A monumental Masterchef menu


Finally the time had come to cook something from the Masterchef cookbook. Three things, in fact. After a leisurely hour spent poring over the truly delicious delights within its hallowed pages, I settled on three courses from the cookbook of champions. And it was a tough decision - starters like tian of crab with coriander oil, Dorset apple soup with walnut scones, goats cheese fritters with apple salsa, smoked mozzarella ravioli with tomato cream, Roquefort cheesecake with roasted tomatoes...kept vying for my attention, as did multiple main courses and a plethora of inviting desserts. 
Eventually I decided on a venison carpaccio for a starter, because it is pretty easy to do, and because I had never tried fillet of venison before and imagined it would be beautiful. I love rare, or even raw, meat: somehow I feel like you are closer to obtaining the natural flavour of the animal, and therefore it can only be better than cooked meat. The texture is also much nicer; silky smooth and less chewy and grainy than cooked meat. There is also something truly beautiful about slices of rare fillet, whether it's beef, veal or venison: that seared crust on the outside with beautiful red softness in the middle is stunning. I asked for the fillet at the butchers, expected to be answered with a no, and instead they brought one out from the freezer (I have learned of late that it is always worth asking at the butchers, as they have so much frozen or behind the counter that isn't on display). It was a beautiful piece of meat. I rubbed it with dried thyme, salt, pepper and olive oil and seared it for about a minute in a very hot pan, then wrapped it up in the fridge. It was sliced thinly, went on a plate with some watercress, and a raspberry vinaigrette. This was just raspberries, pureed and sieved to remove the pips, balsamic vinegar, and olive oil. It went incredibly well with the meat, and the watercress was peppery enough to stop it being over sweet. One of the most delicious things I have eaten in a while. And the best part is, there is a lot of meat left over. I will be eating venison sandwiches with Fortnums game relish for the next few days. As your typical student does, obviously.

For the main course we had sea bass. I obtained these beautiful specimens from the fishmonger a couple of weeks ago: they were four for £10, which is incredibly good value, considering their sheer beauty. They are quite large specimens and wonderfully fresh. The only downside being that I assumed they had been gutted, scaled and cleaned already. Oh, how wrong I was. I spent this morning scaling, gutting and filleting these lovely creatures. Gutting is not a pleasant process but at least it's fairly straightforward; scaling is stupidly messy, and I ended up covered in fish scales; and filleting was a definite learning curve, given that I had never done it before and did not own the appropriate knife. However, given all these factors, I think I did a pretty good job and I felt very proud afterwards. A bit like the time I inadvertently bought uncleaned squid, and had to do that myself too (the messiest thing I think I have ever done. My chopping board still bears vestiges of black ink). 

The sea bass fillets were pan fried and served with a rice pilau made with ras-el-hanout (Moroccan spice mixture that I love), raisins and almonds, with a tahini sauce (tahini paste, water, lemon juice, garlic, salt and parsley) and a carrot and onion salad (grated carrot, lemon juice, caramelized onion, Nigella seeds and mustard seeds). The whole combination sounds odd, but was one of the best things I have eaten in a while. I will definitely be making this one again. It's such a great mixture of unusual flavours and textures: the fish and rice are quite soft, but the carrot and almonds lovely and crunchy, and then the tahini and garlic is very rich, but the raisin cuts through it nicely. A genius of a recipe. I was also pleased with the way the fillets came out: I managed to get them perfectly cooked with a nice crispy skin, and once cooked they didn't look quite so mangled...




Beautiful, I think. The colours are wonderful.

Dessert is probably less worthy of a photo. In theory, it should have been wonderful. I made a rhubarb millefeuille, which consisted of layers of filo pastry, pastry cream, and poached rhubarb. I was very organised and made the creme patisserie this morning. I had never made it before, and it was quite therapeutic standing there stirring eggs, milk, vanilla and sugar over simmering water until it magically thickened to become that lovely creamy stuff that you get in the middle of French fruit tartlets. (On a tangent, I had an idea to use it in the future to fill tartlets made of filo pastry, but to flavour the creme first with cardamom, and put poached apricots and chopped pistachios on top. Will definitely be doing this soon, now apricots are in season). The rhubarb was poached and ready. I bought filo pastry from the Moroccan deli, and was ready to go. Unfortunately, when I unfurled it, it turned out not to be filo, but something slightly thicker, that didn't stick together like sheets of filo should, and didn't have that lovely melt-in-the-mouth texture. To be fair, the packaging was all in Arabic, so how was I to know?! Instead, it crisped up like a poppadum. So instead, my dessert looked like layers of poppadum, pastry cream and rhubarb. It tasted lovely, but I couldn't help thinking if I had had proper filo, the whole thing would have been elegant and beautiful. Oh well - another time perhaps. 

All in all, not a bad attempt at Masterchef goodness. I can't wait to try some more of the recipes.

The joys of summer


Nothing that will set the world on fire, but I thought the colours in this salad just looked too lovely not to photograph. I figured that forcing myself to eat the aforementioned garlicky carrot salad for several days in a row, despite not enjoying it at all, was not a very nice prospect and something that Epicurus would have been ashamed of (not to mention that the sheer power of the garlic in it was positively antisocial). So I am sad to say I threw it out (unusual, as I try never to throw any food away, and am normally successful), and made this instead. A good idea. It's just red, yellow and orange peppers roasted until black and skinned, then sliced and mixed with chickpeas, couscous, fresh basil and a handful of pumpkin seeds, and then some feta. Simple, but one of the most delicious things I have had in a while, and also nicely summery. 
I forget how much I love fresh basil until I buy a plant of it. I am normally more of a coriander person, but the smell of a fresh basil plant is enough to make me change my mind. It works really well with the peppers and feta. I think fresh oregano would work well too, which is lucky because we have ridiculous amounts of it growing in our herb garden at home. This summer I intend to make large quantities of home-made pesto...to go with my home-made pasta. I am already planning my herb collection for my room at university next year.

Well, my Finals are over...I need something trivial to think about. 

Not that fresh herbs are trivial, of course.

Some other recent gastronomic endeavours


I've had a couple more Ottolenghi moments recently. The above was a starter from his new book, Plenty. It consists of slices of butternut squash, covered with olive oil, cardamom and allspice and roasted until soft, and then sprinkled with lime juice, lime slices, and a lime, tahini and yoghurt dressing. Sounds a bizarre combination, but it does work, and is indeed a very refreshing way to start a meal, as Yotam himself remarks.
Another effort was the following Moroccan carrot salad:



To be honest, I wasn't a fan, but this is more down to my own silly mistakes - I undercooked the carrots, used an entire teaspoon of ground cloves when the recipe stated an eighth (I accidentally tipped the box and it all fell out into the pan), which gave it a horribly medicinal taste, and although I only used two crushed garlic cloves where he suggests three, the whole thing tasted horribly of overpowering, bitter, raw garlic. I don't like raw garlic in dishes...should probably have remembered this and cooked it first. It was OK, though, with some coriander and feta cheese...but I am glad I made it just for myself and not for guests! To be fair, I was trying to juggle this and baking two different types of biscuit at the same time, which probably meant I didn't give it the loving care it deserved.

A risotto: I haven't made one for a long time, and was having a bit of a craving at the weekend, so decided to make one for Jon, who - shockingly - has never had risotto. Clearly the pressure was on to make it a good one. He balked at the price of dried porcini mushrooms, though I insisted that they make the final dish so much better and I swear by them, so instead I just used normal mushrooms, sauteed until their watery juices had evaporated, with lots of fresh thyme. I then put in onion and garlic, sauteed it until soft, added the rice, some butter, a splash of wine, and the stock (chicken) a bit at a time. I stirred in some creme fraiche at the end, which I don't normally do, but it brought the whole thing together and was lovely. I fried some chopped bacon until crispy, and stirred it in right at the end so it retained its crunch. Finally, lots more fresh thyme and some black pepper went in, along with some dried parsley. Truly delicious, though normally I would soak some porcini in hot water, chop them up and add them halfway through cooking, using the soaking water as well as stock. Not that this needed improving - it had a really wonderful depth of flavour. I normally use fresh parsley, but fresh thyme was definitely a better idea.

Les petits coquelets


I suppose it could be considered slightly morbid to think of these little poussins as cute. There is something rather sweet about the French name, "coquelet". I have been wanting to cook with them for a while now, but have only ever seen a couple on display at the organic butchers in the Covered Market, and I have usually needed at least four. However, when I enquired yesterday it turns out they have a lot frozen, and I ended up with five little baby chickens in a bag. I intended to cook something meaty for dinner, but it was far too summery for beef or lamb (despite my recent yearning to make a tagine). Poussin seemed just right - summery like chicken, but not as overwhelming as a huge roast chicken.  I always think it is much nicer to present people with a whole animal on a plate: that's why I love cooking pigeon, partridge, whole fish with the heads left on. It looks more impressive and feels much more generous, somehow. Plus there is the fun of picking your own little carcass, if you are a manic carnivore like some of my friends. 
Some friends and I are in the process of planning a trip to the Middle East this summer. In the spirit of this, I decided to do a Middle-Eastern themed poussin dish. I adapted a recipe from Claudia Roden's Arabesque, my Middle Eastern cookery Bible. So, I made some couscous, stirred in some orange blossom water (sounds odd, but gives a wonderfully alluring fragrance to the dish), raisins, pistachios, chopped almonds, cinnamon and olive oil, and stuffed the poussins with some of it. I covered them with a mixture of olive oil, cinnamon, ginger, lemon and honey and put them in the oven at 200C for an hour or so, breast side down at first, turning them up for the last half hour. They came out of the oven beautifully burnished and golden, and the roasting juices were deliciously lemony drizzled over the rest of the couscous, which went on the side with some watercress - I figured the pepperiness of watercress would be a good match for the couscous, which was quite sweet.


Now I think about it, this whole meal was a medley of my food-related whims yesterday. I wanted to make pasta, having not made it for weeks - not since before the Finals panic set in. A little tip: making pasta in hot weather is tricky. Roll it out thinly and it turns sticky and is impossible to stuff, and even more impossible to prise off whatever you lay it on before you put it into the cooking pot. The result was that my ravioli was slightly thicker than usual. I have to say, though, that I think it was my favourite yet. I found three beautiful red peppers at the market yesterday for a pound. They went under the grill until black, and I then peeled off the skin and cut them into little pieces with scissors, holding them over a bowl so as not to lose any of the beautiful sweet and sharp juice. I then crumbled in some goats' cheese and stirred it all together so that the cheese melted into the hot peppers and formed a paste. Some black pepper, and this went into the middle of the ravioli. The garnish was a very rustic home-made pesto: a basil plant in the blender with a trickle of olive oil, some grated parmesan and some pine nuts. 


It looks somewhat anaemic in that photo for some reason, but I was very impressed with the way it tasted, and will definitely be making it again. Just after I had blitzed the pasta dough in the blender it occurred to me that putting some basil leaves in first would have been a nice idea, to turn the pasta green and make it taste even more basilly. Next time, I think.

Pancakes and a caponata


Two old bananas in the fruit bowl, looking sadly at me and urging me to turn them into something wonderful. I suppose it is good that I view overripe bananas as something to get excited about because of their potential, rather than simply something else to go in the bin. Having feasted on banana cake for as long as I can remember since I got back to Oxford, I couldn't face another just yet (especially as I am still gobbling the brownies that Mother McCausland sent me, with gusto). So out came my other recipe for past-edible bananas: pancakes. 
I love the combination of banana and blueberries, particularly when it involves sliced banana stirred into hot porridge and covered in burst blueberries. It works very well in pancake form too: just add mashed bananas to a mixture of plain flour, a teaspoon baking powder, enough milk to get the desired consistency, an egg, a spoonful or two of melted butter, a pinch (or more in my case, as I love it) cinnamon and the zest of an orange, a handful of blueberries, and whisk it all with an electric whisk (my hand whisk has broken...must remember to get a new one). Meanwhile, put some more blueberries in a pan with a splash of water and heat until burst and juicy and a sauce-like consistency - you may have to let some of the water boil off. Cook the pancakes in batches in lots of melted butter and put into the oven to keep warm, then stack up, pour over the blueberry sauce and relish. Some toasted flaked almonds would be nice on top for some texture, but by that point I wanted to eat. I love fluffy American-style pancakes as opposed to papery French crepes, especially in the morning, and the banana makes them just the right texture. Delicious.

I have also been living off this for the past week during my Finals:


I made it last week and luckily it's one of those recipes that improves in the fridge: a Sicilian caponata. I used Nigel Slater's recipe from his latest book, Tender (a great book if you're a vegetable fan), and it's better than the recipe I usually use. Caponata is an Italian aubergine stew with an intriguing sweet and sour flavour, made by stewing chopped aubergine, tomatoes, red wine vinegar, capers, olives, raisins, onions and red pepper (not traditional I don't think, but Nigel uses it, so who am I to argue?). It is truly delicious, one of those recipes that sounds a bit weird but when you try it, all is revealed. Lovely with M&S green olive ciabatta rolls (which have red chilli in, and give the whole thing a nice kick) or couscous (again, unorthodox, but it soaks up the lovely sauce nicely). I urge you all to make it.

A curiously coincidental delivery - and chocolate heaven


Do you remember (avid readers that you all are, no doubt) my mention in my Real Food Festival post about the best brownies in the world? They come from this lovely little business, Gower Cottage Brownies. I gather that it is run by a very cheery looking lady called Kate who set up a catering business, and whose brownies proved so popular that she started doing mail order. They indeed have had rave reviews from all the serious names in the food media world, and I was very impressed when I sampled a bite at the festival. My mum was also impressed by the fact that they do courier service so the fresh brownies arrive the next day, and I remember her picking up a leaflet for future reference. Clearly the "future" was not so future, as a box arrived in my pigeon hole this morning. 
Nothing like some chocolatey goodness to do away with exam stress - apparently I will need the calories, according to mum. Anyway, I had two today with a cup of tea and they truly are wonderful - I like brownies to be slightly crisp on the outside and squidgy in the middle, and these are perfect. How she achieves it with only about six ingredients I do not know, but points for the fact that they are preservative-free - I hate buying shop-made cakes because of all the rubbish that goes into them and makes them slightly hard and synthetic. Even the Fortnum and Mason morello cherry and valrhona chocolate cake I had yesterday (from the hamper that, again, mum got me - I sound so spoilt now...) was not as good as these brownies, and I think it's all down to the brownies being almost just-baked and not soullessly shrink-wrapped. They were just so good. I would highly recommend ordering a box - I think they're about £16 and that might include courier service, I'm not sure. More expensive than making your own, but the packaging is lovely and they'd make a nice gift to surprise someone.

I am salivating a bit now.

And the odd thing is, this morning I spent my exam writing an essay about John Gower, the medieval poet who wrote the Confessio Amantis. Two Gowers in one day. I definitely preferred the chocolate version.

Delights from the Real Food Festival


So, as mentioned previously, last weekend I went to the Real Food Festival at Earl's Court in London. I'd been last year too and enjoyed it so much that I was determined to go back, despite being mid-Finals panic. My mum and I last year ended up struggling back with about fifty bags packed full of everything you could possibly imagine, from granola to chorizo to rhubarb cordial to mozzarella. This time, we came prepared: I took a suitcase on wheels. And a good job, too - several kilos of veal is not easy to lug back through London to Oxford. 
We were greeted, upon entry, by a pen of sleeping piglets. I would be lying if I admitted that the adorable baby animals weren't part of my reason for wanting to go back to the Festival. There was also a Jersey cow and its calf (above), a sheep show, some chickens and some lambs (which were being fed when I walked past, and so surrounded by children that it was impossible to get a proper look at them). Some might argue that it is odd cooing over animals at a food festival, when you are then going to go off and eat things made from them, but I think the opposite is true: too many people in this country are totally out of touch with where their meat comes from. If you buy it in a vacuum pack in the supermarket, you have no idea where the animal was from, or even which bit of the animal the meat is from, sometimes. It might sound odd, but I quite like seeing the deer hanging up outside the covered market in Oxford, or buying a chicken from the butcher and getting him to joint it for me: if an animal has died to be on your plate, the least you can do is pay it the respect it deserves and make sure it came from somewhere with high standards of welfare. People who shove a packet of skinless, boneless chicken breasts into their supermarket trolley (and I am not criticising, because that is me sometimes when out of time/the market is shut, and not everyone is lucky enough to have access to a butcher) probably don't think about where it came from or what it took to get it there, and I think that is important. I also think we eat far too much meat, as a nation, with the result that we are driven to battery farm and cut welfare corners in order to supply the demand...but that is another post's worth.


There were some wonderful meat products at the Festival - I tried some amazing venison sausages, some excellent chorizo, the aforementioned veal, and saw several stalls proffering inviting displays of charcuterie. I ended up with the veal and some cooking chorizo, which was better than a lot of chorizo I have tasted, and I look forward to making something with it. 

Other than that, there were stalls offering everything under the sun. The problem was finding enough stomach room to try it all: it's a bit weird going from one stall and eating a piece of cheese to another and eating a cupcake or some ice cream. Highlights include some excellent Sussex blue cheese, wonderful Italian blood orange sorbet, Caribbean spice cake, duck and pear sausages, white pomegranate tea, pistachio chocolate, sloe gin, several glittering cupcakes, the best chocolate brownies in the world ever, perhaps...the list goes on. I ended up with this:


Sussex blue cheese, veal, chorizo, honey, tea, and these funny fruit snack bars which are like cereal bars, but with no cereal: they just contain dried fruit and nuts that have been squashed into a bar. They're delicious and come in three flavours: apple and cinnamon, lemon and lime, and coconut and pineapple. They're called "pack tunch" and I think you can get them online. I don't normally eat cereal bars because they're mostly about 80% sugar and not at all healthy, but these were delicious and good for you too. The tea I had tried at last year's festival, and was a big fan of the White Pear flavour, so much so that I bought a whole box, plus sample boxes of five others, including sweet peach and ginger, lavendar Earl Grey, and Bombay Chai. 

In all honesty, I'm not sure why I didn't buy more. It is a bit of an overwhelming experience though: hundreds of stalls all offering you delightful things to try, plus other stalls selling proper cooked food (we had a nice Moroccan harissa chicken flatbread, which was MUCH spicier than last year when we ate the same thing, and had our noses and eyes watering - luckily with our VIP tickets we were entitled to a free glass of COLD cider!), cookery demonstrations, taste tests...we were there for four hours, but I could easily have stayed for another two at least. I would love to go back, and can't wait for next year. There is so much wonderful produce out there that you would never ever discover if it weren't for the festival, and most of it is so much better than you'll ever find in the shops. I am just going to savour my veal, chorizo and cheese (not all together) for as long as possible, until next May...

Tonight's dinner was a salad of couscous, spring onion, prawns, coriander, sweet chilli sauce, lime juice and diced Alphonso mango - I have some that are overripe now and need eating more quickly than I can manage (shocking, I know). I know sweet chilli and lime are not really very orthodox with couscous (it was an experiment I carried out when making couscous for a barbecue), but the whole thing was incredibly delicious and I am amazed with my culinary skill (because obviously it took a lot of skill to fry some prawns, and stir the other ingredients into the couscous...). Will be making this one again. Maybe tomorrow, as I still have 3 mangoes to eat. Then I'm going to Cowley to buy another box of 12...

Veal casserole and grilled pineapple


I went to the Real Food Festival at Earl's Court last weekend (more on that in a later post), and was quickly enticed by a stall proffering pretty much every cut of veal you can imagine. It was run by Bocaddon Farm Veal, who sell welfare-friendly veal from a farm in South-East Cornwall. They had an offer on whereby if you spent £20 you got some free veal sausages, and I was drawn in. I have never seen so much veal before - I think my butchers do sell a variety of cuts, but I haven't seen them on display. It looked so fresh and colourful that I thought it would be a good investment. I did get some osso bucco (veal shin) from the organic butchers a while back, when it was on offer, and cooked it Italian-style with a saffron risotto. It was one of the best things I have ever cooked, rich and melting and incredibly satisfying, with that lovely bone marrow saved until the end. That was my first introduction to rose veal, and remembering it inspired me to end up with two packs of veal casserole, some Sicilian-style veal sausages, some veal mince and some veal and wild garlic burgers. When rose veal tastes so lovely, I don't understand why you'd want the hideously anaemic stuff from the continent. I once ate white veal in a brasserie in Paris before I fully understood how they get it so white, and I still feel guilty about it today. It makes me very glad that there are people out there determined to prove that welfare-friendly veal can be just as good - perhaps even better, because I always think a guilty conscience leaves a bad taste in your mouth (asparagus from Peru, anyone? Oh no, that bad taste might just be because I don't like asparagus...I'd forgotten already).  

I had never casseroled veal before, nor does it seem to be a particular popular thing to do - I quickly had a look on the internet for inspiration, but there are very few veal casserole recipes around. So I decided to make up my own, using my osso bucco recipe as a basic idea. 
I browned the veal (about 800g, I think), added two carrots, two celery sticks, an onion and some garlic, finely chopped, sauteed it for a few minutes, poured in a glass of white wine and some chopped tomatoes (one tin), added a sprig of rosemary and two bay leaves, and poured over enough vegetable stock to cover the meat (I suppose in a restaurant you'd use veal stock, but it is ridiculously fiddly to make, and I thought chicken might overpower it a bit - I really wanted it to taste more of veal than anything else). It then cooked for two and a half hours, and I took the lid off the pan for the last half hour. It reduced perfectly - I didn't even have to boil the sauce. I served it on sliced firm polenta with a sprinkling of gremolata. My reasoning was that gremolata (chopped parsley, garlic and lemon zest) is the perfect finishing touch to osso bucco, so why not to a casserole with the same elements as osso bucco? It was perfect - the sauce was rich and full of flavour, the veal was perfectly tender and the gremolata gave it a nice freshness.

For dessert we had grilled pineapple with a caramel, lime and vanilla syrup. The syrup was water, dark brown sugar, lime zest and a vanilla pod, boiled until thick, and poured over slices of pineapple that had been sprinkled with brown sugar and put under the grill. I figured we'd want something fruit-based after a casserole. With vanilla ice cream and some sprinkled desiccated coconut, it was a good idea.

Banana, coconut and cardamom cake


This is GOOD. I think the banana and blueberry one was maybe a bit better just because it has blueberries in it, but I put some desiccated coconut and some crushed cardamom seeds in the mixture yesterday and ended up with this. And it is very very nice. 

Recipe:
Mix 100g self-raising flour with 75g wholemeal self-raising flour and a teaspoon baking powder. Rub in 40g butter until it resembles fine breadcrumbs (I just put it all in a blender). Add 50g dark brown sugar, about 6 (or more if you like) cardamom pods (remove the black seeds and crush them using a pestle and mortar - discard the husks), and a sprinkling of desiccated coconut (I didn't measure it, just threw some in). Mash 2-3 very ripe bananas (mine were almost black) with about 60ml milk, and stir into the dry mixture - add more milk if it looks too dry. Put into a loaf tin, sprinkle more coconut on top, and bake at 180C for 40 minutes.

And then DEVOUR with a cup of tea. Life will seem a lot happier.


A sacrilegious revelation


Tonight for dinner I had scrambled duck eggs on toast with new season English asparagus. And I realised something that I have suspected for quite a while now but not really dared to conclude...I don't actually like asparagus. Which is a bit of a revelation, seeing as I take pride in liking most seasonal English food (rhubarb, for example, and quinces,  and gooseberries) and getting very excited when it comes into season. There is always such a huge fuss made over the start of the English asparagus season by chefs and food writers everywhere - all the papers are full of recipes for new asparagus at the moment, going on about how delicious our home-grown specimens are in comparison to those flown over from Peru. So naturally I got excited too, and went and bought some.
And realised I don't like it. Now I come to think of it, I also really do not like purple sprouting broccoli, another seasonal English food that people make such a fuss over. Both asparagus and purple sprouting taste horribly bitter to me and actually put me off my food. I don't mind asparagus with parma ham or cheese, because the saltiness and the flavour of the ham detracts from the bitterness. But I have never actually eaten purple sprouting and enjoyed it - in fact, I often end up throwing it away and feeling sick. I know this is probably a shocking revelation coming from someone who is obsessed with food and will eat anything, and loves seasonal food crazes (Alphonso mangoes, for example)...

Maybe there's some sort of chemical in them that I don't like? Apparently coriander has something in that means people either love it or really hate it because it tastes bitter to them. Perhaps it's the same with me and asparagus...

I feel better now that I have reached this conclusion...and will no longer be forcing myself to buy gluts of asparagus only to shove it down my throat without chewing and then eat some chocolate to get rid of the taste. My duck eggs were very nice on their own...I don't think I'll be tainting them with those green spears any more. Despite duck eggs and asparagus being a classic Great British Menu combination.

The first Alphonso mangoes of the year

"There's little you can do to improve on the perfection of the deep yellowy-orange flesh of a ripe Alphonso mango. Its sweetly fragrant and deeply exotic flavour - you can detect notes of coconut and lime - tells stories of yellow sands and warm winds, tropical palms and beating sunshine..."


That's Joanna Weinberg, writing in The Times. And oh, she is so correct. They are utterly utterly sublime. I like mangoes; preferably the huge ones they sell at the market for 75p each, but even then a rock-hard Sainsburys specimen can sometimes ripen into something pleasing. However, there is always a gamble: 50% or more of times, these fruits end up ripening into a mass of stringiness lacking in real flavour and tasting slightly chalky. They are good in smoothies, though, and ripe ones are lovely mixed with avocado, coriander, basil, mint, chilli and lime juice to make a salsa for grilled tuna steaks. But generally, I avoid recipes that involve mango as it is too hard to find ripe ones. I cook with mangoes when I happen to have bought some a week ago and find them soft and edible in the fruit bowl; more coincidence cooking than premeditated cooking. 
However, the Alphonso mango is another thing altogether. It's hard to describe just how different they are to your average supermarket, year-round mango, but the main difference lies in the fact that they are imported (from Mumbai, usually) ripe (sometimes overripe - last year I bought a box of 12 that had gone a bit too ripe to eat...and they made a beautiful mango and lime sorbet), rather than solid, so you are guaranteed mango heaven. They have a short season of only a few weeks, which means they must be bought in abundance and gorged on, naturally. They are so juicy that eating them in the bath might not be a bad idea, and they have a very sweet and perfumed flavour unlike most mangoes. I had one today and the fragrance was almost lavender-esque.

I found them at the Pakistani deli (£7 for six), and I'm hoping they'll go down in price as the season goes on so I can cook with them - I want to make mango ice cream, mango smoothies, a mango and chickpea salad (more Ottolenghi), a mango fool...but primarily, I just want to sit and savour them until all that is left is the skin and stone, sucked of every last bit of delicious mango flesh. Yum yum. And then I will spend the rest of the year contemplating the sad solid specimens in Sainsburys and lusting for next year's Alphonso season.

A tribute to The Delicious Miss Dahl


The Delicious Miss Dahl is the food-TV equivalent of a meringue. Aesthetically pleasing, but totally lacking in substance.

For the last six weeks I have watched as Sophie, in her impossibly beautiful kitchen (which, it transpires, is not even hers and is being hired for the purpose), goes through the entire emotional spectrum available to human beings (melancholy, escapist, celebratory, nostalgic, selfish, romantic) and shows you how to cook dishes to suit each mood.

Except she doesn't really show you how to cook at all...she giggles away at the camera and talks nostalgically about her rather idyllic-sounding youth (all roast chickens and apple crumbles and learning cooking at her grandmother's knee, apparently), and makes risque remarks about certain foodstuffs (anyone else fantasise about mozzarella? Nope? Just her then) while pouting at the camera, and showing a bit of cleavage - but it's OK, because said low-cut item is nearly always teamed with a shapeless cardigan, no doubt to avoid charges of pornography. And as if that wasn't enough, there are utterly pointless interludes, all filmed in sepia, I might add, in which Sophie does things like sit in a train station or walk on the beach. Reading the BBC summaries of the episodes will give you some idea as to the totally arbitrary nature of such scenes:
"To ground her firmly back in Britain, she takes a nostalgic train journey through the countryside and finds herself on a windy British beach recalling chilly childhood holidays. "
"Next, Sophie locks herself away in the shed at the end of the garden and, while reading hopeless poetry, she treats herself to the perfect chocolate sauce poured over ice cream. But her soul craves the curative power of chicken soup and this brings her back to the kitchen"
"To banish the week's blues entirely, she visits a saree shop and acquires an exotic new tablecloth, which inspires her final meal of the weekend: Sophie's dhal with lemon and saffron spiced rice. By the end of this culinary adventure she feels ready to handle Monday again."
(What I love about that is that it makes her sound like a normal person with a dreary run-of-the-mill job, for whom Mondays probably are something to dread. Except Mondays for Miss Dahl probably mean a series of glamorous modelling assignments or photo shoots, rather than another day at the office where cups of tea become highlights in the day)

Other great moments included her trip to a graveyard for the sheer "romance" of it, and the bits where she sits in a chair reading poetry - particularly the one where she was reading Dryden, but the book in her hand wasn't Dryden. At least she avoided this scenario:


I guess we are meant to gather from all this that she has the perfect lifestyle, but is "just like us" in that she gets melancholy too. Except what average human being has bunting decking their garden all year round, Cath Kidson everything, and more vintage items (both culinary and sartorial) than you could shake a pearl necklace at? Similarly, what human being could eat an Omelette Arnold Bennett for breakfast, followed by huge pieces of mozzarella bruschetta for lunch, followed by halibut with sweet potato chips and a chocolate pot (chocolate and cream...that's basically it) for dinner and not consider bulimia afterwards? I can see why at one point Sophie was "round as a Rubens", as she herself professes.

You watch it to aspire to Sophie's fictional lifestyle. And to look at what she's making, think "Oh, that looks nice - I've seen something like that before", and go away without any real inclination to find the recipes out. I know how to make a victoria sponge, flapjack, chocolate sauce (she quite literally melted chocolate with some cream and put it on ice cream), salad, and Eton mess. I know how to cook fish and make crab cakes and chicken soup. Another great moment was when Sophie was extolling the delights of the perfect roast chicken as she made said soup - conveniently forgetting to mention that she is in fact a vegetarian (though eats fish). She did in one episode make a shepherd's pie, and inexplicably made it with beef rather than lamb, saying that she didn't think it mattered as it could refer to either meat. Er, Sophie, why do you think we have shepherd's pie AND cottage pie?

In order to determine whether Sophie's recipes are entirely a question of style over substance, I decided to try a couple of them - prompted by an excellent Sophie-viewing sesh with my friend Clare (artfully posing in true Sophie style with Dryden, above). Firstly, there was a chargrilled red pepper, chicory and squid salad with a herb and lime dressing. Characteristically, no real skill involved - I grilled some peppers, pan-fried some squid, shredded some chicory and put it in a bowl with a dressing made of basil, coriander, lime juice, garlic and olive oil.


And I have to say, it was absolutely delicious. One of those recipes where you can't quite imagine it working until you've tried it, and it was wonderful. I will definitely be making it again. I have to thank Sophie for that.

And then, in the spirit of "escapism", Sophie made a rice pudding with spiced plums. She for no apparent reason uses basmati rice instead of pudding rice, so I did too. And it was also quite nice. The plum compote - star anise, plums, orange juice, cloves, ginger syrup - was very similar to one I make for my porridge, and the rice - spiced with cardamom and cinnamon and sprinkled with flaked almonds - was lovely and fragrant but a bit too sweet for my liking.


Sophie, Sophie...she may make fairly generic dishes that aren't going to set the world on fire, but she does make a good squid salad. And obviously, the bitchiness of this post is entirely down to the fact that I would probably sell my pasta machine AND cook's blowtorch to look like her. 


Wouldn't you?

Two new additions to my collection



I've had the briefest of perusals and already I want to lock myself away in a kitchen and cook the entire Ottolenghi book from front to back. It's an entirely vegetarian cookbook featuring his recipes from the Guardian New Vegetarian column. I love his use of Middle Eastern and Mediterranean flavours with every vegetable under the sun, and the way he makes even the most dull vegetables into incredibly delicious-sounding salads, gratins, omelettes, tarts, etc...now that I have my massive tubs of Za'atar and sumac I will definitely be trying a sumptuous-looking butterbean, feta and sumac salad. Along with everything else. Yum. I love vegetarian food like this, especially because I don't really eat that much meat anyway and these recipes are so scrumptuous that I don't know why you'd want to.

Masterchef also looks excellent - I really like the format of the book and the pictures are lovely. Naturally I flicked straight to the dessert section which has some enticing things like a rhubarb millefeuille, and the pear and roquefort souffle that I admired on last season's Masterchef: The Professionals and am now very glad I can emulate. Fantastic.

Of course, my finals are in three weeks, so all this may have to wait. But I should probably warn all my friends now that it is my mission to make them fat on Ottolenghi and Masterchef recipes by the end of term.









Waxing rhapsodical about rhubarb

This made me very happy last week:


Rhubarb, along with quinces, is one of my favourite home-grown foodstuffs. Unimpressed that the stuff I got in Tesco is in fact from HOLLAND - how ridiculous - but it was reduced and I think it would have gone to waste otherwise, so I was really being ethical. I love the taste of it, but also the colour - I can never quite believe how shockingly pink it is, almost unnaturally so. For that reason it can make any dessert look stunningly beautiful and also a little bit fun. I quite like sharp, almost sour fruit (underripe granny smith apples, underripe plums, passionfruit, cooking apples, raspberries...), and rhubarb has that lovely tartness in abundance, so I like using it in dishes where you would normally use, say, a Bramley apple.
The best thing I think you can do with it is slice it into pieces, put in a baking dish, sprinkle over the juice and zest of an orange, a bit of sugar, and then put it into the oven at 160C or so for about 20 minutes until tender. This gives you a whole dish full of beautiful soft rhubarb, the orange bringing out its sharpness, and lots of lovely rhubarby juice. You can use this in pretty much any recipe. Here are some nice things to do with it:
  • I made an amazing rhubarb cake once that had sour cream in the cake mixture, and then pieces of rhubarb put on top of the mixture while it cooked. I made a gingery syrup and poured it over the cake when it came out of the oven, and it soaked into the cake and made it moist and sweet and delicious. I remember eating about half of the entire cake, such was its goodness.
  • I also intend to try it in a dish with lamb instead of the more usual apricots/dates/quinces; a sort of Middle Eastern fusion thing that I reckon would taste delicious.
  • Over the easter holidays I made a rhubarb tarte tatin using a Nigella recipe; it had a sort of scone dough for the base instead of the usual pastry, and the juices from the rhubarb soaked into it so it was soft in the middle and crunchy on the outside, and it was just beautiful. Again, I ate about half of it.
  • Rhubarb sorbet - poach rhubarb as above but in water instead of orange juice, add the juice of a lime and blend, then add some sugar syrup, put in an ice cream maker to set.
  • I also celebrated the start of the rhubarb season this year with a rhubarb cheesecake: the base was made of ginger biscuits (rhubarb and ginger is another classic combination), the cheesecake was a gelatine one so uncooked, and flavoured with seville oranges, and once set I pureed some poached rhubarb, added some more gelatine and spread it over the top of the cake to make a kind of rhubarb compote topping - like the ubiquitous forest fruit topping you often find on bought cheesecakes.
  • Just eat the poached rhubarb with ice cream.
  • Make rhubarb turnovers
  • Rhubarb jam
  • Rhubarb chutney
As if to prove the point, in the last week I used the above poached rhubarb for the following:

Rhubarb souffle:

A rhubarb and orange smoothie (by blending the rhubarb and juice with a bit more orange juice, some honey and a few spoonfuls of YOGHURT - a revelation I know...I admittedly had to stop myself thinking that I was drinking yoghurt before I was able to swallow it, but still...)



Rhubarb pancakes (pieces of rhubarb and a little bit of juice with a spoonful of yoghurt in the pancake - probably the best thing I have eaten in a while):

And finally, the rhubarb and juice makes a lovely compote for porridge mixed with dried cranberries and dried apple:

Four different meals (or components of them)...not bad for £1.74.

I sometimes wish I could paint my room in rhubarb.

An ode to the humble quince

"They call for dates and quinces in the pastry" 
~ Romeo and Juliet


Whenever I am cooking with quinces, it is inevitable that one of my housemates will ask what they are, and then remark that they've never tried one. I was on the Waitrose forum (OK, I am slightly ashamed to admit that...let's just move on) last autumn, and someone was asking whether Waitrose would be stocking quinces this year (autumn is British quince season). Their head of customer whatever replied that no, they would not, as there's not enough demand for them.
I find it hard to see why. They are the most luscious of fruits. Well, no, the Alphonso mango is probably the most luscious of fruits. But the quince comes a close second. It is absolutely divine. I would quite like to convert the entire world to eating quinces like they do cooking apples. Or just hoard them all for myself.

They are probably best described as a sort of cross between an apple and a pear - some are quite pear-shaped, others more squat, and their flavour has the perfume of pears and the sweetness of apples. You can't eat them raw, as they are rock solid and sour, but when you bake them, something magic happens - their flesh goes soft like a Bramley apple and they taste of honeyed loveliness. Not a very technical description I know, but you'd have to taste one to find out - I recommend you do. They have a lovely grainy texture which goes really well with soft meat in a tagine, or smooth vanilla ice cream as a dessert. If you cook them for long enough, they turn bright red - I remember Nigella has a lovely recipe for red quinces with pomegranate seeds on top. A scarlet feast of fruity delight.

There's all sorts of fun mythology surrounding the quince. It has been suggested that cultivation of the fruit preceded cultivation of the apple, so references to apples in early literature (the garden of Eden...the golden apple that Paris gave to Aphrodite) may actually refer to quinces. In medieval times, to give a quince to a lady was a declaration of love, and Plutarch reports that Greek brides used to nibble them before entering the bridal chamber to ensure their kiss was not "unpleasant". In Slavonia, Croatia, when a baby is born, a quince tree is planted as a symbol of fertility. 

The word 'marmalade' comes from marmelo, the Portuguese for quince, and so marmalade was originally a quince jam. That's just one of the things you can do with quinces - make membrillo, as the Spanish call it - quince paste. It's delicious with cheese or roasted meat such as lamb or pheasant, and I also quite like it on toast. I made it a few terms ago, and probably won't do so again - it was incredibly labour intensive, involving pushing quinces through a sieve to get a tiny amount of puree which was then mixed with equal amounts of sugar, boiled until gelatinous, then set like jam. Admittedly it was superb, especially with a chunk of crusty bread and some strong goats cheese, but in future I reckon I'll just buy it ready-made...especially as I never even got to finish the amount I made before it developed a "little furry jacket" (my mum's way of referring to mould) in the fridge. Rubbish.

The quince tree is native to Iran, Armenia, Georgia and Pakistan, but has been introduced to all sorts of places, especially the Med and the middle East. They're used a lot in middle Eastern cooking, either as a dessert or with meat such as lamb. I can think of endless uses for this goddess of fruits, but a few of my favourites are: served as a dessert, sliced and poached in a lemon and vanilla infused syrup; baked and served with ice cream; sliced and added to a lamb tagine (absolutely sublime); my stuffed pheasant recipe from a couple of weeks ago; in a compote with rosemary, served with roasted venison steaks; baked and stuffed with minced lamb, onions, pine nuts and cinnamon. It's also good in an apple or pear crumble, adding a fragrant note. Next time I can get my hands on some more quinces (at the moment they're hard to find, though there are some Turkish ones around, if you're prepared to pay £2 a fruit, or so...which I am) I want to try a quince crumble. Every time I spot some at the grocer's, my heart flutters a little. Shakespeare and I were clearly on the same page (no pun intended) - I would definitely call for dates and quinces in my pastry. In fact, I might try some date and quince turnovers. With filo pastry. Yum.

So I found a couple of joyous fruits in Cambridge while I was home for easter, and decided to make the aforementioned stuffed quinces. Sliced in half, baked until soft, then the inside scooped out and added to a mixture of lamb mince, chopped onion, pine nuts, cinnamon and allspice, which is then put back in the fruit and baked for another half hour or so. I served it with spinach and couscous, though a rice pilaff might also have been nice, or some chickpeas.




To paraphrase Edward Lear:

"We dined on mince, and slices of quince, which we ate with a runcible spoon"

No idea what a runcible spoon is. I suspect Lear didn't either. But the quince tasted nice.


Ravioli, chicken and a honey tart


Inspired by a dish I ate in a little trattoria in Bergamo a couple of summers ago, I thought I'd make ravioli filled with sausagemeat. I found Luganega sausages at David John's butchers in the covered market - wish I'd known they were there before, as I've been searching for them for a couple of recipes and had never thought - bizarrely - to look in the butchers famous for its sausages. Hmm. It wasn't authentic Italian Luganega, which is sold by the metre and not shaped into links, but its flavourings I think were similar. Anyway, I took the meat out of the casings, crumbled it into a pan with some garlic, tomatoes and fennel seeds, and just cooked it and put it into a bowl to cool. I made the ravioli with tomato puree, which I hoped would make it scarlet but actually just made it a sort of orange colour, but never mind. The filling went in the middle, I shaped it and crimped the edges with a fork, cooked it and served it with a sage butter sauce (quite literally melted butter with sage and black pepper) and lots of grated parmesan. It was lovely. 
Next I decided - in the spirit of this Ottolenghi phase I have previously referred to - to make one of his chicken dishes - chicken with sumac, lemons and za'atar. I found sumac and za'atar in Maroc Deli, although they were out of the smaller packets of the latter so I had to buy an absolutely enormous jar which I reckon will be enough to flavour everything I cook ever for the next ten years. It's a middle Eastern spice mix, consisting of dried thyme, salt, sesame seeds and other spices (I think this one had some aniseed in there). I'm pretty sure I now possess every middle Eastern ingredient I could ever possibly need. My friend the butcher kindly gave me two chickens for £7, so they were jointed and went in a marinade of sliced red onion, cinnamon, allspice, olive oil, sliced lemon, sumac, salt, pepper and water overnight. Then they just went in the oven in the marinade with some parsley and pine nuts with the za'atar sprinkled over. I had to turn the oven up quite high to get them to cook but it just gave them a nice crispy skin. Yum. We had it with couscous and a garlic yoghurt sauce that I made by crushing garlic into Greek yoghurt...except I added a bit too much garlic (convinced I couldn't taste enough when I tried it) and could still taste it while eating dessert. Oh well! It was delicious - the lemons and sumac were quite sharp and the meat was still juicy despite being in the oven at 220C. Clearly they were good chickens. Thank you, butcher man whose name I still don't know despite seeing you most days.


For dessert I made a sort of Greek variation on a treacle tart, with filo pastry. I baked the pastry case (filo sheets layered over each other and brushed with butter in a tart tin) and then poured in the filling, which consisted of two eggs, two yolks, the zest of two lemons, 150g breadcrumbs (which were quite large as my blender decided not to blend properly...but it didn't do the dish any harm), 8 tablespoons of creme fraiche, a tsp ground ginger (might add more next time as I couldn't really taste it...or some cinnamon would be nice), 150ml honey, and 250ml agave nectar. Agave nectar is marketed as a sort of "healthy" alternative to sugar, because it is much sweeter so you need less, and doesn't give you that sugar high and then low, or something. Apparently, anyway. Still, given that an entire bottle went into the tart, and it gave me a massive sugar headache afterwards, I still don't think it was that healthy. 

BUT it was absolutely sublime. One of my favourite desserts that I have made so far. The middle had a sort of cheesecake texture but a bit firmer, and was sweet and lemony and delicious, and I love the crispyness of filo pastry. Especially with some nice vanilla ice cream. Definitely making this again. I reckon it'd be nice with orange zest and cinnamon. Maybe with some candied orange slices on top. In fact, the thought is making me a little bit hungry. It's a good job I have two slices left over in the fridge...



An excuse to get out the blowtorch

(and no, it's not to torch my finals revision in a fit of despair)


Tonight, courtesy of my lovely friend Clare, I had the opportunity to whip out the blowtorch I was given for easter (cook's blowtorch, that is - I'm not into welding or anything) on TWO occasions.
Firstly, I decided to make Shakshuka, a north African dish of (in this version, anyway) sauteed peppers, onions, spices, tomatoes and herbs with cracked eggs on top. It's a recipe from Yotam Ottolenghi's new cookbook, Plenty. I am having a massive Ottolenghi phase at the moment - I have his other cookbook and simply the thought of it makes me salivate (except not, because that is disgusting). More on that another time though - along with my ode to quinces which I am still intending to do. The eggs were taking a painfully long time to cook - watched eggs never boil - although admittedly it was quite fun watching their gelatinous forms slowly turn opaque in their little cocoon of tomato sauce. Clare had brought round a crumble to have afterwards, and I had the bright (and quite exciting - it takes very little to excite me these days, as my life is basically revision) idea of blowtorching the top to caramelise it. It then also occurred to me that I could cook the top of the eggs faster this way - normally I'd stick the pan under the grill, but someone was using the oven. It was amazing to watch - the surface of the egg sort of puckered under the flame and thickened, and then a little crust of white formed. Childishly satisfying. It was delicious, too - we ate it with warm baguette to mop up all the tomatoey goodness, and the eggs were just runny in the middle. I love sauteed peppers that have gone soft and sweet...add some caramelised onions, and yum.


The crumble, I have to report, was the most delicious crumble I have had in my life - and I am a bit of a crumble fiend (as anyone who has ever seen me rhapsodise over it at formal hall will know, or anyone who has seen me polish off several helpings, despite the two courses that have preceded it). Apparently it was a Nigel Slater recipe, and the reason it tasted so good was "massive amounts of sugar". Well, if tooth decay tastes that good, then I reckon I'll be seeing my dentist fairly soon.

Note the deliciously caramelised, toasted crumbly topping in the picture below...and be jealous that you don't own a cook's blowtorch. My housemates clearly thought I was ridiculous when I got it out of the cupboard...but I am clearly the one laughing now. Except I'm not laughing - I'm clutching my stomach and feeling slightly sick from sugar overload.

A home-grown mushroom omelette

Overnight, very
Whitely, discreetly,
Very quietly

Our toes, our noses
Take hold on the loam,
Acquire the air.

~
Sylvia Plath, 'Mushrooms'



My mum bought me a "grow your own mushroom" kit for Christmas. Ignoring the slightly middle-aged connotations of such a present, I was quite pleased, and set it up in my kitchen a few weeks ago. However, it seemed only to become yet another endeavour that serves to prove I absolutely cannot grow anything. Anything. Herbs, plants, fruit, veg...and seeing as a mushroom is a fungus, which makes it basically mould, I took this as quite a personal failure. I can't even grow MOULD.
So I went home for easter and came back to uni a week and a half later, intending to have to part with said mushroom kit in the bin. Imagine my delight when I lifted up the lid to find the beginning of two small mushrooms. Apparently my neglect was actually more successful than my care. So, not quite "overnight" as Ms Plath seems to think, but at least I got there.

Naturally, I made an omelette. I had to supplement my two mushrooms (the third one is still tiny so will need a bit more neglecting before it can be harvested) with some shop-bought ones, but I like to think I could pick out the home-grown from the mushroomy mass due to their superior flavour - you can literally taste all the hard work I put in... Or something.

I now understand where the phrase "mushrooming" comes from. I swear yesterday they were too small to eat, and today they were rapidly on their way to Portobello-mushroom-size.

Pasta, round three


So I found two willing victims on whom to experiment with my pasta ideas. I made ravioli filled with spinach and bacon and served with a creamy (a word I hate, but it had cream it in, so there isn't really an alternative word) blue cheese and walnut sauce. It was superb...but incredibly filling and I now feel slightly queasy. Still, YUM.
It was fairly easy really...fry little pieces of bacon till crispy, add an entire bag of spinach (which cooked down to literally about three spoons of filling...absurd) and leave to wilt, and then cool a bit. Meanwhile, roll out the pasta into strips, put the filling in, put another sheet of pasta over the top, trim and seal...it sounds so easy, but I totally failed the first time I attempted this a couple of weeks ago. I realise now it was because I rolled the pasta too thinly and it just stuck to the surface and wouldn't move when I tried to lift it off. These happy images are something I have long watched on Masterchef and strived for:


Perfect. So to make the sauce I literally just put some creme fraiche and some Dolcelatte into a pan and melted it, and added loads of nutmeg. Because I love nutmeg. Fortunately I think it's only vastly excessive (sort of...truckload) quantities of nutmeg that can make you hallucinate, otherwise my morning porridge would probably have a fairly trippy effect on me. And black pepper. This went on the pasta, some nice pecorino grated over the top, and a sprinkling of walnuts that I bashed in a pestle and mortar. Very satisfying. The whole thing tasted truly delicious - the only thing I would change is I'd squeeze out the spinach before putting it in the ravioli, as it went a bit watery inside. But still - blue cheese, walnuts, bacon, spinach - can't really go wrong with that combination. YUM.

For dessert we had a Nigella recipe that I've wanted to try for a couple of weeks: poached apricots stuffed with creme fraiche (a bit of a creme fraiche heavy meal, it seems - which my housemate commented was "no bad thing"). Dried apricots, soaked overnight in water, the water then boiled with sugar, cardamom seeds and lemon juice to make a syrup, which was poured over the apricots and they were baked in the oven at 130C for an hour or so. After chilling, I then cut them open, stuffed with a bit of creme fraiche, and sprinkled some crushed pistachios (I have only just discovered how much I love pistachios and am fighting the urge to eat the rest of the bag) over the top, along with a bit of the poaching syrup. Delicious. Nigella comments that you can also use yoghurt instead of creme fraiche...however, given my aversion to yoghurt I will not be trying this. Even creme fraiche was pushing it a bit - I hate cold creamy things. It was lovely though. I reckon stuffing them with vanilla ice cream would work too...but I'm sure the Turks would consider this sacrilegious (it's a Turkish recipe).

And they look beautiful, too.


Pasta making


Seeing as I am currently facing a daily and uphill struggle to cram my saturated-sponge-like brain with even more English-degree related information, it is only natural that I have also been thinking about things completely unliterary. In a word, getting distracted. I figure distractions are necessary though, otherwise I would actually go mad and wouldn't be able to have a normal conversation with anyone without dropping in a reference to how Philip Sidney's Defence of Poesie is all a large attempt to reconfigure the reputation of poetry as something masculine and thereby lament the decline of opportunities for martial prowess in the increasingly effeminate and inactive Elizabethan court.


See - I'm learning.

So since my darling mother bought me a pasta machine for Easter, I have been distracting myself by contemplating ravioli fillings that would work. As one does, you know - I might be cycling along and suddenly have a wild-mushroom-related inspiration...or cross the street and start formulating a blue cheese sauce.

I think my finals are doomed. And possibly my social life too.

So this is more of a "note to self" post than anything else so that next time I have a whim (ha...not really a whim when it takes several hours of hard labour) to make pasta, I can just be super-organised and look at my list of things to try...

Stuffed with spinach and bacon and served with a gorgonzola and cream sauce, with lots of black pepper, nutmeg and parmesan, and chopped walnuts on top
Stuffed with butternut squash, stilton, walnuts, parmesan, egg yolk, basil, and served with butter and sage sauce (have tried this, it was sublime - see left)
Stuffed with sausagemeat, tomato and fennel seeds and served with a garlicky tomato sauce and parmesan, or with a sage and butter sauce (had a variation of this in Bergamo in Italy and it was one of the best meals ever)
Stuffed with baked salmon, creme fraiche, peas, lemon and dill
Stuffed with braised venison with a chocolate and red wine sauce (sounds odd, but I reckon it could work - reduce the braising liquid from the venison, add some grated very dark chocolate...yum...must try this one soon)
Stuffed with chopped chorizo and tomato and either smoked cheese or halloumi
Stuffed with shredded duck leg and raisins with a mascarpone and marsala sauce
Stuffed with a sort of pork bolognaise sauce - pork cooked with bay leaves, lemon zest, nutmeg/cinnamon, white wine and dried apple.
Stuffed with roasted red peppers, goats cheese and pine nuts and served with caramelised onions on top (I reckon my boyfriend would like this one)

Oh and another note to self - basic pasta dough recipe.

225g plain flour (or the coveted 'Tipo 00' if I can find it)
2 eggs and 1 egg yolk
Tsp salt
Tbsp olive oil
Tsp water

That makes enough dough for about 4 people.