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Summer pasta

My fridge hasn’t been to inspirational recently.

But after a traumatic 5km charity run I thought I’d treat myself with a nice supper lastnight. So when I got back from work today the standard of fridge leftovers was a lot better than usual.

Some asparagus, sugar snaps and soft goat’s cheese. Delicious.

I ferreted out some frozen broad beans, mint leaves, virgin olive oil and some crushed pink pepper.

And then the best bulking out ingredient ever: orecchiette. I’m not one for splashing the cash in the supermarket unless it’s for a good reason. But if you’re using nice ingredients, it really is worth the extra £1 for this ‘little ear’ Southern Italian pasta made from durum wheat semolina and water. They have a slightly rough outer surface, and a tasty soft, chewy centre.

It’s a light meal with great summery flavours. And it’s a classic one pan dish – the pasta takes ten minutes, so chuck in the broad beans six minutes into cooking, and then chuck in the asparagus and sugar snaps a couple of minutes later. Drain and dress with mint leaves and goat’s cheese.

Pissaladière

One of the great things about my new job is the lunches. A wonderfully civilised part of the day. Cooking, sitting round a table and talking. No more silent desk sandwiches or microwaved soup. But freshly baked olive bread, Thai burgers and meat ragus.

The future of working life.

Today I cooked a Spanish omelette. But while furtling about in the fridge, I spied a little left over slice of pissaladière which filled me with longing.

So, with a warm, balmy evening unfolding ahead of me I thought that I’d trump the Spanish lunch by channeling a bit of South France with supper. The sweet onion pissaladière base works beautifully with the salty anchovy and olive topping. It’s best eaten on a warm, summer evening with a glass of chilled white wine.

It’s such an easy recipe – but the only bit worth paying attention to is caramelising the onions. I came across a super article recently that flagged up all of the recipes which tell you to “cook the onions for five minutes until they start to brown”. But to get onions to a perfect, walnut brown, soft consistency, you need to fry them on a gentle heat for at least twenty minutes. Preferably longer. But if, as I suggested, you’ve cracked open a nice bottle of white wine, then I doubt you’re going to be in a big rush to go anywhere.


Ingredients (for 2)

½ sheet of ready-rolled puff pastry, around 200g
1-2 onions, dependent on size
tin of anchovies, 50g
handful of pitted, black olives
120ml vegetable oil

Finely slice the onion(s), and fry in the oil on a gentle heat. As the photographs demonstrate, the onion will undergo a transition from crunchy and white to soft and walnut-brown, which will take at least 20 minutes.

After two minutes

After five minutes

After fifteen minutes

In the meantime, cut the puff pastry into two rectangles. Use a knife to gently score a border around the edge. Put the onion inside the square, and criss-cross the anchovies on top then place a black olive in the centre of each diamond.

Put the pissaladières into a hot oven (200C) for 20 minutes until the puff pastry has risen. Serve with a salad of spinach and sun dried tomatoes.

Nb. When I next make this, I’m going to cut the anchovies in half lengthways, as they were intensely salty!

I’m mortified that there has been such a long gap since I last posted.
Bad blogging.

It seems like such a long time ago that I was cooking shin of beef. Partly because it was, but also because I’ve been cooking so many other things in between….because I’ve got a new job – which has liberated me from a desk, and launched me into a kitchen. So thank you, dear readers for being so supportive, because it’s partly through your encouragement with this blog that I’m now cooking and writing as a real-life job. Dreamy!

The company – Sous Chef – is a website which launches this summer, providing “inspiration, ingredients and equipment from the world’s best kitchens”. My lips are mainly sealed until it launches, but I can reveal that my time is currently spent rehydrating woodear mushroom, demystifying konnyaku, trying sous vide chicken breast alongside fried chicken breast, reading and learning a lovely lot about bread baking, meat curing and lots of other wonderful things which definitely all feels far more like indulging in a hobby than a typical day in the office.

A couple of weeks back we got a big delivery of very cheap pigs’ cheeks. Pretty useless in their raw form – but absolutely delicious when cured in the cellar and turned into guanciale. Being the lucky kind of gal I am, I managed to snaffle one of the cured pig’s cheeks, and have been making some delicious, and exceedingly authentic carbonara ever since.

The amazing thing about the guanciale is the flavour that’s infused into the fat, and the clean bite which has more of a bouncy, mushroom or seaweed-like consistency than chewy, greasy bacon fat. It the traditional meat used in carbonara – but because shop-bought guanciale is really rather expensive in comparison to the home-cured stuff, it’s not often used in cookbooks.

When the website is up and running, we’re going to be selling curing equipment, and will be writing lots on home preserving…but for the time being, bacon lardons are a fine substitute for those of you who don’t have any guanciale lying about the place.

Carbonara might seem like an extravagant meal, but it’s quick and easy to put together after work, and it’s an super one-person meal – unlike a curry or a pie which I can’t help but make at least four portions for, even if it’s just me on my lonesome!

Ingredients (for 2 people)
150g dried spaghetti
15g fresh, flat leaf parsley
2 egg yolks
Fresh black pepper
bacon lardons (use your judgement – I think that the equivalent of about 2 bacon rashers/person is ample, but I’ve been cooking for hungry boys recently who skew my judgement by always eating so damned much. So anything from 150g-1kg dependent on who’s coming for supper)
parmesan (same as above applies)

Bring a pan of water to boil, and add the spaghetti with a pinch of salt and drizzle of oil. Put the lardons/guanciale in a frying pan and fry until the fat’s browning and the meat is crisping up. Meanwhile, chip the flay leaf parsley, and finely grate the parmesan.

When the spaghetti is cooked, drain it, and stir in the parsley, parmesan and meat.

Separate the eggs, and nestle half an egg shell containing just the yolk into each serving. Once at the table tip the egg yolk into the spaghetti and stir it in – the heat given off by the pasta will lightly cook it.
Top with just a little more parmesan (just to be safe), and some hefty grinds of fresh, black pepper.

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I’ve lived in England for a full twenty five years. Which is long enough to know that if I find myself strolling along Regent Canal in a t-shirt and shorts with a Mr Whippy in hand in mid-March, then there’s probably some sort of karma lurking round the corner.

Call me a pessimist – but I’d call myself a realist.

And sure enough, all plans of sunbathing over Easter weekend seem to be out of the window. Apparently we’ll be building snowmen instead.

If you haven’t been organised enough to order your spring lamb, then here’s a warm, hearty beef recipe instead. Perfect for snuggling up, opening a bottle of rouge, and staving off the chill over the bank holiday.

This is based on a Hawksmoor recipe. It’s not a cheap place to eat – I’m talking £30 for a steak. So it was particularly good news that 1.5kg of shin bone from The Ginger Pig (a high-end London butcher- and do go somewhere high end when bone marrow is involved) came to just £12 and easily fed five. Delicious and cheap.

Ingredients (easily feeds five)
1.5kg of beef shin with the bone in – as I mentioned, do go to a decent place, it’s such a cheap cut it’s really not worth scrimping, and ending up with a piece of meat that’s going to shrink.
8 shallots, peeled but left whole
5 big carrots, peeled and chopped into 2cm chunks
750ml decent red wine
1 litre beef stock (I used knorr cubes, and that was just fine)
1 litre chicken stock (I used knorr cubes, and that was just fine)
50g butter
200g smoked bacon
350g macaronoi
150g good Parmesan (though the recipe recommends Doddington)
Herbs: 2 bay leaved, sprig of rosemary, 20 fennel seeds

The night before, pour the bottle of wine into an ovenproof dish along with the herbs, carrot chunks and shallots. Add the shin, and leave it in the fridge overnight to marinade.
As you can see from the photograph, I didn’t get round to turning it at all – it didn’t matter in the end, but would’ve probably been a good idea.

The next day, remove the beef, vegetables and herbs (using a slotted spoon), and put them on one side in a bowl. Heat up the wine on a hob, reducing by half. Add the chicken and beef stock, and bring it up to simmering point.

Meanwhile, heat up all the butter in a non-stick frying pan so it’s sizzling. Brown the shin on all sides and remove. Next, fry the bacon and the red-wine soaked vegetables to the same pan, and let everything sizzle away so the bacon is cooked (but not crispy), and the vegetables have some colour. Now add the shin, herbs, bacon and vegetables to the pan of stock, and put in an oven at 150C for three to four hours.

By now the meat should be falling off the bone. Yum. For one last time, remove the shin, vegetables, bacon and herbs from the pan and put them in a bowl to one side.

Now put the pan of winey stock back onto the hob and reduce the volume by half (skimming off any scum that might rise to the surface).

In a separate pan boil some salty water and cook the macaroni. It’s fine to leave it a little more al dente than usual, because it still gets a bit more cooking.

Once the winey stock has reduced by half, return the meat, vegetables, bacon and herbs to the pan. Add half the cheese and macaroni, and stir everything together gently. Sprinkle the remaining half of the cheese on the top. Pop it back into the oven for 10-15 minutes, and finally give it a small blast under the grill before serving.

We used two forks to shred the meat off the shin bone, stirred everything together, and served it in a bowl with a glass of red wine. Rich, meaty, marrow-y deliciousness.

I committed the food blogger’s textbook error lastnight. I spent half an hour whirling about my little kitchen making a late supper. As smells of garlic, and lamb gently wafted through the flat, I was practically salivating by the time I plated everything up.

Rather than putting any effort into a nice photograph whatsoever, I took a quick snap and wolfed it down. When I looked back at the picture later, I realised that the lamb steak looked like an unappetizing grey block—if only I’d been able to restrain myself long enough to cut it into slivers and reveal the juicy, pink meat inside then you, dear reader, would be looking at a photograph which did the meal justice, rather than big old lump of meat sat on a bed of pea purée.

There’s little point me writing up a recipe for this supper—the tomato recipe featured in my last blog, and the lamb steaks were simply rubbed in a little oil and pepper and fried for about three minutes on either side.

The pea purée is a refreshingly spring-like take on roasted potatoes. Dice and fry (on a medium-low heat) one large onion in a generous amount of butter—around 50g. Meanwhile boil about 250g of peas (this will serve 2). Weirdly I happen to own a mouli, so I ground the peas and buttery onions through that. If you don’t happen to have a mouli, then blend everything, and press through a sieve with a wooden spoon. And voila—a Michelin-esque bed of pea puree—sophisticated!

I did mess about with lamb stock, red wine and crème fraiche to make a jus, but because the tomatoes are so deliciously sticky and juicy, I’m not sure it was entirely necessary—up to you.

One of the delights of this recipe is that I usually have an onion lying about, I always have frozen peas in my fridge, along with some ailing cherry tomatoes, and a hearty sprig of rosemary on the balcony which refuses to die, no matter what the British weather throws at it. So when I came to cook this, I popped out to Tescos, and splashed out on a £5 pack of organic New Zealand lamb steak…oh, and a bottle of soda water for a John Collins, which goes remarkably well with, well everything.

John Collins
2 parts Bombay Sapphire
1 part fresh lemon juice
1/2 part sugar syrup (use Monin) or make your own (1 sugar: 2 water)
Shake the three ingredients with ice, and then pour into an ice-filled glass. Top up with soda water.

London has turned tropical overnight. It was only last week that I was filling my hot water bottle and double-layering socks—and then, all of a sudden, Bethnal Green is hotter than Bermuda.

With no intention of wasting any valuable balcony-basking time in a Tescos queue, I did a crazed Supermarket Sweep-style dash after work lastnight. I chucked some vaguely Mediterranean ingredients into a basket and bolted.

Once the sun dipped behind the city and I’d peeled myself off the balcony chair, I realized that, in my haste, I’d done quite an uninspiring shop. Chicken and mozzarella. A white salad. A bit anemic. A bit…vanilla.

Which got me thinking. It got me thinking about when I was a child, and Mr Whippy vanilla ice cream would be “flavoured” with that watery, chemical strawberry syrup. Now step inside a Snog, or a Frae and you’re not going to leave without piles of fresh fruit and berries piled high over your vanilla or frozen yoghurt. Yum. Revolutionary stuff.

Flavouring vanilla ice cream circa 1990

Flavouring frozen yoghurt 2012

I’ve never been good at salad dressings. I wouldn’t say that anything I ever make really enhances plain, ‘vanilla’ salad leaves, as much as just makes them greasier. So I took inspiration from the new wave of ice cream parlours—and rather than adding colour and flavor to my salad with a drizzle of oil, I piled juicy, and flavoursome tomatoes all on top of it all instead.

It’s so easy to do this, and it makes a plain salad approximately 100% better.

Halve a handful of (good) cherry tomatoes. Roughly tear up half a slice of granary bread. Put the tomatoes and bread in a bowl, and toss in two tablespoons of olive oil, one tablespoon of balsamic vinegar, one crushed garlic clove and a bit of chopped rosemary. Mix with your hands to make sure that everything has been nicely coated in the flavoured oil. Pile onto a baking tray, and cook for 5-10 minutes at about 180C … long enough for the tomatoes to turn warm and sticky, but not too long so that the bread turns black.

In the meantime, prepare the rest of your salad. I sliced up one small breast of chicken and fried it with a good slug of oil, and the juice and zest of half a lemon—this adds a bit more colour and flavor than a plain, grey-white baked or boiled chicken breast.

For this particular dish, I used watercress, chicken, torn-off bits of mozzarella (all boring so far), and then I piled the steamy, garlicy, juicy hot tomatoes on top—delicious!

You asked for my take on
the great joys of life.
The taste of crisp bacon.
The love of my wife.
Often that order could be reversed,
but some days, the taste of crisp bacon stays first.

….so starts a wonderful poem entitled ‘Ruminations on the Smell of Bacon’ which was composed especially for The Bacon Poetry Contest.

This somewhat esoteric poetry competition is, in fact, a mere warm-up act for BaconFest Chicago 2012—billed as “The greatest single culinary and cultural festival ever dedicated to Bacon and Bacon only”, featuring everything baconny, from bacon-inspired crafts to bacon-spirits. A chance for 3,000 bacon aficionados to gather in Downtown Chicago and…well, talk pork.

“Typical Americans” I hear you smirk. Well, dear readers, wipe that sneer off your face, because it’s not just our cousins across the Atlantic who are fans of all things streaky and crispy. Indeed, this week is Bacon Connoisseurs’ Week. A seven-day celebration of quality British pork.

This kicked off with the pig-equivalent of The Oscars with categories ranging from Classic Dry Cure Category to The ‘Rasher-nal Treasure Award’—which I suppose is the equivalent of The Lifetime Achievement Award….only instead of Meryl Streep we’re talking Old Spot Beer Mustard and Staffordshire Honey Middle Bacon. Far better.

‘Rashernal’ puns aside, bacon is widely considered to be a National Treasure. Early this year, 60,000 Britons were polled, and put bacon sarnies top of the charts, followed by a Sunday roast, and a cuppa tea. Dubbed by Gregg Wallace as “one of the western world’s greatest triumphs”, and accused by Hugh Fearnley Whittingstall to be the Achilles Heel of vegetarians nationwide, it seems only fair that we join together to celebrate this porky slice.

I have joined in Bacon Connoisseurs’ Week by making some Cowboy Beans. I treated myself by using Black Farmer bacon, which really does have a gloriously smoky flavor which works particularly well with the cigar/bourbon/saloon bar vibe in these Boston-based, cowboy beans. Enjoy.

VOTE for my entry here—I might win a magimix or something!

Ingredients
8 rashers of Dry Cured Hickory Smoked Back bacon
400g tin of chopped tomatoes
4 x 400g tin of cannelloni beans
2 large onions, diced
Knob of grated ginger
3 tbsp of Dijon mustard
Big squirt of tomato paste
2 tbsp of cider vinegar
500ml dry cider
2 tbsp Worcestershire sauce
Fresh thyme
2 bay leaves
Slosh of cognac
2 tbsp of dark brown sugar
Pepper and salt to season

1. Cut the bacon into small slices about 2cm long and start frying them on a medium heat. Once the bacon begins to turn a little crispy add the diced onions to the pan.

2. At the point that the onions start to turn translucent pour the bottle of cider over the bacon and onions. Rinse the cannelloni beans and add them to the pan. Grate in some fresh ginger, then add the mustard, cider vinegar, Worcestershire sauce, thyme, bay leaves, tomato paste, tinned tomatoes and cognac.

3. Add a tablespoon of dark sugar (it’s easier to add than take away, so wait until the beans have cooked a little longer before adding any more if needed).

4. Cover and cook on a low heat for an hour and a half. Taste and season.

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