Scribble the Nibbles

Rebrand, redirect...

2009-10-27T04:48:00.000-07:00

ahem, slight rebrand...

for those of you still listening...

www.scribblethenibbles.wordpress.com

tune in for bi-weekly updates.

rock'n'roll!!

xxx

The End

2009-04-05T05:06:00.000-07:00

And so, dear friends, the time has come. Spring has sprung, and I'm in the mood for adventures, not just of the food variety.

StN has stuck by me admirably through the cold, dark winter months, as I've scribbled and nibbled my way through, and now our brief eight month fling has come to an end.

Another blog baby is germinating as we speak - the seed's been planted and I'm lovingly watering it as we speak. There will be scribbling of the cartoon variety, adventures - round London, the UK and hopefully elsewhere, a focus on well-being, creative inspiration and kooky characters and, not to completely push nibbling aside, a handful of worthy recipes and the odd restaurant/cafe review.

As Winnie the Pooh said, ta ta for now!

xx

Review: The Eagle, Farringdon Road

2009-03-29T00:48:00.000-07:00

It's obscenely early.

It's Sunday morning.

And I write from my lovely new flat in London whilst chomping on a bowlful of muesli packed with gorgeous nuts, seeds and berries. What better time to ruminate on the latest, entirely unplanned, gastro-stumble.

Let me momentarily transport you to my new place of work, just off Leather Lane in London. One week in and I'm already head over heels in love with the location. Bridging the gap beautifully between city suits and edgy Clerkenwell/Farringdon (most definitely not suits), it is an area jam-packed full of taste explorations, as I've quickly discovered. From the market on Leather Lane, which gathers momentum (and fruit stalls) towards the end of the week, snowballing into a full-blown, out-of-control crowd by Friday, to tucked away treasures of ethnic foodspots, gastropubs and seriously swanky eats, the place is guaranteed to keep me amused.

Thursday saw me headed out post-work with a friend, David, for a couple of drinks, though sadly at this stage no food (the menu looked fantastic but we were told it was lunch-time only) at The Hat and Tun, a little old man's pub which rapidly gathers an uber-cool crew post 5.30pm, tucked away on Hatton Place. American readers will no doubt find this English name rather quaint...look at it carefully, squint a bit and compare it with the street name, and you'll see what I mean. East London is particularly rife with these amusing little names. Other than that, given I've not tasted the fare, I can't really comment: genial atmosphere, plentiful drink supply - what more could you want from an old man's pub??

8pm taking my friend and I by surprise, our suddenly insanely empty bellies protested loudly and propelled us rapidly in search of some grub. There was something of a desperate clatter in my high-heeled hobble as we headed on up Farringdon Road in the hopes of a foodie find.

I know it may be hard to believe, but there was actually some method to my madness. Deep in the recesses of my fusty old memory bank, from back in the days when Farringdon was a 'really distant' London area which, no matter how hard I tried, I couldn't connect with my mental map of London, I remembered being taken to lunch in a gastropub called The Eagle. Years and years ago. I didn't know if I was way out of date. Thankfully, and more than a little surprisingly, my memory served me well and lo, there in the distance, like a sparkling green oasis in a desert, the pub rose up: glorious, cozy, and full to brimming with enthusiastic, chatty diners and some extraordinarily tasty-looking/smelling dishes.

2 seconds later and I'd found my new best friend: the barman was from Madrid, and I momentarily forgot my hunger in favour of talking (unsurprisingly my 2nd favourite thing) nattering away in Spanish, glad of the excuse to roll the lingo round my tongue after all my months since Mexico. Hunger (and my friend) soon started tapping me on the shoulder in reminder again, so I tracked down the waiter flitting through the crowd, who I'd usefully been informed by my barman friend also Spanish (as, indeed, they all were), and I wasted no more time in a request for two seats. Perched on a shared table, David and I got on with the serious task of menu-study.

Four scrawled chalkboards jubilantly proclaim the day's dishes - mostly made up of a handful of hearty meat mains which are grilled lustily in front of the kitchen for all to see, a neverending array of tantalising smells shamelessly whetting the eager eater's appetite. Not that mine needed any help. By this stage I was practically chomping at the bit, with the thought of the soup of the day, a 'canjo portuguese' (portuguese stew) made of chicken, rice and broth - very reminiscent of a dish Ma Pea makes for me when I'm under the weather and need nourishing - making me drool. Starvation was momentarily forgotten, however, when in the corner of one of the chalkboards I noticed chalked up a rather beautiful little piece of symmetry to my life of London eating, declaring that The Eagle is (yet another) sister restaurant to two of my previous reviews, The Anchor and Hope, and Great Queen Street. Tic, tac, toe. You gotta love that. And so, I threw caution to the wind and decided to let the dishes do the talking. Finally, we ate.

Canjo Portuguese - now we all know I'm ridiculously fussy about my soups, it's one of my staple, old favourite rants that I've covered it time and time again in previous posts. Something, though, about this place, inspired my soup trust. I went with my gut instinct, and I wasn't disappointed. I was, in fact, completely blown away. This was home away from home. Appearing at the table in a fired chunky red clay bowl, a homage to its Portuguese origins, this was a steaming, luscious and deeply fragrant broth, heavily infused with garlic and comforting thyme, and with generous portions of both the chicken and the rice, it was flawless and just the job to both soak up my pre-dinner drinks and provide the comfort of home away from home.

Grilled Pork Chops with cannellini beans and roasted red onions - poor David, his dish arrived a few minutes after mine and, following a paltry few pieces of sushi at lunch, he'd been ravenous even back at the pub. I'm a nice fellow diner though, and shared my soupy treasure with him until his, frankly, splendid dish graced our table. I am not a natural pork fan, and will almost never choose pork when eating out or when cooking myself - I mostly find it a leathery, tough and tasteless meat. That being said, I will happily tuck into a pair of chops if placed in front of me for tea. Again, like the chicken stew, there's something about the dish that is comforting and very reminiscent of home, family and being served your dins by mum or grandma. I had never tasted pork chops quite like these, however. This was the King of Pork Chops, branded with charred marks straight from the grill, succulent, tender and very, very tasty. Or, in David's words, 'really good' (there's a reason why I'm writing this and not him...no disrespect David). The accompanying beans, gently infused with garlic, warming and almost meaty in their protein punch, were perfect, as were the dark purple, sweetly caramelised onions. Heavenly.

We'd both polished off our dishes, full to brimming with appreciation and enthusiasm, and more than a little reluctance to actually come to the end of such heavenly delights, when, I just happened to notice that the soup of the day option that I'd eaten had been wiped off the chalk board, and a new soup chalked up. It was only blimmin' Caldo Verde (green soup) wasn't it, the (other) national Portuguese soup, that I know almost better than any other soup, having eaten it in Portuguese restaurants across London, Portugal and Brazil. A rapid debate ensued - was it too scandalous to go and order another dish purely out of greed and curiosity? You of course already know the answer.

We shared this hug-in-a-bowl - a thick (and usually a standalone substantial) potato soup, with plenty of vibrant green cabbage, chunks of potatoes and wicked spicy, little pieces of chorizo - the red, smoked sausage often seen livening up spanish and portuguese dishes. I have a minor obsession with chorizo, and when David wasn't looking, was secretly ferreting around with my spoon to find the pieces of red treasure amongst the cabbage and potatoes...

As you can see, with a home away from home right around the corner from the office, and with such foodie finds only a stumble away, I'm going to be a happy little working bunny. With an energetic and sparky atmosphere, a media crowd stumbling across the road from The Guardian offices, and very friendly and efficient waiters, not to mention outstanding food, The Eagle is first on my list for the area. Check. It. Out.

I'm comin' to London!

2009-03-22T02:55:00.001-07:00

The latest news in my little world is that, after a YEAR away (and BOY has that year flown fast), I am comin' back to London. Beware, oh former home of mine.

The hot topics that I'll be posting on in the upcoming months will be:

Restaurant Crits - (probably with a high concentration on Credit Crunch deals)
Healthy Eating and Work - how to combine the two (in continuation of the theme of my last post)
Little treats and finds round the city - including 'Five Minutes Peace' - cafes, nooks and crannies where you can enjoy a cuppa tea/coffee and your favourite book away from the crowds

Right now, however, I must stop chatting away and focus on the terrible bore that is packing. Oh, and unpacking the other way.

I hope everyone's remembered Mother's day! Mine's been the lucky recipient of a pretty little homemade card slightly reminicent of six-year old me, though slightly more adept (thankfully) at capturing human body proportions. This time round Mummy Pea doesn't look like a potato. Always a bonus. That, coupled with a handful of silver and gold sugared almonds (her favourite), some beautiful smelling flowers, and afternoon tea later on today, should go a teensy way towards thanking her for being the star Mum that she has been these last 27 years, and particularly this last year.

Thanks mum!

On a Health Kick

2009-03-14T15:19:00.000-07:00

Ok, so you've not heard from me in a while because, to be honest, it took me three weeks to digest all the previous post's food. I've only just started to be hungry again...

Now there's a good excuse for not writing up your foodie frolics if ever I heard (/wrote) one.

And the truth of the matter is, well, I've been exploring an entirely different way of eating. The carb fest that was Italy in combination with months of eating and writing about whatever I wanted (with a frugal focus), not to mention the six months' travel eating the wackiest global foods on offer, I decided it was high time my poor bod/tum was given a bit of a holiday and some TLC. So together we set off on a little jolly jaunt into the world of really healthy eating.

And, I know this may be a little controversial, and I never thought I'd hear myself say this but - I'm actually enjoying it. I'm talking a real focus on eating light proteins (mainly fish), maximising my fruit and veg intake and, for the moment, cutting out all milk, wheat, caffeine and sugar. I know, sounds boring doesn't it.

But I'm here today to tell you that it doesn't need to be boring at all! Especially the fish side of things. Previously a bit naive about the potential of sea produce, I'm now starting to veer dangerously towards pescatarian-evangelism. I could rant and rave for hours about the merits of the fishy stuff, or Sea Bass-bash you. But I'll let my recipes speak for themselves as, over the next few weeks, I'm going to be exploring a few of the interesting options I'm starting to come up with, and demonstrate how healthy eating doesn't have to be all bland, boring dishes with no pizzazz. Quite the opposite!

As a result of my two weeks' healthier eating, I can honestly say I'm a changed woman - I've got energy that was seriously lacking before, I'm bouncing out of bed (actually, annoyingly early), enjoying my exercise, and there are the added benefits of skin, hair and nails which are starting to glow like a lavalamp. Though admittedly not quite so fluorescent.

But enough of my waffle, let's cut to my first fish dish.

Look at thaaaat. Shiny, glistening, silky, silvery. Fish that is so fresh it's still gleaming from the sea. Believe it or not, I'm finding that Waitrose, moreso even than some of the fish stalls, sells the most spankingly fresh fish of all varieties. Impressive every time.

Asian Baked Sea Bass with Stir Fried Garlicky greens & rice

First get the rice cooking, as the fish takes barely any time at all.
Once it's bubbling away, lay the prepared fish on a baking tray - stuff it with roughly chopped spring onions, sprinkling half over the top of the fish. Rub a bit of sea salt on the skin of the fish, and then sprinkle/stuff a mixture of chopped/sliced ginger, lemongrass and squeezed lime over the fish. If you'd like a bit more of an asian feel, add a splash of soy sauce (being careful not to oversalt, as you've already salted previously), and some chopped coriander. Pop the fish in the oven for about 15 minutes on high (245C). I'm still using an aga, so my temperatures are shady - keep an eye on whether the fish is cooked through or not.
Meanwhile, stir fry the garlic in some groundnut oil until golden, and add a generous handful of beansprouts, some of the chopped spring onions and some roughly chopped asparagus. This should not take long to wilt, til the asparagus is al dente.

Serve and enjoy, you healthy, healthy so-n-so.

The Boy Done Good: Italian Adventure

2009-02-28T11:33:00.000-08:00

Time to set the scene for my latest, greatest (and, if I’m honest with you, probably last for a while, for reasons which shall be revealed in upcoming posts) Food Epic.

Last weekend, in a romantic move to top all other romantic moves, il huomo whisked me off to a mystery destination. I had had three days’ warning, and only the following clue to go by: ‘you will need your passport’. I didn’t know where I was going, and I didn’t know why, but I sure hoped they'd have some decent nosh to keep me going...

What I particularly enjoyed in the brief run-up to said jolly jaunt, was the consistency of reactions by both female and male audiences. The boys: ‘blimey, he’s got style’. The girls: ‘but what on earth are you going to PACK?!’ Quite.

And so it was, that packed with a sufficiently multi-purpose miniature wardrobe, I was duly swept off to the airport, while il huomo deflected a relentless stream of my furious guesswork: could it be Prague, Amsterdam, Paris, Rome? Brighton, Blackpool, Timbuktu? Men, listen well, for here I shall let you in on a secret for free. It is pretty much guaranteed that if you tell a woman she’s being taken somewhere ‘secret’, she will do her darndest to figure out where. Of course, I'd been clever, and before we'd left home, I scribbled a sly note, and slipped it on top of the microwave as future evidence of my budding genius....(but did I get it right?)*.

I was convinced that by the time we had checked on to the plane I would have foiled the whole delicious plot, but there I was quite, quite wrong. Where the heck was Trieste?! Raise your hands if you knew, because I have to confess, I was stumped. No clue. The in-flight magazine soon helped me out, and a few more pointed questions about certain purchases il huomo had made (seriously, what grown man needs a plastic elephant blowing bubbles??) meant that, much to my surprise, by the end of the flight he had caved and told me everything. At least, so I thought.

We were to do a mini-tour of the northeastern-most part of Italy, a melting pot of history and culture, starting in Trieste, and driving north and finally south to end at Venice Carnival (this, should you have been completely flummoxed, was where the bubble-elephant came in). More surprises followed throughout, however.

Of course, the very first thing which flashed into my greedy little brain wasn't culture, or history, or how exciting carnival would be. No no. I'm not ashamed to admit it went along these lines: 'oohhh paaasstaaaa!!' . Now, as you may have read from my previous travel blog, Italy has never disappointed in the food department, and yet on this particular trip I learnt one very important rule. Bend in closely now, and I’ll tell you. Travel round Italy with an Italian....

But enough of the story, I know you’re on the edge of your seats to find out what a blow-by-blow account of the fabulous feasting. Here we go. You may pause for indigestion tablets halfway through reading if necessary:

Post-travel, low blood sugar, an eagerly received Pizza Pugliese – a heavenly topping of olives, capers, anchovies and onions. And real, Italian Pizza. None of that leaden, tastless dough here, this was thin, ever so slightly chewy with a slight crispiness. Molten mozzarella, perfect tomatoe topping. This was Pizza Heaven.

Yet another surprise - first class seats at the opera (an experience which would merit an entire posting in itself, for the people-watching alone!). Three hours later, and at half midnight, we were enjoying a post-opera midnight feast with the leading soprano herself. What an experience. Only in Italy could you imagine breezily entering a restaurant at half midnight and demanding a three course meal with wine. Imagine the same in the UK?! We settled in, and were regaled with stories of heaving bosoms and uncomfortable costumes by the diva herself, as we supped on the most heavenly spaghetti con le alice – pasta perfection, laced with an extraordinary, tastebud-tantalising fresh anchovy sauce. Salty and very, very satisfying.

Linguine con gamberettti e rucola (shrimp and rocket pasta) – a soothing, creamy seafood sauce threaded with the rocket giving it a little peppery kick.

San Daniele prosciutto– Parma, make way. San Daniele is the hidden ham secret of Italy, where velvety folds of the salty-sweet, delicate and tender prosciutto ham are piled high onto plates for your delectation. We each ate an obscenely large plateful of the meat, with the salt quota rendering it almost alarmingly moreish. I fell into bed having eaten my body weight in ham, and dreamt of flying pigs(‘ legs)…

Saccotini con pere e formaggio (little sacks with pears and cheese) – this was a new one on me, an intriguing pasta shaped like little bunched up purses, their little pockets filled with a sweet treasure of pears and cheese, the sweet buttery sauce spooned on top.

Followed by…Stewed venison with grilled polenta – a hearty, filling dish, ideal mountain fare. Juniper berries, thyme, bay leaves and red wine played alongside tender meat, with the polenta calming and subduing what might otherwise have been a bit of a boisterous dish. Thank goodness for espresso!

Squid ink spaghetti – I know I repeat myself here, but goodness me the pasta’s good in this country! I may just have to insert a video at some stage, as often the only way I seem capable of describing these is with facial expressions, hand gestures, and general smacking of lips!

Monkfish steamed in prosecco - this was an enigma, so tasty, and such a meaty fish, but what the heck was ‘coda di rospo’ in English?! Well folks, google has lovingly informed me that it is none other than the infamous monkfish. But of course! Yet another mystery solved.

Pizza with Radicchio – absurdly, this dark red cousin of the chicory cooks down so that it is luscious, and almost meaty, its peppery, slightly bitter flavour making an excellent seasonal pizza topping. Different, and oh so good.

Deep breath, and digest.

But wait, there is more! It may seem hard to believe, but we did in fact manage to cram all of these eats into five days. And I've not yet mentioned the extreme over-indulgence of Venice Carnival, where we seemed to be eating and drinking every 10 minutes – stopping for frittole, delicious tiny balls of chocolate-filled fried dough specific to the Venetian region and carnival, candy floss, sugared nuts, as well as savoury treats, and all of the different particular alcoholic drinks of the region. Obviously, we were just making absolutely 100% sure that we'd make it through the upcoming Lent...

It was, without a shadow of a doubt, one of my tastebuds most relentless holidays. Taking their tips from the operatic diva, they got a little big for their boots - a touch spoilt, and slightly demanding. So in order to break them back gently down to earth, and to end the adventure on an excess high, on our flight back home we stopped over in Rome. Unexpectedly dealt a few extra hours in the city, rather than mope around the airport, we zoomed into the city, and ate an ice cream in front of the Fonte di Treve.

What do we think, does the boy get brownie points??

*I guessed Venice, so...nearly...!

A hop, a skip and a jump across town: and another review

2009-02-27T14:48:00.000-08:00

No less than 24 hours after my previous evening’s antics, and I was cavorting once again with a different night companion – this time of the Vietnamese variety.

Do not - I repeat, do NOT - venture anywhere further than the confines of Kingsland Road in Shoreditch for bang-on-target authentic Vietnamese food. And that’s an order.

One of the city’s great culinary pleasures, no.72, the Viet Hoa, delivers a non-stop stream of star performers – drool as you lovingly wrap a golden, crispy and oh-so-hot spring roll in its fresh salad jacket, savour the flavour as you dunk it in its piquant fish sauce pool; tip pools of pungent, firey bowls laden with lime, salty fish sauce and chillies onto your plate of bun xa, piles of thin rice vermicelli, fragrant coriander and toasted, garlic-flecked chicken or prawns which, in a flash, morph from dry noodles into a wondrous pool of tasty, nourishing noodles to slurp; delight at the fascinatingly sweet, sharp, sour flavours of steamed tilapia fish with mango, simply teamed with succulent, sticky white rice. There are plenty of dishes which vie for attention, jostling to make it into the final selection. You'll be spoilt for choice - so those are my recommendations to get you started, and get you hooked.

The food is fantastic, the price is right, the staff are a joy and the people-watching riveting.

I ask you, what more could you want from an evening?

Review: Great Queen Street

2009-02-26T01:38:00.000-08:00

Great Queen Street

A trip up to The Big Smoke always guarantees several things:

• A severe dent to the wallet
• Slight culture shock
• The recollection of quite how much you always used to hate the tube
• Smile deficit – not enough people looking happy for my liking/requirement
• BUT – on the positive side – you always know you’ll have a packed repertoire of new and interesting eats to get noshing.

Which is good when you write a food blog. These days my restaurant visits are so few and far between that there’s minimal blog material to be getting on with. So as soon as I get the opportunity to flex my jaw muscles and get chewing, I seize it!

At the moment I’m helping with the research and writing for a friend’s next book so, as is our customary way, we ended the day in a nice restaurant. Not a bad end to the working day!

Whilst normally we work our way through the various decent Italian restaurants in London, this time we went ye olde englishe-style, and hit up Great Queen Street, the sister restaurant to gastropub Anchor & Hope I talked about back in November. And it did its little sister proud, with not only scrumptious dishes, but also brilliant service, and an unexpected little dish hiccup, which led to much hilarity between myself and our waiter.

So what did I tuck into, I hear you cry! Well:

Cod’s Roe Salad with carrots, beetroot and watercress – thin slivers of pungent smokey fish roe, bright orange against an attractive array of violet beetroot chunks, sweet and earthy, candy-sweet baby carrots, and piquant watercress, all bound together with a light horseradish sauce. The perfect combination of salt, sea, sweet, earth and nostril-flaring tang of the horseradish tantalizing and teasing your tastebuds. An ‘on-your-toes’ dish if ever there was one. Not least because, and this is probably not such a good thing, but give the ensuing mirth I just had to mention it – there was, shall we say, an extra added ingredient. I couldn’t quite place it, or mark back to the list of ingredients in the menu, so I called over our (very brash, cheeky Australian) waiter, who was my new gay best friend, and asked him. There’s a first time for everything – I’d never fed a waiter off my dish, he ate the mystery object, couldn’t place it either, muttered ‘do you mind?’ and WHIPPED it off my plate, for a scientific dissection session back in the kitchen. Turned out a rogue mushroom had found its way onto my plate. Not to worry – free entertainment!

Arboath Smoked Haddock with mashed swede and buttered cabbage – an understated diva, this Haddock rather stole the show. Buttery and smokey, and scattered lightly with chives, it sang alongside the support acts - a mellow mashed swede and a heaped spoonful of buttered cabbage. Anyone traumatized by school memories of the veg would soon be guaranteed converts.

So, all in all, a splendiferous show, and worth a return visit.

Lamb and Pearl Barley Soup

2009-02-12T13:52:00.000-08:00

I'm a terrible one for themed weeks of foods, but for some reason (well, it's seasonal, innit) LAMB is featuring a lot on the menu at the moment. And quite timely it is too, as I have to say, in these frostbitten days at the beginning of the year, there is something about lamb, something I can't quite put my finger on, that really hits the spot on a really bitter cold winter's day.

Of course, I say I can't put my finger on it, but that's not going to stop me from trying my very best to theorise. (Professor NibbleScribbler dons her scientific hat) I believe (and of course, I've got no cold, hard proof), that it has something to do with the fatty texture of lamb, the somehow simultaneously mellow yet robust flavour of the meat. I'm interested to know if anyone else feels the same way as I do here. But then, I'm probably just rabbitting on with noone listening as usual. Still, the birds in the garden like it, heck, I think they even understand me!

So this morning, off I waltzed down to the well-overpriced butcher's down the bottom of the lane, to request two nice generous strips of his best lamb's neck. Coming in at a whopping £9.50, I wouldn't exactly classify this under my previous frugal entries , however, it was a splendiferous-if-not-quite-economic soup which resulted, and you can rest assured that the amount would feed a hungry rugby team. Course, I'm reckoning that if you get yourself on to a cheaper butcher's and you could halve the price.

Anyway, where was I, oh yes, so: Lamb. Today's tummy-warmer was a beaut - 'Lamb and Pearl Barley Soup'. Rock 'n' roll.

Ingredients

1.5 lbs Lamb's neck
1 garlic clove, chopped, glug olive oil
1 onion, diced
2 sticks celery, diced
3 carrots, diced
(optional: 1-2 parsnips, diced)
1/2 tin chopped tomatoes
1 lamb stock cube + 1 litre water
handful chopped parsley, 1 bay leaf
1/4 tspn: dried coriander, cumin, ginger, turmeric
splash soy sauce and worcester sauce
couple handfuls pearl barley

Method

1. In a large casserole dish, brown the meat with the garlic in the olive oil on a medium heat. Remove into bowl, and, again in the casserole, cook the onion and celery until golden, then add the carrots and parsnips. Stir, then return the lamb to the pan.
2. Add the tomatoes, a dash each of worcester/soy sauce, then the lamb stock and liquid. Allow to simmer slowly, then add in the spices, parsley, bay leaf and pearl barley.
3. Put in a medium heat oven (sorry, can't be more specific as using an Aga at the moment) to slow cook for 2-3 hours, keeping an eye on it and stirring occasionally.

Easy as that really. Magic.

Lamb Pilaff

2009-02-11T14:03:00.001-08:00

As my time at home rapidly approaches an end, I appreciate more than ever quite how scrumptious home cooking can be and, when one is elbow deep in daily tasks and getting things done, how incredible the interruption of a proper, home-cooked lunch can be. The world of working away from home will be a strange thing when I go back to it, I tell you. Sandwiches? Eh, wot? Pret a Manger?!? Nah, guv, not fer me thanks. I've got my hot, straight-from-the-cooker Lamb Pilaff. And that, girls and boys, is what I am going to talk to you about today.

It's going to be a bit of a 'cobbled together' recipe, as is my way - as it was all a bit handful of this, dash of that, etc etc. But 'twas too scrumptious not to share.

Ingredients

1 clove garlic, chopped
1 small onion, diced
1-2 small sticks celery, finely diced
2 cupfuls long-grain rice
1 lamb stock cube
spices: cinnamon, 2-3 cloves
handful each of almonds or cashew nuts, sultanas/raisins, chopped apricots
1/2 small onion, sliced thinly
2-3 handfuls of roughly chopped leftover lamb (from a Sunday lunch)

Method
1. Sweat garlic, onions and celery in a pan with some butter and olive oil, when golden add the rice and stir, covering the rice grains.
2. Crumble in the lamb stock, and add enough water to just cover the rice grains. Stir, and continue to stir until most liquid is absorbed. The rice should be a dark yellow colour (as a result of the lamb stock).
3. Add in the spices, dried fruit and nuts and chopped cooked lamb, stirring in, and allowing most of the remaining liquid to cook off.
4. Serve with chopped parsley scattered.

Really good warming lunch, mmm, making my tum rumble as I write in fact.

Wordle: artistically scribbled nibbles

2009-02-10T13:06:00.000-08:00



Attributed to http://www.wordle.net/

All Higgldypiggldy...

2009-02-08T01:34:00.000-08:00

Goodness gracious but I'm all over the place with my food blogposts. The truth is, I've been plotting another blog baby, which I hope to be launching into the world on Valentine's day next Saturday (stay tuned - let's see if I can stick to that now blogosphere-proclaimed deadline). The truth is that my life doesn't solely consist of cooking, eating my wares and eating out. It's a whole lot less one-dimensional than that. And I need a blog which reflects this. So the new blog will include characters and scribbles, knitting and nibbles...as well as other musings on life, love, laughter and jellybeans. There will be a method in my madness, ye shall see!

Of course, don't get me wrong - that does NOT by ANY means translate as the young nibblescribbler wasting away, not putting a morsel past her lips. Ha! With all this snow around??! You must be kidding! A girl needs comfort food in times like these!

So let me break down my various noteworthy foodventures over the last month or so. This is blatant cheating, but at the moment I steadfastly refuse to post an individual account of each, you'll have to make do with these scraplets. I figure I can make my own rules here. You can't get to me to tell me off, I'm safe the other side of the screen!

And....we're off...

Benares - posh indian restaurant to be found on glitzy Berkeley Square near Nobu, yet another poncy restaurant I've an eye to try (only if treated by a bigger wallet than I). The 2nd time I've been to Benares, and it didn't disappoint, as chef Atul Kochhar pleased the eye and the palate (and, unusually, the wallet, with a special credit crunch meal deal) with beautifully presented dishes packed full of indian flavour. I cracked into Tandoor cooked Salmon fillets with spiced Gazpacho salsa, a delightful dry roasted chunk of salmon, lent juiciness by its accompanying sauce, followed by Pan Fried King Fish steaks with Chilli-Garlic Mash and Nilgiri Sauce. I found this slightly unremarkable, exactly as you'd have expected it, with the mash and sauce combining to rather cloying effect. Still, I forgave the meal this when what, frankly, to me was the piece de resistance. Our, by now, bosom buddy waiter (I make a habit of befriending the waiters because a) from past waitressing experience I know how snooty customers can be and b) it makes them much better disposed to treating you nice), appeared in a flash, and carefully placed a tiny flat black glass dish in front of each of the three of us. Into the shallow indentation of each dish, he poured a few drops of water from a jug. Also on his tray I noticed three small, flat round white pellets, which I presumed were the sort of crazy amuse-bouche you tend to get in this type of restaurant. But. EVEN BETTER!! He dropped each into the water and POFF!, as if by magic they were suddenly ten times their height: a little warm hand towel ready for use. Honestly, the guy couldn't have had a better audience than me for this little trick. My eyes were like saucers, my little hands were clapping and I was giggling with glee. I would honestly have paid the entire price of the meal JUST to see this little trick!
Hm, well, then I've already told you about Tayyabs, my favourite Indian restaurant tucked away in East London ...
Charitable soul that I am, that same London-bound week I decided to give Cha Cha Moon, subject of damning scorn from a previous post, another try (mainly through the oft-encountered London dilemma of 'not being able to get home to eat' and 'required dirt cheap prices due to impending poverty') and found it to be in better sorts once again, fully-trained staff in place. Sadly, though, prices look like they'll never again be back to their previously outrageous, and note-worthy economy status.
I was then treated to a handful of home-cooked Sicilian meal (I will elaborate on this in due course, I promise) - examples such as Squid Ink Pasta with Botarga, Steamed Lemon Sole accompanied by spinach and sultanas, and Ricotta Ravioli with Pistachio Sauce.
Reciprocally and nationally obliged to demonstrate that, whilst not quite on a par with Italian cooking, English food can sometimes be pretty darn great I cheated, and brought Il huomo home to be cooked for by...my mum. Well, without a kitchen, I'm restricted and, I know I'm slightly biased, but she does cook the best meals in the land. No pressure then mum, but English National Food Heritage (and Pride) lies squarely on your shoulders. She rose admirably to the occasion, producing a (not-so-English, admittedly, yet completely delicious) chickpea soup, followed by a stellar rendition of Roast Chicken, accompanied by crisped, golden roast potatoes and parsnips cooked in goose fat (divine), steamed cabbage that hovered perfectly between al dente and feather-soft, carrots and a steaming, tasty golden gravy. Nowt more English than that! This was followed by diva-esque puffs of beautiful baked apples oozing with a caramelly butter sauce and sultanas/raisins, poured over with cream. All guests left the table replete to play a fierce game of Cluedo, the resultant competitiveness no doubt fruitsugar-fuelled. No sooner had the main meal commenced digestion, than a round of English tea was brought out; crumpets dripped with butter and lemon curd, and home-made scones groaned with their generous load of raspberry jam and clotted cream. Cholesterol? What's that?!

Any suggestions of how to wow a foreigner with some delicious English fare (it does exist, honest guv!) gladly received...

Oh Snow!

2009-02-03T11:01:00.000-08:00

If you peek closely, you'll see my favourite little garden bandit, one of our three Robins...puffed up against the snow and cold weather, and hopping jauntily around eating the worms I was putting out for him. Isn't he a cutie?!

So England is snowed in. Which seems the perfect excuse to catch up on weeks and weeks of food-related stories in one higgldypiggldy, disorganised heap. I'm cosied up on the sofa next to the fire, a cashmere throw over my woolly-tighted pins, tapping away whilst sipping the perfect mug of tea and occasionally dunking in a biccie. Could life be any sweeter? There's a definite sense of collective glee in the snowy British air, as everyone bunks off work, revelling in the bona fide excuse that it's impossible (and borderline dangerous) to get into work what with the piles of snow heaped everywhere.

Me, well, following a very brief snow angel session (almost just to make a point), and a brisk welly-clad walk in the white stuff, which left me with rosy cheeks and a healthy appetite, I've mostly stayed indoors nursing the beginnings of a wee sore throat (any excuse to curl up next to the fire really...).

See? Proof I'm not just making it up. We are SNOWED UNDER. You can even compare this exact back garden view with the same frosty version of a few posts back. The world is cloaked with delicious icing....!

Which reminds me about that appetite I worked up...

Cor Blimey Charlie!!

2009-01-26T06:11:00.000-08:00

Who would have thought that a little piece of France would be lying hidden deep in Clapham. More specifically, at my dear, lovely friend Charlie's house.

Now wait, let me backtrack. Charlie is, to put it simply, a culinary genius (I know, I cultivate my friends well). The boy is wasted in a Managmenet Consultancy firm, where he does all sorts of clever, whizkid stuff wtih spreadsheets and sorting out ailing firms. Thankfully for his friends, though, he unleashes his real talent and passion in the kitchen at the weekends where, with an apron wound round his gentle giant frame (he is a 6'3" giant who dwarves us all), he regularly works his magic on a series of Sunday lunches. Poor lad, not sure if his motley crew of no good amigos aren't rather a wasted audience for his talents. I, however, am fully appreciative.

The Sunday in question is now a couple of weeks back, and I write having had the chance to digest my extremely generous and quite truly delicious portion of...oh, no, one sec, don't let me spoil the suspense, I'll get to the food later.

So, there I was, on one of my many Sunday mornings up in the big smoke, recovering from a monumental night out, during which I had somehow managed to lose my mobile phone in the bowels of my friend Looble's teeny tiny car (a whole nother story, but suffice to say her car has now been dubbed the Bermuda triangle of phones). This rather clever move was somewhat hampering my usually buzzing social life, and I was slightly perplexed as to how on earth I was going to dredge up memories of where exactly in Clapham Charlie's flat was hidden. I was a little panic-stricken at the thought of missing lunch, if I'm entirely honest with you. One of my trusty friends came to the rescue with his fancy iphone, and on ringing Charlie I learned that I needn't have worried, the original (already alarmingly late to my clockwork tum) lunchtime of 3pm had now been pushed back a little. Apparently I wasn't the only one suffering from post-Saturday night pains...

...so it meant I could rock up at a more leisurely pace. I rang on the bell at 3.30pm, and was greeted by the warm, comforting waft of cheesy pastry, some little home-made rolls that the Chef had whipped up out of some pastry leftovers ('posh cheese on toast').

Appetite well and truly whetted, I settled in to catch up with a university friend, delighting in the pleasure of mouthwatering anticipation. Thankfully the real event was every bit as good as the (lengthy) anticipation (Charlie really knows how to drum up a feeding frenzy amongst even the most food ambivalent of guests - a category in which, you'll no doubt not need informing, I am not found), when at 4.30pm our tummies rumbled, the table was laid and the metaphorical drum rolled. Delicately, and with loving care, our Chef served:

Cassoulet - look, I know I may have slightly lost credibility, what with my neverending and continuous tendency to wax lyrical about the different food I'm lucky enough to sink my gnashers into (the nasty critic in me does sometimes make an appearance), but let me tell you, I'm not exaggerating when I say - I have never tasetd such a succulent medley of different meats. I carefully picked out, identified and verified with our maestro chef a full array of meats, including tiny, juicy sausages, rich, dark confit duck leg, nuggets of lambshoulder, pork rind and chunks of pork belly. Each medley was doused in a savoury meat sauce, with a couple of spoonfuls from the layer of juice-soaked breadcrumbs topping the whopping great Le Creuset casserole dish. The punch of the meat was tempered and mellowed slightly by the melting creaminess of small, white, haricot beans. Simply outstanding, especially when served with...

...a young, spicy Watercress Salad dressed with a sharp, mustardy french dressing - the perfect punchy, simple sidekick to the rich cassoulet.
Treacley and golden, a darkly rich genuine Tarte Tatin, with large chunks of moist upturned apple over flakey, sticky pastry, soaked iwth its fingerlicking sticky juice. Brings a whole different meaning to this particular apple pastry, which can often be muscled in on by an awful imposter (think thin, insipid, crunchy 'apple' slices, and dry crusty pastry). Not so with this rendition, which did its name proud, perfectly served alongside a dollop of decadent clotted cream.

One lesson learned by our talented host, will no doubt have been 'never text one's guests with requests to bring 'interesting cheeses' when one's guests consist of a handful of cheeky comedians and acerbic actors'. Our 'Interesting Cheese' selection consisted of one mesh bag of mini wax-clad BabyBels...which was, obviously, the perfect end to the perfect meal.

Thanks Charlieboy. xx

Ice Queen: the UK in its frostiest finest

2009-01-14T13:04:00.001-08:00

As promised, I did take some pics. Was rather amazed at how similar the frost last Saturday was to my beloved Christmas cake. It was that heavy! Sadly my photos never do the reality justice but hey ho, I strive to do my best nevertheless.

So 'English' looking - n'est-ce pas??

That's all folks!

Thumbs down: a Poor Restaurant Review

2009-01-10T02:45:00.000-08:00

And now for a barrage of overdue entries. One of the most frustrating things about being up in London for a week was that my internet access up there is dodgy at best. I tried to post that last entry at least twice.

Now safely installed (for a day) back in a crisply cold Surrey, looking out onto acres and acres of garden and fields coated in thick white frost (I’ll try and get a photo and upload this, it’s too beautiful for words), my internet works, and I’m cozying up indoors for a bit whilst I figure out what clothes will protect me from the bitter cold outside.

The ideal excuse to update on my second trip out to eat. One of Alan Yau’s many creations, Cha Cha Moon is on Ganton street, just off Carnaby Street.

I’ve been to this restaurant at least half a dozen times since its opening in May last year, and mostly regaled others with stories of wild enthusiasm. Sadly it looks like I never got round to reviewing it before though, as now it’s a completely different story. Nothing seemed to go right for them on this particular visit, and I’m left with a feeling of crashing disappointment and no desire ever to go back.

The first shock came whilst waiting in the (generally promising) ever-present queue to eat. When handed our menus I saw that the original ‘every dish at £3.50’ gimmick had obviously reached the end of its time, and all items had been adjusted accordingly. The original aim of this ploy had been to draw in the punters, a fantastic piece of promotional marketing, but one which, when kept up too long, makes regular goers complacent, trained, pavlov dog style, to expect super-affordable prices. This makes the eventual price adjustment a horrible shock to the system. Cha Cha Moon can no longer be nipped to for a 'ridiculously cheap, great meal’. Now dishes are up with the rest of the noodle places, not only is it no longer cheap, but it's also, as we were soon to find out, no longer great either. Things boded badly.

We were seated rapidly, there’s never a complaint of too long a wait here. However, my eating companion (Bro P) and I then sat for getting on for ten minutes before anyone so much as ventured near us (10 minutes being an exceptionally long time in noodle-land when dishes can often take less than 30 seconds to prepare). During this time I started to witness evidence of the decline of a previously slick and efficient restaurant: dishes headed to the wrong table; waiters checked and rechecked orders with each other; bumped into each other; and let plates waltz gaily round without an owner. After several requests, we finally secured a waiter’s attention to place our order, before my observations became too depressing. He took our order, only for another waiter to appear 2 minutes later (clearly the one we were supposed to have in the first place). Not to worry, by this stage I was practically gnashing at the bit to be served some form of noodly nourishment – my lunchtime meal had been piddly and I was starving.

We waited.

And we waited.

Still I watched more confusion amongst the waiting staff. Finally a dish came out, and we watched it being offered to first one, then another diner, until he finally put the dish in front of me. And then - oh boy, this makes my digestive process halt dramatically in its tracks – he PICKED IT UP AGAIN, and said ‘oh, no, I’d better check, I don’t think it’s for you'. Whisking it out from underneath my poised chopsticks and dripping jaws, he took it away. No apology or explanation, nothing! Anyone who knows me well enough will know that this is probably up there with slamming a door in my face or throwing a beer down my back with offensive gestures. This meant WAR.

Two minutes later the same dish was dumped in front of me with barely an explanation. By this time it wasn’t steaming hot, but I was ravenous, and so tucked in. Not only was it not steaming hot, but there were actually sections which were cold, it had been that long out of the kitchen embrace. Of course, I should have complained, but I was so terrified they'd whisk it away again that I crouched low over it, protecting it like a mother bear protects her cubs. It’s hardly relevant what it was or how it tasted – Singapore Char Kway Teow, thick noodles in quite a tasty mixed meat sauce if you're interested. But, with all the emotional upheaval involved in getting my hands on this thing, I wouldn't advise anyone to go through the same trauma.

Bro P unsnapped his chopsticks and tucked into my plate, as there was no sign of his meal, nor would there be for some time to come. In fact, when we were on the verge of polishing the dish off, there was still no sign, so we asked a waiter, and his Singapore Fried Noodle finally arrived, just as I was picking up the last few strands of noodles. His dish tasted fusty and of hot dogs, and not even close to the standard of my previous visits. Meanwhile two or three wrong dishes were shown past our table.

We paid (no tip), and left. Never to return again.

No service, late meals, constant waiter confusion, a false serving, a practically cold dish. And all without the super-cheap price tag we’ve now been trained to expect.

Serious thumbs down.

Raving Restaurant Review: my favourite London Curryhouse

2009-01-08T05:26:00.000-08:00

It’s been absolutely donkey’s months since I’ve done any sort of restaurant reviewing as thrift and frugality has been the overriding theme.

So, in an unusual ‘throwing thrift to the wind’ gesture, when I arrived in London last Sunday night, I decided it was about time I ate out. And so I did. Two days in a row no less.

Numero Uno: 5* - HIGH recommendation

Now, before I get more entangled in my little tale, let me set the background on my relationship with Indian meals.

I am not a natural curry fan.

It’s the result of too many years of disgusting, cheap and terrible Indian meals whilst at uni, meals which tended to consist of £10 deals (1 curry, 1 beer, 1 case of chronic indigestion and a serious dose of self-loathing), during which us uni students tended to behave atrociously (naturally), get drunk, disorderly and ending the evening with the odd food fight.

Now, before I hear your sharp intake of breath that I could be so uncouth, let me make it clear right away, I wasn’t one of the ones throwing food – clearly to me that is the ultimate sin. But seeing curry splattered against the walls wasn’t terribly conducive to giving me a raging appetite for the spicy stuff.

This, coupled with making the mistake once of watching a TV programme entitled ‘The Top 10 Worst Restaurants in Britain’ (I know, don’t ask what possessed me), and witnessing what sort of tricks the Indian restaurant topping the list pulled on its unsuspecting punters (great big vats of ‘different’ curry sauces, into which washed off uneaten meat from previous customers’ dishes were unceremoniously dunked). It was toecurling, stomach-wrenching stuff. And as a direct result about three years ago I was pretty much refusing to touch curry.

Cue my job out in Dubai, which couldn't have come at a more perfect time, to reinstate me with an appreciation for good indian food. No comparison. There you'll eat mostly southern indian food, a heavy slant towards the vegetarian. Clouds of delicately spiced potato mixture in potato dosa, mental lentils. Curry and I slowly rekindled a tentative love affair.

So you see, I’m possibly one of the most discerning British curry critics there is available to write. I am extraordinarily difficult to please. You might have noticed that this goes against my usual bounce-off-the-walls excitement and enthusiasm at eating out/being taken out, but there it is – I am curry critical.

So, it is with great pleasure, that I announce…. ..drummmm rooooollll….. THE BEST curryhouse in London, bar none. Tayyabs, in London's East End, or Shoreditch, to be more precise. Widely tipped as exceptional, I’d first been invited by one of my bestest buds (Sam the Tea man, should you be interested) for his bday bash back in November. I couldn’t make it. At the time, apart from the fact I was missing the festivities and the chance to smother a best bud with birthday smooches, I wasn’t too too bothered about missing out on ‘yet another curry’.

Until, that is, all sorts of raving rants written about the merits of this mysterious Tayyabs starting creeping into my line of awareness, and I started to rather kick myself for the missed opportunity. London-town bound, therefore, I got StTM in on my plan for a Sunday curry sesh. By gum was I excited.

The very first thing you notice as you walk alongside the restaurant, tucked deep in the bowels of Shoreditch, is that it is veritably heaving with people. In spite of it being a Sunday evening, the tables were overflowing with happy customers, all noshing away. The door opens and the second thing you’ll notice is a delicious medley of scents of cumin, curry, tamarind and other spices I couldn't quite put my olfactory finger on. The queue to eat was snaking right round the restaurant. Hm. This boded mouthwateringly well. We entertained ourselves admirably until, not long after – oh joy! – we were allocated our table. By this stage I was in such a paroxysm of hunger and excitement that I clean forgot how one is supposed to behave in a restaurant. Our poor, patient waiter had to deal with an overexcited, gibbering fool making orders (me, should that not be clear). As it turns out though, my choices were outstanding:

Spicy grilled lamb chops – miniature mouthfuls of succulent, juicy meat, dripping with a biting, spicy sauce. An excellent appetite whetter. Although, frankly speaking, it would be a restrained restaurant-goer whose appetite wasn’t already whetted by the sights and smells of dishes gliding past.
Lamb & Lentil curry – what was so brilliant about this, in comparison to most curries I’ve eaten before, is that the lamb was in modest, bite-sized pieces, rather than great big walloping hunks (most offputting). Tender meat surrounded by more-ish, comforting daal (lentils), with a gentle kick to it which nudges you out of getting dangerously comfortable. A real spirit-lifter of a dish.
Aubergine & Lentil – you’d expect this just to be a variation on the above, substituting the lamb out for the aubergine, but let me assure you that this wasn’t at all the case. Still with the same ‘gwon-gizza-hug’ element of lentils, threaded through with melting strips of garlicky aubergine. Aubergine, when slowly cooked, has a remarkable ability to absorb smoky flavours which surround it. This dish packed a serious garlic punch, yet another mechanism which made each diner reach back again and again for ‘just another spoonful’ (I was mortified when, at the end of the meal, I realized that for quite some minutes our waiter had been patiently waiting to remove our dishes, only waiting the vulture to finish her scavaging. Ahem.)
Saag Aloo – soft, delicate green spinach, tender, garlic infused potatoes. Together. Seriously, what more could you want from a dish? This particular dish has the potential to become heavy and leaden. Tayyabs’ rendition was light as a feather, and not too filling.

The ideal amount between three, generous but not overly so. The meal was rounded off perfectly with a mango, pistachio or yoghurt ice-lolly. We agreed collectively that this was just what our over-spiced mouths were in need of. As a difficult to please critic, this ‘un gets all my rarely allocated curry points.

Go. Go, go, go! You won't regret it.

Happy New Year!!!

2009-01-03T01:09:00.000-08:00

A hat tip to Noble Pig, who has chivvied me into blog action after a woeful time away from my keyboard - apparently blogging is good for your health. I need to get me some of that.

Two weeks I've been down with the lurgy, that's two whole weeks of my life wasted in bed-ridden hours, days and days of no real senses (taste or smell, sob!), temperatures, fevers, blocked sinuses, exploding heads. It was HIDEOUS!

But yesterday, two days into this brand spanking new year, I woke to my first day of a clear head - I could breathe. And oh boy was it good. So I spent most of the morning revelling in this fact, skipping and dancing round my room to a song which undoubtedly would severely lower my kudos amongst my friends, but which nevertheless makes me feel unbelievably positive. Oh dear, it's playing again...

Then I spent the rest of the day chopping veg, assembling hams, salamis, chicken legs, and Christmas leftovers as a whole host of friends descended from London to help us with our remaining food. Bowl after bowl of steaming and redemptive chicken and vegetable broth (Ma Pea being, as I may have mentioned before, the Queen of soups), spiced homemade date chutney with baked ham, crunchy, cleansing celery and carrot, and the richer creamier Italian cheeses left over from our time in Italy. All in all a thoroughly good day.

I wonder if I'm the only one to have slightly embarrassing songs which I jig away to in the kitchen when compiling whatever the dish of the day is, I'm sure I'm not. Somehow I think when a dish is made with love and happiness, corny as it sounds, it can be tasted!

What song and dish would be your favourite way to get your year off to a riproaring start?

500 words, 5 senses, La Cantineta della Nonna (Granny's Canteen), Tuscany

2009-01-02T02:41:00.000-08:00

There’s a hurried and slightly frantic rush to enter the restaurant before the usual 2pm lunch cutoff. The door slams behind our family of four, scooting us indoors. We hold our collective breath, hoping there would be room at the inn. We needn’t have worried – a far cry from the dour-faced welcome of an English eatery, here a space is quickly made, a table obligingly cleared and with several cheerful shouts of ‘Buon giorno’ we are welcomed with open-armed generosity as only Italians know how.

We are ushered through a dark hobbit tunnel, to the left side of which the rowdy clatter and bang of a steamy kitchen can be heard. Immediately after the kitchen, the tunnel opens out into the bright lights of the second dining room, revealing an Italian crowd gathered round eight or so tables of anything between two to eight occupants: a jolly soap opera scene. Tables of families are immersed in conversation, tucking into hearty meals, sharing deep red wines, or listening intently as waiters enthusiastically describe each separate gem on the menu with dramatic gesticulations and opulent rolling of musical vowels.

Settling into our table and gaining a sense of our surroundings I look around, noting deeply etched faces on all sides, expressions ready carved for an emotional prompt. There is the lively hum of voices without pause, bubbling like a cheerful brook. The occasional melodramatic outburst of an excited voice rises staccato above the rest, accompanied by much waving of hands. Faces are kind, smiling, laughter lines framing chestnut brown eyes and dark curls atop heads. Clothes are the autumnal palette of the Tuscan painter, rich, comforting and cozy.

An endless succession of inspiring plates of food are borne aloft as the waiters waltz past, each trailing tantalizing scents of garlic, herbs, roast meat. English mouths water shamelessly in anticipation of the first Italian meal in months, and eyes widen in glee as we turn our full attention to the important and not unenjoyable task of menu perusal. With all five senses pulled in opposing directions, it’s difficult to keep concentration for long, but I eventually choose the gnocchi con cavalo nero. We decide to share a couple of roast dishes between four – in Italy it is perilously easy to overdo it. The order is taken with many cries of appreciation and recommendation, ‘Gnocchi? Fantastico! Excelente! Buenisimo!’

My attention is caught by free entertainment provided by one family’s little toddler repeatedly tottering off on expedition back through the connecting tunnel, an intrepid and determined explorer. The entire troupe of waiters are at his beck and call: playing games, making faces, and pandering to the little tyke’s every command.

Steaming platefuls of savoury delights soon arrive, mouthfuls of featherlight gnocchi topped in a delicately flavoured, fine sliced cavalo nero sauce. Roast rabbit leg follows – rosemary, salt and garlic juice is licked off fingers just as pork ribs arrive, charred but succulent, mopping up garlicky swiss chard side. Platefuls of delightful treasure troves.

Cake or Death? Death by Cake please...

2008-12-26T04:49:00.001-08:00

I thought I'd get right in there with a photo of the finished article, should my writing fail to grab your attention. Is it not divine and beautiful, a magnificent specimen of marvellous cakedom? I defy any reader to deny its inner goodness. And I should think so too - this thing probably cost darn near £30 to make up (yes, I really was geeky enough to tot up the bill) and I would wager that each slice contains every single one of your RDA of vitamins and minerals, not to mention well over twice your daily recommended calorie and alcohol intake. How can you resist?

From start to finish the whole adventure has lasted some two weeks, I'd say. Ten days before Christmas Ma Pea and I waltzed gaily around the aisles of Waitrose, piling the trolley high with all sorts of fruity goodies, as well as nuts, icing sugar, flour, eggs, butter, and all those other requisite ingredients which make up the traditional Christmas cake.

Turns out that making a Christmas cake is not an activity for the faint of heart or, for that matter, faint of muscle. Nor for those short on time. From start to finish the entire exercise took some 6-8 hours, and that's before the marzipan and icing are added on. One of the main reasons I'll warrant which forces most to head for the ready-bought cake.

As I'm writing this on the eve of a rather last minute flying trip to Italy, I'm forced to make the cake-making revelries and descriptions rather shorter than is my usual way. However, suffice to say that the cake wasn't made without a few mini dramas - I learnt that chopping over 1 kilo of various sticky gloopy dried fruits is no mean feat, and is rather like one of those tasks that you'd be given in hell, though eventually I overcame the mountain and reigned victorious. The next hysterical fiasco was my realisation when it came to adding the cake mixture to the tin, that the recipe had called for a 24 inch ROUND cake tin, when I had, in fact, bought a 23 inch SQUARE cake tin. Furiously putting my GCSE maths to test, I figured out (after phoning a friend) that I'd need to increase the mixuture by a third for the mass to be right. Sod that. I loaded the mixture in and prayed as it baked away in the oven for a not paltry three hours.

It emerged a vision of perfection, with wafts of delightful and promising alcoholic fruitness tantalising my nostrils. I breathed a sigh of relief and got drunk on the fumes. But it had by no means reached the pinnacle of its success yet, oh no. There remained another ten days of brandy basting to come as every day I hovered lovingly over my Christmas baby, bathing it in obscene quantities of alcohol, ensuring not a crumb was left unsoaked, not a nut left unturned. Finally, Christmas Eve arrived, and the cake emerged from its brandy bath, sopping wet and spluttering more boozy fumes than a city boy on a Friday night. By now it was completely sozzled, ready and willing to be rolled up and tucked into its marzipan wrapper bed. At this stage my cosseting and fuss-making could be likened to a doting mother tending to her first-born.

At this stage though, my baby was yet half-dressed, as there remained....a cloak of glossy white icing. 2 egg whites whisked, and vast quantities of sugar whipped in, and I'd concocted what seeemed like the perfect consistency icing. I was getting rather precious about CC by this point, and delicately poking at it with a palette knife as I spread the sugar coat thickly across its top and sides. The belle of the ball it would be, with real genuine frothy peaks studding its unblemished complexion.

Then, the vandals set in, as Ma Pea tried to add a naff ballerina decoration to the apple of my eye. Some people just can't stand others' works of art:

I could barely wait for the icing to dry before I wanted to cut the first slice and taste the fruit (cake) of my (culinary) loins.
Course, I wasn't 100% what this thing was going to taste like so, for safety, I tested it out on an unsuspecting guest/guinea pig.

The result: STUPENDOUS!!! Moist, packed with a plethora of tasty dried fruits and generous quantities of hazelnuts, and with tender marzipan and the crunch of icing, this is a Christmas cake to top all Christmas cakes. Though, with the amount I've consumed already, it might well be the Christmas cake that ends me...

...still, I can't think of a better way to go.

We Wish you a Cakey Christmas

2008-12-15T11:46:00.000-08:00

Oh the dedication - I write from my deathbed.

It's my own fault really, I tempted fate. I had the audacity (read: stupidity) to say, rather smugly, last Thursday, whilst standing in the presence of someone hacking and spluttering and fully lurgied up, that I'd 'not been ill this year'. I was commenting more out of surprise really as, when normally one is esconced deep within germ-ridden team in the corporate world, it's not a case of are you going to get ill but when you're going to get ill. And so I was rather revelling in the unexpected bonus that 'working from home' brings - Winter '08 is the winter of no bugs! But someone up above obviously saw my innocent conversation as tempting fate, and lo and behold, less than 24 hours later I started to feel...rather bleh.

I battled it for two solid days as I was deep in the West Sussex countryside studying cartoon and caricature for the weekend at West Dean College, an incredible mansion which belonged to a rich, old, eccentric called Edward James, who I'd ironically heard about first when on my travels in Mexico. His estate, however, is now dedicated to short and long courses teaching the arts. The weekend was astoundingly good, with rigorous hours of teaching and penflexing broken only by gorgeous, plentiful and timely meals. When I wasn't drawing, eating, or talking with the rest of my classmates, I was curled up by one of the many fires, catchingup on my reading. But the sniffles were a-lurkin'.

Finally, come end of course, I succumbed and have since gone completely under. Two days later, and on Christmas Eve no less, I'm bedbound and feeling very sorry for myself. Like, I suppose 75% of the rest of England. Cor blimey but we've got it good this year ent we?!!

So, I've been cheering myself up with thoughts of impending Christmas feast, but most importantly, and a now quite longstanding labour of love, the inaugural tasting of my homemade and obscenely alcoholic Christmas cake.

I thought I'd break from tradition, and instead make no apologies for the fact that it's been nigh on a month since I last wrote. After all, I can't afford to feel guilty, I need to save all the guilt for the monstruous amounts of Christmas calories we'll no doubt consume over the next few days...and then I'll start getting all dedicated and virtuous come 09. Honest.

These past few weeks I've been slowly but surely overcome with childlike Christmas glee: getting all excited about crackling log fires, steaming hot chocolate, decorating our hand-sawn Christmas tree with beautiful and sparkling decorations and putting my inner gift fairy to good use when advising friends on gift purchases for their adored ones...

Kitchen wise, I've recently been working my way through my adored and favouritest food writer ever (and many others' too no doubt) Nigel Slater's book on food and the love of everything about it, 'Appetite'. His very promising looking 'exceedingly boozy Christmas cake' recipe caught my eye, and the decision was made.

Thus I commence my cakey adventures. Oh come all ye faithful blog readers (minimal numbers at present due to very little action on my part to obtain an audience...), and join me over these next few entries in this shameless cakefest.

A Birthday rhyme to an old friend

2008-12-03T02:28:00.000-08:00

The day dawned early and bright, December third,
this year's passed so quickly it seems quite absurd,
But beautiful winter sunshine through my window streamed bright,
so I threw open the curtains and saw with delight,
that the entire garden was completely embossed,
with a delicious icy coating of frost.
Bundling up, warm clothes v. biting cold,
I grabbed a camera in the hopes of photo gold.
I wanted to capture this magical, glittering morning.
but my photography should come with a small prewarning...
as, whilst my dear birthday friend has many a skill,
at capturing those photolicious moments that thrill,
my ability to close the shutter on the perfect shot,
is, I won't lie to you, not quite as hot.
Nevertheless, without further ado, and in my own little way,
I'll show you the magic moments of this beautiful day.

The icy sheen of directions. Beautiful markings to inspire me on my mini mission.

Frosted Treetrunks

The trees scraped their shadowy fingers across the fields, as I crossed a bridge into the magical forest.

This picture, and this place, causes me to take a nosedive straight back to my childhood in the states, and reading the terribly sad story Bridge to Terabithia. I got slightly lost in my imagination and had to pinch myself to resurface.

Marvellous mossy mystery.

Nature fallen.

Nature, dangling.

Wellie shot - just discovering my camera.

Pathway reminding me of Peter Rabbit - acrid smell of creosote from nearby garden allotments mixed with tinny waft of fir trees.

A virtual present - a cup of tea and some homemade cookies - chunky choc chip cookies, with their unseemly generous chunks of half melted chocolate. All that is missing is my birthday friend giggling with me as we lick the melted chocolate and buttery crumbs off our fingers, before reaching for another refill of tea and settling in for a good long girly chat.

Happy Birthday! xxx

Untitled: all options were too rude

2008-11-30T06:16:00.000-08:00

I'm generally against essentially diarising every little bit and bob that my greedy little goblet guzzles, as it would be a little too like one of those 'food diaries' that they make you keep at WeightWatchers, however, I couldn't resist with this little cracker.

Yesterday I went and did my weekly frugal shop. I pottered into the meat section and these little babies caught my eye:

Look at those eh?! An intriguing cross between pork belly and bacon rashers, with lovely fresh pink flesh glistening seductively in between temptingly tasty layers of fat. The challenge was too good to resist. Into my trolley they went.

But then I got them home and hit the post-shopping euphoric lapse as I realised I really am quite naive in the ways of pig. Pork is just something that I've always been a nervous about. I suspect it's one of those childhood things, as there are all too many 'thin, grey, tastless, chewy' memories floating round from my schooldays. This means that, bar my two faves - bacon and sausages - the rest of the pig rarely gets a look in. My new resolution therefore: all of this is going to change as of TODAY!

Inspired by a recipe I read on one of my favourite blogs, Eggs on Sunday, I thought it was time I whipped them out of their packet for a little dance in the frying pan, just in the nick of time for my lunch. I tried a variation on Amy's recipe .

Rubbing salt and pepper into the thick rashers, I then laid them in a frying pan where some hot oil sizzled. They cooked for some 3-4 minutes on both sides until golden and cooked through, when I laid them on a hot plate to one side as I made the sauce. To the oil I added some finely diced red onion and some chopped sage, allowed it to sizzle, scraped in the remnants of the pork from the pan, and deglazed with a couple of capfuls of cider vinegar. The mixture bubbled and wafted tantalising smells. I let cook and reduce for a few moments before spooning it over my belly/rasher hybrid, and enjoyed them with some buttered leeks and garlicky mushrooms.

Heavenly.

Oldies are Goodies

2008-11-30T01:03:00.000-08:00

One of the very happy side effects of living in a gurt big house in the country, and away from the hustle and bustle of London and constant social shenanigans that I would normally be furiously embroiled in, is that I'm really learning the value of spending real quality time with loved ones: friends and family.

So yesterday I was very excited when one of my bestest girlfriends came down to visit, the first time we've seen each other in the eight months or so since I went abroad. I had said we had so much to catch up on we should invest in one of those chess game timers - ok, 10 minutes to you, 10 minutes to me, 10 you, 10 me...thankfully we didn't have to resort to anything quite so regimented and I think we still pretty much covered all the bases, whilst at the same time cooking and eating a really very delicious, comforting winter supper to fill our tums as we talked.

Unsurprisingly, I'm the sort who finds it hard to concentrate on even two things at once - so listening, talking AND cooking meant that proceedings went veeeery leisurely, but that was fine, we had all the time in the world!

To curb our appetites, I quickly whipped us up some of the Carrot and Ginger soup, a rerun my last entry. It was just too good not to share!

A while later, we followed this up with Roast Butternut Squash and Bacon linguine with crumbled deep fried Sage, then a Blackberry tarlet for puds.

The Butternut Squash and Bacon linguine was really a bit of an experiment using some of my favourite ingredient combinations - I often use Butternut Squash in risotto, but I'd never actually cooked it with pasta. I figured really, what can go wrong with all of those goodies included?! My hunch was right and we both agreed it got top marks:

Butternut Squash & Bacon Linguine with crumbled deep fried Sage
Serves 2

Ingredients
a quarter of a butternut squash, peeled, deseeded and diced relatively small; 3-4 rashers bacon or pancetta, diced; 1 clove garlic, chopped; 8-9 sage leaves; 1/4 pint single cream; olive oil; linguine for 2

Method
Lay foil over a roasting tray and spread the butternut squash over, drizzle with olive oil and season generously, then roast at 240C for 30 minutes until soft with a little bite.
Start cooking the Linguine.
Lay the bacon in a frying pan and fry fast until slightly crispy. Remove the bacon from the pan and lay on kitchen paper to drain the fat, then quickly fry up the sage in the remaining bacon fat, removing to drain next to the bacon once done. My bacon produced enough fat for the whole dish but if yours doesn't, at this stage add a little olive oil and add the garlic until it sizzles and starts to go golden, then the bacon, and finally the butternut squash. Season, stir and cook through for a few minutes, and then add the cream, heat through for a minute or two.
Drain the linguine, retaining a tiny amount of water so the pasta doesn't dry, and toss together with the butternut squash mixture. Serve onto plates and crumble over the deep fried sage.
Thinking about it, by the time we served up, I was so eager to eat that I clean forgot parmesan, which of course would top off a truly delicious dish perfectly.

Blackberry Tarlets
Serves 2

I cheated and used preprepared, ready-to-cook tartlet cases (sorry, was BUSY during the day, can't cook everything from scratch!), but they were spectacular, so I would highly recommend cheating any day!

For the custard, beat 1 egg and add in a quarter pint of single cream, then beat in caster sugar. I've not quite figured out the right amount of caster sugar to add...I guesstimate maybe 5-6 tablespoons? Arrange the tartlet cases on a baking tray, and pour the custard in. Arrange the blackberries in the cases, and cook on about 180C for 15-20 minutes, until the pastry is cooked and the custard golden. Sift some icing sugar over the top if you want it really fancy. Me n mi amiga just gobbled ours down...hot! hot! hot!

Then the two greedy little piggies sat down with a cuppa chai and some of my special banana bread which I cooked that morning, the secret of which I will reveal when the time is right...

What else are best friends for than to help demolish the banana bread that you would otherwise be forced to eat entirely by yourself?!

Bliss.

Cheap 'n' Quick 'n' Cheerful - Carrot & Ginger Soup

2008-11-26T07:35:00.001-08:00

Right, enough of the wallowing, let me tell you about my most recent souper trooper adventure - concocted yesterday in my 'use up the rest of the carrots' bid.

This soup is:

stupidly, ridiculously, SCANDALOUSLY cheap - I totted it up and it will have cost me all of about 20p
stupidly, ridiculously, SCANDALOUSLY tasty
stupidly, ridiculously, SCANDALOUSLY easy peasy
and pretty blimmin' quick too

How can you refuse, I ask you?

Carrot & Ginger Soup
3 Servings

Ingredients:
1 inch-long piece ginger, peeled and sliced thickly; 1 small onion, diced; 3-4 small-medium sized carrots, diced; glug olive oil; 3/4 litre of stock; salt/pepper

Method:
In a large, flat saucepan, heat the olive oil and add the ginger so it sizzles and wafts delicious sweet-spicy fumes your way. Add the onions and sweat gently for a couple of minutes before adding the carrots and stirring. Pour in the stock - it should amply cover the vegetables. Leave to simmer for 10-15 minutes until the carrots are tender, transfer the whole lot to a blender, blend vigorously until a smooth puree and return to the saucepan. Swill out the blender with about a cupful of water, and add to the puree to loosen it slightly. Heat through.

Spiffing eh? The perfect veggie soup to curb your appetite slightly if it is raging before a dinner, and also pretty darn good as a light evening supper to go to bed on a less-than-full tum. Nice.

A Cup of Tea Solves Everything

2008-11-26T06:45:00.000-08:00

One of those days...

I've proved that the old adage 'A cup of tea solves everything' really is true. I've walked to the post office and posted a card I've drawn for a friend, and I've come back on a post-walk mini-buzz to make myself a steaming cuppa. Just plain ol' PG Tips thank you very much, with enough milk to render it a dark tan colour. Served in a cup which is oh so ironic at the moment labelled 'Princess' with a little drawing on the front. Think I might have just struck on an idea for another mug design 'Pauper's Tea'. I'll get scribbling!

One of the many useless skills I've been taking on board is the one below:

One of the undoubtedly more useless skills I've learnt, but nonetheless probably the most amusing....! Timothy Ferriss, one of the most inspirational men I've read about, teaching me yet another skill that makes life that little bit more interesting!

Onwards and upwards.

Guest Guest Writer: Sam the Tea Man's DAD drinks tea

2008-11-26T03:10:00.000-08:00

Well, as you can tell ladies and gentlemen, we are really getting into our tea blogs. The truth is that Sam the Tea Man has been writing for a little while now, but I've been lax about uploading. But it now seems like ALL of his family want to get in on the tea-blogging action, and are adding their points of view into the mix. Today, we have Guest Guest Writer, Sam the Tea Man's DAD, Joe the Tea Man.

The tea in front of me is PG tips ,weak and milky, pale khaki in colour. There is about half a pint in a white mug which has a thick blue line around the top and thin lines within the blue. It is of a perfect drinkable temperature.
Around me are several girls , my pumpkin team, some of them drinking tea of varied colours and in different mugs. There are five pumpkins all being lovingly sculptured into bonfire night horrors. It is November 8th , the nearest Saturday to November 5th. Outside another team is putting finishing touches to a HUGE bonfire. They are placing benches,tables chairs and stools at a "safe" distance from it and preparing the "boncaloo." A group of Her Majesty's Security Staff still check underneath the Houses of Parliament before the Queen opens a new session. Our guy this year is very tall, green and handsome.
Autumn is just finishing ; still a few apples on the trees and leaves of all colours from dark red through yellows to green. They are scattered everywhere and some are even sill on their branches - just. Clouds - grey. white ,puffy , solid - are allowing some blue sky to show through. Everyone prays for the rain to stay away.
Bruce (the Shetland pony - ed) is bewildered. He is having to share the field with people and their excitement is catching . Even the chickens have not been let out, Bruce ois VERY bewildered.
The pumpkin seeds are being washed ready for toasting. I have never done this before and am really excited about tasting them. Dusk draws on and another cup of tea is finished.

Guest Writer: Sam the Tea Man drinks Tea

2008-11-26T03:08:00.000-08:00

Blog Number: 3 No title this time

Hello, this is a rather impromptu blog, as I was intending on doing it tomorrow on my long train journey home, but I’ve just sat down in my flat with a fresh brew so I thought I’d tell you about it.

PG Tips with a dash of milk, nice & dark with a single sugar lump. (I like sugar lumps, (especially since Turkey since they’re everywhere), it means you don’t have to worry about the size of the tea sponn or how much sugar is on there.) Anyway, it’s maybe slightly darker than normal but still good. In a good mug (mugs are very important to some tea drinkers, we’ll probably discuss this in a later blog), which is round at the bottom, I’d guess about 30mm across (1 ¼” in old money), and almost square at the top, with nice thickened corners.

The tea is good, I need a bit of a boost after a long day, but refraining from a snack as it’d just spoil my appetite and tea/supper/dinner (depending on which part of the country you’re in) will be soon, well, when I get round to cooking it.

I’m fairly posiive & the tea is definitely helping. I’ve just been to an interesting lecture on Crossrail (the new Cross-London rail link for you non-Londoners) & now I’m about to make a pair of recycling bins for my flat. Partially because I watch “An Inconvenient Truth” (Al Gore’s film which is good) last night, but it was something that needed doing anyway as it’s a new flat (for me) and it’s not the best at the moment for recycling. I looked on the Interweb today & what I wanted was £50, which I thought was a little steep, so I’m going to make my own out of old boxes & plastic carriers. So not only am I not buying new stuff, I’m reuse old boxes before I recycle them, so REUSE & RECYCLE, all I need to do now is REDUCE, maybe I’ll just eat half as much, or drink less tea, or just use each tea-bag twice; then I’d be cooking on gas, or maybe Biofuel?

Guest Writer: Sam the Tea Man in Zummerzet

2008-11-26T03:06:00.000-08:00

Blog Number: 2 The Cider House Brews

Tea Type: Miles Tea: The West Country Blend.

In a cup & saucer with two shortbread fingers.

Fantastic tea, good flavour, but most importantly it’s warm and wet, which when you’ve just walked about 12 miles in Somerset on a grey day on the 1st November any tea and biscuit would be welcome, but this tea is actually particularly good.

I think the setting of your tea is also particularly important, and I would say that sitting on a four poster bed in the main bedroom of a Doomsday Book Farmhouse is pretty much as good as it gets, especially when the company is particularity great………the farm cat called Tiger has just curled up at my feet.

We’re staying at Blackmore Farm which is an amazing B&B in Somerset, and has open fires, antlers on the wall and a four-poster bed, so pretty special. We drove down from Gatwick last night and it’s cool, & it has great tea bags.

So…location, great. Tea, great. How do I feel? Great. Is this down to the tea? Not entirely, but it definitely helps? My hands have thawed out now and the fire is blazing downstairs so I’m off to thaw my feet.

After the tea, this (blog writing) was the first thing I did, actually started thinking about it with a mile to go (which was pretty much straight after I started thinking about the tea funnily enough) so I think I’m getting into it (although this is still only the 2nd day.)

Off to the fire now, until next time…………Keep on Brewin’.

(261, nearly spot on this time)

Guest Writer: Sam the Tea Man really gets going

2008-11-26T03:04:00.000-08:00

Blog Number: 1a Extra Words Brainstorming Topics

Buoyed with the ease of which this rubbish is rolling off my tongue, I thought I’d go for another “one” & since I haven’t had/didn’t get another cup from BA, I can’t really call this Blog #2, so here’s #1a.

I’ve not really thought about how this would work, not just the number, the whole blog really.

I’m good at bullet points (one of my good Top Trump Suits along with Admin, Languages & Singing are my worst I would say, although the jury’s still out on Blog \Writing!).

Each Blog will:

Be based around a tea drinking experience, with a cup of tea conaumed whilst I’m at the seat.
The tea will be judged, both in terms of…..well whatever I see ft really.
Try to give the reader some idea of the venue, so they can decide if they want to do the same
Probably have some sort of ramblings about something, the topic of which will almost certainly depend on what mood I’m in etc etc.

To help myself out (and to use up the remaining words), I though I’d list the Tea Relatated Places/Topics that could form the basis of my additional ramblings if I’m struggling for inspiration. These were as follows in the order I thought of them.

Tea with Mum @ home/in the garden.

Tea with Lex’ Parents, or not quite (the first time I met them)

Turkey Tea – Cay

Ginger Tea

European Tea

53 Carlyle Rd Tea

Desk at Work

Somerset B&B

Tea Rooms

Alone in my flat.

With friends in my flat

With my sister

Why am I doing this?

Does tea & Haribo work?

Does Lapsangsu-Shong actually taste of ash trays?

Phew, another 285 done, just as we land. Lets see how my enthusiasm & momentum go with regard to when I next have 250 words in mt, but until then………Brew Well My Friends.

(Do I need a cheesy line at the end of each thing, or is that a waste of words? Does anyone care? Does anyone read this except my Mum?)

Guest Writer: Sam the Tea Man's first real post

2008-11-26T03:03:00.000-08:00

Blog Number: 1 First Entry Here We Go

sat here with a blunt pencil and my ears start to pop as we descend into Gatwick, I’m longing for another cup of BA tea (although I think it’s too late, the seatbelt sign is on).

After 8 days of drinking Turkish Cay (pronounced Chai we very quickly learnt) I was longing for that first cup of English tea, as I’m longing for another now.

It was probably a sub-conscious thing. Right, holiday over, back to England, what do we do in England, play cricket, well yes, but not in November, but we always drink tea, even in the heart of summer. Peter Kaye’s mum was right, it does quench your thirst. It also apparently keeps you alive. Apparently, a wise man once told me once that during the Korean War, the US Army suffered a significantly higher number of casualties due to pneumonia and other cold weather conditions when compared to the British.. This was apparently due to the fact that when they stopped trekking thought the jungle for a rest, instead of lighting cigarettes they lit their stoves and boiled water for tea, so not only were they warm, they didn’t get cancer, and that can only be a good thing. N.b. for future reference, whenever I start, “A wise man once told me” or something similar, please take it with a pinch of salt; it’s either something I believe to be truthful (or something that is so obviously gibberish that I’m trying to be ironical.) Oh, no words left give or take, so:

Type: BA Tea.

Where: On my way home from Turkey.

Description: Paper cup, one sugar, beltin’.

Blog #1 done, woo hoo.

Guest Writer: Sam the Tea Man

2008-11-26T02:46:00.000-08:00

In what is probably a welcome break from my obsession with economics and frugality, I'd like to introduce my new, and much loved, guest writer. Sam the Tea Man. To set the background - Sam and I are bestest buds, and one of our main shared obsessions/enjoyments/little pleasures, is a cup of tea. We drink tea in, we drink tea out, it's often all we'll talk about. So we decided it was high time we made a joint project of it. I asked Sam if he'd like to start writing blog entries of about 250 words detailing his tea exploits. I'm sure you'll agree that the results are rather hilarious. So here, unadulterated and true to form, is Sam's first blog entry following our teablog discussion.

Blog Number: 0 Introduction Let’s Get Going

There are few things in life as glorious as a perfect cup of tea, except perhaps a perfect cup of tea together with a perfect biscuit ready to be either dunked in the tea or nibbled between mouthfuls.

I, along with many many other people love a good cup of tea, indeed “Lets put the kettle on” or “Get a brew on” are often the first thing I’ll say when entering a room, (depending on the company of course). So, in this series of completely irregular blogs, I’m going to be talking about my experiences of tea drinking.

In the famous words of Mr Scruff

So, where am I writing this first historic entry in the Great Food Lovers Annals? My mum’s kitchen table? A Tea Room in the Devonshire country side? My friends room at university? Nope…….32,000ft above Europe on my return from holiday, in seat 11B of a …………Boeing 737-436 according to the safety card.

I’m next to a man who is sleeping off the 3 bottles of wine, 2 shots of rum and can of Carlsberg he consumed after dinner and my girlfriend who has “borrowed” my book to read, so faced with a blamk sheet of paper I thought I’d rise to the challenge set by the site’s owner & write about something we both love, tea. I don’t think I’ve written this much since my GCSE English exam so apologies if it’s rubbish, but give me a few entries to get going, 250 words is the target each time (a good number according to a journalist friend, and as I’m about……38+60+52+109 I’d best curtail my introduction & start thinking about my first entry.

271, is that ok Miss Editor? As this is hand written, what counts as a word? i.e., does N.b. count, or indeed i.e.? Why doesn’t everyone who reads this count how many words they think there are and then compare with MS Word total and maybe we’ll learn about words as well as tea (eventually) and all be better people because of it. Now I’m at 342, is that too many?

Drumroll.....

2008-11-26T02:34:00.000-08:00

I am sure those reading are just desperate, DESPERATE to know exactly how much I ended up spending over the five days of My So-Frugal Life.

Who am I to deny you the details?

I was quite interested myself, but I should add the caveat which is that, in the interest of really truly using up the fridge's fairly plentiful contents, I have had a helping hand in the old ingredients department. It does put a slight skew on the results.

But, in terms of actual, bought items from the shopping list:

Butternut Squash £1.67
Parsley £0.99
Leeks £1.59
Whole Chicken £2.46 (I apparently lied previously)
6 Sausages £2.59
Little Gem lettuce £0.88
6 eggs £1.52
carrots £0.49
1 kidney £0.45
_____
Total: £12.64

Actually, even I'm surprised by how piddly that amount is, which is why it's necessary to state that I already had a lot of the basics: garlic, onions, rice, salt, pepper, potatoes, a lot of vegetables, any storecupboard items.

I'd be interested in carrying out the experiment from a real starting point which, hopefully, if I'm ever able to restart my existence away from the parental abode, I'll get a chance to explore. I will give some details of 'stocking up your storecupboard with staples' and where to find cheapy cheapies. There's no denying it, I've turned into a frugal food fiend!

Frugal Fare Challenge Day 5: Wednesday

2008-11-26T02:02:00.000-08:00

Nearly at the end of the frugal five days...and for interest's sake (more my own than anyone else's) I'm going to have a little tot up session to see exactly how much I spent. That will follow, but for now, I've still got one last day that I've not penned up. Am very behind the times!

Since my kidney fetish started, I've been flipping through Delia and several other cookbooks to see what other ways there are of cooking them, and I found one rather intriguing recipe that looked very cheap and easy, and oh-so-World War Two. It had to be done.

By now, my butcher guffaws slightly every time I open the door, and makes references to my offal obsession. What can I say, I have a reputation to upkeep! Although most girls I talk to are a little wimpy about the stuff, I've been getting into animated discussions with the builders who are in, who apparently 'love a bit of steak and kidney pie/liver cooked with onions'. Maybe I should worry about my manly taste in meat, but I personally think it connotes an open mind, and an economic one too!

And so, to cook...

Lunch: Kidneys baked in Potatoes
1 Serving

Ingredients:
1 large potato, scrubbed; salt and pepper; knob of butter; 1 kidney; 1 tspn dijon mustard/mustard powder; 1 rasher bacon

Method:
Scrub and dry the potato, and rub salt into its skin. Bake in teh oven at 220C for about an hour or until it feels soft when pinched. Cut a cap off the potatoe and scoop out some of the inside. Skin the kidney and rub in salt, pepper and a little mustard. Roll it in a rasher of bacon and put in the potato case. Wrap the potato in foil with a scrap of butter and bake for an hour longer. The kidney gravy is soaked up by the potato - which, if you like kidneys, is scrumptious!
Serve with a lovely crisp salad and sharp dressing.

Dinner: Pasta Puttanesca

That was it, I was pretty much at the end of my weekly shopping supply and so the time had come for a truly store-cupboard only meal. I'm a bit obsessed with the 'store-cupboard' meal. I'm not sure why - I think it's something to do with the creativity and innovation behind it. Or maybe it's just the stingy so-n-so which hides deep within me. Whatever the reason, pasta puttanesca is without a shadow of a doubt a beautiful example of the ultimate SCM. Most seasoned chefs are well aware of the dish, but for those who aren't, a little history. Pasta puttanesca is a powerful, punchy pasta dish made with most ingredients which fussy eaters abhor - ie. all the seriously flavoured ones - capers, olives and anchovies. Yikes! As a result, this isn't a dish for the wimps. Its name literally translates as 'whore's spaghetti', a nod to the gutsy, raucous and unapologetic flavours frolicking around the dish. I blimmin' love it.

Ingredients:
Serves 2
Storecupboard - a glug of olive oil; 1 clove garlic, chopped; 1 tin chopped tomatoes; 2 tablespoons capers; a handful of tinned black olives, roughly chopped; 3-4 anchovy fillets, drained of oil; salt/pepper; whatever pasta you fancy (I like linguine)

Method:
Start to cook the pasta as you cook the sauce, in a large saucepan of boiling water.
On a low heat, fry the garlic in the olive oil until golden, then add in the tin of tomatoes. Stir and cook for a few moments, and then add in the rest of your storecupboard ingredients. Simmer on a low heat for about 15 minutes, by which stage the anchovies will have melted into the sauce barely to be seen again, leaving only a salty, savoury hint of their existence.
Drain the pasta and pour over the sauce.

Frugal Fare Challenge Day 4: Tuesday

2008-11-24T13:58:00.000-08:00

By the fourth day of my challenge, I had started to wear out the occupants of my fridge. They weren't looking quite as plentiful, and it was time for me to start pulling in the storecupboard staples to throw into the mix, and bulk out what few meat and veg items I had left. I was still on a mean mission to make the most of anything I could though, which forced me to be slightly more creative than I think I really have licence to be in the food department!

Lunch: Roasted Butternut Squash & Carrot Risotto

This is what I mean by 'creative' really...I think essentially there is something slightly wrong about carrots in risotto...I'm not even really sure why but it just doesn't sit well with me - probably the texture or the fact that I know that in Italy I've never ever seen carrots in risotto. Ne'ertheless, I had a bundle of these cute baby chantenay carrots who were just a-beggin' to be cooked up, and who was I to argue with the little tykes? After all, I was only serving myself...it was time to experiment. See how they panned out below.

Ingredients:
Shopping cart: Half a butternut squash, chopped; 3-4 thin slices bacon
Store Cupboard: 1 cup Risotto rice; 1 litre stock; handful whole chantenay carrots, washed & top/tailed; 2 sticks celery, diced; 1 onion, diced; 1 garlic, chopped; 1 glass white wine

Method
Spread the roughly diced butternut squash and the carrots over a baking tray covered in foil (option to lay some thin slices of bacon over the top of the veg, which will crisp up and give the veg a delicious salted flavour) drizzle some olive oil over the top and season with salt and pepper, then roast in the oven for 30-40 minutes until soft. Meanwhile, in a wide flat saucepan melt a small lump of butter over a gentle heat and add a glug of olive oil, allow to heat through and then add the garlic until it sizzles, then add the onion and celery, stir and allow to soften slightly. Add the cupful of risotto rice, stir to coat the rice with the oil, so the rice grains go translucent; pour in a cup of wine which will puff up in a glorious waft of alcohol, stir and add a pinch of salt and season with pepper, and then start to add the stock liquid one ladleful at a time, stirring each until absorbed fully into the rice. To use the entirety of the stock liquid should take about 20 minutes, all the while stirring the liquid in, until the rice becomes a creamy mass and can absorb no more stock. Take the pan off the heat.
By this time the squash and carrots should be roasted to a tender, slightly sticky stage. Remove the by now crisped bacon, and chop roughly. The veg can be further chopped or added into the risotto mixture as is. Gently stir the squash and carrots into the risotto, serve onto warmed plates, and sprinkle the chopped bacon over each separate serving.
This would be ideal with some deep fried, crumbly sage leaves - sadly my cupboard didn't stock them!

Dinner: Baked Eggs

By dinner time I seemed to be consumed with this retro 70s desire for Baked Eggs.

I know - who eats those now?! Well, apparently I do. In fact, I've been dying to make them ever since I returned home and saw a plethora of little ramekins sitting unloved in one of our kitchen cupboards. And, as we've already established (and you haven't even seen Wednesday's meals yet), I have no qualms in going a little 'old-fashioned' in my eating. I would even go as far as to say, in these purse-tightened times, we all have a lot to learn from old-time cooks. In these days of plastic-covered apples, and styrofoam boxes, and 'ah-just-throw-it-away-and-buy-a-new-one' attitudes, the word frugal hasn't really been touted around a lot lately. But hark back to the 70s (I finally received my copy of The Pauper's Cookbook by Jocasta Innes - see below) or even as far as the war, and there were women stretching every single ingredient they were lucky enough to get their hands on. I've always been a little old-fashioned, me. You're just lucky I'm not posting pictures of me in my oh-so-flattering 80s cashmere cardie that I've been passed on by my mum. Though I'll confess that this isn't really for the fashion statement so much as the fact that this house is blimmin' freezin', with great gales screeching around each corner and biting at my poor wee ankles. Fashion just ain't a great consideration in the country!

'The Pauper's Cookbook' by Jocasta Innes, revamp of 1970s classic. Likely to feature a great deal in posts henceforth.

Anyway, enough waffle and excuses about my Baked Eggs. Let me just tell you now that this is a beautiful, versatile, simple little dinner, which doesn't lay heavy on your tum, but delivers a solid whack of protein and nutrients. Try it and see!

Ingredients:

2 Eggs; a few snippets of any of the following - bacon, tomatoes, mushrooms, herbs, cheese, ham, in fact anything you'd add to an omelette; salt/pepper

Butter a small ramekin dish, and pop in your finely chopped ingredients (if using bacon you should fry it up first). This time round I was using mushrooms and tomatoes. Season well. Pop the ramekin in the middle of a high-edged baking tray, and then pour hot water in until it fills the tray/reaches about an inch up the side of the ramekin dish. Then pop all of this in the oven...I'm still figuring out temperatures as I'm using an Aga, so this would be about 220C. Allow to cook for 10 minutes or so - the mushrooms/tomatoes will steam slightly.
After the 10 minutes, bring the tray out - being very careful of the hot water - and crack the two eggs carefully into the ramekin. Season well again, put a piece of foil loosely over the top to protect from burning, and return to the oven to cook for a further 10 minutes or so, until the egg is set. I served mine with some buttered brown bread, just to be reeeally retro.

*Warning: as soon as you've finished, put the ramekin in to soak, otherwise you will be scraping egg bits off for days to come*

Frugal Fare Challenge Day 3: Monday

2008-11-17T13:18:00.000-08:00

Today has been very tough.

I've found out that one of the jobs which I was still holding out slight hope on had gone to another person as a result of a bit of a miscommunication between the HR lady, the Directors and the recruitment consultant. I made half a dozen furth
er new/continued feelers into the world of jobs and just received even more 'there's just not many roles at the moment'. I'm home alone, and for a whole hour I was in a bit of a slump.

So what's the best thing to do?! Cook some comfort food is what! I cheered myself up and took my mind off things by chopping leeks, sweating onions, and skimming chicken stock. It's an old friend coming to the rescue, the one dish which has supported me through thick and thin, and which never fails to comfort me with just one spoonful - I've ranted about it before, but the time has finally come for me to forsake it to cyberspace: Ma Pea's famous Chicken Soup.

Here is my hug in a bowl:

Leftovers: a couple of generous handfuls of cooked cold chicken, roughly chopped/pulled apart; 1.5litres of homemade chicken stock (see here for previous recipe)
From the fridge/veg bowl: 1 clove garlic, chopped; 1 onion, diced; 2 sticks celery, diced; 2 carrots, diced; half a leek, diced; salt, pepper; generous handful parsley, chopped coarsely

Method:
In a flat soup saucepan heat some olive oil and add the garlic. When garlic wafts are a-tantalising, add the onion and stir until coated in the oil and frying gently. Add the celery, carrot and leek and stir, covering the pan with a lid to allow to sweat for about five minutes until softened slightly. Ladle in the chicken stock, season and simmer gently for about 20 minutes, until the vegetables are tender. Keep an eye on them so that they don't overcook and lose their vibrant colour. Taste - the soup should be sumptuous and packed full of flavour, but season if it needs a little more pizzazz. Stir in the chopped chicken and the parsley, and heat through for 3-5 minutes until the soup (and the chicken) are piping hot. Serve with more iron-packed parsley.

Yet another slightly blurry photo from moi - I can't seem to figure out this fancy schmancy digital camera works....

The lunch was a success: distracting me from jobsearch woes, living up to my mantra of maintaing morale through nutrition, and resigning myself to the fact that without Ma Pea around to deliver a motherly sympathy hug, chicken soup was the next best thing. Not that I'm saying she's like a big bowl of hot stock, but...

Dinner: Sausages with second Bubble & Squeak
I confess that I'm finding it slightly tricky to balance the 'variety' and keeping things interesting, with the frankly overwhelming need I feel to make the most of leftovers - waste not want not, as my granddad said to me when I was little. So rather than beat myself up about this, I really am focussing on the frugal/economic meals. Hence an almost exact repeat of yesterday's lunch. With peas instead of beetroot. Hey - it was the perfect comfort food.

Frugal Fare Challenge Day 2: Sunday

2008-11-17T12:58:00.001-08:00

Sunday was an unashamed 'let's use leftovers' day. My challenge continued.

Breakfast (storecupboard): a little muesli; scrambled eggs on toast with roast tomatoes.
Item from weekly shop: 2 eggs

Lunch: Sausages with Bubble & Squeak and Beetroot
I cooked up some sausages I'd bought - not too kooky - and then I remembered that I had some leftover mash potato in the fridge. Out it came, to be made into a curiously successful take on Bubble & Squeak, but rather than using cabbage I used...cauliflower. Today I may well have entered into the realms of using-up-food-and-creating-dishes-that-only-I-would-eat, but only others can judge that...! I served it with the last remaining beetroot to polish it off.
Item from weekly shop: sausages; Fridge/Storecupboard: all other

To make Bubble & Squeak - both my own rather eccentric version and the usual with cabbage:

A small bowlful of cold, leftover mashed potato
A dollop of butter
Salt & Pepper
a handful of either chopped, sliced cabbage or several florets of cauliflower
Seasoned flour
Oil to fry

Plunge the cabbage/cauliflower into boiling water and boil for 6-8 minutes until tender. Drain and leave to cool slightly.
In a bowl, beat up the potato with the butter, and season generously. Tip the cab/caul into the potato mixture, and stir in. Take a generous handful of potato mixture out of the bowl and with your hands form it into a patty shape, dipping the patty into your seasoned flour mixture.
Heat some oil in a small frying pan and when hot drop your potato patty into the mixture. Cook on both sides (about 3-4 minutes) until golden. Very World War II.

I'd love to say I took a glorious photo of the above, but sadly twas not meant to be and my camera just wouldn't do it justice. I think it might take better photography skills than mine to render sausages appetising looking...so you'll just have to imagine a colourful, vibrant dish!

Dinner: A different version of yesterday's Chicken Pilaff
I softened half a leek gently for about ten minutes before adding in the remains of my pilaff from yesterday, and chopping another generous handful of parsley to pack it full of iron. Delicious, economic and lots of my daily dose of vegetables. A success in my book!

Frugal Fare Challenge Day 1: Saturday

2008-11-16T02:49:00.000-08:00

Ready, set, and go...the challenge begins.

Breakfast: storecupboard muesli and some blackberries from fridge leftovers.

Lunch: Roast Chicken with baby courgettes, baby carrots and beetroot.

I'm happy to say that the veg were all participants from the fridge, eager to get involved and, most importantly, to get used. The meal proved a very colourful plateful, alongside my highly useful, very simple Roast Chicken. I'm not what you'd call a fancy, schmancy cook - I'm still just learning. And a chicken is, to me, one of the ultimate fares which can stretch 62 different ways. Forget credit cards, chickens are my flexible friends!

Requirements:
1 chicken - mine wasn't fancy, and I'm ashamed to say it wasn't organic either, so £2.75 it was.
Glug of olive oil, 2 cloves garlic chopped, a dollop of butter, salt and pepper

Lay the chicken breast up in a high-sided roasting tray, cut away the excess skin at its neck and bottom, pop a lemon up its backsie, smear some butter all over its chest, and down into the joints of the legs/wings. Scatter the chopped garlic over, glug the olive oil across, and whack in the oven (I'm afraid to say I use an Aga, so this just means 'top oven') for 20 minutes at high heat, till the fat is bubbling and getting talkative, and the skin is lightly golden. Baste the breast and legs with the hot fat, so that the chicken glistens tastily.

Then pop some foil across the top for protection, and put back in the oven for an hour at a slightly lower heat. Baste from time to time to keep the lovely juices soaking into the chicken. The chicken is done when you pull the leg away from the body and it is no longer pink, or if you stick a knife into the leg joint and the juices run clear.

Mademoiselle la Poule, in all her glistening glory. She was a beaut. Shame about the photographer. Hopefully I will start to improve...

(My) Gravy: remove the chicken from the roasting pan and onto a carving tray, and pop the tray back onto a heat ring. Scrape all the bits into the tray, and start to heat the fat until it bubbles. Add a teaspoon of flour so that the gravy thickens, and stir vigorously to mix in. Add a teaspoon of gravy granules for colouring, and season with some salt and pepper. Then slowly add in some of the vegetable juices to bulk up the gravy. I never end up with smooth gravy, but I loathe it gloopy, so you will have to sieve out the bits, but will have a lovely juicy sauce to top your meat and veg with.

I then quickly got to work on pulling the meat off the chicken, and sending it off to the fridge packed up in foil, ready and waiting for me to conjure up some further delight with it. It would not have to wait long...
The bones were made into a lovely, scrumptious chicken stock - all the bones and the carcass went into a large saucepan, along with a whole carrot, a couple of celery sticks, the top half of a leek, a peeled, halved onion, a peeled garlic clove, 8 peppercorns, a bay leaf and some parsley stalks, with a couple of litres of water to fill and several generous pinches of salt. About an hour of bubbling later, and I had my stock! It was dutifully drained of its by now rather sorry looking occupants (oh such use and abuse!), resulting in a tasty, glisteningly perfect, and highly useful stock. The champion of frugality methinks.

Dinner: Chicken Pilaff

There is something rather retro and 70s sounding about a pilaff. Am I the only one who thinks this? But it is such a simple storecupboard dish, that can be rustled up with a variety of different ingredients, and is perfect for me to hit the 'waste not, want not' objective. So it seems a great shame for me (or anyone) to sneer, just because it sounds old fashioned.

Leftovers: a generous handful of cold chicken roughly chopped - several ladles of chicken stock
The Fruit&Veg bowl/The Fridge: a clove garlic (chopped), an onion (diced), 2 sticks celery (diced), 1 small green pepper (diced), a large handful of baby tomatoes (halved), generous handful of chopped parsley
The Storecupboard: some fastcook long grain rice of a brand I shan't mention

Method:
In a shallow saucepan, gently sweat the garlic, onion, celery and pepper in a small amount of butter and oil. Once golden, add the tomatoes (add them too early and they will just disappear and go terribly mushy), and then add a cupful of the rice. Stir to mix and to coat the rice grains in some of the fat, and then add a two or three ladlefuls of the boiling stock. Rather like a risotto, only the pilaff will not become a creamy mass, but will retain its ricey origins. Now leave to simmer for as long as your rice packet tells you (mine was 10 minutes). Do not stir and fuss around, as this breaks up the rice grains and results in a big old mess. Should you notice that the liquid is becoming rather sparse, simply add another ladleful. The rice should, after the recommended period of time, have absorbed up the liquid, and be cooked whilst still retaining bite. Stir in your chicken and your parsley and heat the chicken for a few minutes, until hot through. Scatter with parsley and serve as is.

My picture does not nearly do the tastiness justice, but you will fast become used to this. I repeat: I am not a photographer, I am not a photographer. Maybe I'd do better if I just drew the food!

The Pilaff in all its retro glory - complete with apparently equally retro plate. What a perfect couple.

Day 1 - £2.75 actually spent, plus a smidgen of 'cheat items'. At the end of the week I will tot up what I actually spent where, to give you an accurate idea.

The Official New Theme/Challenge: Frugal Food

2008-11-16T01:23:00.000-08:00

My previous post should give some enlightenment as to my personal circumstances, and why exactly I have this overwhelming obsession with frugal food. It seems like a lot (if not all) of my posts (bar the restaurant reviews, where I have been lucky enough to be taken out by a host of wonderful friends/family) have been detailing ways of getting more bangers for your buck, of stretching your ingredients just as far as they'll go, and occasionally reverting to using odd (yet delicious!) insides to get a cheap meal. Whilst I'll admit that a lot of this is due to the fact that I'm hardly what you'd call rolling in dosh at the moment, coupled with the fact that I think the theme is highly relevant in a time where people are starting to feel the financial strain of the recession, this is not the only reason I'm interested in frugal food. I'm interested because, well, I'm not by nature a wasteful person. I like the concept of simple living, of more frugality and less extravagent waste. Less materialism, more productivity. Cooking can very quickly and easily become a highly expensive past-time, unless you use your noggin. And it's this sort of brainy cooking that I like - creatively and cleverly using your ingredients to the max. BUT - the results must be tasty, not all weird and wonderful, like say kidney beans with...erm...(she racks brain trying to think of something really truly odd to mix with kidney beans)...cauliflower.

So over the next couple of weeks, as I'm left home alone in a big house, with just a big kitchen and a computer to keep me company, I am starting an official experiment. I'm going to try to feed myself healthily, nutritiously, deliciously and colourfully for under £30.00 in a week. I should warn you right at the beginning, I am going to cheat a little, as I have to go up to London at the end of the week, to remind myself what a social life is like, and to see some real, live people. I've heard rumours they're still out there.

To be slightly more exact then, this week I will be detailing my food frolics between yesterday (Saturday) and Thursday. 6 days - well counted.

There are some more conditions, and you can decide for yourselves whether you think this is just stretching things:

There is a storecupboard/pantry in the kitchen, which is full of lots of lovely basics - flour, tinned tomatoes, tinned - olives, capers, pulses, pasta, rice, etc. - I intend to exploit this for all it is worth. Expect details of some 'storecupboard meals'The Storecupboard: my first photo but I thought I would give it a shot. Not least because I am so proud at how tidy this is post a tidy-up session yesterday. Helping Ma Pea to generally get the house in order - this was a task I set my organisational skills to. I know, it's official. I AM A GEEK. (Lydia at The Perfect Pantry would be proud!)
The fridge has a friendly smattering of bits and bobs - cheese, bacon, ham, some vegetables and some cheese - left over from when Ma Pea vacated premises for her fancy holiday, and I fully intend to use these up/come up with innovative ways of getting them involved in any way shape or form. Think of it as social food, and giving them an excuse to join in the fun.
It is necessary to bear in mind that I am based from home, and not currently juggling a job at the same time (bar all my mini creative projects, which I may start to upload details of soon, if I can figure it out), therefore breakfast, lunch AND dinner can and will be cooked and eaten at home - something which would never, ever happen when I was back in the big smoke.
We have apple trees, and intend to use 'em. I already have my eye on a recipe by Hopie, flagged and tagged by Psychgrad at Equal Opportunity Kitchen - keep your eyes/apples peeled ('scuse the pun) for that one.

I'm intrigued to know whether anyone else is as interested in eating frugally as me, and if so what your success stories have been - what you've managed to stretch out the most into multiple lunches and dinners, how you've used apparently discarded parsley stalks in stocks, that sort of thing. If you stumble upon me, do share hints, tips and/or encouragement!

A Nag a Day...helps you Work, Rest and Play

2008-11-16T00:33:00.000-08:00

Very, very (almost obscenely some might say) early this morning - a Sunday - I woke to find bright light streaming through my window. My bed was cozy. There wasn't particularly any reason to get up. So I lay and revelled in the warm comfort of my duvet, idly anticipating the icy cold of a my big British bedroom when I did eventually poke a toe outside. The wind whistled through the chimney. I dozed. And then, ten minutes later, given I'm incapable of lazing in bed, I bounced out of bed, skipped downstairs and started breakfast.

I'm going to get geeky in this post by the way. In depth details, and some little theories that have struck me recently.

At the moment I'm testing out a new way of eating - NOT A DIET - and I have to say, it has turned my life around. I am starting to follow the time old 'Ma Pea nags' and, now that I have time to let them all slot into place, they are working, and the combination of all of them mean that I am bursting with energy, my skin is fantastic, I'm looking the healthiest I have ever looked, and feeling the best I've ever felt.

Nag 1
Want to know the old addage which is helping me out? You heard it here (again) first.

'Breakfast like a King, Lunch like a Prince, dinner like a Pauper'.

To do away with your sardonically raised eyebrows immediately (sigh, not another one of her harebrained theories), this translates as eating a large(ish) nutritious breakfast, a slightly less generous lunch, and a light supper. This means that you start your day the Kingly way, roaring about on the amount of calories your generous brekkie imparts, broken by a refuel at lunch and then, when your day is tailing off and you're getting ready to go to bed, a light supper, so your tummy doesn't have to cope with too much to digest when it's trying valiantly to recharge your batteries as you sleep for your next, action-packed day.

An example of a day's meals might be:

Breakfast: a small bowl of muesli with fruit, and some scrambled eggs on toast with roast tomatoes. Carbs, protein, fruit, veg. Wham, bam, thank you ma'am.

Lunch: a small amount of roast chicken, a big heap of veg (leeks, carrots, peas), a small portion of potatoes, a piece of fruit - again, protein, carbs, veg.

Dinner: a small bowl of soup (beef & veg, chicken & rice, carrot & celery - all soups which will be detailed in due course), with some oatcakes and pate. Yep, you guessed it - protein, carbs, veg.

Nag 2
All of this, combined with Ma Pea's second eternal yet, as I'm finding out, ultimately truthful nag: get outside, get some fresh air and do some exercise. So I've been cavorting about on a daily walk for about half an hour to an hour, breathing in the glorious country air, getting lost in my plots and plans/idle wonderings, and getting on better terms with nature. As a reformed cityaholic, I used to be one of those ones who couldn't bear to leave what was happening up in London. Who knows what excitement I might miss?! I was also one of those who wasn't keen on bad weather - a 'weather wimp' you might say. Now I'm a changed woman. I'm finding that I love all this big space, there aren't people jostling up against me, or tutting if you're slowing down to admire the view. There's nothing in window shops taunting you that you can't buy - but instead everything is there to admire for free - birds, leaves, trees. My illustrations have gone through the roof, I'm producing on a daily basis, and it is serving to continue to inspire me to cook healthy, nutritious but filling food. And, if the weather is bad, and it's wet and windy, I know it sounds crazy, but I put on a waterproof jacket and some extra layers! Who'd've thought it. I am getting seriously converted to the country life.

And The Unplanned Side Effects
The eating combined with the exercise means that - for once completely unintentionally - I am losing weight at a phenomenal rate. Who needs gyms when you have hills?! Who needs lycra when you have waterproofs?! It's proving much more fun this way. I'm not actually noticing that I've been working...

Looking at my life at the moment, I could easily say that, on the surface, I'm in the worst circumstances I've ever been in: I returned from my travels all excited and with a new direction, smack bang into the worst economic circumstances seen in many decades; directly as a result of this companies are firing rather than hiring and there are few (if any) jobs coming in for me to even look at; the few jobs that I have been gone for, been interviewed for, and got through to final rounds for have been frozen last minute as the companies realise they won't be hiring for a while; and, aged 26, after 13 years of living away, I have necessarily had to move back with my parents (before you flinch at the maths of this, I boarded from the age of 13); oh, and, of course post-travels (I know, I can almost hear your heart bleeding) and without any paid work for the time I was away, and then these two months since I've been back, all of my savings are kaput, and I have next to no money! Whoopee!

But wait! Halt right there! Before you start feeling desperately sorry for me (if the travels part didn't completely lose audience sympathy) my message was actually as follows: that, in spite of what appear to be dire circumstances, I am actually the happiest and the most positive I've been for a long time. Keeping healthy in body (see above) is undoubtedly helping the state of my mind, and concentrating on my many and varied creative projects is keeping me motivated and putting my energy into worthwhile causes (art, illustration, food, extra learning, setting up a small community project in West Sussex, doing some small marketing/PR projects for local food companies), spending valuable time with my family, and most of all realising that things are tough but a) it won't last forever and b) thank goodness for my family.

All of this combined makes me a very grateful, and as a result very positive and happy, girl at the moment.

O-mega Intake

2008-11-15T12:23:00.000-08:00

Ok, one last wibbly wobbly entry and then I'll get back to the normal stuff, I promise.

On the hunt for more ways to get bang from my (increasingly limited) buck, I experienced a bit of a time machine moment when, standing in front of the fishmonger's counter, my beady little eyes alighted upon: Cod's Roe. Why the flashback, I hear you cry? Well, when I was a wee youngster, Ma Pea used to rustle us up Cod's Roe on toast and, yep you guessed it, I would snaffle it up. Quick and easy supper - tick, barely a penny spent - tick, packed with brain-enhancing nutrients - TICK. A match made in heaven then!

Fried Cod's Roe on Toast
Serves 2

1. Ask the poissonier (or fishman) for a generous handful of the roe
2. Drop these roe into a seasoned flour mixture, as per my previous kidney and liver recipes, and roll around until covered
3. Pop a piece of bread in the toaster and drop the floured roe into about a tablespoon of hot groundnut oil.
4. Fry gently until light golden
5. Serve on toast

A smooth, silky texture, and strong fish-taste means that this dish ain't for the faint-hearted. But for that quick and easy supper, it is perfect!

I ate (his) liver with some....ciabatta and onions???

2008-11-08T00:58:00.000-08:00

My kidney adventures seemed to develop this alarming taste for the wobbly stuff, and within days I was searching out my next inside-y treat. Offal-shopping seemed to rouse this peculiar sense of humour in me, as I clanged open the door to my local butcher's like Billy the Kid entering a saloon, heavy boots clunking and spurs jangling (though in reality this may have been more - skipping in in my ballet pumps, short dress swishing, eyelashes batting). 'I'll have some of your liver', I growled. Happily, butchers are in (full-time) possession of my (part-time) gruesome sense of humour and this request prompted one of the butchers guffawing heartily, yelling 'of course you can luv', and then miming a slicing action to his colleagues lower back.

I reassessed: 'ok then, maybe not your liver, but what other liver do you have?'. Calves' and Lambs' is the usual choice, and if you're lucky, the butcher's. Lambs', however, comes in at a mere £3.99 a kilo, but also with the warning that it is 'a bit stronger tasting, more in your face'. Away with subtlety, give me economy good sir! So 150g of their finest Lambs' liver it was for me! 60p lunch.

I huddled over a bunch of recipe books for this one, and ended up coming up with a mixture of Nigel's and Nigella's.

Liver and onion ciabatta
Serves 1

Ingredients
150g Liver - bat your eyelashes at the butcher and ask him to slice it very thinly
2 tablespoons flour seasoned well with salt and pepper
Groundnut oil or butter to fry
1/2 an onion, thinly sliced
1 teaspoon of pomegranate molasses stirred into a cup of water (or 1 pomegranate squeezed - distinctly more messy)
A ciabatta roll, sliced lengthways

Method
Soften the onions slowly in a frying pan for about ten minutes. When nicely golden, add half of the pomegranate molasses water, and cook for a further 5-10 minutes, until the onions have fully absorbed the water and are a sumptuous, slithery mass. Remove from the frying pan onto a heated plate and cover to retain the heat. Start to toast the ciabatta.
Re-oil the pan and coat the liver with the seasoned flour, then fry briskly for about three minutes on both sides, before the liver cooks through so that it retains pinkness.
Load the toasted ciabatta up with the liver and the onions, and meanwhile deglaze the pan with the rest of the pomegranate sauce, and pour over to soak into the crusty ciabatta roll.

It was a real treat: the perfect, comforting, lunch for one on a cold and crispy late Autumn day. The soft sweetness of the liver is stopped from being overbearing by the mass of caramelised onions, and that particular tart sticky sweetness of the pomegranate sauce. I mopped up the sauce with the ciabatta and a crisp, simple chicory salad and had to rouse myself from a trance at the end of the meal.

A load of old (w)offal

2008-11-07T15:09:00.000-08:00

Cor, blimey guv'nor but I've been eating an offal lot of awful recently. I mean, erm, offal, OFFAL.

Those of a weak constitution I suggest you look away now, as I'm about to get grizzly on you.

Now, I should probably start off by telling you that I have a remarkable tendency to faint dead away at the sight or mention of blood, or indeed insides of any description. I must be one of the few people ever to attempt to donate blood and to FAIL. I failed to give an entire pint of blood in the allotted time - I was so tense that my blood omitted to flow fast enough for the requisite 15 minute maximum. Nurses across the world have had to rouse me from dazed stupors of such a description.

So it might come as a surprise that I am also, somewhat paradoxically, the sort of girl who wants, and indeed proactively seeks, to eat such (to some) grizzly innards as kidneys and liver. I'm also researching what other body parts I've yet to try. Ma Pea is eternally perplexed at how she has managed to produce an offspring who, rather than requesting sweets, manicures or undies, instead requests animals' insides.

In these penny-pinched times (yes, you've guessed it, this is another of my frugal goodies), eating the whole of the animal is not only not wasteful, but also terribly kind on your wallet. Calves' or lambs' liver and kidneys provide a very cheap and nourishing meal, jam-packed full of iron and nutrients. Some of you may find this abhorrent, but don't knock it until you've tried it! With a very particular, slightly creamy texture, it might take a little getting used to, but I think it is well worth persevering with educating your palate. It is also worth saying that, should you be funny (like I am - I know, wimp) about handling the slithery organs, ask the butcher to remove whatever needs removing, and then you needn't touch them at all. See why not below!

Inspired by an excellent article in Waitrose Food Illustrated interviewing Fergus Henderson, he of St John fame, and a vociferous advocate of 'nose to tail eating', I decided to try Ma Pea's own version of Devilled Kidneys. As Fergus says, rather considerately I think, "Once an animal has been knocked on the head, surely it's only polite to eat it all?". Well, quite.

Starting with the kidneys.
Devilled Kidneys
Serves 2

4 Lambs kidneys, skins removed and chopped into mouthfuls
2 tablespoons flour, seasoned with plenty of salt and pepper and a teaspoon of English mustard powder
Groundnut oil to fry
tsp Gravy Granules
Splash of Sherry
The Perfect Piece of Toast

Put all of your seasoned flour mixture onto an A4 sized piece of tin foil, and plop the kidneys into the middle of the mixture. Coat the kidneys by pulling the foil from either side so that they are rolled around in the mixture in the middle.
Heat the oil in a frying pan on a high heat, and lift the coated kidneys out into the frying pan, moving round in the pan until the kidneys achieve a brown crust. At this stage add your gravy granules and a small dash of water (you can at this stage add some cream and some dijon mustard if you are feeling really swish) and season generously. Once the kidneys are curled but not overcooked, serve them on your buttered toast. Deglaze the pan with a dash of sherry, and pour the decadent mixture over the kidneys and toast.

I feel rather like a squire or a count when I eat this dish - there is something naughty and decadent about it. Offally good show ol' chap. I say. Wot wot.

A Yeast Feast

2008-11-07T14:37:00.000-08:00

Apologies for my title, I know it is hackneyed and old fashioned (I listened to the best show on BBC iPlayer's rerun of Radio 4 'Beanz Meanz Rhymez' comparing and contrasting copywriting and poetry writing - fascinating. Was most upset to discover that my two favourite things, silly rhymes and terrible alliteration, are officially passe. Well, of course I knew it already, but it was still devastating to hear it confirmed.)

Apologies also for my lengthy absence. Things have been busy on the job/interview front, that was until the economic situation really started to strike in earnest. So I'm having to take a more creative approach to life. But it's alright, for my writing at least - it is looking like for a while I may be returning to the Good Life, as well as possibly, possibly setting up my own business. The this time back in the country, and minimised incomings, is providing the perfect setting for me to explore a food theme that I find quite fascinating, and which, after all, may be relevant for a LOT of people out there, who are having to start to tighten the purse strings, but still need to feed themselves (and others) with less dosh. More nosh for less dosh so to speak. Oh gosh, sorry, I think the habit may be somewhat difficult to break!

So to start off what is going to be an ongoing theme, something cheap, cheerful and STRESS-RELIEVING.

Eh? Stress-relieving? Wot??

Ahhhhh, yes. Stress relieving. Take a lovely, long deep breath and say together with me:

'frreeeeeessssh breeeeadd' 'freeeeesshhhhh hoooomeemaaaade breeeeeaddddd'.

Yip. That's right. Make yourself up a generous dollop of yeasty bread dough (sadly not dough of the £££ variety, soz), and not only will you have plenty of bread for the following few days' sarnies, and toast for all those buttered soldiers you eat with your boiled egg, but you will also have a free punchbag. Any money stresses instantly relieved, 100% guarantee or your money back.*

So here it is, a simple, foolproof wholemeal bread recipe.

Ingredients:
1lb Wholemeal Flour
1/2 lb Strong White Flour
1 pkt dried yeast (you can of course use fresh yeast but I'm going to be doing this at a later date)
salt
olive oil and warm water to about 3/4-1 pint

Method:
Mix flour, yeast and salt and add about 1 pint of liquid, depending on the flour. Best to make a sloppy dough and then add more water in order to knead it. Knead roughly until smooth - about 2 minutes.
Pop in a large mixing bowl and cover with cling film, leaving to rise for about an hour (somewhere warm and without a draft).
Pound down until you've removed the air, and knead for about 10 minutes, until there are small bubbles under the surface of the dough. If you've not kneaded before, push the dough away from you with the heel of one hand, stretching the dough out and pulling back with a knuckle to reform, then repeat).
Using one large and one small bread tin, line both with greased greaseproof paper. Split the dough between the two accordingly, roughly forming the dough into loaf shapes. Leave to rise again for another half hour to an hour.
Bake for 1/2-3/4 hour at 350F. until golden. Test with a skewer, and when the loaf is removed from the oven and tin, it should sound hollow when you knock the bottom.

Delicious thickly sliced plain or toasted for the ideal golden, crumbly, slightly chewy, buttered vehicle for Marmite, or your favourite marmelade!

*please do not hold me to this, I advise you also take up some yoga, or maybe start babysitting for a bit of extra cash

Souper Duper Chestnut Trooper

2008-10-24T02:18:00.000-07:00

We experienced an avalanche in Surrey yesterday.

Of sweet chestnuts.

Piles and piles of the things in their bombastic bright green, spiked and rather aggressive jackets, they've covered the road in a number of the places Ma Pea and I have been walking. With our trusty plastic bag to hand, and humming in cheerful anticipation of our FREE edible wares, we got collecting! For MP I think there was an element of childhood glee there, it was clear that she had done this before. Like excited toddlers, we both pounced on the ominous looking spiky bundles and, as I'd never been chestnut-gathering before, she taught me how to gently scuff it with your shoe until the case bursts open to reveal three or four glossy brown chestnuts nestled inside. What treasure!

There is something incredibly satisfying about finding your own lunch. Maybe I'll become one of these outdoor scavengers, shooting squirrels and roasting them over an open fire, with a few choice funghi thrown in for good measure. I can just picture it now...or maybe I'll just stick to the aga.

The glut called for nothing less than a heavenly soup. So here it is.

Chestnut, Bacon and Potato Soup
Serves 4

Ingredients
50g Butter and glug of oil
250g bacon, cut into small cubes
1 onion, diced
3 celery sticks, diced
2 cloves garlic, diced
1 litre of stock
1 sprig fresh rosemary
3 sprigs fresh thyme
300g potato cut into small pieces
400g chestnuts
salt, pepper

If your chestnuts are fresh, wash them and make a small incision in each, putting them on a roasting tin to roast for 20 minutes at high heat, or until they have burst out of their skins. Let them cool and then peel them to remove both the outside and inside skin.
If packaged, pour boiling water over the vacuum pack, and leave for a few minutes until loosened, then cut open the top of the bag to release the chestnuts.

In a large saucepan, melt the butter and add a glug of oil, browning the bacon gently until it releases its fatty juices. Add the chopped onion, celery and garlic and soften gently for 15 minutes. Add the stock, thyme and rosemary and season well, bringing the mixture up to the boil.

Chop the chestnuts to small pieces and add them, along with the potatoes into the soup. Simmer for 20 minutes, by which time the potatoes will be butter smooth. Serve with a glug of olive oil and a generous dollop of chopped parsley.

A cracking autumn warmer.

London a la Lex: Part III

2008-10-17T02:58:00.000-07:00

Saturday night continued…

For effect, I would normally say that we rolled out of the restaurant groaning and rubbing our bellies, but I would be lying…the main beautiful thing about eating high quality food and savouring it, is that I find you eat slower, you digest better, and all in all you don’t have that awful feeling of ‘being stuffed’ post nosh. So we could continue our night tout suite!

The poor lad was thus dragged across London to Notting Hill and a ‘good old British pub’, to meet two of my best girlfriends, and be subjected to a torrent of girly gossip and giggles. Sorry Chef. The pub though was perfect, with Alice in Wonderland tiny doorways, allowing him the chance of experiencing British ale. When wondering aloud why the ale was so warm he was informed by the Catholic priest (!?) sitting near us that it was ‘cellar temperature’ so that you could better get the flavour of the beer. I think the American was unconvinced, in spite of the fact that the news came on religious authority.

All in all, a thoroughly British day out.

Sunday

What better way to spend a Sunday than to lounge in fuggy warmth for an entire afternoon with friends, being fed dish after dish of wonderful food. The ideal excuse as well, to showcase yet another brilliantly British brainwave: The Gastropub.

Or, to be more specific the Anchor & Hope in Waterloo. The spawn of our previous night’s feasting, St John, in a flash of wisdom I pre-booked our Sunday lunch, as it is apparently the only day possible to book at A&H, which otherwise experiences hours and hours of queues. We arrived at 12.30, already hungry from a brisk walk along the Thames, and our appetite was curbed with some delightful little crispy tantalisers, anchovy paste, pate and some fresh herb concoction. Nevertheless, by the time the rest of my amigos had arrived and lunch finally commenced at gone 2pm, it is fairly safe to say the group was like a group of thin, mangy lions waiting wild-eyed to pounce on the next passerby.

Thankfully we didn’t need to resort to pack hunting, as our waitress finally approached our table bearing the first of the day’s spoils. We ate our way through a simple yet savoury menu, frolicking joyfully from one dish to the next:

Mussels, Cod and Saffron soup – I’m terribly fussy about my soups, as we’re all well aware, but this one, this one passed the stringent interview tests. I could almost hear the soup breathe a sigh of relief as I voiced my approval, and proceeded to revel in its rich flavours. It was creamy, thick and just filling enough to withstand the (leisurely) wait between soup and main, chunky pieces of cod and a generous dose of mussels cavorted playfully together.

Braised Ox Cheek with buttered new potatoes and fresh horseradish – one of those occasions when I didn’t quite know what to expect from what I read on the menu, but I managed to glean some clues from our neighbouring tables. It all looked very promising indeed. All hands went eagerly and immediately on deck to clear our table and make way for the descent of an entire dark grey Le Creuset casserole. One of our table (probably, me if I'm completely honest) couldn’t bear the suspense, and grabbed the lid to open it with a flourish. All that was lacking was a drum roll and an applause, as a fragrant steam exploded jubilantly forth. It cleared like a dramatic mist to reveal a huge chunks of what were obviously the mysterious ox cheeks, in a dark, chestnut brown sauce. We tucked in. It was a novelty, this dark, succulent and exquisitely tender meat which wobbled obesely in its cloak of fat and turnip and carrot sauce. Its sidekicks were equally delightful, but in their simplicity rather than their decadence: a gangful of glossy potatoes slick with butter and cocky with their fresh parsley freckles. But it was a small, unobtrusive pot which added the finishing touch: a sneeze-inducing, eye-watering fresh horseradish sauce, made up with a tart crème fraiche.

Watercress, St Tola and Pear – crunchy, fresh, bitter watercress; sour sweet smooth goat’s cheese and juicy slivers of pear. What better way to lift the palate post-ox?!

Little Chocolate Pot – It was the perfect end to a perfect relationship. Hand me chocolate and it is almost like guaranteeing my undying affections. There was a collective sigh of bliss round the table. I was silent for a full two and a half minutes. Absorb the sheer magnitude of this. And it can’t have been entirely unrelated to its Lex-quietening properties that this little cuddle-in-a-pot earned even more brownie (‘scuse the pun) points from its adoring fans. Tiny and potent, a little jar of just-liquid chocolate with caramel overtones and a slightly toasted honeycomb aftertaste was topped with a thin slug of single cream, laughing in the face of any recommended daily calorie intake. It really was heavenly. Hands down the best (and no doubt one of the simplest) puds I've ever eaten that I've not cooked myself.

This time we really did roll out of the pub, like six tottering bowling pins, very late afternoon, for a much needed post-lunch walk along the South Bank to watch the sun set. London at its best.

London a la Lex: St John Restaurant

2008-10-15T09:14:00.000-07:00

I could barely restrain my excitement as we hopped off the tube at Farringdon on our way to St John restaurant. The restaurant is renowned throughout the land as the place to go for all that is carnivorous, and especially those bits that the butcher doesn’t waste: so the menu consists of game and gizzards, basically. I've wanted to visit for years and now finally, the perfect food 'date' and yet another opportunity to show the American some very British cuisine (more British than I had ever eaten before myself in fact). My over-eager stomach propelled us to arrive even earlier, at 6pm, than our already obscenely early booking of 6.30pm. Well, you know what they say – the early bird gets the chitterling…

The restaurant and I immediately clicked, as the waiter didn’t bat an eyelid at my slightly cheeky request of being seated early (I appealed to his human side and told him I was ‘absolutely starving’. He smiled, obviously used to dealing with ravenous loons, and showed us to our table.) Needless to say, we were the first seated in the gloriously no-fuss, industrial white dining room, on a table for two. Which wobbled. Yet another love affair commenced as our lovely Swedish waitress waltzed across to deal with the wobble, bearing chopped cork pieces to wedge underneath.

Sitting pretty, ready and raring to go, and flexing my tummy muscles at the prospect of the meat mania ahead, we eagerly scanned the paper menu. I was not disappointed, and was immediately thrown into what I call ‘The Diner's Dilemma’. i.e. I wanted to try absolutely every single thing on the menu.

Not to worry, said Chef, we’ll share some starters, then you can have a bit of a taste of a few things. (He knows me so well). There were numerous weird and wonderful dishes on the menu that I had not experienced or indeed heard of before, and I was anxious to clarify. So it was in the hopes of further polishing my food education that I asked our tall, gauche and terribly sardonic ‘water waiter’ ‘What are sprats?’. He was an amusing and peculiar mixture of the guy that croaks ‘yaaarrp’ in the movie Hot Fuzz and Farmer Bean from Roald Dahl’s Fantastic Mr Fox. He didn’t disappoint in living up to these descriptions when he grunted as explanation ‘fish’. Why thank you sir, that is so much clearer. Sold to the lady on the wobbly chair. Not.

Instead we went for three starters, which were positively heartstopping in their gloriousness. These were:

Roast Marrow with parsley salad – a classic and well-known St John dish which I wanted to experience for myself. Four chunks of bone several inches long served upright on the plate, roasted and filled to brimming with their pleasurably guilty jelly-like insides. The spoonfuls of, let’s face it, fat, are whittled out of the bone, using a lobster pick, and spread on crisped, oiled sourdough bread, and topped with a crunch of sea salt. The marrow takes me right back to eating dinner with my grandad who, being a war kid, passed the lesson of ‘eating everything on one’s plate’ onto me. I blame him for my voracious eating – and slurping marrow from bones was one of our favourite joint activities! I realise I may have been a somewhat strange child... The heady richness of the marrow however is beautifully cut through by the sharp parsley salad - crunchy bitter flat parsley, finely diced shallots, capers and a biting lemon dressing. One word: scrumptious.

Halibut, potatoes and aioli – a creamy, sumptuous fish salad. The simplicity of the dish is key, as in combination its ingredients have the potential to be overly heavy. Not this ‘un. No siree. Tender white chunks of steamed halibut mingle with new potatoes, in a light garlic, crème fraiche aioli. Whisps of rocket tease and flit whimsically throughout, like young ballet dancers in a serious ballet, lending nuttiness to the ensemble; a few artfully placed capers tweak at the end of a mouthful, balancing the creaminess of the dish. Unexpectedly good (I confess when the boy chose this I was secretly unconvinced – but all credit to him it was tasty).

Grilled Puffball with green sauce – this was one of those points at which dining out with an experienced Chef was really useful. These guys are just so practical. Which was good as my dreamy, impractical side emerged upon tasting the first mouthful of this dish and I was, quite literally, rendered speechless. For a few seconds. Oh goodness, this was unreal. I couldn’t come up with words. I had never eaten puffball before, and I had no idea it was going to be so good. I’d seen them, these ballooning marshmallow mushrooms, both growing wild in fields and for sale at Borough Market. Being a firm advocate of quality over quantity, I was astounded that something the size of a large football can retain such an intensely pungent and earthy taste of rehydrated funghi. The boy brought me back to earth with his culinary knowledge. According to him, the half-inch thick slice of ‘shroom had been coated either side with melted butter, then grilled – hence the mesh of seared flesh across the light grey-white. The verdant sauce it was served with was an exuberant burst of fresh herbs: an intense blend of parsley, caper, lemon and fennel fronds. I had an adventure playground going on in my mouth.

I’ve ranted long enough about the starters but it is safe to say that, in spite of the delightful mains which followed, it is the starters which will forever remain hallowed in my memory. I think the joy radiating from my face was only too apparent to the rest of the world passing by my table, and even Mick Hucknell (from Simply Red) did a double take when he saw me, and went to take his place at his own table behind me. ‘I’ll have what she’s having’, I heard him say to the waitress when she came to take his order.*

And so to mains.

Chef chose Roast Lamb with white beans, and then suffered dinner envy as my perfectly petite package of Teal with Turnips (don’t worry, I didn’t know what Teal was either – it is a wild duck) paraded in front of me. He was being silly – the lamb was moist, tender and juicy pink, and the beans a comforting side. But I confess I did prefer my Teal, which was gamey rich. Being so small it requires a mere flash at the flame, to avoid drying out, which meant that as I cut in, blood spurted into the jus. Not one for the faint hearted! The turnips were cooked to butter-like tenderness, alongside whole shallots and sinful entire garlic cloves. I ate the lot, mopping the sauce up with the green tops we’d ordered on the side and muttering incoherent appreciation.

St John and I parted company a little like reluctant lovers. I know the restaurant feels the same way about me – it can’t wait to wrap me in its comforting arms and whisper sweet nothings into my ear again…’smoked eel…pheasant pie…venison offal…’ it will say. ‘Ok, I’ll do whatever you want’, I will whisper back helplessly, head over heels. I only hope we meet again soon, and I've already planned how. Half way through our meal an awed silence descended upon the by now bustling dining room. A waiter walked through, carrying aloft an entire roast suckling pig, fit for a feast and a meal for a party of sixteen or more. Watch this space, my darling St John, I'll be back.

*well, not really, but allow me a little poetic licence would you?!

London a la Lex: Part II

2008-10-15T03:17:00.000-07:00

Saturday Morning

Frankly, London was showing off this weekend. The day broke with unashamedly glorious sunshine, almost as if the city were saying ‘right, I’m darned if another American is going to head home thinking England is gloomy, let’s put on a jolly good show’. Which meant that the whole city was out basking in the rays and chilling with cold beers, with the crowds unusually cheerful for Brits. Lucky Chef.

I can be a fairly hard tourist taskmaster, but honestly, it is purely with their best interests in mind. I’m not the sort to drag a visitor to the Tower of London, or the London Eye (yawn), but instead want them to experience some of my favourite bits of the city, which just happen to centre around the importance of some item of food or drink in hand.

With this in mind, we set off as early as was decent along the South Bank to Borough Market, arriving at 11am, and just, just in time to avoid that point at which BM becomes a seething mass of food tourists, and therefore unmoveable (/unbearable). I wasted no time in injecting Chef with a serious dose of caffeine - outstandingly good coffee from the Monmouth Coffee Company, where the mere aroma of ground beans instantly perk a tired/jetlagged/hungover (delete as appropriate) soul up. Chef chose a delightful Indonesian bean from Sumatra. I took a few sips (I’m laying off the caffeine temporarily) and I have to say it lived up to its reputation: earthy, potent, rich and roasted, and without the cloying bitter aftertaste I find I get from most coffees. Served also, I might add, in a very decent sized, small cup. Quality over quantity every day.

We lost track of time as we wandered in a state of bliss around the different market stalls, stroking beautiful glossy tomatoes, and eying up pies at Pieminister, the vast array of cheeses at Neal's Yard Dairy, olives, pasties, apples, and indulging in the various tasters that are strategically scattered about.

Borough Market is without doubt one of my favourite world markets, and I particularly showing it off to unsuspecting tourists, because of the sheer hum and buzz of energy in the air. Laughter and jokes mingle with mouthwatering wafts of baked bread, heady fumes of mulled wine and the earthy smell of mushrooms. Shopkeepers selling their carefully crafted wares – whether smooth, silky cheese or great hunks of dark chocolate, rich, spicy sausages or meaty British pies – are deep in conversation with eager customers, each party gesticulating wildly, facial expressions bursting with the excitement of potential. I find the passion in these interchanges completely contagious, and I never fail to leave without a big grin on my face (and generally a bellyful of tasters). However, keeping in mind our various eating ‘dates’ later on that day, we resisted spoiling our appetites and opted instead for one single indulgence: a scandalously good cranberry brownie from Konditor & Cook - exquisitely moist, ever-so-slightly tart, and smoothly sweet chocolatey goodness, savoured with eyes shut. A must for any brownie fiend.

Saturday Lunch

Dragging ourselves away from the market, we hitched a ride up to Spitalfields on a real live gen-ew-ine London bus, heading straight for one of the many ‘typically British’ meals on my weekend menu: Sausage & Mash (aka S&M). Cor blimey but it’s good. We had walked up an appetite and the juicy, meaty sausages with creamy mash (me) and a delightful bubble and squeak (him) with very British gravy (i.e. slightly gloopy), were the ideal antidote to a growling belly. All topped off with very hot English mustard and served up in a classic London diner. Nice guv.

Saturday Afternoon

Thank goodness we stocked up on the calories, as the afternoon was a whirlwind of walking. I have no doubt that this will have come as a bit of a shock to an American, but he kept up with barely a peep of complaint! We window shopped around the kooky nooks and crannies of Spitalfields, wandering up into eclectic Brick Lane where we stopped at yet another favourite – Cha Lounge (halfway up BL on the left) – for some digestive aid in the shape of Peppermint Tea. Ooh La. People watching a-plenty, so we were able to sit back and relax for a bit, catching our breath before…

The Horrors of Oxford Circus – ugh, let’s not even talk about this atrocity. On to…

Carnaby Street – well, it’s gotta be done, right? Give him a bit of the ol’ 60s swingin' history.

Through the Soho sex shops and onto Old Compton Street where, as per usual on a beautiful sunny day, the streets were lined with gorgeous gay men showing off their buff biceps. Good meandering, and perfect connection to…

…Covent Garden…Trafalgar Square…St James’s Park…and…a much needed REST! Ready for dinner.

London a la Lex: Part I

2008-10-14T12:06:00.000-07:00

What better combination than food and love? Anyone who’s read my previous entries will know about my perfect food find: my very own Chef.

He popped over to London for a spontaneous weekend away from the States, and for his first visit to the UK. A very exciting event for many reasons, not least because I intended to set about proving to him what a culinary adventure London can be for one in the know. I spent a week in furious planning mode, conjuring up food memories of one of my favourite cities from the peace and quiet of the country, and concocting the perfect recipe for London a la Lex. I threw in a handful of food markets, a few romantic walks, my favourite London view, half a dozen ‘very British’ meals, and some friends, for seasoning.

The resulting food fest can only be digested in chunks, and so I will break it down for you, to allow you to savour the flavour.

Bon Appetit mon cheri!

Friday
Ready and raring for a weekend in the city, I headed up to London from t' countryside.

7pm - Emotional Reunion as Chef and I are reunited at Heathrow following a month's separation. I do not waste a single chance to start impressing upon him how great Britain is, and thrust M&S's finest, and two of my particular faves - Percy Pigs and Grape & Raspberry juice carton - into Chef's travel-weary paws.

First London tube ride straight into Central London for Fish & Chips at my favourite: Seafresh in Pimlico. A bright and breezy, cheerful place which sells the best F&C I have ever tasted. The American (who normally doesn't like fried foods) was bowled over. A beautifully fresh, crispy golden batter jacket lovingly encased equally fresh white fish, steamed to perfection inside, and flaking obligingly at the touch of an inquisitive fork. The accompanying chips are satisfying and chunky, just crisp on the outside, soft and tender inside, and smothered with indecent quantities of the obligatory salt and vinegar. Mushy peas complete the picture, naturally. Green, minty and filling comfort food.

Chef was already loving London. I had barely begun...

Simple Sustaining Supper

2008-10-09T10:14:00.000-07:00

With barely a moment’s breather between soup and main, Ma Pea and I got cooking the next course, a very satisfying Haddock Kedgeree. The recipe is one we’ve used in the family for a long while, but which initially came from dear ol’ Delia. I refer to her with such affection because well, we all know and love her don’t we, us Brits. She’s held many a hand through a Roast Lunch or entire Christmas dinner, and taught many a novice how to boil an egg. All of this recent hoo ha about her new cheats aside (seriously, who is so lazy that they use pre-packed chopped onion?!), her old classics really do methodically demonstrate to the novice cook how to yield results in the kitchen, confidently and efficiently, 100% of the time.

So, let's talk Kedgeree.

Buttery Haddock Kedgeree
Serves 4 generously portioned suppers

Ingredients
Butter
1 onion
1 teaspoon curry powder
8fl oz long-grained white rice
16fl oz water
1.5 lb smoked haddock fillets
2 hard-boiled eggs, peeled and chopped
3 heaped tablespoons chopped fresh parsley
1 tablespoon lemon juice
salt, pepper

Place the haddock in a pan with the water, bringing them to the boil and simmering gently for 8 minutes. Drain off the water into a measuring jug. Transfer the haddock into another dish and cover with foil.
In the same saucepan, melt a generous knob of butter, and soften the onion in it for 5 minutes. Stir in the curry powder, cook for half a minute and then stir in the measured rice and 16 fl oz of Haddock water. When simmering, cover with a tight-fitting lid and cook very gently for 15 minutes or until the rice is tender.
Remove the fish skin and flake the meat. When the rice mixture is ready fork in the flaked fish, hard-boiled eggs, parsley, lemon juice and the remaining couple ounces of butter. Season and serve.

Again, another tres simple, cheap and simple supper. Stellar.

Soup - basic adaptable recipe

2008-10-09T04:56:00.000-07:00

I have spent my entire life watching my mother, known throughout the land as Soup Queen (by friends, family members, my father in particular, ex-boyfriends, and even strangers), producing delicious, nutritious, steaming great bowls of soupy goodness. It is a rare talent and, frankly, she’s spoilt me for life. None of those cartons of Covent Garden soups, or particularly those tins of Heinz, will ever, ever quite cut it (bar Heinz tomato soup, which, for nostalgia’s sake, will always hold a special place in my heart). I have ordered soups from fancy restaurants – they’ve disappointed. I’ve ordered soups from little cafes – let’s not even talk about it. Suffice to say that as a result of her heavenly concoctions, the humble soup will always remain on a lofty, and practically unattainable, pedestal.

It is therefore about time I learnt her secrets for myself (after all, it is hardly a secret that dad married her for her soups…). I have made soups before, but I think that learning the adaptable basics from mum is a lesson well overdue.

Drumroll, then, for….our first soup lesson together. Lacking in pictures, en ce moment, but rest assured I will be rectifying this situation shortly.

Chickpea & Bacon Soup
Makes 8-10 hearty helpings of slurpy wonderment

Ingredients
Olive oil
1 clove garlic, chopped
4-5 rashers smoky bacon, chopped small
2 small onions, diced
3 small carrots, diced
2 celery sticks, diced
generous quantity of parsley, chopped fine
1 tin chopped tomatoes
1 chicken/ham/vegetable stock cube
1 tin chickpeas, drained
salt, pepper

In a large saucepan sweat the bacon with the garlic and a couple tablespoons olive oil, until lightly browned, remove into a bowl.
Again in a couple tablespoons olive oil sweat the onions, and add the carrot and celery to soften.
Stir the bacon back in and add the tin of chopped tomatoes, plus one tin of water (using the empty tomato tin), and the tin of chickpeas. Crumble in a stock cube and, if still lacking for liquid, add a little extra water. Add in a couple of handfuls of chopped parsley, and simmer for 20-25 minutes until the vegetables are tender.
Whiz 2-3 ladlefuls of the mixture up in a blender to thicken, and stir back into the soup. Taste for seasoning and add salt/pepper accordingly (bearing in mind that the stock cube and the bacon will automatically make the soup quite salty).
Serve with a generous amount of parsley.

Honestly, this soup was to die for. In fact, I’m just about to have some of the leftovers for lunch! Dead cheap to make and very economical as it goes such a long way, packed with taste, high in protein – with the pulses and the bacon – and with a hefty whack of your daily five. What more could you want?!

Monstruous Meat Mania - mmm

2008-10-07T07:35:00.000-07:00

The Mighty Muffuletta. Woah there. Slow down. Backtrack a little. Some of you (Brits) maybe instantly thrown upon hearing this foreign, and faintly rude-sounding term. ‘What can she be talking about?’ I hear you cry. Well, fear not. It is my mission to educate you. It’s not a celebrity, it’s not a band, it is, in fact, a sandwich (although by the end of this piece, you'll be forgiven for assuming otherwise). But this is no ordinary sandwich, this is the King of sandwiches. I am a fully fledged member of the fan club, a bona fide member of the Muffuletta mafia. I first learnt of The King when, on my plane from Mexico to Boston, I picked up the in-flight magazine and read the finest piece of food writing I’ve ever clapped eyes upon. This was three whole pages dedicated to full-blown, unapologetic nosh-centric nostalgia: one woman’s life-long obsession with a sandwich which hails from hungry Sicilian farmers in New Orleans.

I’m always keen for a good bit of food porn, but this was obscene! This had me drooling in my plane seat (much to my neighbour’s alarm). I wanted one. I wanted one now, and the plastic-wrapped anaemic plane fare just didn’t cut it. Sadly there was no other choice, and I had to snap myself out of my wistful reveries of floating sandwiches, garlicky salami, a parade of cheesy characters, and a cascade of olive salad. I resolved one day to experience first hand the object of this wonderful writer’s obsession.

Fast forward a couple of months, and I was soon to experience the real deal – no impersonations for me! This was Monster Meat Mania in Mornington Crescent. It was a weekend was crammed full of food odyssies, from Marmite tasting, to Muffuletta with Malcolm Monteiro (I know, I know, I couldn’t have asked for more perfect alliteration, but honestly it wasn’t planned!). My dear friend Malcs - undoubtedly feeling pity for me jangling around a great big house all on my lonesome in Surrey, away from civilisation and elbow deep in job applications - sent me the newsletter from EatDrinkTalk, a marvellous cook school in London, run by UrbanJunkies contributor and chef, Jennifer. A quick scan down the list of recipes and I instantly clocked the Muffuletta. Amused of the coincidence, I told Malcolm about the aforementioned ode to sandwichdom. Ever the host, he invited me up to London for a Sunday sarnie-fest. I was hungry already (which really was just as well, I warn all makers now that you really need to have prepped your stomach for the onslaught of sheer protein power – forgo breakfast, as well as all of the previous day’s meals).

I’m not sure if I’ve ever travelled 2.5 hours (hideous Sunday traffic, and a poor little car heaving three grown women up the motorway) purely to eat a sandwich. First time for everything. Of course, I wouldn’t just travel miles and miles for a few bits of meat and bread, I was looking forward to seeing my dear friend Malcolm as well… Freezing cold, I entered the fug of his little one-bedroom den in great anticipation, only just managing to stop myself licking my lips and salivating onto his lovely sofa set. Quite the closet foodie, he had already risen admirably to the challenge of assembling the ingredients – obscene, and I really do mean OBSCENE, quantities of meat (salami, parma ham, cooked ham) per head, mozzarella, provolone, ciabatta and various bits and bobs for the olive salad. We rolled up our sleeves, divvied up the tasks, and got going.

The below recipe is taken from Jennifer from EDT’s newsletter:

The key to a good muffuletta is to combine a mix of cooked ham, cured ham and salami. If you have the willpower to wait 2-3 hours after making your sandwich while it is 'pressed' under something heavy, you'll be rewarded with a slightly better flavour as the pressing helps the olive salad permeate the bread and surrounding layers. Lesser-mortals however, can eat it straightaway.

Makes 2 ENORMOUS sandwiches

Ingredients
1 large ciabatta or other Italian round white loaf, sliced in half widthwise and lengthwise to make 2 sandwich tops and bottoms
150 grams porchetta or other cooked Italian charcuterie like prosciutto cotto
150 grams prosciutto or other cured Italian ham like lonza or speck
150 grams salami
1 ball of buffalo mozzarella, drained and patted dry with kitchen roll
several slices of provolone cheese

Olive Salad
1/4 head of cauliflower
150 grams juicy green olives, pitted and coarsely chopped
200 mls extra virgin olive oil
Zest and juice of 1 lemon
2 garlic cloves, minced
1 teaspoon fresh oregano leaves, minced
small handful flat leaf parsley, chopped
1 tsp of chile flakes, or more to taste
sea salt
freshly ground black pepper

Instructions:

To make the olive salad, trim the cauliflower into fine florets (they should be very small) and place them in a pot of salted, boiling water for 5 minutes or until tender but still crisp. Drain the cauliflower and place in a small mixing bowl with the olives.

Mix together the remaining salad ingredients and pour them over the cauliflower-olive mixture while the cauliflower is still warm. Season generously with salt and pepper and toss well to coat the salad in the mixture. Set aside at room temperature.

Using your hands, hollow out the insides of each bread half. Brush the insides of the top halves with some of the oil from the olive salad and fill the bottom half with the olive salad. Lay the meat and cheese one variety at a time over the olive salad so that it forms layers and cover with the top half of the bread.

If eating right away, press down firmly on the sandwich to help it keep its shape and then slice each sandwich in half. If eating later, wrap each sandwich tightly in cling film and press down firmly. Place the sandwiches on a baking tray or roasting dish and cover with heavy books or other objects to act as weights.

Place the sandwiches in the fridge under the weights and chill until ready to eat. The pressing will help the olive salad to permeate the bread and the sandwich layers.

To serve, remove the cling film and cut each sandwich into halves.

Note the lesser mortals comment. Malcs and I fall firmly into that category. By the time we had made up the sandwiches it was 3pm and we were both ravenous post-Saturday night outs. I think we managed to restrain ourselves for a full 45 minutes, before doing some jaw stretches, and getting our chops around the monstrosity that was the Muffuletta.

It was well worth the wait, and the effort, although I’m not sure if I will be cruel enough to put my poor tum through that sort of digestive effort again. The ciabatta - at once crispy, and with what little dough was left soaked in the tangy lemon-garlic juices of the crunchy, flavoursome olive/cauliflower salad - was the perfect bodyguard for the sought after celebrity protein tucked (or should I say crammed) inside. Garlic was undeniably one of the biggest players throughout, pungent, spicy and raw in the olive salad, mellower but just as boisterous in the thin, meaty salami slices. A chewy, flavoursome duo of cooked and smoked hams jostled their way in, desperate for a bit of the glory. The more delicate cheeses – Lady Mozzarella and wafer thin Provolone – minced and pouted in the background, serving as the girly relief to the testosterone-filled meat. Nevertheless they made their presence known, salty and tender. All in all it was quite a spectacular, star-studded show. Well worth the eager anticipation, and almost worth hanging around afterwards for an autograph. Except, post show, and after leaving some time for moans, groans, and belly rubs, I callously left the stars to do their thing – all that attention was going to their heads. Instead I wafted strong garlic fumes onto the tube and the train home to Surrey. Pity my poor fellow passengers.

Practising Patriotism: Marmite vs. Vegemite Blind Tasting

2008-10-06T11:25:00.000-07:00

The time for talking was through. An ongoing argument had to be settled. Travelling through Mexico, Guatemala and Belize with an Australian boy and two other British girls for over a month, conversation inevitably turned to the merits of Marmite vs. Vegemite. The debate got rather heated. This was no ‘love it or hate it’ argument, this was strictly love marmite, love vegemite.

I’ve never really thought of myself as particularly patriotic, and yet for some reason when people I barely know insult British food – particularly when they have absolutely no experience of it whatsoever – I’ve been known to get quite vocal (or rather, more vocal). When my Ecuadorian family on my gap year tried to tell me that ‘all your food comes from tins’ (er, wot?), or when some Japanese I met with decried British food as appalling – each time I set about firmly proving to them that whilst yes, if you just stop anywhere in the UK you won’t necessarily be treated to gourmet fare, not all British food is repulsive. My mother for one cooks glorious British dishes (roasts, pies and puddings, stews, not to mention the soups), there are hundreds of stellar gastropubs around and about, if you know where to find them, and things have been looking up since the war-time rationing of spam and powdered egg.

So the Marmite vs. Vegemite debate was yet another juicy argument I could sink my teeth into. Back safe and sound in our glorious homeland, and almost a month after saying our goodbyes, the three English lasses gathered at my home in Surrey, where we carried out a rigorous and, surprisingly even to us, entirely unbiased taste test. The results were quite, quite fascinating.

Ellie and Lauren were up first – with each donning a blindfold and being handed a random piece of toast with one or other of either Marmite or Vegemite spread. Lauren’s responses were swift and unequivocal – marmite was tangy and satisfying, vegemite was strangely stale, with and overwhelming yeast taste. There was not a moment of hesitation. Ellie, going second, nearly let the side down, umming and ahhing for a while. This, however, was before she tasted the second toast (Vegemite), whereupon she firmly laid down her – marmite was salty and satisfying, vegemite tasted like it had gone off. The results were duly recorded.

The moment of truth – my tasting – was filmed for prosterity. I have to say, the film has had me in fits of giggles since. It is 100% straight-down-the-line tasting. No cheating. Blindfolded, I readied myself for the onslaught of tastes, genuinely unsure what to expect. At the first taste of salty flavoured toast, I was momentarily floored, riddled with self-doubt. Until the aftertaste hit me...and I realised that this wasn’t the good old marmite I’d grown up with and loved. It was an imposter. The aftertaste was cloying, musty and clogged the tastebuds. Lauren and Ellie were right, it tasted slightly off. Ugh. I cleansed my palette with a handy glass of water, ready for the genuine article. The marmite-laden toast was sumptuous and, mixed with the rich, creamy butter, was delicious salty succulence on my tongue. I was taken straight back to my eight year old self being fed an afternoon snack of buttery soldiers glistening with this odd, black gooey concoction.

The Marmite website perfectly describes my feelings for this innocuous-looking, yet intensely flavoured spread: 'Eat Marmite? You don't just want to eat it, you want to bathe in it, wallow in it like a hippo in mud, slather yourself from head to toe and wrap yourself in bread and butter... And you know what? That's fine. Just fine. Completely normal in fact...' Thank goodness. At last some actual written proof that I am normal.

There is no doubt about it, Marmite and Vegemite may come from a similar source (the yeasty residue that comes from the beer-making process), and they may each be as odd a concept as the other, but for this British girl there is no doubting the superior: my mate, Marmite.

I do.......................enjoy a good piece of wedding cake.

2008-10-01T10:58:00.001-07:00

I hit a terrifying landmark in my life this weekend. My friends have now started to get married. I am ‘of the age’. Good grief, how it creeps up on you. I swear it was only a few years ago that I was on my very first dinner date when, aged one, my first boyfriend Theodore and I shared a toilet freshener between us. That hospital trip with our mothers was so romantic. So how is it that my cronies have started to get hitched?! Spot the girl in denial.

A big bunch of us headed back up to Cambridge on an astonishingly glorious Saturday, to tread once again on Queens' College's neat lawns. We may have been reliving our days as sleep-deprived, responsibility-free students but the harsh reality was that we were about to become grown ups! Still, I may sound like the cynical old bag but, and don’t tell too many people this, even hard-hearted old me welled up when the vows were said, and the rings exchanged. I really enjoyed my very first wedding! I sang my heart out during all the hymns (my neighbours may not have enjoyed this quite as much), and listened carefully to every word the vicar had to say. It wasn't just me getting emotional either - a few of the boys were spotted getting a little, shall we say, ‘soggy’ round the eyes as James and Katy, who have been together since freshers’ week seven years ago, became Mr and Mrs Adams.

Of course there’s nothing like a marriage ceremony to make you ponder life, love, and…food. Having not eaten since I left London very early that morning, by the mid-afternoon sermon my tum was whinging like a toddler on the verge of a rather nasty tantrum. The roars, gurgles and growls sang almost as loudly as I did during the hymns, but then it was time for the serious stuff. I begged and pleaded with it to keep itself under control - these were the wedding vows for goodness’ sake! My stomach rumbles echoing around the church would be almost as taboo as a phone going off. I held my breath. And we made it. Just.

Post church service, I hit the tea and biscuits stands, hard. I gulped down the caffeine gratefully, and filled my poor - and by now sobbing - belly with a couple of crumbly biccies. Then the alcohol was brought in stage left. My hunch is that the large stash of bubbly, not to mention wedding cakes and reception dinners, are a deliberate and dastardly ploy to keep your mind off the truth. Of course it worked for a bit. Nothing like the joy of champagne bubbles flitting across one’s tongue and flirting with one’s tonsils, and the accompanying inebriation thrilling through one’s veins, to ensure that one’s hungry tummy, and one’s fast-approaching age and responsibility, is at least temporarily forgotten.

Dinner was not too far round the corner, and we were treated to Queens’ College’s finest dining pleasures, in the very beautiful, and very old, Old Hall. When Queens’ caters, it really goes for it. Delicious whisps of smoked salmon with capers, blinis and sour cream followed by a succulent and tasty tiny Roast poussin with steamed veg. Dessert, a splendid sticky toffee pudding, gave my own version a run for its money - though, Queens’, I’ll take you on any time, you just say the word. Wine by this time was a-flowin’, and the very striking, three-tiered, multi-flavoured wedding cake was cut with a flourish. By an officer’s sword no less (Doug, the officer in the crowd, will no doubt be receiving more wedding invitations than his sword will be able to cope with). The wedding cake was a triumph – baked by Clarice, one of our own domestic goddesses! I opted for the vanilla flavoured piece, smothered, like the other flavours, with a vanilla meringue icing which was fluffy and terribly more-ish. So I tested out the chocolate layer, just for good measure…

It was only the next morning, post party and with the old gang polishing off an alarming mountain of sausages, bacon, eggs, beans, toast and tea, that I realised we’d momentarily had the wool pulled over our eyes. But you can’t fool me – no amount of feasting and merry-making could disguise what was really going on. I will blame the Adamses for what will no doubt be a knock-on effect. Bets are already on as to the next lot to get hitched. For wedding no.2, however, I’ll be better prepared, and have a snack to hand for the ceremony.

Cheat Sheet - The Omnivore's 100

2008-09-23T14:06:00.000-07:00

Ok, so I'm shameless, and only 6 posts in, it's getting late, it's past my bedtime, I'm going to pilfer a neat little post I found on a food blog (also swiped from another blog, so I don't feel too guilty). This is the Very Good Taste list of 100 things that every omnivore should try at least once. Ah, I like a good, preferably food-related challenge. Bring it on. (see my results below)

Given that it's obviously done/is doing the food fiends rounds, I feel I should have a good chance at it, and having just slurped, golloped, swallowed, tasted and chewed my way round the world in a very deliberate fashion I reckon I can give this list a run for its money...but I've not had a look at its contents quite yet - I'll take 'em as I find 'em. Any other fellow foodies who want a challenge, your instructions are simple:

1) Copy this list into your blog or journal, including these instructions.
2) Bold all the items you’ve eaten.
3) Cross out any items that you would never consider eating.
4) Optional extra: Post a comment here at www.verygoodtaste.co.uk linking to your results.

The VGT Omnivore’s Hundred:

1. Venison
2. Nettle tea
3. Huevos rancheros
4. Steak tartare
5. Crocodile
6. Black pudding
7. Cheese fondue
8. Carp
9. Borscht
10. Baba ghanoush
11. Calamari
12. Pho
13. PB&J sandwich
14. Aloo gobi
15. Hot dog from a street cart
16. Epoisses (strong, smelly French cheese)
17. Black truffle
18. Fruit wine made from something other than grapes
19. Steamed pork buns
20. Pistachio ice cream
21. Heirloom tomatoes
22. Fresh wild berries
23. Foie gras
24. Rice and beans
25. Brawn, or head cheese
26. Raw Scotch Bonnet pepper
27. Dulce de leche
28. Oysters
29. Baklava
30. Bagna cauda
31. Wasabi peas
32. Clam chowder in a sourdough bowl
33. Salted lassi
34. Sauerkraut
35. Root beer float
36. Cognac with a fat cigar
37. Clotted cream tea
38. Vodka jelly/Jell-O
39. Gumbo
40. Oxtail
41. Curried goat
42. Whole insects
43. Phaal
44. Goat’s milk
45. Malt whisky from a bottle worth £60/$120 or more
46. Fugu
47. Chicken tikka masala
48. Eel
49. Krispy Kreme original glazed doughnut
50. Sea urchin
51. Prickly pear
52. Umeboshi (pickled Japanese sour prunes)
53. Abalone
54. Paneer
55. McDonald’s Big Mac Meal
56. Spaetzle
57. Dirty gin martini
58. Beer above 8% ABV
59. Poutine
60. Carob chips
61. S’mores
62. Sweetbreads
63. Kaolin - no idea what this is
64. Currywurst
65. Durian (durian icecream but not yet the fruit itself, darnit!)
66. Frogs’ legs
67. Beignets, churros, elephant ears or funnel cake
68. Haggis
69. Fried plantain
70. Chitterlings or andouillette
71. Gazpacho
72. Caviar and blini
73. Louche absinthe
74. Gjetost, or brunost
75. Roadkill
76. Baijiu
77. Hostess Fruit Pie
78. Snail
79. Lapsang souchong
80. Bellini
81. Tom yum
82. Eggs Benedict
83. Pocky
84. Tasting menu at a three-Michelin-star restaurant.
85. Kobe beef
86. Hare
87. Goulash
88. Flowers
89. Horse
90. Criollo chocolate
91. Spam
92. Soft shell crab
93. Rose harissa
94. Catfish
95. Mole poblano
96. Bagel and lox
97. Lobster Thermidor
98. Polenta
99. Jamaican Blue Mountain coffee
100. Snake

Cor blimey that was fun! 78 out of a 100, not too bad though I do say so myself! A fair number of those of course I was lucky enough to have chowed down in the last four months. That alone is a good enough justification for the time away in my (admittedly stomach-oriented) opinion.

Now to keep an eye out for the remaining 22 food challenges...anyone care to join me for some snake? Or fresh Roadkill perhaps? I heard that Chef and the Connecticut boys had a dead skunk outside their house - seems like the perfect opportunity for some potent roast to me...

A Day at the Races - wot wot

2008-09-22T09:01:00.001-07:00

Readers of my relatively recently concluded travel blog will have noticed that, aside from the heavy slant towards food, there were two other passions which slowly but surely nudged their way to the front of the crowd of global antics. These were: automobile-induced speed opportunities (moped, cyclo, speedboat, bike) and any given activity in water (diving, swimming, snorkelling, rivers, oceans). All three interests ensured that the four months were jam-packed with adventures.

Apt then that the fun shouldn’t end the moment I stepped off the plane into the UK. I’ve been desperately racking my brains for a way to make this particular day out nibble-scribble-worthy, and I think I’ve got it. I’m running the risk of accusations of tenuous connections….but hear me out…

From revelling in the glories of bountiful food…to the 2nd World War where food was rationed….to…Goodwood Revival! (Hmm…)

For those of you already shaking your head in wonderment, dismay and more than a smidgen of incomprehension, let me explain. Goodwood Revival is a fantastic, and terribly British day out, where those attending delight in flouncing around in their very best fifties fancy dress, cooing over beautifully designed and polished antique cars, bikes and planes and participating in various old jolly jaunts and amusements.

I was lucky enough to get an invite from my auto-obsessed father who, accompanied (less for the cars than for the excuse to dress up) by my mother, has now been to the event four years in a row, each time returning with hilarious anecdotes and extraordinary photos of which I was extremely jealous. (For those tutting and wondering where the food element of this posting has gone, stay with me)

Lucky thing that I am, I even had the privilege of driving my own car for the day – a 1959 MGA convertible in beautiful racing green – courtesy of my father’s aforementioned auto obsession. So I drove solo amongst a fleet of antique motors which included my parents in front and some family friends behind, headscarf flapping in the wind, sunglasses perched on my nose and bright red lippy flashing like a film star. My outfit: tiny black hat, hair in a bun, red lippy, white silk blouse, black pencil skirt, seamed stockings and high heels and a tweedy brown fitted jacket (authentic and previously owned by my grandmother). Father P sported a beautiful green tweed suit, with racing green silk waistcoat, deliberately themed towards Toad of Toad Hall of Wind in the Willows fame, and Ma P a fur coat over a casual tea dress with floppy brown hat. The MGA is a dream to drive, alternating between a satisfying purr and a slow, easy growl, the gears clunky and accurate, and the steering closely hugging the road. I’m no petrolhead, but this is the sort of motoring which gets me a teensy bit excited.

I thought this was a food blog, I hear you cry! But of course, and I haven’t forgotten (let’s face it, food is never too far from my mind). So let me now paint you a picture. I tottered through the entrance gate on my high heels, fresh from my windswept, but invigorating, ride. The very first waft of air I caught carried the sweet scent of candy floss being gently coaxed into shape by an apron-clad storesman. This combined with the heavier, more satisfying smells of greasy homemade, organic beef burgers being handed out by what equally well-grilled chefs. Old-fashioned sweet stores lined the promenade alongside the racecourse, large jars filled with glistening hard-boiled sweets, the enemy of all fillings. But any illusion of plenty was of course historically inaccurate – these were times of war-induced rationing, and the Tea Rooms dotted about paid testament to this, with tiny egg sandwiches, dusty little cakes and watery cups of tea.

The day was glorious, with blazing late-September sunshine causing throngs of auto-enthusiasts to wipe their brows and throw off their blazers. Men were dashing in braces and flat caps or trilbies, women gracious, with red lipstick, carefully coiffed hair, and complicated underwear causing all to walk tall and proud. Fancy dress made the air flirtatious, as everyone slipped easily into character – whether the dodgy ‘spiv’ sidling slyly up to the girls to whisper ‘anyone for nylons’, or the newspaper photographer begging a ‘style photograph’ and the excuse of a kiss from a rosy-cheeked girl.

Following the dusk races and still more tea and cakes, I put-putted out of the grounds and back onto the road, my hair protected by yet another little hat. I tooted my horn - a barely audible little ‘poop poop!’ - gleefully at everyone I passed. The sun was settting beautifully as I drove home over the orange, pink and red-kissed hills.

Homesick Hankerings

2008-09-22T04:17:00.000-07:00

Four months away, hundreds of interesting, delicious and downright strange foreign foods tried, tested, tasted - and, on one occasion, trashed - and there was still always one food which would haunt me in my dreams, endlessly returning my mind to the comforts of home and a desperate yearning for…

Ma Pea’s homemade Chicken Soup.

The food equivalent of a motherly embrace – nostalgic, comforting, warm, loving – it was just one bowl of the nourishing broth that I craved wherever I was in the world. I could be chowing down decadent grilled lobsters in Belize, tasting new and delicious strains of coffee in the hills of a plantation in Guatemala, drinking my way through dozens of wine varieties in California, competitively slurping down oysters in New York, or being wined and dined in some of the top notch restaurants across the world…but still there remained this little voice in the back of my mind, which whispered “chicken soup…chicken soup…”

It may be difficult to fathom, but it took me less than three weeks into the first port-of-call on my extensive list, Japan, to send an email back (in May) to Ma Pea already adamant that Chicken Soup was my first food request upon my return (in September). Safe to say that five months is probably the longest standing food order I’ve ever had, bar looking forward to Christmas (which, unsurprisingly, I start around June/July time).

Everyone has a dish which their mother made when they were younger which sends them hurtling right back to infancy, dependancy and immaturity. Adult cares and troubles are erased; responsibilities seem distant dreams; for a few blissful moments we are children again.

Mine is without a shadow of a doubt Chicken Soup. It ticks all the right boxes: perfectly filling without being heavy; refreshing, tasty and revitalising; light protein in the chicken, a glorious medley of sumptuous veg (carrots, leeks, onions, celery), and a healthy dose of hydrating, tasty, flavoursome broth. I sit and quietly savour the combinations of flavours. Food tasting is a guaranteed method of quietening this chatterbox soul for a few peaceful minutes – I can only imagine that this is why my mother used to feed me such delicious nosh when I was a highly energetic, inquisitive and talkative youngster.

Dad often jokes that he married my mother for her soups. It shouldn’t really be something to say in jest as, frankly, I’m often worried about bringing boys home in case – following an encounter with one of her particularly famous soups - they fall in love with her over me!

Eyes peeled for the secret recipe – I’ll coax it out of her somehow…

The way to this girl's heart...

2008-09-21T15:59:00.000-07:00

I’ve fallen for a Chef.

Some might say this would be an inevitable move for a self-confessed food-a-holic, and yet surprisingly I had never thought of tapping the ‘boys who can cook’ market. An oversight, as I now discover.

There is, of course, a drawback to this, namely that he is an American, who lives (and, more importantly, cooks) in the states. The course of true love ne’er runs smooth.

He rapidly figured out the way to my heart, which involved him cooking many a nibble worthy of a scribble. So I thought I would share details of some of the dishes which, for any budding Romeos who might be reading, come with 100% guarantee that they’ll have a girl swooning and begging for more (food, that is, you naughty so-n-sos).

Boys, have your pen and notepads ready for some hints and tips. Girls, sit back, relax and enjoy…

Step 1: Tantalise and Tease
New England Clam Chowder

I’ll admit, before Chef actually cooked I was a skeptic. There are loads of burger-flippers out there donning the checked trousers and calling themselves a cook.

One spoonful though, and I was a true believer. This was the Holy Grail of chowders. The boy was talented. (I kept quiet, and savoured the soup in silence, not letting on just yet). Thick and filling, creamy and intensely flavoured, every mouthful took me straight to the coast. I wasn’t in a sitting room in Connecticut, I was in a sou'wester and waterproof boots, weatherbeaten and hungry, just in from the fishing! I mean, I’ve been there, done that, and tasted it before – my early childhood even included a trip to New Orleans where chowder is A Big Deal. But Chef’s topped them all. The flavour of clams was rich, meaty and intense, made all the more so by the unexpected but welcome addition of Boars head bacon, salty and satisfying, and topped off beautifully with the heady perfume of thyme. The added crunch of tiny crackers ensured that I wasn’t lost in my reveries for too long, bringing me back to reality.

Ok, sure, he was good, I’ll give him that. But I was soon to learn that this wasn’t even the half of it…

Step 2: Turn up the Heat
Mexican Style Omelette

Omelettes are a permanent source of frustration for me. I know how to whip up a few simple eggs, but for some reason, add a few crazy ingredients and attempt to make them form some sort of omelette-shaped order and it all falls to pieces.

Safe to say then that I’m a sucker for a cracking (sorry) egg feast. The Queen of Mexican Style Omelette landed on my plate. It was a thing of beauty to behold – plump, succulent, bursting with carefully combined Mex-themed ingredients, and topped off with a punchy, piquant hot sauce. The tasty eggs danced in perfect harmony with diced tomatoes, red onions, green peppers, avocado, coriander and – the final yet perfect addition – melting cheese. Flippin’ ‘Egg this boy can cook, I thought to myself.

But he was only just warming up…

Step 3: Crack out the Aphrodisiacs
Fresh Lobster & Mussel Meunnier Linguine

I think I had an inkling he liked me when I saw him loading up the shopping trolley with three generously proportioned, still snapping but very promising looking live lobsters.

I was then treated to a Lobster Preparation 101 which was fascinating – though I confess to going slightly lightheaded at the point when their heads were snapped right off. The bodies were still wriggling as they were plunged into the scalding hot water, where their shells quickly turned bright red. The world will forever be divided into ‘those who know how to deflesh a lobster’ and ‘those who don’t’, and I’m now part of that secret society.

My heart jolted.….gorgeous, perfect, it took my breath away: a steaming plate of perfectly al dente linguine was in front of me. It must truly have been match made in heaven – a feathery light sauce of mussels with a generous amount of tender lobster threaded through, flecks of garlic laden cherry tomatoes which melted in the mouth, and thinly sliced courgettes.

Love at first bite.

Step 4: Hooked, lined and Sink Her
Pan Roasted Sea Bass

I could practically hear the fanfare with this one, as Chef rolled out a restaurant-worthy piece de resistance in a mere 25 minutes. This was real, live Ready, Steady, Cook.

Feast your eyes on this…
• Chorizo-encrusted Pan Roasted Sea Bass with a scallop mousse - tender white tasty flakes of bass enhanced by the scallop and offset by the slightly toasted spicy meatiness of the chorizo

all complimented by...
• Roasted purple cherokee tomato with garlic, thyme and olive oil
• Sweet melting sticks of roasted butternut squash *chickpea and rocket salad topped with a caramalised shallot sherry vinaigrette
• all the delicious juices mopped up with toasted garlic/olive oil rye

That’s it, I give up. He’s won. I’ve thrown down my apron in despair. Whereas normally I’d be able to guarantee a boy’s affections merely by whipping up a batch of my killer brownies, slamming a roast chicken in the oven, or maybe stirring up a dreamy mess of risotto, I have to admit I’ve met my match with this one. Gracious, I’ll have to rely solely on my personality to win him over.

Of course if I could just get us a table in El Bulli…

Sounds Fishy to me...

2008-09-18T13:38:00.000-07:00

To quickly scrabble myself back into credible foodie status, following my initial 'junk food extravaganza' entry, I'm going to get right onto the case with two particularly outstanding frolics of the fishy variety which I had whilst I was in New York, both of which deserve a hearty virtual pat on the back.

Fishy Fare no.1:
Gari Sushi - Columbus & 78th

Let's be frank here - I'm always going to be in my 'happy place' with a seemingly endless stream of sushi passing in front of me, three by three, but this particular sushi den holds a pretty special place in my heart. Following close on the heels of my recent Japan trip, this was an interesting contrast to the raw energy of Tokyo's Tsujiki market, where lightning-fast sushi chefs slam 20 pieces of sushi down in front of you faster than you can say 'goeasyonthewasabiarigatoooogazaimashtaaa' .

Rather, Gari presented spankingly fresh fish with quirky twists and edgy flavour combos, some so eye-opening and pleasure-inducing that it rapidly became a mantra (often eyes closed) of 'oh what treasures can they bring next'? What new and untold delights would be revealed in the next playful threesome?

I'll elaborate:

Toro Roe with pickle - fresh roe with a tangy crunch of pickled Japanese radish
Salmon with a tomato compote - fresh, sweet tomato relish burns with flecked roast garlic, a pala
Fatty Tuna with horseradish sauce - genius. Old-school English horseradish taking the place of the usual spicy Japanese wasabi radish. A tongue teaser - roast lunch or a whole new kettle of fish (sorry)? - my mouth pondered aloud.
Snapper with baby leaf salad, tarro root and pine nuts - nuts, on sushi, I hear you cry?! And well might you question. But a mere morsel of this mysterious nigiri and any worries will be wiped away. A whole plate of palate pleasers in one neat bite.
Lobster sushi - tender, luscious, meaty lobster, sushified.
Mackerel with anchovy paste - let me briefly extol the underrated virtue of the anchovy - 'o tiny fish, how masterfully you boost 'most every dish'. Mackerel flavour is instead brought to the fore, a thousand fold.
Seared Roast Tuna - my companions actually had to ask me if something was wrong after this one. I went into a zombified state of extreme bliss from which I had to be physically shaken. How is it possible that with each sushi they just kept getting better?! No! Stop! I'll pass out!
Seared Cod - delicately teased with a barbeque flavour, the fish flesh becomes a complex web of textures and flavours, exalting in its new grilled persona
Yellowtail with jalapeno - a firecracker of a finish to the evening - an explosion of fresh spiciness lying in wait under the fish.

Stumbling home stupified with more lusty thoughts than I had ever had about sushi, I reflected briefly on the fact that in spite of eating more pieces of raw fish than I have limbs, I still didn't feel horribly and ridiculously full. In fact, I felt quite spritely. Must be all that Omega 3.

Fishy Fare no.2:

East Coast vs. West Coast - Oysters

When I find out that there's yet another field of food into which I've yet to be properly initiated, I get pretty excited. So a night out 'on the Oysters' was a big event. Though I'd previously had a couple of the squirmy suckers, I'd never really experienced an out-and-out tasting test.

They arrived beautifully presented, two East versus two West. Even before the tasting it astounded me the different shell shapes and sizes. There was a whole new education opening up in front of me.

Excuse the pun - they were of course already open...

We shunned the taste veils of lemon, vinegar or tabasco, opting instead for pure, unadulterated oysteriness. We slurped and swallowed, lightly chewed and mused, voting as we went. The great spectrum of flavours quite took me by surprise. Naively, before I had thought an oyster was an oyster was an oyster. Oh how wrong I was!

Drum roll....in order of preference...:

1. Eagle Rock (West) - biting, salty, with a convincing kick of lingering sea
2. Yaquina (West) - a bright burst of salt and meat, clean aftertaste
3. Bluepoint (East) - large and sloppy to eat, watery, melon taste with an unpleasant flabby clinging aftertaste
4. Caraquet (East) - drab and tasteless

A clear win by West.

Oyster Tasting 101 - may this be the beginning of a beautiful relationship.

Ashamedly All American

2008-09-17T09:48:00.000-07:00

Warning: the following entry will contain descriptions which discerning/gourmet foodies may find distasteful. Descriptions of what is commonly referred to as 'junk food'. (Mummy Pea, I suggest you look away...!)

In the name of research, however, I feel that my last few weeks in the U.S. of A deserve some food recognition - coming to the end of my four months of global travel, this is a flagrant attempt to seamlessly make the transition between my heavily food centric travel blog and my new, unashamedly food centric food blog (minus the travel, but hopefully with equal lashings of adventure).

The last few weeks of my travels in the North East of the states have seen me on a quest to experience 'typical American fare'. Whilst the ensuing calorific orgy may seem horrifying to some readers, and the trans-fat contents appearing quite in contrast to my normal requirements of nutritious nosh, please do rest assured that I've been endeavouring to seek out only the absolute best junk food available, as oxymoronic as this concept might be. However, even a healthy appetite like my own routinely balks at the enormous portions available in this neck of the woods - maybe I'm more European than I gave myself credit for? Many a doggy bag has been brought in at the eleventh hour.

But those are my excuses out of the way, let's tuck in shall we?!

Fall-Off-the-Bone Ribs

Yeeehaaaa! Texas Roadhouse is fully responsible for unleashing my dormant cowgirl.

My heart melts as I spy the chargrilled decadence of ribs - they can barely keep the meat on their bones at the sight of me. It's almost obscene the way they offer themselves up to the hungry diner, falling apart, whispering seductively 'go on, tuck in, you know you want to...'. The sweet perfume of BBQ sauce is enough to make a head swim. It's oh so wrong but....oh so right. I can't stop myself, I can't think straight. What velvety meaty lusciousness. Thank goodness for the sense and sensibility provided by the jacket potato and steamed veg that surround these naughty little bones.

Like a Boa Constrictor eating a small pig, the feast is finally over and, satiated on pounds of meat, skin and clothing straining at the seams, diners sit in stunned silence, barely aware of the strains of country music filling the surrounding air. Even the mechanical, rhythmic clunk of the staff's cowboy boots line dancing at the next table will fail to rouse or amuse you. Chamomile tea anyone?

Burger & Fries

If you're going to do it, you might as well do it properly.

Zagat-rated and media-hyped, Five Guys Burgers & Fries is the place to be. At first you might mistakenly think that this is yet another American Burger joint, but appearances can be deceptive. Five Guys is oh so much more - with the brightly tiled walls plastered in posters and newspaper coverage of this famously acclaimed old school hangout. So, here's how it's done.

Whack your order in, tailor your toppings (pickle, tomato, lettuce if you please), fill up your bottomless soda, and sit back and mentally prepare yourself for this moment. Make time and space in your head for the burger onslaught, because this, my friend, will require all of your faculties intact. Your name will be yelled, so scuttle up, little one, grab your bag and run. Crouch possessively over your small fast-food table, and silently contemplate your brown paper bag. Slicks of grease from the real potato fries will soak tantalisingly through, and winks and flashes of the foil-wrapped burger will taunt you from inside. It is what it is: the Holy Grail of Burger. Enjoy this moment, go on, it won't last long.

Then finally, allow yourself that first ravenous bite of grilled meat burger, succulent juices running out over your chin, the tang of pickle bursting onto your tongue and piquant mustard exploding in a joyous rhapsody of fast food delight. Salad crunches reassuringly, reminding you that, believe it or not, there are more important things to life than just meat. What about those picture perfect old-fashioned fries...

Slurpee

Initially I turned up my nose, but now I know better. And that little, nagging, curious part of me wanted to know what the big deal was. What is it that turns those American kids' tongues bright blue/orange/red in all those teen flicks.

I've now been initiated into an ancient American secret, revealed to me at the local 7-Eleven corner store. A tradition known only as: the Slurpee

However much icy goodness you think you can take, pick the appropriate sized plastic cup, pop the domed lid on top and get in position. Crank the valve of whichever e-number riddled, electric-coloured poison you're after today - I'll have Blue Raspberry or Cherry please (much to my foodie chagrin, my one true vice is terribly fake flavoured drinks) and watch in delight as the frothy, fizzy, foamy icy slush comes pouring joyously out. Once filled, pay, and...

ssschhhhluuurrp.

Peanut Butter & Jelly sandwich (PBJ if you please)

Packed with nutty goodness, Peanut Butter is an underrated easy way to quickly boost your protein intake. So it remains a mystery to me why Peanut Butter has never really caught on across the pond. A classic addition to American lunchbox, the Peanut Butter & Jelly (jam) sandwich is quite a craft, and one of which I am in full appreciation (it must be my early American upbringing). So when I stumbled upon an article all about the nutty nuttiness of Peanut Butter & Co., an entirely peanut butter obsessed store located in Greenwich Village, I knew that my trip to New York would not be complete without a visit.

I went for the PBJ Classic - with my favourite 'jelly' flavour, grape, and wholemeal bread. With a glass of ice cold milk in hand, I settled back in my chair to enjoy the nutty goodness which stuck reassuringly to the top of my mouth, taking me right back to my days as a three year old frolicking upon the doorstep of my San Franciscan house. The reassuring rescue effort of the milk means you needn't panic for too long about the asphyxiation potential of peanut butter at its finest.

Some say that we're all searching for the ultimate food which transports us right back to our childhood. This one is close, but not quite cigar...

The search continues.

Stack of Pancakes

No visit to the States is complete without a proper breakfast in a diner. Preferably at an establishment which will provide an obscene amount of menu choice which should leave the visitor in question gawping and speechless. I mean, really, 47 varieties of pancake?!?! Determined not to be overwhelmed, I made my decision swiftly and callously - the Patriot. Not just bananas and blueberries on the inside, but bananas and blueberries on top as well. America, land of choice and freedom.

Now, much as I theoretically love the fluffy, buttermilk sweetness of all-American pancakes, drenched in suffocatingly sweet maple syrup (another vice), my problem comes with the quantity of pancakes received. I'm afraid to say I bowed defeat at the mountain (8?!?!) of 'Patriotic' pancakes which arrived, and ate maximum 4 forkfuls. America got the better of me. I'm lucky to have exited the diner alive - I had visions of me being dragged wailing and screaming out of the diner, covered in sticky, gooey maple syrup and flecks of light-as-air pancake batter. Thank goodness I'm a gracious loser.