¡Ay, caramba! Tortilla chips!

Mexican food is, I believe, a poorly understood cuisine here in England.  I am certainly no expert on cooking it, but I do love to wolf it down whenever I get the opportunity to try something that at least strives to be authentic.

Last nights culinary delight was by no means authentic, and probably not very Mexican at all, but I sat there, munching on my tortilla chips, revelling in the mental projection of my poncho, my droopy moustache and my sombrero. 

I am neither a polyglot nor proficient with the Spanish language - those which originate from the Latin base seem to evade my memory.  I do dabble, though, when on holiday and usually end up ordering something I didn't actually want.  Tortilla, as most words in Spanish seem, uses the "illa" part to denote a diminutive.  In this case, Tortilla means "small cake".  

 

The kind of "tortilla chips" we get are actually just corn chips, mass-made in some intensively automated factory in Barrow-in-Furness.  Real tortilla chips are made from corn tortilla's, pressed into discs and then deep fried to make them crispy.  After getting soaked at Selhurst Park yesterday I was in no mood to start experimenting, so I happily cracked open my bag of intensively made, non-authentic corn chips to make the following:

Corn chips with tomato salsa, refried beans and sour cream

This is just a matter of reconstruction (assuming you made the salsa earlier).

http://swlsk.blogspot.co.uk/2012/04/asparagus-officinalis-end-of-april.html 

The chips are placed onto a plate, spoon some salsa over, some refried beans (I bought mine, you can probably hazard a guess where they are probably made), some finely chopped spring onions, and some some grated cheddar cheese.  Preheat your grill, grill the abomination for 2 minutes, until the cheese has just melted.  Finally, serve it with some ample dollops of soured cream.

Ready, Steady, Cook!

I decided to play, "Ready, Steady, Cook!" last night.  This is a game, not unlike a Victorian parlour game, whereby one investigates the dregs remaining at the back of the fridge compartment and tries to envisage making something faintly edible.  Often I am posed with interesting culinary paradoxes like custard, sweet potatoes and partially fermenting spring onions.  Last night I was distinctly blessed with the following:

1.   Two Leeks
2.   An onion
3.   A red pepper
4.   Some garlic
5.   A tin of tomatoes (in the cupboard, not the fridge)
6.   Some fusilli
7.   Cheddar cheese.

This is what I managed to concoct:

On the first day God said, "Let there be light!", on the second day God said, "Let there be firmament!".  And there was.  On the third day He said, "Let's have a pasta bake!".  

Pasta bake is rather like martini bianco, or cherry brandy.  You left it at the back of the drinks cabinet, you got thirsty and that's all there was to drink, you drank it and then you remembered just how lovely it is. 

Veggie Pasta Bake

•   Chop your onion, your pepper and leeks into manageable chunks and add them to a pan with some olive oil on medium heat.
•   Add some garlic - about 3 or 4 cloves should be enough to eradicate the flavour of the leeks.
•   Cook until the vegetables have softened 
•   Add some red wine.  Increase the heat, boil off the booze.
•   Add the tomatoes, a squirt of tomato puree and keep the heat on to reduce.
•   Meanwhile boil some pasta.  I used fusilli last night.  Don't worry about it being al dente - you are going to obliterate it in this recipe.
•   Drain the pasta when it's ready and add to the tomato and vegetables.  Mix together.
•   Pour the contents into a decent sized, oven compatible receptacle.  
•   Sprinkle some cheese on top.
•   Cook until the top is crispy and golden, about 20 minutes @ 180C

 Tonight is the night of our monthly curry club.  We are heading out into the darkest depths of Kingston-upon-Thames to treat our tastebuds to something of a Bangladeshi nature, so no cooking for me tonight! 

Asparagus officinalis

The end of April heralds many things in England:  continual rain, the hosepipe ban, some more rain and the onset of the asparagus season!  Most of the year we are able to buy asparagus in our supermarkets, often those who buy it pay no attention to the fact that it has been flown 6,315 miles (assuming normal air routing), from Peru.  Why do we insist on being able to eat vegetables or fruits at our taste's demand?  Surely it is simpler, more tasty and easier on the planet to eat whats being grown in our own fair land?

Asparagus is one of my favourite vegetables.  I adore its texture and its nutty taste.  It is so flexible (and I don't mean in structure) and can be steamed, par-boiled, griddled, fried, roasted and eaten raw.  It really should not be messed about with, a simple dressing of butter, and maybe some garlic and lemon if you are feeling a bit frisky.

Should we talk about urine?  Why not.  Many people find that after eating asparagus their wee smells, shall we say, unsavoury?  Indeed, Louis Lemery, in his 1702 Treatise of all sorts of food, said, "[Asparagus] causes a filthy and disagreeable smell in the urine, as everybody knows".  Apparently some people can smell this odour, and some people cannot.  It's a little bit like the ability to roll your tongue into a tube, you either can or you can't - and its down to genetics.  I, mercifully am unable to detect this offensive odour in my urine, but then I am not particularly fond of dipping my head into the porcelain bowl to savour the smell of my own wee. 

I had some proscuitto in my fridge, so I decided to wrap up each little spear with some, dowse it in olive oil and pepper and roast it until it became crisp on the outside.  I washed each spear, then bent them in my fingers until I reached the normal snapping point - this proffers one with the point at which the vegetable is still crisp (and not woody).

Pre-cooked asparagus wrapped in proscuitto

I had some fresh, red, vine tomatoes in the fridge, along with some small green chilli's and coriander.  I decided, oddly, to try serving this with a red salsa.

Fresh Tomato Salsa

•   Peel and de-seed 3 large tomatoes.  Chop quite finely.
•   Add 3 finely chopped spring onions.
•   Add a bunch of finely chopped fresh coriander.
•   Peel and mince 3 cloves of garlic.  Add to the mix.
•   In this salsa I added some chopped, peeled cucumber.
•   Add 2, finely chopped green chilli's (seeds intact).
•   Squeeze the juice of one lime (or lemon) into the mixture.
•   A good pinch of salt, and pepper should be added to taste.
•   Mix thoroughly.

It should be noted that, last night I decided that 5 green chilli's would add a delectable "kick" to my salsa.  It's funny what a can or two of San Miguel can do to one's culinary brain.  This was way too much chilli, and much milk was needed to cool the inferno deployed by this beast of a salsa.  I recommend 2 chilli's!

We had the salsa with 5 wrapped spears of asparagus last night, but in all honesty it felt like a starter.  We both needed something else to go with it.  Pleasingly, though, the combination of salsa seemed to compliment the salty ham spears and I will use this again.

  

I feel like tikka tonight!

Those of you familiar with the extremely annoying 1990's advert for "Chicken Tonight" will recognize the pun on today's title.  If you were lucky enough to have escaped seeing this "epic" piece of American mass-consumerism apocalyptic advertising then you may wish to look away now

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_GdiNk3-IPE 

My parents went on holiday on Monday, so they emptied the fridge.  The end result of this was I find myself with a cucumber, some unwashed rocket, 3 chicken breasts and some ham.  The ham, it turns out, has been opened for over 3 days, and despite the packaging's attempt to alert the oblivious owner that eating it after this period is unsafe, my mother insisted they continue to eat ham after it has been opened for more than a week.  How they have not suffered a serious weekly episode of campylobacter I have no idea. 

Back on track.  So Monday afternoon I marinaded the chicken in the usual assortment of goodies.  The recipe for this can be found here

http://swlsk.blogspot.co.uk/2012/04/by-fair-means-or-fowl.html

I kept the chicken in the fridge marinading for 24 hours, and true to the famous statement "it did exactly what it said on the tin" the flavours were definitely enhanced.  I could actually tell the difference from marinading for 5 hours (previous attempt) and last night with 24 hours.  The flavours were more intense, and certainly you could detect the lemon and garlic flavours more readily.

Marinaded, pre-cooked, chicken tikka

I heated my oven (fan-assisted) to 200 Celcius and cooked the chicken for 20 minutes.  In reality this turned out to be ever so slightly too long.  The situation can be rescued by finely slicing and dicing the chicken.  I would recommend only 15 minutes @200C and checking to make sure is not overcooked (or indeed undercooked).

Slice n Dice

I served the chicken in large pitta breads, with the washed and dried rocket, some mayo and in my case a modicum of different chutneys mixed into condiment oblivion.

pi = 3.14159265

Pie is a staple English food that has been around since medieval times.  English food is often, quite wrongly deemed unadventurous, uninspiring, greasy and boring.  The culinary experts who have credited England with this misguided appraisal of our kitchen have obviously never experienced the delights of the plethora of pies, pasties, stews and desserts we are famous for.

We make 2 kinds of pie:  one with a pastry casing, and the other which is typically topped with some kind of potato - whether it be mashed, or thinly sliced.  I am not the worlds greatest pastry afficionado, though I have dabbled with lard-based short pastries with some success before.  I prefer a nice topping of fluffy potato, crisped on the top in the oven, yielding a tasty, gravy-bound meat filling.  I made a cottage pie (with beef, as opposed to shepherds pie with lamb) 2 nights ago and it has graced our plates for 2 nights running.  We didn't have quite enough to meet our stomachs expectations last night, so I eked it out with a small portion of chips to compliment the side of steamed peas and sweetcorn.

 Cottage Pie

•   Sweat 2 finely diced, medium onions and 3 thinly sliced garlic cloves in a pan with some olive oil until they have softened.
•  During this time, peel 5 medium sized potatoes and 3 carrots.  Slice the carrots and dice the potatoes.  Cook them in salted water until tender.  Then mash and set aside.
•  When the onions are softened, add 500g of decent steak mince.  Cook until it is nicely browned.
•  Add a heaped teaspoon of plain flour.  Stir to mix and cook the gloopy mixture for a minute.
•  Squeeze a heady dollop of tomato puree in, and mix thoroughly.
•  Add 1 bay leaf.
•  Add a slug or 4 of Worcester sauce.  Stir to mix.
•  Add approximately 250ml of stock (beef is best, or chicken) until you have a thick consistency (not a soup).
•  Check the seasoning, usually I add a lot of pepper and not so much salt (especially if you have used a stock cube).
•  Cook for 15-20 minutes.
•  Allow the mixture to cool.  When it has, spoon the mashed potato and carrot over the top.  Fork the top so you have a ridged pattern.  Dot with butter.
•  In an oven preheated to 160C, add the pie and cook until the top is crusty and golden (about 30-40 mins). 

In my opinion, you can happily exchange the beef out and use minced lamb with this recipe to create a shepherds pie.  I would, though, be vigilant during the frying of the lamb mince as it quite often yields surprising amounts of fat.  I would spoon out all but 1 tablespoon of the lamb fat.

De pommes de terre au four avec du thon et du maïs doux.

Yes indeed, ladies and gentlemen, last night I decided to plumb the depths of culinary sophistication with the above mentioned delight.  In layman terms it is the slow cooking of a potato in the oven, combined with an application of mayonnaise and fresh sweetcorn.  Or, as we say in England, "Baked spud with tuna mayo".

I do appreciate a baked potato, but I think I can safely say, not with the same radical affection with which my girlfriend does.  If I am ever out, or as in the past, away on business I could be almost certain that she would be eating a baked potato of some design or another.  Actually, she only will eat two variations:  tuna and sweetcorn, or cheese and beans.  And, by the way, she is very particular about the cheese.  It must be grated and never melted on top, lest you ruin the whole affair.

I can remember a past boss of mine who was never to be found without an anecdote or joke of some kind, telling me about the age old, famous English cook book, "1000 ways of screwing up a potato".  The advent of the microwave can be heralded as the harbinger of death for the humble baked potato.  Anyone that uses one of these beasts to make a baked (that's a paradox) potato is quite surely deranged.  

A baked potato should be coated in a thin film of olive oil, delicately salted and heavily peppered - in my opinion.  The oven should be set to a lowly 140 celcius, and the potato left inside it, left to its own devices for somewhere in the region of 1 and a half hours.  During which time your only occupation is to vigilantly rotate it to ensure it is cooked evenly throughout.

De pommes de terre au four avec du thon et du maïs doux

 

A Very British Institution

Yesterday I talked about a typical English dinner, "Bangers and Mash", so I thought I'd follow on with another institution today - Heinz Baked Beans.  We eat them with everything, in the morning with our breakfast (the good old fashioned fry-up), in the afternoon as beans on toast for lunch and in the evening where we happily pair them with just about any generic English fayre you can think of.

The funny thing is, if you asked most English people how often they ate haricot beans they would probably shrug their shoulders at you.  If you pointed out that actually Heinz is an American company too, most people would be rather surprised - we honestly think baked beans were invented by the English (along with some other great things we invented too, like gravity, time, nuclear fusion and the universe). 


Here's my little baked beans anecdote:  up until the second world war, Heinz baked beans contained a piece of pork.  This was removed when rationing began, and never made it back in again.


Our cupboards are beginning to run bare - we haven't been food shopping for 3 weeks.  We got back from the National History Museum yesterday at around 4pm and the only thing I could think of was bubble and squeak cakes (another British institution) served with baked beans.  The recipe for these is almost the same as my swede and pecorino cakes, you just add some cold, cooked green veg (which in last nights case was cabbage, leek and courgette)


http://swlsk.blogspot.co.uk/2012/03/rutabaga-anyone-every-week-we-get.html

I made the cakes and then chilled them down for an hour in the fridge - this way they stay together in the pan for longer.  If you are using cabbage, or spinach I really recommend you squeeze all the excess water out, then finely chop it before you add it to your cakes.

Four in a pan is a bit of a squeeze!

Bubble and Squeak Cakes

I was lying in bed last night thinking about baked beans.  As you do.  Naturally my next cognitive thought pondered over the immortal cooks question, "if you were stranded on a desert island, which ingredient would you take?".  My initial thought was salt, but then I realized that would be superfluous with all the sea around.  Perhaps it would be olive oil?  But then I remembered you can render a very nice oil out of coconuts (these are ubiquitous on desert islands are they not?).  I think therefore an unending can of baked beans would suffice.  What more would one need in such utopian solitude?  Beer of course...

I served my bubble and squeak cakes with, of course some baked beans.  Next mission is to make my own.

Back to the roots.

Thursday Night Fayre

Ok, so it wasn't a plate exclusively full of root vegetables, but I did make a rather pleasant carrot puree last night.  I always thought that a puree had to have cream in it, but I experimented with just butter and seasoning.  It yielded a pleasing result, one that was both tasty and used up our somewhat replete carrot bag in the fridge.

"Bangers and Mash" is somewhat of an institution here in England, something that is invariably wolfed down on at least one night a week.  We do love our sausages, and up and until now I have focused a little too much on the cured varieties from continental Europe.  When the sausage is the star of the show (excuse the plate-pun reference) I really think the less tinkering you do with it the better.  When I slowly pan-fry a sausage the only instruction you should follow is this - never prick!  If you prick your sausage you will permit the tasty fluids to leach out of the banger and you are left with an unsavoury and dry affair on your plate.

I tried to make a quick-fire sauerkraut too.  You can try this at home, without the need for a long-term pickling process:

Quick-fire Sauerkraut

•   Finely shred a pointed, spring cabbage (or indeed a standard white cabbage).  Do not use savoy, though, as it is rather unsuitable for this.
•   Steam the cabbage for no more than 2 minutes.  During the steaming process I turn the cabbage over, to ensure that it is all cooked evenly.
•   In a glass receptacle (I use a measuring jug) add four tablespoons (approximately) of good quality extra virgin olive oil.  Add two tablespoons of cider vinegar (white wine vinegar will do if you don't have cider).  Season with a good pinch of salt and a few vigourous turns of the pepper grinder.  To finish the dressing add a teaspoon of mustard powder.  Mix well with a whisk or fork.
•   Remove the cabbage from the steamer and place into a bowl.  Pour the dressing over, and mix well.
•   Serve by placing a nice mound of cabbage on your plate!

The carrot puree was even more simple to make, and its a great way to use up a glut of carrots you have.  

Carrot Puree

•   Peel and wash 5 or 6 large carrots.
•   Chop them into rounds no more then 1cm thick.
•   Steam, or boil them in salted water until they are tender, but have not been reduced to a pulp.
•   Put the carrots into a mini blender.  Add a thick knob (about 2cm thick) of butter, a good pinch of salt, lots of black pepper (yes, I love pepper) and a little glug of good olive oil.
•   Blend to a smooth paste.

I watched "Two Greedy Italians" last night with Antonio Carluccio and Gennaro Contaldo.  They showed the slaughter of a pig, and then Gennaro made a chocolate cake using pigs blood.  I am not of a squeamish constitution, but why, oh why would you want to make a chocolate dessert out of pigs blood?  I guess, as they say, you don't know until you have tried it.     

Banh Trang

About 5 years ago my partner and I took the long journey to Vietnam, via Bangkok (which is always a treat to stopover in).  We spent 3 days in Ho Chi Minh, formerly known as Saigon.  We visited the Chu Chi tunnels just outside the city, where my barely 5ft girlfriend got to fire an AK47 Kalashnikov assault rifle (wearing a pair of stereo headphones as ear protection).  We also visited the "Museum of American War Crimes" which has now diplomatically been renamed the "War Remnants Museum".  We toured some paddy fields and stopped off in a little village to watch banh trang being made.  

Banh trang are Vietnamese rice papers.  They are made by pounding the rice to a powder, adding water to create a paste, then this is spread very thinly over a steamed surface to make the papers - a little like gozleme (if you have ever eaten them in Turkey).

As I often do, I continued to peruse Rick Stein's "Far Eastern Odyssey" (having made the stuffed rotis yesterday).  I saw a recipe for these wonderful, crispy, deep fried rice papers.  Indeed, these papers can also be served steamed, but I rather prefer the slightly oilier deep fried variety.

They are much easier to make than they are to cook!

Pre-cooked banh trang

For those of you that have never eaten cuisine from this area of the world, it is not unusual to find a combination of pork and prawns - the Asian equivalent of surf n' turf!  These particular varieties are no exception:

•   Combine 300g pork mince, 150g prawns (defrosted!), half a grated carrot, a handful of cooked vermicelli noodles, 4 spring onions (chopped), a small onion or some finely chopped shallot, a teaspoon of palm sugar and about 5 minced garlic cloves in a bowl.  Season it well with pepper.
•   Rick says to add a whole beaten egg, but I find that it is not necessary to use.  The mixture binds very well without it.
•   Add some nuoc mam, about 2 tbsp.  If you cannot get the vietnamese variety you can use the thai fish sauce which is widely available (but not as tasty). 

 To make the rolls, get yourself a clean teatowel, dampen it in the centre.  Also have a large bowl of warm water.  Add a rice paper to the warm water, soften it for 10 seconds or so.  Remove it and put it on the teatowel. Add 2 tablespoons of the mixture near the bottom of the circle.  Roll the roll! Pull the sides in and roll it up so you have a nice little package.  Try to limit the amount of air you have inside - this is key.

This is where the fun begins.  I decided to deep-fry my rolls, in a deep fat fryer.  Let's just say I had an explosive time.  This method (at 190C) is far too invasive.  I switched to my wok, and then shallow fried them.  This was also difficult as some of the packages exploded (due to residual air inside), but they turned out well after you get the hang of it.  Not packing the pan with rolls is highly recommended!

I heartily advise you serve it with a lime, chilli and nuoc mam dipping sauce, along side some crispy lettuce.

Will I cook them again, though, is the question?   

Stuffed Sri-Lankan Rotis

As far as baking is concerned I really enjoy making different types of breads.  Pastry is a science I am learning, and cakes are something that remain rather foreign to me.  I decided I should step up my bread making skills, so I foraged around my Asian recipes for something that might stretch me.

I chanced upon a recipe for stuffed Sri-Lankan Rotis in Rick Stein's excellent, "Far Eastern Odyssey".  I cannot recommend this book enough, especially if you enjoy all the cuisines of Southeast Asia, and are what I would deem an "intermediate or better" cook.

This particular affair involved grinding a customized spice blend, making roti dough and making the stuffing - so, 3 processes in all (not including the actual cooking episode).  

As far as preperation time is concerned, this takes a good hour to an hour and a half to prep - but as usual I found Rick's guidance (almost) infallible.  His ingredients did list 75 leeks, but I interpreted this as 75g of leeks!

After making the dough and the filling I set about portioning and parceling up these goodies.  Here's what they looked like pre-cooking

The cooking process is fairly easy, and just requires you to dry-fry the parcels in a hot pan.  They all need to be rotated, so each side gets cooked, and browned.  It took about 30 minutes to cook them all.

I under-spiced them, as it was my intention to feed them to two unsuspecting 4 year olds.  I also omitted the extra chilli flakes.  In my opinion they turned out rather well, and we also had them for tea (with a hot mango pickle).  They are the closest thing to an "Indian Cornish Pasty" I can imagine!

Both my partner and I loved them, but I have to confess the kids did not share our enthusiasm for these dainty little cubes.  They liked the bread on the outside, which they peeled off in swathes with much gusto, but it was the filling which I think they found somewhat alien to their infant taste buds.  How their opinion of curry will change in later life!

Fusion!

Fusion cuisine is always something that has intrigued me.  It is not something that I have often tried my hand at, as, in my opinion it is necessary to have a very thorough and very diverse knowledge of cross-cultural cuisine.  It is something I am diligently working on, but not something I have mastered, by any means.

I can say, though, that I have eaten some really nice examples.  Peter Gordon's restaurant and tapa bar in Marylebone High Street are an excellent example of how South East Asian flavours and dishes have been fused with European (and, of course Kiwi) cooking to create a superb assemblage.  

Whenever I go out to eat I prefer to pay for something that either I cannot make myself, or do not like to cook.  The only exception to this rule are Indian restaurants, which I flock to given the slightest glint of hope.  These days I do not eat out that often, but when I do I like to ensure that I am trying something new, or eating something spectacular.  

As is quite often the case on a Sunday night, I was scrabbling around the back of the fridge trying to find something to concoct.  It's a little like playing lucky dip - without the sawdust.  I needed to make something quick and tasty.  The 4 cooking chorizo seemed to be beckoning me.  I decided to make a chorizo pasta.

I had a chat with a fellow blogger the other day regarding certain websites that promote food photography.  I am definitely of the opinion that taste should come first, and if it looks good then that's a bonus.  I do try to make my dishes look attractive, but it seems, from the above photograph, that last night I was oblivious to the streaks of orange-toned oil smeared around the rim of my bowls.  I do apologize for this temperanillo-fueled oversight.

This dish was really a subtle tweak on the carbonara recipe I made earlier.  Initially I tossed the pasta in the rendered chorizo juices, then, instead of using egg yolks I folded a little unsalted butter into the pasta to create a silky coating.  

Again, I used the tripoline pasta which yields an appetizing bite when cooked al dente.

Sunday Afternoon Succour

Fishfinger Lavash Bread

Whoever it was that invented the fishfinger sandwich, in my opinion, deserves to be canonized.  It really is a majestic thing of beauty, and something that can lure even the darkest hangover away from its suffering host.

The fridge was really rather devoid of anything tasty.  It's funny how things lose their appeal after you had a few too many pints the night before.

These flatbreads can be whipped up in less than 30 minutes (you can further shave off the time if you are too impatient to wait for the 15-20 minute proving process).  You can find this simple recipe here
http://swlsk.blogspot.co.uk/2012/02/flatbread-fetish.html

The secret to making these is too ensure that your frying pan is exceptionally hot.  This will encourage the bubble formation during the 30 seconds or so required for each side.

To get some nice black spots (which enhance the flavour) I press the flatbread down with a spatula.  This ensures an even cooking and prepares the surface of the bread.

They will sit happily on the side of the kitchen whilst you whip 5 or 6 of these up (I used around 175g of plain white flour).  If you want to ensure they stay warm you can insulate them with some aluminium foil, but in my opinion this is not necessary.

On this occasion I decided to annoint them with some mayonnaise, add a few tufts of green lettuce, a crushed fishfinger (and in my 3 rolls I added some hot mango chutney).

Indian Takeaway

Aftermath

There is little point in trying to deny it - I am a messy cook.  In the picture above you can see the residual repercussions from the creation of a daal, Bombay potatoes and poppadoms.  I have never been a tidy soul in real life and it would appear that I have transplanted that ethos into the kitchen.

I began my cascade of carnage by cooking a moong and masoor daal.  Ever since I spent a week in India I have fostered a curious love for daal, they seem to eat it at just about every occasion.  I have tried different lentils and pulses, but to be honest with you, each one I make takes a slow, inexorable slog towards the very same daal I always seem to make - a tarka daal (no otter jokes please).

A tarka or chaunk as it is known in Hindi is simply a selection of dried spices tempered in hot oil and thrown in to a dish at the very last moment.  Its intention to infuse potent flavours in a flash.

Mung bean and red lentil tarka daal

•   Whichever lentil you happen to use, always wash them in cold, running water at least with 3 or 4 washes.  They are always dusty and this process alleviates, or at least reduces the amount of scum you need to to remove during cooking.
•   Place the washed lentils (I used 350g) into a bowl.  Add 1 litre of water.
•   Add 3 thin slices of ginger (no need to peel).
•   Add a teaspoon of ground turmeric.
•   Bring to a slow simmer (not a boil).  Skim off any scum that happens to surface.  Lower the heat, cover but leave a small gap, and cook for 45-50 minutes.
•   The consistency should be like the photo, thick-soup like.  Adjust this if necessary with adding more water, or increase the heat and boil some off.  Add a teaspoon of salt.
•   Add 4-5 tablespoons of neutral oil to a pan.
•   When it is hot add a hefty pinch of asoefetida.  
•   Add a teaspoon of cumin seeds.  They should ideally pop after 10 seconds or so.
•   Add 3 whole, dried chilli's.
•   Add one thinly sliced small onion.  Cook until it becomes brown and crunchy (not black and incinerated).
•   Add 3 thinly sliced garlic cloves.  After 30 seconds, tip the entire contents of the pan (oil and all) into your lentils.  
•   Do take care when you add the hot oil.  It can spit. 

I decided to make some Bombay potatoes too.  My partner's mother gave me a spice mix for Christmas and I decided it was time to utilize them.  I boiled some potatoes until they were tender, then I fried them in batches in hot oil, in my karahi.  At the last moment I chucked the spice mix in (which admittedly had far too many sesame seeds for my taste - such is the risk you take with pre-mixed sachets).  

Bombay Potatoes

As a final act of gluttony I decided to make some fresh poppadoms.  These I simply quick fried in very hot oil.  They are, of course, delightfully greasy. You can pretend to yourself that they are at least a little bit healthier when you drain them on some kitchen roll.

Poppadoms!

It was at this point that I noticed a critical error in my banquet.  I was about to embark on a totally vegetarian Indian evening.  The very concept of no meat charged me with kitchen rage, but by this time I had sunk 4 corona's.  Hey ho.  Veggie it was.

That is not salt.  It is a delightful glean on my daal.

Eat your greens!

Purple Sprouting Broccoli

As a child I can distinctly remember the narrow extent of my vegetable consumption - it was exclusively limited to potato, peas (frozen, naturally) and sweetcorn (also frozen).  The mere thought of anything else containing chlorophyll inspired me with infant-like fear.  

It was not until I went to university that I began to garner a desire to broaden my leguminous horizons.  As I found myself fostering and nurturing my love for cooking I decided to at least try some new things to eat.  One by one I began striking each sprout, shoot and root off my list of contraband cuisine.

I pretty much eat every available vegetable these days - though I still harbour some malice towards Brussels sprouts, turnips (unless they are pickled) and parsnips.  I will eat the aforementioned vegetables, but not without some premeditated preparation (often called tomato ketchup).

I think it is time I also declared my absolute revulsion towards anything of a fungal nature.  I simply will not and can not eat mushrooms.  I hate them and avoid them at all costs. 


I made a sausage casserole last night.  Quite a simple one, using onions, garlic, carrots, tomatoes, chicken stock, paprika and cannelini beans.  The method for this little beauty you will find on an earlier post in the Spanish section.  

Sausage Casserole

I decided to serve it with some nice crusty bread, and some purple sprouting broccoli.   There is something infinitely ameliorating about any kind of casserole with crusty bread.


Broccoli is a very healthy vegetable, and I always feel especially good about myself after I have eaten it.  I do, however, hope that you only steam yours?  Did you know that after just 4 minutes of boiling a piece of broccoli you have already depleted 20-30% of the anti-cancer chemical diindolymethane?  You can also microwave or stir-fry it without the same deleterious effect that boiling has.  


I am of the opinion that all members of the brassica family need to be dressed in some way or other.  Broccoli is no exception to this rule and last night I happily dowsed it in a mustard-fueled vinaigrette.

Life, and cooking are tangibly inter-twined.  And as is often the case after cooking something comforting like this I need to vary the scene a little.  Tonight, I fear (for my girlfriend) that I need to create something fiery.  I feel a curry on the horizon...

Coal-miners pasta

Last week we had poor man's potatoes and "angry pasta", this week I thought we'd continue our trend of anthropomorphic dishes with "coal-miners pasta" - or as we know it more readily "pasta alla carbonara".

Tripoline alla carbonara

I am always on the lookout for new types of pasta to buy - one I am finding hard to source is bucatini (that's the one that is like spaghetti but has a hole (buca) running through it).  During our recent sojourn to a rather well-known supermarket I noticed "tripoline" on the shelf - a pasta I had neither heard of, or seen before.  Tripoline is a long, ribbon-like pasta, where one edge is straight and the other is ruffled.  It looked like an ideal type of pasta to try a carbonara with.

Tripoline pasta

As you may have ascertained, the word carbonara is said to have originated from the word "carbonaro", which is the Italian word for a charcoal burner.  This hearty dish of pasta, eggs, bacon and cheese was incepted to fill the depleted stomach's of the men who made the charcoal.

Carbonara was always a style of cooking that I viewed with circumspect.  The concept of cooking with raw eggs filled me with dread for many years (thank you Edwina Currie).  I have managed to conquer my fear of raw eggs in recent years and am confident I can now cook a rather delectable dish. 


In fact, carbonara is ridiculously easy to concoct - you do, however, need to keep one or two facets in check.  Your "sauce" should be silky and glistening - coating the pasta, not drowning it in raw egg.  The egg should never cook - scrambling is definitely to be avoided.  Be careful with your seasoning, as it is very easy to over-salt this dish - considering the addition of pancetta and pecorino/parmegiano.  


Here's how I make mine:

Tripoline alla Carbonara

•   Cook 5 or 6 thin slices of pancetta in a heavy base pan.  When they are beginning to crisp, remove them and shake the juices off, into the pan.
•    For two people, use 2 eggs.  Break one egg directly into a cup.  The other egg needs to have its yolk removed.  Add the yolk to the cup.  Beat the eggs together.
•   Finely grate some pecorino or parmegiano.  I guess I used about 30-40g.  
•   Salt a large pan of water, and heat it until it is rolling to a boil.
•   Add your pasta and cook until its just before al dente stage (i.e you think to yourself, "it's almost ready").
•   Drain the pasta, reserve some of the water just in case.
•   Add the drained pasta to the pan which you cooked the pancetta in.  Toss it in the bacon fat.
•   Add the beaten eggs and again, toss into the pasta.
•   Cut the pancetta into small pieces, add to the pasta and toss.
•   Add 2/3 of the cheese.  Toss in. 
•   If the pasta looks a little dry you can add a little bit of the pasta water, of if you like, you can add a further egg yolk.  The dish should not be swimming in juices!
•   Season with lots of black pepper. 
•   Serve with the remaining cheese on top.