pepper, but not salt (the bacon will be quite salty).
Bring to a simmer and cook, uncovered, at a very low, tremulous simmer for one-and-a-half to two hours (up to three if you've used neck or shanks on the bone), until the meat is very tender. (You can also cook it, covered, in a slow oven - about 140C/275F/gas mark 1.)
When the meat is cooked, taste the stew and adjust the seasoning. The juice will be thin, but well-flavoured. Serve with a dollop of good, buttery mash and steamed seasonal greens.
I always loved the taste of it as a child. My mother’s mince yum yum (fried mince, onions and garlic, well seasoned with tomato ketchup and an enormous splash of Worcester sauce, served with rice) was, and still is, one of my favourite meals.
But I was extremely sensitive and sentimental about animals and as soon as my teenage rebellion was in full swing I became vegetarian, much to the exasperation of my stepfather, who saw it as
a. confirmation of my communist tendencies and
b. the insidious influence of my father’s girlfriend, who did not eat meat herself and served up nut roast instead.
I soon moved to France, where vegetarianism was not very common. Indeed, most of the French people I met could not even grasp the basic concept. Animals were functional; they supplied affection, fur, home security and meat and that was that.
Somehow (mainly thanks to my fabulous surrogate Lebanese grandmother-of the-time who made me fantastic taboule every day), I managed to survive happily in France for another ten years or so without eating meat. Then, I moved back to England.
One day I found myself in a first class seat on a plane to Frankfurt. In the seat next to me was a middle-aged man, quite obviously of German descent, who had a noble air about him (he turned out to be a baron - it was the tweed and leather lederhosen that gave him away). He started talking to me as soon as the champagne was being served. I think he wished to establish that I was seated in the correct part of the plane.
He told me that he was on his way back from a visit to a Scottish estate where he had been hunting, shooting and fishing. He seemed oblivious to my rising hackles and proceeded to eulogise about the excitement involved in deer stalking and the fascinating and cunning mental games that exist between the hunter and hunted. The main thing that struck me was that he seemed to have genuine respect for the animals he hunted. I thought of my favourite hunter, Hemingway, and it all started to make sense. Despite my best intentions, I started to become seriously aroused, not in an overtly sexual way, but certainly in a carnivorous way. I suddenly fancied meat very much indeed.
This was very good timing as the people I had been sent to meet in Germany didn’t seem to have a relationship with vegetables at all. The only one that shared the table with 225 varieties of sausage and cured meat was, of course, the potato.
So, I took the plunge and tasted meat for the first time in about 14 years. I spent the next 3 days eating every single variety of animal that I could lay my hands on. I was in meat heaven! I realised how bored I had been with food and how many new taste sensations were now open to me.
Since then there has been no going back. I feel, ironically, more connected to nature now that I understand the relationship between man and meat.
As we're now in the game season and if you like your flesh lean and tasty, here’s a recipe courtesy of Hugh Fearnley-Whittingstall – I’ve just made it for supper and it’s very nice indeed.
Stewed venison
You can vary this according to the cuts of venison available. Even larger cuts that are still on the bone, such as shanks and neck, are good, not least as the bones will enrich the liquor as the stew cooks, so you probably won't need any extra stock. Another nice variation is to use chunks of spicy chorizo instead of pancetta, and/or little venison meatballs made from the burger mix (see recipe below) - in both cases, fry gently and add for the last 45 minutes of cooking. Serves six.
1 tbsp oil (or dripping)
250g salted pork belly or pancetta, cut into chunky cubes
1.5kg venison neck and shoulder meat, cut into large chunks
2 onions, peeled and finely sliced
2-3 large carrots, peeled and cut into big chunks
2 sticks celery, sliced
2 bay leaves
1 sprig thyme
150ml red wine
500ml-plus beef or game stock
Salt and black pepper
Heat the oil in a large, heavy frying pan. Add the pork and fry gently until it is lightly browned and the fat runs. Transfer the pork to a casserole, but leave the pan and bacon-flavoured oil on the heat. Now brown the venison, in batches, transferring it to the casserole as soon as it is lightly coloured.
Add the onions to the pan and sweat until soft but not brown. Transfer to the casserole, then add the carrots, celery, bay leaves and thyme to the pan. Deglaze the pan with wine - allow it to bubble for a minute, to evaporate some of the alcohol. Pour over the meat, along with the stock and a little water if needed: the meat should be covered by a good couple of centimetres. Season sparingly with pepper, but not salt (the bacon will be quite salty).
Bring to a simmer and cook, uncovered, at a very low, tremulous simmer for one-and-a-half to two hours (up to three if you've used neck or shanks on the bone), until the meat is very tender. (You can also cook it, covered, in a slow oven - about 140C/275F/gas mark 1.)
When the meat is cooked, taste the stew and adjust the seasoning. The juice will be thin, but well-flavoured. Serve with a dollop of good, buttery mash and steamed seasonal greens.
Tuesday 3 October 2006
Camper Vans
I've realised that I want to go on a long journey in a camper van - immediately. There's one called Claude, an old 50s sky blue Comma van, waiting patiently in a barn in Herefordshire for just that purpose. I've chickened out so far as Claude has a reputation for breaking down on precipices in the Dolomites and for being quite badly behaved - usually miles from civilisation. But the allure of the open road and Claude’s sweet little wooden interior are suddenly proving quite irresistible.
I don’t know whether it’s because I’ve just seen the film Little Miss Sunshine (I urge you to see it if you haven’t already), but I am suddenly conscious of how important road movies are in my life - in my imaginary life anyway.
If I were to probe the reality of going on a journey in Claude, I think I would be rather nervous. The imaginary me loves sleeping rough and waking up with dew on my eyelashes, washing in brooks and wearing home-knitted jumpers and big boots with no heels.
The real me is thinking of the time when my sister and I shared a tent in America when we were teenagers and had a little misunderstanding with three thousand or so local mosquitoes. Or the time when I had a holiday job in a bed and breakfast in Cornwall and poached two hundred eggs every day at dawn in exchange for sleeping in a tent in the owners’ garden, shared with a hungry horse with a penchant for canvas. The only way to escape after 7 nights of being constantly nibbled by a sharp set of equine teeth was to slice a small chunk of flesh between my thumb and first finger with a very sharp knife while washing up (try it, it’s very theatrical) and wait for the subsequent, but pretty immediate, horror, sympathy and leaving present. I was very pleased to say farewell to that tent and to hitch hike all the way back to London without saying goodbye to the insatiable nag. I still have a sliver of a scar on my hand to remind me of the halcyon days of my youth.
Back to today, I’ve just been to see what’s going to be auctioned tomorrow at the local Chattels Market. It’s wonderful there. You can bid on all sorts of fabulous house clearance items to the sound of hundreds of cows mooing away in a very echo-y barn next door. There was a camper van parked there which triggered the whole camper van thing today. This one had little curtains and more than a little rustic allure.
My last bargain at the Chattels was an antique Japanese parasol and a huge box of church candles (£5 the lot). It was huge fun bidding. The auctioneer is very kind with me. He remembers when I missed out on a huge box of Second World War ammunition. He seemed to sympathise at the time and made a few jokes about it and has been very nice ever since.
Going back to food, I think I would like to attempt to roast marshmallows over an open fire in my road movie. I’m assuming that you just thread them on a long silver skewer and put it in the fire. Is that correct…?
I don’t know whether it’s because I’ve just seen the film Little Miss Sunshine (I urge you to see it if you haven’t already), but I am suddenly conscious of how important road movies are in my life - in my imaginary life anyway.
If I were to probe the reality of going on a journey in Claude, I think I would be rather nervous. The imaginary me loves sleeping rough and waking up with dew on my eyelashes, washing in brooks and wearing home-knitted jumpers and big boots with no heels.
The real me is thinking of the time when my sister and I shared a tent in America when we were teenagers and had a little misunderstanding with three thousand or so local mosquitoes. Or the time when I had a holiday job in a bed and breakfast in Cornwall and poached two hundred eggs every day at dawn in exchange for sleeping in a tent in the owners’ garden, shared with a hungry horse with a penchant for canvas. The only way to escape after 7 nights of being constantly nibbled by a sharp set of equine teeth was to slice a small chunk of flesh between my thumb and first finger with a very sharp knife while washing up (try it, it’s very theatrical) and wait for the subsequent, but pretty immediate, horror, sympathy and leaving present. I was very pleased to say farewell to that tent and to hitch hike all the way back to London without saying goodbye to the insatiable nag. I still have a sliver of a scar on my hand to remind me of the halcyon days of my youth.
Back to today, I’ve just been to see what’s going to be auctioned tomorrow at the local Chattels Market. It’s wonderful there. You can bid on all sorts of fabulous house clearance items to the sound of hundreds of cows mooing away in a very echo-y barn next door. There was a camper van parked there which triggered the whole camper van thing today. This one had little curtains and more than a little rustic allure.
My last bargain at the Chattels was an antique Japanese parasol and a huge box of church candles (£5 the lot). It was huge fun bidding. The auctioneer is very kind with me. He remembers when I missed out on a huge box of Second World War ammunition. He seemed to sympathise at the time and made a few jokes about it and has been very nice ever since.
Going back to food, I think I would like to attempt to roast marshmallows over an open fire in my road movie. I’m assuming that you just thread them on a long silver skewer and put it in the fire. Is that correct…?
Tuesday 26 September 2006
Flea Update
I'm afraid that I have lost some serious eco-credibility today.
When I woke up this morning, I realised that the bites had climbed up my legs with alarming speed. They were now mid-thigh. Action needed to be taken. Immediately.
A quick call to the vets informed me that the cats were due a booster vaccination anyway. A couple of months ago.
Later on, following what seemed like hours of wild fun and games enticing the dear little kitties into their travel cases, we all found ourselves in a small white room. The vet inspected them carefully. The two sulking feline beauties were then given shots of vaccine, injected brutally but seemingly painlessly into the scruff of their necks. Then the vet brought out 2 tiny vials of clear liquid and dotted them onto their backs and heads.
I then realised what I had done. Oh god, I was letting my darling cats be smeared in toxic chemicals. All because of my vanity. I felt terrible.
But then the kind vet told me what would happen if I didn't use this miraculous remedy every month. We would all die of ringworm, tapeworm and flea bites. In only a matter of weeks. So it had been completely necessary, of course. I didn't ask him about the garlic.
The vet then commented on their general health. Bathsheba's weight could potentially be a problem in future. He highlighted, rather ungentlemanly, the little pouch of spare fur between her legs - oh! the indignity of the situation. Diggory Venn was considered lean and long for his age but tartar was developing on his teeth. There was little I could do there and then about Bathsheba's potential future obesity in her nether regions but I was given two options to sort out Diggory Venn's dental hygiene problem with immediate effect:
1. Buy a baby's toothbrush and brush his teeth every day;
2. Buy a packet of cat food, with a crunchy coating so hard the tartar just crumbles off.
Surprisingly, I went for option 2.
Armed with 3 months' supply of small vials and a bag of tooth-crunching/plaque-destroying cat biscuits I proceeded to the desk.
'That'll be £120.15 please'.
Ah.
At least my stir-fry was rather good tonight. I chopped up an extra fresh chilli from my chilli plant to try to cope with my shame and shock.
Salmon and scallops with coriander and lime
Serves 4
12 mins preparation
8 mins cooking
6 tbsp groundnut oil
280g salmon steak, skinned and cut into 2.5cm chunks
225g scallops
3 carrots, sliced thinly
2 celery sticks, cut into 2.5cm pieces
2 orange peppers, sliced thinly
175g oyster mushrooms, sliced thinly
1 clove garlic, crushed
6 tbsp chopped fresh coriander
3 shallots, sliced thinly
2 limes, juiced
1 tsp lime zest
1 tsp dried chilli flakes (or fresh chillies if you are feeling shameful)
3 tbsp dry sherry
3 tbsp soy sauce
Cooked noodles, to serve
****************************************************************************************************************
In a large frying pan or wok, heat the oil over a medium heat. Add the salmon and scallops and stir-fry for 3 minutes. Remove from the pan, set aside and keep warm.
Add the carrots, celery, peppers, mushrooms and garlic to the pan and stir-fry for 3 minutes. Add the coriander and shallots and stir.
Add the lime juice and zest, dried red pepper flakes, sherry and soy sauce and stir. Return the salmon and scallops to the pan and stir-fry very carefully for another minute.
Serve immediately on a bed of cooked noodles.
When I woke up this morning, I realised that the bites had climbed up my legs with alarming speed. They were now mid-thigh. Action needed to be taken. Immediately.
A quick call to the vets informed me that the cats were due a booster vaccination anyway. A couple of months ago.
Later on, following what seemed like hours of wild fun and games enticing the dear little kitties into their travel cases, we all found ourselves in a small white room. The vet inspected them carefully. The two sulking feline beauties were then given shots of vaccine, injected brutally but seemingly painlessly into the scruff of their necks. Then the vet brought out 2 tiny vials of clear liquid and dotted them onto their backs and heads.
I then realised what I had done. Oh god, I was letting my darling cats be smeared in toxic chemicals. All because of my vanity. I felt terrible.
But then the kind vet told me what would happen if I didn't use this miraculous remedy every month. We would all die of ringworm, tapeworm and flea bites. In only a matter of weeks. So it had been completely necessary, of course. I didn't ask him about the garlic.
The vet then commented on their general health. Bathsheba's weight could potentially be a problem in future. He highlighted, rather ungentlemanly, the little pouch of spare fur between her legs - oh! the indignity of the situation. Diggory Venn was considered lean and long for his age but tartar was developing on his teeth. There was little I could do there and then about Bathsheba's potential future obesity in her nether regions but I was given two options to sort out Diggory Venn's dental hygiene problem with immediate effect:
1. Buy a baby's toothbrush and brush his teeth every day;
2. Buy a packet of cat food, with a crunchy coating so hard the tartar just crumbles off.
Surprisingly, I went for option 2.
Armed with 3 months' supply of small vials and a bag of tooth-crunching/plaque-destroying cat biscuits I proceeded to the desk.
'That'll be £120.15 please'.
Ah.
At least my stir-fry was rather good tonight. I chopped up an extra fresh chilli from my chilli plant to try to cope with my shame and shock.
Salmon and scallops with coriander and lime
Serves 4
12 mins preparation
8 mins cooking
6 tbsp groundnut oil
280g salmon steak, skinned and cut into 2.5cm chunks
225g scallops
3 carrots, sliced thinly
2 celery sticks, cut into 2.5cm pieces
2 orange peppers, sliced thinly
175g oyster mushrooms, sliced thinly
1 clove garlic, crushed
6 tbsp chopped fresh coriander
3 shallots, sliced thinly
2 limes, juiced
1 tsp lime zest
1 tsp dried chilli flakes (or fresh chillies if you are feeling shameful)
3 tbsp dry sherry
3 tbsp soy sauce
Cooked noodles, to serve
****************************************************************************************************************
In a large frying pan or wok, heat the oil over a medium heat. Add the salmon and scallops and stir-fry for 3 minutes. Remove from the pan, set aside and keep warm.
Add the carrots, celery, peppers, mushrooms and garlic to the pan and stir-fry for 3 minutes. Add the coriander and shallots and stir.
Add the lime juice and zest, dried red pepper flakes, sherry and soy sauce and stir. Return the salmon and scallops to the pan and stir-fry very carefully for another minute.
Serve immediately on a bed of cooked noodles.
Monday 25 September 2006
Fleas
My cats have fleas. They’re scratching like mad. All day and all night. I don’t want to put chemicals on their lovely soft fur, but apart from giving them garlic for dinner (a recommendation from my Swedish acupuncturist – gratefully received, but not entirely practical – do Swedish cats have a penchant for Mediterranean cuisine – are they perhaps bored of fish?) I don’t know of any other natural remedies.
I’ve got a few bites on my ankles, so the situation although not life-threatening needs addressing pretty damn quickly. In fact, I’m in the mood to address the little biting bastards in no uncertain fashion tout de suite.
So any suggestions for flea annihilation gratefully received.
Just mentioning garlic has inspired me to share a recipe with you, courtesy of Joanne Harris and Fran Warde:
Chilli Garlic Bread
Prep: 10 mins
Cooking: 10 mins
Serves 6
1 medium hot chilli
4 cloves of garlic, crushed, peeled and chopped
a sprig of thyme
1 tsp coarse sea salt
175g butter, soft
1 baguette
Heat the oven to 180 degrees/gas 4.
Cut the chilli lengthways, remove the seeds and dice the flesh. If you like things hot, hot, hot you can keep the seeds in.
Put the chilli, garlic, thyme leaves (stripped from the stalks) and salt in a pestle and mortar and pound until it forms a paste. Put the butter in a bowl and add the paste and mix well.
Almost-slice the bread to the bottom every 3cm and then divide the butter mixture among each incision, spreading it over the inner surfaces. Put the bread on a baking tray and bake for 8-10 minutes. Eat tout de suite.
I’ve got a few bites on my ankles, so the situation although not life-threatening needs addressing pretty damn quickly. In fact, I’m in the mood to address the little biting bastards in no uncertain fashion tout de suite.
So any suggestions for flea annihilation gratefully received.
Just mentioning garlic has inspired me to share a recipe with you, courtesy of Joanne Harris and Fran Warde:
Chilli Garlic Bread
Prep: 10 mins
Cooking: 10 mins
Serves 6
1 medium hot chilli
4 cloves of garlic, crushed, peeled and chopped
a sprig of thyme
1 tsp coarse sea salt
175g butter, soft
1 baguette
Heat the oven to 180 degrees/gas 4.
Cut the chilli lengthways, remove the seeds and dice the flesh. If you like things hot, hot, hot you can keep the seeds in.
Put the chilli, garlic, thyme leaves (stripped from the stalks) and salt in a pestle and mortar and pound until it forms a paste. Put the butter in a bowl and add the paste and mix well.
Almost-slice the bread to the bottom every 3cm and then divide the butter mixture among each incision, spreading it over the inner surfaces. Put the bread on a baking tray and bake for 8-10 minutes. Eat tout de suite.
Smells
I find it endlessly fascinating how our sense of smell can be so evocative, so vital, so astoundingly accurate in evoking memories.
If we map our own preferences in smells, it can be quite revealing and strange. Why is it that we like certain odours and not others? I personally can’t explain my fixation with the smell of petrol, boot polish, tea tree oil, lemons, lavender, rosemary bushes, geranium leaves, tomato plants, leather, tar, unlit pipe tobacco and star anise. I just love those smells and each one of them has a different, visceral, emotive effect on me.
On the other hand, the smell of certain foods can be delightful but the taste a real disappointment. At the top of that list for me is coffee, street vendors’ hot dogs and hot chocolate. Whereas something like a chilli has very little smell, but, well, we all know what those beautiful little beasts do to our tongues!
Here is a recipe that smells and tastes divine that my grandmother used to make:
Parkin
6oz plain flour
12oz medium oatmeal
1 tablespoon light muscavado sugar
1/2 teaspoon of ground ginger
a pinch of salt
1lb treacle
4oz unsalted butter
2 and 1/2 fl oz milk
1 teaspoon bicarbonate of soda
Pre-heat the oven to 180 degrees/gas 4. Sift the flour into a bowl and stir in the oatmeal, sugar, ginger and salt. Dollop the treacle into a saucepan and heat gently with the butter - don't let it boil.
In another saucepan warm the milk so that you can dip your finger into it without burning, add the bicarbonate of soda and then pour this gently into the bowl with the flour and oatmeal and add the treacle and butter.
Fold everything together gently. Grease and flour a shallow baking tin and line with non-stick baking parchment paper. Pour the mixture into the tin and bake for about 40-45 minutes until the parkin is firm to the touch.
The longer you make this in advance the better - a week in advance is perfect, but 2 or 3 days will also be wonderful. Your parkin will be delightfully sticky and dense - but first you will have had to resist the temptation of eating it while it is cooling as it emanates the most deliciously treacly gingery smells imaginable. Parkins work surprisingly well as an accompaniment to cheddar and other hard cheeses as well as being perfect for tea.
If we map our own preferences in smells, it can be quite revealing and strange. Why is it that we like certain odours and not others? I personally can’t explain my fixation with the smell of petrol, boot polish, tea tree oil, lemons, lavender, rosemary bushes, geranium leaves, tomato plants, leather, tar, unlit pipe tobacco and star anise. I just love those smells and each one of them has a different, visceral, emotive effect on me.
On the other hand, the smell of certain foods can be delightful but the taste a real disappointment. At the top of that list for me is coffee, street vendors’ hot dogs and hot chocolate. Whereas something like a chilli has very little smell, but, well, we all know what those beautiful little beasts do to our tongues!
Here is a recipe that smells and tastes divine that my grandmother used to make:
Parkin
6oz plain flour
12oz medium oatmeal
1 tablespoon light muscavado sugar
1/2 teaspoon of ground ginger
a pinch of salt
1lb treacle
4oz unsalted butter
2 and 1/2 fl oz milk
1 teaspoon bicarbonate of soda
Pre-heat the oven to 180 degrees/gas 4. Sift the flour into a bowl and stir in the oatmeal, sugar, ginger and salt. Dollop the treacle into a saucepan and heat gently with the butter - don't let it boil.
In another saucepan warm the milk so that you can dip your finger into it without burning, add the bicarbonate of soda and then pour this gently into the bowl with the flour and oatmeal and add the treacle and butter.
Fold everything together gently. Grease and flour a shallow baking tin and line with non-stick baking parchment paper. Pour the mixture into the tin and bake for about 40-45 minutes until the parkin is firm to the touch.
The longer you make this in advance the better - a week in advance is perfect, but 2 or 3 days will also be wonderful. Your parkin will be delightfully sticky and dense - but first you will have had to resist the temptation of eating it while it is cooling as it emanates the most deliciously treacly gingery smells imaginable. Parkins work surprisingly well as an accompaniment to cheddar and other hard cheeses as well as being perfect for tea.
Friday 22 September 2006
Denton Welch
Denton Welch is one of my favourite authors. Born in 1915 he died tragically young at the age of 33 in 1948 due to complications following a bicycling accident. In his short life he only wrote three novels (alongside some poetry, some short stories and some fantastically entertaining journals). But his extraordinarily vivid yet natural style of prose and his poignant portrayal of adolescent angst and awkwardness won him many fans including Edith Sitwell, Cyril Connolly and, more recently, William Burroughs.
In Youth is Pleasure, his second novel and my personal favourite, focuses on the experiences of a startlingly immature 15-year old boy, Orvil Pym, during a quiet summer holiday in an English hotel a few years before the outbreak of the Second World War. Orvil's sheltered upbringing in Shanghai, his mother's early death and his subsequent education at an English public school (which he hates with an absolute passion) have left him insecure about his identity and confused about his burgeoning homosexuality. A range of characters including Orvil's glamorous yet bullying elder brother, his distant, wealthy father, a strapping Scout master and a fabulous Narcisse Noir-wearing beauty infiltrate his holiday and shape his experiences that summer. Despite very little action in the novel, its moving and painfully honest descriptions of the minutiae of the adolescent mind are captivating and highly entertaining. This is a wonderful book with a style of prose that has the clarity of Kafka and the directness of Hemingway. Had he not died tragically young, Welch would undoubtedly have become a major player on the literary scene. His untimely death robbed English literature of a unique and brilliant voice.
One of the most appealing apsects of Denton's journals* are his vivid and obsessive descriptions of food. Rationing was in full swing during the Second World War and food-lovers had to be as inventive and resourceful as possible with what nature could provide. His meals, which were usually provided by his housekeeper Evie or his friend Eric, would often consist of scrambled pheasant or moorhen eggs, stolen from the nest that morning. Sometimes he would go on day-trips with Eric to churches in Kent to appreciate the architecture and to do brass rubbings of the tombs. Afterwards Denton and Eric would sit in their car and eat their picnic – usually comprising Ryvitas, hard-boiled eggs, flasks of coffee, bottles of beer, blackcurrant puree, apple tart and biscuits. Isn't that great having picnics in cars - such a British affair!
Here are a couple of food extracts from his journals (I’ll post some fantastically bitchy ones about various people he knew at a later date):
7 June 1943
Last Monday I went to supper with Noel Adeney. We had cold soup flavoured with claret, and fennel in long green shreds; then a sort of pilau of rice, onions fried, pimento excitingly scarlet like dogs’ tools, and grated cheese. The tiniest new potatoes and salad. Afterwards plums, and creamy mild tomato cocktail to drink. A charming meal
22 July 1945
…we had thistle artichokes and melted butter, cold fried fish, peas, carrots, lettuce and Evie’s sweet salad-dressing made with condensed milk, then cherry flan – coral-coloured cherries… Afterwards we smoked Dunhill cigarettes.
Now I know you're all champing at the bit for Edie’s recipe for condensed milk salad dressing… I'll see what I can come up with!
I also apologise if from now on you won't be able to look at a recipe containing pimento without thinking of 'excitingly scarlet dogs' tools'...
*If you want to track down the journals, there are two editions. The first was edited by Jocelyn Brooke in 1952 and the second by Michael De-la-Noy in 1984. The latter is much less judgmental and less judiciously edited and therefore contains much more salacious gossip.
In Youth is Pleasure, his second novel and my personal favourite, focuses on the experiences of a startlingly immature 15-year old boy, Orvil Pym, during a quiet summer holiday in an English hotel a few years before the outbreak of the Second World War. Orvil's sheltered upbringing in Shanghai, his mother's early death and his subsequent education at an English public school (which he hates with an absolute passion) have left him insecure about his identity and confused about his burgeoning homosexuality. A range of characters including Orvil's glamorous yet bullying elder brother, his distant, wealthy father, a strapping Scout master and a fabulous Narcisse Noir-wearing beauty infiltrate his holiday and shape his experiences that summer. Despite very little action in the novel, its moving and painfully honest descriptions of the minutiae of the adolescent mind are captivating and highly entertaining. This is a wonderful book with a style of prose that has the clarity of Kafka and the directness of Hemingway. Had he not died tragically young, Welch would undoubtedly have become a major player on the literary scene. His untimely death robbed English literature of a unique and brilliant voice.
One of the most appealing apsects of Denton's journals* are his vivid and obsessive descriptions of food. Rationing was in full swing during the Second World War and food-lovers had to be as inventive and resourceful as possible with what nature could provide. His meals, which were usually provided by his housekeeper Evie or his friend Eric, would often consist of scrambled pheasant or moorhen eggs, stolen from the nest that morning. Sometimes he would go on day-trips with Eric to churches in Kent to appreciate the architecture and to do brass rubbings of the tombs. Afterwards Denton and Eric would sit in their car and eat their picnic – usually comprising Ryvitas, hard-boiled eggs, flasks of coffee, bottles of beer, blackcurrant puree, apple tart and biscuits. Isn't that great having picnics in cars - such a British affair!
Here are a couple of food extracts from his journals (I’ll post some fantastically bitchy ones about various people he knew at a later date):
7 June 1943
Last Monday I went to supper with Noel Adeney. We had cold soup flavoured with claret, and fennel in long green shreds; then a sort of pilau of rice, onions fried, pimento excitingly scarlet like dogs’ tools, and grated cheese. The tiniest new potatoes and salad. Afterwards plums, and creamy mild tomato cocktail to drink. A charming meal
22 July 1945
…we had thistle artichokes and melted butter, cold fried fish, peas, carrots, lettuce and Evie’s sweet salad-dressing made with condensed milk, then cherry flan – coral-coloured cherries… Afterwards we smoked Dunhill cigarettes.
Now I know you're all champing at the bit for Edie’s recipe for condensed milk salad dressing… I'll see what I can come up with!
I also apologise if from now on you won't be able to look at a recipe containing pimento without thinking of 'excitingly scarlet dogs' tools'...
*If you want to track down the journals, there are two editions. The first was edited by Jocelyn Brooke in 1952 and the second by Michael De-la-Noy in 1984. The latter is much less judgmental and less judiciously edited and therefore contains much more salacious gossip.
Thursday 21 September 2006
Pickled Lemons
Now I know the concept of pickled lemons may not sound that appetizing. Indeed the thought of getting a double hit of sharpness with both the lemons and vinegar may even make you smack your lips together in horror... But trust me, these lovely yellow beauties are not sharp, nor are they acidic - they have a warm mellow lemonness that imparts a sublimely subtle flavour to a number of different dishes. They work beautifully in their home-context of North African food - add them to a lamb or chicken tagine or chop them up to add to a tabbouleh. But you can also push one into the derriere of a chicken ready to be roasted. Or put them in whole fish that you're roasting too. Some people only use the skin, but the flesh is good too.
You can pickle your own lemons if you are so inclined, just make sure they are the unwaxed variety, or you can visit belazu.com and try theirs instead. While you're there, I definitely recommend their fantastic rose petal harissa paste and their barley couscous.
You can pickle your own lemons if you are so inclined, just make sure they are the unwaxed variety, or you can visit belazu.com and try theirs instead. While you're there, I definitely recommend their fantastic rose petal harissa paste and their barley couscous.
Monday 18 September 2006
Chillies
Chillies are a most fascinating plant. Growing them from seed is to participate in the miracle of creation. My seeds took so long to germinate that I gave up hope and put the pots in the garden with a view to using the soil as compost. Then one day several weeks later I noticed some little shoots coming up. The next day the shoots had been eaten by a hungry snail. I wondered if further activity might be possible and whisked them back into the house. The following day tiny, green, beautiful leaves had appeared again and soon they were shooting up, tall and leggy and awkward, like pre-pubescent boys. After a few weeks delicate little white flowers started appearing. Finally the chillies starting appearing from the flowers. On some of them, the flower remains and grows down like a tutu around the belly of the fruit.
The chillies take so long to turn from green to red that it is almost unbearable. But when you snap off the ripe red chilli from its stem and start chopping its lovely crimson, pungent flesh, that's when the fun starts...
Here are some ways in which I use my chillies:
This is very tasty if you need something quick and simple. You can omit the chilli for more delicate palates.
Chicken Chilli Strips
Turn your oven on to 200 degrees. Take 2 breasts of chicken and cut them into thin strips. Put three tablespoons of tomato ketchup into a glass bowl and mix with some freshly and finely chopped red chilli. Mix the chicken in the sauce mix with your fingers. Take 2 packets of ready salted crisps and crush them firmly between your fingers while the packets are still intact. Put the crushed crisps on a plate and roll the chicken pieces in them. Put them on a baking sheet (no oil needed) and cook them for 10 minutes. I'm sure I don't need to add that you should wash your hands after rolling the chicken and handling the chilli.
This recipe has been stolen from a supermarket but it's really worth trying as it is so simple.
Chilli Sweetcorn
For each person, take one sweetcorn cob, smear it with a teaspoon of honey, chop up some red chilli in fine strips and put them on the corn cob. Squeeze one half of a lime over the cob and put in the microwave for 5 minutes on full power. It's really that simple and delicious.
Eggs with Kirmizi Biber
Kirmizi Beber is a delicious mix of oiled Turkish chilli flakes and spices. It has a delicious texture like rolling tobacco and can be added to lots of different things. I love it on everything. Just fry or scramble the freshest organic eggs you can buy. When they are nearly ready add a few pinches of the flakes along with some salt and pepper. Buy it from chileseeds.co.uk. It is also wonderful on hummous.
I won't give a recipe for Chille Con Carne as there are so many different versions available. But my tip is to use organic mince, the best chilli powder you can(chilleseeds.co.uk does some great ones), add some fresh chilli to the mix and a teaspoon of cinnamon and cumin seeds to enhance the flavours. Always season well and follow with a milk based pudding (ice cream, yoghurt etc.) to offset the heat.
And my favourite taste sensation at the moment is chilli chocolate. This is only for you if you like hardcore dark chocolate. I personally love it really dark - 70% is usually a starting point. But this chilli chocolate uses Belgian chocolate at 60% and is quite divine. The chilli hit is slow coming but then suddenly envelops your tongue with a hot yet delicate slap of heat. Buy it from southdevonchillifarm.co.uk. They also do wonderful smoked chillies that you can throw in stews. Just one of these will give a gorgeous lush smokiness to the final taste.
The chillies take so long to turn from green to red that it is almost unbearable. But when you snap off the ripe red chilli from its stem and start chopping its lovely crimson, pungent flesh, that's when the fun starts...
Here are some ways in which I use my chillies:
This is very tasty if you need something quick and simple. You can omit the chilli for more delicate palates.
Chicken Chilli Strips
Turn your oven on to 200 degrees. Take 2 breasts of chicken and cut them into thin strips. Put three tablespoons of tomato ketchup into a glass bowl and mix with some freshly and finely chopped red chilli. Mix the chicken in the sauce mix with your fingers. Take 2 packets of ready salted crisps and crush them firmly between your fingers while the packets are still intact. Put the crushed crisps on a plate and roll the chicken pieces in them. Put them on a baking sheet (no oil needed) and cook them for 10 minutes. I'm sure I don't need to add that you should wash your hands after rolling the chicken and handling the chilli.
This recipe has been stolen from a supermarket but it's really worth trying as it is so simple.
Chilli Sweetcorn
For each person, take one sweetcorn cob, smear it with a teaspoon of honey, chop up some red chilli in fine strips and put them on the corn cob. Squeeze one half of a lime over the cob and put in the microwave for 5 minutes on full power. It's really that simple and delicious.
Eggs with Kirmizi Biber
Kirmizi Beber is a delicious mix of oiled Turkish chilli flakes and spices. It has a delicious texture like rolling tobacco and can be added to lots of different things. I love it on everything. Just fry or scramble the freshest organic eggs you can buy. When they are nearly ready add a few pinches of the flakes along with some salt and pepper. Buy it from chileseeds.co.uk. It is also wonderful on hummous.
I won't give a recipe for Chille Con Carne as there are so many different versions available. But my tip is to use organic mince, the best chilli powder you can(chilleseeds.co.uk does some great ones), add some fresh chilli to the mix and a teaspoon of cinnamon and cumin seeds to enhance the flavours. Always season well and follow with a milk based pudding (ice cream, yoghurt etc.) to offset the heat.
And my favourite taste sensation at the moment is chilli chocolate. This is only for you if you like hardcore dark chocolate. I personally love it really dark - 70% is usually a starting point. But this chilli chocolate uses Belgian chocolate at 60% and is quite divine. The chilli hit is slow coming but then suddenly envelops your tongue with a hot yet delicate slap of heat. Buy it from southdevonchillifarm.co.uk. They also do wonderful smoked chillies that you can throw in stews. Just one of these will give a gorgeous lush smokiness to the final taste.
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