I've been thinking about this for a long time.
During my brief period in my teens as an "almost-veggie" (i.e. I wasn't sufficiently horrible a teenager to make my Mum cook me a different dinner to the rest of the family *every* night) I got very heavily into trying to perfect two different mushroom pastas. There was the one in a very rich tomato sauce, with masses of heavily caramelised onions in, which I topped with a round of grilled goats' cheese; and then there was the one where I reduced about a third of a bottle of chardonnay (Californian was best, I found) in with the mushrooms and a ton of garlic to make a sweet, vanilla-y sticky sauce. Looking back, both were over-flavoured to the point where you could barely eat more than a few mouthfuls before feeling faintly nauseous.
I've been working for some months on a mushroom pasta that has a balance of several flavours, rather than focussing on strengthening one particular flavour. I nearly gave up the search when I saw Simon Hopkinson's Baked Porcini Pappardelle, but it's really too involved a method for it to be the perfect mushroom pasta - it's certainly not perfect for any day when you have less than an hour to cook supper.
There are several small, but important, details in this pasta. The onion must be red, to add sufficient sweetness, and it must be finely chopped, so that the pieces almost melt into the sauce. The mushrooms must be thinly sliced for the same reason; they should ideally be chestnut, but normal button ones will do. 250g seems like a lot, but they reduce a lot, and they need to be an equal feature of this dish to the pasta even after that. The mustard must be wholegrain to give texture, and so that it is sufficiently mild.
Whilst I'm being prescriptive, I might as well note that it really is worth using decent quality pasta. For a long time I was tempted by the too-good-to-be-true pice of cheap pasta, until I realised it really was too good to be true: the pasta was soggy and slimy, regardless of how carefully I cooked it. De Cecco is good, and widely available; I've also been using Garofolo which is less easily available. And, at the end of the day, you're still getting a lot of food for a few pence.
Mushroom pasta
1 small red onion, or half a large one
1 clove garlic
1 large slice butter
small glug olive oil
75g short pasta - fusilli, penne, etc...
250g chestnut mushrooms
1 tsp wholegrain mustard
2 tbs creme fraiche
small handful of basil or parsley (or a mixture, I suppose), roughly chopped
Finely chop the red onion; finely chop the clove of garlic. Heat the butter and olive oil* in a medium saucepan, and bring a pan of water up to the boil.
Tip the onion into the pan of fat, and the pasta into the pan of water. Keep the onion on a medium heat, so that it is sizzling gently but not really browning. After 4-5 minutes, when it's looking soft and starting to turn golden, add the garlic, stir, and cook for a further minute.
Tip in the mushrooms, season well, and stir well. After a minute they will start giving up their juices, wilting and reducing considerably. After another few minutes, their juices will have mostly evaporated and they will start sizzling; at this point turn the heat down to its lowest setting.
Hopefully, your pasta will be cooked round about now; if it isn't, then the mushrooms will sit happily for a minute or two until it is. Once it's done, drain and put to one side.
Add the mustard, stir, then add the creme fraiche and mix well. Tip in the pasta, combine with the sauce, then finally add the herb(/s) and give a quick stir.
You could serve this with some parmesan, but I tend to find it rich enough on its own.
*Using two different types of fat might seem a bit odd. The butter is for the flavour, but it burns at a fairly low temperature, giving a bitter taste. The olive oil raises the burn temperature of the butter, adding little flavour but stopping the butter burning.
Monday 26 September 2011
Thursday 15 September 2011
First Soup of Autumn
I came back from a week in Tenerife late Sunday night, and sitting down at my office desk on Monday morning a mere 20 hours after I'd been sunning myself was painful enough. Then I saw the tree outside my office window: orange. I appeared to have arrived back to face autumn, already.
The one plus-side to this seasonal change is that, having spent all summer pretending to enjoy salad whilst it rain, it is now acceptable to start making soup for lunch again. I wanted something that didn't feel entirely wintery, though, and had some peppers and squash in the fridge: ingredients that always make me feel slightly happier about letting go of summer.
When I say "roughly chopped" I don't mean *really* roughly. They need to be in 1-2 cm square chunks. It just doesn't really matter how precise you are, seeing as it's all going to be blitzed at the end anyway.
Squash and Pepper soup
1 onion, roughly chopped
2 sticks celery, roughly chopped
1 red chilli, finely chopped
1 red or yellow pepper, roughly chopped
1/2 butternut squash, roughly chopped
2 tsp fennel seeds
500ml good stock (I used pheasant, but that's because that's what I had in the freezer - a cube would be fine here)
75g red lentils (the small ones which take c. 20 mins to cook)
In a large saucepan (do bear in mind you're just about to add a pint of liquid to it), heat a v generous glug of olive oil, then tip in the veg, chilli, and fennel seeds. Turn the heat down to medium, as you just want to veg to gently saute and give up some of their liquid, rather than actually browning them. Cook, stirring ocassionally, for around 10-15 minutes, or until the onion is softened and melting.
Tip in the stock and bring to the boil. Once it's there, add the lentils, and simmer for 20 to 25 minutes, or until the lentils are dissolving and the squash is tender.
Blitz vigorously in a food processor/using one of those stick things. Eat.
This makes roughly two generous, or three meagre, lunch portions.
The one plus-side to this seasonal change is that, having spent all summer pretending to enjoy salad whilst it rain, it is now acceptable to start making soup for lunch again. I wanted something that didn't feel entirely wintery, though, and had some peppers and squash in the fridge: ingredients that always make me feel slightly happier about letting go of summer.
When I say "roughly chopped" I don't mean *really* roughly. They need to be in 1-2 cm square chunks. It just doesn't really matter how precise you are, seeing as it's all going to be blitzed at the end anyway.
Squash and Pepper soup
1 onion, roughly chopped
2 sticks celery, roughly chopped
1 red chilli, finely chopped
1 red or yellow pepper, roughly chopped
1/2 butternut squash, roughly chopped
2 tsp fennel seeds
500ml good stock (I used pheasant, but that's because that's what I had in the freezer - a cube would be fine here)
75g red lentils (the small ones which take c. 20 mins to cook)
In a large saucepan (do bear in mind you're just about to add a pint of liquid to it), heat a v generous glug of olive oil, then tip in the veg, chilli, and fennel seeds. Turn the heat down to medium, as you just want to veg to gently saute and give up some of their liquid, rather than actually browning them. Cook, stirring ocassionally, for around 10-15 minutes, or until the onion is softened and melting.
Tip in the stock and bring to the boil. Once it's there, add the lentils, and simmer for 20 to 25 minutes, or until the lentils are dissolving and the squash is tender.
Blitz vigorously in a food processor/using one of those stick things. Eat.
This makes roughly two generous, or three meagre, lunch portions.
Wednesday 31 August 2011
Ashmolean Dining Room: Autumn/Winter menu
I feel slightly guilty blogging about the Ashmolean Dining Room. Shortly after the first time I ate there I started raving about it to one of my academics, before he cut me off with shushing noises. Apparently, if you know about it, you're not allowed to tell anyone, in case those in the know stop being able to get a table and skulk there any time they fancy. Given that Tony, Kate, Alison, Alissa, and even the Oxford Times have already gotten in on the act, I fear the days when my academic could sit there in peace and quiet are long gone.
So, given that, on to the food. I had expected a few canapes, and still haven't been forgiven by the boy for conveying this impression to him, resulting in him staying at home and eating beans on toast instead. This, however was much more. When they said "new menu tasting" they really did mean "tasting" the whole "new menu". I could barely walk by the end of it. Fortunately for you lot, though, you'll be able to just order one, two, or three of these dishes when you go, as I've done all the hard work of trying them for you.
Starters
The stand out, kick-myself-for-never-thinking-of-it, option for me here was the smoked paprika grilled squid. Charred squid + smoky spice = a brilliant match, and the squid was very well cooked. I would never normally order soup in a restaurant (I can make perfectly good soup at home, thank you very much), but the cauliflower one here is probably the best I've ever had. With a texture like liquid velvet, and aided by a dash of truffle oil, this transformed cauliflower from traditional "and cheese" ingredient into something sublime.
Let down options for me were the crab panacotta, which was just insufficiently crabby and too light and summery - not a dish for November - and the seafood platter. The second of these was a huge shame; having been persuaded to try the (home) cured herring element by Sue, and discovered that it was actually really delicious, I was puzzled by their inclusion of some pretty meh-inducing smoked salmon and prawns with all the taste and texture of those I recently dug out of year's hibernation in my freezer.
I'd also encourage giving the cauliflower salad (yes! I love cauliflower, so am pleased to see a restaurant do two interesting things with it) a go: it was perhaps a little underseasoned, but a good, interesting effort nonetheless.
Mains
It's worth noting here that the Ashmolean does good work in catering for vegetarians and pescatarians, with two (interesting!) vegetarian mains and five fish mains. The first were a nice twist on that classic compulsory option for vegetarians daring to eat out - mushroom risotto - but here made with pleasantly chewy pearl barley and with plenty of leeks and spinach, and a salad billed as "beetroot, pecans, and goats' cheese" but more like "GOATS' CHEESE, beetroot, and pecans". I'd be happy to eat deep-fried goats' cheese most days, and the salad here was a lovely accompaniment.
However, the top option for me here really has to be the lamb rump. As with the squid starter, this was superbly cooked: charred on the outside and rare on the inside. Every other restaurant I've ever eaten please take note and stop serving me grey, dry, flabby stuff. The chargrilled bream was also lovely (again with the charring - I spot a pattern), and served with some grilled chicory - an idea I'll also be stealing, thank you - and a dollop of herby creme fraiche.
The normally-less-adventurous among you should, however, order the rabbit. Beautifully tender and mild, in a tarragon sauce, this would make an excellent introduction to game for those normally scared of such things (and on that note, I should make you aware that the bream comes on the bone and with head, and the sole and monkfish on the bone).
Puddings
I like that these are called "puddings" and not "dessert". Good thing too, as these are some proper puddings. The chocolate sponge wasn't particularly laced with amaretti, but was delicious nonetheless. However - fuck me - Paris Brest. None of us had any idea what this was, and were a bit underwhelmed when what looked like a plain choux bun appeared on the table. Reluctantly, we dug in, and were stunned by the rich and flaky pastry and the loveliest, most moreish nougatty and chestnutty cream. I've been furiously googling recipes for this to try and replicate it, but in the meantime I will certainly be back for more. Finally, as if to make up for the slightly sad panacotta starter, a proper panacotta with the perfect wobble and a grainy poached pear to keep it company.
I was slightly sorry to see that the Ashmolean has dropped its small-plates feature (although perhaps they'll still be there at lunchtimes), but the new menu is probably more accessible than its previous efforts. It still holds plenty of interest for dedicated foodies, if needing a little more perfecting, and a more generous hand with the salt and pepper, in places. I'll certainly be back, and not entirely because I've promised to take the boy as an apology for misleading him about quite how much food I was going to spend my evening eating.
With thanks to Andrew Cashin and all at the Ashmolean for letting us try it for free.
Ashmolean Dining Room
So, given that, on to the food. I had expected a few canapes, and still haven't been forgiven by the boy for conveying this impression to him, resulting in him staying at home and eating beans on toast instead. This, however was much more. When they said "new menu tasting" they really did mean "tasting" the whole "new menu". I could barely walk by the end of it. Fortunately for you lot, though, you'll be able to just order one, two, or three of these dishes when you go, as I've done all the hard work of trying them for you.
Starters
The stand out, kick-myself-for-never-thinking-of-it, option for me here was the smoked paprika grilled squid. Charred squid + smoky spice = a brilliant match, and the squid was very well cooked. I would never normally order soup in a restaurant (I can make perfectly good soup at home, thank you very much), but the cauliflower one here is probably the best I've ever had. With a texture like liquid velvet, and aided by a dash of truffle oil, this transformed cauliflower from traditional "and cheese" ingredient into something sublime.
Let down options for me were the crab panacotta, which was just insufficiently crabby and too light and summery - not a dish for November - and the seafood platter. The second of these was a huge shame; having been persuaded to try the (home) cured herring element by Sue, and discovered that it was actually really delicious, I was puzzled by their inclusion of some pretty meh-inducing smoked salmon and prawns with all the taste and texture of those I recently dug out of year's hibernation in my freezer.
I'd also encourage giving the cauliflower salad (yes! I love cauliflower, so am pleased to see a restaurant do two interesting things with it) a go: it was perhaps a little underseasoned, but a good, interesting effort nonetheless.
Mains
It's worth noting here that the Ashmolean does good work in catering for vegetarians and pescatarians, with two (interesting!) vegetarian mains and five fish mains. The first were a nice twist on that classic compulsory option for vegetarians daring to eat out - mushroom risotto - but here made with pleasantly chewy pearl barley and with plenty of leeks and spinach, and a salad billed as "beetroot, pecans, and goats' cheese" but more like "GOATS' CHEESE, beetroot, and pecans". I'd be happy to eat deep-fried goats' cheese most days, and the salad here was a lovely accompaniment.
However, the top option for me here really has to be the lamb rump. As with the squid starter, this was superbly cooked: charred on the outside and rare on the inside. Every other restaurant I've ever eaten please take note and stop serving me grey, dry, flabby stuff. The chargrilled bream was also lovely (again with the charring - I spot a pattern), and served with some grilled chicory - an idea I'll also be stealing, thank you - and a dollop of herby creme fraiche.
The normally-less-adventurous among you should, however, order the rabbit. Beautifully tender and mild, in a tarragon sauce, this would make an excellent introduction to game for those normally scared of such things (and on that note, I should make you aware that the bream comes on the bone and with head, and the sole and monkfish on the bone).
Puddings
I like that these are called "puddings" and not "dessert". Good thing too, as these are some proper puddings. The chocolate sponge wasn't particularly laced with amaretti, but was delicious nonetheless. However - fuck me - Paris Brest. None of us had any idea what this was, and were a bit underwhelmed when what looked like a plain choux bun appeared on the table. Reluctantly, we dug in, and were stunned by the rich and flaky pastry and the loveliest, most moreish nougatty and chestnutty cream. I've been furiously googling recipes for this to try and replicate it, but in the meantime I will certainly be back for more. Finally, as if to make up for the slightly sad panacotta starter, a proper panacotta with the perfect wobble and a grainy poached pear to keep it company.
I was slightly sorry to see that the Ashmolean has dropped its small-plates feature (although perhaps they'll still be there at lunchtimes), but the new menu is probably more accessible than its previous efforts. It still holds plenty of interest for dedicated foodies, if needing a little more perfecting, and a more generous hand with the salt and pepper, in places. I'll certainly be back, and not entirely because I've promised to take the boy as an apology for misleading him about quite how much food I was going to spend my evening eating.
With thanks to Andrew Cashin and all at the Ashmolean for letting us try it for free.
Ashmolean Dining Room
Wednesday 3 August 2011
Raw mushroom salad
Unfortunately, there are no competitions for “most unappetising blogpost title”, or I would just have won a million pounds. Perhaps I should have lured you in with promises of cheese and bacon and steak before revealing the truth.
Having managed the feat of following a week’s holiday with a weekend at my parent’s house, I was in need of something other than cheese and bacon and steak. Starting days with a full cooked breakfast and concluding them with a massive fish and chip dinner is all very well when you’ve got “climb three mountains” scheduled in between them, but my day-to-day office is somewhat devoid of mountains. The need for some relief from serious food coincided with this unexpectedly pleasant weather – unexpected in the sense of “shit my fridge is full of autumnal ingredients” – and resulted in me thinking of raw salady things.
This is a very pared-back version of this salad, which I’ve made before and would strongly recommend if you fancied something with a bit more variety in, or if you were cooking for more than one. This has a certain elegance all on its own, though, which I rather like.
A couple of notes on ingredients - you can really use 20g of whichever soft herbs take your fancy, although I do recommend using parsley as one of them. Chestnut mushrooms are my second favourite (after flat field ones, which wouldn't work here), but you could use normal white ones. And I hadn't had pecorino in ages, hence using it here, but any parmesan or other hard, strong, cheese would work well. It's just seasoning, really, so do make sure it's quite a salty one.
Raw mushroom salad
100g chestnut mushrooms
½ lemon
1 tbs olive oil
Salt
10g (ish) of parsley
10g (ish) of dill, or another soft herb like tarragon or basil
25g pecorino or parmesan
Thinly slice the mushrooms. In a largeish bowl, juice the lemon, and whisk in the olive oil and a decent pinch of salt. Tip in the mushrooms and stir very well, until each slice is coated in liquid. Leave for 30 minutes to an hour (or more, if you really want to), stirring occasionally to make sure no slices are sitting in the dressing at the bottom for too long.
Finely chop the herbs and shave (i.e. peel very thin slices off with a vegetable peeler; if your cheese is hairy then start thinking about alternative dinner options) the cheese.
When you want to eat, stir the herbs through the mushrooms and place in a flat serving dish. Scatter the cheese shavings artistically over the top.
You’ll probably want some crusty bread to go with this, and/or some extra salad leaves.
Having managed the feat of following a week’s holiday with a weekend at my parent’s house, I was in need of something other than cheese and bacon and steak. Starting days with a full cooked breakfast and concluding them with a massive fish and chip dinner is all very well when you’ve got “climb three mountains” scheduled in between them, but my day-to-day office is somewhat devoid of mountains. The need for some relief from serious food coincided with this unexpectedly pleasant weather – unexpected in the sense of “shit my fridge is full of autumnal ingredients” – and resulted in me thinking of raw salady things.
This is a very pared-back version of this salad, which I’ve made before and would strongly recommend if you fancied something with a bit more variety in, or if you were cooking for more than one. This has a certain elegance all on its own, though, which I rather like.
A couple of notes on ingredients - you can really use 20g of whichever soft herbs take your fancy, although I do recommend using parsley as one of them. Chestnut mushrooms are my second favourite (after flat field ones, which wouldn't work here), but you could use normal white ones. And I hadn't had pecorino in ages, hence using it here, but any parmesan or other hard, strong, cheese would work well. It's just seasoning, really, so do make sure it's quite a salty one.
Raw mushroom salad
100g chestnut mushrooms
½ lemon
1 tbs olive oil
Salt
10g (ish) of parsley
10g (ish) of dill, or another soft herb like tarragon or basil
25g pecorino or parmesan
Thinly slice the mushrooms. In a largeish bowl, juice the lemon, and whisk in the olive oil and a decent pinch of salt. Tip in the mushrooms and stir very well, until each slice is coated in liquid. Leave for 30 minutes to an hour (or more, if you really want to), stirring occasionally to make sure no slices are sitting in the dressing at the bottom for too long.
Finely chop the herbs and shave (i.e. peel very thin slices off with a vegetable peeler; if your cheese is hairy then start thinking about alternative dinner options) the cheese.
When you want to eat, stir the herbs through the mushrooms and place in a flat serving dish. Scatter the cheese shavings artistically over the top.
You’ll probably want some crusty bread to go with this, and/or some extra salad leaves.
Saturday 2 July 2011
Summer game
So, game (venison, pheasant, grouse, etc etc) is winter food, right? Autumnal at best. To be paired with rich tomatoey-winey sauces, the juices soaked up by plenty of mash and rooty vegetables.
In which case, I have a problem. I'm moving out of my flat in seven weeks (panic!) and have a freezer full of food which will have to be used before then (double panic!). I managed to get away with using up a pheasant by using a cunning combination of the particularly rainy period we had a fortnight ago, plus a slightly lighter recipe: Diana Henry's Georgian tea-and-grapes one from Food from Plenty. That still left me with two pigeons. With the boy away this weekend, and my strong belief that a little bird is the perfect food for one, I figured it was the perfect opportunity to use one up.
This is my summery way of using a rich meat like pigeon. It's warm, and requires some use of a cooker, but not so much that you can't feel comfortable doing it on a warm summer evening.
Pigeon, Fennel and Raspberry Salad
1 pigeon
1/2 bulb fennel
small handful of radishes (maybe 6)
handful of walnuts or hazlenuts
handful of raspberries
handful of salad leaves - watercress is perfect
walnut oil
a light, sweet vinegar - I used white balsamic, but cider or sherry would work too
First, finely slice up your fennel and radishes. Tip into a bowl, then chop up the nuts and add them, plus around half of the raspberries, which you've torn slightly. Drizzle lightly with the oil and vinegar (perhaps a tbs of each), toss, and set aside.
Remove the breasts from the pigeon (notes on this later), then fry for just two or three minutes on each side; they should still feel fairly squishy as you want them to be rare on the inside. Remove from the heat and leave to sit for five minutes.
Once the pigeon breasts have rested, slice them thinly, then toss with the salad together with the leaves. Tip onto a plate, top with the remaining raspberries, and a little drizzle of some more walnut oil.
Removing breasts from pigeons: the easiest thing to do is to buy just the breasts, or to get a butcher to do this for you. I had a whole pigeon, so that wasn't an option, but it really is very simple to remove them yourself. There's a good video here (ignore the feathers!) - start at 1.45. The basic idea is just to make a slice along one side of the breastbone, then gradually hack your way down the ribcage until you get the whole thing off, then repeat on the other side. You'll find the breasts are really quite happy to come away from the bone in one piece; I've found before that after the initial cut, you can do the rest almost entirely with your bare hands.
In which case, I have a problem. I'm moving out of my flat in seven weeks (panic!) and have a freezer full of food which will have to be used before then (double panic!). I managed to get away with using up a pheasant by using a cunning combination of the particularly rainy period we had a fortnight ago, plus a slightly lighter recipe: Diana Henry's Georgian tea-and-grapes one from Food from Plenty. That still left me with two pigeons. With the boy away this weekend, and my strong belief that a little bird is the perfect food for one, I figured it was the perfect opportunity to use one up.
This is my summery way of using a rich meat like pigeon. It's warm, and requires some use of a cooker, but not so much that you can't feel comfortable doing it on a warm summer evening.
Pigeon, Fennel and Raspberry Salad
1 pigeon
1/2 bulb fennel
small handful of radishes (maybe 6)
handful of walnuts or hazlenuts
handful of raspberries
handful of salad leaves - watercress is perfect
walnut oil
a light, sweet vinegar - I used white balsamic, but cider or sherry would work too
First, finely slice up your fennel and radishes. Tip into a bowl, then chop up the nuts and add them, plus around half of the raspberries, which you've torn slightly. Drizzle lightly with the oil and vinegar (perhaps a tbs of each), toss, and set aside.
Remove the breasts from the pigeon (notes on this later), then fry for just two or three minutes on each side; they should still feel fairly squishy as you want them to be rare on the inside. Remove from the heat and leave to sit for five minutes.
Once the pigeon breasts have rested, slice them thinly, then toss with the salad together with the leaves. Tip onto a plate, top with the remaining raspberries, and a little drizzle of some more walnut oil.
Removing breasts from pigeons: the easiest thing to do is to buy just the breasts, or to get a butcher to do this for you. I had a whole pigeon, so that wasn't an option, but it really is very simple to remove them yourself. There's a good video here (ignore the feathers!) - start at 1.45. The basic idea is just to make a slice along one side of the breastbone, then gradually hack your way down the ribcage until you get the whole thing off, then repeat on the other side. You'll find the breasts are really quite happy to come away from the bone in one piece; I've found before that after the initial cut, you can do the rest almost entirely with your bare hands.
Wednesday 15 June 2011
Pancetta and asparagus risotto
As some of you may have seen me tweet, I visited the Daylesford Farm Shop on Monday. This is probably a good opportunity to correct a small factual mistype: when I said I escaped having only spent £40, that should have read that the boyfriend escaped having only spent £40. Whoops.
As a small apology for making such a catastrophically erratic tweet, I made a risotto for him last night with two of the ingredients I (/he) bought there: a block of pancetta, and some asparagus. I've been meaning to get hold of pancetta in the piece for ages now; I love the idea of cutting my own lardons to just the size I want them. Supermarket packs always cut them far too small. This block did not disappoint, from the gorgeous smell when it came out of its pack, to the melting texture once fried. It's not that expensive, either - about the same as you'd pay for one of those supermarket packs of ready-teeny-cubed pieces.
Pancetta and asparagus risotto
c. 200g off a block of pancetta, sliced into large lardons (or a pack if that's all you can get your hands on)
Large onion, peeled and finely chopped
c. 200g asparagus spears, tough ends broken off, tips sliced off, and main stem chopped into three or so bits, about the length of the top two joints of your thumb
125g risotto rice
Small glass white wine
500 ml chicken stock (see previous rant here)
50g parmesan, grated
In a small saucepan, heat your stock with the tough ends of the asparagus spears until simmering, then keep warm.
In a larger saucepan, fry your pancetta lardons over not too harsh a heat, so that their fat renders down and they begin to crisp up. This should take 5 minutes or just over. You shouldn't need to add more oil, unless you have some exceptionally lean pancetta on your hands (I didn't!).
Once the pancetta is crispy golden, throw in the chopped onion, stir, and fry for a further 5 minutes or so, until the onion is softened and beginning to get slightly golden itself. Tip in the rice, and stir for a couple of minutes. Tip in the glass of wine and simmer furiously until almost entirely gone.
Add the first ladle of stock, and the chopped bits of main asparagus stem (but not the tips yet). Stir. Leave to simmer. Stir again. Add another ladle of stock when it starts getting a bit dry. Repeat.
After about 10 minutes, throw in the asparagus tips, and keep adding stock and stirring. After about 15 minutes, taste the rice - it should be nearly done, with a slight bite but no chalkiness in the middle. If it needs a little longer, give it a little longer, and taste again in a couple of minutes.
Once the rice is how you like it, stir in the parmesan, and perhaps a little black peppper; with the pancetta and parmesan, it shouldn't need salt.
Serve, with more parmesan at the table.
As a small apology for making such a catastrophically erratic tweet, I made a risotto for him last night with two of the ingredients I (/he) bought there: a block of pancetta, and some asparagus. I've been meaning to get hold of pancetta in the piece for ages now; I love the idea of cutting my own lardons to just the size I want them. Supermarket packs always cut them far too small. This block did not disappoint, from the gorgeous smell when it came out of its pack, to the melting texture once fried. It's not that expensive, either - about the same as you'd pay for one of those supermarket packs of ready-teeny-cubed pieces.
Pancetta and asparagus risotto
c. 200g off a block of pancetta, sliced into large lardons (or a pack if that's all you can get your hands on)
Large onion, peeled and finely chopped
c. 200g asparagus spears, tough ends broken off, tips sliced off, and main stem chopped into three or so bits, about the length of the top two joints of your thumb
125g risotto rice
Small glass white wine
500 ml chicken stock (see previous rant here)
50g parmesan, grated
In a small saucepan, heat your stock with the tough ends of the asparagus spears until simmering, then keep warm.
In a larger saucepan, fry your pancetta lardons over not too harsh a heat, so that their fat renders down and they begin to crisp up. This should take 5 minutes or just over. You shouldn't need to add more oil, unless you have some exceptionally lean pancetta on your hands (I didn't!).
Once the pancetta is crispy golden, throw in the chopped onion, stir, and fry for a further 5 minutes or so, until the onion is softened and beginning to get slightly golden itself. Tip in the rice, and stir for a couple of minutes. Tip in the glass of wine and simmer furiously until almost entirely gone.
Add the first ladle of stock, and the chopped bits of main asparagus stem (but not the tips yet). Stir. Leave to simmer. Stir again. Add another ladle of stock when it starts getting a bit dry. Repeat.
After about 10 minutes, throw in the asparagus tips, and keep adding stock and stirring. After about 15 minutes, taste the rice - it should be nearly done, with a slight bite but no chalkiness in the middle. If it needs a little longer, give it a little longer, and taste again in a couple of minutes.
Once the rice is how you like it, stir in the parmesan, and perhaps a little black peppper; with the pancetta and parmesan, it shouldn't need salt.
Serve, with more parmesan at the table.
Saturday 28 May 2011
A singleton storecupboard
There's a scene in Bridget Jones' Diary (she says, alienating her entire male readership in one clean sweep) where she notes that "at times like this, continuing with one's life seems impossible, and eating the entire contents of one's fridge seems inevitable." There's then a slightly worrying snapshot of some mouldy cheese and a cupboard containing (I think) a solitary box of bran flakes.
Fortunately, I've never reached a low low enough to require consumption of everything I have in the house; this is, in part, due to the somewhat extensive nature of my fridge and storecupboards. My greatest worry about becoming a famous food writer (obviously, a much more inevitable eventuality than eating the entire contents of my fridge) is that one day I will be asked the question that Sunday supplements thrive on: what do you always keep in your fridge/storecupboards? Because then I'd have to finally confess just what a vast array of food I seem to consider it necessary to have in my house at any one time. Right now, the fridge tally alone runs to:
five types of cheese (shropshire blue, parmesan, mozzarella, feta, and goats'), eggs, lemons, juice, milk, sherry, fennel, pickled chillis, sweet chilli sauce, hoisin sauce, oyster sauce, pickled chilli paste, harissa (this is just another chilli paste, no?), thai red curry paste (yes, *another* chilli paste), chocolate spread, "easy" roasted garlic, cornichons, pickled onions, ready-made bearnaise sauce, dijon mustard, wholegrain mustard, capers, homemade strawberry jam, tomato paste, sundried tomato paste (why both?), tomato ketchup, preserved lemons (just in case I run out of fresh ones?), pickled ginger, butter, two types of chocolate, tonic water, natural yogurt, a mini bottle of pink cava, a tube of superglue, redcurrant jelly, lettuce, bacon, and lime pickle.
Congrats to anyone who actually made it through that list. Just to confirm, yes, there is just the one of me living here.
The above is slightly excessive, but I do think a well-stocked kitchen is essential for the single cook, particularly one with such a busy social life she has no time to go shopping *preens self*. For example, if you always have olives, capers, tinned anchovies, dried chillis, and sundried tomato paste in your cupboards, all of which will happily keep for years, you can make a basic version of one of my favourite pasta sauces:
Tart's Spaghetti
Ok, so this was originally a storecupboard staple for Italian prostitutes.
2 tbs sundried tomato paste (normal tomato paste will also do)
1 tbs capers
1 tbs chopped olives
about half a tin of anchovies, finely chopped
1/2 tsp chilli flakes
Stir all of the above through a portion of cooked pasta. No, seriously. That's it.
There's also a fresher version of this recipe in my post about quick pasta suppers.
We're often told about the importance of keeping spices in cupboards to a minimum, so that they're used up quickly. Of course, that's true to an extent, but I also believe that the more spices you have in stock, the more interesting your food. Though the cloves I've had since I first left home to go to university might be pushing it now. Anyway, if you have a decent selection of whole spices and some lentils, you can make dal:
A Bengali Dal
This is adapted from a recipe in Indian Food Made Easy, by Anjum Anand. It's Bengali because it's sweet and mustard-seed-spiked.
100g red lentils
1 bay leaf
500 ml (perhaps more) water
1/2 tsp turmeric powder
1 tsp coriander seeds, ground
1 tsp garam masala (Bart's is particularly good)
2 tsp sugar
2 tbs butter
4 cardamom pods
4 cloves
a thin shard of cinnamon stick about as long as your thumb, or a tsp of ground cinnamon
1 tsp cumin seeds
2 tsp mustard seeds
1/2 tsp dried chilli flakes
2 tbs dessicated coconut
Stick all the first bunch of ingredients into a small saucepan, bring to the boil, and simmer for 20 mins or so (depending on the pack instructions and how long they've been sitting in your cupboard for), until the lentils are soft and almost starting to break down. Add more water half-way through if they look like they're drying up.
Once done, add in the coriander seeds/garam masala/sugar, and stir so that some of the lentils break down, whilst some are still whole. Cover and turn off the heat.
In another pan, melt the butter, and tip in all that last tranch of spices, minus the coconut. Fry until the mustard seeds start to pop, then tip in the coconut. It will probably froth up a fair bit, so stir vigorously until the coconut starts to go a little toasty-brown, then remove from the heat.
Serve the lentils with the butter/spice/coconut mix tipped, or artistically swirled, over the top.
Next up, a little word about those vacuum packs of pre-cooked rice/lentils that you can buy. Food of the devil, right? *cough*. I always keep a couple of rice and one of puy lentils in my cupboard for emergencies. In full-on emergencies, I'll eat them as is, perhaps with a dash of soy sauce or some other seasoning from the depths of my cupboards. But they're also a good base for whatever leftover veg you have languishing at the bottom of your fridge. For example...
Fry a handful of mushrooms until starting to brown. Add some parsley, or thyme, or tarragon, or some other herb if you have any (something dried will do). Tip in a pack of lentils (the ones I have are 250g), and stir till heated through. Some cream, creme fraiche, cheese, or truffle oil might be nice.
Stir-fry greens (cabbage-y types are perfect, but broccoli or even something posher, like asparagus, would be good) till wilted and starting to brown, then season with soy or fish sauce, perhaps a little dried chilli, and some toasted sesame oil. Stir through a pack of either plain rice, or something that already reckons it's a bit chinese-flavoured. The Tilda ones are pretty non-msg-ed, I find.
If you don't even have any leftover veg, but you do have some yoghurt, then crush a clove of garlic into it. Serve on the side of a mixture of a drained tin of chickpeas and, again, either plain rice or an indian/middle-east flavoured one.
Finally... there are very few meals which can not be transformed into luxurious treats by the addition of a few drops of truffle oil. Suddenly, you are no longer a stressed, rushed, lonely diner, but someone who is simply choosing to eat alone because they like their own company. I think, if you were to take away everything in my cupboards, and leave me with only one item, truffle oil would be it.
Fortunately, I've never reached a low low enough to require consumption of everything I have in the house; this is, in part, due to the somewhat extensive nature of my fridge and storecupboards. My greatest worry about becoming a famous food writer (obviously, a much more inevitable eventuality than eating the entire contents of my fridge) is that one day I will be asked the question that Sunday supplements thrive on: what do you always keep in your fridge/storecupboards? Because then I'd have to finally confess just what a vast array of food I seem to consider it necessary to have in my house at any one time. Right now, the fridge tally alone runs to:
five types of cheese (shropshire blue, parmesan, mozzarella, feta, and goats'), eggs, lemons, juice, milk, sherry, fennel, pickled chillis, sweet chilli sauce, hoisin sauce, oyster sauce, pickled chilli paste, harissa (this is just another chilli paste, no?), thai red curry paste (yes, *another* chilli paste), chocolate spread, "easy" roasted garlic, cornichons, pickled onions, ready-made bearnaise sauce, dijon mustard, wholegrain mustard, capers, homemade strawberry jam, tomato paste, sundried tomato paste (why both?), tomato ketchup, preserved lemons (just in case I run out of fresh ones?), pickled ginger, butter, two types of chocolate, tonic water, natural yogurt, a mini bottle of pink cava, a tube of superglue, redcurrant jelly, lettuce, bacon, and lime pickle.
Congrats to anyone who actually made it through that list. Just to confirm, yes, there is just the one of me living here.
The above is slightly excessive, but I do think a well-stocked kitchen is essential for the single cook, particularly one with such a busy social life she has no time to go shopping *preens self*. For example, if you always have olives, capers, tinned anchovies, dried chillis, and sundried tomato paste in your cupboards, all of which will happily keep for years, you can make a basic version of one of my favourite pasta sauces:
Tart's Spaghetti
Ok, so this was originally a storecupboard staple for Italian prostitutes.
2 tbs sundried tomato paste (normal tomato paste will also do)
1 tbs capers
1 tbs chopped olives
about half a tin of anchovies, finely chopped
1/2 tsp chilli flakes
Stir all of the above through a portion of cooked pasta. No, seriously. That's it.
There's also a fresher version of this recipe in my post about quick pasta suppers.
We're often told about the importance of keeping spices in cupboards to a minimum, so that they're used up quickly. Of course, that's true to an extent, but I also believe that the more spices you have in stock, the more interesting your food. Though the cloves I've had since I first left home to go to university might be pushing it now. Anyway, if you have a decent selection of whole spices and some lentils, you can make dal:
A Bengali Dal
This is adapted from a recipe in Indian Food Made Easy, by Anjum Anand. It's Bengali because it's sweet and mustard-seed-spiked.
100g red lentils
1 bay leaf
500 ml (perhaps more) water
1/2 tsp turmeric powder
1 tsp coriander seeds, ground
1 tsp garam masala (Bart's is particularly good)
2 tsp sugar
2 tbs butter
4 cardamom pods
4 cloves
a thin shard of cinnamon stick about as long as your thumb, or a tsp of ground cinnamon
1 tsp cumin seeds
2 tsp mustard seeds
1/2 tsp dried chilli flakes
2 tbs dessicated coconut
Stick all the first bunch of ingredients into a small saucepan, bring to the boil, and simmer for 20 mins or so (depending on the pack instructions and how long they've been sitting in your cupboard for), until the lentils are soft and almost starting to break down. Add more water half-way through if they look like they're drying up.
Once done, add in the coriander seeds/garam masala/sugar, and stir so that some of the lentils break down, whilst some are still whole. Cover and turn off the heat.
In another pan, melt the butter, and tip in all that last tranch of spices, minus the coconut. Fry until the mustard seeds start to pop, then tip in the coconut. It will probably froth up a fair bit, so stir vigorously until the coconut starts to go a little toasty-brown, then remove from the heat.
Serve the lentils with the butter/spice/coconut mix tipped, or artistically swirled, over the top.
Next up, a little word about those vacuum packs of pre-cooked rice/lentils that you can buy. Food of the devil, right? *cough*. I always keep a couple of rice and one of puy lentils in my cupboard for emergencies. In full-on emergencies, I'll eat them as is, perhaps with a dash of soy sauce or some other seasoning from the depths of my cupboards. But they're also a good base for whatever leftover veg you have languishing at the bottom of your fridge. For example...
Fry a handful of mushrooms until starting to brown. Add some parsley, or thyme, or tarragon, or some other herb if you have any (something dried will do). Tip in a pack of lentils (the ones I have are 250g), and stir till heated through. Some cream, creme fraiche, cheese, or truffle oil might be nice.
Stir-fry greens (cabbage-y types are perfect, but broccoli or even something posher, like asparagus, would be good) till wilted and starting to brown, then season with soy or fish sauce, perhaps a little dried chilli, and some toasted sesame oil. Stir through a pack of either plain rice, or something that already reckons it's a bit chinese-flavoured. The Tilda ones are pretty non-msg-ed, I find.
If you don't even have any leftover veg, but you do have some yoghurt, then crush a clove of garlic into it. Serve on the side of a mixture of a drained tin of chickpeas and, again, either plain rice or an indian/middle-east flavoured one.
Finally... there are very few meals which can not be transformed into luxurious treats by the addition of a few drops of truffle oil. Suddenly, you are no longer a stressed, rushed, lonely diner, but someone who is simply choosing to eat alone because they like their own company. I think, if you were to take away everything in my cupboards, and leave me with only one item, truffle oil would be it.
Wednesday 4 May 2011
Thai prawns and mushrooms
I was going to make this for dinner: Spicy Prawn Soup. I never make soup for dinner, but after my success with the last kinda-soup, I figured I may as well try another.
Of course, I chickened out at the last minute. To be fair, I'd had soup for lunch, and there's only so many semi-liquid meals a girl can consume in a day. But I'd already bought the mushrooms (all the other ingredients are storecupboard/freezer regulars for me), and, as the boy is allergic to them, they had to be consumed tonight. So I changed the soup into a stir-fry.
A warning about curry pastes before you attempt this. Heat varies between brands. I used M&S's Red Thai Curry Paste in this, because I know it's coconutty and mild (and I highly recommend it if you can get your hands on it, inauthentic as it probably is). I've tried Bart's before and it is about three times as hot. Others might be even stronger. I know I can get away with stir-frying a couple of tablespoons of this paste, with nothing added to temper the heat, and not blow my head off. I'd suggest either: a. using a brand you know well and are happy with the heat of, or b. standing ready with vast quantities of coconut milk to temper it down (and turn it into the soup I didn't want in the process).
Thai Prawn and Mushroom stir-fry
125g pack Shiitake mushrooms (this is the size Tesco's sell them in; 40g or so either way doesn't make a big difference. If you can't get hold of shiitakes, just use normal button mushrooms.)
7 or 8 raw tiger prawns (defrosted if frozen)
2 tbs Red Thai curry paste
75g dried rice noodles (or other noodles, but thin rice noodles are my favourite.)
tbs lime leaves, or zest of one lime
tbs fish sauce (nam pla)
This is basically a construction jobby, so get everything ready before you turn on the cooker. Thickly slice the mushrooms, soak or cook your noodles according to the pack instructions (and drain them), and get everything around the hob in easy reach. You could even put things in little bowls if you want to look like you're on the tv.
Once that's done, stick some oil in a wok, and, once hot, tip in the mushrooms. Despite the name of this dish, don't stir them immediately. Leave them to sizzle and turn brown, then stir them and repeat until they are pleasantly brown all over. Move them to one side of the pan.
Place in the prawns, turning them over when they start turning pink (the business of a minute or so). Once pink through, again, push to the side of the pan.
Turn the heat lower, and spoon in your curry paste. It will probably sizzle and might spit a bit, so stand back. Give it 30 seconds, then stir everything in the pan in together. Add the lime leaves/zest and fish sauce, and a drop or two of water if it's looking dry. Stir again, add the noodles, and give everything a final toss together.
Eat.
(With chopsticks if you're pretentious. I am.)
Of course, I chickened out at the last minute. To be fair, I'd had soup for lunch, and there's only so many semi-liquid meals a girl can consume in a day. But I'd already bought the mushrooms (all the other ingredients are storecupboard/freezer regulars for me), and, as the boy is allergic to them, they had to be consumed tonight. So I changed the soup into a stir-fry.
A warning about curry pastes before you attempt this. Heat varies between brands. I used M&S's Red Thai Curry Paste in this, because I know it's coconutty and mild (and I highly recommend it if you can get your hands on it, inauthentic as it probably is). I've tried Bart's before and it is about three times as hot. Others might be even stronger. I know I can get away with stir-frying a couple of tablespoons of this paste, with nothing added to temper the heat, and not blow my head off. I'd suggest either: a. using a brand you know well and are happy with the heat of, or b. standing ready with vast quantities of coconut milk to temper it down (and turn it into the soup I didn't want in the process).
Thai Prawn and Mushroom stir-fry
125g pack Shiitake mushrooms (this is the size Tesco's sell them in; 40g or so either way doesn't make a big difference. If you can't get hold of shiitakes, just use normal button mushrooms.)
7 or 8 raw tiger prawns (defrosted if frozen)
2 tbs Red Thai curry paste
75g dried rice noodles (or other noodles, but thin rice noodles are my favourite.)
tbs lime leaves, or zest of one lime
tbs fish sauce (nam pla)
This is basically a construction jobby, so get everything ready before you turn on the cooker. Thickly slice the mushrooms, soak or cook your noodles according to the pack instructions (and drain them), and get everything around the hob in easy reach. You could even put things in little bowls if you want to look like you're on the tv.
Once that's done, stick some oil in a wok, and, once hot, tip in the mushrooms. Despite the name of this dish, don't stir them immediately. Leave them to sizzle and turn brown, then stir them and repeat until they are pleasantly brown all over. Move them to one side of the pan.
Place in the prawns, turning them over when they start turning pink (the business of a minute or so). Once pink through, again, push to the side of the pan.
Turn the heat lower, and spoon in your curry paste. It will probably sizzle and might spit a bit, so stand back. Give it 30 seconds, then stir everything in the pan in together. Add the lime leaves/zest and fish sauce, and a drop or two of water if it's looking dry. Stir again, add the noodles, and give everything a final toss together.
Eat.
(With chopsticks if you're pretentious. I am.)
Wednesday 27 April 2011
A multi-season soup
I don't make New Year's Resolutions. Well, except this year I did. I resolved to make a large batch of soup most weekends, which I would then religiously take to work for my lunches the following week, and certainly not buy any more vastly overpriced, fattening, panini-type things.
The reason I don't make New Year's Resolutions is that I've hardly ever known anyone to actually stick to the things. January has always struck me as a bad time to go trying to make big life changes, just when the weather is telling you to hide indoors, drink lots of strong wine and eat lots of chocolate. But soup... ah yes, soup is for January. And February, as it turned out. I got as far as March before the weather improved sufficiently to slow me down. One of the last batches I cooked before I turned veggie for Lent (and therefore couldn't eat it) was the following, adapted from a Nigel Slater recipe in his Kitchen Diaries. His version (available here for you sorry folk who don't own the book) was more main-coursey, so I did the following.
The parmesan rinds are non-essential but fabulous. Whenever you finish a piece of parmesan, stick it in the freezer and save it for soups like this. The best results will also come if you use some kind of animal fat (so, the stuff you drain off when frying duck breasts or roasting a joint, or buy some lard in a supermarket), but olive oil would do just fine.
A Herb and Barley Broth
100g barley
2 tbs of some kind of fat, preferably animal (I used some duck fat I had hanging around)
1 carrot
2 leeks
3 stalks celery
2 onions
4 cloves garlic
1/2 glass sherry
1 litre chicken stock (or 500ml and 500ml water, or all veggie stock, etc!)
4 or so bay leaves
handful thyme
parmesan rinds, if you have some hanging around
handful parsley
First you need to cook your barley, as the rest of the soup doesn't need too long. The packet on mine suggested 1 hour to an hour and a half, and I think the shorter time is about right - you want it to keep some bite when it goes into the soup. Nigel says it'll be done in 20 mins, but I think that's wildly optimistic.
Meanwhile, chop the carrot, celery and leek into little cubes, and slice the onions thinly from root to tip (so they make little crescents, most still joined at the root). Heat your fat in a big saucepan or casserole, and then saute the veg over a gentle heat, stirring often, until softened but not browned. Slice the garlic thinly, add to the pan, and saute for another couple of minutes.
Once the barley is cooked, tip it into the pan, then add the sherry and simmer until you don't get a whack of alcohol when you inhale the steam. Then add the stock, thyme, bay leaves, and parmesan rinds if available, and bring to a gentle simmer. Pop on a lid, and simmer for half an hour or so. Chop the parsley roughly, and stir in.
A more summery dinner
Two portions of the above have now sat in my fridge for the whole of Lent, tempting but out of bounds thanks to the duck fat and chicken stock. It's now really too warm to have soup at lunchtime, so I thought I'd have one for dinner, but on its own it was a little restrained, so I thought I'd add some fresh veggies. It would have worked well with peas, beans, or maybe some purple sprouting broccoli, but (perhaps predictably, at the moment) I went for some asparagus - about six or seven spears, each cut into three bite-size lengths, and simmered in the soup for seven minutes or so, until tender. I dished it up and grated over a generous amount of parmesan for good measure.
One portion of the soup remains in the freezer. Suggestions for what to do with it warmly welcomed!
The reason I don't make New Year's Resolutions is that I've hardly ever known anyone to actually stick to the things. January has always struck me as a bad time to go trying to make big life changes, just when the weather is telling you to hide indoors, drink lots of strong wine and eat lots of chocolate. But soup... ah yes, soup is for January. And February, as it turned out. I got as far as March before the weather improved sufficiently to slow me down. One of the last batches I cooked before I turned veggie for Lent (and therefore couldn't eat it) was the following, adapted from a Nigel Slater recipe in his Kitchen Diaries. His version (available here for you sorry folk who don't own the book) was more main-coursey, so I did the following.
The parmesan rinds are non-essential but fabulous. Whenever you finish a piece of parmesan, stick it in the freezer and save it for soups like this. The best results will also come if you use some kind of animal fat (so, the stuff you drain off when frying duck breasts or roasting a joint, or buy some lard in a supermarket), but olive oil would do just fine.
A Herb and Barley Broth
100g barley
2 tbs of some kind of fat, preferably animal (I used some duck fat I had hanging around)
1 carrot
2 leeks
3 stalks celery
2 onions
4 cloves garlic
1/2 glass sherry
1 litre chicken stock (or 500ml and 500ml water, or all veggie stock, etc!)
4 or so bay leaves
handful thyme
parmesan rinds, if you have some hanging around
handful parsley
First you need to cook your barley, as the rest of the soup doesn't need too long. The packet on mine suggested 1 hour to an hour and a half, and I think the shorter time is about right - you want it to keep some bite when it goes into the soup. Nigel says it'll be done in 20 mins, but I think that's wildly optimistic.
Meanwhile, chop the carrot, celery and leek into little cubes, and slice the onions thinly from root to tip (so they make little crescents, most still joined at the root). Heat your fat in a big saucepan or casserole, and then saute the veg over a gentle heat, stirring often, until softened but not browned. Slice the garlic thinly, add to the pan, and saute for another couple of minutes.
Once the barley is cooked, tip it into the pan, then add the sherry and simmer until you don't get a whack of alcohol when you inhale the steam. Then add the stock, thyme, bay leaves, and parmesan rinds if available, and bring to a gentle simmer. Pop on a lid, and simmer for half an hour or so. Chop the parsley roughly, and stir in.
A more summery dinner
Two portions of the above have now sat in my fridge for the whole of Lent, tempting but out of bounds thanks to the duck fat and chicken stock. It's now really too warm to have soup at lunchtime, so I thought I'd have one for dinner, but on its own it was a little restrained, so I thought I'd add some fresh veggies. It would have worked well with peas, beans, or maybe some purple sprouting broccoli, but (perhaps predictably, at the moment) I went for some asparagus - about six or seven spears, each cut into three bite-size lengths, and simmered in the soup for seven minutes or so, until tender. I dished it up and grated over a generous amount of parmesan for good measure.
One portion of the soup remains in the freezer. Suggestions for what to do with it warmly welcomed!
Tuesday 19 April 2011
Burgers.
I never thought of myself as a meat-and-two-veg kind of cook. That stood me in good stead at the start of my period of being veggie; although I like them, I saw no need to make quorn, tofu, etc appear as regular blocs of protein to mask the absence of a steak or lamb chop from my plate. Instead, I smugly cooked one-pots, salads, pastas...
And then I started to run out of recipes. Worse - I ran out of ideas. I bought a new cookbook (Madhur Jaffrey's World Vegetarian Cookbook, for those who were wondering) and found myself furiously flicking through page after page searching for a dish that could comprise a whole meal. Then I started actually reading the blurb above the recipes. Such-and-such a dish should be served with such-and-such rice and so-and-so salsa. Stir-fry A is good served alongside stir-fry B.
It occurred to me that by excluding plates of food that looked like replicas of meat-and-two-veg, I was hugely narrowing down my range of options. Why not serve one veg dish with a side of another veg dish?
This is basically burgers with relish and salad.
Chickpea fritters
Tin chickpeas, drained and rinsed
1/2 red onion, roughly chunked
1 clove garlic
1 tomato, roughly chunked
1 egg
2 tbs flour
1 tsp ground cumin seeds
1 tsp ground coriander seeds
1 tsp chilli flakes
Insert everything into a food processor and whizz until you've got a rough paste - unlikely to take more than a few seconds. Add a little more flour if the mixture looks very wet, although you're not going to form it into patties, so it doesn't have to be very stiff.
Heat a few tbs of oil in a wide frying pan, and swirl to coat. Dollop in heaped tablespoons of the mixture (you should get about six), and leave (don't try to prod them about or they will stick and collapse) until you can see them browning round the edges. Carefully slide under them with a fish slice, and flip over. Leave until equally brown on the other side.
Tsatsiki
1 clove garlic
1 tbs dried mint
3 tbs 0% fat greek yoghurt
1/4 cucumber
If you've got one of those grater attachments on your food processor, this is really easy. Actually, it's pretty easy anyway. Halve your cucumber lengthways and remove the seeds, then grate - either in 3 seconds on your food processor, or 3 minutes by hand. Tip the gratings onto a sheet of kitchen roll, top with another, and squidge to remove some of the water. Crush the clove of garlic very finely.
Tip all the ingredients into a bowl, stir, and season to taste - it will probably want a decent dose of salt.
Greek Salad
1/2 red onion (the other half from the patties)
1/4 cucumber (the remains of the half that you had to buy in a supermarket to make the Tsatsiki)
2 tomatoes
1 little gem lettuce, or similar
handful olives
1 tsp dried oregano
olive oil & red wine vinegar
Very thinly slice the red onion. Halve the cucumber lengthways, remove the seeds, and slice thinly into little C-shapes. Chop the tomatoes roughly. Tear the little gem up into mouth-sized pieces.
Again, combine everything in a bowl, with about 2 tbs oil and 2 of vinegar.
This makes a good amount for two fairly hungry people. If you're one, then cook all the patties, and freeze the remainder - they can be defrosted and then reheated in the oven a month or two later (when you come home just slightly too tipsy to cook); the salad will last long enough to have it for lunch, perhaps with a toasted pitta bread, the next day, with any leftover tsatsiki stirred in.
And then I started to run out of recipes. Worse - I ran out of ideas. I bought a new cookbook (Madhur Jaffrey's World Vegetarian Cookbook, for those who were wondering) and found myself furiously flicking through page after page searching for a dish that could comprise a whole meal. Then I started actually reading the blurb above the recipes. Such-and-such a dish should be served with such-and-such rice and so-and-so salsa. Stir-fry A is good served alongside stir-fry B.
It occurred to me that by excluding plates of food that looked like replicas of meat-and-two-veg, I was hugely narrowing down my range of options. Why not serve one veg dish with a side of another veg dish?
This is basically burgers with relish and salad.
Chickpea fritters
Tin chickpeas, drained and rinsed
1/2 red onion, roughly chunked
1 clove garlic
1 tomato, roughly chunked
1 egg
2 tbs flour
1 tsp ground cumin seeds
1 tsp ground coriander seeds
1 tsp chilli flakes
Insert everything into a food processor and whizz until you've got a rough paste - unlikely to take more than a few seconds. Add a little more flour if the mixture looks very wet, although you're not going to form it into patties, so it doesn't have to be very stiff.
Heat a few tbs of oil in a wide frying pan, and swirl to coat. Dollop in heaped tablespoons of the mixture (you should get about six), and leave (don't try to prod them about or they will stick and collapse) until you can see them browning round the edges. Carefully slide under them with a fish slice, and flip over. Leave until equally brown on the other side.
Tsatsiki
1 clove garlic
1 tbs dried mint
3 tbs 0% fat greek yoghurt
1/4 cucumber
If you've got one of those grater attachments on your food processor, this is really easy. Actually, it's pretty easy anyway. Halve your cucumber lengthways and remove the seeds, then grate - either in 3 seconds on your food processor, or 3 minutes by hand. Tip the gratings onto a sheet of kitchen roll, top with another, and squidge to remove some of the water. Crush the clove of garlic very finely.
Tip all the ingredients into a bowl, stir, and season to taste - it will probably want a decent dose of salt.
Greek Salad
1/2 red onion (the other half from the patties)
1/4 cucumber (the remains of the half that you had to buy in a supermarket to make the Tsatsiki)
2 tomatoes
1 little gem lettuce, or similar
handful olives
1 tsp dried oregano
olive oil & red wine vinegar
Very thinly slice the red onion. Halve the cucumber lengthways, remove the seeds, and slice thinly into little C-shapes. Chop the tomatoes roughly. Tear the little gem up into mouth-sized pieces.
Again, combine everything in a bowl, with about 2 tbs oil and 2 of vinegar.
This makes a good amount for two fairly hungry people. If you're one, then cook all the patties, and freeze the remainder - they can be defrosted and then reheated in the oven a month or two later (when you come home just slightly too tipsy to cook); the salad will last long enough to have it for lunch, perhaps with a toasted pitta bread, the next day, with any leftover tsatsiki stirred in.
Thursday 14 April 2011
Chicory and Celery Gratin
So. I feel this is something of a cheat of a blogpost. I wrote about a chicory gratin back in August, and this one isn't all that different.
It is, however, veggie, and at the moment, lack of meat in a recipe is all I care about. It's also just as tasty (perhaps more so, even... though the boy did note that it would be improved with a bit of bacon) and I am pleased with the walnut and thyme crust, which I shall now be using on top of anything I can imagine.
Quantities very easily halved (or just use one, not both, of the veg, which would save having small bits of random vegetables sitting in your fridge for the next week) for one person. You could presumably double up for a dinner party, too, although I'm not sure that this is really dinner party food.
And finally... a useful note about herbs. I've noted here that you can use two tablespooons of fresh thyme, or two teaspoons of dried thyme, and I generally find that to be a useful convertor (1 tbs fresh = same flavour punch as 1 tsp dried) for all herbs.
Chicory and celery gratin
2 heads chicory (aka endive), green or red
half a large head of celery
butter
More butter
Tbs flour
1/2 pint milk
200g gruyere
Four slices brown bread
100g walnuts
2 tbs fresh thyme, or 2 tsp dried thyme
glug of oil
Green salad, to serve
Start off by cutting your chicory in half lengthways, and by breaking off ribs (note: I *love* that celery sticks are called ribs. Something less like these it is hard to imagine.) from the head of celery, trimming any dried or dirty bits from the ends. Melt a decent slice of butter in a large frying pan (preferably one with a lid), and, once it bubbles, put the veg in, cut side down in the case of the chicory. Stick the lid on if you have one, and leave to sizzle for 10 minutes, shaking ocassionally, until they are slightly browned and softened.
I did some washing-up whilst they were cooking, but if you're not the sort to have a pile of 10 saucepans and an ice-cream maker in permanent residence next to your sink, you can make the cheese sauce during this time. Melt a tablespoon of butter in a saucepan, and stir in a tablespoon of flour. Cook for a minute until it turns deep golden, stirring all the time, then gradually mix in the milk, still stirring. Keep stirring as you heat the sauce, only stopping once it's boiled (when it stabilises). Leave to bubble very gently whilst you grate the cheese, then stir that in, together with a decent pinch of salt.
The final component is the breadcrumbs, which involve simply sticking everything except the oil into a food processor, whizzing until rough, then pouring in a decent glug of oil and whizzing again briefly, just to coat them all.
Construct the dish by putting first the veg, then the sauce, and then the crumbs into a baking dish. Bake for 20 minutes or so at 200 degrees, or until the sauce is attempting to bubble out of the dish and the crumbs have browned.
I don't normally make serving suggestions, but this really does need some kind of fresh green salad to go with it, preferably with a bit of crunch, to contrast with the sticky, rich, gratin. And a very crisp white wine, too.
It is, however, veggie, and at the moment, lack of meat in a recipe is all I care about. It's also just as tasty (perhaps more so, even... though the boy did note that it would be improved with a bit of bacon) and I am pleased with the walnut and thyme crust, which I shall now be using on top of anything I can imagine.
Quantities very easily halved (or just use one, not both, of the veg, which would save having small bits of random vegetables sitting in your fridge for the next week) for one person. You could presumably double up for a dinner party, too, although I'm not sure that this is really dinner party food.
And finally... a useful note about herbs. I've noted here that you can use two tablespooons of fresh thyme, or two teaspoons of dried thyme, and I generally find that to be a useful convertor (1 tbs fresh = same flavour punch as 1 tsp dried) for all herbs.
Chicory and celery gratin
2 heads chicory (aka endive), green or red
half a large head of celery
butter
More butter
Tbs flour
1/2 pint milk
200g gruyere
Four slices brown bread
100g walnuts
2 tbs fresh thyme, or 2 tsp dried thyme
glug of oil
Green salad, to serve
Start off by cutting your chicory in half lengthways, and by breaking off ribs (note: I *love* that celery sticks are called ribs. Something less like these it is hard to imagine.) from the head of celery, trimming any dried or dirty bits from the ends. Melt a decent slice of butter in a large frying pan (preferably one with a lid), and, once it bubbles, put the veg in, cut side down in the case of the chicory. Stick the lid on if you have one, and leave to sizzle for 10 minutes, shaking ocassionally, until they are slightly browned and softened.
I did some washing-up whilst they were cooking, but if you're not the sort to have a pile of 10 saucepans and an ice-cream maker in permanent residence next to your sink, you can make the cheese sauce during this time. Melt a tablespoon of butter in a saucepan, and stir in a tablespoon of flour. Cook for a minute until it turns deep golden, stirring all the time, then gradually mix in the milk, still stirring. Keep stirring as you heat the sauce, only stopping once it's boiled (when it stabilises). Leave to bubble very gently whilst you grate the cheese, then stir that in, together with a decent pinch of salt.
The final component is the breadcrumbs, which involve simply sticking everything except the oil into a food processor, whizzing until rough, then pouring in a decent glug of oil and whizzing again briefly, just to coat them all.
Construct the dish by putting first the veg, then the sauce, and then the crumbs into a baking dish. Bake for 20 minutes or so at 200 degrees, or until the sauce is attempting to bubble out of the dish and the crumbs have browned.
I don't normally make serving suggestions, but this really does need some kind of fresh green salad to go with it, preferably with a bit of crunch, to contrast with the sticky, rich, gratin. And a very crisp white wine, too.
Tuesday 12 April 2011
An omelette for not-quite-summer
After the gorgeous weather at the weekend, I was going to make a really light, herb-filled, summer omelette tonight. It's been just as sunny today, but the temperature has dropped somewhat, and dinner suddenly needed bulking up. I had a couple of mushrooms hanging around from making Nigella's Garlic Mushrooms (see note at the bottom for details...), and it occurred to me that they should add just the rich, meaty note I was in need of. Depending on your appetite, you could serve this as is, or with a piece of toast, or an entire garlic baguette!
Watercress and Mushroom Omelette
Two flat field mushrooms, or two handfuls of little mushrooms
Butter
Two eggs
Tsp dried tarragon (or 1 tbs of something fresh - parsley, dill, basil...)
50g watercress (about a large handful)
Tbs or so grated parmesan
Slice the mushrooms, and saute in plenty of butter and salt for five minutes. They need to go through the stages of absorbing the fat, releasing their juices, and then releasing the fat again; at the end they'll start to brown and this is when you need to whip them out of the pan.
Whilst the mushrooms are sizzling away, break the eggs into a bowl with more salt, some pepper, and the dried or fresh herbs, and whisk well. Chop the watercress and grate the parmesan.
Remove the mushrooms from the pan, tipping it to one side and letting any fat drip off them. Put the pan back on the heat, adding a very small further knob of butter; once the butter is sizzling again, tip in the eggs and shake vigorously (more on omelette skills here) for a minute.
Scatter the watercress and parmesan over, then top with the mushrooms. Turn the heat out, but leave the pan on it and stick either a lid or plate over to keep the heat in. The idea here is to slightly wilt the watercress and just melt the parmesan in the residual heat; it will take about as long as it takes you to get out a plate, knife, and fork, and pour a glass of wine.
PS. For Nigella's Garlic Mushrooms, just make a garlic butter with a tbs of butter, a crushed large clove garlic (use two if yours are only small or average size), and plenty of salt and pepper. Smear this over two flat field mushrooms, then roast at 200 degrees for 20-25 minutes. Serve with toast or (as she recommends) in a ciabatta bap.
Watercress and Mushroom Omelette
Two flat field mushrooms, or two handfuls of little mushrooms
Butter
Two eggs
Tsp dried tarragon (or 1 tbs of something fresh - parsley, dill, basil...)
50g watercress (about a large handful)
Tbs or so grated parmesan
Slice the mushrooms, and saute in plenty of butter and salt for five minutes. They need to go through the stages of absorbing the fat, releasing their juices, and then releasing the fat again; at the end they'll start to brown and this is when you need to whip them out of the pan.
Whilst the mushrooms are sizzling away, break the eggs into a bowl with more salt, some pepper, and the dried or fresh herbs, and whisk well. Chop the watercress and grate the parmesan.
Remove the mushrooms from the pan, tipping it to one side and letting any fat drip off them. Put the pan back on the heat, adding a very small further knob of butter; once the butter is sizzling again, tip in the eggs and shake vigorously (more on omelette skills here) for a minute.
Scatter the watercress and parmesan over, then top with the mushrooms. Turn the heat out, but leave the pan on it and stick either a lid or plate over to keep the heat in. The idea here is to slightly wilt the watercress and just melt the parmesan in the residual heat; it will take about as long as it takes you to get out a plate, knife, and fork, and pour a glass of wine.
PS. For Nigella's Garlic Mushrooms, just make a garlic butter with a tbs of butter, a crushed large clove garlic (use two if yours are only small or average size), and plenty of salt and pepper. Smear this over two flat field mushrooms, then roast at 200 degrees for 20-25 minutes. Serve with toast or (as she recommends) in a ciabatta bap.
Thursday 7 April 2011
Review: The Punter, Osney Island
I have lived in Oxford for nearly four years. I have never been punting.
And one more thing to get out of the way before I talk about the food: I think "The Punter" is a terrible pun of a name for a pub; even if it weren't for the fact (as I am informed by older, puntier, Oxford hands than I) that you can't actually punt on the stretch of the Thames that it looks out over. I am generally entirely in favour of the gastroisation of run-down little dives of pubs, but I fail to see the need to give them silly new names. This isn't an overly pretentious joint, so why the pretentious name?
Now. Food. Actually, no - one more thing first - the actual reason I chose to venture out to Osney Island in the first place. It was the first seriously warm and sunny day of the year, and I'd furiously been trying to think of somewhere to take the boy for lunch where we could sit outside. The best we'd come up with was the Turf Tavern, where, much as I love it, the menu definitely tends towards the cliche and the microwave, presumably thanks to their Greene King overlords. A stray tweet happened to alert me to a new foodie pub, and I managed to establish that it had a little patio overlooking the Thames. Sorted.
Osney Island is nearer than a north Oxford girl would expect, and we were settled in their peaceful little suntrap, staring rapt at the Thames, with a glass of Chardonnay and a pint of Aspall's cider, within a 10 minute walk of the city centre. The menu is short but would normally be plenty long enough for me; being a temporary veggie, though, my choices were somewhat limited. In the end, we decided to share a couple of starters and a main course between us, and all credit to a barman and a kitchen that are totally unfazed when you not only ask for this, but for them all to be served at the same time. So, within 15 minutes, we had on our table a purple sprouting broccoli, fig, and blue cheese salad, a massive portion of bruschetta with peppers and mozzarella, and a mixed veggie mezze platter.
The fig/blue cheese combo was familiar, but the pairing with broccoli was new to me, and it was a brilliant idea, helped along by PSB cooked to the perfection of toothsomeness. The bruschetta was equally an old idea, tarted up to new levels. They could have got away with less basil; less well roasted peppers; cheaper mozzarella; this is clearly the sort of place that cares more about making good food than saving money, though.
I think I might have felt a little disappointed with the size of the mezze platter (supposedly the main course) if I had ordered it alone, but all the components were superb. Ok, so it doesn't take much skill to buy the best feta you can land your hands on and stick it on a plate, but it does take skill to make baba ghanoush. This example was easily the best I've had: voluptuously silky, sweet, and gorgeously spiced. Even the boy liked it, and he claims not to like aubergines. There were also sun-dried tomatoes; olives; bread; hummus; tsatsiki; a butternut squash, goat's cheese, and pine nut pate; and a cumin-spiked carrot salad. I did feel that it could have done with one less dippy thing and one more solid though - a couple of falafel or stuffed vine leaves wouldn't have gone amiss.
I'll be back in future, partly to sample the rest of the menu and use their heaven of a patio again, but also to take advantage of their £5 lunchtime main courses - if the quality of our meal was anything to go by, this must be a massive steal of a deal.
Finally, huge thanks to Jessica Mann, the drinks writer for the Oxford Mail, for recommending the place to me in the first place. Here's to the series on outdoors eateries!
The Punter
And one more thing to get out of the way before I talk about the food: I think "The Punter" is a terrible pun of a name for a pub; even if it weren't for the fact (as I am informed by older, puntier, Oxford hands than I) that you can't actually punt on the stretch of the Thames that it looks out over. I am generally entirely in favour of the gastroisation of run-down little dives of pubs, but I fail to see the need to give them silly new names. This isn't an overly pretentious joint, so why the pretentious name?
Now. Food. Actually, no - one more thing first - the actual reason I chose to venture out to Osney Island in the first place. It was the first seriously warm and sunny day of the year, and I'd furiously been trying to think of somewhere to take the boy for lunch where we could sit outside. The best we'd come up with was the Turf Tavern, where, much as I love it, the menu definitely tends towards the cliche and the microwave, presumably thanks to their Greene King overlords. A stray tweet happened to alert me to a new foodie pub, and I managed to establish that it had a little patio overlooking the Thames. Sorted.
Osney Island is nearer than a north Oxford girl would expect, and we were settled in their peaceful little suntrap, staring rapt at the Thames, with a glass of Chardonnay and a pint of Aspall's cider, within a 10 minute walk of the city centre. The menu is short but would normally be plenty long enough for me; being a temporary veggie, though, my choices were somewhat limited. In the end, we decided to share a couple of starters and a main course between us, and all credit to a barman and a kitchen that are totally unfazed when you not only ask for this, but for them all to be served at the same time. So, within 15 minutes, we had on our table a purple sprouting broccoli, fig, and blue cheese salad, a massive portion of bruschetta with peppers and mozzarella, and a mixed veggie mezze platter.
The fig/blue cheese combo was familiar, but the pairing with broccoli was new to me, and it was a brilliant idea, helped along by PSB cooked to the perfection of toothsomeness. The bruschetta was equally an old idea, tarted up to new levels. They could have got away with less basil; less well roasted peppers; cheaper mozzarella; this is clearly the sort of place that cares more about making good food than saving money, though.
I think I might have felt a little disappointed with the size of the mezze platter (supposedly the main course) if I had ordered it alone, but all the components were superb. Ok, so it doesn't take much skill to buy the best feta you can land your hands on and stick it on a plate, but it does take skill to make baba ghanoush. This example was easily the best I've had: voluptuously silky, sweet, and gorgeously spiced. Even the boy liked it, and he claims not to like aubergines. There were also sun-dried tomatoes; olives; bread; hummus; tsatsiki; a butternut squash, goat's cheese, and pine nut pate; and a cumin-spiked carrot salad. I did feel that it could have done with one less dippy thing and one more solid though - a couple of falafel or stuffed vine leaves wouldn't have gone amiss.
I'll be back in future, partly to sample the rest of the menu and use their heaven of a patio again, but also to take advantage of their £5 lunchtime main courses - if the quality of our meal was anything to go by, this must be a massive steal of a deal.
Finally, huge thanks to Jessica Mann, the drinks writer for the Oxford Mail, for recommending the place to me in the first place. Here's to the series on outdoors eateries!
The Punter
Tuesday 29 March 2011
Rabbit food
As some of you might know, I've gone vegetarian for Lent. With the possible exception a few of the times I had to eat out (I'm not sure I ever want to see another sweet potato/goat's cheese combo again in my life), it's been easy, fun and has prompted me to cook a lot more inventively than I would do usually.
I'm afraid that all kind of ended in the last couple of days; a boredom with beans culminated in a microwaved mushroom pasta for dinner tonight. This was the last thing I managed to think up before my brain collapsed into a bacon-deprived haze.
Purple Sprouting Broccoli Stir-fry
1 onion
Groundnut or other non-olive oil
1 clove garlic
1/2 tsp dried chilli flakes
100g purple sprouting broccoli
handful cashew nuts
2 tbs rice wine or dry sherry
2 tbs water
1 tbs soy sauce
1 tbs toasted sesame oil
Thinly slice the onion; thinly slice the garlic clove; chop the PSB into roughly three bite-size portions, depending on the size of your broccoli and the size of your bite; and roughly chop the cashews.
Heat a tbs or so of oil in a wok, and, once hot, throw in the onion; stir-fry over a high heat until well browned. Lower the heat slightly, then add the garlic, chilli, PSB, and cashews. Stir-fry again for a couple of minutes, until the garlic and PSB are slightly browned.
Tip in the wine, water, and soy, and bubble for a minute or two until reduced to a slightly sticky sauce. Add the sesame oil, then serve.
I had this as it was, but if you wanted to bulk it up with some rice or noodles, I'd suggest adding about twice the amount of all the liquids, so that there's enough sauce for that too.
I'm afraid that all kind of ended in the last couple of days; a boredom with beans culminated in a microwaved mushroom pasta for dinner tonight. This was the last thing I managed to think up before my brain collapsed into a bacon-deprived haze.
Purple Sprouting Broccoli Stir-fry
1 onion
Groundnut or other non-olive oil
1 clove garlic
1/2 tsp dried chilli flakes
100g purple sprouting broccoli
handful cashew nuts
2 tbs rice wine or dry sherry
2 tbs water
1 tbs soy sauce
1 tbs toasted sesame oil
Thinly slice the onion; thinly slice the garlic clove; chop the PSB into roughly three bite-size portions, depending on the size of your broccoli and the size of your bite; and roughly chop the cashews.
Heat a tbs or so of oil in a wok, and, once hot, throw in the onion; stir-fry over a high heat until well browned. Lower the heat slightly, then add the garlic, chilli, PSB, and cashews. Stir-fry again for a couple of minutes, until the garlic and PSB are slightly browned.
Tip in the wine, water, and soy, and bubble for a minute or two until reduced to a slightly sticky sauce. Add the sesame oil, then serve.
I had this as it was, but if you wanted to bulk it up with some rice or noodles, I'd suggest adding about twice the amount of all the liquids, so that there's enough sauce for that too.
Thursday 24 March 2011
Aubergine, Mozzarella
The food I eat on my own often falls more in to the category of "snack" than meal; even when it's a meal-sized plate of food, it's likely to be just protein, or just veg, or just carbs, rather than a well constructed mixture of the three. A lot of the time I'd be happy just munching on a chunk of cheese and perhaps a pickle or two, though I usually manage to construct something a little more nutritious than that. This falls somewhere between the two camps: very few elements, all simple tasty things on their own, very little cooking time, but all the same a sensible, proper meal.
An aubergine and mozzarella supper for one
1 aubergine
Jar of harissa paste
1 ball (c. 125g) mozzarella (use the best/most expensive stuff you can buy without feeling guilty about it)
Garlic bread/crusty bread to serve
Top and tail your aubergine, then slice into rounds roughly 5mm in thickness. No need for tape measures, but if they're too thick they'll burn without cooking through, and if they're too thin they'll just burn plain and simple. Spread them out on a grill pan; I find mine is generally just the right size for an aubergine's worth of slices, but do yours in two batches if not.
Mix a tbs of oil into the harissa paste to loosen the thickness, then brush a very thin layer of the flavoured oil and paste over both side of each slice of aubergine. Keep the amount of paste to an absolute minimum - it's spicy stuff - unless you are normally the kind of person who eats a vindaloo for breakfast.
Stick under the grill and grill until well browned (almost until they start catching and burning), then turn over and repeat on the other side. On my grill, this takes about 3-4 minutes per side, but grills vary so much in strength that you're just going to have to watch over them like a hawk so that you can whip them out at the right moment.
Stick on a plate with the ball of mozzarella and the bread. Eat.
Then, of course, I want those same flavours when I'm cooking for two, but putting a few slices of grilled veg on a plate with a ball of cheese and a slice of bread feels slightly underwhelming when there's more than one of you. So this is how to turn it into a "proper" meal:
And a bigger aubergine and mozzarella salad for two
In addition to the above...
1 other vegetable, perhaps a red onion or a courgette
100g or so of cherry tomatoes
bag salad leaves (I'd suggest rocket or spinach)
juice 1/2 a lemon
...and you'll need to up your quantity of whatever bread you've chosen, too
Repeat the harissa-grilling method with your chosen other vegetable; you'll probably need to add another tbs or so of oil to the jar of harissa to get enough for this.
Chuck the grilled veg into a bowl with the cherry tomatoes (which you've halved or quartered according to how big they are and how little you like them), salad leaves, the lemon juice, and a drop more oil from the harissa jar if it all looks a bit dry at this stage.
Rip your mozzarella roughly into half (taking care to reserve the larger half for yourself), then place on plates. Serve the salad and the bread on the table separately, helping yourselves according to likes and appetites.
An aubergine and mozzarella supper for one
1 aubergine
Jar of harissa paste
1 ball (c. 125g) mozzarella (use the best/most expensive stuff you can buy without feeling guilty about it)
Garlic bread/crusty bread to serve
Top and tail your aubergine, then slice into rounds roughly 5mm in thickness. No need for tape measures, but if they're too thick they'll burn without cooking through, and if they're too thin they'll just burn plain and simple. Spread them out on a grill pan; I find mine is generally just the right size for an aubergine's worth of slices, but do yours in two batches if not.
Mix a tbs of oil into the harissa paste to loosen the thickness, then brush a very thin layer of the flavoured oil and paste over both side of each slice of aubergine. Keep the amount of paste to an absolute minimum - it's spicy stuff - unless you are normally the kind of person who eats a vindaloo for breakfast.
Stick under the grill and grill until well browned (almost until they start catching and burning), then turn over and repeat on the other side. On my grill, this takes about 3-4 minutes per side, but grills vary so much in strength that you're just going to have to watch over them like a hawk so that you can whip them out at the right moment.
Stick on a plate with the ball of mozzarella and the bread. Eat.
Then, of course, I want those same flavours when I'm cooking for two, but putting a few slices of grilled veg on a plate with a ball of cheese and a slice of bread feels slightly underwhelming when there's more than one of you. So this is how to turn it into a "proper" meal:
And a bigger aubergine and mozzarella salad for two
In addition to the above...
1 other vegetable, perhaps a red onion or a courgette
100g or so of cherry tomatoes
bag salad leaves (I'd suggest rocket or spinach)
juice 1/2 a lemon
...and you'll need to up your quantity of whatever bread you've chosen, too
Repeat the harissa-grilling method with your chosen other vegetable; you'll probably need to add another tbs or so of oil to the jar of harissa to get enough for this.
Chuck the grilled veg into a bowl with the cherry tomatoes (which you've halved or quartered according to how big they are and how little you like them), salad leaves, the lemon juice, and a drop more oil from the harissa jar if it all looks a bit dry at this stage.
Rip your mozzarella roughly into half (taking care to reserve the larger half for yourself), then place on plates. Serve the salad and the bread on the table separately, helping yourselves according to likes and appetites.
Monday 7 March 2011
Mushroom and Goat's Cheese Tagliatelle
This is a rich, luxurious pasta dish. It's not a speedy one, and will demand a good half hour of your attention; but that half hour is one of gentle chopping and stirring which should slowly stroke away the stresses of your Monday.
Mushroom and Goat's Cheese Tagliatelle
1/2 onion
1 large clove garlic
4 large chestnut mushrooms
10g dried porcini
1/2 tsp dried tarragon
200ml boiling water
100ml white wine
75g tagliatelle
100g goats' cheese
1/2 tsp truffle oil
Finely chop the onion and garlic. Chop and slice the mushrooms so you have a variety of different shapes and thicknesses. Soak the dried porcini and dried tarragon in the boiling water (they will probably want around 15 minutes).
Heat a teaspoon of butter in a small saucepan, over a low heat, and gently saute the onion for 10 minutes or so, until it is soft and slightly yellow, but without browning it. Add the garlic, and saute for another minute or two, until it loses its sharp white colour. Add the fresh mushrooms, a decent pinch of salt, and saute for a couple of minutes until they start giving up their juices.
Around the same time, get the pasta water on to boil, and tip in the pasta.
Turn up the heat slightly on the mushroom pan. Remove the dried porcini from their soaking liquid (keeping the liquid itself), and chop them roughly, then add to the mushroom pan and stir in to the rest of the mixture. Tip in the wine and boil until you stop smelling the strong alcohol evaporating off: around a minute. Then add the soaking liquid from the dried porcini, stopping before you get to any gritty bits at the bottom. Bring to a gentle boil and reduce until you just have a little liquid left in the pan.
Chop the goats' cheese into 1 cm chunks. Drain the pasta and tip into the mushroom sauce pan; stir well until coated. Tip in the goats' cheese and truffle oil, stir briefly, then serve.
Mushroom and Goat's Cheese Tagliatelle
1/2 onion
1 large clove garlic
4 large chestnut mushrooms
10g dried porcini
1/2 tsp dried tarragon
200ml boiling water
100ml white wine
75g tagliatelle
100g goats' cheese
1/2 tsp truffle oil
Finely chop the onion and garlic. Chop and slice the mushrooms so you have a variety of different shapes and thicknesses. Soak the dried porcini and dried tarragon in the boiling water (they will probably want around 15 minutes).
Heat a teaspoon of butter in a small saucepan, over a low heat, and gently saute the onion for 10 minutes or so, until it is soft and slightly yellow, but without browning it. Add the garlic, and saute for another minute or two, until it loses its sharp white colour. Add the fresh mushrooms, a decent pinch of salt, and saute for a couple of minutes until they start giving up their juices.
Around the same time, get the pasta water on to boil, and tip in the pasta.
Turn up the heat slightly on the mushroom pan. Remove the dried porcini from their soaking liquid (keeping the liquid itself), and chop them roughly, then add to the mushroom pan and stir in to the rest of the mixture. Tip in the wine and boil until you stop smelling the strong alcohol evaporating off: around a minute. Then add the soaking liquid from the dried porcini, stopping before you get to any gritty bits at the bottom. Bring to a gentle boil and reduce until you just have a little liquid left in the pan.
Chop the goats' cheese into 1 cm chunks. Drain the pasta and tip into the mushroom sauce pan; stir well until coated. Tip in the goats' cheese and truffle oil, stir briefly, then serve.
Wednesday 12 January 2011
Not for one
It is, frankly, impossible to cook risotto for one person.
I've tried it a couple of times in the last few months, and just produced enough for two people anyway. Rather like Salad Nicoise, there are too many individual components. Not that this is necessarily a bad thing: leftover risotto can be pretty good, even (especially?) when eaten cold from the fridge at 2 a.m..
Although, although... risotto has always been such a labour of love for me, so much something to be shared, that I've found myself slightly reluctant to make it for just myself. I think this lies partly in the time it takes, the forty minutes or so of standing at a hot stove working your arms muscles for all they can give (and that's before we get onto the stock; more on that beneath): you need someone you love waiting at the other end of that. The other aspect is its soft, warm, comforting texture. I've made fresh-tasting risottos before (see here for a lemon/chilli/prawn one...), but what really makes me happy is the kind of risotto that simply smothers you in a giant cuddle.
And now I find myself cooking for one less and less often, and cooking for two more and more, and I want to cook food that says "I love you" more and more. There's just one problem: my favourite risotto contains mushrooms, and the boy in question is allergic to mushrooms.
So, I have to find a new comfort blanket of flavours, and let go of the old habits. For the rest of you lovers, here's the recipe I won't be cooking in the future. In essentials, it's what I remember from standing at my mother's knee since before I can remember, although she'd never have added the truffle oil at the end, and she always used arborio rice. I like vialone nano these days - the shape takes slightly longer to cook, so it's easier to catch at the al dente stage, but carnaroli is good (better than arborio) and more widely available.
I learned my snobbery about homemade stock at my mother's knee, too, although *guilty look* I do sometimes use the shop-bought fresh stuff, which can often be sufficiently glutinous, and you could do the same here if for some reason you've let your freezer run out of homemade. Stock cubes and their many variants simply won't cut it - risotto needs the juice of animal bones (preferably those of a free-range or organic bird that's been running round strengthening them all its life) to be really good.
Chicken and mushroom risotto, for two
1 onion, finely chopped
2 cloves garlic, crushed
A dessertspoon or so of butter, and a drop or two of olive oil
A couple of handfuls of mushrooms, sliced
150 g risotto rice
A glass of white wine, or half a glass of dry sherry if you're not planning on opening a bottle to drink with dinner anyway
A couple of handfuls of leftover chicken
750 ml - 1 l chicken stock
Another dessertspoon of butter
50 g grated parmesan, plus more still in block to grate over at the end
A teaspoon (or maybe more...) truffle oil
Heat the butter and oil in a large saucepan over a medium heat, and, once the butter starts to fizzle a little, add the onion and fry gently for five minutes or so until it goes all translucent, but doesn't colour. Add the garlic, fry for another minute without letting it catch on the bottom of the pan, then tip in the mushrooms. You'll probably need to add a little more butter here, as the mushrooms will absorb quite a bit, and this is a good stage to do an initial seasoning: I would just use a little pinch of salt here (don't forget you'll add parmesan later, which will also add salt), but my mother would have added lots of pepper, and you could too, if that's your thing. Fry for another couple of minutes until the mushrooms wilt a little and start releasing their juices.
At the same time, pop another saucepan on to heat and stick the stock in there. Don't bring it all the way up to a boil, but get it suitably steamy.
Add the rice, and fry for another minute. This is important, and most recipes won't tell you to do it, but you're aiming to get the rice to soak up some of the butter and to also toast a little. Then tip in the wine or sherry and allow to bubble furiously for a minute until you don't get instantly drunk if you accidentally inhale the steam.
Then comes the steady stage of adding a ladleful of stock, stirring, waiting for it to be absorbed and to evaporate slightly, and repeating for fifteen or twenty minutes. The time and quantity of liquid required depends on so many variables (the exact heat of both the risotto and stock pans, the variety, age, etc, of the rice, how often you stir, etc, etc...) that your only option after about ten minutes is to taste, and taste, and taste again, until the rice has reached whatever your preferred level of dente might be.
At this point, turn the heat off and stir in the extra butter and the initial lot of parmesan (this is what you'll sometimes hear called mantecare, or feeding the risotto - I like the latter term because it hints that the risotto is now a living creature in need of food, which is how I see it). Leave to sit for a couple of minutes, then stir in the truffle oil, and check for seasoning again.
Serve in wide bowls with plenty more parmesan to grate over.
PS. Diane Henry's wonderful and inspiring book, Food from Plenty, has a promising recipe for Chicken and Parsley risotto. Wish me luck.
I've tried it a couple of times in the last few months, and just produced enough for two people anyway. Rather like Salad Nicoise, there are too many individual components. Not that this is necessarily a bad thing: leftover risotto can be pretty good, even (especially?) when eaten cold from the fridge at 2 a.m..
Although, although... risotto has always been such a labour of love for me, so much something to be shared, that I've found myself slightly reluctant to make it for just myself. I think this lies partly in the time it takes, the forty minutes or so of standing at a hot stove working your arms muscles for all they can give (and that's before we get onto the stock; more on that beneath): you need someone you love waiting at the other end of that. The other aspect is its soft, warm, comforting texture. I've made fresh-tasting risottos before (see here for a lemon/chilli/prawn one...), but what really makes me happy is the kind of risotto that simply smothers you in a giant cuddle.
And now I find myself cooking for one less and less often, and cooking for two more and more, and I want to cook food that says "I love you" more and more. There's just one problem: my favourite risotto contains mushrooms, and the boy in question is allergic to mushrooms.
So, I have to find a new comfort blanket of flavours, and let go of the old habits. For the rest of you lovers, here's the recipe I won't be cooking in the future. In essentials, it's what I remember from standing at my mother's knee since before I can remember, although she'd never have added the truffle oil at the end, and she always used arborio rice. I like vialone nano these days - the shape takes slightly longer to cook, so it's easier to catch at the al dente stage, but carnaroli is good (better than arborio) and more widely available.
I learned my snobbery about homemade stock at my mother's knee, too, although *guilty look* I do sometimes use the shop-bought fresh stuff, which can often be sufficiently glutinous, and you could do the same here if for some reason you've let your freezer run out of homemade. Stock cubes and their many variants simply won't cut it - risotto needs the juice of animal bones (preferably those of a free-range or organic bird that's been running round strengthening them all its life) to be really good.
Chicken and mushroom risotto, for two
1 onion, finely chopped
2 cloves garlic, crushed
A dessertspoon or so of butter, and a drop or two of olive oil
A couple of handfuls of mushrooms, sliced
150 g risotto rice
A glass of white wine, or half a glass of dry sherry if you're not planning on opening a bottle to drink with dinner anyway
A couple of handfuls of leftover chicken
750 ml - 1 l chicken stock
Another dessertspoon of butter
50 g grated parmesan, plus more still in block to grate over at the end
A teaspoon (or maybe more...) truffle oil
Heat the butter and oil in a large saucepan over a medium heat, and, once the butter starts to fizzle a little, add the onion and fry gently for five minutes or so until it goes all translucent, but doesn't colour. Add the garlic, fry for another minute without letting it catch on the bottom of the pan, then tip in the mushrooms. You'll probably need to add a little more butter here, as the mushrooms will absorb quite a bit, and this is a good stage to do an initial seasoning: I would just use a little pinch of salt here (don't forget you'll add parmesan later, which will also add salt), but my mother would have added lots of pepper, and you could too, if that's your thing. Fry for another couple of minutes until the mushrooms wilt a little and start releasing their juices.
At the same time, pop another saucepan on to heat and stick the stock in there. Don't bring it all the way up to a boil, but get it suitably steamy.
Add the rice, and fry for another minute. This is important, and most recipes won't tell you to do it, but you're aiming to get the rice to soak up some of the butter and to also toast a little. Then tip in the wine or sherry and allow to bubble furiously for a minute until you don't get instantly drunk if you accidentally inhale the steam.
Then comes the steady stage of adding a ladleful of stock, stirring, waiting for it to be absorbed and to evaporate slightly, and repeating for fifteen or twenty minutes. The time and quantity of liquid required depends on so many variables (the exact heat of both the risotto and stock pans, the variety, age, etc, of the rice, how often you stir, etc, etc...) that your only option after about ten minutes is to taste, and taste, and taste again, until the rice has reached whatever your preferred level of dente might be.
At this point, turn the heat off and stir in the extra butter and the initial lot of parmesan (this is what you'll sometimes hear called mantecare, or feeding the risotto - I like the latter term because it hints that the risotto is now a living creature in need of food, which is how I see it). Leave to sit for a couple of minutes, then stir in the truffle oil, and check for seasoning again.
Serve in wide bowls with plenty more parmesan to grate over.
PS. Diane Henry's wonderful and inspiring book, Food from Plenty, has a promising recipe for Chicken and Parsley risotto. Wish me luck.
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