R&R

Life is very benevolent in the respect that it gives you little hints and pointers throughout your existence.  As you will know, if you read my blog yesterday I went out last night for a spot of dinner and a couple of beers.  I did indeed have "a couple of beers" but someone decided it would be a good idea to have a raki as well.  

My remonstrations after the meal to go home were most strenuously ignored and I was forced to have a "final final" beer in a bar in Oxford Circus.

How kind then, of my body the next day to let me know that its tolerance for alcoholic beverages is not quite as steadfast as it once was?  I am wandering through a haze of lethargy and malaise today.

I checked my phone camera this morning and it appears that at 10.30pm last night I thought it would be a good idea to snap a pic or two of my empty plate.  Today, though the concept of posting a picture of the remnants of a chicken kebab doesn't seem so appealing.  


Tonight is going to be a simple supper.  I am going to fry some chunks of potato until they are golden and crispy and simply serve them with a dressed salad and some jamon iberico.


Salad dressing, or vinaigrettes are so elementary and simple to make, but seriously I have been amazed by how infrequently my salad is dressed - pubs are a serial offender of this heinous crime.


I very rarely mess with my salad dressings.  Infrequently I will add some honey or perhaps a squirt of lime juice.  Here's the dressing I always use:

•   For a salad for 2 people I get a decent extra virgin olive oil and add a  few decent slugs into a glass receptacle.  I never measure it out.
•   To this I add a decent white wine or cider vinegar.  Again I just add a good slug into the olive oil.  The unwritten rule for a vinaigrette is to use a 3:1 oil to vinegar ratio but I actually like my dressings a bit punchier and usually I augment my vinegar to a 3:2 ratio.  I never was good at maths.
•   SEASON YOUR DRESSING.  Yes a salad dressing needs salt and pepper.
•   I then get a fork and some mustard powder.  I stick the fork in the mustard powder and try to get a nice heap.  I then whisk this into the dressing.
•   Always taste your dressing - dip a salad leaf in and test.  Change and correct your dressing to suit your taste.

Turkish Delight


An anomalous day today - I won't be cooking anything at all!  I have an interview up in London village at 4pm, and after I am going to meet some old friends for a bite to eat.  

It's going to be a strange reincarnation of an age-old rite of passage - beer and kebabs.  Tonight, however, we will be drinking 5 quid pints of posh Italian beer and sampling the delights of a restaurant called Ozer (I think there's meant to be some dots in there somewhere, but I have no idea how to implement them) as opposed to 3 cans of Merrydown cider and a greasy shish kofte at 3am in the morning.

For me, Turkish food is much maligned and little understood.  Yes, there is a lot of grilled meat, and yes pitta bread is used as the ubiquitous bread but please - delve deeper into the cuisine.  You will find some beautiful dishes such as lahmacun (Turkish pizza with piquantly spiced lamb) and manti (the Turkish equivalent of ravioli served with melted butter, chilli flakes and fresh yoghurt).

I have been to Turkey twice, and on both occasions I have enjoyed the culture and the cuisine.  The Turks will castrate me for saying it, I am sure, but their style of cooking is so similar to Greek.  Even down to the firewater - just look at the similarities between Ouzo and Raki.  Both taste of aniseed, both are extremely potent, and whats more both will give you a headache like you never imagined possible the next day.  Additionally, both Ouzu and Raki seem to taste distinctly pleasant sitting at an ocean-side restaurant whilst the sun is shining.  Take a bottle home to dreary Surbiton though, and I can testify they both taste quite loathsome.

I do love the infinite permutations of the kebab though.  I often utilize a kebab shop in Thornton Heath (ok, I might as well get this out the way now - yes, I'm a Crystal Palace FC supporter) and during my visits I will take a seat and devour my chicken doner with gay abandon whilst eavesdropping in to the incoming orders:  "no chilli sauce on the chicken shish, but extra onions and red cabbage mate."  "can I get two pots of burger sauce, no not in the kebab boss, separate.  No onions or chilli's, but can I get some chips on top?"  It is only in the kebab shop (and it doesn't matter what time of day it is) that you may address the shop owner (and indeed, expect to be addressed back by said proprietor) as "Boss".  Whats more, there might be a queue of 15 people but the people who work in these restaurants remember everyone's kebab down to the last condiment. 

Sole Food

We had guests for lunch today, and it was my job to provide luncheon for two 4 year olds.  I plumped for sole goujons (incidentally the word goujon is French for the fish we call the gudgeon, and is so-called due to its fishy little shape) made with a curiously tasty coating of breadcrumbs, parmegiano and cayenne pepper.

It's so easy:

•  450g of lemon sole fed two kids.  Skin the fillets and cut into small "gudgeon" sized pieces.
•  Make some breadcrumbs.  I used some stonebaked bread (a wedge about 10cm thick and whizzed it up in a hand blender).
•  Add a tiny bit of cayenne (or to taste), with a little salt and pepper, to the breadcrumbs.
•  Finely grate some parmegiano reggiano - I think I used about 20-25g.  Add it to the breadcrumb mix.
•  Dip the fish in flour, then egg, then the breadcrumbs.
•  Fry them in a deep fat fryer for 2-3 minutes (the breadcrumbs will be a golden brown).

Serve with lemon wedges, or if you happen to be 4 years old serve with the ubiquitous sweas and peetcorn.

Thanks to Rick Steins "Coast to Coast" for this recipe. 

Fresh from the capn's table.

Oh, I'm so cool.  I love Scandinavian.

I have been extolling the virtues and merits of Nordic cooking for a long time now - I have been travelling to this region since the mid 2000's.

The stellar success of Noma has, in part been responsible for highlighting the brilliance of the Nordic kitchen - but I'm not sure, personally, how eager I am to actually forage for my own nuts, berries and algal foams.

Simple Swedish cooking is very attractive to me.  Potato salads flavoured with dill (a herb I do not usually like), pickled beetroot and salads made exclusively from cabbage and dressing all combine exquisitely with herrings, or simply a steak.

One thing that I learned to appreciate the qualities of at an early stage is the majestic beauty that is pytt i panna.  In its essence, pytt i panna is about as close to bubble and squeak as you can get, but its just a little bit more refined and opulent.  Small cubes of crisply browned potatoes combine with some onions, some garlic and literally whatever you happen to have left in the fridge (hence the name, which in Swedish means small bits in the pan).  Usually some kind of cold cubed meat it added, but always it is served with a fried egg and some pickled beetroot on the side.  The surprisingly optional addition of HP sauce is left utterly to the devourers discretion.

I peered into the cavernous maw of my fridge this morning to find that I still had the remnants of a savoy cabbage and the top section of a dome-like celeriac languishing in the back of my fridge.  I have some eggs.  I have some of my pickled beetroot.  A quick bit of mental cooking arithmetic = pytt i panna o' clock tonight.  I need to pop out this morning to pick up some things for a kids lunch (its going to be sole goujons - but I'll tell you about that later), so I think I'll get some salami or chorizo to make the aforementioned hotchpotch.

Photo's to follow!