Dinner tonight courtesy of the wonderful Mr Simon Hopkinson's Week In Week Out, probably the second most beautiful cookery book I own. Of course, just because it's beautiful doesn't mean I've ever cooked a single recipe from it before, so tonight was a bit of an experiment.
This is what I was aiming for: Asparagus, Sour Cream and Herb Omlettes. My first attempt resulted in a pile of slightly raw, slightly charred scrambled egg. Lesson: when it says non-stick pan, it means it. The next attempt resulted in an only slightly split omelette, spilling its insides across the plate, but by my fourth one, I got a perfect little swiss roll of soft omelette, tart cream, fragrant herbs and grassy crisp asparagus. Sometimes it's not just the simple recipes that make you happy.
Of course, making mini quantities just for me resulted in my now having, in the fridge, a large bunch of tarragon, one of chives, and one of parsley. So... what to do with them? I may have a little idea of my own - but you'll have to wait and see for that!
Friday 30 April 2010
Saturday 24 April 2010
First asparagus
Nigel Slater reckons that 'only a prude can ignore the sexual overtones of asparagus officinalis.' Perhaps that explains my even-greater-than-usual desire to get my hands on the first of the British stuff this year. Although, seeing as Slater never seems to have met a piece of food he wouldn't like to fuck, perhaps we shouldn't take the psychoanalysis too far.
Anyway, here it is. Normally I just boil my first asparagus of the year and smother it in melting butter, but I had to eat a proper supper sometime, so this is the recipe I made. If you're using supermarket thin-cut water-pumped bacon, you'll need considerably more than the 6 rashers of thick-cut dry-cured butcher's bacon I used.
Ingredients
200g asparagus
6 rashers smoked streaky bacon
100g (ish) cherry tomatoes
Method
Heat your oven to 200 celsius and get a baking tray out of the cupboard. Snap any woody ends off the asparagus and drizzle with a little oil. Cut each rasher of bacon into two, and roll up, then snuggle them among the asparagus. Place in the oven for 10 minutes.
Take them out after this time and scatter the tomatoes among the spears and bacon. If the tips of the asparagus look like they might be burning, rearrange the bacon to cover them. Return to the over for a further 5 minutes or so.
Munch with plenty of crusty bread to soak up any juices.
No picture, this time because I munched so fast I didn't have time to take any. I burnt my mouth as a result, so I've already been punished for this sin.
PS. Sorry about the Slater quip. I love him and his cooking very much, but the food/fuck alliteration was too good not to say.
2011 edit
I always make this recipe at least once a year, and last night was the night this year. I am one of those people who are simply incapable of following a recipe (yes, even one of my own), and so I had to have a bit of a tinker around the edges. I used thin slices of pancetta instead of traditional English thick-cut streaky bacon, and wrapped the slices around the tops of around half the asparagus (so, around 6 spears and slices out of 12 spears total).
The effect is gorgeous. Somehow, the pancetta traps the steam coming off the tips of asparagus, and they steam in their own juices to a melting softness, giving a lovely contrast with the crispy pancetta and grilled stalks.
Anyway, here it is. Normally I just boil my first asparagus of the year and smother it in melting butter, but I had to eat a proper supper sometime, so this is the recipe I made. If you're using supermarket thin-cut water-pumped bacon, you'll need considerably more than the 6 rashers of thick-cut dry-cured butcher's bacon I used.
Ingredients
200g asparagus
6 rashers smoked streaky bacon
100g (ish) cherry tomatoes
Method
Heat your oven to 200 celsius and get a baking tray out of the cupboard. Snap any woody ends off the asparagus and drizzle with a little oil. Cut each rasher of bacon into two, and roll up, then snuggle them among the asparagus. Place in the oven for 10 minutes.
Take them out after this time and scatter the tomatoes among the spears and bacon. If the tips of the asparagus look like they might be burning, rearrange the bacon to cover them. Return to the over for a further 5 minutes or so.
Munch with plenty of crusty bread to soak up any juices.
No picture, this time because I munched so fast I didn't have time to take any. I burnt my mouth as a result, so I've already been punished for this sin.
PS. Sorry about the Slater quip. I love him and his cooking very much, but the food/fuck alliteration was too good not to say.
2011 edit
I always make this recipe at least once a year, and last night was the night this year. I am one of those people who are simply incapable of following a recipe (yes, even one of my own), and so I had to have a bit of a tinker around the edges. I used thin slices of pancetta instead of traditional English thick-cut streaky bacon, and wrapped the slices around the tops of around half the asparagus (so, around 6 spears and slices out of 12 spears total).
The effect is gorgeous. Somehow, the pancetta traps the steam coming off the tips of asparagus, and they steam in their own juices to a melting softness, giving a lovely contrast with the crispy pancetta and grilled stalks.
Monday 19 April 2010
Partridge with peas
One of the big problems I have with cooking just for me is that so much meat comes in packages for two. Even shopping at my local butcher doesn't totally solve this; roasting a whole chicken for one person still seems silly (and faintly depressing...), and despite cravings for the sticky bits that lurk under the wings, I can rarely bring myself to do it. The great thing about game birds is that so many of them come in neat little whole-bird packages for one, complete with mini-drumsticks to chew on. They're also much faster to cook - I made this as a quick after-work Monday supper, on the table in 30 minutes.
I used partridge because that's what I had in the fridge, but you could equally do the peas with pigeon, a couple of quail, or most other poultry or game birds.
Ingredients
1 partridge
4-6 spring onions
few sprigs of mint
few sprigs of parsley
80g peas
2 or 3 slices parma ham
half a glass of white wine
Method
First, get your partridge on to roast: heat the oven to 200 celsius, rub the bird with oil and season, then stick it in for 30 minutes or so.
Whilst that's happily cooking away, slice your spring onions (not too finely; they're going to be cooked well so you don't want them to disintegrate totally), chop your herbs (more finely) and tear your parma ham into little strips.
When the partridge has 10 minutes to go, fry the spring onions briefly in a decent glug of oil, then tip in the peas and wine and boil fairly vigorously until reduced by half. Take off the heat and stir in the herbs and parma ham, then stick a lid on it to keep warm whilst you carve the partridge.
By now your partridge should be ready, so take it out of the oven and leave to rest for a couple of minutes before carving it, then dish up with the peas, pouring the winey herby juices over the meat.
PS. Apologies to Josh, who persuaded me to start this blog, but due to his veggie-ness can't eat my first posting. Sorry Josh. More vegetables soon, I promise.
PPS. No photos. I took lots of lovely ones, but it turns out my ex has run off with the memory card reader, so I have no way of getting them to you. As with the vegetables, more soon, I promise.
I used partridge because that's what I had in the fridge, but you could equally do the peas with pigeon, a couple of quail, or most other poultry or game birds.
Ingredients
1 partridge
4-6 spring onions
few sprigs of mint
few sprigs of parsley
80g peas
2 or 3 slices parma ham
half a glass of white wine
Method
First, get your partridge on to roast: heat the oven to 200 celsius, rub the bird with oil and season, then stick it in for 30 minutes or so.
Whilst that's happily cooking away, slice your spring onions (not too finely; they're going to be cooked well so you don't want them to disintegrate totally), chop your herbs (more finely) and tear your parma ham into little strips.
When the partridge has 10 minutes to go, fry the spring onions briefly in a decent glug of oil, then tip in the peas and wine and boil fairly vigorously until reduced by half. Take off the heat and stir in the herbs and parma ham, then stick a lid on it to keep warm whilst you carve the partridge.
By now your partridge should be ready, so take it out of the oven and leave to rest for a couple of minutes before carving it, then dish up with the peas, pouring the winey herby juices over the meat.
PS. Apologies to Josh, who persuaded me to start this blog, but due to his veggie-ness can't eat my first posting. Sorry Josh. More vegetables soon, I promise.
PPS. No photos. I took lots of lovely ones, but it turns out my ex has run off with the memory card reader, so I have no way of getting them to you. As with the vegetables, more soon, I promise.
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