There's no ON switch on our new cooker.
Here's the fuel
Here's where we store it
And here's how it gets to the kitchen
This is what it's made of
Here's a thought from Jane Grigson, a challenge to the fashionably dominant idea of localism:
Suivant les marchés, that current phrase of the good restauratuer, that guarantee of honest cookery ...
The market is no small concept. In the Middle Ages our northern ships were taking salt cod down to the Mediterranean and Portugal, bringing back wheat, spices and dried fruit - dried fruit in such quantities that the people who produced it wondered what on earth we did with it in the north. I think everyone would agree that Portuguese and Mediterranean cooks do far better things with salt cod than Scandinavians, and that the British know far more about using currants and raisins than the Greeks.
Food and ideas about cooking it have been passing from one part of the world to another ever since the neolithic revolution began in the Middle East. They were part of the spread of civilization though, since people will change their tastes in painting and architecture much faster than their tastes in food, knowledge of what was eaten is far sparser than knowledge of the houses that were lived in or the clothes that were worn. Cookery books were few before the 17th century - and how close is the general diet at any period to the cookery books published? Change owed more to the movement of people, of armies, merchants, chefs, wealthy landed travellers, than to books. Before canals, the railway, good roads, most places ate what could be produced within a 30-mile radius. Ports did better of course, if they were on a big trade route. For most people food was essentially regional food and not always enough of it either. Even in good areas, peasants ate a meagre diet, since most of what they produced went for sale at local markets. Only wealthy men could buy special seeds to grow exotic vegetables, or employ gardeners who understood how to grow fine fruit unfamiliar to the place they lived in, or afford chefs trained elsewhere to provide variety and elegance at mealtimes.
Actually, it's more than one thought, as I've given you more than I planned ... but such interesting ideas, worth pondering.
How lucky we are. Long may it last.
* this comes from the introduction to The Observer Guide to European Cookery, published in 1981. It's not a great book by Jane Grigson's standards, in fact, I think the introduction is the best bit.
I'm chucking out recipe books at the moment, ones I'm never ever going to use again. Tricky, though, because there's often one dish lurking in there. These two books are a case in point, Brit Spice by Manju Malhi ... good, but I don't use it at all any more, and Real Fast Indian Food by Mridula Baljekar. Horatio and I bought them when he first got keen on curry, and we cooked quite a few curries. H is sharing a student house now (in Buckingham Street, so known - inevitably - as Buckingham Palace). He lives with an acknowledged curry master, so he doesn't want the books. Off they go to Sue Ryder. But first ...
Madras Curry Sauce
We used to make vats of this together, so that Horatio could use it to simmer chicken with his friend Christian. It sounds more complicated than it is, but that's only because the ingredients list is so long. Promise.
5 tbsp vegetable oil
55g root ginger, peeled and chopped
16 cloves of garlic, peeled
8-10 shallots, peeled
3 tbsp dried curry leaves (2 tbsp if fresh)
1 1/2 tbsp ground cumin
2 tsp chilli powder
2 tsp ground turmeric
85g tomato puree
1.2 litres water
salt
1 1/2 tsp sugar
15g fresh coriander leaves, chopped
3 tbsp lemon juice
Heat the oil and gently fry the ginger, garlic and shallots. After three or four minutes, add the curry leaves, cumin, chilli and turmeric. Fry for a couple of minutes, then stir in the tomato paste. When it's amalgamated, add the water, sugar and salt. Simmer gently for 20 minutes.
Add the coriander and lemon juice. Remove from the heat. Leave to cool. Blitz until smooth. Pack in airtight containers and store in the freezer or fridge. It will keep in the fridge for at least a week.
Chicken Korma with whole spices
for 4
This is a lovely aromatic curry ... but Horatio likes it better without the cloves.
55g ground almonds
150ml boiling water
3 tbsp oil
5cm stick of cinnamon
6 green cardamom pods, bruised
4 cloves
2 bay leaves
one small onion, finely chopped
3cm cube of peeled and chopped ginger
4 large cloves garlic
1 tsp crushed black peppercorns
1/2 tsp ground turmeric
1 tsp mild chilli powder
700g boneless chicken pieces, cubed
85g plain yoghurt
2-3 tomatoes skinned (or half a tin)
salt (unless using tinned tomatoes)
2-3 tbsp chopped coriander
Soak the almonds. (The original recipe calls for blanched almonds, which you later process, but I could never get them smooth enough.) Gently fry the cinnamon, cardamom, cloves and bay in the oil (if your cardamom is green, stop when the pods puff up; chances are, you'll be splitting dry old pods to use their fragrant sticky black seeds). Add the onion, and fry til golden. Then add the ginger, garlic and the rest of the spices.
Add the chicken cubes and brown all the surfaces. Then add the yoghurt, salt and tomatoes. Stir, cover the pan, and simmer gently for 10-12 minutes.
If you've used whole almonds, process them with their soaking water until you get a smooth paste. Either way, tip the resulting mess into the pan, stir well, and cook for another 10-12 minutes.
When the chicken is cooked through, add the coriander and serve.
Links to related posts
None of these are hot, unless you want to be heavy-handed with the chilli. They're all quick, easy, cheap and delicious.
Chickpea and spinach curry
Dahl
Aromatic prawns
PS the Indian recipe book I've kept is The Essential Madhur Jaffrey
My generous husband is not a great one for impromptu presents, which makes it all the more special when he comes home with one. In the 20-something years we've been together, he's given me flowers once. They were utterly memorable, and never-to-be-beaten: on the day our first child was born, he brought one rose, one rosebud, one stick of asparagus and one sprig of mint, all picked from the garden, and stuck into a beer mug from the kitchen draining board.
Yesterday, he came home with a present, one of the best I've ever been given ....
It's a brazing torch, and it makes short work of lighting the stove. No need for paper, just a few little twigs or sticks and a couple of logs, and the fire's blazing merrily within a minute. Wonderful man. Not sure what other people do with brazing torches.
These days, I grow my own flowers for the kitchen table.
Remember that no-knead bread we all made a couple of years ago? That came from New York and involved a hot Le Creuset pan? Well, now there's a quick version, which uses wholemeal flour. Haven't tried it yet, but here's the link.
And the recipe, for those of you that aren't registered to read the NY Times. This adaptation of Jim Leahey's original recipe is by Mark Bittman, and I found it via LifeHacker, a very useful website with all sorts of wonderful wheezes.
Speeded up no-knead bread
3 cups bread flour
1 packet ( 1/4 ounce) instant yeast
1 1/2 teaspoons salt
Oil as needed.
1. Combine flour, yeast and salt in a large bowl. Add 1 1/2 cups water and stir until blended; dough will be shaggy. Cover bowl with plastic wrap. Let dough rest about 4 hours at warm room temperature, about 70 degrees.
2. Lightly oil a work surface and place dough on it; fold it over on itself once or twice. Cover loosely with plastic wrap and let rest 30 minutes more.
3. At least a half-hour before dough is ready, heat oven to 450 degrees. Put a 6-to-8-quart heavy covered pot (cast iron, enamel, Pyrex or ceramic) in oven as it heats. When dough is ready, carefully remove pot from oven. Slide your hand under dough and put it into pot, seam side up. Shake pan once or twice if dough is unevenly distributed; it will straighten out as it bakes.
4. Cover with lid and bake 30 minutes, then remove lid and bake another 15 to 30 minutes, until loaf is beautifully browned. Cool on a rack.
Wholemeal no-knead bread
1/2 cup whole rye flour
1/2 cup coarse cornmeal
1 teaspoon instant yeast
1 1/2 teaspoons salt
Oil as needed.
1. Combine flours, cornmeal, yeast and salt in a large bowl. Add 1 1/2 cups water and stir until blended; dough will be shaggy. Cover bowl with plastic wrap. Let dough rest about 4 hours at warm room temperature, about 70 degrees.
2. Oil a standard loaf pan (8 or 9 inches by 4 inches; nonstick works well). Lightly oil your hands and shape dough into a rough rectangle. Put it in pan, pressing it out to the edges. Brush top with a little more oil. Cover with plastic wrap and let rest 1 hour more.
3. Preheat oven to 350 degrees. Bake bread about 45 minutes, or until loaf reaches an internal temperature of 210 degrees. Remove bread from pan and cool on a rack.
This is our new cooker ... on a good day it takes the same amount of time to heat up as an electric oven. We can cook supper AND heat our large kitchen with a couple of logs. After three weeks I STILL can't get over it ...
PS If you look carefully, you can see a mouse carved into the chair leg ... the signature of the Mouseman
from today's Times ... we're talking Red Bull (80mg caffeine per can*), Relentless (160mg), Cocaine (240mg per can) ... also Coke (35mg), and to some extent coffee (although you sip that because it's hot, whereas these cooled drinks are gulped, often several times a day):
Scott Willoughby, of the Cardiovascular Research Centre in Adelaide, Australia, recently showed how the sugar-free version of Red Bull can cause the blood to thicken, raising the risk of heart attacks and strokes.
In his study, Willoughby assessed the cardiovascular systems of 30 young adults one hour before and one hour after they had drunk a 250ml can of sugar-free Red Bull. He describes the results as "remarkable". Sixty minutes after drinking the Red Bull, the subjects displayed the kind of cardiovascular abnormalities that might be expected in a patient with heart disease, including an increased stickiness of blood.
"If you add in other risk factors for cardiovascular disease - stress or high blood pressure - this could be potentially deadly," Willoughby says. "The can comes with a warning of its own. But if you have any predisposition to cardiovascular disease, I'd think twice about drinking it."
*Caffeine stats from Professor Roland Griffiths, of The Johns Hopkins University, Maryland, USA. He found 505mg of caffeine in an American canned drink called Whoop Ass.
There's not much official UK guidance on this - according to The Times, just two pointers: any drink containing more than 150mg of caffeine per litre has to say so on UK labels; & the FSA advises pregnant women not to consume more than 300mg/caffeine per day.
Computer still dead, so once again no pictures. This is fab. Also a bit of a triumph for me, as it was an experiment in baking on our new Esse woodburning stove - even the manufacturers are dubious about how much cooking you can achieve ... so I'm feeling particularly pleased that I managed an entire roast for six PLUS this baking. Lovely traditional French food.
Prune and armagnac tart
for 6 individual tarts
200g Agen prunes
2-3 tbsp armagnac
15-20g ground almonds
1 beaten egg
20g sugar
100 ml cream or creme fraiche
enough pastry for six individual tarts
Prepare the pastry cases and rest in the fridge.
Pour armagnac over the prunes and leave for at least an hour, more if they are not already very soft.
Prick the pastry cases and bake in a hot oven (200C) for 15-20 minutes (or don't prick them, but use greaseproof paper and baking beans). Remove from the oven just before they start to brown, brush with a little of the beaten egg and give them another couple of minutes in the oven.
Drain the prunes, reserving the armagnac in a bowl. Add the almonds, eggs, sugar and cream. Arrange the prunes in the pastry cases, then pour over the custard. Bake at 180-190C for 45 minutes.
My computer has crashed and I fear the hard disc is broken ... this lovely tart from Hugh Fearnley-Whittingstall's River Cottage Mushroom handbook cheered me up at lunch. I made it with wildly different amounts, and it made a delicious lunch for my parents with some Charlotte potatoes and a tomato salad. Thrifty, too - impressive-looking in individual portions, but inexpensive to make. Sadly not with foraged mushrooms, I haven't yet found any in my usual spots.
Mushroom tart
Pastry - bought puff is the easiest here.
100g mixed mushrooms per person
a little chopped garlic
fresh breadcrumbs made from half a slice of white per person
grated zest of half a lemon
grated parmesan
chopped parsley
1 beaten egg
Roll out the pastry - either into one big round, or several smaller ones for individual portions. Place on a baking sheet and rest in the fridge.
Gently fry the mushrooms in a little oil (perhaps with some butter too). When they are nearly cooked through, add the garlic and take off the heat after a couple of minutes.
Meanwhile, blitz the bread with a small lump of Parmesan and a handful of parsley. Stir this fragrant green mess into the mushrooms.
Arrange the mushrooms onto the pastry, leaving a clear band of pastry round the edge to puff up. Brush the edge with the egg.
Bake for 20 minutes at 180C.
Serve hot or cold.
No pic ... no time, I made this in the five minutes between getting back from the station (dropping off Eleanor who had to go back to London) and my parents arriving with Lettice, who spent the morning playing hockey. I used bought pastry - it would have been just as quick if I'd had the wit to make the pastry as we were clearing up breakfast. Hey ho
This is my new weapon to reduce meat consumption. Also stress.
Last week, we ate pork escalopes for dinner ... slices of pork egged and breadcrumbed, then flash-fried. Good, but not thin enough. And so I bought a meat hammer. I used it last night to bash some fat lamb leg steaks, with delicious results.
The Cook's Companion - a useful book by Susan Campbell subtitled The Complete Manual of Kitchen Implements and How to Use Them (beginning with your hands) - is pretty sniffy about a meat hammer: These tools should never be used on really tender meat. If you want thin escalopes, ask the butcher to cut them that way; or if the meat is so tough that it actually needs beating, cook it differently. There is a slower, but culinarily superior, method of tenderising the very tough cuts of meat - a long, careful marinading, followed by leisurely cooking.
I like the idea of leisurely cooking; I think that marinading has been proved by scientists to be useless for tenderising; and what happens when you want an escalope, or a thin steak? You bash it out. Just like a cheese-paring restaurateur. Just like a four-year-old boy with a toy hammer. Very therapeutic. Great fun too.
Frugal food involves using up every last little bit - and is often much more delicious than extravagant food. This sweet and crunchy rosti is a case in point.
Tuesday lunch always involves clearing the fridge and the last of the veg box before the new one arrives. There were several tiny sweet potatoes to eat up (and, in truth, they were just beginning to look shrivelled).
So I peeled and grated them, together with a couple of small potatoes and a small onion. I put the resulting mess into a colander for half an hour, squeezing it every so often to force out the moisture. Fried for 15 minutes or so in a non-stick pan with a little sunflower oil - I pushed it around for the first 10 minutes, then formed it into a cake and browned one side to a crisp. Lettice ate it with a little mince that needed finishing, I ate it with chilli jam and some Greek yoghurt. Green salad. Yum.
I'm SO glad that this week's box also contains sweet potato.
This weekend we've eaten meals in the garden for just about the first time this year. But summer is officially over, so lunch was an amalgam of the seasons: autumnal leek and potato soup, lemony courgette salad with the last of this year's crop, and a simple late summer hearth bread which makes the most of the sweet seedless grapes in the market at the moment.
Late summer hearth bread / focaccia /fougasse
To make this variation, use your normal dough, roll it out flat but not too thin, let it rise, throw on a few grapes, some chopped rosemary, a little salt, then make dimples with your thumb and drizzle with a little olive oil. Bake in a very hot oven for 10-12 minutes. Eat warm.
The dough I used was mixed in a bread machine, but it could easily have been made by hand if I'd felt like a little kneading. There's no reason why you shouldn't use a bread mix, although, for me, much of the pleasure of making bread comes from choosing the flour - most of the wheat I use is grown and milled locally.
Related posts
Lemony courgette salad
Essence of courgette
White pizza with fennel seeds
Pizza bianca with rosemary
River Cafe pizza dough
Quick white bread in a machine
In the 50s and 60s, advertisers used to trumpet that their food had been untouched by human hand. My father always used to say - still does, actually - that he preferred food that had been well touched by human hand. He'd like this stuffed cabbage.
It's a great way to stretch a little mince twice as far. Thrifty, eco-friendly, heart-healthy. All in one little green parcel. Good to eat, too. In fact, both the people who turned up their noses at the idea of stuffed cabbage ate seconds (you know who you are).
And if you think this is a little fiddly, then split the work into two: cook the mince in one session, assemble the little packages in another. It doesn't take long, and is oddly soothing. It's also a dish that can be made ahead and kept in the fridge.
You could use any mince you happened to have left over, or you could cook some specially. Either way, it needs to be well flavoured, because you're going to add bread (or rice). I used fresh breadcrumbs, liberally mixed with chopped herbs, but if there had been some cooked rice in the fridge, I'd have used that.
You also need a green cabbage which hasn't had all its outer leaves trimmed off before you get to it. The big leaves are much easier to fill, for one thing, and they are - in this dish - much tastier than the little yellow ones in the middle. Save those for a coleslaw.
You'll have gathered that what follows is not a recipe that needs to be followed to the letter; it's more of a method, one I hope you'll try, because this thrifty dish is delicious, and well worth reviving.
Stuffed cabbage
for 4
outer leaves of a large cabbage
350-500g minced meat
a little chopped bacon
1-2 chopped onions
2-3 slices of bread, blitzed into crumbs
2 handfuls of fresh herbs (I used parsley, basil, oregano)
1 tsp smoked paprika
an egg
a little stock/passata/wine and water etc
Gently sweat the onions. When they are soft, add the bacon and fry till cooked. Add the paprika and cook for a further couple of minutes. Tip into a large bowl. Brown the mince. Add to the bowl. Blitz the bread (it needs to be something better than cheap sliced white), then add the herbs. The exact amount of bread depends on how thrifty you are needing to be; just bear in mind that the more bread you add, the more flavouring you should use. Add to the bowl. Mix everything together, then stir in the egg to bind the mixture.
Meanwhile, blanch the cabbage leaves in a large saucepan of water. They need to be dropped into boiling water for a couple of minutes. Drain and cool in a colander. Cut out the inflexible part of the spine.
Wrap little dollops of the mixture in the leaves, fixing with a toothpick if necessary (and it only will be with the smaller inner leaves). Lay the parcels in a shallow baking dish. When it's full, put a little liquid into the base. This can be stock, a little wine and water, even plain water. Cover the dish, and bake in a medium oven for about an hour and a half.
I dotted last night's stuffed cabbage with little tomatoes, in the hope that they would cook down into a tomato sauce, but no such luck. All the same, they were a good, easy accompaniment. And another option for the liquid would be tomato passata.
You may be a little surprised to find these biscuits here, considering the ingredients, but they are a fine way to use up ends of cheese. Top of the canon of extravagent cookery comes Mrs Beeton - take a dozen eggs and all that. Nigella comes a close second, and this is based on a recipe from How to be a Domestic Goddess. Hers involved blue cheese and blue cornmeal, but we don't bother with that showy-offy palaver here - and, anyway, why on earth would you want to eat blue biscuits?
Cheesy biscuits
makes about 30 bite-sized biscuits to serve before dinner
175g cheese, whatever you've got, mixed if you like
100g soft butter
1 egg
125g plain flour
50g cornmeal (polenta)
Whizz the cheese, butter and egg, then add the flours. This is essentially a pastry, so don't overmix, but draw it into a ball. You can rest it for half an hour in the fridge at this point, but I prefer to roll it out while it's soft, cut the shapes and then give it half an hour in the fridge.
I used half this mixture immediately. The other half was rolled into a cylinder and kept for a few days in the fridge wrapped in clingfilm. You can see that the lozenge-shaped biscuits have a slightly different texture - that's because I cut them straight from the log in the fridge ... quick and effective, but not so pretty.
Both our plum trees failed to produce any fruit this year - I think they were frosted in the spring. But there are plenty of plums in the market at the moment. The little hard ones which aren't much good for eating are cheap - and brilliant for making jam. I bought small Sungolds for this jam, and the plums were cheaper than the sugar.
I've been eating this with a slice of homemade wholemeal bread for breakfast every day this week. No butter/marge - no need, it would only mask the fresh flavour.
Plum jam
for about 2.5 kg
1.5kg plums
1.25kg sugar
Halve and stone the plums. Simmer them in 400ml of water until they are cooked through (once you put in the sugar, they won't soften any more) - 15/20 minutes. Add the sugar, bring to the boil and cook rapidly until setting point is reached. This will take at least 10 minutes.
Test: I use a thermometer AND the saucer method (put a drop of jam on a saucer, wait til it's cool, then see how runny it is). You want quite a firm set. Bottle in sterilised jars (put them through a dishwasher cycle). Cover while hot; label when cold (otherwise the glue melts).
This is my entry for Heart of the Matter's September topic: preserving the harvest. Hosted by Michelle The Accidental Scientist.
I'm having a clear out, and in the larder I found a number of old packets of apricots. I also put Delia's Christmas book in the Oxfam pile. Then I remembered her recipe for spiced apricot chutney, utterly wonderful, the best thing in the book (the only thing I've cooked more than once). I've given it away for Christmas presents, and I often use it to liven up the leftovers which are my lunchtime staple. Delia recommends using it as the basis of a sauce to go with roast pork; that's good too. I'm posting the recipe because the book is definitely going to Oxfam. And because I'm down to my last half jar.
Spiced apricot and orange jam
enough to fill a 1-litre jar
400g no-soak apricots
1 tsp whole coriander seeds
225g soft light brown sugar
425ml cider vinegar
1 medium onion, chopped
50g sultanas
2 tbsp finely grated fresh ginger
2 chopped cloves garlic
grated zest and juice of one orange
Chop the apricots small. Dry fry the coriander seeds; when they are toasted bash them with a pestle. Put everything together in a stainless steel saucepan, bring up to the boil and simmer gently for up to an hour (it will take at least 45 minutes).
When it's good and thick, pour into sterilised jars and seal. (I sterilise my jars by putting them through a dishwasher cycle.)
Spiced apricot sauce for pork
Pork pan juices
15g plain flour
570ml white wine
3 tbsp chutney
grated zest of an orange
Blend the flour into the pan juices (I wouldn't weigh this, I'd do it by eye/feel, but you know what a stickler Delia is for detail). Gradually stir in the wine (I might well use stock, cider, or even water). When you've got a smooth sauce, cook it gently for a few minutes until the flour is cooked, then add the chutney and zest. Simmer for a little longer.
This blighted year has been hopeless for growing tomatoes - what with one thing (slugs) and another (blight), we've had very few, Sungold doing best (although my extremely conservative family would prefer it red, rather than that wonderful yellow).
At the end of August, there was an article in the Telegraph by Sarah Raven about home-grown tomatoes with the best taste. Here are her key findings - now I can chuck out the paper yet still be sure of finding this very sensible list next year.
Her main piece of advice is to grow one or two of several varieties: any tomato dish is better for having a mix of varieties - different shape, colours and sizes, all with varying levels of sweetness and acidity. If you use three or four different forms, your salads will look more attractive, your sauces will be richer, and your tomato jams and chutneys will taste better.
Sungold: truly outstanding. Can be grown inside and out.
Gardener's Delight: Sarah has long championed this tomato, which just beat Super Sweet 100 in her trial this year. Both form long trusses which ripen over a long period for nonstop harvesting.
Black Krim: this tomato comes from Crimea. I've never grown it, but I have eaten it - delicious, once you've got over the monstrous appearance of black skin and startlingly green inside. Sarah says it has good disease resistance, and that it was the last of her outdoor tomatoes to get blight this year.
Costoluto Fiorentino / Costoluto Genovese: two old varieties from Italy, better grown in a greenhouse. Highly productive of large fruit. She says that about one in eight plants will go blind ... mine (outdoors) were the first to get blight this year.
Brandywine: obviously wonderful, but tricky to grow - it only performs well in a greenhouse in a good hot year, and even then only produces small amounts of fruit. Very comforting words to someone who has tried and failed several times to grow this delicious giant fruit.
Tigerella: medium-sized, stripey green and red skin. We got a few of this before the blight struck. Sarah's sister grows this under glass in Edinburgh, Sarah says it can be grown outdoors in the south of England.
Red Alert: outshines all other tumblers in terms of flavour. No need to train, can go in a window box, gives vast amounts of tasty fruit
Sarah also says that she's not going to bother with plum tomatoes next year, as they have a grainy texture, are quite dry and not good eaten raw, even the foodies' favourite, San Marzano, which I don't think is as good as is claimed. The best, she thinks, is the hardier Purple Russian, but she says not as good as any of the others on her list.
Things to do with tomatoes
Roasting tomatoes
Roasted tomato ketchup
Slow roasted tomatoes
Homemade tomato ketchup - and caponata-ish
Panzanilla
Chilli jam
Links to tomatoes on other blogs
Fried green tomatoes - haven't you always wanted to know how to make these? Here's how, from the blog at the Whistlestop Cafe
David Lebovitz's take on an heirloom tomato salad
Gazpacho from Kalyn's Kitchen
The Old Sailor
by A.A. Milne
There was once an old sailor my grandfather knew
Who had so many things which he wanted to do
That, whenever he thought it was time to begin,
He couldn't because of the state he was in.
He was shipwrecked, and lived on a island for weeks,
And he wanted a hat, and he wanted some breeks;
And he wanted some nets, or a line and some hooks
For the turtles and things which you read of in books.
And, thinking of this, he remembered a thing
Which he wanted (for water) and that was a spring;
And he thought that to talk to he'd look for, and keep
(If he found it) a goat, or some chickens and sheep.
Then, because of the weather, he wanted a hut
With a door (to come in by) which opened and shut
(With a jerk, which was useful if snakes were about),
And a very strong lock to keep savages out.
He began on the fish-hooks, and when he'd begun
He decided he couldn't because of the sun.
So he knew what he ought to begin with, and that
Was to find, or to make, a large sun-stopping hat.
He was making the hat with some leaves from a tree,
When he thought, "I'm as hot as a body can be,
And I've nothing to take for my terrible thirst;
So I'll look for a spring, and I'll look for it first."
Then he thought as he started, "Oh, dear and oh, dear!
I'll be lonely tomorrow with nobody here!"
So he made in his note-book a couple of notes:
"I must first find some chickens" and "No, I mean goats."
He had just seen a goat (which he knew by the shape)
When he thought, "But I must have boat for escape.
But a boat means a sail, which means needles and thread;
So I'd better sit down and make needles instead."
He began on a needle, but thought as he worked,
That, if this was an island where savages lurked,
Sitting safe in his hut he'd have nothing to fear,
Whereas now they might suddenly breathe in his ear!
So he thought of his hut ... and he thought of his boat,
And his hat and his breeks, and his chickens and goat,
And the hooks (for his food) and the spring (for his thirst) ...
But he never could think which he ought to do first.
And so in the end he did nothing at all,
But basked on the shingle wrapped up in a shawl.
And I think it was dreadful the way he behaved -
He did nothing but bask until he was saved!
image from Christie's auctioneers
Here's a lovely seasonal recipe, hard to beat when the plums are on the trees (although all ours were barren this year, frost I think). It's adapted from Diana Henry's lovely book Cook Simple. Despite the chilli and ginger, it's flavoured rather than hot, and was fine for my family of spice-haters. This amount of sauce will do for 4-6 chops
450g/1lb plums, stoned and halved
4-6 pork chops
5 tbsp runny honey
1 tsp Chinese five-spice
1 tsp ground ginger
a little red chilli, chopped fine
4 cloves of garlic, chopped
juice of an orange
1 tsp wine vinegar
Arrange the chops and plums in a single layer in a casserole, then pour over the mixed sauce ingredients. Cover and cook at 180C/365F for 45-50 minutes. Diana Henry cooks this in an uncovered pan in a slightly hotter oven: hers is crisped and brown at the edges, mine is soft and succulent.
I cooked this in the oven of our new wood-burning range ... I'll post about that soon, when I'm over the euphoria of cooking entire meals using a couple of small logs for fuel.
So, after getting the boys to write down their favourite food, I didn't have any excuses: toad in the hole for lunch. But I couldn't resist trying kale on the side. Kale is not on anyone's mmmm, delicious list, but I thought I'd try it anyway - with garlic slivers and little bits of bacon, two things they actively like, and a little sugar. It tasted just like the so-called seaweed you get in a Chinese restaurant, and was very good, although Alfred didn't eat much. There were also stuffed mushrooms: Alfred ate one without comment, Horatio said he liked the stuffing but not the mushroom.
Last night we went to dinner with Dick and DD at the boathouse down by the river. We sat out on the verandah as the light faded, fed the ducks - and ourselves. DD made a wonderful potato salad in the morning: she boiled some potato chunks, dressed them with a lemony vinaigrette and ribbons of crisply fried onion, and left it all to marinade all day while she went out boating and read a thriller. And there was a lovely French bean salad, with chopped hard-boiled egg and slivers of fennel. Not something I could easily serve here. But just the thing for a jaded mother.
Quick fried kale
Fry some chopped bacon in oil; add slivers of garlic. Cook until the bacon is well browned. Add chopped kale and a spoonful of sugar. Cook for 10 minutes. Serve hot.
Stuffed mushrooms
Easy peasy: remove the stalks from the mushrooms, put them in a food processor with a slice of bread, a de-seeded tomato, a spring onion, a little cheese. Blitz; stuff the mushrooms; cook in a hot oven for 20 minutes.
Horatio said it would have been better in a different vegetable, but he couldn't think which ... I suggest tomato or courgette.
Toad in the hole
Make a batter with three eggs, 1/2 a pint of milk, 4 oz of plain flour and a pinch of salt. Put the sausages into a baking tin and into a hot oven for 10-15 minutes until they start to brown. Pour on the batter (through a sieve if there are a lot of lumps), and bake for half an hour until the batter is well risen and browned.
(These quantities are for a large roasting tin, and did four of us with three sausages each; I would have used the same quantity of batter for six. The main thing is to give the batter plenty of room to rise.)
Related posts
A list of what my boys will and won't eat
Rabbi Blue's meatballs
When both the boys said YEeeeuuuuuuch to all my suggestions for lunch, I asked them to write down the all food they actually like eating. They both have a tendency to be fussy eaters - at one stage, Alfred (aged about four) would only eat pizza, but not if it had anything other than tomato sauce and grated cheddar. Horatio's always been prepared to be adventurous: aged about seven, he ordered and ate a plate of moules in a busy Brussels restaurant, and they've been a favourite ever since.
Here's the list. It's a little book. It took them half an hour. The second edition is due out soon, because they said they couldn't be put on the spot if they were expected to remember everything.
The big ambition of the title page gives way to - well, I leave that to you to decide (it's just that I wish they wouldn't make the yeuch noise when we are eating legumes as a side dish)
Meat is the thing they like to eat best, it's what they always request ... and they'd much rather not be fobbed off with fish, or vegetables. Pasta's okay, so long as it isn't too fancy. As you see, macaroni cheese is given honorary meat status.
The list of vegetables they'll eat is surprisingly long (and includes tomatoes, only Horatio is too pedantic to put them in this list). But they don't like any of these veg mucked about - it's no use thinking you could make guacamole, or that you might strip the corn off the cob to make, say, cornbread. Just plain, thank you, and preferably covered in butter.
As for fruit: well, I've never known either of them to choose to eat fruit, although they will if cajoled. Interesting that neither of them mentions bananas - not sure if they've been forgotten, or whether they truly are disliked.
I can (& frequently do) cook three meals a day for them, yet still come down in the morning to find the detritus of late-night cooking. This is a list of what they like. Microwave popcorn is never on my shopping list because of the horrible additives .... but they don't use their own money to buy it, they just complain that I won't (even though the kitchen is well supplied with old-fashioned popping corn).
The last two pages are lists of individual favourites. Alfred won't eat anything spicy hot, unlike Horatio, but he's very keen on making toasted sandwiches in a press.
I don't have any idea how typical this list is for teenage boys. What do your teenagers eat? Any tips for widening their palates? And lessening their dependency on processed foods and on meat?
This is what a 16-year-old chooses for his breakfast. With orange juice.
I took this(on my phone) a couple of days ago in Doncaster, before our drive more or less the length of England. Blazing hot sunshine all the way, until we reached the Lizard, the southernmost point of the British mainland - since then, we've been living in a cloud.
Here is the view from our bedroom window: WHERE IS THE SEA??? However, the consolation is that I am making an elaborate loaf of bread using Gilchester Farm flour bought in Northumberland, the Andrew Whitley recipe on the back of the packet, and the fresh yeast I bought in the health food shop in Helston.
When I was in Essaouira on the coast of Morocco a few years ago, I saw women bringing their tagines to cook in the neighbourhood wood-fired oven. Yesterday, I saw a lovely 14th century English communal oven at Corbridge, last used in the 19th century. Perhaps, now that we are suddenly mindful of the need for fuel economy, it's an idea we could usefully revive? How wonderful if this one were restored to use ....
Dodging the showers, I've had a busy day ... Corbridge first thing, then on to Langley to visit the Garden Station, then to Wallington - knock-out - and back to Hallgarth Manor through the centre of Newcastle.
These photographs were each taken from a bridge: top, from the Gateshead Millennium Bridge (looking towards Stephenson's High Level Bridge and the Tyne Bridge); bottom, from the 17th century bridge at Corbridge.
Here's a treat for a travelling picnic - I posted it last year, now I've improved it ... Alfred and I wolfed it down on the way up to Durham, where he's doing a hockey course and I'm doing some family history research. We stopped on the way at Conisbrough Castle, a Norman ruin.
This sandwich is very simple, and one of it's best virtues is that you make it the night before you travel, so that in the morning all you have to do is grab it out of the fridge. And it's quick to make. There's no need for butter or any other fat, and you can size it according to the number of people: I used a small ciabatta and a slightly smaller sized steak. A flattish bread works best, together with an ordinary steak. This version was much better and much more manageable than my first effort last year (although that was VERY popular, despite it's rather peculiar appearance).
What do you make for a healthy picnic? Heart of the Matter is looking for picnic ideas .... details on taking part are at the bottom of the post.
One sirloin or rump steak
One ciabatta loaf
some field mushrooms, stalks removed
Cook the steak according to your usual method. Cook the mushrooms whole. Slice through the ciabatta so that it opens out like a book. Put the cooked steak on one half, and pour on the juices. Arrange the cooked mushrooms on top, then fold down the top. Wrap tightly in foil, then put in the fridge with a weight on top. This needs to be made a few hours in advance so that there's time for the sandwich to be pressed.
To serve, cut into finger slices.
As you see, Alfred enjoyed himself - we were lucky that the sun was shining; I've got soaked twice today in Durham, once outside the Durham Light Infantry Museum (REALLY worth a visit, even if you aren't related to anyone who served in the DLI, as my grandfather did in WW1), and once on the way to the Durham Heritage Centre.
We'd love to hear your heart-healthy picnic ideas ... the Heart of the Matter website is a great place for ideas for heart-healthy recipes (something I wish had existed when we were changing our diet on doctor's orders after my husband's heart attack), and it only exists because so many bloggers have taken the time to share their recipes.
The usual rules: If you’ve participated before, you already know the basics. If you haven’t, check here, here and here for ideas on what “heart-healthy” means, and we hope that you’ll join us! Again, we ask that this please be a single event entry (please don’t use your post for other events – that way we can keep things centred on healthy heart awareness). Just send your entry to joannacary AT ukonline DOT co DOT uk (could you use the title HotM, so they don't get lost) by midnight Monday 25th August (a Bank Holiday in the UK) , linking to my site, Joanna's Food (and to the HotM blog if you’d like) and I’ll post the round-up on the Thursday or Friday on both sites.
Related links
A fabulous spot for a picnic in the south of England
A place in our garden for a picnic
I'm reading the letters of the Mitford sisters at the moment (slightly tiresome, but I'm only as far as the 1930s at the moment, with all the ghastliness of Diana Mosley's and Unity's Nazism), and was amused to come across this from 17-year-old Debo (later Duchess of Devonshire):
We arrived here (The Mill Cottage, Swinbrook) yesterday for the first time and it is really very nice if very cold. The fishing is terrific, we caught five trout last night. As Muv and Farve are always going on about how they love housework I leave it all to them to serve them right. All I have done so far is to make a Mitford Mess - tomatoes and potatoes fried in oil - which is the only thing I can cook and it is delicious.
No mention of a Mitford Mess or anything like it in the Chatsworth Cookery Book, published about five years ago under the Duchess of Devonshire's name "with the help of the chefs at Chatsworth" ... although to give her her due, she does start by saying: I haven't cooked since the war. I hoped this would be the title of this book but it was not well looked on by others. However, it is true and I am all for truth.
Now, of course, I've been browsing through the book, and found this:
Bread was a passion of my mother and her siblings. In Mrs Alhusen's book there is a long receipt for bread made of English stoneground wholemeal flour, including detailed descriptions of the utensils to be used. My interest quickened when I turned the page and saw the name of the contributor - Mr Geoffrey Bowles.
He was my uncle and a true eccentric if ever there was one. He never married and lived alone in one of those delectable houses in Catherine Street, Westminster. Visitors were not allowed. Should you be bold enough to ring the bell, he opened a flap in the door to tell you to go away. His sister, my aunt, lived near by. When they were old and she hadn't seen him for a long time, she thought she would like to do so and wrote to suggest that they should meet. 'But we have met,' he replied. For years Uncle Geoff lived on nothing but chocolate, which he bought at Fortnum & Mason, and bread, which he made himself. 'The perfect diet,' he said.
Whatever, I quite like the sound of a Mitford Mess for supper, with the addition of a little onion. And there's a very good recipe for water biscuits which I'll try just as soon as I've got a moment.
Related posts
Mount Athos potato and artichoke
Onion bacon and potato hotpot
Savoury chicken with roasted onion and potato
Potato gratin with thyme and tomato AKA duck and delicious potatoes
I picked these flowers at random from my garden early this morning. The pompom dahlia is Baby Moon, which I planted last year but which only produced a couple of flowers. This morning it was covered with flowers - 30 or 40 on a plant about three feet tall. And I love those scruffy daisies. If you look carefully at the photograph below, you can see TimTim, our gigantic ginger tom, in the background. The dark rose is Tess of the d'Urbervilles, a David Austen rose planted on our trellis by Alfred at Easter: it's the first flower, precious moment.
Links to related posts
Planting roses on our pergola
Rosewater yoghurt cake
I'm not sure what a gibbous moon actually is, but my Google phases of the moon widget tells me that this moon is gibbous. Until a few moments ago, I thought that any full red moon was a harvest moon, but Wikipaedia tells me that a harvest moon occurs only in September.
Whatever, it's utterly beautiful, the wonderful red colour I associate with lunar eclipse .. it stopped me dead in my tracks last night as I was about to go to bed. I just wish I was a better photographer.
These are my current favourites when I'm making bread rolls ... easy-peasy, let the yeast do the work. The inspiration came from Tanna's post about Soft Garlic Knots ... I haven't actually followed her recipe, but it set me thinking that you could use any dough to make a simple knotted roll: since then, I've made them several times, using a simple knot and various different doughs: white, wholemeal, or - these - using onion flour.
Make your usual bread dough. Cut it into pieces (these were about 75-80g each), roll them out into snakes, then tie a simple knot. Put them on a baking sheet with plenty of room for expansion, cover loosely with a tea towel, let them prove. Bake in a hot oven for 12-15 minutes. What could be simpler? Or more delicious?
Thanks, Tanna ...
I've been podding broad beans at least twice a week for a couple of months now - and then boiling them and eating them plain. Love them. Last night, we had visitors, and plain broad beans suddenly seemed too plain. This Patience Gray recipe could be a meal in itself. Delicious and quick - if you don't count the time you spend podding the beans and then double podding the huge ones.
Fabulous. I used a red onion, paper-thin Parma ham, forgot to add any herbs. Still really delicious. Five minutes' cooking time. (Much longer podding time, but that was sociable.) This will be my summer staple. From Apulia.
Fave fresche in stufa When the beans are larger (older), husk them and pinch off their outer skins, no longer green but creamy white. Slice up a sweet white onion, put the slices in an earthenware pot (or enamelled pan) in a little olive oil, and, before they begin to brown, put in some strips neatly cut from a slice of prosciutto crudo (not paper thin), or, failing that, pancetta (salt belly of pork), both fat and lean, and brown them. Add the washed beans, salt and pepper, and some chopped mint or coriander leaves or fronds of dill. If the beans seem to be drying before they are tender, add a very little chicken stock. (A fresh green chilli pepper, seeded, is sometimes sliced and simmered in the oil with the sliced onion.)
from Patience Gray's Honey from a Weed
We're just back from Bromyard in Herefordshire, where we ordered an Esse Ironheart woodburning cooker from a fantastic family firm, B & M Johnson, father and son.
As soon as we got home, Lucius began work on the installation. I went out to buy potatoes, and when I got home, this is what I saw. Scary, or what?
PS this is what the stove looks like ... one large oven, two burners, and a glass door to see the fire burning ... perfect: we've got endless amounts of wood to burn, and we'll be able to remove the enormous and hideous oil tank ...
A couple of weeks ago my sister - who has lived in the US for the best part of 20 years - asked me about British cookery writers. I mumbled a bit, and the conversation moved on. But her question has got me thinking: I'd like to buy her a couple of British cookery books to thank her for having my son to stay (our house has been very quiet, hers probably hasn't) ... and I can't decide which.
So ... which would you recommend? Nigel? Nigella? Moro? River Café? Yotam Ottolenghi? Hugh FW? And then there's Skye Gyngell's lovely book, Tamasin Day-Lewis, Diana Henry - and Sarah Raven's lovely Garden Cookbook. I'm aware that this list is not exhaustive, and does not include a number of my favourite writers (Geraldene Holt, Claudia Roden, Patience Gray, etc etc). Quite a lot of these people have written several books, in which case, which to choose?
Which books do you think represent the best of British cookery at the moment?
Related links
Nigel Slater's top-10 recipes
Honey from a Weed
Ann and Franco Taruschio's Leaves from the Walnut Tree
The theme for Heart of the Matter for July and August is PICNICS ... whether you're travelling, on the beach, in the garden, going for a walk, rambling up a mountain, going for a bicycle ride - you'll need something to eat, and we'd like to know what it is. Every kind of picnic, from the elaborately pleasurable to the purely functional: what heart-healthy foods do you take with you?
Here it's been raining, so not really picnic weather. But I did make a lovely yoghurt cake soaked in rosewater syrup, and we did manage to eat it outside in between the showers. Not quite a picnic, but the next best thing.
This yoghurt cake is simplicity itself, pretty robust, and infinitely adaptable: you could flavour the syrup with all kinds of other tastes - orange springs easily to mind. And if you're not taking it out and about, you could serve it as a pud with some lovely bright berries simmered in a little water or wine.
Yoghurt cake
200g self-raising flour
110g ground almonds
150g caster sugar
1 tsp baking powder
2 eggs
250g yoghurt
150ml sunflower oil
zest of a lemon
Measure the dry ingredients into a large bowl. Add everything else and stir with a wooden spoon. You really do not need to use a mixer for this. Pour into an oiled 20xm springform tin. Bake at 180C for 30-40 minutes. Leave for 10 minutes, then turn out onto a plate. Pierce all over and pour in rosewater syrup. Allow the cake to cool and the flavours to mingle before serving.
Rosewater syrup
275 ml water
175 sugar
juice of a lemon
2 tbsp rosewater
Measure everything except the rosewater into a small saucepan. Dissolve the sugar, then bring to the boil. Simmer for seven minutes, leave to cool, then add the rosewater.
As usual, I've been inspired by Diana Henry's piece in the Sunday Telegraph magazine. Her cake looked lovely, covered in rose petals.
We'd love to hear your heart-healthy picnic ideas ... the Heart of the Matter website is a great place for ideas for heart-healthy recipes (something I wish had existed when we were changing our diet on doctor's orders after my husband's heart attack), and it only exists because so many bloggers have taken the time to share their recipes.
The usual rules: If you’ve participated before, you already know the basics. If you haven’t, check here, here and here for ideas on what “heart-healthy” means, and we hope that you’ll join us! Again, we ask that this please be a single event entry (please don’t use your post for other events – that way we can keep things centred on healthy heart awareness). Just send your entry to joannacary AT ukonline DOT co DOT uk (could you use the title HotM, so they don't get lost) by midnight Monday 25th August (a Bank Holiday in the UK) , linking to my site, Joanna's Food (and to the HotM blog if you’d like) and I’ll post the round-up on the Thursday or Friday on both sites.
Related links
A fabulous spot for a picnic in the south of England
A travelling beef sandwich (mark two coming up later this month)
A place in our garden for a picnic
I subscribe to a BBC news roundup email, giving headlines in particular areas that interest me. There were four stories I want share - and I'll start with two interesting stories from the health section:
The first is a report on an eight year study of the Mediterranean diet, which shows that very small changes to the diet (a little more olive oil, OR perhaps a little less red meat) give protection from certain types of cancers. It sounds like stuff we already know, but here we have some proof.
The second is about the effect of junk food eaten by pregnant rats on their offspring. Predictably terrifying.
The computer security firm McAfee ran an experiment to see what happened when fifty people around the world surfed for a month without any sort of protection for their computer. Doesn't bear thinking about. BUT ... fascinating national differences.
Finally - well I'm a historian, so please forgive me. The headline said there was doubt over the date of Julius Caesar's invasion of Britain. Not 55BC??? Actually, it turns out that we are talking about whether it was the beginning or the end of one week in August 55BC. Wonderful stuff.
PS if you get to the fourth link, you'll see that my photo of the White Cliffs of Dover is courtesy of the BBC
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