I'm back at my parents' for a few days, cat (and house) sitting whilst they're away. At this time of year, that can mean only one thing: courgette flowers for dinner. I tried to grow my own plant this year but it remains a scrawny little runt, and I'm beginning to doubt that it will ever produce anything edible.
So I seized the opportunity for some courgette consumption tonight with a homegrown two-course dinner. Either one of these dishes, on its own with a salad or a pudding (or both) would easily make a good dinner. I ate both.
Stuffed courgette flowers
You can find a million recipes for stuffed courgette flowers on t'internet, so for some time I doubted the need to give you one at all. I'd also encourage you to experiment with various different fillings until you find your favourite. That said, I'll always go for the near-instant herb and cheese mixtures over risotto (who ever has leftovers when they make risotto?) or crab, which I tend not to have hanging around in my fridge waiting for a courgette flower to blossom.
Here's my favourite combo:
2 courgette flowers
3 tbs grated parmesan
grated zest of half a lemon, plus a teeny squeeze of juice
1 tbs finely chopped mint
1 tbs cornflour
1 egg white
Combine the parmesan, lemon zest, and mint, adding just enough lemon juice to get it into a sticky paste. Very, very delicately open up the courgette flowers and, using a teaspoon, slide the stuffing in. Push the petals back together then twist them together at the top to seal in the stuffing.
In a bowl large enough to fit both stuffed flowers, whisk together the cornflour and egg white. Dip the flowers in and gently turn with your hands to get them coated all over.
Heat a generous layer of oil in a frying pan and heat until a spot of batter, dripped in, sizzles immediately. Place the flowers in. They'll need turning round probably twice, to get all sides crispy - they tend to need two minutes per side but just check and flip when the batter gets golden.
Remove to a piece of kitchen roll to drain, then serve. Best eaten with fingers.
Roasted courgette and feta
I've recently twigged that several supermarkets (well, Sainsbury's and Waitrose, at least) do half-size tins of tomatoes. What fabulous news for single cooks! No more half open tins growing new life forms at the back of the fridge.
1 large (or two smaller) courgette
small tin tomatoes
100g feta
Slice the courgette into thick rounds, toss with a drizzle of oil, and roast for 20 minutes at 220 degrees until starting to brown round the edges. Tip in the tin of tomatoes and crumble over the feta. Return to the oven for a further 10 minutes, or until the feta is starting to brown.
Remove from the oven and leave to cool slightly. Serve with crusty bread for dunking, and maybe a few salad leaves.
Friday 17 August 2012
Saturday 5 May 2012
The Gastropub
I am the target market for gastropubs. I know this because a man from Young's, the brewers and pub chain, once said to me "Katy, you're the target market for gastropubs" before giving me £30 to talk for an hour about what I like to see in a gastropub. So why is it that I never actually seem to like them?
I can just about remember the days before gastropubs had spread like a rash across city centres, although by the time I could legally drink there were very few places left where it was impossible to get a decent glass of wine in a pub. Unreconstructed personal favourites are my first local, The Harrow Inn (my god: they now have a website) and until recently the Harcourt Arms in Jericho (website, or for the story of its recent change see the Daily Info reviews). I knew I'd never get a decent drink in them, but I loved them all the same.
What I don't love is snooty service, "dining areas" which seem to consist of the entire pub less a single sofa, and sub-standard food. The Red Lion didn't get itself off onto the right foot with me the first time I dropped in, at around 10.30 on a Wednesday night, and settled down at a table only to be told I was in the dining area and would have to move. Given the pub was nearly empty, and the kitchen had closed for the night, I intended never to return. But a group of colleagues adopted it as a Friday after-work venue, and so I've been in a few times since and had a few glasses of nice wine; so, when I needed a quick bite in the Gloucester Green vicinity last week, I had no qualms about trying them out.
It began so well, with a very friendly waiter showing us to a delightful beige-carpeted mezzanine section of the dining area. Extra bonus points were gained for nailing me as a Viognier-drinker and instantly recommending a bottle from the list. There's also an excellent range of beers on offer, both trad real ales and some interesting European wheat beers. The menu looked interesting, and I want to love any place that does scallops of the day, though if those scallops of the day are curried, with a pineapple and celeriac salad, I'm less tempted. We really just wanted some fast comfort food, so one of us went for the gammon, egg, and chips (or Maple Spit Gammon, Hen's Egg, and Frites, as the menu would prefer), one for a vegetable pizza, and two of us (including me) chose the cannelloni, probably because amongst fifteen non-pizza main dishes, it was the only vegetarian option. So, let's start with the positive: the pizza toppings were generous and reportedly tasty.
I realise that in any food outlet serving sixteen different mains, nine pizzas, nine starters, eight sharing starters, and nine "for the tables", a certain amount of re-heating and packet food is going to have to occur. But I do object when the phrase "al forno" is used on the menu when "al microwave" has clearly been used on my plate. There's a certain kind of skin that forms on a white sauce under the influence of electronic zaps, and it isn't a nice one. We were also disappointed not to find any of the promised butternut within the dish. Spinach and ricotta cannelloni is nice, but it isn't what we were sold. It might not be entirely fair to ask the world's biggest ham-egg-and-chips fan to review The Red Lion, but he was also underwhelmed, by an over-cooked egg and over-cooked chips (sorry: frites).
The Red Lion clearly do wine and beer very well, and since my first visit also seem to have excellent serving staff. They might do a lot better if they focussed more on these pub elements and less on the gastro.
One place I don't mind focussing on the gastro, though, is The Black Boy in Headington. There, the problem lies distinctly with the service, where they still don't understand that if the kitchen has closed, it might be ok to let drinkers sit in the "dining area". Last time I visited they claimed we wouldn't be able to use a table "because they were already set up for tomorrow's lunch service". They relented under some pressure, but I object to having to argue for a table every time I want a couple of glasses of wine.
However: the food is superb. It is pricier than most pubs, and has a more restricted menu (nine starters, eleven mains) but this is reflected in the quality both of the ingredients and of the care taken in the kitchen. I've eaten there on several occasions with a large group of friends and have yet to hear a complaint about the food. Personally, I've sampled the gravadlax and the beetroot and feta salad starters, and have also had their bavette steak frites - an underused cut which needs to be handled carefully, and it was when I had it - and the mushroom and spinach cannelloni. We established earlier that this was a dish all-too-tempting to be lazy with, but at The Black Boy I had one of the richest and most delicious versions I've ever had.
There's something to be said for any company who keep pubs making profits in the current economic climate, but I do worry that, once we all get over our excitement about the nice carpets and the nice wine list, they'll go to the same end. And with plenty of people out there in Oxford doing good gastropubbiness, like The Rickety Press (reviewed by Girl Eats Oxford, also featuring her thoughts on gastropubs), their sister pub The Rusty Bicycle, and regular haunt of mine, The Royal Oak, it might be time for others to try and meet the same standards.
I can just about remember the days before gastropubs had spread like a rash across city centres, although by the time I could legally drink there were very few places left where it was impossible to get a decent glass of wine in a pub. Unreconstructed personal favourites are my first local, The Harrow Inn (my god: they now have a website) and until recently the Harcourt Arms in Jericho (website, or for the story of its recent change see the Daily Info reviews). I knew I'd never get a decent drink in them, but I loved them all the same.
What I don't love is snooty service, "dining areas" which seem to consist of the entire pub less a single sofa, and sub-standard food. The Red Lion didn't get itself off onto the right foot with me the first time I dropped in, at around 10.30 on a Wednesday night, and settled down at a table only to be told I was in the dining area and would have to move. Given the pub was nearly empty, and the kitchen had closed for the night, I intended never to return. But a group of colleagues adopted it as a Friday after-work venue, and so I've been in a few times since and had a few glasses of nice wine; so, when I needed a quick bite in the Gloucester Green vicinity last week, I had no qualms about trying them out.
It began so well, with a very friendly waiter showing us to a delightful beige-carpeted mezzanine section of the dining area. Extra bonus points were gained for nailing me as a Viognier-drinker and instantly recommending a bottle from the list. There's also an excellent range of beers on offer, both trad real ales and some interesting European wheat beers. The menu looked interesting, and I want to love any place that does scallops of the day, though if those scallops of the day are curried, with a pineapple and celeriac salad, I'm less tempted. We really just wanted some fast comfort food, so one of us went for the gammon, egg, and chips (or Maple Spit Gammon, Hen's Egg, and Frites, as the menu would prefer), one for a vegetable pizza, and two of us (including me) chose the cannelloni, probably because amongst fifteen non-pizza main dishes, it was the only vegetarian option. So, let's start with the positive: the pizza toppings were generous and reportedly tasty.
I realise that in any food outlet serving sixteen different mains, nine pizzas, nine starters, eight sharing starters, and nine "for the tables", a certain amount of re-heating and packet food is going to have to occur. But I do object when the phrase "al forno" is used on the menu when "al microwave" has clearly been used on my plate. There's a certain kind of skin that forms on a white sauce under the influence of electronic zaps, and it isn't a nice one. We were also disappointed not to find any of the promised butternut within the dish. Spinach and ricotta cannelloni is nice, but it isn't what we were sold. It might not be entirely fair to ask the world's biggest ham-egg-and-chips fan to review The Red Lion, but he was also underwhelmed, by an over-cooked egg and over-cooked chips (sorry: frites).
The Red Lion clearly do wine and beer very well, and since my first visit also seem to have excellent serving staff. They might do a lot better if they focussed more on these pub elements and less on the gastro.
One place I don't mind focussing on the gastro, though, is The Black Boy in Headington. There, the problem lies distinctly with the service, where they still don't understand that if the kitchen has closed, it might be ok to let drinkers sit in the "dining area". Last time I visited they claimed we wouldn't be able to use a table "because they were already set up for tomorrow's lunch service". They relented under some pressure, but I object to having to argue for a table every time I want a couple of glasses of wine.
However: the food is superb. It is pricier than most pubs, and has a more restricted menu (nine starters, eleven mains) but this is reflected in the quality both of the ingredients and of the care taken in the kitchen. I've eaten there on several occasions with a large group of friends and have yet to hear a complaint about the food. Personally, I've sampled the gravadlax and the beetroot and feta salad starters, and have also had their bavette steak frites - an underused cut which needs to be handled carefully, and it was when I had it - and the mushroom and spinach cannelloni. We established earlier that this was a dish all-too-tempting to be lazy with, but at The Black Boy I had one of the richest and most delicious versions I've ever had.
There's something to be said for any company who keep pubs making profits in the current economic climate, but I do worry that, once we all get over our excitement about the nice carpets and the nice wine list, they'll go to the same end. And with plenty of people out there in Oxford doing good gastropubbiness, like The Rickety Press (reviewed by Girl Eats Oxford, also featuring her thoughts on gastropubs), their sister pub The Rusty Bicycle, and regular haunt of mine, The Royal Oak, it might be time for others to try and meet the same standards.
Monday 30 April 2012
Food for Hipsters
Last weekend, I went to my local independent record store and bought an Record Store Day exclusive single (in see-through vinyl, natch) from a singer recommended to me by Vogue. I caught myself admiring someone's skinny red trousers in a meeting a fortnight ago. I've used a moleskine as my notebook-of-choice for some years. And after that vinyl-purchasing episode, I went to my local farmers' market and bought local vegetables you won't have heard of.
It's just about enough to make me qualify for hipster-status.
As I'm close, I may as well go all the way and cook some hipster food. Here are two great, quick pasta suppers (are we allowed to say supper now that David Cameron has used it? Should I call it tea instead?) which are sufficiently "authentic" and obscure to impress even those friends who possess no clothes other than checked shirts. Each serves two.
Smoked trout and sorrel
Smoked trout is just like smoked salmon, except without the complex ethical considerations (wild destroys stocks, farmed is diseased, organic is unethical behaviour towards my wallet). At least, the stuff I bought at my local farmers' market is. I can't promise anything if you shop at Tesco. Sorrel is a lemony-flavoured version of spinach, so in dire straits you can use spinach instead and add the juice of half a lemon to the sauce.
This would also be great with another hipster ingredient, a handful of wild garlic, added at the same time as the sorrel. Just don't mention that your "foraging" of it consisted of a stroll to the end of Mummy and Daddy's garden.*
150g pasta
120g cold-smoked trout
two large handfuls sorrel leaves
200ml tub creme fraiche
Put the pasta on to boil. Very roughly chop the trout into ribbons, and the sorrel likewise. Once the pasta is cooked, drain and combine all the ingredients.
*It was raining, ok? And cold. I had to wear a raincoat in a non-ironic way. If that doesn't qualify as foraging, what does?
PS. For a really awesome take-down of the latest foodie trends (minus any actually quite tasty recipes), see this press release for a new restaurant on twitter.
It's just about enough to make me qualify for hipster-status.
As I'm close, I may as well go all the way and cook some hipster food. Here are two great, quick pasta suppers (are we allowed to say supper now that David Cameron has used it? Should I call it tea instead?) which are sufficiently "authentic" and obscure to impress even those friends who possess no clothes other than checked shirts. Each serves two.
Smoked trout and sorrel
Smoked trout is just like smoked salmon, except without the complex ethical considerations (wild destroys stocks, farmed is diseased, organic is unethical behaviour towards my wallet). At least, the stuff I bought at my local farmers' market is. I can't promise anything if you shop at Tesco. Sorrel is a lemony-flavoured version of spinach, so in dire straits you can use spinach instead and add the juice of half a lemon to the sauce.
This would also be great with another hipster ingredient, a handful of wild garlic, added at the same time as the sorrel. Just don't mention that your "foraging" of it consisted of a stroll to the end of Mummy and Daddy's garden.*
150g pasta
120g cold-smoked trout
two large handfuls sorrel leaves
200ml tub creme fraiche
Put the pasta on to boil. Very roughly chop the trout into ribbons, and the sorrel likewise. Once the pasta is cooked, drain and combine all the ingredients.
*It was raining, ok? And cold. I had to wear a raincoat in a non-ironic way. If that doesn't qualify as foraging, what does?
'Nduja and PSB
This is great because it contains one ingredient which no-one will have heard of, and one which has an abbreviated codename. 'Nduja is a spicy salami, created so soft that it is spreadable and melts when heated. You can bring some back from your agroturismo week in Calabria, or in emergencies you can get it from Ocado. Chorizo would give you the same flavour, but a totally different texture.
Purple Sprouting Broccoli has a higher proportion of stem to fluff than normal broccoli, so is ideal for pasta dishes where you need some structure to your vegetables. It's also one of the first British vegetables to come into season each spring, so do go out and buy some rather than shipping Tenderstem (TM) in from Spain or wherever.
150g pasta (wholewheat works well here)
1 onion
120g 'nduja
200g purple sprouting broccoli
2 tbs double cream
Put the pasta on to boil, and finely chop the onion. Saute the onion in a decent amount of oil until it softens and starts to brown. Cut each purple sprouting stem in half, and halfway through the pasta cooking time, add it to the water. Just before the pasta and purple sprouting is done, add the 'nduja to the onion pan and leave to melt in the heat, giving it a squish with a spoon to encourage it.
Drain the pasta and purple sprouting, add to the onion/'nduja pan, and drizzle over the cream. Stir well to combine.
PS. For a really awesome take-down of the latest foodie trends (minus any actually quite tasty recipes), see this press release for a new restaurant on twitter.
Monday 23 April 2012
Pasta Primavera
The cherry blossoms on the tree outside my house lasted about three days before being destroyed by hail on Saturday. I shouldn't be so depressed; we've already eaten Sunday lunch outside twice this year; the sun is high enough that I've squeezed a post-work G&T into the tiny terrace outside the back door, and on Sunday I somehow fitted a coffee and croissant into the light between the showers.
I've also been enjoying the first spring vegetables, sprouting broccoli and asparagus in particular. And, as ever in the single kitchen, there have been leftovers lurking in the bottom of my fridge for the last week. I had been out after work and hadn't shopped for dinner, so with no other supplies in, pasta primavera it was.
I have to confess that, until I started writing this post, I had no idea that "pasta primavera" was an American invention of the seventies rather than a centuries-old Italian tradition. Minus 10 foodie points. I like to think that this is a bit closer to something you'd eat in Italy - no cream and cornflour, no marinara sauce and herbes de provence, no Philly... just some very lightly cooked vegetables and a little pancetta for seasoning. I also added a chargrilled artichoke from a jar (because I had one in the fridge) and a handful of chopped parsley (ditto), but feel free to ignore these.
Pasta Primavera
75g short pasta (fusilli, penne, etc)
3 stalks asparagus
3 (large) stalks sprouting broccoli, or 6 very weedy stalks
50g frozen peas
50g pancetta
1 or 2 chargrilled jarred artichokes, cut up a bit
handful parsley, chopped
Bring a large pan of water to the boil, and throw in the pasta. Chop up the pancetta into little bits and fry with a drop or two of oil until crispy.
Chop the asparagus and broccoli into pieces roughly the same size as your pasta; once the pasta is two minutes from being cooked throw in the asparagus, broccoli, and frozen peas.
Once cooked, drain the pasta and vegetables and toss with the pancetta and its oil, the artichokes and a spoonful or so of their oil, and the parsley. It shouldn't need any seasoning, but you can grate a little parmesan over if you like.
Eat, convincing yourself that it isn't drizzling outside.
I've also been enjoying the first spring vegetables, sprouting broccoli and asparagus in particular. And, as ever in the single kitchen, there have been leftovers lurking in the bottom of my fridge for the last week. I had been out after work and hadn't shopped for dinner, so with no other supplies in, pasta primavera it was.
I have to confess that, until I started writing this post, I had no idea that "pasta primavera" was an American invention of the seventies rather than a centuries-old Italian tradition. Minus 10 foodie points. I like to think that this is a bit closer to something you'd eat in Italy - no cream and cornflour, no marinara sauce and herbes de provence, no Philly... just some very lightly cooked vegetables and a little pancetta for seasoning. I also added a chargrilled artichoke from a jar (because I had one in the fridge) and a handful of chopped parsley (ditto), but feel free to ignore these.
Pasta Primavera
75g short pasta (fusilli, penne, etc)
3 stalks asparagus
3 (large) stalks sprouting broccoli, or 6 very weedy stalks
50g frozen peas
50g pancetta
1 or 2 chargrilled jarred artichokes, cut up a bit
handful parsley, chopped
Bring a large pan of water to the boil, and throw in the pasta. Chop up the pancetta into little bits and fry with a drop or two of oil until crispy.
Chop the asparagus and broccoli into pieces roughly the same size as your pasta; once the pasta is two minutes from being cooked throw in the asparagus, broccoli, and frozen peas.
Once cooked, drain the pasta and vegetables and toss with the pancetta and its oil, the artichokes and a spoonful or so of their oil, and the parsley. It shouldn't need any seasoning, but you can grate a little parmesan over if you like.
Eat, convincing yourself that it isn't drizzling outside.
Tuesday 3 April 2012
Asparagus Stuffed Pancakes
Public service announcement: don't try making pancakes with rye flour. Utter disaster. Apparently, its gluten is less elastic than wheat flour, and, also, the bran has a seemingly infinite capacity to absorb liquid. I imagine the same applies to other types of wholewheat flour, though if anyone has succeeded, do let me know.
So, given that disaster, I was quite pleased with tonight's dinner. It was inspired by a recipe I've blogged about before, except with added starch and melted cheese to compensate my body for the hail today.
I made it for two, but the quantities beneath are for one, and you have the added advantage that this gives you an excuse to buy a cute little individual baking dish to both cook and serve it in. Two-purpose cookware: this is basically saving money, not spending it. Additional savings are made on the water and Fairy liquid you would have had to use to wash up a baking dish *and* a plate.
The quantities for the pancakes will make more than you need, but I fail to see "spare pancakes" as a problem.
Asparagus stuffed pancakes
For the pancakes:
125 g plain *white* flour
1 egg
300 ml milk
For the stuffing:
100 ml full-fat creme fraiche (you're baking it, so this isn't the time to be healthy. Unless you want curdled pancakes.)
15 g parsley
10 g dill
10 g chives
1 tsp dijon mustard
4 thick (or 6 skinny?) spears of asparagus
a grating of gruyere, or parmesan, or just cheddar. Or whatever.
Start by making the pancake batter: tip the flour into a large bowl, make a dip in the middle, and crack in the egg. Whisk it gradually in, adding the milk gradually as the mixture gets too thick to whisk. Place to one side to rest.
Steam the asparagus for 2-4 minutes, depending on their thickness. The best way of doing this is to lay them down in a frying pan (to which you have a lid), cover with water, and bring to the boil. Turn the heat off when the spears give way to a knife slid into them, and leave them to cool.
Whilst the asparagus is getting touchable, fry your pancakes. You know how to fry a pancake, right? Tip them onto a flat chopping board and leave until they, too, are touchable.
In the meantime, finely chop your herbs and stir them, and the mustard, into the creme fraiche. Taste for seasoning; you may like to add more mustard, or more of one of the herbs.
It's then an assembly job. Spread a pancake with a thick layer of herby creme fraiche, then pop two (or three) spears of asparagus in the middle. It's best if you put them top to tail, so each slice of pancake contains a bit of thick spear and a bit of soft tip. Roll the pancakes up, and place into a lightly greased baking dish. Grate your cheese over the top, then pop into a hot oven for 10 - 15 minutes, or until the creme fraiche is bubbling out and the cheese is golden.
Good with a leafy salad (I used watercress and spinach with a lemon dressing).
So, given that disaster, I was quite pleased with tonight's dinner. It was inspired by a recipe I've blogged about before, except with added starch and melted cheese to compensate my body for the hail today.
I made it for two, but the quantities beneath are for one, and you have the added advantage that this gives you an excuse to buy a cute little individual baking dish to both cook and serve it in. Two-purpose cookware: this is basically saving money, not spending it. Additional savings are made on the water and Fairy liquid you would have had to use to wash up a baking dish *and* a plate.
The quantities for the pancakes will make more than you need, but I fail to see "spare pancakes" as a problem.
Asparagus stuffed pancakes
For the pancakes:
125 g plain *white* flour
1 egg
300 ml milk
For the stuffing:
100 ml full-fat creme fraiche (you're baking it, so this isn't the time to be healthy. Unless you want curdled pancakes.)
15 g parsley
10 g dill
10 g chives
1 tsp dijon mustard
4 thick (or 6 skinny?) spears of asparagus
a grating of gruyere, or parmesan, or just cheddar. Or whatever.
Start by making the pancake batter: tip the flour into a large bowl, make a dip in the middle, and crack in the egg. Whisk it gradually in, adding the milk gradually as the mixture gets too thick to whisk. Place to one side to rest.
Steam the asparagus for 2-4 minutes, depending on their thickness. The best way of doing this is to lay them down in a frying pan (to which you have a lid), cover with water, and bring to the boil. Turn the heat off when the spears give way to a knife slid into them, and leave them to cool.
Whilst the asparagus is getting touchable, fry your pancakes. You know how to fry a pancake, right? Tip them onto a flat chopping board and leave until they, too, are touchable.
In the meantime, finely chop your herbs and stir them, and the mustard, into the creme fraiche. Taste for seasoning; you may like to add more mustard, or more of one of the herbs.
It's then an assembly job. Spread a pancake with a thick layer of herby creme fraiche, then pop two (or three) spears of asparagus in the middle. It's best if you put them top to tail, so each slice of pancake contains a bit of thick spear and a bit of soft tip. Roll the pancakes up, and place into a lightly greased baking dish. Grate your cheese over the top, then pop into a hot oven for 10 - 15 minutes, or until the creme fraiche is bubbling out and the cheese is golden.
Good with a leafy salad (I used watercress and spinach with a lemon dressing).
Monday 5 March 2012
A(nother) fast pasta sauce
Around this time of year, I would probably murder for a decent tomato. The sun is shining, the cherry blossom is out, I've finally had my summer coat dry cleaned so that I can wear it again, but still I cannot get hold of a tomato that tastes like a tomato.
I made this tonight in a desperate attempt to springtime-up a quick dinner of stuffed pasta. Stuffed pasta, I've found, is an even better quick dinner than normal (dry) pasta, because it takes three minutes to cook instead of nine. That's an extra six minutes I could be, for example, facebooking with. On the downside, that leaves you three minutes to perform the following kitchen tasks (I suggest you start when you put the water on to boil):
The vinegar is, I believe, what makes winter tomatoes palatable in their raw form: it boosts the flavour and encourages the juices. Balsamic would probably work even better, and I suspect if you could organise yourself sufficiently to leave the tomatoes to marinate in the oil, vinegar, seasoning, and garlic overnight, you might even persuade yourself that it was summer.
I made this tonight in a desperate attempt to springtime-up a quick dinner of stuffed pasta. Stuffed pasta, I've found, is an even better quick dinner than normal (dry) pasta, because it takes three minutes to cook instead of nine. That's an extra six minutes I could be, for example, facebooking with. On the downside, that leaves you three minutes to perform the following kitchen tasks (I suggest you start when you put the water on to boil):
- Roughly chop two tomatoes
- Mix with 1 tbs of the best olive oil you have, 1 tbs of red wine vinegar, and a generous amount of salt and pepper
- Peel and crush a small clove of garlic
- Roughly chop a small handful of basil
- Grate a small handful of parmesan
- Mix all of the above together.
The vinegar is, I believe, what makes winter tomatoes palatable in their raw form: it boosts the flavour and encourages the juices. Balsamic would probably work even better, and I suspect if you could organise yourself sufficiently to leave the tomatoes to marinate in the oil, vinegar, seasoning, and garlic overnight, you might even persuade yourself that it was summer.
Tuesday 28 February 2012
Roast Chicken
So, yes, when eating for one, one possible option is to just roast smaller birds. But I was off buying some chicken for a caesar salad on Sunday and the price difference between filleted portions and whole birds really sank in for the first time. I could buy two chicken breasts (the smallest pack size, so if you're one you're stuck with leftovers anyway) for about £5 (price per kilo: £15), or I could buy a whole chicken for £6 (price per kilo: £5). So I bought a whole chicken.
I'm not going to act like this is just going to make one neat meal and that's that. You're going to need a freezer unless you want to eat chicken for every meal for a few days. It's also time consuming, but... the first roasting stage is very quick, and then you can stick the carcass in the fridge for a couple of days until you're ready to deal with the rest of it.
You need: a 1.5 kilo (or thereabouts) chicken. And an oven pre-heated to 180 degrees.
The first step is to add a large quantity of butter. The chicken needs this most on its breasts (don't we all?), so, starting at the thin end of them, pull the skin away from the flesh; it will be slightly reluctant but if you gradually slide your fingers under the skin you can ease it away. Fill a tablespoon with butter and slide it into the gap between the skin and the flesh, and then, with a finger on the outside of the skin, push the butter off the spoon and pull the spoon out, so you have a neat little pat of it under the skin. You can then massage it about until it's more spread out. Repeat on the other breast.
Then you add some flavourings to the inside of the bird. I like to go for half a lemon, two or three cloves of garlic (smashed somewhat), and a sprig of thyme or similar, if I have one hanging around. You could go for something more outlandish (lime, ginger and chilli? orange and five-spice? tomato, plantain and rum?) but do remember that those flavours will then imbue all the other meals you're going to make later. Grind a lot of salt over the top.
And then you put it in the oven for 20 minutes per kilo of weight, plus 10-20 minutes extra. For a 1.5 kilo chicken this will be about 45 minutes, which divides neatly into three sections of 15 minutes. After each of the first two sections, remove the chicken from the oven, baste with the fat and juices, and grind more salt over the skin. After the last section, remove it from the oven. The official advice is to stick a knife into the thigh to check for any pink juices, but I find that the bit of breast right next to the thigh always takes longest to cook, so that's where I stick my knife. If you do get some blood running out, stick it back in the oven for another 10 minutes.
A warm chicken salad
I made a chicken caesar salad with the first warm pickings from my chicken. Actually, I lie. The first thing I did was to peel the crispy, salty skin off the breasts and eat it. All. But then, I made a caesar salad; however, I used ready-made dressing and I don't think you need a recipe for that, so here's something else.
I remember an episode of a Jamie Oliver show (can't remember which) where he makes a big deal of throwing lettuce, tomatoes, and cucumber away, because he wants to "pimp up" (or something) our ideas of salad. Well, sorry, Jamie, but I like normal salads. For one person, you need:
100g watercress
3 very good tomatoes
1/2 cucumber
Start work once the chicken has been out of the oven for 10 minutes. Pick over the watercress and remove the thick stems; even when eating alone there is little less dignified than having half a stem of watercress hanging out the edge of your mouth. Cut the tomatoes into halves, and then into thin wedges from stem to tip, so you get half-moon shapes. Halve the cucumber lengthways, then scoop out the seeds and slice thinly to match the tomatoes.
Make a dressing with:
1 tsp dijon mustard
1tbs white wine or cider vinegar
1tbs olive oil
and a good sprinkle of salt
Strip the chicken off one of the breasts: it should be cool enough by now to do this with your fingers. Pull into strands, then toss together with the salad and dressing.
Chicken sandwich
The downside to having a chicken between two people is that there is very rarely any leftover white meat. Not the case here, though: #singlepersonwin.
I do think that the best chicken sandwich is one that contains stuffing, but making stuffing as well as roasting a chicken for one person seems a little over the top even to me. Therefore, my perfect leftover chicken lunch or light supper requires:
Two very thick slices of good quality brown bread
Mayonnaise (shop bought. I just daren't make my own. You may, in which case do.)
Tarragon
Thin slices chicken breast meat.
I recommend toasting the bread, as that keeps it slightly stiff, thus avoiding the dreaded half-sandwich flop and consequent loss of lunch to the floor. Chop the tarragon very finely, stir into the mayo and spread this on both pieces of toast. Add slices of chicken. Munch.
This leaves you with brown meat and some bones. The obvious thing to recommend here is risotto, so I shall. You should make the bones into chicken stock by sticking them in a casserole dish with around 1.5 litres of water, a quartered onion, a bay leaf or two, and maybe a carrot if you happen to have one hanging around. Bring this up to a boil on the hob, then leave in the oven at 120 degrees for two hours or so. I freeze stock in 750ml portions, as that's what I need to make risotto, but I believe the sensible thing to do is to freeze it in smaller portions, so you can be adaptable about the manner in which you use your stock.
By this stage, it's probably three days after you originally cooked your chicken, so it's time to just stick the rest of the meat in the freezer. Then it's around for those moments when what you really need is pie...
I'm not going to act like this is just going to make one neat meal and that's that. You're going to need a freezer unless you want to eat chicken for every meal for a few days. It's also time consuming, but... the first roasting stage is very quick, and then you can stick the carcass in the fridge for a couple of days until you're ready to deal with the rest of it.
You need: a 1.5 kilo (or thereabouts) chicken. And an oven pre-heated to 180 degrees.
The first step is to add a large quantity of butter. The chicken needs this most on its breasts (don't we all?), so, starting at the thin end of them, pull the skin away from the flesh; it will be slightly reluctant but if you gradually slide your fingers under the skin you can ease it away. Fill a tablespoon with butter and slide it into the gap between the skin and the flesh, and then, with a finger on the outside of the skin, push the butter off the spoon and pull the spoon out, so you have a neat little pat of it under the skin. You can then massage it about until it's more spread out. Repeat on the other breast.
Then you add some flavourings to the inside of the bird. I like to go for half a lemon, two or three cloves of garlic (smashed somewhat), and a sprig of thyme or similar, if I have one hanging around. You could go for something more outlandish (lime, ginger and chilli? orange and five-spice? tomato, plantain and rum?) but do remember that those flavours will then imbue all the other meals you're going to make later. Grind a lot of salt over the top.
And then you put it in the oven for 20 minutes per kilo of weight, plus 10-20 minutes extra. For a 1.5 kilo chicken this will be about 45 minutes, which divides neatly into three sections of 15 minutes. After each of the first two sections, remove the chicken from the oven, baste with the fat and juices, and grind more salt over the skin. After the last section, remove it from the oven. The official advice is to stick a knife into the thigh to check for any pink juices, but I find that the bit of breast right next to the thigh always takes longest to cook, so that's where I stick my knife. If you do get some blood running out, stick it back in the oven for another 10 minutes.
A warm chicken salad
I made a chicken caesar salad with the first warm pickings from my chicken. Actually, I lie. The first thing I did was to peel the crispy, salty skin off the breasts and eat it. All. But then, I made a caesar salad; however, I used ready-made dressing and I don't think you need a recipe for that, so here's something else.
I remember an episode of a Jamie Oliver show (can't remember which) where he makes a big deal of throwing lettuce, tomatoes, and cucumber away, because he wants to "pimp up" (or something) our ideas of salad. Well, sorry, Jamie, but I like normal salads. For one person, you need:
100g watercress
3 very good tomatoes
1/2 cucumber
Start work once the chicken has been out of the oven for 10 minutes. Pick over the watercress and remove the thick stems; even when eating alone there is little less dignified than having half a stem of watercress hanging out the edge of your mouth. Cut the tomatoes into halves, and then into thin wedges from stem to tip, so you get half-moon shapes. Halve the cucumber lengthways, then scoop out the seeds and slice thinly to match the tomatoes.
Make a dressing with:
1 tsp dijon mustard
1tbs white wine or cider vinegar
1tbs olive oil
and a good sprinkle of salt
Strip the chicken off one of the breasts: it should be cool enough by now to do this with your fingers. Pull into strands, then toss together with the salad and dressing.
Chicken sandwich
The downside to having a chicken between two people is that there is very rarely any leftover white meat. Not the case here, though: #singlepersonwin.
I do think that the best chicken sandwich is one that contains stuffing, but making stuffing as well as roasting a chicken for one person seems a little over the top even to me. Therefore, my perfect leftover chicken lunch or light supper requires:
Two very thick slices of good quality brown bread
Mayonnaise (shop bought. I just daren't make my own. You may, in which case do.)
Tarragon
Thin slices chicken breast meat.
I recommend toasting the bread, as that keeps it slightly stiff, thus avoiding the dreaded half-sandwich flop and consequent loss of lunch to the floor. Chop the tarragon very finely, stir into the mayo and spread this on both pieces of toast. Add slices of chicken. Munch.
This leaves you with brown meat and some bones. The obvious thing to recommend here is risotto, so I shall. You should make the bones into chicken stock by sticking them in a casserole dish with around 1.5 litres of water, a quartered onion, a bay leaf or two, and maybe a carrot if you happen to have one hanging around. Bring this up to a boil on the hob, then leave in the oven at 120 degrees for two hours or so. I freeze stock in 750ml portions, as that's what I need to make risotto, but I believe the sensible thing to do is to freeze it in smaller portions, so you can be adaptable about the manner in which you use your stock.
By this stage, it's probably three days after you originally cooked your chicken, so it's time to just stick the rest of the meat in the freezer. Then it's around for those moments when what you really need is pie...
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