You can't open a newspaper, turn on a TV channel or read a website without stumbling across someone categorising the year in some aspect or other. Order must prevail. Awards must be handed out. Opinions must be opined. So I thought I should join in. Here's two Top 5 lists that will mean very little to anyone else but me. Both are in chronological order.
Top 5 Meals of 2007
1. St John in February. Langoustines and Mayonnaise, a whole loaf of foie gras, suckling pig for 12, Eccles Cakes and Lancashire Cheese and 24 fine German Rieslings. Obscene and worth every penny. I'd do it again tomorrow. In fact, we should do it again tomorrow.
2. A Parisian market picnic on the sleeper train to Milan. Saumur-Champigny from a beaker washed down an oozing St Marcellin, wafer-thin speck, sour, chewy baguette and - most importantly - Jen.
3. Cambol Zero, Rivoli outside of Turin. Only one star but three times the experience we had in L'Astrance in Paris. Proof that there is more to a great restuarant than great food. Give me humour, humility, enthusiasm and warmth over cold-blooded perfection anyday.
4. The River Cafe in August with Jen, Jen and Greg. One of this year's few summery days and the perfect place to skive off an afternoon at work. I remember multi-coloured baby beets with horseradish, silky pasta parcels, spanking-fresh fish and a wholly unneccessary bottle of Moscato d'Asti in the sunshine longer after we should have gone home.
5. Ben's Birthday in November. Ben tells me his abiding memory is twirling bread dough into grissini whilst covered in flour and half-cut on Champagne at 11 o'clock in the morning. How weekend lunches should be.
Top 5 Dishes of 2007
1. The foie gras and mushroom cake at L'Astrance with its 'roasted lemon' and pool of hazelnut oil. A perfect dish of just four ingredients. The sweet-sharp lemon was the ideal foil for the foie gras whilst the hazelnut turned the raw white mushrooms into fungi heaven. I never said Pascal Bardot couldn't cook.
2. A foie gras risotto with fried artichokes at Cambol Zero. Indecently rich.
3. A humble Panzanella made from ripe tomatoes and stale sourdough baguette in Uzes.
4. Another Uzes afternoon: leftover ratatouille, fried sardines and ice-cold Provence rose. Then a nap.
5. Pheasant and Trotter Pie at St John Bread and Wine. A December lunch of champions to fight off the 4pm nightfall.
Monday, December 31, 2007
Thursday, December 27, 2007
Closure
Perhaps (only perhaps, mind you) this is the beginning of the end of the two-month Burgundy obsession. The symptoms are waning. I can just about appreciate other wines without comparing them to the greats of the Cote d'Or and have acknowledged that others cheeses than Epoisses are worth eating too. Especially given the frankly rude and almost frightening level of ripeness that the Epoisses in the kitchen has reached.
In search of closure, I (I should say 'we' as Jen did half the work but this is My Blog and My Obsession) made a Jambon Persille, the jelly and ham terrine that provided roughly 50% of my daily calorific needs in Burgundy (if only 20% of my actual calorific intake). It was deeply satisfying to make and much easier than it looked. As many so called complicated 'resaturant dishes' are when you have a go yourself. I urge you to try.
The recipe can be found on a bookshelf near you in Simon Hopkinson's unimpeachable Roast Chicken and Other Stories 2 (Second Helpings, it might be called). And if you don't own it click on to Amazon now, buy the book and make it for yourself. There are few better vehicles for humble white Burgundy and Dijon mustard.
In search of closure, I (I should say 'we' as Jen did half the work but this is My Blog and My Obsession) made a Jambon Persille, the jelly and ham terrine that provided roughly 50% of my daily calorific needs in Burgundy (if only 20% of my actual calorific intake). It was deeply satisfying to make and much easier than it looked. As many so called complicated 'resaturant dishes' are when you have a go yourself. I urge you to try.
The recipe can be found on a bookshelf near you in Simon Hopkinson's unimpeachable Roast Chicken and Other Stories 2 (Second Helpings, it might be called). And if you don't own it click on to Amazon now, buy the book and make it for yourself. There are few better vehicles for humble white Burgundy and Dijon mustard.
Too Much
My sister and her boyfriend Greg did a sterling job for Christmas Dinner. Incidentally December 25th probably the only day of the year I have Dinner in the middle of the day. The other 364 days, I have Lunch.
For the record. I eat Lunch at lunchtime and Tea in the evening. Unless I am a) eating out or b) at someone else's house or c) rustling up something more extravagant than broccoli and pasta to eat at home with guests - when it becomes Dinner. I don't dress for Dinner but I do expect some decent wine. Supper is what other people have before bed.
Anyway, I digress.
Sister and Greg were ace. Proper turkey, the world famous Sweet Potato stuffing (the recipe is the closest we have to a family heirloom, passed down from Tesco's Christmas Magazine circa 1997 via my mother to her eldest daughter) and more types of veg that I care to recall. We all ate far too much and groaned our way back to the sofa in time honoured fashion. Quite why we force such an ernomous plateful of food on ourselves in one go is quite beyond me. But we do, all of us. A massive proportion of the 60m people in the country all overeating at exactly the same time. A quite bizarre tradition of national gluttony.
And we feel all the worse for it, compounding the problems by cramming Christmas Pud into our greedy selves as soon as we sense there is room. I didn't make it as far as cheese and Port this year. A casualty of excess and a virulent bout of manflu.
Not that I really want to change it, though. We have so few food traditions any more apart from the roast bird and pigs in blankets that it really needs encouraging not denigrating. And at the same time we need to protect and promote the other few food traditions we have: Pancake Day, Simnel Cake, Grouse in August, Oysters in September.
Missing out on the cheese and Port (even a Fonseca single Quinta 1988, dammit) is a small price to pay to keep it all going.
For the record. I eat Lunch at lunchtime and Tea in the evening. Unless I am a) eating out or b) at someone else's house or c) rustling up something more extravagant than broccoli and pasta to eat at home with guests - when it becomes Dinner. I don't dress for Dinner but I do expect some decent wine. Supper is what other people have before bed.
Anyway, I digress.
Sister and Greg were ace. Proper turkey, the world famous Sweet Potato stuffing (the recipe is the closest we have to a family heirloom, passed down from Tesco's Christmas Magazine circa 1997 via my mother to her eldest daughter) and more types of veg that I care to recall. We all ate far too much and groaned our way back to the sofa in time honoured fashion. Quite why we force such an ernomous plateful of food on ourselves in one go is quite beyond me. But we do, all of us. A massive proportion of the 60m people in the country all overeating at exactly the same time. A quite bizarre tradition of national gluttony.
And we feel all the worse for it, compounding the problems by cramming Christmas Pud into our greedy selves as soon as we sense there is room. I didn't make it as far as cheese and Port this year. A casualty of excess and a virulent bout of manflu.
Not that I really want to change it, though. We have so few food traditions any more apart from the roast bird and pigs in blankets that it really needs encouraging not denigrating. And at the same time we need to protect and promote the other few food traditions we have: Pancake Day, Simnel Cake, Grouse in August, Oysters in September.
Missing out on the cheese and Port (even a Fonseca single Quinta 1988, dammit) is a small price to pay to keep it all going.
Monday, December 24, 2007
Stollen
The Christmas baking is in full-swing, though quite when we are going to eat it all is beyond me. No doubt, we'll end up foisting half of it on to various rellies who will smile through gritted teeth as we hand it over. Their fridges, cupboards and freezers already full to bursting without our offerings. Oh well.
The house is just stating to smell Christmassy with cinnamon, cardomom, marzipan and mixed peel baking inside a rich bread dough in the oven. I've never made Stollen before and am not sure I've even eaten it before. But it smells right for today, and feel right too; a memory of childhood Christmases for Jen.
The house is just stating to smell Christmassy with cinnamon, cardomom, marzipan and mixed peel baking inside a rich bread dough in the oven. I've never made Stollen before and am not sure I've even eaten it before. But it smells right for today, and feel right too; a memory of childhood Christmases for Jen.
Sunday, December 23, 2007
Mr Moxon
Mr Moxon isn't normally open on Sundays but today his shop was doing a roaring festive trade. Huge white bags of pre-ordered fish lined up amongst the next-door-florist's Christmas trees on the pavement outside. Sides of smoked salmon poking out of every other one and names, numbers and £s scrawled in marker pen on the sides. Cold and misty, the whole street became a giant open-plan walk-in fridge.
My bag was heavy. A giant turbot and a bag of scallops for Christmas Eve dinner, a bronze smoked mackerel for scrambled egg breakfasts and midnight feasts and some salmon and monkfish to freeze until New Year's Eve.
The anticipation grows again.
My bag was heavy. A giant turbot and a bag of scallops for Christmas Eve dinner, a bronze smoked mackerel for scrambled egg breakfasts and midnight feasts and some salmon and monkfish to freeze until New Year's Eve.
The anticipation grows again.
A recipe
For the Chinese-ish pork belly from last night. Homages dues to HFW, the sublimely named Fuschia Dunlop and a restaurant in Bolzano in Northern Italy. I've nicked ideas and techniques from them all.
Take a slab of pork belly and cut in to thick strips, about 4cm across so they resemble fleshy vanilla slices. Pop in a pan, cover with water and boil for 5-10 minutes to bring out the scum. Drain, rinse pork of any scum, wipe pan clean and put everything back on the hob with some clean water. Adding some aromatics (chilli, star anise, ginger and garlic) to the water will do precious little to the flavour of the meat in the long run but make your house smell fantastic and get mouths watering. Don't leave them out.
Braise/poach/simmer for an hour and so until the meat is tender. Lift out of the stock and leave to cool before slicing across the meat to leave you with squares of pork belly, roughly 1cm thick and 4cm squared in size. Fire up a non-stick frying pan (you won't need any oil) and fry the pork squares on both sides until golden and crisp. Be careful, they will sizzle and spit. Pop them to one side on some kitchen paper.
Throw lots of finely sliced ginger, garlic and chilli into the pan (you may need to drain some of the pork fat first) and stir-fry, throw in some greens (bok choi seems appropriate, kale or cabbage would do just as well) and just as they begin to wilt return the pork to the pan. Splash in some Chinese cooking wine and soy (I used mainly Light for flavour with a bit of Dark for colour and syrupy-ness). Let the sauce reduce until dark and sticky, coating the meat and greens as it goes. A handful of sliced spring onions can go in last.
Take the pan to the table, the black sticky spicy bits on the pan are the secret to this dish. Encourage people to return the meat from their plates to the pan to wipe up all the goodness. Plain steamed rice will be just fine on the side.
Take a slab of pork belly and cut in to thick strips, about 4cm across so they resemble fleshy vanilla slices. Pop in a pan, cover with water and boil for 5-10 minutes to bring out the scum. Drain, rinse pork of any scum, wipe pan clean and put everything back on the hob with some clean water. Adding some aromatics (chilli, star anise, ginger and garlic) to the water will do precious little to the flavour of the meat in the long run but make your house smell fantastic and get mouths watering. Don't leave them out.
Braise/poach/simmer for an hour and so until the meat is tender. Lift out of the stock and leave to cool before slicing across the meat to leave you with squares of pork belly, roughly 1cm thick and 4cm squared in size. Fire up a non-stick frying pan (you won't need any oil) and fry the pork squares on both sides until golden and crisp. Be careful, they will sizzle and spit. Pop them to one side on some kitchen paper.
Throw lots of finely sliced ginger, garlic and chilli into the pan (you may need to drain some of the pork fat first) and stir-fry, throw in some greens (bok choi seems appropriate, kale or cabbage would do just as well) and just as they begin to wilt return the pork to the pan. Splash in some Chinese cooking wine and soy (I used mainly Light for flavour with a bit of Dark for colour and syrupy-ness). Let the sauce reduce until dark and sticky, coating the meat and greens as it goes. A handful of sliced spring onions can go in last.
Take the pan to the table, the black sticky spicy bits on the pan are the secret to this dish. Encourage people to return the meat from their plates to the pan to wipe up all the goodness. Plain steamed rice will be just fine on the side.
Saturday, December 22, 2007
Anticipation
Our first London Christmas and we are pretty organised - it helps that my sister is doing The Dinner, of course. My role is Best Supporting Brother, bringing a starter and a box of wines. We were up early this morning to shop for the starter but not early enough to avoid a queue at Mr Dove's. Twenty chilly minutes waiting outside, looking in on the array of fat chops and plump pheasants, strings of chipolatas and hunks of dark maroon beef. While other queued patiently for their turkey or goose, we were after more porcine treats and came away with more bacon than strictly necessary, a small piece of pork belly, a split trotter and some green gammon. The latter two will be turned into a Jambon Persille (the Burgundy fixation hasn't finished yet) for Christmas Day while the belly is for tonight.
It's hard to know what to cook on the 22nd and 23rd this year. It's a weekend and a holiday but you can't overdo it, not with all the feasts to come. Roast birds seem wrong, roasts full stop in fact. And anything festive or traditional feels like jumping the gun. My solution can be found in the back of the spice cupboard: star anise, ginger, chillies and the like. They will flavour the pork belly as it slowly simmers, melting the fat and the meat into one. Dark, meaty soy will add umami, colour and richness. Some bland noodles or plain rice will sit alongside with some quickly cooked bok choi.
It will be about as Christmassy as a picnic, but even with the lights on the tree and crap films on every channel, I can put off culinary Christmas for a day or two yet. Savouring the anticipation as it grows.
It's hard to know what to cook on the 22nd and 23rd this year. It's a weekend and a holiday but you can't overdo it, not with all the feasts to come. Roast birds seem wrong, roasts full stop in fact. And anything festive or traditional feels like jumping the gun. My solution can be found in the back of the spice cupboard: star anise, ginger, chillies and the like. They will flavour the pork belly as it slowly simmers, melting the fat and the meat into one. Dark, meaty soy will add umami, colour and richness. Some bland noodles or plain rice will sit alongside with some quickly cooked bok choi.
It will be about as Christmassy as a picnic, but even with the lights on the tree and crap films on every channel, I can put off culinary Christmas for a day or two yet. Savouring the anticipation as it grows.
Sunday, December 16, 2007
Mince Pies
December is busy. Two weeks since the last post and I'm struggling to remember what I've cooked in those fifteen days. A perky chicken casserole spiked with salty preserved lemon and olives, an invigorating broth made from the same chook fired up by chillies and lemongrass and topped with a steamed piece of salmon and a buttery leeky risotto is all that I can remember. The rest is the usual whirlwind of Christmas parties: mass catered food, canapes and pub food. Not very exciting. For all the foody brilliance of Christmas, early December can easily become a lean month for the flavour addict.
But today, we've started the Christmas cooking. The mincemeat (including minced meat along with the suet, fruit and booze) has spent two weeks maturing in the fridge and it was time to fill the flat with the smell of toasty pastry and sweet spice. The pastry recipe is a Dan Lepard special from yesterday's Grauniad; rich and crumbly but a horror to cope with if you are as warm blooded as I am. I am about as natural a patissier as I am a pole vaulter. But they have held together just fine, slightly oddly shaped as all home cooked treats should be.
Time now to make some brandy butter...
But today, we've started the Christmas cooking. The mincemeat (including minced meat along with the suet, fruit and booze) has spent two weeks maturing in the fridge and it was time to fill the flat with the smell of toasty pastry and sweet spice. The pastry recipe is a Dan Lepard special from yesterday's Grauniad; rich and crumbly but a horror to cope with if you are as warm blooded as I am. I am about as natural a patissier as I am a pole vaulter. But they have held together just fine, slightly oddly shaped as all home cooked treats should be.
Time now to make some brandy butter...
Saturday, December 1, 2007
Take Three Ingredients
...the work Christmas Party is on Wednesday night and we are all being frogmarched round to Katie's to play a sort of Ready Steady Cook. Deeply odd. Whatever happened to just getting pissed in an awful restaurant?
Anyway, we have been told to bring three ingredients each. I am veering towards pigeon, Primula and peas.
Any ideas?
Anyway, we have been told to bring three ingredients each. I am veering towards pigeon, Primula and peas.
Any ideas?
The Best Fish and Chips in London. Apparently.
Marylebone's Golden Hind chippie has a lot going for it: innumerous recommendations on the interweb as The Best Fish And Chips In London, it's in Marylebone and is BYO. There are few better places to drink fine wine than a chippie.
I tried to go two years ago but a now-ex-girlfriend of a visiting friend went AWOL and rather than a side order of mushy peas we were ordered off on a search of Tottenham Court Road. We found her back in Tooting, her homing pigeon having kicked in, and ended up eating curry, as you do in these parts.
Last night I tried to go again only to be foiled by a combination of the Central Line, torrential rain, my mobile's battery and another lost friend. I even got as far as peering in the window this time but Tim wasn't there and by this time I was 35 minutes late, soaked to the skin and unable to phone anyone. The bottle of Hunter Valley Semillon remained unopened and the fish unfried. I trudged damply towards the tube back to Tooting. And ate curry.
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