No 3.  The Cauliflower.

I looked after the kids last night, so my partner could go out and indulge her alcoholic fancies in London.  This of course could mean only one thing:  curry for me.

I had already decided to cook a chicken keema curry - the recipe for which I shall withhold for the moment.  In my cupboard a cauliflower lurked - with intent.  I was determined to use it in some way, but a cauliflower bhaji seemed too simple a solution.  I had this inclination to revisit a recipe I have previously cooked - gobi paratha.

Whenever I go for a curry I always have some kind of bread to go with the main event.  Rice, for some reason is invariably contraindicated.  Paratha is one bread I have, in the past, shied away from - my main rationale is that it always sounded so unhealthy.  A bread, fried in ghee and stuffed with fruit and nuts - honestly I might as well cut out the middle man and self resuscitate myself at the table.

This savoury paratha is both easy to make and delicious.  I found the recipe on another blog (www.vegrecipesofindia.com) which is an excellent resource if you have a hankering for something of the photosynthetic variety.  The dough requires no yeast or proving time and the cauliflower does not require cooking!  They are seriously delicious and an excellent way to use up a third of a head of cauli.  Here's how you make them:

Gobi Paratha

•   For roughly 4 paratha, mix 200g of wholemeal flour, or atta if you can source it with enough water to make a pliant, but not sticky dough.  Kneed it for 5 minutes or so until it becomes malleable.
• Grate 3rd of a head of a medium cauliflower.  
• Add one teaspoon of tandoori masala spice mix.  Mix with the cauliflower.
• Divide the dough into 4 or 5 evenly sized balls.  
• Roll one ball out into a disc roughly 20cm in diameter.  Take 2 dessert spoons of the cauliflower and place into the middle.
• Draw the edges of the dough into the centre to make a pouch.
• Flatten the pouch, then roll it back out into a disc of 20cm.
• Heat up a frying pan (or a tawa if you have one) until it is very hot.
• Melt some butter (ghee if you have it).  Paint one side of the paratha with butter.  Place it onto the hot pan.
• Fry it for roughly 2 minutes, or until the paratha is uniformly golden.
• Paint the other side with ghee or butter, flip and cook on the other side.
• Repeat for the other balls.

A bit of a breast man.

That's me - I do like a bit of breast on my bird.  I've never been one to admire the alluring embrace of a thigh - I always found them too stringy and fatty.  The purity of the breast, how gentle you have to be with it and the reward, when you finally sink your teeth into one is unsurpassed.  I can manage a wing though, but only when they have been barbecued.


Cooking chicken breast is not a simple task.  It is deceptive how easy it can be to overcook and massacre a chicken breast - and let's not forget they are not cheap.  I paid nearly 8 quid for 2 breasts in my local butchers yesterday.


Chicken breast is best suited to quick exposure to high heats.  Searing on a griddle, skewering on the barbecue or blackening in a thick-based pan seems to be the best way to cook it.  You can curry it too, but you need to be extremely vigilant from the moment you dunk it into it's sauce.  I have lost count the amount of times I have overcooked my bird in a lal masale wali murgh (chicken in red pepper curry).  It was an education.


Mincing chicken breast is quite an uncommon occurrence outside of the Indian kitchen.  In fact, if my memory serves me correctly it was the Indian mother of a good friend of mine who first introduced me to home Indian cooking, and, in this respect, to minced chicken.  The Indians, and the Pakistani's are rather partial to their keema.  I once ate at a very tasty Pakistani restaurant in Manchester where they served me a hot curry made with a combination of lamb and chicken mince.  Sounds odd, tastes divine.


It is possible to mince chicken at home.  The Chinese method is to use two cleavers, one in each hand, and then gently pummel the breast into minced submission.  If you don't happen to have two cleavers at home (why would you?), then you can use a food blender.  You need to be careful when you use a blender - if you over-whizz it you end up with a chicken toothpaste.  Gentle pulsing until you have the right consistency is the correct method to follow when you use a blender.

Yesterday I had the luxury of a butcher at my dispense.  I asked him to bone me out some spare-ribs, and then to mince me 2 breasts.  I made sticky ribs (recipe has been mentioned before), and some spicy chicken burgers.  Here's how I made them:

Our BBQ yesterday!  Chicken burgers on the right.

Spicy Chicken Burgers

•   300g of minced chicken makes  4 decent-sized burgers. 
•   Add the mince to a bowl.  Season with salt and pepper.
•   Add 1 teaspoon of regular paprika.
•   Add half teaspoon of chilli powder.

 

•     Add a good pinch of dried oregano.
•   Form into 4 balls, then, on a clean board, press them down with the heel of your hand to make patties.
•   Refrigerate for 1 hour.
•   When the barbecue is ready paint one side of the burger with olive oil and slap onto the grill.  it should take 4-5 minutes to be nice and golden, like mine above.
•   Whilst the first side is cooking, paint the other side with olive oil too (otherwise you'll get stuck).  Flip when ready.
•   Cook the other side for 4-5 minutes.

I am a bit paranoid with barbecuing - especially when chicken is concerned.  Salmonella does not feature highly on my list of things to do.  I always get a sharp knife and cut into one of the burgers, just to check it is cooked all the way through.

Chorizo - to peel or not to peel?

Pretty much every country in the civilized world has a sausage of some sorts or another.  Naturally, we, in England like to think we produce the greatest bangers of all time.  Having travelled a bit, and sampled the worlds finest sausages, I am beginning to think that actually our sausages are a bit boring.  Pork and leek, and cracked-black pepper seem to be the most extreme length we will go as far as flavourings are concerned.  Of course, there is the school of thought that propagates the theory of, "if it aint broke, don't fix it".  But there is so much more you can do with a sausage.

In the UK we seem to only have traditional sausages, i.e ones that require cooking.  We do briefly flirt with the concept of a blood sausage, but most people find this concept repellent at best.

I do love a cured sausage, whether it be a saucisson from France, a spicy landjaeger from Germany, or my particular favourite - the chorizo from Spain.  Now, I don't want to be accused of forgetting Portugal here, because they also make a mean chouriço - I can testify, having eaten many of them last year.

There's something about the pimenton in chorizo that attracts me.  I adore both the vivid orange colour, and the deep, smoke-infused paprika spice that it yields.  I also love a chorizo that is steeped in red wine and oodles of garlic.

For the uneducated amongst you, there are really two types of chorizo. There is the cured chorizo, which we see frequently in our shops and supermarkets.  This is either dulce (sweet) or picante (hot) - dependent on the type of paprika used.  It is for sure always a smokey paprika.  

The slightly lesser known type of chorizo is the fresco (fresh) variety - i.e this needs to be cooked.  Often you will find this labelled as "cooking chorizo"  This "cooking" label does not infer or confer sub-sufficiency, indeed it often heralds a much more tasty sausage - just don't eat it raw. 

One thing, though, which I cannot abide is the paper-like casings on cured chorizo (and frequently most cured sausages).  I always remove this horrible husk - even with cooking it does little to render it palatable.  I often wonder if I am being pedantic (I often am)?

We're going to squeeze in a barbecue later today, since the weather appears to be turning just in time for the weekend.  I'm going to make some chicken kebabs and I am now horrified by the fact that I do not have any chorizo left to skewer along with my chicken (we ate it all last night in the risotto!).  Ah well, with the benefit of hindsight... 

Risotto!

Rice seems to have managed to wiggle its way into just about every type of cuisine in the world.  Of course, everyone is familiar with its compatibility with Middle-eastern and Asian foods, from Indian to Indonesian, but its proliferation into paella, rice pudding, tex-mex and of course, risotto is not to be overlooked.  

I am lead to believe it is probably a combination of far eastern merchants and the Moorish incursions to Iberia that introduced the dissemination of this wonderful grain to Europe.  There are many types of rice varieties - the red camargue rice of France, bomba rice from Spain and basmati from India, Pakistan and Bangladesh.

I keep only two varieties of rice in my cupboard - basmati and arborio.  Arborio is used exclusively, (in my house) for making risotto.  There are some golden rules to making risotto, and as per usual I have a list to provide you with.  Transgress these at your peril:

•   Risotto always starts with a sofritto - that is, onions, garlic, oil and butter.
•   Never add any type of cheese to a risotto except for parmigiano regianno (I can probably excuse the use of grana padano or perhaps pecorino).
•   The creamy consistency of a risotto is achieved by the slow stirring of the rice, releasing its starches.  It is never achieved by adding cream or ricotta.
•   Ensure your stock is nice and hot when you begin adding it.
•   Never overcook the rice.  It should have some bite left in it.

•   The final consistency should be firm and not sloppy.

Tonight I am going to cook a bit of a melange, a fusion perhaps, of a risotto - and this is utterly guided by what I have left in my fridge.  I have a half ring of smoky chorizo, 2 small courgettes and some frozen peas left, mulling around not doing very much, just crying out to be used.  Here is how I will make my risotto:

Chorizo, courgette and pea risotto

  

•  Chop the chorizo into small chunks.  Dry fry in a thick-based skillet and remove from the pan when the orange oil is released and they have become slightly crunchy.  

•  Finely chop one medium onion, the courgettes (2 small ones, or 1 large) and 2 cloves of garlic.  Add a few good glugs of olive oil and a generous knob of butter.  Add the chopped ingredients.
•   Fry on a medium heat until they absorb some of the oil and butter and become glistening.  Do not colour!
•   Add the arborio rice, I usually just eyeball how much is needed.  Stir the grains to ensure that each is coated with some oil and butter.
•   Heat your stock up - not boiling, but hot.
•   Add a large glass of white wine - something dry, not fruity.  An orvieto, verdicchio or soave are fine.  Increase the heat and boil off the booze.  
•   Add a handful of frozen peas.
•   Add a ladle full of hot stock to the pan.  Stir slowly and not too vigorously.  
•   When the stock has been incorporated into the risotto, add another and repeat this process until you have added all the stock.  For two people I would use 200g rice 500ml stock. 
•   Check the rice, it should be soft on the outside and a bite in the centre.  The consistency should be creamy, thick, but not wet. This should be roughly 20-25 minutes.
•   Add the chorizo to warm up.
•   Turn the heat off.  Add 20g of finely grated parmigiano, a few good turns of ground black pepper.  Check for salt, it may not need it due to the salty chorizo and parmigiano. 

 Edit : Here's the risotto from last night!

 

Taking stock of the situation.

I am mulling some idea's around my head as to what I should do with the chicken stock I created from our roasted bird on Sunday.  I think I made about 750ml of quite concentrated chicken stock, with a thick, gelatinous jelly content - this always heralds a good tasting bouillon.

For those of you that discard their chicken carcasses after they have delicately picked all the remaining flesh off, I entreat you to think about utilizing it in future.  It's such a waste to throw away something that can, effectively provide you with a free, second meal.  

Bouillon de poulet a la Noz

Now, I do make a nice stock, but as you can see in the above picture it is a little hazy.  This is probably because I managed to boil the liquid.  Here's how I make my stock:

•   Put the carcass of the chicken into a deep stove-top pan.  
•   Add a bay leaf, 6 or 7 peppercorns 2 unpeeled garlic cloves and and a sprig or two of thyme.
•   Roughly chop one small onion and one small carrot.  Add to the pan.
•   Fill with enough water to cover everything.
•   Bring to a very slow simmer, adjust the heat to very low and allow it to slowly bubble (not boil!) for 2 or so hours - longer if you have the patience.

  
Generally I do a handful of favourites with chicken stock.  I do a great Iranian chicken-ball, cardamom and lime soup (from the Moro book) or a standard chicken or vegetable soup.  Sometimes, if I am feeling adventurous I try something a bit more outlandish like a garlic soup, or a Greek fasolatha.  A risotto always goes down favourably in our household - and this is probably what I will use this stock for.  However, I am out tonight, watching Crystal Palace play Doncaster Rovers, so no cooking for me this evening. 


I will give you my lowdown on how to cook a decent risotto tomorrow. 

A typical, English, Sunday roast

As much as every Englishman's home is his castle, his Sunday roast is his daily bread.  The Sunday roast is part and parcel of the weekend rota and in many households is considered mandatory.  In reality, our family have a roast dinner on a Sunday perhaps once a month - sometimes less.  I do like a roast dinner, but as a weekly occurrence?  No thanks.  God forbid if we ever walk into a pub on a Sunday and see a carvery - this invariably triggers our hasty exit.

Roast chicken is probably our weapon of choice to consume on a Sunday.  The two main motivators for this are that it is a particular favourite of Luca - our 4 year old son, and that we can boil the residual carcass of the bird afterwards to create a tasty stock.  Basically we kill two birds with one stone.  Yesterday I did a roast chicken with thyme and onion gravy served with roasted potatoes, steamed kale and broccoli.  

One thing I wanted to discuss, though, was the totally inept cooking instructions provided by the supermarket (in this case Marks and Spencer).  The bird weighed 1.5kg, and their instruction was for 1.5 hours @ 180C (for fan-assisted oven).  At the 1 hour mark my bird was looking seriously ready, so I checked it by gashing a thigh, which resulted in clear liquid oozing from nicely cooked meat.  I then cut into the breast and it was likewise ready for eating.  I rested it for 15 minutes, and honestly, if I had adhered to the cooking instructions I would have been left with a piece of leather.  Cooking a chicken is an art-form, it is perilously easy to mess-up.  I am always extremely vigilant when cooking a chicken, as 10 minutes over can totally turn your fowl to foul.

I use the cooking technique from Nigel Slater's book, "Real Food".  Here's what you do:

•   Cut 3-4 medium onions into large chunks (each onion into 3 or 4 pieces).  Lay them in a baking tray.
•   Add 4 cloves of garlic to the tray, no need to peel.
•   Add 2 bay leaves to the tray.
•   Strip 4 bushy sprigs of thyme and put the little leaves into the tray.
•   Mix all the ingredients in the tray.  Dot with some knobs of butter and give some serious glugs of olive oil.
•   Stick your bird on top, so that the vegetables act as an organic trestle.
•   Cook your bird as you see fit, don't follow the instructions on the packaging.  
•   Remove the bird from the tray and allow to rest and cool.
•   Use the remaining roasted onions, garlic, herbs and juices to make a nice gravy.

Rutabaga anyone?

Every week we get an organic vegebox delivered to our door.  We do this in an earnest attempt to eat more greens and to pretend to ourselves that we are being good to the planet.  The box invariably contains something grown locally, and in-season.  In reality, what this generally means is that between October and March we get a box full of various root vegetables.  By March we are physically sick of the sight of swedes.

The humble swede, brassica napobrassica is actually a cross between a cabbage and a turnip.  They were grown extensively during the second world war, with such regularity that after the war was finished, and rationing declined, they were much maligned and almost forgotten about - condemned to the animal feed pile.

Just about everyone else in the civilized world call it something other than Swede.  The Americans and Canadians call it rutabaga ( with reference to the old Swedish word Rotabagge meaning root bag).  Interestingly the Swedes actually call the Swede a kålrot, which I think means cabbage root.


Apart from boiling or steaming them, mashing them up with butter and black pepper and salt I struggle to think of ways to cook them.  I looked in my fridge, though, to find a big bag of curly kale, a purply swede and a hunk of pecorino romano.  Here's what I did with them:

Swede, potato and pecorino cakes

•   I peeled and cubed the swede, along with 2 small potatoes and boiled them all until tender.
•   Allow the swede and spuds to cool, then mash.  Season generously.
•   Grate a lump of pecorino - I guess i used around 75-100g.  Add it to the swede mix.
•   Wash and slice up the kale, remove the thick stalk from the centre.  Steam it until it is tender.
•   Squeeze all the water out of the kale.  Then shred it.  Add it to the swede mix.
•   Stir the kale and pecorino into the mix.
•   Form into cakes, then fry in a mixture of olive oil and butter until they have a golden crust on each side.
•   I served them with the perennial English favourite - baked beans.

Green Wine.

I thought we'd take a little detour off the beaten track of this so-far rather food orientated blog.  As much as I love my food, I also love my wine.  I always said to myself I could quite easily give up drinking beer and lager in lieu of continuing to drink hefty portions of the hallowed grape juice.  Since the spring is here, and today heralded our first barbecue (see, I threatened yesterday!) I wanted to talk about one of viticulture's unsung heroes - Vinho Verde.

Vinho verde refers to the type of wine, rather than a specific varietal grape.  I am told vinho verde can be rose and red as well as white - but I am yet to find them.  My only experience of this youthful, semi-sparkling delight is of the white variety.  


Strictly translated vinho verde means "green wine" but it actually translates as "young wine".  Typically it should always be drunk within one year of bottling.


Geographically, vinho verde comes from the northern, Minho region of Portugal - a region which has quite high (in comparison to the southern part of the country) precipitation.  It is for this reason that the vines are often trained up fences, poles and indeed anything to hand.  The reason for this is two-fold:  one being that it keeps the vines off the ground and reduces the incidence of mould growth.  The second reason is that it permits the cultivation of a second crop beneath - typically a vegetable, for the family to eat!

 In style, white vinho verde is very slightly sparkling, often characterized by citrus flavours (often lemon) and a cutting acidity.  Having said that, it is an easy drinking wine, typically around 9-10% ABV, that pairs itself excellently with fish, white meats and cheeses.


It's not that easy to find decent vinho verde in England.  Quite rightfully, the Portuguese like to keep the good stuff for themselves.  One I can recommend, though is from Waitrose and is called Sogrape Quinta de Azevedo 2010 (I'm  not a huge expert, but I don't think its from a collective, since it is touted as from a Quinta (or bodegas as they say in Spain).


We opened a bottle of vinho verde today, to accompany our barbecue.  I really recommend you try it, and disprove to yourself that Portuguese wine is plonk.

The sacred fire pit.

Today it is 18 Celcius here in London.  This of course heralds only one thing:  barbecue season is imminent.  I wager it will be less than 24 hours before I detect the carbonized odour of a cremated sausage wafting over my garden fence.  I am no exception to this - every Englishman's yearning for the advent of the summer period.  I love a good barbecue, it's just, in my opinion I actually can operate one without disseminating some kind of food poisoning to all my guests.

It is said that the word barbecue originates from the Caribbean, specifically from the Taino people.  The word, "barabicu" means sacred fire pit.  The word transgressed into the European languages by way of the word "barbecoa", and in England, in 1756 as a term to define the whole roasting of a hog.

It will come as no surprise to you, that I have very specific opinions regarding how to and how not to barbecue:

•   I am not going to even mention Gas barbecue's.
•   Barbecues are fuelled by wood, briquettes or some kind of solid combustible material.
•   There are alternatives to sausages, burgers and chicken wings to put on a barbecue.
•   Shop-bought pre-marinaded products are over-expensive and under-flavoured.
•   Pre-cooking of some kind of meats is optimal - for example chicken thighs and pork ribs.
•   Banana's with chocolate buttons in them should never be anywhere near a barbecue.

One of my favourite things to cook on a barbecue are pork ribs.  They are inexpensive, truly flavoursome and can feed a whole lot of guests.  As mentioned above, I part-cook them and then pretty much finish them off on the barbie (thats the charcoal-fire grilling station, not the plastic doll).  Here's how I make my ribs:

•   Get your largest boiling pot and put the ribs in (usually I snip the ribs in two sections).  If you are using 2 racks, then you might need to use 2 pots.
•   Fill the pots with water so that it covers the ribs completely.  Add 1 tablespoon of white wine, or spirit vinegar.
•   Boil for 1.5 hours, removing the scum at opportune moments.
•   During this time make the marinade
•   In a small pan add a few good squirts of tomato ketchup
•   Add a few good squirts of american style mustard (Frenches for example).
•   Add a few glugs of worcestershire sauce.
•   Add a few glugs of tabasco sauce.
•   Add a teaspoon of sweet, smoked paprika.
•   Add a teaspoon of ground cumin.
•   Add a good pinch of dried oregano.
•   Add a few good glugs of cider vinegar.
•   A teaspoon of molasses.
•   Some black pepper.
•   Heat the pan up slowly, allowing all the ingredients to mix and for the sugar to melt.  This should only take 2-3 minutes on a medium heat.  
•   Allow to cool.

•   When the grill is ready - not too hot, not burned out, liberally brush the ribs with your marinade.
•   Grill on the barbecue until ready
•   Om nom nom!

Voodoo Chile

Chile con carne, alongside the other seminal pub-grub classics such as lasagne and baked potatoes, is one dish that is so often massacred beyond culinary imagination that it is often hard to believe that what you are eating is actually chile con carne.

The usual culprits of this pub-grub offence are the use of frozen mince, not enough or indeed no spice, sloppy presentation (and here I'm talking about water content, not quinelles and garnishes), and of course let's not forget the most abhorrent of transgression - calling it chilli con carne.

As you probably know by now, I am rather opinionated, in the respect that I like to try to be authentic and I like to understand the ethos behind my cooking.  My relationship with CCC (Chile con carne) is no exception.

•   Chile con carne literally means "spice with meat".  It should never be called chilli con carne.
•   A chile should be made with a cut of beef, not minced beef.  Braising steak, or chuck/skirt of beef are ideal - something that can withstand long, slow cooking.  Having said this, I frequently do make chile with minced beef, and I confess I rather enjoy it.
•   Let's be honest - there are a plethora of regional differences in how chile is served.  Rightly or wrongly, the following trespassers are used - tomatoes, beans, chocolate and garlic.   My personal take is that I like to use all except chocolate.  I have used it, but I'm not entirely sure I like it.
•   Chile needs to be slow cooked.  A 30 minute chile is never going to taste punchy.

There is an unwritten rule in my house that chile con carne is exclusively served with rice (basmati not long-grain), soured cream and grated cheddar cheese (eugh).


My only rule is that (as long as I'm not expecting to feed this to my 4 year old) I can use a barrage of various dried chilli's.


Here's how I make it:

•   Sweat a whole, finely chopped onion in a pan with 3 cloves of finely chopped garlic and one bay leaf.
•   After 10 minutes on medium heat, push the onions up to the side of the skillet pan.  Add 500g (for 2 people) of braising steak (or minced beef).  Fry until it is nicely coloured.
•   Stir the onions and garlic into the beef.  
•   Add 1 heaped teaspoon of ground cumin, 1/3 teaspoon  of smoked paprika.  Chilli-wise you can add 1 teaspoon of hot chilli powder, or a concoction of your own dried chilli's to suit your taste.
•   Crank up the heat.  Add a small glass of full-bodied red wine (a shiraz, or merlot for example).  Boil off the booze and reduce slightly.
•   Add a can of chopped tomatoes, one teaspoon of salt and a good pinch of dried oregano.
•   Add a can of drained and washed kidney beans.
•   Cook uncovered on a low heat for minimum 1.5-2 hours.  Stir occasionally.
•   When you are ready to serve, juice a lemon (or a lime), add the juice. 
•   Check the seasoning.  If you want to fire it up a bit more you can add some tabasco at this stage.

Serve it with some basmati rice, soured cream, chopped chives on top and if you desire, some grated cheese.

The wonderful world of spaghetti.

As a small child I righteously believed that spaghetti came out of small yellow cans, festooned in a sickly sweet tomato sauce.  I was also of the persuasion that spaghetti was not straight, and neither long - it was most definitely of toroidal origin.

Of course, as we all get older we find out that it is in fact grown on trees...

You might have seen one of my earlier posts talking about the compatibility of certain types of pasta, with specific sauces.  Bolognese is definitely not compatible with spaghetti (although I am very content to both make it and eat it).

One dish that certainly does marry very well with spaghetti is "Spaghetti all'amatriciana", though the Italians will tell you that really it should be made with bucatini.  I find it very difficult to find bucatini in England, so I either use spaghetti or, as in this case, linguine.

Originally this sauce, from the Lazio region uses guanciale, which is essentially a bacon, but exclusively made from pork cheeks.  This, alas is also very hard to find in England.  It is for this reason that most anglicized versions of this sauce are made either with pancetta or streaky bacon.

In essence it's very easy to make.  For authenticity you should use pecorino romano, but I didn't have any so I used the slightly more pungent parmagiano reggiano.  Here's the recipe:

•   Fry 5 or 6 pieces of thinly sliced streaky bacon, or even better if you have it, some pancetta, in a few glugs of regular olive oil.
•   When the bacon is crispy, but not frazzled remove it.
•   Add one finely chopped onion to the pan, which is now quite oily from the rendered bacon fat.  Cook the onion until it has softened.
•   Add two finely chopped cloves of garlic.  Stir in the pan and soften for 2 minutes.
•   Add one tin of peeled plum tomatoes.  Break apart with a spoon (or I like to squash them up with a potato masher).
•   Season with a lot of black pepper - do not add salt yet (the bacon fat and indeed the bacon itself is salty).
•   At this stage I add a few glugs of worcestershire sauce (this is not authentic, as you can imagine, but it seriously enhances the sauce).
•   Cook the tomato sauce for 30-45 minutes to reduce it, and remove some of the water content.
•   Meanwhile, in a large pan of rapidly boiling salted water add the spaghetti, or bucatini.  Cook it until al dente, which in most cases for dried pasta is roughly 7-8 minutes.  
•   Drain the pasta.  Add it to the sauce and stir to coat each strand.
•   Cut the bacon into strips and add to the sauce.  Stir.
•   Check the seasoning.  Usually I do not add any salt.  
•   Serve in a bowl.  Finely grate your pecorino, or parmegiano over the top.

Auntie Pat Chronicles, Volume 2

Today is our second installment from Auntie Pat's cookbook - something rustic from Portugal.  I spent 3 weeks driving around Portugal last year during my Iberian sojourn and I must say I thoroughly enjoyed it.  The food, the wine and the friendly people made our trip here especially agreeable.

My journey took me from Faro, across the southern coast, up through Alentejo, across the Vasco da Gama bridge past Lisboa, via Obidos and back to Spain through the Douro valley.   Auntie Pat is very well travelled in Portugal and actually has her own little beach shack!  Here is her recipe for:

Arroz De Tomate

I have been going to Portugal for almost 30 years now and whilst I have seen an enormous shift towards the more ‘Cheffie’ type restaurants, on the whole it has been the original rustic places that have survived the various economics difficulties over those 30 years.

Traditional Portuguese dishes blend the flavours and techniques of many cultures, dating back centuries.  Phoenicians, Turks, Moors and Arabs are just a few of the people who have left their mark to create what is now Portuguese cuisine.

From the Arab countries around the Med came wheat, rice, citrus fruits, almonds sugar, saffron and salt. The Moors introduced Almond trees into the Algarve region, the Phoenicians brought wine and olives and the Turks taught the uses of sugar.

Access to the sea led to the discovery of new lands and exciting new ingredients and opened up superb trade opportunities and thus access to the abundance of ingredients seen in today’s Portuguese cooking.

Even though the country is small, there are some regional culinary differences and for my first piece on Portugal I will share with you a recipe from the Alentejo region which is a south central region and is separated from the rest of Portugal by the Tagus River and extends to the south where it borders the Algarve.  The name Alentejo  literally translated means "beyond the Tagus".

On one of my many trips into the Alentejo I stayed at a very basic tourist house on the edge of Evora.  This particular evening I was dining alone and didn’t want to stray too far from my base to eat.  I was directed to a somewhat dilapidated terraced house which was obviously the restaurant as evidenced by the aromas and crowds of people outside waiting for a table.  I didn’t much fancy waiting but by chance, I met 3 English speaking Portuguese who suggested I might like to make up a table of 4 and that way we would be seated sooner.  And it worked.  The recipe below is for the tomato rice I had at this restaurant gleaned from the instructions given to me by the little old lady who was the Cook.  I later found out that she was the Mother of the owner!!

Tomato Rice (Arroz de Tomate)

2 slices smoked bacon coarsely chopped

1 medium onion finely chopped

2 large very ripe tomatoes, peeled, seeded and chopped

2 tsps tomato paste

1 clove garlic finely chopped

2 cups water

1 tsp coarse sea salt

1 cup long grain rice

1tbs finely chopped parsley

6 small black olives to garnish

1.       Heat the bacon until just cooked

2.       Add and sauté the onion until lightly coloured, reduce the heat to low.

3.       Stir in the tomatoes with the garlic and cover and cook until the tomatoes are soft and partially dissolved, about 15 minutes.

4.       Add in the tomato paste and blend well

5.       Ass the water and bring to a boil over medium heat and add the salt

6.       Toss in the rice, stir and cover.  Reduce the heat and simmer for about 20 mins.

7.       Stir in the parsley and continue cooking until the rice is tender and the liquid is absorbed, about 5 to 10 mins.

8.       Fill a small custard mould or ramekin and pack firmly and immediately invert onto individual serving plates.

9.       After removing the mould top with a black olive and serve.

NB  You will need to adjust the seasoning to taste perhaps adding some black pepper.

*  For those of you who prefer something with a little zing, this recipe can be augmented with some fresh chilli.

Gone Fishing.

Just a short note for today.  I am going down to Devon to pick up the rest of my family.  I won't be back until Monday.  

Hope you survive without me! 

Say Cheese!

I have always been a stalwart fan of cheeses, though up until about 3 years ago I was repulsed by the concept a blue cheese - a cheese?  With mould it?  How very dare they?  

A few years ago I began travelling frequently to Scandinavia, and my airline of choice was SAS (a brilliant airline I must emphasize - the complete antithesis of our hallowed BA).  In economy extra (the sneaky class in between business and cattle) you used to get a cold meal, which invariably included cheese and biscuits at the end.  The cheese was usually a blue cheese and I could never bring myself to go near it, let alone sample its azure veins.  It wasn't until I got myself rather drunk indeed on free champagne that I tried it for the first time (out of sheer hunger, I think, rather than morbid curiosity), and since then I discovered that my taste-buds had irrevocably changed - I can remember turning my nose up in disgust at my mothers Danish Blue as a child.

One of my favourite food writers is Nigel Slater - I love his simplicity, and his realistic grasp of every day cooking.  I liked to consider him the "thinking man's ready steady cook" - I could never manage a whole 30 minutes of Ainsley Harriott.  Nigel Slater introduced me to Taleggio, a soft cheese, from Lombardy in Italy.  It's a delicate cheese, with a washed, salty rind.  Although it doesn't actually have a particularly strong taste, it does have a peculiarly strong odour of mens socks. 

This is a simple recipe for "Slow cooked potatoes, with Taleggio and Thyme" from Nigel Slater's book, "Real Cooking".  Once you cook it you will never forget it, its amazing:

•   Finely slice a medium onion and 2 cloves of garlic.
•   Find some waxy potatoes, such as charlotte, or desiree (or any potatoes labelled as "salad".  Wash them but do not peel.  Cut them into rounds about as thick as a pound coin (a pound coin is about 3mm thick I think). About half a kilo is enough for 2 people.
•   Add a few good glugs of regular olive oil and a decent knob of butter to a heavy-based frying pan, or skillet.  Add the onions and soften.
•   When the onions are softened add the minced garlic.  Stir for 2 minutes.
•   Add the spuds to the pan, stir thoroughly to coat each slice in oily butter.
•   Strip 3 bushy sprigs of thyme and add to the potatoes.  
•   Season the potatoes with a generous pinch of pepper, and some sea salt.
•   Put a lid on the pan.  Turn the heat to the lowest setting you can achieve without the remote possibility of gassing yourself when the flame blows out.  Leave for 45 minutes, infrequently stirring.
•   Check the potatoes.  They are ready when they are soft and yielding, but not utterly obliterated in the pan.
•   Slice some Taleggio (I remove the rind, I think its inedible).  Lay the slices on the top of the potatoes.  Replace the lid.  
•   Leave for 2-3 minutes whilst the Taleggio melts.

I would serve this with some decent, dressed greens, or spinach.  And that, is just what I am going to do tonight, when I get home from the football!  Enjoy.  

Fresh from the capn's table.

I did my usual reconnaissance of the fridge this morning (whilst I casually tried to ignore the towering minarets of washing-up).  I had two choices at my disposal, one involved taleggio and potatoes (a brilliant Nigel Slater recipe) and the other would involve a vacuum-packed piece of smoked mackerel.  I plumped for the piscatorial option.

I have had a bit of a falling out of love with fish recently.  I used to eat it with much gusto, but I had, about a year ago what one might term a biohazardous incident with some cod.  Now, I do urge and indeed recommend that you skip the next paragraph if you want to continue enjoying your fish, or perhaps you have a unerring curiosity to find out....

I was making a fish pie.  I poached the fish in infused milk, much like I explained in my recent kipper catastrophe episode.  I allowed the fish to cool and began flaking it into a bowl.  Much to my surprise I felt something "curled" around my little finger, much more alarmed I was to find that it moved too!!  A worm, around 6cm in length, pale white in colour was moving, serpent-like in my hands.  Closer examination of the fillet revealed more of these annelid menaces.  I'm sure you won't be hugely surprised to find out I dumped the whole cooking adventure in the bin.  I took some video footage of the aforementioned helminth but I won't "gross you out" with the grisly footage.  I did some investigation on the internet, and it appears I had a nasty infestion of ascarids, or fish round worms.  Although they are unable to live in humans they can cause extreme stomach pain and vomiting.  I didn't eat fish for about a year after this.  There are two ways of dealing with these potential dinner-spoilers.  One is to freeze your fish solidly before you eat it, the other is to make sure you give it a jolly good bit of heat (i think they die off at 80 odd celcius).  Obviously my gentle poaching wasn't enough to kill the little blighters off.

Anyway, I have began to eat fish again, but I try to choose something that has been smoked.  I'm fairly sure the hot smoking will do the job on any potential stow-aways onboard.

My smoked mackerel fishcakes are delightful, I must say, and quite outperform anything you might buy in the supermarket.  I am rather purist with my fishcakes.  Here's how I make them:

Mackerel Fishcakes with home-pickled beetroot and salad

•   Whizz some old bread up in a small blender.  I usually use 1-1.5 slices - white bread works best.
•   Meanwhile peel and boil some floury potatoes - about 4 medium ones will do.  Boil until they are cooked through.
•   In a bowl flake your smoked mackerel, try to catch any bones that might attempt to sneak into your mix.
•   You can add a chopped spring onion or two if you like, or perhaps add some chopped parsley here.
•   Allow the cooked potatoes to cool.  When they are cool mash them and add to the fish.  Mix thoroughly.  Add pepper but not salt as the mackerel is invariably rather salty.  Shape to make 4 fat, round fishcakes.
•   Put the breadcrumbs on a plate or chopping board.  Roll the fishcakes in the breadcrumbs - try to coat all surfaces.  
•   Chill the fishcakes in the fridge for at least an hour.
•   Heat 2 tbsp olive oil (not extra virgin) and a knob of butter in a heavy base frying pan.  Cook the fishcakes - don't crowd the pan, cook 2 at a time if need be - until they are golden and crisp on each side.  This should take 5-6 minutes on each side dependent on how high you have the heat.  
•   During the cooking process spoon the oil/butter over the fishcakes.  You can rotate the cakes in the pan so that they get cooked around the edges too.

I always serve with a crisp salad, or failing that some good old fashioned baked beans (and copious amounts of HP sauce).