I’m sitting on a train heading to London, in cattle class, but at least at a table, back to the engine and in the aisle seat, which I believe is the best position to travel. I can’t understand those who need to see where they are going when not in the driving seat – I like to know where I have been and avoid all those jerky eye movements to focus on those nearby things whizzing by. Neither do I like the claustrophobia of a window seat just in case I am unfortunate enough to find myself penned in by someone who is ‘malodorous’.
Opposite me by the window is an older lady who is eating a home-made ham sandwich. With my head down reading, the smell of it hits me first before looking up to watch her unwrap it from its tight aluminium foil packaging. The bread looks okay although meticulously machine sliced, and the ham is in thick chunks, as far from machine sliced as you could get. No mustard that I can see or smell. She must be 180. Her ham sandwich reminds me of my great-uncle Ifor who lived next to Lake Vyrnwy in deepest Wales. I recall, when very young on our only visit to his home for tea, he served us thick ham sandwiches. They were easily made with equal quantities of hot English mustard to ham. My sister and I swallowed politely with our noses running and eyes smarting. This was our introduction to the colourful but harmless looking substance for which a health warning should be issued. I haven’t touched it since. The eating habits of the very British elderly travelling from who-knows-where are quite different from commuters travelling from Kings Cross to Edinburgh, which is the next leg of my journey. Four passengers (I’m on my fourth train of the day) to my left are eating an array of hot spicy somethings, one of which looks like Leon’s Thai chicken curry (I know this to be excellent), and is filling the carriage with wonderful aromas. A young man in view behind the party of four is eating sushi from the popular food bar, Wasabi. He has an array of little dipping pots, presumably of soy-sauce, chilli or wasabi paste. Main train stations now offer fantastic fresh, fast food options. I had spent a good ten minutes in Wasabi looking at the delicately wrapped parcels of sticky rice, salmon, avocado, crab and much more, turned into their wonderful sashimi, nigiri, maki and yakitori sets. Tanmen or soumen are rice noodles soups with crisp vegetables, pak choi, bean sprouts, Chinese cabbage, mangetout, red chillies etc., in a delicious clear hot broth. The aromas of the soups and curries were intoxicating and left me lingering and being annoyingly indecisive about what to take away for my supper. I was overwhelmed, so boarded my train empty handed thanks to my dithering. All these wonderful choices – yet not a ham sandwich to be seen. Mustard, horseradish and wasabi all have the same pungent and volatile properties that require goggles, breathing masks and fire retardant gloves to prepare. I already have a horseradish plant in the garden so I bought a wasabi plant to grow alongside. Wasabi is also known as Japanese horseradish and grows wild along stream-beds in the mountain valleys of Japan. Whilst still in its pot, the rabbits ate all the leaves which is surprising as the leaves are said to have the same spicy flavour of the roots, which when grated is similar to hot mustard. I’ve clearly not had the chance to try it, but apparently it’s great for the nasal passages, so good on you Mr Peter Rabbit. Do try this month’s recipe or grate some of the horseradish root into a bloody Mary – it’s not as lethal as it sounds. aif Roast beetroot and smoked mackerel salad with horseradish dressing Serves 4 Approx. £9.50 when all ingredients bought at Ludwell Stores (This works equally well with rare beef slices or cold shredded smoked chicken rather than mackerel) 500g small beetroots 4–6 garlic cloves, unpeeled but bashed 1 large sprig fresh thyme 1 bay leaf Sea salt / freshly ground black pepper 2 tbs rapeseed or olive oil For the dressing 100ml crème fraiche 100ml thick yoghurt squeeze of lemon juice 1 tbs fresh grated horseradish (Ludwell stores sells it ready grated in jars) – or substitute wasabi paste 2 tbs finely chopped chives, plus a little more to finish To serve (for a more substantial salad, add cold new potatoes) 4 smoked mackerel fillets / rare beef or shredded chicken Chicory / crisp lettuce Seasoning Lemon wedges Preheat the oven to 200°C / gas mark 6 (AGA roasting oven, middle shelf) 1. Scrub the beetroots well, but leave them whole, then place on a large piece of foil. 2. Scatter with the garlic, thyme leaves, bay leaf and some salt and pepper, then trickle over the oil. Scrunch up the foil to make a baggy but tightly sealed parcel. 3. Place parcel on a baking tray and place in the oven. 4. Roast until tender – about 45 minutes for small ones, though this may take longer. The beetroots are cooked when a knife slips easily into the flesh. 5. Leave to cool, then top and tail them and remove the skin. Cut into wedges and place in a large bowl with the new potatoes if using. 6. Whisk together all the dressing ingredients and season to taste. 7. Turn the beetroots over gently into the dressing. 8. Divide the beetroots between four plates piling on top of the chicory or lettuce. Flake the mackerel / beef strips or chicken over the top. 9. Scatter on some more chives, season to taste and serve with lemon wedges. A truly, truly scrumptious and dramatic looking salad for late summer entertaining
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What is it with the verb ‘to sit’ that confuses our nation of English speakers? Putting aside how some people talk and write in text speak nowadays, the misuse of our common language really gets my blood pressure rising. I give you an example….a recent telephone message from a senior colleague. “Hi Alison, I’m sat with Pam and we were wondering…”. I’m sat? – NO. I’m sitting surely. I am sitting with Pam….
A rather defensive team member from North Wales, who is also afflicted by this unspeakable habit, told me that she believes it is a Welsh or a Northern thing, but it’s not – the colleague who sat with Pam, is from Woking. In the days of Terry Wogan on BBC Radio 2 (whoops, just lost four of my five readers) he would make a big deal about conjugation of verbs, specifically ‘to sit’ – he made it into something hugely funny, but it is so prevalent now that it has become an equally huge irritation to me, to the extent that I correct people mid sentence – how rude am I? Now, this whole subject has come about because, whilst in a hotel restaurant ‘up north’ last week, I was approached by a waiter with my starter (a slab of smooth chicken liver pate, clearly just out of its vacuum pack on a pretentiously slim and very sharp piece of slate, far too small for its load). But I digress – he placed this in front of me and repeated what I had already heard him say in a broad Newcastle accent to my dining neighbours, “Here you go, hope you enjoy…” turned and walked away. Enjoy..? What does he want me to enjoy? The starter, the absent glass of wine or the shower gel in my room? I have no idea. If he was hoping I enjoyed my starter, I have to say I did. I was very hungry after all and his comment helped me decide what to get off my chest in Truly Scrumptious this month. So to match my sharp temper, sweetened only by love and chocolate, preferably together, I am contributing to this month’s recipe a notoriously sharp fruit, Spring Rhubarb with something to soften and sweeten its acidity, Donhead honey. I think of rhubarb as British, not least because the best rhubarb comes, indisputably, from Yorkshire (ah, a tenuous link with my visit north) from an area between Leeds, Wakefield and Bradford known as the ‘rhubarb triangle’. Hugh Fearnley-Whittingstall informs me on his (beautifully written) blog that a few years ago, Yorkshire rhubarb was awarded PDO (protected designation of origin) status. After the two or three years needed for the crowns to develop, they are transferred to pitch black forcing sheds, where the pale pink shoots grow rapidly in their desperate search for light. They are harvested by candlelight. The season lasts until April, and then it is only a short wait for the thicker, greener, outdoor crop. Mine is shooting already under buckets and will be ready by April for sure. This main crop rhubarb will possibly need a sprinkle more sugar than the more delicate, floral early pink crop. A blob of creamy yoghurt and a ribbon of honey are great companions of rhubarb. So, with charming Geordie waiters aside (and forgiven), I know you will enjoy… aif Rhubarb Cake with crème fraîche and Donhead honey Serves 8 Approx. £2.90 when all ingredients bought at Ludwell Stores 226g self raising flour a pinch of salt 110g unsalted butter 340g rhubarb – thin stalks preferably (the darker the better) 110g caster sugar 2 large eggs – slightly beaten 1 tbsp demerara sugar To serve 150ml crème fraîche 1 star anise – ground to a fine powder (delicious but optional) 2tsp Donhead honey (optional – but crème fraîche will need sweetening). Method Preheat the Oven to 180°C, Gas mark 4, AGA rack on floor of top oven with cooling shelf above 1. Grease, line and then grease again, a 1lb (equivalent) loaf or cake tin 2. Chop the rhubarb into slices, about 10–15 mm wide 3. In a large bowl, add the salt and the flour, then rub the cold butter into the flour in the usual way to resemble fine breadcrumbs 4. Mix in the caster sugar, chopped raw rhubarb, then finally the beaten eggs. Mix well. 5. The mixture will be fairly dry and heavy for a cake mixture but trust me, it’s okay. 6. Put the mixture into the tin, level it out, and then sprinkle the top with the demerara sugar. 7. Bake in the oven for about 45–50 minutes until it looks done (i.e. light brown and cake coloured) 8. To test for ‘doneness’, press the top lightly with your finger and if it springs back, it’s done, or test with a skewer. 9. If the top gets brown before the cake is cooked through, cover the top loosely with foil to stop it from burning 10. Leave the cake in the tin for 15–30 minutes to firm up before turning it out carefully onto a wire cooling rack (it may be a little fragile and wobbly, but that’s okay). 11. Add the honey and crushed star anise (optional) to the crème fraîche and serve with the warm cake as a pudding or cold with a cup of tea! A truly, truly scrumptious moist and divine cake for this spring I have a dear friend of many years called Bhavna. Bhavna is a foodie of the Asian vegetarian variety and keeping her happy when out for a bite to eat, can be tricky. I would bet my entire cookery book collection on the fact that she will ask for the pepper mill at the same time as placing her order. Rarely does she get it, which probably says more about where we eat than anything else.
Bhavna’s fiftieth birthday party was an evening full of fantasy, colour and memorable aromas. We were greeted by fire dancers on the lawn and served champagne by masked men on stilts. There was a room set up like an Indian market where we could fill little tin boxes of fresh spices; ‘pick and mix’ style Indian sweets and many delicacies I have never seen before or since. Ladies, beautifully dressed in traditional costumes, draped the men with silk shawls and the women with colourful bangles. I didn’t think I had particularly fat wrists, but clearly I do, as I had to wear my bangles around my ears to join in the spirit of the evening. We had our palms (and any other bare flesh) painted with Hindu symbols of the sun, using Mehndi or Henna paste, mixed with turmeric. There was also a lady with snakes around her neck and arms – that was a little creepy so I kept well away. The meal was amazing and went on for what seemed like hours, course after course of large dishes of spicy or sweet vegetables and meat for us carnivores, salads, nuts and fruits. It was altogether a remarkable and delectable occasion. Another world. Bhavna has been very unwell. She was diagnosed with an aggressive brain tumour last autumn and is enduring frequent visits to, and stays in, hospital. Eighteen months ago I saw a beautiful pepper mill in an antique shop in Honiton. It was small enough to fit in the palm of your hand and slip into your handbag. I thought of Bhavna at the time so went back in November in the hope it was unsold. It was so I used my honed negotiation skills to see what they could do about the price and – mission accomplished – it was mine. Bhavna can now spice up her hospital food, and hopefully take it with her when we eat out and avoid her constant call for the pepper mill. Of course, you can’t give someone a pepper mill without some pepper. I was sent a link to an amazing spice shop called ‘the spicery’ (www.thespicery.com) where you can order spices, blends and recipe kits in very small quantities. I ordered two of their gift-boxes (one for me and one for Bhavna) which consist of six 5g packs of very fresh pepper. Enclosed was Cuber Pepper;,Grains of Paradise, the weird looking Long Pepper, Sichuan Pepper, Kampot Pepper and Green Peppercorns. I have mixed three of them in my own pepper mill. So, with Bhavna in mind, this month I give you the wonderful dish, Mejadra, from Arabia. All spices are available at Ludwell Stores, which has a good selection, so why not have a clear out of your spice cupboard (cumin dated April 2007 will taste of dust) and buy some fresh spices for 2014 and make yourself this warming, comfort food dish to serve as a supper on its own or as a side dish. Enjoy eating with friends and savouring time together. All the best for a happy, healthy 2014. Aif Mejadra – Spiced rice and lentils with crispy fried onions Serves 6 as a main course Approx. £4.80 when all ingredients bought at Ludwell Stores The crunch of nuts or seeds, sweet oiliness of the onion and perfect balance of the spices makes Mejadra a ‘master’ dish. It really is a star, and something I think would be great for a picnic in summer with finely sliced fennel and cucumber, dried cranberries and a dollop of natural yoghurt. My hero Ottolenghi describes this dish as the very ‘best comfort food’. I have to agree. 200 g basmati rice 4 brown onions, sliced thinly 250 g brown or green lentils 350 ml water 2 tsp cumin seeds 1½ tsp coriander seeds 1½ tsp ground turmeric 1½ tsp ground allspice 1½ cinnamon stick 1 tsp sugar olive oil 75 g cashews (pine nuts or peanuts will do) Handful of coriander leaves and natural yogurt for serving (see below) Seasoning Method 1. Prepare your lentils by rinsing well first, then cook in a pan of boiling water for 12–15 minutes. They need to still have a ‘bite’ as you will be cooking them further with the rice mix. 2. Meanwhile, on high heat, in a large frying pan, brown off your sliced onions in olive oil in three or four separate batches. They must not sweat but rather fry until crispy. (Ottolenghi deep fries his with a coating of flour, but that uses a lot of oil). This can take 20 minutes and make your hair and clothes smell! 3. Wipe clean the frying pan then dry roast your cumin, coriander seeds and cinnamon. Remove from the heat when fragrant, then grind in a spice grinder or with a pestle and mortar (or bash them with a rolling pin). 4. Rinse your rice (to remove excess starch), then place in a pan on medium heat with your fresh ground spices, turmeric, allspice, sugar and cooked strained lentils. Add a generous glug of olive oil and stir. 5. Add the water, bring to the boil, place on a lid, then reduce to a simmer. Within 10 minutes, your rice should be ready. Allow to stand with the lid on for a further 10 minutes before seasoning to taste. 6. Fork half of the onions through the rice and lentil mix, then pile into a shallow dish and garnish with the remaining crispy onions and cashew nuts. You can serve with coriander leaves, natural yogurt, cucumber and lemon wedges. A truly, truly scrumptious and thrifty dish for a comforting winter evening. I was fortunate enough to attend a glitzy awards dinner in London’s Mayfair this month. The reception was alive with bright cummerbunds, jewels and pretentious air kisses. Angela Lamont, ‘as skinny as a rain drop down a window’, hosted the event with a swarm of cameramen at her feet and‘voice of the balls’, Alan Dedicoat compèred from the wings. It promised to be a really good night and I was sensible enough to be wearing an elasticated waist.
I’m usually keen to analyse function menus, as I’m fascinated as to how these events are designed and run. I knew there were nearly 500 of us eating a four-course meal over a tightly controlled 90 minutes. We started with sea bream with fennel sauerkraut and crushed potato salad in a sauce of some kind. This was rather too cold for my liking, but we washed it down with an oaked Chardonnay that complimented the dish well. Other than missing the blue cheese foam from our gooseskirt beef dish (must ask Buttlings what cut gooseskirt is), the main course was comforting, tender and looked spectacular. I tweeted about the lack of blue cheese foam, which caused a rush of tweets from fellow diners (it was a technology awards ‘do’ after all. Seems table 26 wasn’t the only table missing its blue cheese foam.) What made the biggest impression on me was the garnish on our dessert. We were served a very light mousse, beautifully presented with a perfect disc of raspberry jelly on the top and a dehydrated orange slice carefully balancing in the centre. Now, dehydrated citrus fruit slices look great on a Christmas wreath or in a bag with cinnamon sticks and pinecones, but you don’t expect to eat them. One of my fellow guests gave his a nibble. His reaction was unexpected – he clearly liked it and put the whole thing in his mouth. I had to follow his example and took a nibble of my own – it was like a biscuit perfectly crisp, sweet and orangey. I wasn’t mistaken, it certainly was a dehydrated orange slice not a biscuit at all, that looked as if it had been pressed and baked, perfectly flat, very thin and precisely round – extraordinary. I have been reading about dehydrated fruits recently as I was tempted to buy myself a dehydrator to make fruit leathers and fruit and vegetable dried chips. I plan to write about fruit leathers next summer, when hopefully I will have the produce to work with and have suffered the trials and errors on your behalf. I came across some interesting fruit leather recipes using sea buckthorn, autumn olive and rose hips on a forest garden course.How delicious. Fruit leathers would make a lovely present for friends or a packed lunch surprise – Truly Scrumptious readers will need to wait until next summer for how to make these. The recipe for this month is the very best of cheesecakes, just perfect for Christmas entertaining. According to the notes in my well-thumbed Joy of Cooking book I first made this recipe when living in Munich in 1979. How well it would go with dried, crisp and sweet orange slices…..I may buy that dehydrator after all. Best wishes for the holiday season and happy, creative entertaining. aif Sour Cream and Cinnamon Cheesecake Serves 8–10 Approx. £7.80 when all ingredients bought at Ludwell Stores For the crust base 150 g digestive biscuits 2 tbsp Icing sugar 100 g melted butter (preferably unsalted) 1 tsp ground cinnamon For the cheesecake mix 2 well-beaten large eggs 350 g soft cream cheese 100 g caster sugar 1 tsp lemon juice or ½ tsp vanilla extract ½ tsp salt 2 tsp ground cinnamon For the sour cream glaze 300 g thick soured cream 2 tbsp caster sugar ½ tsp vanilla extract Preheat the oven to 180ºC / gas mark 4. (AGA roasting oven, rack on bottom shelf with cooling shelf above) 1. Crush or blitz the biscuits in a processor or bash with a rolling pin into fine/small pieces in a plastic bag 2. Add the warm melted butter, icing sugar and cinnamon and mix well 3. Pat your crumb mix into the bottom of a greased or lined, loose bottomed 9 inch tin. Press down hard and chill for a few minutes 4. Mix the cheesecake ingredients (excluding the cinnamon) together until smooth 5. Pour the mix onto the biscuit base 6. Bake at 180ºC for 20 minutes or until firm. There should not be a wobble, neither should it crack but shrinking from the sides is good 7. Dust with the cinnamon and allow to cool Raise the oven temperature to 220ºC / gas mark 7 (remove cool shelf from AGA and raise shelf to top) 8. Mix together the glaze ingredients and pour over the top of the cooled cheesecake 9. Bake for 8–10 minutes to glaze the cheesecake – watch it carefully 10. Leave to cool then refrigerate for 6–12 hours before serving with cream or chocolate curls (or be a smarty pants and try with crisp orange slices) A truly, truly scrumptious dessert for the festive season. What a wonderful summer we were blessed with. I have been out in the vegetable patch tending my bountiful harvest, which has enjoyed the sunshine as much as I but everything seems to have come at once, so is a glut now. What the slugs haven’t devoured or I’m not giving away ends up on the compost heap.
The summer weather has suited the rabbits too. Bolstered by lush, green grass and my tender plants, they seem to be doing very well indeed. I watch them from the house, bold as brass hopping about and multiplying right in front of my eyes. However, when I see those little bunnies frolicking around, I can’t help but lick my lips. I’ve long been a fan of rabbit, especially in a pie with shortcrust pastry, served with fresh greens and creamy mashed potato with grain mustard. But killing and preparing rabbits is quite a skill not even tried by the majority I reckon, so they’re still the preserve of the hunter-gatherer, or bush craft fanatic and possibly not ‘Truly Scrumptious’ readers. Thankfully, supermarkets are starting to sell it (albeit beautifully prepared and packed in plastic), as do farm shops and Buttlings of course. I long to see rows of furry rabbits hanging in Buttlings shop window as I swear the bunnies on my land are trespassing from his! We continue to debate this pesky state of affairs. To get the best from rabbit you must understand its make-up – it can be a dry meat as there isn’t much fat on a rabbit, so the fail-safe way to cook it is slowly and carefully – braised or casseroled seems best. The younger the bunny the better, as with all animals, as they are more tender. I guess the same must go for squirrel, and despite having seen it for sale locally, I haven’t had the courage to buy any. My head tells me that squirrels are closer to rats than rabbits, so will leave well alone. And eating hare is just plain wrong. So slowly does it. Create a relaxed mood in your kitchen which will be reflected in your cooking, and as you go about your day, it will take care of itself in the oven – leave the kitchen door open and let the comforting scents waft about the house tempting those hungry down to the kitchen table for an autumnal supper to savour. Now, if you have impressionable children in the house, please change the name of my recipe, even substitute the rabbit for chicken. When what you are eating for supper has an association with Beatrix Potter you may have trouble on your hands. Call it chicken either way, they will never know! Anyone passing along the bridge at Ludwell – feel free to call out to the ever increasing bunnies boldly eating my grass, that I have plans for them! aif Pot-roast Peter with Noilly Pratt Serves 4–6 Approx. £10.50 when all ingredients purchased in Ludwell (costs are for chicken) Rabbit is a treat, more sophisticated than chicken although you can substitute chicken very easily for this recipe. Leave out the Noilly Pratt if you like but maybe add some sliced fennel bulb to develop an aniseedy background to the flavour. Ingredients 2 rabbits, jointed into 8 pieces, liver sliced if available (alternatively use a large jointed chicken, skin off and preferably include the liver – optional) 2 tbsp Dijon mustard (grain will be good too) 50g unsmoked bacon, diced or lardons 100g unsalted butter, diced and clarified (melted and solids removed) 450g trimmed leeks cut into 1cm slices 1 bay leaf 2 sprigs of fresh thyme 100ml Noilly Pratt or pastis if you can get it ½ lemon – juiced 100ml chicken stock chopped dill to serve (fresh only please - use fennel leaves/fronds if you can’t get dill) Preheat oven to 150°C / gas mark 2 (AGA simmering oven) 1. Brush the mustard over the rabbit joints. 2. Heat a large cast-iron casserole over a medium-high heat, add all but a tablespoon of the clarified butter and colour the rabbit in batches, transferring the joints to a plate as they are ready 3. Add the bacon lardons to the pan and fry until lightly coloured 4. Add the leeks to the pan with the herbs and continue to cook for about 7 minutes until glossy and lightly coloured, stirring occasionally 5. Return the rabbit to the pan, pour over the Noilly Pratt, lemon juice and stock. Lightly season (bearing in mind the bacon will be quite salty) 6. Give everything a good stir, cover and cook for 2 hours in the oven, turning the rabbit once. 7. Transfer the cooked rabbit to a dish and simmer the juices vigorously for a few minutes to concentrate the flavour. 8. Heat the reserved butter and fry the liver if using 9. Return the rabbit to the sauce and serve scattered with the liver and dill Serve with mash or creamed celeriac, chard, greens or beans. Keep it simple. If you prefer a creamy sauce (which would be ideal if using this recipe for a pie filling) add 100ml of double cream at the end of the reduction (stage 7). As always it’s ….truly, truly scrumptious |
AuthorThese musings and recipes are gleaned from The Donhead Digest with the permission of AIF, their author. Categories
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