I am reliably informed that, before my sister moved in, my recently-acquired brother-in-law ate pasta and pesto every night for dinner. I'm taking that as in indication that it is the quintessential single person food, and hence a massive omission from this blog.
Pasta with a spoonful of pesto stirred through is now so mainstream that the word "and" can safely be elided from its title without any confusion. But it's not exactly a recipe, it is? Hardly worthy of a blog post, and somehow unrewarding: no achievement, no nourishment, a vegetable oil lake left at the bottom of the bowl.
Having recently returned from a fortnight in Sicily, I determined to try harder. Homemade pesto was the way forward. And, having committed, I was shocked to find it's really easy. You can bash up a portion in significantly less time than it takes to actually boil the pasta.
Real pesto
I think everyone has very personal tastes in what they want in a pesto. I like garlic.
1 small clove of garlic, or half a big clove
50g basil
25g pine nuts
2 tbs or so of good quality extra virgin olive oil
25g parmesan
100g spaghetti, to serve.
Put the spaghetti on to cook. Toast the pinenuts until lightly browned all over, and put to one side to cool.
First pop your garlic clove in a big mortar, add a large pinch of salt, then crush to a paste. Next, add your basil leaves (you'll probably have to do this in a few batches) and likewise crush. Third, pop in your cooled pine nuts, and crush lightly - a few little bits of nut in the smooth paste are quite nice, I find.
I am being very strict about the order here. If you add them in a different order your basil won't crush properly, so do be careful.
Stir in the olive oil, adding more if needed, so that you have a loose paste but one that doesn't seperate out if left for a few seconds.
Grate the parmesan and stir in.
Drain the pasta, keeping a decent few spoonfuls of water, and return to the saucepan. Tip in the pesto and lift (in a salad tossing manner) to coat each strand.
Friday, 5 July 2013
Thursday, 4 July 2013
Top Ten in Oxford 2013
A year between posts, and this one isn't even a recipe.
Another Oxford-based food blogger recently published a list of his top ten restaurants in Oxford this year. I disagreed with his choices and so I was challenged to come up with my own list. I disagree in principle with the concept of "top tens": there's a compunction to include places that might be slightly sub-par simply to make up numbers. High Fidelity is an excellent lesson in this respect: top tens are used as a substitute for real conversation; as the film progresses and the narrator's situation becomes more serious, the top tens become less and less important, and real conversations become properly valued.
On top of that the ranking system often isn't explained. Are they personal favourites? Are they best for food, or for service, or for atmosphere? Or are they simply near to the writer's home, and therefore convenient? For me, a full-length (by which I mean at least 500 words) review will always hold more value than a headline-grabbing top ten.
That said, here are my favourites:
Al Shami
The best Lebanese in Oxford, and one that (in my fairly wide experience) could definitely compete at a national level. Particularly impressive is the wide range of vegetarian meze, as well as their bravery in putting some less traditional meats on the menu. I haven't dared try the brains yet, but the raw lamb kibbeh nayeh is excellent: refreshing and delicate in an unexpected manner.
Atomic Burgers
As far as I'm aware, the only restaurant (now a mini chain!) in the country where the focus is on what goes on top of the burger. There's a rash of Gourmet Burgers/Byrons, and now London is even facing the invasion of New York's Shake Shack, but Atomic are merrily carving a path of their own. It's also great fun: popping candy in your milkshake; Thunderbirds videos on the wall; burgers names after 1980s film characters...
Chiang Mai Kitchen
I nearly excluded Chiang Mai on price grounds: I never really feel I'm quite getting value for money here.That said, the food is mostly authentic, some is excellent, and all is well-spiced. It's served in the delightful setting of an Elizabethan townhouse and ex-prison, creating an intimate atmosphere, and it even has a decent wine list.
Door 74
If I ever decide to open a restaurant, it would be very like Door 74. There's a reassuringly short menu, making it clear that all the food is cooked from scratch for each individual order, rather than being pre-prepped then re-heated or "finished" on demand. It's also one of the most romantic places I know for dinner, with its twinkly lights, small size, and unobtrusive service. It's also stupidly cheap.
Magdalen Arms
I avoided the Magdalen Arms for ages, disliking the amount of hype it had received, mostly from London-based writers and bloggers. Unfortunately, when I finally visited, it turned out to be as good as they'd all said. The Magdalen Arms can easily compete with the London gastropub scene both in terms of the innovatativeness and the flavour of the food, as it should given it's run by the folk behind "the first gastropub" in the UK, the Anchor and Hope. The sharing dishes are always particularly interesting.
My Sichuan
Intestines. Ears. Tongues. Oh, and last time I glimpsed into the kitchen they had entire storage boxes filled with dried chillis. Somehow, out of all that, have come some of the most interesting, exciting, and downright delicious meals I've ever eaten. It's not for the fainthearted, but if you're bored with lemon chicken and beef in black bean sauce, come here for some real Chinese food. The flavours will knock you backwards, pump you full of endorphins, and then soothe you back with delicious meaty fattiness.
Rickety Press
The Rickety Press calls itself a gastropub, but both the food and the greenhouse setting are far too elegant for that label in my view. There are some standards here (onion and goat's cheese tarts, burgers, fishcakes) but also some more ambitious dishes, all in a fairly modern British range. Everything, though, is cooked with an exacting precision and presented stylishly.
Sojo
If My Sichuan sounds a bit too much for you, then Sojo might be just right: still pushing boundaries but with a few more recognisable dishes. The service here is excellent, and the waiting staff are experts in identifying a customer's comfort zone, then pushing them to order something just a little bit more different, to surprise and delight them.
Turl Street Kitchen
TSK, together with Oxfork (mentioned below) and now the St Giles' Cafe (also mentioned below) is at the forefront of a new hyperlocal trend in eating out, which in my view is unmatched almost anywhere else in the UK. That was reflected in the view that the Sustainable Restaurant Association took when asked to review TSK by Giles Coren. On top of all that, the food is in line with the latest trend for nose-to-tail eating. Oh, and it tastes really good.
Yeti
I'm really sad that there isn't an Indian restaurant on this list. Oxford has plenty of good Indian restaurants, but nothing that stands out from the crowd, and definitely nothing that could compete with, say, Birmingham or Leicester. But we've recently acquired a rash of something else from the subcontinent: Nepalese restaurants. It all started with Everest (which doesn't appear here for the simple reason that I haven't eaten there!), and we now also have Yeti and Kadai&Naan. The flavours are really interesting, playing a lot more in the bittersweet/aniseedy range, and using a lot more dried spices than normal Indian food. Yeti also has the most welcoming service I have ever encountered.
And finally, three who didn't make it into the list because they're not quite traditional restaurants:
Olives
Best sandwiches in Oxford. They're not cheap, but then when your baguette contains an entire ball of buffalo mozzarella, who's complaining?
Oxfork
Best breakfast (to be accurate, by the time I get out of bed, it's more like brunch) in Oxford. As with TSK, hyperlocal sourcing combined with good British food traditions. The range of veggie options is particularly welcome.
Pukeko
Best coffee in Oxford - and it's a tough field. This is a very personal choice, as everyone likes a slightly different flavour to their coffee. Honourable mentions also go to Zappi's, Quarter Horse, and Missing Bean.
And one more who I suspect will make this list next year, once they're fully up and running with a regular menu and regular evening opening: St Giles' Cafe. The owner has really done his research, spending time working in several Oxford restaurants and discovering some of our best suppliers, before setting up on his own. Particularly of note is that they make all their own bacon and sausages - and you can tell.
Another Oxford-based food blogger recently published a list of his top ten restaurants in Oxford this year. I disagreed with his choices and so I was challenged to come up with my own list. I disagree in principle with the concept of "top tens": there's a compunction to include places that might be slightly sub-par simply to make up numbers. High Fidelity is an excellent lesson in this respect: top tens are used as a substitute for real conversation; as the film progresses and the narrator's situation becomes more serious, the top tens become less and less important, and real conversations become properly valued.
On top of that the ranking system often isn't explained. Are they personal favourites? Are they best for food, or for service, or for atmosphere? Or are they simply near to the writer's home, and therefore convenient? For me, a full-length (by which I mean at least 500 words) review will always hold more value than a headline-grabbing top ten.
That said, here are my favourites:
Al Shami
The best Lebanese in Oxford, and one that (in my fairly wide experience) could definitely compete at a national level. Particularly impressive is the wide range of vegetarian meze, as well as their bravery in putting some less traditional meats on the menu. I haven't dared try the brains yet, but the raw lamb kibbeh nayeh is excellent: refreshing and delicate in an unexpected manner.
Atomic Burgers
As far as I'm aware, the only restaurant (now a mini chain!) in the country where the focus is on what goes on top of the burger. There's a rash of Gourmet Burgers/Byrons, and now London is even facing the invasion of New York's Shake Shack, but Atomic are merrily carving a path of their own. It's also great fun: popping candy in your milkshake; Thunderbirds videos on the wall; burgers names after 1980s film characters...
Chiang Mai Kitchen
I nearly excluded Chiang Mai on price grounds: I never really feel I'm quite getting value for money here.That said, the food is mostly authentic, some is excellent, and all is well-spiced. It's served in the delightful setting of an Elizabethan townhouse and ex-prison, creating an intimate atmosphere, and it even has a decent wine list.
Door 74
If I ever decide to open a restaurant, it would be very like Door 74. There's a reassuringly short menu, making it clear that all the food is cooked from scratch for each individual order, rather than being pre-prepped then re-heated or "finished" on demand. It's also one of the most romantic places I know for dinner, with its twinkly lights, small size, and unobtrusive service. It's also stupidly cheap.
Magdalen Arms
I avoided the Magdalen Arms for ages, disliking the amount of hype it had received, mostly from London-based writers and bloggers. Unfortunately, when I finally visited, it turned out to be as good as they'd all said. The Magdalen Arms can easily compete with the London gastropub scene both in terms of the innovatativeness and the flavour of the food, as it should given it's run by the folk behind "the first gastropub" in the UK, the Anchor and Hope. The sharing dishes are always particularly interesting.
My Sichuan
Intestines. Ears. Tongues. Oh, and last time I glimpsed into the kitchen they had entire storage boxes filled with dried chillis. Somehow, out of all that, have come some of the most interesting, exciting, and downright delicious meals I've ever eaten. It's not for the fainthearted, but if you're bored with lemon chicken and beef in black bean sauce, come here for some real Chinese food. The flavours will knock you backwards, pump you full of endorphins, and then soothe you back with delicious meaty fattiness.
Rickety Press
The Rickety Press calls itself a gastropub, but both the food and the greenhouse setting are far too elegant for that label in my view. There are some standards here (onion and goat's cheese tarts, burgers, fishcakes) but also some more ambitious dishes, all in a fairly modern British range. Everything, though, is cooked with an exacting precision and presented stylishly.
Sojo
If My Sichuan sounds a bit too much for you, then Sojo might be just right: still pushing boundaries but with a few more recognisable dishes. The service here is excellent, and the waiting staff are experts in identifying a customer's comfort zone, then pushing them to order something just a little bit more different, to surprise and delight them.
Turl Street Kitchen
TSK, together with Oxfork (mentioned below) and now the St Giles' Cafe (also mentioned below) is at the forefront of a new hyperlocal trend in eating out, which in my view is unmatched almost anywhere else in the UK. That was reflected in the view that the Sustainable Restaurant Association took when asked to review TSK by Giles Coren. On top of all that, the food is in line with the latest trend for nose-to-tail eating. Oh, and it tastes really good.
Yeti
I'm really sad that there isn't an Indian restaurant on this list. Oxford has plenty of good Indian restaurants, but nothing that stands out from the crowd, and definitely nothing that could compete with, say, Birmingham or Leicester. But we've recently acquired a rash of something else from the subcontinent: Nepalese restaurants. It all started with Everest (which doesn't appear here for the simple reason that I haven't eaten there!), and we now also have Yeti and Kadai&Naan. The flavours are really interesting, playing a lot more in the bittersweet/aniseedy range, and using a lot more dried spices than normal Indian food. Yeti also has the most welcoming service I have ever encountered.
And finally, three who didn't make it into the list because they're not quite traditional restaurants:
Olives
Best sandwiches in Oxford. They're not cheap, but then when your baguette contains an entire ball of buffalo mozzarella, who's complaining?
Oxfork
Best breakfast (to be accurate, by the time I get out of bed, it's more like brunch) in Oxford. As with TSK, hyperlocal sourcing combined with good British food traditions. The range of veggie options is particularly welcome.
Pukeko
Best coffee in Oxford - and it's a tough field. This is a very personal choice, as everyone likes a slightly different flavour to their coffee. Honourable mentions also go to Zappi's, Quarter Horse, and Missing Bean.
And one more who I suspect will make this list next year, once they're fully up and running with a regular menu and regular evening opening: St Giles' Cafe. The owner has really done his research, spending time working in several Oxford restaurants and discovering some of our best suppliers, before setting up on his own. Particularly of note is that they make all their own bacon and sausages - and you can tell.
Friday, 17 August 2012
One (or two) courgette dinners
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.
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.
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).
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